I like stories that take place at or near the sea. Both fictional and historical stories.

It excites me to imagine the landscapes in their original state and then mentally construct the way men took possession of the spaces. Maybe that's why I'm very interested in the stories of pirates and corsairs. Rough men who sought to inhabit the sea in such a particular way that they have been engraved in the popular imagination as evil, robbers, adventurers, bandits, outlaws, cruel and merciless men. We know that history is written in a self-serving way, generally by the victors.

Be that as it may, what is certain is that daring men, capable of risking their lives in the vicissitudes of the sea (confrontations,, sea monsters, storms), sailed along the coasts of my country.

Some disembarked for a time that became infinite. Death found them there, many years later. Others, settled on paradisiacal islands claimed by the former colonial powers, crossed from time to time the relatively short distance that separated those islands from our coast, also colonized, and stayed here for a while.

Most of the time the cause of permanence was love. Today I want to tell you about my fascination for the facial features of children clearly descended from those love stories that took place in front of the sea. Whenever I can, I cross the sea to go to the coast in front of mine, where these children live and who hypnotize me with their faces and their complete mastery of their environment.

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The state where I live is clearly distinguished by the shape of two arms, two opposite peninsulas whose north are the coasts facing the Caribbean Sea. The crossing from coast to coast is about forty minutes at an average speed and in good weather. In the mornings it is a smooth and calm ride in a sea that looks like a mirror. In the afternoons the crossing is different. Especially after four o'clock in the afternoon, the sea can become stormy. Travelers and locals must hurry in the early afternoon to get to the dock to catch the boat that will take them to the other coast.

I always find it very difficult to detach myself from the Araya peninsula. This peninsula sheltered, in his mortal and contagious illness, one of the most sensitive poets of our country. He is the author of the first poem I learned by heart. "Blue of that far away coast/ towards which my thought flies/ under the blue peace of the morning/ color that reveals so many things to me." The sick poet lived isolated in a house facing the sea and from there he looked at the coast where his beloved, a sweet young woman with blue eyes, was left. The poem is called Blue. To blue he says: "You only distress me/ when I suffer cravings/ to kiss the blue of those eyes/ that will never again/ contemplate mine".

If I go to the Araya peninsula, I always go to that house where the poet lived, then I get into the crystalline waters and I never want to leave. When I have to return the same day, I always arrive, happy and content, at the limit of time when the last boat leaves. I don't care about the shaking of the waves on the small boat. I arrive confident that it will only be a few minutes of excitement riding the waves.

One day, upon arrival, I found Superman on the dock. He was walking back and forth, trying to climb the pier to see the fish on the shore, talking a lot, commenting on everything he saw and asking all sorts of questions. His cape moved with the winds.

"Why do those kids get permission to go in the sea and I don't, Mommy?"

Superman's mother was a very patient young woman who answered all his questions without letting go of his hand.

"Because you are dressed to travel, let's go to the other coast."

"And why don't we leave at once?"

The mother answered each time, explaining everything to him. Certainly, we were waiting for some tourists who had announced their need to travel but they were taking too long and Superman's patience was wearing thin....

"I could fly. I think I can lift the boat with my super strength and get there faster."

The mother was humoring him.

"Sure you can, but I'm afraid of flying."

Don't be afraid, Mommy. I am Superman, the man of steel. I can protect you.

The mother smiled and looked at him. I looked at him too, enraptured by his imagination, by his energy, by his courage and above all by his freckled face. He had a golden complexion, toasted by the inclement sun that colored his complexion without hiding the beautiful freckles. His very light brown hair with golden locks shone under the sun and his blue-green eyes, like the sea we would cross, shone in such a way that I did not doubt for a moment that I was in front of Superman himself.

The physical characteristics of this child are those I mentioned above. Factions that bring us the features of the Dutch who defied storms to stay forever in this part of the country, in love with their women, in front of the sea.

When the tourists arrived, we set sail. Before, the foreigners greeted Superman with big smiles and handshakes.

The captain of the boat announced that the sea was a bit "rough" and that we would be going along the coast, so the trip would be longer. We left feeling the noticeable swaying of the waves that were looking for their arrival to the shore, stumbling over our boat.

At some point Superman made a statement that was important to everyone. He maintained total control of the situation.

"I really don't need this life preserver. I'm not afraid. I am Superman. Neither are you."

A discreet, but clear smile lit up the faces of the passengers.

I wasn't looking out to sea, just enjoying the wonderful company.

When we were in front of the dock on the other coast we were bound to face the deep sea, at the entrance to a gulf around which legends have been forged about sea monsters. Sailors are deep believers in these stories involving fantastic animals living at the bottom of the sea. Legend has it that the Gulf of Cariaco is inhabited by a monstrous serpent that causes earthquakes and tidal waves. We were passing through the serpent's domain when the sea became rough in an astonishing way.

The waves began to lift the boat, which looked like a small paper boat in the face of their force. Instinctively, the passengers began to exclaim, they were expressions of astonishment. One moment we were on the water and the next we were in the air to fall with one blow on the sea. Successively the wave lifted us up, withdrew and left us in the air to fall amidst cries of alarm. Superman's cry stood out among all the sounds. His high-pitched child's voice reached us all.

I, who had crossed that gulf many times, knew that nothing bad would happen. The captain and other inhabitants of the peninsula knew it too. Superman's mother just squeezed the child to her chest. She and I were the only women and our gazes continually met. My interest was concentrated on his chest and in his arms where Superman was trembling with fear.

A slight cessation of the tide allowed me to remind the boy that we were all okay because of his presence.

"It's good that Superman is here, to protect us."

The consolation was worse, the boy allowed himself to be overcome by reality and confessed what we all knew.

"The thing is, I'm not Superman, I lied to you guys."

We all fell silent at this serious statement. The boy began to cry quietly. His beautiful teary eyes were a single image with the sea around us.

Gradually the proximity of the pier dispersed the waves. In a few minutes we were stepping on the wooden planks that would take us out of the raging sea.
On the beach, relatives were waiting for us, among them Superman's father, worried about the notification of the prohibition to set sail that the radio transmitted but that we did not know about.

A group of strangers had changed. Everyone said goodbye to each other. Danger and the innocence of a child had brought us together on the journey.

We all bid a fond farewell to that child. Someone said goodbye:

"Goodbye, Superman."

"I am not Superman. My name is Daniel."

He said. He was safe in his father's arms.