CHAPTER TEN - 'I'M ON MY WAY TO SAN JOSÉ'

My hopes for clear weather were disappointed; it was pouring rain, but I didn't let that stop me. I packed up my things, slung my pack on my back, tightened the belt and shoulder straps, took up my newly acquired walking stick, and off I went.

Although the trail began wide and well marked, within a few minutes' walk it narrowed considerably, and I had to search for machete marks on the trees in order to follow it. It did run parallel to the Tuichi, however, and whenever I strayed from the trail, I simply had to progress along the bank until I picked it up again.

I got used to walking in the rain and was in a great mood. I thought I was keeping a steady pace and, barring any unforeseen setbacks, I would cover the distance to the village in four days. As I strode along, I composed a marching song, far from original or inspiring, but at least it kept time. I took a popular Israeli tune, 'I'm on My Way to Beit Shean,' changed the destination, and sang out loud,

So I walked on through the lush jungle in good spirits.

The ground was fairly level. Every now and then a few hills rose up, but they weren't steep. The streams posed a greater obstacle. I passed over a great many that emptied into the Tuichi, forming basins too wide to be passable at the junction. I was forced to follow each one upstream into the jungle until I came upon a convenient fording place. The machete gashes were fantastic signposts. They led directly to the places where the streams were fordable. They sometimes took me far from the river, but I eventually discovered this to be a shortcut.

At one point I came upon a wide, sandy beach, just the kind of place for a picnic and a little romance. The sand was soft and clean and shaded by trees. Logs were piled up on the shore, deposited there by the current. I had an idea. Rescuers might come looking for me by airplane or by helicopter, so I should contrive some kind of signal that could be seen from the air. I started hauling logs and large rocks about, placing them in the shape of an arrow pointing downstream. Next to it I formed the letter Y for the first initial of my name, and after it I wrote '12' for the date. I was pleased with my ingenuity and sure the signal would be spotted from above. The truth is I still thought I would be disappointed if someone came to rescue me. I was convinced that I was so close that it would be a shame not to do it on my own.

Toward late afternoon I came upon a stream that flowed in a shallow defile. I quickly descended the rock wall, but the opposite side was an arduous climb, and the walking stick proved a hindrance. I hurled it to the top and, clutching at bushes and protruding rocks, struggled my way to the top. There I retrieved my walking stick and went on. Soon, on a fallen tree, I saw a nest holding four brown spotted eggs. They were only a little smaller than chicken eggs and still warm. The mother must have just left the nest. I was thankful to have happened upon nourishing food. I cracked open one of the eggs and was about to pour its contents into my mouth when I noticed the tiny baby curled up inside. Should I eat it or not? No, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I put the broken egg back in the nest with its brothers and sisters.

If someone above is watching over me, I thought, he'll surely provide me with other sustenance.

Not five minutes passed before I came upon a large fruit tree. The fruit, called trestepita, is round and yellow and, broken open, divides into three equal parts. Each contains about twenty pits, similar to the pits of a lemon but covered with a sweet, slippery membrane. The fruit doesn't provide a great deal of meat, but I savoured the juice it contained.

I leaned up against the trunk of a fallen tree and took out the tins, emptied a few tamarinds out of one, and used it to gather up trestepitas. The tree was low, and by bending its branches, I could reach the fruit. I didn't leave a single one.

I continued on my way to San José with renewed vigour. This time the trail led me deep into the jungle. I was so far from the river that its roar was not even faintly audible. After walking for a very long time I found myself surrounded by towering trees. I had lost all sense of direction. I didn't know which way was north or where the river was. The trail looked strange. It was extremely narrow; I had to go very slowly for fear of losing it. It was often blocked by wild undergrowth or fallen trees. It didn't make any sense, for only a few months ago people should have been using it. I plodded on, still convinced that it would lead me back to the river at any moment, but two hours had passed, and it was growing dark. Then I finally heard the familiar rush of the river. I was extremely relieved to learn that I could rely on the trail.

I met back up with the river just where one of the springs emptied into it. It was a narrow spring that flowed down a narrow ravine. I stood there gaping; there was a large footprint in the mud. The sole of the shoe that had made it was just like mine. God, it must be Kevin! He was alive! Kevin had big feet and wore the same kind of shoes that I did. And who besides him could have left the print? I was overcome with joy. I stared again at the print in the mud. How was it that the rain hadn't washed it away?

The climb up the other side of the ravine was difficult. The wall was almost vertical. I had to throw the walking stick up ahead of me, but regardless of how tired I was after a day of walking I felt myself endowed with superhuman strength. Pushing with my knees and dragging myself up with my arms, I made it to the top. But something seemed funny. Five minutes later I came upon a fallen tree. Next to it lay heaps of tamarind and trestepita peels and pits. Then I knew. I collapsed, broken-spirited, to the ground and almost burst into tears. It wasn't Kevin. It was me. I had wasted more than three hours walking in a circle. The trail had led me back to where I had started.

Desperation began to gnaw at me. I considered giving up and heading back to Curiplaya. I was only two or three hours' walk from there. I could go back to my hut and my bed. But the thought of the village that must be nearby with food and people overcame my momentary weakness. So I had made a mistake. It wasn't the end of the world. I would learn from it. I would use the trail only when it followed the course of the river. If it wandered into the jungle, I would abandon it and make my own way until I met back up with it on the riverbank.

I was exhausted and famished and took the fruit out of my pack. It was a pathetic match for my appetite. A few fleshless pits remained. I gritted my teeth and strode back in the direction of the ravine. There I found what I was after. The mother must have abandoned the nest, for the eggs had grown cold. I broke them open one at a time and gulped down every last bit of the unborn birds. I expected them to make me nauseous, but they were quite tasty.

The sun had gone behind a cloud and now came out and shone brightly. I could still make some progress today. I had gone astray, but the entire day was not wasted; it wasn't so bad.

'It's no big deal. It's no big deal,' I started to sing.

We used to sing a song like that in the Boy Scouts, and, silly as it sounds, it stuck in my mind:

I sang the tune over and over. Then I started dramatising it, creating characters and a silly dialogue. You're going to have a baby, and you think it's no big deal. All right, you won't die, but just you wait until your father gets his hands on him. You'll live, but tough luck for your boyfriend. Your father will kill him.

I worked on a drama and lost awareness of my hardships and the passing time.

After that song I remembered another:

I dramatised that one in my imagination as well, with a young boy, a young girl, and a nasty old aunt. I made up a silly story and wrote dialogue for them as well.

I was tired and drenched to the bone. I started looking for a campsite but saw no crags, boulders, or fallen trees to huddle under. Finally I selected a large tree whose roots protruded from the ground in every direction at irregular intervals. I chose a space between two roots that was just as wide as my body, cleared away the wet leaves on the ground, put my pack down, and went off with my walking stick to gather bedding.

There were bushes, trees, and plants of every kind. The foliage was astounding in its variety and beauty. I gathered up large leaves, similar to banana leaves, and spread them out between the sheltering tree roots. I also found a few palms. Without a machete the fronds were hard to remove. I cracked them close to the stump and then twisted them around and around until I could wrench them from the tree. I gathered about twenty large fronds that way and arranged them symmetrically over my sleeping place one on top of the other, all facing in the same direction and crawled under.

There was no way I could light a fire. My feet were damp. I took off my shoes and wrung the water out of my socks. I took the waterproof rubber bag out of the pack, put my feet inside it, and covered my legs up to the knees. Then I covered myself as usual with the mosquito nets and the poncho. Before I covered my head, I ate a few trestepitas.

I was troubled by thoughts of Kevin. I realised that there was no reason to assume that he was dead. Actually he stood a better chance than I did. Fire and food were my advantages, but I had spent many nights without a fire and had used but little of the rice and beans. There were eggs and fruit in the jungle, and Kevin had a machete. With it he could cut down fruit trees and find palm hearts. Even if that was all he ate, he wouldn't go hungry. I had them all around me and couldn't taste a bite. If I tried to get a palm heart, I would waste more energy than it would provide. Kevin was also stronger and tougher than I was. He was used to solitude, used to difficult walking; he had a weapon, and he wasn't carrying the weight of the pack on his back. Hell, he had a much better chance than I did. I wouldn't be surprised if he had already made his way to an inhabited area and been rescued. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that Kevin was alive. I just hoped that nothing had happened to him in the river.

The palm fronds made an impenetrable cover. The rain fell on them and ran off to the sides. I even managed to warm myself under their shelter. My feet were comfortable in the bag. My only source of discomfort was stones digging into my back, but I couldn't do anything about them. The walking stick lay at my side. At night it could serve as a weapon along with the tin can, the spoon, and the pitiful flashlight. I said a short prayer to God and asked forgiveness for eating the unborn birds. Then I gave myself over to fantasies until the break of dawn.

The pack was on my back, the staff was in my hand, and I was on my way. My feet were damp and raw, but there was no rash. The rain had cleared up and then started falling again. I didn't let it bother me and set straight out on my course. While I walked, I sang the same songs as the day before, and when I had gone through my entire repertoire, I had long conversations with the members of my family and daydreamed again.

Suddenly something jumped out, right from under my feet. My heart jumped with it, but I regained my composure as soon as I saw that it was only a wild chicken. Its wings were weak; it barely raised itself off the ground. It fled from me in skips and jumps. I started chasing after it through the underbrush, holding my spear in readiness. We ran around, me wearing an expression of grim concentration, the chicken crackling and screeching. I didn't catch it, of course, but it occurred to me that I might find a nest with eggs nearby. I went back to where I had first encountered the bird, and there on the ground behind a bush was a large nest and six lovely eggs. They were bigger than domestic hen's eggs and turquoise in colour. They were still warm to the touch. I carefully cracked one open and poured the contents into my mouth. It tasted so good that I couldn't help polishing off three more. The two that remained I carefully padded with leaves and put into the tin with the fruit.

What a lucky guy I am! Six eggs! Thank you, God, thank you.

I also spotted fruit trees on my way. As usual the fruit was out of reach, but occasionally I found a piece that had just fallen and was not yet rotten or devoured by ants and worms. The monkeys were having a banquet in the treetops, stuffing themselves and then tossing down the scraps, peels, and pits, screeching and chattering as if they were making fun of me. I cursed them, hoping one would fall on its head. The curse worked – but on me, not them.

It was almost noon. I was descending a steep hill, and the grass underfoot was wet. I slipped and tumbled, landing on my backside right on a big, dry branch that lay on the ground. My weight snapped the branch in two, and its sharp, broken end penetrated my backside, cut through my underwear, up the anus, and deep inside. I was paralyzed by the pain. I screamed in agony and then raised myself up, groaning. The pain was excruciating. I lay back, writhing on the ground, my eyes brimming with tears. My underwear was drenched with blood. I screamed when I pulled the spear out, then felt around the wound, and tried to stop the bleeding. It was impossible to bandage. I lay there for another half hour, and after the bleeding stopped, I began walking slowly with clenched teeth in anguish and enraged.

I both scolded and consoled myself. You hurt yourself, you idiot. You weren't careful enough, jerk. You're lucky you didn't break anything. That really would have been the end of you. Oh, Mama, if you could only see me now, how you would weep. Oh, Mama...

The next time I stopped to rest, I ate the other two eggs, which miraculously hadn't been broken when I fell. I ate the remaining fruit. That was the last of my food, but I was sure that something would turn up before evening.

The trail turned away from the river once again, and I hesitated to follow it. Since the last time had led me astray, I had abandoned the trail whenever I noticed that it was taking me away from the river. I did so this time as well.

Without a cleared trail or even machete slashes to guide me, walking was not easy. I ran into many dead ends, impassable bushes and branches, an impenetrable thicket of bamboo, or a boulder blocking the way. My clothing was again in tatters, the improvised threads holding it together split apart one after another. I came to a thick clump of bushes and bent the branches down to clear my way, disturbing a hornet's nest. They swarmed upon me in frenzied attack. I was stung on my face countless times. I was stuck in the bushes and couldn't get away quickly. I could feel my lips puffing up and my eyes swelling shut. After a while I managed to blunder my way out in hysteria and ran, almost blinded, into more branches, stumbling, falling. I went down to the river, drank, and bathed my face. This wasn't my day. First my lousy ass and now my face. I went on my way, bitter and angry.

Then I picked up the trail again happily and followed it. Evening was gathering, and I suddenly noticed a group of animals not more that five yards ahead of me. I quickly hid behind a tree and peeked out at them. There were six wild boars, four adults and two shoats. They pranced about, wiggling their backsides, heading away from me.

'If only I had a gun, I would finish them off one by one,' I muttered to myself.

I was safe as long as they didn't notice me, didn't pick up my scent. I watched them getting farther away, and then they stopped and started playing. They chased after one another and frolicked.

'Get lost, you idiots. I can't hang around here all day.'

I took off my pack, got out the spoon, and started rapping it against the tin can. They heard the dull noise, pricked up their ears, and then ran off. I hoped I wouldn't find them waiting for me around the bend.

I stepped up my pace, anxious to get out of the boars' territory before nightfall. I found another wild chicken's nest with five turquoise eggs. I ate two of them and saved the rest for the next morning. I chose a nearby tree with protruding roots and made the same sleeping arrangements that I had had the night before: a mat of soft leaves on the ground and twenty palm fronds for cover.

I was glad to get into my bed, put my feet in the rubber sack, and give my tired body, my injured backside, and swollen face a rest. I had one medicine for it all, a magic potion: fantasy.

The night put me at ease. I was no longer frightened by wild animals, this due only to apathy, for I had no means of protecting myself other than the walking stick. I sometimes heard rustling and footsteps in the dark, but I paid no attention and went on with my dream. My cover of leaves warmed me in lieu of fire. I had no dry twigs or logs. In any case I wanted to save the few matches that I had left. I suffered most from the loneliness. It made me create imaginary friends who dropped in for chats. I often found myself talking aloud. When I caught myself doing so, I panicked and scolded myself, That's far enough, Yossi. Don't go out of your mind.

It was difficult to grasp that I had been in the jungle two weeks. Two weeks alone. I couldn't bear much more of it. I was physically weak and liable to lose my senses. Two days had already gone by since I had left Curiplaya. That meant I should be coming to San José the next day. Tomorrow I would be seeing people. I didn't want to delude myself. To make myself believe that and to count on it. What if I didn't make it tomorrow? I had been walking slowly, had lost my way, had wasted a lot of time. Anyway the Indians made the walk during the dry season. And they probably were better hikers than I. Maybe a four-day walk for them is like a seven- or eight-day walk for me. It made sense. I stopped thinking about the next day, but deep in my heart I fervently hoped that I would find the village. What a wonderful surprise that would be.

It had stopped raining, but the dampness of the last few days had taken its toll. The rash was beginning to spread over my feet, and my inner thighs were red and raw. There was an irritating inflammation between my buttocks as well, and I still suffered the tormenting pain of the deep gash in my backside.

I mustn't coddle myself, have to be tough. I have to ignore the pain and keep going, I reminded myself.

During breakfast, which consisted of two eggs, I swallowed an amphetamine. It was the second time I had taken one since the accident. It wasn't long before it took effect, and I sprinted through the jungle as if I had the devil on my tail, assaulting the overgrown trail, breaking through branches, skipping up hills, and hopping over fallen trees. I lost the trail again and stayed stubbornly near the river, always careful to keep it within sight or at least within hearing.

The first animal I met up with this day was a snake, a brown snake about six feet long but not particularly big around. It was slithering through the grass, and I only noticed it when it sped off at my approach. Without a second thought I grabbed a rock and chased after it like crazy, trying to get close enough to have a fair shot. But the snake was faster than I was and disappeared into the underbrush. I was sorry. If I had caught it, it would have been nourishing, even raw. I would have eaten it salted. For the past few days I had eaten only eggs and fruit.

Later I encountered a pair of tapirs, a mother and her young. They were massive, and the earth quaked under their tread. When the poor things noticed me, they ran off in fright.

I didn't actually see the third animal, but I knew it was there. It was before noon. I had emerged from the jungle and found myself standing on a lovely beach, the largest I had come upon since we had left Asriamas. The sand was so white, it was blinding. The river lapped pleasantly at the shore. The scorching sun was directly overhead. At long last some sunshine. I thought I would be able to dry out and heal the rawness of my skin. I bent over to remove my pack, and that's when I noticed the jaguar tracks on the shore, lots of tracks of different sizes. There was no doubt that this was not a solitary jaguar, but an entire pack.

I followed the paw prints in the sand. Under a shady tree I found small piles of faeces, at least six separate piles. I stepped on one of them. Though no tracker or Indian guide, I knew enough to recognise that they were fresh; they were soft and didn't crumble. There had been a lot of jaguars on this shore. It seemed to serve as their meeting place, but I didn't want to leave, and the truth is that I wasn't really afraid. I just couldn't believe that I would be eaten by jaguars in broad daylight. I felt safe.

I made myself comfortable near the water and spread out all of my wet belongings on the warm sand. I gathered up a huge stack of kindling and used only two matches lighting a fire. I kept the fire well fed and placed a tin of water in it. I stripped off my wet clothing and spread it out near the poncho and the mosquito nets. I stretched out on the sand in my birthday suit, spreading my legs wide to expose my raw inner thighs to the sunlight. The flies and mosquitoes swarmed over me, and I was forced to cover myself with one of the nets. The sun shone through it, however, and gently caressed my body.

I lay there for about an hour and then got up to prepare soup. This time I put in two tablespoons each of rice and beans, intending to prepare them as solid food and take along on my way. I dipped the water out of the tin and drank it, until all that was left at the bottom of the tin was an oatmeallike residue. The rice was all right, though it didn't smell fresh, but the beans had not cooked long enough. On top of that I had added too much salt. It tasted awful, but even so it was difficult to follow my resolve and save the bulk for later.

Since I had a good fire, I wanted to catch a fish and cook it. It looked like a good place for fishing. The river could have been as much as several hundred feet wide – from the bank it was hard to tell – and the current was not strong. I had no difficulty swatting a few big flies and tried to use them to catch a minnow. I stood on the riverbank, draped with the mosquito net, making sure the line had enough slack. The sun beat down on my head, and suddenly everything went black, and I lost consciousness. The cool water brought me to immediately. I leapt from the river, wet and frightened. I couldn't let that happen again. It was both terrifying and dangerous.

I stretched out again for a while, then donned my dry clothing and gingerly put my socks and wonderfully sturdy shoes back on. Before leaving this fabulous beach I invested a great deal of effort in marking it. There were heavy stumps lying about, and I laboriously pushed and rolled them until they formed an arrow pointing in the direction I was going. As before, I made a letter Y and the date: '14.'

The map had also dried, and I studied it at length. The distance between Curiplaya and San José appeared to be twenty-five miles by river, or about thirty miles by the path alongside the river. I had been walking almost twelve hours a day. There was no reason to believe that I wouldn't arrive in San José within a day or two. Only one thing worried me. San José was on the left bank, the opposite side of the river. The only landmark before the village was a large river that emptied into the Tuichi from the left. Karl had told us that it was the village's source of water. He had said that San José lay not on the bank of the Tuichi but a few miles up that other river. On the right bank, the one I was on, there wasn't a single landmark to tell me where I was. So I couldn't depend entirely on the map. I was concerned that I might not notice the village and mistakenly pass it by. Then I would be lost. For good. Between San José and Rurrenabaque there were no other villages, and it would be impossible to walk the entire distance. The only really safe thing to do would be to cross the Tuichi and walk along the other side. That way I wouldn't miss the village. I went on, looking for a good place to cross.

Farther on I came to a dead end. A stream fed into the Tuichi in a deep, impassable wadi. I had to change course and march upstream into the jungle until the wadi flattened out and I found an easy place to cross it. This detour took several hours. I doubled back on the other side of the stream, straight and to the left, in the direction of the Tuichi. Another stream cut across my path, but this one I could ford easily, skipping from stone to stone, careful not to lose my balance and fall in. Beyond the stream was a field of thorns. There were no trees at all, only bushes and thistles as tall as I was. Having no other choice, I plodded into it, trying to clear a path.

I experienced a new kind of hell in the field of thorns. I lost my sense of direction, and my entire body was scratched and mauled. Scathing nettles stabbed into me, and I shook with pain and fear. At long last I made it back to the jungle and to the lost path. The trail here did not look as if it had been in use, however. It was unreliable and led me astray for a long while. It was frequently covered over completely with jungle foliage. It couldn't be that men marched over this path every year, I told myself, but no sooner had I done so than I suddenly heard, in the distance, human voices. There were speaking, and someone called out something. I started running and shouting, 'Help! Hey, hey! Wait for me! Espera! Espera!'

I ran as if possessed. I shouted myself hoarse. I struck out at the branches that blocked my way. Then stopped to listen. Not the slightest whisper was to be heard. It must have been my imagination playing tricks on me.

My idiotic pride had long since worn thin. Now I prayed for someone to rescue me. Let people say that I was a wimp, that I should have been able to make it out of the jungle on my own. I just wanted to be saved.

It was now the fourteenth of December. Someone had to do something – Lisette, the embassy. Marcus must be back by now. Or Kevin perhaps. I was certain that I would soon hear the drone of a plane overhead. They couldn't help but see me. I had left unmistakable signs on two beaches. They would easily spot the markings. But maybe, just maybe, I would still make it on my own. I must be so very close to San José.

Toward evening I thought that I had found a good place to cross. The river was wide, but the current seemed mild. Furthermore, there were four substantial islands strung out between one bank and the other. I could go from island to island until I reached the other side. Still, I thought, it might not be as easy as it looked, and I decided to take some precautions.

I was loath to get my clothing wet again, especially my socks. I stripped, shoved my clothing into the rubber bag, and closed it inside the pack. I took out the fishing line and tied it to the shoulder straps. I set the pack in the river; it floated satisfactorily. I pulled it back in and set in on the edge of the shore. Then I jumped barefoot into the water, holding the line. The water was shallow. I could walk, wading farther out, slowly but surely.

The current was stronger than it had looked, and the sharp stones on the river bottom cut into the soles of my feet. Only the walking stick came to my aid. I leaned heavily upon it, taking one cautious step after another. As I went, I gradually let out the fishing line, until I made it to the first island, about seventy-five feet from the shore. Now I would pull the pack over and go on to the next island. That was my plan. But it didn't work out that way.

I gave the fishing line a yank, and the pack slipped into the river. The undertow sucked it beneath the surface, and though I tugged with all my might, I couldn't pull it to me. I decided to change plans and tied the end of the line to a small tree on the shore of the island. I would walk back across to the riverbank and carry the pack on my back, but first I wanted to check out the second island.

I walked quickly to the far side of the first island. As I walked, mosquitoes swarmed all over me. I was black with them. I swatted myriads of them with my hands, but they didn't leave me alone. I rushed to the water but discovered it to be deep. I couldn't touch bottom and almost lost my faithful walking stick to the current. I threw it up on the bank and tried swimming to the second island, but the current was so strong that I headed back to the first while I was still able.

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.

It was pouring rain, and all my efforts to keep my clothes dry were wasted. I was supposed to find San José today. Maybe I would spend this night in the company of other men. That thought drove me out of my mind. I didn't want to pin all my hopes on it. Well, if not today, then surely tomorrow, I thought, trying to convince myself.

Walking was difficult. I was soaking wet, heavy, and clumsy. I could feel the water in my shoes and knew only too well what it was likely to do to my feet. The ground was muddy and slippery, and the wind chilled me to the bone. The longer I spent here, the more likely I was to sink into despondency. Even marching songs were of no avail, so I decided to flee to São Paulo, Brazil, a city I had heard much about.

My uncle lives here, and I am visiting him. I like it here. Why not stay for a while? I make elaborate plans for putting down roots in the city. I meet a few people my own age, all of them students. I spend a lot of time with them and discreetly inquire which is the wealthiest family in town. Do they have a young daughter? They do, of course, and of course she is both intelligent and beautiful. But how can I meet her? How can I ask her out? I have to find a way. Maybe I should take my uncle's car and crash into hers. That sometimes works in the movies. Maybe I should just hang around waiting for her and win her over with sincerity? Maybe she won't be able to resist my charms? Finally I come up with a plan. I will get to the daughter through the mother. My first thought is to have her run me over, just a little, like in Being There, but that would be risky. Plan B is to save her from muggers. And that's what I do.

Hey, you, kid! Come over here a minute.

I'm no kid. You'd better watch it, or else...

He was a street urchin who always hung around the neighbourhood.

Take it easy, pal. I didn't mean to insult you. I just wanted to know if you'd like to make a few bucks.

You bet, but it depends how.

This is going to sound weird, but... and I tell him my plan.

The kid drives a hard bargain, and I end up agreeing to pay him more than I had intended, but for this it's worth it. I just worry that he might double-cross me.

You'd better not keep on running. Don't try to con me.

You don't know us, señor. We never go back on our word.

The mother goes out to a large shopping centre, wearing a fancy dress and carrying a fancy bag. She is elegant, aristocratic. She walks down the street like she owns it, oblivious to the admiring glances of everyone she passes. Then something happens: something that forces her down from Olympus. A short, dark-skinned boy brushes up against her, pushes her roughly, grabs her purse out of her hands, and runs off.

Thief! Thief! Stop him!

Now she turns to the crowd for help, but the dark-skinned boy knows his business; he has vanished into the crowd, quick as an eel.

This is where I come in. Around the corner the boy hands me the purse as we had agreed. I bend over and let him give me a punch in the nose before he takes off.

I return the fancy bag. She smothers me with gratitude and takes out a clean handkerchief to staunch the bleeding. Then she takes out a wad of bills and offers them to me. I look her straight in the eye and refuse to take her money. She begins questioning me.

Speak more slowly, señora. I don't speak the language that well.

We chat. I know I am making a good impression.

Perhaps you'd care to join us for dinner this evening, she says. My husband and daughter would be so pleased to meet you.

Well, I don't know. I...

The evening is unforgettable. I am introduced to her daughter. It's a special moment, charged with expectations of things to come. I know that she will someday be my wife.

We seat ourselves around the table. Liveried servants serve a magnificent repast: salads, soufflés, skewered meats, vegetables, baked potatoes. The table is laden with every kind of delicacy, and I do not pass up a single dish. I taste everything, trying to do so without a rude display of gluttony.

When it is time to take my leave, I have the nerve to invite the mother and daughter to visit me in the apartment I have rented in the city. On the appointed day, after poring over recipes, I decide to serve a pizza, the very best pizza ever prepared. I knead the dough and toss it into the air like a professional. I don't settle for tomato paste seasoned with oregano, but sauté onions in a deep skillet together with whole, peeled tomatoes. I add green peppers and numerous cloves of garlic. I spice the sauce and ladle it over the crust. I sprinkle aromatic grated cheese in a thick layer. The cheese melts even before I put the pizza into the oven.

Dinner is a great success. We drink a lot of wine. It doesn't take long from there to the wedding...

My belly was howling. Brazil had been swell, but I had gotten my digestive juices all worked up for nothing. No matter, one day the dream would come true. For now I had to find something to eat.

Walking was intolerably difficult. The rain poured down. The jungle was dark and gloomy, and I walked slowly. It wasn't much better on the path. It was often blocked and frequently left me abandoned, helpless, in the jungle. The little streams were brimming over and difficult to cross. Scaling the walls of the wadis and climbing steep hills was treacherous. My shoes were caked with mud, and I slipped often. I was exhausted. I leaned heavily on my walking stick. I was weak and famished but afraid to take another amphetamine. Fate mocked me: I came upon a fruit tree whose inaccessible branches were laden with manzanas de monte. The rain and wind had knocked a few of them down into the mud. I picked out and ate the best of them. Most already had fat worms crawling through them. If only I could climb the tree or chop it down, I would have enough food for two days.

You know, Kevin, if you were here with the machete, with your muscles that tree would have been down in less than an hour. And you know what else, Kevin? If you were here, you'd be the one carrying this cruddy pack, not me.

But I was alone, and the fruit was out of reach. The pack was burdensome, and the rain still poured down.

I no longer felt that someone was watching over me, but still I prayed. Make the rain stop. Make me get to San José. May a plane come and find me. Do something.

Nothing happened, and I kept walking mechanically forward, but I couldn't stand it anymore. I decided to hop a plane for Las Vegas.

I arrive at night. A hot desert wind is blowing. At the hotel I take a shower and freshen up, then go down to the casino, smooth-shaven and well dressed. I had last been here on my way back from Alaska and had left a contribution of a thousand dollars on the blackjack table. But Judgement Day is here; I have come for my revenge.

Lord, what cards I hold this evening! I am dealt blackjack on almost every round. I increase the amounts I bet and tip the dealer generously. I play recklessly, paying no attention to the dealer's cards. I have fourteen, and he has six showing.

Hit me, I tell him.

The other players at the table give me disapproving looks but are astounded when I am dealt a seven. What can I say?

Everyone gathers around to watch the big-time young card shark. I start betting two hands at once and wipe out every dealer in the place.

The pit boss comes to my table and watches anxiously. His face is blank, but I can read his thoughts. I could swear I hear him say, Go on, sweetheart, keep playing. I know your type. You don't know when to get up and leave the table. You'll end up depositing all your money here.

He's wrong, of course. My luck never runs out. The pot gets bigger and bigger, astronomical sums of money. They have to call the manager to raise the limit. The manager has been watching me through one-way mirrors in the ceiling. He signs the authorisation, and the game goes on.

Waitresses showing a lot of cleavage try to ply me with drinks.

Not right now, honey, no thanks. Only coffee for me. Sure, you can put a little Grand Marnier in it, but just a little.

A gorgeous kitten materialises behind me, massaging my shoulders, brushing her breasts against my back.

I know why you're here, sweetie, I say to myself. It's not because of my charming smile, but it's all right with me. I'm no prude. Just a few more hands, and then we'll have a good time.

I get up from the table with $300,000 in chips. The manager signs the cheque personally. I have to admit that they are gracious losers. He shakes my hand and informs me that my luggage has already been moved to the VIP suite. He gives me a card entitling me to free use of all of the hotel's facilities. And this hotel has everything: floor shows, bars, restaurants, girls. You name it. They have it. I promise that I will be back tomorrow to triple my winnings. We are both happy.

Now I get down to business. I take my well-endowed bunny and go into the casino's fanciest restaurant. The credit card works wonders. The special treatment we receive is fantastic. Everyone has already heard about me. The table is surrounded by waiters.

Sweet-and-sour ribs, sir? Waldorf salad? Would you like to try a new kind of crêpe? Wine? Fish in garlic and butter? A T-bone steak with french fries? What kind of dressing would you like on the chef's salad? Roquefort? Yes, sir, right away. A banana split or ice cream? Chocolate and strawberry ice cream? Yes, of course, sir. You know just what to order.

The flattery pays off for the waiter. I don't leave anyone out. They all ask me to return. If I was a big hit at the blackjack tables, that was nothing compared with the restaurant.

You can rest assured, my friends, that I'll be back very soon...

In the late afternoon I was surprised by another river cutting across my path. It was quite wide – one hundred feet at least – but most of it was a desiccated riverbed. Down in a relatively narrow channel a placid flow of water ran into the Tuichi. The Tuichi itself looked treacherous. Its waters were black with the mud it churned up. Logs, branches, and uprooted bushes were carried along by the current, which was extremely swift. I wouldn't have liked to have fallen into those waters.

I stood there frightened, staring helplessly at the two rivers. I was certain that the map hadn't indicated another river emptying into the Tuichi on this bank before San José. I knew the map by heart, and according to it, the next river on the right-hand bank was far beyond San José. Could I have passed the village without realising it? San José was located up in the hills and was not visible from the Tuichi. I was supposed to have spotted it by the wide path and the balsa rafts on the shore. I might not have noticed and passed it when I was walking in the jungle, not along the bank.

Perhaps this river simply wasn't charted on the map. But how was that possible? The Ipurama and the Turliamos were marked, and they were no bigger than this river. The map wasn't dependable. Maybe this river had been overlooked because it was so shallow. I didn't know what to think, whether to backtrack and look for the landmarks on the opposite bank or go on, not knowing where I was. I finally decided to go on walking for one more day. Since I hadn't reached the village, I was bound to get there tomorrow. If not, then I would have no choice but to turn around and go back.

The remains of a path through the jungle lent credence to my assumption that I hadn't yet passed the village. The path continued, a narrow, difficult trail that took me about fifty yards from the Tuichi. What I found there surprised me and restored my hopes: traces of a campsite: two poles tied together with vines and a few palm fronds resting upon them. It was an old campsite. The vines were withered and dry, as were the fronds.

I couldn't have passed San José yet if there was a campsite here, I reassured myself. It also meant that San José couldn't be as close as I had assumed. Why would anyone bother setting up camp if it was only a few more hours' walk? I concluded that I must have at least another full day's hike ahead of me. It made sense. This was the path the villagers used on their way upriver to Curiplaya. It was reasonable to assume that they set out in the morning and set up camp after a day's walk. That put me a day from San José. I figured that this must be the first camp that they used on their way.

My spirits rose. I was sure it was the first camp; hadn't I been walking for four days already? So, I'd be there tomorrow.

You did it, Yossi. Congratulations. You made it. Tomorrow night you won't be sleeping alone in the jungle. You'll eat your fill. You won't be exposed to the rain and other dangers. One more day, Yossi, one more day.

It had stopped raining. The path led a little way past the camp and then dwindled and vanished altogether. I figured that this must be where the natives crossed the Tuichi. It was a convenient place to cross. The wadi was muddy. The stream ran through its centre and was only about a foot deep. I crossed to the other side.

The land here was completely flat and well forested. There were no hills or steep inclines. The jungle was dense, and vines were draped from the trees amid bushes and reeds. I could neither go forward nor find traces of the path. I kept on looking for broken branches or machete strokes, with no luck. I returned to the riverbank, searching for signs of where the natives had resumed their march, where the path would be. Sudden claps of deafening thunder set the jungle quaking. Hell, it was going to start pouring again. I had better find shelter. I could use the remains of the camp back on the other side of the river. It would mean wasting the two hours of walking time I had left that day, but the rain slowed me down anyway. Tomorrow the weather would surely be more benign, and I would hurry on.

I crossed back to the camp. Thunder clapped, and lightning lit up the sky. The wind came up. It was going to be a terrible storm. I hurriedly set about reinforcing the remains of the camp. I replaced the vines with fresh ones and went into the jungle to look for palm fronds. It had already started raining. I had never seen such a downpour. The drops came down with a sharp sting. I tore off about twenty fronds. The effort wore me out, but I didn't give up. I arranged the fronds so that they were closely overlapping one another across the poles. I covered every crack through which the rain might seep. I knew that it would take a thick layer to keep the wet out. The jungle outside was well flooded over, as if the end of the world were approaching. From a distance the Tuichi looked turbulent and gloomy.

I hurried into my shelter. Water leaked through in several places, but I didn't dare go back outside. I tried to rearrange the fronds from inside. I got out my night time necessities: the rice and- bean pillow, the rubber sack to cover my feet, the nets to use as blankets, and the poncho to wrap around everything else. I took off my shoes and wrung out my socks. Up until now I had managed to keep my feet in fair condition. I had only one more day to go. I prayed that they wouldn't let me down now.

Drops fell steadily through the leaks in the roof onto the poncho and dripped down to the ground. Outside I could hear the raging storm. In a very short time the ground became muddy, then soggy. I lay drenched in my shelter, miserable, trembling with both cold and fear. There was nothing I could do but pray to God.

The storm grew worse, and my shelter began to blow away, leaving open spaces through which the water streamed down upon me. I wanted to cry, to wail. I wanted away from this horror.

Why, why, did this have to happen to me? Please, God, help me. I'm afraid of dying.

Each minute seemed an eternity, and I had nowhere to flee. It required fierce concentration to immerse myself in fantasy. This time I went home.

I am married and have small children. My brother, Moshe, and I start a ranch on huge tracts of land we have bought in the Upper Galilee. We stock it with cattle I bought in Bolivia and Argentina of a quality not to be found in Israel. Most of Israel's meat is imported from Argentina, but we have a good climate and unused open spaces for grazing. Why shouldn't we raise our own cattle?

My brother and I work hard. The ranch prospers. We erect a huge house and all live together: my brother, his wife Miri, his daughter Lilach, and his other children, and of course me and my wife and our children.

We send our children to the regional school in a nearby kibbutz...

'Ahhh!' I came out of my fantasy with a scream. There was an ear-splitting din, and the ground shuddered. The trees around me, their roots left with nothing to hold on to, were crashing down one after another. When a tree of that size falls, it takes a few other trees with it.

God, help me! Save me! God...

The uproar died down, and the ground under me grew still. I heard only the rain and the roar of the Tuichi. Drenched and clammy with sweat, I forced myself back to the Galilee.

My brother and I rise at six, have our coffee in large mugs with thick slabs of cake. We leave early for the range on horseback. We check the fencing, take a count of the herd, check on a pregnant cow. At nine we head back home. The kids have already eaten and gone to school, and now the cook devotes herself to us. She prepares omelettes, salads, cheeses. Thick bread and butter, cream of wheat or rice pudding, hot chocolate, and her own special marmalade.

I don't know the source of our misfortune, but our fabulous cook leaves our employ. We place an ad in the newspaper: 'Wanted: gourmet cook. Residence on ranch in Galilee. Good terms and pay.'

We receive a great many applications and set up interviews. I am in charge. I sit in the office at the ranch and meet the prospective cooks. Each describes in detail the delicacies she or he knows how to prepare. I interview them one after another, listening to descriptions of every imaginable kind of food. This was my favourite among my fantasies since I could stretch it out and go into the minutest details of every dish and its preparation: Moroccan, European, hot and spicy, Polish dishes, Chinese food, and exotic concoctions. There is no end to the variety of food and no end to the line of applicants.

Outside it seemed that all the biblical prophecies of doom had been fulfilled, and there I was, by myself, the only human in this vast jungle. No other people, no settlements. Only San José, somewhere up there in the hills on the other side of the river, and I might at any instant be crushed to death by a falling tree. Yes, it could happen at any second, and it's the only thing that will pacify this jungle, let it settle peacefully back into its former calm. It wants to expel this arrogant interloper, this man who dared to think he could survive here alone.

I went on fantasising until dawn. From time to time I was startled out of my daydreams in a panic, thinking my end had come, but despite everything someone was still watching over me.

The morning rays cast their light on nothing good. The rain still came down in torrents. The wind kept howling against my shelter, rattling its rickety poles, but they held fast. My breath under the poncho kept my wet body warm, and my fantasies kept my mind occupied, but I wanted to get up and start marching. I had to get out of the jungle, no matter what. Kneeling, I packed my things, slung the pack on my back, snatched up my walking stick, and dashed outside.

Good Lord! Rain flooded down. I turned to start in the direction of the river and stood rooted to the ground. The wadi was flooded. The entire riverbed was brimming with water, as deep as ten feet, I guessed. Incredible. A shallow stream, a wadi that had been almost dry, had overnight become a wide river, almost over- flowing its banks. The Tuichi, which flowed by about fifty yards from where I stood, looked threatening. Its waters were black, and the current so swift it seemed that someone had filmed the river and was showing it at double speed. So many enormous trees floated downstream that the water itself was barely visible. The river had washed over its shores, gathering up all that booty. I assumed that the signposts that I had so laboriously erected, indicating my presence and the direction in which I was going, had also been washed away. I cursed the day.

How was I going to make it across the river? I started away from the Tuichi following the course of the unknown river upstream, but I didn't get far. There was no path nor hope of finding a place to cross. I had to go back to my shelter.

I was furious with myself. If I were to stay put, that meant spending another entire day in the jungle, and I wouldn't be sleeping in San José that night. I had had such high hopes of making it. There was nothing that I could do about it, however. There was no choice but to wait for the storm to blow over, for the river to recede so that I might cross it and be on my way.

I lay back down. My empty stomach was beyond grumbling or growling. I now felt the hunger with my entire body, a primordial need to eat, but all I had were the fruits of my imagination.

I suppose close to half an hour had passed when I became aware of water running down my back and shoulders. How could that be? I had a thick roof of leaves. Cold water reached my buttocks and feet. Then I grasped what had happened and had no time to spare. Both rivers were flooding, and I, fool that I was, hadn't seen it coming. The ground was level and flooded in a flash. I hurriedly knelt and shoved everything into my pack, including my socks and shoes. I didn't have time to close the rubber sack but rushed outside in my bare feet and began running. The water was already up to my ankles and would soon be knee deep. I ran in a panic but realised almost immediately that I had forgotten my walking stick in the shelter. I wasn't about to abandon my trusty walking stick. I set my pack down on a little rise and ran back.

By the time I had reclaimed the stick and had returned to the pack, the water was already past my waist, and the rise was flooded. The pack was floating, and I rushed toward it before it could be carried away. I put my arm through one of the shoulder straps and grabbed hold of a tree. I could feel the water tugging me toward the river. If I lost my hold on the tree, I would drown. I started swimming away, kicking hard, and succeeded in grabbing onto the next tree. All of my muscles ached, and I was afraid that they would give out on me, but the palpable fear of death lent me new, unfamiliar stores of energy. I pushed myself away from the tree with a great thrust, reaching from tree to tree. Once I missed my grasp and was swept away, but the jungle was dense, and I was rammed into trees until I caught hold of one of them. There was no chance of my climbing a tree and, anyway, I might have been stuck up there forever. I would be better off trying to make it to higher ground.

For once I was oblivious to pain. I was quite simply fighting for my life: pushing away, grabbing, pulling, snatching instants to catch my breath. I went on like that for half an hour until I came upon a hill that wasn't flooded. I stood there panting, water pouring out of the holes in my pack, my clothing drenched and torn, rain beating down upon me mercilessly.

I got my socks and shoes out and pulled them onto my battered feet. The red rash was spreading, and I knew only too well what was in store for me. I was bitter, despondent, and furiously angry that the whole world – all the mighty elements of nature – had ganged up on one solitary man.

On the other side of the hill the jungle had flooded only waist high. Walking was a torment. I sank into the mud, and each step was excruciating, for the mud had seeped into my shoes and socks and had begun to abrade the skin. Places I had passed so easily yesterday presented dangerous obstacles today. Every tiny wadi had become a stormy deluge. Every broad expanse was now a treacherous swamp. The area was suddenly overrun with frogs. Where had they all come from? Their croaking made a din, but, strangely, I didn't see a single one. The storm had left its traces everywhere. Broken trees lay like corpses on the ground, leaving gaping, flooded craters where they had been uprooted.

I went on as best I could, walking away from the Tuichi, fleeing to the hills. I went on for miles, hours passed, but nothing changed. I walked immersed in mud, without knowing where I was putting my feet. I got stuck in bushes and pulled myself free. I stepped on sharp rocks and bit back the pain. I was frequently forced to swim. When I had to haul myself back out of wadis, I slipped and slid, crawling on my hands and knees. When I tried to get a grip on a root or a bush, I fell backward, clutching the uprooted plant in my hand. I had no idea where I was or where I was going, I only wanted to find a resting place for my battered body. I wanted to get to someplace where I would be able to lie down and wait for the storm to pass. Finally I climbed a hill and looked for a tree with thick roots. I didn't want to lie down under a tree that was likely to fall over and crush me. Completely exhausted, I tore off a few palm fronds and lay down on the ground under what appeared to be a reliable tree.

The rain hadn't stopped but seemed to have abated somewhat. I took off my shoes and shoved my feet into the sack. They were so raw that I was afraid to take my socks off, fearful that I wouldn't be able to put them back on the next day. Both the mosquito nets and the poncho were dripping wet. I was shivering cold. The wind was still blowing, and I was afraid that I would come down with pneumonia. If I became sick, I would die.

I began praying. I prayed to God with all my heart. Please forgive me for ever having doubted you and not putting all my faith in you. I know that you are always watching. Please don't let me get sick. Let me make it back to safety. Please God.

I considered taking a vow, promising something, but I didn't want God to think that I was haggling. I took out Uncle Nissim's book for moral support. The plastic bag had not kept it dry. I kissed the book and slipped it into my pocket.

It was the seventeenth morning of my solitude. The storm was over. I was in sad shape. I was far from my destination and doubted that I would be able to go on. My feet were infected. From now 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 sweetsour pulp from the pits. The small quantity of nourishment tormented my aching belly, but it helped restore my hopes.

Someone is still watching over me. Uncle Nissim's book will protect me. I won't die as long as I have it in my pocket. I shouldn't underestimate its powers. I mustn't lose hope. I am stronger than I think I am. If I have been able to survive this far, I can go on.

I gave myself a good talking-to and turned toward San José once again. I was going on, no matter what. I trod through flood waters, swam across streams, climbed up wadi walls. I don't know where I got the energy. While I was wading through the mud, I made believe that I was one of the Zionist pioneers, draining the swamps. A long black snake passing near my foot startled me. I threw my walking stick at it but missed.

'Wait a minute,' I called, chasing after it. 'Wait a minute. I want to eat you.'

My shirt caught on a branch and tore. The sharp branch slashed my upper arm down to the elbow. Blood spurted from the wound. I fought back tears of desperation.

It doesn't matter. I'll get over it. I'm going on.

I could neither see nor hear the river but followed the streams that cut in front of me. I knew that they would lead me to the Tuichi. It wasn't raining, but the wind was blowing, and it was very cold. The humidity formed a heavy mist.

Suddenly I heard a sputter, a drone, the sound of an engine... an airplane.

Don't be a fool, Yossi. It's only your imagination.

But the sound grew louder. It was an airplane!

They're looking for me! Hooray! I'm saved!

The sound grew louder, and I ran like a lunatic, ignoring my tattered feet. I had to get to Tuichi. I had to signal the plane. The sound was right overhead. I stopped, panting, and looked up. Between the treetops I saw a few grey clouds, and amid them, at a moderate altitude, a small white plane glided past.

'Hello, here I am! Help! I'm down here.' I waved my arms frantically. 'Don't go. Don't leave me here. Here I am.'

The plane vanished from the sky, its drone fading away.

Now I became aware of my feet. The frantic running had torn the flesh from them, and I felt as if they were on fire. I collapsed to the earth, my face buried in the mud. I lay sprawled there and wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come.

I can't take any more. I can't budge another inch. That's it.

From the bottom of my heart I prayed, not for rescue, not even for survival. I prayed for death. Please, good God, stop this suffering. Let me die.

And then she appeared. I knew it was all in my mind, but there she lay, next to me. I didn't know who she was. I didn't know her name. I knew we'd never met, and yet I knew that we were in love. She was weeping despondently. Her fragile body trembled.

'There, there, stop crying,' I tried to comfort her.

Take it easy. It's all right. Get up, Yossi, I urged myself, you have to lead the way, keep her spirits up.

I plucked myself up out of the mud and very gently helped her up. Tears still poured down her cheeks.

'The plane didn't see us. It just went by,' she wailed.

'Don't worry, my love. It will surely be back this way. It didn't see us through the jungle trees. We can't be seen from the air. If we could get a fire going, the smoke might be spotted.'

But everything was soaking wet.

When I heard the drone of the plane's engine once again, I knew we had no hope of being found that day.

I had made it back to the Tuichi, but there was no bank. I stood on the bluff, about twenty feet above the river, its rapids tumbling beneath me. I took out the poncho and waved it frantically, but I knew there was no chance of being spotted through the trees. The plane was flying too high and too fast. I watched it go past with longing eyes.

She looked up at me forlornly.

Don't worry. They'll be back tomorrow,' I promised. 'Look, we were almost saved today. I'm sure that that's Kevin up there. It has to be Kevin. I just know it is. He must have gone to my embassy for help.'

I still did not recognise her: where she was from, why she was here. I just kept comforting her.

'They knew they'd have a hard time finding us today since the weather is so cloudy, but I'm sure they'll come back tomorrow and won't give up until they find us.

'You know, once in a while some guy gets lost in the Judeaen desert, and they call out the army and volunteers and trackers. Sometimes they have to keep looking for a whole week before they find the guy, dead or alive. They never just stop looking.

'What we have to do is help them find us. We have to find a shore to stand on, so they'll be able to see us.'

I remembered the beach where the jaguars had been. I had better head back there.

'Yes, that's a great idea. It's a huge beach.'

I had marked it clearly, and while I assumed that the markings had all been washed away, the beach itself must still be there. It was so wide. I quickly figured the distance. I had first arrived at Jaguar Beach on the afternoon of the fourteenth. I had wasted the rest of that day trying unsuccessfully to ford the river. On the fifteenth, as well, I had stopped walking relatively early. That meant that a day's walk was between me and the beach. I could still get in a good few hours' walk today. Tomorrow I would start walking at dawn and perhaps make Jaguar Beach in the morning hours.

I explained my plan to her.

'Come on, love. Another day's walk, maybe less, and we'll be there,' I said encouragingly. 'There they will spot us easily. First the plane will go over and see us. The pilot will signal us with a tilt of the wings and go back to base. Within a few hours a helicopter will arrive, land on the beach, and pick us up. We'll be saved. It'll all happen tomorrow. We have to stick it out one more day. Come on, let's get going.'

I changed direction for the third time that day. This time without hesitation. I knew that I was doing the right thing.

My feet barely obeyed my will, almost refusing to carry my weight. They couldn't stand much pressure. Every time I stepped on a rock or root, terrible pains pierced through me. When I had to climb a hill and descend the other side, it seemed an impossible effort. I had to get down and crawl, drag myself along with my elbows. But I kept my suffering to myself. She was with me. She was also injured, weak, and hungry. It was harder for her than for me. If I wasn't strong, she would break.

I have to push myself harder, hide my own feelings, and keep her morale up.

When we were climbing upward, I would bite my lip and plead with her, 'Just a little farther, my love. Yes, I know how much it hurts. Here, I'll give you a hand. One more little push. That's all. You see? We made it. We're at the top. Now we have to get down. Sit like this and slide. Slowly, take it easy. Watch out. Be careful you don't slip.'

Rocks and thorns sliced into my buttocks. I noticed with concern that the rash had spread to other parts of my body. Red dots had broken out under my armpits and around my elbows. The cut on my arm hadn't formed a scab. The edges were white. My fingers and the palms of my hands were also lily-white. I had been constantly wet for several days.

My body is rotting.

We walked until late evening. I didn't stop talking for a minute, chattering all day long, trying to keep her spirits up, trying to keep her from losing hope. When she stumbled or slowed down, I offered her my hand, caressing her sad face. I was so anxious to cover as much ground as possible that I didn't even notice that the sun had almost set. I had to hurry and find a place to rest our heads before darkness fell.

I tore off some palm fronds and spread them over some muddy tree roots. I didn't bother trying to get comfortable; my body was inured to discomfort. I covered myself with the wet nets and the poncho. Taking my shoes off had been agony. I didn't remove my socks. They would just have to remain wet and dirty with mud, blood, and pus. I pulled the sack over my feet very carefully, knowing how tormenting the slightest contact would be. I didn't change position all night long in order to give my feet a rest.

I believed with all my heart that tomorrow would be my last day of hardship. Tomorrow a plane would find me.

'Thank you, my love. Thank you for being here. Tomorrow you'll get the kid-glove treatment. Don't cry. Try to shut your eyes, to get some sleep. Tomorrow we still have a few more hours to walk. We have to get there early, before the plane comes.

'Good night, my love.'

At the break of dawn a heavy rain began pouring down. My prayers and pleas were to no avail. She was awakened by the first drops.

'Today is the big day, the last day,' I told her. 'We aren't going to let a little rain stop us. Don't let it get you down. It's not so bad. When we get to Jaguar Beach, I'll build you a strong shelter. You'll be able to rest, to sleep, until the helicopter comes.

'You're hungry? Yes, I know you're hungry, but we don't have anything left for breakfast. Don't worry, I'll find something to eat in the jungle. You can count on me.'

I couldn't stand. My feet were soft and mushy, as if a skinless mass of raw, bloody flesh had been poured into my shoes. I couldn't take a single step, but I knew that my only chance for survival was to walk. I had to get to the shore. If I stayed in the jungle, no one would ever find me. I stumbled forward like a zombie. I discovered traces of the path, but it vanished after a while.

Walking through the dense growth was like marching through hell. I tried to stay as much as possible on soft, muddy ground, to ease the pain of every step I took. I tried to keep my weight on my trusty walking stick and often pulled myself forward by clutching at bushes and branches. When I came to an incline, even a gentle slope, I got down on all fours and crawled, my face caked with mud, my clothes torn and weighing me down. I was weak and afraid of losing consciousness. All I had was water. Water had become the enemy. Other than water nothing had passed my lips. The girl was my only consolation.

We walked on together for a few hours, but Jaguar Beach was nowhere to be seen. I tried to locate it by looking for the four islands that had been strung across the river. I remembered them as being very close to the beach, but I saw only one solitary island in the river. I feared that the current had swept the islands away but found that hard to believe. The islands had been large and well forested. They couldn't have vanished without a trace.

I trudged on and on through the mud and finally came upon a fruit tree. It was tall, a species of palm. At its top were large clusters of dates. A family of monkeys were up there having a noisy feast. A few pieces of fruit were strewn on the ground. They were squashed into the mud and rotting. My body quivered, twitched with craving, an age-old primordial instinct. I was hungry like a wild beast. I pounced upon the dates in the mud. I didn't care if they were rotten. The worms did not disgust me. I put the fruit into my mouth, rolled it around with my tongue, cleaned it off with my saliva, spat it out into the palm of my hand, and then spat out the residue of mud in my mouth before putting the fruit back. Soon, however, I lost patience and swallowed the fruit together with the mud. I didn't leave a single piece on the ground. Even the worms were a source of protein. The monkeys started throwing half-eaten dates down at me. They laughed and tossed pits down on my head. I was grateful to them, for the monkeys didn't take more than one bite out of each piece and discarded a thick layer of edible pulp. I could see their teeth marks on the dates before I ate them.

I went on for several hours without stopping to rest. It required effort, a supreme and painful effort. Jaguar Beach was nowhere to be seen. I began to worry, though I didn't think that I could have missed it. It had been the widest strip of shore along the entire length of river. I must be moving more slowly than I thought. I was injured, and walking through the mud was slow and laborious. I can't give up. I have to make it back there before the plane passes overhead again.

Then I lost my head for a moment. It wasn't her fault. The hill was just too steep. I knew that I wouldn't make it to the top without a great deal of suffering and pain. Here I collapsed. She burst into tears and refused to go on. I was sick of speaking to her kindly and lovingly.

What the hell does she think? I wondered, enraged. That I'm having a picnic?

'Stop coddling yourself,' I shouted. 'I'm sick of you and your whining, do you hear? Who needs you anyway? I don't have enough problems without schlepping a cry-baby along? You don't help with anything. All you do is cry. Would you like to trade places with me for a while and carry this lousy pack on your back? I've had it with your bawling. You can cry your eyes out, for all I care, but you'd better not stop walking, because I'm not going to wait for you anymore.'

I behaved cruelly but felt relieved to have let off steam. Afterward I felt ashamed of myself. I went over to her, gave her a hug, stroked her hair gently, and told her that I was sorry for having lost my temper and hadn't really meant any of it. I told here that I loved her, that I would protect her and bring her back to safety, but she had to make the effort and walk.

I had by now grown faint and dizzy, become weaker and weaker. When I came across a fallen tree that blocked my path, I had to walk around it. I couldn't lift my legs over it.

I have to make it to Jaguar Beach. Have to, have to, have to!

I could hear the plane's engine in the distance. I waited as it drew near. I knew that the plane wouldn't be able to see me, but I at least wanted to see it. The sound was dull and distant, then faded altogether. Had I imagined it? Maybe they were looking for me somewhere else. But Kevin was there, I was sure of that, and he knew where I was.

Toward evening I came to an area where a puddle of water floated on the mud. I walked on, oblivious, and before I had a chance to comprehend what was happening, the earth swallowed me up. I sank swiftly. Shocked and in a panic. I found myself up to my waist in bog. I went into a frenzy, like a trapped animal, screaming, trying to get out, but the mud was thick and sticky, and I couldn't move. My walking stick cut through it like a hot knife through butter and was of no help at all. I reached out to some reeds and bushes, stretching my body and arms in their direction. I tried pulling myself out by them, but they came loose in my hands. I continued sinking slowly.

I came out of my convulsive throes and calmed down. I tried to act rationally. I stuck my hands down deep into the mud, wrapped them around one knee and tried to force one leg up out of the mud. I pulled with all my might, but to no avail. It was as if I had been set in concrete. I couldn't budge. I wanted to cry again but felt only a thick lump in my throat.

So this is it, death. I end my life in this bog.

I was resigned. I knew that I didn't have the strength to get myself out, and no power in the world would reach down and pluck me out of the swamp.

It would be a slow, horrible death. The mud was already up to my belly button. The pack rested on the mud, and I was relieved of its weight. Suddenly I had a brilliant idea. I would commit suicide. I took the pack from my shoulders and rummaged through it hurriedly until I found the first-aid kit. There were about twenty amphetamines and perhaps thirty other, unidentified pills. That was it. I would take all of them. I was sure they would kill me or at least make everything good and hazy before I drowned. First I opened the tin of speed. I held a few of them in the palm of my hand.

You're being selfish, Yossi, really egotistical. It's easy enough for you to die, just swallow the pills, and you're off to paradise. But what about your parents? Your mother: what will this do to her?

You can't die like this. Not after all you've already been through. It wouldn't be so bad it you had died on the first day in a sudden accident. But now, after all this suffering? It isn't fair to just give up now.

I put the pills back in the tin. I strained forward, leaning my torso out across the mud and moved my arms forward as if I were swimming. I moved my arms back and forth, pulling and wriggling in the mud. I kicked my legs in fluttering movements. I fought with every ounce of strength. Fought for my life.