Ah, Lac thinks, so I’ll have to relocate to another village if I want to study Yąnomamö with minimal contact to the outside world. But if I travel farther inland from the Orinoco, getting Laura and the kids in will be that much harder—impossible really.
Rowahirawa sighs. It’s midday. The heat swaddles them in their hammocks as they sway and rock within the shadowy dank air of his hut, where they’ve come to escape it. “Each man has to make his own decision about whether he wants madohe more or if he wants to get angry more. If you say a man’s father’s name, he has no choice. But if you whisper the name of a neighbor, he may decide he likes his machete.”
“Each man decides what he wants, but you can never be sure what other men will decide. That’s why some are scared. In Mömariböwei-teri, the patas discussed the matter for the whole village when they heard you were trading tools for names. They consulted with their hekura. They agreed they wouldn’t get angry before you got there. Still, you have to be careful. Sometimes, men get angry and they can’t help it. Like me, when I get angry, I can’t decide not to be angry anymore. I’m just angry.”