Juan left, I announced. I wasn’t sure he had left, of course, but that’s what I blurted out, stammering. The knocking at the door woke my father. Son of a monkey! What the hell’s going on here? he asked, and I explained the situation. My uncle was wringing his hands, and I felt a wave of disgust.

Soon, the three men had laid out a plan for the search party. They ordered me to stay put, but I didn’t listen, I couldn’t care less about their drunken instructions. The three of them went out half-dressed, my grandfather carrying a kerosene lantern, the other two with flashlights. The dogs went with them, barking. They yelled Juan’s name. I went out behind them in my nightgown and boots.

I don’t know why we were so sure Juan wasn’t hiding in the house, but no one questioned the intuition. Osman left the men and came back to be with me. I patted his head and raised the flashlight to the height of my head. I imagined Juan drowned in the river. I imagined Juan fallen into some pit, out of reach. I imagined Juan attacked by an animal. Then I saw the clothes on the ground, or rather I stepped on them. I shone my light down and realized it was what he’d been wearing to sleep in, a long sleeveless nightshirt with blue and white stripes. Was he naked in the jungle? I screamed his name, I shouted, It’s me, Rosario, where are you? and I ran through the trees, the tall grasses scratching at my legs. Then I copied something I’d seen in a movie: I had Osman smell Juan’s clothes. The dog didn’t understand, and whined.

I ran deeper into the jungle and stopped in a clearing among the trees. The flashlight wavered a little, but I shook it and the beam steadied. I could no longer make out the house from where I was standing, and I thought I couldn’t go any farther without getting lost in the brush. I shone my light on the trees, and that was when I saw Juan. Beside me, Osman whimpered as if he were being tortured. I didn’t shush him because I was speechless from shock. Juan was totally naked and walking through the trees like a sleepwalker; he didn’t notice us or the light from the flashlight, and he was stumbling. His eyes were covered with a yellow film, like an animal’s second eyelid, and he was exhausted: he tripped over a stump in his path, and though he didn’t fall, he stopped, agitated and sweating. I shone the flashlight on his hands. They were no longer a little boy’s hands. They were very big and had long, golden nails, like a bronze animal’s. I hesitated; I thought, that boy is not Juan, but I could see the scar from the surgery on his chest. He started going in circles again, now on all fours, his giant hands scratching the earth, the trees, his own skin. He was searching for something, desperately, and he didn’t respond when I called his name. I realized what was happening. I waited for the black light. I remember how the pride made my legs tremble, but I was afraid, too. My god, I said, and for the first time in my life I said it not as a saying or an exclamation, but as a recognition.