The rhythm, the cadence, is hypnotic. The late-afternoon sun helps: scales flying off the fish flash in a silvery, summery gust. Three young men fall into a soft, steady rhythm — fish, knife, entrails — chop, chop! The day winds down at the pier, and Curaçao — this small, arid island off the northern coast of Venezuela, part of the former Dutch Antilles — now stands out as one of the best ideas conceived since the Big Bang; at times, it may also seem like the opposite: a Caribbean theme park for Europeans and Americans. But not now — it is a kingdom of physical well-being, a haven of tranquility, the soul of the slow world. Guts, scales, salt water, milky sun, rhythm, rhythm, rhythm.

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Everything in this story comes back to El Cabra. Everything leads to him, Cabrero Segundo, the “famous Lacandón,” the boss, a man of average height, about five foot five, brown-skinned, with a paunch, a goatee and tattoos: a cross on his left shoulder and a jaguar on his right. An eccentric character. In the film he had made about his life, he cast a hulking actor who was eight inches taller. At the height of his power he built a clandestine airstrip two minutes from his house to receive drug shipments. The night he kidnapped 33 soldiers, disarmed and stripped them — no one in the jungle forgets that — he spent the final hours before dawn snorting cocaine in front of them, using a banknote. El Cabra, a man with ambition.

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Photography and video:

Quetzalli Nicte-Ha

Visual editing:

Gladys Serrano and Mónica González

Layout and design:

Mónica Juárez Martín and Ángel Hernández