The Spanish photographer met the Death River. He imagined a violent river. Or obscure. Nothing transparent.
At that time he travelled by bus. He crossed Goiás. Then he got a ride on the back of a small truck. Early afternoon or early morning he saw an Indian bullying out or planting manioc.
The small truck stopped in front of an indigenous hut and the young man stepped down.
The Death River (full and dark) ran a few meters from there: on the bank the water licked the closed forest that resembled a fort.
A creek flew into the Death River. Transparent. Leaves accumulated in the bottom.
Inside the creek diving birds walked and swallowed fish.
The young man squatted and photographed the birds the leaves the fish. A bird with long thin legs moved away with open eye among the fleeing fish. The bird entered the Death River and disappeared in its muddy waters. The fish moved around in the transparent water. The stream dragged some leaves in silence. Suddenly a bird emerged from the Death River with great stir.
English translation by Raymont L. Bianchi