Did everyone live thus in two cities at once, one above the ground, in the sun of Golconda, and one underground? And was everyone now and then metamorphosed into a child again?

There must be someone with whom one can hold a dialogue absolutely faithful to the thoughts that go on in one's head?

At a certain point human beings began to veil themselves. The key word was "transparent." Lietta was transparent. The child talking to the bus driver was transparent. The driver was not listening, but the child was willing to be transparent, exposed.

The bus stopped by a wide river, beyond the village of San Luis. It was waiting for the ferry. The ferry was a flat raft made of logs tied together. Two men pushed it along with long bamboo poles. The ferry was halfway back.

An old woman in black had set up a stand of fruit juices and Coca-Cola. The bullfighter was the first one to leap out. "Are you going to visit your folks, Miguelito?"

"Yes," he answered sullenly. He did not want to talk.

"What's the matter, Miguelito? Usually you're as quick with your tongue as you are with your sword!"

He too, was traveling through two cities at once. Was he still in the arena, still angry at the bull? Was he concerned about the cost of a new suit?

The raft was approaching. And on the raft was Hatcher's jeep.

When he saw Lillian he smiled. "Were you coming to visit me? I would have come to get you."

"I wanted a ride in the bus."

"I'm going to pick up some bottles of water here and going right back. Where is your bag?"

"I don't have any. I'm only free for the week end. I followed an impulse."

"My wife will be glad to see you. She gets lonely up there."

The bottles of water were loaded on the jeep. Then both jeep and bus rolled onto the raft.

Hatcher had hair on his fingers, like her father. Like her father he was always commanding. The raft became his raft, the men his men, the journey his responsibility. He even wanted to change its course, a course settled hundreds of years ago. His smile too was a quarter-tone smile, as if he had no time to radiate, to expand.

Already she regretted having come. This was not a journey in her solar barque. It was a night journey into the past, and the thread that had pulled her was one of accidental resemblances, familiarity, the past. She had been unable to live for three months a new life, in a new city, without being caught by an umbilical cord and brought back to the figure of her father. Hatcher was an echo from the past.

They were leaving the raft, starting their journey through the jungle. A dust road, with just enough room for the car. The cactus and the banana leaves touched their faces. When they were deep in the forest and seemingly far from all villages, they found a young man waiting for them on the road. He carried a heavy small bag, like a doctor's bag. He wore dark glasses.