Mancunima: the Hero with no Character

Early the next day Macunaíma hopped in his ubá and paddled over to the mouth of the Rio Negro so he could leave his conscience on the Isle of Marapatá. He left it on the tippity top of a thirty-foot mandacaru cactus, so it wouldn't get eaten by saúva ants. He went back to where his brothers were waiting and at the day's peak the three made their way along the left bank of the Sun.

Untold adventures transpired on that journey through caatinga scrublands riverruns uplands, creek after creek, tabatinga clay corridors virgin-forests and miracles of the sertão. Macunaíma and his brothers were coming to São Paulo. The Rio Araguaia eased their travels. In the course of so many conquests and so many feats, the hero hadn't saved a cent but all that treasure inherited from the Icamiaba star was hidden deep in mining caverns way up in Roraima. For the journey Macunaíma set aside from this loot no less than forty times forty million cacao beans, the traditional currency. He figured they needed a whole flood of vessels to bring it all. And it was ever so lovely that massive fleet of igaras making its way up the Araguaia, two hundred lashed together one by one like an arrow skimming the river's surface. At the head stood Macunaíma glowering, scanning the horizon for the city. He was ruminating ruminating gnawing at his fingers now covered in warts from always pointing at Ci the star. His brothers went on paddling shooing the mosquitoes and each jerk of the paddles went reverberating down the two hundred tethered igaras, spilling boatloads of beans along the river's surface, leaving a wake of chocolate where all the camuatá pirapitinga dourado piracanjuba uarú-uará and bacu fish feasted to their delight.