"It's a shame there are no more steamboats," Ra told me as his gaze faded across the Mississippi through the van window.
I was surprised to hear him because he was doing it in his sleep. We had picked up a load of carpentry materials and tools, and he decided to take the early morning shift. I had just started driving. My son was enthralled by the majestic view of the Mississippi. He was always serious and quiet, except when we talked about art and other beautiful things, like this river. And he was right; it's a shame you can't see the old paddle steamers go by anymore. However, the river is still as beautiful as I imagined it to be when I was a child reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
That was many years ago. Back then, I decided I would be a traveler. I would travel the world to see all those places I'd visited through books. I would travel the Silk Road like The Traveler, by Gary Jennings. I would travel through the jungles of the Caribbean like Salgari's The Black Corsair; and to the United States, just like Shadow did in Neil Gaiman's American Gods. And, of course, I would sail the Mississippi like black Jim and Huck. I would sail all the way to the sea.
Ah, those childhood dreams. Of all of them, I've only managed to fulfill Shadow's. Since I started transporting goods, there's not a single state I haven't visited. It's incredible how accurately Gaiman describes the places in his book. I've been to them all. I wanted to see those magical places as he saw them. To see them with my own eyes.
To experience that feeling of freedom when traveling by road. Maybe it's because I've grown up, but I no longer feel that rush I felt when I took my first trip across the United States. That adrenaline rush of mixing work with pleasure—I don't know how to describe it. Imagine, I was being paid to fulfill my dream. In this way, I got to know the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, Las Vegas, Portland, the well-known Maine (since it appears in all of Stephen King's books), the beautiful Echo Canyon in Utah, the Everglades, and the Mississippi, among many other wonders in each of its fifty states.
But what they never tell you in books, at least not fully, is the cold of the winter road. The pain of running out of gas in the middle of the highway. Or the terrible conditions of some of the hotels where we spent the nights. These things, until you experience them, are indescribable.
The magic of these trips is lost with bureaucracy, paperwork, taxes, claims, promotions, and other things necessary in the real world, but which don't exist in books. Or, perhaps, they don't mention them because they aren't essential to the story.
Roadside accidents are common in books. Like that day the minivan broke down back in Minnesota. We were very close to the source of the river. Ra struggled to find the cause of the break while I sat gazing at the Mississippi River, just as I had watched the sea back in my homeland. Of my dreams yet to come true in this country, traveling across it on the wooden raft was the only one I could fulfill. In fact, I fell asleep gazing at the calm waters and dreamed I was embarking on the adventure.
Ra woke me up when he found the solution to the problem.
"I don't think the patch will last long, but it should be enough to get to the next gas station. We'll find a mechanic there," he told me hopefully.
I ignored him. In my mind, I was already in St. Louis.
The patch didn't work as well as we planned, and we had to stop several times before reaching Minnesota. We couldn't take our break, or we'd miss the delivery deadline.
We wasted too much time. We could always afford to travel through a few states on our trips. But this one was all work and no fun. No magic. Luckily, at least in my mind, I'd traveled by boat down the Mississippi for a while.
We delivered the load just in time, under a cold winter drizzle and to a bad-tempered client. I had to listen to him rant for half an hour while I filled out the paperwork. Ra watched me endure it, unable to tell the client that, because of the van, I couldn't enjoy the trip; that his carpentry tools were no good for fixing a car engine; that, with that drizzle, the least he could do was invite us into his office and give us hot chocolate instead of yelling at us in the workshop.
But I didn't say anything. I just smiled and watched the machines cut the tree trunks into planks and more planks. Again, the Mississippi came to mind. The only moment of true peace on that trip.
Finally, he finished and handed me the paperwork. He told me to wait a bit to see if he could send a load to Louisiana. I told him yes, I'd be delighted. At least that way I could travel through the eight states that remained on the side of the magnetic river. I didn't know what was happening to me that day, everything was connected to the Mississippi.
When I left the garage, I found Ra with his face covered in grease. His beautiful smile appeared amidst all the grime and calmed me down. We drove the minivan to the cargo area and loaded the cargo inside. Yet another mountain of paperwork to fill out, taxes to calculate, payments to receive, and itineraries to plan before heading out to meet the Mississippi.
Finally, we left. This time, it was Ra who started driving while I settled down to get some sleep. However, not even an hour had passed when I heard him swear and saw smoke coming out of the hood.
"This is really bad, Mommy," he said. "We're going to have to call a tow truck and bring the cargo back."
I won't deny that I was glad that happened. I didn't feel like working with that man, and the van couldn't have picked a better place to break down than near the riverbank. However, we needed the money for our annual vacation. I resigned myself to the idea and figured it was better this way. We'd take it early, starting the moment we returned the lumber. That's what I thought as I took off my shoes and waded into the river. Ra called the tow truck and didn't even notice her mother playing like a child in the Mississippi water.
She called me when the tow truck arrived, and immediately the magic was over. As I climbed up the riverbank, I calculated the expenses and how long it would take to return everything and get back on the road. Again, things they don't write in the books because they're not relevant to the story. However, it's relevant in this one, and it still makes me laugh like I did that day while I was looking at the Mississippi.
When I got to the minivan, I asked Ra to open the door and take out the lumber so they could take the car.
"You must be crazy, Mom," Ra told me, sticking his feet out of the raft and into the river. "These aren't normal ways to transport goods."
"You're right, as always, honey. But we can't pass up this opportunity. We need the money." That was my excuse. If I had told him that all this was about fulfilling another dream, he might have resisted my crazy idea of reaching the sea more.
Ra fell silent and lay down on the wood, gazing at the sky, and sighed nostalgically.
"It's a shame they don't have steamboats like they used to," he said again, and laughed like when he was a little boy and I read him The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn before bed.
👏👏👏
This story beautifully captures the contrast between childhood dreams and the realities of adulthood, blending nostalgia, adventure, and the burdens of responsibility.
Thank you 🤜🤛
Hello @abelarte,
This is beautifully written, but unfortunately comes up as having AI content by our AI detection program, with 100% confidence. This reading may come because of one of three reasons: It was translated by a translating program (in which case, providing us with the original might help to dispel the AI reading); It was AI generated; It was edited with an AI program.
We also note that you have not commented on other stories in the community. We require our authors to support others. This support takes the form of commenting on two for each story submitted.
Please refer to our rules (as described in our prompt post) before you next publish in this community. Thank you.
I don't need an AI to write a text. I could use AI to prove that my text is AI-free, but that would be disrespectful to myself.
Google my name and you'll see that it's not necessary. I have a career spanning over 10 years and several international awards. Please avoid this type of questioning without any reliable evidence for what you claim.
The story was translated by a program. If you want the original, tell me where to put it.
As for AI, I'm sure you use it more than I do.
By the way, this comment is also translated by Google Translate. Not because I can't do it myself, but because it's more convenient for me.
I could also write it in Japanese or Russian on my own, but why would that be?
Your indignation is understandable. We don't like getting an AI score on a piece. It's disappointing. However, you must realize that many people who publish here do try to use AI in order to get noticed and get rewards. While the idea of doing this may be offensive to you, we, the curators, operate in a universe where it is not offensive to many.
As we suggested in our comment, often an AI reading comes because of a translation. This is the case with your story. In the Spanish version, it comes back 100% original. We always run the pre-translation version if we have that.
We have tested our AI (professional) detector with our own writing. While we do get AI detection on our writing occasionally (which means the program is not perfect), the result is a fraction of the piece...never over 50%. In your case, the detection program was correct. You offered us a translation, and that translation program yields an AI result.
In the future, if you publish in the community again, we suggest you offer both the translation and the original. Many of our writers do that.
The curation team here is comprised of volunteers, writers and bloggers who try to protect the integrity of the community, and of Hive in general. We use the tools at our disposal. We don't guess, although our own instincts do help to guide us.
Here are a few tips for getting acquainted with the community:
Be sure to read The Ink Well community rules at the top of the community home page, and check out our FAQ about The Ink Well.
We accept two kinds of short stories in The Ink Well: fictional stories and creative nonfiction stories.
You can find information about what we are looking for in creative nonfiction stories in this post.
And please be sure to engage in the community by reading and commenting on the work of other community members. We ask everyone who posts in The Ink Well to read and comment on at least two other stories for each one published.
I understand. Although I don't agree with what you're claiming, I accept it, as these are the community rules.
If I may ask, what characteristics does my text share with the AI's, according to your program? Are there any professional writers on your team?
I have copy/pasted some of the story as it came back so you can get an idea. The dark orange indicates 100% certainty of Ai. The lighter orange indicate a little less. Overall the result was a 100% confidence in AI detection.
Yes we have professional writers. We are not coders. We are in a new universe now where AI is an intrusive presence. We try to protect the creatives among us. The community is for writers, creative writers and we want to keep it that way.
What they need to do is stop using those artificial intelligences to detect artificial intelligence and use their own intelligence.
That's what I'm doing.
Aquí tienen el cuento, por si lo necesitan:
—Es una lástima que ya no haya vapores.
Me dijo Ra mientras su vista se perdía en el Mississipi a través de la ventanilla del van.
Me sorprendí al escucharlo porque lo hacía dormido. Habíamos recogido una carga de materiales y herramientas de carpintería y decidió hacer el turno de la madrugada. Yo recién comenzaba a conducir. Mi hijo estaba ensimismado con la majestuosa vista del Mississipi. Él, siempre serio y cayado, excepto cuando hablábamos de arte y otras cosas hermosas, como lo es este río. Y tenía razón, es una lástima que ya no se puedan ver pasar los antiguos vapores de rueda. Sin embargo, el río sigue siendo tan hermosos como lo imaginé en mi infancia al leer Las aventuras de Huckleberry Finn.
Hace muchos años ya de eso. En aquel entonces decidí que sería una viajera. Iría por el mundo a conocer todos esos lugares que visité a través de los libros. Haría la Ruta de la Seda como El Viajero, de Gary Jennings. Recorrería las selvas del Caribe como El corsario negro, de Salgari; y a Estados Unidos, como mismo lo hizo Sombra en American Gods, de Neil Gaiman. Y, por supuesto, navegaría por el Mississipi igual que el negro Jim y Huck. Navegaría hasta llegar al mar.
Ah, esos sueños de la infancia. De todos ellos solo he alcanzado realizar el de Sombra. Desde que comencé a transportar mercancía, no hay estado que no conozca. Es increíble la exactitud con que describe Gaiman los lugares en su libro. He estado en todos ellos. Quería ver esos mágicos lugares como mismo lo vio él. Verlos con mis propios ojos. Experimentar esa sensación de libertad al viajar por carretera. Quizás sea porque ya he madurado, pero ya no siento esa emoción que sentí cuando di mi primer viaje a través de los Estados Unidos. Esa adrenalina de mezclar el trabajo con placer, no sé cómo describirla. Imagínense, me pagaban por cumplir mi sueño. De esta manera conocí el cañón del Colorado, Yellowstone, Los Ángeles, New York, Chicago, Las Vegas, Portland, la muy conocida Maine (ya que sale en todos los libros de Stephen King) el hermoso cañón de Echo, en Utah, los Everglades y el Mississipi, entre muchísimas otras maravillas en cada uno de sus cincuenta estados.
Pero lo que nunca cuentan en los libros, al menos no a cabalidad, es del frío de la carretera en invierno. De lo malo de quedarse sin gasolina en medio de la carretera. O las pésimas condiciones de algunos hoteles donde pasamos las noches. Estas cosas, hasta que no las experimentas, son indescriptibles. La magia de estos viajes se acaba con la burocracia, el papeleo, los taxes, reclamaciones, promociones y demás cosas necesarias en el mundo real, y que en los libros no existen. O, quizás, no las ponen porque no son imprescindibles para la historia.
Las roturas en la carretera sí son frecuentes en los libros. Como ese día en que la minivan se rompió allá por Minesota. Estábamos muy cerca del nacimiento del río. Ra se esforzaba por encontrar la causa de la rotura mientras yo me sentaba a contemplar el Mississipi como mismo observaba el mar allá en mi patria. De mis sueños pendientes a realizar en este país, viajar por él en la balsa de madera era el único a realizar. De hecho, me quedé dormida contemplando las tranquilas aguas y soñé que me lanzaba a la aventura. Ra me despertó cuando dio con la solución a la avería.
—No creo que aguante mucho el remiendo, pero debe bastar para llegar a la próxima gasolinera. Allí buscaremos un mecánico —me dijo esperanzado.
Yo ni caso le hice. En mi mente ya me encontraba en San Luis.
El remiendo no funcionó tan bien como lo planificamos y tuvimos que detenernos varias veces antes de llegar a Minesota. No pudimos tomarnos nuestra hora de descanso o incumpliríamos con el deadline de entrega de la carga. Perdimos demasiado tiempo. Siempre podíamos darnos el lujo de pasear por algunos estados en nuestros viajes. Pero este, solo tenía trabajo y nada de placer. Nada de magia. Por suerte, al menos en mi mente había viajado en lancha por el Mississipi un rato.
Entregamos la carga con el tiempo justo, bajo una fría llovizna invernal y a un cliente con mal carácter. Tuve que escucharlo despotricar durante media hora, mientras llenaba los papeles. Ra me miraba aguantar aquello sin poder decirle al cliente que, por culpa del Van, no pude disfrutar el viaje; que sus herramientas de carpintería no servían para arreglar el motor de un auto; que, con esa llovizna, lo mínimo que podía hacer él, era invitarnos a su oficina y darnos un chocolate caliente, en vez de gritarnos en el taller. Pero no le dije nada. Solo sonreía y miraba cómo las máquinas cortaban los troncos de árboles, en tablones y más tablones. Otra vez, me vino a la mente el Mississipi. Único momento de paz verdadera en ese viaje.
Al fin terminó y me entregó los papeles. Me dijo que me esperara un poco a ver si podía enviar una carga hacia Luisiana. Le dije que sí, que encantada. Al menos, de esa manera, podría recorrer los ocho estados que me quedaban al costado del magnético río. No sabía qué me pasaba ese día que todo se relacionaba con el Mississipi.
Cuando salí del taller, me encontré a Ra con el rostro embarrado de grasa. Su bella sonrisa apareció entre toda aquella suciedad y me tranquilizó. Llevamos la minivan hacia el área de carga y acomodamos la mercancía en su interior. Nuevamente otra montaña de papeles a llenar, taxes que calcular, pagos que recibir e itinerarios que planificar antes de salir a encontrarnos con el Mississipi.
Al fin salimos. Esa vez, fue Ra el que comenzó manejando mientras yo me acomodaba para dormir un rato. Sin embargo, no había pasado ni una hora cuando lo sentí maldecir y vi el humo saliendo del capó.
—Esto sí es malo, mami —me dijo—. Vamos a tener que llamar a una grúa y regresar la mercancía.
No voy a negar que me alegré que sucediera aquello. No tenía ganas de trabajar con ese hombre y el Van no pudo coger un mejor lugar para romperse que cerca de la orilla del río. Sin embargo, necesitábamos el dinero para nuestras vacaciones anuales. Me resigné a la idea y calculé que era mejor así. Las tomaríamos anticipadas, comenzando en el instante que devolviéramos la madera. Eso pensaba mientras me quitaba los zapatos y me introducía en el río. Ra llamaba al remolque y ni cuenta se dio de que su madre jugaba como una niña con el agua del Mississipi.
Me llamó cuando llegó la grúa y enseguida la magia terminó. Mientras subía por la ribera del río, iba calculando los gastos a realizar y el tiempo que tardaríamos en devolver todo y ponernos en marcha nuevamente. Otra vez, las cosas que no ponen en los libros por no ser de relevancia para la historia. Sin embargo, en esta sí tiene que ver y aún me hace reír como lo hice aquel día mientras miraba al Mississipi.
Al llegar al minivan, le pedí a Ra que abriera la puerta y sacara la madera para que se llevaran el auto.
—Tienes que estar loca, mamá —me dijo Ra, sacando los pies por fuera de la balsa y metiéndolos en el río—. Estas no son formas normales de transportar las mercancías.
—Tienes razón, como siempre, mi vida. Pero no podemos dejar pasar esta oportunidad. Necesitamos el dinero —esa fue mi excusa. Si le llegaba a decir que todo aquello era por cumplir otro sueño, quizás se hubiera resistido más a mi alocada idea de llegar hasta el mar.
Ra se quedó callado y se tumbó sobre la madera a contemplar el cielo y suspiró nostálgico.
—Es una lástima que ya no hallan vapores como antes —dijo otra vez y se rio como cuando era pequeño y le leía Las aventuras de Huckleberry Finn antes de dormir.