oriente stack009

Text :

Up at 5 AM, ersatz coffee (in Cuba!) and into the truck to be out in the cane field before the
cloak of heat begins to envelop us. You think it will be bearable today; even when it begins to
beat down hard you make comparisons, you say to yourself, yesterday at the same time it was worse.
And then comes the moment when there's nothing more to say, the heat has closed its cloak around
you and you float within yourself in a torpor that sinks all the way into the blood. You no longer even
feel the weight of the machete because your arm is nothing but weight, and the body at the end of
the arm and the cane field and the mountain and the whole province beyond are but a single weight
that pulls you down into a torpid river, and you are the river.