Perusina, Perusino, and Franz in the Manglares de San Pedro de Vice

In the beginning, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

The boat glided between the mangrove roots, and not even Perusino said anything. That was so unusual that Perusina looked at him inquiringly after three minutes.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm chewing," Perusino whispered.

"On what?"

"On silence."

Franz sat at the front of the boat, paws on the edge, nose held high. To the right and left, mangroves grew out of the mud. Their roots stood like crooked legs in the water. Behind them lay sand. Even further out was the dry landscape of Sechura.

Above them, herons perched in the branches. Further back, small wading birds fluttered over a shiny mudflat. A pelican glided so low over the water that its shadow brushed over Franz's back.

Then everything took flight.

Not one bird. Not ten. A whole flock.

Wings beat. Water splashed. The air was suddenly full of cries.

The boat rocked.

Perusino grabbed the edge. "I didn't eat all the quiet! Honestly!"

Perusina ducked as a bird shot past closely above them. "They were fleeing from something."

Franz sniffed. "Not from us."

The boatman Mateo pulled in the paddle. "Birds don't take flight here for no reason."

Something dark was drifting between the roots.

Perusina leaned forward. It was a shell. Not large. But on the inside, a symbol was etched: three short lines and a circle.

Mateo grew serious. "I've seen that symbol before. Near the old ebb channel."

"What's an ebb channel?" Perusino asked.

"A path through the mud," Mateo said. "But only when the water is low."

Franz looked at the mud. Small bubbles rose.

Plop.

Plop.

Plop.

Then something moved beneath the surface.

"Someone is dragging the shells," Franz said.

A small crab crawled out of the mud. It grabbed a second shell with its claw and dragged it backward. This shell also had a symbol on it.

"He's showing us the way," Perusina whispered.

"Or he's stealing marked shells," Perusino said.

The crab disappeared between two roots. Mateo carefully pushed the boat forward. The mangroves grew denser. Branches scraped over the edge. The water became shallower, the mud darker.

Then the boat got stuck.

Not a little bit.

Completely.

Mateo pushed the paddle into the mud. It sank deep. "We don't have much time. The water is coming back."

Perusina looked down. The mud in front of them was covered with small holes. Right in the middle lay a third shell. Three lines. A circle. Beside it, a narrow strip of red plastic.

Franz growled softly. "That doesn't smell like mangrove."

He jumped out of the boat onto a root. The root was wet. Franz slipped, flailed with all his paws, caught himself, and pretended it had been on purpose.

"I'm just testing the slipperiness."

Perusina followed him carefully. Mateo handed Perusino a long paddle. They balanced over the roots. Below them, the mud bubbled.

Behind them lay a narrow water channel.

Or rather: it should have been a water channel.

It was clogged.

A black trash bag hung between the roots. Plastic strips, a net remnant, and branches had gotten caught on it. The water was backed up behind it. On the other side, several birds stood on dry mudflats, searching for a way back to the water.

"That's why they took flight," Perusina said. "The channel is blocked."

Then there was a crack. The bag tore open a bit further. Dark water shot out sideways. The boat behind them suddenly moved.

"Mateo!" Perusino shouted.

The boat broke free from the mud and turned sideways. The current pushed it against a root.

Mateo braced the paddle against it. "If you're going to open the channel, open it completely! Not halfway!"

Perusina pulled at the net remnant. It didn't budge an inch. Perusino jumped onto a thick root and grabbed a branch that was jamming the bag.

"Franz, left! Perusina, hold up the net!"

Franz bit into a plastic strip and pulled. The strip slipped out of his mouth and slapped him on the forehead.

"I don't like this labyrinth."

"Yes, you do," Perusina said. "You'll like it in a moment."

She pointed to the crab. It kept crawling back to the same root. There was a gap beneath it.

"The water must go through there," she said.

Perusino nodded. "Then we won't pull out the whole bag. We'll open the gap first."

He braced the paddle under the branch. Perusina lifted the net remnant. Franz pulled the plastic strip aside.

"Now!"

The branch sprang up. The trash bag slid. Water shot through the gap.

Franz lost his footing. The current grabbed him and pulled him towards the channel.

"Franz!"

Perusino lunged forward and caught his bag. Perusina grabbed Perusino's belt. Mateo grabbed Perusina's backpack. For a moment, the entire rescue chain hung over the water.

Then Mateo tugged everyone back.

The channel was clear. The water flowed through the mangroves again. The dry mudflat slowly filled. The birds returned, first hesitantly, then in small groups.

The small crab crawled onto the cleared root. In front of him lay the first shell with the symbol.

Mateo smiled. "Three paths and a watering hole. That's how fishermen used to mark the ebb channel."

Franz shook himself. "Today, crabs, children, and foxes save a labyrinth."

Perusina pocketed the shell. "Some paths are only visible at low tide. And some places need help before the water comes back."