He packed up his mule and headed for the track out of the village. A local neighbour called him to come back. He paid no heed. He was decided. He followed the path up the mountainside past the heather and gorse and along the stoney way. The sheep scuttled away and the flies buzzed past him. The clouds relieved him of the sun’s glare as he neared the top. He paused to contemplate the view. Small hills like the one on which he stood. The village of San Antonio clustered in the next valley. He turned back to the path and descended. Into the shade of the olive trees and down towards the river. Arriving at the gentle slope of the sheltered river beach he tied his mule to a sturdy branch and sat down on a large stone. He watched the reflections on the glistening clear flow of water. He was relieved to be away from the people of the village. He went to his pack and rooted out a net. Walking a little way by the river he came to a small bay. He weighted down the net to the bottom of the pool with stones, brought the upper edge to the surface and strung it up to the branch of an overhanging tree. Moving away from the river he looked for firewood in the olive grove. He found an old dry limb. This was ideal for a slow burn and returning to the shore he laid it down by his seat. A little way back up the path he pulled up a dead gorse bush for kindling. He returned to the mule and relieved it of its load and led it to the water to drink. Watching birds swoop down he waited while it drank. He returned it to its tether and fed it a handful of grain. He sat on his stone and broke the gorse into small twigs and gathered it into a tidy pile. With his lighter he set it aflame. The gorse flared up and crackled. He laid on more twigs and thicker branches. The flames steadied and he felt the warmth from the glow. The mule stood by with heavy eyelids slowly falling to a close. He left the fire and returned to his trap. Already two fish were caught by their gills as they unwittingly swam through the fine net. He extracted them and lay them on the bank. He retrieved his net, picked up the fish, and headed back to the fire. He piled on more branches and placed the thick limb across the fire. He took a small pan from his pack and a handful of rice. From the river he scooped some water and nestled the pan into the side of the fire. He threw in the fish and sliced in a clove of garlic. As the twighlight descended the water began to bubble. The bats swooped above the river. He lit a small oil lamp and hung it nearby. The water boiled away and left the rice and fish ready. He ate the rice and holding the fish by their heads and tails carefully bit away the hot meat. Satisfied he rolled out his bed and lay down to rest and let his mind float away with the gentle babble of the river.