Sensory and fluid, this poetic read is brief but as deep as the waters that run through it. What begins as a group fishing trip soon expands into tributaries where the past and present flow alongside each other, one haunting the other. You'll be immersed in the evocation of rural Argentinian life - the smoke of barbecued chorizo will sting your eyes, the thick web of woodland spiders will cling to your skin, dreamlike in the haze of heat.
He looks toward the shore. Swarms of mosquitoes shimmer like mirages above the water. By the last dusk light he sees them swirl in their dozens over Tilo's bowed head as the boy sits lost in thought. He sees them over Enero's body too. His back is black with mosquitoes. He sees him raise two brawny arms, rotate them slowly like the blades of a fan, scaring off the insects without spilling any blood. Something about that action moves him. Something about the sight of his two friends, the boy and the man, moves him. He feels the fire of the sunset caress his chest, from the inside out.
