Preview of “Heart of amazonita: The danger of loving in the wild Iguazú”, the new novel by Gloria V. Casañas

“Heart of amazonita; The danger of loving in the wild Iguazú” (Plaza & Janes), by Gloria V. Casañas

(…) That night, the full moon loomed over the camp, stripping its corners and discovering creatures crouching in the shadows. Erik came out of the store wearing only his pants. It was hot, a sticky heat of the time. Spring lingered in the roar of the waterfalls and filled the air with perfumes. The sound of the water was soothing, purifying thoughts. At another time Erik would have been lulled to sleep in peace, but he was disturbed by the murmur in his heart, which prevented him from thinking about anything other than the lack of a woman. Time to visit the mage of the swamp, he told himself. Others called her “witch”, but since she was not aware that she practiced bad arts, she preferred to consider her profession pure magic of love. At least that effect had on him.

He put on his boots, took a clean shirt and, adjusting his belt with his revolver and knife, set out on his way to that hidden place that few knew. As he entered the jungle, the lugubrious song of the urutaú accompanied his steps. And the bird’s eyes gleamed under the moonlight with a strange brilliance. They stayed that way, open and ecstatic, until Erik disappeared into the shadows.


The “swamp” was actually a spring enclosed between stones covered with lichens and ferns. Nestled between tall trees that hid it from the sun’s rays, that shadowy pool was a mystery. No one knew where its greenish waters came from. A small waterfall gave life to him and, following that muffled rumor, Erik reached the mage’s hiding place. The hut, round like that of the ancient Guarani, was barely visible in the dense foliage, save for the glow of a bonfire that flickered along the ground.

“I told you not to light a fire.”

Anahí looked up at the man who shone like a totem. A spark danced in his dark eyes that she knew how to interpret. Her kuimba’é wanted her. She approached him barefoot, swinging at the waist, dressed in a blue-striped skirt and a generously-cut blouse. The aroma of the cigar he had been smoking lingered on his breath. Hence the fire. Erik remained rigid at first, between anger and passion, until it won the game and fervently drew her to his burning body. Anahí clung to him like a damp leaf, scrubbing herself with delight, anticipating his whims. That man who had come to her land was what she asked for in the moonlight on nights of magical rainbows. A true avá, who would possess her complete and also respect her, something that had never been granted. He took Erik’s hand and brought it up her skirt to her hot, waiting center. He rubbed her gently, fixing his eyes on her in that certain way that snatched her secrets. And Anahí kept many. Events of the people of the place, names that the police were looking for, details of infidelities, abandoned babies after a hasty delivery, everything that happened reached his ears, he seemed to have witnessed everything, as if the jungle itself told him the infidences that the humans pretended to hide in their wet heart.

“Let’s go inside,” he suggested in a shaky voice.

-No. Out here. Now.

It was the voice of urgency, and Anahí vibrated with pleasure when she heard it. It allowed him to undress her in the firelight and lay her down on the ground. She let him caress her whole, holding the air as his strong hand pressed against her tender points. Erik drew her brown curves with architect’s precision, watching her reactions greedily. If she smiled, he did too, knowing what he was feeling. If she frowned, he kissed her lips to erase any bad thoughts. Anahí would have liked to multiply herself to give him even more pleasure. In the warm night, hidden from the moon by the magic of the swamp, they joined their bodies, lost in their own hunger. Erik possessed her with sinuous movements that buried their prey under her weight. She accepted everything the man gave her, returning kiss for kiss, caress for caress, passion overflowing. Exhausted, they stood one on top of the other, their breathing heavy and their hearts numb. When Erik rolled onto his back and exposed her, she wrapped herself in the undone skirt and snuggled into his male arm. It was a gesture that she practiced with him only, and that in turn only he allowed her, among all the men to whom she gave satisfaction. Erik Andrade didn’t seem to care about Anahí’s reputation. In the moments they shared, only the two of them counted.

“Will you?” She said, offering him the rest of the cigar she had smoked earlier.

Despite his reprimand for the burning fire, Erik parted his lips and inhaled the smoke, holding it for a few seconds to release it on a sigh.

“Is it happening to you …?” Asked Anahí.

-Any. Problems, the usual ones.

-Someone came.

Erik watched her with interest.


-You tell me. Or am I wrong? You know I’m a witch.

“No witch,” Erik replied, smiling. Magician, maybe.

Gloria V. Casañas (Photo: Alejandra López)
Gloria V. Casañas (Photo: Alejandra López)

Anahí gave a singing laugh like the small waterfall that ran a few steps away. That man was also unique in that. He considered her different, a kind of soul charmer, someone capable of being good.

“But yeah, you guessed it.” New people came to the Diamond. They want to renew services and hired artists. It remains to be seen what conflicts that will cause.

“Worried man,” the woman whispered as her index finger traced the lines of Erik’s forehead until they softened. Let things happen, get mad later.

He propped himself up on one elbow and regarded her with a strange expression. He brushed a lock of black hair from her cheek, damp with passion, and looked greedily at the full and soft mouth that he had kissed so much.

“Now I am in front of a wise woman.”

Their playful mood inspired new caresses, and this time they decided to enter the hut, where a rug woven with scented herbs and a blanket awaited them. Anahí stopped to put out the fire before Erik’s attentive gaze and then they took shelter from the night dew in the simple abode of the magician. The moon, high in the sky, drew silver filigree in the thicket, from which a deafening concert of frogs and crickets sprouted. The jungle was filled with furtive shadows that lurked. Some would hunt, others would be prey. Life and death would celebrate the ritual of each night.

For some to live, others should die. (…)


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