Even Silence Has an End Part 33

"Wait a minute, what are snail tongs?" Pincho wanted to know.

"Don't listen to him, he's trying to impress you."

"But how do I know which one to use?" insisted Pincho, dismayed.

"No need to guess. They are placed in the order you use them."

"And if you hesitate, just look at your neighbor," Lucho piped up again.

"That's good advice. Moreover, you must always wait for the host to set the example. You must never do anything before he does."

"If you do, you might have the same thing happen to you as happened to an African head of state-actually, I don't know if he was African, but he was invited to dinner with the queen of England. They had put finger bowls on the table, and the man thought it was a cup to drink out of, so that's just what he did. To spare the man any embarra.s.sment, the queen drank from her finger bowl, too."

"What's a finger bowl?"

We spent entire afternoons talking about how to set the table, how to serve the wine, to help oneself, to eat, and we went off into a world of courtesy and refined pleasures.

I swore that the day I finally got home, I would pay attention to detail, I would always have flowers in my room and wear perfume, and I would no longer forbid myself to eat ice cream or cakes. I understood that in my life I had abandoned too many little pleasures, taking them for granted. I wrote it down somewhere, so that I would never forget, because I sensed that the unbearable lightness of living could condemn me to forget what I'd experienced in captivity.

But like everything I wrote in the jungle, I burned it to avoid it falling into the wrong hands. I was thinking about all this, sitting in my caleta, caleta, planning my French lessons for the next day, when I suddenly heard a long, creaking sound-it was painful, horrible the way it echoed, as if it were increasing in volume to surprise us and oblige us to look up. I saw a rustling of leaves over by the planning my French lessons for the next day, when I suddenly heard a long, creaking sound-it was painful, horrible the way it echoed, as if it were increasing in volume to surprise us and oblige us to look up. I saw a rustling of leaves over by the chontos, chontos, and then I saw Tiger dash h.e.l.l bent for leather through the camp, abandoning his guard post. and then I saw Tiger dash h.e.l.l bent for leather through the camp, abandoning his guard post.

The tallest tree in the forest had chosen that particular moment to die, and it had come cras.h.i.+ng down like a felled giant. Our surprise was equal to that of the young trees it brought down with it, which smashed with a thundering sound as they landed on the ground, raising a huge cloud of dust in the blast generated by the fall. Parrots flew away, terrified. My hair was swept backward by the shock wave; my face was coated with a cloud of particles that covered all the tents and the surrounding foliage. The sky had opened, revealing frayed yellow clouds. Everyone ran to take shelter. It didn't even occur to me to do so.

I could have died, I said to myself, stunned, realizing that a branch of the giant tree had landed six feet from my foot. But it was a beautiful sight. I said to myself, stunned, realizing that a branch of the giant tree had landed six feet from my foot. But it was a beautiful sight.

I was delighted that this providential opening would allow us to gaze at the sunset and the stars.

"Forget it!" warned Lucho. "You'll see, they'll make us change camp."

And indeed, a few days later Mauricio gave the signal: We had to pack. The place where we set up camp was set back from the river. As at the Maloka camp, there was a cano cano to the left of our site. It was much wider, and it split into a fork before reaching the river. The larger branch served the guerrilla camp. to the left of our site. It was much wider, and it split into a fork before reaching the river. The larger branch served the guerrilla camp.

Very quickly we all slipped back into our habits. We threw our aluminum-wire antennas into the trees to connect with the world. I didn't miss a single one of Mom's messages. After Trinidad was extradited, she undertook getting in touch with anybody who might have the ear of President Uribe. It was her intention to win over the president's wife. Mom made a point of saying all this in public, on the air, as if it were just the two of us talking.

"I don't know what to try next," she said. "I feel terribly alone. People are bored with your story. I feel as if all the doors are closing. My friends no longer want to see me. They say I depress them with my tears. And it's true, my darling, that I speak only about you, because it's the only thing that interests me, and all the rest seems superficial to me now. As if I could spend my time chitchatting when I know you are suffering!"

I wept in silence, repeating in a hushed voice, "Stay strong, my little mom. I have a surprise for you. In a few days, I will arrive somewhere, in a village by the side of the river. I will go and hide in the church, because the guerrillas will be looking for me everywhere, and I will be frightened. But from a distance, I'll see the church tower, and I'll find the priest. He will have a telephone and I'll dial your number. That is the only one I have not forgotten: 'Dos doce, veint.i.tres, cero tres.' 'Dos doce, veint.i.tres, cero tres.'71 I will hear it ringing-once, twice, three times. You're always busy doing something. Finally you'll pick up. I will hear the sound of your voice, and I will let it echo for a few moments in the void, just long enough to offer up my thanks. I will say, 'Mom?' and you will reply 'Astrica?' because our voices are similar, and it can only be her. And then I'll say, 'No, Mamita, it's me, Ingrid.'" I will hear it ringing-once, twice, three times. You're always busy doing something. Finally you'll pick up. I will hear the sound of your voice, and I will let it echo for a few moments in the void, just long enough to offer up my thanks. I will say, 'Mom?' and you will reply 'Astrica?' because our voices are similar, and it can only be her. And then I'll say, 'No, Mamita, it's me, Ingrid.'"

My G.o.d! How many times have I imagined that scene?

Mom was in the midst of preparing an appeal with the support of all the NGOs in the world, to ask President Uribe to appoint a negotiator for the humanitarian agreement. She was counting on the unconditional support of one of the country's leading lights. Former president Alfonso Lopez, looking on from his ninety years of age, continued to have an influence on Colombia's destiny.

All through my years in politics, I had maintained a certain distance from President Lopez. In a way, he incarnated for me the old political cla.s.s.

A few days before my abduction, I received an invitation to go see him. I arrived early at his house, one Sat.u.r.day morning, with the only one of my security escorts whom I trusted fully. I was startled as I rang at the door, because it opened instantly and it was President Lopez himself who greeted me.

Lopez was a very tall man, handsome despite his advanced age, with eyes an aquatic blue that changed according to his mood. He was elegantly dressed, with a cashmere turtleneck, a dark blue blazer, and impeccably ironed gray flannel trousers. He asked me to follow him into his library, where he settled into a large armchair, his back to the window. I have no memory of opening my mouth for the two hours our meeting lasted. I was won over. By the time I left him, I realized that he had rid me of all my preconceived ideas about him.

He had been to Neiva, a city as hot a devil's cauldron, to take part in a demonstration organized on our behalf. Along with his wife, who had subjected herself to the same ordeal, he'd brandished photographs of the hostages during the march. Mom was there, with all the families of the other hostages. Intolerance had reached its apex. Some people in Colombia thought their demands for our liberation were an inadmissible compliance with the guerrillas' blackmail and an act of treason toward the country. President Lopez had lent his support to our plight at a time when so many were turning a blind eye. He died when I was still chained to a tree. I suffered. I had come to truly love him. But by the time he left us, he had won his last battle: Fighting for our freedom had become politically correct in Colombia.

It was his voice I heard first when we disembarked on the radio and it made me like the new place. Our new camp had been designed in a strange way. We were isolated from the barracks that the guerrillas were building for themselves, and we had only two guards at either end of our camp. I had sketched out a plan that seemed perfect. Moreover, Lucho's treatment was finished. He had received 163 injections of Glucantime over six months, five times more than the normal dose. The side effects had caused him to suffer, in particular, pain in his teeth and bones. But the sore on his temple had healed. All that was left was a slight indentation of the skin, which would be a lifelong testimony to the prolonged struggle he'd waged against leishmaniasis.

We were still waiting for the providential storm at six-fifteen in the evening that would allow us to escape. Every evening we fell asleep disappointed that we'd not been able to leave but secretly relieved that we'd been able to sleep another night in a dry place.

One morning Mono Liso and a group of five other guerrillas came very early, with enormous squared beams that they had cut at the base to make posts. They drove them into the ground every five yards around our camp. Simultaneously we were all moved inside what would in all likelihood become an enclosure. I thought I would die. They wouldn't have time to finish it that day. The mesh and barbed wire would be put up the following day.

"It's our last chance, Lucho. If we want to leave, we have to do it tonight."

JULY 17, 2005.

My sister's birthday was the following day. I got our minicruseros minicruseros ready, and I put everything in a corner of my ready, and I put everything in a corner of my caleta, caleta, inside the mosquito net. Mono Liso went by at that very moment, and in spite of the black veil of the insect s.h.i.+eld, our gazes met. He looked at me, feigned indifference, but in that very second I understood that he had read my thoughts. I went to stand in line for my last hot meal with my bowl in my hand, thinking that I was mad, that he couldn't have seen my intentions, and that everything would be fine. I confirmed that Lucho was also ready, and I asked him to wait for me to come and get him. I had faith. inside the mosquito net. Mono Liso went by at that very moment, and in spite of the black veil of the insect s.h.i.+eld, our gazes met. He looked at me, feigned indifference, but in that very second I understood that he had read my thoughts. I went to stand in line for my last hot meal with my bowl in my hand, thinking that I was mad, that he couldn't have seen my intentions, and that everything would be fine. I confirmed that Lucho was also ready, and I asked him to wait for me to come and get him. I had faith.

Big black storm clouds were gathering in the sky above. There was already the smell of rain. And sure enough, big raindrops began to fall. I made the sign of the cross inside my caleta caleta and asked the Virgin Mary to take care of me, because I was already trembling. I had the feeling she'd ignored me, for in the distance I saw Mono Liso headed my way. It wasn't time for the changing of the guard. My heart sank. The boy was coming along a wooden walkway on piles that the guerrillas had just finished, to connect their camp to ours. The walkway went all around the camp, just three yards from my tent. It was already raining quite hard. It was exactly six o'clock. Mono Liso stopped just in front of me and sat on the walkway, his legs dangling, his back to me, indifferent to the storm. and asked the Virgin Mary to take care of me, because I was already trembling. I had the feeling she'd ignored me, for in the distance I saw Mono Liso headed my way. It wasn't time for the changing of the guard. My heart sank. The boy was coming along a wooden walkway on piles that the guerrillas had just finished, to connect their camp to ours. The walkway went all around the camp, just three yards from my tent. It was already raining quite hard. It was exactly six o'clock. Mono Liso stopped just in front of me and sat on the walkway, his legs dangling, his back to me, indifferent to the storm.

It was my fault. I'd been too nervous, and I'd set off the alarm. Tomorrow they would lock us up in a prison with barbed wire, and I would not get out of this jungle for twenty years. I was trembling, my hands were damp, I was overcome with nausea. I started to cry.

The hours went by, and Mono Liso went on sitting there right before me, on guard, without moving. The other guards were changed twice, but he didn't abandon his post. At around half past eleven, "El Abuelo," another, older guerrilla, came to replace him. It went on raining. Mono Liso had gone away soaked through to the bone. The new guard went to sit beneath a temporary tent where they stored the cooking pots. He was diagonally across from me and could see all the angles around my caleta. caleta. He stared straight ahead, lost in his thoughts. He stared straight ahead, lost in his thoughts.

I turned to Mary, imagining G.o.d was too far away to be reached. I prayed for a long time, with the force of despair. "Mother Mary, I beg you, you're a mother, too. I have to see my children. Today it's still possible, tomorrow it will be too late. I know that you are listening. I wish I could ask you to help me with something more spiritual-to become better, more patient, more humble. I'm asking all that of you, too. But now, I beg you, come and get me."

Mom had told me in her letter that one Sat.u.r.day, nearly losing her mind with pain, she rebelled against Mary. She was informed that the same day the guerrillas had sent my second proof of survival.

I no longer believed in coincidences. Ever since I'd been abducted, in this s.p.a.ce of life outside time, I'd been able to look back over my life like someone who has too much time on her hands. I'd concluded that you had to be patient and wait for the purpose of things to become visible. And then coincidence ceased to exist.

I spoke to her like a madwoman for hours, using the most elementary emotional blackmail, sulking, getting angry, throwing myself at her feet again. The Virgin Mary to whom I prayed was not some idealized image. Nor was she a supernatural being. She was a woman who had lived thousands of years before me but who, through exceptional grace, could help me. Frustrated and exhausted by my pleading, I collapsed into a dreamless sleep, convinced I was still keeping watch. I felt someone was touching my shoulder; then, when I did not respond, whoever it was began to shake me. That's when I understood I was sound asleep, because my return to the surface was heavy and painful, and with a disjointed leap I found myself springing back in time, to sit up, my eyes wide open, my heart pounding. "Thank you," I said out of politeness. Nothing divine, just a sensation of a presence.

I did not have time to ask myself any more questions. El Abuelo had stood and was staring in my direction. I held my breath, because I realized he was fed up and had decided to leave. I didn't move, banking on the probability that the darkness would not enable him to see that I was sitting up. He stayed there motionless for a few seconds, like a wildcat. He headed off, went around the walkway, then came back in my direction. "Mary, I beg you, make him go away!" He again inspected the surrounding darkness, took a breath; rea.s.sured, he cut through the woods to go back to his camp.

A rush of grat.i.tude overwhelmed me. Without waiting another second, I left my mosquito net and crawled along on all fours, constantly murmuring, "Thank you, thank you." The two other guards were standing behind the row of tents and hammocks where my companions were sleeping. They could have seen my feet if they'd squatted down to look, but they were just as I imagined, rolled up in their black plastic sheets, s.h.i.+vering with cold and boredom. It was 1:50 in the morning. We had only two and a half hours to get away from the camp. It was enough time for us to vanish into the jungle and lose them. But we had only ten minutes before the next change of guard.

I groped my way toward the soldiers' tents. I took the first pair of boots I found on my way and crept up closer to the guards to get another pair. I knew that there were orders to keep a close watch on Lucho and me. The first thing the new guards would do would be to make sure that our boots were there by our mattresses. They would see the soldiers' boots I had just put there and unsuspectingly go away.

I went up to Lucho's caleta caleta to wake him. to wake him.

"Lucho, Lucho, it's time."

"Huh . . . what . . . what's going on?"

He was sound asleep.

"Lucho, we're leaving, hurry up!"

"What? What are you thinking? We can't leave now!"

"There are no more guards! This is our only chance!"

"d.a.m.n! You want them to kill us or what!"

"Listen, you've been talking about this escape for six months,"

He was silent.

"Everything is ready. I even have the soldiers' boots. They won't notice a thing."

Suddenly Lucho's destiny was staring him in the face, and so was I. He transformed his fear into anger.

"You want us to leave, okay! They're going to shoot us, but maybe that's better than dying here."

He made a sudden movement, and a pile of pans, bowls, cups, and spoons he had balanced against a post went flying in a terrible clatter.

"Don't move," I said, to restrain him in his suicidal recklessness.

We crouched behind the mattress, hidden by the mosquito net. A beam of light shone over our heads, then moved away. The guards were laughing. They must have thought we'd had a visit from a rat.

"Okay, I'm coming! I'm ready, I'm coming!" said Lucho, grabbing his two oilcans, his tiny backpack, his sun hat, and the gloves I'd made for him for the occasion. He walked off, taking large strides. I was about to follow, then realized I'd lost a glove. In my panic I groped my way back toward the soldiers' tents. This is stupid! We have to leave now! This is stupid! We have to leave now! I thought. Lucho was already climbing over the walkway, charging straight ahead, trampling all the plants in his path. There was a horrible rustling of leaves as they clung to the polyester pants he was wearing. I turned around. How could the guards fail to hear the deafening clamor we were making? And yet behind me there was total calm. I looked at my watch: In three minutes the other guards would arrive. They were surely already on the way. We had to jump over the walkway and run across the cleared terrain ahead of us to have time to hide in the undergrowth. I thought. Lucho was already climbing over the walkway, charging straight ahead, trampling all the plants in his path. There was a horrible rustling of leaves as they clung to the polyester pants he was wearing. I turned around. How could the guards fail to hear the deafening clamor we were making? And yet behind me there was total calm. I looked at my watch: In three minutes the other guards would arrive. They were surely already on the way. We had to jump over the walkway and run across the cleared terrain ahead of us to have time to hide in the undergrowth.

Lucho was already there. I was afraid he might head in the wrong direction. We had to take a sharp turn to our left to jump into the cano cano and swim to the other side. If he kept straight ahead, he'd end up on Gafas's lap. I made the sign of the cross and began to run, certain the guards must have already seen us. I arrived breathless behind the bushes, just in time to catch Lucho's hand and pull him to the ground. Crouching close together, we took a good look through the branches to see what was going on. The relief had just arrived. They were training their flashlight beams first on our boots and mosquito nets, then over our way, sweeping the empty s.p.a.ce in every direction. and swim to the other side. If he kept straight ahead, he'd end up on Gafas's lap. I made the sign of the cross and began to run, certain the guards must have already seen us. I arrived breathless behind the bushes, just in time to catch Lucho's hand and pull him to the ground. Crouching close together, we took a good look through the branches to see what was going on. The relief had just arrived. They were training their flashlight beams first on our boots and mosquito nets, then over our way, sweeping the empty s.p.a.ce in every direction.

"They've seen us!"

"No, they haven't seen us."

"Let's go. We're not going to wait for them to come and get us."

I put my oilcans in their cover, hung them around my neck, and tied them to my belt. They hampered my progress. We had to climb over a tangle of branches and bushes piled up there after the spot had been cleared to build the camp. Lucho grabbed me with one hand, his oilcans in the other, and he ran straight toward the bank of the stream. The plastic cans seemed to explode whenever they hit the dead trees, and dry wood cracked painfully beneath our weight.

We had reached the riverbank. Before sliding down the slope, I looked behind me. n.o.body. The flashlight beams were still sweeping along the tents. One more step and I literally rolled over on top of Lucho to land on the fine sandy beach where we used to come every day to wash. It had almost stopped raining. The noise we were making wouldn't be covered by the rain. Without another thought, we threw ourselves like stampeding cattle into the water. I tried to keep control over my movements, but I was quickly caught by the current.

"We have to cross, quickly, quickly!"

Lucho seemed to be drifting toward the other arm of the tributary, the one that led to Enrique's camp. I was swimming with one arm, holding Lucho with the other, by the straps on his backpack. We were no longer in control of our movements; we were paralyzed with fright and were trying at best simply not to drown.

The current helped us. We were borne over to the left, to the other arm of the tributary, into a curve where the speed of the current increased. I couldn't see the guerrillas' tents anymore, and for a moment I had a sensation that this was possible. We headed deeper, farther, into the warm waters of the Amazon Basin. The cano cano closed around itself, thick, dark, noiseless, like a tunnel. closed around itself, thick, dark, noiseless, like a tunnel.

"We have to get out of the cano. cano. We have to get out of the water," I said repeatedly to Lucho. We have to get out of the water," I said repeatedly to Lucho.

We landed unceremoniously on a bed of thick leaves, which led to a pa.s.sage between brambles and ferns.

This is perfect, I thought to myself. I thought to myself. No traces. No traces.

I knew instinctively which way to go.

"It's this way," I said to Lucho, who was hesitating.

We plunged into increasingly thick, tall vegetation. Beyond a wall of young bushes with sharp brambles, we came upon a clearing of moss. I hurried onto it in the hope of decreasing the resistance of the undergrowth so that we could go more quickly, but I fell into an enormous ditch that the moss concealed like mesh above a trap. The ditch was deep, I was in moss up to my neck, and I couldn't see what was below me. I imagined that all sorts of prehistoric monsters must live there, waiting for prey to land in their mouths as I had just done. Panicking, I tried to get out, but my movements were clumsy and I made no headway. Lucho dropped down into the same ditch and tried to calm me.

"Don't worry, it's nothing. Keep walking, we'll get out of it."

A bit farther along, some tree branches helped us hoist ourselves out. I wanted to run. I could sense that the guards must be on our tail, and I expected to see them burst from the scrub to pounce on us.

The vegetation changed abruptly. We left behind the shrubs of bramble and thorns to penetrate into mangroves. I saw the mirror of water s.h.i.+ning through the roots of the trees. A bit farther still, a beach of gray sand sloped to the rush of the river. There was a last row of trees caught in the flood of the river, and after that lay the vast silver surface, waiting for us.

"We're there!" I said to Lucho, not knowing whether it was relief or the vision of our upcoming ordeal that was terrifying me.

I was hypnotized. This water flowing rapidly before us: This was our freedom.

I looked behind me once again. No movement, no sound, just the deafening pounding of my heart.

We ventured cautiously into the warm water up to our chests. We pulled out our ropes, and I conscientiously went through the gestures I knew by heart for having practiced them daily during the long months leading up to this moment. Every knot had its own purpose. We had to be firmly attached to each other.

We couldn't use sliding knots, but they had to be ready to release in case of emergency. I meticulously checked our life jackets. They had to be placed on our chests in such a way that they would not rise up against our necks, which would hamper our movement in the water. Our little backpacks had to be firmly against our spines so that they wouldn't pull us backward. One set of ropes had to be intertwined over our boots so that they would stay firmly against our calves and we wouldn't lose them to the current. Lucho had trouble keeping his balance in the water.

"Don't worry. Once we start swimming, you'll get your balance."

We were ready. We held hands to walk forward until we lost our footing. We let ourselves float, gently paddling until the last line of trees.

The river opened up before us, grandiose, beneath the vault of sky. The moon was immense, luminous, like a silver sun. I was aware that a powerful current was about to suck us up. There was no going back.

"Careful, it's going to go fast," I warned Lucho.

In one second, once we had gone through the last barrier of plants, we found ourselves rapidly propelled into the middle of the river. The sh.o.r.e went by at great speed before our eyes. Behind us I could see the guerrillas' landing stage growing smaller and smaller, and I was overwhelmed with a feeling of plenitude, as vast as the horizon that we had just rediscovered.

The river went around a bend, the landing stage disappeared for good. There was nothing left behind us. We were alone. Nature had conspired in our favor, putting all her strength at the service of our flight. I felt protected.

"We are free!" I cried at the top of my lungs.

"We are free!" shouted Lucho, laughing, his eyes in the stars.

SIXTY-TWO.

FREEDOM.

We had made it. Lucho was no longer struggling; he let himself be carried peacefully, trustingly, and so did I. The idea of drowning no longer seemed possible. We were in no danger. The current was very powerful, but there were no undercurrents. The river flowed quickly forward. There were a hundred yards or so to the bank on either side.

"How are we going to get to the sh.o.r.e?" asked Lucho.