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which I had hoped to find Jaguar Beach. The beach must have been washed out, or else it was still under water, and I, in my desperation to reach a resting place, had trekked all the long way back to Curiplaya. Now I understood why Kevin and I hadn't seen the beach and the island that were supposed to mark the entrance to the canyon. They had probably both been washed out by a flood the year before, only Karl hadn't been aware of that.

I found the panels of chonta wood and, propping myself up on my walking stick, put together a bed. I lay down on the hard planks that were so kind to my back and didn't budge until evening, other than to cover myself with one of the nets. The urine had dried, but the net still stank and was full of gaping holes, souvenirs of the night before. However, it did keep the flies and mosquitoes off me. I knew that there was still something else that I had to do, a difficult task. I was frightened, as if about to undergo surgery without benefit of anaesthesia. I had to take my socks off. I kept putting if off, trying to get my nerve up.

I sat on the wooden panels. First I removed my shoes, which in itself was agony. Then, little by little, slowly, painfully, I peeled the sock from one foot. It was incredibly painful, torture of a degree that I had never before experienced. The sight of what had been inside was more horrible still: red, raw flesh. There wasn't a shred of skin left on my foot, and that wasn't the worst of it. My toes were