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and he told me I had two choices. One was to make a six-hour ride and then a three-hour walk to the town of Tumupasa, and from there go on by truck. I wrote off that possibility: I couldn't walk. The other way was to take a balsa raft downriver.

'Pablo took me to a man who was the mayor of the village. I told him my story and asked him to arrange for a raft that could take me to Rurrenabaque, and he promised to see to it.

'From there Pablo took me back to Fausto's. I lay there on a hammock, and one of the women treated my feet. She smeared an oily cream over them, which took the burn out of the sores, and I felt much better. A few of the villagers came over for a curious peek at me. They tried to console me but said they hadn't heard a thing about you and that “the river is bad, very bad. It's hard to believe that your friend could still be alive.”

'Around eight the next morning the mayor showed up with the raftsmen. This was the seventh day since I'd lost you. He promised that the raft would soon be ready to go. I arranged to send payment for his expenses by way of the priest from La Paz, and he took my word for it. At two that afternoon he came back and said that they wanted to wait until the next day to set out, as it was raining. That day one of the village babies died from a stomach disorder, and everyone was sad and gloomy. I, on the other hand, was thinking about how lucky I was to have been saved. I was