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on walking would be torture. How could my body take any more? I was weak with hunger. I had eaten nothing for the past two days. Now how would I find eggs or fruit? The storm had washed everything away. Was I going to die of hunger or injury? Morbid thoughts filled my mind; there was no chance of my escaping into fantasy. I was distressed to the point of despondency. All my hopes of reaching San José faded away. I hadn’t yesterday. I apparently wasn’t going to today. Who knew if I ever would?

What an idiot I was. I should never have left Curiplaya. I could have waited there in my hut. I could have survived there for at least a month, and by then surely someone would have come looking for me. Someone would have done something.

Now what would I do? Where should I go? I no longer believed there was much chance of my reaching San José. I doubted that I would be able to cross the river. Though the storm had died away, the whole jungle was submerged. I was bitter and on the edge of absolute despair, almost ready to give up. I started back to Curiplaya.

Overcome by self-pity, I hobbled painfully on until I came to a trestepita tree. The tree was bent low, almost touching the ground. It still had fruit on it, and I eagerly sucked the sweet-sour pulp from the pits. The small quantity of nourishment tormented my aching belly, but it helped restore my hopes.