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‘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