The stranger had started on his way. He had announced:

He had sharpened several darts cut from a bamboo stalk and painted their tips with curare, then had gone to a steep rock called “the rock of the menstruating woman.” There he had cut a hollow cane to fashion a blowgun, which was obviously not made to last for it came from too soft a stalk.

When he was ready he entered the forest and walked a good while before he was alerted by muffled sounds as of blows. He walked toward the noise and stealthily approached a Yanomami who was busy taking hard-shelled fruits from a heap next to him and knocking them against a large tree root. The stranger remained hidden in the thicket; he watched a long time before loading a dart into his blowgun. The dart streaked into the Indian's eye. The killer then waited for his victim to die before loading him onto his shoulders.

His mother was pregnant. When she saw him return, walking heavily because of the burden he was carrying, she cried out happily:

She was rejoicing: She had a passion for human flesh. They quartered the body and boiled it. A young boy was living with them; no one knew who he was. When the meat was cooked they ate voraciously until they had their fill, and there soon remained only bones, which emitted a strange sound when they threw them out.