Lobitos

The projector rattled for exactly three seconds.

Then the door of the old hangar flew open. A gust of wind whirled sand through the room, the screen hit the wall, and all the lights went out.

“That must have been part of the show,” Perusino whispered.

Outside, wheels squealed.

Perusina jumped up. A handcart was speeding away in the square. On it stood the projector and the tin box containing the only surviving film about old Lobitos. A figure in a grey jacket pulled the cart with a rope.

“The show is running away!” Franz shouted.

The three rushed out.

The thief disappeared among the old wooden houses of the former oil workers. Perusina followed the tire tracks. Perusino ran after her, while Franz sped along the dusty road with ears flapping.

At an intersection, the tracks ended.

“Impossible,” Perusino gasped. “A handcart can’t just disappear into thin air.”

Franz sniffed. “Hot oil. Old wood. And sardines.”

“Focus on the first two,” Perusina said.

A crash came from an abandoned building. The three crept inside. This had once been the cinema of Lobitos. Now, planks, bent metal parts, and broken chairs lay in the dim light.

Suddenly, the handcart behind them started to move.

“Get down!”

Perusina pulled Perusino aside. The cart raced over a sloping floorboard, broke through a rotten door, and shot out again. The thief had pulled it from outside with a second rope.

Franz jumped onto the cart.

“I got him!” he cheered.

The cart bumped over a stone. Franz flew headfirst into a basket full of movie posters.

“I got something else!”

The chase led down to the sea. Between the houses, Perusina saw fresh sawdust. Two ornate wooden parts were missing from a veranda. An old metal sign had also been unscrewed.

“The projector isn't his only theft,” she realized. “He's clearing out the old buildings.”

On the beach, the thief pulled the cart towards the damaged pier. A small motorboat was waiting there.

Perusina and Franz ran across the sand. Perusino stopped in front of a stretch of water that blocked their path. A wave had washed over the beach.

Next to him, a surfer was putting down her board.

“May I?” Perusino asked.

“Only if you bring it back!”

He threw himself onto the board and paddled off. A wave lifted him, turned him around, and pushed him directly towards the pier.

“I wanted it that way!” he called out.

The thief loaded the stolen wooden parts into the boat. As he lifted the projector, Perusino jumped off the board and grabbed the handcart. Both pulled on it. The cart rolled forward, hit a post, and sent the film can flying through the air.

It landed in the sea.

“The film!” Perusina screamed.

Franz raced across the pier, jumped onto a floating canister, and pushed off. For a moment, he looked like a very small captain. Then the canister tipped over.

Perusino paddled to him. Franz clung to the board with one paw and snatched at the film can with the other.

On the pier, the thief tried to escape. He climbed onto the balcony of an old wooden house. It creaked under his feet.

Perusina stopped.

“Don’t go any further! The beam is sawed through!”

The man took another step. The floor broke away. He suddenly hung from the railing above the sand.

Perusina threw him the tow rope from the handcart. Together with Perusino and two rushing fishermen, she pulled him up.

Shortly thereafter, the inhabitants of Lobitos arrived. In the boat, they found door fittings, signs, beam parts, and objects from several historic houses.

“The buildings are empty,” the thief muttered.

Doña Mercedes, who had organized the movie night, shook her head. “Empty doesn’t mean worthless. These houses tell the story of how Lobitos became an oil town, how people worked here, and how fishermen and surfers later revitalized the place.”

In the evening, the rescued projector stood in the hangar again. The scratched film can was opened. The lights went out, the projector started rattling, and the old streets of Lobitos appeared on the screen.

All the people were walking backwards.

Perusino had loaded the film reel incorrectly.

Franz watched a fisherman backing out of the sea.

“Honestly,” he said, “history is much funnier this way.”