📸 Photo

I would never make it across the river, at least not with the weight of the pack on my 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 dried myself on a mosquito net as best I could and put my clothes back on. I was covered with mosquito bites and clawed at them in a frenzy. My only consolation that day was a new nest of wild chicken eggs. I gulped down four warm, delicious eggs and saved two for morning.

It was growing dark, and I had not yet set up camp. I didn't find a tree that offered any shelter. Either the roots didn't protrude far enough out of the earth, or the tree wasn't standing on level ground. The sun had almost set before I found a place to settle.

The rain started coming down again in the middle of the night, not a drizzle but a downpour, which seeped through my thatch of fronds. I shivered and curled up into a ball. I pulled the rubber bag high up over my knees and tucked the red poncho in all around me. I had three fantasies that by this time I had worked into long scenarios. Each was set in a different place. I put the hood over my face and went to visit Las Vegas, São Paulo, and my home in Israel, drifting from one to another all night long.

In the morning I ate the salty rice-and-bean paste together with two eggs. A real feast.

If anyone is looking down on me, he is absolutely heartless.