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have to learn to get along on their own, the author contended, be completely independent of others; our happiness and security must come from within. When I read the book, I agreed, but now I realised the truth expressed by the song. It was easy for a writer sitting in a penthouse to be cynical. I'd like to see him in my place now.

I had to be on my way. I was in better shape physically. My fever had gone down. My feet had gotten better. I enriched the soup with another spoonful of rice and one of beans and ate every drop that clung to the bottom on the pot.

I sat near the fire studying the map and estimated that Curiplaya could be no more than six or seven miles away. I hoped to make it in one day's walk. I would wait for Kevin to catch up with me. It seemed the logical thing to do. Kevin must be trying to get there too. He knew as well as I did that there would be food and shelter. Surely we would meet up in Curiplaya. If Kevin was still alive, that is.

I was beginning to lose all hope that he was still alive. Maybe he couldn't walk. Maybe he had drowned in the river or broken a bone. Even if he hadn't drowned, his clothes were still wet, and he couldn't have started a fire as I had. And what about his feet? I was sure that he must be suffering from the same problem that I was, but he had no medicine. And he had no food. He could die of starvation. The poor guy must be freezing at night. I felt awful.