Somewhere on the Cuban coast, three children—two girls and a boy—are playing on the beach, passing the houses and old ruins overlooking the sea as they go. They seem completely themselves and free in their own world. The camera calmly observes them from a distance and in close-up, attentive to atmosphere and feeling, to glances and gestures—accompanied by a soundtrack of their voices, the wind and the crashing of the waves.
The children are content playing with shells, paint remnants or an old plank. One of the girls dares her brother to dive into the waves. They eat a little, fool around, tease each other, do each other’s hair and play hide and seek. But tiny cracks start appearing in this idyllic scene. One of the girls throws a rock at a dead pig. We see a panorama of deserted houses. The children enjoy themselves wandering around a fairground, but don’t seem to really belong there. The day glides by and evening comes, and they’re still together, and still by themselves. Questions gradually arise—questions that are only answered at the very last.