Even Silence Has an End Part 41

"She's the one who helped him to escape," they muttered behind my back, to justify their vile behavior. In the evening, sitting all around us, they would speak loudly to be sure we heard. "I can still see Pinchao with the holes in his head and blood everywhere. I'm sure his ghost is coming after us," one of them said. "Where he is now, he can't hurt us anymore," scoffed another.

One evening when we had just set up camp on a terrain infested with majinas majinas84 and we were suffering from the burns they had inflicted, I was stretched out in my hammock and could not even reach out for the radio to listen to the news, when I suddenly heard Lucho roaring, "Ingrid, listen to Caracol!" and we were suffering from the burns they had inflicted, I was stretched out in my hammock and could not even reach out for the radio to listen to the news, when I suddenly heard Lucho roaring, "Ingrid, listen to Caracol!"

I jumped.

"What? What is it?" I stammered, trying to emerge from my torpor.

"He made it! Pinchao is free! Pinchao is alive!"

"Shut up, you bunch of idiots!" shouted a guard. "I'll shoot the first person who opens their mouth."

Too late. I myself was shouting, I couldn't keep it in.

"Bravo, Pinchao, you're our hero! Hurray!"

We all switched on our radios at the same time. The voice of the reporter announced the news, and it echoed around the camp. "After seventeen days of walking, police subintendent Jhon Frank Pinchao has found his freedom and his family once again. Here are his first words."

Then I heard Pinchao's voice, full of light on our starless night: "I would like to send a message to Ingrid. I know she's listening to me at this moment. I want her to know I owe her the greatest gift of all. Thanks to her, I have found my faith again. My little Ingrid, your Virgin Mary was there for me when I called to her. She put a police patrol on my path."

SEVENTY-TWO.

MY FRIEND MARC.

MAY 2007.

Now that their lies had been exposed, the commanders merely became more aggressive. Their rage against Pinchao's exploit increased their hatred toward me. It was enhanced by all the little things that made me different in their eyes. They nicknamed me "the Heron." I was too thin and too pale. They made fun of me, irritated me in every little way that could cross their mind. They wouldn't let me sit where I wanted and obliged me to sit where it was wet or dirty. They found me precious and ridiculous, because I wanted to keep my face and nails clean.

I had always had an image of myself as self-a.s.sured and well balanced. After years of captivity, that image had become blurred, and I no longer knew whether it corresponded to me in any way. For the better part of my life, I had learned to live between two worlds. I had grown up in France, discovering myself through contrast. I had eagerly sought to understand my country in order to explain it to my friends at school. Back in Colombia, as a teenager, I'd thought of myself as a tree with branches in Colombia and my roots in France. Before long I knew it would be my fate to try to keep my balance between my two worlds.

When I was in France, I dreamed of pandeyucas, pandeyucas,85 ajiaco, ajiaco,86 and and arequipe. arequipe.87 I missed my family, my vacations spent with cousins, full of music. When I came back to Colombia, I missed everything about France-the order, the perfumes, the beauty, the rhythm of the seasons, the rea.s.suring sound of cafes. I missed my family, my vacations spent with cousins, full of music. When I came back to Colombia, I missed everything about France-the order, the perfumes, the beauty, the rhythm of the seasons, the rea.s.suring sound of cafes.

When I fell into the FARC's hands and lost my freedom, I also lost my ident.i.ty. My jailers did not think of me as Colombian. I didn't know their music, I didn't eat what they ate, I didn't speak like they did. So I was French. That idea alone sufficed to justify their bitterness. It allowed them to channel all the resentment they'd acc.u.mulated in their lives.

"You must have been able to wear a lot of designer clothes," said Angel, with a fake smile.

Or to make conjectures about my future. "You'll go and live in another country, won't you? You're not from here!" said Lili, Enrique's companion, bitterly, referring to the improbable day when I would regain my freedom.

My companions in misfortune shared this resentment to some degree. We followed the World Cup soccer tournament with a pa.s.sion. We all would turn on our radios and tune in, so we listened to the games in stereo, the sound coming from every caleta. caleta. The final between France and Italy divided the camp in two. Initially the guerrillas sided with Italy, because France, to them, meant me. My companions had done the same. The ones who had a bone to pick with me for having the support of France expressed their aversion in a very aggressive way with every goal. Those who felt close to me celebrated, screaming and dancing every time France scored a goal, right up to the final. We were still in the stingray camp then. I was chained to my tree and almost choked when Zidane was expelled during the final game. And I understood that the more they resented me for being French, the more French I became. The final between France and Italy divided the camp in two. Initially the guerrillas sided with Italy, because France, to them, meant me. My companions had done the same. The ones who had a bone to pick with me for having the support of France expressed their aversion in a very aggressive way with every goal. Those who felt close to me celebrated, screaming and dancing every time France scored a goal, right up to the final. We were still in the stingray camp then. I was chained to my tree and almost choked when Zidane was expelled during the final game. And I understood that the more they resented me for being French, the more French I became.

France had opened its arms to me with the generosity of a mother. For Colombia, however, I had become a burden. Rumors justified the need to forget me.

"It's her fault. She went looking for it," a voice said on the radio.

"She's in love with one of the FARC leaders."

"She's got a kid with the guerrillas."

"She doesn't want to come back-she's living with them."

All this nasty gossip was circulating in the hope that France would stop showing concern over us. It hurt me deeply, because I felt it created doubts, and those who were struggling so self-effacingly for our release might begin to doubt. I felt as French as I did Colombian. But without the recognition of my love for Colombia, I no longer knew who I was, or why I had fought, or why I was in captivity.

We docked at three o'clock in the morning in the middle of nowhere, ramming our way into the mangrove to get to land. It was the height of the rainy season. We waited for the order to disembark so we could set up our tents before the storm that raged every day at dawn.

Monster came over once the troops had already disembarked to inform us that we would be sleeping inside the bongo. bongo. The tarpaulin had already been removed in order to cover the The tarpaulin had already been removed in order to cover the rancha; rancha; I'd overheard them making the decision. I'd overheard them making the decision.

"What are we going to cover ourselves with?" I asked, perfectly aware we couldn't put up our tents on the bongo. bongo.

"It won't rain tonight," hissed Monster, turning on his heel.

Lucho and I started getting our things ready, thinking we might be able to set up our hammocks next to each other. But Monster, as if he had read our thoughts, turned around and came back over, pointing his finger at us. He barked, "You two! You know you don't have the right to speak to each other. Lucho, go set up your hammock at the stern. Ingrid, follow me. You're going to set yours up here in the prow between Marc and Tom."

And he went away again with a caustic laugh, revealing once again his hatred of me.

Ever since I'd been forbidden to speak to my American companions, I sensed that they had been doing whatever they could to avoid me, to stay out of trouble. It was as if I had the plague.

Monster knew only too well which way the wind was blowing. He'd put me where I would be the least welcome. The hammocks had been hung up in a row from starboard to port, using the hooks that were for the tarpaulin. Marc and I were the last ones to set ours up. There were only three hooks left. Our two hammocks would have to share one of the hooks. I was already dreading this first negotiation. I knew that it was very hard to agree on anything among prisoners, and I must have looked confused. I didn't want to set mine up and leave my companion with a fait accompli.

Marc antic.i.p.ated the problem.

"We can hang both our hammocks from this one," he suggested kindly.

I was surprised. Courtesy had become a rare thing.

I hung up my hammock, stretching it as taut as I could so the weight of my body wouldn't make me touch the wet deck of the bongo bongo once I was inside. once I was inside. If it rains, this will be one huge puddle If it rains, this will be one huge puddle, I predicted. Anyway, it's bound to rain Anyway, it's bound to rain, I concluded, taking out my biggest plastic sheet to hang it over me as a makes.h.i.+ft roof. It was big enough to drape over either side but too short to cover me from head to foot. I'll get soaked, I'll get soaked, I thought, resigned. So I settled into my hammock, with my plastic sheet above my head and my feet exposed, falling into a deep sleep heavy with fatigue. I thought, resigned. So I settled into my hammock, with my plastic sheet above my head and my feet exposed, falling into a deep sleep heavy with fatigue.

It was a terrible tropical storm, as if the sky had broken. I waited apprehensively for the water to soak into my socks and up my legs until all of me ended up drenched in my hammock. And yet, after a few minutes had gone by, I didn't feel a thing. I wiggled my toes in case my feet had gone to sleep, but all I could feel was the dry warmth of my body in my plastic wrapping. The plastic must have slipped farther down. The water would get in through my neck, I figured, groping about cautiously with my hand to see where the edge of the plastic sheet was. But everything was where it should be. I must have shrunk I must have shrunk, I concluded, and went back to sleep, relieved.

By daybreak the storm was still raging. I ventured to lift the corner of my black roof to take stock of the situation and saw Tom still asleep, swimming in a veritable pool. He had no plastic sheet, and his hammock had filled up with water to the brim. The storm gave way to a light rain; there was movement on the bongo. bongo. They all wanted to get out of these makes.h.i.+ft shelters to stretch their legs. That was when I discovered what had happened: Marc had thought to share his plastic sheet with me. He had covered my feet. They all wanted to get out of these makes.h.i.+ft shelters to stretch their legs. That was when I discovered what had happened: Marc had thought to share his plastic sheet with me. He had covered my feet.

I stood there under my plastic with my hastily folded hammock. My throat was tight. Such compa.s.sion was so unusual between hostages.

He hadn't done it on purpose. Perhaps he hadn't realized that he had covered my feet, I thought in disbelief. When Marc finally came out of his hammock, I approached him.

"Yes, you would've been soaked otherwise," he answered, almost apologetically. He smiled gently, in a way I had never seen before. It made me feel good.

When the morning meal arrived and we had to stand in line to get our hot drink, I slipped between the prisoners to share a few words with Lucho and rea.s.sure him. He, too, had managed to sleep and looked rested. To know that Pinchao had made it lifted a huge weight for him. Our companions were gathering around him to speak to him, trying to put behind them the unpleasant comments that had hurt him so deeply. Lucho held no grudges.

I went back to my spot in the bow and set about tidying my backpack. It was a nuisance, but it had to be done, because the storm had soaked everything. I took out my rolls of clothing one by one, dried the plastic bags that contained them, and rolled them up again, then finally resealing the bags with a rubber band at either end to make a waterproof package. This was the way the FARC did it, to stave off some of the disadvantages of life with 80 percent humidity. Marc decided to do the same.

Once I'd finished that ch.o.r.e, I conscientiously cleaned the board where I'd put my things and placed my toothbrush and bowl there for the next meal. Finally I took a rag to clean my boots and make them s.h.i.+ne.

Marc watched me with a smile. Then, as if he were sharing a secret, he whispered, "You behave just like a woman."

His comment surprised me. But in a curious way, it flattered me. It was not a compliment, among the FARC, to behave like a woman. In fact, I'd been dressing like a man for five years, and yet everything in me reminded me I was a woman: It was my essence, my nature, my ident.i.ty. I turned my back on him, and on the pretext of brus.h.i.+ng my teeth I took my brush and my bowl and moved away, to hide my confusion. When I came back, he hurried over, concerned, and said, "If I said anything that-"

"No, on the contrary, it was really nice of you!"

The guards were watching but let us talk, as if they'd been ordered not to interfere.

I hadn't been allowed to speak to my companions for over two years. I did surrept.i.tiously from time to time, driven by loneliness. Pinchao and I had managed to foil their surveillance, because our caletas caletas had often been set up next to each other and we could pretend to be busy with our things while speaking in very low voices. I had felt doubly isolated since Pinchao left, given the reaction from the rest of the group regarding his escape and the restrictions imposed on my time with Lucho. had often been set up next to each other and we could pretend to be busy with our things while speaking in very low voices. I had felt doubly isolated since Pinchao left, given the reaction from the rest of the group regarding his escape and the restrictions imposed on my time with Lucho.

When Marc and I began to have real discussions, driven by restlessness and boredom, waiting aimlessly in the prow of that bongo, bongo, I realized how cruel the guerrillas' punishment was and how heavily my enforced silence weighed upon me. I realized how cruel the guerrillas' punishment was and how heavily my enforced silence weighed upon me.

Oddly enough, we picked up old discussions left unfinished in Sombra's prison, as if there had been no interlude between the two. Time spent in captivity is circular, Time spent in captivity is circular, I thought. I thought.

And yet clearly, for Marc and me, time really had counted. We resumed the same arguments that opposed us years before, regarding subjects as controversial as abortion or the legalization of drugs, and we managed to find links, points in common, where in the past we had merely been irritated and intolerant. We would end our hours of discussion exhausted and surprised. And when we parted, we were surprised to find we were no longer filled with bitterness and spite the way we used to be.

When we understood that the bongo bongo was not about to move anytime soon, we set about trying to come up with a shared activity. Marc called it "our project." We had to try to obtain permission to cover the was not about to move anytime soon, we set about trying to come up with a shared activity. Marc called it "our project." We had to try to obtain permission to cover the bongo bongo to protect ourselves from the evening storms. I watched as he formulated his request, in his Spanish that was getting better by the day, and to my surprise his idea was approved. to protect ourselves from the evening storms. I watched as he formulated his request, in his Spanish that was getting better by the day, and to my surprise his idea was approved.

Enrique sent Oswald to oversee the project. He cut poles and p.r.o.ngs that were placed at regular intervals in order to hold the huge plastic sheets from the rancha rancha and the and the economato economato that weren't being used at the moment, to cover the entire that weren't being used at the moment, to cover the entire bongo. bongo. My contribution had been minimal, but we celebrated the completion of the project as if it had been our shared work. My contribution had been minimal, but we celebrated the completion of the project as if it had been our shared work.

When the bongo bongo headed off down the river again and we reached our destination, I felt a profound sadness. The new camp was deliberately set up on a very narrow terrain. Two rows of tents faced each other, squeezed together, separated by a path from a small cove by the river that would be used for was.h.i.+ng, to the other end where they dug the headed off down the river again and we reached our destination, I felt a profound sadness. The new camp was deliberately set up on a very narrow terrain. Two rows of tents faced each other, squeezed together, separated by a path from a small cove by the river that would be used for was.h.i.+ng, to the other end where they dug the chontos. chontos.

Enrique himself a.s.signed our s.p.a.ce, and to me he allotted twenty square feet of land to set up my tent, over a spot where a huge colony of congas congas88 had the entrance to their nest. They were perfectly visible, walking along one behind the other on their long, black, stiltlike legs. The smallest ones were at least an inch long, and I knew the pain their venomous sting could inflict. I had been stung by one before, and my arm had quadrupled in size and hurt for forty-eight hours. I begged to be allowed to set up my tent elsewhere, but Gafas would not budge. had the entrance to their nest. They were perfectly visible, walking along one behind the other on their long, black, stiltlike legs. The smallest ones were at least an inch long, and I knew the pain their venomous sting could inflict. I had been stung by one before, and my arm had quadrupled in size and hurt for forty-eight hours. I begged to be allowed to set up my tent elsewhere, but Gafas would not budge.

The poles supporting my hammock were buried on either side of the entrance to the conga conga ants' nest, and my hammock was hanging right above it. I went to get Ma.s.simo to help me, but since Pinchao's escape he had changed completely; he had been very frightened, and now it was impossible to envisage any attempt to escape. He wanted to stay clear of any problems, and so he avoided me. Nevertheless, when he saw the unending ballet of insects underneath my hammock, he agreed to intercede on my behalf so that they would send me a pot of boiling water to kill them. He also cut me a sharp stick while he was on duty so that I could impale them one by one. ants' nest, and my hammock was hanging right above it. I went to get Ma.s.simo to help me, but since Pinchao's escape he had changed completely; he had been very frightened, and now it was impossible to envisage any attempt to escape. He wanted to stay clear of any problems, and so he avoided me. Nevertheless, when he saw the unending ballet of insects underneath my hammock, he agreed to intercede on my behalf so that they would send me a pot of boiling water to kill them. He also cut me a sharp stick while he was on duty so that I could impale them one by one.

"Be careful, they can be deadly if several of them attack."

There was no respite. I spent all my time killing any conga conga that came near me, in what seemed to me a losing battle. I looked enviously at my companions. They had all finished setting up camp, and were relaxing, resuming their usual routines: Arteaga and William were sewing, Armando was weaving, Marulanda was bored in his hammock, Lucho was listening to the radio, and Marc was busy at his latest project, repairing the straps to his backpack. that came near me, in what seemed to me a losing battle. I looked enviously at my companions. They had all finished setting up camp, and were relaxing, resuming their usual routines: Arteaga and William were sewing, Armando was weaving, Marulanda was bored in his hammock, Lucho was listening to the radio, and Marc was busy at his latest project, repairing the straps to his backpack.

I wish I could talk to him, I thought, surrounded by a cemetery of I thought, surrounded by a cemetery of conga conga ants; the fetid odor would not go away. Like Gulliver in the presence of the Lilliputians, I could not afford a moment's inattention while I waited for the boiling water Enrique had promised. ants; the fetid odor would not go away. Like Gulliver in the presence of the Lilliputians, I could not afford a moment's inattention while I waited for the boiling water Enrique had promised.

Marc walked by my caleta caleta on his way to the on his way to the chontos chontos and looked at me, astonished. and looked at me, astonished.

"I've got millions of congas congas in my in my caleta, caleta," I explained.

He laughed, thinking I was exaggerating. On the way back, as he saw I was still absorbed by my conga conga combat, he stopped. "What are you doing?" combat, he stopped. "What are you doing?"

I came out of my tent and was about to explain, when I saw his eyes widening in horror.

"Whatever you do, don't move," he said, speaking very clearly, his frightened gaze focused on something on my shoulder.

He came toward me very slowly, his finger raised. Filled with dread, I followed his gaze and turned my head just enough to see an enormous conga, conga, with a gleaming coat of armor and hairy legs and threatening pincers extended, only a few millimeters from my cheek. I was about to run off, but I stopped myself in time, when I realized it would be wiser to wait for Marc to flick the monster off. He went about it calmly, despite the fact that I was nervously stamping my feet and moaning. There was a hollow click as he made contact with the insect, and then it soared like a missile to crash against a giant tree trunk. with a gleaming coat of armor and hairy legs and threatening pincers extended, only a few millimeters from my cheek. I was about to run off, but I stopped myself in time, when I realized it would be wiser to wait for Marc to flick the monster off. He went about it calmly, despite the fact that I was nervously stamping my feet and moaning. There was a hollow click as he made contact with the insect, and then it soared like a missile to crash against a giant tree trunk.

I watched it all out of the corner of my eye, at the risk of giving myself a stiff neck, and then I jumped for joy. Marc was laughing so hard he was on the verge of tears, bent over double.

"You should have seen your face! I wish I could have taken your picture! You were just like a little girl."

Then he gave me a hug, and said proudly, "It's a good thing I was here!"

When at last Enrique sent the kettle of boiling water, the water washed out more floating corpses than survivors. As for Marc, our victory over the congas congas sealed our friends.h.i.+p. sealed our friends.h.i.+p.

SEVENTY-THREE.

THE BAN.

I climbed out of my hammock one blind-black night to answer a call of nature, delighted I could step outside and no longer fearing an attack from those infernal creatures. Suddenly I heard a whistling sound of something brus.h.i.+ng past my hair. I stood paralyzed in the darkness, aware that something had fallen through my tent with a thud, just inches from my nose. The guard refused to come and s.h.i.+ne his flashlight beam, and I preferred to go back to the safety of my mosquito net rather than wander anywhere near whatever it was that had shaken my dwelling.

At dawn I got up quickly to see that my tent was in shreds. A pod the size of a man's head had fallen from a neighboring palm tree, wrapped in a thick leaf that tapered into a point as sharp as a spear. It had come loose from the trunk and had fallen more than sixty feet and had landed deep in the ground, right next to me, ripping my roof in two. If I'd gone one step farther . . . If I'd gone one step farther . . . I thought, not that this was any consolation for my ruined tent. It would take hours to repair, I realized with resignation. I thought, not that this was any consolation for my ruined tent. It would take hours to repair, I realized with resignation.

I had to borrow a needle and some thread, and when I was ready to start, it began to rain. Marc came up to me, wanting to give me a hand. I accepted, astonished. This wasn't done among prisoners. Requests for help were met with moodiness and disdain. Each of us wanted to show that we were self-sufficient. But I always needed help, and Lucho-who would always give me a hand-was forbidden to approach me. If I didn't ask for help, it was to avoid conflicts. I already owed people for their needles and thread. That was enough.

Marc's help turned out to be very timely. His advice helped me to finish faster. We spent nearly two hours together, busy at our task, laughing over the slightest little thing. When he went away again, I watched with regret. Lucho was always reminding me that I mustn't get attached to anything. The next morning Marc came back. He asked me for some waterproof canvas to patch his own tent and to help him glue patches over the holes that the arrieras arrieras had made in the canvas. had made in the canvas.

Asprilla, a big muscular black guy, had just become second in command. Together with Monster, he was responsible for the hostages' camp, a task they shared in turn. He'd been kind enough to unchain me during the day, and now he brought a big pot of glue so that Marc could repair his tent. He came back in the afternoon and found us there, like children, our fingers all sticky. I could see the way he looked at us. I'm too happy, and he can see it, I'm too happy, and he can see it, I thought, worried. I thought, worried.

Marc went on laughing, putting glue on the square pieces of canvas that we had carefully cut out. This is ridiculous, This is ridiculous, I thought, trying to banish my apprehension. I thought, trying to banish my apprehension. I'm getting paranoid. I'm getting paranoid.

The morning after that, I saw Marc sitting on the ground with his radio in pieces, spread out before him. I was hesitant to go up to him, then decided there was no harm in it, and I would see if I could help him. The connection of his antenna to the electronic circuits had been damaged. I'd watched my companions repairing their radios in similar situations, so I volunteered to fix his.

Very quickly I managed to repair the connection before Marc's admiring gaze. I was glowing with satisfaction. This was probably the first time I'd ever managed to repair anything all by myself. The following day Marc came to get me to help him cut his plastic sheets. He wanted to roll them up in his boots, for the next march.

We sat silently, absorbed in our efforts to cut them neatly at right angles. It was hot, and the slightest movement made us sweat. Marc thrust his hand toward my ear and caught something in the air. His gesture surprised him as much as it did me. He apologized, confused, and explained shyly that he wanted to remove a mosquito that had been pestering me for a while already. His shyness was charming, and the thought of it confused me, too. I got up quickly to go back to my tent. I would have to find a pretext to come back and spend more time with him. This growing friends.h.i.+p surprised me. For years our paths had crossed, and it had never really occurred to us to spend time together. I'd always had the impression that we'd been doing whatever we could to avoid each other. And now I had to admit that I woke up in the morning with a smile, and I waited with childlike impatience for a chance to speak to him. Maybe I'm becoming intrusive, Maybe I'm becoming intrusive, I thought. So I held back and for a few days kept myself from going up to him. I thought. So I held back and for a few days kept myself from going up to him.

He came the following week and offered to help me set up my radio antenna. I had tried to do it myself, to no avail, because Oswald and Angel, who were considered the battery-throwing champions, had refused to lend me a hand.

My battery throwing reached no higher than fifteen feet at the most, which made everyone laugh. Marc spun the battery like a sling. Flying to the sky on the third spin, my antenna landed higher than anyone else's.

"Just dumb luck," he confessed.

My radio was rejuvenated. I could hear Mom perfectly. It was as if she were right next to me. She was planning a trip again to rally support.

"I don't like leaving Colombia. I'm afraid you'll be released and I won't be here to welcome you," she said.

I loved her for this.

In the morning, taking advantage of the fact that I was in the breakfast line, I laughed about it with Lucho.

"Did you hear your mother? She doesn't want to go, as usual."

"And, as usual, she will go," I answered, delighted.