Chapter 5: "It's a wild world"

The boat bow rises and falls forcefully along the rapids. Katie and Jana really don't mind. The women are dauntless heroines dedicated to their tasks. They are daredevils free of fear and the usual human fetters. They squeal and frolic in the falling foam from the river. They laugh when abrupt ascent flings them high.

Besides, the boat is a well-built wooden one such as most Brazilians use on the Xingu. The Pará population trust their lives to these twelve-foot skiffs. Many pursue their livelihoods by their sturdy craft's oars and outboards. At this boat's outboard, Ranger Greg Butler sits, and the pretty passengers trust the stern-faced pilot in the aft. He seems determined and intrepid, as are they.

The bucking boat approaches the Volta Grande near municipality Vitória do Xingu. Volta Grande means "Big Bend", and it is one in the Xingu River. The channel twists and turns abruptly. And, for whatever arcane reason, the already ample Amazonian biodiversity skyrockets at the Big Bend. Inquisitive biologists and benevolent avatars never know what they may find, or what may find them. . . . .

The gals gab while passing through a pacific patch before the Volta Grande. They speak of the devil that they seek. Katie suggests, "Maybe, Mystery Incorporated should be investigating instead of us. The Scooby Gang has encountered a few imitators of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Some sinister cinephile could be in a cinematic costume."

Jana considers, "I suppose that some kooky corporate raider could be trying to scare native people off their lands. That plot would be in incredibly poor taste. Or, some Indigenous tricksters may wear scary ceremonial garb to make some point. The gill-man attacks could originate from good reason devolving into bad method."

Katie nods, "As John Butler's daughter, I always seek the scientific explanation over the superstitious one. A biologist ever seeks to expand her understanding of nature, but she is skeptical about the supernatural, that which lies beyond science, natural understanding, for now."

"You have met dinosaurs though," the wild woman winks, "One would think that empirical experience would expand your understanding."

Miss Butler giggles and pats the jungle beauty's knee. Jana notes, "My mentor maintained that the Creature is very real. We should respect that truth, if not fact."

At the aft, the engine roars into some rapids. The skiff rises and falls roughly. The ruckus drowns conversation. Waves rap the rigid Ranger at the rudder. Bounced and buffeted, the boat rocks along between rocky banks bordering bucolic rainforest. Above, bevies of birds, all varieties, swirl about the azure sky. Beside the explorers, on both sides, towering Brazil nut trees billet abundant life, big and small, animal and botanical, beautiful and ugly, amongst the vast vine canopy. Below the visitors, a black shadow passes powerfully up the current in the clearwater river. It is about the size of a man. And, sharp-eyed Jana spots the swimmer briefly before it swiftly secrets itself behind boulders in darker depths. Brave Jana considers diving in after the mystery animal, but she reweighs that move as unwise.

"Found it!" Greg shouts. The skiff enters a slower riparian stretch. Its captain sticks a finger out over the side.

On the southwest shore, a settlement of sort sits. It is the site of one strange attack. Scuttlebutt sent word to Jana of the Jungle. In the distance, the settlement sends smoke and steam past tallish cement structures, steel roofs, a seed silo, and assorted seeded silva. Seemingly, this place prospers upon fishing, agriculture, and small industry.

Nearing Herdade, Butlers and guest spy some steer tramping straw stubble and distant swine in their sty. In the foreground, they discern shanties and shacks along the shore past where a slough seeps sludge into the Xingu. Dense reed stalks separate the sewer from the next sight. Kids play upon stones along the bank. Screaming gleefully, they splash each other and disturb the river's silt. Jana surmises that some giant snake, piranha pack, or merman could make a squirt into supper. But, they obliviously sate themselves from the severe summer sun, buzzards swooping against it. Still, the kids could step on a stingray, and Jana would spring into action if they did.

South of the children, a long dock stretches. Certain shanties skirt it where fishermen have set-up shop. The piscators study the approaching strangers. Katie and crew can sort of make-out them under the shade made by overhanging trees. The fishers gather their seines and free sizable South American sucker fish and such fit for sale and stew. Certain hands seize the slimy "seafood", swiftly strip the scales, slash them open, fling the inner slop into the stream, and sling the sucker into a broad bucket near a soda machine. Past the soda machine, a segmented sidewalk, fringed by half-shorn grass, slopes upward to the locale's central square. There, senior sweethearts make soup and sandwiches for the site's working citizens. Shortly, a scheduled siesta arrives.

Beyond this stereotypical Latin township lies the modern community of Vitória do Xingu. It does not really resemble some Yankee's literary device. But, the beast of this chapter maybe would be too bashful to strike in a substantial city, so we will look for him in those places that sometimes exist, concretely or cartoonishly, along the edges of reality.

Back in our story. Showing-off, Greg guns the skiff and swipes the tiller sharply. The boat swings severely starboard and circles to where the puckish pilot purposefully overshot. The centrifugal force nearly sends Katie overboard, and the sister's brains are nigh sloshed silly. Savvily, Jana seizes an arm and slams skyward Katie back onto her keister. The sour sibling scowls at her scoundrel little brother.

His hand decelerates the boat. The ex-Screaming Eagle lands the skiff at the dock—soundly scraping it to a stop. His professor sis could have summarized the physics to successfully slow the boat, but the Butlers' butthead would have been likely uninterested. Skipper Greg the Pseudo-Sailor glibly sends a rope to an onlooker. The local man munificently moors the motorcraft to a dock cleat.

"Gracias, muchacho," Greg says.

"Valeu, cara," the cabo corrects. His new mate sounds like some clueless "captain" who minces both Spanish and Brazilian Portuguese.

Other docksmen direct themselves to the dingbat's dinghy. They nicely offer hands, some dirty and some clean, to the darlings disembarking; here and now, gentlemen still practice distaff courtesy. However, one woman hops handily past them and plants her feet soundly on the deck. The assembled suddenly recognize Jana da Selva! She is Amazonia's Sheena, and all are honored to have her!

Next, a friendly fisher offers Katie assistance up. However, in the 1990s, a woman needs no help helping herself. She hooks a cleat and coolly hauls an able, athletic, assured, astute academic adventurer ashore. She slaps the solid upper body that stooped to help her. No doubt, it is also capable like Dr. Kate Butler.

Cocksure, the cute American commences, "Olá, I am confident that you are curious about why we are here."

"Que?" inquires the crowd.

In Portuguese, the jungle princess calls for an English speaker. Jana enjoins a bookish onlooker to parlay with her. He can also translate for the villagers. D.D., Diego Dumas, proudly pops his spectacles up his face and promenades to pretty Jana. He looks like Gilly on Goober and the Ghost Chasers or D.D. on Clue Club.

The superhero prepares to speak. From the north, the noble trio have come to solve the natives' problems. Like Snooper and Blabber or Sherlock Holmes, the audacious sleuths seek stories on a sordid mystery that they might solve. Smiling, Jana starts to speak. In the river, a shadow swoops ominously upward.

Suddenly, the Xingu's surface explodes. The sought Creature shoots from the rushing water and alights on the dock deck. A swift, scaley arm slashes like a scythe, and "Gilly", the Dumas, falls supine. Startled Jana instantly steps back and, astounded, scans the spreading scarlet staining the timbers. She sees the boy's slack arm bespeckled with red from fingers to shirt sleeve.

Stalwart soldier Greg secures some item just above his sidearm. Perhaps surprisingly, he does not retrieve the weighty revolver itself. He swings his right arm for a speedball. The past pitcher (E2) projects an implement.

"Sandy Koufax!" he calls, conjuring his hero (E7) and paragon. The shout also alerts Katie that "incoming"!

To her credit, quick Katie catches the thrown object. Perhaps curiously, it is a camera!

A span away, the Creature squalls resoundingly. Most onlookers scatter like spooked cichlids. Certainly, they seek safety.

Jana sets herself for a stupendous wrestling match, the spectacle of which could be sung for centuries. Contemptuously, the Creature snorts. Promptly, it charges like a Pittsburgh Steeler. It sacks Jana and speeds her aback. The two smash into the soda vendor so hard that it topples. Seven-hundred pounds drops destabilized, and Jana catches it. The steel slab solidly smacks shoulder blades, and Jana slumps and staggers until her feet lucklessly slip on slick turf. Her knees sorely strike soil as the pop machine sits pressing her spine. Straining audibly, Jana of the Jungle summons all of her strength and slowly, steadily raises the pressing weight. She prepares to shift it, or even sling it, aside.

Up the sidewalk, the scholar sprints, and the soldier streaks to their associate's rescue.

Jana's defiant eyes stare into sinister ones. She shan't have nature, whether gravity or a gargantuan, conquer her. The jungle girl grinds her teeth, and the gnarly tropic terror gnashes his sharp incisors right back.

Mayhap, the savage monster just sees Jana as supper. Sans much cerebral strategizing, the stark simpleton swipes the swill dispenser from suffering shoulders. The object shields its prey. So, the Creature casts it aside heedless of the cable powering the unit. Like shoddy string, the juiced cable snaps, and sparks suddenly fly. They singe a certain bared backside swaddled in skimpy animal skin. They instantly scorch proximate grass and produce smoke. They startle a psychotic brute. Instinctually, the savage smacks the she-devil aside—sending her seven meters. Jana strikes sheets, shirts, shorts, skirts, and slacks hung-out to dry, and she lands in a soapy laundry tub outside a shack. Suds on her head, she squints and spits in the steaming wash water. Serendipitously, Jana's scrimmages are sometimes kept suitably PG.

A span over, gallant Greg shouts for an atavistic stooge's attention. Golly, I'll save you, Jana! The Creature starts for Greg.

Aside her brother, Katie asks, "What am I supposed to do with this camera? Expose his secret life? Shove it. . . . ."

"Sort of," Greg replies, "Snap pics for science. Someday, you'll have a first-prize preso on a new species, surely."

"You can't be serious."

The Creature storms forward. Greg draws his gun. The soldier would snipe the threat. But, to his surprise, the gill-man stops short. Summoning chest secretion, by slobbishly hawking, it spits syrupy glop that splats over the six-shooter. Startled and disgusted, the Screaming Eagle accidentally fires the plugged revolver. A stifled shell and saltpeter explode into Greg's puss. The misfire stings sooty peepers. It sears a palm. It smells wickedly sulphureous. Striding over, the saucy Creature socks silly Greg in the gut. Schooled him!

A sudden intense flash assaults the awful upright amphibian. Somehow, the light sensor ceases to function in splendid, sheer sunshine, a finger smartly set over it. An unsettled scientist hopes that the astringent flash flusters and scares slimy sort and gives him snowy sight. Nictitating cells shutter successively. Snarling, the Creature spins. Through the lens, Katie sees the screwy scene. A splayed hand like a big baseball glove seals over the shutter. The view shatters, and the land-shark crushes the camera to scrap.

"Oh man!" sorry Katie curses the second occasion of spoilt Butler snapshots.

Abruptly, a sharp talon strokes silky, swarthy tresses. Apparently, Katie is something's Mary Sue, pretty as a picture. Or, she is succulent prey, soon sardonically served alive. Either way, Katie sucks nervous air while assessing the panting satyr ogling her. The strapping seven-foot monstrosity seethes. Its spooky gills expand and retract eerily. Stank breath swaths his sweetheart's senses as he surveys her sensitive surface, shining with excited sweat.

For grace's sake, someone shouts, "Hey, you standing coelacanth, fight someone your own size!" Jana of the Jungle summons her foe, although she is distinctly shorter than 213 centimeters.

The superheroine scampers at the salientian sasquatch. Springing, she scissor-locks subhuman skull and straightens sartorii harshly. Strongly astraddle, she stringently cinches the scalp sans sympathy. Squalling, her sparring partner sways, swerves, swivels cyclonically about. Atop him, the svelte scrapper sits-up, stubbornly locks her ankles harder, and applies unceasing stress. Spiritedly, she compresses coarse casaba. Head swimming, the Creature swoons and slightly succumbs. Stupidly, he abruptly slants forward. In excruciating slow-motion, the sapien slides down slick skin. The monster escapes the maiden's sadistic grip!

"Aw shucks," Jana sibilates.

The Creature shoves Jana off and prepares to shred her. Sure, he could have destroyed exposed flesh and scant dress just now, but that would be salacious.

Near the described sport, Katie stands gawking for the last sixty seconds. She is very concerned, certainly. But, what can a single soul do against this hell-spawn? Spontaneously study a slate of savate? Then, Katie spots something shiny in the shaggy lawn's salad. It is a sparkling fishing spear. Jana's squire seizes it.

"Skewer him!" Katie succinctly exhorts. In this case, an established biologist shamelessly supports a pinned sample. There is such at stake. The assistant sallies the shaft to the Amazonian Ace. She catches it. The sharp end endangers the fearsome assailant.

"Sorry, sister," Jana surprisingly says.

Inexplicably, the swashbuckler inverts the spear and strikes with the blunt end, stubbing nose. Then, she sticks it in the ground and spectacularly dropkicks from the salient support. The raucous rap sends the malevolent merman reeling rearward.

The staggering gilled goliath falls. He spills to sticky, soggy soil and sprawls upon it—in a pop puddle. (Spilt soda cans bust and spray easily in sweltering, summer heat). In no time, the soda machine's jacked cable jolts the Creature. The livewire shocks and seizes him. Surging juice jars and sizzles monstrous meat mighty well. The shorted-out giant spasms violently. On the soil, he does the jitterbug and samba.

Viewing him, Katie sees smugly (perhaps) victory—and reestablished safety.

Then, with supreme bestial stamina, more cetacean than cephalopod, the Creature curves his posterior on "porpoise" and handstands to his feet. By a slew of sedulous sentiment, he severs the electricity and separates himself from the hot circuit. Still charged, static stiffly stands cilia on-end on the sluggishly shaking sea monster.

"He should still be stunned," Jana states. She stalks and skips about in a circle to assess.

"Secure him," Ranger Greg earnestly suggests.

The Butlers scoot to the "scuttled" scuzzy who shuffles insensibly about. From his side, Greg sports a rope. The skein is no silver bullet, but the boy butler buoyantly displays it.

Suddenly, the Creature stoops like a shortstop and scoops the dirt. Like a pro pitcher, he scuds a sphere for a "ranger" to receive. A score of sand scours the Butlers and briefly blinds the aspiring binders. Like bozos, the sneezing brother and sister, for a few seconds, can't see squat. Stumbling sloppily about, they speculate that the Creature seeks to surely slaughter them.

Jana (who has skills) snags the whorl of rope, deftly does a noose-knot, gives the rope a whirl, and lobs a lasso. Discouragingly, a keen claw slices right through the descending snare of strong strand. A pointed southpaw spins the loop as though signaling "whoop-de-do". With a sinking feeling, the warrior woman shyly reassesses this seeming suicide mission. How in Hades do you subdue stampeding swamp Cerberus here? In stories, strong Hercules wrestled Hell's Sirius to a win and took him as a souvenir to sovereign Eurystheus, a king. Maybe, Jana can successfully secure, suspend, and airplane-spin him like a lutadora. She could wrestle the Creature. Of course, she would have to secure and suspend him first. At some length, the jungle queen stands statically considering. She strums her chin.

The gill-man isn't so stumped, so he fleetly stomps forward. Forthwith, squamous arms assail our solo heroine. They cinch like terrible squid tentacles and smell like skunky shad. They swiftly suck Jana to his foul, scurfy sternum where the appendages apply amazing pressure. The Creature really squeezes the citrus out of the lady, like lemon on cutthroat trout. Rough arms simultaneously stridently constrict. Like stout snakes, they circumscribe Jana's slim shape and ensnare, compress, squinch.

In his embrace, the dismayed maiden strikes back. She extends strong arms and slaps hands together. Jana of the Jungle sledgehammers unsavory savage. He squeals furor. She shoves and squirms skyward. The captive beauty would exploit his slick surface secretions, ooze over his unctuous shellac, and circumvent his grip. However, despite his sleek surface, she shall not shoot free like barred soap. The cursed cisco still has her like a sardine.

A surly sort, the Creature suppresses Jana's escape scams further. The scruffy gastronome, lover of sustenance, seemingly seeks to smother his crush. She is his Scylla and he her Charybdis. Like a cider press, stiff limbs systematically squash firm flesh. The set circle saps her breath and stymies circulation. It starves her lungs and strangles her veins. Circumference scrunched, Jana sucks air and kicks her bare soles back into space. The ursine embrace (i.e. bearhug) bears down superfluously. Robust sides cede and turn supple until innards sensibly squish and stomach shivers. A star's skeleton, stressed from sciatic to scapular, threatens to snap, crackle, and pop like the break in a kids' show some Saturday morn. Jana semi-swoons a sec in strong arms.

In the described scrum's vicinity, Katie Butler surreptitiously scavenges Ranger Greg's survival knife—sundry popularized in late-century States cinema—from its chamois sheath. She skedaddles across the stereotypical jungle cel scene to Jana, staged like a sickening early-century pulp cover strumpet.

Stuck to noisome chest, Jana's limbs swing loose in their sockets in her camisole nigh bursting at the seams, soft anterior nigh showing out. Her eyes are white slots, and her flaxen hair spills back on slack neck. Suspended dogs dangle. The sanctioned lies sublimely sedate in circumfluent spooled arms. Sufficiently satisfied, the savage beast shuttles his intended snack southeast to the settlement's wooded sector and the Xingu shore for private consumption.

Suddenly, Katie steps in his way and stops him, her sassy flat hand extended. Superciliously, the slayer raises a scoffing brow as though sarcastically saying "Oh scary. Surely, you spoof".

Oft certifiably bold, Katie Butler shakes the pseudo-machete, the survival knife, and summons the nocent scoundrel to cast aside the creature's cuisine and fight the superior species, other than the quashed superhero in his arms.

Certifiably cold, the gill-man shakes Jana. Her loose extremities sway side-to-side. Then, Jana subtly stirs. And, Katie sees it pass. Less squeamish, she flashes the stainless steel and stares daggers. Unimpressed and unscared, a dull oaf stares back—before unexpectedly smiling. Sort of. Shining serrated teeth suddenly show in sallow gums, and unsettling jaws snap open wide. Katie shutters. The scads of incisors swiftly stab downslope. "Pythons" part slightly to reposition prized pabulum.

Then, scary teeth stub themselves on solid collar surrounding a pretty throat. From the grave, Jana's sire saves her. Her dad gave her the formidable steel necklace. A sentient eye waggishly winks at confused critter creep.

"Psych," says Jana to the scad-brain.

Subterfuge successful, the sluggish sleeping beauty worms her way up scratchy scales with stray resolve, a last second wind. Jana of the Jungle summarily and especially summons a superhero's resilience and a jungle girl's gumption.

With sentiment, she kicks gross, gritty shin, but to no great effect. The solid shank takes it. In fact, Jana scuffs herself on ugly's scalloped hide. Soles step up the Creature's legs, and feet plant on thighs. The Amazonian icon strains against the set cylinder trapping her. The wretch desperately wrenches her spine, but the wild warrior incredibly stretches out her physique toward freedom—her legs as unsteady as stilts.

Katie comes to the rescue, solicitously supplying succor. "I'll save you!" Butler briskly brings the big blade, "Use this. Slice him to sushi!"

"Sorry, sister," Jana surprisingly replies.

Struck dumb, Katie shakes the semi-saber. She re-instructs, "Make him extinct by xiphoid means. He can be a stuffed exhibit in the Shedd, Chicago."

Strangely, Jana just simpers. She abruptly shifts her weight in rascally ringed arms. Like a circus acrobat, the jungle queen monkey-flips a rough neck and trunk topsy-turvy. Her foe tumbles end-over-end. Jana's sensational judo slingshots the skeevy so-and-so several yards. Comically, the Creature catches an inconspicuous incline and skips squalling down the slope. Such unexpected animated slapstick in battle.

Jana squats a second. She sniffs sweet oxygen sharply. She stands with squared shoulders, stiff upper lip, and steady legs. Then, she staggers and sways after the great strain. Sympathetically, Katie supports Jana. The friend strokes her blighted back and fixes her tussled tresses.

"You use only a certain level of violence to save your life," astute Katie observes.

"Yeah well, consider the circumstances that we live in," Jana explains her scruples. "There could be kids watching."

The she-devil indicates youngsters passively surveilling nearby. Instead of playing or running, several short spectators sit starry-eyed watching the show. They casually consume sugar and cereal as through all is scripted to be safe.

"But look!" Prof. Butler points.

Over yon, the troublesome troglodyte stands testily snarling and slobbering. Instantly, Jana susses the situation and strips her torque necklace. With nifty sleight of hand, she sends the razor-sharp circle high, and the torque surgically shears a cedar bough. From above, the substantial offshoot specifically beans savage being below. It smites and bows him. Shaking with fury, the Creature splits the wood to splinters. The surly Creature's claws score a tree trunk, and he blusters staunchly. However, when the fortissimo roar subsides, he surprises spectators. Perhaps out of self-preservation, the slow-witted schlub speedily retreats into jungle shadows.

As though insane, sapped Jana pursues. In the scrub and shrubs, the soberana da selva supposes that she can take him in her domain. Although the semi-saurian resembles unstoppable Godzilla, stilted Jana swears to sort of know Godzilla. She, Queen of the Jungle, can take him. Surely, some subtext references an old NBC show.

The stoked huntress releases a sonorous call when entering the tropical woods. The swarthy span of sylvan space resembles a sepulcher, so stealthy Jana goes like Ghost, her deceased jaguar and spirit animal, after a specter secreted somewhere in the surroundings. Stuffy, sweltering air hangs in the enclosed environs, and it seeps into Jana's lungs. She stops and scrutinizes the lush landscape. She spots no stinker. Shifting perspective, Jana shinnies up a vine and surveys from a superior vantage. Scheming within, the jungle queen envisions skydiving on the Creature and settling things. Or, she might swing in on a vine and lustily sweep him off his feet.

Somewhere nearby, the Creature attempts camouflage, silent and stationary. Before his soulless sight, sizable spiders spin their silk. Scorpions sidle by his smutty feet, and a six-inch centipede skims his skin. Bloodsucking skeeters, sticking their styluses, sit at his sensitive eyeballs. A swarm of termites consume a stump over there. Everything looks like scrumptious slumgullion. But, the Creature stays sagely still.

In the vicinity, a sloth sags a branch beside Jana. It is delightful supping on sprigs, sprouts, and such. But, the queen is about to shrilly summon some deadlier servant such as a buzzard or a boar. Forsooth, each might teach a scraggly miscreant some manners.

However, Jana then spies the Creature skulking back to the Xingu. Perhaps, he sees the sortie as a stalemate. Perhaps, the sequence of events has simply offered sufficient exercise. With sans a sluice, the sordid seven-footer slips like a slick salamander beneath the shore's sheeted scum. Jana subsequently can hardly discern him in the shallows. Beneath the blurry surface, the Creature straggles carefree along the bottom's silt and stones. It probably snoops for something else to stave off starvation. An ill-starred stork stands a span upstream. . . . .

On her perch, Jana crouches and catches her breath. Cross-legged, she sits and considers today's scrimmage. At rest, her adrenaline and endorphins slightly abate. She wipes facial sweat, and certain sinews "scream". Jana takes stock. She is a bit scraped-up and somewhat sore. Soon, exhaustion may set in, but the heroine's might stays it. Certain thoughts circulate through her psyche, now slower than racing. Suddenly, Jana of the Jungle snaps to her feet. She sighs heavily and somersaults (safely) from the great height. Montaro's stepchild sprints back to the Butlers.

In the stream, a spikey back and spurred heels surface and submerge. A shadow swims spryly southward.

"Southward I say," gallant Greg points upriver of the settlement where he stands. He is a good soldier.

Success matters to sibling Katie too. "For sure," states she.

"Sorry, sister," Jana subtly shakes her head. There is a certain violence that she will no longer pursue.

"We've all had a strenuous day. I guess," Katie snarkily retorts. The consummate smart-aleck hopes that Jana appreciates her humor, for the serious scientist appreciates this research windfall. Katie is also glad that Jana is essentially okay.

Around the brother and sister, good settlement citizens supply aid. These Good Samaritans beneficently salve Butler boo-boos. Quintessentially sensitive, the villagers spontaneously assist the strangers.

Separate from the circle, stoic Jana stands sipping water abreast the village well's spigot. Sedately, the seasoned superheroine assesses the scene and herself. The settlers have reassembled after the upsetting incident. Alas, D.D. lies in his shroud, in a sorghum shed, sure as the sun now slowly sets in the west.

Looking elsewhere, Jana's eyes inspect her animal-skin smock for schisms, shredding, smut, and stains. Claws and combat could and should distress cloth considerably. However, the fabulous lady is luckily spared sartorial concerns. In fact, the scant, slight, short slip is usually sterling after any escapade, which is spiffy with Jana. Shoddy apparel might subvert standards and practices. Besides the outfit, the good girl in it is in sufficiently swell shape. So, she sighs and snaps out of her woolgathering.

Jana of the Jungle steps lively to the Butler siblings. She speaks, "Sweet Katie and Greg, I have soberly resolved something."

"What's that?" her gal pal asks.

Jana pronounces, "I shall not continue to harass the 'gill-man'. I surmise that one must heed wise head Montaro. He admonished that this Creature from the Black Lagoon is seminal in Nature's design. Centrally, it is a strong spirit of the Xingu. It should be simply sacred and not tamed to human will."

A somber local resident seconds her, "Si. Do not molest the 'monster', so-called. See, for centuries, my people have done ceremonial sacrifice to the daemon on an escarpment south of here where the Xingu splits. Our tradition sates him quadragennially, every forty years, when he magnificently manifests once more. Otherwise, we simply sanctify his fetish." Locals have "quadragennial" in their lexicon; they speak a Latinate language.

Sadness crosses Dr. Kate's countenance. Jana seemed so essential to the Butlers' success. However, Katie will not cede to tough circumstance. Neither classic Katie nor current Kate can do so. The intrepid explorer must study the Creature, so the brassy biologist pursues her prey. Science is her stewardship, even if specious spiritualism is Jana's.

Likewise, prideful Greg, grumpy in defeat, stubbornly seeks a sequel encounter with the Xingu's seedy, troublemaking tutelary spirit.

Katie does not stutter, "I'll cite your concerns in my eventual dissertation."

"Hmph, good luck," says Jana (à la Montaro).