LostInTheJungle

AHarrowingTrueStoryofAdventureandSurvival

YossiGhinsberg

Copyright©2009byYossiGhinsberg

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ForMarcus

Queste?Queste?–Helaqui!Helaqui!(Whereisit?Whereisit?–Itishere!Itishere!)

VestyPakos

TableofContents

TitlePageCopyrightPageDedicationACKNOWLEDGMENTSLOSTINTHEJUNGLEChapterone-MEETINGMARCUSChaptertwo-THEMOCHILEROSChapterthree-KARLANDKEVINChapterfour-CANADIANPETEChapterfive-GOLDANDPIGSChaptersix-BACKTOASRIAMASChapterseven-SHOOTINGWHITEWATERChaptereight-THEACCIDENTChapternine-ALONEChapterten-‘I’MONMYWAYTOSANJOSÉ’Chaptereleven-RESCUEChaptertwelve-KEVIN’STALEChapterthirteen-GOINGHOMEEPILOGUEanotefromtheauthor-UNCHARTEDDOMAINS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am filledwithgratitude for life itself – if I’ve learnednothing else from thefollowingstory, I’ve learned that thegiftof life isnot tobe takenforgranted.Nothingismundane;itisallamiracle.

With that said, itmust be sweet serendipity that broughtmy gorgeouswifeintomylife.Thankyou,myBellaBelinda,forbeautifyingmyenvironments,forbeingmyfirstmirrorprojectingsuchalovingimageofmyself,andfortheworldofbeautythatisinyou,thebeholder.Iloveyou.

Thank you, my three daughters, Mia, Cayam and Nissim who teach meunconditional love, unshakable trust, and total acceptance. I am constantlyoverwhelmed by your grace.You bring deepermeaning tomy existence, andthroughyou,evolutionmakessense.

LOSTINTHEJUNGLE

To my parents: from you I learned that being a happy old person is thepurposeof life,forourlastmomentscolouritall. Ipayrespect toyou,formydebtwillneverbepaid.

My brother Moshe and his wife Miri are my heroes whom I look to forinspiration.Theircompassionis intrinsic,andserviceis theirwayoflife.Suchfinespecimensofhumanityareindeedraretofind.

It is said that each one of us is personally assigned a guardian angel.Wellminehasbeenexposed.HegoesbythenameofRonFremder,andarealangelheis.

‘Whenastudentisready,theteacherwillappear’wasjustanadageuntilyoumanifestedinmylife,RohmKest,mysensei.Yourteachingshavetransformedme–Ibowtoyoueveryday.ToBharatMitra,myfriendandpartner,youarealivinginspirationtome–itmustbemygoodkarmatohavemetyou.

I am a fortunateman ofmany assets, and these aremy friends. Like solidrocksincalmandroughwaters,inthemIrejoiceandfindrespite.Iloveyouall.Youaremytribe.

Chapterone

MEETINGMARCUSIfIhadneverfalleninwithMarcusinPuno,ImightneverhavemetKevinorcrossed paths with Karl. If I hadn’t met Karl that morning in La Paz, Kevinmightwell have spentChristmaswith his family, and poor oldMarcusmightstill bewandering SouthAmericawith his girl. But that’s not theway thingshappened.

When I arrived in the Peruvian town of Puno,my kneewas hurting badly;walkingwasterriblypainful.AFrenchmochilero(backpacker)offeredmecocaleavestochew.

‘Havealittleofthis,’hesaid.‘You’llfeelbetter.’

I put a pinch of leaves inmymouth and chewed on the strange little rock,anothergiftfromtheFrenchman.Therock,madeofpressedlianaashes,extractsthe active alkaloids from the leaves and causes them to ferment in themouth.Withouttherockthere’snofermentation,noeffect,nohigh.

Allitdidwasputmytongueandtheroofofmymouthtosleep.

Iroseearlythenextmorningfeelingbetternevertheless.TheboattotheislandofTaquilewouldbeleavingateighto’clock.Thetruthis,Icouldhaveheadedstraight to Cuzco, where all the mochileros start out on their trips to thelegendarycityofMachuPicchu,theancientIncacapital,butIpreferredtomakeabriefdetourandvisitthestoriedisland.

Taquile rises out of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in theworld.Theshoresofthelakewerefilthy,butwhenonelookedouttowardthehorizon,thewaterwas shimmering.Mountainous islands peeked through themist thatblanketedthelake.Itwasabeautifulsight.

Ihadnodifficultyfindingtheferry.Ineffect,itfoundme.

‘TaquileorLosUros?’asmallboyaskedme.

‘Taquile,’Ianswered.

Heledmetoaboatonwhichafewpeoplewerealreadywaiting:afewyoungGermansandagroupofFrenchyouths,whowerestayingatthesamehotelasIwas.Itookaseatclosetothesternandreadabook.

Soonitwastimetostart.Thepilot,anIndian,stuckoutalongpole,whichheusedasbothrudderandoar,andgesturedtotheboytocastofftheropesecuringthenoseoftheboatandpushusawayfromthedock.

‘Espera,espera[wait]!’amochilerorunning,panting,criedbreathlessly,andclimbeddownintotheboat.‘Ialmostmissedit,’hesaidtotheIndianinSpanish,‘gracias.’

He sat besideme, and as Imoved tomake room for him, he smiled atme.‘You’reIsraeli,’hesaidinEnglish.

IlookeddownatthebookIwasreading,AlbertCamus’sAHappyDeathinanEnglishtranslation.Iwasastonished.‘Howcouldyoutell?’

‘Iknewrightoff.YouIsraelishavetakentotheroadsindroves.’

‘Myname’sYossi,’Isaid.

‘Nice tomeet you. I’mMarcus. I came here straight from the train station.LuckyformeIcaught theboat. Iwouldhavehad towaitawholedayfor thenextone.’

Marcuswentontalkingasifwewereoldfriends.‘Thetrainwasthepits.IleftJuliacaearlythismorning.It’simpossibletogetanythingtoeatonthattrain.Ihaven’thadabite.Ihopewegettotheislandfast.I’mstarving.’

Ipulledaroll,somecheese,andanorangeoutofmypackandofferedthemtohim.

‘Thanks,’Marcussaid.‘I’venoticedIsraelisalwayssharewhatevertheyhave.Iappreciateit.’

He made himself a sandwich of the roll and cheese and ate hungrily. Theorangewashisdessert.

‘I’llpayyoubackwhenwegettotheisland.’

‘Forget it,’ I toldhim.‘I’veheard thingsareexpensive inTaquile. If it’sallrightwithyou,wecouldstaytogethertonightandshareourfood.’

‘I’min.’

Marcus turned to the Germans and had a lively conversation with them intheirlanguage.ThenheturnedtotheFrenchgroupandspokeFrenchwiththem.Hehadacompellingpersonality,andinnotimewewereallacquainted,talkingandjokinglikehim.

‘AreyouGerman?’Iaskedhim.

‘Swiss,’hereplied.

Wewerealmosttotheislandwhentheboatbrokedown.Theenginejustwentdead. The boatman quickly located the trouble, and before long he had theengine runningagain.Marcusnoticed thathehad injuredhis fingerduring therepair,however,andwhippedafirst-aidkitoutofhispack.Hedisinfected theIndian’sfingerandaskedmetocutastripofadhesivetape.But,no,myeffortsweren’tpreciseenough.Hetooktherollhimselfandcutaneaterstrip–justso–thenwentbacktohisbandaging.Themanthankedhimwithawidesmile.

MomentslaterwewereinTaquile.Fromthedockweclimbeduptowardthevillagealongasteeppathcutintosolidrock.Thehigherwewent,themoremylungsfoughtforair.Iclimbedtwostepsandstopped.Climbedandstopped.

‘Takeiteasy,’Marcusencouragedme.‘We’reinnohurry.’

‘Andwhataboutyou?’Iasked.

‘Ah,SwissAlps,’hesaidwithasmile.‘Iwasintheservicesoverthere.’

We found ourselves a room in the village, with mud walls and a woodenplatform for a bed. We spread our sleeping bags out and prepared a meal.Marcusmadecoffeeonasmallkeroseneburnerhecarried;Isplittherollsandcarefully assembled cheese, onion, and tomato sandwiches. Although we hadonly justmet anddespite the fact that I hadplans ofmyown,Marcus startedplanningatripwemighttaketogether.

‘I haven’t seenMachu Picchu yet,’ I explained, ‘so I’ll be heading back toCuzco.’

‘No,no,comealongwithmetoLaPaz,’heurged.

‘MachuPicchu,’Isaid,‘andthenI’mplanningtocutacrossBrazil.I’vebeenthinkingaboutleavingfromPuertoMaldonado,notfarfromCuzco,bywayoftheMadredeDiosRiver;itcutsthroughPeruandrunsintotheAmazon.’

From theremy plan called forme to follow theAmazon to itsmouth nearBelémon theAtlanticcoast. I traced the routeon themap. ‘Therearea lotof

interesting littlevillageson theway,andanywayI love the jungle.Whydon’tyoucomealongwithme?’

‘Thanksforoffering.Itsoundslikeagreatplan,arealadventure,butI’mattheendofthistrip.I’llspendsometimeinLaPaz,maybetakeafewsidetrips,maybe buy up some handmade vests to ship back to Switzerland, but nothingveryambitious.’

WefoundTaquiledifferent fromotherPeruvianvillages,and itwaseasy totellaTaquileislanderfromaPeruvianIndian.Theislandpeopleseemednobler,cleaner, handsomer, healthier. They dressed differently too. They allwore thesame hat, the same chaleco (embroidered vest), and broad trousers with anembroideredbelt.TheembroideryofTaquile isknownalloverLatinAmericaforitsbeautyandfinequality,andit’sdoneexclusivelybythemen,thoughthewomenspinanddyethewool.

The island is a kind of commune of about fifty families managed by acommunitycouncil.Life is tranquil.Themensitaboutdoing theirembroideryandgossiping,while thewomentoil in thefields.Therockysoil isdifficult tocultivateandnothinggrowsthereexceptpotatoes.Inthevillageitselfareasmallgrocery and two or three restaurants. In one of them Marcus and I met theFrenchgroupfromtheboat.

Therewerefiveofthem,threegirls–Dede,Annick,andJacqueline–andtwoboys–JacquesandMichel.Wedrankthelocalmaté(herbtea; therearemanyvarieties served all over LatinAmerica) and chatted. They preferred speakingFrench, and I didn’t understand aword, butDede smiled atme, and I smiledback.Shewasontheplumpsidewithaprettyfaceandshorthairthatgaveheramischievous look. She smiled again, and I asked her to come sit by me andbeganspeakingEnglishwithher.

Thedinnerwasdelicious:coarsebread, twoeggsapiece,andfriedpotatoes.Fordessertanothercupofmaté;thenativesthinkitalleviatestheeffectsofhighaltitude.Then home.Amochilero changes beds almost every night, but everyplaceherollshissleepingbagopenishome.

Marcus and I went back to our room. He unpacked his charango (a smallmusical instrument like amandolin butmade from armadillo shell andwood)andstrummedit.Marcuswasawonderfulplayer,andIlistened,enchanted.

‘Nowlistento this,Yossi,’hesaid.‘It’soneIwroteforagirl Iwasin lovewith.HernamewasMonica.Shewasmine fornineyears, andnowshe’s leftme.’

‘Far,farfrommyheart...’hestartedtosingsadly.

IhadknownMarcusonlyashort time,andalreadyhewassharinghismostintimatesecretswithme.Monicahadbeentheloveofhislife.Whentheymet,shewas fourteen; hewas five years older.Almost ten years had passed sincethen.Marcus became a schoolteacher;Monica, an academic. She thought hishorizonstoonarrowandchallengedhimtobroadenhimself,totravel,sohewentto SouthAmerica. But out of sight, out ofmind.WithMarcus gone, she hadfallenforanother.Thesongwassodoleful,pouringoutofathoroughlybrokenheart,thatImyselfgrewsad.

We spent the day in Taquile together with the Frenchwomen: me with thesmilingDede,MarcuswithAnnick.ThenwealltooktheboatbacktoPuno.

Lake Titicaca was stormy, and we had to take cover on the Uros, drifting‘islands’of totora reeds (ThorHeyerdahlbuilthisvesselRa fromsuchreeds).WefinallymadeittoPuno,soakingwet,butinhighspirits.

InPunoIwentbacktomyoldhotel,andMarcusmovedinwithme.Againhebrewedteaonhiskeroseneburner.

‘Sowhatdoyousay,Yossi?AreyoureallyleavingforCuzcotomorrow?’heasked.

‘Yes,’Isaid.‘I’vealreadygotthescheduleforthemorningtrain.’

‘Idon’tgetyou,’heargued.‘WhynotcomealongtoLaPaz,justforaweek,andthenyoucancomebacktoPeru?’

‘Iwould like to comealong, I reallywould,’ I said, ‘but I can’t changemyplans.Idon’twanttomissMachuPicchu,andIdon’thaveenoughmoneytodoboth.’

Marcuswouldn’tgivein.‘Look,Yossi.Yousharedfoodwithmebeforeyouevenknewme.NowletmetreatyoutoavisittoLaPaz.’Hestucktwofingersintothehemofhispantsleg,pulledafewbillsout,andheldthirtydollarsuptome.‘Please,takethemoney,Yossi.Itmeansnothingtome.Itwillonlybeworthsomethingifyouuseittocomealong.’

‘I couldn’t take it,Marcus,’ I answered, embarrassed. ‘I appreciate it. I do.Butyouhavenothingbutthepackonyourback,thesameasme,andthere’snoreasonintheworldwhyIshouldtakeyourmoney.’

Marcusbeganrecitingapoem.Idon’trememberthetitleorthepoet’sname,butI’llneverforgetitscontentorthewayherecitedit.Itwasaboutamanwho

neverwantedtotakeanythingfromanyoneandneverlearnedhowtogive.

ThenextmorningwewereallonthebustoLaPaz–MarcusandmeandthefiveFrenchmochileros.

Chaptertwo

THEMOCHILEROSAlthoughLaPazliesinavalley,it isstill thehighestcapitalcityintheworld,almost twelve thousand feet above sea level. Despite modernisation it hasretainedthecharacterofaprosperouscolonialcity.Wearrivedonabuscrowdedwith locals. Iwanderedaround themonumental sites:PlazaMurillo,whereallthemajorgovernmentbuildingshavebeenlocatedsincecolonialdays,andSanFranciscoSquare,wheretheJesuitfriarsbuilttheirmonasteryintheseventeenthcentury. In the narrow alleyways that lead away from these plazas are shopssellingthefinesthandicraftsofthecontinent.

UpSagarnagaStreetarethewoodenboothsofthebustlingwitchcraftmarketofPachamama, theAndeangoddessof theEarth.Thewomenhawkgood-luckcharms,healingherbs,andspell-brewinggrasses,neverrevealingthetruenatureoftheirwares.

Peddlersswarmthesidewalkssellingpastriesandfruit.Bolivianmusicblaresfromrecordshops:thesoundsofthecharango,flute,andsamponía, thewordspartQuechua,theIncalanguage,andpartSpanish.

Duringthegleamingmorninghoursthepeddlerwomen,allwearingthesamebluesmockandhat,offerapiandtohori,deliciousbeveragesmadeofcorn.Thesteaming drinks are served together with hot rolls or fresh donuts dipped inhoney.

AlongSixteenthofJulyStreet,whichthelocalscall theprado (promenade),thehigh schoolgirlsdressed inwhite smocks lingerduring recess.They teaseeverypassinggringo,whistlingandcalling,‘Teamo[Iloveyou].’

Atnoontime theoldpeople, leaningagainst thechurch in theirknittedhats,spitoutwadsofcoca leaves,getting ready for lunch.After they’veeaten theirfill, the pouch comes out, and a pinch of fresh leaves goes into theirmouthsalongwiththeextractingstones.

In the evenings theprado is packed.Strollingyoungsters and adults fill the

theatres,cinemas,andrestaurants.

Marcus, Dede, and Annick were staying at the Rosario Hotel. Jacques andJacquelinewent back to Peru together, andMichelwent on toBrazil.MarcusandAnnickwere becoming very close; I could see theywere falling in love.DedeandIspenta lotof timetogether,butourrelationshipwasdifferent.Shewas a nice girl, and I liked her a lot. But love? That was something elsealtogether.

I had taken a room in the Jewish old-folks’ home. A lot of Israelis werestayingthere,andImadenewfriends. Ispentsomenightswith them,someinDede’s room, ate my meals cheaply in the market, and was enjoying myselfthoroughly.

One afternoon Marcus and I were sitting in a small teahouse that I haddiscoveredinanalleywaybesidethemarketofPachamama.Marcuswastellingme about the great time he had been having lately and tried to talk me intojoininghimonatriptothecountryside.

‘I like being in Bolivia,’ he said happily. ‘Even my clairvoyant would besurprisedifheknew...’

‘Whatdoyoumean,Marcus,byyour‘clairvoyant’?Don’ttellmeyoubelieveinthatkindofnonsense.’

Marcussmiled.‘Inotonlybelieveinthem,I’mabitofaclairvoyantmyself.’

‘Idon’tgetyou,’Isaid,amazed.

‘It may sound funny to you, Yossi, but it’s the truth. I’m not an ordinaryperson.Ihavesomekindofspecialpower.Idon’tknowexactlyhowtoputit,butsometimesIfeelthingsintheair.Sometimesthingshappentome...strangethings.When Iwasyounger, Iused to tell allmy friends’ futures. I told themwhowouldgetmarriedandwhen,howmanychildreneachofthemwouldhave.Yearswentby,andwhatIhadpredictedcametrue.Pregnantwomenusedtoaskmewhether theywerecarryingboysorgirls. Iwouldholdaneedlesuspendedonathreadandconcentrate.Iftheneedleswayedtotheright,itwasaboy.Ifitmovedtotheleft,itwasagirl.Iwasalmostneverwrong.’

Hepaused,sippedhissteamingtea,andthenwenton.

‘Ihavesomekindofpower. I’msomekindofmedium.Thatwas thewayIdecidedtocometoSouthAmerica.WhenMonicasuggestedthetrip,Itestedtheideawiththeneedleandthread.TheanswerwasthatIshouldgo.Ididn’twant

to.Ikepttrying,hopingthattheneedlewouldgototheleft,butitkeptmovingtotheright,orderingme,‘Go!’

‘I believe in that type of thing, though I am a goodChristian. I do saymyprayers.

‘Monica didn’t believe in such things, but she loved me nevertheless. Ithought Iwoulddiewhenshewrote thatshewas leavingmeandaskedher tocomeseeme.Iknewshewouldnotrefuse,butwhenshearrivedinPeru,itwashorrible,justhorrible.Ifeltmyselflosingher.ThenIheardaboutabrujo[witchdoctor]inLimaandwenttoseehim.Hetoldmethatitwasallover.Therewasnofutureforus.BeforeIleft,hewarnedmethathefeltdangerhoveringovermeinSouthAmerica. ‘Youor someone close to youwill die here.Be careful!’ Iknewhewasright,butIdidn’tcare.Therewasnootherplaceformetogo.Notthen.NotafterIlostMonica.’

Laterattheold-folks’homeIthoughthowluckyIwastohavecomeonthistrip.Ihadwantedsobadly toavoidgoingalongwith thecrowd,walking thewell-wornpath:fromkindergartentogradeschool,fromhighschooltothearmy,andthenontouniversity,work,marriage,achild...Stop!Yes,Iwasluckytohaveescapedallthataftermymilitaryservice.

There were hordes ofmochileros like me in South America. Themochila(backpack) iswhat characterises them.Thesepacks are all theyhave. In themyou’ll usually find a pair of patched and faded jeans, a sweater, a raincoat, aColemanburner,TheSouthAmericanHandbook,whichthemochileroscalltheirbible, a sleeping bag, a few toilet articles, and a small first-aid kit. That’s it.Theykeep theirmoney inamoneybelt inside theirpants.Some, likeMarcus,evenmorecautious,cutaslitacrosstheinsidehemoftheirpantslegandstickrolledbillsinside.

The idea is to carry everything on your back, forget your troubles, and lettomorrowtakecareofitself.Youlearnfromthenativestoliveforthemoment,not to hurry. You travel to breathtaking places – the kinds of places touristsdream of seeing – but you’re not a tourist.You’re amochilero, a drifter, andthere’s a big difference.You’re in one place today, someplace else tomorrow.Youmaystayforadayoramonth.Youmakeyourownplans,everydayfullofsurprises.

Youmeetalotofdrifterslikeyourself.Youusuallyfindtheminthecheapesthotels in town or in restaurants that could pass for soup kitchens.You get toknowthelocalpeople,whoareusuallyfriendlytostrangers.

SouthAmericaisoverrunwithmochilerosofmanynationalities,butIsraelisare particularly numerous among them. I don’t knowwhy that is. Perhaps thelong,mandatorymilitaryserviceinIsraelhascreatedamongitsyoungpeopleaneedtobreakoutofmoulds,andthereisnobetterwaytodothatthanpackingamochilaandwandering.

Anyway,we Israelis are privileged characters: in almost every large city inSouth America, the Jewish community has provided some kind of hostel forbackpackers.These freehostels are awelcome refuge.Friendships are formedthere.

Eachhostelhasits‘traveljournal,’abooktowhichtheguestscontributenotesonarecommendedsidetrip,aplaceofinterest,thecheapestplacetostay,toeat,what play is worth taking in, the easiest way to get around. Over time thesejournalshavegrownencyclopaedic,fullofreliableinformation.

The old-folks’ home where I was staying had been the Jewish communitycentre;butamoremoderncentrehadbeenbuilt,andtheformeronewasturnedintoahomeforthecommunity’sseniorcitizens.Itsowner,SeñorLevinstein,letthemochileros stayfreeandgave themuseofarefrigerator,agasburner,andmattresses. His Sabbath meals of roast chicken had become a Friday-nighttradition.

Therewereonlyafewoldpeoplelivinginthehome.Someofthemweren’tquiteallthere,buttheywereharmless.TheoneIlikedbestusedtoknockonourdoors and shyly ask to enter. Once inside, his sweet expression was abruptlytransformed, and fromhismouth came a streamof the foulest curses you canimagine– that is, ifyouspeakYiddish.Thenhewould takehis leavepolitelyandgoonhisway.Whenhelackedthetimeforapropervisit,hetappedonourwindowsandhurledanobscenegestureor two.Anotheroldguywasobsessedwith Bolivian soccer and was always looking to regale someone about hisfavouriteteam.Heoncecameoutofhisroomatoneinthemorning,askedustohelp himput on his best suit, tie his tie, and lace his shoes.Once dressed, hekindlythankedusandwentbacktobed.

Grandmawas thebossof thehouse.Shemusthavebeenabouteightyyearsold,withfrizzywhitehair.Shehadanapartmentonthegroundfloorandwasincharge of seeing that the ruleswere kept. Shewas the onewho checked yourpassportandpapersfromtheIsraeliembassyinLaPazandgaveyoupermissionto stay.She showedyouwhereyou’d sleepandwhere thebathroomwas.Shemadesureyoudidn’tmakea lotofnoiseanddidn’twastewaterorelectricity.

Godhelpanyonewhocrossedher.Sheknewhow toyell loudenough thatnoone could ignore her, but underneath her tough demeanour was a fabulouswoman, adored by everyone. She spoke broken Spanish and called everyonehijito(myson).FlowersforGrandmawereanotherFridaynighttradition.

Thetraveljournalintheold-folks’homewasfilledwithdetailedinformationaboutBoliviaanditsneighbours–Chile,Peru,andBrazil–andaboutLaPaz.Severalresidentsrecommendedavisitto‘CanadianPete’,whowasservingtimein San Pedro Prison. An entire section was devoted to San Pedro cactus, theplant that containsmescal, one the strongest hallucinogens existing in naturalform.ManyIsraelis,itseemed,hadtriedthedrug.

Idecidedto trySanPedrocactusformyself. Itwasn’tdifficult to talkDedeintojoiningme,sowefoundourselvesonourwayonemorningtotheValleyoftheMoon,whereitgrows.

We each carried our backpacks. We had brought along a tent, a Colemanburner,apot,twosleepingbags,twobottlesofCoca-Cola,alargejarofjamtohelpdisguisethetasteoftheplant,andaloafofbread.Dedealsohadalarge,redwaterproofponcho.

TheValleyoftheMoonitselfwasfrightening,remoteanddesolate.Theentireareawasrocky,withgrey-whitecragsjuttingoutofthegroundformingweird,jagged shapes. Some said Neil Armstrong had named the valley. Flyingoverheadhadremindedhimofthemoon.Itreallydidlooklikesomethingnotofthisearth.Nothinggrewthereexcept forascatteringofcactiofmanyspecies.Followingthedescriptionsinthetraveljournal,itwasnotdifficulttorecognisetheSanPedrocactus.Someofthestumpswerecarvedwithnamesanddates.Ilookedaroundforanice,cleanspecimenandfoundonetomyliking.Icheckedoutthesevenribsandthespacingofthethorns.Everythingwasexactlyright.Icutoff about a foot andahalfof the trunkwithmypocketknife.Dedeput itcarefullyinmypack,andoffwemarched.

Weclimbedahillsidecoveredwitheucalyptusandwerealoneupthereamongthetrees,theeerilybeautifulvalleystretchedoutatourfeet.

‘I’llgetthecactusready,’ItoldDede,‘whileyouputupthetent.’

Isatdowntoconcoctthedrug.Ipulledthethornsoutwithmyknife.ThenIpeeledtherind.Thereweretwolayers:one,verythinandgreen;theother,whiteandcontainingstrychnine.Aftercarefullyseparatingthem,Ifinallyhadtwobigcupsfullofgreenpulp.Ilittheburnerandputasmallamountofcactusinthepot to cook. About fifteen minutes later I emptied the pot into a cloth and

squeezedoutalltheliquid.Myeffortswererewardedwithhardlymorethananounce.Woulditbeenough?PerhapsIhadmisunderstoodtheinstructions.

Itwasalreadydusk,and Idecided thatwehadnochoice:wewouldeat thecactusraw.Wefoundacomfortableplacetositontheedgeofthehill.Theviewwas fantastic,other-worldly.Wesatwith theCoke, the jarof jam,anda largespoon. I put a small piece of cactus in mymouth. Did it taste awful! Reallydisgusting. I shovedaspoonfulof jam intomymouth,but itcouldn’tdisguisethehorribletaste.

I was dying to spit it out but forcedmyself not to. I couldn’t swallow thedoughywadandhadtochewitsomemore.Mywholebodyconvulsed.IchokedbackthenauseaandtookalongdrinkofCoke.PoorDede.Nowitwasherturn.Itseemedtomethatshehadaneasiertimeswallowingthebitterplant.

Werepeatedtheroutinefivetimesuntilwehadeatenthewholething.Justtobe sure, I drank the tiny amount of liquid that I had wrung from the cookedcactus.

Thevanishingsunsetwasan incrediblybeautifulbackdropfor theValleyoftheMoon,butIwastoonervoustoenjoythescenery.Iwastremblingalloverand felt terribly nauseated. Otherwise nothing unusual was happening to me.Dedealsolookedperfectlynormal.Shewantedtofixmeacupoftea,butthepotwas filthy with the mess of the cooked cactus, and we hadn’t brought alongenoughwatertocleanit.

Darknessfell,butadifferentlightreachedme.Ismiledtomyselfandgazeddown into the abyss below. It beckonedme, and, terrified, I took a few stepsback.Theverylastredraysofthesunlingeredoverthecliffsacrossthevalley.Iclutchedtightlytoatree,resistingthealluringabyss.

Dedeclungtomefrombehind.‘Ifeelwonderful,’shesaid.‘I’mflying.’

Igrinnedtomyself.Shepressedherpelvisupagainstme,andIwasafire.Shemovedslowlybackandforth.Iwasenraptured.

‘Let’sgointothetent,’shewhispered.

Walkingwasdifficult,andIwasfrightened.Itwasalreadynighttime,andIgropedmywayfromtree to tree.Dedetookmebythehand,butIdidn’t trusther.Iwantedtofeelthetreesformyself.

Once in the tent we lay down on one of the sleeping bags and coveredourselveswiththeother.SuddenlyIwasastrideagallopinghorse.Tomyright,

to my left, everywhere I looked were galloping horses and soldiers in greenuniforms,wearingvisoredcaps–andIwasoneofthem.WherewasI?

Dedelaughedbutseemedsofaraway.Irodeswiftlyon,notknowingwhereIwas or where I was going.We were quiet, then suddenly the sky was lit bylightning,andweheardtheloudcrackofthunder.Itstartedpouring.

‘Oh,’Dedemurmured,‘it’ssostormy.’

Therainpoureddown,andthetentbegantoleak.

‘Ireallylovestorms.Idon’tknowwhy.Theyexciteme,’shesaid.

Inno timeat allwewere soaking.Everythingwas.The sleepingbagsweredrenched,andalargepuddleformedinthemiddleofthetent.

‘Let’sgooutside,’shewhispered.Shehadtakenherponchooutofherpack.Itwasreallyjustalargesheetofnylon,Iputiton,andshecrawledunderneath.Westoodlikethat,therainpeltingdownuponus.IwasstillwonderingwhereIwas andwithwhom Iwas galloping. I could hearDedewhisper, ‘I love it somuch.Idon’tknowwhy.It’ssoexciting.’

Shewaspressingherbuttocksupagainstmygroin.Suddenlysheseemedsotiny.Istrokedhershorthair.

‘Iloveitsomuch,’sherepeated.‘Iloveitsomuch.’

Therainstoppedassuddenlyasithadbegun.Soonthewindsubsidedtoo.Icouldheara farawayflute, itsstrainspureandpleasing.Captivated, I listened,almost ina trance.The sounddrewnearer. Itwasanenchanted flute from theworldoflegends.

‘Doyouheartheflute?’Iwhispered.

‘Ofcourse,’saidDede.‘Wherecanitbecomingfrom?’

Weweresofarfromthevillage,thenightwassostormy,anditwassolate.‘Hey,you,comehere!’Iyelled,butthefluteslowlyfaded.

Dedeleftmysideandwanderedamongthetrees,humming.

Theabyss,Ithought.Lord,she’llfallintoit!AndIshoutedafterher,butshedidn’tanswermycalls,andIbecamehysterical.Ishouted,grippingthetrunkofatreewithbothhands.‘Don’tgooverthere!Stayawayfromthecliff!Getrightbackhere!’

Atlastshereturned.Shewasn’tatallfrightenedorupset.‘Let’sgobackinto

thetent,’shesaidquietly.

Shespreadherponchooutoverthesleepingbags,andwelaydown,holdingoneanother.Iwasconsciousofbeingcoldandyetfeltcuriouslyindifferent.Thecoldnessdidn’tmatter;itwasalientome.Ihoveredinotherworlds.

‘Doyouwantto?’sheaskedinamurmur.

DoIever!Ithoughttomyself,butwhatmakesmethinkIcan?

‘I’mnotsurethatIcan,’Isaid.

Dedelaughed.Sheremovedmybeltandstretchedoutontopofme.IguessIwas off in another world. Everything felt different, new, unfamiliar. It wasendless.When ithappened, it justwentonandon for Idon’tknowhowlong.Afterwardwe just lay there. Iwasstill trying togetDede to tellme intowhatarmyIhadbeenconscriptedandwherewewere.Shedidn’teventrytoanswermy questions. She only laughed. The horses galloped along with me untildaybreak.

Dedepulledmeoutside,butmylegswouldn’tdowhatIwanted.Istoodthere,watching while she took the tent down and packed our wet belongings. Shewaddedeverythingupandshoveditintothepacks,andwestartedtrudgingbacktowardthevillage.

‘Haveyoucomedown?’Iaskedher.

‘Ithinkso.’

‘DoyouthinkIhave?’Iasked.

‘Idon’tknow.You’rereallyfunny.’

Ihadnomorehallucinations,butnothingseemedasitshould.Ihaddifficultywalking,andeverythingIsaw–cliffs,stones,trees–lookedunfamiliar.

ThebuswecaughtwasfullofIndianworkers;Ifelttheywerestaringatus,butthenImusthavedozedoff.BeforeIknewit,wewereinthemiddleofLaPaz.

‘Doyouwantmetohelpyougethome?’Dedeasked.

‘No,I’llgetacab,’Ianswered.

‘Willyoubeovertoseemelater?’

‘Yeah,sure.’

I hailed a cab and gave the drivermy address. I ran intomy friendsEitan,Raviv, and Shukrun at the entrance of the old-folks’ home. They burst outlaughingatthesightofme.

‘Sohowwasit?’Ravivasked.

‘I’mscared,’Itoldthem.‘Really.I’mnotcomingoutofit.’

Theyjustlaughedsomemore.

‘Comeandhavesomebreakfastwithus.You’llfeelbetter,’Eitansaid.

Ileftmypackinthehallwayandjoinedthem.Itwashardtowalk,andIwasafraidtocrossthestreet.Eitanhelpedme.

‘AmIgoingtostaythisway?’Iaskedinterror.

‘No,no,don’tworry,’Eitanassuredme.‘It’llbeallright.Yougetsomesleep,andwhenyougetup,everythingwillbeallright.’

‘You’reahappyman,Yossi,’Shukrunsaid.‘Youshouldonlystaythatway.That’sthewholepoint.’

Chapterthree

KARLANDKEVINIawokeatnoonand laystaringat thewalls.Theroom’sonlyornamentwasafadedposterofLaPazbearingthecaption‘TheJerusalemofBolivia’.Myvisionwasclear,notthedistantblurithadbeen.Isighedwithrelief.Iwasmyoldselfagain.

Iwent downstairs, took a shower, shaved, andwent out. Itwas a beautifulday,especiallyafterthegloomyweatherofthenightbefore.Hugebannersatthecity’s central soccer stadium proclaimed the imminent contest between TheStrongest and Bolívar. On a nearby corner stood a hamburger stand run by ayoungAmerican,wherethemochilerosgathered.Iwalkedoninthedirectionoftheamusementpark.Littlekids, squealinggaily,were slidingdownagiganticchuteonplasticbags.

Ididn’tfeellikeseeingDedeagain.Itwasweird.Friendshadwarnedmethatthetripcouldturnviolent,thateitheroneofusmightcometoharm,butithadn’tbeenlikethat.

Ihadneededherandevenbeenafraidthatifsomethinghadhappenedtoher,Iwouldbe left alone, helpless. Iwasglad that shehadbeen therenearme, butnowIsimplydidn’tcaretoseeher,andIdidn’tthinkIwouldbeabletobringmyselftotouchheragain.

I liked La Paz but wanted to return to Peru the next day. I could alreadypicturemyself atMachu Picchu. Every nomad knows the feeling: longing foreveryplacehemustleavemingledwithanticipationofanewdestination,alwayscertainthatthenextplacewillbeevenbetter,evenlovelier.

IwalkedinthedirectionoftheRosarioHotel,hopingtofindMarcusandtellhimthatIwasleaving.

‘The Swiss hasn’t come back yet,’ the clerk said.Marcus and Annick hadgone toCoroico in theYungasCloudMountains. I askedhim forpaperandapen. I was supposed to meet Lisette, a Bolivian girl, at five-thirty at the

universitytoattendaBrazilianjazzconcert.IaskedMarcustomeetmethereatfive.

IleftthehotelwithaEuropean-lookingmanclosebehindme.Ihadseenhimaroundthehotelbefore.

‘¡Hola!’hegreetedme.‘YouknowtheSwissman,don’tyou?’

HehadaGermanaccent,wasinhislatethirties,tall–aboutfivefeeteleveninches – broad-shouldered, solidly built, with brown hair receding above thetemples.His eyes,whichwere slightly crossed,were blue.His clothes,whichwerewornbutnotthreadbare,gavehimtheairofanadventurer.

‘He’ssupposedtobebackaboutnow.HewenttotheYungasfortwodays,’Ianswered,andhurrieddownthestreet.

‘AreyouAmerican?’heasked,quickeninghispacetokeepupwithme.

Forsomereasoneveryforeigneronthiscontinent,especiallyifhehappenstobetallandblond,isassumedtobeanAmerican.Theproblemwiththatisthatmanyofthelocalsaren’tparticularlyfondofAmericans.

‘Israeli,’Iansweredabruptly.

‘I’mKarlRuchprecter. I’mAustrian, but I’vebeen living inBolivia for tenyearsnow.’

‘YossiGhinsberg,’Isaid,andshookhisbig,firmhand.

‘I’mageologist andworkmostly in the jungle.We look forgold,uranium,antiquities.’

‘That’s certainly an unusual way to make a living.’ He had aroused mycuriosity.

‘Oh,yes,sure.It’sveryinteresting.Ihavesomephotographshereofmylastexpedition,ifyou’dliketoseethem.’

‘Yes,Iwould.’

WemarchedupComercioStreetuntilwecametoPlazaMurillo.Someoftheoldpeoplethereleafedthroughtheafternoonpapersinboredomorsatwarmingthemselves in the sun.Others tossed kernels of corn to the fat pigeons. Theirgrandchildren ranabout tryingunsuccessfully to catch thebirds.An ice-creamvendor made a racket hawking his Popsicles. We chose a wooden bench. Ayoungshoeshineboyofferedtopolishmycanvastennisshoes.

Karl’spicturestookmebysurprise.ThedapperEuropeanbymysidelookedtotally different in them.Hewas dressed in khakis, a wide-brimmed hat, andboots, and had a shotgun dangling from his shoulder. In one picture he wasskinningawildboar,andinanotherhewasguttingahugefishontheriverbank.

KarlcouldseethatIwasintriguedandexplainedthatthefollowingweekhewasleavingonathree-monthexpeditiontoanunexploredregionofthejungletolookforpreciousmetals.Hewouldbehappytotakemeandperhapsoneortwoofmyfriendsalong.Attheendofaday’swork,hesaid,itwasalwaysnicetositaroundthecampfiretalking.Thoughhehadmanyinterestsincommonwithhisnativeassistants,hewasalwaysgladtohaveafewgringosalongaswell.

‘Youcanstayaslongasyoulike,’hesaid.‘Ifyouwanttogoback,Icansendaguidewithyoutothenearestvillage.You’lleatthegamewehunt,sleepinthegreatoutdoors,andyouronlyexpensewillbeanairlineticketoutandback.’

Hewasonhisway to lunch. Iwas tiredandstillhadanupset stomachandpreferredmybed.We arranged tomeet the next afternoon, and I promised tobringafewfriendsalong.

Iwentback to theold-folks’homeburningwithexcitement. Iwould talk toMarcusthatveryafternoon.Finallyachancetoexplorearealjungle!

Five o’clock that afternoon I spotted Marcus crossing the road to theuniversity.Asalwaysheworehiscoarse,black-browncottonshirtandhiswire-rimmedJohnLennonglasses.HewasbeamingashetoldmeaboutthedayspentwithAnnick.Shelovedhim,hedeclaredecstatically.HeaskedmeabouttheSanPedrocactustrip.Itoldhimwhathadhappened,andhelistenedattentively.Andwhat had I decided?Was I going to go on with him into the countryside? IstartedelaboratinguponthereasonswhyIwouldn’tbetravellingaroundBoliviawithhim.

‘Theanswerisno,Itakeit,’hecutmeoff,disappointed.

‘Holdonaminute,’Ianswered.‘Youhaven’theardthebest,’andItoldhimabouttheAustriangeologist.

Marcuswasn’tasexcitedasIwas,buthepromisedtocomewithmetomeethimthenextday.

AftertheconcertIwalkedbacktotheold-folks’home.Itoldmyfriendsthereabout the expedition.A fewwere enthusiastic, but others didn’t take the planseriously.OnlyItzikvoicedanygenuineinterestinthedetailsandaskedtocomealongtothemeeting.Iwasverypleased.EveryonelikedItzik.Atthirty-fourhe

wastheoldestofthemochilerosandwasoftenaskedtorepresentourcollectiveinterests.Hehadaterrificsenseofhumourandaninfectiousenthusiasm,andhewashelpfulandgood-natured.

ThenextdayheandImarchedoffinthedirectionofPlazaMurillo.OnourwaywemetupwithMarcus,whohimselfhadacompanion,KevinGale.ItwasthefirsttimeIhadmetKevin,butIalreadyknewquitealotabouthim.Everytravellerdid.Amongthemochileroshewasalegend.KevinGalehaddoneitall.They said that he carried the heaviest pack in SouthAmerica, that hewalkedfaster than the llamas up the sides of mountains. He was an enthusiasticnaturalistandphotographer,andonemorething:hewasMarcus’sbestfriend.

‘Areyouinterestedingoingintothejungle?’Iaskedhim.

‘Thetruthis,IonlycametoLaPaztocatchaplanehome,’heanswered.‘I’vebeeninLatinAmericaforalmost twoyears,andIhaddecidedtogohomeforThanksgiving,buttheideafascinatesme.Ihaven’treallybeenintothejungle.’

Karlwaswaitingforusinthesquare.Hegotouthisphotographsonceagainand told us about his past expeditions. Kevin bombarded himwith questions,withMarcus translating fromEnglish toGerman and back again, sinceKevinhaddifficultyunderstandingKarl’speculiarSpanish.Kevinwas interestedinatribeofwildIndiansthatKarlpromisedwe’dsee.Itookitallinattentively.

‘Woulditbepossibletogopartwaybyriver?’Kevinasked.

‘Thisismywork,notapleasuretrip,’Karlanswered,‘butmaybewhenyouwanttocomeback,youcoulddosobyriver.’

Karl sketched amap on a notebook he had in his pack. He charted rivers,mountains, villages, towns, and mining camps. We were impressed by hisknowledge.Kevin seemed satisfied butwanted to see a publishedmap of theregion.Karlpromisedtogetoneforhim.

‘OK, I’m in,’ Kevin declared. ‘I’ll tell my parents that I’ll be home forChristmasinstead.’

‘I’mgoingtoo,’Isaid,thoughIhadneverdoubtedthatIwould.

‘Iwanted todosomemore travellingwithAnnick,’Marcussaidregretfully,‘butIguessthisisaonce-in-a-lifetimeopportunity.I’mwithyoutoo.’

OnlyItzikheldback.

Karlsmiledatthelotofus,andwearrangedtomeethimthateveningatthe

Rosario.Marcus left tofindAnnick,andKevin, Itzik,andIwalkedbackfromthe square.Ona side streetwe foundan ice-creamvendor.A small cone costfivebolivianos;alargecone,seven.Iorderedlargeconesforusall.

Welookedaroundforaplacetositandchosethestepsofanearbyshop,onlyto discover it was the entrance to a coffinmaker. Therewere boxes of everydescription,includingonecoveredinbluevinylandtrimmedwithgoldbuttons,andanothersizedforababy.Wesatonthestepsandlickedouricecream.

Kevinwasexcited. ‘Ihavea lotof things todo,’hesaid. ‘Cancelmyflightand call my parents. They’re going to be really disappointed, but I’ve beendreaming about a trip like this the whole time I’ve been down here. A realjungle,arealIndianvillage,notatouristtrap.I’lltakephotographslikemad.I’lltakea lotof filmalong, evena tripod. I’ll have to find someway topack thecamerasinwaterprooftinsorplastic,somethingthatwillkeepthewateroutandfloat. Ihave toextendmyvisa.We’llbe theremore thanamonth,won’twe?I’msureit’sgoingtobereallygreat.’

‘Idon’tthinkthatI’llbecomingalong,’Itziksaid.

‘Whynot,Itzik?’Iaskedinsurprise.‘It’sgoingtobeafantastictrip.’

‘IfIgooffintothejungle,Iwon’thaveanytimelefttotravelinChile.Therainyseasonwillstart,andI’llmissthechance.’

‘Chile, schmili. Don’t you think a trip into the jungle sounds a lot moreinteresting?’

Kevindidn’t understand, forwewere speakingHebrew, andhewent togetmoreicecream.Iheardhimtellthevendor,‘Másgrande,porfavor.’

‘What’stheproblem?’heaskedashehandeduscones.

‘Itzikdoesn’tthinkthathewantstocomealong,’Iexplained.‘HewantstogotoChile.’

‘Don’tworry,he’llcome,’Kevinsmiled.‘I’llseetoit.Takemyword.’

KevintriedtochangeItzik’smind.HepromisedtomapoutafantasticroutethroughChileforhim.Heexplainedthattheweathernowwaslousydowntherenow,andhewouldbebetteroffwaiting. Itziksmiledandpromised to think itover.

We kept returning to the ice-cream vendor. ‘I know, I know,’ she said,‘grande,grande.’

The coffin dealer looked a little sad. He didn’t say anything to us aboutblockingthestepstohisstore.

AtfivethatafternoonwewerewaitingforKarlinMarcus’sroomattheRosario.Itwasanewhotelwithclean,spaciousrooms,butthebestthingaboutitwastheprice:twodollarsanight.Kevinwasstayingtheretoo.Ihadgonetohisroomtofetchhim.GoodLord,what amess!Therewereclotheseverywhere, cameras,maps, cigarettes, a jackknife, half a loaf of bread, cheese,melted butter – allheapedonthefloor,thesink,andthedresser.Kevinreclinedcontentedlyonthebed; he didn’t seem at all bothered by the disarray.Though I had knownhimonly a short time, I ribbed him about it. Something about himmademe feelparticularlyatease.

Karlarrivedatsixo’clock.Hedidn’tapologiseforbeinglate,but,then,LatinAmerica isn’t famousforpunctuality.Hehadpreparedadetailed listof thingswewouldneedtobuy.Itwasallwrittendownpreciselyinlarge,roundletters.Spices, salt, sugar, alcohol, tea, and medicines. Cooking and eating utensils,cups, waterproof rubber sacks, and a machete to cut through the jungle.Snakebite serum andmosquito repellentwere particularly important, butmostimportantofallwerenetstokeepoutstinginginsectsandlargesheetsofplasticforshelteratnight.

As for the route,heagainpromised togetusamapbut, for the timebeing,charted itout forus frommemory.Wewould fly toApoloandbemetbyhiscrew, four Indianswho lived in a village on theTuichiRiver. From therewewouldhaveaweek’shiketotheplacewherewewouldbeworking.TheIndianshad accompanied Karl on every expedition, equipped with digging tools andarmedwithshotgunsandammunition.Therewasnoneedforustobuyourownshotgununlesswefelttheneedforoneonourtripback.

Theplan soundedperfectly acceptable.Kevin tried to get asmuchdetail aspossibleabout the riverand remindedKarlofourneed foracurrentmap.Weagreed tomeet the followingmorning to do our shopping and try to find themap.Karlshookhandswitheachofusbeforeheleft.

Despite our plans, the followingmorningKarl and Iwere left to ourselves.MarcuswasgoingtoskitheslopesofIllimaniwithAnnickandDede,andKevinhaderrands to run. I suggested toKarl thatwe search for themap.Wedidn’tfindoneinanyofthebookstores.OnalargewallmapKarlpointedouttosomesalespeople therelativelysmallareawherewewouldbe travelling;butweleftthestoresempty-handed.

‘Never mind. I don’t need a map. I know that area better than my ownbackyard,’ Karl reassuredme, ‘but for you a general mapwill be better thannothing,’andhavingnootherchoice,weboughtonewithascaleof1:500.

KarlknewhiswayaroundLaPaz.Wesawsomejaguarskincoats inoneoftheshopwindows.TheyremindedKarlofajaguarhunthehadbeenon,andhedescribedhowhehadbaggedtwojaguarsandhowmuchhehadgottenfortheskins.

‘Thejaguarisacreatureofhabit,’heexplained.‘Ifyouspendanytimeinitsterritory,you’llnoticethatithasregularpathsitalwaysuses.Allyouhavetodoisstudythetrailsittakes,hideyourselfwell,makesurethatyouaredownwind,andwaitforyourchance.’

‘Doyouthinkwe’llbehuntinganyjaguarsonthistrip?’Iaskedeagerly.

‘Couldbe.Sure,there’snoreasonwhynot,’Karlsaid.‘Youcanmakegoodmoneyfromajaguarskin.’

Onourwayback to thehotelKarl stoppedat thepostofficewhile Iwaitedoutside.Hecameoutlookingupset.Hehadanopenedletterinhishand.

‘Yossi, I’msorry,but Ihave tocalloff the trip,’he toldme. Iwasstunned.‘Callitoff!Butwhy?’

‘Look,Ijustgotanurgentletterfrommyuncle.HehasabigcattleranchoverinReyesProvince.HesaysintheletterthatheboughtasurplustruckfromtheChileanarmy.ItwillbeinLaPazatthebeginningofDecember,andIhavetobringituptohisranchrightaway.’

Iwassorelydisappointed.

‘I’msorry,Ican’tletmyuncledown.I’mtheonlyfamilyhehashere.Doyouunderstand?HehassomeotherrelativesbackinAustria,buthe’sneverbeenintouchwith them.He knows that if he dies, theywould just sell the place offwithoutevenbotheringtocomeseeit.I’mtheonlyonewhocouldrunhisranch,buthe’sletmeknowinnouncertaintermsthatifIwanttoinheritit,Ihadbetterfollowhisinstructions.Theonlyproblemis,Ican’tstandhim.Ican’tstandtoberound the lonelyoldmiser formore thanadayor two.That’swhyI’mbidingmytimeworkinginthejungle.Afterhekicksoff,Imightsettledownthere,getmarried,andruntheranchmyself.’

Icouldn’thavecaredlessaboutKarl’sfamilyproblems.‘Isn’tthereanywayat all that you could still comewith us, Karl?’ I implored. ‘Maybe just for a

month.There’smorethanamonthuntilDecember.’

‘No,no.WhatcouldIgetdoneinjustamonth?’Ittakesaweektogetintothejungleandanotherweektogetbackout.That’sridiculous.Ineedatleastthreemonthsinordertoaccomplishanything.’

‘Sowhynotcomewithusforamonth, just for fun?Not towork.Yousaidyourselfthatyoupreferlifeinthejungletolifeinthecity.’

‘No,Yossi.I’mnotatouristlikeyou.Iknowthejunglewellenoughandhaveno call to just gowandering around in it for nothing.Anyway, it’s expensive:airfarethereandback,food,andequipment.Whatfor?There’snothinginitforme.’

He’sright,Ithoughttomyself.Toobad.

Whatwouldwedonow?Maybewecouldgointothejungleonourown.Wecouldgetalongwithouthim.IwasbeginningtogetcarriedawaywiththeideawhenKarlbrokeintomythoughts.

‘Look,Yossi,thereisaway.Ifyoureallywantatasteofthejungle,Icouldplanoutyour routeandbeyourguide. Iknow the jungle like thepalmofmyhand.You’llsee.ButIcouldn’tdoitfornothing.’

Hissuggestionwasaterrificletdown.UpuntilthenIhadadmiredhim,seenhim in a romantic light. I thought he was the last of the Great WhiteAdventurers.Riskinghislifeintheprimevalrainforest,searchingfortreasure–gold and uranium – staving off wild beasts and savages, making his livinghunting jaguars. And here he was figuring up nickels and dimes, offeringpackagedeals,guidedtours.

‘Howmuchwouldyouwant?’Iinquiredcoolly.

‘Well,sixthousandbolivianoswouldbeenough.Ofcourse,Iwouldpaymyshareofalltheexpenses:tickets,food,andsoon.Itreallyisn’tthatmuch.Whatdoyousay?’

‘I’llhavetotalkitoverwithKevinandMarcus,’Iansweredabruptly.

‘I’llbeatthehotelatsix.Putmyoffertothem,andyou’llseethatyouwon’tbedisappointed.’

Heheldoutawarmhand.Ishookhishandwithoutlookinghimintheeye.

ImetKevinandMarcusthatafternooninthehotel.

‘We’llpayhim!’KevinsaidbeforeIevenhadachancetobringupmyown

ideaofgoingwithoutKarl.‘Howmuchissixthousandbolivianos?Onehundredandfiftydollars.Fiftybucksapieceforaguideforamonth.Hecanbeabighelptous.There’sanadvantageforus in it too.Thiswaywedon’thave to followalongwhereverhegoes;wecandecideontherouteourselvesandgowherewewant.We’ll plan a nice trip down a river, and he’ll be our guide and take uswhereverwewant.’

AftersomeconsiderationIagreedwithKevin.Marcusalsothoughtthiscouldbeforthebest.

Karlwasontimethistime,andweexplainedtohimthatwewantedtotakearoute through the real jungle;wilderness, wild animals, birds, savage Indians,andofcourseraftingdownoneoftherivers.Karllookedatthemapandmadean alternate suggestion. We could fly as planned to Apolo, which was thefarthestpointaccessiblebyplane.Fromtherewewouldhaveatwo-dayhiketothe village of Asriamas. That was, in fact, the entry to the jungle, the lastsettlement.Fromthereitwouldbeaboutasix-daywalktotheToromonasIndianvillage. That would be a real experience, for we would be passing throughcompletelyuntamedjungle.

‘ThisIndianvillageisn’tfullofsouvenirshops,isit?’Iasked,havingheardofvillageslikethat.Theguideletsoutawarningwhistlebeforehegetstherewiththetourists,andtheIndiansscrambleabouthidingnewspapers,turningofftapedecks,andchangingfromjeanstoloincloths,andthengoouttogreetthevisitorswhoopinganddancing.

‘No,of coursenot,’Karl said. ‘It’s abigvillage; about sixhundred Indianslive there. I’vebeenthere twice.Theyaren’thostile.Butformyself,oneothergringo,andperhapsafewmissionaries,theseIndianshaveneverlaideyesonawhiteman.Wecan spend fivedays in thevillage, restingup, seeingwhatwelikeinthearea.Kevincantakeallthepictureshewants,we’llgetourprovisionsready,andthenwe’llheadfortheTuichi,atwo-day,downhillwalk.Therewe’llcometoaplacecalledCuriplaya,agold-miningcamp.It’sstillinuse,butwhenwegetthere,it’llbedesertedbecausetheyonlyworkitfromJunetoOctober.InCuriplayawecanpanforgold,’Karlwenton,‘andwe’llstopoverforfivedaysorso.We’llbuilda raftandspend therestof the timepanningforgold in theriver. I canguaranteeyouonegramofgold foreachday’swork; fivedaysofwork,fivegramsofgoldapiece.’Hecalculatedthepriceofgoldandconcludedthatwewouldmakemoneyfromouradventure.

Karlapparentlynoticedthatwewereallabitsceptical.‘Youknowwhat?I’ll

buy your gold!’ he declared. ‘You only have to pay me three thousandbolivianosnow,andyoucangivemetheotherhalfingold.’

‘Andwhatifwedon’tfindanything?’Iasked.

‘Thereisn’ttheslightestchancethatyouwon’tfindgold,’Karlanswered.‘Iworkedtherefortwoyears,andIfoundgold.’

KevinandMarcussmiledtolerantly,butIhadgoldfever.Iwaseager,fullofexpectations.

‘The raft will be ready within five days,’ Karl said, having gone back toplanningourroute,‘andwe’llgodowntheTuichionit,aboutonehundredandtwentymiles,untilwecometothemouthoftheBeniRiver.’Hepointedathismap. ‘There,near themouth, is the townofRurrenabaque.FromtherewecangetaplanebacktoLaPaz,orifyouprefer,wecouldgoonalittlefarthertotheReyesterritoryandvisitmyuncle’sranchforafewdays.’

All three of us gave this plan our enthusiastic endorsement. Karl added ashotgun and ammunition to the list of provisions wewould need to buy. Hiscrewwouldn’tbegoingwithus,heexplained,sowewouldneedagoodshotgunforourownprotectionandtohuntgame.‘It’sabigexpense,butwe’llbeabletosellitataprofitattheendofourtripinRurrenabaque.’

‘But this is a military dictatorship,’ I protested. ‘Won’t it be dangerousshoppingforguns?’

‘You’re right, it’s risky, but you can’t get along in the jungle without ashotgun,andouttherethearmydoesn’thassleanyone.IhaveafriendinprisonhereinLaPaz.Hecantelluswheretofindone,and‘CanadianPete’isalwayshappytohavevisitors,especiallyiftheypayhimwell.’

‘CanadianPete?’Thenamerangabell.‘He’smentionedintheIsraelis’traveljournal,’Isaid.‘Niceguy, likesvisitors,especially thosewhobringachicken.Karl,howaboutifIgovisithimtogettheinformation?’

Chapterfour

CANADIANPETEOn ourway to San Pedro PrisonKevin and I stopped at themarketplace andpickedoutanice,fatchicken.Weaskedthebutchertocleanitandcutitup.

Ahandfulofofficerspatrolled theprisongate. ‘Who’veyoucometovisit?’theydemanded.

‘Pete,theCanadian.’

‘Andwhat’sinthebag?’

‘Pollo.’

Theyledusintoananteroom,andafteraquickbodysearchoneofthemsaid,‘Youcangoin.’

Prisonersflockedaboutusinthecourtyard.‘Who’veyoucometovisit?’

‘Pete,theCanadian.’

‘Peteagain?’oneof themgrumbledindisbeliefandthenyelled,‘Hey,Pete,yougotcompany.’

Petehurrieddownfromthesecondfloor,wavingatusenergetically.

‘Youluckysonofabitch,Pete,’agringoprisonergrowled.‘Thisisthethirdvisityou’vehadthisweek.Lookatthebellyonyou!’

‘AreyouIsraelis?’Peteaskedwithasmile.

‘I’mAmerican,’Kevinsaid.‘MyfriendhereisIsraeli.’Weshookhands,andPeteinvitedusuptohisden.

The prison was a strange building, two-storied and very old. Haphazardadditionshadbeentackedontoit,madefromwood,corrugatedtin,cloth,oranymaterialthathadcometohand.WeclimbedaladderattheendofthecorridoruptoPete’sroom.Theroomitselfwasofnodefinablegeometricshape.Itwasbuiltofwoodenbeamsand tinpanels,asbestos,andplywood.Theceilingwas

lowandslanted,mademostlyoftautnylonsheets.

‘Homesweethome,’Petesaidcheerfully.

Thebedwasonthesideofthecellwheretheceilingwaslowest.KevinandIsat there, hunchedover slightly. Pete sat on amat on the opposite side of theroom,aboutfourfeetfromus.Inthecornerbythedoorwasanelectrichotplate.

‘Oh,thisisforyou,’Isaid,andhandedPetetheheavysack.

‘Chicken!’heexclaimed.‘Myfavourite.Thanks,pals.’

Theroomwasstuffy,windowless,but theceilingofnylonlet thelightfilterin.Petewhippedoutawrinklednotebookandpenandaskedifwewouldmindwritingdownournamesandaddresses.

‘Someday,whenIgetoutofthisjoint,I’llputapackonmybackandvisitalltheterrificpeoplewhovisitedmehere.’

Kevinopenedthenotebook.‘You’vegothalftheStateofIsraellistedinhere,’hesaid,lookingdownthelonglistofaddresses.

‘Yes,most ofmy visitors are Israelis,’ Pete said. ‘They have some kind ofbook that recommends paying me a visit. They’ve all been bringing mechickens.’

PetewentontotellushowhehadendedupinaBolivianprison.Hehadbeencaught smuggling a kilo of cocaine and was sentenced to eight years. Aftertellinghisstory,hesuggestedaguidedtour.

Wewentdowntotheyard.Itwasaweirdplace.SomethingliketheTurkishprisoninthemovieMidnightExpress.Anouterwallandinnerwallsurroundedalargecourtyard.Theoldstructurewasbuiltaroundtheinnerwall.Therewerenocellsorbars and it lookedmore like amarket,withprisonersmillingabout atliberty.Vendorssoldfruit,icecream,cakes,andothersweets.Therewereevenarestaurant,billiardhall,andmovietheatre.

‘Thisallbelongs to theprisoners,’Peteexplained. ‘Ifyou’vegot thedough,you can open a business and live pretty well in here. One prisoner has arestaurant,anotherrunsavegetablestand,someoneelseevensellsgrass.Moneyrules.Theydon’tevengiveyouacellor room.Youhave tobuyone.WhenIfirst got thrown in here, I spent a few nights on the bathroom floor, until themoneymymothersentmefromCanadaarrived.ThenIboughtthatlittleplaceandmadeitintomyroom.

‘Youhavetopayforthefoodheretoo.Andtheydon’tgiveyouanyclothes.Youhavetobuythose.Therichprisonershaveitallrighthere.Lookoverthere,on the second floor. There’s a wealthy political prisoner. He has a furnishedapartment:atelevision,younameit,everything.Youwon’tfindanyofthebig-timepushershere’causetheyjustplaindon’tgetarrestedinthefirstplace.Theyonlylockupthesmallfrylikemehere.’

Lifeinthecourtyardrevolvedaroundawaterholeinitscentre.Theprisonersdidtheirlaundrythereandinhotweathertookadip.Ashowercostmoney.Aprisonerpassedby,sellingPopsicles.IofferedtobuyoneforPete.Herefusedpolitely.

‘Comeon,andI’llshowyoutheprison’sslum,’heoffered.Attheedgeofthewall huddled a few small cellsmadeofwood and tin, dark little cubicles thatlookedmorelikepigstiesthanhumanhabitats.Thatwaswhereyoulivedifyouwerepenniless,anditwasn’tapleasantsight.

‘When I first got in here, theyhad a coup.The army tookover.The rebelsbroke through the prison walls, and almost everybody escaped.Me, with myluck, I was still being held over in the wing for guys awaiting trial, and Icouldn’tgetout.’

We wrapped up our tour with visit to a few of the other rooms and therestaurant.Petestoodlookingatus.

‘I’ve sunk just about as low as a man can sink,’ he said. ‘I’m reduced tohavingtoaskyouforahandout.Yousawthewaythingsarehere,andmypoormotherdoesn’thavemuchmoney.Iwouldappreciatewhateveryoucouldletmehave.’

‘Youcanearnyourselfsomemoney,Pete,’Isaid.‘We’llpayyouwellifyoucangetsomethingforus.’

‘Hmmm,Isee.Youwantalittlegrass?Greatstuff.’

‘No,wewantsomethingelse.Information.Wherecanwebuyagoodhuntinggun?’

Pete gave us a solemn look. ‘If you guys are planning another revolution,don’tleavemeoutthistime.’

Welaughedandtoldhimtherealreasonwewantedthegun.Peteleftusandcamebackafewminuteslaterwithanaddresswrittenonascrapofpaper.

‘Idon’tknownothingaboutthis.Yourememberthatgood,’hewarnedus.

KevinandIgotoutourwalletsandpaidPetegenerously.

‘Thanks,guys,’theCanadiansaid.‘I’llusethisforatickettothemoviesandalittlegrasstonight.’

WeallwenttogethertotheLebanesearmsdealerwhoseaddressPetehadgivenus.Heownedanoodlefactoryandsoldarmsontheside.Heshowedusabrand-new, shiny 12-gauge Winchester. Karl checked it over, spent a long timehagglingover theprice,andfinallyagreed topaysix thousandbolivianos.Webought two kinds of buckshot, the kind thatmakes a concentrated pattern forhuntinglargeanimalsandthekindthatscatterswidelyforhuntingbirds.

We stopped next at a hat shop. Karl recommended that we all buy wide-brimmed hats, then said goodbye. A very nice Bolivian woman smiled at uspatiently,thoughweeachtriedondozensofhatsuntilKevincameupwiththeidea that we should wear distinctive headgear; that would make us morephotogenic.

Whenwefinallyleftthestore,Ilookedlikeagangsteroutofthe1930s,withastiff, light-coloured felt cocked over one eye. Marcus wore a sombrero, andKevinabroadstrawthatmadehimlooklikeakibbutznik.

Kevin andMarcus returned to theRosario, and Iwent to inform the Israeliembassyofourplannedadventure,buttheyweretoobusytoseeme.Ileftanotedetailing the routewewouldbe takingand theexactdates thatKarlhadset. Iwrote down Kevin’s, Marcus’s, and Karl’s names along with their ages andaddressesandendedwiththerequestthatactionbetakenifIhadn’treturnedbythefifteenthofDecember.

The secretary told me to leave the note in the register of Israeli touristsvisitingBolivia.Thenotewasextremelyimportanttome.Itmademefeelsafe:ifsomethingweretohappentome,theembassywouldcometomyaid.

When I returned to the old-folks’ home, therewas the usual bustle: peoplecooking,doinglaundry,doinghandicraftstomakealittlemoney,andGrandmashoutingadvice toeveryone.Ipackedmythingsandtied themupin twobagsand with a safety pin fastened a note to one of them: ‘Property of YossiGhinsberg.WillreturnDecember15.’Ishovedthebagsunderabed.Itookmybackpack.Itheldonlythebarenecessities,includingDede’sredponcho.Ithadbeeninmypacksincethetrip.

Although Iwasn’t leaving for two days, Iwanted to getmy farewells overwith. Then Iwould be completely free of obligations. So early that evening IwenttosaygoodbyetoLisetteandherfamily.Theyweregoodpeople,andIhadbecomeattachedtothemduringmystayinLaPaz.Theirhomewasinthecity’swealthiestneighbourhood.Ihadspentmanypleasanteveningstherelisteningtowonderful Bolivian music, enjoying fascinating conversations, and eatingdeliciousfoods.Iwasonparticularlycordial termswithhermother,andat theendoftheseeveningsherfatherwoulddrivemebacktotheold-folks’homeinhisfancycar,andtheguystherewouldgivemeahardtime, teasingmeaboutmygoodfortune.

Lisetteandherparentslistenedtomyplansforthetripandgrewanxious.

‘That’s too dangerous, Yossi. Don’t go. Stay here. Terrible things mighthappentoyouthere.’

Ipromised tobecareful. I leftmydocumentsandmyremainingcash– twohundredandfiftydollars–withthem.

‘If I’mnot back byDecember fifteenth, please call the Israeli embassy andinformthemthatyouhavemypapers.AskthestafftocheckthenotethatIleftintheregister.’

Thenextdayallofuswereverybusy.Wedidsomelast-minuteshopping,thenMarcus and Kevin went to their embassies to leave word. They packed theirbelongings and stored themwith aCanadian friend. I addedmywristwatch toKevin’sbelongings.Therewasnoneedtokeeptrackofschedulesanddatesinthejungle,Karltoldus.

TheFrenchgirlswereleavingthatday,andwehurriedbacktosaygoodbyetothem.Dede asked that Iwrite to her in France and tell her all about the trip.Annick’seyeswereredwithtears.Shehadn’tsleptallnight.ShewasverymuchinlovewithMarcus.

Wewentoutfordinnerbutreturnedearly.Karlcameoverwithalargerubbersack.

‘Thisismybackpack,’hesaid.‘It’sbetterthanyoursbecauseitismadeoutofrubberandiswaterproof.’

‘That’sridiculous,’Kevinsaid.‘Howdoyouthinkyou’regoingtocarryit?’

‘Don’tworry,’Karl smiled. ‘I’ll attach straps to it, and itwillmakeagreatpack.You’llsee.’

Hewasasexcitedastherestofus.Tomorrowwasthebigday.

Wedecidedtoleavethefinalpackingformorning.Kevinwentuptohisroomtosleep.IstayedtospendthenightinMarcus’sroom.Hewrotealetterhome,and I did the same, a letter to my brother telling him about the trip into thejungle.

LaPaz

November3,1981

Hi,Moshe,

What’snew,BigBrother?IknowthatIhaven’twrittenforquiteawhileandhopethatyouaren’tangry.ButthetruthisthatI’mmoreconcernedaboutthefactthatIhaven’thadaletterfromyou,orfromMomandDad,foraboutthreemonthsnow.

Thistriphasbeenaonce-in-a-lifetimeexperience.It’ssomethingreallyspecial,outoftheordinary.WhatI’mtryingtosayisthatI’mdoingthisdifferentlythantheotherkidsbackpackingaroundSouthAmerica, including the other Israelis. Most of them go from onetouristsitetoanother,fromonemuseumtothenext.Theyseemtothinktheyhavetoclimbeverymountaininsightandhavealookatevery scenic view. I’ve visited a few museums, seen some nicespots, and climbed a few mountains. The mountains are reallysomething.You keep climbing and climbing, and everything is sohigh here in SouthAmerica that you run out of oxygen and thinkyour lungswill burst. And finally, after all that, you stand on thesummit and lookaround, andyou really feel likeyou’reon topoftheworld. But I’d rather go climbing once amonth or every twomonths,otherwiseitbecomesroutine.

What I’m doing here in South America is looking for theextraordinary. I love the unusual. Mystical religious ceremonies,paganrites,localIndianwitchcraft.Unusualpeople,placesthathavetheir own special atmosphere, new friends, all those things. ThereareafewspecialthingsherethatIjusthadtotry.JustashortwhileagoIhadoneofthemostfantasticexperiencesofmylife.Iclimbed

up to the top of amountainwith this French girl, took a piece ofcactus,andpreparedadrinkfromit.Thegirlonlyhadalittle,anditdidn’taffectherthatmuch.Ihadalotandwasflyingforseventeenhours.BytheendofthetripIwasscaredthatIwouldnevercomedown.

NowthemainthingIwanttotellyouisaboutanotherkindoftripI’m leaving on tomorrow. I don’t want it to sound like I’m overdramatising,butitcouldbeverydangerous.Imightevenberiskingmy life. I’ll be gone between four to six weeks, and I won’t bewritinghomeduringthattime.ThinkofsomethingtotellMomandDadsotheywon’tworry.

I’m taking a flight tomorrow from La Paz to Apolo with threeotherguys:

KevinGale,agetwenty-nine,American.

MarcusStamm,agetwenty-eight,Swiss.

KarlRuchprecter,ageaboutthirty-five,Austrian.

TheAmericanandSwissguysareverygoodfriendsofmine.TheAustrianisageologist.HehasbeenworkinginBoliviaforthepastnineyearslookingforgoldanduraniumandotherpreciousmetalsinthejungle.Heiscomingwithusasourpaidguide.HehasanunclewitharanchinBolivia.Theuncle’snameisJosefRuchprecter,andhisaddressisSantaRosaRanch,ElProgreso,Reyes,Beni.

From Apolo we will walk to a village called Asriamas on theTuichiRiver...

I amplanning to fly fromRiberalta, the last placeonour route,backtoLaPazandtakeatrainandbusesfromtheretoUncleNelloinSãoPaulo.IfIhaven’tcalledhomebythefirstweekinJanuary,somethinghashappenedtome.

I’m sure that everything will go right, and there’s nothing toworryabout. I’mbeingsomewhatmelodramaticbutwantedyoutoknowallthedetailsjustincase.TellMomandDadthatI’vegonetosomelittleislandorvillageupinthemountainsforamonth.Trytothink of something that won’t worry them, because I won’t bewritingatall.TellthemyougotaletterandthatIfeelfineandI’llbeatouruncle’ssoon.

Beseeingyou,Brother,

Yossi

Chapterfive

GOLDANDPIGSWehailedacabonCalleIllampuandloadedourpacksintothetrunkandontotheroof.The taxiwove inandoutof traffic, then turned toward theairport.Aten-minutedriveandwewerethere.Ihadafunnyfeeling:thiswasn’tjustaplanorastorytotellanymore.Wewerereallyonourway.

The flight to Apolo took less than an hour. The plane was small. Thepassengerswere seated side by side along benches of taut canvas that ran thelengthof theaircraft, leaningbackagainst tautstripsoffabric.All theluggagewasinaheapattheback.

Mostof thepassengerswere residentsofApolo.Themenhad short, bristlyhair.Thewomen,likethemen,hadhighcheekbones.Theyworetheirblackhairinthickbraidsintertwinedwithyarnandtiedoffwithornamentaltassels.TherewasalsoaEuropean,apriestinabrownsoutane.

Flying over theAndeswas inspiring: snow-covered peaks and breathtakingpanoramas. Once in a while we flew into an air pocket, and the plane lostaltitudewithaquiver,thensteadieditself.Wheneverthathappened,thewomenbecamehysterical,screamingandcrossingthemselvesinafrenzy.Oneofthem,hereyesdarkandfrightened,tookholdofthepriest’shandandwouldn’tletgofortherestoftheflight.

Thenthescenerybelowchangeddrastically;suddenlywewerelookingdownon riverswinding throughvast jungle. Inno timewe toucheddown inApolo,and I quickly realised why the women had become so hysterical during theflight. Hanging from the trees on either side of the airstrip were the broken,burnt,andrustedhulksofearlierflights.

Wewaitedforourpacksandweresoononourwayintotown,alongwiththecrowdthathadgatheredtomeettheplane.Twoofficersonmotorcyclesstoppedus to ask what we were doing there. When we told them, they said that weshouldgotothepolicestationtoregister.

‘Nonsense.’Karlwaved themoff after they had ridden away. ‘Just a lot ofunnecessaryredtape.’

We startedwalking,Karl in the leadwithKevin andme right behind him.Marcusbroughtuptherear.Icouldhearhimsoftlysinging,

Freighttrain,freighttrain,goingsofast,Freighttrain,freighttrain,goingsofast,Pleasedon’ttellthetrainI’mon,’CauseIdon’tknowwhereI’vegone.

Theheatwassweltering,andwestruggledupasteepincline.Karlhadtiedhisrubberbagtohisbackwithtwocrossedstripsofcloth,butwecouldalltellthatthestripsweredigginguncomfortablyintohisshoulders.Ourprogresswasslowbecausewestopped torest frequently.Wedidn’twasteourbreath talking.Weweren’t carrying anywaterwith us, sowewere gladwhenwe came across asmallranch,wheretheygaveuschicha(asweetened,fermentedbeveragemadeofcornoryucca).Wedrankitdowngreedily.

Bylateafternoonwecametoaflat,woodedarea,andthegoingwaseasier.Wehadhopedtofindaranchwherewecouldspendourfirstnight,butsinceithadgrowndark,wedecidedtosetupcampwherewewere.Marcusgotoutthetent,butKarlpreferredtoimproviseashelterofnylonsheeting.

Hecutdownafewthick,straightbamboostalksandchoppedofftheir leafytopswithaswipeofthemachete.HetiedtwostalkstogetherinanasymmetricalX, the bottomhalfwider than the top.He did the samewith a secondpair ofstalksandstuckthelegsintothesoftearth.HedroppedalongpolebetweentheXs,tyingitdownsecurely.Hereinforcedeachendwithathirdpole,tiedatthecrotch of each X, the lower end jammed into the ground. He tied everythingtogetherwithpanchos,thefibresbetweenthebarkofatreeanditswood.(Balsatrees yield good, strong panchos, though climbing vines, which are alwaysabundant, are surprisingly resilient and can be tied into many knots withoutbreaking.)Hestretchednylonsheetingoverthebamboopoles,pullingtheedgestautandweightingthemdownwithheavyrocks.Hepaddedthefloorofthetentwithathickcarpetofleavestokeepusfromthecoldanddamp.

Wegotalittlefiregoingandsataroundit,preparingriceandteawithspringwater.Thefoodwasn’tfilling,butKarltoldusnottoworry;therewasn’tmuchgameherebecauseweweretooclosetosettledareas.OncewepassedAsriamas,

hepromised,wewouldhaveallthemeatwecouldeat.

The noise in the jungle at night is unbelievable. There were moments itseemedasifwewereinthecentreofsomebusyindustrialarea.Karlinformedus that it was just insects and birds.We were all exhausted (poor Kevin – Icouldn’tevenlifthissixty-poundpackfullofcameraequipment)andsoonfellasleepontheground.

In the middle of the night I was awakened by a horrible screech. It wasMarcus. Kevin had gotten up to relieve himself, and when he passed overMarcus,Marcuswokeupscreaming, thinkingthatawildanimalwasattackinghim.Karllaughed,andwesettleddownandwentbacktosleep.

Beforewesetoutthefollowingmorning,wedividedtheweightthathadtobecarriedmoreequallyamongus,thoughKevininsistedoncarryingmorethanhisshare.

Afteraneasytwohours’walkwecameuponaranch.Theownerandhiswifegreetedushospitably,seatedusaroundawoodentableintheyard,andservedusripepapayasandabeveragemadefromsugarcaneandlemon.Werestedforawhileandthensetoutonceagainafterceremoniouslythankingourhosts.

We cameupon another ranch as noon approached.AsKarl discussed luncharrangementswith the rancher, Iwandered about the yard, passing fruit trees,chickens,apigortwo,andafewskinnydogs,wholanguishedintheshade,toolazyeventoacknowledgethepresenceofastranger.

Through the door of the cookhouse I could see the rancher’s wife anddaughter slaughtering a chicken. The poor bird lay on the floorwith a broomhandlepressedagainstitsneck,flutteringhelplessly.Thewomencaughtsightofme,blushed,andfledintotherecessesofthecabin.Theluckychickengrabbedherchancetoflee,screeching.Iwalkedoff,amused.

Forlunchwewereservedatastysoupandtheunfortunatechicken,despiteallthat, cooked with rice. While we ate, the dogs gathered around begging forscraps. ‘¡Que flaca [so skinny]!’ Karl marvelled at a scrawny pooch thatresembledaGermanshepherd.Shewasallboneswithmattedfur.Shegazedatus,hereyesdullandlifeless.

‘Whatwould you think about buying the dog?’Karl suggested. ‘What!Areyounuts?’Kevinexclaimed.‘Whatwouldwewantwithamangydog?’

‘Don’tlookatherlikethat,’Karlsaid.‘Youdon’tknowhowimportantadogcan be in the jungle.’ Then he told us a story that hewould repeat at least adozen times. ‘I once hiked alone through the jungle with only a dog forcompany.Afterthreedaysajaguarappeared,poisedtospringatme,butthedogsawitandbarkedawarning.Thejaguarcamecloser,butthefaithfuldoglungedandtriedtochaseitaway.Ididn’tseeanymore.Ionlyheardbarksandroars.’Karlstartedimitatingthesoundsofadogandjaguarfighting.Itallendedwiththedyingyelpsofthedogbeingeatenbythejaguar.

Weasked if themoralof the storywas thatwe shouldhaveadogalongasjaguarbait.

‘Don’t laugh,’Karlsaid. ‘Shecancomealongwithus,eata lotof thefreshgame thatwe’ll soonbe hunting.She’ll get stronger and turn into a beautiful,lively dog.’As if anxious to demonstrate his point, he began tossingbones to‘Flaca,’angrilydrivingoffanyoftheotherdogsthattriedtosnatchoneofthebonesaway,andthedogdidperkupabit.

It wasn’t difficult to talk the rancher into selling her. Karl fastened a ropearound her neck. ‘No, no, sweetheart, you aren’t going to go running backhome,’hesaidtoher.‘I’llkeepheronaleashforafewdaysuntilshegetsusedtome,andthenshe’llfollowalongonherown.’

Kevinsnappedafewprofilesofthenewestmemberofourparty,andwesetoutagain.

Thedamneddogslowedusdownterribly.Sherefusedtokeeppacewithus,and every once in a while she’d lie down and wouldn’t budge. Karl triedeverything.Firsthe sweettalkedher,promisingbetter things tocome.Thenhecursedher,threatenedher,kickedher,andbeatherwithaflimsybranch.

Wehadagoodsteepclimbahead,andthedogwasdeterminednottomoveaninch.Karldraggedhercruellyoverevery root,drybranch,or rock inherpathuntil Kevin took pity on the poor animal. He untied her, picked her up, anddrapedheracrosshisshoulders,twolegshangingdownoneachsideofhisneck,likealamb.Thiswasinadditiontotheheavygearthathewasalreadycarrying.

Thewaydownwasjustassteepasthewayuphadbeen.Wehadtobecarefulnottoslipandgotumblingdownwithourbulkypacks.OnlyKarlhurriedahead,draggingFlacaafterhimandtalkingtoherout loud.SuddenlyKevin,Marcus,andIlostsightofthem.Marcusgrewanxious.HewantedustocalloutinunisonsothatKarlwouldhearusandwait.

‘What’sthedifference?’Kevinasked.‘Weallhavetogointhesamedirectionanyway.We’llcatchupwithhimsoonerorlater.’

Marcus didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t conceal how worried he was.Abouthalfanhourlaterwecametoaforkinthepath.Onedirectionseemedtobeacontinuationofthepathwehadbeentravelling,andtheothercutofftotheside.Kevinwentstridingresolutelyalongthemaintrack.

‘Wait!’Marcuscried.‘Howdoyouknowthatthisistherightway?Hecouldhavegonetheotherway.’

‘Don’tbe souptight,Marcus.This isobviously theway. IfKarlhad turnedoff,hewouldhavewaitedtotellus.Comeon,let’sgetgoing.’

‘No,’Marcusinsistedtremulously,‘let’swaithereandcalloutuntilhecomesback forus. Itcouldbe reallydangerous ifwe losehim.Wecouldget lostallaloneinthisjungle.’

‘Marcus,whydon’tyoujustturnaroundandgoback?’Kevinaskedtestily.

‘Whatdoyoumean?’Marcusdemanded.‘Gobackwhere?’

‘You’renotgoingtoenjoythis.You’renotcutoutforit.Whydon’tyoujustforgetitandgobacktotown?It’snottoolate.Therearealotofranchesbackthereontheway.YoucouldevenrentadonkeyandmakeitbacktoApolobytomorrow.’

‘Bullshit!’Marcus fumed. ‘Of course I’m enjoyingmyself.Who are you todecideifI’mgoingtoenjoymyselfornot?’

‘OK,forgetit.Justforgetit,’Kevinclosedthesubjectandwalkedon.

We trailedbehindhim in silence, themood tense.After awhilewe spottedKarlandFlaca;theyweresitting,restingnexttoalittlestream.

‘LookwhatIfound!’Karlcalled,wavingtous.

Hewasholdingalargefrog.Iwouldneverhavebelievedthatfrogscouldgetthatbig.Itmusthaveweighedatleastfourpounds.

‘Theytastelikechicken,’Karlsaid.‘Isometimeseatthem,butfornowI’llletFlacahavethepleasure.’

He skinned the frog and tossed Flaca a piece. To our amazement the dogwouldn’thaveanything todowith it.Karl’scooingandpleadingdidnogood.Flacajustwasn’tinterested.

Afterafewhoursofarduouswalkingwecametoawideriver.

‘Great,’Karlsaidhappily,‘thisistheMachariapoRiver.Wedon’thavefartogonow.’

The river was deep; its waters came up to my chest. We hung our shoesaround our necks. Karl cut some sturdy branches from the trees anddemonstratedhowtofordthestream,stickingthepolesintotherockybottomtobraceourselvesagainstthecurrent.Kevinwentfirst,andKarlfollowedbehindhim,hispoleinonehandandFlaca’sleashintheother.Thedogtreadedwaterweakly, trying to keep its head above the current.Marcus and I were last tocross. We tottered from side to side and almost lost our balance but finallyreachedtheotherside.

Karlsuggested thatwesetupcamp.Wewere tiredenoughtoagreereadily.Onceagainweerectedatentofbamboopolesandnylonsheeting.Karlstartedmakingdinner,andtherestofusstrippedandracedbacktotheriver.

We splashed around in the coolwater, swimmingwith the current and thenagainstit.Marcushadbroughtsomesoap,andwepasseditaround.

Inthemorningourpackswereonourbacks,andourspiritswerehigh.Wehavejuststartedoutwhenweranintotwocampesinosleadingahuge,whitebullbyarope tied to itshorns.Wetried to learnfromthemhowmuchfarther itwas toAsriamasbutcouldn’tunderstandawordoftheirSpanish.

Awhilelaterweemergedfromthejungleintoawide,grassyfieldfencedwithbarbedwire.A littlebit ofparadise.The river cut through the field, andcowsgrazed contentedly. On the other side of the fence I could see papaya trees.WithoutasecondthoughtIcrawledunderthefence,gaveoneofthetreesagoodshake,andcamebackwithfourripepieces.For thepast twodayswehadhadbarelyonesquaremealaday.Thejuicyfruitwasapleasure.

Soonwefoundthegatetotheranchandwentin.Thesettlementconsistedofseveral mud huts and one two-storey stone building. The people we sawcompletelyignoredus.Whenwedrewnearer,however,thewomenpulledtheirchildrenintothehuts.Curiouseyespeekedoutatus.Onelonemanapproachedus with a smile. He was drooling and held out one hand, gesturing that hewantedacigarette.Heworeatatteredblackhat,andhisclotheswereamassofpatchesoverpatches.Hisfingerswereencrustedwithdirt.Hewasadwarf,andhisfeaturesmadeitclearthathewasretarded.

‘Esclavos[slaves],’Karlmuttereddarkly.

Ayoungwomancameoutofthestonebuilding.Shewasdressedsimply,butnotinrags.

‘¡Hola!gringos,’shesaidingreeting.‘Lookingforgold?’

Shelistened,shakingherheaddoubtfullywhileKarltoldherwherewewereheaded. She poured us some chicha and told us that she was married to theranch’s foreman.Her husband had gone toApolo for a few days, leaving herherealone.

Karl inquiredas to thewhereaboutsofDonCuanca’s ranch,andsherepliedthatitwasn’tfar.Shecalledoutaname,andayoungboymaterialised.

‘Hewillshowyoutheway,’shesaid,andgavehimanorderinQuechua.

Theboykepthiseyesonthegroundandledusoutoftheranch.Wemarchedalongbehindhimonapaththatranalongsidetheriver.

‘What’sthestoryhere,Karl?’Kevinasked.

‘Hardasitistobelieve,thesepeopleareslaves,’Karlexplained.

‘Slaves?’Iaskedsceptically.

‘Well, youmight not call them that, but they are virtual slaves.They don’treceiveanypay.Theyaredealtwithharshly.Theydon’thaveanywhereelsetogo.’

‘Whataboutthegovernment?Don’ttheyhelp?’Marcusasked.

‘Thegovernment?’Karl laughed. ‘Thegovernment,myeye!Thosegeneralsstay inpowerseveralyears,makeabundlesmugglingdrugs,andonce they’remillionaires, they retire. Some other lousy generals take over from them, andhistory repeats itself.You think they give a shitwhat happens to a few lousyIndians?’

We came to level ground and a herd of at least thirty horses.Aman stoodnearby.Theboywalkedovertohim.Karlshoutedtotheboy,askingwhichwayweshouldgo,whilepointinginwhathethoughtwastherightdirection.Theboynodded,withoutlookingbackatus.Welefthimandwenton.

After walking for another two hours, nudging Flaca along, we came to aranch.More mud huts and another stone building, just like the earlier ranch.Moregrassypasturesandgrazingcows.Itwasallsosimilarandyetdifferent.

Wehadn’tevenenteredtheyardwhenwemetalittlemandressedintattersholdingouthishandandaskingforacigarette.Hewasdrooling.Hell!Itwasthesamedwarf.Couldhehaveleftafterwedidandstillgottenhereaheadofus?

Theyoungwomanonceagaincameoutofthetwo-storeybuilding.WeglaredatKarl.Wehadbeenhuffingalongformorethantwohoursfornothing,walkinginacircleandcomingbacktothesameranchthroughadifferentgate.

Theseñora laughedinamusement.Shesaidwewouldbewelcometospendthenightat theranchandeven invitedus tosupper.Sheshowedus toa roomwith tworicketybeds.OnewouldbeforKarl,weallagreed,sincehewas theoldest.Wedrewlotsfortheother.Marcuswon.

Weatechicken,rice,andfriedplantainsbycandlelightinthedarkcookhouse.Thecursedboy,ourguide,keptpeeking through thewindowall thewhilewewereeating.Hedidn’tcrackasmile,justlooked.

Whenwecameoutofthecookhouse,wefoundtheboy’sfather,themanwhohadbeengrazingthehorsesinthepasture,waitingforus.Hewantedsomeonetotellhistroublesto.Helookedaboutguardedly,afraidtheseñoramightoverhearhim.

‘Takealookatme,’hesaid.‘Idon’tevenknowhowoldIam.WhenIwasyoung,theseñorbroughtmehere.Hepromisedtopaymeandgivemeaplotofmyown.Lookatmyclothes,’hesaid,pointingtothepatchescoveringhisbody.‘Ican’trememberhowmanyyearsI’vebeenwearingthem.Ihavenoothers.Iliveinthatmudhutwithmywifeandsons.Theyallworkfortheseñor,likeme.Theydon’tgotoschool.Theydon’tknowhowtoreadorwrite;theydon’tevenspeakSpanish.Weworkforthemaster,raisehiscattle,andworkhisfields.Weonlygetriceandplantainstoeat.Nobodytakescareofuswhenwearesick.Thewomenherehavetheirbabiesinthesefilthyhuts.’

‘Whydon’tyoueatbeeforatleastmilkthecows?’Iasked.

‘Wearen’tallowedtoslaughteracow.Andthemilkgoestothecalves.Wecan’tevenhavechickenorpork–onlyifananimalgetssickanddies.OnceIraisedapiginmyyard,’hewenton.‘Shehadalitterofthree.Whentheseñorcameback,hetoldtheforemantoshootthem.That’stheonlytimeweeverhadgood meat. I don’t mind working for the señor, but I want him to keep hispromise.IwantapieceoflandofmyownsoIcangrowriceandyuccaandraiseafewchickensandpigs.That’sall.’

‘Doesn’thepayyouanything?’Kevinasked.

‘Hesayshepaysus,butheusesourmoneytobuyourfood.Wenevergetanycash.Kindsirs,maybeyoucouldhelpmetopersuadethemaster.JustonelittleplotisallIwant.Themasterhasland,muchland.’

Wewereshockedbyhistale.Marcustookoutanotebookandpen.

‘What’s his name?’ He wrote down the name. The man didn’t know theaddress.HeonlyknewthattheseñorlivedinLaPaz.

Marcuswasinfuriated.‘WhenIfindtheowneroftheranch,I’llspitrightinhiseye.Whatalousybastard!Imean,it’sreallyincredible.’

‘That’sjustthewaythingsare,’Karlsaid.‘It’ssad,butthere’snothingwecandoaboutit.’

‘I’llgettheowner’saddressfromtheseñora,’Marcussaid.

‘Don’t,shewon’tlikeit.Anywayshe’llnevergiveyoutheaddress.’

‘Youknow,’saidKarl,‘whenIgotmydegreeinagronomy–’

‘Agronomy?’Iwasstartled.‘Ithoughtyousaidyoustudiedgeology.’

‘Well, not exactly. I majored in agronomy, but I spent years working herewithafamousgeologist.Ilearnedgeologyfromhim.Butitdoesn’tmatter.’AndKarlwasoffreminiscing.‘Iwasquitearadicalasastudent,aCommunist.Thepartysentmeonatwo-monthvisittoRussia,whichwasabigdisappointment,and I gave up Communism. I went over to another movement, even moreradical. It sounded good – very idealistic and high-minded – but my friendsbecameterrorists.Someofthemarewantednowinternationally.Thatwasn’tforme.Thatisn’tthewaytoachieveyourideals.FortunatelyIgotoutintime.

‘IgotascholarshiptofinishmydegreeinatropicalclimateandwassenttoBrazil.That’showIgottoSouthAmerica,andI’vebeenlivinginjungleseversince. I’ve covered every inch of this continent,’Karlwent on. ‘I’ve seen thepoverty, the injustice, the corruption, and the exploitative regimes. I’vewondered how the world could be changed. Communism isn’t the answer.Neitherisviolentrevolution.I’vegiventhematteralotofthoughtandarrivedatanewsocialtheory.Theonlywaytosolvetheworld’sproblemsismathematicalcosmopolitics!’

‘What’sthatsupposedtomean,Karl?’Marcusasked.

‘Justlookattheworld.Allofitsproblemswouldvanishovernightifitwasn’tfor politicians. There’s enough food to go around, enough land, enough

resources.Whydopeoplefightoneanother?It’sallbecauseof thepoliticians.Theydon’tcareaboutthepeople.They’reonlyaftermoneyandpower.

‘The world is very advanced technologically. Why should egotisticalpoliticianshavecontrol,makeall themajordecisions?Let’sputacomputer incharge. Then government ministers would be nothing but computerprogrammers, processing data, with no ego trips, no stupid pride, greed, orchauvinism.It’llallbeforthecommongood.’

Wehidour tolerantsmilesasheunfurledhisnaive theory,butKarlhimselfwasterriblyenthusiastic.

‘Ofcourseit’sadifficultplantocarryout,soit’sadvisablethatonenationbefirst to revolutionise itself, and then its neighbours will follow suit until theentireworldhasadoptedthenewsystem.Onecentralcomputerwillcontrolthewholeworld,andthatwillbemathematicalcosmopolitics.’

SoonMarcusandKarlwenttosleepontheirsoft‘featherbeds’likenicelittlebourgeois.KevinandIstayeduptalking.

We left the ranch the nextmorning afterwe had bid the señora farewellwithmixedfeelings.Wecouldseepeopleworkinginthefieldsatadistance.Againwepassedtheherdofskittishhorses.Weweredeterminednottowalkaroundincirclesagain.Karltookadifferentpath.

Flaca kept up a reasonable pace all morning. The night before, she hadreceived all the chicken bones and a healthy serving of rice. ‘What did I tellyou?’Karlbeamedproudly.

We reached Don Cuanca’s ranch a few hours later, another two-storiedbuildingofbricks andwood,but thisonehadonly twomudcabinsnear it.Asow and her young lay wallowing in a puddle of mud. Once again we weregreetedbyaretarded-lookingdwarf.Atfirstwewerestunned,but,no,itwasn’tthesameone.

DonCuancahimselfcameouttowelcomeus.HeandKarlwerefriends.Theyshookeachother’shandwarmly,andKarlintroducedus.

Weallsataroundacoarsewoodentable.Thedwarfserveduscoffee,alargebowlofboiledyucca,andadishofsalt.Wedippedtheyuccainthesaltandatehungrily.AfterashortrestDonCuancatookusonatourofhisranch.Theplacewassadlyneglected.Mostofthelandwasovergrownwithweedsandbrambles,

andthefieldswereuncultivated.

‘I’mtooold.Idon’thavetheenergytorunaranchanymore,’hesaid.‘Ifoneofyouwouldcaretostayonhere,Iwouldmakeyouafullpartnerifyouhelpme.Markmywords,thisplacecouldblossomlikeheavenonearth.’

Heledustothegateontheoppositesideoftheranch.‘You’llbeinAsriamasbyevening.Thinkitover.Maybebythetimeyou’rebackfromyourtrip,oneofyouwillwanttosettledownherewithme.Goodbyefornow.’

Thiswasourfourthdayofhiking,andourheavypacksseemedtohavefoundtheirproperreposeonourbacks.Thoughwewerebynowinuredtotheburden,wewereneverthelesswearyandanxioustoreachAsriamas.

Wemadeourwayupanddownafewsteephillsinthejungleandheardthefaintrushofflowingwater.

‘Listen,’Karlexclaimedhappily,‘that’stheTuichi.’

Wehastenedforwarduntilwecametotheriverbank.Itwasastunningsight.The riverwaswide, at least ahundredyards across. Itswaterswere clear andcalm.Thecurrentwasmild.Ontheothersidewecouldsee thatchedroofs.Atlonglastwewerethere.

‘Howdowegetacrosstheriver,Karl?’Iasked.

‘You see those wooden platforms on the other side? Those are balsa rafts.We’llsooncatchsightofsomeoneandhollerforhimtobringusover.’

Wewaitedforabouthalfanhour.

‘Maybeweshouldfireashot.’Karlsuggested.‘Somebody’sboundtohearit.’

Theshotgunwasslungovermyshoulder.Ifiredlazily,thebuttoftheshotgunrestingonmyhip.Theblastwasincredible,thesounddeafening.ItwasthefirsttimethatIhadeverfiredashotgun.Iheldontomysidewhereithurtfromthepowerfulkickofthegun.

Karllaughed.‘Youjustblewyourimageasabig,toughIsraeli,’hesaid.

Sincenooneseemedtohaveheardtheshot,Kevinlostpatienceanddecidedto swim across the river. He swamwith powerful strokes. The undertowwasstrong, and he couldn’tmake it straight across but came up on the other sidequite a way downstream. He vanished in the direction of the straw huts andreturnedafewminuteslatersurroundedbyblackheads.Fromadistanceitwasafunny sight: a fair-headed giant encircled by droves of short, dark-skinned

people.

Inno time theyrowedacrossand transportedus, togetherwithourgearandour dog, to the other side, where a large, curious crowd awaited our arrival.Theirappearancewasentirelydifferent fromthatof thepeoplewehadmetonthe ranches. Their dress was modest, neat, and clean. They looked healthy,strong,androbust.

A narrow brook carried water into the village. All four of us removed ourshoestocrossit.Whenwegottotheotherside,allthepeoplewatchingusburstoutlaughing.

Whatwassofunny?Theywerestaringattheothersideofthebrook.Iturnedaroundandlookedback.Theshotgunwaslyingthereonthepebbles.IhadputitdownwhenItookoffmyshoesandforgottenit.

‘Whatkindof a soldier areyou, anyway,Yossi?’Karl teasedmeagain.Heturnedtoagroupofboysandsaid,‘Fivepesosforwhoeverbringstheshotgun.’One small boy beat the rest of them to it, came back with the shotgun, andcollectedhiscoin.

Thepeoplewerevery friendly.Theycameupand talked tous.Thewomenandchildrenwatchedus curiouslybutwithout fear in their eyes.Theyhadnodoubtthatwehadcometoprospectforgold.

After theyhadofferedus sweetbananasand ripepapayas,Karlasked ifhisfriendDonJorgewas in thevillage.Theman’sbrotherwasamong thecrowd,andheledusstraightdownthebankoftheTuichitoDonJorge’shome.

Asriamas is a small, relatively new village. About ten years earlier thegovernment had allotted the land to the campesinos from the altiplano (highplains).Theyhadgoneintothejungle,putinanenormousamountofwork,cutpathsthroughthefoliage,clearedtreesfromtheirfields,builthuts,andplantedbanana groves. They had brought in cattle, sheep, and horses and raisedvegetables and large quantities of rice. They sold their rice to wholesalers inApolo.Don Jorge’swas theoldest andwealthiestof the families inAsriamas.Hisfamilyenjoyedthestatusoffounders.

After walking alongside the Tuichi for an hour, we came to an enormousclearinginthejungle,carpetedwithgreengrass.Papayatrees,heavywithfruit,were planted here and there, and huts of bamboo and clay stood about theclearing.KarlhadknownDonJorgeforquiteawhile,butthiswashisfirstvisittotheman’shome.

Don Jorge cameout to greet us.Hewasvery friendly, ledus to a spaciousroom, and asked hiswife to prepare us a feast.He showed us the trail to theAsriamas River, from which the village had taken its name. It was a small,shallow river that emptied into the Tuichi. Deciding to bathe, we latheredourselves,shampooedourhair,anddoveundertorinseoff.Weraninafrenzyonthewayback,emittingshoutsofrageasmosquitoesswarmedoverusandbitourbareskin.

DonJorge’swifewasdeterminedtodemonstratethefullrangeofherculinaryskills, and we ate like kings. Delicious soup, well-seasoned salad, chicken,roastedyucca.Wethankedherprofusely,andsheblushedshyly.

Weawokeearlytoaroostercrowing,usheringinabright,sunnyday.Outsidewas a pastoral scene. Ten or more sinewy horses grazed amid the huts, lazysheep dozed under the fruit trees, and a flock of chickens competedwith twopigsforthegrainsofcorntheseñorascatteredabouttheyard.

Afterwehadbreakfastedonfriedeggs,rice,andhotcaña(sugarcanejuice),DonJorgecametous.Hewasextremelyworried.Hisoldestsonhadinjuredhisbigtoetheweekbefore,andthewoundwasn’thealing.Hewassufferingterriblepainandhadn’tsleptatallthepastfewnights.

Marcustookoutthefirst-aidkit.

‘Let’sgohavealookatthekid,’hesaidtome.

Theboywasbarefoot.Histoewasswollenandhadturnedcompletelyblack.Pus oozed from the wound, and the infection had begun to spread. It lookedhorrible.Marcusaskedforapanofhotwater.Hegentlydippedthefootintothewaterandthentookcottonsoakedinalcoholandswabbedawaythedriedpus.Hespokekindlytotheboytotakehismindoffthepain.Thenhespreadthetoewithdisinfectantandbandageditproperly.Hegavetheboyantibiotictablets.

Thenewsspreadfast:therewasadoctorinthevillage.Peopleconvergedonthe little hut from all directions. They recited a litany of aches and pains,injuries,anddiseases.Marcusaskedtohavealookatthewounds,soastobeofmorehelp,butnoneofthemwouldshowhim.Theyjustwantedmedicines.

We laughed.The campesinos arewild aboutmedicine and don’t hesitate tomakeupallkindsofailmentsinordertogettheirhandsonsome.Kind-heartedMarcustookoutatinofhandcreamandgavealittletoeveryonewhowantedit.

KarlwastalkingbusinesswithDonJorge.Heboughtalargequantityofriceandpork.Thepriceswereridiculouslylow.IwasalittleputoutwithKarl.‘Why

doesithavetobeporkandnotlamb?’Idemanded.

‘Porkkeepsbetter.We’llsmokeittotakealongwithus.Lambtastesgoodbutspoilsquickly.’

We slaughtered the pig ourselves.Karl jumped over the fence into the pen,wherealargesowandfourfatshoatsranabout.Hepickedoneoutandbegananentertainingpursuit.Thesquealsof thepigsweredeafening.Finallyhecaughtone,lifteditupbyitshindlegs,andhandeditovertoKevin.Karlclimbedbackoutofthepenanddrewoutasharpknife.‘Youallholditslegs,andI’llslititsthroat.’

‘Howcanyoudo it righthere, in frontof itsmother andbrothers?’Marcusprotested.

‘Bullcrap,’Karlreplied.‘Theirturnwillcomesoonenough.’

Marcusrefusedtohaveanypart in it.Hewouldn’tevenwatch.KevinandIfirmlygripped the fluttering legs.Karlgrabbedholdof thepigby itsearsandskilfullyslit its throat.Apoolofbloodgatheredon thegroundnear the fence.Karlcarriedthepigover totheoven,whichstoodundera thatchedroofinthecentreoftheclearing.Hetieditsfrontlegstooneofthepilings.Ilookedbackatthesurvivingmembersofthepigfamily.Twoofthemhadgoneovertothepoolofbloodandwere slurping it up thirstily. Inside thepena fat littlepigletwasattemptingtomountitsmother.

Whataworld,Ithoughttomyself.

Kevinwenttogetsomewoodfortheoven,andIhelpedKarlbutcherthepig.Welaidtheloinsinlargeroastingpans.Theovenwasmadeofclay,shapedlikealittleigloo.Withinhalfanhouraromasfromtheroastingporkwaftedthroughthe entire village, andwhen it was ready,we had to share it with all of DonJorge’sfamilyandtheneighbours.

Welaidoutabanquetoffreshsalad,hotsauce,roastbananas,andyucca.Theporkwasservedwithriceandbeans.Wedrankhotcañaandhadsweetbananasandpapayasfordessert.

Afterdinner,wegatheredaroundonthegrasswithDonJorgeandafewothermen.Karlwasfeelingmellowandbrokeout theliquorthatwehadboughtfortheIndians.Hepokedaholeinthetinandgenerouslyspikedthepitcherofcaña.Drinkswereservedallaround.Wedrankandenjoyedeverymoment.DonJorgerose,wentintohishouse,andcamebackamomentlatercarryingwhat lookedlikeaprayerbook.

‘Nowhe’ll offer a prayer of thanks.’Marcus smiled and then added, ‘Whowouldhavethoughtthattheyknewhowtoread?’

Don Jorge took awadof tobaccoout of his pocket.He cut a plugwith hispocketknife,toreapageoutofthebook,androlledacigarette.KevinandIburstoutlaughing,butMarcus’sfeelingswerehurt.

The nextmorningwe got ready to leave.Karl bought some freshly groundcoffeefromDonJorge’swife.MarcusandIwenttohaveanotherlookatthesonwiththeinfectedtoe.Hismothersaidthathehadsleptsoundlyallnight,andshewas extremely grateful toMarcus.Marcus removed the bandage and saw thattherehadn’tbeenanyimprovement.Thetoewasblackandoozingpus.

‘I’mafraid that the infectionwill spread tohiswhole foot,’hewarnedDonJorge.‘Hehastoseeadoctor.Otherwisehecouldlosehisfoot.’

DonJorgelistenedwhileMarcusexplainedindetail.Marcusshowedhimhowtocleanthetoewithalcoholandwarnedhimnottodrinkanyofthealcoholthatwewere leavingwith him.Hegavehim some antibiotic creamaswell, alongwithbandagesandantibiotictablets.

‘Ifitdoesn’tgetanybetterinacoupleofdays,youhavetotakeyoursontoApolo,’Marcuswarnedhimagain.

‘Iwilldoasyousay,’DonJorgepromised.

‘Anddon’tlethimgobarefoot.Hehastowearasockatleast.Hecan’tletthebandagegetdirty.’

Kevinreturnedfromashortpicture-takingstroll throughthevillage.Weputourpacksonourbacks.Theyhadgrownheavierbecausewewerenowcarryingtherice,fivepoundsofcoffee,smokedpork,bananasthatDonJorge’sfather-in-law had given us, and some chancaca (a lump of brown sugar derived fromsugarcane).

IwassorrytosaygoodbyetoDonJorge,hiswife,andhisneighbours.Theywereallgood,pleasantpeople,andIhopedthatIwouldseethemagain.

Flacahadmistakenlythoughtthatshewouldbelefttolollaboutthevillage,butKarlletherknowinnouncertaintermsthatwhereverwewent,shewenttoo.Thedog’sdispleasurewasobvious,andKevintriedtotalkKarlintoleavingherbehind.

‘She’sgotitmadeintheshadehere,’hesaid,‘andshe’sjustanuisancetous.’

‘Youdon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,’Karlrepliedangrily.‘Justlookathowshe’sperkedupnowthatshe’sgotherstrengthup.Oncewegetgoing,you’llseethatIwon’thavetodragher.’

Ourplanwas to follow theAsriamasRiverupstream, then tocrossa rangeofmountainstotheCocusRiver.WewoulddescendtheCocusandthencontinuecrossingmountainsuntilwecametotheColorado-Chico.FromthereitwouldbeonlyashortdistancetotheIndianvillage.

The Asriamas River isn’t particularly wide or deep, but its current is verystrong.Onbothitsbanksthejungleencroachesrighttoitsedge.Thereishardlyany shore. Neither is there any kind of a trail, so instead of cutting our waythroughthejungle,wewadedintheriver,crisscrossingfromtimetotime.Thegoingwasslowatfirst.Eachtimewewantedtocrosstheriver,wetookoffoursocksandshoes.Kevinwasthefirsttolosepatienceandbegincrossingwithhisshoeson.Soonwewereallfollowinghisexample.Ithadbeendifficultwadingacross the riverbarefootanyway.Thewaterwasverycold,andsmooth, sharpstonescutintothesolesofourfeet.Itwasmorecomfortabletocrosswithshoeson,butwesoonhadblistersfromwalkinginwetsocks.

It was a hard day for all of us. An irritating rain had been falling sincemorning,andweshiveredwithcold.Flacawasthemostpitiful.Nowandthenshestopped inher tracks,wet,cold,andmiserable,andrefused togoon.Karlhadtokickhertogethergoing.Once,whilewewerecrossingtheriver,shehadgottencaughtinthecurrentandwassweptalmostoutofsight.Iwentafterher,lettingthewatercarrymealongtoo.Ifoundherperchedonasmallriseontheriverbank.Iwentovertoher,butshetrieddesperatelytogetawayfromme.Shedidn’twantanyhelp.Shejustwantedtobeleftalone.Idraggedherquiteawayandthenpickedherupandwalkedbackagainstthecurrenttorejointheothers.

Itwasgettinglate.Karldecideditwastimetostopforthenight.Wequicklyset up camp a short distance from the riverbank. Fortunately, the rain hadstopped,andwegotafiregoing.Karlmadeabigpotofsoupfromriceandbitsofsmokedpork.

MarcusandKevin,whohadbothbroughtachangeofclothes,hungtheirwetclothes to dry by the campfire, but Karl and I had to dry our clothing whilewearingit.

‘Don’tputyourclothestooclosetothefire,’Karlsaid.‘Thethreadswearout

thatway,andthey’llstartfallingapartattheseams.’

Beforewefellasleep,Karlpromised,‘TomorrowI’llfindsomekindofgame,forsure.’

‘That’sgood,Poppa,’Marcuslaughed.‘Youhavetoprovideforyourhungrychildren.’

IawokeveryearlyinthemorningandfoundKarlalreadyupandoutside.Hewaswhittlingchipsofwoodfromabrokenbranchwiththemachete.Heplacedthechipsovertheashesfromlastnight’sfire,bentover,andblewononeofthestillredlogs.Thefirerekindled.Karladdeddrytwigsandsoonhadagoodblazegoing. I crawledoutof the tent andwarmedmyself against themorningchill.Kevinhad also arisen andwas breakingup a large branch. I took the pot andutensilsdowntotherivertocleanthem.

Theweatherwasbetterthanithadbeenthedaybefore.Ithadstoppedraining,ourclothingwasdry,andweweresoononourway,wadingintheicywateroftheriver.

AtnoonKarlnoticedagatheringofdarkcloudsonthehorizon.Beforelongaheavy rainwaspouringdownonus.Determined,wemarchedon,drenched tothebone.

Flaca,whowasbeingdraggedbytheropearoundherneck,rebelled.Herlegswentoutfromunderher,andshelaydown.Karl’sshoutingandkickingdidnogood.Hedraggedhera longwayover themuddyground.Shedidn’t letoutawhimper. Finally he got reallymad, took the rope from around her neck, andshouted,‘Youdon’twanttocome?Fine,haveityourway.Juststayhere!’

Wewenton,lookingbacksadlyatthepoordog,surewewouldneverseeheragain.Whatabumdealshehadgotten,Ithoughttomyself.Wehadboughtherfromherpoorowners,thinkingshe’dbebetteroffwithus,buthadbroughthernothing but hardship. Nowwewere abandoning her to her fate. Alone in thejungle she would die of cold and hunger. I looked back again. Flaca wasstretchedoutinthemud,watchingusapathetically,asifresignedtotheendthatwouldsoonbehers.

‘Look,cattle!’Karlcried. ‘Theybelong to thepeopleofAsriamas.They letthemwanderfreelyaboutthejungletograzeandbreed.’

About twenty head stood on the narrow riverbank. The calves frolickedbetweentheirmothers’legs.One,allsoftandwhite,nuzzleditsmother’sudder.

‘She’sgivingmilk,’Isaid.‘Maybewecouldcatchherandgetalittlemilkforourselves.’

‘Whybother?’Karlsaid.‘Betterweshouldtakeayoungcalfandroastitoverthecampfire.It’sevenlegal,’headded.‘There’sanunwrittenlawthatahungrymantravellingthroughthepampascanslaughterawholecowinordertohavesomethingtoeat.’

Wewereallstarving,anditdidn’ttakemucheffortonKarl’sparttoconvinceusthattherewouldn’tbeanythingimmoralaboutkillingacalfbelongingtothepeoplewhohadshelteredus inAsriamas.So thehuntwason.KarlandKevinsneakedupontheherdholdingropes.Thecattlegotwindofthemandfled.

‘I have a great idea,’ Karl proclaimed. ‘We’ll keep spooking them in thedirectionwe’re going until it’s time to set up camp. Thenwe’ll shoot one ofthem.Wewon’tevenhavetocarryitthatway.’

We carried on enthusiastically, driving the cattle forwardwith loud shouts.Theytriedtogiveustheslip,butwemanagedtokeepthemtogether;onlyoneortwogotaway.Alloftheotherswereaheadofus,andthemomentoftruthhadarrived.

Isuddenlyspottedablackbirdglidingaboutfiftyyardsaheadofus.

‘Shhh,’Isaidtoquieteveryone,‘look.’

Karlmoved forwardcautiously,andwhile still aconsiderabledistance fromthebird,tookaimwiththeshotgunandfired,decapitatingthebird.Herushedtotheriveranddrewitoutof thewater. Itwasafat,blackwildgoose.Karlwasgrinning from ear to ear. I was just as proud as he was of his admirablemarksmanship.

Marcus suddenlycriedout, ‘It’salive! It’s still alive!’and indeed thegoosewasstillflutteringwithlifeinKarl’sgrip.IlookedatMarcussuspiciously,halfexpectinghim tobreakout the first-aidkit, butKarl thoughtnothingof it.HegraspedthegoosebyitneckandtwistedittosetMarcus’smindatease.Marcusletoutapainfulgroanandcoveredhiseyes.

‘Waytogo,Karl.’Islappedhimontheback,whilehetiedthegoosetomybackpack.‘Nowwewon’thavetoshootacalf.’

‘Thecalfisn’toutofityet,’hereplied.‘Onelousygooseisn’tgoingtomakeamealforthefourofus,andthecalfwillgiveusenoughfortomorrowtoo.’

Noneofusobjected.Karltookaimatthewhitecalf.Iputmyhandsovermy

ears,andMarcussqueezedhiseyesshut.Kevinwatchedattentively.Thecalf’ssalvationarrivedfromdifferentquarters.Theboltstuck,andKarlcouldn’tgetitunjammed.Whilehewasfiddlingwiththeshotgun,theentireherdmadeabreakforit,backtotheriverbank.

ThereisaGodinheaven,Ithoughttomyselfwithrelief.

Karl wasn’t upset. ‘So they got away,’ he shrugged. ‘We’ll have plenty ofgametomorrow.Lookatthefatgoosewegottoday.’

Wesetupcampquickly.Karlcleanedthegoose,putapotofriceontoboil,andsetthegooseinit.Wesatdowntowarmourselvesaroundthefire.Weeachheldadeepbowlandconcentratedonthedeliciousstew.

‘PoorFlaca,’Isaid.

‘Stupid,pig-headeddog,’Karlcursed.

‘TellusabouttheIndianvillage,’Kevinsaid,changingthesubject.

Karllikednothingbetterthantobeaskedtotellastory.

‘We were panning for gold in Curiplaya,’ he began, ‘the camp we’ll becomingtolateron.TherewerevillagersfromSanJoséthere,andaSwissfriendof mine, Don Matías, who owns a ranch farther down the Tuichi. Thecampesinos, together with Don Matías, had already visited the village once.They said that the Indians were supposed to know where there was a largetreasureofgoldinthearea.Itgotmecurious,andIaskedtogothere.’

Itwasadifficult journey, threedays’hikeupamountainside.Therewasn’tanywateron theway,and theyhad tocarrywaterwith them,but they finallymade it. Itwas a big village: six hundred inhabitants. Thewomenwore shortgrassskirtsandwentbarefootandbare-breasted.Theyweresolidlybuilt,withhigh cheekbones and somewhat slanted eyes. All in all, Karl declared, theyweren’tbad-looking.Themenworeloincloths,andmostofthemalsoworebeltsfromwhichtheshrunkenheadsoftheirenemiesdangled.Eachmanhadtwoorthreewives.Besides cookingandcleaning, thewomenalsoworked the fields.Theytendedbananagrovesandraisedyuccaandcorn.Theycarriedlongknives,madeofaveryhardwoodcalledchonta.Theirbows,spears,andblowgunsweremade of the samewood.Themenmade theweapons and spentmost of theirtimehuntingorplayinggames.Jungleboys.

Not far from the village – about three days’ walk, almost on the Peruvianborder–livedanothertribe,knownforitsferocity.Thistribewouldattackthe

village,carryingoffitswomen.Thevillagersprotectedtheirwomen,andwhentheykilledoneof their enemies, theycutoffhisheadand shrank it.Thiswasdonebyburyingtheheadinthesandbytheriver.Overtheplacewheretheheadwasburiedahotfirewaslit.Afterafewhourstheheadwasdugupandtheskullbonespulledout through the jaggedneck.Theheadwasburied againunder afireformanyhours,until itshranktothesizeofaclenchedfist.Theshrunkenhead looked just like the man when he was alive: all the features – the lips,eyelids,lashes,eyebrows,everything–justthesame.Finallytheheadwasfilledwithsand tomake it solidandhungasanornament fromabelt.According toIndianlore,thestrengthofthedeadenemypassedtothewarriorwhokilledhim,and thewarrior became twice as strong.Themoreheads an Indianhasonhisbelt,thestrongerheisassumedtobe.

Whenoneof themembersof the tribedies, thevillagehas abig cremationrite.Karlhadbeenpresentatoneofthemandrecalleditwithgreatenthusiasm.The deceased was an old man who had died a natural death. Average lifeexpectancyforthetribewasaboutforty-fiveyears.Themenbuiltabigbonfirein the centre of the village. The women brought urns of chicha and sangmourningsongs.Thedeceased,withhisbeltoffiveshrunkenheads,wastossedintothebonfire.

‘Thesmelloftheburningbodymademenauseous,’Karlsaidwithagrimace,‘butImanagedtokeepastraightface.Ididn’twantthemtoseehowdisgustedIwas.’

The women wailed some incomprehensible lamentation, while the mendancedabouttothebeatofdrumsandroaredsoundslikeanimalcalls.Nowandthentheyaddedmorewoodtothefire.Thenthewomenbroughtmillstones.Afewmen smothered the firewith broad leaves and removed the red-hot bonesfromit.Theydivided thebonesamong thewomen,whoground themon theirmillstones.Theresultingpowderwaspouredintournsofchicha.Afterwardalltheparticipantsreceivedgourdbowlsintowhichtheyellowchichawaspoured.

‘I’mnotdrinkinganyofthat!Isaidtomyself,butDonMatías,knowingwhatImust be thinking, said tome, ‘Drink it,Karl, if youwant to get out of herealive.Justbecarefultokeepyourteethclampedshut.’Isoonfoundoutwhathehadmeant.Ungroundbitsoffleshstillclungtothebones.

‘Themen sat around smoking something. I don’t knowwhat itwas. Itwaswrappedindryleavesandhadasharpscent.Theyinvitedmetohaveasmoke.Of course I couldn’t refuse. Don Matías warned me that the drug was very

dangerousandthatitsinfluencecouldbepermanent.Hetoldmetosmokeashedid,holdingthesmokeinmymouthwithoutinhalinganyofit.

‘The smoke burned my mouth, and my eyes started watering. I coughedloudly, but none of them laughed or showed any interest in me at all. Theylookedaboutgazingintospace.Theydidn’tsayathingexceptwhenoneofthemcriedoutfromtimetotime.DonMatíasandIgotoutofthereafterabouthalfanhour,andnoneofthemreactedwhenweleft.’

BythetimethatKarlhadfinishedthisstory,Iwascoveredwithgoosebumpsbuteager tohaveandsavoursimilarexperiencesofmyown. Iwasamazed todiscover that both Kevin and Marcus had fallen asleep without hearing theending.

When I openedmy eyes in themorning, I sawKarl, as he had eachmorningbefore,bringinglastnight’sfirebacktolifeandputtingonapotofcoffee.Karlneverwokeustohelphim.Helookedafterusasifwewerehischildren.TherewasgoodreasonforMarcus’shavingstartedtocallhimPoppa.

Withinafewminuteswewereallupandout.Wehadourby-nowtraditionalbreakfast,sweetriceporridge.Kevincomplainedthathehatedthisglop,butthatdidn’tstophimfromhavingasecondhelpingorlickingthepotclean.Heknewthatwewouldn’thaveanythingelsebutacupofcoldteauntileveningandthathehadbetterfillhisbellyasbesthecouldnow.

Wewereoff.Karlledthewayatarapidpace.Iadmiredhowtoughhewas.Hewaswearingcowboyboots,whichweren’tsuitedtolong-distancetrekking.Infact,theyweredisintegratingfromrepeatedimmersionintheriver.Thatdaythesolefelloffone,andhehadto tie itonwithapieceofrope.I’msure thatwalking in those boots was agonising, but he never complained and neversloweddown.

Withoutconsciouslydecidingtodoso,wehadbrokenupintopairs.KarlandMarcuswalkedtogetherintheleadwithKevinandmeclosebehindthem.Ourmarching arrangement affected our social relations as well. Karl and Marcusspoke German to each other. Kevin and I spoke English. Besides that, I washappy tobe inKevin’scompanyandwas feeling less friendly towardMarcus.Somehowhehadchanged.Hewastookind,overlysensitive,andpoliteenoughtodriveonetodistraction.Wewereinthejungle,carryingheavypacks,hikingthrough rugged terrain for no less that ten hours each day.We were wading

throughtheriver,ploddingthroughmud,andfightingthroughthefoliage.Itwasnatural that we would all become tougher. Except Marcus. When he saw abramblebush,hewouldstopandhold itsbranchesasideuntilwehadallgonepast,orhewouldcallout,‘Watchit,there’sathornybushhere,’or‘Becarefulthat thatbranchstickingoutdoesn’t scratchyou.’ Itgot tobe ridiculous. Ifhehappenedtobewalkingbehindusandgothitbyabranchorscratched,hewasinsulted that we hadn’t warned him. Kevin and I couldn’t help deriding himprivately.AmongourselveswecalledhimGirlScout.

IhadfeltagulfopeningbetweenMarcusandmeeversincethebeginningofthe trip.We couldn’t bridge the widening gap, and our conversations centredaround purely practical matters. Neither one of us felt comfortable with thischangeinourrelationship.

Kevin, who after all had known Marcus even longer than I had, had alsobecomeconcerned.

‘Marcusseemsdifferent,’Isaidtohimonemorning.‘He’ssadallofthetime.Don’tyouthinkso?’

‘Inoticedit,too,butitisn’tjustrecently.He’sbeenlikethatformonths.HemusthavetoldyouaboutMonica.’

‘Yes,hetoldmeabouther.Hemusthavereallylovedher.’

‘Iwaswithhimwhenshewashere,andwhenshelefthim,hewenttopieces.Itwasasifhehadlostthedesiretogoonliving.

‘Marcus and I used tobe likebrothers. I lovedhim, and I still do, but he’schanged. I thought at first it was because of Monica, but I’m not so sureanymore.Marcus is a special person. He wants to save the whole world. Hewantstohelpeveryneedypersonherunsinto,andheletspeoplewalkalloverhim. I feel bad for him.He shouldnever have come into the jungle.He’s notcomfortablehereinthewilderness.It’stoosavageforhim.Lookatthewayheacts.He’sscared,insecure.He’sreallymiserable.Ithurtsjusttolookathim.’

‘Haveyoutriedtalkingtohimaboutit?’Iasked.

‘AcoupleofdaysafterweleftApolo,whenKarlhadgoneofftoseeiftherewasaranchnearbyandyouwerewithFlaca,MarcusandIwereleftalone.ItoldhimhowIwasfeeling,thathisfriendshipwasveryimportanttome,andthatIwasafraidof losing it. I feltweird, I said,almost likehecouldn’t standbeingaroundme.ItoldhimIthoughtmaybeweshouldkeepalittlespacebetweenus,thatthatmightsaveourfriendship.Isuggestedmaybeweshouldtryjusttalking

about things having to dowith the trip, but it didn’t do any good, except forkeepingupappearances.

‘Iseethatwithyou,too,Yossi.It’sgettingworseeveryday.Iknowhegetson your nerves. He behaves like a child, hanging on Karl all day long. Hesteppedonmyfoottheotherdayandspenthalfanhourapologising.HewantedtochecktomakesureIwasn’tinjured.’

‘Maybeyoushouldtrytalkingtohim.’

Laterthatmorning,whenKarlstoppedtoattendtohisdisintegratingbootandtoldustocarryon,he’dcatchup,IfoundmyselfwalkingalongsideMarcusandwassurprisedwhenherevealedthathe,too,feltandregrettedthechasmthathadopenedupbetweenus.

‘Yossi,don’tyouthinkthatourrelationshiphaschangedsincewestartedonthistrip,’heaskedsuddenly,‘likewearen’tsuchgoodfriendsasweusedtobe?Haven’tyounoticed?’Hespokequietly,hisvoicesad.

I didn’t knowwhat to say. ‘I don’t think anything has changed,Marcus,’ Iansweredhim.‘Youjustseemveryunhappy,likesomethingisbotheringyou.Idon’t know.Maybe you can’t getMonica out of yourmind.Maybe youmissAnnick.You keep everything to yourself, bottled up inside.But I’m sure thatthingsbetweenusarejustthesame,’Isaid,eventhoughIknewhewasright.

Aswewalkedalongthatday,theAsriamasbecamenarrowerandnarrower.Bythe timewe approached somehilly terrain, itwas littlemore than a stream. Itwas a hot, sunny day. Thousands of brightly coloured butterflies – yellow,orange,blue,green,purple-restedonthesandorhoveredaboveit,theirwingsfluttering.AtKevin’srequestKarlstrodedirectlyintotheirmidst,whileKevinsnappedpicturesofeachstepthathetook.Thebutterfliestookflight,andKarlwasengulfedinacloudofcolours.Itwasastunninglybeautifulsight.Marcusdiscoveredasinglebutterflywarming itselfonarock.Kevinbentoverquietlyandtookaclose-up.Itswingsweretransparentwithyellowstripes.

Karlstoopedoverashewalked,hiseyesgluedtotheground.Ithoughthewaslookingforbutterflies,buthesaid,‘Look,tapirtracks,amotherandacalf.Thatexplainsthebutterflies.Thecowandcalfmusthavecomedowntodrinkfromthestream.Thentheypeedinthesand.Thebutterfliesgoafter theminerals inurine.’

Pointing out what he thought our approximate location to be on our poorexcuse for a map, Karl decided to turn away from the stream and cross themountain chain. ‘The Cocus River is on the other side,’ he explained. ‘Oncewe’reoverthefirstridge,anytrickleofwaterthatwestumbleacrosswillleadusthere.That’swhywedon’tneedanexactmap.’

We started our ascent, and soon our bodies were pouring sweat. When Ispotted a large, green fruit nearmy foot, I calledout toKarl.Hewaspleasedwith the find–hecalled itmanzanademonte (mountainapple)–andshowedmehowitbrokeevenlyintofourpieces,andhandedthemaround.

‘Let’slookforthetree,’Kevinsuggested,andinafewmoments,whenwe’dfound it and discovered the fruit too high above our heads and the trunk toosmoothtoclimb,hesaiddecisively,

‘Let’schopitdown.’

Marcusimmediatelytooktheoppositeview.Itwasn’tright,heargued,tokilla tree just togetat its fruit. ‘Andwhataboutotherpeoplewhomightpassbyhereandneedfood?’

‘We’reherenow,’Kevinretorted,‘andwe’rehungry.’

We took turns striking at the trunk with the machete. Kevin worked at itlongerthantherestofus,andinnotimethetreetoppledwithacrash,breakingbranchesoffneighbouringtreesonitswaydown.Wepouncedonthefruitandgatheredupagooddealofitonlytofindthatnotasingleonewasedible.

Theywereallgreenandhardinside.Ithoughtwecouldtakethemalongandeatthemwhenthey’dripened,buttheothersdisagreed;theburdenwasn’tworththereward.

It took five long, exhausting hours to climb the steep mountainside. Karlshowedushowtoextractwaterfromthebambooshootsthatgrewinabundanceonthemountain.Littlereservesofpotablewaterbuildupbetweenthejointsonthestalks.Hechoppedoffoneoftheshootswiththemachete,and,sureenough,waterpouredout.

Weneededarestbeforegoingon.Ileanedmywearybackagainstoneofthestalks, but it offered no support, and I fell over backward. Long, thick thornsstuckupamongthestalks,andwhenIfell,myhandstruckoneofthem,piercingmywristmorethanhalfaninchdeep.

Marcushadbegunlaughingatmyfall,butwhenhesawthelookonmyface,

hegrewfrightenedandsilent.Iwasinseverepain.Ipulledthethornout,and,surprisingly, there wasn’t much bleeding. Marcus disinfected the wound, andKevinbounditwithalargebandanna.Myhandwasparalyzedfromthewristtothefingertips.

Wedescendedthemountainrapidly,thewaydownassteepastheascenthadbeen.Karlseemedtoknowwhathewas talkingabout;whenwereachedlevelground, we did find a narrow brook. We waded along in it, and its currentgradually quickened. The scenery was magnificent, and Kevin couldn’t stoptakingpictures.

Whenwe came around a bend in the stream,we took a lazy little sloth bysurprise.Itwasdrinkingfromthestreamandwastooslowtorunawayfromus.Karlwasthefirsttospotit.Herantowarditshoutinghappily,‘Alaolla!Alaolla!Intothepotwithyou!’Hefearlesslygrabbedtheslothbythescruffofitsneck and picked it up. The animal batted at Karl’s hands clumsily but struckonlythinair.

‘It would be a shame to waste a shell on it,’ Karl said, while Kevinphotographedthecubforposterity.

Karlthrewtheanimaldownontheground,pulledthemachetefromhisbelt,and raised it over his head.Marcus looked away, horrified. Karl brought themachetedownonthebackofthesloth’sneck,anditsigheditslastbreath.

‘Wefinallygotsomegame,’Karlobservedproudly, tyingthecarcasstomypack.

Beforeanotherhourhadpassed,weheardsharpcries.

‘Shhh,shhh.’Karlwavedusback.‘Therearemonkeyscomingthisway.’

Afamilyofblackmonkeysappearedinthetreetops.Theyswungfrombranchto branch like acrobats. Boom, boom. Karl fired the gun, and a monkeyplummetedtotheground.Karlrantoitandfiredanothershotfromcloserange.Themonkeyletoutagurgle,andKarlsmashedthebuttoftheshotgunintoitsheaduntilitwasstill.‘Awoundedmonkeycanbeveryvicious,’heexplained.Themonkeywasquitesmall,weighingabouttwentypounds.

Karlsuggestedthatwemakecamp.Itwasn’tyetgrowingdark,butwehadalotorworktodo.Wehadtocleantheanimalsandpreparethemforcooking.Wechosehigh,dryground,asKarlinstructed,andsetaboutourusualpreparations.Icouldn’tworkwithmywoundedhandandjustsatwatchingKarlandKevinsetupcamp,whileMarcusgroundspices togetherwithstones thathe found lying

about.After the tentwas up,Karl began skinning the sloth. Itwas a difficulttask,becausehedidn’thaveasharpenoughknife.Themonkeywaseasier.Karltossed the whole thing into the fire, and its fur burned right off. It was adisgustingsight:itsfacewasallshrivelledup,itsteethandnosebonewerestarkwhite, the eye sockets were creepy, and the hands and feet looked human. Icouldhardlystand towatch.Karlwassooncrouchedover thestreamcleaningouttheinnardsandthoroughlywashingtheentirecarcass.Ihelpedhimcuttheanimalstopieces.Hestucktheslothmeatongreen,skewerlikebranchesandsetthemdownnearthefire.

‘That’sourdinner.We’llsmokethemonkeytotakealongwithus,’hesaid.

Besides the sloth meat, which was seasoned with the spices Marcus hadprepared,Karlmadericeinplaceofourusualsoup.

AfterdinnerKarlriggedasmalldomedstructureofgreenbranchesoverthefireandsetthecutsofmonkeymeatinside:legs,arms,body,head,andtail.

‘We’llletitsmokeallnight.Bymorningitwillbegoodanddry.’

For breakfastwe had rice soup andmonkeymeat. It was the first time thethreeofushadtastedmonkey.Iwasnauseatedbyit,butmyhungerovercamemydisgust.Marcus and I tried to choosenondescript pieces ofmeat from thebreastandloins.Kevinwaslesssqueamishandsattheresmackinghislips.

‘I’llbedamned,it’sreallygood.’

Karlsavouredeverybite.Hegraspedathighandtorethefleshfromitwithhisteeth.

We shortly came to the Cocus River. Travelling along it was astoundinglybeautiful.TheCocuswasdifferentfromtheAsriamas.Thefartherdownriverwewent,themorestreamsranintoit,andthewider,deeper,andmorepowerfulitbecame.Walking in the river was very difficult, more so forme because thewoundonmyhandwasstillpainful.Wechoseeachstepcarefully.Progresswasslow.Wecameupondeeppoolsandwaterfallsandhadnochoicebuttoclimbupintothejungleandhackourwaythroughthefoliageuntilwecametoaplacewheretheriverwasshallowagain.

Karl’s boots were now entirely shapeless, yawning with wide holes. Hewrappedtheminnylonbagsandusedropetosecurethemtohisankles.Hisfeetwerecoveredwithblisters,buthedidn’tcomplain.Heonlypausednowandthento tighten the ropes. Once in a while he stopped to examine the rocks at thewater’sedge,lookingfortracesofgoldandotherminerals.

Byafternoonwewereexhausted.Westoppedtorest,andKarlgaveuseachaslabofmonkeymeat.ThistimeMarcusandIdevouredithungrily.ForsecondhelpingsKarlpulledout themonkey’s tailandcut it intopieces.MarcusandIdeclined,butKevinandKarlmunchedaroundthetailthewayyouwouldcornonthecob,leavingonlythebare,whitecartilage.

Wesatalittlelongerstudyingthemap.

‘We have to keep travelling down the Cocus to here,’ Karl said, pointing.‘Then we’ll cross back over the mountains and come down to the Colorado-Chico. I’ve been told that there’s a lot of gold to be found in that river,’ headded.‘Ifwefindanytraces,maybewe’llchangeplansandsetupcampthereinstead of Curiplaya. I think we should be able to pan a good few hundreddollars’worth.’

KevinandMarcusweren’tparticularlyimpressed.Theydidn’treallytakehimseriously,butIwasintoxicatedbyKarl’senthusiasmandwantedtobelievethatwemightgohomerich.

After a fewmorehours’walkingover rugged terrain,we setupcamp.Karladdedthelastofthemonkeymeattothericesoup.Hebrokeopentheshrivelledskull and tossed in the brains.Marcuswas absolutely disgusted andwouldn’ttakeabiteofthesoup.Iwasreluctantatfirstbutovercamemyaversionandduginwiththeothers.

Another day of arduous walking in the river, the fifth since we had leftAsriamas.AccordingtoKarl,thiswasthedaywewouldfindthatIndianvillage.Ihadalmostfulluseofmyhandbythen.Kevinneverstoppedsnappingpictures.The scenery was really splendid; the wilderness was without a trace ofcivilisation–norustytincansorcigarettebutts.Noonehadbeenherebeforeus.Everythingwasclean,natural.

Agooseflewoverhead.Karlshotatitbutmissed.Wewerealldisappointed.Forthefirsttimesincewehadstartedout,MarcusheldbacktowalkwithKevinandme.Heconfided thathewasworriedanddidn’twant to relyonKarl.Hewasafraidtogoon.

‘Wedon’thaveenoughfood,’heprotested.

Kevintriedtoreassurehim.‘Thiseveningwe’llcheckjusthowmuchricewehave left.’ he suggested reassuringly, and yet I noticed he seemed less thanfriendlytoMarcus.

That evening we sat around the campfire. The clouds that had gathered

overhead all daybrokeup, and themoonlight shimmeredon theCocusRiver.Thecurrentglitteredasilveryreflection.Norwasthejungledark.Hundredsoffireflies danced about. Itwas amagnificent evening, butMarcuswas anxiety-ridden.

‘Look,we’vebeengoingforfivedays,andwhoknowshowfarwe’vereallygone,howclose toourplan,’he said. ‘In themeanwhilewe’re runningoutoffood.Maybewe’dbettergoback.Wecan’tknowforsurethatwe’llevenfindtheIndianvillage.Wedon’tevenhaveadecentmap.’

‘There’snothingtogetuptightabout,’Karlsaid.‘We’renotabouttogetlostin the jungle.Noway. Iknowthe jungle toowell,andIhaveagreatsenseofdirection.Itmighttakeanotherdayortwo,butwe’llgetthere.’

Westudiedthemap.Karlhadmarkedtheapproximatelocationofthevillage.Weseemedtohavecoveredonlyabouthalfthedistance,andourprogresswasnowslowerbecauseof thepainful blistersonour feet.Marcuswas alsoweakandhadlostagreatdealofweight.

KevinandMarcusmeasuredoutcupfulsoftherice.Consideringthatweateitforbothbreakfastandsupper,theamountthatwehadleftwouldlastbarelyfourdays.

‘There’snopointingoingonanyfarther,’Marcusdecreed.‘Let’sturnaroundandgoback.’

Karl tried to change his mind. ‘We aren’t far away. By the day aftertomorrow,attheverylatest,we’llbeattheColorado-ChicoRiver.Therewe’llfiresomeshots into theair.Thevillagersouthuntingwillcertainlyhear them.Theydon’tlikeanyonefiringgunsintheirterritorybecausethenoisescarestheanimals away.They’ll come to seewho’s shooting.When they do,we’ll givethemthepresentsandliquor.Thatworkslikeacharmonthem.They’llprobablycarryourpacksforusandhelpusmaketheclimbupthemountaintothevillage.Therewe’llbeable torestup.Kevincan takehispictures.Marcuscangethisstrengthback.Beforewesetoutagain,we’llstockuponyucca,corn,fruit,andplentyofmeat.Theprovisionswilllastustherestofthetrip.I’llbeabletofindout if they knowwhere gold can be found in theColorado-Chico.We shouldkeepon.Wearen’tgoingtofollowourowntracksbacktoAsriamas,arewe?’

I was convinced. ‘Onward,’ I shouted. ‘Where’s your spirit of adventure,Marcus? Whatever happens, we’ll make it. If we run out of rice, we’ll huntgame.’

‘That’sthespirit,’Karlwenton.‘Nooneeverdiesofstarvationinthejungle.We’llfindfood.’

ButMarcuswasn’tatallconvinced.‘Iwanttoturnback,’hesaidstubbornly.

Kevin looked thoughtful. He bent over the map a long while. ‘Maybe weshouldfollowtheCocusdowntothemouthoftheLansaRiver,’hesuggested.‘It’s on thePeruvian border.There are villagesmarked on themap there.Wecouldstockuponprovisionsthereandthengoon.’

‘No,Idon’twanttogothatfaroutoftheway,’Iobjected.‘Ifwegoallthatway,I’msurethatwe’llneverturnbacktotheIndianvillage.Eitherwegoonasplannedorweturnback.I’mnotabouttowalkallthewaytoPeru.’

Wedecidednottodecideatleastuntilmorning.

Chaptersix

BACKTOASRIAMASYou could set yourwatch byKarl. I awoke in themorning to find him onceagainupandabout.WhenhesawthatIwasup,hebeckonedtomeurgently.Hepointedtofreshtracksontheriverbank, justfifteenyardsfromthetent. ‘It’sajaguar.Abigone.Lookatthesizeofthosepaws.Hewasthisclosetoourcamp.It’sagoodthingthefiredidn’tgooutduringthenight.’

A great deal remained to be settled, and over breakfast the four of usdiscussedouralternatives.

Karl said, ‘Just look atmy boots. They certainly are ready to head back toAsriamas,butI’mwillingtokeepongoing,nomatterwhat,barefootifIhaveto,togettotheIndianvillage.Trustme.’

ButKarl’sopiniondidn’treallycount.Hewasmerelyourguide.Hehadtodoaswechose.

Marcuswasadamant.‘We’regoingback!’

Iobjectedjustasstubbornly,‘We’regoingon!’

Kevinwouldcast thedecidingvote, and Iwas sure thathewouldsidewithme.Itsurprisedmewhenhetookalongtimeweighingtheoptions,makinguphismind.Finallyhecasthisvote.‘We’regoingback.’

Karlacceptedtheoutcomegracefully.Weclimbedbackupthemountainside,following thesamepathwehad taken thepreviousday.Kevinwas ina rottenmood.Itwasthefirstdayofthetripthathedidn’ttakeanypictures.Heworeasourexpressionandwasn’tatall friendly towardme.MarcusandKarlwalkedahead of us, talking. Their disagreement hadn’t adversely affected theirfriendship.

Ispottedafigtreegrowingrightontheedgeoftheriver.HowcouldIhavemissedityesterday?KevinandIpickedthefruittogether,butitturnedouttobeunripeandsour.Onlyafewwereedible.Kevintooksomecocaleavesoutofhis

pack.Hechewedalotofthemduringtheday,astheycalmthestomachanddulltheappetite,butIfoundtheirtastesickening.Karlmunchedoncinnamonsticksashewalkedalong,buttheyweresostrongthatIpassedonthemaswell.

Suddenly we heard excited cries up ahead. Karl and Marcus had almoststeppedonalargesnake.

‘It got away.’ Karl shook his head in regret. ‘Too bad. They’re delicious.Tastejustlikefish.’

‘Isn’titpoisonous?’Kevinasked.

‘No, that one wasn’t particularly dangerous. There are two species ofvenomous snakes in the jungle,’ Karl started lecturing, ‘the pucarara and thelora.Thepucararahasyellowandblackstripes.Itsbitecausesalmostimmediatedeath,buttheloraisevenworse.It’sthesameshadeofgreenastheleavesandusuallylivesupinthetrees.It’slikelytostrikerightatthehead,andifitisn’twithin striking distance, it can spray its venom, spit it right into your eyes. Iknow a guy who went blind. But other than those two, the snakes aren’tdangerous,exceptfortheboa,ofcourse,whichcancrushyoutodeath.Socantheanaconda;theyliveintherivers.Theygettobeafewyardslong,andthey’reverythickaround.

‘I’ll tell you something though. The most dangerous animals - worse thansnakesandevenworsethanjaguars–arethewildboars.Theyhavebrains.Theyrun in herds, following a leader. Once I was on an expedition, andwhenwestopped to rest, we were attacked by a pack of boars. There must have beentwentyofthem.Theyhavevicioustusksandrazor-sharpteeth.Theycaughtusoffguard.Weallranaway,scrambledlikehellupthetrees.Thenthosefuckingpigs started rooting around the trunks. They were trying to uproot the trees,determinedtomakeamealofus.’Karlenjoyedelaborating.‘Wefiredalotofshotsatthemfromupinthetreesandfinallyscaredthemoffafterwehadkilledeightofthem.Wedidn’thavetodoanymorehuntingtheentireexpedition;wehadplentyofsmokedmeat.Wildboarmeatisarealdelicacy.’

But we didn’t run into many wild animals other than monkeys, which wefrequentlysawandevenmorefrequentlyheard;theymadeaterriblecommotionat night. We did come across tapir and deer tracks every day, but the vastmajorityofourcontactwiththeanimalkingdomwasunfortunatelywithvariousspeciesofinsects,whoinflictedmuchpainuponus.Themostbothersomewerethe fire ants: small, brown ants that climb trees. If one of us inadvertentlybrushed against a branch of fire ants, he quickly regretted it.Masses of them

swarmedoverus,underourcollars,upoursleeves,anddownourpants.Theirstingburned like fire.Wheneveroneofuswasattacked,hedancedabout inafrenzy. Kevin would strip off his clothes and try to shake them out. Marcuswouldscream,‘Thoseson-of-a-bitchingants,thoselousyson-of-a-bitchingants!Comehelpme!’Hewouldpointtothosepartsofhisbodythathecouldn’treach,andwewouldpluckthemercilessantsfromhim.WhenIfellvictimtothem,Iwould rush to the river and leap in, hoping to drown them, but the painwashorrible.Karltoldusthatfireantscanalwaysbefoundonthepalosanto(holywood)trees.ThemissionariesusedtotierecalcitrantIndianstothepalosanto,andwhile thefireantsattacked them, theyhad theopportunity to rethink theirresistancetoChristianity.

In addition to the fire ants the bees also pesteredus,mainlywhenweweretryingtoeat,andthemosquitoeswereaconstantplague,stingingeverypatchofbareskin.Wehadmalariapillsandconscientiouslyswallowedoneeachday.Ifthesescourgesdidn’tinflictsufficientmiseryuponus,wealsofellvictimtotheleeches. They clung to our bodies, digging their heads under the skin andsuckingourblood.Ifyoudon’tgetleechesoffintime,theybloatup,andthenyouhavetobecarefulhowyoupullthemout.Youhavetodigtheheadoutfromundertheskinwithapinorriskgettinganinfection.

Ourprogresswas rapid, asweknew thewayandweremarchingover trailsthatwehadcutonlythedaybefore.Atnightwesleptincampsthatweourselveshad set up only recently. We walked without enthusiasm, however, barelyspeaking.BothKevin’sandMarcus’sshoeslookedasiftheyhadhadit.Karl’sbootswere completely useless, and hewaswearingKevin’s sandals.Walkingover a rugged trail andwading through streams in sandals couldn’t havebeenverypleasant,butKarl,asI’vesaid,wasaverytoughguy.

TherewasanunspokenenmitybetweenMarcusandme.Wedidn’tspeaktoeachotheratall,andeveninpracticalmatterswecommunicatedthroughKevin.Itbotheredme,butIfeltsecure,sureofKevin’sfriendship.

Intheevening,afterdinner,Kevinwouldtakeoutaspoolofdentalflossandbreakoffapieceforeachofusbeforewebrushedourteeth.Kevin’sfatherwasadentist,andhedidn’tlethisdentalhygienelapse,eveninthejungle.Marcuswasreturningfromwashing thedishes in the riveroneeveningandofferedussomeof thewater remaining in the cleanpan to rinse the toothpaste fromourmouths.Itookamouthful,slosheditaround,andspatitout.Therehadn’tbeenmuchwater,andIuseditall.Kevinwasangry.

‘Youshouldhaveshareditwithme,’hecomplained.

‘Iknow,’Ireplied,‘buttherewassolittlewaterinthere,Iuseditallwithoutevennoticing.’

‘Still,youshouldhaveshared.Youalwayshavetoshare.’

Kevinwastickedoffandwenttothetent,whereKarlwasalreadysnoring.

MarcusandIwereleftalonebythefire.Neitherofusspokeaword.IwasillateaseandfeltlonelyafterhavingquarrelledwithKevin.Ineededhim.IfKevingotmadatme,hemightbefriendMarcusagain, and then Iwouldbe leftout.Marcuspeekedoveratme,butIwouldn’tmeethiseyes.Isattherethinkingforanothermomentandthenroseandsaidgoodnight.

Kevinwasn’tyetasleepinthetent.

‘What’sMarcusdoingoutthereallbyhimself?’heasked.

‘Idon’tknow,’Ianswered.

Kevindidn’tseematallupsetwithme.Onthecontrary,heputawarmhandonmyshoulderwhenhesaidgoodnight.KevinandIwerereunited.Marcus’sdefeat was complete now. I looked out at his fragile figure, and a chill creptalongmyspine.Whatwasbecomingofme?Wherewasallthisdarknesscomingfrom?WhydidImockhim?WhydidIenjoyhispain?SuddenlyIwasafraid,afraid of myself. I wanted to rush out, hug him, and ask his forgiveness butcouldn’tmove.

Marcusstayedoutthereforalongwhile,staringsadlyintotheembers.

In themorningMarcusdiscovered redsplotchesonhis feetandcomplainedthattheywereverypainful.Karllookedworried.

‘It’snotgood,notgoodatall,’hesaid.‘Thosesplotchesareliabletospreadall over your feet. That happened once to a friend ofmine. It got so bad, hecouldn’twalk,andwehadtocarryhimoverourshoulders.Ihopeyouhaven’tgotthesamething.’

MarcuswasfrightenedbywhatKarlsaidandrubbedpetroleumjellyalloverhisfeet.

We tramped briskly on that day, andMarcusmanaged to keep upwith ourpace.Kevin’smoodimproved.

‘Atleastwecanstillgodowntheriver,’hesaid.

At noon Karl spotted a pavo, a wild fowl something like a turkey. It wassitting on one of the branches of a tall tree. Karl hushed us, crept forwardstealthily,andtookcarefulaim.Theshotandcryrangouttogether.

‘Ihit it! Igot it!’heshoutedgleefully,andranbetween the trees toretrievethebird.

Thenweheardcriesoffrightandpain.

‘Ay!Ach!’

Heburstthroughthefoliageandranlikecrazyfortheriver,jumpedintothewater,gotbackout,andcamequicklyovertous,rubbinghimselfallover.

‘Bees,fuckingbees!’heyelledangrily.‘Theystungmeallover.’

Heremovedhisshirt,andMarcuscountedthestingshehadonhisback.Nine.Hisleftearwasalreadyredandswollen,andthebackofhisneckwasinflamedaswell.

‘Theyattackedme, thesonsofbitches!’Karlhadn’tcalmeddownyet. ‘Thepavofellrightintoabeehive.Thelittlemotherscanhaveit,forallIcare.’

KevinandIhadahardtimestiflingourlaughter.

‘Youdon’tmeanthat,Karl,’Kevinsaid.‘We’renotgoingtoleavethatturkeyjustlyingtherewhilewegohungry.’

‘Youwantitsobad?’Karlsaid,fuming.‘Gogetityourself.’

‘Yossi,areyougoingtohelpme?’Kevinasked.

I joined him reluctantly. Firstwe sprayed ourselves all overwith repellent,bothourbareskinandourclothes.Karlwatcheduswithasmuggrin.Wecreptuponthespot,approachingfromoppositedirections,andsoonsawthebuzzingswarmoverthefowl.Kevincreptforward,andIdidthesame.

‘Don’tworry,’Kevinsaid,‘Thesmellof therepellentwillsurelykeepthemoffus.’

Iwas standing about six feet from themandhadn’t been stung.Kevin tookonemorestep,andthebeesswarmedoverhiminonethickcloud.‘Oooh,ohhh,’he yelled, and started running blindly.He crashed into boughs, stumbled, anddidn’t stop foranythinguntilhe jumped into the river. I ran likehell, too,butwasn’tstung.

Karlchuckledwithsatisfaction.‘Hey,Kevin,sowhere’stheturkey?’

Kevinrubbedhisachingbody.‘Atleasttwentybeesstungme,thebastards.Ihopetheychokeonthedamnturkey!I’mnotgoingbackinthere.’

The next morningMarcus’s feet were in terrible shape. The splotches hadspreadout, andhewas inagony.Hesmeared themwithpetroleum jellyagainbeforeheputhisshoesonandcoveredthemwithplasticbags.Hewantedtotryto keep them dry, an impossibility when wading in a river. Fortunately byafternoonwewerebackinAsriamas.

DonJorge’schildrenwerethefirsttoseeuscomingandranbacktothevillage,callingoutjoyfullythatwehadreturned.Afewwomencameouttowelcomeus.DonJorge’swifewasamongthem,alongwithhermotherandneighbours.Theyweregenuinelyhappytoseeusagain.Andsomeoneelsewashappytoseeusaswell.

She rose from where she had been lying in the shade of the cookhouse,yawnedwidely,andcametogreetus,wagginghertail.Flaca!Karlwasamazedto findher alive andwell.He tried tohidehowhappyhewas andgaveher aswiftkickinthebackside,asiftosay,‘We’vehaditwithyou,youtraitor.’

A boy was sent to call Don Jorge from the fields. His wife fed us in themeantime: lambbroth, rice,beans,and roastmeat.Apitcherof juicewasalsobrought to the table as we savoured the delicious food for which we hadhungered.

DonJorgecameinfromthefields,hismacheteoverhisshoulder.Hegaveuseachawarmhandshake.Wetoldhimaboutourjourneyintothejungleandback,aboutthetroubleandMarcus’sdisease.MarcuswantedtoreturntoLaPaznow,while we developed new plans. We weren’t going to make it to the Indianvillage, but at least we could carry on with the second part of our plan.WewantedtostayinAsriamastobuildaraftandfloatdowntheTuichiRivertotheplacewhereitrunsintotheBeni,nearRurrenabaque,andfromthereflybacktoLaPaz.

DonJorgesuggestedweputMarcusonamuleandthathepersonallywouldlead him all the way to Apolo. He also offered to build the raft for us. Karlexplainedthatithadtobewideenoughandsturdyenoughtocarryfourmen,ourpacks,andalargequantityoffood.DonJorgerepliedthathewouldn’tbeabletodoitonhisownbutthathewouldseeifhisneighbourswouldbewillingtolenda hand.Marcus decided to see us off on the river and then go on the trail to

Apolo.

We had time to kill and took a dip in the river.We washed our hair, andexcept forKarl,weall shavedoff the stubble thathadsproutedonourcheeksduring our trek. We got out of the water and dressed hastily because themosquitoeswereswarmingaboutus.Iwasinsuchahurrythatmywalletfelloutofmypantspocket.Ibentdownandquicklysnatcheditup.Itwasaredclothwallet,waterproof,butIhadwrappeditinaplasticbaganyway.

‘Yossi, I’ve beenwanting to ask youwhat you keep in thatwallet,’ Kevinsaid.‘Iknowwhereyourpassport,money,andwatchare.Sowhatdoyouhavein that wallet that you never let it out of your sight?What are you hiding inthere?’

‘It’salongstory,’Isaidwithagrin.

‘I’mlistening,’Kevinsaid.

Weseatedourselves in theshade.‘Haveyoueverheardof theKabbalah?’Ibegan.

‘It’ssomekindofJewishmysticism,isn’tit?’Kevinsaid.

‘Exactly,’Ireplied,‘butthetruthis,Idon’tknowanymorethanthataboutitmyself. I had anuncle namedNissim,which inHebrewmeans ‘miracles.’Hewas born inTurkey and studied at the yeshiva inTiberias.ThenhewanderedaboutEuropemakinghis living as a cantor, ritual slaughterer, andperformingcircumcisions. Eventually he settled in Israel and opened a small toy store inRehovot.

‘Myunclewasalwaysreadingoldreligiousbooks.Ididn’tknowitthen,buthewasstudyingtheKabbalah.Hehadhisownspecialwayoflifeandparticulareating habits. He never visited a doctor and refused to take any medicines.Wheneverhedidn’tfeelwell,hewouldfastforadayortwountilhewasbetter.

‘Nissimneverhadanykids,butIwasasclosetohimasason.WhenIturnedeighteenandwasabouttogointothearmy,heaskedmetocomeseehim.Hesatuptall,withhisfullheadofwhitehairandpiercingblueeyes.Hewaseighty-threeyearsoldthen.Hetookalittlebookoutofhiswallet.Itwasverytiny,verythin,itspagesyellowwithage.

“I’ve carried this book inmy pocketmy entire life,’ he said tome. ‘It hasspecialpowers.Ithastakencareofme.I’manoldmannow,andyouwillsoonbeasoldier.YouneeditsprotectionmorethanIdo.Takeitandcareforitwell.

Don’teverpartwithit,becauseitwillwatchoveryou.’

‘Ithankedhim,gavehimakiss,andwenthome,thinkingthatitwasallalotofnonsense.WhenIgothome,Ifoundmymotherintears.

“UncleNissimhashadaheartattack.’

‘Irushedtothehospital.Myunclewasunconscious.Igavethelittlebooktomyaunt,andsheslippeditunderhispillow.Whenheregainedconsciousness,heaskedher to return it tomesincehewouldn’tbeneeding itany longer.Hediedinthehospital.’

‘God,whatastory!’Kevinexclaimed.

‘Maybeitwasjustcircumstance,ormaybehesensedthathistimehadcome,but just in case I always carry the bookwithme.Ayear ago Iwasmountainclimbing in Alaska. I had strayed from the trail and came to a dangerousoverhang.ThestoneIwasbracingmyselfongaveway,andIfell,butmyjeanssnaggedmiraculouslyonajaggedrock,andIwassaved.Ihadthebookinmypantspocket.Maybe thatwas justchance too.Whoknows?Still, itmakesmefeelsafe.SometimesIthinkthatI’mindestructibleaslongasIhaveitwithme.Whenmyownsongetsdrafted,I’mnotsosurethatI’llwanttogiveittohim.’

‘Giveittohimwhenyou’reeighty-three,’Kevinsuggested.

Kevinhadjustasmanystoriestotellabouthimself.Oneyearhehadreturnedfrom a trip to Nepal, arriving home on Christmas Eve. His family wasn’texpectinghim,ashehadcalledonlyhissistertotellherhewasonhiswayandmadeherpromisetokeephisarrivalasecret.Hewentdirectlyfromtheairporttoherhouse,wheresheoutfittedhiminaSantaClauscostume.Then,alldressedup,with a sackof brightlywrappedpresents slungover his shoulder, his facecoveredwithathick,woollybeard,heknockedonhisparents’door.Hisfatheranswered,andKevinwent intoaSantaClaus routine.Heaskedhis fatherandbrotheriftheyhadbeengoodlittlechildren,iftheyhadbehavedthemselvesandthoughttheydeservedapresent.Theyansweredthattheyhad,neversuspectingwhowashidingbehindthebeard.

FinallyKevin couldn’t take it any longer and, chokedwith tears, cried out,‘It’sme,Dad!Kevin!’

Marcus’sfeetwerestillhurtingsincetherashhadnotclearedup.Karltoldhimthat he should dry his feet thoroughly and keep off them.Marcus rubbed onmorepetroleumjellyandstretchedout in thesun,but thefliesandmosquitoesswarmedabouthisbarefeet,andhewasforcedtocoverthemwithamosquito

net.

MarcuswantedtohavealookatDonJorge’sson’sinjuredfoot.Theboywascalledandcamerunningoverwithonlyaragwrappedaroundhisfoot.Hetookitoff,andwecouldseethat theswellinghadgonedown.Therewerenomoresigns of infection, and the wound was almost completely healed. The boy’srecoverymadeMarcushappyandproud.

ThateveningDonJorgetoldusthathisneighbourswerewillingtohelpbuildthe raft. Tomorrow theywould cut some balsa trees and float them down therivertothevillage.DonJorgesaidthattheraftwouldbereadywithinthreeorfourdays,dependingon theweather.Thebalsa logshad tobe thoroughlydrybefore they could be used. Itwas the end ofNovember, and the rainy seasonwouldsoonbeuponus,butwehopedforafewsunnydaystodrythelogs.Theamount ofmoney – twenty dollars – thatDon Jorge and his neighbourswereaskingfor theworkwasridiculouslylow,andweagreedamongourselves thatwewouldgivethemmorethanthat.

We wanted to buy foodstuffs from Don Jorge – rice, meat, fruits, andvegetables–forourstayinthevillage.Ifhiswifewaswilling,wealsowantedtohirehertoprepareourmealsandwouldpayherforboththefoodandherwork.DonJorgewasamenable.

‘Sonowyou’vegot ahotelwith full board,’Karl teasedus.Weprayed forgoodweatherbecauseKarlkeptremindingusthathehadtobebackinLaPazbythebeginningofDecemberinordertopickuphisuncle’struck.HeplannedonourspendingaboutaweekontheTuichi,sowehad tostartoutassoonaspossible.

‘Maybe,’Karladded,‘IfwegottoRurrenabaquesoonenough,we’llbeabletovisitmyuncle’sranch.It’snotfarfromthere.Wecouldstayforadayortwo.’

We all liked the idea. Kevin and Marcus both wanted to fly home beforeChristmas.Iwasinnohurrytogoanywhere.

Howgooditwastosleeponaluxuriousstrawmatthatnight.Howpeacefulthevillagewas.Thevillagerswereallfastasleep.Thehorsesgrazedamongthemudhuts,castinglongshadowsoverthedewygrass.Thesheepdozedunderthepapayatrees.Thepigswallowedintheirmud,lookingliketheyweredreaming,wigglingrestlesslyintheirsleep.Thedogsweretoolazytobark.

Karl went out at dawn to help the villagers search for balsa trees. Thatafternoonhecamebacktothehuttofindtherestofuslyingonourmats.Kevin

andMarcuswerereading.Iwasdoingnothing.Hetoldusthattheyhadalreadyselected seven thick trees, andDon Jorge and his friendswere busy choppingthemdownatthatverymoment.

Itwashot outside, sowewere enjoying lying in the cool, dark room.Karl,nevercontenttoremainidle–atalentKevinandIwerecultivatingtoafineart–looked around restlessly for something to do. He gathered up Marcus’s andKevin’sshoes,thesolesofwhichhadfallenalmostcompletelyoff.Hetookupahammer and nails andwith great diligence pounded holes through the leatheruppersandtherubbersoles.Hewovewirethroughtheholes,pullingitgoodandtight, just likesewing.Thenhelookedoverhisownboots.Thesoleshadbeenlostlongbeforeinthejungle.Hewentoutintothevillagetoscareupapieceofleatherthathecouldusetomakenewsoles.Hehaggledawhileoverthepriceand finally tradedoneof the smallpocketknives thatwehadbrought along togivetotheIndiansforsomedeerskin.Hecuttheskinpreciselytotheshapeoftheboot,madeholesallarounditsedge,andfinallystitchedittothebootwithfishingline.

‘There’shardlyanythingthatthesetwohandsofminecan’tdo,’heboasted.‘Younevercantellwhenyoumightneedtocallonacertainskill.’

Karl spent the afternoon with Don Jorge’s father-in-law, questioning himcloselyaboutgoldintheregion.Theoldmanansweredhisquestionspatiently.KarllearnedthatDonJorge’syoungerbrother,Pablo,hadstumbleduponalargegoldnuggetontheriverbank.Followinghisdiscoverythevillagershadgoneouttopanthearea,buttheresultshadbeendisappointing.

Karlcamebacktothehutallwoundupandraringtogo.Hetolduswhathehadlearnedandwasalreadymakingplans.

‘The villagers don’t use very sophisticated mining techniques. They can’treally judge the potential this area might have. I’m going to have a look formyselftomorrow.Ifthereisanygoldtospeakof,I’llreturnwithamachinethatdoesthepanningautomatically.IcanbuyeverythingIneedinApoloandbringithereonpackmules.I’llflyinthefuelforthemachineinaPiperthatcanlandontheriver.It’sabigadvantagehavingavillagerighthere.Icanlivehere,buymyfoodhere.Itwillbegoodforthevillagetoo.Bringalittleprosperity.I’llbeable tohirea fewmen.Peddlerswill startcoming,bringing theirgoods to thevillage.Thevillagerswillbeabletoselltheirproducetothem...’

WithinfiveminutesKarlwasamillionaireandhadtransformedAsriamasintoabustlingmetropolis.ThroughouthisrecitationKevinandMarcushadgoneon

withtheirreading.Iwastheonlyonewhotookhimseriously,andweformedapartnership.Hewasgladtofindasympatheticear.

Thenextmorningat thecrackofdawnweleftMarcusandKevininthehutandsetoffforDonPablo’shouse.Helivedontheothersideofthevillage,anhour’swalkfromourhut.Wehadapackfilledwithpresentswehadbroughtforthe Indians. On our way we traded a few hooks, fishing line, a whistle, or apocketknife for coffee, fresh eggs, and hot peppers. Little houseswere strungalong the river,andwestoppedateachof them.Karl lefta standingorder forfoureggseachdayatonehouse.Healsoarrangedforanaroba(abouttwenty-fivepounds)ofyucca,hotpeppers,driedonions,chancaca,sweetbananasandplantains–astalkofeach–alltotakealongonthejourneywewereplanning.Hepromisedtopaywellfortheprovisionsinmoneyoringifts.

WefoundonlytwolittlegirlsathomeatDonPablo’s.Oneofthemwenttothebananagrovetocallherfatherwhilewesatdowntorestintheshade.Karlstarted fooling around, making faces and gestures at the turkey that waswandering around the yard.When itwould comeover curiously,Karl tried tospitonitshead.Thenhegrewsilentandsolemn.Ihadthefeelingthattherewassomethinghewantedtosaybutdidn’tknowhow.Finallyhespoke.

‘Idon’tknowhowtoputthis,butIhavetotellyou.I’vealreadyspokenwithMarcusaboutit.YourememberIinvitedyoualltovisitmyuncle’sranchafterwe’ve finished rafting down the river?Well, I don’t think that I can take youthere.Yousee,myuncleisAustrian.Imean,notjustanyoldAustrian.HeleftAustriaandcametolivehere.Thetruthis,hehadtoleave.Hewasafugitive.IguesshehadcollaboratedwiththeNazis.I’mnotexactlysure.AnywayhefledtoBolivia.He’saveryprimitiveperson.Ican’tstandhimorhisopinions.Onlyanidiotwoulddiscriminateagainstsomeonebecauseofthecolourofhisskinorhis religion. My uncle goes around cursing the Jews and making derogatoryremarksaboutthem.AtfirstIthoughtIwouldaskyoutopretendthatyouaren’tJewish.Youcould sayyouwereAmerican insteadof Israeli, likeKevin.Whoneedstogolookingforproblems?That’swhatItoldMarcusthatweshoulddo,but I know you better by now. If my uncle makes some stupid anti-Semiticremark,you’relikelytoblowyourtop.’

‘Andprovideyouashortcuttoyourinheritance,’Ijokedtoeasethetension.StillIwasuncomfortable,notsomuchwiththeideaofKarl’sunclehavingbeenaNazi,butwithKarlhimselfandthewayhisstorieskeptchanging.

DonPablocameupwhileKarlwastalking.Hewasapleasantfellow.Wehad

alreadymadehisacquaintancewhenwefirstcametoAsriamas.Karlputalotofdetailedquestions tohim,andheansweredobligingly.HeevenshowedKarlafewgoldnuggets thathehimselfhadfound, though the largenuggethadbeensold toadealer inApolo.Hegotahoe,apickaxe,andbatea (pan),gaveusapitcherofcaña,andtookustothedig.Thenheleftustogobacktowork.

On the side of the hill that sloped up from the riverbank,we saw a tunnelchippedawayintherock.

‘Herewego,offtowork,’Karlsaid.

Herolleduphissleeves,wentintothetunnel,andstudiedtherocks.Thenheswung thepickaxeagainst thestonewall,chippingoffa fewchunks.Hepiledthem into thebatea andheaded for the river.Heseatedhimselfona rockanddipped the batea into the water, holding the chunks of rock under water andcrumbling them apart aswell as he could. Then hemoved thebatea in slow,circularmotions.Waterpouredoffwitheachturn,carryingwithitthesandandstones.Hewentonuntil thebateawasalmostempty.Hestoppedoccasionallyand tried to crumble the small chunks that remained in the batea and thenresumed.

‘Yousee,’heexplainedtome,‘thegoldismixedinwithsandandrock.I’mtryingtoseparatethem.Goldismuchheavierthanwater,sand,orrock.That’swhyitstays in thebatea,while thesandandrocksgetwashedaway.Youjusthavetomakerhythmic,circularmotions.’

Karl completed the process, and there reallywere twominute gold nuggetsleftinthebottomofthebatea.Karlshowedthemtome.

‘Theyaren’tworthanything,’hedeclared.‘Toosmall.Butwewon’tgiveup.Comeon,let’sgiveitanothertry.’

Karl’sremarksbarelyregistered.Iwasaflamewithgoldfever.

‘Wefoundgold!Wefoundgold!’Ikeptrepeatingtomyself.

Itookupthepickaxeandstartedslingingawayattherock,givingthechunkstoKarl.Hecarriedthemtotheriveranddidthepanning.Weworkeduntilnoon.

By the time we returned to the village, the flame of gold fever had beenextinguished. Karl declared that the quantity of gold we had found wasnegligible,virtuallyworthless.

‘Foreachtonofrockthere’shardlyanygoldatall.’

Hemadesomecalculationsanddecidedthattheveinwasbogus.

‘Butdon’tgiveuphope,Yossi.You’llsee,inCuriplayawe’llcomeupwithatleastfivegrams.’

DonJorge reported that the raftwascomingalong.The logshadbeenplaned,their bark removed.Thenext day theywouldbe fastenedwith sturdywoodenpegs.Therestdependedontheweather.Ifitwerehotanddry,wewouldbeabletosetoutinanothertwodays;butifitrained,wewouldhavetowaitafewmoredays.

It did rain, only a drizzle, but it lasted several hours.Wehad already spenteight days in Asriamas. Kevin had spent most of that time reading. Karl, asusual,kepthimselfbusy.Hewent toseehowtheraftwascomingalong,wentout hunting, haggled with the villagers, and told stories to anyone willing tolisten.

Marcus’s feet were better, but he was in a really lousymood. He kept hisdistancefromKevinandme.Withnothingelsetodo,hetooktotaggingalongwithKarl.‘Just likea littleBrowniefollowingher troopleaderaround,’Kevinremarkedcontemptuously.

ThenextmorningKarlandMarcuswenttotrytheirluckfishingdownwheretheAsriamasfedintotheTuichi,Karlbraggingthathewouldbebackinnotimewithahugefish.TowardnoonIwenttoseeiftheyhadhadanysuccess.Ontheway I noticed a large waterfowl perched on a rock, poised to dive into theAsriamas.Itwassoinvolvedwatchingitspreythatitdidn’tnoticeme.IbackedstealthilyintothereedsandrecalledwhatKarlhadtoldus:‘Allbirdsthatfeedonfisharegoodtoeat.’Iwouldgiveeveryoneasurprisetoday,Ithought,andcatchthisbird.Iranquicklybacktothehutfortheshotgun,prayingthatthebirdwouldnotflyoff.

When I returned, itwas still perchedon the rock. I crept through the reeds,tryingtogetascloseaspossible.Itookaimbutcouldn’tbringmyselftopullthetrigger.Thebirdwassobeautiful,andwehadenoughfoodhereinthevillage.Itwouldbewrongtokillit.Butmasculineprideandtheneedtobeadmiredbymypeerswonout.Itookashot.Thebirdfellsilentlyintotheriver.Thecurrentwasstrong,andasthebirdbegandriftingaway,Inoticedthatitwasstillalive,tryingtofightthecurrent.Iwasdismayedthatitmightsimplyvanishinthewater.Itwouldbeashametohavekilleditfornothing.Itookoffmyclothesanddovein.ThebirdsawmeandsensedthatIwascomingafterit.Itceasedstrugglingandgaveitselfuptothecurrentasifitpreferreddrowningtotheignominyofdeath

at human hands. I swam after it in the swift waters. I was nearing the pointwheretheAsriamasemptiedintotheTuichiwhenIcaughtthebirdbyonewing.Itpeckedfiercelyatmyhandandletoutastrangledscreech,butIdidn’tletgo.Ikicked my feet and used my free hand to make it back to the riverbank. Iclimbedoutofthewateranddroppedthebirdontheshore.Itlaytherebleedingprofusely. I ranbacktoget theshotgunandbasheditsheadwith thebutt.Thesoftgroundcushionedtheblow,andthebirdwrithedinpain.Iputarockunderitsheadandbroughtthebuttdownagain.Thistimethebirdwasstill.

DonJorge’schildrenmetmeoutsidethevillage.Theyhadheardtheshotandcamerunningtolookthebirdover.DonJorge’swifealsocametogreetme,andIaskedher toprepare thebirdforoursupper,but first I justhad toshowit toKevin,whowasproperlyimpressedbymymarksmanship.

KarlandMarcuscamebackempty-handedthatafternoon.BeforeIevengotthe chance to give them a good ribbing, Karl asked me, ‘What’s the story,Yossi?Whatkindofweirdbirddidyoushoot?Isawitinthekitchen.Wecan’teatit.’

‘Whynot?’Idemandedtoknow.

‘Iteatsallkindofcarrion,snakes.Itisn’tfitforhumans.’

‘Yuck!’Marcusexclaimedindisgust.

‘ButKarl,’Iprotesteddesperately,‘thatbirdeatsfish.Isawitwithmyowneyes,tryingtocatchafish.’

‘Youweremistaken,’Karlwavedmeoff.‘It’snotfittoeat.’Ifelthumiliated.KarlwasonlysayingthatbecauseIwastheonewhohadshotit.Iknewthatifhe had killed it, he would be telling us what a delicacy it would be.Marcusbuggedmemorethananything;hewassohappytoseemeputdown.

Thebirdwasservedforourdinner,butnoonetookabite.IthoughtsadlyofthegracefulbirdwhoselifeIhadtakenfornothing.Ahugelumpoffrustrationcaughtinmythroat,andIfelttearsgatheringinmyeyes.

A strange thing happened a couple of days later. Marcus, feeling somewhatbetterandencouragedbyKarl,surprisinglyhadchangedhismindanddecidedtojoinusontheraft.

‘Buthowcome?’exclaimedKevin.‘Youshouldgooutonamule,meetusin

LaPaz.Youdon’tfeelgood,yourfeetareinflamed.’

ButMarcusinsistedonit;hewantedtojoinus.‘Westarteduptogether,’hesaid.‘Weshouldfinishittogether.’

‘What the hell are you trying to prove? I don’t understand you, not at all.’KevinwasveryupsetandMarcusadamant.

The tension didn’t cease.On the next day another unpleasant incident tookplace.MarcusandKarlhadgonetocheckontheprogressoftheraft,andashortwhilelaterLázaro,DonJorge’syoungbrother-in-law,cametoourhut.

‘Thegentlemenwantyoutocomeseetheraft,’heinformedus.

‘Whatfor?’Iasked.‘We’vealreadyseenit.’

‘It’sreadynow.Theysaidyoushouldcomesee.’

‘Tellthemwehavecompleteandabsolutefaithintheirjudgment,’Kevinsaidirritably,nevertakinghiseyesoffhisbook.

I explained to the boy that since we had already seen the raft, if Karl andMarcusweren’tinneedofhelp,iftheyjustwantedustocometakealook,wewouldratherstaywherewewereandrest.

‘Forget it, Yossi,’ Kevin interrupted me suddenly. ‘Let’s send them amessage.’

Kevindictatedasillyletter,andIwroteitdown:

DearestKarlandMarcus,

Asyouarealreadyonlytooaware,wearelazyslobsandgoof-offs,and are quite content lying here in the shade.We have complete,total, and absolute confidence in your inspectionof the raft, but ifyoushouldbe inneedofourassistance,youhaveonly to takeoffyour boots, Karl. The smell of your socks will come wafting ourway,andwe’llbetherelikeashot.

Yourstruly,

KevinandYossi,

thegood-for-nothings

Ihandedthenotetotheboyandaskedhimtodeliverittothetwogentlemen.

HalfanhourlaterKarlappeared.‘What’swithyouguys?Whythehelldidn’tyoucomedowntotheriver?’

‘Whatfor?’Kevinasked.

‘Wehave tocheck the raft’sbuoyancywithall fourofuson it.Besidesus,we’llstillneedanothertwoIndianstorepresenttheweightofourprovisionsandequipment,’Karlexplained.

Kevin apologised. ‘Wedidn’t understand the kid.Hedidn’t tell us that youneededus.’

‘Well,nobigdeal.’Karlsmiledcongenially.

Wewalked to the riverwith him and boarded the raft. The logswere a bitpalerthantheyhadbeenbutstillgreen.Theraftwasheavy.Itsattoolowinthewaterandwasclumsytohandle.

‘Nogood,’DonJorgesaid.‘Youhavetowaitlonger.’

‘Idon’thavealotoftime,’Karlsaidwithevidentconcern.‘WemaynothaveanychoicebuttowalkbacktoApolo.’

‘Thereisanotheralternative.’DonJorgesaid.‘Ontheothersideofthevillagemybrother’sneighbourhasfourstrong,drybalsalogs.Goseehim.Ifhe’llsellthemtoyou,wecanaddonthedrylogs,twooneachside,andthey’llmakeabigdifference.’

Weallwentbacktothecabin.IhurriedinaheadofKevintogetdibsonthebed. Kevin accepted defeat and sank down on the straw mat. Karl went offsniffingaroundthecookhouse.Marcusstoodrestlesslyinthecentreoftheroom,obviouslyupset.

‘Yossi,’hesaidsuddenly.

Ilookedupathim.Helookedstrange.

‘Yossi,youcanhaveyourshittynote!’

Hetookthecrumplednoteoutofhispocketandthrewitinmyface.Itlandedonthefloor.Theroomwassilent.Kevinlookedonwithoutaword.

‘Pick up your shitty note, do you hear me?’ Marcus was hysterical. ‘Youshouldbeashamedofyourself!Itwascontemptuousofyoutohavewrittenit,an

insult to theIndian.He isn’tyourservant.Hewent to the trouble tocomeandgiveyouamessage,andyoushouldn’thavemadefunofhim.

‘ForthepastweekKarlandIhavebeenmakingallthearrangements,waitingonyouhandandfoot.Allyoudoissleep.Whenwefinallyaskyoutodoonething,youscrewaroundandweaseloutofit.It’saninsulttoKarl,afterallhe’sdoneforus.’

Itallcamepouringoutinashrillvoice.Whenhehadfinished,hestoodthere,glaring reprovingly atme.He probably had taken a long time building up hisnervefortheoutburst.

Iflounderedawkwardly,notknowingwhattosay.Marcushadrecognisedmyhandwritingandblamedthenoteonmealone.

‘Iwas only kidding around,Marcus,’ I said in a low voice. ‘I didn’t knowexactlywhattheboywantedandhadnointentionofinsultinganyone.IfIdid,thenIapologise.Butifyoucan’ttakeajoke,that’syourproblem.’

Kevinintervened.‘Hey,youtwo,’hesaid,‘howaboutknockingoffthiscrap?Can’t you behave like adults? Come on, let’s all sit down and talk it over.There’snopointinkeepingthisup.Wecan’tletourpersonalrelationshipsruinthewhole trip.We’llgeteverythingoffourchests,onceandforall,out in theopen.’

Kevinlookedatus,awaitingourresponse.Marcussaidnothing.

‘It’sOKbyme,’Isaid, ‘butI thinkit’sbetweenmeandMarcus.Somaybeweshoulddoit,justthetwoofus.Doyouagree,Marcus?’

‘Yes,’Marcusansweredmeekly.

After dinner I suggested thatMarcus and I take awalk outside the village.Therewasalarge,grassyclearingwherethehorsesgrazed.I lovedtosit thereona fallen logandwatch them. Ihadnoticedoneparticularhorse, strongandsinewy,nobleandunbroken.Iwenttherealoneeveryeveningandhadn’tsharedthisspotevenwithKevin.Iwouldsitonthelogandenjoythesolitude,singingaloudinHebrew.

MarcusandIseatedourselvesonthelog.Itwasdifficulttobegin,butMarcusfinallydid.

‘Ididn’tthinkwe’deverspeaktoeachotheragain,’hesaid.‘Thereweresomany times when I’ve wanted to talk with you, but you always avoidedme.Whenever I tried toget nearyouon the trail, youhurriedover toKevin.You

werealwayswithhim.Talkingtohim.Tellinghimstories.Iwouldtrytojoinin,butyoujustignoredme.

‘I’mstuckhangingaroundKarlallday,listeningtohisidioticstories.Idon’thaveanyoneelse.You’realwaystalkingtoKevin,andI’mleftout.Iwantedtotalkitoverwithyou,toaskyouwhathappened,butyoualwaysavoidedme.

‘Doyourememberonenightjustthetwoofuswereleftsittingbythefire?Iwantedtotalkwithyou,butyoujustwent intothetent.Istayedthereoutside,hopingyouwouldunderstand, thatyouwouldcomebackout to talkwithme,butIwaswrong.

‘Thiswholetripisonebigdisasterforme.I’mmiserable.I’mnotenjoyingitatall.’

‘I think you’re right,Marcus,’ I said. ‘Something has changed, but I don’tknowexactlywhat.Nothing inparticular happened.We just drifted apart.Wedon’thavethesamerelationshipwedidbefore.MaybeI’mcoarse,notcultivatedenough,andyou,youjustdon’tfeelathomeinthewilderness.’

‘That’salie!Alie!Justacheapexcuse!’Marcusburstoutangrily.‘Don’ttrytohandmethatagain.It’snottrue.Iknowthat’swhatKevinsays.He’salreadytoldmethat,anddoyouknowwhenhetoldme?Aftertwodaysonthetrail.HehadalreadymadeuphismindthatIdon’tfeelateaseinthewilderness.Hesaidthathedidn’tgetalongwithmeandfeltsomehostilitytowardme,soitwouldbebetter ifwekeptourdistance, ifwespoke lesswitheachother.Two lousydaysafterwestartedouthesaidthat tome.Thatwasapainfulblowforme.IleftAnnickbehindinLaPaztogooffwithtwoclosefriends,andaftertwodaysoneofthemabandonedmelikethat.Andthen,Yossi,youwereallIhadleft.Ineeded a friend, I neededyou.But you, younever noticed anything.You justwantedtobearoundKevin.Why,why,didyoushutmeoutlikethat?’

Hewentoncryingquietly,hiswholebodyshaking.Forthefirsttimesincewehadsetoutonourjourney,Ifeltsorryformyfriend.Iwasnolongerhappyforhisloss,thatIhadKevinalltomyself.IunderstoodhowimportantIhadbeentoMarcus.Itriedtoconsolehim.

‘Look,Marcus,’ I said, ‘let’sgoback tobeing friends likeweused tobe. Idon’t knowwhat’s comeoverus in this jungle.We’ll goback toLaPaz, andeverythingwillbeall right. It’snot true. Ididn’t abandonyou justbecauseofKevin.WewerealltogetherforawholeweekinLaPaz,andKevindidn’tcomebetweenus.Let’strytopickupthepieces.Let’sbefriendsagain.’

Words,words.MaybeIsucceededincheeringMarcusupa littlebit,butweneverwereclose friendsagain.Wedid talk toeachotherafter thatday,but itwasforced,unnatural.

Weboughtthefourdriedbalsalogs.KevinandMarcuswentacrossthevillagetofetchthem,floatingthemdowntheriver.Theyweresoakingwetwhentheygotback.Marcuswasinabettermood.

KarlandIwentouttocutmorebalsabarkpanchos.Wewovethemintolongropeswithwhichtofastentheadditionallogstotheraft.Wewentaboutourtaskwith great energy. The new logs were dry and amazingly light.We attachedthem,twotoeachside,andtheraftwasnowwiderandfarmorebuoyant.

DonJorgetoldustheraftwouldbesafe.Wedecidedtosetoutthenextday.

Wekeptonworkingthatafternoon.Karlbuiltasortofraisedplatforminthemiddleoftheraft.Wewouldtieourfoodsupplyandtherestofourequipmentdownonto it the nextmorning and cover it allwith nylon sheeting.Thatwayeverythingwouldstaydry.

OurlasteveninginAsriamaswegatheredupallourgearandprovisions.Wehadtenpoundsofrice.Wehadn’tbeenabletobuymore,asthevillagehadrunlow.Weboughtaboutsevenoreightpoundsofdriedbeans.Wealsohadalargebunchofgreenplantains and the rest of the supplieswe’dbeenassembling inrecentdays:yucca,cucumbers,onions,andalotofhotpeppers,alittle‘honey’derivedfromsugarcane,salt,andspices.SaltwasmeasuredoutlikegolddustinAsriamas.Wehadpaidforall thesegoodswithavarietyofgifts,accordingtothepreferenceoftherecipient.Karlwasinchargeofourfinances,andhemadealotofmistakes.Hetradedoffalmostallourspoolsoffishingline,leavinguswithonlyafewyards.Hedidthesamewiththefishhooks;hegaveallbutthreeaway.WehadhadtencigarettelighterswithuswhenwegottoAsriamas.Wehadonlyonewhenwe left,and itwasonlyhalf full.Even the insect-repellentspray,whichwassoessential,heleftwithDonJorge,andwehadonlyasmallamount.

Thateveningwehadafestivegoing-awaymeal.DonJorgehadborrowedtheshotgunandsucceededinkillinganenormousboar.Wewantedtopayhimfortheraft,ourpurchases,andhiswife’swages.Heaskedforonly1,450pesos(lessthan50dollars):800forthesheep,600fortheraft,and50fortherice.Hedidn’twantanyremunerationforthefoodwehadeateninhishome,forthechickensthat had been slaughtered especially for us, for the fresh vegetables we hadreceived each day, for the game he and his family had hunted, and for the

enormous quantities of caña we had drunk. He also refused payment for thedozens of papayas we had eaten. We were his guests, he insisted, and hewouldn’t takemoney for his hospitality or for hiswife’swork.After a quickhuddlewedecidednot to takeanythingfromhimfor the thingshehadboughtfromus.Andweadded800pesostotheamounthehadquoted.DonJorgewassatisfied.

Chapterseven

SHOOTINGWHITEWATER‘OK,’Karlsaid,gettingorganised,‘who’sthecaptain?MeorKevin?’

‘You,Karl,you’rethecaptain,’Kevinsaid.

‘OK, then I’ll be in thebowwith anoar.Marcus andKevin, youwill eachtake a corner in the stern, holding a long pole.You’ll push us alongwith thepoles.Lowerthemdowntotheriverbottomandgiveapush.Yossi,yousitherebymeholdingapole.Wheneverwecometooclosetoarockorthebank,youusethepoletopushusoffandkeepusfromcolliding.Understood?’

‘Captain,’Marcuspipedup.‘Thepolesaretoolongandheavy.They’rehardtohandle.’

Karl picked up one of the long poles that the villagers had prepared andagreed,‘Yes,you’reright.Theymadethemtoolong.’Hetookoutthemacheteandhackedofftheends,leavingthepolesshorterbyaboutayard.Thenheputonmy small backpack and tightened the straps. He had spent the day beforecuttingchipsofdriedbalsa,fillingthepackwiththem.Hewastheonlyoneofuswhocouldn’tswimandwasafraidoffallingintotheriverandbeingcarriedaway,sohehadmadehimselfalifepreserver.

Anothershove,andheave-ho!WewerecaughtupintheTuichi’scurrent.Theriver,whichhadappearedfairlycalmfromthebank,didnotfeelcalmatall.Thecurrentwasextremelyswift.Karlpulledhardatthewaterwithhisoar,tryingtokeepthebowpointedstraightforward.HeyelledinstructionsbacktoKevinandMarcus.

‘Ifshepullstotheleft,Kevinhastopushherbackfromtheright,andiftotheright,thenMarcuspushes.’

Thatquicklyprovedtobeimpossible.Thepoleswerenowtooshorttoreachthe bottom of the deep river.Marcus had turned ghostlywhite, Kevinwasn’tdisplayinganyemotion,andIwasveryexcited.Karlwasuptight.

‘Ifyoucan’treachthebottom,row,row,pullhard!’

‘Thisisaroundpole,notanoar.Youcan’trowwithit,’Kevinsaid.

‘DoasIsay.Isthatclear?DoasIsay!’Karlyelled.

Kevin rowed indifferently, not making much effort, and it did seem to bepointless.TheTuichiwasstraightandsmooth,andsofarwewerecruisingalongwithoutanyproblems.

Afteraboutanhourwecametoshallowwaterswherelargerocksjuttedout.

‘Watch out!Nowpull to the left,Kevin, to the left!’Karl pulled at the oarwithallhismight.‘Yossi,getreadytopushusoff thatrockwiththepole,’hesaidtome,aswerapidlyapproachedaboulder.Weallrowed.Marcustriedtopushofffromtherocksonthebottom.Hispolesnaggedononeofthemandwastornfromhishands.

‘I’velostmypole!’hecried.‘Ilostit!’

‘Mierda,’Karlswore.

‘Here,takethispole.’

IhandedouronlysparepoletoMarcus.

‘Getready,Yossi...push!’Karlcried.

I stuck the long pole out toward the rock that the raft was approaching. Ipushedbutdidn’thaveenoughstrengthtopreventthecollision.Therafttookasevereblowandtilteduponitssideforamoment,butthenstraightenedout.

Weweremovingalongagainbutno longerpassing throughsmoothwaters.Every fewminutesweapproachedanother rock,andKarlwason thevergeofhysteria.Wesomehowmanagedtosmashintoeveryoneofthembutsufferednoseriousdamage. I lost apole, andMarcus losthis secondone.Thingsweren’tlookingsogood.Wefinallymanagedtopullovertotheshore.

‘Wecan’tgoonlikethis,’Karlsaid.‘It’s terrifying.Notoneofyouhasthevaguestideahowtohandlearaft.’

‘Takeiteasy,Karl,takeiteasy,’Kevinsaid.‘Nobodylearnshowtodoitinanhour.We’llgetmorepractice.We’llcatchon.Everythingwillbeallright.’

‘Thisisn’tchild’splay,Kevin,’Karlretortedangrily.‘Wedon’thavetimeforlessons.Icouldbekilled.Youhavetofollowmyinstructionsquickly,withouthesitation.’

‘Allright,Karl,’Marcussaid.‘We’lldojustasyousay.Tellhimthatyou’lldowhathesays,Kevin,please.Sayit.’

‘Allright.I’llfollowyourinstructions,’Kevinconcededreluctantly.

Karl tookthemacheteandwentintothejungle.Heswiftlyloppedoffafewlongbranchesandmadefournewpoles.Thenhesketchedaraftinthesandandexplained howwe should deal with various situations. He showed us how topaddlewiththepole,andhowtouseittopushofffromtheriverbottomwithoutletting the river take it away.He showedmehow to hold the end of the poleundermyarmwhenabsorbingablowsoasnottoriskbreakingaribfromtheimpact.

Backontherivertherewerefewerrocks,andweweregettingusedtoit.

‘Right!’ Karl yelled, and we all rowed, the raft nudging over to the right.‘Good.Nowleft.’

Wepracticeduntilwethoughtwehadthehangofit,butwheneverwecametoadifficultpassorabendintheriver,Karlstartedyellinglikeamaniac,Marcusturned white, Kevin got angry, and I hid my fears under a mask of absoluteindifference.Fortunatelynoneofuswashurtorslippedintotheriver.

‘Yossi, come trade places with me,’ Marcus said. ‘You should get somepracticebackhereinthestern.’

Goodforyou,Marcus,goodthinking,Ithoughtsarcastically.AnyminutenowandPoppawillgiveyouanicepatonthehead.ButIdidashesaid.HetookupmypositionnearKarl,andIwentaft.

‘Hedoesn’tknowthefirstthingaboutwhite-waterrafting,’Kevinsaidtome.‘Believeme,we’redoingeverythingassbackward.Whoeverheardoftryingtorowwitharoundpole?Isheputtinguson?’

IsuspectedKevinofholdingagrudgeagainstKarlforhavingyelledathim.IstillbelievedthatKarlknewwhathewastalkingabout.

Thatafternoon the riverwasserenelybeautiful.Wegrewaccustomed to thepace. Karl had calmed down somewhat. ‘It’s so magnificent,’ he said with asigh.A family ofmonkeyswas leaping fromone treetop to another, andKarlimitated their cries. ‘There’ll beplentyof gamedownriver,’ hepromised. ‘Noone has ever hunted that area before.This river is loadedwith fish, too, hugefish.Theycanweighoverahundredpounds.’

Wecametoaslightturnintheriver.Karlorderedustorowintheopposite

direction,tokeepawayfromthebend.

‘That’sallwrong,’Kevinsaidtome.‘Weshouldjustletthecurrentcarryusalong.’

Wemadeitsafelyaroundthebend,andKarlbeganyellingexcitedly,‘Totheleft!Hard!Everyone,rowleft,fast!We’reliabletogointotheEslabonPass.’

Abouttwohundredyardsdownriverwecouldseeaprofusionofjaggedrocksjutting out of the river.We lost twomore poles trying desperately to rowbutfinallymade it safely to the riverbank. It had been raining lightly, and now itstarted coming down harder. Drenched and shivering, we decided to look forsomekindofshelter.Karlmadealittleclearing,andwehelpedhimsetupcamp.

Kevin and I returned to the raft to tie it securely to the shore, unloaded theequipment,andtookitalltothecamp.Therainletupandfinallystopped.Karltookawetlog,cutitinhalflengthwise,andusedthemachetetochopoffchipsoftheinnerwood,whichwasstilldry.Weweresoonwarmingourselvesaroundafire.Kevincalledmetohelphimcarrymorefirewood,andIwasagainamazedathisstrength.Heliftedentiretreetrunksandcarriedthemonhisback.Wehadchosenalovelycampsiteonahillsideinthejungle.Atthefootonthehillwasanicelittlebeach.

AsusualKarlpreparedourdinner.Wewerehavingrice,someyucca tossedintotheembers,andalittlemeatfromtheslabofwildboarthattheDonJorgehadgivenus.MarcusgotupandwentovertoKevin,whowasconcentratingoneating.MarcusnimblyflippedhislittleportionofmeatontoKevin’splate.

‘Happyholiday,Kevin,’hesaid. ‘Today isThanksgivingDay inAmerica. Ithoughtyoumightlikealittlesurprise.’

‘Thanks a lot,Marcus,’ Kevin said, obviouslymoved, ‘but I can’t take theonlypieceofmeatyou’regoingtoget.’

WithastubbornsmileMarcusrefusedtotakeitback.

Karl started lecturing on rafts. ‘This is a really unpleasant surprise. I’m theonlyoneherewhoknowshowtohandlearaft.Ican’tdoitonmyown.We’llallberiskingourlivesunlesswelearntohandleittogether,quickly.Ithinkitwasabigmistakeformetohavetakenthisuponmyself.Wewouldhavebeenbetteroffwalkingback–’

‘Don’trushit,Karl,’Kevininterruptedhim.‘Itwilltakesometime,butwe’llsoonbedoingitlikepros.’

‘Buttimeiswhatwedon’thave,Kevin,’Karlrepliedvehemently.‘Don’tyouunderstand?We don’t have the time. There are treacherous rapids in the passwheretheEslabonemptiesintotheTuichi.TheEslabonisrighthere.Ittakesateamofskilledraftsmentocrossit.Ihavenointentionofattemptingitwiththethreeofyou.Insteadwe’llhavetosecurelongvinestotheraftandhaulitdowntheriver.’

‘Goodidea,’Kevinagreed.

‘Yeah,itisagoodidea,’Karlwenton,‘butwewon’talwayshavethatoption.Adayortwodowntheriverwe’llcometoSanPedroCanyon.TheycallittheMal Paso San Pedro; it’s an unnavigable pass.Waterfalls,white-water rapids,rocksstickingouteverywhere.Noonehasevermadeitthroughthecanyon,andneitherwillwe.Evenbeforethatcanyonthereareothertreacherouspasses,andyouhave toknowhow tocontrol the raft,how tostop itwhennecessary.Therisk is tremendous otherwise – we could get swept into the canyon. If thathappens,we’vehadit.Justthethoughtofitscarestheshitoutofme.Wehavepulled over twice today, but both times it was only by dumb luck that wemanagedtostoptheraft.’

‘What do youmean,Karl,we can’t go through the canyon?’ I asked. ‘Yousaidthatyou’vealreadyraftedthelengthoftheTuichimorethanonce.’

‘I never said that. I’ve gone down theTuichimany times to a point a littlefartheron,topropertybelongingtoDonMatías,theSwiss.FromthereIwentbyfoot to Curiplaya, which is on the other side of the canyon. I’ve rafted fromCuriplaya on down to Rurrenabaquemany times too. It’s smooth, easy goingfromthere,butnoonehasevergonethroughthemalpaso.’

‘Thenhowarewegoingtogoon?’Marcuswantedtoknow.

‘That’sthepoint.Wehavetogetasclosetotheopeningtothecanyonaswecanandstop.Therewe’lltaketheraftapart.Twoofuswillbypassthecanyonon foot, while the other two wait. At an agreed-upon time the two who staybehindwill set the logsof the raftadrift in thecurrent.Beyond thecanyon,atCuriplaya,theriverwidens,andthecurrentisverymild.Thetwowho’vegoneaheadwillswimintotherivertoretrievethelogs.Bythetimetheothertwogetthere,theraftwillhavebeenreassembledwithpanchos.Fromthereit’sabreeze,butbeforewereachthatpoint,thedangersaregreat.Youdon’tknowhowtousethepoles.Arealbalserocanmakeexcellentuseofapole,justlikeapaddle.’

‘Sowhydon’twejustmakesomemoreoars?’Marcusasked.

‘Anexcellent idea,’Karlagreed.‘Tomorrowwe’ll lookforsomebalsatreesandcutafewoars.’

LaterthateveningKevinandIsattogethertalkingquietly.

‘Believeme,’Kevininsisted,‘Karldoesn’tknowwhathe’stalkingabout.It’sobviousthatheknowsnothingaboutrivers.He’smakingsuchabigdealoutofthisbadpass,likeit’ssodangerous.Youwaitandsee,we’lltaketheraftthroughtomorrowwithnosweat.Ifyou’rewilling,thetwoofuscouldtakeit through.No problem. Besides, I don’t trust him. Why did he only now suddenlyremembertotellusaboutthisSanPedroCanyon?There’ssomethingfishyaboutthewholething.Karlisastrangeguy.’

RightafterbreakfastKarlandKevinwent to lookforbalsa trees tocutoarsandsoonfoundsomea littlewayupriver.Balsa treesarevery tallwith lotsofbranches,buttheirtrunksaresobrittlethatitonlytakesafewmachetechopstofellthem.

‘We’llcuteachonedown themiddle lengthwiseandgetanoaroutofeachhalf,’ Karl said after they’d returned to camp and set about measuring thebranches.

‘I’dliketoknowhowhethinkshe’sgoingtocutthemrightdownthemiddle,’Kevinwhispered tome sceptically, butKarl proved his skills.He fashioned awedgefromthebranchofahardwoodtree,madeasmallslitinthemiddleofthebalsalog,fitthewedgeintoit,andpoundedonitwithaheavyrock.Thelogfellintotwopieceslikeacharm.

Karl was a genius with the machete. He rapidly cut the split logs into theshapeofoarsandthencarvedthemtothedesiredwidthandlength.Heformedconcavitiesinthelowersectionofeachoneandwhittledoutcomfortablegripsforourhands.KevinandIworkedontheotherpieces,cuttingthemdowntothebasicshape,andKarlfinishedthem.Nowwehadtoletthemgetthoroughlydrysothattheywouldbelightandresilient.

Iproposedspreadingthemaroundthefire.‘Otherwisewe’llbestuckhereforeightdayswaitinglikewedidwiththeraft.’

‘It’snotgoodtodrythembythefire,’Karlsaid,‘butwedon’treallyhaveanyother choice, short of time as we are. We’ll sleep here today and go ontomorrow.’

Sinceitwasstillearly,Karldecidedtogohunting.

‘What do you think, Karl?’ Kevin asked before he could go. ‘Maybe weshouldmovetheraftdownalittleclosertotheEslabonPass,sothattomorrowwe’llhaveanearlierstart,passitby,andbeonourway.’

‘Goodidea,’Karlconceded.‘MaybeI’dbetterforgetabouthunting.’

‘No, that isn’tnecessary,’Kevinsaid. ‘YossiandIwill justpull italongbytherope.’

‘OK,ifyouthinkyoucanmanagewithoutme.’

Karltookuptheshotgunandafewshellsandmarchedoffintothejungle.

Marcusinsistedonaccompanyingus,thoughhewassufferingagainfromthepainfulrashonhisfeet.

‘IthinkIjusthavetokeepmyfeetdry,’hesaid.‘Theyhurtlikehell.’

‘Somaybeyoushouldwaithere,’Kevinsaid.

‘Oh,no,thatwasn’twhatImeantatall.I’mcomingtohelpyou.’

Weuntiedtheraftandstarteddraggingitbyaropefastenedtoitsbow.Thecloserwegottothepass,therockiertheriverbankbecameandtheharderitwastohaultheraft.

‘We’dbettergetaboardandtakeitdownouttothemiddleoftheriver,’Kevinproposed.‘Youdon’tintendtotrygoingthroughthepassonyourown?’Marcusexclaimedinfright.

‘Andwhynot?’Kevindemanded.‘Itlookstomelikeitwouldbeeasy.We’llstayinthemiddleandletthecurrentcarryusrightbetweentherocks.Wemighttakeafewknocks,butthat’snothingtogetexcitedabout.’

‘We can’t do it without Karl,’Marcus protested. ‘It wouldn’t be right.Wepromisedthatwewereonlytakingtheraftuptothepass.Anyway,Karlknowswhathe’sdoing.Hecouldshowusthebest–’

Kevin interrupted him impatiently. ‘Karl doesn’t know the first thing aboutrafts.’

‘Well,fourisstillbetterthanthree.Please,Kevin,let’swaitforKarl.’

‘All right, Marcus, if you want, you can go back. Yossi and I can do itourselves.’

Marcuswasterrified,buthejoinedus.HeandIboardedtheraft,whileKevinremainedinthewater,gentlypushingtherafttowardthecentreoftheriver.The

waterwasalreadyuptohisneckbeforehehikedhimselfaboard.Fromtherethecurrenthad itsway.We startedgaining speed.The centreof the riverwas farless rocky than it hadbeen close to thebank, butKevinhadbeenwrong.Wetookmore thana fewknocks.Wecrashed intoone rockafteranother, the rafttiltingon its side.BothMarcus and I fell into thewater and clutched the raft,afraid of being swept away. Somehow we managed to pull ourselves backaboard.Marcuswasbesidehimself,pale, toorattledtospeak.Theoriginalraftstoodupwelltothebeatingitwastaking,butthelogswehadadded,usingropesinsteadofpegs,werebeginningtocomeloose.

WemadeitsafelyacrosstheEslabonPass,butwewerewithoutpolesoroarsandcouldn’trowforshore.Kevinjumpedintothewateragain,holdingontotherope thatwas tied to thebow.Hemanaged tobracehimself against aboulderandfromthereusedallofhisstrengthtopulltherafttowardtheshore.Togetherwehauledituponatinybeachheadandsecuredit.

Kevinregardedmesmugly.‘Yousee?Abadpassisn’tsuchabigdeal.’

‘We did it!’ Marcus was exultant. ‘We made it on our own! Way to go,Kevin!You,too,Yossi!’

We walked back toward camp through the jungle. We were soaking wet.Marcus foundwalkingdifficult and complainedof pain in his feet,whichhadgottenwetagain.Suddenlyashotrangout.Karlmusthavebaggedsomething.Iracedforward,inthedirectionofthesounding.Therewasnotrail,andIbrokeoffbranches,jumpedoverfallenlogs,andcrawledunderlowhangingboughs.Iwasmakingaterriblecommotion,whenahorriblethoughtstruckme:KarlwaslikelytothinkthatIwassomekindofwildanimalchargingthroughthebrush.

‘Karl,Karl,’Icalledout,‘whereareyou?’

‘Here,Yossi,I’moverhere,’heroared.

I foundhim carefully studying awide tree. ‘Whatwere you shooting at?’ Iasked.‘Didyougetanything?’

‘Ah,thatwasamountainlion.Itwastoohighupatree.Imissedit.But,look,Yossi,arubbertree.’

Karlstruckthetreewiththemachete,andthickwhitedrops,likeglue,cameoozingoutofthegash.‘Icanuseittofixmyboots.’

The nylon thread with which he had sewn his boots together had alreadyfrayed.

Wewentback to the tentandgotanempty tincanfor theglue.WemetupwithKevinandMarcusonourwaybacktothetree.

‘WebypassedtheEslabon,’Marcusinformedhimexcitedly.

‘Hey,that’sterrific,really.Wasithard?’heaskednonchalantly.

‘Pieceofcake,’Kevinreplied.

‘Terrific,’Karlsaid,withouttheslightesttraceofspiteinhistone,‘we’llgetanearlystarttomorrow.’

WithinhalfanhourKarlhadenoughgluetofixhisboots,andwewentbacktocamp.

Marcuswas lying in the tent.Kevinwas turning theoarsover todryon thebackside.Karlsetthetinofgluedownnearthefire.

‘IthastohardenabitbeforeIcanuseit,’heexplained.

Restlessasalways,hegotoutthefishinglineandhooks.Herootedaroundinthe loose earth of the jungle with the machete until he found what he waslookingfor,anicefatworm.Hebaitedasmallhookwithhalfofitandstartedfishing.

‘They’renibbling,thelittlebastards,they’renibbling,’hesaidtomehappily,and ina shortwhilehehadhookedaminnow.Hecut theminnow in twoandbaitedalargehookwithhalfofit,usingthickfishingline.

‘Yossi,haveago,’heurged,andwentbacktohiscobbling.

Iswungthebaitedhookovermyheadandcastthelineintotheriver.Ihadn’tevenhadthetimetorollinthelinewhenitwenttautandstraight.Ihadalargefishontheline;Icouldfeelhowharditwaspulling.

Takeiteasy,pal,Ithought,you’renotgoinganywhere.

Igentlydrewthefishtowardme.FromtimetotimeIletoutalittleslackandthendrewitinagain.Afterafewminutesthefishtiredandwaseasiertopullin.Itwasacatfishthatweighedabouttenpounds.

Karlwasstoopedoverthefireandturnedaroundtolookatme.

‘Oh, ho,’ he called out, ‘what a beaut! You’re really something, pescadorvaliente[gallantfisherman].’

‘Don’tgetsoexcited,’Iboasted.‘Ijuststartedoutwiththesmallfry,nowI’llgocatcharealfish.’

I removed the hook from the fish’smouth and baited itwith the remaininghalfof theminnow.Marcuswentdown to the riverbankwithme towatchmefish.

Thelinewasthick,buttooshort,onlyaboutthirtyyardslong.Itiedoneendtoa treebranch.Again I swung thebaitedhookovermyhead,cast it into thewater,andwaited.Thelinewastautinmyhand,andIcouldfeelthesteadytugof the current. Then something pulled hard. In an instant the line was pulledtight, humming like a guitar string. I had itwrapped aroundmy finger, and itsliced through the flesh.Luckily Imanaged to freemyhand.The branchwasquivering,shaking,andthensuddenlythelinesnappedandwentslack.Thefishgotawaywiththebaitandthehook.

Iwasstunned.Ihaddonealotoffishinginmytime,butIhadneverfeltthatkindofpullon theendofa line.The fishmusthaveweighedat least seventypounds.

Marcus,too,wasawed.‘God,whatafishthatmusthavebeen!’hecriedout.

Ishowedhimmyinjuredfinger,andhehobbledover to thefirst-aidkitandcarefullybandagedit.

Karllaughedwhenwetoldhimaboutthebigonethatgotaway.‘Justwait,’hereassuredus,‘you’llcatchoneofthoseyet.’

‘Yeah,andhowwillwegoaboutthat,Karl?’Iasked,‘withtwentyyardsoflineandtwohooks?Howcouldyouhavegivenandtradedawayallourfishinggearwithoutleavingenoughforus?’

‘Don’tworry,we’llhaveenough,’Karlwavedmeoff.

I cleaned the fish I’d caught, andwhen itwas ready,Karl skewered it on agreenstalkofbambooandtieditinplace.Hearrangedtwoforkedbranchesoverthe fire and hung the stalk between them.We slowly turned the fish, its fatdrippingdownandcracklingintheflames.Thefleshwastenderanddelicious.Wecouldbarelystandtoleavealittleforthenextday.

ThenKarlrepairedthesolesofhisbootswiththegluehehadcollectedfromthetree.Whenhefinished,helaydownbythefireandfellasleep.Frominsidethe tent I stared out at him: Karl, the jungle dweller, so at home in thewilderness.

In the morning Karl decreed the oars ‘ready to go,’ and we carried ourprovisionsonourbackstotheplacewheretheraftwastied.

Raftingwasheavenly.TheTuichiwasplacid,thedaywaslovelyandwarm,andtheraftwaseasilycontrolledwiththeoars.Wecouldmanoeuvreitanywaywewantedwithlittledifficulty.AfterawhileKarlpointedoverattheleftbank.

‘ThiswasDonMatías’sproperty,buthedoesn’tlivehereanymore,’hesaid.

Wewenton. IcalledKarl’sattention to the fact that thepanchoswereveryloose,andwewereliabletolosetheadditionallogs.

‘We’llstoptolookforanotherbalsatreeandmakesomemorepanchos,’heagreed.

Wesooncameuponawidebeachwhereitwaseasytosecuretheraft.KevinandIwentwithKarl.Marcusstayedaboardtheraft.Karlstrodeintothejungle,looked up at the treetops, and picked out the distinctive large, clover-shapedgreenandyellowleavesofabalsatree.Hecutitdownwithtwoswiftchopsofthemachete,butthetreewastooyoung,itstrunktoonarrow.Wewouldn’tgetmanypanchosfromitsbark.

‘Takeittotheraftandthencomeback,’heinstructedus.‘I’lllookforanothertreeinthemeantime.’

KevinandIeachpickedupanendofthelogbutquicklythrewitdownasifitwereaviper.Itwascoveredwithfireants.Wetriedtoshakethemoffthetree,butthereweretoomanyofthem.

‘Makeforthewater!’Kevinshouted.‘Fast!Run!Thesonsofbitches!’

We ran, carrying the log, screaming and cursing, straight into the river.Marcuswatchedinbewildermentasweranpasthim.

‘Fireants!’Icalledouttohimbywayofexplanation.

The ants were still biting, even in the water, as we picked them off eachother’sbodies.Theswiftcurrentwashedtherestofthemfromthelog.Oncewewereridoftheants,welaidthelogdownnexttotheraft.

‘Youmightaswellgobackalone,’IsaidtoKevin.‘I’llstayherewithMarcusandmakepanchosfromthisloguntilyoucomebackwithanother.’

Kevinheadedback,andMarcusandIsettowork.Withtwosharpkniveswepeeledthebarkawayinstrips,carefullyremovingthefibresthatlaybeneath.

‘I’vebeenwaitingforachancetotalktoyoualone,Yossi,’Marcussuddenly

said.‘YesterdayKarltoldmehe’sthinkingofcallingofftheraftingandturningback.Heclaims that it’s toodangerousand thatKevindoesn’tknowanythingaboutrivers.Hesaidthathe’llwaitandseehowitgoestodayandthendecidewhethertoturnbackorgoon.’

‘In that case there’s no problem.We did beautifullywith the oars today,’ Isaid.

‘Yes,that’strue,’Marcusagreed,‘butifKarlshoulddecidetogoback’–hepausedforamomentbeforegoingon–‘let’sthethreeofusgoonbyourselves.Wecandoitwithouthim.Ifhewantstogoback,Iwon’tbeabletogowithhimbecause I can’twalk.My feet are gettingworse every day.We’rewet all thetime,myfeetneverdryoff,andtherashhasalreadyspreadallover them.Wehavetogoonwhetherhe’swithusornot.’

WhatMarcussaidtookmebysurprise.

‘Don’tletitworryyou,Marcus.We’llallgoontogetheronewayoranother.Idon’tthinkKarlwillcallitoff,butifhedoesdecidetogoback,we’llhavetogoalongwithhim.He’s theonewith themost experience, andwewouldhave ahardtimegettingalongwithouthim.’

JustthenKevincameoutofthejunglebyhimself.‘Ican’tfindhim,’hesaid.

‘Sowaitherewithus,’Isaid.

‘No!’Marcusburstout.‘Oneortheotherofyouhastogoandhelphim.He’snotourservant.Youhavetohelphim.Ifmyfeetweren’t insuchbadshape,Iwouldbemorethanwillingtogolook.’

‘OK, OK, don’t get yourself all worked up,’ I said. ‘I’ll go.’ I found Karldraggingayoungbalsalogthroughthesand.Marcuswasright;Karlwastickedoff.

‘Whythehelldidn’tyoucomeback?AmIyourslave?I’malwayswillingtodoeverything,butIcan’tdoitwithouthelp.’

‘Kevincametolookforyou,buthecouldn’tfindyou.’

‘Don’t give me that. The whole jungle heard me hitting that tree with themachete.Howcouldhenotfindme?’

ButKarlwasagood-naturedguy.Heneverstayedangryformorethanafewminutesandwasalwayseasilyappeased.

Weprepared the fibres from the second log and rapidly tightened the loose

balsalogstothemainbodyoftheraft.Thenwewereonourwayagain.Theraftwasingoodshape,buttheriverwasnolongercalm.Itbecamenarrower,andtheterrainaroundusgrewmountainous.The riverwoundaroundnumerousbendsandscarcelyhadabank.Karlsoongrewtense.Thecurrentcarriedusupagainsttherocksandontotheslopingbanks.Inmanyplacestherapidswerewhiteandfrothy.

Iwasinthestern,holdingtheleftoar.Kevinwasontheright.MarcusstoodnexttoKarlinthebow.Wewererapidlyapproachingabendintheriverafewhundredyards ahead.Farther onwe could seewhitewater and a scatteringofjagged rock half-submerged in the middle of the river. The current was verystrong,andtherewasnowaythatwecouldstop.

‘Left!Quick, to the left!Rowashardasyoucan!’Karl shouted. ‘Everyonetogether,hard!’

‘Right!’Kevinshouted.‘Ifwegototheleft,we’llendupontherocks.’

‘Shutup,Kevin,’Karlalmostwent topieces. ‘Youdon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.Thisisn’takayak,andyou’renotinOregon.DowhatItellyou.’

Ihadnoideawhichwaytorow.Istoodthereholdingthepole.Marcusturnedtome.

‘Row,rowfast!’hescreamed.‘Watchmeanddolikeme.Deep,likethis.Puttheoarinthewaterjustlikethis.’Hewashysterical.Hisvoicewasshrill.

The rocks loomed nearer, and therewas noway thatwe could avoid them.Ourfranticrowingdidnogoodatall.Theraftwastakingaterriblepummelling.Ittiltedonitssideandthenfloppeddown,risingupanddown,upanddown.Isqueezedmyeyesshutandgrippedtheropesholding theraft together. IcouldhearKarl’s frightened cries but couldn’tmakeoutwhat hewas saying.Kevinmade some reply, but I couldn’t understandhimeither.Aminute or two latereverything was calm again, the river had become smooth as glass, and weheavedacollectivesighofrelief.Therafthadn’tsufferedanyseriousdamage,onlytheouterlogshadbecomesomewhatloosened.

‘Idon’twantanymoreargumentsoutofyou,Kevin,’Karlsaidbreathlessly.‘Eitheryou’regoingtodoasIsay,orI’mcallingthewholethingoff.DoImakemyselfclear?’

‘Yeah, all right. I’ll do as you say,’ Kevin replied, but only to calm Karldown.

Marcusdrewtomyside.

‘I’m sorry for yelling at you, Yossi,’ he apologised, ‘but it’s just that I’mprettygoodatrowing.IusedtorowtheRhine.I’vehadalotofexperience,andIjustwantedtoshowyouhowit’sdone.’

‘It’sOK,Marcus.Youwererighttodoit.Anyway,youdidn’tyellatme.’

‘Thenyou’renotmadatme?’

‘No,I’mnotmadatyou,’Isaidsoftly.

UpaheadwecouldseeabroadriveremptyingintotheTuichi.

‘That’stheIpurama,’Karlsaid.‘Let’sstop.’

Thewaterwasplacidatthejunctionofthetworivers.Itrequiredscantefforttopulltheraftoverontothesandybank.

TheTuichiwas verywide, about a hundred yards across. Itwas silvery blue,whiletheIpuramawasdarkgreen;theymingledinanexquisiteblendofcolours.

Karltookthemapoutofhispack.HepointedtotheIpurama.

‘TheMalPasoSanPedroisn’tfarnow,maybehalfadozenmiles,buttheSanPedroCanyonbeginsbeforethat.Wemustn’tenterit,nomatterwhat.Itisarealcajón[box].Thereisnoshoreatallthere,justsheerrockcliffsonbothsidesofthe river.Whatwe’ll have to do fromnowon is stop at regular intervals andwalk ahead a few hundred yards to check out the river to make sure there’sanother stopping place up ahead where we can pull up before we reach themouthofthecanyon.Therewe’llstop,andtwoofuswillgoarounditonfoottoCuriplaya.’

Karl’splanmadesensetoallofus.

‘OK, then,’ he continued, ‘let’s scout our first stopping point. We’ll gothrough the jungle around the next bend and see if it’s possible to pull oversomewhere.Whowantstocomewithme?’

‘Notme,’Kevinwhispered so only I could hear. ‘I hardly ever agreewithKarlaboutanything.I’dbetternotgo.’

‘Notme,’Isaid.‘Idon’tknowthefirstthingaboutriverrafting.’

‘Oneofyouhastogo,’Marcusinsisted.‘Ican’twalkonmyfeetintheshapethey’rein.’

‘I’mnotgoing,’Kevinsaidstubbornly.

‘Meneither,’Irepeated.

Idon’tknowifweintendedtotormentpoorMarcus,butthat’swhatweweredoing.

Karlbuttedin.‘What’swithyouguys?Youdon’texpectmetogobymyself,doyou?I’monlyherebecauseyouweresohottogoonthistrip.’

Irelented.‘I’llgowithyou,Karl.’

Weenteredthejungleandkepttheriveronourleft.Theterrainwaslevelandthefoliagelessdensethaninotherplaceswehadbeen.Karldidn’thavetousethemacheteaswewereabletoworkourwayaroundandunderbranches.

Whatactuallyhappenednext,however,wasunclear,thoughitmusthavebeenthe turning point of the entire trip.As I recall,Karl turned suddenly and saidsomething like, ‘What the hell arewe going on for anyway?’Hemuttered asthoughhewerethinkingaloud.‘Imustbeoutofmymindtoriskgoingintothecanyon.Noonehaseverdoneit.Andwhatifwemissourstoppingplaceandaresweptintoit?We’llallbekilled.That’swhat.

‘What’sthepoint?There’snothingformethere.Nobody’sgoingtoawardmeanyprizesfordoingit.SowhyshouldI?’

Heseemedtocatchsightofmethenforthefirsttime.

‘Givemeonegoodreason,’hesaid,thistimealoudandstraighttomyface.‘Idon’thave the time. Itcould take threeor fourdays to reach themouthof thecanyon.Iwon’tmakeitbacktoLaPazontime.WhyshouldIlousethingsupwithmy uncle? I told you in the first place that I only had onemonth. Thatmonthwillbeupinexactlyfourdays.’

Hestoppedandstaredatme.

‘That’sit,Yossi.I’vemadeupmymind.I’mheadingstraightbackfromhere.I’m not going any farther. If you want, come along with me. If not, go onwithoutme.I’mgoingbackinanycase.’

ApparentlyIofferednoobjections,andKarlcontinued.

‘Look,whatdidyouwantoutofthistripanyway?Tospendsometimeinthejungle?Terrific,wedidthat.WewalkedfromAsriamastoRíoCocusandback.Youwanted to raft down the river.We’ve done enough of that. You’ve seenwhatit’slike.Whyshouldwegoon?It’sjustmoreofthesame.Ifweturnback,wecanhaveafewdays’rest,putacampontheriverbank,dosomehuntingand

fishing.Marcuswillhavethechancetorestandtakecareofhisfeet.We’lleatwell,batheintheriver.That’sthelife.That’stherealpleasure.Notacrazytripdowntheriver,riskingourlivesfornothing.’

Thetruthis,Iwasconvinced.

‘I’mwithyou,Karl.’

Weheadedbackwithoutscoutingtheriveratall.

‘I’msurethatMarcuswillwanttogobackwithus,’Karlcontinued.‘Idon’tknowaboutKevin.He’sstubborn,buthewon’thaveanychoice.Hecan’tverywellgoonalone.’

Whenwecamebacktotheraft,Marcuswassitting,warminghisredfeet inthesun.

Karlrepeatedhisreasoningandsummedup,saying,‘Sowhatdoyouthink?Yossihasalreadyagreed.Marcus?’

‘Iagree,’Marcusreplied.

‘Kevin?’

‘OK.We’llgoback,’heansweredsoftly.

Karlgotthemapout.

‘We’re here, at the juncture of the Ipurama and Tuichi rivers. It’s almostimpossible to return toAsriamas; it’sat leastaweek’swalk.Themost logicalalternativeistofollowtheIpuramaupstream.ThereisavillagecalledIpuramaattheheadoftheriver.Itonlymakessensethatifwefollowtheriver,don’tloseit,we’ll come straight to the village.We canput up a good, sturdy camp andspendthreeorfourdaysrighthere.We’lluseuptheheavyfood:thebananasandtheyucca. I’msurewe’ll findgamehere.WhenMarcus isable towalk,we’llstart hiking.Within two days at themostwe’ll be in Ipurama. There’s a trailfrom Ipurama to Apolo.We’ll rest up in the village and rent a few donkeys.We’ll ride toApolo, and from there, no sweat,we’ll catch a plane toLaPaz.We’llbebackinlessthanaweekafterweleavehere.’

‘Areyousurewe’llmakeittoIpuramasoeasily?Hasanyoneevertakenthisroutebefore?’Kevinasked.

‘Perhapsthevillagershavecomedownheretofish.Idon’tknow,butevenifno one has ever done it before, it couldn’t be simpler. The river will lead usstraighttothevillage–’

‘Takeagoodlookatthemap,’Kevininterruptedhim.‘Theriverbranchesoutinthreedifferentdirections.Howcanyouknowwhichoneofthemthevillageison?’

‘Oncewe’re that close,’Karl answered, ‘we’ll surely find a trail.Look.AllthreebranchesoftheriverintersectthetrailtoApolo.It’saverywidepath.Youcan’tmissit.It’sonlyatwo-daywalkfromtheretoApolo.’

Kevinstudiedthemapcarefullyandraisednofurtherobjections.Westartedsettingupcamp.Karlwasextremelythoroughthistime.Heassiduouslysoughtadry,levelarea,slightlyhigherthantheriver,anddiligentlyclearedawayeveryrock, weed, and root. Then he took me with him to look for strong, straightstalksofbambooandbranches.Hewantedtoremovethepanchosfromtheraftandusethemtotiethetentpolestogether,butKevinwouldn’tlethim.

‘You aren’t thinking of going on by yourself, are you, Kevin?’ he askedwarily.

‘No,ofcoursenot,’Kevinanswered,‘It’sjustashametowrecktheraft.Forsentimentalreasons.’

Karllaughed.‘Allright.I’llfindsomevinesinthejungle.’Oncethetentwasup,wesetthepackwiththefoodinadrycorner,gotafiregoing,andriggedapot over it. Everything was splendidly arranged, and we got down to someseriousrestandrelaxation.

Idecidedtohaveanothergoatfishing.IfoundatreegrowingrightoutoftheIpurama,neartheplacewhereitmettheTuichi.Isatthereunderthetreetryingtocatchaminnow.Theynibbledbutdidn’tbite.

IdecidedIshould takemyshoesoff togivemyfeetsomefreshair.OnceIhadmyshoesandsocksoff,Icouldseecountlesstinyreddotsallovermyfeetuptomyankles.IknewthatthiswashowithadstartedwithMarcusandthatIhad to treat it right away before it spread.Themosquitoes buzzed aroundmybarefeet.Iputmysocksbackonandwentonfishing.Kevinfoundmethere.

‘Where’dyoudisappearto?I’vebeenlookingforyou,’hesaid.‘I’vegotanidea:let’syouandmegoalone.’

Icouldn’tbelievehewasserious.

‘I’msure thatwecoulddo it,’hecontinued. ‘Thecurrentdoesall theworkanyway.Listen,I’mnoidiot.Ihavenointentionofgettingmyselfkilled.

‘Thinkaboutit,Yossi.Whydidwecomeonthistripanyway?Karlpromised

usanIndianvillage,whichwassupposedtobethehighlightofthewholething,butwenevermade it there.Doyou remember howheblathered about all thewild animals along the river? Alligators in lagoons. Gold-mining camps. ThevillageofSanJosé,wherehelived.Whatdidn’thetellus?Allwehaveleft israftingdowntheriver.Nowhe’scallingthatoffaswell.Howlonghavewebeenon the river?Less than twowholedays.For that Icameon this trip?GaveupgoinghomeforThanksgiving?

‘Ithoughtthatthiswasgoingtobeaonce-in-a-lifetimeexperience.AndwhatdoIfind?Thatitwasallfornothing.’

Ihesitated.Ihadalreadyresignedmyselftogoingback,butKevinrekindledmyspiritofadventure.

‘Wecandoit,’Kevinsaid.‘Wecangoonalone.’

AsKarlhadpromised,ourholidayattheriverjunctionwasthebestpartofthetripsofar.Weenjoyedsurprisinglyclearweather.ItwastheendofNovember,andbythebeginningofDecembertherainyseasonisusuallyinfullforce.

‘That’sanothergoodreasonforgoingback,’hehadinsisted.‘Trytoimaginewhat it’s like getting caught in a rainstorm.Apart from being unpleasant, it’sdangerous. The river floods its banks, and the current gets even stronger. I’mamazedthatwe’rehavingsuchgoodweather.’

OnthesecondmorningatourmakeshiftresortKarlandItookuptheshotgunandmacheteandwenthunting.

‘We’llwalka littlewayup the Ipurama,’Karlproposed. It looksasgoodaplaceasany,andwecanlookaroundforatrailtotakewhenwestartwalking.’

Wewalkedupstreamforaboutanhour,ploddingthroughthejungle.Wesawneithermachetemarksnorbrokenbranchesandcouldonlysurmisethatnootherhumanbeingshadpassedthatway.

Unexpectedlyweheardaloudroar.

‘Ajaguar!Ajaguar!’Karlshouted.

Ilookedabout,scaredoutofmywits.Icouldn’tseeanything,buttheroaringgrewlouder,andother,nolessferociousvoicesjoinedinachorusofsnarls.

‘No,thatisn’tajaguar,’Karlchangedhismind.‘It’sabighowlermonkey,amaneche.Theircriesaredeceptivelysimilar.Look,upinthetree.’

Ilookedup.Afamilyofenormousbrown-colouredmonkeyswaswatchingus

curiouslyandcallingdowntous.

‘Theydon’t tasteasgoodas themarimono, theblackone,but they’reOK,’Karlsaid.‘Let’sgetone.’

Hetookaimandfiredbutmissedhisshot.FromwhereIstood,itwasaneasytarget.Ihadaclearviewofthemonkey.

‘Givemetheshotgun,’Isaid.

Itookitfromhim,aimed,andfired.Themonkeyfell,grabbedatbranchesonitswaydown,plungedagain,andthenoneofthelowerboughsarresteditsfall.Karlgrabbedtheshotgunfrommeandrantowardit.

‘It’s thesizeofagorilla,’hecalledoutashehelped themonkey toaquickandmercifuldeathwithanothershotfiredatcloserange.Theanimaldroppedtotheground.Karlgutteditrightthereonthespottomakeitlighter.Wecarrieditbacktothecamptogether.

WefoundKevininagreatmood.Hehadbeensnappingdozensofphotos.Wehadourpicturetakenwithourprey,holdingourweapons.

Marcus tried to avoid acknowledging the monkey’s presence, though thesmellofitsscorchedflesh,oncewe’dpitcheditintothefire,waspervasiveandunpleasant.Marcushadbeenfishingallmorninganddevotedallhisattentiontohistask.

‘Yossi,comehere,quick!’hescreamedexcitedly.

The line was quivering; he had hooked a big fish, powerful and quick. Igrabbedthelinebutdidn’thaveenoughtogivethefishanyslack.Igentlytriedtoslowittoastandstill.Nowthebattlewason.Itookinalittleline,andhetookitback.Iknewthatthefishwasstrongenoughtobreakalineofthisthickness.Ireeleditinafewyards;itpulledbackwithafantasticburstofenergy.Thelineresoundedwith a shrill hum. I gripped it tightly.The fish let up a little, and Itook in a fewmore yards of line, and then the fish tried a new tack: it swamquickly towardme,making the linegoslack,and thensuddenly sprangoutofthewaterwithatremendousleap.Itwasbeautiful,coveredwithgoldenscales,aboutayardlong.Weletoutcriesofadmiration.

‘Dorado!’Karlcalledout.‘It’sadorado,thebestfishintheriver.’

‘That’smyfish.Icaughtit.Givemebacktheline.Yossi,giveittomenow,’Marcuswhined.

‘It’snotyourfish,’Iyelledfuriously.‘It’sfoodforallfourofus.Getoutofmywaynow.’

KarltriedtocalmMarcusdown.Kevinwastakingpictures;hecaughteverymoveImade.

Afteraboutfifteenminutesthefishgottired.Ireeleditin,almosttotheshore.Finally,when itwasaboutsixfeet fromthebank,Karl jumped into thewater,grabbed hold of it, and tossed it up onto the sand. It was enormous, glintinggoldeninthesun.

‘Nicegoing,Yossi,’Karlcrowed,andslappedmeontheback.

Karl took good care of us as usual. Hewanted us to enjoy our dinner andmadeacucumbersaladwithgarlicandlemon.Hehadcollectedthefatfromthefishandmelteditinthepantofryslicesofplantain.

Dinnerwas served.We all held our bowls in our laps and busied ourselveseating.Thefishwasdelicious,white,tender,andboneless.Marcussatonalogatadistancefromtherestofus.Helookeddepressed.Iwentoverandsatnexttohim.

‘I’msorryIactedlikeababy,’hesaid,‘butI’venevercaughtafishbefore,andIwantedtolanditmyself.Iknowitwasstupidofme.Iapologise.’

‘Forgetit,Marcus,’Ireplied.‘Ioweyouanapology,too.Ididn’tmeantohurtyourfeelings.Iwasn’tjusttryingtoshowoff.It’sjustthatIknewweneededthefood.Imean,allofuswouldrathereatfishthanmonkey.’

‘You’re right, Yossi. I’m glad that we can talk. I don’t know what to do.Kevinissohostiletome.’

‘He’sjustinarottenmoodbecausewearen’tgoingtobegoingondowntheriver.It’shardforhimtoacceptthefactthatwe’regivingupandgoingback.’

‘Totellyouthetruth,’Marcussaid,‘Iwouldjustassoongoon,too,evenifitisdangerous.At leastwewouldn’t have towalk. I don’t know if I can take alongwalk.’

‘Don’tworryaboutit.Karlsaysitwillonlytaketwodays.Thenwecangetmulestogoon.’

‘Maybeso,butKarlalsoclaimedthattheIndianvillagewouldonlybeafive-daywalk,andhewaswrong.’

Later,KarlandIremainedalonebythefire.

‘So, what did I tell you?’ he asked contentedly. ‘Rest, good fishing, goodhunting,goodtalkunderamoonlitsky.AsfarasI’mconcerned,youcan’tbeatit.’Hepaused. ‘Weird, isn’t it, how the three of you endedup herewithme?Threecharacters:Kevin– fuertecomotreshombres [withthestrengthof threemen];you–adventurero;andMarcus–turista,tipicoprofessor.’

ThenextdayKevinsystematicallypumpedKarl forevery lastdetailabout themalpasoandcanyon.Karlwashappytoanswerhisquestionsinordertoprovehowreasonableand logicalhisdecision to turnbackhadbeen.Hemarked theapproximatelocationofthecanyonandthedangerouspassonthemap.

MarcusharbouredsuspicionsthatKevinwasn’taskingallthosequestionsoutof idle curiosity. He asked me about it privately and said that if we wereplanningtogoonbyraft,hewouldseriouslyconsiderjoiningus.

‘Ifyoutwoaregoingontogether,’hesaid,‘itcouldbeveryrisky.Threepairsofhandsarebetterthantwo.’

‘Idon’tknow,Marcus,’Isaid.‘Idon’tknowwhatKevinhasinmind.’

Later, when I told Kevin that Marcus wanted to join us, he objectedvehemently.

‘Hecan’tcome.Hewouldruineverything.There’snogettingaroundit,we’lljusthavetotellhimthatwedon’twanthimalong.’

‘Wecan’tdothat.Hegetshisfeelingshurtsoeasily.We’llhavetofindsomeotherway.’

DissuadingMarcus turnedout tobe rather simple.Marcushadn’t givenuponcatchinga fish.Hesaton thebankof the Ipurama trying tohookaminnow. Iwentovertohim.

‘Youwereright,Marcus,’Itoldhim,‘Kevinreallydoesintendtogoonwiththeraft.ItwouldbetoobigofadisappointmentforhimtojustturnaroundandgobacktoLaPaz.Hetoldmejustnow.’

‘Doesheintendtodoitalone?’Marcusasked,marvelling.

‘Yes,’ Ianswered, ‘andI think it’scrazy,agoodway togetkilled,buthe’sjustplainstubborn,andnothingwillchangehismind.Ifhetriestodoitalone,

hedoesn’tstandachance.He’llnevermakeitalive.Sooneofushastogoalongtohelphim.’

‘Onlyoneofus?’Marcusasked.‘Whynotbothofus?’

‘Well, I’d just as soon go backwith Karl. I’ve had enoughwalking in thejungleandenoughof this river. I’mready toheadback,but if Ihavenootherchoice,I’llgoonwithKevin.Twotogethercouldmakeit,andI’mnotabouttolethimcommitsuicide.Thetruthis,however,I’dratheryougo.Yourfeethurt,andyou’dbebetteroffontheraftthanwalkinganyway.Whydon’tyougoonwithKevin,andI’llgobackwithKarl?’

‘Noway,’Marcusprotested.‘I’mnotgoinganywherewithKevinbymyself.You’ve seen the way he treats me. I’m really sorry, Yossi, but there’s not achance.I’llgowithKarl.’

‘InthatcaseIguessI’llhavetogowithKevin.’

Everythingwassettled.

IhurriedofftofindKevinandproudlytellhimhowIhadconnedMarcusintodoingaswehadplanned.Kevinlookedthoughtful.

‘So,’hesaid,‘nowwecanlayourcardsonthetable.’

WewentovertoKarlandtoldhimthatwewereplanningongoingonalone.

Karlwasmorethanfair.Hewasn’tangryanddidn’ttrytochangeourminds.Hewasjustworriedandwarnedusofthedangerswemightencounter.

Kevinaskedhimforastraightyesorno.‘Isitpossibletomakeitthroughthecanyon?’

‘I’vealreadytoldyouaboutthecajón.Therearetworockfacesrisingstraightuponeithersideoftheriver.Onceyou’reinthere,there’snowaythatyoucanstop.Thecurrentwilltakeyoustraighttothedangerouspass.’

‘What’ssodangerousaboutit?Canwemakeitthrough?’Iasked.

Karlscoffedat the idea. ‘Notachance.Fourskilledbalseroswouldn’tevenconsider attempting it.And there’s only two of you. Itwould be suicidal. It’scalledMalPasoSanPedro forgood reason.DoyouknowwhoSanPedro is?He’s the guy that stands at the PearlyGates.And that’s justwhat theymeantwhen they named the pass after him. Anyone who enters the mal paso canexpectapersonalencounterwithSanPedro.’

‘Howisitthatyouknowsomuchaboutit?’Iaskedcuriously.

‘I’vebypasseditoverthemountainsbyfootandseenitfromabove.WhenIdiditthreeorfouryearsago,therewasatrailalreadycut,soitwasprettyeasygoing.Thetrailwasayearold,butIcouldstilluseit.Bynowit’llbeallgrownover,andIdoubtthatyou’llfindanytraceofit.’

‘Isthereanywaytotellwhereweshouldevenlookforthetrailandhowfarwecangobyraft?’Kevinasked.

Ouroriginalplanhadbeentocometothemouthofthecanyon,dismantletheraft,andputitbacktogetherontheotherside.

‘Just the twoofyouwon’tbeable todo thatbyyourselves.Theonly thingyoucandoistostopbeforethecanyonandjustleavetheraftthere.Ifyoumakeitpastthepass,you’llcometoCuriplaya.Therewon’tbealivingsoultherethistimeof year.Theminersgohomeat the endof thedry seasonby raft.Everyyearbeforetheyleave,however,theychopdownbalsatreesandleavethemtodry and be ready for the following year. Once you make it to Curiplaya, allyou’llhavetodoisfindsomepanchosandputtogetherasmallraftfromthedrylogs.From thereon, the river isniceandsmooth,andyoushouldn’thaveanyproblems.

‘If you do build a raft inCuriplaya, don’t forget to cut downbalsa trees toreplacetheonesyoutake.Itisn’thardwork,andit’sonlyfairtothevillagers.Ifyoulike,youcanevenpanforalittlegoldinCuriplaya.Ifyouhaveagoodlookaround,you’llfinddiggingtoolsandbateas.Theminersleaveeverythingthere.Andthere’salsoabananagrovethereandgoodfishing.’

Kevinhadlittlepatience.‘Karl,sticktothepoint.Howwillweknowforsurewhere to stop before entering the canyon, and where should we look for thetrail?’

‘Take it easy, Kevin,’ Karl laughed. ‘Yossi, you’ll have to watch that hedoesn’tgooverthespeedlimitontheriver.’

HemarkedourpositiononthemaphehaddrawnanddrewalinerepresentingtheTuichi.

‘Thisistheriver.Fromhereonit’sroughgoing,butifyou’rewillingtoriskgoingbyraft,itwillsaveyoutwodaysofwalking.Youcan’tmissthemouthofthecanyon.You’llseeabigislandcoveredwithtalltreesrightinthemiddleoftheriver.Onyourleftyou’llseeanarrowshore.That’swhereyouhavetostop.Don’tforget.Whenyouseetheislandupahead,startpullingover.Ifyouhaveanytrouble,diveintothewaterandswimforit.Don’t,underanycircumstances,

gointothecajón.’

‘OK,Karl.Don’tworry,wewon’t,’Kevinsaid,clearlyexasperated.‘Sothatmeansweraftdowntillwecometo thebig island.There’sashoreon the leftbank.Isthatwherethetrailwillbe?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Howlongwillittakeustogetaroundthecanyon?’

‘It all depends. About two days if you find the trail. If it’s completelyovergrown,itcouldtakeyoualotlonger.’

Kevinthoughtforamoment,thenturnedtomeandasked,‘Howdoesitsoundtoyou,Yossi?’

‘My grandmother could do it.’ Karl and Kevin began dividing up ourequipment.

‘Youobviouslywill need themachete,’Karl said. ‘Otherwiseyouwon’t beabletobuildanewraft.Wewillprobablyhaveahardtimegettingthroughthejunglewithout it,butwecanmakedowith theknife.As for the shotgun,youneed–’

‘Wewon’tbeneedingtheshotgun,’Kevinbrokein,‘butwe’lltakethefishinglineandhooks.Youtaketheshotgunandammunition.Wewon’thaveanytimeforhunting,andanywaytheammunitionislikelytogetwetintheriver.’

‘OK,fine,’Karlagreed.‘Ifwe’retakingtheshotgun,thenyoucantakemostofthefood.I’msurethatMarcusandIwillfindplentyofgame.Youcantakethenylonsheetingtoo.It’llhelpkeepyourequipmentdry.Wewon’tbeabletoset up camp without a machete anyway. We’ll take the pup tent,’ Karlconcluded.

Karl and Kevin went over each item together in this way. We hadn’t yettouched themonkeymeat. Karl gave us that except for two small slabs. Thelighter presented a problem, for we had only one left. Kevin and I retainedpossessionofit,butweleftthemtenofthetwentymatcheswestillhadandhalfthepaperforstrikingthem.KevingaveMarcusthoseofhispossessionsthathehad decided not to takewith him.He gave him his precious rolls of exposednegativeswiththehundredsofpictureshehadtakenduringthepastmonthalongwiththeaccessoriestohiscameraandthetripod.

‘They’llbesaferwithyou,’hesaidtoMarcus.

That afternoon Kevin went out to get the feel of the river. He swamdownstreamandcamebackonfootthroughthejungle.

‘It’s not so good,’ he toldme. ‘Just a quarter of amile downstream there’salreadyadangerouspass.Ihopewewon’thaveanyproblemsgettingpastit.’

‘Nosweat,’Isaid.‘Ifwe’regoingtohaveanadventure,let’sdoitright.’

‘Don’t be silly,’Kevin scoldedme. ‘I don’t intend to take any unnecessaryrisksonthistrip.Iknowjusthowdangerousarivercanbe.Whilewe’reontheraft,youhavetolistentomeanddojustasItellyou.’

I’vereplacedonetyrantwithanother,Ithoughttomyself,thoughIknewhewasright.Ihadbeensilly,butitwasonlytohidemyfear.

Karlwasupfirstasusualandroused therestofus.Hewanted togetanearlystart.

Theatmospherewasfraughtwith tension.Marcusfussedwithhisbackpack.Karl joked around a bit, trying to get his spirits up, without a great deal ofsuccess.Finally theywereready,eachwithhispackonhisback.Karlhad theshotgun,andaknifedangled fromhisbelt inplaceof themachetehehad leftwithus.

‘Well, that’s that. Time we were going,’ he said. ‘I’d rather walk on theoppositebank,sinceYossiandIhavealreadybeenawaysupriveronthissidewithoutcomingacrossanytracesofatrail.Wemightfindoneonthefarside.Sonowwouldyoubegood enough to takeus across the river on the raft so thatMarcuswon’tgethisfeetwet.’

‘That’smyonlyhope,’Marcussaid.‘Aslongasmyfeetstaydry,I’llbeabletowalk.Iftheygetwetagain,alloftheskinwillpeeloff.’

OncewehadtakenKarlandMarcustotheoppositebankoftheIpurama,weallshookhands.Karlcommentedjokinglythathehopedwewouldn’tbefishbaitby this time tomorrow. Then he gave us a final warning: ‘Stay together, nomatterwhat,evenifoneofyouishurtandcan’twalk.Don’teverleavetheotherbehind inorder togoforhelp. Ifoneofyougetshurt,doanythingyoucan tomakeittotheriverbankandwaitthere.Whoeverisuninjuredwilltakecareofthe other and get food for him until help arrives.As long as you stay on theriverbankthere’salwaysthechanceofhelparriving.’Karlpromisedthat ifwedidn’tarriveinRurrenabaquebythefifteenthofDecember,hewouldnotifythe

authoritiesandmakesurethattheycamelookingforus.

‘We’re stillgood friends,’Marcus said tome inparting. ‘I’llbewaiting foryou in La Paz. Do you remember that little teahouse where we used to sittalking?I’lltakeyouthere.We’llsitandbefriendslikeweusedtobe.’

‘That’sright,Marcus,’Ianswered.‘We’llgetoutofthisjungle.Backinthecitywe’llbefriendsjustlikebefore.’

‘I’llbeprayingforyou.Ipromisethatifyou’renotbackontime,I’llgototheIsraeliembassy.I’lldoeverythingtomakesurethattheycomelookingforyou.’

‘Thanks,’Isaid.‘RemindthemthatIleftanotetheredescribingourroute.’

‘Don’t be soworried,’Kevin reassured him. ‘We’re planning on surprisingyouandmakingitbacktoLaPazbeforeyoudo.’

Karlburstoutlaughing.‘You’refullofshit,Kevin,’hesaid.

Weonce again shookhands, andMarcus said, ‘See you inLaPaz.Godbewithyou.I’llbeprayingforyou.Goodbye.’

They turned their backs on us andmarched away. Karl confidently led theway.Marcustrudgedafterhimbutturnedaroundforonelastglanceatusbeforehevanishedfromsightentirely.

Chaptereight

THEACCIDENTKevinbrokethesilence.‘Getamoveon,Yossi.Westillhavealottodo.’

We crossed back to the other side of the Ipurama and set to work. Kevinuncoupled the four logs we had added to the raft in Asriamas. Then, usingpanchosthewayKarlhadtaughtus,wetiedthelogstooneanothertomakeasmallerraft.

‘This,’ Kevin explained, ‘will serve as our life raft.We’ll fasten all of ourequipmentdowntoit.’

WeboundthesmallrafttightlytothecentreofthelargeroneusingtheropesandleatherstripsthatMarcushadleftus.

‘Themainraftwilltakealltheknocksfromtherocks,andifanythinghappenstoit,allwe’llhavetodoistochopthestrapswiththemachete,andtheliferaftwillbesetfree.Wejustjumpontoitanduseittogetashore.’

Itsoundedreasonabletome.

Kevinemptiedthebackpacksandrearrangedourpossessions.Inthelargerofthetwopacksheputthebulkofourequipment:thepotandutensils,thesheetsofnylon thatservedas tenting,hisextraclothesandsandals, the largestalkofbananas, and the smokedmonkeymeat. He lined the smaller pack, which hecalled the lifepack,withawaterproof rubberbag.Thenhe filled thebagwiththe first-aid kit, themap of Bolivia, the two greenmosquito nets, Dede’s redponcho, the flashlight, the lighter andmatches, and his camera alongwith anextra lens and film.He placed our documents andwhatmoneywe had into awatertightmetal box. I reluctantly tookmywallet withmy uncle’s tiny bookfrommypocket.Kevinwaswatchingme.He carefully,wordlesslyplaced thewallet into themetal box. Finallywe fitted the rice and beans into additionalwaterproof bags. Kevin cinched themouth of the rubber bag tightly shut andclosedthepackoverit.Tothetopofthepackhetiedtwolarge,sealedtincanstokeep itafloat if itshouldfall fromtheraft.Heplaced theentirepack intoa

nylonbag,whichhefilledwithbalsachipstomakeitbuoyant.Thepacksweretiedfirmlytotheliferaft,andwewerereadytogo.

We combed the camp area one last time, butwe hadn’t forgotten anything.Kevin was very thorough. He kicked through the blanket of leaves that hadservedasourgroundcoverandpoked through thecharred remainsof the fire.Nothingwasoverlooked.

Excited,mystomachfluttering,Iboardedtheraft.Kevinstoodin thewater,gavetheraftagoodshove,andthenjumpedupbesideme.

‘Everything’sgoingtobejustfine,’heassuredme.‘Justrememberwhatyousaidyourself:yourgrandmothercoulddoit.Andoneotherthing:keepalertandpayattentiontomyinstructions.’

‘You’rethecaptain,’Ianswered.

Iwanted to believe thatKevin knewwhat hewas talking about, but at thatmomentIwasprettynervous.Thecurrentseizedtheraft,andKevininstructedmetochangethepoleforanoar.

‘Allwehavetodoistokeepthefrontoftheraftpointedstraightahead,’hesaid. ‘We’ll let thecurrentcarryusalong.Weshouldmake thebankKarlwastalkingaboutsometimetoday.’

Wewererapidlycominguponthefirstdifficultpass.Icouldseejaggedrocksjuttingoutofwhite-waterrapids.

‘Totheright,Yossi!Pullhard!’

We ran into a rock, and the raft climbed partway up, the logs shudderingunderourfeet.Thenwewerebackinthecurrentandabouttoramanotherrock.Imadenoattemptatrowingbutheldontotheleatherstrapsfordearlife.Kevinwasdoingthesameinthebow.Theraft,tossedfromtorocktorock,descendedchurningfalls,mostofthetimetiltedtooneside.

‘Holdontight,Yossi!Don’tletgo!’

Myeyesweresqueezedshut.

Just as suddenly we found ourselves drifting once again on a placid river.Lookingbehindme,Icouldseethewhitewatersthatwehadjustcomethrough.

‘Hey,wemadeit!’Ishoutedjoyously.

Kevin smiled back atme and gaveme a thumbs-up.Nowwe both realisedhowdangerousthisjourneywas.Wehaddiscoveredhowlittlewecouldcontrol

theraft.Whilewewerebeingcarriedalongbythepowerfulcurrent,wehadn’teven been able to keep the front of the raft pointed straight ahead. No, mygrandmotherwouldn’thavecomealongonthistrip.Nowthattherewasnooneelsealongwithussnivelling,Inolongerfelttheneedtoactthetoughguy.

Wespent thenext twohoursdriftingeasily, convinced thatwewould reachour destination. The scenery was breathtaking. Evergreen-covered mountainstowered over reddish cliffs along the shore.Occasionallywe passed a narrowwaterfall,cascadingfromtheheightstotheriver.Fromtimetotimeafamilyofmonkeys accompanied us downstream, jumping from tree to tree. Kevinconsideredtakingthecameraoutbutdecideditwouldbetooriskyandgaveupontheidea.

Aroundnoonweranintotrouble.Alargerockjuttedoutfromtheshore,andthe water pounding against it formed a treacherous whirlpool. The currentcarriedusintoitscentre.Wetriedfortwohourstogetoutofitwithoutsuccess.Finallyseeingnootherway,Kevinswamtoshore,climbedonto therock,andtried to use the rope thatwas tied to the front of the raft to pull it out of thewhirlpool. Twice he slipped, fell into the water, and was swept away by thecurrent,butquicklyrecovered.Onhisthirdtrytheropebrokeoffinhishands,andhefellonceagainintothewater,butthistimehedidn’treturnsoquickly.Iwasleftwhirlingwiththeraft,fearchurninginmystomach.WhatifKevinhaddrowned?Whatwouldbecomeofme?Isatontheraft,craningmyneck,tryingdesperately to catch a glimpse of him. When I saw his straw hat carrieddownstream,Ifroze.

Kevinreturnedaboutfifteenminuteslater,bleedingfromadeepwoundonhisknee.

‘Theundertowhereisincredible,’hesaid.‘IthoughtIwasdrowning.Myairwasgone,butjustintimethecurrentthrewmetothesurface,andImadeittoshore.’

‘Whataboutyourleg?’

‘Oh,Ididn’tevennotice.IguessImusthavehititagainstarock.Shit,Ilostmystrawhat.’

Insteadofattemptingtonavigateoutofthewhirlpool,wemooredtherafttotheriverbank.Itwasagreatrelieftohavesolidgroundundermyfeet.

The next timewe tried something else.We pulled the raft upriver, jumpedaboard,androwingwithallourstrength,triedtogetpastthewhirlpoolandback

intothemiddleoftheriver.Wesucceededonthethirdtry.Afterourcriesofjoyhad died down, Kevin remarked thoughtfully, ‘Maybe we should have juststayedbackthere.Itwouldn’thavebeensuchabadplacetocamp.’

‘Butwe’vestillgotawhilebeforedark,’Isaid.‘Anyway,it’sbetterthatweshouldgetallthewaytothemouthofthecajónandcamponthebankthatKarlshowed us on the map. It would be nice to know that we start walkingtomorrow.’

‘Maybeyou’reright,’Kevinagreed.

The reddish cliffs encroached upon the riverbank. Itwas as if suddenly theriverhadnobanksatall.

‘Thismustbeit,’Kevindeclared.‘Getready.Weshouldsighttheislandanyminutenow.Whenwedo,youstartrowingtotheleftashardasyoucan.Ifwerunintoanyserioustrouble,jumpoverboardandswimforshore.Thisisstartingtolooklikeitmustbethecanyon.’

Wewerebothonedge,alert.Thecurrentgrewstronger.Whereinhellwastheisland?

Therewasalargerockneartheright-handbank.Wewereswiftlybeingdrawntoward it.To its left theriverbeddroppedsharply, though itwas impossible tosee justhowfar.Nevertheless thewatercascadedover theedgewithamightyroar.Maybewecouldpasstotherightoftherock,betweenitandtheriverbank.

‘Totheright,totheright!Harder,faster!’

I was rowing desperately with all my strength. I closed my eyes, and werammedintotherockwithtremendousforce.

‘Areyouallright,Yossi?’

Likeme,Kevinwasintheriver,hangingontotheropesoftheraft.Thewaterrushedpastusonbothsides,buttheraftwasn’tmoving.Itwasprotrudingfromtheriveratasixty-degreeangle,stuckonasandbar,ridingupagainsttherock.Thepressureofthewaterslammedusupagainsttherockandheldusfast.

Weclimbedbackontotheraft.Kevininstructedmetotietheoardownsothatitwouldn’tbesweptintotheriver.Ilookedoveratthewaterfalltoourleft.Therivercascadeddownwardtenortwelvefeet.God,whyhadn’tIturnedbackwithKarlandMarcus?

My legs quivered. If we could manoeuvre to the right, we would make it

through. We tried to get the raft off the rock but were helpless against thecurrent. We tried everything we could think of – pushing, pulling, rowing,pryingtheraftoffwiththepoles–buttheraftdidn’tbudge.

Kevinquicklysizedupthesituation.

‘Idon’tseemuchchanceofthecurrentgettingusoutofhere.It’sonlysixorsevenyards to the rightbank,while thewaterfall ishereonour left, andafterthat it’s probably twenty yards to the left bank. The river is narrow, and thecurrentisterrificallystrong.Youseewhatitmeans?Thecanyonmuststarthere.Wemustbereallyclosetotheisland.Ifwecanjustmakeitashore,wecangoonfromherebyfootandeasilybypassthecanyonoverlandtoCuriplaya.’

Kevinpausedforamomentandlookedaroundbeforehemadeuphismind.

‘Wedon’thaveanychoice.I’mgoingin.I’lltrytoreachtherightbank.WhenIdo,youthrowmethemachete.I’llclimbupintothejungleandcutavine.I’llthrowthevinetoyou,andyou’llpassthepacksovertomeonit.Thenyoutieyourselftothevine,andI’llpullyouashore.’

‘Don’tgoin,Kevin.It’smuchtoodangerous.Waitawhile,’Icalledtohim,butKevindidn’thesitate.Hetookoffhisshoesandsocks.

‘I’llmakeit,Yossi,’heshouted,andjumpedintotheriver.

The current’s tremendous force pulled him along. He disappeared for amoment but then bobbed up again. He was washed up against a rock abouttwenty-five yards downstream, grabbed onto it, and from theremade it to theriverbank.Isighedwithreliefbutthencaughtmybreath.Ifelttheraftmovingunderme,slowlybreakingfreeoftherock.

‘Kevin!Kevin!Theraftismoving,Kevin!’

Itwasslowlyslippingaway.Kevinranswiftlytowardme.

‘Throwmemyshoes,fast!’

Iobeyedhimautomaticallyand threwhisshoesashard inhisdirectionas Icould.Theylandedontherockybank.Theraftwasalmostfree.Itwasheadedtoward the waterfall. I was trembling all over, looking at Kevin in terror,pleading.Hewasalreadyhurriedlyputtinghisshoeson.

‘Themachete!Throwmethemachete!’heshouted.

Thelargebladewhistledthroughtheairandthuddedtotheground.Therafthadbegunmoving.

‘You’releavingme,Kevin!’Ishouted.

‘Hang on as tight as you can, Yossi! Don’t let go of the leather straps, nomatterwhat!Don’tletgo!You’reheadingforthewaterfall.You’regoingtogooverit!Hangontight!’

‘Kevin,you’releavingme!’

‘I’llcatchupwithyou.Justhangon!Hangon!’

Theraftcameofftherockandedgedverticallytowardthewaterfall.Icouldfeelthesurgeoftheriverbeneathmeandheldontotheleatherstrapsfordearlife.Iwasthrownintotheair,ragingwaterswallowingmyscreams;amidstthewater I felt as helpless as a fallen leaf. The moment of terror lingered, thenabruptlyendedwithacrash.Theraftwaspulledunderthesurfaceoftheriver,takingmewithit.Darknessenvelopedme.Mylungswerebursting.Ihadnoair.

Don’t,don’tletgooftheraft!Itoldmyselfastheundertowdraggedtheraftalongrapidlybelowthesurface.Thepressureonmylungsgrewunbearable.

God,helpmeplease.

Ithoughtthiswastheend.ThenIfoundmyselfabovewater,theraftfloatingagain.IjerkedmyheadaroundandsawKevin,ahundredyardsormorebehindme,runninginmydirection.Reliefwashedoverme.

‘I’llwaitforyouwhereverImanagetomakeshore!’Ishouted,andwavedathim.

Kevincouldn’thearme,buthewavedbackandkeptrunning.

SuddenlyIunderstoodwhereIwas:Ihadenteredthecanyonandwasbeingswept swiftly toward the treacherous Mal Paso San Pedro. The raft bouncedfromwall towall. Itcrashedinto therocks, tiltedonitssides,was tossedoverfalls,andsweptthroughfoamingrapids.Iheldondesperately,closingmyeyesand praying,God, God. Then the raft dove under again, takingme with it. Irammedintorockssoviolently thatIwas twice throwninto theair, landinginthewater,vulnerabletothetormentsoftheriver,suckeddowntoitsdepths.IfIhitanotherrock,Iwouldbesmashedtopieces.Iwasrunningoutofair.WhenIresurfaced, I saw thebound logsof the raftnearby. Imanaged tograbholdofthemandclimbaboardagain.

The horrible dance of death went endlessly on. The current was incrediblyswift.Theraftwassweptalonglikelightning.Therewasanothersmallbendintheriver,andthen,stillfaraway,Isawit:amountainofrockinthemiddleof

theriver,almostblockingitsentirebreadth.Thewaterpoundedagainstitwithaterribleroar.Whitefoamsprayedinalldirections, thewhite-cappedmaelstromswirlingatthefootoftheterrifyingcrag,andIknewthatIwouldnevermakeitpast.

I lay down on the raft facing the stern, not wanting to watch as deathapproached.Isqueezedmyeyestightlyshutandclutchedat thestrapsforallIwasworth.Therewasacrash.Ifeltnothing.Iwassimplyflyingthroughtheair,thenlandingbackinthewater,myeyesstillsqueezedshut.Iwassuckedunderthe blackwaters forwhat seemed an eternity. I could feel the pressure inmyears,mynose,thesocketsofmyeyes.Mychestwasbursting.Thenoncemoreaninvisiblehandpluckedmeoutofthecurrentand,justintime,drewmetothesurface.Iliftedmyhead,gaspedforair–alotofair–beforeIwouldbepulledbackunder.FarbehindmeIcouldseethemountainofrockreceding.Icouldn’tbelieveit.Ihadpassedit.Buthow?Ididn’tfeelanypain.No,Iwasuninjured.Itwasamiracle.

Theraftwasinfrontofmenotfaraway.Thelogshadbecomeloosenedfromoneanother.Imanagedtoclimbupontowhatwasleftofit.Theleatherstrapsweretorn,andIhadnothingtoclingto.IknewthatIhadtogettotheliferaft.Imustn’tlosethelifepack,Icouldn’tsurvivewithoutit.

I jumpedintothewater,andtwostrokesbroughtmetotheliferaft.AgainIcrashed into the stonewalls of the canyon; only now I no longer had awide,solidrafttoprotectme.Theliferaftwassmallandnarrow.Everyblowliftedithalfoutof thewater.Onceagain I rammed intoa rock, injuringmyknee,butmuchworsethanthat,thepreciouslifepackcamelooseandfellintothewater.Igrabbedholdofitjustasitwasabouttofloataway,butitwasheavy,andIwasafraidthatitwoulddrownme.Itiedthewaistbelttooneofthelogsandhopedthatitwouldhold.ButIwaswrong.Onemoreknock,onemorediveoverafall,andthepreciouspackwasbobbingbehindme,outofmyreach.Icouldn’ttakemyeyesoffit.

Imustn’tlosesightofit,Itoldmyself.Imustn’tloseit,nomatterwhat.

Iwasfairlycertain that Iwasalready through thepassbutstill inacanyon.Steepstonewallsroseonbothsides,buttheriverwasgettingwider,thecurrentmilder,andIcouldhaveswumtothebank,butIcouldn’tabandonthepack.Aslong as I could see it bobbing behindme followed by the large raft, I didn’tswimashore.

Theriver turnedabend,andIwaited invainfor thepack tomake thebend

behindme.Itmusthavegottencaughtonsomething.Nordidtheraftappear.So,astheliferaftnearedtherightbank,Itookthechancetoleapashore,havingnootherchoicebuttoabandonthebigpackandraft.

I landed in the water close to the bank and, wonder of wonders, felt sandbeneath my feet. I could actually stand up. I staggered out of the river,unbelieving.Ihadlandedonarockystripofshore.Solidground.Iwasalive!

Itwasafewmomentsbeforemybreathingbecameregular.Thenmythoughtsreturnedtomypresentsituation.Thelifepackwaslost,nowheretobeseen,butmaybeitwouldturnup.Couldn’tthecurrentknockitfree?

AndwhataboutKevin?Surelyhewouldfindme.Ihadseenhimrunninginmy direction.Hewould certainlymake it this far today – or tomorrow at thelatest.Yes, everythingwould be all right. Iwas sure.Hewould findme, andtogetherwewouldwalktoCuriplaya.Howfarcouldwebefromeachother?Ididn’tknow.HowlonghadIspentontheriver?Ididn’tknow.Maybetwentyminutes.Thethoughtoftherivermademeshudder.

A steady rain had been falling and now grew stronger. Therewas nomorepointinwaiting.Itwouldbebettertoclimbupintothejungletofindshelterforthenight.Iclawedmywayupthestonewall.WhenIreachedaheightofaboutfifteenfeet,Ilookeddownandwasovercomewithjoy.Icouldseethebigraft.Itwas trapped between some rocks near the shore, bobbing and banging softly,maybe threehundredyardsupstream.Nowthat Icouldsee it, Icouldhear thesoundthatitmadeasithitagainsttherocks.Whatluck!Ithoughtthatthepackwasprobablystucktheretoo.

Ihurrieddown to thebank,but thebend in the riverblockedmyview,andexceptforthespotwhereIwasstanding,theriverhadnobankatall.Iwouldn’tbeabletogetanyclosertotheraftbyfoot.Iwadedintotheriver,veryclosetothebank,andtriedtowalkupriver,fightingthecurrent.Iprogressedafewfeetbutthenslippedandfellasifthebottomhadbeenpulledoutfromunderme.Iwasterror-strickenandscrambledbacktoshore.

NowwhatwouldIdo?Iwasseethingwithangerandfrustration.Idesperatelyneeded the pack.Maybe I could reach it by land, but scaling the stonewallscouldtakehours.Ichokedbacktears.No,don’tcry.Bestrong.Don’tgiveup.You’reamanofaction.Getonwithit,dowhatevermustbedone.

IknewIcouldn’tmakeittotheraftthatday.Itwasalreadygrowingdarkandstillraining.Ihadtofindsomekindofshelter.Istartedclimbingagain,chantingto myself in a whisper, ‘Man of action, man of action.’ I could see the raft

bobbingamongtherocks.

Pleasestaythereuntiltomorrow.Pleasestayput.

Improvising a shelter was no easy task. I uprooted small bushes, broke offbranches, toreoff leaves,anddragged itallback toa littlealcove in thestonyhillside.Iscatteredleavesaboutonthefloorandpiledbranchesintheopeninguntiltheyformedsomekindofbarrier.

Iwasfamished.Ihadn’teatensincemorning.AwaydownthehillsideIsawapalmetto tree. I could eat the palmheart, asKarl had taught us.The treewassmall,butitsrootswentdeepintotherockyground.Idugaroundthemwithmyhandsuntil I finallysucceededinuprootingit.Theheartwasat theverytop.Itook a large rock and smashed it against the trunk until I uncovered the soft,whiteheart.Itwasasmallamountofnourishment,butIgatheredeverybit.

SuddenlyIheardshouting.

It must be Kevin, I said tomyself, and roared, ‘Kevin!Kevin!Kevin!’ buttherewasnoreply.

Itmusthavebeenmyimagination.No, Icouldhearsomething.Afamilyofmonkeys.Itrembledwithfear.Karlhadtoldusthattherewerealwaysjaguarsinthevicinityofbandsofmonkeys.

God,letKevingethere.

IwaswearingablueT-shirtthatMarcushadgivenme,abrownflannelshirt,roughunderwear,jeans,socks,walkingshoes,andalargebandannatiedaroundmy neck. I crawled intomy camouflaged little niche. The stones cut intomyback,buttheyweren’tasbadasthecold.Iwassoakingwetandhadnofireoranythingwithwhichtocovermyself.Itookthebandannafromaroundmyneckandtieditovermyface,andthewarmthofmyownbreathgavemeatleasttheillusionofcomfort.Frighteningthoughtsfilledmymind:wildanimals,snakes.WhatifIdidn’tfindthepack?WhatifKevindidn’tgethere?Iwouldeitherbedevouredbywildbeastsordieofstarvation.Ifeltdesperate,desolate,andIleaptoutoftheniche.

‘Kevin!Kevin!Kevin!’

‘Oha,oha,’thecursedmonkeyschattered.

Ifledbacktomyalcove.Iwaschokedwithtears.

Don’tcry.Don’tbreaknow.Beamanofaction,Icoaxedmyself.

Itwasalreadydark. I replaced thebandannaovermy face. Icouldn’t sleep,couldn’tgetthefrighteningthoughtsoutofmymind.

Karl,whydidn’tIlistentoyou?Marcus,whywasIsocrueltoyou?NowI’mbeingpunished.

I toldmyself thatwhenmorningcame,IwouldfindKevin,andtogetherwewouldmakeitoutofthis.WhenIfoundmyselffeelinghopeless,Iwhisperedmymantra, ‘Man of action,man of action.’ I don’t knowwhere I had gotten thephrase. Perhaps I had picked it up from one of Carlos Castaneda’s books. Irepeated itoverandover:amanofactiondoeswhateverhemust, isn’tafraid,anddoesn’tworry.Butwhen Iheard the rustleofbranchesoutside,mymottowasn’t all that encouraging. I held my breath and waited for the rustling torecedeintothejungle.

I feltbetter in themorning. Ipushed thebranchesasideandcrawledoutside. IroaredKevin’snameafewtimesbut thenwentback tobeingamanofactionandsizedupmysituation.ForstartersIwasabsolutelycertainthatIwaspastthecanyon. I remembered Karl’s description well: the waterfalls, the rapids, thegiganticrockblockingtheriver.Yes,Iwassurethatthathadbeenthemalpaso,andCuriplayawassupposedtobenotfarfromthepass,ontherightbank,thebank Iwas standingon.Therewas a chance that I couldmake it there.Therewere cabins and equipment in Curiplaya. Karl had said that there was also abanana grove. And from Curiplaya it was four days’ walk to San José deUchupiamonas.There should evenbe apath cut through the jungle. I allowedmyself to feel optimistic. I could do it. Not more than one day’s walk toCuriplayaandfromthereonapathtoSanJosé.TheremightevenbesomeoneleftinCuriplaya.

Ihuntedaroundforsomethingforbreakfastbutfoundnothing.Idecidedtotryto retrieve the pack once again. It would be worth investing an entire daylookingforitaslongastherewaseventheslightestchanceoffindingit.Therewasfoodinthepack,alongwithmatches,amap,andaflashlight.IfIcouldonlyfindit,I’dbeset.

Itwasnoeasytask.Istartedwalkingupriver.Theroutetookmeoverjaggedcliffsandsmoothrockfaces.Iwalkedfortwohours,climbinghighertoprogressandthenbackdowntoseeifIcouldreachtheshore.Thestonywallsweresteep

andsmooth. I lostmyfootingafewtimesbut luckilywascaughtby treesandbushes.Finally, fromacliff that toweredfiftyfeetover theriver, Ispotted theraftinthewater,stillbeatingagainsttherocks.Iwaspositivethatthepackmustbenearby.

Atthatpointthebankoftheriverwasathinstripofland.Ihadnochoicebuttotaketheriskandstartedslowlyclimbingdown,clawingatthesharprocks.Itooktinysteps,gropingwithmyfootforaholdthatwouldsupportmyweight,mybodycoveredwithcoldsweat.Isaidasilentprayer,Don’tslip.Don’tfall.IfI broke an arm or leg, I didn’t stand a chance. The last time I had gone rockclimbing, I had fallen but had been saved by amiracle: UncleNissim’s littlebookhadbeeninmypocket.Nowitwasinthebackpack.Ishouldneverhaveleftitthere.

Itwasstillraining,hadn’tletupatallsinceyesterday.Thestonesweredampandslick,butIkeptclimbing.Mypantscaughtonajaggededgeandripped.Mykneeswerescratched,myfingersbloody.Thestrainonmylegswastremendous,terriblypainful.Icouldtellthattherashwasspreadingovermywetfeetagain.When Iwas about ten feet above theground, I turned and sliddown the rockfaceonmyrearend.Mybackwasscraped,butIlandedsafelyontheriverbank.Istartedsearching,skippingoverrocksuntilIreachedtheraft.

Itwashardtobelieve,buttheraftwasstillinonepiece.Allsevenlogswerestillboundtogether.Yes,DonJorgeknewhisbusiness.Whyhadn’twelistenedtohiswifeandstayedbackthere?

BeforeIbeganmysearchfor thepack,Isecuredtheraftwell, just incaseImet up with Kevin and the two of usmightmake use of it. I looked aroundamongtherocksandcrevices,andthere,abouttenyardsaway,inthecleftofasmallrock,satthepreciouspack,soakingwetbutstillafloat.

Thankyou,God.

Wordscouldnotdescribemyhappiness.Ilaydownontherockandfishedthepackout of the river andhurriedly opened it. Iwas saved!The contentswereonly slightly damp. The rubber bag had protected them well. There waseverything: rice and beans, the flashlight and matches, the lighter, map,mosquito netting, red poncho,medicines, andmost important,mywalletwithUncleNissim’slittlebook.NowIwouldn’tdie.Ifeltsafe.

I opened the first-aid kit hoping to find some petroleum jelly for my feet.Therewasnone.Ifoundabottleofpills,someofthemunmarked,andasmallboxlabelled‘Speed.’Thepillsmightcomeinhandy.Therewasalsosnakebite

seruminthekit.

Thusequipped,Ifeltbetter.

Somebodyuptherelikesme,Ithought.JustletKevinfindme.

UpuntilnowIhadthoughthimthebetteroffofthetwoofus–atleasthehadthemachete – but now Iwas awealthyman, and he, poor guy, had only theclothesonhisback.PoorKevinhadnothing;hemustneedme.Ihadfoodandcouldstartafire.Hejusthadtofindme.Withoutmehedidn’thaveachance.

Itwasstillpouringwithrain,andIshiveredwithcold.Ihurriedlyclosedthepackandsetitdowninanicheofthecliff.Ikeptonlytheponchotoprotectmefrom the rain. Then it occurred to me that I should hang it up in someconspicuousplace.ItwasbrightredandmightcatchKevin’seye.Isawacragjuttingprominentlyovertheriver.Iclimbeduptoitandspreadtheponchooutoverit,weighingitdownwithheavystonessothatitwouldn’tblowawayinthewind.AgainIcalledouttoKevin,butIknewtheshoutswerepointless.Theroarofthewaterwasdeafening,andtherewasnochanceofanyone’shearingme.

OnmywaybacktothepackInoticedafewyellowfruitslyingontheshoreandstopped topick themup.Mostof themwere rotten,but I foundonehard,freshfruitandtookabite.Itwasdelicious.Ilookedupandspottedthesource:atreeladenwithwildyellowplumsattheedgeofthestonewall.

Someonereallyislookingoutforme,Ithought.

I lookedforawayup to the treeandfoundaslighthollow in the rock facewheretherainwaterranoffthemountainanddowntotheriver.Itwaswetandslippery,buttheinclinewasnotsosteepthere.Ihadalmostreachedthetree–justafewmoresteps–whenIsawasnake.Itwasgreenandcoiledandjustafew inches frommy foot. I recognised it immediately as thedeadly lora.Karlhad told me they could blind their victims by spraying venom even from adistance.

Ifrozeinmyplace.Thesnake,too,wasmotionless.Onlyitstongueflickedinandoutofitsmouth.Itheldtheupperhalfofitsbodyerect.Iwasafraidtomovea muscle, but my fear and desperation soon turned to hatred. I took a stepbackward,pickedupahugerock,andflungitatthesnake.Itsbodyconvulsedandthenthickened,asiftiedinknots.Ipickedupaflat,narrowrock,bentover,and started hitting the snake in a rage, over andover, until I’d sliced its headfromitsbody.Iwastrembling,knowingthatifthesnakehadbittenme,Iwouldhavedied.

I picked up its green body and peeled its skin like a banana, revealing itspinkishflesh.Icleanedtheinternalorgansoutwithoneflickofmyfingerandwasleftholdingtheflesh.WhatshouldIdowith it?Eat itoruse it forbait?Ithrew it down to the riverbank. I would decidewhat to dowith it after I gotdown.

DownontheriverbankI tookoneof thelargetincansthathadbeentiedtothepack. It had two cups and a spoon inside. I drank from the river and thengatheredupthefruit,fillingthecanwiththoseIdidn’teat.

Inolongerhadanydesiretomakeamealofthesnake.Icouldn’thavestartedafireanyway,becauseeverythingwasstilldamp,andIcertainlywasn’tabouttoeatitraw.Ifoundthefishinglineinthepack,buttheriverwastoorockyandthewatertooturbulenttofish.

Isatonthepackawhile,leaningagainstthecliff,therainstillbeatingdownonme.Kevincouldn’thavecontinuedwalkingalongtheriverbank,Ireasoned,sohemustbewalkingupontheledgeabovethestonewalls.Therewasn’tmuchchanceofhisseeingtheponchofromthere.Icouldn’tseeanypointinwaitingbytheriveranylonger.Imightaswellclimbuptotheledgemyself.Iretrievedtheponcho,foldeditintothepack,putthepackonmyback,andstartedscalingthewallbacktowardtheplumtree.

Marching the lengthof the ledge, I searchedforacranny thatwouldsheltermeforthenightandfoundanidealplace:ashallownichecutintothestonewallaboutsixfeetabovegroundlevel.Iclimbeduptoit.IwouldhavelikedtohavestartedafirenowthatIhadmatchesandalighter,butallthebrancheswerewet,soIabandonedtheidea.

InthesecondtinIdiscoveredalargelumpofsalt,somespices,garliccloves,and three lemons. I had a well-balanced supper: one lemon, three cloves ofgarlic,apinchofsalt,andahandfulofplum-likefruit.

Thisnightwaskindertomethanthelastonehadbeen.Icoveredmyselfwiththe two mosquito nets, which, although damp, were comforting. I spread theponchooverthemandcoveredmyfacewithitshood.Ibreathedintothehood,andwavesofwarmthspreadovermybody.

WhatifKevindoesn’tmakeithere?Iaskedmyself.

TomorrowIwillcheck themap, try to figureoutapproximatelywhere IamandhowfaritistoSanJosé.I’llspendtomorrowherewaitingforKevin,andifhedoesn’tshowup,thenI’llsetoutmyselfonthefollowingday.

During the night I started hallucinating. Kevin was calling in desperation,Help!Help!Yossi,saveme.Waitforme.Don’tleave,Yossi!Yossi!Help!

Iwassweatingundermywetclothes.

I awoke stiff and hunched over, my body feeling the effects of my stonemattress. I came out ofmy hideout and sat studying themap. Itwaswet andtorn,butIfoundtheTuichiandIpuramariversandtheXthatmarkedCuriplaya.Itriedtousethemap’sscaletocalculatethedistance.Alargeriverthatfedintothe Tuichi was shown on the map before Curiplaya. I hoped it would bepassable.

Itwasrainingagain;therainyseasonhadbeguninearnest.Iknewthedate;itwasDecember3.ItwaseasyformetorememberthatbecauseIknewthattheaccident hadoccurredon the first andwas careful to keep trackof the date. Idebatedwhether tobeginwalking towardCuriplayaor towait forKevin.Lastnight’shallucinationswerestill tormentingme.KevinneededmeandIneededhim.Wehadtofindeachother.Togetherwecouldmakeitthroughanything.Idecidedtowalkbacktowardhim,hopingIwouldmeethimontheway.Maybewewouldatleastcomewithinhailingdistanceofeachother.

Ipackedcarefullyandhoistedthepackontomyback.Myfeetwereonfire,andIwasafraidthatIwouldn’tbeabletowalkveryfar.Itookanupperoutofthesmallboxofpillsinthefirst-aidkitandswallowedit.Itdidaspromised.Itrottedalonghastily,skippingoverrocksandhoppingoverfallentrees.Iwalkedonwithoutrestforhours,callingout,‘Kevin,Kevin,’everyfewminutes,butIwasansweredonlybytheroaroftheriverbelow.Ifeltnohunger,wasunawareofthepaininmyfeet,didn’tfeeltheweightofthepackortheirritatingrain.AtoneplaceonthecliffInoticedalargehollowthatformedasortofgiantcave,openonallsides,butroofedoverbyaprotrusionofrock.Withinitwerepilesoftwigs,branches, andentire trees, all of thembonedry.Here I couldget a firestarted.PerhapsIshouldbuildahugebonfireasasignal forKevin.But Iwastoorestlesstostop;Ihadtogoon.

ThenIcametoadeadend.TheledgeIwaswalkingalongsuddenlydroppedoff. Below me about two hundred feet flowed the Tuichi. The view wasbreathtaking. The silver river snaked through the thick jungle growth. I stoodlookingatthewaterforalongwhile,halfexpectingtoseeKevin’sbodysweptalongbythecurrent.Ihadtogoonlookingforhim.Hewoulddiewithoutme.

Hehadnothing–nofood,nomatches–nothing.Hedidn’tstandachanceifIdidn’tcometohisaid.

Like one possessed, I scrambled up the rock face to reach the next ledge,hopingthatIwouldbeabletogoontothelevelaboveme.AtaheightofabouttwohundredandfiftyfeetIwastrapped;Icouldn’tgoanyhigherbutcouldn’tgobackdown.Ileaptacrosstoaprotrudingnubofrockaboutayardaway.AsImade it, the nub crumbled undermy step and fell away from the wall. I fellbackward,but fortunatelymyfallwasbrokenbya tree.Thepackonmybackabsorbed the impact of my fall, though the force of the blow bent the metalframeoutofshape.

OnceagainIfeltlostandhopeless.Allofmywalkinghadbeenfornothing.Howcouldthemountainjustdropoffintonothing?AndhowwouldKevinevergethere?IhadnochoicebuttobacktracktothecaveIhadseen.ThereIwouldlightafireandmakesomenicerice-and-beansoup.

WhenImadeitbacktothecave,Icollapsed.Ilaythereforawhileandthen,gathering my strength, got to my feet. I gathered dry twigs and branches. Iarrangedthemproperly,thesmalleronesonthebottomandthelargerontop.Ihadonlya fewmatches,and the lighterhadseenbetterdays.Kevin’sbelovedbookwasinthepack.Itoreoutafewpagesandshovedthemunderthetwigs.Itwaseasytogetablazegoing.Innotimethelargerbranchescaughtfireaswell.Thefireprovidedbothwarmthandlight.

Waterwasnoproblem.Thewholeclifffacewaswet,andwatertrickledoffit.Ifilledthetincan,setabigstoneinthecentreofthefire,andputthecanontop.Thewater camequickly toaboil. Iwas strickenwithguilt;Kevinalsowouldneednourishment,and the little foodwehadwasall inmypossession. Imustusetheprovisionssparingly,forwemightbothneedthem.Icarefullymeasuredonespoonfulofriceandonespoonfulofbeansintotheboilingwater.Ipeeledtwoclovesofgarlicandaddedthemandsomesaltandspices.

Thetincanheldaboutthreequartsofwater.Thesoupwasn’tthick,butitwasdelicious.Idrankafewcups,forcingmyselftoconsumeonlytheliquidandtoleave the residue for morning. Then, my stomach full, I organised mybelongings. The rice and beanswerewet andmouldy. Sowere the garlic andspices.Ilaideverythingoutonstonesnearthefire.Igatheredmoredrywoodtokeeptheblazegoingallnight.Itooktheponchoandthemosquitonetsoutofthepack.IgoteverythingelsereadybeforeItookmyshoeoff.ThatIputofftolast,knowingthatitwouldbefarfrompleasant.

The pain was excruciating. My socks reeked. They were covered withyellowishredstains.IgrittedmyteethwhenIpeeledthemoff.Myfeetwereahorriblesight.Mostoftheskinhadpeeledoff,andbetweenmytoeswasamessofinflamedflesh,blood,andpus.IwasterrifiedthatIwouldn’tbeabletowalk.Iknewthat Ihad todrymyfeetandputsomethingon them.Idugaroundthefirst-aid kit again. In the absence of petroleum jelly I finally decided on therepellent creamand spray,whichwere slightlygreasy. I spent the entire nightholdingmyfeetouttothefireandthenpullingthembackagain.Thepainwasagonising,sleepimpossible.

Whenmorning came, I realised just howweak Iwas. I crawled out onmyhandsandkneestogathermorewoodforthefire.Iaddedwatertoyesterday’ssoupandheated itagain.Therewerea fewpiecesofmushy fruit left. Ididn’twanttowastethemandforcedthemdownmythroat.Isattherenearthefire,theskin ofmy feet drying and beginning to heal. I tried to get the fire to smoke,reasoning that Kevin wouldn’t see a fire in daylight, but he might notice thesmoke,evenifhewasupabovemeonahigherledge.

Iwasdizzy.Isawblackcircleseverywhereandstretchedmyfeetoutclosetotheflame.Mybrowwasfeverish.Somethingcameoverme.PerhapsIfainted.Ilost control of my bowels and filthied my underwear. I cursed angrily. Aftercalmingdown,Iremovedmypantsandunderwearandcrawlednakedtowardajetofwaterstreamingoffthemountainside.Ihungmyunderwearoveranubofthe cliff so that the streamwould flowover them. Iwent back to the fire andcoveredmyselfupwiththemosquitonetting,forthemosquitoestookadvantageofeveryinchofbareflesh.

Bands ofmonkeys were gathering in the trees aroundme. There were twolargegroups,oneof littleblackmarimonomonkeys, theotherof largerbrownhowlermonkeys,thekindthatroarliketigers.AtfirstIfearedtheyhadgottentogether to get even with me for the monkeys we had killed earlier in ourjourney. Then I grew worried that they would make off with my precioussupplies,soIgatheredallofmybelongingsaroundmenearthefire.Ihobbledtothecragtoretrievemyunderwear,whichthewaterhadalreadycleansed.

Themonkeyswatchedmecuriously.Eventuallytheyovercametheirtimidityand came within a few yards of me. They didn’t seem to be up to anythingsinister.Itseemedmorelikelythatitwasthefirsttimetheyhadseenamonkeyasfunny-lookingasme.AllIcouldthinkaboutwashowgreatitwouldbeifIcould traponeof them. Iwould lethimsmokeallnight andhave twoweeks’supply ofmeat. I considered throwing stones at thembut knew thatwould be

pointless.Theyweretooquick,andIwastooweak.Iwatchedthemforhoursasthey performed acrobatics in the treetops above me, concentrating all mythoughtsonthehopethatoneofthemwouldmissabranchandfallonitshead.Itriedprayersandsupplications–Lethimfall,justonelousymonkey.Pleaselethimfall-butthatdidnogood.Themonkeyswentthroughtheirroutineswithoutasnag.

When it began to grow dark, I was overtaken with fear. I was completelyunarmed,withnothingtoprotectmyselfapartfromthefire.WhatifIfellasleepduringthenightandthefirewentout?What ifa jaguarwaswaitingnearbyinambush?WhatwouldIdo?IlookedforalongstickthatIcoulduseasaspear,but the branches were all dry and brittle. Feeling helpless and frightened, Igatheredupmorewoodtofeedthefire.ThenIhadabrilliant idea.Ihadonceseenamovieinwhichaspraycanwasusedasaflamethrower.Itookthecanofrepellent and the lighter out of my pack. I held the lighter in my left hand,pusheddownon the spraybuttonwithmy right, and lit the lighter. Itworked.The spraycaught fire andgaveoff a large flame. I preparedmydefences: thespray,thelighter,theflashlight,andthesnakebiteserum.

ThatnightIlayclosetothefire.

AgainIbeganhallucinating.Kevincreptuponmeinthedark.Hesawthefireandfoundmesleeping.HecouldtellIhadeatensomeofthericeandbeans.

Youshouldshare,Yossi.Youshouldalwaysshare,hewhispered.Thereisn’tenoughfoodforbothofus.Soyouthoughtyouweregoingtomakeitoutofherewithoutme?

He smiled to himself, lifted themachete, and smashed it down against myskull.

No!No!

Icamebacktorealityterrified,myheartpounding,drenchedwithsweat.

Kevin,Kevin,pleasecome!Believeme,Ihaven’tabandonedyou.I’llwaitforyou.Iwon’teatanymoreofthefood.

Itrembledandwhimpered.Thefirecastmenacingshadows.Beyonditslightwasonlyjungleanddarkness,andIwasafraid.‘Manofaction,manofaction,’Iwhisperedtomyself,andcurledupinthemosquitonet.

Itwasmyfifthdayaloneinthejungle.Ihadneverbeensolonely,socompletelycutofffromhumancompanionship.Itwasunbearable.Forthefirsttimeinmylife I realised how much I needed the company of other human beings. IrememberedabookIhadoncereadcriticisingBarbaraStreisand’ssingingabout‘peoplewhoneedpeople.’Peoplehave to learn togetalongon theirown, theauthor contended, be completely independent of others; our happiness andsecurity must come from within.When I read the book, I agreed, but now Irealised the truth expressed by the song. It was easy for a writer sitting in apenthousetobecynical.I’dliketoseehiminmyplacenow.

Ihadtobeonmyway.Iwasinbettershapephysically.Myfeverhadgonedown.Myfeethadgottenbetter. I enriched the soupwithanother spoonfulofriceandoneofbeansandateeverydropthatclungtothebottomonthepot.

IsatnearthefirestudyingthemapandestimatedthatCuriplayacouldbenomore than six or seven miles away. I hoped to make it in one day’s walk. Iwouldwait forKevin to catch upwithme. It seemed the logical thing to do.Kevinmustbetryingtogettheretoo.HeknewaswellasIdidthattherewouldbe foodandshelter.Surelywewouldmeetup inCuriplaya. IfKevinwasstillalive,thatis.

Iwas beginning to lose all hope that hewas still alive.Maybe he couldn’twalk.Maybehehaddrowned in the riverorbrokenabone.Even ifhehadn’tdrowned,hisclotheswerestillwet,andhecouldn’thavestartedafireasIhad.Andwhat about his feet? Iwas sure that hemust be suffering from the sameproblemthatIwas,buthehadnomedicine.Andhehadnofood.Hecoulddieofstarvation.Thepoorguymustbefreezingatnight.Ifeltawful.

Forthefirsttimemythoughtscarriedmefaraway.InmymindIhadalreadybeenrescuedfromthe jungle. Ihadmademyway toavillage, toLaPaz,andfromtherebyplane toMiami.FromMiami Ihead forOregon,whereKevin’sfamily lives. I have already phoned them, telling themof his death, but still Iowethemapersonalexplanationofwhathappenedandhow.Havingtofacehisparentsisthehardpart.

IamgoingbyGreyhoundbus,andthetripfromMiamitoOregontakesthreedays. Every few hours the bus pulls over for a rest stop and a snack atMcDonald’s,BurgerKing,orJack-in-the-Box.Igointotherestaurantjust likealltheotherpassengers,butwhenIgettothecounter,IorderfourBigMacsandfive fish sandwiches, six orders of fries, two large shakes, and three pieces ofapplepie.TheclerkthinksIamorderingforthegroup,butthenIsitdownata

table bymyself. I bite into the hamburger, themelted cheese oozing out, theonion and pickle crunching; themilk shake goes down smooth and easy. Theotherpassengersstareatmeinamazement.They’veneverseenanyoneeatlikethat.

Finally,IreachKevin’sparents’home.

‘Itwasn’tmy fault.Pleasebelieveme. Iwaited forhimfivedays. Iwaited,buthenevershowedup.Isavedfoodforhim,Ididn’teatitallbymyself.Ikeptcalling out to him. I waited and waited, and he never came. I had to go on.Believeme,Ihadnootherchoice.’

Kevin’s fatherandmothercry,and Icrywith them. I look for theblame intheir eyes, but they only ask me to tell them everything about the way ithappened.Itellthemhowwesetoutonthetrip,howcloseKevinandIbecame,likebrothers.ItellthemhowKevinhadtoldmeallabouthisfamilyandrepeattheSantaClausstoryforthemandallhisotherstoriesabouthuntingandfishingintheforestsofOregon.

AfteranemotionalfarewellIfeelbetter.Theydon’tblameme.Igetbackonthe Greyhound for the trip back to Miami. Once again I order gargantuanamountsoffoodateverystop.

Ihadthisdaydreamhourafterhour,lingeringovereverydetailofthefoodIconsumed until I was drooling with hunger and my stomach was howling. Idrankanothercupofthesoupwateranddeterminedtostoptorturingmyself.

I still had some time before evening and planned my trek the next day toCuriplaya.Aboveme I could see the distantmountains, their crests forming acontinuous, jaggedline.Icouldclimbtothecrest,I thought,wherethefoliagemustbesparse.Iwouldonlyhavetokeepgoingstraightandtomakesurethattheriverwasalwaysonmyleft.Iwouldbeabletomakefasterprogress.

I putmy shoes on and hesitantly began to practice walking,mostly on theheelsandsidesofmyfeet,forthesoleswereverysore.Iwalkedovertothecleftwherethewaterran.Ittrickleddownslowly,dropbydrop.IsetatinunderthetrickleofwaterandwasabouttoturnbackwhenIsawtwosnailsclingingtothedampstonewall.Ipounceduponthefindand,whenIgotbacktothefire,tossedthemintothesoup.FromnowonIwouldbemorealert.Theremustbeplentyoffoodtobehadaroundhere.

I removedmyshoesandcheckedmyfeet. I thought that theycouldsupportmyweight,buttheskinwasstillopeninafewplacesandIfeltastrongburning.

There’s no other choice, I repeated stubbornly tomyself.Tomorrow I startwalking.IfmyfeetgiveoutorIcometoanotherdeadend,I’llgodowntotheriverbankandwaitthereforhelp.

Karlhadsaidthatitwasalwaysbesttowaitonthebank;thatwaswherehelpwouldcome.

Itookasmallnotebookandpenoutofthepack,settleddownintomyregularposition,myfeetstretchedouttowardthefire,andstartedwriting.Iwrotedowneverything,beginningwiththeflightfromLaPazuntilDecember1,thedaywewereseparatedinIpurama.Iwroteabouttherelationshipsamongthefourofusandhowwehadallchanged.IwroteabouttheupsetontheriverandhowIhadbeensparedfromwhatshouldhavebeencertaindeath.Idescribedmyisolationandendedwiththesewords:‘ThinkingaboutKevinisdrivingmecrazy.Willhemake it anywherewith only amachete?How could he dry his clothes?Whatkindofshapearehisfeetin?Canhegetafiregoingsomehow?Buthehasthestrength of threemen. I pray for him and formyself. There’s a wallet in thebackpack,andinitisUncleNissim’slittlebook.’

ThatwasthefifthofDecember.

Chapternine

ALONEAtdawnmyarsenalwentbackintothepackalongwiththerestofmythings.Islipped my shoes on warily. Leaving the laces loosely tied. I tried hobblingaboutthecampsite.Ithurt,butIcouldwalk.Islungmypackontomybackandsetoff.IwascertainthatIwouldmakeCuriplayathatday,andfromthereitwasonlyafewdays’walktoSanJosé.ThereIwouldbeable toorganisearescuepartytosearchforKevin.

Iwasstilldeterminedtofollowastraightcoursealongthecrestoftherange.Aftera fewunsuccessfulattempts I finally foundaplacewhere Icouldclimb,butmy pack kept pullingme over backward, and Iwas afraid of falling oncemore.

Justdon’thurtyourself,Yossi.Nomatterwhat,youcan’tletyourselfgethurt.Allyouneedisasprainedankleandyou’vehadit.

Ileftmypackbehindwiththefishinglinetiedtoitandcontinuedupslowly,stepbywary step, carefully testingeach foothold, stoneby stone. I trailed thefishinglinebehindme, lettingoutslacklittlebylittle.I inchedmywayhigherup the faceof thecliff, paused toheavea sighof relief, and thendragged thebackpackupafterme.Itwasn’tparticularlyheavy,butstillthefishinglinesliceddeeplyacrossmypalms.

I went on like that for several hours. The physical effort was draining, thehumiditywashigh,andtheheatwasrelentless.Iwasdrippingwithsweat.Worstofall,Iwasthirstyandhadnowater.Ithadbeenaseriousmistaketoleavetheriver.

EventuallyIheardthedistantrumblingofrushingwater.ItsroarwassoloudthatIwassureIwasabouttocomeuponariveratleastaswideastheTuichi.The soundgrew louder, and I soon foundmyself standingnext to a stream. Itwas narrow, but it flowed from a ledge high above and cascaded down in atremendouswaterfallat leastonehundredfeethigh.Itssparklingwatersstruck

the rockbelow in adeafening torrent.The rock facearound itwasovergrownwith moss and green climbing vines. The view took my breath away. I wassurprised thateven inmypresentcircumstances Icouldstillappreciatenaturalbeauty.

Ilaydownonmystomachanddrankinsomeofthepurewaterandremainedthererestingintheshadeforabouthalfanhour.Wisernow,IfilledthetwotincansIhadwithwater.Thewaterwouldmeananother thirteenpounds tocarryonmyback,butatleastIwouldn’tfindmyselfparchedwiththirst.

Theclimbbecamemoretreacherous.IproceededcautiouslyandprayedthatIwouldmakeittothetopinonepiece.IcouldalreadyseethecrestfromwhereIclung.Itwasn’tmuchfarther,andthiswasthelastrockfacethatIwouldhavetoscale.

LessthananhourlaterIdraggedmyself tothetop.Therewasnoshelterupthere, and a strongwindwas blowing. Now I had to keep going straight andmakesurethattheriverwasalwaysonmyleft.Butwherewastheriver?WhichwaywasIsupposedtogo?Theviewineverydirectionlookedthesame,andIcouldn’t recall in which direction the sun had set relative to the river thepreviousevening.

I was confused.Wherever I looked, I sawwooded slopes. Only now did Iunderstandwhat a foolishmistake Ihadmade.Fromadistance themountainshad appeared to be one continuous range, along the crest ofwhich one couldwalkastraightcourse,but theywere, infact, individualpeaks,and inorder toprogress,itwouldbenecessarytodescendtothefootofoneandclimbbackupthenext.

I feltsuffocatedwithpanic,a fistof fear tightenedaboutmychest. Istartedrunning, refusing to resignmyself to the error I hadmade. It tookme a fewminutestogetholdofmyselfandthinkthingsthrough.TomorrowIwouldhavetomakethedescentbacktotheriver.Ifitwaspossibletowalkalongthebank,Iwoulddoso.OtherwiseIwouldstayontheshoreandwait.Perhapshelpwouldarrive.MarcusandKarlwouldsurelymakeittoLaPazbytomorroworthenextday,andonthefifteenthof themonthLisettewouldcall theIsraeliembassy.Icouldholdoutuntilthen.

Itwasgrowingdark,andIcouldfindnoshelter.Therewerenocragsorcliffs,nocavesorniches.WherecouldIspendthenight?Ihadtochooseacampsitequicklyandgetafiregoingwhiletherewasstilldaylight.Ichosealevelarea,clearedawaythedampleaves,andreplacedthemwithfresh,dryones.Itookout

oneofthemosquitonetsandtieditdowntofourtreestumpswithvines,sothatitformedalong,narrow,translucentgreenpuptent.Ilookedfordrywoodbutdidn’tfindany.Igatheredafewbranchesandtriedtobreakthemandstripthemawaytothedryinnerparts.Itwasimpossiblewithoutamachete.Myattemptsatlightinga fireonlywasted the fluid in the lighterandbroughtme toastateofdespair.Reluctantly I crawledunder the tentofmosquitonettingandwrappedmyselfintheremainingnetandredponcho.Itookmyarsenaloutofthepack:the flashlight, the lighter, themosquito repellent, and the snakebite serum.TotheseIaddeda tincanandaspoon. Ifanywildanimalshouldapproachme, Iwouldmakeahorrendousclatterandscareitaway.SoIthought.

I tried to close my eyes, to escape into my fantasies, but I was too tense,uneasy.Mystomachwasgrowlingwithhunger, forIhadn’teatenanythingallday. The fear, however, was harder to bear. I was in the heart of the jungle,totallyvulnerable,withnomeansofprotectingmyself,nocave tohidemyselfin,nofire.Ikepthearinganimalcalls,thecriesofbirds,andthebuzzofinsects.Isecured theedgesof themosquitonettingwithrocksso thatnosnakescouldcomeslitheringin.Theflashlightwasnearmyknee.IkeptholdofitforfearthatIwouldn’tbeabletofinditinthedarkifIshouldneedit.OffinthedistanceIcould hear bloodcurdling screeches. A jaguar must have caught a monkey orsomeotherprey.

Afewhourswentby;Iwasintotaldarkness.SuddenlyIheardthesnappingofbranches,thestealthythudoffootsteps,somethingcoming.Feargrippedme.It’sonlyyourimagination,Ikepttellingmyself,onlyyourimagination,buttherustleoftheleavesandbranchesonthegroundwassoclear.Istuckmyheadoutfromundermycovers,movedoneoftherocksawayfromthemosquitonet,andpeered into the darkness. I turned on the flashlight. I couldn’t see a thing. Isighedwithreliefbutdidn’treallyfeelanybetter.Thefearweigheduponme;Ihadneverbeensoterrified.Itriedtoliebackdownandcovermyselfup,butIkepthearingsoundsallaroundme,andmyheartwaspoundingfrantically.

God,justdon’tletawildanimaldevourme.

I ran my fingers over my makeshift weapons, afraid that I might becomehysterical.AgainIheardrustlingsoundsaroundme.Isatupwithajolt,grippedthespoon,andstartedbangingonthetincan.Itmadeadullsound,andIcalledout,‘Shoo!Shoo!Goaway!Shoo!’asifIwereabouttobesetuponbyaflockofchickens.Ilaybackdown,myheartthumping.Thesoundsdrewcloser.

No,it’snothing.There’snothingoutthere.It’sonlyyourimagination.It’sall

inyourmind.

I heard the rustle again, too close and too real to ignore. I clutched theflashlight, stuck my head out of the mosquito net, turned it on... and foundmyselfface-to-facewithajaguar.

It was large, covered with black spots. One of its paws was raised off theground,asifithadbeenabouttotakeanotherstep.WhenIturnedthelightonit,it put its foot downwithout stepping forward. It stood at a distance of abouttwelvefeet.Juststoodtherelookingatme.Itwasn’tblindedbythelight,butitstopped and lookedme over. It didn’t appear particularlymenacing; itwasn’troaringorlickingitschops.Itseyeswereneitherferociousnormeek.Theywerejustgreatcat’seyes,staringatme.Thejaguarstoodperfectlystill;onlyitstailwavedslowlybackandforth.

‘Goaway,’Iwhined.‘Getoutofhere.Beatit.Doyouhearme?Getaway.’

Iwas tremblingandstarted toscreamloudlyat the jaguar. ‘Getoutofhere,yousonofabitch!Goaway!I’llburnyouup!Getaway!’

Theflashlighthadachaintohangitfrom.Iclampeditbetweenmyteethinorder to have both hands free. I felt around on the ground by my knees andfoundtherepellentsprayandthelighter.Iheldthelighter inmylefthandandthesprayinmyrighthand.NowIwascalm.Ididn’tscreamortremble.

MaybeIshouldn’ttryit.Ihesitated.Itmightjustmakehimmad,andthenhemightattackme.ButthenIpusheddownonthespraybuttonandlitthelighter.

Itworked.Thespraycaughtfireandspewedanenormousblaze.Icouldsmellthescorchedhaironmylefthand,andIwascompletelyblinded.Ihelditforafewminutes,until the spray ranoutand the flameof the lightergrewweaker.Mymakeshiftflamethrowerwasexhausted.

My sight returned gradually, in concentric circles of fading darkness, andfinallyIcouldseethebeamoftheflashlight.Thejaguarwasgone.Ishinedthelight around in fear, right and left, in back ofme.The jaguar had vanished. IthoughtIcouldhearrecedingfootsteps.Haditworked?HadIscareditoff?Ifeltneither joy nor relief. I kept the flashlight on for a while but was afraid ofrunningitdownandturneditoff.

Isat insidethemosquitonet,wideawake,myheart jumpingwildlyateverysounduntilthemercifulmorninglight.Thesunlightgavemeatremendoussenseof security, as if no danger could befall me. I packed up my gear while ImurmuredahastyprayerofthanksandgotoutofthereasfastasIcould.

Now that the sunwas shining, I remembered exactly inwhichdirection therivershouldbeandwalkedonrapidly. ‘Straightand to the left,straightand tothe left.’ I sang out the rhythm of my steps as I made for the river along adiagonalcourse.Singinghelpedtokeepmyspiritsup.

There was far less foliage on the higher ground, and I progressed quiterapidly.FromtimetotimeIcameacrossastreamandstoppedtodrink.IfeltIcould safely empty the two big cans ofwater, andmy shoulderswere greatlyrelieved.

Afterafewhours’walk,however,Ionceagainfeltthedreadofuncertainty.The sunwas directly overhead, and I hadn’t the slightest ideawhere Iwas. IfearedthatImightwellbemarchingawayfromtheriver.Imightendupontheothersideofthemountain,lostforeverwherenoonewouldfindme.Itwassoeasytoloseone’swayandone’swits.

NeverthelessIknewthatanysourceofwater,howeversmall,wouldleadmetotheriver,andbefore longIfoundarivuletflowinginanirregularcourse.Ittrickleddownward,andIfolloweditalong.Itdescendedtherockfacesinleapsandbounds,cascadinginwaterfalls,andIwasforcedtoleaveit insearchofamoremoderateslopeonwhichtomakemyowndescent.IwentonlikethatuntilI came to a waterfall that gushed downward from an immense height of onehundredandfiftyfeet,farhigherthananyotherIhadencountered.Thesightofthe water surging down from that height was awesome. For a moment IconsideredgettingKevin’s cameraout of thepack and taking a picture, but itwouldhavebeenadifficultfeat,andIchangedmymind.

Downbelow,wherethewatersofthefallstrucktheearth,Icouldseeanotherstream.IlookedforaplacewhereIcouldclimbdown,butbythetimeIfoundone, I could no longer hear the rush ofwater. The streamwas not in sight. Ididn’twanttowastetimeandenergygoingbacktolookforit,soIdecidedtocontinueonmywaydownuntilIranintoanothertrickle,whichIsoondid.ThistimeIwasdeterminedtostickwithitnomatterwhat.

Ifolloweditdownsteepinclinesandmademywayaroundsomesmallfalls.Itookgreatcarenottogetmyfeetwet.WhenIhadtocrossthestream,Ididsobyvaultingoveritortiptoeingacrossthelargerrocksinitspath.OnceinawhileIwashelpedoverbyfallentrees.OtherstreamsjoinedtheoneIwasfollowing,anditwidened.

Iwaswalkingalongariver.Thegroundwasflatter,buttheundergrowthwasquitedense,andwithoutamachetetocutthroughit,thegoingwasrough.Ihad

no choice but to follow the natural lay of the land, which formed a sort ofpathway, frequently obstructed. I scrambled over rocks and crawled underbranches.Thornstoreatmyclothes.Ioccasionallystuckmyhandintoanettleandwasstung.OnceIdisturbedthewrongbranchandwasattackedbyatrailoffireants,whichdugtheirwayintothebackofmyneck.Theweatherhadgivenoutaswell,anditwaspouringrainagain.Allmyeffortstokeepmyfeetfromgettingwetwerewasted.

SinceIwasdrenchedanyway,itseemedlikeagoodideatowadeintheriver.Itwasquiteshallow.Thewatercameup tomykneesorat times tomywaist.Every now and then I lost my footing, alarmingly going under water for amoment.Although thepackwasbuoyant, it stillmade it difficult to surface. Iwastenseandlistenedattentivelytotheroaroftheriver,cautiouslykeepinganeyeoutforfallsandrapidsthatmightsweepmeaway.Helplesstodoanythingtopreventit,Icouldfeelthepainfulrashspreadingovermyfeet.

Was anyone up there looking downonme, aware of the fix Iwas in?Oneman, alone in the jungle, no other human beings around, at the mercy ofheartlessMotherNature?

Pleasehelpme.Atleastmakeitstopraining.Letmebeabletokeepwalkingonmyowntwofeet.

Icouldn’ttellexactlywhendarknesswouldfall.Attimesthesunwouldpassbehindacloud,andIwouldthinkthatIhadtohurryandsetupcamp.Thenitwouldemerge,andIwouldgoonmarching,notwantingtowastetheremaininghours ofwalking time. Finally, after a small bend in the river, I cameupon afabulousbeach.Purewhitesand,crystal-clearwater,andalargebushladenwithlittleredfruit.InthepasttwodaysIhadeatenonlyafewclovesofgarlicandapinchofsalt,andIpouncedhungrilyuponthesweetberries.

AtfirstIpickedtheberriesonebyoneandputthemintomymouth,butIwassoon gathering up handfuls and gulping them down. The sweetness wasenthralling;thejuicesfilledmyhowlingbelly.Ididn’tbudgefromthebushforatleasttwentyminutes,whenmyhandswerered-stainedwithberryjuiceandIfeltmyhungersatisfied.

Ilaydownonmybelly,thirstilylappingupwaterfromtheriverandwashingoffmysweatyface.Theriverwasquitewideatthatpoint,wideastheIpurama.It had to be theother rivermarkedon themap, theTurliamos– therewasnodoubtabout it–andCuriplayawassupposedtobeonlyhalfamilefarther,onthe bank of theTuichi. Fantastic. Iwould be there by tomorrow.Tomorrow I

wouldgoonwalking.Tomorrow,butnowIwas tooexhaustedanddecided toset up my campsite there on the beach. At least I could count on a goodbreakfast.

I looked for some kind of shelter from the rain. I walked a little waydownriverandspotteddeertracksonthesandyshore.Thedeermusthavecomedowntodrink.Probablyjaguarswouldcomeaswell.Still,Iwouldbebetteroffon the shore than in thedark, frightening jungle.A long, thick tree layon thebeach.Itwasenormous.Thegnarlsofthetrunkleftaspacebetweenitandtheground.Thegroundunderneathwasdry;therainhadn’treachedit.ThisiswhereIwouldspendthenight.

I crawled under the tree trunk. I couldn’t sit up; could only crouch onmyelbows.Igotthemosquitonetsandponchooutandstartedgettingreadyforthenight.BeforeI laydown,though,Iwentout totheberrybushtogorgemyselfoncemore.Afterward I layunder the tree, slowlychewingagarlic clove, andcovered myself up. The sun went down, the moon came up, and it was anunbelievablybeautifulsight.Butascenicviewdidn’tdomuchtocalmmyfears.Icountedthehoursandminutesuntilmorningwouldcome.

AtdawnIsawadoeandherfawncomedowntodrinkfromtheriver.Theydrewnearthewater,friskyandlight-footed,andtherethemothercameuponmyfootprint.Shepausedforan instantand thenfled,her fawnracingafterher. Iftheyhadstayed togetadrink,and if Imanaged to injure thefawn, Icertainlycouldhavecaughtit.Itsfleshwouldhavebeentenderanddelicious.Asitwas,Ihad to settle for a breakfast of berries, not venison. But I no longer relishedthem. I ate mechanically, forcing down a large quantity. I considered takingsomealongwithmeinthetincan,butitwasrustyandreekedofgarlic,andthenInoticedthattherewerebarelyanyedibleberriesleftonthebush.

Nomatter,Ithought.Somebody’slookingoutforme,I’llfindsomethingtoeattoday.

I startedwalking, totingmy gear onmy back. It was still raining. Iwadedalong the river, trying to progress both rapidly and cautiously, pinning allmyhopes on finding my way back to the Tuichi. The rain started coming downharder. My wet hair straggled into my eyes, and my ten-day-old moustachedrippedwaterstraightintomymouth.IwassocoldandmiserablethatIdidn’tevennotice that the roarof the riverhad increased involume.Suddenly I fell.Theriverbottomhadbeensweptfromundermyfeet,andIfoundmyselfbeingcarrieddownriver by the current.Now Iwaswell awareof the river’s roar. It

was the familiar sound ofwater breaking over rocks.God, Iwas being sweptoverawaterfall!

I tried to make it back to the shore, but the pack was too big and bulky,boggedmedown,andIalmostdrowned.Istayedunderandslippedtheshoulderstrapsoff,leavingthepacksecuredtomeonlybyitsbelt.Iliftedmyheadoutofthe water to see the waterfall looming ahead. I swam frantically and finallymanagedtograsparockneartheshore.Therockwassmoothandcoveredwithslippery moss, and I was about to be carried away again. I could see thewaterfall, practically under me, about twenty-five feet high, cascading into asmallpool cut into the rocksbelow. I slitheredprecariouslyup the rock Iwasclingingto.Theweightof thepacktiedtomywaistkeptpullingmebackintotheriver.Iletgooftherockwithonehandandtriedtogetholdofthestrapofthepack.I leanedoverandfellbackwardintotheriver.Mychestwascrushedagainsttherock;IthoughtIwassuffocating.Mylegswerecaughtinthecurrent,but I held fast to the rock for dear life, diggingmy fingernails deep into themoss.Imanagedtopullmyselfoutonceagaintositontherock.Irestedforamoment, seizedwith fear,and then fished thepackoutof thewaterandput itbackonmyshoulders.

‘Iwon’tabandonyou,nomatterhowmuchtroubleyougiveme,’Isaidtothepack.

Itightenedtheshoulderstrapsandheadedfortheshore.

Not long afterward I was standing on a steep hill overlooking the river.Everythingwassoakingwetfromtheriverandtheeternalrain.Walkinginthejungle had taken its toll onmy clothing.My flannel shirt was in shreds.Myunderwearstuckoutthroughmytornjeans.Myfeetwerewet,andIcouldfeelthehorriblerashasitspread.Theinsidesofmythighswererawfromwalkingforsolonginwetclothing.

Just let me get back to the Tuichi, I thought, to cheer myself up, thenCuriplaya will only be a few hours away. I’ll rest up and get myself back inshape. Imighteven find foodandequipment.And isn’t thereaslimchanceoffindingpeopletheretoo?

Istartedpicturingmyarrival inCuriplaya.Littlegrasshuts,abananagrove,andpeoplesittingaroundacampfireroastingfish.Imakemyentrance,catchingsight of them and shouting from afar. They hear my cries and come runningtoward me, carrying me into their camp. I am cared for, fed, and carried bystretchertoSanJosé.

Theshorelinelevelledoutagain,andIwalkedintheriver.Ifelttremendouspressure onmy chest, where I had slammed into the rock, andmy feet weretormentingme.Iwalkedatasteadypace,however,notstopping.

‘I just have tomake it to theTuichi,’ Imumbled tomyself, ‘I just have tomakeittotheTuichi.’

Alone,deepinthejungle,sosmallandinsignificant,pittedagainstnature,stillIsensedsomeonewatchingme.Orwatchingoverme.Someonecouldseeme,someonewasprovidingforme.

Itbegantogrowdark,butImarchedondeterminedly.NowaydidIwanttosetupstillanothercampsiteforanightinthejungle.IhadtogettotheTuichi.AfteronlyashortwhileIcouldmakeoutitsdistant,constantdrone,thefamiliarsoundof thegreat river.Likeahorsewhocatcheswindof its stable, I forgedaheadwithrenewedenergy.Onemorebend–andthereitwas.

TheriverthatIhadbeenfollowingwidened,expandingintoatorrentsixtyorseventyfeetacross.TheTuichiitselfwasmorethanthreehundredfeetacross.Abroad shore stretched about me, and the whole place was reminiscent of themouthoftheIpurama,whereKevinandIhadpartedfromKarlandMarcus.

Iwasovercomewithreliefandjoy.NowatleastIknewexactlywhereIwas.FromnowonIwouldstickwiththeTuichi.Iwouldmoveonalongitsbanks.

Thegatheringdarknessmademeillatease,anindefinabledread.Nothingwasclearly visible; I was surrounded by long shadows. Suddenly the jungle hadgrownsilent,magnifyingtheoccasionalrustleandcry.Ifoundnoplacetotakeshelter,noboulder, tree trunk,niche,orcranny.Onlythejungleprovidedsuchlairs,butIhadn’ttheslightestdesiretoventurebackintothejungle.WherewasIgoingtosleep?

Iconsideredstretchingouton thesandyshore. I took thepackoffmyback.Myentirebodyached,myfeetburned,andmystomachgrowledwithhunger.Ispreadtheponchooutoverthemuddyground,stretchedoutonit,shiveringwithcold,andtriedtocovermyselfwiththemosquitonets.Theyweresoakingwet.Theriverandtherainhadgottenintothepackanddousedeverything.Iprayedthat the food hadn’t gottenwet. Itwas sealed up inwaterproof bags. Iwouldchecktomorrow.

Thelastraysofthesettingsungaveoffnowarmth,butoneflatbeamoflight

fell on the ground besideme and tomy amazement drewmy attention to themouthofacavejustattheedgeofthejungle.Icrawlednearerandpeekedinsidebutcouldn’tseeanything.Allwasblacknessinside.

Justdon’tletthisbethedenofajaguarorsomeotherwildbeast.

Itookouttheflashlightandshineditsbeaminside.Itwasacavern,roundanddeep,aboutsevenfeetlongandfourfeetdeep.Waterhadwashedawaythesoilfrom an enormous gnarl of tree roots and left this hollow. I hurried in beforetotaldarknesssettledin.

The cavewaspalatial. Iwas soaked fromhead to toe, but at least thewindwouldn’tchillmehere.Iwrappedmyselfupinthemosquitonetsasusualandputthehoodoftheponchoovermymouth,exhalingintoitandwarmingmyselfwithmybreath.AndonceagainIsensed,thistimeharbouringnottheslightestdoubt,thatsomeonehadbeenwatchingoverme.

It had stopped raining. The night grew bright, and through the cranniesbetweentherootsofthetreeIcouldseebrilliantstarssparklinginthenightsky.

FromthebreakofdawnIsensedthatthedaywouldbeespeciallyhot.Thesunburned large and intense. I crept out of the damp cavewith achingbones.Bydaylight theplace lookedevenprettier.Theshorewasquitewide,caressedbythewatersofbothrivers:theTurliamos–soIhaddecided–andtheTuichi.Alarge treestumphadbeenwashedup justwhere the tworiversmet. I tookoffwhatwasleftofmyflannelshirtandspreaditouttodry.Inoticedapileoflogsontheshore.Theywouldsoonbedryandmakeexcellentfirewood.Afire,somehotsoup,abath,laundry,andcareformysorryfeet:Icouldtoitallhere.SoImight as well spend the day. I liked the idea. The perfect spot for rest andrecreation.AfterninedaysaloneIhadearnedthatatleast.

IscoutedtheareaandfoundaberrybushonthebankoftheTuichi,but thefruithadnotyetripened;itwasstillgreenandsour.Ilookedaroundforagoodplacetofish.IfIcouldonlycatchadoradoliketheonewegotintheIpurama,itwouldlastmefortwoweeks.Theriverrushedbyrapidly,andIhaddoubtsthatIwouldbeabletocatchanyfish.Iclamberedbackovertherockstomyprivatebeach.On theway I stepped on some kind of flat fruit, similar in shape to acarob.Itwasgreenwithyellowsplotches.WhenIpeeledbacktheouterskin,Ifoundblackpitsencasedinawhite,velvetypulp.Itriedabite.Ithoughtitmustbeawildvarietyoftamarind.

The fruiton thegroundwas rottenand infestedwithants, Igazedupat thethicktreetrunk,itstoweringbranchesladenwithfruit,alloutofmyreach.Thetrunkof thetreewassmoothandaffordednofoothold.Amachetewouldhavesavedmealotoftrouble.Machete-less,however,Idecidedtotryknockingthefruitdownbyhurlingrocksatitbutsoonconcludedthatthiswasbothpointlessanddangerous.Iwasblindedbythesunandcouldn’tseewheretherockswerelanding. One of them almost bashed my head in. I tried inching up the tree,huggingittightlywithmykneesanddiggingmyfingernailsintoitsbark;butIfell back down into the mud. My failure infuriated me. I couldn’t bear thethoughtthatImightdieofhungerwhilemountainsoffruithungovermyhead,out ofmy reach. Itwasn’t fair.Whowas all the fruit for?My inside churnedwithfrustration.ThenIhadanotheridea.

Irummagedinthepackforthefishingline.Itiedittightlyaroundarockandheaveditupatthetree.Thelinewrappedaroundabranchandcaught.Ituggedat the line, shaking the branch... and it worked! Fruit rained to the ground. Ithrewthelineagainandagain,untilthegroundaboutmewascoveredwithfruitandleaves.Ihungrilybrokeapieceapartandputthepitsintomymouth.Therewasn’tmuchfleshoneachone,butIhadanabundance.NowIcouldrelaxabit.

Istartedgatheringwoodfora fire.Therewasnoscarcityofkindlingon theshore.Icarefullychosethebest.Karlhadtaughtmewhattolookfor.Therearesomebranches thatneversoakupanywater.Gray-coloured, theyarehardandheavyandburnforgreatlengthsoftime.AtfirstIgathereduponlywoodofthisquality.ThenIselectedthicklogstosetnearthefiretodryout.Theywouldlatercatchfireandburnforhours.Inthemorning,aftersmoulderingallthroughthenight,theywouldstillbered,andthefirewouldeasilyrekindle.

While Iwas gatheringwood, I felt a sudden dizziness. Black circles swambeforemyeyes,theworldwasspinning,mylegsgaveoutfromunderme,andIsank to the ground. I don’t know how long I lay there unconscious, but itcouldn’thavebeenforlongbecausewhenIcameto,thesunhadn’tyetchangedits position. I staggered to the river, splashed water on my face, and drankthirstily.Iwentbacktowork,meticulouslyarrangingfirewoodjustatthemouthofmy cave. The twigs ignited easily, butmy lighterwas about to run out offluid.Itwouldlightonceortwicemore,andthatwasit.Iowedmylifetothatcheap, disposable lighter. The twigs kindled the branches, which spread theblazetothelogsuntilIhadaroaringfiregoing.

Idraggedthepackandthemosquitonetsoutofthecaveandspreadthemoutaroundthefire.Thebagsofriceandbeansweredampandmouldy.Iwashedmy

socksoutintheriverandhungthemuptodry.Myfeetwereapleasantsurprise;theyweren’tasbadoffasIhadexpected.Theywerecoveredwithalightrash,buttheskinwasn’tpeeling.Therewasnobloodorpus.

Igingerlywalkedbarefootovertherockswiththefishinglineandclimbedupona log that lay at the junctionof the two rivers and set the linedown there.First Ihad tocatchaminnow,buteven tocatchaminnowIneededbait.Thehorsefliesthatwereconstantlydroningwouldservethatpurposewellenough.Ilay inwait for them, letting them land onmy bare legs and stroll about a bitlookingforachoice,juicyspot,andjustastheyweregettingreadytodigin,Itook thembysurprise. Isquishedoneflybetweentwofingers, impaled itonasmallhookwithnofloatorsinker,andcastthelineintotheriver.Itfloatedonthesurfaceafirst,butaftertheflygotwet,itwentunder.IlostafewfliesbeforeIsucceededincatchingaminnow.

The sun shone gently over me. Every now and then I put another ripetamarindintomymouthandgreedilysuckedthesweetfleshfromthepits.Wildbeauty surrounded me: the two rivers, the mountains, and the never-endingjungle. And I alone in the heart of the wilderness along with whomever waswatchingoverme.BeforelongIhadfourminnows.IwenttotrymyluckwiththeminthemightyTuichi.

I stuck a whole minnow on a larger hook, drew back, and cast it into thewater. The current was swift, and the hook disappeared beneath the whitewaters. Iwaitedawhile,andwhenI tried todrawthe line in, I felt that ithadsnaggedonarock.NothingIdidsucceededinlooseningit.Iletitgoslackandthengaveitagoodyankandthenanother.Itriedanglinginvariousdirections,waitingfortheriveritselftosetthelinefree,butitremainedfirmlyplanted.Thecurrentwasrapidandfoamy,anditwouldbetoodangeroustotrytowadeintothewater.Thethoughtofdoingsomademedizzywithfear.IwasnotgoingtoputmyselfatthemercyoftheTuichiagain.Ihadnochoicebuttobreaktheline.ThatmeantlosingoneofthelasttwohooksIhadleft.Thelineitselfwasstrongandresilientandhard tobreak. Iwrapped itaroundmywaista few timesandbacked off, stretching the line tightly until it snapped to shore with a shrillwhine.

Itookmysupplyofminnowsbacktothefireandtossedsomemorewoodon.I filled a tinwithwater and set it in the hottest part of the fire. I scraped thescales off the fish with my fingernails and gutted them using a spoon I hadsharpenedagainstastone.Itossedtheminnowsintotheboilingwaterandaddedsomespicesandsalt.Threeminnowsandthreequartsofwateraren’texactlya

recipe for themostdelicious soup in theworld.Watery,bland, anddisgustingwouldbeamoreaccuratedescription,butIdrankitdowntothelastdrop,evenmunchingthecrunchybones.Iwasproudofmyselffornothavingusedupanyofthericeorbeans.Iwouldkeepthemforanemergency.InolongerthoughtIwassavingthemforKevin,thoughIdidharboursomehopesofmeetingupwithhiminCuriplaya.

TheXthatKarlhadmarkedonthemapappearedtoberightonthebankofthe Tuichi just past its junction with the Turliamos. I would surelymake thecampthefollowingday.Igrewimpatient.Myclotheswerecompletelydry,andtheskinonmyfeetwashealthy.Onlythefliesandmosquitoespesteredme.Attheoutsetofour journeywehad takenpills towardoffmalaria, but theyhadlongagorunoutorbeenlost,andIhopedIwouldn’tcomedownwiththeillnesshere.Themosquitoessoughtouteverybarepatchofskinshowingthroughmytatteredclothingandattackedmercilessly.SincemyencounterwiththejaguarIwasoutofrepellentandhadnodefencebutswattingthemwithmyhands.Themosquitoesweredetermined,however,andIgaveupfirst.ThenIhadanidea.Iwouldsewmyclothestogether,offeringthemfewertargets.Itoiledalongwhileovermyshirt,usingthethinfishinglineandasmallhook.ThenIrepairedmytrousersaswell.

Proudofmyresourcefulnessandindustry,Isetaboutmakingmybed.Ididn’tsurrendertolazinessbutputmyshoesbackonandwentintothejungletogatherlargeleaveswithwhichtofeathermylair.Imadeahugepileattheentranceandmeticulouslycarpetedthedampground.Theleavesofferedexcellentprotectionfromthecoldanddamp.Idecidedtoputincentralheatingaswell.Icautiouslymoved a few smouldering logs into the cave. I arranged them in a triangularshapeandpokedtwigsandbranchesbetweenthem.AfterIblewonthemafewtimes,theycaughtfire.Igatheredtherestofmybelongingsintothecaveincaseof rain. Using the bags of rice and beans formy pillow, I coveredmyself asusual.

Iwas tempted to stay there on that shore andwait for rescue.Any plane thatpassedoverheadwouldeasilyspotme,andtherewasaclearinglargeenoughforahelicoptertoland.Starvationwasnothreathere.Thetamarindfruitcouldkeepmealiveforamonth.Ihadthecavetosleepinaswell.Icouldhavedoneabitofremodelling,stoppeduptheleaks,putinachimney,broughtmoreleavesforpadding.Itwasanidealspot,butIwentonpacking.Itiedmyshoestogetherby

their laces and slung them around my neck. I would cross the Turliamosbarefoot,drymyfeetontheotherside,andcontinueonmytrekwithdryshoes.

I was all set to cross the Turliamos when I noticed that my bandanna, thekerchief thatKevinhadgivenme,hadvanished. Ithadcome inveryhandy. Ihaduseditforahat,ascarf,abandage,abedspread,anditremindedmeofmyfriend, whom I missed so terribly. I went back into the cave and searched itthoroughly.Irakedthroughtheleaves,walkeduptheTuichi, lookedunderthetamarindtree,wentbackintothejungleandfoundthespotwhereIhadstoopedtoemptymybowels,butthebandannawasn’tanywhere.Greatlydisappointed,Igaveupthesearchandcrossedtheriver.

ForawhiletheTuichihadashorelinethatIcouldwalkalong.Thenthebankgrewrocky.Icrawledcarefullyovertheboulders,takingcarenottoslipandfallinto the river.The rockskeptgetting larger, forminga lowcliffparallel to theriver.The jungle spreadout above the cliff on an incline.Therewasnoplacesuitableforwalking.ItmighthavebeeneasiergoinghadIclimbedtothetopoftheridge,butIwasscaredofgettinglostagain.Curiplayahadtobenearby.Itwasontheriverbank,andImustn’tmissit.Comewhatmay,IwasgoingtostickwiththeTuichi.

The going was slow and hazardous. I was afraid of turning my ankle andfallingstraightintothefrothyriver.Iwalkedalongtherocks,climbeduptothejungle,andtrodatitsedgeforawhile,thendescendedoncemoretoclimbovertherocksandsoon.Istoppedforabreakafterafewhours.Idrank,ateafewpiecesoffruit,andploddedon.Theslopeflattenedout.Igaveupwendingmywayovertherocksandheadeduptothejungle,neverlettingtheriveroutofmysight.

A fewmorehourspassed, and I thought that I surelymusthavegonemorethanhalfamile.Doubtbegan tognawatme.What if Ididn’t findCuriplaya?HowdidIknowthatitevenexisted?Sinceitwasn’tmarkedonthemap,IhadonlyKarl’sword to go on.MaybeKarl had beenmistaken ormaybe hewaslying.No,Karlwouldnothavetoldanoutrightlie.

Irememberedhowconcernedhehadbeenforus.Buthewasastrangeguy.Andwehadneverseentheislandandthelittlebeachheadthatweresupposedtowarnusthatwewereheadingintothecanyon.Thatcouldhavecostusourlives;perhapsithadtakenKevin’s.AtfirstKarlhadclaimedthathehadtravelledthelengthoftherivertwiceandthenhadcontradictedhimselfwhenhesaidthathehadneverbeendownit.Wehadn’tbeentoldaboutSanPedroCanyonuntilwe

werealmosthalfwaythere.

No,Karlwasn’tparticularly reliable. I remembered somethingelse thatwasweird.Karl kept changing the date that hewas supposed to return to La Paz.Lookingback,thewholebusinessaboutthetruckhewastobringtohisuncle’sranchseemedabit fishy.Still Ihadseenthe letterwithmyowneyes. Ididn’tknowwhattothink.ItwashardtofigureKarlout.

IfKarlhadmisledusaboutCuriplayaaswell,ifitdidn’texist,whatwouldIdo then? I could go back to the Turliamos andwait there for a rescue party,whichwouldsurelyarrivebefore long.OrIcould try togoon,straight toSanJosé.Iwasconvincedthatthecampdidexist,however;itwasmarkedsoclearlyonthemap.

IwasstilltryingtofigureoutwhatIshoulddowhenInoticedafallenpalmtree.Ithadbeenchoppeddownatanangle,undoubtedlybyamachete.Icriedoutforjoy–Ihadmadeit!Therehadbeenpeoplehere!

Iranaheadinsearch.Isawagreatmanymachetemarksonbranchesandtreetrunks, and more palms that had been chopped down. Yes, the people inCuriplayahadbeeneatingpalmhearts.Iranon,followingthemachetegashes.Iwas overcome with joy that nourished a flickering hope.Maybe, just maybe,therewouldstillbepeoplethere.InnotimeIstoodonahilloverlookingaflat,rockybankuponwhich fourhutshadbeenbuilt. ‘Ya-ho-hoo!’ Ibellowedandsliddowntotheshore.

Theplacewasobviouslydeserted,but at least Ihadmade it toCuriplaya. Itook off my pack and set it under one of the thatched huts. Signs of lifeabounded; flat, rusty tin cans, cardboard boxes, a circle of rocks around aburned-out campfire. The shelters were cleverly built: four sturdy trunks, onwhichapeakedroofrested,coveredwithpalmfrondslatticedinsuchawaythatno rain could leak in.At the jointswhere thepilingsof eachhutmet the rooftherewasasortofceilingandaboveitakindofconicalcrawlspace.Alotofequipmentwasstoredupthereinthefirst:panelsofchontawoodandallkindsof poles, sticks, and large tins. I rummaged further, hoping to find moretreasures,buttheotherhutscontainednothinguseful.

OnthefloorsofthehutswereV-shapedstakes.Betweeneverypairofstakeslayalong,roundpiling,andthespacesbetweenthepilingscouldbecoveredbytheflatpanelsofchontawood.Theymadeabed,raisedafootoffoftheground.Itwasacleveridea.

I had everything I needed in the crawlspace, and I put a good, sturdy bed

togetherformyself.TonightIwouldsleepinabed,witharoofovermyhead.Incredible.

Forgiveme,Karl,fordoubtingyou.

I stretched out onmy bed to give it a try. Thewood panelswere hard butlevel.Theyfeltlikeafeatherbedtome.Inoticedsomeropeendsstragglingfromthepilingsandknewthatthesewouldservetohangthemosquitonetting.Itookone net out and tied its corners to the dangling ropes. I now had an airy tentabovemybed.Ifeltlikeroyalty,thesacksofbeansandriceundermyhead,mylegsstretchedoutluxuriously,mybodyrelishingthecomfort.

Since ithadstopped raining, Iventuredout tocheck thearea. Inoneof thehuts I found a tube that still had a little repellent in it. In another I found abroken polewith a sharpened end; this would serve as a walking stick and aspearwithwhichtoprotectmyself.Iscoutedawidecirclearoundthecampbutdiscoverednosignofabananagrove.Iwentbacktomypalace,stretchedoutonmycanopiedbed,andwaitedforthesunset.

TonightIhadnothingtofear.Thefireinthehutwasfantastic.Imadesomesoupofriceandbeans,onetablespoonofeach.Isatonthebedincomfortandstretchedmyfeetout towardthefire.Thefliesandmosquitoesbarely troubledme. I gave myself over to physical pleasure and a sense of luxury, and itsuddenlydidn’tmattertomethatIwaslostandalone.Iwascontentwithmylot:hotsoup,fruit,shelter,abed,andbedcovers.Ifeltgood,safe,andoptimistic.

WithinafewdaysIwillmakeittoSanJosé,Itoldmyself.Theremustsurelybeatrailfromhere.PeoplecomeherefromSanJoséeveryyear;thetrailmustbewideandclearlymarked.Ihavenothingtoworryabout.Ijusthavetostayonthetrailandhopethatitwon’trainalotsothatI’llbeabletogetafiregoingatnight.Fantastic.

Iwasgoing to rescuemyself.NowIhoped thatnoonewas looking formeyet.ItwouldbeagreatletdowniftheyfoundmejustasIwasabouttomakemyownwayoutofthejungle.Itwasgoingtobesosimple.Icouldmakeitonmyown.

In themorning,while it drizzledoutside, itwas lovely lying in thewarm,dryhut.Itremindedmeofrainywinterdays,sittinginsideapleasantlyheatedhome,withmy nose up against thewindowpane. I decided to spend the day there. Ineededtorestbeforesettingoutonalongtrek.Iwouldgetmyfeetthoroughly

dried, get my strength back, eat my fill, and tomorrow... tomorrow maybe itwouldn’tberaining.Inanycase,Iwouldstartouttomorrow.

Ifeltalittleguiltyaboutbeingsosoft,spoilingmyselfthisway,butitwassopleasant.Ihadnotroubleappeasingmyconscience.

Dreams crowded my mind, and I slipped easily into fantasy. Gooddaydreamingjust takespractice.Onceyouget thehangof it,youcrossoceansand continents at will. My knee suddenly itched. I scratched it and feltsomething round that didn’t want to let go. I pulled hard and found myselfholding a leech, about half an inch long and a quarter inchwide, gorgedwithblood.Iheaveditintothefirewithdisgustandbegancheckingmyselfoverheadtofoot.

I panicked. I found about twenty leeches all over my body. They wereeverywhere: inmyarmpits,on thebackofmyneck,onmyback,betweenmylegs, between my buttocks even. All of them bloated and repulsive. Damnbloodsuckers!Isquashedthemonebyoneandthrewthemintothefire.Ivowedto check myself each night before going to sleep to make sure that I wasn’tcoveredwithparasites.

Theweatherclearedupintheafternoon.Itookadvantageoftheopportunityto gather more twigs and firewood. I found a huge grasshopper, about fourincheslong,amongsometwigs.Icaughtittouseasbaitforfish.Itiedmylasthook to the line and stuck thegrasshopper on it.The currentwas swift, and Icouldn’t understandwhyKarl had told us that thiswas a good, quiet place tofish.Therewasn’tmuchpointintrying,andIwasafraidoflosingthehook.Thegrasshopperwasstillonthehook,butthecurrenthadmangledit,anditlookeddisgusting.Idecidednottoaddittothesoup.

I once again sought the banana grove, the dried balsa logs, and the hiddentoolsbutfoundnothing.Idid,though,thinkthatIhaddiscoveredthetrailtoSanJosé.TomorrowIwouldsetoutonit,andthatwouldbethat.

Isawanenormousfruittreeonmywaybacktothehut.Alotofbig,heavyfruitlayontheground.Ihappilysplitapieceofitopenagainstarockbutfounditspulphardandgreenandoozingawhiteoilysubstance.Itriedabiteanywaybutspatitoutwithagrimace.Itwasinedible.Ishouldhaveknownbetter;fruitthatwasn’trottenandant-eatenprobablywasn’tedible.Istillhadtamarindsinthehutandateafewtogetthehorridtasteoutofmymouth.

InoticedalargestumpinthecentreofthecampwiththenamePamcarvedinto it in large letters.Was that the name of a girl? Or perhaps the word for

‘women’?Inanotherfourdays,whenIgottoSanJosé,Iwouldbeabletoasksomeone.Iwouldspendfourmorenightsinthejungle,butthenIwouldhaveasoftbedandpeoplearoundme.HowIlongedtoseepeople.Istudiedthemapatlength.Itlookedsoclose.Justafewinches.

Icoulddoit.

Chapterten

‘I’MONMYWAYTOSANJOSÉ’Myhopesforclearweatherweredisappointed;itwaspouringrain,butIdidn’tletthatstopme.Ipackedupmythings,slungmypackonmyback,tightenedthebelt and shoulder straps, took upmy newly acquiredwalking stick, and off Iwent.

Althoughthetrailbeganwideandwellmarked,withinafewminutes’walkitnarrowed considerably, and I had to search formachetemarks on the trees inorder to follow it. It did run parallel to the Tuichi, however, and whenever Istrayedfromthetrail,IsimplyhadtoprogressalongthebankuntilIpickeditupagain.

I got used towalking in the rain andwas in a greatmood. I thought Iwaskeepingasteadypaceand,barringanyunforeseensetbacks, Iwouldcover thedistance to thevillage in fourdays.As I strodealong, Icomposedamarchingsong, far fromoriginal or inspiring, but at least it kept time. I took a popularIsraelitune,‘I’monMyWaytoBeitShean,’changedthedestination,andsangoutloud,

I’monmywaytoSanJoséOnmyway,yeah,yeah,mywayI’monmywaytoSanJosé.

SoIwalkedonthroughthelushjungleingoodspirits.

Thegroundwasfairlylevel.Everynowandthenafewhillsroseup,buttheyweren’tsteep.Thestreamsposedagreaterobstacle.Ipassedoveragreatmanythat emptied into the Tuichi, forming basins too wide to be passable at thejunction.IwasforcedtofolloweachoneupstreamintothejungleuntilIcameuponaconvenient fordingplace.Themachetegasheswere fantasticsignposts.Theyleddirectlytotheplaceswherethestreamswerefordable.Theysometimes

tookmefarfromtheriver,butIeventuallydiscoveredthistobeashortcut.

At onepoint I cameupon awide, sandybeach, just the kindof place for apicnic and a little romance.The sandwas soft and clean and shadedby trees.Logswerepiledupontheshore,deposited therebythecurrent. Ihadanidea.Rescuersmight come looking formebyairplaneorbyhelicopter, so I shouldcontrive somekindof signal that couldbe seen from the air. I startedhaulinglogs and large rocks about, placing them in the shape of an arrow pointingdownstream.NexttoitIformedtheletterYforthefirstinitialofmyname,andafter it Iwrote‘12’for thedate. Iwaspleasedwithmyingenuityandsure thesignal would be spotted from above. The truth is I still thought I would bedisappointedifsomeonecametorescueme.IwasconvincedthatIwassoclosethatitwouldbeashamenottodoitonmyown.

TowardlateafternoonIcameuponastreamthatflowedinashallowdefile.Iquickly descended the rockwall, but the opposite sidewas an arduous climb,andthewalkingstickprovedahindrance.Ihurledittothetopand,clutchingatbushesandprotrudingrocks,struggledmywaytothetop.ThereIretrievedmywalking stick and went on. Soon, on a fallen tree, I saw a nest holding fourbrownspottedeggs.Theywereonlyalittlesmallerthanchickeneggsandstillwarm.Themothermusthavejustleftthenest.Iwasthankfultohavehappeneduponnourishingfood.IcrackedopenoneoftheeggsandwasabouttopouritscontentsintomymouthwhenInoticedthetinybabycurledupinside.ShouldIeatitornot?No,Icouldn’tbringmyselftodoit.Iputthebrokeneggbackinthenestwithitsbrothersandsisters.

Ifsomeoneaboveiswatchingoverme,Ithought,he’llsurelyprovidemewithothersustenance.

NotfiveminutespassedbeforeIcameuponalargefruittree.Thefruit,calledtrestepita,isroundandyellowand,brokenopen,dividesintothreeequalparts.Eachcontainsabouttwentypits,similartothepitsofalemonbutcoveredwithasweet,slipperymembrane.Thefruitdoesn’tprovideagreatdealofmeat,butIsavouredthejuiceitcontained.

Ileanedupagainstthetrunkofafallentreeandtookoutthetins,emptiedafewtamarindsoutofone,andusedittogatheruptrestepitas.Thetreewaslow,andbybendingitsbranches,Icouldreachthefruit.Ididn’tleaveasingleone.

Icontinuedonmyway toSanJoséwithrenewedvigour.This time the trailledmedeepintothejungle.Iwassofarfromtheriverthatitsroarwasnotevenfaintlyaudible.AfterwalkingforaverylongtimeIfoundmyselfsurroundedby

towering trees. I had lost all senseofdirection. I didn’t knowwhichwaywasnorthorwheretheriverwas.Thetraillookedstrange.Itwasextremelynarrow;Ihad to go very slowly for fear of losing it. It was often blocked by wildundergrowthorfallentrees.Itdidn’tmakeanysense,foronlyafewmonthsagopeopleshouldhavebeenusingit.Iploddedon,stillconvincedthatitwouldleadme back to the river at any moment, but two hours had passed, and it wasgrowingdark.ThenIfinallyheardthefamiliarrushoftheriver.IwasextremelyrelievedtolearnthatIcouldrelyonthetrail.

Imetbackupwiththeriver justwhereoneof thespringsemptiedintoit. Itwas a narrow spring that flowed down a narrow ravine. I stood there gaping;therewasalargefootprintinthemud.Thesoleoftheshoethathadmadeitwasjustlikemine.God,itmustbeKevin!Hewasalive!KevinhadbigfeetandworethesamekindofshoesthatIdid.Andwhobesideshimcouldhavelefttheprint?Iwasovercomewithjoy.Istaredagainattheprintinthemud.Howwasitthattherainhadn’twasheditaway?

Theclimbuptheothersideoftheravinewasdifficult.Thewallwasalmostvertical.Ihadtothrowthewalkingstickupaheadofme,butregardlessofhowtired I was after a day of walking I felt myself endowed with superhumanstrength.Pushingwithmykneesanddraggingmyselfupwithmyarms,Imadeit to the top. But something seemed funny. Fiveminutes later I came upon afallentree.Nexttoitlayheapsoftamarindandtrestepitapeelsandpits.ThenIknew.Icollapsed,broken-spirited, to thegroundandalmostburst into tears. Itwasn’tKevin.Itwasme.Ihadwastedmorethanthreehourswalkinginacircle.ThetrailhadledmebacktowhereIhadstarted.

Desperationbegantognawatme.IconsideredgivingupandheadingbacktoCuriplaya.Iwasonlytwoorthreehours’walkfromthere.Icouldgobacktomyhutandmybed.Butthethoughtofthevillagethatmustbenearbywithfoodandpeopleovercamemymomentaryweakness.SoIhadmadeamistake.Itwasn’ttheendof theworld. Iwould learn from it. Iwoulduse the trailonlywhen itfollowedthecourseoftheriver.Ifitwanderedintothejungle,IwouldabandonitandmakemyownwayuntilImetbackupwithitontheriverbank.

I was exhausted and famished and took the fruit out of my pack. It was apatheticmatchformyappetite.Afewfleshlesspitsremained.Igrittedmyteethand strodeback in thedirectionof the ravine.There I foundwhat Iwasafter.Themothermusthaveabandonedthenest,fortheeggshadgrowncold.Ibrokethemopenoneata timeandgulpeddownevery lastbitof theunbornbirds. Iexpectedthemtomakemenauseous,buttheywerequitetasty.

The sun had gone behind a cloud and now came out and shone brightly. Icouldstillmakesomeprogresstoday.Ihadgoneastray,buttheentiredaywasnotwasted;itwasn’tsobad.

‘It’snobigdeal.It’snobigdeal,’Istartedtosing.

WeusedtosingasonglikethatintheBoyScouts,and,sillyasitsounds,itstuckinmymind:

Oh,Mama,inwhatafixamI.I’llhaveababybyandby.Pleasetellmeit’salie.PleasetellmeIwon’tdie.Pleasesayit’snobigdeal.

Isangthetuneoverandover.ThenIstarteddramatisingit,creatingcharactersandasillydialogue.You’regoingtohaveababy,andyouthinkit’snobigdeal.Allright,youwon’tdie,butjustyouwaituntilyourfathergetshishandsonhim.You’lllive,buttoughluckforyourboyfriend.Yourfatherwillkillhim.

Iworkedonadramaandlostawarenessofmyhardshipsandthepassingtime.

AfterthatsongIrememberedanother:

Pleasesaythatyouagree.Hewantstomarryme.Ifyousayyeaoryousaynay,We’regoingtomarryanyway.Pleasesaythatyouagree.

Idramatisedthatoneinmyimaginationaswell,withayoungboy,ayounggirl,andanastyoldaunt.Imadeupasillystoryandwrotedialogueforthemaswell.

Iwastiredanddrenchedtothebone.Istartedlookingforacampsitebutsawnocrags, boulders, or fallen trees to huddle under. Finally I selected a large treewhoserootsprotrudedfromthegroundineverydirectionatirregularintervals.Ichoseaspacebetweentworootsthatwasjustaswideasmybody,clearedawaythewetleavesontheground,putmypackdown,andwentoffwithmywalking

sticktogatherbedding.

There were bushes, trees, and plants of every kind. The foliage wasastoundinginitsvarietyandbeauty.Igathereduplargeleaves,similartobananaleaves,andspreadthemoutbetweentheshelteringtreeroots.Ialsofoundafewpalms.

Withoutamachetethefrondswerehardtoremove.IcrackedthemclosetothestumpandthentwistedthemaroundandarounduntilIcouldwrenchthemfromthe tree. I gathered about twenty large fronds that way and arranged themsymmetricallyovermysleepingplaceoneontopoftheother,allfacinginthesamedirectionandcrawledunder.

TherewasnowayIcouldlightafire.Myfeetweredamp.Itookoffmyshoesandwrungthewateroutofmysocks.Itookthewaterproofrubberbagoutofthepack,putmyfeetinsideit,andcoveredmylegsuptotheknees.ThenIcoveredmyself as usualwith themosquito nets and the poncho. Before I coveredmyhead,Iateafewtrestepitas.

Iwas troubled by thoughts ofKevin. I realised that therewas no reason toassumethathewasdead.ActuallyhestoodabetterchancethanIdid.Fireandfoodweremyadvantages,but I had spentmanynightswithout a fire andhadusedbutlittleofthericeandbeans.Therewereeggsandfruitinthejungle,andKevinhadamachete.Withithecouldcutdownfruittreesandfindpalmhearts.Evenifthatwasallheate,hewouldn’tgohungry.Ihadthemallaroundmeandcouldn’t tasteabite. If I tried togetapalmheart, Iwouldwastemoreenergythanitwouldprovide.KevinwasalsostrongerandtougherthanIwas.Hewasused to solitude, used to difficult walking; he had a weapon, and he wasn’tcarryingtheweightofthepackonhisback.Hell,hehadamuchbetterchancethan I did. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had already made his way to aninhabited area and been rescued. The more I thought about it, the moreconvincedIbecamethatKevinwasalive.Ijusthopedthatnothinghadhappenedtohimintheriver.

Thepalmfrondsmadeanimpenetrablecover.Therainfellonthemandranoff to the sides. I evenmanaged towarmmyself under their shelter.My feetwerecomfortableinthebag.Myonlysourceofdiscomfortwasstonesdiggingintomyback,but Icouldn’tdoanythingabout them.Thewalkingstick layatmyside.Atnightitcouldserveasaweaponalongwiththetincan,thespoon,andthepitifulflashlight.IsaidashortprayertoGodandaskedforgivenessforeatingtheunbornbirds.ThenIgavemyselfovertofantasiesuntilthebreakof

dawn.

Thepackwasonmyback,thestaffwasinmyhand,andIwasonmyway.Myfeetweredampandraw,buttherewasnorash.Therainhadclearedupandthenstartedfallingagain.Ididn’tletitbothermeandsetstraightoutonmycourse.WhileIwalked,Isangthesamesongsasthedaybefore,andwhenIhadgonethroughmyentirerepertoire,Ihadlongconversationswiththemembersofmyfamilyanddaydreamedagain.

Suddenlysomethingjumpedout,rightfromundermyfeet.Myheartjumpedwith it,but I regainedmycomposureas soonas I saw that itwasonlyawildchicken.Itswingswereweak;itbarelyraiseditselfofftheground.Itfledfrommeinskipsandjumps.Istartedchasingafteritthroughtheunderbrush,holdingmy spear in readiness. We ran around, me wearing an expression of grimconcentration,thechickencracklingandscreeching.Ididn’tcatchit,ofcourse,but itoccurredtomethatImightfindanestwitheggsnearby.Iwentbacktowhere Ihad first encountered thebird, and thereon thegroundbehindabushwasalargenestandsixlovelyeggs.Theywerebiggerthandomestichen’seggsand turquoise incolour.Theywerestillwarmto the touch. Icarefullycrackedone open and poured the contents into my mouth. It tasted so good that Icouldn’thelppolishingoffthreemore.ThetwothatremainedIcarefullypaddedwithleavesandputintothetinwiththefruit.

WhataluckyguyIam!Sixeggs!Thankyou,God,thankyou.

Ialsospottedfruit treesonmyway.Asusualthefruitwasoutofreach,butoccasionally I found a piece that had just fallen and was not yet rotten ordevoured by ants and worms. The monkeys were having a banquet in thetreetops, stuffing themselvesand then tossingdown thescraps,peels,andpits,screeching and chattering as if they were making fun of me. I cursed them,hopingonewouldfallonitshead.Thecurseworked–butonme,notthem.

Itwasalmostnoon.Iwasdescendingasteephill,andthegrassunderfootwaswet. I slippedand tumbled, landingonmybackside rightonabig,drybranchthat lay on the ground.Myweight snapped the branch in two, and its sharp,brokenendpenetratedmybackside,cutthroughmyunderwear,uptheanus,anddeep inside. Iwasparalyzedby thepain. I screamed inagonyand then raisedmyself up, groaning. The pain was excruciating. I lay back, writhing on theground,myeyesbrimmingwithtears.Myunderwearwasdrenchedwithblood.I

screamedwhenIpulledthespearout, thenfeltaroundthewound,andtriedtostopthebleeding.Itwasimpossibletobandage.Ilaythereforanotherhalfhour,and after the bleeding stopped, I beganwalking slowlywith clenched teeth inanguishandenraged.

Ibothscoldedandconsoledmyself.Youhurtyourself,youidiot.Youweren’tcarefulenough,jerk.You’reluckyyoudidn’tbreakanything.Thatreallywouldhavebeen the endof you.Oh,Mama, if youcouldonly seemenow,howyouwouldweep.Oh,Mama...

ThenexttimeIstoppedtorest,Iatetheothertwoeggs,whichmiraculouslyhadn’tbeenbrokenwhenIfell.Iatetheremainingfruit.Thatwasthelastofmyfood,butIwassurethatsomethingwouldturnupbeforeevening.

Thetrail turnedawayfromtheriveronceagain,andIhesitatedtofollowit.Since the last time had led me astray, I had abandoned the trail whenever Inoticedthatitwastakingmeawayfromtheriver.Ididsothistimeaswell.

Withoutaclearedtrailorevenmacheteslashestoguideme,walkingwasnoteasy. I ran into many dead ends, impassable bushes and branches, animpenetrablethicketofbamboo,oraboulderblockingtheway.Myclothingwasagain in tatters, the improvised threadsholding it together split apartoneafteranother.Icametoathickclumpofbushesandbentthebranchesdowntoclearmyway,disturbingahornet’snest.Theyswarmeduponmeinfrenziedattack.Iwasstungonmyfacecountlesstimes.Iwasstuckinthebushesandcouldn’tgetawayquickly.Icouldfeelmylipspuffingupandmyeyesswellingshut.AfterawhileImanagedtoblundermywayoutinhysteriaandran,almostblinded,intomorebranches, stumbling, falling. Iwentdown to the river,drank,andbathedmyface.Thiswasn’tmyday.Firstmylousyassandnowmyface.Iwentonmyway,bitterandangry.

Then I picked up the trail again happily and followed it. Evening wasgathering, and I suddenlynoticed a groupof animals notmore that fiveyardsaheadofme.Iquicklyhidbehindatreeandpeekedoutatthem.Thereweresixwild boars, four adults and two shoats. They pranced about, wiggling theirbacksides,headingawayfromme.

‘IfonlyIhadagun,Iwouldfinishthemoffonebyone,’Imutteredtomyself.

Iwassafeaslongastheydidn’tnoticeme,didn’tpickupmyscent.Iwatchedthem getting farther away, and then they stopped and started playing. Theychasedafteroneanotherandfrolicked.

‘Getlost,youidiots.Ican’thangaroundhereallday.’

I tookoffmypack, gotout the spoon, and started rapping it against the tincan.Theyheardthedullnoise,prickeduptheirears,andthenranoff.IhopedIwouldn’tfindthemwaitingformearoundthebend.

I stepped up my pace, anxious to get out of the boars’ territory beforenightfall.Ifoundanotherwildchicken’snestwithfiveturquoiseeggs.Iatetwoof them and saved the rest for the next morning. I chose a nearby tree withprotruding roots andmade the same sleeping arrangements that I had had thenight before: a mat of soft leaves on the ground and twenty palm fronds forcover.

Iwasglad toget intomybed,putmy feet in the rubber sack, andgivemytiredbody,myinjuredbackside,andswollenfacearest.Ihadonemedicineforitall,amagicpotion:fantasy.

Thenightputmeatease.Iwasnolongerfrightenedbywildanimals,thisdueonlytoapathy,forIhadnomeansofprotectingmyselfotherthanthewalkingstick.Isometimesheardrustlingandfootstepsinthedark,butIpaidnoattentionandwentonwithmydream.Mycoverofleaveswarmedmeinlieuoffire.Ihadnodrytwigsorlogs.InanycaseIwantedtosavethefewmatchesthatIhadleft.I sufferedmost from the loneliness. Itmademe create imaginary friendswhodroppedinforchats.Ioftenfoundmyselftalkingaloud.WhenIcaughtmyselfdoingso,Ipanickedandscoldedmyself,That’sfarenough,Yossi.Don’tgooutofyourmind.

ItwasdifficulttograspthatIhadbeeninthejungletwoweeks.Twoweeksalone.Icouldn’tbearmuchmoreofit.Iwasphysicallyweakandliabletolosemysenses.TwodayshadalreadygonebysinceIhadleftCuriplaya.ThatmeantI should be coming to San José the next day. Tomorrow I would be seeingpeople.Ididn’twanttodeludemyself.Tomakemyselfbelievethatandtocountonit.WhatifIdidn’tmakeittomorrow?Ihadbeenwalkingslowly,hadlostmyway,hadwastedalotoftime.AnywaytheIndiansmadethewalkduringthedryseason.AndtheyprobablywerebetterhikersthanI.Maybeafour-daywalkforthemislikeasevenoreight-daywalkforme.Itmadesense.Istoppedthinkingaboutthenextday,butdeepinmyheartIferventlyhopedthatIwouldfindthevillage.Whatawonderfulsurprisethatwouldbe.

Ithadstoppedraining,butthedampnessofthelastfewdayshadtakenitstoll.

The rashwasbeginning to spreadovermy feet, andmy inner thighswere redandraw.Therewasanirritatinginflammationbetweenmybuttocksaswell,andIstillsufferedthetormentingpainofthedeepgashinmybackside.

Imustn’tcoddlemyself,havetobetough.Ihavetoignorethepainandkeepgoing,Iremindedmyself.

Duringbreakfast,whichconsistedoftwoeggs,Iswallowedanamphetamine.ItwasthesecondtimeIhadtakenonesincetheaccident.Itwasn’tlongbeforeittook effect, and I sprinted through the jungle as if I had the devil onmy tail,assaultingtheovergrowntrail,breakingthroughbranches,skippinguphills,andhopping over fallen trees. I lost the trail again and stayed stubbornly near theriver,alwayscarefultokeepitwithinsightoratleastwithinhearing.

ThefirstanimalImetupwiththisdaywasasnake,abrownsnakeaboutsixfeetlongbutnotparticularlybigaround.Itwasslitheringthroughthegrass,andIonlynoticed itwhen it spedoffatmyapproach.Withouta second thought Igrabbedarockandchasedafteritlikecrazy,tryingtogetcloseenoughtohaveafair shot. But the snake was faster than I was and disappeared into theunderbrush.Iwassorry.IfIhadcaughtit,itwouldhavebeennourishing,evenraw.Iwouldhaveeatenitsalted.ForthepastfewdaysIhadeatenonlyeggsandfruit.

Later I encountered a pair of tapirs, a mother and her young. They weremassive,and theearthquakedunder their tread.When thepoor thingsnoticedme,theyranoffinfright.

Ididn’t actually see the thirdanimal,but Iknew itwas there. Itwasbeforenoon. I had emerged from the jungle and found myself standing on a lovelybeach,thelargestIhadcomeuponsincewehadleftAsriamas.Thesandwassowhite, itwasblinding.The river lappedpleasantlyat the shore.The scorchingsunwasdirectlyoverhead.Atlonglastsomesunshine.IthoughtIwouldbeabletodryoutandhealtherawnessofmyskin.Ibentovertoremovemypack,andthat’swhen Inoticed the jaguar trackson the shore, lotsof tracksofdifferentsizes.Therewasnodoubtthatthiswasnotasolitaryjaguar,butanentirepack.

Ifollowedthepawprintsinthesand.UnderashadytreeIfoundsmallpilesoffaeces,atleastsixseparatepiles.Isteppedononeofthem.ThoughnotrackerorIndianguide, I knewenough to recognise that theywere fresh; theywere softanddidn’tcrumble.Therehadbeenalotofjaguarsonthisshore.Itseemedtoserve as theirmeetingplace, but I didn’twant to leave, and the truth is that Iwasn’t reallyafraid. I justcouldn’tbelieve that Iwouldbeeatenby jaguars in

broaddaylight.Ifeltsafe.

I made myself comfortable near the water and spread out all of my wetbelongingson thewarmsand. Igatheredupahugestackofkindlingandusedonlytwomatcheslightingafire.Ikeptthefirewellfedandplacedatinofwaterin it. I strippedoffmywetclothingandspread itoutnear theponchoand themosquitonets.Istretchedoutonthesandinmybirthdaysuit,spreadingmylegswide to exposemy raw inner thighs to the sunlight. The flies andmosquitoesswarmedoverme,and Iwas forced tocovermyselfwithoneof thenets.Thesunshonethroughit,however,andgentlycaressedmybody.

Ilaythereforaboutanhourandthengotuptopreparesoup.ThistimeIputin two tablespoons each of rice and beans, intending to prepare them as solidfoodandtakealongonmyway.Idippedthewateroutofthetinanddrankit,untilallthatwasleftatthebottomofthetinwasanoatmeallikeresidue.Thericewas all right, though it didn’t smell fresh, but the beans had not cooked longenough.OntopofthatIhadaddedtoomuchsalt.Ittastedawful,butevensoitwasdifficulttofollowmyresolveandsavethebulkforlater.

SinceIhadagoodfire,Iwantedtocatchafishandcookit.Itlookedlikeagoodplace for fishing.The river couldhavebeenasmuchas severalhundredfeetwide–fromthebankitwashardtotell–andthecurrentwasnotstrong.Ihad no difficulty swatting a few big flies and tried to use them to catch aminnow.Istoodontheriverbank,drapedwiththemosquitonet,makingsurethelinehadenoughslack.Thesunbeatdownonmyhead,andsuddenlyeverythingwentblack,andIlostconsciousness.Thecoolwaterbroughtmetoimmediately.Ileaptfromtheriver,wetandfrightened.Icouldn’tletthathappenagain.Itwasbothterrifyinganddangerous.

I stretchedoutagain forawhile, thendonnedmydryclothingandgingerlyput my socks and wonderfully sturdy shoes back on. Before leaving thisfabulousbeachIinvestedagreatdealofeffortinmarkingit.Therewereheavystumpslyingabout,andIlaboriouslypushedandrolledthemuntiltheyformedanarrowpointinginthedirectionIwasgoing.Asbefore,ImadealetterYandthedate:‘14.’

The map had also dried, and I studied it at length. The distance betweenCuriplayaandSanJoséappearedtobetwenty-fivemilesbyriver,oraboutthirtymilesbythepathalongsidetheriver.Ihadbeenwalkingalmosttwelvehoursaday.TherewasnoreasontobelievethatIwouldn’tarriveinSanJoséwithinaday or two. Only one thing worried me. San José was on the left bank, the

oppositesideoftheriver.Theonlylandmarkbeforethevillagewasalargeriverthat emptied into the Tuichi from the left. Karl had told us that it was thevillage’ssourceofwater.Hehadsaid thatSanJosé laynotonthebankof theTuichibutafewmilesupthatotherriver.Ontherightbank,theoneIwason,there wasn’t a single landmark to tell mewhere I was. So I couldn’t dependentirely on the map. I was concerned that I might not notice the village andmistakenlypass it by.Then Iwouldbe lost. For good.BetweenSan José andRurrenabaquetherewerenoothervillages,anditwouldbeimpossibletowalktheentiredistance.TheonlyreallysafethingtodowouldbetocrosstheTuichiandwalkalongtheotherside.ThatwayIwouldn’tmissthevillage.Iwenton,lookingforagoodplacetocross.

Farther on I came to a dead end. A stream fed into the Tuichi in a deep,impassable wadi. I had to change course andmarch upstream into the jungleuntilthewadiflattenedoutandIfoundaneasyplacetocrossit.Thisdetourtookseveralhours.Idoubledbackontheothersideofthestream,straightandtotheleft, in thedirectionof theTuichi.Anotherstreamcutacrossmypath,but thisone I could ford easily, skipping from stone to stone, careful not to lose mybalanceandfallin.Beyondthestreamwasafieldofthorns.Therewerenotreesatall,onlybushesandthistlesastallasIwas.Havingnootherchoice,Iploddedintoit,tryingtoclearapath.

I experienced a new kind of hell in the field of thorns. I lost my sense ofdirection, and my entire body was scratched and mauled. Scathing nettlesstabbedintome,andIshookwithpainandfear.AtlonglastImadeitbacktothejungleandtothelostpath.Thetrailheredidnotlookasifithadbeeninuse,however.Itwasunreliableandledmeastrayforalongwhile.Itwasfrequentlycovered over completelywith jungle foliage. It couldn’t be thatmenmarchedover this path every year, I told myself, but no sooner had I done so than Isuddenly heard, in the distance, human voices. There were speaking, andsomeonecalledoutsomething.Istartedrunningandshouting,‘Help!Hey,hey!Waitforme!Espera!Espera!’

Iranasifpossessed.Ishoutedmyselfhoarse.Istruckoutatthebranchesthatblockedmyway. Then stopped to listen. Not the slightest whisper was to beheard.Itmusthavebeenmyimaginationplayingtricksonme.

My idiotic pride had long since worn thin. Now I prayed for someone torescueme.Let people say that Iwas awimp, that I should have been able tomakeitoutofthejungleonmyown.Ijustwantedtobesaved.

It was now the fourteenth of December. Someone had to do something –Lisette, the embassy.Marcusmust be back by now.OrKevin perhaps. IwascertainthatIwouldsoonhearthedroneofaplaneoverhead.Theycouldn’thelpbutseeme.Ihadleftunmistakablesignsontwobeaches.Theywouldeasilyspotthemarkings.Butmaybe,justmaybe,Iwouldstillmakeitonmyown.ImustbesoveryclosetoSanJosé.

Towardevening I thought that I had foundagoodplace to cross.The riverwaswide,butthecurrentseemedmild.Furthermore,therewerefoursubstantialislands strung out between one bank and the other. I could go from island toislanduntilIreachedtheotherside.Still,Ithought,itmightnotbeaseasyasitlooked,andIdecidedtotakesomeprecautions.

I was loath to get my clothing wet again, especially my socks. I stripped,shovedmyclothingintotherubberbag,andcloseditinsidethepack.Itookoutthe fishing lineand tied it to the shoulder straps. I set thepack in the river; itfloatedsatisfactorily.Ipulleditbackinandsetinontheedgeoftheshore.ThenI jumped barefoot into the water, holding the line. The water was shallow. Icouldwalk,wadingfartherout,slowlybutsurely.

Thecurrentwasstrongerthanithadlooked,andthesharpstonesontheriverbottomcut into thesolesofmyfeet.Only thewalkingstickcametomyaid. Ileaned heavily upon it, taking one cautious step after another. As I went, Igraduallyletoutthefishingline,untilImadeittothefirstisland,aboutseventy-fivefeetfromtheshore.NowIwouldpullthepackoverandgoontothenextisland.Thatwasmyplan.Butitdidn’tworkoutthatway.

I gave the fishing line a yank, and the pack slipped into the river. Theundertowsuckeditbeneaththesurface,andthoughItuggedwithallmymight,Icouldn’tpullittome.Idecidedtochangeplansandtiedtheendofthelinetoasmalltreeontheshoreoftheisland.Iwouldwalkbackacrosstotheriverbankandcarrythepackonmyback,butfirstIwantedtocheckoutthesecondisland.

Iwalkedquickly to the far sideof the first island.As Iwalked,mosquitoesswarmedalloverme.Iwasblackwiththem.Iswattedmyriadsofthemwithmyhands,buttheydidn’tleavemealone.Irushedtothewaterbutdiscoveredittobedeep.Icouldn’ttouchbottomandalmostlostmyfaithfulwalkingsticktothecurrent.Ithrewituponthebankandtriedswimmingtothesecondisland,butthecurrentwassostrongthatIheadedbacktothefirstwhileIwasstillable.

Iwouldnevermakeitacrosstheriver,atleastnotwiththeweightofthepackonmy back. Perhaps I should leave the pack behind? No, I still needed it. I

returned to the bank of the Tuichi, picking up the pack on my way. I driedmyself on amosquito net as best I could and putmy clothes back on. I wascovered with mosquito bites and clawed at them in a frenzy. My onlyconsolation thatdaywasanewnestofwildchickeneggs. Igulpeddownfourwarm,deliciouseggsandsavedtwoformorning.

Itwasgrowingdark,andIhadnotyetsetupcamp. Ididn’t finda tree thatofferedanyshelter.Eithertherootsdidn’tprotrudefarenoughoutoftheearth,or the tree wasn’t standing on level ground. The sun had almost set before Ifoundaplacetosettle.

Therainstartedcomingdownagaininthemiddleof thenight,notadrizzlebut a downpour, which seeped through my thatch of fronds. I shivered andcurledupintoaball.Ipulledtherubberbaghighupovermykneesandtuckedthe red poncho in all aroundme. I had three fantasies that by this time I hadworkedintolongscenarios.Eachwassetinadifferentplace.IputthehoodovermyfaceandwenttovisitLasVegas,SãoPaulo,andmyhomeinIsrael,driftingfromonetoanotherallnightlong.

In themorningIate thesalty rice-and-beanpaste togetherwith twoeggs.Arealfeast.

Ifanyoneislookingdownonme,heisabsolutelyheartless.

Itwaspouringrain,andallmyeffortstokeepmyclothesdrywerewasted.Iwas supposed to find San José today.Maybe I would spend this night in thecompanyofothermen.Thatthoughtdrovemeoutofmymind.Ididn’twanttopinallmyhopesonit.Well,ifnottoday,thensurelytomorrow,Ithought,tryingtoconvincemyself.

Walkingwasdifficult.Iwassoakingwet,heavy,andclumsy.Icouldfeelthewaterinmyshoesandknewonlytoowellwhatitwaslikelytodotomyfeet.Thegroundwasmuddyandslippery,andthewindchilledmetothebone.Thelonger I spent here, the more likely I was to sink into despondency. Evenmarchingsongswereofnoavail,soIdecidedtofleetoSãoPaulo,Brazil,acityIhadheardmuchabout.

Myuncleliveshere,andIamvisitinghim.Ilikeithere.Whynotstayforawhile? Imakeelaborateplans forputtingdownroots in thecity. Imeeta fewpeoplemyownage, allof themstudents. I spenda lotof timewith themanddiscreetlyinquirewhichisthewealthiestfamilyintown.Dotheyhaveayoungdaughter?Theydo,ofcourse,andofcoursesheisbothintelligentandbeautiful.ButhowcanImeether?HowcanIaskherout?Ihavetofindaway.MaybeI

should takemy uncle’s car and crash into hers. That sometimesworks in themovies.MaybeIshouldjusthangaroundwaitingforherandwinheroverwithsincerity?Maybeshewon’tbeabletoresistmycharms?FinallyIcomeupwithaplan.Iwillgettothedaughterthroughthemother.Myfirstthoughtistohaveherrunmeover,justalittle,likeinBeingThere,butthatwouldberisky.PlanBistosaveherfrommuggers.Andthat’swhatIdo.

Hey,you,kid!Comeoverhereaminute.

I’mnokid.You’dbetterwatchit,orelse...

Hewasastreeturchinwhoalwayshungaroundtheneighbourhood.

Takeiteasy,pal. Ididn’tmeanto insultyou.I justwantedtoknowifyou’dliketomakeafewbucks.

Youbet,butitdependshow.

Thisisgoingtosoundweird,but...andItellhimmyplan.

Thekiddrivesahardbargain,andIendupagreeingtopayhimmorethanIhad intended,but for this it’sworth it. I justworry thathemightdouble-crossme.

You’dbetternotkeeponrunning.Don’ttrytoconme.

Youdon’tknowus,señor.Wenevergobackonourword.

Themother goes out to a large shopping centre,wearing a fancy dress andcarryingafancybag.Sheiselegant,aristocratic.Shewalksdownthestreetlikeshe owns it, oblivious to the admiring glances of everyone she passes. Thensomething happens: something that forces her down from Olympus. A short,dark-skinnedboybrushesupagainsther,pushesherroughly,grabsherpurseoutofherhands,andrunsoff.

Thief!Thief!Stophim!

Now she turns to the crowd for help, but the dark-skinned boy knows hisbusiness;hehasvanishedintothecrowd,quickasaneel.

ThisiswhereIcomein.Aroundthecornertheboyhandsmethepurseaswehadagreed.Ibendoverandlethimgivemeapunchinthenosebeforehetakesoff.

Ireturnthefancybag.Shesmothersmewithgratitudeandtakesoutacleanhandkerchief to staunch the bleeding. Then she takes out a wad of bills andoffers themtome. I lookherstraight in theeyeandrefuse to takehermoney.

Shebeginsquestioningme.

Speakmoreslowly,señora.Idon’tspeakthelanguagethatwell.

Wechat.IknowIammakingagoodimpression.

Perhapsyou’dcaretojoinusfordinnerthisevening,shesays.Myhusbandanddaughterwouldbesopleasedtomeetyou.

Well,Idon’tknow.I...

Pleasedocome.

Theevening isunforgettable. I am introduced toherdaughter. It’s a specialmoment, charged with expectations of things to come. I know that she willsomedaybemywife.

We seat ourselves around the table. Liveried servants serve a magnificentrepast:salads,soufflés,skeweredmeats,vegetables,bakedpotatoes.Thetableisladenwith every kind of delicacy, and I do not pass up a single dish. I tasteeverything,tryingtodosowithoutarudedisplayofgluttony.

When it is time to takemy leave, Ihave thenerve to invite themother anddaughtertovisitmeintheapartmentIhaverentedinthecity.Ontheappointedday,afterporingoverrecipes,Idecidetoserveapizza,theverybestpizzaeverprepared. Iknead thedoughand toss it into theair likeaprofessional. Idon’tsettlefortomatopasteseasonedwithoregano,butsautéonionsinadeepskillettogetherwithwhole,peeledtomatoes.Iaddgreenpeppersandnumerousclovesofgarlic.Ispicethesauceandladleitoverthecrust.Isprinklearomaticgratedcheese in a thick layer. The cheesemelts even before I put the pizza into theoven.

Dinner isagreat success.Wedrinka lotofwine. Itdoesn’t take long fromtheretothewedding...

Mybellywashowling.Brazilhadbeenswell,butIhadgottenmydigestivejuicesallworkedupfornothing.Nomatter,onedaythedreamwouldcometrue.FornowIhadtofindsomethingtoeat.

Walkingwasintolerablydifficult.Therainpoureddown.Thejunglewasdarkandgloomy,andIwalkedslowly.Itwasn’tmuchbetteronthepath.Itwasoftenblocked and frequently left me abandoned, helpless, in the jungle. The littlestreamswerebrimmingoveranddifficulttocross.Scalingthewallsofthewadisandclimbingsteephillswastreacherous.Myshoeswerecakedwithmud,andIslippedoften.Iwasexhausted.Ileanedheavilyonmywalkingstick.Iwasweak

andfamishedbutafraidtotakeanotheramphetamine.Fatemockedme:Icameupon a fruit tree whose inaccessible branches were laden withmanzanas demonte. The rain and wind had knocked a few of them down into the mud. Ipicked out and ate the best of them. Most already had fat worms crawlingthrough them. If only I could climb the tree or chop it down, I would haveenoughfoodfortwodays.

Youknow,Kevin, ifyouwereherewith themachete,withyourmuscles thattree would have been down in less than an hour. And you know what else,Kevin?Ifyouwerehere,you’dbetheonecarryingthiscruddypack,notme.

But Iwas alone, and the fruitwasoutof reach.Thepackwasburdensome,andtherainstillpoureddown.

Inolongerfeltthatsomeonewaswatchingoverme,butstillIprayed.Makethe rain stop.Makeme get to San José.May a plane come and findme. Dosomething.

Nothinghappened, and I keptwalkingmechanically forward, but I couldn’tstanditanymore.IdecidedtohopaplaneforLasVegas.

Iarriveatnight.Ahotdesertwind isblowing.At thehotel I takeashowerandfreshenup,thengodowntothecasino,smooth-shavenandwelldressed.IhadlastbeenhereonmywaybackfromAlaskaandhadleftacontributionofathousanddollarsontheblackjacktable.ButJudgementDayishere;Ihavecomeformyrevenge.

Lord,what cards I hold this evening! I amdealt blackjack on almost everyround. I increase the amounts I bet and tip the dealer generously. I playrecklessly,payingnoattentiontothedealer’scards.Ihavefourteen,andhehassixshowing.

Hitme,Itellhim.

Theotherplayersat the tablegivemedisapproving looksbutareastoundedwhenIamdealtaseven.WhatcanIsay?

Everyone gathers around to watch the big-time young card shark. I startbettingtwohandsatonceandwipeouteverydealerintheplace.

Thepitbosscomestomytableandwatchesanxiously.Hisfaceisblank,butIcan read his thoughts. I could swear I hear him say,Go on, sweetheart, keepplaying.Iknowyourtype.Youdon’tknowwhentogetupandleavethetable.You’llendupdepositingallyourmoneyhere.

He’s wrong, of course. My luck never runs out. The pot gets bigger andbigger,astronomicalsumsofmoney.Theyhavetocallthemanagertoraisethelimit. The manager has been watching me through one-way mirrors in theceiling.Hesignstheauthorisation,andthegamegoeson.

Waitressesshowingalotofcleavagetrytoplymewithdrinks.

Notrightnow,honey,nothanks.Onlycoffeeforme.Sure,youcanputalittleGrandMarnierinit,butjustalittle.

Agorgeouskittenmaterialisesbehindme,massagingmyshoulders,brushingherbreastsagainstmyback.

I know why you’re here, sweetie, I say to myself. It’s not because of mycharmingsmile,butit’sallrightwithme.I’mnoprude.Justafewmorehands,andthenwe’llhaveagoodtime.

Igetupfromthetablewith$300,000inchips.Themanagersignsthechequepersonally.Ihavetoadmitthattheyaregraciouslosers.HeshakesmyhandandinformsmethatmyluggagehasalreadybeenmovedtotheVIPsuite.Hegivesmeacardentitlingmetofreeuseofallof thehotel’sfacilities.Andthishotelhaseverything:floorshows,bars,restaurants,girls.Younameit.Theyhaveit.IpromisethatIwillbebacktomorrowtotriplemywinnings.Wearebothhappy.

NowIgetdowntobusiness.I takemywell-endowedbunnyandgointothecasino’s fanciest restaurant. The credit card works wonders. The specialtreatment we receive is fantastic. Everyone has already heard about me. Thetableissurroundedbywaiters.

Sweet-and-sourribs,sir?Waldorfsalad?Wouldyouliketotryanewkindofcrêpe?Wine?Fishingarlicandbutter?AT-bonesteakwithfrenchfries?Whatkindofdressingwouldyou likeon thechef’s salad?Roquefort?Yes, sir, rightaway.Abananasplitoricecream?Chocolateandstrawberryicecream?Yes,ofcourse,sir.Youknowjustwhattoorder.

Theflatterypaysoffforthewaiter.Idon’tleaveanyoneout.Theyallaskmeto return. If Iwasabighitat theblackjack tables, thatwasnothingcomparedwiththerestaurant.

Youcanrestassured,myfriends,thatI’llbebackverysoon...

InthelateafternoonIwassurprisedbyanotherrivercuttingacrossmypath.It

was quitewide – one hundred feet at least – butmost of it was a desiccatedriverbed.DowninarelativelynarrowchannelaplacidflowofwaterranintotheTuichi.TheTuichiitselflookedtreacherous.Itswaterswereblackwiththemudit churnedup.Logs, branches, and uprooted busheswere carried alongby thecurrent, whichwas extremely swift. I wouldn’t have liked to have fallen intothosewaters.

Istoodtherefrightened,staringhelplesslyatthetworivers.Iwascertainthatthemap hadn’t indicated another river emptying into the Tuichi on this bankbeforeSanJosé.Iknewthemapbyheart,andaccordingtoit,thenextriveronthe right-handbankwas farbeyondSan José.Could I havepassed thevillagewithout realising it? San Joséwas located up in the hills andwas not visiblefromtheTuichi.Iwassupposedtohavespotteditbythewidepathandthebalsaraftsontheshore.ImightnothavenoticedandpasseditwhenIwaswalkinginthejungle,notalongthebank.

Perhaps this river simply wasn’t charted on the map. But how was thatpossible?TheIpuramaandtheTurliamosweremarked,andtheywerenobiggerthan this river. The map wasn’t dependable. Maybe this river had beenoverlookedbecause itwassoshallow.Ididn’tknowwhat to think,whether tobacktrack and look for the landmarks on the opposite bank or go on, notknowingwhereIwas.Ifinallydecidedtogoonwalkingforonemoreday.SinceIhadn’t reached thevillage, Iwasbound toget there tomorrow. Ifnot, then Iwouldhavenochoicebuttoturnaroundandgoback.

TheremainsofapaththroughthejunglelentcredencetomyassumptionthatIhadn’tyetpassedthevillage.Thepathcontinued,anarrow,difficulttrailthattookmeaboutfiftyyardsfromtheTuichi.WhatIfoundtheresurprisedmeandrestoredmyhopes:tracesofacampsite:twopolestiedtogetherwithvinesandafew palm fronds resting upon them. It was an old campsite. The vines werewitheredanddry,aswerethefronds.

Icouldn’thavepassedSanJoséyetiftherewasacampsitehere,Ireassuredmyself.ItalsomeantthatSanJosécouldn’tbeascloseasIhadassumed.Whywouldanyonebothersettingupcampifitwasonlyafewmorehours’walk?IconcludedthatImusthaveatleastanotherfullday’shikeaheadofme.Itmadesense.ThiswasthepaththevillagersusedontheirwayuprivertoCuriplaya.Itwasreasonabletoassumethattheysetoutinthemorningandsetupcampafteraday’swalk.ThatputmeadayfromSanJosé.Ifiguredthat thismustbethefirstcampthattheyusedontheirway.

Myspirits rose. Iwas sure itwas the first camp; hadn’t I beenwalking forfourdaysalready?So,I’dbetheretomorrow.

Youdidit,Yossi.Congratulations.Youmadeit.Tomorrownightyouwon’tbesleeping alone in the jungle. You’ll eat your fill. Youwon’t be exposed to therainandotherdangers.Onemoreday,Yossi,onemoreday.

It had stopped raining. The path led a little way past the camp and thendwindledandvanishedaltogether.IfiguredthatthismustbewherethenativescrossedtheTuichi.Itwasaconvenientplacetocross.Thewadiwasmuddy.Thestream ran through its centre andwasonly about a footdeep. I crossed to theotherside.

The landherewascompletely flat andwell forested.Therewerenohillsorsteepinclines.Thejunglewasdense,andvinesweredrapedfromthetreesamidbushesandreeds.Icouldneithergoforwardnorfindtracesofthepath.Ikeptonlookingforbrokenbranchesormachetestrokes,withnoluck.Ireturnedtotheriverbank, searching for signs of where the natives had resumed their march,where the path would be. Sudden claps of deafening thunder set the junglequaking. Hell, it was going to start pouring again. I had better find shelter. Icouldusetheremainsofthecampbackontheothersideoftheriver.Itwouldmeanwasting the two hours of walking time I had left that day, but the rainslowedmedownanyway.Tomorrowtheweatherwouldsurelybemorebenign,andIwouldhurryon.

Icrossedbacktothecamp.Thunderclapped,andlightninglitupthesky.Thewind came up. It was going to be a terrible storm. I hurriedly set aboutreinforcing the remains of the camp. I replaced the vineswith fresh ones andwentintothejungletolookforpalmfronds.Ithadalreadystartedraining.Ihadneverseensuchadownpour.Thedropscamedownwithasharpsting.Itoreoffabouttwentyfronds.Theeffortworemeout,butIdidn’tgiveup.Iarrangedthefronds so that they were closely overlapping one another across the poles. Icoveredeverycrackthroughwhichtherainmightseep.Iknewthatitwouldtakeathicklayertokeepthewetout.Thejungleoutsidewaswellfloodedover,asifthe end of the world were approaching. From a distance the Tuichi lookedturbulentandgloomy.

Ihurriedintomyshelter.Waterleakedthroughinseveralplaces,butIdidn’tdaregobackoutside. I tried to rearrange the fronds from inside. I gotoutmynighttimenecessities:thericeand-beanpillow,therubbersacktocovermyfeet,thenetstouseasblankets,andtheponchotowraparoundeverythingelse.Itook

offmyshoesandwrungoutmysocks.UpuntilnowIhadmanagedtokeepmyfeetinfaircondition.Ihadonlyonemoredaytogo.Iprayedthattheywouldn’tletmedownnow.

Dropsfellsteadilythroughtheleaksintheroofontotheponchoanddrippeddowntotheground.OutsideIcouldheartheragingstorm.Inaveryshorttimethegroundbecamemuddy,thensoggy.Ilaydrenchedinmyshelter,miserable,tremblingwithbothcoldandfear.TherewasnothingIcoulddobutpraytoGod.

The storm grew worse, and my shelter began to blow away, leaving openspaces throughwhich thewater streamed down uponme. I wanted to cry, towail.Iwantedawayfromthishorror.

Why,why,didthishavetohappentome?Please,God,helpme.I’mafraidofdying.

Eachminuteseemedaneternity,andIhadnowheretoflee.Itrequiredfierceconcentrationtoimmersemyselfinfantasy.ThistimeIwenthome.

Iammarriedandhavesmallchildren.Mybrother,Moshe,andIstartaranchonhuge tractsof landwehavebought in theUpperGalilee.We stock itwithcattle Ibought inBoliviaandArgentinaofaqualitynot tobe found in Israel.Mostof Israel’smeat is importedfromArgentina,butwehaveagoodclimateandunusedopenspacesforgrazing.Whyshouldn’tweraiseourowncattle?

MybrotherandIworkhard.Theranchprospers.Weerectahugehouseandall live together:mybrother, hiswifeMiri, his daughterLilach, and his otherchildren,andofcoursemeandmywifeandourchildren.

Wesendourchildrentotheregionalschoolinanearbykibbutz...

‘Ahhh!’ Icameoutofmyfantasywithascream.Therewasanear-splittingdin,andthegroundshuddered.Thetreesaroundme,theirrootsleftwithnothingtoholdon to,were crashingdownone after another.When a tree of that sizefalls,ittakesafewothertreeswithit.

God,helpme!Saveme!God...

Theuproardieddown,and thegroundundermegrewstill. Iheardonly therain and the roar of the Tuichi. Drenched and clammy with sweat, I forcedmyselfbacktotheGalilee.

MybrotherandIriseatsix,haveourcoffeeinlargemugswiththickslabsofcake.Weleaveearlyfortherangeonhorseback.Wecheckthefencing,takeacountof theherd,checkonapregnantcow.Atnineweheadbackhome.The

kidshavealreadyeatenandgonetoschool,andnowthecookdevotesherselftous. She prepares omelettes, salads, cheeses. Thick bread and butter, cream ofwheatorricepudding,hotchocolate,andherownspecialmarmalade.

Idon’tknowthesourceofourmisfortune,butourfabulouscookleavesouremploy.Weplaceanad in thenewspaper: ‘Wanted:gourmetcook.ResidenceonranchinGalilee.Goodtermsandpay.’

Wereceiveagreatmanyapplicationsandsetupinterviews.Iamincharge.Isit in theofficeat theranchandmeet theprospectivecooks.Eachdescribes indetailthedelicaciessheorheknowshowtoprepare.Iinterviewthemoneafteranother,listeningtodescriptionsofeveryimaginablekindoffood.ThiswasmyfavouriteamongmyfantasiessinceIcouldstretchitoutandgointotheminutestdetails of every dish and its preparation:Moroccan, European, hot and spicy,Polish dishes, Chinese food, and exotic concoctions. There is no end to thevarietyoffoodandnoendtothelineofapplicants.

Outsideitseemedthatallthebiblicalpropheciesofdoomhadbeenfulfilled,andthereIwas,bymyself,theonlyhumaninthisvastjungle.Nootherpeople,nosettlements.OnlySanJosé,somewhereupthereinthehillsontheothersideoftheriver,andImightatanyinstantbecrushedtodeathbyafallingtree.Yes,itcouldhappenatanysecond,andit’stheonlythingthatwillpacifythisjungle,let itsettlepeacefullybackintoitsformercalm.Itwantstoexpelthisarrogantinterloper,thismanwhodaredtothinkhecouldsurviveherealone.

Iwentonfantasisinguntildawn.FromtimetotimeIwasstartledoutofmydaydreams in a panic, thinking my end had come, but despite everythingsomeonewasstillwatchingoverme.

Themorningrayscasttheirlightonnothinggood.Therainstillcamedownintorrents.Thewindkepthowlingagainstmyshelter,rattlingitsricketypoles,butthey held fast.Mybreath under the poncho keptmywet bodywarm, andmyfantasieskeptmymindoccupied,but Iwanted togetupandstartmarching. Ihadtogetoutofthejungle,nomatterwhat.Kneeling,Ipackedmythings,slungthepackonmyback,snatchedupmywalkingstick,anddashedoutside.

GoodLord!Rainfloodeddown.I turnedtostart inthedirectionoftheriverandstoodrootedtotheground.Thewadiwasflooded.Theentireriverbedwasbrimming with water, as deep as ten feet, I guessed. Incredible. A shallowstream, awadi that had been almost dry, had overnight become awide river,

almost over-flowing its banks. The Tuichi,which flowed by about fifty yardsfromwhereIstood,lookedthreatening.Itswaterswereblack,andthecurrentsoswiftitseemedthatsomeonehadfilmedtheriverandwasshowingitatdoublespeed. So many enormous trees floated downstream that the water itself wasbarelyvisible.Theriverhadwashedoveritsshores,gatheringupallthatbooty.Iassumed that the signposts that I had so laboriously erected, indicating mypresenceandthedirectioninwhichIwasgoing,hadalsobeenwashedaway.Icursedtheday.

HowwasIgoingtomakeitacrosstheriver?IstartedawayfromtheTuichifollowingthecourseoftheunknownriverupstream,butIdidn’tgetfar.Therewasnopathnorhopeoffindingaplacetocross.Ihadtogobacktomyshelter.

Iwasfuriouswithmyself.IfIweretostayput,thatmeantspendinganotherentiredayinthejungle,andIwouldn’tbesleepinginSanJoséthatnight.Ihadhad suchhighhopesofmaking it.Therewasnothing that I coulddoabout it,however.Therewas no choice but towait for the storm to blowover, for therivertorecedesothatImightcrossitandbeonmyway.

I lay back down.My empty stomachwas beyond grumbling or growling. Inowfeltthehungerwithmyentirebody,aprimordialneedtoeat,butallIhadwerethefruitsofmyimagination.

I suppose close to half an hour had passedwhen I became aware of waterrunningdownmybackandshoulders.Howcouldthatbe?Ihadathickroofofleaves. Cold water reached my buttocks and feet. Then I grasped what hadhappenedandhadnotimetospare.Bothriverswereflooding,andI,foolthatIwas, hadn’t seen it coming. The ground was level and flooded in a flash. Ihurriedly knelt and shoved everything into my pack, includingmy socks andshoes.Ididn’thavetimetoclosetherubbersackbutrushedoutsideinmybarefeetandbeganrunning.Thewaterwasalreadyuptomyanklesandwouldsoonbe knee deep. I ran in a panic but realised almost immediately that I hadforgottenmywalkingstick in theshelter. Iwasn’tabout toabandonmy trustywalkingstick.Isetmypackdownonalittleriseandranback.

BythetimeIhadreclaimedthestickandhadreturnedtothepack,thewaterwasalreadypastmywaist,andtherisewasflooded.Thepackwasfloating,andIrushedtowarditbeforeitcouldbecarriedaway.Iputmyarmthroughoneoftheshoulderstrapsandgrabbedholdofatree.Icouldfeelthewatertuggingmetowardtheriver.IfIlostmyholdonthetree,Iwoulddrown.Istartedswimmingaway, kicking hard, and succeeded in grabbing onto the next tree. All of my

musclesached,andIwasafraidthattheywouldgiveoutonme,butthepalpablefear of death lentme new, unfamiliar stores of energy. I pushedmyself awayfromthe treewithagreat thrust, reachingfromtree to tree.OnceImissedmygrasp andwas swept away, but the junglewas dense, and Iwas rammed intotreesuntilIcaughtholdofoneofthem.Therewasnochanceofmyclimbingatreeand,anyway,Imighthavebeenstuckupthereforever.Iwouldbebetterofftryingtomakeittohigherground.

For once I was oblivious to pain. I was quite simply fighting for my life:pushingaway,grabbing,pulling,snatchinginstantstocatchmybreath.Iwentonlike that for half anhouruntil I cameupon ahill thatwasn’t flooded. I stoodtherepanting,waterpouringoutoftheholesinmypack,myclothingdrenchedandtorn,rainbeatingdownuponmemercilessly.

Igotmysocksandshoesoutandpulledthemontomybatteredfeet.Theredrashwasspreading,and Iknewonly toowellwhatwas instore forme. Iwasbitter, despondent, and furiously angry that the whole world – all themightyelementsofnature–hadgangedupononesolitaryman.

Ontheothersideofthehillthejunglehadfloodedonlywaisthigh.Walkingwasatorment.Isankintothemud,andeachstepwasexcruciating,forthemudhadseepedintomyshoesandsocksandhadbeguntoabradetheskin.PlacesIhadpassedsoeasilyyesterdaypresenteddangerousobstaclestoday.Everytinywadihadbecomeastormydeluge.Everybroadexpansewasnowatreacherousswamp. The areawas suddenly overrunwith frogs.Where had they all comefrom?Theircroakingmadeadin,but,strangely,Ididn’tseeasingleone.Thestormhadleftitstraceseverywhere.Brokentreeslaylikecorpsesontheground,leavinggaping,floodedcraterswheretheyhadbeenuprooted.

IwentonasbestIcould,walkingawayfromtheTuichi,fleeingtothehills.Iwent on for miles, hours passed, but nothing changed. I walked immersed inmud,withoutknowingwhere Iwasputtingmy feet. Igot stuck inbushesandpulled myself free. I stepped on sharp rocks and bit back the pain. I wasfrequently forced to swim. When I had to haul myself back out of wadis, Islippedandslid,crawlingonmyhandsandknees.WhenItriedtogetagriponarootorabush,Ifellbackward,clutchingtheuprootedplantinmyhand.IhadnoideawhereIwasorwhereIwasgoing,Ionlywantedtofindarestingplaceformy battered body. Iwanted to get to someplacewhere Iwould be able to liedownandwaitforthestormtopass.FinallyIclimbedahillandlookedforatreewiththickroots.Ididn’twanttoliedownunderatreethatwaslikelytofalloverandcrushme.Completelyexhausted,Itoreoffafewpalmfrondsandlaydown

onthegroundunderwhatappearedtobeareliabletree.

Therainhadn’tstoppedbutseemedtohaveabatedsomewhat.Itookoffmyshoesandshovedmyfeet into thesack.Theyweresorawthat Iwasafraid totakemysocksoff,fearfulthatIwouldn’tbeabletoputthembackonthenextday.Boththemosquitonetsandtheponchoweredrippingwet.Iwasshiveringcold.Thewindwasstillblowing,andIwasafraidthatIwouldcomedownwithpneumonia.IfIbecamesick,Iwoulddie.

Ibeganpraying.IprayedtoGodwithallmyheart.Pleaseforgivemeforeverhaving doubted you and not putting all my faith in you. I know that you arealwayswatching. Please don’t letme get sick. Letmemake it back to safety.PleaseGod.

I considered taking a vow, promising something, but I didn’t want God tothinkthatIwashaggling.ItookoutUncleNissim’sbookformoralsupport.Theplasticbaghadnotkeptitdry.Ikissedthebookandslippeditintomypocket.

Itwastheseventeenthmorningofmysolitude.Thestormwasover.Iwasinsadshape.IwasfarfrommydestinationanddoubtedthatIwouldbeabletogoon.Myfeetwereinfected.Fromnowonwalkingwouldbetorture.Howcouldmybodytakeanymore?Iwasweakwithhunger. Ihadeatennothingfor thepasttwo days. Now how would I find eggs or fruit? The storm had washedeverythingaway.WasIgoingtodieofhungerorinjury?Morbidthoughtsfilledmymind;therewasnochanceofmyescapingintofantasy.Iwasdistressedtothe point of despondency. All my hopes of reaching San José faded away. Ihadn’tyesterday.Iapparentlywasn’tgoingtotoday.WhoknewifIeverwould?

WhatanidiotIwas.IshouldneverhaveleftCuriplaya.Icouldhavewaitedthere inmyhut. I couldhave survived there for at least amonth, andby thensurely someonewould have come looking forme. Someonewould have donesomething.

Nowwhatwould I do?Where should I go? I no longer believed therewasmuchchanceofmyreachingSanJosé.IdoubtedthatIwouldbeable tocrosstheriver.Thoughthestormhaddiedaway,thewholejunglewassubmerged.Iwasbitterandontheedgeofabsolutedespair,almostreadytogiveup.IstartedbacktoCuriplaya.

Overcomebyself-pity,IhobbledpainfullyonuntilIcametoatrestepitatree.Thetreewasbentlow,almosttouchingtheground.Itstillhadfruitonit,andI

eagerly sucked the sweetsour pulp from the pits. The small quantity ofnourishmenttormentedmyachingbelly,butithelpedrestoremyhopes.

Someone is still watching over me. Uncle Nissim’s book will protect me. Iwon’tdieaslongasIhaveitinmypocket.Ishouldn’tunderestimateitspowers.I mustn’t lose hope. I am stronger than I think I am. If I have been able tosurvivethisfar,Icangoon.

Igavemyselfagoodtalking-toandturnedtowardSanJoséonceagain.Iwasgoing on, no matter what. I trod through flood waters, swam across streams,climbedupwadiwalls.Idon’tknowwhereIgottheenergy.WhileIwaswadingthroughthemud,ImadebelievethatIwasoneoftheZionistpioneers,drainingtheswamps.A longblacksnakepassingnearmyfootstartledme. I threwmywalkingstickatitbutmissed.

‘Waitaminute,’Icalled,chasingafterit.‘Waitaminute.Iwanttoeatyou.’

Myshirtcaughtonabranchandtore.Thesharpbranchslashedmyupperarmdown to the elbow. Blood spurted from the wound. I fought back tears ofdesperation.

Itdoesn’tmatter.I’llgetoverit.I’mgoingon.

Icouldneitherseenorheartheriverbutfollowedthestreamsthatcutinfrontofme.IknewthattheywouldleadmetotheTuichi.Itwasn’training,butthewindwasblowing,anditwasverycold.Thehumidityformedaheavymist.

SuddenlyIheardasputter,adrone,thesoundofanengine...anairplane.

Don’tbeafool,Yossi.It’sonlyyourimagination.

Butthesoundgrewlouder.Itwasanairplane!

They’relookingforme!Hooray!I’msaved!

Thesoundgrew louder, and I ran likea lunatic, ignoringmy tattered feet. IhadtogettoTuichi.Ihadtosignaltheplane.

Thesoundwasrightoverhead.Istopped,panting,andlookedup.BetweenthetreetopsIsawafewgreyclouds,andamidthem,atamoderatealtitude,asmallwhiteplaneglidedpast.

‘Hello,hereIam!Help!I’mdownhere.’Iwavedmyarmsfrantically.‘Don’tgo.Don’tleavemehere.HereIam.’

Theplanevanishedfromthesky,itsdronefadingaway.

NowIbecameawareofmyfeet.Thefranticrunninghadtornthefleshfromthem,andIfeltasiftheywereonfire.Icollapsedtotheearth,myfaceburiedinthemud.Ilaysprawledthereandwantedtocry,butthetearswouldn’tcome.

Ican’ttakeanymore.Ican’tbudgeanotherinch.That’sit.

FromthebottomofmyheartIprayed,notforrescue,notevenforsurvival.Iprayedfordeath.Please,goodGod,stopthissuffering.Letmedie.

Andthensheappeared.Iknewitwasallinmymind,butthereshelay,nexttome.Ididn’tknowwhoshewas.Ididn’tknowhername.Iknewwe’dnevermet,andyetIknewthatwewereinlove.Shewasweepingdespondently.Herfragilebodytrembled.

‘There,there,stopcrying,’Itriedtocomforther.

Takeiteasy.It’sallright.Getup,Yossi,Iurgedmyself,youhavetoleadtheway,keepherspiritsup.

Ipluckedmyselfupoutofthemudandverygentlyhelpedherup.Tearsstillpoureddownhercheeks.

‘Theplanedidn’tseeus.Itjustwentby,’shewailed.

‘Don’tworry,mylove.Itwillsurelybebackthisway.Itdidn’tseeusthroughthejungletrees.Wecan’tbeseenfromtheair.Ifwecouldgetafiregoing,thesmokemightbespotted.’

Buteverythingwassoakingwet.

WhenIheardthedroneoftheplane’sengineonceagain,Iknewwehadnohopeofbeingfoundthatday.

IhadmadeitbacktotheTuichi,buttherewasnobank.Istoodonthebluff,abouttwentyfeetabovetheriver,itsrapidstumblingbeneathme.Itookouttheponchoandwaveditfrantically,butIknewtherewasnochanceofbeingspottedthroughthetrees.Theplanewasflyingtoohighandtoofast.Iwatcheditgopastwithlongingeyes.

Shelookedupatmeforlornly.

Don’tworry.They’llbebacktomorrow,’Ipromised.‘Look,wewerealmostsavedtoday.I’msurethatthat’sKevinupthere.IthastobeKevin.Ijustknowitis.Hemusthavegonetomyembassyforhelp.’

Istilldidnotrecogniseher:whereshewasfrom,whyshewashere.Ijustkeptcomfortingher.

‘Theyknewthey’dhaveahardtimefindingustodaysincetheweatherissocloudy,butI’msure they’llcomebacktomorrowandwon’tgiveupuntil theyfindus.

‘Youknow,onceinawhilesomeguygetslostintheJudeaendesert,andtheycall out the army and volunteers and trackers. Sometimes they have to keeplookingforawholeweekbeforetheyfindtheguy,deadoralive.Theyneverjuststoplooking.

‘Whatwehavetodoishelpthemfindus.Wehavetofindashoretostandon,sothey’llbeabletoseeus.’

I remembered thebeachwhere the jaguarshadbeen. Ihadbetterheadbackthere.

‘Yes,that’sagreatidea.It’sahugebeach.’

Ihadmarked itclearly,andwhile Iassumed that themarkingshadallbeenwashed away, the beach itself must still be there. It was so wide. I quicklyfiguredthedistance.IhadfirstarrivedatJaguarBeachontheafternoonofthefourteenth. I hadwasted the rest of that day trying unsuccessfully to ford theriver. On the fifteenth, as well, I had stopped walking relatively early. Thatmeant that a day’swalkwas betweenme and the beach. I could still get in agood few hours’ walk today. Tomorrow I would start walking at dawn andperhapsmakeJaguarBeachinthemorninghours.

Iexplainedmyplantoher.

‘Comeon, love.Anotherday’swalk,maybe less,andwe’llbe there,’ Isaidencouragingly.‘There theywillspotuseasily.First theplanewillgooverandsee us. The pilot will signal us with a tilt of the wings and go back to base.Withinafewhoursahelicopterwillarrive, landonthebeach,andpickusup.We’llbesaved.It’llallhappentomorrow.Wehavetostickitoutonemoreday.Comeon,let’sgetgoing.’

Ichangeddirectionforthethirdtimethatday.Thistimewithouthesitation.IknewthatIwasdoingtherightthing.

My feet barely obeyed my will, almost refusing to carry my weight. Theycouldn’t standmuchpressure.Every time I steppedon a rockor root, terriblepainspiercedthroughme.WhenIhadtoclimbahillanddescendtheotherside,itseemedanimpossibleeffort.Ihadtogetdownandcrawl,dragmyselfalongwithmyelbows.ButIkeptmysufferingtomyself.Shewaswithme.Shewasalso injured,weak, and hungry. Itwas harder for her than forme. If Iwasn’t

strong,shewouldbreak.

Ihavetopushmyselfharder,hidemyownfeelings,andkeephermoraleup.

Whenwewereclimbingupward,Iwouldbitemylipandpleadwithher,‘Justa little farther,my love.Yes, I knowhowmuch it hurts.Here, I’ll giveyouahand.Onemorelittlepush.That’sall.Yousee?Wemadeit.We’reat thetop.Nowwehave togetdown.Sit like this and slide.Slowly, take it easy.Watchout.Becarefulyoudon’tslip.’

Rocksandthornsslicedintomybuttocks.Inoticedwithconcernthattherashhadspreadtootherpartsofmybody.Reddotshadbrokenoutundermyarmpitsand aroundmy elbows. The cut onmy arm hadn’t formed a scab. The edgeswerewhite.Myfingersand thepalmsofmyhandswerealso lily-white. Ihadbeenconstantlywetforseveraldays.

Mybodyisrotting.

Wewalkeduntillateevening.Ididn’tstoptalkingforaminute,chatteringallday long, trying to keep her spirits up, trying to keep her from losing hope.Whenshestumbledor sloweddown, Iofferedhermyhand,caressingher sadface. Iwas so anxious to cover asmuchground aspossible that I didn’t evennotice that the sun had almost set. I had to hurry and find a place to rest ourheadsbeforedarknessfell.

I toreoff somepalmfrondsandspread themoversomemuddy tree roots. Ididn’t bother trying to get comfortable; my body was inured to discomfort. Icoveredmyselfwiththewetnetsandtheponcho.Takingmyshoesoffhadbeenagony.Ididn’tremovemysocks.Theywouldjusthavetoremainwetanddirtywithmud,blood,andpus.Ipulledthesackovermyfeetverycarefully,knowinghowtormentingtheslightestcontactwouldbe.Ididn’tchangepositionallnightlonginordertogivemyfeetarest.

Ibelievedwithallmyheartthattomorrowwouldbemylastdayofhardship.Tomorrowaplanewouldfindme.

‘Thankyou,mylove.Thankyouforbeinghere.Tomorrowyou’llgetthekid-glovetreatment.Don’tcry.Trytoshutyoureyes,togetsomesleep.Tomorrowwestillhaveafewmorehours towalk.Wehavetoget thereearly,before theplanecomes.

‘Goodnight,mylove.’

At thebreakofdawnaheavyrainbeganpouringdown.Myprayersandpleas

weretonoavail.Shewasawakenedbythefirstdrops.

‘Todayisthebigday,thelastday,’Itoldher.‘Wearen’tgoingtoletalittlerainstopus.Don’tlet itgetyoudown.It’snotsobad.WhenwegettoJaguarBeach, I’llbuildyouastrongshelter.You’llbeable to rest, tosleep,until thehelicoptercomes.

‘You’rehungry?Yes,Iknowyou’rehungry,butwedon’thaveanythingleftfor breakfast. Don’t worry, I’ll find something to eat in the jungle. You cancountonme.’

Icouldn’tstand.Myfeetweresoftandmushy,as ifaskinlessmassofraw,bloodyfleshhadbeenpouredintomyshoes.Icouldn’ttakeasinglestep,butIknewthatmyonlychanceforsurvivalwastowalk.Ihadtogettotheshore.IfIstayed in the jungle, no one would ever find me. I stumbled forward like azombie.Idiscoveredtracesofthepath,butitvanishedafterawhile.

Walkingthroughthedensegrowthwaslikemarchingthroughhell.Itriedtostayasmuchaspossibleonsoft,muddyground,toeasethepainofeverystepItook. I tried to keep my weight on my trusty walking stick and often pulledmyselfforwardbyclutchingatbushesandbranches.WhenIcametoanincline,even agentle slope, I got downon all fours and crawled,my face cakedwithmud,myclothes tornandweighingmedown.Iwasweakandafraidof losingconsciousness.All Ihadwaswater.Waterhadbecome theenemy.Other thanwaternothinghadpassedmylips.Thegirlwasmyonlyconsolation.

Wewalkedontogetherforafewhours,butJaguarBeachwasnowheretobeseen. I tried to locate it by looking for the four islands that had been strungacrosstheriver.Irememberedthemasbeingveryclosetothebeach,butIsawonly one solitary island in the river. I feared that the current had swept theislandsawaybutfoundthathardtobelieve.Theislandshadbeenlargeandwellforested.Theycouldn’thavevanishedwithoutatrace.

Itrudgedonandonthroughthemudandfinallycameuponafruittree.Itwastall, a species of palm. At its top were large clusters of dates. A family ofmonkeyswereuptherehavinganoisyfeast.Afewpiecesoffruitwerestrewnontheground.Theyweresquashedintothemudandrotting.Mybodyquivered,twitchedwithcraving,anage-oldprimordial instinct. Iwashungry likeawildbeast.Ipounceduponthedatesinthemud.Ididn’tcareiftheywererotten.Thewormsdidnotdisgustme.Iputthefruitintomymouth,rolleditaroundwithmytongue,cleaneditoffwithmysaliva,spatitoutintothepalmofmyhand,andthenspatouttheresidueofmudinmymouthbeforeputtingthefruitback.Soon,

however,Ilostpatienceandswallowedthefruittogetherwiththemud.Ididn’tleave a single pieceon theground.Even thewormswere a sourceof protein.Themonkeysstarted throwinghalf-eatendatesdownatme.They laughedandtossedpitsdownonmyhead.Iwasgratefultothem,forthemonkeysdidn’ttakemorethanonebiteoutofeachpieceanddiscardedathicklayerofediblepulp.IcouldseetheirteethmarksonthedatesbeforeIatethem.

I went on for several hours without stopping to rest. It required effort, asupreme and painful effort. JaguarBeachwas nowhere to be seen. I began toworry,thoughIdidn’tthinkthatIcouldhavemissedit.Ithadbeenthewideststripofshorealongtheentirelengthofriver.ImustbemovingmoreslowlythanIthought.Iwasinjured,andwalkingthroughthemudwasslowandlaborious.Ican’t give up. I have tomake it back there before the plane passes overheadagain.

ThenI lostmyheadforamoment. Itwasn’ther fault.Thehillwas just toosteep.IknewthatIwouldn’tmakeittothetopwithoutagreatdealofsufferingandpain.HereIcollapsed.Sheburstintotearsandrefusedtogoon.Iwassickofspeakingtoherkindlyandlovingly.

Whatthehelldoesshethink?Iwondered,enraged.ThatI’mhavingapicnic?

‘Stopcoddlingyourself,’Ishouted.‘I’msickofyouandyourwhining,doyouhear? Who needs you anyway? I don’t have enough problems withoutschleppingacry-babyalong?Youdon’thelpwithanything.Allyoudoiscry.Wouldyouliketotradeplaceswithmeforawhileandcarrythislousypackonyourback?I’vehad itwithyourbawling.Youcancryyoureyesout, forall Icare,butyou’dbetternot stopwalking,because I’mnotgoing towait foryouanymore.’

I behaved cruelly but felt relieved to have let off steam. Afterward I feltashamedofmyself.Iwentovertoher,gaveherahug,strokedherhairgently,andtoldherthatIwassorryforhavinglostmytemperandhadn’treallymeantanyofit.ItoldherethatIlovedher,thatIwouldprotectherandbringherbacktosafety,butshehadtomaketheeffortandwalk.

I had by now grown faint and dizzy, become weaker and weaker.When Icameacrossafallentreethatblockedmypath,Ihadtowalkaroundit.Icouldn’tliftmylegsoverit.

IhavetomakeittoJaguarBeach.Haveto,haveto,haveto!

Icouldheartheplane’sengineinthedistance.Iwaitedasitdrewnear.Iknew

that the planewouldn’t be able to seeme, but I at leastwanted to see it.Thesoundwas dull and distant, then faded altogether. Had I imagined it?Maybetheywere looking formesomewhereelse.ButKevinwas there, Iwassureofthat,andheknewwhereIwas.

Toward evening I came to an area where a puddle of water floated on themud.Iwalkedon,oblivious,andbeforeIhadachancetocomprehendwhatwashappening,theearthswallowedmeup.Isankswiftly.Shockedandinapanic.Ifoundmyselfuptomywaistinbog.Iwentintoafrenzy,likeatrappedanimal,screaming, trying toget out, but themudwas thick and sticky, and I couldn’tmove.Mywalkingstickcutthroughitlikeahotknifethroughbutterandwasofnohelpatall.Ireachedouttosomereedsandbushes,stretchingmybodyandarmsintheirdirection.Itriedpullingmyselfoutbythem,buttheycamelooseinmyhands.Icontinuedsinkingslowly.

Icameoutofmyconvulsivethroesandcalmeddown.Itriedtoactrationally.Istuckmyhandsdowndeepintothemud,wrappedthemaroundonekneeandtried to forceone legupoutof themud. Ipulledwithallmymight,but tonoavail. Itwasas if Ihadbeenset inconcrete. Icouldn’tbudge. Iwanted tocryagainbutfeltonlyathicklumpinmythroat.

Sothisisit,death.Iendmylifeinthisbog.

Iwasresigned.IknewthatIdidn’thavethestrengthtogetmyselfout,andnopowerintheworldwouldreachdownandpluckmeoutoftheswamp.

It would be a slow, horrible death. The mud was already up to my bellybutton.Thepackrestedonthemud,andIwasrelievedofitsweight.SuddenlyIhadabrilliantidea.Iwouldcommitsuicide.Itookthepackfrommyshouldersand rummaged through it hurriedly until I found the first-aid kit. There wereabouttwentyamphetaminesandperhapsthirtyother,unidentifiedpills.Thatwasit. I would take all of them. I was sure they would kill me or at least makeeverythinggood andhazybefore I drowned.First I opened the tin of speed. Iheldafewoftheminthepalmofmyhand.

You’rebeingselfish,Yossi,reallyegotistical.It’seasyenoughforyoutodie,justswallowthepills,andyou’reofftoparadise.Butwhataboutyourparents?Yourmother:whatwillthisdotoher?

Youcan’tdielikethis.Notafterallyou’vealreadybeenthrough.Itwouldn’tbesobadityouhaddiedonthefirstdayinasuddenaccident.Butnow,afterallthissuffering?Itisn’tfairtojustgiveupnow.

Iputthepillsbackinthetin.Istrainedforward,leaningmytorsooutacrossthemudandmovedmyarmsforwardasifIwereswimming.Imovedmyarmsbackandforth,pullingandwrigglinginthemud.Ikickedmylegsinflutteringmovements.Ifoughtwitheveryounceofstrength.Foughtformylife.

Ittookabouthalfanhour,maybemore.AssoonasIgotmylegsfreeofthemud,Icreptforwardwithoutsinking.Ileftneitherthepacknotthewalkingstickbehind.AfterI’dadvancedanothersixfeet,Iwasoutofthequagmire.

Myentirebodywascakedwithathicklayerofblack,stickymud.Icleareditoutofmynostrils,wipedmyeyes,andspatitoutofmymouth.

To live. Iwant to live. I’ll sufferany torment, but I’ll goon. I’llmake it toJaguarBeach,nomatterwhat.

Chaptereleven

RESCUEItwasgrowingdarkeranddarker,andIstoppedwalking.Ileftmypackrestingagainst a tree trunk and went to look for palm fronds. I hobbled slowly andfinallysanktomyknees,crawlingonallfourslikeawoundedbeast.IfalteredbacktothespotIhadselected,draggingafewfrondsbehindme.

‘Thesewill have to do for tonight. This is the very last night thatwe’ll bespendinginthejungle,andanywaywedon’tneedsomanyfronds,we’llcuddleuptogetherandkeepeachotherwarm.’

Istartedclearinganareaforthetwoofustostretchout,thegirlandme.Ithadtobewiderthanusual,forIwouldn’tbesleepingalone.Iclearedawayallofthewetleavesandbrokenbranches.

‘Come,liedownoverherebyme.Liedownandholdmetightly...’

IsuddenlyrealisedthatIhadactuallypreparedasleepingplacefortwo.

‘You’realone,idiot,alone.’

Ihadtakenleaveofmysenses.Iwasdelirious.Ihadtogetholdofmyself.IfIdidn’tbringmyselfbacktoreality,Iwouldgomad.

Iamalone.Iamalone,Iamalone.

Imovedthefrondsandmybelongingstoasmallernichebetweenprotrudingtreerootsandlaydownuponthecoldground.Itwasn’training,butheavydropsstilldrippedfromthetoweringtrees.Ipeeledmyshoesfrommyfeet.Mysockswerecakedwithmud,butIdidn’tdareremovethem.EvenifIwereabletogetthemoff,Iwouldneverhavebeenabletoputthembackon,soIjustleftthemonmy feet,mud and all. I emptied out the rubber bag and cautiously, gently,inched itovermy feet,up tomyknees. I spreadoneof themosquitonetsoutuponthefronds,wrappedmyselfwithit,andpulledtheotheroverme,tuckingtheedges inundermybody.Iarrangedtheponchoso that itcoveredmefromheadtotoe,protectingmyselffromboththewet,muddyearthbeneathmeand

thewaterdrippingfromabove.Iputthehoodovermyfaceasusual.Myhandswerewet,mybodycoveredwithwounds,scratches,rawness,andrash.Ituckedmyhandsinthepitsofmyarms,wheretherewasalittlewarmth.

I wanted to keep my mind occupied. I longed to speak with her, but Icontrolledmyself.

Itriedtogobacktomystandarddaydreams–LasVegas,Brazil,theranchinthe Galilee – but I couldn’t keep my mind on them. The fantasies wouldn’tcome.

Onlyone longingstuck inmymind: toarise fromagood, longsleep inmysoftbedattheold-folks’homeinLaPaz,takeashower,andgetbreakfastready.Idicedonionsandfriedtheminawell-greasedskillet.Theysizzledinthepan,spatteringoiluntiltheyweregoldenbrown.Isprinkledgratedcheeseoverthem,inhalingthedeliciousaromaofthequicklymeltingcheese.ThenIscrambledafew eggs in the skillet and made a juicy omelette, which I gobbled downgreedily.

I couldn’tget thepictureoutofmymind.Mybelly ached.Mywholebodycriedoutfornourishment.Food.Ihadnothing.Thebeanswereashardasrocks.The rice was wet and foul smelling; the mud was more appetising. If only Icouldgetafiregoing.Iwouldtomorrow.TomorrowIwouldbeatJaguarBeach.Therewasnodoubtaboutit.EvenifIhadbeenhobblingatasnail’space,Ihadstillcoveredagreatdistance.JaguarBeachcouldn’tbefar.

Timedraggedslowlyby.Ifoughttogetthesmelloftheomeletteoutofmymind.SuddenlyIfeltthatmybladderwasfull.IusuallyrelievedmyselfbeforeIlay down and coveredmyselfwith the nets and the poncho, thenwaited untilmorningtorelievemyselfagain,butonthisnightIsimplycouldn’twait.Gettingupwouldinvolveagreatdealofpainandbother:takingmyfeetoutofthebag,unravellingthelayersofcovers,gettingoutfromunderthepalmfronds,tryingto get the buckle and the rusty zipper of my jeans open, and then wrappingmyselfbackupagain.IwouldneverbeabletomanageallthatandgetbackinplaceasInowwas.Mybodyhadfounditsreposeandwasbeginningtowarmup.Sowhynotjustpissinmypants?

What’sthematterwithyou?Haveyoulosteveryscrapofself-respect?Ifyoupiss inyourpants,youwillbe foul-smelling,and itwill irritate therawnessofyourthighs.Maketheeffort,Yossi,getup.

No,Ican’t.Ijustcan’t.

Ilackedtheresolveandlaytheremotionlessandpeedonmyself.Thewarmurinewaspleasant,spreadingoutovermylegsanduptowardmybelly,soakingintomypantsandthenets.Icouldsmellit.LaterIpeedtwicemoreandactuallyenjoyedit;thefeelingofwarmthwassogood.

Anotherhourpassed, thenightmusthavebeenhalfgone,butIcouldn’tfallasleep.Itriedtograspsomethoughttooccupymyminduntilthemorninglight.Iwanted to think about something pleasant: people, being rescued, a plane, ahelicopter,food.Myshrivelledbellychurned.

‘Ow!’

Something pinched hard into my thigh. Startled and frightened, I took myhandoutofmyarmpit and reacheddown to feel the spot.Somethinghaddugitselfintomyfleshandwouldn’tletgo.Itwasn’taleech,butsomekindofbug,almostaninchlong,andIcouldn’tgetitoffmythigh.Ipulledhard,anditdugitspincersintomythumb.Apowerfulbodywrithedbetweenmyfingers.Itwasagiganticant,incrediblystrong.Isqueezedoffitsheadwithmyfingernails,andthe contortedbody finallygrew still. I let it fall betweenmy legs anddug theheadoutfromwhereitclungtomythumb.Thelittlesonofabitch!ItmusthavecrawledinwhileIwasgettingmybedready.

Thenanotherbite,morepincers.Onenearmykneeandanotherbymywaist.Ihastily reachedout for them.Theantsdug indeeply. I tore theirbodiesapart,happilylisteningtothecrunchtheymade.

‘Howareyougettingin,youlittlemothers?I’llkillyou!’

I was wrapped up in several layers, airtight, in two mosquito nets and aponcho.Therewasnowayforthemtocrawlin.Perhapstherehadbeenafewofthemonthepalmfronds,andtheyhaddroppeddownonme.Butwhathadtheybeenwaitingfor?Whyhadtheyonlynowstartedbiting?

I didn’t have long to spend pondering that question, for Iwas immediatelysubject to still another attack and panicked. The ants bit, pinched in severalplacesatonce,andithurtlikehell.Theseantsdidn’tburnlikefireantsbutwerebiggerandstrongerandslicedintomybodywiththeirpincers.

Ifoughtthemlikeamadman,dismemberingoneafteranother.Iwantedtogetupandrunaway,butwherewouldIgo?Itwasdark,andIwasbarefoot.WherecouldIrun?Iwouldneverfindanothershelter.Icouldn’tleavethisonebuthadto stay and fight.The antswere coming atme fromeverydirection, one afteranother, and I fought themoff furiously. Ididn’thaveanywhereelse to throw

them,andagreatpileoftheircorpsesheapedupbetweenmythighs.

Itwentonthewholenightlong.Ican’tfindwordstodescribethehorrorofit.Theantscameatme fromall sidesandbeganbitingmy face, thebackofmyneck,my chest,waist, and thighs.One ant bit into the sole ofmy foot, and Icouldn’tgetatit,downinsidetherubberbag,outofmyreach.Ittookabigbite,tearingintothebloodyflesh,tookanotherbite,andanother.

‘Comealittlehigherup.Comeon,justalittlecloser,andI’llripyouapart!’

Ihadbeguncollectingafewantsatatime,rubbingthemtogetherbetweenthepalms of my hands, letting the pulp fall between my legs. I didn’t have amoment’srest.Ihadforgottenaboutmyhungerandmyachingfeet.Iwasinafury,filledwithloathingandvengeance.Ipulledthemoffmyeyelids,outofmyears,outofmyhair,frommyarmsandlegs.Thepileofbodieswasenormous,andIhadtospreadmylegsfartheraparttomakeroomforthemall.Ihadgottenused to the stinging pain of their bite and killed them by the dozens, but thehorrorwasnever-ending.

WiththefirstraysofmorninglightIpulledmyselftoasittingpositionwithafeelingofgreatrelief.Ishovedthepalmfrondsasideandjustsattherestunned,staring.Theeartharoundmewasaliveandteeming.Themosquitonetswereredall over aswas the trunkof the tree aboveme andmypack, all coveredwithswarming insects. My shoes crawled with them. The ground about me for aradius of at least ten feet teemed with an army, not of ants, but of termites,millionsof them.Myentirebodywas coveredwith clustersof them. Iwas inshockbutsoonrealisedwhathadhappened;thetermiteshadmadeshortorderofthenetsandponcho,simplyeatingtheirwaythroughthenylon,leavinggapingholesthroughwhichtheyhadswarmed.

Horrified,Ileapttomyfeet,obliviousofthepain,andfled,crunchinginsectsundermy feet. I stopped about twenty yards from the spot where I had beenlyinganddestroyedthelastofthecreaturesthatstillclungtome.Mybodywaslike a sieve, drops of blood seeping through the pores of every patch of bareskin.The tree I had been lying underwas a horrifying sight, and the reddish-browntermiteswereeatingintoallmybelongings.Itookafewstepsclosertothem,stoppedtogetmynerveup,ranintotheirmidst,threwmypackasfarasIcould,anddashedaway.Thepackalreadyhadquiteafewholesinit.Ishookitoffandkilledthetermitesthatclungtoit,repeatingthemotionafewtimes.Iranbackandpitchedfromamongtheswarminginsectsoneshoe,andthentheother,followedbythesacksoffood,thenets,poncho,andmywalkingstick.Iheaved

itallasfarasIcouldfromtheterrifyingcircleofbugs.

I carefully scrutinised each item, squeezing the insects betweenmy fingersandstampingonthem.Thenylonbagsthatheldthefoodwerefullofholes,andstreamsofinsectsbusilygnawedattheleatherofmyshoes.Ishookthemoffandcrushedthembeneathmyfeet.Itwasagreatrelieffinallytoputmyshoesbackon,andIwentonriddingmypossessionsoftermites.

Itbecameevidentfromthestenchemanatingfrommeandfromthenetswhathadhappened.WhatafoolIwas!Whyhadn’tIthoughtofitbefore?Theurine.Itwas because of the urine.Karl had told us that urine attracts insects. Theremust have been a nest of termites somewhere nearby, and the smell of freshurine had attracted them for a salty, late-night snack. I looked over at theteeming circle, and my skin crawled.What a horror. How had I survived it?WherehadIgottenthestrength?IputmypackonmybackandgotoutofthereasfastasIcould.

My feet felt as if Iwerewalkingbarefootoverhot coals, each stepapiercingpain.Ikeptmyheadbowed,leanedonmywalkingstick,andtrodmechanicallyon.

Justletmegettothebeach.

Iwouldliethere,rest,andwaitforrescue.Ifsomeonecamelookingforme,Iwouldbesaved.Ifnot,atleastIwoulddiethereinpeace.

I suppose that it was a nice enough day, but that no longer made anydifference tome. Iwalked along apathetically, fallingon all fourswhenever Icame to an incline.My elbows and kneeswere raw and bloody, but the thicklayer of mud that clung to my body covered my wounds. I dragged myselfforward, clutching at roots and bushes, and for a moment lay perfectly still,sprawledontheearth.Icouldheartheriver,butIcouldn’tseeit.

Ihavetogoon.Ican’tgiveup.

I sawaclusterofnettlesnearbyanddraggedmyselfover to them, touchingthemwithbothhands.Theirsharpstinghelpedmeforgettheagonyofmyfeet.Icame upon a treewhose lower boughswere swarmingwith the familiar littleants,fireants.Imusthavebeennearlydelirious.Ishookthebranchesandlettheantsshowerdownonmyhead,crawlalongthenapeofmyneck,myback,andinto my pants. I walked on with the bite of ants burning into my body and

derived a strange pleasure from the pain. Anything was better than thinkingaboutmyfeet.

Iwasweakandfamished.FromtimetotimeIwouldfallforwardtolapupalittlewaterfromabrookthatcrossedmypath.TowardnoonIlostallawarenessofwhereIwassettingmyfeetandfellintoanotherbog.Isankswiftlyuptomykneesandthenuptomywaist.AgainItriedforcingmylegsout,andalmostgotonefootoutofmyshoe,butnotoutofthemud.

I no longer thought ofmy family but simply longed for death. Then, onceagain,Ichangedmymind.Ifoughtonandonandfoundmyselfinexplicablyoutofthebog.Someunseenhandhadfreedme.Imyselfhadn’tthestrength.Iwasconvincedthatamiraclehadtakenplace.

Icametoasteepwadi,abouttenfeetdeep.Itseemedfamiliar,butIcouldn’trecallwhy.Ifellwhileclimbingdownthewall,plungingtothewater,scrapedandbruisedbyrocksontheway.Climbingbackuptheothersidewaseasier.Ifoundmyselfcrawlingpastthewadiandgotuptowalk.IwascertainthatJaguarBeach couldn’t be far away, probably just around thebend.Distractedby thatthought,Ialmoststeppedonalargeturtle.Ittookaquickglanceatmeandthenpulled its head inside its shell. It was a tortoise and must have weighed tenpounds. Iwasstarvedandstood therestaringat it.Nowandagain itpoked itshead out of its shell to see if I was still there and then drew back inside. Iconsideredtyingit tomypackandcarryingitwithmetothebeach,butitwastooheavy.Perhaps I couldhit itwitha large rock,break its armourandeat itraw.Theturtlestuckitsheadoutagain,meetingmygazewitheyesthatstruckme as sad. I recalled how my own life had only a short while ago beenmiraculouslysaved.

‘You’lllive,turtle,’Ipronouncedmagnanimously,andcontinuedonmyway.

AroundthenextbendIdidcomeuponabeach,butitwasn’tJaguarBeach.Itwas quite wide and rocky with a single hut in the centre of it. The hut wasleaningtoonesideasifabouttofallover.Otherthanthattherewasnothingbuta few pilings lying about.A strange feeling overcameme. The beach offeredshelter,whichmeantthattherehadbeenpeoplehere.Whatkindofplacewasit?HowwasitthatIhadn’tnoticeditthefirsttimeIhadpassedbyhere?

I didn’twaste time trying to figure outwhere Iwas. I hobbled over to thethatched roof, leanedmypack against one of its pilings, and lay downon theground for about an hour. I thanked God for having ledme to some kind ofshelter.Ispreadtheponchooutinthemiddleofthebeach.Itwasfullofholes

fromthetermites.Isetafewrocksonittoholditdownandthendraggedmyselfto the river. I stuckmy feet in thewaterandwashed themud frommyshoes.Then I filled the tinwithwater and started back toward the hut. Iwas almosttherewhenIpickedupmyheadtoseehowmuchfartherIhadtogo,andthere,beyondthethatchedroof,carvedonathicklogwasthewordPam.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Now I understood that funny feeling that hadcomeoverme.IwasbackinCuriplaya.

Suddenlyitdawnedonme.Thestormhadwashedawaytheotherthreehutsandalmostdestroyed thisoneaswell,whichwaswhy Ihadn’t recognised theplaceimmediately.ThefloodwatersmusthavealsosweptawaythefourislandsbywhichIhadhopedtofindJaguarBeach.Thebeachmusthavebeenwashedout,orelseitwasstillunderwater,andI, inmydesperationtoreacharestingplace,had trekkedall the longwayback toCuriplaya.Now IunderstoodwhyKevinandIhadn’tseenthebeachandtheislandthatweresupposedtomarktheentrancetothecanyon.Theyhadprobablybothbeenwashedoutbyafloodtheyearbefore,onlyKarlhadn’tbeenawareofthat.

I found thepanelsofchontawoodand,proppingmyselfuponmywalkingstick,puttogetherabed.Ilaydownonthehardplanksthatweresokindtomybackanddidn’tbudgeuntilevening,otherthantocovermyselfwithoneofthenets.Theurine haddried, but the net still stank andwas full of gapingholes,souvenirsofthenightbefore.However,itdidkeepthefliesandmosquitoesoffme.IknewthattherewasstillsomethingelsethatIhadtodo,adifficulttask.Iwasfrightened,as ifabout toundergosurgerywithoutbenefitofanaesthesia.Ihadtotakemysocksoff.Ikeptputtingifoff,tryingtogetmynerveup.

I sat on thewooden panels. First I removedmy shoes, which in itself wasagony.Then,littlebylittle,slowly,painfully,Ipeeledthesockfromonefoot.Itwasincrediblypainful, tortureofadegreethatIhadneverbeforeexperienced.Thesightofwhathadbeeninsidewasmorehorriblestill:red,rawflesh.Therewasn’tashredofskinleftonmyfoot,andthatwasn’ttheworstofit.Mytoeswereplasteredtogetherinastinkingpulpofblood,pus,andmud.Mybarefootwassosensitivethattheslightestbreezepassingoveritwaslikeathousandtinyneedles stabbing into my festering flesh. It was a good thing that I hadn’tremovedmysocksontheway;ifIhadseenwhatconditionmyfeetwerein,Iprobablyneverwouldhavehadthefortitudetogoon.

Irestedforashortwhileandthenclenchedmyteethandtooktheothersockoff.Thatfootwasjustasbad.Ithrewbothsocksintothetinofwatertocleanthe

pus andmud from them. I bunched the second net into awad and rested theheelsofmyfeetonit. Icouldn’tcovermyfeetwithanet;evenits light touchwasunbearable.Fortunately ithadgrowndark,andthemosquitoeshadceasedpesteringme.

I lay there watching the lingering rays of the sun. The light on the Tuichichangedfromablindingglittertoadullsilvertoawaverofshadowandfinallysuccumbed to the gathering darkness. All told, I was quite pleased with mysituation, havingmade it to the shore.There had been no plane overhead thatday,however.Hadtheygivenuplooking?Iftheyhad,Iwouldsurelydiehere.Ihadn’teatenforalmostaweek.Iwasinjuredandexhausted.

I’mgoingtodie...

Ihastilydrovethethoughtfrommymind.Peopledon’tjustliedownanddie,justlikethat.Iactuallystoodafairchanceofsurvival.Ifitdidn’traintomorrow,Iwouldbeabletocrawlaboutandgatherupsometwigstogetafirestarted.Istill had rice and beans; I would eat, dry my pitiful feet in the sun, andeverythingwould be all right.Anyway, Iwas sure that theywouldn’t give uplooking for me that quickly. Kevin wouldn’t let them, and neither would theembassy just abandonme.An Israeli citizen is an Israeli citizenafter all.Thiswas the nineteenth day since the accident, that is, the nineteenth day ofDecember.IhurriedlycalculatedthattodaymustbeaSaturday.Nowondertherehad been no plane. The pilot had his own family, children. The embassywasclosed, and even if it stayedopen,whomcould theypressure into looking forme?Allof thegeneralswere surelyholedup in theirownhomes.Theofficeswereallclosed.Therewouldbenoonetocall.Thatmeanttheywouldn’tlookforme tomorrow either, for tomorrowwould be Sunday. But onMonday, onMondaytheywouldcertainlystartlookingagain.Ihadnodoubt.

Therewasahard,round,swollenlumponmyforehead.Icouldn’trememberhowIhadgottenit,butitcausedmetotremblewithpainfromtimetotime.

Justdon’tletmegetsick.Ihavetomakeitthroughanothertwodays.

Agentlebreezeprickedatthesolesofmyfeetbutdriedthemaswell.Iwasverycold,havingcoveredmyselfwithonlyonenet.Theponchowasspreadoutontherocks,andIhadnopalmfrondsforshelter.Ilaidtherubberbagovermyface but still shivered with cold. I slipped into fantasy and was particularlytormentedbyonedream:acheese-and-onionomeletteintheold-folks’homeinLaPaz.Icouldn’tgetthatsizzlingskilletoutofmymind,andmyemptybellyhowledforfood.

Iwas so immersed inmydaydreaming that I didn’t notice that the sun hadcomeup.Ishookmyselfwithastart,butitwasn’tthelightthatcommandedmyattentionbutthesoundofhelicopters.Icouldheartheroarofthepropellers.Myheartinmymouth,Isatup,excitedandexpectant,waitingforthenoisetogrowlouderandforthehelicopterstoappear,butIsoonrealisedthatitwasallinmyfeverish imagination. I sank back down on the plank, bitterly disappointed. ItwasSunday, the twentiethofDecember. Ihadbeenalone in the junglealmostthree weeks. Tomorrow help would arrive, tomorrow, the twenty-first ofDecember.Theywouldhave tocome looking tomorrow,and ifnot tomorrow,then thenextday,Tuesday,ormaybeWednesday.ButThursdaywouldbe thetwenty-fourth, the day beforeChristmas, followed by a longweekend, so thatmeant that if they didn’t find me by the twenty-fourth, they wouldn’t lookanymore after that. In anotherweek Iwouldhavebeen alone in the jungle anentiremonth, and no onewould believe that I was still alive. Imyself didn’tbelievethatIcouldsurviveuntilthen.Mybrother,Moshe,wastheonlyonewhomightstillcometorescuemeafterChristmas,butIhadwrittenhimnottotakeanyactionuntilthebeginningofJanuary,anditwouldtakehimawhiletofigureoutwhathadhappenedandtocometoBolivia.Iwouldsurelybedeadbythen.

Itriedtoovercomemyfears,tothinkpositively.Iwasafraidthattheywouldgiveuplooking,andthenImyselfwouldgiveupandlosemywilltosurvive.Itried to think of some other course of action, some otherway to keepmyselfgoing.FirstIconsideredwalkingthroughthejungleoncemore,tryingtomakeittoSanJosé,butIimmediatelyrejectedthatoption.EvenifmyfeetweretohealbeforeIstartedout,theywerecertaintobeafflictedoncemore.Therainyseasonwouldlastanotherthreemonths,andIwouldhavenoshelterfromthepouringrain.ThenIwonderedifIshouldtrymyluckontheriver.Icouldhitchtwoorthreelogstogetherandtiemyselftothem.Irealised,however,thatsuchaplanwasoutofthequestion,thatitwouldbesuicidaltohazardtheriveronmyown.Mymemoriesofbeingsweptthroughwhite-waterrapids,bashedagainstrocks,and pulled under the gloomy waters were too vivid for me even to considerattempting it.Theonlyway Iwouldgoback to the riverwas if I knew Iwasdying.Then Iwould throwmyself into thewater.As longas Iwas still alive,evenifIheldoutforanothersixmonths,Iwouldn’thazardtheriver.Sixmonthsinthejungle?Wasthereachanceoflivingthroughtherainyseason?Ofwaitingfortheminerstocomebacktotheircamp?

Mymindracedfeverishly,evaluatingnewideasastheycroppedup,restoringmyhopes.Ispenthoursdevisingintricateplans;thegreaterthedetail,thebetterI felt.Theexcitementkeptmymindoff the sizzling skillet,my suffering feet,

myhowlingbelly,andtheirritatinglumponmyforehead.

Firstofall,IwouldstayrightwhereIwas,waitingforaplaneuntilChristmas.DuringthattimeIwouldtrytogetafiregoingandtakecareofmyfeet.Iwoulddry out the rice and beans andmake soup and get my strength back. On thetwenty-fourthofDecemberIwouldemptyoutmypack.IknewexactlywhereIwas:justafewhoursupriverwastheTurliamoswithitslovelybeach,cave,andtamarindtree.Iwouldwalkthere,stuffmypackwithasmuchfruitasIcould,andthenwalkbacktoCuriplaya.Icouldliveonthefruitfortwoweeks,goingbackformorewhennecessary.IwouldsaveasmuchofthericeandbeansasIcould,usingthemonlywhenIcouldn’tfindanythingelseinthejungle.Iwouldbuildmyselfashelteronthehillside,whereIwouldstoreallmybelongingsincase of a flood. If necessary, I could easily flee up theremyself.At the sametimeIwouldreinforcethehutdownhere,perhapsputupsomewallstokeepthewindout.InsideIwouldgatheralargereserveoffirewood,lightthefireonce,andneverletitgoout.Itwouldburnperpetually,dayandnight.

IwouldbeaRobinsonCrusoeoftheBolivianjungle,livingherebymyself,risingtothetaskofeachnewday,whichwouldbesimplytolivethroughthatday,tofindenoughfoodtosustainmyselfforanothertwenty-fourhours.Iwascertainthatitwouldnotbedifficult.Iwouldgraduallygettoknowthejungle:wherethefruittreeswere,wheretherabbitslived,wherethedeercametodrink.Iwouldget a sturdy stick,make some stone tools, just like the cavemen.OnedayIwouldkillasnakeandthenextaturtleorafrog.Iwouldsurelyfindbirds’eggsupinthehills.

I had a brilliant idea. Iwould seek outwild chickens’ nests,which usuallyholdfiveorsixeggsapiece,butIwouldn’ttouchtheeggs.InsteadIwouldmarkthe locationofeachnest andcheckon themevery fewdays.Fiveor sixnestswouldmeanthirtyeggs.Theeggswouldhatchintochickswithinafewweeks.Iwould let them mature a bit and then one day come armed with one of themosquitonetsandthefishingline.Thenetwouldserveasatrap,spreadoutoverthe nest and propped up by a stick. Iwould tie the line to the stick and hide.When the hen came back to her chicks, Iwould give the line a tug, the stickwouldfall,andallofthemwouldbetrapped.Iwouldrigupabamboocoopnearmycampandkeep themcaged in it, feeding themwithwormsandfruit.Theywouldgrowupand laymoreeggs,and Iwouldhaveall theomelettes Icouldeat.Betteryet,onceaweek,onShabbat(theSabbath),Iwouldroastachicken,just like Señor Levinstein at the old-folks’ home. I would become a chickenfarmer.

Mylifewouldn’tbeboring.EachdayIwouldhavesomethingdifferenttodo:hunting,farming,fishing.Istillhadthefishinglineandonehookleft.Iwouldputtogetheraslingshot.Icoulddigholesandcoverthemwithbrush.PerhapsIwould trapawildboar,a tapir,orevena jaguar. If Ididgeta jaguar, Iwouldskinitandhaveanice,warmfurcoat.

I would be the king of the jungle, like Tarzan. I would live alone, but Iwouldn’tgooutofmymind.Iwouldn’tletthelonelinessdrivememad.Iwoulddreammydreams,tellmyselfstories,letmymindwanderendlessly,andnevergiveuphope.Thensummerwouldcome,andtherainswouldstop,andIwouldonce again be among other humans. I would be a celebrity. Themodern-dayRobinsonCrusoewouldbeworld famous.Someonewouldwriteabookaboutme,anditwouldbemadeintoamovie,andIwouldgetrich.Iwouldbuildabighouse, have my own ranch and a cook and everything else I could possiblydesire.

Butfor thetimebeing... ifIcouldonlyhavethatomelette,evenwithout theonions, without the cheese. I had been dreaming for hours, weaving fantasticplans,whenthelongingforthatdamnedomelettestruckagain.Mywholebodyshookwithpain,andthehungerboredintome.Myforeheadwasburningwithfever.Thepainwasstrange,asifsomethingwaseatingawayatmefromwithin.Thecoolbreezethatcameupagainstungmyfeet,andmyspiritsfell.Thehellwithbeingfamous,withgettingrich.Ididn’twanttobeahero,Ijustwantedoutofthere.Ifonlytheywouldcometomorrow.

The sun was setting, and I bracedmyself for another long night of pain. Iconsidered crawlingover for theponcho,but it seemed so far away. I tried tomakemyselfcomfortable.Mybonesstuckoutalloverandscrapedagainst thehardwoodenplanks.Then I got a terriblepain inmy stomach. I hadn’t had abowelmovement for the past ten days, and the pain piercedmy gut. I rolleddown off the bed and crawled onmy knees, holdingmy feet as high off thegroundasIcould.Isatonafallenlogandtriedtoemptymybowels,butIwasconstipated.Myattemptscausedastrainontherectum,andthedeepcut,whichhad healed over, opened up again, and I started bleeding. I tried to stop thebleedingwithmyfingers,andthatstimulationhelpedmetograduallyemptymyintestinesofwaste,whichwasdarkgreen,almostblack,androckhard.Icrawledbacktomypalletandlaydowninrelief.

Thesunlightfaded,andduskbegantoenvelopmewhenIbecameawareofadistant drone. A plane, I thought, but forced myself to stop. It was almostnightfall, and I was fed up with imaginary airplanes and helicopters. But the

dronegrewlouder.

Itwasn’t a plane. In fact, it soundedmore like a bee, and it got louder andlouder.Icoveredmyselfupwiththemosquitonet,but thebuzzwassoloud,Ithoughtabeehadgottenthroughaholeinthenetandwasinside,rightbymyear. Please, no, anything but to get stung onmy face. I had enough problemswithout that.Thenoiseengulfedme,and Igotupwitha start. I threw thenetaside,buttherewasn’tanybee.Thenoisewasloudandreal.Ilookedoutovertotheriverandgasped.

MyGod,dearGod,therearepeopleoutthere!

Idimlymadeoutfourfiguresdisembarkingfromacanoe.Iracedtowardthewater’sedge,notfeelinganypain,mychestburstingwithjoyandexcitement.

‘Hello!Hello!’Itriedtocall,butnothingcameout.

A tall, curly-haired fellowwas standing next to the canoe.He looked up atme,gaped,stunnedforamoment,andthencalledout,‘Don’tmove,Yossi!Staywhereyouare. I’mcoming!’ ItwasKevin.Heranfrantically tomeand threwhis arms about me. We stood there for a long while, embracing each other,murmuringunintelligibly.

For the first time Iwept.Nothing could have held back the flood of large,warmtearsthatstreameddownmycheeks.IwasholdingontoKevin–thiswasnotadream.Iwassafenow;someonedidwatchovermeafterall.Thetearskeptpouring down. Kevin was also in tears. We held each other tightly, almostunabletoletgo.

Chaptertwelve

KEVIN’STALEThreeothermenhadcomeinthecanoewithKevin.Twostoodashortdistanceaway, staring at me curiously, obviously moved. The third, a short, stockyfellow,approachedus.

‘Areyouallright,youngman?’heinquired.

Inoddedmyhead.

‘I don’t suppose you’re hungry?’ he asked with a smile, and took a sackcontaining threebread rollsoutofhispocket andhanded it tome. I devouredthemravenously,scarcelybotheringtochew.

‘Takeiteasy,youngfellow.There’smorewherethatcamefrom.’

Themantookacanoftunafishoutofhisotherpocketandopenedit.Ittookmeonlyafewsecondstofinishitoff.

‘Getthebananas,’heinstructedoneoftheothers.

Itosseddownfivesweetbananasandstillcontemplatedhimhungrily.

‘We’dbettergetgoingnow,beforedark.Thisisn’tagoodplacetobeachthecanoe.’

Kevincarriedmeover to thenarrowcraftandgentlysatmedown inside it.Thenhe ranback togather upmybelongings.He shoved them into thepack,whichhetossedintothecanoe.

‘Waitaminute,Kevin.Ilefttheponchooverthereontherocks.Iwantit.’

Kevincamerunningbackwiththeponcho,andthenwewereonourway.

My eyes were still brimming with tears as we progressed downriver. Icouldn’t stop weeping quietly, offering prayers of thanks to God. I couldn’tbringmyselftobelievethatitwasreallyhappening,thatitwasallover.Ihadn’tbeen expecting it, hadn’t even dreamed of being saved today. It had never

occurredtomethatanyonewouldcomeformebyriver.Hehadsavedmylife.Kevinhadsavedmylife.Iweptwithjoy.

Theriverwasturbulent,andTico,theownerofthecanoe,wouldn’tletussitsidebyside,soIsatbehindKevin,wrappedinanarmyblanket.Adeadfawnlayonthebottomofthecanoe.

Ticofoundagoodplacetobeachthecanoeandwithhiscompanionssetupcamp.Itwasn’tnecessarytoerectashelter.Theysimplyspreadsheetsofnylonontheground.Itwouldn’traintonight.

Kevin lay me down on the beach and propped my head against a log. Hegently washed and driedmy feet and then with the tender hands of a skillednurserubbedthemwithanoily,whitecream.Thatdone,hecarefullyputapairofcleansocksonthemwhileIbitmylipinpain.

‘I had the same thing,’ he told me. ‘The doctor told me it’s some kind offungus. This cream works wonders. Your feet will be all right in just a fewdays.’

They cleaned the fawn and skewered pieces of it. A large pot of rice wasalready simmering over the fire.Tico cameover holding a cup.He hadmadesomelemonadeforme.Idrank itdowngratefully.Thenheandhiscrewwentintothejungletohunt.Kevincoveredmewithablanketandthenlaydownnexttome.Westaredupattheskyandsmoked.HelistenedattentivelywhileItoldhimwhatIhadbeenthrough.

‘Iknewthatyou’dmakeit.Ijustknewthatyouwouldholdout,’hesaid.‘Iwaspositive thatas longasnothinghadhappened toyou in the river, Iwouldsurely findyou.That’swhat I toldyourembassy too.Theydidn’tbelieveme.Noonedid,butIjustknew.There’sonethingthatIdon’tunderstand,though.Howcomealmostallofthericeandbeansareleft?Itlookslikeyouatehardlyanyatall.’

‘It’s hard to explain,’ I answered. ‘It was raining most of the time, so Icouldn’tlightafire.Anyway,IthoughtIshouldsaveit.Ididn’tknowhowlongI’dbestuckhere.Nowyoutellmewhathappenedtoyou.’

Kevin agreed to tellingmehis storyonly afterhehadheard everydetail ofwhatIhadbeenthrough.

‘Comparedtoyou,IwasonaBoyScoutfieldtrip.’Thenhebeganhistale.

‘I’llstartfromthemomentIjumpedofftheraftintotheriver.Theundertowwasmuchstronger thanIhadexpected,andIwascompletelyhelpless.Luckilyforme,thecurrentsweptmeovertotherightbank.Iclimbedoutofthewaterandimmediatelynoticedthattheraftwasabouttoslipbackintotheriver.AllIcouldthinkwas,GoodLord,here Iambarefoot, so Icalled toyou to throwmemyshoesandthenthemachete.Youyelledsomethinglike,“Don’tleaveme,”andIthought,Whatthehell?Who’sleavingwho?Andthenyouwentoverthefalls.IthankedGodwhenIsawyoubobupalongwaydownriver,stillclingingtotheraft. I quickly put my shoes on, picked up the machete, and started walkingalongtherockyshore.IwassurethatI’dcatchupwithyouthatdayorthedayafter.

‘Youknowhowharditistowalkalongtheriverbank,andIhadnochoicebuttoseeifthegoingwouldbeanybetterontheotherside,wherethebankdidn’tlookassteep.Thatriverisarealbitch,butIfinallymanagedtoswimacross.

‘Iwasveryworriedaboutyouanddidn’tknowwhattothink.Theriverwasso treacherous – white water, jagged rocks, sharp bends – and you had noexperience andwere on your own. Youmight have fallen into the water anddrownedorbrokenabone.

‘ThenextdayIwalkedalongtheriver,andwhenIranoutofbank,Islippedintothewater,afterstuffingmyshirtfullofdrywoodtohelpmakemebuoyant.Ihadtakenoffmyshoesandfilledthemwithwoodchipsandtiedthemtomybelt. The river was extremely hazardous, and whenever I came to a sectionwhereitwaspossibletowalkondryground,Igotthehelloutofit.

‘AfterafewhoursIcametoaplacewherethesidesof theriverweresheerrockfacesandthewaterwasfrothy.Itlookedterriblydangerous,soIdecidedtoclimb. Ihadspentabout twohoursworkingmywayup thecliffwhen Icameupon a heap of feathers next to a large dead parrot. I touched it; it was stillwarm. It had been killed just that moment, and I wondered if I could bringmyself to eat it raw. I tied it to my belt and started walking. Suddenly anenormousfalconroseupoffanearbyboulderandtookflight.Welookedrightateachother.ItwasangrythatIhadstolenitsprey.

“‘Thanksforthemeal,pal.Imaybeathief,butIneeditmorethanyoudo.”

‘EverytimeIcametoabrookthattrickleddowntotheriver,Ifollowedittoseeiftherewasanysignofyou.ThenIhadanothersurprise:fourdrybalsalogs.I still hadn’t seen the island and the little shore that Karl had told us about,

however,soIdidn’tthinktherewasanypointinbuildingaraft,sinceImuststillbeupriverfromthemalpaso.

‘Istoppedforlunchatnoon.Ichoppedofftheparrot’sheadwiththemachete,tore its beak out, and took a bite. I cracked its skull open and sucked out itsbrains,knowingthattheycontainedagreatdealofprotein.

‘I kept on walking, thoughmy feet were damp andmy shoes were full ofholes.Theywerefullofsandandpebbles,too,whichtoretheskinoffmyfeet.Itwasterriblypainful,butIwassurethatIwasn’tfarfromCuriplaya.

‘Onthethirddayafterlosingyou,Yossi,Iawokeatdawn,painfullyawareofmyfeet.IknewthatifIwentonwalking,theywouldonlygetworse,butlikeIsaid,IwassurethatIwasn’tfarfromCuriplaya.Icutabranchfromoneofthetrees touseasawalkingstick.IputallofmyweightonitasIwalked.IkeptlookingforthelandmarksKarlhaddescribedbutsawnosignofthem.SuddenlyIrealisedthatIdidn’thavethemachetewithme.IwonderedhowIwouldgetalongwithoutit.IrememberthatwhenIhadbrokenoffmywalkingstick,Ihadstuckitinthemud.Imusthaveforgottenitthere.Idecidednottogobackforit.Myfeethurtsobadlythatretracingmyownfootstepsforhoursseemedabsurd.

‘OnthefourthdayIcouldn’tstandonmyfeetanyway,soIjustlaywhereIwas.IgottowonderingifIwasevergoingtoseeyouagain.Iwascertainthatifyouwerealive,youwouldbewaitingformeinCuriplaya.ThenIrememberedMarcusandthewayIhadbeentreatinghimlately.Ifeltguiltyforhavingmadelight of the pain he was in and not believing howmuch agony his feet werecausinghim.NowIwasgettingwhatIhadcomingtome,Ithought.WhenIgotbacktoLaPaz,Iwouldhavetoapologisetohim.

‘Irestedallthatdayandnight.Once,Iawoketothesoundofanapproachinganimal.Ihadnoflashlightormachete.WhatcouldIdo?Igrippedmywalkingstickandwentbacktosleep.

‘Thenextmorning I felta littlebetter.Myfeethaddriedandscabbedover,but when I tried to stand up, I discovered that they were worse than theyappeared to be, and the sores split open. I couldn’t take a single step. It washorrible. I slidalongonmybacksideand theheelsofmyfeet, inching towardthe river. My mind was made up, though: I was going into the water, eventhoughCuriplayamustbenear.Thecoolwaterfeltgood.

‘Ilookedaroundforalogtohangontoandfoundonlyasmallstump,aboutthreefeetlong.Idriftedintheriverforabouttwentyminutes,clingingtothelog.Thecurrentsweptmealongswiftly,andmymainconcernwaswhatmightawait

mearound each bend.But itwasn’t so bad.After a shortwhile I noticed thatsteep cliffs loomed on both sides of the river, and I thought that I must beapproachingthepass.Iletgoofthelogandswamfranticallyfortherightbank,whereIclimbedupthecliff.Iwassurprisedthatmyfeetnolongerhurtasmuchas theyhadbeforeand Iwalked formore thanhalfanhour.Finally Iclimbedbackdowntothewater’sedgeataplacewheretherewasasmallshorewithalotoflogsscatteredabout.Thewaterwasplacid,andIdecidedthatthiscouldn’tbethepassafterall.

‘Thesightofallthoselogsmademethinkaboutputtingarafttogether.Isetabout that taskquicklyand justasswiftlygaveupon it.The logsweresobigand heavy that I couldn’t budge them. Some of themwere stuck deep in thesand,andotherswererotten.Onlyonebig,sturdyonewasofanyuse.Idraggeditintothewaterandstraddleditwithbothlegs.

‘Thecurrentcarriedmedownriver.Once,theriverbroadenedandbecamesoshallowthatmyfeetstubbedagainsttherocksonthebottom,andanothertimeIwaswashedupagainstarockandtookagoodhardknock.Another timeIgotcaughtinawhirlpool,butfinallytheloggotfree,takingmewithit.

‘I floated on with the log, and after a few hours I saw a shore with twothatchedhutsonit.Istartedcallingout,“Yossi!Yossi!Yossi!”buttherewasn’tany answer.The place lookeddeserted, and I knew that itmust beCuriplaya,and that the village of San Josémust be only thirtymiles farther on. I didn’texpecttofindyouonmyway;Ithoughtthatyoumustalreadybethere.

‘Therivergrewquitecalm.Idriftedalong.Imayevenhavedozed.Idippedmyfaceinthewater,strugglingtostayawake.ThensuddenlyInoticedtwomenwalking througha stream that fed into the rightbankof the river. I calledoutfrantically, “¡Ayuda! Ayuda (help)! I can’t walk. I’m lost.” The current wasstrong,andIcouldn’tmakeitoutoftheriver.Tomygreatrelief,theyheardme.They gestured, “Downriver. Go farther downriver,” and I could see a smallbeachdownstream.Iletgoofthelogandswamtoshore.

‘Iwaitedthereforalmostanhour,wonderingwhatwastakingthemsolong.Maybetheyhadnointentionofcomingafterme.Maybetheyhadmeanttotellmethattherewereotherpeoplefartherdownriver.ThenIsawthemcomingonabalsaraftandknewthatIwassaved.

‘Itoldthemwhathadhappenedandaskediftheyhadseenanysignofyouortheraft,but theyhadn’tseena thing.Theywerehuntersandhadbeendeep inthe jungle for fivedays. “You’re a luckyguy,” they toldme.Theyonly came

hunting that far upriver twice a year, so I really had been incredibly lucky.Somehow, deep inside, I was sure that it had beenmore than simple luck orcircumstance.

‘Fourhours laterwearrivedon theoutskirtsofSan José,whereFausto, thehunter,andhissonlived.Theybroughtmetotheirranchontheriverbankandlaymedownunderathatchedroof.Theypromisedthatthenextdaytheywouldsendsomeoneonhorsebacktotakemeuptothevillage,whichwasstillnearlyanhourandahalfawayuptheriver.

‘LatethenextmorningaguynamedPabloturnedupandtookmetoSanJoséonhorseback. I askedhimhowIcouldget toRurrenabaque,andhe toldme Ihadtwochoices.Onewastomakeasix-hourrideandthenathree-hourwalktothe town of Tumupasa, and from there go on by truck. I wrote off thatpossibility:Icouldn’twalk.Theotherwaywastotakeabalsaraftdownriver.

‘Pablo tookme to amanwhowas themayor of the village. I told himmystoryandaskedhimtoarrangeforaraftthatcouldtakemetoRurrenabaque,andhepromisedtoseetoit.

‘FromtherePablotookmebacktoFausto’s.I lay thereonahammock,andoneofthewomentreatedmyfeet.Shesmearedanoilycreamoverthem,whichtooktheburnoutofthesores,andIfeltmuchbetter.Afewofthevillagerscameover for a curious peek atme. They tried to consoleme but said they hadn’theardathingaboutyouandthat“theriverisbad,verybad.It’shardtobelievethatyourfriendcouldstillbealive.”

‘Aroundeightthenextmorningthemayorshowedupwiththeraftsmen.ThiswastheseventhdaysinceI’dlostyou.Hepromisedthattheraftwouldsoonbeready togo. I arranged to sendpayment forhis expensesbywayof thepriestfromLaPaz,andhe tookmywordfor it.At two thatafternoonhecamebackandsaidthattheywantedtowaituntilthenextdaytosetout,asitwasraining.Thatdayoneofthevillagebabiesdiedfromastomachdisorder,andeveryonewassadandgloomy.I,ontheotherhand,wasthinkingabouthowluckyIwastohave been saved. I was still alive, but what about Yossi? You might havedrowned.Youmighthavebrokenalegorarib.Ididn’twanttothinkaboutit.Youhadn’tdrowned.YouhadcertainlybeensweptalongwiththeraftandmadeittoRurrenabaque.

‘We left in the morning of the eighth day on a trip that the raftsmen saidwouldtakeadayandahalf.Itwaspouringrainandverycoldontheraft.Thebalserosdecidedtopullovertothesideandlookforsomekindofshelterfrom

therain,thoughweweredrenchedanyway.

‘“Let’sgoon,”Ibeggedthem.

‘“Wewon’tgetanyfartherthanSantaRosatodayinanycaseandwillspendthe night there. So there’s no reason to be in such a big hurry,” one of themreplied.

‘WedidfinallysetoutagainandarrivedinSantaRosathatafternoon.Therewasagroupofthirteenyoungmenthere,whowereverykindandfriendlyandgotmy spiritsup.Theyweremaintenancemen,gettinga summercamp readyforFrenchtourists.Wedecidedtospendthenightthere.

‘ThenextmorningIcountedofftheninthday.ThetwobalserosandIwereonceagainon the river.Bynow Ino longerdeludedmyself that Iwould findyou in Rurrenabaque.My two raftsmen, whowere experienced professionals,hadadifficulttimemanoeuvringtheraftthroughthetreacherouspasses.Itwasobviousthatyouwouldn’thavebeenabletodoitonyourown.

‘RurrenabaqueisonthebanksoftheBeniRiver.Wereacheditthatafternoon.The Beni ismuchwider than the Tuichi and lookedmild and placid, but thebalserostoldmethatitisdangeroustoo.Iclamberedashoreandheadedstraightforthenavybase.TheCOwasinameetingwithhisseniorofficers,soIhadnochoicebuttotrytotellhissecretaryinmybrokenSpanishwhathadhappenedtome. She didn’t understand aword. Two Swiss priestswho served in the areacameoverwhentheyheardthatamanhadbeensavedfromthejungle.Theyhadanother Swiss, who spoke English, with them. He translated what I said intoGerman, and the priest then translated intoSpanish, and thatwas thewaymytalewas told to the secretary. I askedher toplace anurgent call to the IsraeliembassyinLaPaz,butshecouldn’tdosoastherewerenodirectlines,andIhadtowaitforthecommandantetogetoutofhismeeting.

‘Theprieststookmetotheirparish.ForthefirsttimeinweeksIhadagoodhotshower.Theygavemecleanclothesandfedme.Thenunstriedtoconsoleme for your loss. They told me that the Tuichi was known as a particularlydangerousriver.

‘“Yourfriendsurelydrowned,andevenifhedidmakeitoutoftheriveralive,hischancesofsurvivinginthejunglewereslight.”

‘Nooneintheentiretownofferedmeanyhopeoffindingyoualive,butIjustwouldn’tbelieveit.

‘OnthetenthdayaplanefromLaPazwassupposedtocomeinateightinthe

morning, and I went to the terminal to wait for it to land. The priest, FatherFernando,hadfilledoutofficiallookingpapers,testifyingtowhathadhappenedandallowingmetoflywithoutapassport.Iwaiteduntilfive-thirty,butnoplaneevershowedup.Iwasupset,forIwantedtogettotheIsraeliembassyinLaPaz.The navy office in Rurrenabaque hadn’t even sent the embassy a telegram astheyhadpromisedmetheywould.Iwasraging.Ihadwastedanentirepreciousdaydoingnothing.

‘Thefollowingmorningoneofthenunsawakenedmeexcitedly.Aplanewasabouttolandatanymoment.Shehadatruckstandingby.ByquartertonineIwasairborne.

‘When I arrived in La Paz, I headed straight for the American embassy. Iknew that I had to hurry to the Israeli embassy, but I needed some kind ofidentification.Theconsullistenedapatheticallytomytale.Hesimplyremarkedthat I was lucky to be alive and offered his consolations on the death of myfriend.

‘“Buthe’snotdead,”Iinsisted.

‘“Ofcourseheis.Howcouldhepossiblyhavesurvivedaloneinthejungle?JustthankGodthatyou’realive,andgetyourselfhometospendChristmaswithyourfamily,”theconsulreplied.

‘“Andwhat if Iwas lost in the jungle?Whatwouldyoudo?Wouldn’t youevensendapartyouttolookforme?”Iyelled.

‘“We would notify this country’s foreign office and your family,” heanswered.

‘“Andwhatifitwasyoursonorbrotheroutthereinneedofhelp?”

‘Hedidn’treply.BeforeIstormedoutofhisoffice,Iaskedhimtoprepareanew passport forme and to notify the Israeli embassy that Iwas onmywayover. Afterward I found out that he never even bothered tomake that simplephonecall.

‘IarrivedattheIsraeliembassy.Ispokeintothemicrophoneattheentrance,explaining inbrokenSpanish that Ihad just come from the jungle and that anIsraeli friend of mine was still lost back there. I was aware that I was beingobservedonclosed-circuittelevision.Adoorfinallyopened,leadingtoaninnerroom.A securityman scrutinisedme frombehindaplateofbulletproofglass.Thenhetookfromme,throughaslotinawindow,thedocumentsthatthenavyofficeandFatherFernandohadgivenme,andfinallyIwasallowedtoenter.

‘Theconsul listenedcarefully tomystory. Ikeptemphasisinghowurgent itwas to get a helicopter and start looking right away. Then I spoke with theambassadorandwentthroughitallagain.Itoldhimthatmybrotherhadawhite-waterbusinessinOregon,andIaskedhimtocallyourparentsinIsraelandgetthem to help pay the expenses of bringing my brother, together with thenecessaryequipment,toBoliviainordertogolookingforyou.Theambassadorpromisedtodoallhecouldandaskedmetocallhimbackthatafternoon.

‘At two that afternoon I placed my call to the Israeli embassy and wasinformedthatonMondaymorningtheywouldhaveameetingwiththeBolivianairforceandthatIshouldcometotheembassythen.

‘Iwent straight to theRosarioHotel, and the desk clerk there toldme thatMarcus hadn’t been back yet. I didn’t yet thinkmuch of that, for I had neveragreedwithKarl’sestimateofhowlongitwouldtakethem.

‘Iwent over to the Jewishold-folks’ home to try to find some Israeliswhowouldbewillingtocomehelpmelookforyou,buttheplacewasempty.NoonebutGrandmawasthere,soIjustleftanote.

‘So the twelfth day passed and the thirteenth. Monday finally arrived, thefourteenthday.ABolivianofficerwaswaitingformeattheIsraeliembassy,andhe tookme toLaPaz air force headquarters.Wewasted long, precious hourstheregoingover the accident indetail, exactlywhere it hadhappenedand theevents that had led up to it. They listened to my less-thanfluent Spanish andpromised that theywould do everything that they could, but I had no faith inthematall.

‘TheBolivianofficerthentookmetonavyheadquarters,andwewentthroughthewholebusinessagain.

‘WhenIgotbacktotheIsraeliembassy,theconsulinformedmythathehadgottenholdofaplaneandthatthesearchwouldbeginthenextday.ThankGod.

‘Iwent to the Swiss embassy and notified the ambassador thatMarcus andKarlweremissing and askedhim to put in a call toApolo to findout if theywerethere.Imyselfdidn’tyetthinktherewasanyreasontoworryaboutthem,butlaterattheAustrianembassytheconsulgavemeagreatreasontoworry.

‘ThementionofthenameKarlRuchprectercaughttheirattention.Theclerkasked me to wait and then showed me into the consul’s office. He was aheavyset,red-facedman,smokingapipe.

‘“Haveaseat,myyoungfriend,”hesaid.“TellmewhatyouknowaboutKarl

Ruchprecter.”

‘ItoldhimbrieflyaboutKarl,whathehadtoldusabouthimself,andhowhehadtalkedusintogoingalongwithhimonanexpeditionintothejungle.Itoldhimhowhehadchangedplansbecauseofhisuncle.

‘“Uncle?”theconsulasked.“Whatuncle?”

‘“HetoldushehadanunclenamedJosefRuchprecter,whoownsabigcattleranch inReyes Province.Karlwas supposed to bring him a truck fromChilenextmonth.”

‘ItoldhimthestorythatKarlhadtoldyou,Yossi,thathisunclewasaNaziwarcriminalandthatthatwasthereasonhelivedinBolivia.

‘“Interesting,veryinteresting,”theconsulkeptrepeating.

‘ItoldhimabouttheIndianvillagethatwehadbeensupposedtovisit,howithadturnedouttobefartherawaythenwehadthought,sowehadtoturnaroundandgoback,andItoldhimhowwehadrafteddowntheriver,howwehadsplitupfromKarlandMarcus,andabouttheaccidentthatyouandIhadhadontheriver. I toldhimthatIhadcometoreportKarl’sdisappearanceandperhaps toorganisearescuepartyifnooneheardanythingfromhimwithinthenextdayortwo.

‘Iwasamazedwhen theconsul laughed.“That’sagoodone:helpyou lookforKarlRuchprecter,”hesaid.“We’dmuch ratherhelphimget lost.”Andhelaughedsomemore.“Anunclewhoraisesbeefcattle?AfugitiveNazi?Karlhassuchavividimagination.”

‘Henoticedthestunnedlookonmyface,andthisiswhathetoldme:“KarlRuchprecterisquitewell-knowntous,buthedoesn’thaveanuncleinBolivia.Karl himself is the escaped fugitive. He is wanted by both the Austriangovernment and Interpol. He’s a professional troublemaker, an instigator. Hewasinvolvedwithradical leftistgroupsinEuropeabout tenyearsago.Heandhis friendsstirredupa lotof trouble,and theAustrianpolicewere lookingforhim. He was either lucky or well connected enough to make his way here.Someonemusthaveprovidedhimwithafalsepassport.

‘“Weknowthatheishere,butthere’snothingwecandoaboutitinBolivia.Nowyou’vebroughtmesomereallygoodnews:he’sout there inadangerousjungle without proper food or equipment. It would be nice if he never cameback.Wecertainlyaren’tgoingtohelplookforhim,”theconsultoldmewithagoodchuckle.

‘Iwasangryofcourse.

‘“And what about the Swiss guy he’s got with him?” I demanded, but theconsuljustshruggedhisshoulders.

‘Iwas anxious and confusedwhen Iwent back to the Israeli embassy. ThesameBolivianofficerhelpedmetoclarifyafewdetails.FirsthelookedonmapsandaerialphotographsfortheIndianvillagethatweweresupposedtovisitandthenmade a few phone calls, but he always got the same answer: there is noIndianvillage,civilisedorotherwise,inthatentireregion.

‘I learned thatKarl had the reputation of being a dangerous bastard.A fewyears agohe talked ayoungGermanguy intogoing into the junglewithhim,promisinghimexcitingadventures.TheGermanbecamesickandweakafterafew days and pleaded with Karl to take him back, but Karl refused and justabandonedhim.Thepoorguymanagedtomakeit toalittleranch,wheretheysavedhislife.’

Achillranupmyspine.Coulditreallybetrue?Karlhadseemedlikeagoodguytome.MarcushadtakentocallinghimPoppa.CoulditbethatKarlwasathreat toMarcus’s life? I couldn’t bringmyself to believe that.Karl had beenfondofMarcus;hewouldneverharmhim.

‘Onthemorningofthesixteenthdaytheflighttheyhadpromisedmetookoffat nine in themorning and landed inTrinidad, a town in the interior, an hourlater. I waited there until the afternoon, when the pilot of the rescue planeinformedmethattheweatherwashorribleandhecouldn’ttakeoff.Iwasaskedtocomebackthenextmorning.

‘Iwasattheairforceheadquartersearlythenextday,buttheunpavedrunwayattheairportwasstillwetfromthepreviousnight’srain.Theplanestillcouldn’ttakeoff throughall thepuddles.Thepilotkept tellingmetherewassimplynoway anyone could survive seventeen days in the jungle.Especially not in thiskindofweather.Andespeciallynotagringo.Hedidn’tcomerightoutandsay,“Yourfriendisdead,”buthemightaswellhave.

‘Oncewewerefinallyupintheair,thepilottoldmethatanorderisanorder,so he would fly over the river as he had been told to, but that there wasabsolutelynopointtoit,thatitwasalladreadfulwasteoffuel.

‘At first we flew at a reasonable altitude over the river and followed itscourse, but the mountains soon forced us to go higher. From up there wecouldn’t see anything but trees, and the pilot was not careful to follow the

crookedpathof the river.He flewa straightcourseover it, and I realised thattherewasnohopeofspottingyou,unlessyoumanagedtosetthewholejungleablaze.

‘Iwasmoredepressedthanever.Thepilotmadeitclearthatthiswasthelastsearchflighthewouldtakemeon.

‘IwenttothenavyheadquartersinRurrenabaque.Itwasevidentthatnoeffortwas being made to find you despite all the promises I had received. Thecommandantewasniceenough,polite,fullofgoodintentions,butheexplainedtomethatthenavycouldnotpossiblyorganiseasearchparty,asitwasagainstregulationstotakeaboatuptheTuichi.TheonlyotheroptionIhad,hesaid,wastofindsomeonewhowouldacceptpaymentfortakingmeuptheriver.

‘“Doyouknowofanyonewhomightbewilling?”Iasked.

‘“Comewithme,”hesaid,“quickly.”

‘Afterafive-minutemotorcycleridewewereatthehouseofTico,thekingoftheriver.

‘“WouldyoutakemetoSanJosé?”Iaskedhim.

‘“Sure, I was going there tomorrow anyway,” he told me, “with FatherDiego.”

‘I explained to him what had happened. “Would you take me on toCuriplaya?”

‘“IcantakeyouevenfartherthanCuriplaya,”hedeclared.

‘“UptoSanPedroCanyon?”

‘“Yes,almost.Butthat’sasfarasIcango.”

‘Onthemorningoftheeighteenthdayitwaspouringrain,andwehadtoputoffleavingforanotherday.Thenextdaywetravelledupriveruntileveningandsetupcamponapleasantbeach.Wewerebackontheriverbysixthirtythenextmorning.

‘Tico really is a pro at river navigation. He manoeuvred through thedangerouspasses,andwhenwecametoshallows,oneof thecrewstoodupintheprowandhitattheriverbottomwithastick,indicatingtoTicohowdeepitwas.

‘WearrivedatSanJoséattenthirty,andFatherDiegosetoffupthepathtothevillage.Nowwecouldstartsearching.Ticotoldmethathehadtobebackin

Rurrenabaque twodays later, so he intended to goupriver untilwe came to abeachcalledProgresoandthenturnaroundandheadbacktoRurrenabaque.

‘“Ifyourfriendisstillalive,”hesaid,“thenheismostprobablyneartheriver,anditisreasonabletoassumethatwewillspothim.”

‘Wetravelledupriver–Tico,twocrewmen,andI–intoastretchoftheTuichithatTicowaslessfamiliarwith,andhewasverycautious.Wewentonwithoutstopping,lookingrightandleft.Wesawnotraceofacampsiteorfire.Thestormhad left itsmarkeverywhere.Once inawhileweencounteredaflockof largebirdsswarmingaroundacarcassontheshore.TicoandIexchangedglances.Ididn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to check. I had never in my life been sodepressed.

‘Hours passed, and I was beginning to resign myself to the fact that weweren’t going to find you alive. Yes, Yossi, it was very sad. I was alreadythinkingofheadingback toLaPaz. I thought that Iwouldprobably findyourbrotherthere,andtogetherwewouldbeabletoorganiseanother,moreeffectivesearchparty.

‘Thecrewmenstoppedthecanoe;theyhadspottedsomegameandwantedtogointothejungletodosomehunting.

‘“I’mpaying,andyou’renotgoingtostop.We’regoingon!”Iinsisted.

‘The crewmen looked angry, but Tico understoodme, though I don’t thinkthat he harboured any hopes of finding you. Half an hour later they stoppedagain.Theyhadspottedafawnthathadcomedowntotheriverforadrink.Ticotookaimandfired,andthefawndroppedtotheriverbank.

‘Around five thirty it started to get dark. The canoe was slowing down. IlookeddesperatelyatTico.Heshookhisheadwithsorrowandsaid,“We’llhaveto stop at the next shore and turn the boat back. That’s it. I’m really sorry,Kevin.”

‘ThenIsawtheshoreandIknewitwasover;tearswerechokingmythroat.Yossi,howwillIleadmylifeknowingI’velostyou?

‘Themenwereturningtheboat180degreeswhensuddenlyIlookedoveratthe shore and saw a rickety thatched hut, leaning over on one side. All of asuddensomeonecameoutof it.No, itcan’tbeYossi. Itdoesn’t lookanythinglikeYossi.Yes,itis.ItisYossi!

‘DearGod, thereyouwere,after twentydays,andnobodyhadbelieved that

youmightstillbealive.ThankGod,thankGod,Yossi,mydearfriend.’

Chapterthirteen

GOINGHOMEI hung on everyword ofKevin’s tale, awed by his persistence.Howwould Ieverbeabletorepayhimforsavingmylife?

IwasbewilderedbytheinformationaboutKarl.Coulditbethatthemanhadfooledusallalong?NeverthelessIwaseagertoseehimandMarcus,especiallyMarcus.Iparticularlywantedtoapologisetohim,tobehisfriendagain.

I was in for another unpleasant surprise whenKevin informedme that myparentswereawareofmydisappearance.Whyhadtheybeentold?Mymotherandfathermusthavebeengoingthroughhell.

The fact that I had been in Progreso rather than Curiplaya was anothersurprise,whichleftmecompletelyconfused.WhatkindofaplacewasProgreso,and where was Curiplaya? If I hadn’t reached Curiplaya, where had I beenwalkingfor fifteendays?HadIcomeclose toSanJosé?HadIstoodeven theslightestchanceofmakingit?Ticoansweredallmyquestions.

Progresowasverynear theMalPasoSanPedro. Ithadbeenestablished tenyearsearlieronrumoursofgoldtobefoundinthevicinity.MinershadsetoutfromSanJosé,buttheresultshadbeendisappointing.Thecamptheyhadbuilthadbeendeserted since then,whichexplained the impassable stateof the trailandthefactthatIhadencounterednosignsoflifeonmyway.

Oneother thingalsobecameevident: thehorrible stormIhad lived throughwas theworst the area had suffered in a decade. Indeed, only because of theheavy rains hadTico andKevin been able to come this far upriver; thewatersimply floodedagreat numberofobstacles that normallywouldhaveblockedtheirway.

TheencampmentwasaboutthirtymilesupstreamfromCuriplaya.Byboatitwas a short distance but could take a week to cover on foot. Tico had noexplanation to offer as to why Karl had failed to mention Progreso to us. ItseemedthathehadintentionallyliedaboutthelocationofCuriplaya.

Tico didn’t believe that I could have reached San José on my own. Thenatives did cover that distance in a few days but only during the dry season,when streamscouldbecrossed.During the rainy season, andwithmymeagreprovisionsandequipment,itwashardtobelievethatIwouldeverhavearrivedinSanJosé.ThatIhadsurvivedatall forsomanydayswascauseenoughforwonder.

Thesunshonedownonalovelyday,butitwasdampinthecanoe,andachillybreeze blew against us. All along the riverbank I saw flocks of vulturesswarmingoverthecarcassesofanimals,victimsoftheflood.

Wemaderapidprogress,andKevinpointedoutCuriplayaaswepassed.Wemade only one stop, to buy dried venison from some hunters. Kevin and Ichewedon itall theway,andhe remarked thatdriedmeatwas fabulouswhenyouhadsomegoodbeertowashitdown.

Wecame to the junctionof theTuichiandBeni rivers in the lateafternoon.TheBeniisoneofthethreeprincipaltributariesoftheAmazon,andthesightofit was impressive. A short while later we reached Rurrenabaque, a maze ofwooden houses tucked amid the foliage. The houses closest to the river wereraiseduponsturdypilings.

TicobadeusabriefgoodbyeneartheHotelBerlin,awoodenbuildingwithaspacious courtyard. Kevin carried me up to the hotel and set me down on alounge in the yard.A crowd of curious townspeople gathered aroundme. ‘Eldesaparecido [the lost one],’ they murmured. All of them had seen the sad-lookinggringowhohadcometosearchforhispoor,lostfriend.Theystaredatmeasiftheywereseeingaghost,andintruthIdidlooklikesomekindofghost:emaciated,unshaven,dirty,anddressedintatters.

Acrowdfollowedustonavyheadquarters.Kevincarriedmeintotheoffice.Iaskedtotelephonemyparentsassoonaspossible,butthecommandantewasn’tin any hurry. He insisted upon hearing what had happened to me, and as helistened,he filled in formswithmynameandpassportnumber.Hewasaboutfortyyearsold,pleasant looking,andkind,wearingblueworkclothes,voidofthe formality and arrogance that characterises many South American militarymen.Hereferredmetohisunit’sdoctorandpromisedtocalltheIsraeliembassyinLaPazinthemeantime.

The doctor, a cheerful, bespectacled man, informed me that he couldn’t

possiblyexaminemeuntilIhadhadathoroughscrubbing.Theshower,behindapartitioninthepatio,wasn’treallyashoweratall.Aconscriptrantoafaucettofillapailwithwater,setthepaildownnexttome,latheredmybody,andpouredbowlfuls of water over me until the pail was empty, and then went back foranotherpail.

The doctor checkedmy blood pressure and tookmy pulse.He checkedmyhairforliceandwithapairoftweezerspulledofftheremainingleeches.Hesaidmyfeetwereinhorribleconditionandgavemeacreamtouse.HeadvisedthatIrestandeatwellandpromisedthatIwouldsoonbebackingoodhealth.ItoldhimthatIsufferedfrompainfulheadaches,andhegavemesomepills.

ThedoctorandthenursewhoassistedhiminsistedthatItellthemwhathadhappenedtome,andIwasforcedtorepeat,inbrief,allthatIhadbeenthrough.Thenursebrought tea and rolls, and she anddoctor listened attentively tomystory.Ichangedthesubjectonlyonce.

‘Doctor,’Iasked,‘wouldyoumindifIateyourroll?’

Theyburstoutlaughing.

‘Ofcoursenot.Bringhimsomemorerolls,’heinstructedthenurse.

Kevinwaswaitingformeintheofficeofthecommandante.Theyhadnotifiedthe Israeli embassy that Ihadbeen found. I felt a lotbetterknowing that theywouldinformmyparentsandputtheirmindsatpeace.

Wewentbacktothehotel.Iwaswearingthesnow-whitedressuniformoftheBoliviannavybutwasbarefoot.InallofRurrenabaque, inallofBolivia, therewasn’tasinglepairofshoestobefoundinmysize,twelveandahalf.

Wesettled intoour spacious room.Kevindraped themosquitonets that thehotel provided over our beds. We sat up all night talking, weighing varioushypothesesconcerningthefailureofKarlandMarcustoturnupinLaPaz.Wecouldn’twaittounmaskKarl.Hehadtakenusintothejungle,feedingusalotoflies,conjuringupanIndianvillage.IfMarcushadn’tinsistedsostubbornlythatwe turnback,wecertainlywouldhavegoneonand runoutof food.Karlhadalsomisled us regarding the river, his false information almost costing us ourlives.Andifthatdidn’tsuffice,wenowknewthathewasawantedcriminalaswell.

Butwhathadhewanted fromus?Whyhadhebotheredmakingupacock-and-bull story about a Nazi uncle?Why had he lied about the ranch and thetruck?Whathadbeenthepointofitall?Ithadn’tbeenformoney:hespentmore

thanwepaidhim.WehopedthatwewouldbeabletogetsomeanswersoncewewerebackinLaPaz.

Afterwardwegrewsilent,eachlost inhisownthoughtsunderourmosquitonetting.Kevindozedoff,but everyhouror two Iwould startlehimoutofhissleep,screaming,‘Hurry,Kevin,fast!’

He knew the problemwithout being told and leapt up, heavedme over hisshoulder, and ran for thebathroom.Theenormousamountsof food that I hadconsumedhadupsetmydigestivesystem,andIhadaterriblecaseofdiarrhoea.

Theweather thenextdaywas terrible,andweknew that therewouldbenoplane,butIwasn’tdisappointed.Itwasprobablythehappiestdayofmylife.Ifelt like I was in paradise: the town, the people, the general atmosphere, thelousyweather–justbeingalive.

IspentthemorningsittingwithKevininthehotelcoffeeshop.Peoplecamefromallovertowntoseeus.Theyhadheardaboutusandcametoofferustheirbestwishes and enjoy the happy ending to our story. Each one brought somesmall gift: cakes, candies, fruit, souvenir postcards, or a simple, warmhandshake. All kinds of characters turned up: farmers, businessmen, armyofficers, and even a youngSwiss, amochilero likeourselves,whohaddriftedintoRurrenabaqueanddecided to settledown.Hehadboughtaplotof landalittlewayuptheBeniRiver.Everydayherowedhimselfupthereinasmallboattotillhiscornfield.

We ordered cakes and coffee from the hotel restaurant for our numerousguests.Thehotelownerherselfscarcelyleftourtableandneverstoppedtalking.

TowardnoonTicopassedbyonhiswaytotheriver,andwejoinedhim,poorKevin toting me on his back. Kevin took pictures and asked one of Tico’screwmentotakeoneofustogetherwithhisemployer.

AstrangephenomenonbedevilledbothKevinandme;Ihadafunny-lookinglumponmyforehead,andKevinhadoneonhisthroat.Iwasoccasionallyseizedbyaseverepain,asifsomeoneorsomethingwerepinchingatmefromwithin.Ticonoticeditandknewimmediatelywhatthetroublewas.

‘That’stheboro,’hesaid.

‘What’stheboro?’weasked,andTicoexplainedthatitresultsfromthebiteof a mosquito whose sting deposits an egg under the skin. In time the egghatchesintoaworm,andthewormbeginscrawlingaroundinsidethebody.

‘Youmustbejoking,’Isaid,terrified.

‘No,I’mnotjoking.Everyonearoundheregetsitonceinawhile,andit’snotparticularlydangerous.Let’stakecareofitnow.’

Iwasfirst.Ticosatmedownonthesandyriverbanknearthecanoe.Heandhis cheerful brother, Lulo, both lit cigarettes and began blowing smoke rightonto the boil-like swelling. It felt peculiar, like something really wasmovingaroundinside.

‘Thenicotinedrawsthemout,’Ticoexplained.‘Injustaminuteyou’llsee.’

Kevin andLulo clenchedmyhead, andTico squeezed the boil betweenhisthumbs.Ibitmylipagainstthepain.Ticosqueezedharderand...plop,thewormpoppedoutofmyforehead.Kevinlookeddisgusted.Onemoresqueeze,andI,too,couldseetheworm,restinginthepalmofTico’shand.Itwasfatandwhitewithafewblackspots,anditwasstillalive.

Kevinwasnext,buthewastougherthanIhadbeen,andnoonehadtoholdhim.Theyagainexhaledsmokeontotheboil,andTicocommencedpushingandsqueezing.ThewormthatwriggledslowlyoutofKevin’sneckwasevenlargerthantheonethathadcomeoutofme.Itwasarepulsivesight,likealong,whitestripoffat.Thethoughtthatlivewormshadbeeneatingawayatus...

Afewweekslateradozenmorewormswerepulledfrommybody,thistimebyadoctorinSãoPaulo,whousedaknifeandaneedle.

ThenextmorningthecommandantecamebyearlytoinformusthattheplanetoLaPazwouldbetakingoffateleveno’clock.Wepackedourfewbelongingsandsaidourgoodbyestothehotelowner,whorefusedtoacceptpaymentforthetimewehadspentthereandchargedusonlyhalfthebillthatwehadrunupinthecoffeeshop.Afriendlyneighbourbroughtusabagofmangoes.ThereisnomoredeliciousfruitintheworldthanthemangoesofRurrenabaque.

Tico came to say goodbye, tough as always. I couldn’t find the words toexpresswhat I felt for him and promisedmyself that I would someday comebacktovisithim.Anarmytrucktookustotheairport.Theterminalconsistedofasinglebuildingoutsidetownandalong,unpavedairstrip.

Theterminalwascrowded.Everyonewhoheldticketsforthepreviousday’sflightandeveryonewhohadaticketfortoday’swasgathered,andsinceitwasobviousthattheycouldn’tallfitononeplane,alotofargumentsbrokeout.ThenextdaywasChristmas,andtheywereeagertogethometotheirfamilies.Whenthe plane made its approach, everyone started shouting and shoving. The

commandante led us through the crowd to the door of the plane and bade usfarewell.Thepilotgesturedusaboard.

‘Goodbye,Commandante.Goodbye,Rurrenabaque.I’llneverforgetyou.’

InLaPazwe flagged a cab for theRosarioHotel.We couldn’twait to seeMarcus.Hewouldgooutofhismindwhenheheardwhathadhappenedtous,andhemusthaveataleofhisowntotell.AndKarl?Weweredyingtoconfronthim.

Kevindashed into thehotelbutcameout justafewminutes laterwearingagraveexpression.KarlandMarcushadn’tarrivedatthehotelyet.

‘Ican’tbelievethatallflightsfromApolohavebeengroundedbecauseoftherain,’hesaid.‘WeflewinfromRurrenabaque,andit’sjustasrainythere.’

What thehell hadhappened to them?Theyhadn’t taken a dangerous route,theyhadbeenwell fittedoutwith a shotgun, ammunition, a knife, and a tent.Whatcouldpossiblyhavehappened?

I tottered into the Israeli embassy on my own two feet and received anemotionalwelcome:hugs,kisses,tearsofjoy.Everyonewasatalossforwords.

‘Firstofall,callhome,’theconsulinstructedme.

Thesecretarygotalineforme,andsoonIheardmyfather’svoice.

‘Dad,it’sme,Yossi.I’mallright.I’msafenow.’

Myfather’sfeelingscameoverthephonewithhisvoice.‘Don’tyoueverdoanything like thatagain,’hesaidsternly,and thenmymotherwason the line.Shewas crying. ‘I can’t stand it any longer. I want to see you. Come home.Yossi,comerighthome.’

‘Everything’sall right,Mom. I’llbehomesoon.There’snothing foryou toworryaboutnow.’

Weallcalmeddownabit,andIsworethatIwasn’tlying.

‘Honest, I’mnot injured, and I’mnot sick.Everything is just fine. I’m surethatyouhadaworsetimeofitthanIdid.’

The old-folks’ home was practically deserted. The consul had given Kevinpermission to stay there.Grandma lookedoverourpapersand showedus toaroom.

‘Youdon’thavetogothroughyourspiel,Grandma.Iknowtherules.’

Sheobviouslydidn’trecogniseme.

Aletterhadarrivedbyexpressmail.Itfilledinmystoryasexperiencedontheothersideoftheocean.

RamatGan

December23

...TheconsularsectionoftheForeignOfficenotifiedMomandDadthat you had been involved in an accident with a raft on a riversomewhere in the jungle. They said that your American friendreported the incident to the embassy only eleven days after it hadoccurred,soweassumedthatyouhadbeenmissingforabouttwelvedays. I tried to cheer Mom and Dad up. I know that you are anexcellentswimmeranddon’tloseyourheadinanemergency.ItriedtogetMomandDadthinkingthatwaytoo.

ThenextdayweplacedaphonecalltotheIsraeliembassyinLaPaz, and thatwaswhenwe found out that the accident had takenplace on the first of themonth and that you had beenmissing foreighteendays.That came as a great shock to us.Dadbroke downand cried incessantly.Momdecided to put up a front to helpDadkeephimselftogether,butshewouldalsogooffbyherselftocryallthetime.

Eversincewegotthebadnews,thehousehasbeenfullofpeopletryingtokeepourspiritsup.Momhadbeenarealtrooper,servingcoffeeandcakes.Shewouldn’tallowanycryingorcarryingon.Shedidn’t want it to look as if we had given up hope, like we werealreadymourning.

Itriedtohidemyfeelings,buteverytimepeoplecameover,theyaskedme to readyour letter again, and I couldn’t take it anymoreandwouldgetallchokedup.ItwasterriblyhardonMomandDad,onme,onthewholefamily,andonourfriends.

Theworstpartofitallwasfeelingsohelpless.Wewantedtohelpyou,tohelplookforyou,todosomething,buttherewasnothingwecoulddo.DadcalledfriendswithcontactsinBolivia.Theyevengotin touch with the Mossad. The Israeli police commissioner

personallycalledbothInterpolandtheBolivianpolice.

IconsideredflyingtoLaPaztomakesurethesearchpartieskeptlookingandperhapsjointhemmyself,butDadwasafraidoflosinganotherson.

Themoretimepassed,themoredifficultitbecameforMomandDad.Helosthope,andshealsobegantohavedoubts.Ibelievedthatyou were still alive, but I could imagine what kind of shape youmustbein.Dad’sfriendssaidthatitwouldbeimpossibleforanyoneto findyoubysearching thearea, thatyouyourselfwouldhave tomakeyourwaybacktocivilisation.ItwasalmostHanukkah,andallwecoulddowasprayforamiracle.

ThemiraclehappenedonMonday.Wegotthegoodnewsontheseconddayofcandlelighting.Itwasthetwenty-firstofDecember.TheIsraeliembassyinLaPazcalledattwelvethirtyatnighttotellusthatyouhadbeenfound.

Yossi, you’ve never seen such happiness! So much crying!Everyonewasintears,offeringonetoastafteranother.Wecalleduphalf the country to let everyone know, and we’ve had guests allweek,tonsoffood,drinks,andmountainsofsufganiot[doughnuts].Mom spent the whole day making them, hundreds of them. Dadstayeddrunkforthreestraightdays.

AsI’mwritingthis,Iamremindedofwhatwewentthroughandget the shivers. But all’s well that ends well, and that’s the mainthing.

Yourbrother,

Moshe

Kevinwasalreadyinvolvedwithpreparationsforasecondsearchparty.HewasdeterminedtogolookingfortracesofKarlandMarcus.Thistimehedecidedtogoproperlyequipped:ashotgun,ammunition,suitableclothing,medicines,andpeopletohelphim.HegotthefivehundreddollarsthatMarcushadleftwithhisfriendRoger.

Iwastornwithindecision.IwasterriblyeagertogoalongwithKevin,butI

wasn’t sure that Iwascapableof it, especiallysincemyfeetwerenotentirelyhealed.

TheconsulbecamefuriouswhenheheardthatIwasevenconsideringgoingbackintothejungle.

‘I’llshootyoumyselfbeforeI’llletyoudoit,’hesaidinarage.‘What’sthematterwithyou?Haveyounoconsideration?Ifyoudon’tcareaboutus,atleastthinkaboutyourparents.’

Kevingavemeanothergoodscoldinganddidn’twanttohearaboutmegoingalong.SomeIsraelifriendsvolunteeredtogowithhiminstead.IwassothinandweakthatIwouldhavebeenmoreofaburdenthanahelp.Iaccompaniedthemtotheairport,andsayinggoodbyewasoneofthemostdifficultthingsthatIhadeverdone.WeplannedtomeetinBrazilassoonaswecould.NeitherKevinnorIhadgivenuponcompletingourtravelsinSouthAmerica.

I couldn’t stop thinkingaboutKevinonmywayback from theairport.Thecabpulledoutontothehighwayandthenwovethroughthemazeofcitystreets.Passingcabshonked,andbusesfilledbeyondcapacityspedby,leavingatrailofblack exhaust. The sidewalks were crowded with people: ragged beggarsalongsideelegantlysuitedmen,loudmouthedvendors,andfilthystreeturchins.A stench rose from the sewage that ran down the gutters. A big city,overcrowded,noisy.People,thousandsofthem–goodpeople,lovelypeople.

Tears ran downmy cheeks. The cab driver noticed and gaveme aworriedglance.Ituggedatmynoseonceortwiceandthroatilycommented,‘Lavidaesbonita.¿Noes,señor?’

‘Si,señor,’heagreed,‘lifeisbeautiful,’thoughhewasprobablythinking,‘Iswear,thesegringosareabsolutelylocos.’

EPILOGUE

Kevin’ssecondrescuemissionwasbotharduousanddisappointing.OnlyoneoftheIsraelisstuckwithhimtotheend,andtheirtwoBolivianguidesoftencalledonthemforhelp.

They started out from the village of Ipurama, which had been Karl andMarcus’s destination. They progressed along the Ipurama River, searching itsbanksforsignsofthem.WithinafewdaystheyhadmadeitdowntowheretheIpuramaflowsintotheTuichi,theplacewhereourpartyhadsplitup.Fromtheretheystartedback,painstakinglysearchingbothbanksoftheriver.

They never found a single trace, any sign at all that Karl andMarcus hadpassed thatway: no campfires, shreds of clothing, brokenbranches, faeces, orfootprints.Nothing.Itwasasifthetwoofthemhadvanishedintothejungleair.

I latermetupwithKevin inBrazil, inSalvador, the capital ofBahia. I hadbeen cared for solicitously by my uncle in São Paulo. My feet were almostentirely healed, and the enormous quantity of steaks that I had downed hadgottenmyweightbackup and curedmyanaemia.Wewent toRiode Janeirotogether for Carnaval. Then Kevin returned to the United States, and I wenthometoIsrael.

AfewmonthslaterIflewtoOregon,whereImetKevin’swonderfulfamily.Then I went to visit Marcus’s family in Schaffhausen, Switzerland. It was adifficultmeeting. Theywanted to know every detail of our trip andMarcus’sdisappearance. I told them the whole truth, keeping nothing back. We criedtogether.

AsafinalgestureMarcus’sfatherheldasortofriteofabsolution.Hethankedmeforcomingtosee themandfor tellingthemall Icouldabout theirson.HeorderedmetostopfeelingguiltyandaskedmetopassthatmessageontoKevintoo.

While it seemed that Marcus’s father had given up hope, his mother, adevotedspiritualist,harbourednottheslightestdoubtthatheryoungersonwasalive: if hewere dead, shemaintained, hewould have contacted her from the

other side; hewould have found away to tell her goodbye. I knewwhat shereferred to, as I remembered Marcus had told me once about the telepathiccommunicationhe’dhadhisentirelifewithhismother.

Herfaithneverdiminished.AyearlatershefinancedagroupofSeventh-dayAdventists,whoagreedtoformasearchparty.Theycamebackempty-handed,battered,andbitten.

Rainer,Marcus’s brother, believed thatKarl had planned for us to separatefrom the beginning. He suggested that Karl could have hidden food andequipment earlier at the junction of the Ipurama and Tuichi rivers, thenengineeredoursplit.

KarlcouldhaveledKevinandmetobelievethathewasheadinguptheIpuramain the direction of the village, but in fact, gone off in the opposite direction,toward the Peruvian border. Karl had done so, in Rainer’s opinion, so that itwouldappearas if somethinghadhappened to them, that theyhadperished inthejungle.ThenKarlcouldhaveeasilyassumedanewidentity.

Kevin, while still in Bolivia, met a charming Israeli girl at the old-folks’home. Orna joined him on his search forMarcus and Karl. As if that dramawasn’tenoughforhim,Kevinwasalsofallinginlove.AboutayearlaterKevinarrivedinIsraelforareunionwithOrna,andsoonaftertheymarried.TheylivehappilynearTelAvivwiththeirtwobeautifulsons,EyalandYuval.KevinandIareclosefriendstothisveryday.Ilovehimlikemybrother.Iowehimmylife,forwhichIwillbeeternallyindebtedtohim.Iadmirehimforthepersonheis,agiantofaman.Karlusedtocallhim‘stronglikethreemen,’referringnotonlytohisbody,butalsohisspecialspirit.Kevinwillalwaysbearolemodelforme,forheisoneofthoserarepeopleofcontinuouslyhighmorals;heneverhesitatedwhenimmediatedecisionsoractionwereneeded.Kevin,fromthebottomofmyheart,thankyou,mybrother,myfriend,forever.

SixyearsaftercomingbackfromTuichi,IwascontactedbyanIsraelimagazinewith anoffer towrite several articles aboutSouthAmerica.Thiswasmy firstopportunity to return toRurrenabaque. I found that it had changed. The townwas bigger, busier. Settlers from the altiplano had flocked there by thethousands. Convoys of trucks, arriving empty, left creaking under loads ofmahogany.Saloonshadmaterialisedandwiththemloudmusicandthestenchofurine.

Ticoseemedhappy toseemeanddelighted to takemeup theTuichi inhismotorboat.Theriverwasasmagnificentandwildasbefore.WesetoutforSanJosé, still theonly settlementon the river, and continued toProgreso,where Ihadbeenrescued.ItwasalessemotionaljourneythanIhadexpected.Infact,IwassurprisedhowmuchIenjoyedmyself.Therewasnoanimositybetweenmeandtherainforest.Onthecontrary,Ifeltastrongattractionandwasdeterminedtomakethejungleapartofmylife.

BackinRurrenabaqueIwasintroducedtoanoldHungarian,arefugeefromWorldWar II, and though hewas drunkwhenwemet, I foundwhat he toldbeyond compelling.Hebeganby claiming to knowKarlwell.Hehadn’t seenhimforsometime,butjustafewmonthsearlierinCochabambaaSwisspriesthadmentionedthatKarlhadvisitednotlongbefore.

Excited,IflewtoCochabambaandfoundthepriest,FatherErich,atamissionjustoutsidetown.BothheandSisterIngrid,anunwhoalsolivedatthemission,confirmed thatKarlwas alive, living nearby in the town of SantaCruz. Theyshowedmeaphototheysaidwasrecentandtoldmestoriesoftroubleshehadcausedthem.Ileftbewildered:Iwantedtobelieve,andIdidn’twanttobelieve.InnotimeIwasinSantaCruzandspentaweekdoingthebestdetectiveworkIcouldbutfoundnotasinglebitofcorroboratingevidence.

IhadmaintainedcontactwithMarcus’smotherandknewthatshehadneveracceptedherson’sdeath.AbouttwoyearsaftermyreturnfromRurrenabaqueIflewatherrequest toSchaffhausentomeetwithher.She insisted thatshehadnew information to share, information, it turned out, she had received from aclairvoyantrenownedforhissuccessinfindinglostrelatives.

‘Marcusisstillalive,’shetoldme.‘Thatiscertain.HelivesinPeruonahighplateauwithIndianswhofoundhimnearlydeadandnursedhimbacktohealth.Hehas losthismemory,whichpreventshiscominghome.’OnamapofPerushehadmarkedaremoteAndeancommunity.Shegavemethemapandaskedmetogotheretolookforhim.Iagreed.

Cuzco,theancientIncacapital,isoneofmyfavouriteSouthAmericancities.Ihaveafriendthere,JoséUgarte,whohappenstobeamountainguide.Lookingatthemaptogether,wedeterminedonethingwassure:theclairvoyantcouldn’thavepickedabetterspot.Huanacaranwasoneofthemostdangerousplacesonthecontinent,azonecontrolledbyShiningPathguerrillas.Thenightbeforeourdeparturemyfriendcametomyhotelroomand,withhiseyesfixedonthetilefloor,toldmehecouldn’tgo.Ididn’tblamehim,thoughitwastoolatetofind

anotherguide.

Irememberthatnightsoclearly.Marcus’smotherhadmadejustonerequestbeforeIleft:havefaithinherconviction.ButIlackedherconfidence.Thestoryshe told was too far-fetched. That night in Cuzco, however, I knew I had tobelieveas shedid,otherwise itwasbetternot togo. I thoughtofMarcus, andsuddenly Iwas back in the jungle,where one discovers the darkness in one’sheart. How frightening that can be.Marcus, your mother can still hear yourheartbeat;shecanhearyourvoicesinging.Whereveryouare,Iamcomingtotakeyouhome,mybrother.Youknowyou’llalwaysliveinmyheart.Waitformethere,Marcus,Iamwalkingtowardyou.

There were three of us at the train station: a cook who spoke Quechua, ahelperfromLimatoobroketosayno,andme.Thejourneywasfullofsurprises.At the first station José Ugarte appeared. He had spent a sleepless night,repenting his decision not to go. Farther down the line, representatives of themilitary climbed aboard.Theybriefly checkedour documents anddestination,then troublestarted.Thecookwasdraggedaway inhandcuffs.At thepointofsubmachine guns the rest of us were taken off the train for interrogation. Agringoescortedbyasuspicious-lookinglittleband,wellequippedformountainsurvival, claiming to be looking for a friend lost years ago in Bolivia! Theyweren’tbuyingthat.ButIguessthecallstheymadetothecontactsIgavethemconvincedthemofmystory,since theyletusgoandevenprovideda letterofintroductiontothemayorofAzángaro,nearourdestination.

We reached Azángaro and found the station all but deserted. Once aprosperous city,Azángaro had been largely abandoned. Suspicion clouded thefaces of those who remained. We couldn’t help but laugh at the derelictmunicipal palace, where we went to present our letter and seek the mayor’sassistance. No guards, no staff, an empty antechamber leading to a short,echoinghallway.Weknockedandopened thedoorof themayor’soffice, andthemanlostnotasecondjumpingoutthewindowatthesightofus.Thenightbefore,threeofficialshadbeenmurderedinAsilio,lessthanfiftymilesaway.Somuchforassistance.

Wecouldn’tfindadriverwhowouldcarryustoourdestinationbutcaughtabus that stillmade the runpartway. Josédidn’t know the region,butheknewmountains.Theseconddaywereachedthepointmarkedonourmap.Itspastoraltranquillity belied the terror of the Azángaro locals.Marcus could have livedthere,butheneverhad.NoonerecognisedthemaninthephotothatIcarried.Ultimately we travelled through ten similar communities. Never had a gringo

livedinanyofthem.

BackinAzángaroIsoughtoutthelocalpriest,whoministerstoallsixty-eightcommunitiesintheprovinceofAzángaro.Hehadneverencounteredaforeignerinresidencenorheardofhermitslivingaloneinthemountains.

KarlandMarcus’sdisappearanceremainsamystery.Itisdifficulttoimaginewhatcouldhavebecomeofthem.Karlwastoughandstrongandknewhowtotakecareofhimselfinthejungle.Hecouldhavesurvivedevenwithoutfoodandequipment.Hehadhada shotgun,whichmade it almostunthinkable that theyhadfallenprey to jaguarsorwildboars.Thevillageof Ipuramawasonlyfourdays’walkfromthepointwherethey’dsetout.Kevinhadbeenbackandforthovertheroutewithoutfindingatraceofthem.Whathadbecomeofthem?

I can think of two possibilities.One is thatKarlmight have been seriouslyinjured, perhaps in a fall. Marcus, who had been ill, thin, and downhearted,wouldneverhavemadeitoutofthejungleonhisown.Theotherpossibilityisfallingtrees.Onrainynights,asIhadseen,treesuprootthemselvesandtoppleover, takingother treeswith them.A tree couldhave fallenon their campsite,crushingthemastheyslept.Tothisdaythemysteryremains.

The rainforesthas ever sincebeenamajorpart ofmy life.WhilevisitingSanJosé on the Tuichi River, I found out that the situation in the village wasdesperate; thesmall, isolatedcommunitywasstruggling for survival, forced todestroy their ancestral lands with their own hands. They had no options forincome other than slash-and-burn agriculture, hunting, or working as cheaplabour for the loggers and miners, who are in the process of overtaking theregion.Imetwiththecommunityleadersandheardtheirfearsaboutthesteadyelimination of the rainforest villages, since the youth are lacking employmentandthusforcedtoleavefor thebigcity.Sotogether,weinitiatedtheChalalanProject.

The Chalalan valley lies not far from the Tuichi banks, about an hourdownriver from San José. It is themost amazing rainforest scenery I’ve everseen inmy life: monkeys hanging from palm trees and a lake surrounded byprecious,undisturbedhills.Thebeautyof theplacemakesone’sheartsing.Soweobtainedfromthegovernmentanofficialconcessionofthislandtothelocalindigenouspeople,and thecommunityofSanJosédeclared itaprotectedareafor conservationof nature anddevelopment of alternative economic routes for

the forest dwellers. A group of volunteers, together with the indigenouscommunity,workedwithscientistsanddesignersandengineerstobuildan‘eco-village.’Ourgoalwastoprovethattheforestcouldprovideitsinhabitantswithalltheirneedsandevenmakethemprosper,ifonlyitweretreatedwithrespectandthatthesustainableuseofrenewableresourceswouldbefarmorelucrativethanthedestructiveexploitationofthenon-renewableresources.

In July 1998, the Chalalan project finally became reality. It was officiallyinaugurated as one of the most celebrated ecotourism locations in the entireAmazon. Ipassionately investedallmy facultiesand facilities inChalalanandcompletelyimmersedmyselfintheproject.

It was the involvement of the Inter-American Development Bank andConservation International, both out of Washington D.C., which made itpossible.ThebankgrantedusanamazingoneandaquartermillionU.S.dollars,andConservationInternationalagreedtotakeontheexecutionandprovidetheirtechnicalexpertiseandmuch-neededongoingsupervision.

Throughmyhumble role in thisproject, Ihad theopportunity toexperiencemoments of grace in themightiest of all forests. I shared unforgettable timeswithexceptionalpeople, someofwhombecame thebestof friends. I servedapurpose thatwasbigger thanI,and togetherwithafewothers, Imadeasmalldifference.Ifeelfortunate,blessed,andgratefulforthatexperience.

Thenomadic life that I hadadoptedkeptmeconstantlyon themove.For awhile,IsettledinCaliforniauntilIwasapproachedbyaninternationalcompanythatwas implementinganew technology theyhaddeveloped forcuringopiateaddiction. They recruited me to help expand their role in the internationalmarketplace. So I had to become an expert in a new, exciting field, learningeverythingIcouldaboutaddictionstoheroinandmethadone.

Through my work I met thousands of people who were living in hell anddesperateforhelp.Inamedmyvocation‘thefieldofagony.’LikeanemissaryIkept travelling the world lecturing about opiate dependency. I helped inestablishingseventreatmentcentres,movingfromMexicotoEuropeandbacktotheUnitedStates.IworkedinThailandandChina,finallysettlinginAustralia,where I established my own clinic of treatment and research of addiction. InAustralia I also initiated the Alma Libre Foundation, which promotesabstinence-based treatment foropiate-dependent individualsand invitessocietyasawholetorevisittheunjustprejudiceanddiscriminationtowardthousandsofpeoplesufferingfromadiseasethatisasignofourtimes.

InthelastfewyearsIhavechangedmyworkandmovedto‘thefieldofjoy,’working in the capacity of inspirational keynote speaker and seminar leader. IhavealsodevelopedatrainingprogramcalledTheManifestationofVision.

I speakmainly incorporateenvironments, travelling theworldasaguestofcompanies and organisations to support their conferences with an opening orclosing keynote presentation. This has been an amazing personal growthopportunityforme,forIamchallengedtokeepatighttensionbetweenmytalkandmywalk.

HavinglivedarichlifesincemyadventureintheAmazon,Ifeelitistimetosharemyexperiencesandinsightsinahumbleefforttocontributetothespreadof harmony on this planet. The release of my upcoming books, Laws of theJungleandGlimpses,willmarkthebeginningofthisnewendeavour.

Inowlivewithmyfamily in thedepthsof theAustralianrainforestwhereIamsurroundedbythepurityandlushnessofthenaturalworld.Theremotenessfrom civilisation, complete immersion in natural surroundings, breathtakingmountains covered with forest, fresh water springs, and rich flora and faunainspiremeeverymomentIamthere.Ifeelpartofit;moreover,whenIstepoutof my house at night I clearly discern that I am standing on a living planet,turningandmovinginitscourseunderthebrillianceoftheMilkyWay.Irealisejust by looking up to the sky that I am part of something infinite, and I feelinfinitelygratefulforlife.

anotefromtheauthor

UNCHARTEDDOMAINSSince my experience in the jungle, I’ve discovered that sometimes theextraordinarycanbeseenby thenakedeye,allowingaquickglimpse into themiraculous.When thishappens, theworldaswe thoughtweknew itceases toexist; it is uncharted from that point forward. Overwhelmed and puzzled, themindrushesinlikeafool,desperatelytryingtomakesenseofitall.Buthowcanweunderstandwhatcannotbegraspedbythesenses?

I lived through my jungle adventure at a young age many years ago. Andthough I had encountered the forces of creation, felt the hand of providencecaressing my skin, and seen the work of miracles, I was too young tocomprehenditall.

Andwhenwecannotfullyunderstandthesignificanceofsomething,whenwecannotvalidatethetotalexperiencewiththesenses–can’tsee,can’ttaste,can’tsmell,can’ttouch,can’thear,andcannotconceive–weareleftwithachoice:todenyortobelieve.

I have experienced miracles first-hand, and tried time and again to usereasonable explanations to deny or believe until my mind tired. Now, noexplanations are needed. I do not deny and I do not believe; I simply knowmiraclestobepartoftheworldIlivein.

There’sanoldmythaboutayoungking lost ina forest fordays.Hefinallyfindsacamp,buttohisdismay,itisdeserted.Intheremainsofacampfire,on

theshimmeringcoals,hefindsapieceofsalmon.Famished,hequicklyshovesitinhismouthonly to find that it is scaldinghot.Heburnshimself sobadly, infact, that he is too wounded to live – but not wounded enough to die. HebecomestheFisherKing,and,tortured,heawaitsredemptioninhiscastle.

Thelegendcontinuesandtellsaboutayoungknightwhoventuresoutintotheworldaspiringtobeitssaviour.Herideslikeallotherknights: todefendgoodvalues while searching for the king and his castle. But this young knight isparticularlynaive–infact,mostthinkheisafool.Onhisfirstventurehefindsthe Fisher King, but young and innocent as the knight is, he fails to bringredemptionoranendtosuffering.Instead,hisvisitbringsonlyheartbreakandstrife;he is simply tooyoung tocarry such responsibility. It takesdecades forthecastletoappearagain,butbythenheismatureandready.

Ihaveidentifiedmyselfasadreamerfooljustliketheknightinthelegend.Ifyouarejustadreamerwithoutbeingafool,youwillneverleavehomeandrisklosingeverythingyouown–yourassets,yourideals,yourimage.Andwhatifitisallinvainandthereisnothingtofind?Onlythefoolcantakesuchrisk.Iwasthatfool,forthedreamwasbiggerthaneverythingIrisked.AndI’velostitalltimeandagain,and through thoseexperiences, Ihavefoundwhat I trulyown,forallthatcanbetakenfrommeisnotminetobeginwith.Ihavefoundhomenow;thereisnolongeraneedtosearch.

Mayyou find thecourage towalkyourownpath.Mayyoudare toventureinto the uncharted domains of your own heart.Here ismy advice to you, theadventurers–fearwillshowyoutheway;walksteadilytowardit,forotherwiseyou will always be running. Have trust and faith to guide you like a torchpiercingdarkness.Donotbelieveanddonotdeny,butfindoutforyourself–forthereisnotruthbuttheoneyouhaveearnedinyourownexperience.

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