After a long day’s journey, José and Eliza reach Succotash Bend and tie their boat to a broken down, splintery old dock. A trail lined with frayed ropes leads up the canyon wall and they make the ascent. Halfway up, they can barely go on. James didn’t leave them any water and they’re parched. José collapses onto a flat rock.
“Come on, José, we’re almost at the top.”
“Si, si, I need rest, Eliza. I’ll only be a moment…” He closes his eyes. His head’s swimming with voices and images, yet they’re all so thin he could blow them away with a whisper. He feels like he’s dying in the blistering sun, and maybe he is. Where’s a nice puffy cloud when you need it? He feels betrayed. The clouds aren’t his friends, they have no loyalty, they don’t care if he lives or dies. If only there were a cloud just to look at, just to salivate at, just to hope about, no matter how small or far from the sun, his old friends––just show your faces! Any one of you! Amigos!
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Ian Sears to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.