The black taxi disappears behind the brown dust cloud. He sees only this rising tower of dust, a ghost that slowly collapses in on itself, and hears the takatakataka of the motor growing thinner and thinner, then the sounds of the jungle take over again, chirping and croaking and cawing.

He has a piece of cracker stuck in his teeth.

That evening he listens to the German international radio service broadcasting out of Cologne, which comes in as clear as a local station. He looks at the letter he started yesterday. He’s started several such letters.

I’ll keep writing the letter tonight. Or start it over again. I’ll write it in such a way, Carl, that you understand.

Then he crosses out the last sentence.

I don’t know if I can explain it all to you. I just think I was too stupid, simple as that. And now it’s all too late.

This too he crosses out.

A storm rolls in, the electricity drops out, the ceiling fan makes one last tired revolution. The sky grows dark, the trees start to sway. He stands on the veranda, feels the cool wind and the silence. A baffled silence. Everything is reshaping itself.

* * *

In the morning he is awakened by a sound, a regular rip, rip that tears him away from his dreams. Maria is back. She is sitting on the stairs in front of the house and tearing leaves off a bulky stalk of herbs; a whole pile lies in front of her. Rip, rip, rip. The sound triggers a feeling of uneasiness within him, as if he’d done something wrong.

He pulls himself out of bed, puts on the first clothes that come to hand, and goes down to join her. She welcomes him with a big smile. “Don José, your hair is too long. May I cut it for you?”

“Gladly.” He hesitates, but then he says in a firm voice, “But first let’s free the squirrel.”

Her smile stiffens, but to his surprise, she then assents and gestures invitingly over toward the cage. He carries it over to the lawn as she watches. Maria crouches down and looks at the squirrel. It’s hanging from the side of the cage, fully outstretched, its leathery claws clinging to the bars. A silent, patient exchange of glances, as if the animal knew what was going on.

“It’ll always be close by, Maria. It’ll live here in the garden.”

“It’ll get as far away as it can.”

“Yes, maybe,” he has to admit.

Once she’s opened the little door, it leaps off into the jungle, fast as lightning, cutting arcs in the fluttering air. Quick, agile, like a good idea in your head, as light and quick as the air itself. Where was it he’d seen the electronics store in town? He looks up at the house. Sure, he could attach an antenna up there.