I woke up in the middle of a large forest whose outer limits, along my long journey through it, I never found. It was filled with green, exceptionally fresh foliage. The grass beneath me was soft and crisp. An abundance of fruits hung from each surrounding tree. I spotted the moving figures of people in the distance and walked cautiously toward them. The first thing I noticed was that they were stark naked. Looking down at my own body, I realized that I had not a single piece of clothing on, either. Oddly enough, neither their nakedness nor mine startled me—it was as if I had come to accept it right at the moment of realization. I wished to ask the people where we were, but I became suddenly aware of my inability to use words. My native tongue I still knew, but the words would not come; it was like my mind had hidden them where my consciousness could not reach. What came out of my mouth instead was a jumbled mass of sounds, like the mixture of the croaking of a frog and the grunting of a boar. The same sounds came from their mouths and, though I did not detect the nuances of any sort of language, we were able to communicate using this debased animal dialect. Looking around, I noticed that most of the humans in the clearing were scattered about in varying postures of leisure. In the river nearby, half a dozen humans floated lazily on their backs, letting the sun beat against their closed lids. Others were perched high in the trees, picking fruit after fruit and eating each with extreme fervor. The rest either slept or lounged listlessly in the shadows of the trees. I had just decided to seat myself on a rock and wait for whatever was to come when a commotion stirred the inhabitants of the clearing from their separate stupors. From my observation, I gathered that one man—most probably a stranger—had climbed up one of the trees and was stealing fruit. The trespasser’s voice was different; it was not the frog-boar hybrid described earlier—this voice was more like the harsh cawing of a bird of prey. After a short beating (the purpose of which was merely to give the outsider a scare), the members of what I then realized was a human tribe let the man go. As he made his way back into the thicker parts of the forest, I followed, trying my best to keep silent. He led me to another clearing—this one smaller than the other but with cattle and poultry wandering about. One woman was plucking the feathers off a chicken. Not far off were two men attempting to slaughter a cow. The rest, as in the other tribe, lounged in scattered groups. I was startled by a sharp pecking at my ankle: a rooster had escaped from his flock and wandered into the forest. A soft grunting came from behind one of the trees. I looked and recognized the woman from the first tribe. She gestured for me to pick up the rooster and hurry back to the first tribe. Things passed like this for weeks. I learned that there were countless tribes scattered about the forest, and each tribe stole from the other as a form of revenge for the theft from their own lands, the borders of which remain unclear. It was as if the inhabitants of the forest coexisted in an utterly selfish—yet effective—circle of exchange: theft in exchange for theft. The most curious activity I witnessed my fellow tribesmen (as I had become accustomed to calling them) performing happened for the entire length of a week each month. I awoke one morning to discover that all of my human companions had begun to copulate with one another en masse. Like clockwork, when a woman was finished with her partner, she would move on to another male who, penis erect, seemed to be waiting for one with whom to mate. The men, too, moved like clockwork; however, unlike the women, once the men were finished, they returned to their leisure activities. I had not had a chance to witness the same sexual phenomenon in the other tribes, though I presume that they performed the same type of mating ritual. As I stood watching the females move from one man to another, a woman approached and asked me to be her next mate. I was so transfixed by the scene before me that it was only then that I became conscious of my penis, which had become erect without my knowing. Then and there, I lay with the woman and was subjected to a rather mechanical experience with a minimal amount of pleasure. Once my member returned to its flaccid state, the women left me to my own devices and wandered away. I took to the river to bathe, after which I resolved to follow the course of the water to see where it would lead. The longer I followed the trail beside the river, the muddier and smellier became my surroundings. A fog began to creep over my ankles, and it was a challenge to breathe. The heat of the sun waned as the trees about me grew thicker and larger, their leaves twisting together, creating a canopy over my head. It was difficult to see in the gloom; my eyes adjusted to the darkness just as I was about to run into what appeared to be a solid, massive wall that stretched high into the heavens so I could not espy its top. I knocked experimentally on the wall and felt its roughness—I had rapped my knuckles on the thick bark of an enormous tree. I began to circumvent the trunk, trailing my fingers along the tough, damp bark. I stopped after a few meters; there seemed to be no bypassing this obstacle. In both directions, there was only a long stretch of tree trunk, its circumference seemingly immeasurable. I started back toward the tribe, but it was at this moment that a most fragrant smell greeted my nostrils. It was smoky and sweet, and I became aware of an empty feeling in my stomach. I turned my gaze skyward and saw, growing amid the leaves, the reddest and plumpest fruits, which I could not name. They seemed to glow with their own energy and were the only source of light in that dark place. I gently wrapped a palm around the piece hanging lowest to the ground, ready to pluck it from its thick, black branch, when a voice rumbled out of the darkness, low and gravelly. “I would not do that.” A horrific, wooden face formed out of the tree bark before me, its eyes and its nostrils knotted black lumps; its mouth an angry, brittle gash. I shuddered but managed to stammer an apology. “I–I’m sorry…?” The fact that the face had spoken in my own earthly tongue was surprising; I had not heard it in so long—had in fact forgotten it upon entering the forest—that I was not prepared to hear it in this dark neck of the woods. The thousands of words I had learned during the course of my life came flooding back as if they had been reserved for this encounter with a being who spoke the language. The wooden man introduced himself as Parek, a tree demon. “I have been here since this Paradise was created. I have seen the same fate befall all who have eaten the fruit of this tree, each one's mind burdened with the yoke of higher consciousness. The last two were most distressing: Their dull faces, upon first bite, took on a sudden brightness, as if they had just discovered who they were… or what they were. I saw their wonder turn into horror and shame. They began to scream and scrabble at the dried leaves on the forest floor and held them to their bodies feverishly. They were half-crazed, running from the very spot where you stand and through the gates that stand behind this tree.” I moved to look past the tree demon and see the gate, forgetting for a moment the enormity of the tree. “Oh, it stands there still,” continued Parek. “Even thousands of years after those last crazed wanderers escaped through it. Journey far enough around this trunk and you will eventually find the gate. But you will be weakened and wearied by the secrets the fruit has divulged to you. And you will need to eat the fruit, for without it you cannot even begin to understand the way the mechanism of the gate works. No doubt you are a curious man; no doubt you will attempt to open the gate and see what lies beyond it. But I am telling you now: do not. Will you not agree with me that the most terrifying things are those about which you know nothing?” The tree demon was right—I was curious, and I did feel a yearning to see what was behind that gate but, just as on the earth I once knew, uncertainty allows for too much inhibition. I had, after all, gotten used to life in this forest and was yet unwilling to let go of it all in exchange for a place I did not know was better or worse. I traveled back to the clearing, where the tribespeople were still performing their mating ritual. In a patch of sunlight, I saw two snakes mating as if they comprehended the humans’ activities and decided to join them. I stayed in the forest for years. I forgot about the tree and about Parek, waiting out my days in this odd, inscrutable Paradise. I took to taking long walks about the forest, getting lost a few times and finding my way back to the tribe after days of travel. It was a tiring existence, but I never grew bored with it. I had gotten used to the prospect of never returning to my old world when, during one of my longer explorations of the forest, I came across a familiar little copse, where it was dim and chilly. I smelled a familiar smoky-sweet scent and raised my head to see a plump, red, shining globe. I felt a stirring in my chest. The red orb was beckoning to me and, this time, no voice came to stop me. The fruit was warm in my palm and, when I took a bite, its insides were warm as well. A feeling of sharp, increased awareness swept over me. I became ashamed of my nakedness and fashioned a loincloth out of vines and leaves to cover myself. I started around the tree I had come across so long ago, felt myself gliding almost—certainly not walking—around and past it to a gate, which was golden and shining, trapped between two cement columns overgrown with vines. The gate itself had escaped the choking creepers and plants; it was devoid of contamination—untouched. Words were inscribed on one of the columns, but they were covered in a thick layer of grime. Perhaps these were the instructions that could enlighten me, teach me how to escape this place where I had been trapped for years. I tried to wipe away the dirt to read the inscription, but it was too thick. My palms and fingers began to bleed. As the hours passed, I came to know the words anxiety and despair—words I had not thought nor felt for many years. Perhaps too much time had passed. Perhaps the gate was no longer meant for passage. But I continued to wipe, scraping and bleeding, because of another word that entered my consciousness, its hold on me more powerful than everything else I knew. It was not shame or anxiety or despair, but hope.