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Who's afraid of the Curupira?

2018; Wiley; Volume: 16; Issue: 5 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1002/fee.1817

1540-9309

Adrian Burton,

Environmental Philosophy and Ethics

“But men should not take all the animals, trees and fruits / The Curupira could blow smoke and make the animals, trees and fruits disappear / He could blow all his smoke and make the paths disappear / He could also tell the animals his secrets for hunting men.” Juan Carlos Galeano, from his poem Curupira (WebPanel 1). He goes by different names: Curupira, Chullachaqui, Yashingo, Sacharuna, Shapingo, Shapshico, Supay; it depends where in the Amazon rainforest you are. His personality is complex – evil, benevolent, caring, murderous, mischievous, generous. How he treats you depends on how you treat him. Following the right diet and leaving a respectful gift of tobacco could bring you good fortune; insult him or worry him with your presence and he could endanger your life via a storm or illness. Short and ugly in his natural state, he is, however, a shape-shifter (Figure 1), and can appear in the form of a friend or relative to abduct your children (and turn them into another Curupira) or lure you into the jungle to leave you lost in its depths. Fortunately, a physical defect – a foot either facing backwards or shaped like a hoof or jaguar's paw – can give him away. You might want to watch out for that. Beware too that you take no more than you need from the forest; that has always enraged him. Today, however, this last facet of his nature is allowing him to shed his dark, demonic form and acquire a new ecological identity in modern culture, literature, and poetry: that of forest guardian, of protector against loggers and poachers. One Peruvian school textbook even calls him the Ecological God of the Amazon (Relatos Amazónicos 2003; Peru: Ministerio de Educación). And he's a god with power: Galeano's poem explains he could instruct the ecosystem to do us in. J Batterbee In fact, the Curupira himself has been trying to warn us of this via messages left dotted throughout the western Amazon. Deep in the rainforest, you may come across an area populated by one species of plant alone. The lack of diversity is striking. All around you there may be nothing but huitillo (Duroia hirsuta) trees. You have come upon a devil's garden. Old folk will say that it is tended by the Curupira, a patch where he grows his fruit, and that you'd best leave him some tobacco or liquor. “Eco-Curupira”, however, might just tell you to observe the ants, for it is they who are truly responsible for this phenomenon. Lemon ants (Myrmelachista schumanni) make their homes inside huitillos and a few other species, constructing their nests in natural stem swellings known as domatia. The ants shoo away any leaf-eating insects with nasty nips and showers of formic acid. They also do away with other types of plant growing in the vicinity. Should a leafy intruder be found, they bite into it, insert their back ends into the hole, and squirt in their formic acid to kill the “weed”. And so it is that the ants remove any competition the huitillos face, themselves benefitting by receiving a cozy home: a classic example of mutualism, leading to a high-rise ant city deep in the jungle. But take a closer look: the city has its limits. Why should this be if this partnership is so successful? Why do these ant cities not entirely replace the rainforest? Herein lies Eco-Curupira's message. They reach a maximum size because when the ants try to take too much, the system breaks down. Too many huitillo trees in one spot act like a beacon to herbivores of all kinds, which zero in on it like a salad bar (P Roy Soc B 2007; 274: 1117–23). The ants try to stop them, but they suddenly find themselves very small. Take more than you need and the Curupira could blow smoke and make the animals, trees and fruits disappear. Take a final look and you may see ants for whom there is no space in the city, eking out a living on its perimeter in shanty towns fashioned out of large galls induced in seemingly less suitable trees (Am Nat 2009; 174: 734–40). Their gall-forming “technology” is successful to a degree, but the trees beyond are soon ant-free. He could blow all his smoke and make the paths disappear. The Curupira's garden carries a simple message: go too far and the system that supports you will fail. We do need to fear the Curupira: he could also tell the animals his secrets for hunting men. Yet it could be so different, if only we'd behave. Other lines of Galeano's poem leave us in no doubt: The Curupira smokes the tobacco, and from the smoke / form the paths where the animals, trees and fruits are found. For WebPanel 1, see Supporting Information. Please note: The publisher is not responsible for the content or functionality of any supporting information supplied by the authors. Any queries (other than missing content) should be directed to the corresponding author for the article.