CHAPTER SIX - BACK TO ASRIAMAS

You could set your watch by Karl. I awoke in the morning to find him once again up and about. When he saw that I was up, he beckoned to me urgently. He pointed to fresh tracks on the riverbank, just fifteen yards from the tent. 'It's a jaguar. A big one. Look at the size of those paws. He was this close to our camp. It's a good thing the fire didn't go out during the night.'

A great deal remained to be settled, and over breakfast the four of us discussed our alternatives.

Karl said, 'Just look at my boots. They certainly are ready to head back to Asriamas, but I'm willing to keep on going, no matter what, barefoot if I have to, to get to the Indian village. Trust me.'

But Karl's opinion didn't really count. He was merely our guide. He had to do as we chose.

Marcus was adamant. 'We're going back!'

I objected just as stubbornly, 'We're going on!'

Kevin would cast the deciding vote, and I was sure that he would side with me. It surprised me when he took a long time weighing the options, making up his mind. Finally he cast his vote. 'We're going back.'

Karl accepted the outcome gracefully. We climbed back up the mountainside, following the same path we had taken the previous day. Kevin was in a rotten mood. It was the first day of the trip that he didn't take any pictures. He wore a sour expression and wasn't at all friendly toward me. Marcus and Karl walked ahead of us, talking. Their disagreement hadn't adversely affected their friendship.

I spotted a fig tree growing right on the edge of the river. How could I have missed it yesterday? Kevin and I picked the fruit together, but it turned out to be unripe and sour. Only a few were edible. Kevin took some coca leaves out of his pack. He chewed a lot of them during the day, as they calm the stomach and dull the appetite, but I found their taste sickening. Karl munched on cinnamon sticks as he walked along, but they were so strong that I passed on them as well.

Suddenly we heard excited cries up ahead. Karl and Marcus had almost stepped on a large snake.

'It got away.' Karl shook his head in regret. 'Too bad. They're delicious. Taste just like fish.'

'Isn't it poisonous?' Kevin asked.

'No, that one wasn't particularly dangerous. There are two species of venomous snakes in the jungle,' Karl started lecturing, 'the pucarara and the lora. The pucarara has yellow and black stripes. Its bite causes almost immediate death, but the lora is even worse. It's the same shade of green as the leaves and usually lives up in the trees. It's likely to strike right at the head, and if it isn't within striking distance, it can spray its venom, spit it right into your eyes. I know a guy who went blind. But other than those two, the snakes aren't dangerous, except for the boa, of course, which can crush you to death. So can the anaconda; they live in the rivers. They get to be a few yards long, and they're very thick around.

'I'll tell you something though. The most dangerous animals – worse than snakes and even worse than jaguars – are the wild boars. They have brains. They run in herds, following a leader. Once I was on an expedition, and when we stopped to rest, we were attacked by a pack of boars. There must have been twenty of them. They have vicious tusks and razor-sharp teeth. They caught us off guard. We all ran away, scrambled like hell up the trees. Then those fucking pigs started rooting around the trunks. They were trying to uproot the trees, determined to make a meal of us.' Karl enjoyed elaborating. 'We fired a lot of shots at them from up in the trees and finally scared them off after we had killed eight of them. We didn't have to do any more hunting the entire expedition; we had plenty of smoked meat. Wild boar meat is a real delicacy.'

But we didn't run into many wild animals other than monkeys, which we frequently saw and even more frequently heard; they made a terrible commotion at night. We did come across tapir and deer tracks every day, but the vast majority of our contact with the animal kingdom was unfortunately with various species of insects, who inflicted much pain upon us. The most bothersome were the fire ants: small, brown ants that climb trees. If one of us inadvertently brushed against a branch of fire ants, he quickly regretted it. Masses of them swarmed over us, under our collars, up our sleeves, and down our pants. Their sting burned like fire. Whenever one of us was attacked, he danced about in a frenzy. Kevin would strip off his clothes and try to shake them out. Marcus would scream, 'Those son-of-a-bitching ants, those lousy son-of-a-bitching ants! Come help me!' He would point to those parts of his body that he couldn't reach, and we would pluck the merciless ants from him. When I fell victim to them, I would rush to the river and leap in, hoping to drown them, but the pain was horrible. Karl told us that fire ants can always be found on the palo santo (holy wood) trees. The missionaries used to tie recalcitrant Indians to the palo santo, and while the fire ants attacked them, they had the opportunity to rethink their resistance to Christianity.

In addition to the fire ants the bees also pestered us, mainly when we were trying to eat, and the mosquitoes were a constant plague, stinging every patch of bare skin. We had malaria pills and conscientiously swallowed one each day. If these scourges didn't inflict sufficient misery upon us, we also fell victim to the leeches. They clung to our bodies, digging their heads under the skin and sucking our blood. If you don't get leeches off in time, they bloat up, and then you have to be careful how you pull them out. You have to dig the head out from under the skin with a pin or risk getting an infection.

Our progress was rapid, as we knew the way and were marching over trails that we had cut only the day before. At night we slept in camps that we ourselves had set up only recently. We walked without enthusiasm, however, barely speaking. Both Kevin's and Marcus's shoes looked as if they had had it. Karl's boots were completely useless, and he was wearing Kevin's sandals. Walking over a rugged trail and wading through streams in sandals couldn't have been very pleasant, but Karl, as I've said, was a very tough guy.

There was an unspoken enmity between Marcus and me. We didn't speak to each other at all, and even in practical matters we communicated through Kevin. It bothered me, but I felt secure, sure of Kevin's friendship.

In the evening, after dinner, Kevin would take out a spool of dental floss and break off a piece for each of us before we brushed our teeth. Kevin's father was a dentist, and he didn't let his dental hygiene lapse, even in the jungle. Marcus was returning from washing the dishes in the river one evening and offered us some of the water remaining in the clean pan to rinse the toothpaste from our mouths. I took a mouthful, sloshed it around, and spat it out. There hadn't been much water, and I used it all. Kevin was angry.

'You should have shared it with me,' he complained.

'I know,' I replied, 'but there was so little water in there, I used it all without even noticing.'

'Still, you should have shared. You always have to share.'

Kevin was ticked off and went to the tent, where Karl was already snoring.

Marcus and I were left alone by the fire. Neither of us spoke a word. I was ill at ease and felt lonely after having quarrelled with Kevin. I needed him. If Kevin got mad at me, he might befriend Marcus again, and then I would be left out. Marcus peeked over at me, but I wouldn't meet his eyes. I sat there thinking for another moment and then rose and said good night.

Kevin wasn't yet asleep in the tent.

'What's Marcus doing out there all by himself?' he asked.

'I don't know,' I answered.

Kevin didn't seem at all upset with me. On the contrary, he put a warm hand on my shoulder when he said good night. Kevin and I were reunited. Marcus's defeat was complete now. I looked out at his fragile figure, and a chill crept along my spine. What was becoming of me? Where was all this darkness coming from? Why did I mock him? Why did I enjoy his pain? Suddenly I was afraid, afraid of myself. I wanted to rush out, hug him, and ask his forgiveness but couldn't move.

Marcus stayed out there for a long while, staring sadly into the embers.

In the morning Marcus discovered red splotches on his feet and complained that they were very painful. Karl looked worried.

'It's not good, not good at all,' he said. 'Those splotches are liable to spread all over your feet. That happened once to a friend of mine. It got so bad, he couldn't walk, and we had to carry him over our shoulders. I hope you haven't got the same thing.'

Marcus was frightened by what Karl said and rubbed petroleum jelly all over his feet.

We tramped briskly on that day, and Marcus managed to keep up with our pace. Kevin's mood improved.

'At least we can still go down the river,' he said.

At noon Karl spotted a pavo, a wild fowl something like a turkey. It was sitting on one of the branches of a tall tree. Karl hushed us, crept forward stealthily, and took careful aim. The shot and cry rang out together.

'I hit it! I got it!' he shouted gleefully, and ran between the trees to retrieve the bird.

Then we heard cries of fright and pain.

He burst through the foliage and ran like crazy for the river, jumped into the water, got back out, and came quickly over to us, rubbing himself all over.

'Bees, fucking bees!' he yelled angrily. 'They stung me all over.'

He removed his shirt, and Marcus counted the stings he had on his back. Nine. His left ear was already red and swollen, and the back of his neck was inflamed as well.

'They attacked me, the sons of bitches!' Karl hadn't calmed down yet. 'The pavo fell right into a beehive. The little mothers can have it, for all I care.'

Kevin and I had a hard time stifling our laughter.

'You don't mean that, Karl,' Kevin said. 'We're not going to leave that turkey just lying there while we go hungry.'

'You want it so bad?' Karl said, fuming. 'Go get it yourself.'

'Yossi, are you going to help me?' Kevin asked.

I joined him reluctantly. First we sprayed ourselves all over with repellent, both our bare skin and our clothes. Karl watched us with a smug grin. We crept up on the spot, approaching from opposite directions, and soon saw the buzzing swarm over the fowl. Kevin crept forward, and I did the same.

'Don't worry,' Kevin said, 'The smell of the repellent will surely keep them off us.'

I was standing about six feet from them and hadn't been stung. Kevin took one more step, and the bees swarmed over him in one thick cloud. 'Oooh, ohhh,' he yelled, and started running blindly. He crashed into boughs, stumbled, and didn't stop for anything until he jumped into the river. I ran like hell, too, but wasn't stung.

Karl chuckled with satisfaction. 'Hey, Kevin, so where's the turkey?'

Kevin rubbed his aching body. 'At least twenty bees stung me, the bastards. I hope they choke on the damn turkey! I'm not going back in there.'

The next morning Marcus's feet were in terrible shape. The splotches had spread out, and he was in agony. He smeared them with petroleum jelly again before he put his shoes on and covered them with plastic bags. He wanted to try to keep them dry, an impossibility when wading in a river. Fortunately by afternoon we were back in Asriamas.

Don Jorge's children were the first to see us coming and ran back to the village, calling out joyfully that we had returned. A few women came out to welcome us. Don Jorge's wife was among them, along with her mother and neighbours. They were genuinely happy to see us again. And someone else was happy to see us as well.

She rose from where she had been lying in the shade of the cookhouse, yawned widely, and came to greet us, wagging her tail. Flaca! Karl was amazed to find her alive and well. He tried to hide how happy he was and gave her a swift kick in the backside, as if to say, 'We've had it with you, you traitor.'

A boy was sent to call Don Jorge from the fields. His wife fed us in the meantime: lamb broth, rice, beans, and roast meat. A pitcher of juice was also brought to the table as we savoured the delicious food for which we had hungered.

Don Jorge came in from the fields, his machete over his shoulder. He gave us each a warm handshake. We told him about our journey into the jungle and back, about the trouble and Marcus's disease. Marcus wanted to return to La Paz now, while we developed new plans. We weren't going to make it to the Indian village, but at least we could carry on with the second part of our plan. We wanted to stay in Asriamas to build a raft and float down the Tuichi River to the place where it runs into the Beni, near Rurrenabaque, and from there fly back to La Paz.

Don Jorge suggested we put Marcus on a mule and that he personally would lead him all the way to Apolo. He also offered to build the raft for us. Karl explained that it had to be wide enough and sturdy enough to carry four men, our packs, and a large quantity of food. Don Jorge replied that he wouldn't be able to do it on his own but that he would see if his neighbours would be willing to lend a 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, and except for Karl, we all shaved off the stubble that had sprouted on our cheeks during our trek. We got out of the water and dressed hastily because the mosquitoes were swarming about us. I was in such a hurry that my wallet fell out of my pants pocket. I bent down and quickly snatched it up. It was a red cloth wallet, waterproof, but I had wrapped it in a plastic bag anyway.

'Yossi, I've been wanting to ask you what you keep in that wallet,' Kevin said. 'I know where your passport, money, and watch are. So what do you have in that wallet that you never let it out of your sight? What are you hiding in there?'

'It's a long story,' I said with a grin.

'I'm listening,' Kevin said.

We seated ourselves in the shade. 'Have you ever heard of the Kabbalah?' I began.

'It's some kind of Jewish mysticism, isn't it?' Kevin said.

'Exactly,' I replied, 'but the truth is, I don't know any more than that about it myself. I had an uncle named Nissim, which in Hebrew means 'miracles.' He was born in Turkey and studied at the yeshiva in Tiberias. Then he wandered about Europe making his living as a cantor, ritual slaughterer, and performing circumcisions. Eventually he settled in Israel and opened a small toy store in Rehovot.

'My uncle was always reading old religious books. I didn't know it then, but he was studying the Kabbalah. He had his own special way of life and particular eating habits. He never visited a doctor and refused to take any medicines. Whenever he didn't feel well, he would fast for a day or two until he was better.

'Nissim never had any kids, but I was as close to him as a son. When I turned eighteen and was about to go into the army, he asked me to come see him. He sat up tall, with his full head of white hair and piercing blue eyes. He was eighty-three years old then. He took a little book out of his wallet. It was very tiny, very thin, its pages yellow with age.

''I've carried this book in my pocket my entire life,' he said to me. 'It has special powers. It has taken care of me. I'm an old man now, and you will soon be a soldier. You need its protection more than I do. Take it and care for it well. Don't ever part with it, because it will watch over you.'

'I thanked him, gave him a kiss, and went home, thinking that it was all a lot of nonsense. When I got home, I found my mother in tears.

''Uncle Nissim has had a heart attack.'

'I rushed to the hospital. My uncle was unconscious. I gave the little book to my aunt, and she slipped it under his pillow. When he regained consciousness, he asked her to return it to me since he wouldn't be needing it any longer. He died in the hospital.'

'God, what a story!' Kevin exclaimed.

'Maybe it was just circumstance, or maybe he sensed that his time had come, but just in case I always carry the book with me. A year ago I was mountain climbing in Alaska. I had strayed from the trail and came to a dangerous overhang. The stone I was bracing myself on gave way, and I fell, but my jeans snagged miraculously on a jagged rock, and I was saved. I had the book in my pants pocket. Maybe that was just chance too. Who knows? Still, it makes me feel safe. Sometimes I think that I'm indestructible as long as I have it with me. When my own son gets drafted, I'm not so sure that I'll want to give it to him.'

'Give it to him when you're eighty-three,' Kevin suggested.

Kevin had just as many stories to tell about himself. One year he had returned from a trip to Nepal, arriving home on Christmas Eve. His family wasn't expecting him, as he had called only his sister to tell her he was on his way and made her promise to keep his arrival a secret. He went directly from the airport to her house, where she outfitted him in a Santa Claus costume. Then, all dressed up, with a sack of brightly wrapped presents slung over his shoulder, his face covered with a thick, woolly beard, he knocked on his parents' door. His father answered, and Kevin went into a Santa Claus routine. He asked his father and brother if they had been good little children, if they had behaved themselves and thought they deserved a present. They answered that they had, never suspecting who was hiding behind the beard.

Finally Kevin couldn't take it any longer and, choked with tears, cried out, 'It's me, Dad! Kevin!'

Marcus's feet were still hurting since the rash had not cleared up. Karl told him that he should dry his feet thoroughly and keep off them. Marcus rubbed on more petroleum jelly and stretched out in the sun, but the flies and mosquitoes swarmed about his bare feet, and he was forced to cover them with a mosquito net.

Marcus wanted to have a look at Don Jorge's son's injured foot. The boy was called and came running over with only a rag wrapped around his foot. He took it off, and we could see that the swelling had gone down. There were no more signs of infection, and the wound was almost completely healed. The boy's recovery made Marcus happy and proud.

That evening Don Jorge told us that his neighbours were willing to help build the raft. Tomorrow they would cut some balsa trees and float them down the river to the village. Don Jorge said that the raft would be ready within three or four days, depending on the weather. The balsa logs had to be thoroughly dry before they could be used. It was the end of November, and the rainy season would soon be upon us, but we hoped for a few sunny days to dry the logs. The amount of money – twenty dollars – that Don Jorge and his neighbours were asking for the work was ridiculously low, and we agreed among ourselves that we would give them more than that.

We wanted to buy foodstuffs from Don Jorge – rice, meat, fruits, and vegetables – for our stay in the village. If his wife was willing, we also wanted to hire her to prepare our meals and would pay her for both the food and her work. Don Jorge was amenable.

'So now you've got a hotel with full board,' Karl teased us.

We prayed for good weather because Karl kept reminding us that he had to be back in La Paz by the beginning of December in order to pick up his uncle's truck. He planned on our spending about a week on the Tuichi, so we had to start out as soon as possible.

'Maybe,' Karl added, 'If we got to Rurrenabaque soon enough, we'll be able to visit my uncle's ranch. It's not far from there. We could stay for a day or two.'

We all liked the idea. Kevin and Marcus both wanted to fly home before Christmas. I was in no hurry to go anywhere.

How good it was to sleep on a luxurious straw mat that night. How peaceful the village was. The villagers were all fast asleep. The horses grazed among the mud huts, casting long shadows over the dewy grass. The sheep dozed under the papaya trees. The pigs wallowed in their mud, looking like they were dreaming, wiggling restlessly in their sleep. The dogs were too lazy to bark.

Karl went out at dawn to help the villagers search for balsa trees. That afternoon he came back to the hut to find the rest of us lying on our mats. Kevin and Marcus were reading. I was doing nothing. He told us that they had already selected seven thick trees, and Don Jorge and his friends were busy chopping them down at that very moment.

It was hot outside, so we were enjoying lying in the cool, dark room. Karl, never content to remain idle – a talent Kevin and I were cultivating to a fine art – looked around restlessly for something to do. He gathered up Marcus's and Kevin's shoes, the soles of which had fallen almost completely off. He took up a hammer and nails and with great diligence pounded holes through the leather uppers and the rubber soles. He wove wire through the holes, pulling it good and tight, just like sewing. Then he looked over his own boots. The soles had been lost long before in the jungle. He went out into the village to scare up a piece of leather that he could use to make new soles. He haggled a while over the price and finally traded one of the small pocketknives that we had brought along to give to the Indians for some deerskin. He cut the skin precisely to the shape of the boot, made holes all around its edge, and finally stitched it to the boot with fishing line.

'There's hardly anything that these two hands of mine can't do,' he boasted. 'You never can tell when you might need to call on a certain skill.'

Karl spent the afternoon with Don Jorge's father-in-law, questioning him closely about gold in the region. The old man answered his questions patiently. Karl learned that Don Jorge's younger brother, Pablo, had stumbled upon a large gold nugget on the riverbank. Following his discovery the villagers had gone out to pan the area, but the results had been disappointing.

Karl came back to the hut all wound up and raring to go. He told us what he had learned and was already making plans.

'The villagers don't use very sophisticated mining techniques. They can't really judge the potential this area might have. I'm going to have a look for myself tomorrow. If there is any gold to speak of, I'll return with a machine that does the panning automatically. I can buy everything I need in Apolo and bring it here on pack mules. I'll fly in the fuel for the machine in a Piper that can land on the river. It's a big advantage having a village right here. I can live here, buy my food here. It will be good for the village too. Bring a little prosperity. I'll be able to hire a few men. Peddlers will start coming, bringing their goods to the village. The villagers will be able to sell their produce to them...'

Within five minutes Karl was a millionaire and had transformed Asriamas into a bustling metropolis. Throughout his recitation Kevin and Marcus had gone on with their reading. I was the only one who took him seriously, and we formed a partnership. He was glad to find a sympathetic ear.

The next morning at the crack of dawn we left Marcus and Kevin in the hut and set off for Don Pablo's house. He lived on the other side of the village, an hour's walk from our hut. We had a pack filled with presents we had brought for the Indians. On our way we traded a few hooks, fishing line, a whistle, or a pocketknife for coffee, fresh eggs, and hot peppers. Little houses were strung along the river, and we stopped at each of them. Karl left a standing order for four eggs each day at one house. He also arranged for an aroba (about twenty-five pounds) of yucca, hot peppers, dried onions, chancaca, sweet bananas and plantains – a stalk of each – all to take along on the journey we were planning. He promised to pay well for the provisions in money or in gifts.

We found only two little girls at home at Don Pablo's. One of them went to the banana grove to call her father while we sat down to rest in the shade. Karl started fooling around, making faces and gestures at the turkey that was wandering around the yard. When it would come over curiously, Karl tried to spit on its head. Then he grew silent and solemn. I had the feeling that there was something he wanted to say but didn't know how. Finally he spoke.

'I don't know how to put this, but I have to tell you. I've already spoken with Marcus about it. You remember I invited you all to visit my uncle's ranch after we've finished rafting down the river? Well, I don't think that I can take you there. You see, my uncle is Austrian. I mean, not just any old Austrian. He left Austria and came to live here. The truth is, he had to leave. He was a fugitive. I guess he had collaborated with the Nazis. I'm not exactly sure. Anyway he fled to Bolivia. He's a very primitive person. I can't stand him or his opinions. Only an idiot would discriminate against someone because of the colour of his skin or his religion. My uncle goes around cursing the Jews and making derogatory remarks about them. At first I thought I would ask you to pretend that you aren't Jewish. You could say you were American instead of Israeli, like Kevin. Who needs to go looking for problems? That's what I told Marcus that we should do, but I know you better by now. If my uncle makes some stupid anti-Semitic remark, you're likely to blow your top.'

'And provide you a shortcut to your inheritance,' I joked to ease the tension. Still I was uncomfortable, not so much with the idea of Karl's uncle having been a Nazi, but with Karl himself and the way his stories kept changing.

Don Pablo came up while Karl was talking. He was a pleasant fellow. We had already made his acquaintance when we first came to Asriamas. Karl put a lot of detailed questions to him, and he answered obligingly. He even showed Karl a few gold nuggets that he himself had found, though the large nugget had been sold to a dealer in Apolo. He got a hoe, a pickaxe, and batea (pan), gave us a pitcher of caña, and took us to the dig. Then he left us to go back to work.

On the side of the hill that sloped up from the riverbank, we saw a tunnel chipped away in the rock.

'Here we go, off to work,' Karl said.

He rolled up his sleeves, went into the tunnel, and studied the rocks. Then he swung the pickaxe against the stone wall, chipping off a few chunks. He piled them into the batea and headed for the river. He seated himself on a rock and dipped the batea into the water, holding the chunks of rock under water and crumbling them apart as well as he could. Then he moved the batea in slow, circular motions. Water poured off with each turn, carrying with it the sand and stones. He went on until the batea was almost empty. He stopped occasionally and tried to crumble the small chunks that remained in the batea and then resumed.

'You see,' he explained to me, 'the gold is mixed in with sand and rock. I'm trying to separate them. Gold is much heavier than water, sand, or rock. That's why it stays in the batea, while the sand and rocks get washed away. You just have to make rhythmic, circular motions.'

Karl completed the process, and there really were two minute gold nuggets left in the bottom of the batea. Karl showed them to me.

'They aren't worth anything,' he declared. 'Too small. But we won't give up. Come on, let's give it another try.'

Karl's remarks barely registered. I was aflame with gold fever.

'We found gold! We found gold!' I kept repeating to myself.

I took up the pickaxe and started slinging away at the rock, giving the chunks to Karl. He carried them to the river and did the panning. We worked until noon.

By the time we returned to the village, the flame of gold fever had been extinguished. Karl declared that the quantity of gold we had found was negligible, virtually worthless.

'For each ton of rock there's hardly any gold at all.'

He made some calculations and decided that the vein was bogus.

'But don't give up hope, Yossi. You'll see, in Curiplaya we'll come up with at least five grams.'

Don Jorge reported that the raft was coming along. The logs had been planed, their bark removed. The next day they would be fastened with sturdy wooden pegs. The rest depended on the weather. If it were hot and dry, we would be able to set out in another two days; but if it rained, we would have to wait a few more days.

It did rain, only a drizzle, but it lasted several hours. We had already spent eight days in Asriamas. Kevin had spent most of that time reading. Karl, as usual, kept himself busy. He went to see how the raft was coming along, went out hunting, haggled with the villagers, and told stories to anyone willing to listen.

Marcus's feet were better, but he was in a really lousy mood. He kept his distance from Kevin and me. With nothing else to do, he took to tagging along with Karl. 'Just like a little Brownie following her troop leader around,' Kevin remarked contemptuously.

The next morning Karl and Marcus went to try their luck fishing down where the Asriamas fed into the Tuichi, Karl bragging that he would be back in no time with a huge fish. Toward noon I went to see if they had had any success. On the way I noticed a large waterfowl perched on a rock, poised to dive into the Asriamas. It was so involved watching its prey that it didn't notice me. I backed stealthily into the reeds and recalled what Karl had told us: 'All birds that feed on fish are good to eat.' I would give everyone a surprise today, I thought, and catch this bird. I ran quickly back to the hut for the shotgun, praying that the bird would not fly off.

When I returned, it was still perched on the rock. I crept through the reeds, trying to get as close as possible. I took aim but couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. The bird was so beautiful, and we had enough food here in the village. It would be wrong to kill it. But masculine pride and the need to be admired by my peers won out. I took a shot. The bird fell silently into the river. The current was strong, and as the bird began drifting away, I noticed that it was still alive, trying to fight the current. I was dismayed that it might simply vanish in the water. It would be a shame to have killed it for nothing. I took off my clothes and dove in. The bird saw me and sensed that I was coming after it. It ceased struggling and gave itself up to the current as if it preferred drowning to the ignominy of death at human hands. I swam after it in the swift waters. I was nearing the point where the Asriamas emptied into the Tuichi when I caught the bird by one wing. It pecked fiercely at my hand and let out a strangled screech, but I didn't let go. I kicked my feet and used my free hand to make it back to the riverbank. I climbed out of the water and dropped the bird on the shore. It lay there bleeding profusely. I ran back to get the shotgun and bashed its head with the butt. The soft ground cushioned the blow, and the bird writhed in pain. I put a rock under its head and brought the butt down again. This time the bird was still.

Don Jorge's children met me outside the village. They had heard the shot and came running to look the bird over. Don Jorge's wife also came to greet me, and I asked her to prepare the bird for our supper, but first I just had to show it to Kevin, who was properly impressed by my marksmanship.

Karl and Marcus came back empty-handed that afternoon. Before I even got the chance to give them a good ribbing, Karl asked me, 'What's the story, Yossi? What kind of weird bird did you shoot? I saw it in the kitchen. We can't eat it.'

'Why not?' I demanded to know.

'It eats all kind of carrion, snakes. It isn't fit for humans.'

'Yuck!' Marcus exclaimed in disgust.

'But Karl,' I protested desperately, 'that bird eats fish. I saw it with my own eyes, trying to catch a fish.'

'You were mistaken,' Karl waved me off. 'It's not fit to eat.'

I felt humiliated. Karl was only saying that because I was the one who had shot it. I knew that if he had killed it, he would be telling us what a delicacy it would be. Marcus bugged me more than anything; he was so happy to see me put down.

The bird was served for our dinner, but no one took a bite. I thought sadly of the graceful bird whose life I had taken for nothing. A huge lump of frustration caught in my throat, and I felt tears gathering in my eyes.

A strange thing happened a couple of days later. Marcus, feeling somewhat better and encouraged by Karl, surprisingly had changed his mind and decided to join us on the raft.

'But how come?' exclaimed Kevin. 'You should go out on a mule, meet us in La Paz. You don't feel good, your feet are inflamed.'

But Marcus insisted on it; he wanted to join us. 'We started up together,' he said. 'We should finish it together.'

'What the hell are you trying to prove? I don't understand you, not at all.' Kevin was very upset and Marcus adamant.

The tension didn't cease. On the next day another unpleasant incident took place. Marcus and Karl had gone to check on the progress of the raft, and a short while later Lázaro, Don Jorge's young brother-in-law, came to our hut.

'The gentlemen want you to come see the raft,' he informed us.

'What for?' I asked. 'We've already seen it.'

'It's ready now. They said you should come see.'

'Tell them we have complete and absolute faith in their judgment,' Kevin said irritably, never taking his eyes off his book.

I explained to the boy that since we had already seen the raft, if Karl and Marcus weren't in need of help, if they just wanted us to come take a look, we would rather stay where we were and rest.

'Forget it, Yossi,' Kevin interrupted me suddenly. 'Let's send them a message.'

Kevin dictated a silly letter, and I wrote it down:

As you are already only too aware, we are lazy slobs and goof-offs, and are quite content lying here in the shade. We have complete, total, and absolute confidence in your inspection of the raft, but if you should be in need of our assistance, you have only to take off your boots, Karl. The smell of your socks will come wafting our way, and we'll be there like a shot.

I handed the note to the boy and asked him to deliver it to the two gentlemen.

Half an hour later Karl appeared. 'What's with you guys? Why the hell didn't you come down to the river?'

'What for?' Kevin asked.

'We have to check the raft's buoyancy with all four of us on it. Besides us, we'll still need another two Indians to represent the weight of our provisions and equipment,' Karl explained.

Kevin apologised. 'We didn't understand the kid. He didn't tell us that you needed us.'

'Well, no big deal.' Karl smiled congenially.

We walked to the river with him and boarded the raft. The logs were a bit paler than they had been but still green. The raft was heavy. It sat too low in the water and was clumsy to handle.

'No good,' Don Jorge said. 'You have to wait longer.'

'I don't have a lot of time,' Karl said with evident concern. 'We may not have any choice but to walk back to Apolo.'

'There is another alternative.' Don Jorge said. 'On the other side of the village my brother's neighbour has four strong, dry balsa logs. Go see him. If he'll sell them to you, we can add on the dry logs, two on each side, and they'll make a big difference.'

We all went back to the cabin. I hurried in ahead of Kevin to get dibs on the bed. Kevin accepted defeat and sank down on the straw mat. Karl went off sniffing around the cookhouse. Marcus stood restlessly in the centre of the room, obviously upset.

'Yossi,' he said suddenly.

I looked up at him. He looked strange.

'Yossi, you can have your shitty note!'

He took the crumpled note out of his pocket and threw it in my face. It landed on the floor. The room was silent. Kevin looked on without a word.

'Pick up your shitty note, do you hear me?' Marcus was hysterical. 'You should be ashamed of yourself! It was contemptuous of you to have written it, an insult to the Indian. He isn't your servant. He went to the trouble to come and give you a message, and you shouldn't have made fun of him.

'For the past week Karl and I have been making all the arrangements, waiting on you hand and foot. All you do is sleep. When we finally ask you to do one thing, you screw around and weasel out of it. It's an insult to Karl, after all he's done for us.'

It all came pouring out in a shrill voice. When he had finished, he stood there, glaring reprovingly at me. He probably had taken a long time building up his nerve for the outburst.

I floundered awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Marcus had recognised my handwriting and blamed the note on me alone.

'I was only kidding around, Marcus,' I said in a low voice. 'I didn't know exactly what the boy wanted and had no intention of insulting anyone. If I did, then I apologise. But if you can't take a joke, that's your problem.'

Kevin intervened. 'Hey, you two,' he said, 'how about knocking off this crap? Can't you behave like adults? Come on, let's all sit down and talk it over. There's no point in keeping this up. We can't let our personal relationships ruin the whole trip. We'll get everything off our chests, once and for all, out in the open.'

Kevin looked at us, awaiting our response. Marcus said nothing.

'It's OK by me,' I said, 'but I think it's between me and Marcus. So maybe we should do it, just the two of us. Do you agree, Marcus?'

'Yes,' Marcus answered meekly.

After dinner I suggested that Marcus and I take a walk outside the village. There was a large, grassy clearing where the horses grazed. I loved to sit there on a fallen log and watch them. I had noticed one particular horse, strong and sinewy, noble and unbroken. I went there alone every evening and hadn't shared this spot even with Kevin. I would sit on the log and enjoy the solitude, singing aloud in Hebrew.

Marcus and I seated ourselves on the log. It was difficult to begin, but Marcus finally did.

'I didn't think we'd ever speak to each other again,' he said. 'There were so many times when I've wanted to talk with you, but you always avoided me. Whenever I tried to get near you on the trail, you hurried over to Kevin. You were always with him. Talking to him. Telling him stories. I would try to join in, but you just ignored me.

'I'm stuck hanging around Karl all day, listening to his idiotic stories. I don't have anyone else. You're always talking to Kevin, and I'm left out. I wanted to talk it over with you, to ask you what happened, but you always avoided me.

'Do you remember one night just the two of us were left sitting by the fire? I wanted to talk with you, but you just went into the tent. I stayed there outside, hoping you would understand, that you would come back out to talk with me, but I was wrong.

'This whole trip is one big disaster for me. I'm miserable. I'm not enjoying it at all.'

'I think you're right, Marcus,' I said. 'Something has changed, but I don't know exactly what. Nothing in particular happened. We just drifted apart. We don't have the same relationship we did before. Maybe I'm coarse, not cultivated enough, and you, you just don't feel at home in the wilderness.'

'That's a lie! A lie! Just a cheap excuse!' Marcus burst out angrily. 'Don't try to hand me that again. It's not true. I know that's what Kevin says. He's already told me that, and do you know when he told me? After two days on the trail. He had already made up his mind that I don't feel at ease in the wilderness. He said that he didn't get along with me and felt some hostility toward me, so it would be better if we kept our distance, if we spoke less with each other. Two lousy days after we started out he said that to me. That was a painful blow for me. I left Annick behind in La Paz to go off with two close friends, and after two days one of them abandoned me like that. And then, Yossi, you were all I had left. I needed a friend, I needed you. But you, you never noticed anything. You just wanted to be around Kevin. Why, why, did you shut me out like that?'

He went on crying quietly, his whole body shaking. For the first time since we had set out on our journey, I felt sorry for my friend. I was no longer happy for his loss, that I had Kevin all to myself. I understood how important I had been to Marcus. I tried to console him.

'Look, Marcus,' I said, 'let's go back to being friends like we used to be. I don't know what's come over us in this jungle. We'll go back to La Paz, and everything will be all right. It's not true. I didn't abandon you just because of Kevin. We were all together for a whole week in La Paz, and Kevin didn't come between us. Let's try to pick up the pieces. Let's be friends again.'

Words, words. Maybe I succeeded in cheering Marcus up a little bit, but we never were close friends again. We did talk to each other after that day, but it was forced, unnatural.

We bought the four dried balsa logs. Kevin and Marcus went across the village to fetch them, floating them down the river. They were soaking wet when they got back. Marcus was in a better mood.

Karl and I went out to cut more balsa bark panchos. We wove them into long ropes with which to fasten the additional logs to the raft. We went about our task with great energy. The new logs were dry and amazingly light. We attached them, two to each side, and the raft was now wider and far more buoyant.

Don Jorge told us the raft would be safe. We decided to set out the next day.

We kept on working that afternoon. Karl built a sort of raised platform in the middle of the raft. We would tie our food supply and the rest of our equipment down onto it the next morning and cover it all with nylon sheeting. That way everything would stay dry.

Our last evening in Asriamas we gathered up all our gear and provisions. We had ten pounds of rice. We hadn't been able to buy more, as the village had run low. We bought about seven or eight pounds of dried beans. We also had a large bunch of green plantains and the rest of the supplies we'd been assembling in recent days: yucca, cucumbers, onions, and a lot of hot peppers, a little 'honey' derived from sugarcane, salt, and spices. Salt was measured out like gold dust in Asriamas. We had paid for all these goods with a variety of gifts, according to the preference of the recipient. Karl was in charge of our finances, and he made a lot of mistakes. He traded off almost all our spools of fishing line, leaving us with only a few yards. He did the same with the fishhooks; he gave all but three away. We had had ten cigarette lighters with us when we got to Asriamas. We had only one when we left, and it was only half full. Even the insect-repellent spray, which was so essential, he left with Don Jorge, and we had only a small amount.

That evening we had a festive going-away meal. Don Jorge had borrowed the shotgun and succeeded in killing an enormous boar. We wanted to pay him for the raft, our purchases, and his wife's wages. He asked for only 1,450 pesos (less than 50 dollars): 800 for the sheep, 600 for the raft, and 50 for the rice. He didn't want any remuneration for the food we had eaten in his home, for the chickens that had been slaughtered especially for us, for the fresh vegetables we had received 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 the dozens of papayas we had eaten. We were his guests, he insisted, and he wouldn't take money for his hospitality or for his wife's work. After a quick huddle we decided not to take anything from him for the things he had bought from us. And we added 800 pesos to the amount he had quoted. Don Jorge was satisfied.