I walked most of the afternoon and evening at a non-stop pace. Every muscle in my body burned, but I would not seize the operation. Clearly, I wanted to witness Marcos at his woodsy cabin, trespass into his strange world, and obtain the mask, which would then be hand-delivered to Zeninen in Chicago. How easy that approach seemed to unfold within the edges of my mind. How ludicrous, though, at the same time.
Near twilight, after much usage of the compass and computerized maps supplied by Zeninen, I discovered Marcos Tanzi’s cabin in the Rainier forest, which was a dilapidated structure covered in thick moss and fallen sycamores. The edifice was more suitable for an animal than a Peruvian human. Had I not seen a flicker of golden-yellow light disperse between two crisscrossed pieces of moss
