Happened, without more

I'd avoided writing about that dark morning, when he suggested moving away from our river, I didn't like hearing those damned words. How many mornings and afternoons we had descended that dangerous river?, what he needed  that he wouldn't be able to find out with us and those dreamy waters?. After that day, my life wasn't the same. 

Why?, every day, when I'd finished our new experience in the water and tired we immediately looked for the food and beers, although that day would be quite common, he explained us these actions as if we had lived the most wonderful trip in our life, but the next day would happen another experience quite different of the reality; some years later, I think that maybe we descended the river because, those days, we wanted to hear what specials were little things.

 Every morning, he suggests doing attention about the trees or animals, or birds or sky. Lidio regretted to take attention out the waters that were misleading and treacherous, but everyone, step by step, enjoyed seeing the topics that he had asked us.

Can you know that he had always discovered something that we didn't pay attention?, yes, the flowers, full of bees, were the new weapon to discover thieves or to love our dream girls

What had I seen that day before the large night arrived with his fairytales or his long dark siphons where their claws gripped our extinct and imperceptible breathing?

 It was winter time, near the first days of February. We’d gone far away, to Peralejos de las Truchas; that night had specially been cold, the colder the last times. When we gone out of the bed and arrived to my car, we could see the ice on the roof had created a layer several centimeters. Would it be possible to descend those icy waters?

The sun was incredible bright, would it be the last day of that dry season?

My friend thought that the next Monday, it would snow, didn’t it?; our water clothes made us tremble before we get its above.

We had to drive across the eternal shade, in winter time; the short light would be weak against the night. There was a curve, without life; the same that those Spanish riders were invisibles for some driver.

There, when the water waited, when the Rat waterfall plays its changeable melodies, I’d discovered a lonely little bear; his mother had been killed by a crazy hunter that was shooting to open the world, someone said to us, then.

I wanted to flee but hit me with his paw, and immediately, asked me if we would walk together next time, after my surprise, I need to explain him my kayak day with my friends.

This smart bear didn’t like that we were there. Some hours later, we discovered that a hunter was in the middle of the river, our bear fed on wild fruits and helps people to cross the river, this hunter has understood that he wasn’t the god of life, he only works to understand it surrounded by water as fast as transient memory.

That afternoon, when we explained my experience to my friends, the narrator created a history about one hundred years of solitude that he wrote later.

Now, I’ve heard he cannot write anymore and I’m alone without struggles, without smells of women, without passions but I’ve lived so many lives with him and I has been so happy with Gabriel García Marquez