José Moura Filho Municipal History Museum. August 19, 8:00 AM. Early. Too early for a crime scene photographer to be awake, especially in a quiet town like Aeroporto. As expected, there were no problems along the way, just the same routine scenery: birds singing, the comings and goings of people waking up early for work, old men playing dominoes on the corner, children heading to school, Mr. Ribamar's coxinha cart with its worn red and blue paint on the rusty frame, Mrs. Regina's clothing store a few blocks ahead, whose only visitors have been the flies from Mr. Joaquim's fruit bowl right next door. Everything seems the same, except for the walls of the municipal museum, which received a fresh coat of cream paint. — Come on, love. Stop being boring and enjoy the outing — Emily takes me by the arm. She looks beautiful in her white dress with black polka dots that she had chosen earlier. — Of all places, did it have to be a museum? — I sneeze and wipe my nose with a tissue — my rhinitis acts up every time I'm surrounded by dust. — Did you forget to use the nose drops again? — Emily takes the rhinitis liquid from her purse, but I politely decline. — I hate using that stuff, I prefer to avoid dusty places. So, why the museum? — You know Luan? That friend of mine from college. Well, today he's accompanying a scientific team in collaboration with the Federal University of Pará. These archaeologists found ruins of an ancient pre-Cabralian indigenous civilization in the southern Amazon, near Acre, and today they're bringing some artifacts discovered at an archaeological site to display to the public — she said excitedly. Although I'm reluctant to be here, I understand how much my wife gets excited about archaeological discoveries. Although, personally, I can't say the same. — Rattles, spears, cocais, and a bunch of other old junk. Besides the fossil diggers, there's a bunch of potheads who use Karl Marx as an excuse not to work — I blow my nose again — quite a program. — Five years married and you still act like an idiot sometimes — Emily kicks my left leg and I let out a grunt — I'm going after the old junk and the potheads, you can leave if you want. I massage my leg before watching Emily enter a corridor. I smile to myself; her childish actions always lighten the mood. Despite these disagreements, she knows my ways and eventually we'll understand each other again. Statement from Mrs. Firmina Goreth (August 20, 6:15 PM, interviewed by Investigator Joe Muller) Investigator Joe: I know it's a lot to ask someone your age to come here today, Mrs. Firmina, but I need you to tell me exactly what you remember on the day of the incident — Joe says with his hands clasped under the table. Firmina: Stop it, son, no need to be so formal with me, Dona Irma is fine, since my husband passed away the only ones who use my full name are scammers, which leaves me and my nephew with a flea behind our ear — Firmina holds her rosary with her right hand. Investigator Joe: All right, Dona Irma, please tell me your account. Firmina: It was the most terrible thing that ever happened to me. I've walked that route so many times I even know how many holes are in the street pavement. But just thinking about it makes me tremble. If it weren't for my nephew Carlos giving me my medication when I got home, maybe I would have been the next one. Speaking of Carlos, did you know my nephew is graduating next month in dentistry? Of course, other jobs pay better, but a dream is a dream — She gets distracted by the camera on the ceiling. Investigator Joe: Please, I ask that you don't stray from the subject — He says in a restrained manner. Firmina: Sorry, I think deep down I don't want to think about that scene again. I have a granddaughter her age, you know? Just thinking about it again makes me ill — Firmina shrinks in the narrow interrogation chair. Investigator Joe: Just tell me what you can, and afterward I'll ask Siqueira to get you a sedative — he touches her hand to calm her. Firmina: It was on an afternoon like any other. I had just returned from church, all proud with the Bible I won in a raffle. They always told me not to take the lower street because at that time it's just me and God in those parts, but what would I fear? I've lived in Aeroporto my whole life, and the most serious case I've seen was Mr. Luiz, who was mistaken for an intruder, but he just forgot his house keys and tried to force the door. Then I saw her, Joe. She was hanging there like those old sneakers people throw on power lines for some reason, cold and motionless, swinging back and forth because of the wind. Her neck was snapped, with dead fish eyes and her tongue sticking out — Firmina shudders, the vivid memory still terrifies her. Investigator Joe: I know it's a terrible situation, but was there anything that might have caught your attention besides Jéssica's body? Firmina: I think the height, I mean, our power poles are very tall for someone to climb, especially a ten-year-old little girl. Whoever did that wanted it to be seen. I always see on the Bandeirantes news that drug traffickers throw bodies in streams or in the river, but what I saw was an image of hell. They did a satanic ritual with that girl, Joe. It's the work of the devil! — The rosary beads rattle in her trembling hand. Investigator Joe: Okay, thank you very much for your cooperation — he says in a soothing tone. Firmina: Wait, I know I shouldn't have touched things, but since it's very light and it was very windy, it could have flown away. Look, it's one of those indigenous handicrafts, white feathers, must be an earring — she takes the object from a hidden pocket sewn into her clothing. Investigator Joe: I'll send it to forensics to analyze, and with luck we'll get to the culprit, but once again thank you for coming. After searching for a while, I find Emily surrounded by students while they listen to a lecture. — I thought you had left — she gives me a disapproving look. — I went to the bathroom, who's speaking? — I say trying to lighten the mood. — The internationally renowned anthropologist who participated in the expeditions — she hands me the pamphlet about the exhibition that she was using to fan herself. Antônio Ubirajara, born in 1963 in the city of Manaus, became an anthropologist at twenty-five, graduated from UFPA, participated in international symposia on indigenous culture and the impacts of neoliberalism on native peoples. Franklin set aside the rest of the information and decided to pay attention to the man he had just read about. He must be less than one meter sixty tall, wrinkled skin with tribal tattoos on his face, also wears a simple headdress of white and brown feathers with two black feathers slightly larger than the others in the center. Despite this, he dresses in normal clothes: jeans, a plaid button-down shirt in white and blue with black buttons, and black leather shoes. — For our people, the geoglyphs are called Kymyrury, spaces that serve as homes for spirits — the elder gestured with his hand toward ceramic pieces, earrings, cocais, and spears to his left — And in our most recent discovery, we found something that left us very ecstatic. As you can see, these are the best-preserved archaeological artifacts ever found in the country, and not only that, but also traces of an ancient civilization composed of thousands of inhabitants. A round of applause erupted in the hall; only then did I realize that this was no ordinary discovery when I noticed a Globo network team filming. Then something catches my attention: a strange ceramic in the exhibition. The representation of an indigenous person with hands over their eyes while a huge serpent coils around them, suffocating them. Strange symbols are drawn in red on the serpent and the indigenous figure, which are lime green, quite deteriorated by time. A huge desire to examine the object grows in me, as if it were… calling me. Look. — What is that? — I ask. — It's a receptacle of bad energy — a different voice answers the question. — Luan! How long has it been! — Emily hugs the tall man who emerged from the crowd of young people. Luan Apuranã, Emily's old college friend. Strong indigenous features, angular and defined face, sturdy build, and always has a ridiculous strand of hair on the side of his head. He's wearing a leather jacket and jeans. Although I don't want to admit it, I've always been a bit jealous of him with Emily, but that disappeared when I learned that Luan is very connected to his origins, and knowing my wife, I know she would never live in the middle of the woods. — This civilization, about which we know so little, had certain similarities with my people, and in one of their most striking purification rituals, the shaman would spend a week preparing baths to purify their yuxin, the negative energy or yuxin chakabu of the tribe members. Not only that, but the negative energy of natural phenomena and objects around was transferred to that urn — Luan looks worriedly at the ceramic — I don't even want to imagine what could happen if that is opened. The first part of the explanation was for both of us, but the second part showed a certain fear, even Luan's dread regarding that object. — Hi Franklin. Long time no see! — Luan gives me a strong handshake. — Do you really believe in these things? Aren't you a bit old for that? — Franklin gestures with his head toward the exhibition — What comes next? Rain dance? Forest spirits? Or the end of the monthly stipend from FUNAI? I don't know, you people have so much imagination it even scares me — I say sarcastically. I know I'm being a jerk, but disrupting his friendly demeanor is a relief. — There are things between heaven and earth that man still doesn't understand, Franklin — Luan grips my right shoulder firmly and gives a tight smile — Respect and your stupidity are certainly two of them — he says in a restrained manner. The man then says goodbye to Emily and goes to the students, where he is received with enthusiasm. Ridiculous archaeologist.