Even Silence Has an End Part 45

It was a real ordeal to start the march again. We climbed a sheer mountain-side, sleeping several nights in succession on a steep slope, clinging to the earth like lice. We washed in a waterfall tumbling from the heights, splas.h.i.+ng on enormous stones polished by the current. The water was icy, and the sky was gray. It made me dizzy to look down. If I slipped, I'd kill myself.

Then we crossed a plateau that I immediately recognized-the granite rocks, the ground like slate, the small forest of dry bushes, the pyramids. Our companions had just been through there, walking across the same ground in the same place, and I looked down hoping they'd left some sign for me.

Armando, who was ahead of us, came upon a small pink fluffy animal rolled around a tree branch. It was an odd-looking animal, with two long fingers ending in a single, long, curved claw. When the guard explained this was a Gran Bestia, Gran Bestia, I thought he was making fun of us. I had heard about the I thought he was making fun of us. I had heard about the Gran Bestia Gran Bestia on several occasions and was under the impression it was a monster, anything but the cute, inoffensive creature before us. Legend had it that the on several occasions and was under the impression it was a monster, anything but the cute, inoffensive creature before us. Legend had it that the Gran Bestia Gran Bestia had extraordinary powers, including one with which I was obsessed: it could escape from anywhere without leaving a trace. Once we made camp for the night, the had extraordinary powers, including one with which I was obsessed: it could escape from anywhere without leaving a trace. Once we made camp for the night, the Gran Bestia Gran Bestia was firmly attached to a post and shut in a box. I sat down and stared at it until it was time for us to bathe. I had only looked away for a second when one of my comrades alerted us. The was firmly attached to a post and shut in a box. I sat down and stared at it until it was time for us to bathe. I had only looked away for a second when one of my comrades alerted us. The Gran Bestia Gran Bestia had disappeared. The troop's disappointment contrasted with my delight. I felt there was some justice. had disappeared. The troop's disappointment contrasted with my delight. I felt there was some justice.

When we reached the bottom of the mountain, by a wide river, our caravan stopped abruptly. One of the guerrillas had stumbled over a strange instrument planted in the ground, in the middle of our track.

The metal shaft was the visible part of a sophisticated device buried three feet beneath the ground. In all likelihood there was a battery connected to a solar panel set up somewhere among the trees, with a camera and an antenna. It was all contained in a metal box that the guerrillas initially took for a bomb.

Enrique had it dug up very cautiously, then laid out everything conscientiously on an enormous plastic sheet. All the components had captions engraved in English, and he called for a translator to be brought over to decipher them.

Maybe it would be Marc! On my way to the river to get some water, I might be able to see him. But it was Keith who volunteered. He spent hours with Enrique, going over all the materiel. Information reached us almost simultaneously. It was an American system used by the Colombian army. The camera was supposed to send images via satellite link. The system was equipped with a sensor that turned on the camera when it detected vibrations on the ground. If an animal or a person pa.s.sed by, the camera would start filming. Someone in the United States, or in Colombia, had seen us go by, in real time.

I was overjoyed. Not at the thought that the Colombian army might have located us, which for me remained mere speculation, but to know that my friends were only a few hundred yards from there and that we might be reunited.

My other comrades, the captive Colombian soldiers, were furious. I could hear them talking among themselves, whispering with their backs to the guards, visibly exasperated.

"What's wrong?" I asked Armando.

"This is treason. This information shouldn't get into the hands of the enemy," he said, frowning like a policeman ready to give a ticket.

We reached the river late in the afternoon. On the opposite sh.o.r.e, two hundred yards from us, we saw our companions from the other group taking their baths. I made huge signs with my arms. They didn't respond. Maybe they hadn't seen me. The riverbank on their side was bare, but not on ours. Or maybe their guard was a hard case.

We came to a disused FARC camp a week later early in the afternoon under an apocalyptic storm, like s.h.i.+pwrecked sailors. Lucho and Marc's group had already set up camp a few yards away. Enrique magnanimously opened some crates of beer that were sitting there, abandoned in the camp. While we waited for the order to set up our tents, I switched on my radio. The reception was terrible, but I clung to it in the hope of more details about Clara's release scheduled to happen that same day. My comrades were doing the same. The broadcast lasted a long time, and when we had finished installing our tents, we could still hear an untiring Chavez greeting our companions.

"There will be more releases," he announced.

It's not my turn yet. I sighed, listening to a press conference where Sarkozy applauded the major efforts being made by thousands of people rallying to demand our freedom. He appealed for perseverance. I sighed, listening to a press conference where Sarkozy applauded the major efforts being made by thousands of people rallying to demand our freedom. He appealed for perseverance.

Where were we headed? Probably nowhere. I felt as if we'd been going around in circles for weeks. We were marching, lost souls, in this impenetrable jungle, constantly on the verge of starvation.

At the end of the month, we came to a camp that was already set up. I didn't recognize it right away, but when I saw the volleyball court, I realized we had come back to the camp where we'd spent Christmas a year earlier, where Katerina had been dancing the c.u.mbia. c.u.mbia.

Everything had rotted. My caleta caleta had been invaded by ants and termites. I found a bottle I'd left behind and a hairpin I'd lost. We set up our tents in a row on the volleyball court. had been invaded by ants and termites. I found a bottle I'd left behind and a hairpin I'd lost. We set up our tents in a row on the volleyball court.

Armando called to me, shouting. "Look, your friends are here!"

Sure enough, behind a row of bushes not fifty yards away, Marc and Lucho's group had set up camp. Lucho was on his feet and waving to us. I couldn't see Marc.

When the order came to prepare for the bath, I was ready immediately. To go to the river, we would have to go right by their camp. I was stirred at the prospect of greeting them. And Marc and Lucho were waiting for us by the side of the path, their arms crossed, their lips set. I wore my bath outfit, more patched than ever. My joy gave way to confusion. I could tell by their eyes that they were dismayed to see me in such a state: I had gotten used to myself like this, all the more so because I had no mirror. I felt suddenly self-conscious. They seemed in better shape, more muscular, and curiously enough, that hurt me.

I did not hurry back from the bath. They were gone. With their bowls. I saw their guard busy handing out the evening meal. It was Sat.u.r.day; I went back to my caleta caleta and prepared myself mentally to listen to the messages after midnight. I checked that the alarm on the watch Cesar had given me when we first met had been set properly and prepared myself for the night. and prepared myself mentally to listen to the messages after midnight. I checked that the alarm on the watch Cesar had given me when we first met had been set properly and prepared myself for the night.

I had already heard my family's messages at midnight when the radio interrupted its usual programming with a bulletin: "The FARC has announced that it will release three more hostages."

I leaped up, clinging to my radio; I could hardly get my breath.

Lucho's name was among them.

I stifled a cry that caught in my throat. I fell to my knees under my mosquito net, my chain around my neck, thanking the heavens between sobs. My head was spinning from the emotion. "Dear G.o.d, did I hear properly?" The silence around me worried me: What if I'd misheard? All my companions must have been listening to the same program. And yet there was no movement, not a sound, not a voice, no emotion. I waited for the news to be repeated, stamping my feet with impatience. Lucho, Gloria, and Orlando were being set free.

I rushed out of my tent at the first glow of dawn. Still chained around my neck, I strained to see the spot where I'd noticed Lucho the night before. He was there, he was waiting.

"Lucho, you are free!" I screamed when I saw him.

I was jumping, wildly enough to snap my neck, just to see him better.

"Lucho, you are free!" I cried with all my lungs, tears streaming down my face, indifferent to the guards' admonishments and the grumbling of my comrades, irritated by a happiness they could not share.

Lucho waved no with his finger, his hand in front of his mouth. Weeping.

"Yes, yes!" I answered, stubbornly, nodding fiercely.

What? Could it be he hadn't heard? I went on, more stubborn than ever. "Didn't you listen to the radio last night?" I shrieked, miming my words to ill.u.s.trate my question.

He nodded, laughing and crying at the same time.

The guards were beside themselves. Pipiolo insulted me, and Oswald ran off to the commanders' shack. Asprilla came hastily and said something to Lucho with a tap on the shoulder, then ran over to me.

"Calm down, Ingrid. Don't worry, they'll give him time to say good-bye to you."

I understood that they would separate Lucho from his group in the coming hours. They'll keep me from talking to him They'll keep me from talking to him.

The order was given to move our tents to our old spots in the camp. From there it was impossible to see Lucho. However, in their obsession to forbid any communication between us, the guerrillas overlooked the fact that the other group's chontos chontos were only a few feet from our spot. It was awkward for them, but no one complained. Marc was the first one to realize. We spoke with signs; he promised to get Lucho. were only a few feet from our spot. It was awkward for them, but no one complained. Marc was the first one to realize. We spoke with signs; he promised to get Lucho.

Lucho was very tense when he came. We spoke without closing the thirty feet or so that separated us, as if there were a wall between us. On a sudden impulse, I turned to the guard, the same one I had once grabbed by the neck to punish for being so vulgar.

"Okay, go ahead," he said. "You have five minutes."

I ran over to Lucho, and we held each other tight.

"I won't leave without you."

"Yes, you have to leave. You have to tell the world what we are going through."

"I won't be able to."

"Yes you will. You have to."

I removed from my waist the belt that I was wearing and said, "I want you to give this to Melanie."

We held each other's hands in silence; it was the greatest blessing we could receive. There were so many things to say to him! When I felt that the time was running out, I knew I must secure one last promise from him.

"Ask me whatever you want."

"Promise me . . . that you'll be happy, Lucho. I don't want you to spoil the happiness of your release by feeling sorry for me. Swear that you will live life to the fullest."

"I swear that every second of my new life I will not stop working for your return, that's what I'll swear."

The guard's voice brought us back down to earth. We flung our arms around each other one last time as tears streamed down my face, and I couldn't have said whether they were mine or his. I saw him walk away, his back bent, his steps heavy. In his camp the tents were already being dismantled.

We no longer saw the members of Marc's group, although I imagine we couldn't have been very far from each other. On February 27, three weeks after we said good-bye, Luis Eladio, along with Gloria, Jorge Eduardo, and Orlando, landed at the Maiquetia airport in Venezuela. Their release was a diplomatic triumph for President Chavez.

In chains, curled up inside our mosquito nets, we listened to the broadcast, trying to visualize the images we couldn't see. It must have been six o'clock in the evening; the twilight sky must be cooling the dusty Caracas air. I imagined the plane must be quite a big one. You could hear the song of the cicadas above the turbines of the plane-or was it around my caleta caleta that the cicadas were singing? that the cicadas were singing?

Lucho's voice was full of light. He'd gotten stronger during the weeks leading up to his release; his words were clear, his ideas sharp. What must he be feeling at that moment? He was back in the world, and now the reality I was still living had moved into the past for him, as if by magic, with a snap of someone's fingers. He will hit a switch to turn off the lights tonight, and he'll have clean sheets on a real bed, and hot water just by turning the tap. Will he be immediately swallowed up into that new world? Or will he pause before he switches on the light and think about us, and think again about us as he lies down, and remember us when he chooses his dinner? Yes, at dinner he'll be back here for a few seconds, Yes, at dinner he'll be back here for a few seconds, I thought. Armando shouted from his I thought. Armando shouted from his cambuche, cambuche, "We'll be next!" "We'll be next!"

I felt pain in my heart. No, not me. I wouldn't be on the list of FARC's releases. I was sure of that.

SEVENTY-NINE.

THE DISAGREEMENT.

MARCH-APRIL 2008.

The march went on, aimlessly. We spent several days sleeping on a granite bed by the side of a lazy river, pestered by flies dismembering the stinking remains of fish caught among the rocks when the waters subsided. Then we crossed over to the other side of the river.

"They're going to get us some supplies," explained El Chiqui, pointing his chin toward Monster and two other boys leaving with empty equipos. equipos. So we waited patiently. They allowed us to fish with hooks that they would collect again when night fell. This improved our rations. I would eat the bones and fins of the fish to a.s.sure an intake of calcium. So we waited patiently. They allowed us to fish with hooks that they would collect again when night fell. This improved our rations. I would eat the bones and fins of the fish to a.s.sure an intake of calcium.

One evening El Chiqui came to inform us that we had to pack everything up, because we would leave as soon as the bongo bongo arrived. We made a short crossing and spent the rest of the night on a muddy riverbank. In the morning we were ordered to hide in the woods, not to speak or use radios or put up tents. At noon we saw our companions from the other group go by in single file behind Enrique. They were held on leashes like dogs by guards who walked behind, rifles pointed at them. arrived. We made a short crossing and spent the rest of the night on a muddy riverbank. In the morning we were ordered to hide in the woods, not to speak or use radios or put up tents. At noon we saw our companions from the other group go by in single file behind Enrique. They were held on leashes like dogs by guards who walked behind, rifles pointed at them.

I could not get used to the sight of a chain around a man's neck. Our companions went by us, practically stumbling over us, but they didn't want to speak or even look at us. Marc went by-I had gotten up to look at him in the hope that he would turn his head. He didn't.

Then we followed them. We, too, walked in silence, kept on leashes. Monster had just been killed by an army patrol; one of the young guerrillas had managed to flee and give the alarm. We were surrounded by the army.

Our flight was exhausting. To get the army off our trail, Enrique ordered us to march in cortina cortina,96 which meant we no longer followed each other but moved forward elbow to elbow in a single row in the same direction, like a front line. which meant we no longer followed each other but moved forward elbow to elbow in a single row in the same direction, like a front line.

So we had to clear our own pa.s.sage through the vegetation, being careful not to break any branches or damage the ferns. It was hand-to-hand combat with nature. Each of us was on a leash held by a guard. My guard got angry with me because I tended to go where my neighbor had already cleared the way, and so I fell behind and broke the front line.

I was slowing everybody down; perhaps I was hoping, even unconsciously, that the army would catch up with us. As we clambered through the barriers of thorns, climbing over the white corpses of dozens of charred trees blocking our pa.s.sage and fought our way through the creepers and roots of hostile vegetation, I pictured the sudden arrival of commandos, their faces smeared with colorful green paint.

Every day I prayed for the commandos, even if the risk of dying was considerable. It was not just the idea that the bullets would spare me no matter what. It was stronger than that. It was above all a need for justice. The right to be defended. A vital aspiration, to reconquer my own dignity. But I couldn't do much.

This advance, this struggle against the elements with a chain around my neck, was all the more painful and humiliating because it forced me to invest will and ingenuity in "fleeing" from what I desired most: my freedom. And I hated myself for every step I made.

More than once we left behind the edge of the forest to wander across the land of huge fincas fincas that had been recently burned by the antidrug squads. A few head of cattle watched terrified as we went by, filling our pockets with guavas and mandarin oranges from the lush trees spared by the fire. Then we disappeared again into the thick cover of jungle. One afternoon in April, as we were going toward a wide river with tranquil waters and I was hoping for nothing more from life than a bath and a moment of rest, El Chiqui came up to me and pulled me out of the line we had formed to wait. that had been recently burned by the antidrug squads. A few head of cattle watched terrified as we went by, filling our pockets with guavas and mandarin oranges from the lush trees spared by the fire. Then we disappeared again into the thick cover of jungle. One afternoon in April, as we were going toward a wide river with tranquil waters and I was hoping for nothing more from life than a bath and a moment of rest, El Chiqui came up to me and pulled me out of the line we had formed to wait.

"We've received a message from the Secretariado. We've been ordered to change your group."

I shrugged, only half believing what he said.

"Get your things ready. We'll proceed immediately with the exchange."

A few minutes later, I was sitting on the ground, filled with anxiety, trying as best I could to stuff my backpack with my belongings.

"Don't worry," said William, standing behind me, "I'll help you."

We followed El Chiqui across a small stream with a bed of pink pebbles and went up the steep slope of the bank. Camouflaged among the trees a hundred yards from us, the other camp, already set up for the night, was a beehive of activity. Enrique was standing with his arms crossed, looking daggers at me. "Over there!" he muttered, motioning with his chin.

I looked over to where he had indicated, and I saw my companions gathered together. I trembled with impatience at the thought of seeing Marc again.

His tent was the first one in the campsite. He had already spotted me and was standing right outside his caleta. caleta. He didn't move. He had a huge chain around his neck. I walked up. The joy I felt on seeing him again was not what I had antic.i.p.ated. It was a melancholy joy, a happiness made weary by too many trials. He didn't move. He had a huge chain around his neck. I walked up. The joy I felt on seeing him again was not what I had antic.i.p.ated. It was a melancholy joy, a happiness made weary by too many trials. He's in good shape, He's in good shape, I thought as I observed him more closely, as if to justify my resentment. I thought as I observed him more closely, as if to justify my resentment.

We hugged, with restraint; we clasped hands for a moment, then let go, intimidated by rediscovering a closeness we'd never really achieved.

"I've been thinking about you a lot."

"Me, too."

"I was afraid."

"Me, too."

"We'll be able to speak now."

"Yes, I think so," I answered, not altogether sure. The guard behind me was getting impatient.

"I'd like to have my letters back."

"Yes, if you want . . . and will you give me back mine?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I want to keep them, too."

I was surprised. I had the letters in my pocket. I could simply hand them to him. But I didn't. "We'll see tomorrow," I said, thinking that we would have to work at rebuilding the bridges between us.

My companions went on with their occupations without a fuss. They kept to themselves, mindful not to disturb their neighbor or ruffle anyone's susceptibilities.

Over the coming days, Marc and I cautiously resumed our conversations. I felt the same great joy that I'd known before, sharing these moments with him once again, but I restrained myself, forcing myself to dose out my freedom to speak with him carefully.

"Did you hear that Monster was killed?" I asked one day.

"Yes, that's what I heard."

"And?"