"A dream-like, sometimes haunting reflection on the inextricable tie between
life, death, and boats in the Amazon Valley. A boat for a boy on the Great
River is the same as a car for a boy in the United States -- it is a whisper
of limitless possibility, a thrilling promise of better things. The romance
of the river is essentially the romance of the road -- new beginnings beckon
around every bend and up each new tributary. Gil Serique's memoir of life on
a river of boats reminds us that, for all our differences, we are all the
The bell tolls twice and rear gear is set at dusk. It rings once more and separates a sequence of three crescent sets of bleings.
Farewell atmosphere is broken by hooking hammocks, knot shows, "-How is the weather?" and "– What did I forget?"
During the day time they were visitors and customers under the moonshine they are passengers again.
With the city lights fading out behind, Mars is spotted; stars turn into constellations like your thoughts into plans. Now in your hammock, meditations are interrupted by a nap, dreams begin to shape, nightmares too.
Captain studies the Milk Way and pin points some stars and planets that his burnt eyes still can spot to his only crew who answers, without giving too much attention to a shooting star that falls.
-Do you believe in Cobra Grande and other monsters?
- Sure! Don't you? The sailor was responded.
Without expressing he had shared his superior's thoughts he asks in more need of an answer.
Do you believe in Demons and E.Ts?
The third time the captain was going to respond positive to his second question was interrupted by a paper ball tossed into his miniscule cabin. He bends to get it with precision to see it was colored purple like on the apple he had given to a long-time wished- prey now part of the pack of passengers.
- The fish bit the bait. He murmured.
Without giving any chance to the sailor say "Please Don´t" the master single-pats him on the shoulder and disappears into many bodies suspended in a familiar labyrinth of hammocks.
- I knew all this existed and there is got to be a lot more out there.
The sailor says like he had any companionship left with in a fearful frame.
Moving like an inquisitive otter the captain spots a red hammock with the help of his weak torch. He crawls by postponing his destination and at the stern notices the stars are being obscured by black clouds slashed by bright lightning bolts.
With myths into reality, the sailor holds the cricking helm like he does his bow and arrow at aim.
He shares the imminent reality with a new comer to both be terrified with the Apocalypse now.
Like in a wasp attack, he avoids the multitude of hammocks to find the sea man smelling his dead pray.
Without any persuading attempt the terrified passenger grabs and drags the captain to his original position like a herd of peccaries under chase.
The engine noise mixes with cries, prayers and the sharp and fast noise of the water pump working together with the sailor as one.
The captain had gone well in the last three huge waves. The howling winds blowing from behind unbalances the boat that drops in a vacuum. Desperate words and cries crashes against splashing water as the pump silences little by little.
I feel my fainted-like body being carried effortless up stairs. Dogs bark when I am being carefully placed in a hammock. At dawn break roosters don't bother me metallic noise and joyful morning greetings with the scent of fresh hot coffee do.