Even Silence Has an End Part 11

We were given the order to start marching once more. We set off in single file along a footpath that began to climb, again following the crest of the hill. I was surprised, by the stamina of the girls who carried burdens as heavy as those the men carried and who walked as quickly as they did. Little Betty was astonis.h.i.+ng. She looked like a tortoise with the enormous pack twice as big as she was, which she carried hunched over as if she had a piano on her back. Her little legs scurried along not to be left behind, and she still found a way to smile.

The helicopters were after us. I could feel the throbbing of their engines on the nape of my neck. William, the guard who had been a.s.signed to me for the march, ordered me to walk faster. Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't.

A sharp blow to my spine took my breath away. I turned around, outraged. William was poised to hit me again with a rifle b.u.t.t in my stomach.

"s.h.i.+t, you want to get us killed? Can't you see they're almost on top of us?"

Indeed, above our heads, sixty yards from the ground, the undersides of the helicopters in formation seemed to be brus.h.i.+ng the tops of the trees. I could see the feet of the soldier manning the artillery, hanging in the void on either side of the gun. They were there. They must have seen us! If I had to die, I would rather die like this, in a confrontation where I might at least have the chance to get free. To die for nothing, swallowed up by that d.a.m.ned jungle, thrown in a hole and condemned to vanish without my family's even being able to retrieve my remains-that was what filled me with horror. I wanted my children to know that at least I'd tried, fought, done everything I could to get back to them.

The guard must have read my thoughts. He loaded his rifle. But in his eyes I saw a primal, visceral, most basic fear. I couldn't stop myself from looking at him with scorn. He was not so proud now, this guy who liked to swagger around the camp all day.

"Run like a rabbit if you want to. I'm not going any faster!"

His girlfriend spit on the ground and said, "I'm not about to get myself killed for the sake of this old b.i.t.c.h!" She headed off at a trot and disappeared around the first bend.

After a few minutes, the helicopters disappeared. I could still hear two of them, but even then they peeled away before reaching us and left for good. I was furious. How could they have failed to see us? With an entire column of guerrillas right under their nose!

Unconsciously I had begun to walk more quickly, frustrated and disappointed, sensing that we'd come so close to a chance at being set free. When we arrived at the bottom of the hill, Andres had had a mixture of water and sugar made up, with a little bit of an orange-flavored, powder-based beverage mixed in.

"Drink! It will help you avoid dehydration."

He didn't need to tell me again-I was soaked in sweat.

He then explained that we would cross the cornfield in front of us in groups of four. He pointed toward the sky. Far in the distance, I could see a tiny white airplane against the blue sky. "We have to wait until it's gone. It's the phantom airplane."

His orders were followed to perfection. I crossed the open field looking at the airplane directly overhead. I was sorry I didn't have a mirror to try to make signals. Once again my captors had managed to slip through the net of the army. On the far side, in the undergrowth, a toothless, sun-baked peasant was waiting for us.

"This is our guide," whispered someone ahead of me.

Without warning, a cold wind began to blow, filling the forest with a s.h.i.+ver. The sky turned gray in an instant, and the temperature immediately dropped by several degrees. As if they had received a peremptory order, the guerrillas all dropped their packs onto the ground, pulled out their huge black plastic sheets, and covered themselves.

Someone gave me one, and I wrapped myself up in it the way I had seen them do. A moment later a torrential storm broke over us. Despite all my efforts, I was very quickly soaked through to the bone. It would go on raining like this all day long and all the night that followed. We walked one behind the other until the next day, pa.s.sing through the forest for hours in silence, hunched over to avoid the water that the wind blew into our faces. Then at twilight we took a path that went along a hillside, and it became a veritable quagmire as the whole column marched over it. With each step I had to reach for my boot that had become mired in eighteen inches of thick, stinking mud, losing my balance. I was exhausted. I was s.h.i.+vering, worn out from the effort.

Then we left the cover of the undergrowth, with its steep ups and downs, and came out on flat, warm land, cultivated and inhabited. We went past farms with dogs that barked and chimneys that smoked. They seemed to be looking at us with scorn as we went by. How desperately I wanted to go home. Just before twilight we reached a magnificent finca. finca. The landlord's house was built in the finest drug-trafficker style. The stable alone would have fulfilled all my dreams of a place to sleep. It was late, I was thirsty and hungry, I was cold. My feet were ravaged by enormous blisters that had burst and stuck to my soaked socks. I'd been bitten from head to toe by tiny fleas I couldn't see but I could feel, swarming all over my body. The mud had stuck to my fingers and beneath my nails, swelling them, infecting the skin, which cracked. I was bleeding, and yet I couldn't identify my multiple sores. I collapsed on the ground, determined to move no more. The landlord's house was built in the finest drug-trafficker style. The stable alone would have fulfilled all my dreams of a place to sleep. It was late, I was thirsty and hungry, I was cold. My feet were ravaged by enormous blisters that had burst and stuck to my soaked socks. I'd been bitten from head to toe by tiny fleas I couldn't see but I could feel, swarming all over my body. The mud had stuck to my fingers and beneath my nails, swelling them, infecting the skin, which cracked. I was bleeding, and yet I couldn't identify my multiple sores. I collapsed on the ground, determined to move no more.

Half an hour later, Andres gave the order to leave again. We were back on our feet, dragging our misery, marching like convicts in the darkest night. It wasn't fear that made me walk, and it wasn't their threats that made me put one foot in front of the other. None of that mattered to me. It was fatigue that made me carry on. My brain had disconnected; my body was moving without me.

Before dawn we reached the top of a small hill that overlooked the valley. A fine drizzle continued to persecute us. There was a sort of shelter in beaten earth, with a thatched roof. Ferney hooked up a hammock between two beams, stretched a black plastic sheet on the ground, and handed me my bag.

"Get changed. We're going to sleep here."

I woke up at seven o'clock in the morning in the cocaine laboratory that had served as our shelter. Everyone was already up, including Clara, who was smiling: She was happy that I had dry clothes to give her. The new day promised to be equally long and difficult, and we decided to put back on our dirty, wet clothes from the day before and to keep the dry clothes for sleeping. I really wanted to take a bath, and I'd gotten up determined to find a place to have a wash. There was a spring ten yards away. They allowed me to go there. They had given me a piece of pota.s.sium soap, and I rubbed my body and scalp furiously with it to try to get rid of the lice and ticks I'd picked up during the march. The girl escorting me was urging me to finish, annoyed that I was was.h.i.+ng my hair when the order had been to have a quick wash. However, there was nothing pressing: Once we got back up to the shelter, we found the guerrillas sitting idly, waiting for new instructions.

The toothless, emaciated peasant from the day before reappeared. He had a mochila mochila slung over his shoulder, one of those bags that Indians weave so nicely, and inside the slung over his shoulder, one of those bags that Indians weave so nicely, and inside the mochila mochila there were two hens tied up, their legs in the air, wriggling with convulsive spasms. He was relieved of his burden with cries of victory: Breakfast was turning into a feast. Once the euphoria had subsided, I went up to the peasant and asked him, with a boldness that was unusual for me, if he would let me have his there were two hens tied up, their legs in the air, wriggling with convulsive spasms. He was relieved of his burden with cries of victory: Breakfast was turning into a feast. Once the euphoria had subsided, I went up to the peasant and asked him, with a boldness that was unusual for me, if he would let me have his mochila. mochila. It was grimy, stinking, and full of holes. But for me it was a treasure. I could fill it with the things I needed for the walk and keep my hands free, and once it was washed and st.i.tched, it would be useful for hanging supplies to keep them out of reach of rodents. The man looked at me, astonished, failing to understand the value I placed upon his bag. He handed it to me without protesting, as if he had received not a request but an order. I thanked him with such an effusion of joy that he burst out laughing like a child. He tried to start up a conversation with me, and I was about to reply only too gladly when we heard Andres's voice curtly calling us to order. I went back to sit down in my corner and glanced over at Andres, astonished by the violence in his gaze as he stared at the gift I had just received. It was grimy, stinking, and full of holes. But for me it was a treasure. I could fill it with the things I needed for the walk and keep my hands free, and once it was washed and st.i.tched, it would be useful for hanging supplies to keep them out of reach of rodents. The man looked at me, astonished, failing to understand the value I placed upon his bag. He handed it to me without protesting, as if he had received not a request but an order. I thanked him with such an effusion of joy that he burst out laughing like a child. He tried to start up a conversation with me, and I was about to reply only too gladly when we heard Andres's voice curtly calling us to order. I went back to sit down in my corner and glanced over at Andres, astonished by the violence in his gaze as he stared at the gift I had just received. It won't be mine for long, It won't be mine for long, I said to myself. I said to myself.

The day seemed endless. Immediately after a solid breakfast, at which, to my great pleasure, I was given one of the hen's feet to share, we went back down toward the valley to follow a road that wandered through the forest. Ferney and Jhon Janer, a young man who had recently joined the troops and whom I found more mischievous than disagreeable, had been a.s.signed as our guards. Visibly, the rest of the troops had taken a different route. We came to a crossroads, by which time I was dragging myself, limping on the edges of my feet, and in the distance, like a mirage, I could make out my toothless peasant holding two old nags by the bridle. As soon as he saw us, he began to walk toward us, and I collapsed on the ground, incapable of taking another step. What a joy it was to see the old man again and to be able to exchange a few words with him. I know he would have liked to do more.

We were each given one of the nags, and we set off again at a slow trot. The guards ran by our side, holding the horses firmly by the neck. We had to catch up with the troops, and they expected that it would take us most of the day. On horseback I thought, I don't mind-they can take all day if they want, and all night and the next day, too. I don't mind-they can take all day if they want, and all night and the next day, too. I silently thanked the heavens for this G.o.dsend, only too aware, now, of what I'd gained. I silently thanked the heavens for this G.o.dsend, only too aware, now, of what I'd gained.

The forest we were going through was different from the thick jungle where we'd been hiding all those months. The trees were immense and sad, and the rays of the sun reached us only after they had penetrated the thick layer of branches and leaves far above our heads. The undergrowth was bare, with neither ferns nor shrubs, just the trunks of those colossal trees like the pillars of an unfinished cathedral. The place was strange, as if a curse had been cast upon it. My mood seemed to correspond to the nature around me, and it opened up old wounds that had never completely healed. And now that my physical pain had been a.s.suaged, with my b.l.o.o.d.y feet hanging loose and relieved from any excruciating contact, it was the pain in my heart that was aroused, for I was incapable of letting go of my past life, a life I so loved and that was no longer mine.

The rain fell with a brute force, as if someone were gleefully tipping buckets of water on us from the treetops. Once again the road had become a quagmire. The water covered the guys' boots almost completely, and the suctioning mud held them prisoner with each step. We had caught up with the troops, and now we began to pa.s.s them one by one, as they were bent beneath the weight of their burdens, their faces hardened. I felt pity for them: Someday I would get out of this h.e.l.l, whereas they had knowingly condemned themselves to rot in this jungle. I did not want to meet their gazes as I rode by. I knew only too well that they were cursing us.

The march continued all day long through the endless storm. We left behind the tree cover and crossed fincas fincas rich with fruit trees. The rain and fatigue left us indifferent. The guys didn't have the strength to stretch out their hands to pick up the mangoes and guavas rotting on the ground. I didn't dare, from the height of my horse, pick the fruit on my way, for fear of irritating them. rich with fruit trees. The rain and fatigue left us indifferent. The guys didn't have the strength to stretch out their hands to pick up the mangoes and guavas rotting on the ground. I didn't dare, from the height of my horse, pick the fruit on my way, for fear of irritating them.

Turning a corner, we came upon some children playing, jumping in the puddles. They had bags full of mandarin oranges that they had left to one side. When they saw us arrive, because we were on horseback they took us for the guerrilla commanders, and they gave all of us some fruit from their reserve. I accepted with grat.i.tude.

It was still raining at dusk, and I was s.h.i.+vering feverishly, wrapped up in a plastic sheet that no longer protected me from the rain but did help me stay warm. We had to give up our horses and continue on foot. I was biting my lips to keep from complaining, as with each step I felt a million needles stabbing my feet and penetrating my limbs. We walked for a long time, until we reached an ostentatious finca. finca. An opulent house majestically overlooked countryside that undulated like velvet in the evening twilight. We were guided toward a landing stage, where we were allowed to sit down and wait for the arrival of a motorboat, an enormous iron launch with enough room for all the guerrillas, all the backpacks, and a dozen st.u.r.dy plastic bags filled with provisions. An opulent house majestically overlooked countryside that undulated like velvet in the evening twilight. We were guided toward a landing stage, where we were allowed to sit down and wait for the arrival of a motorboat, an enormous iron launch with enough room for all the guerrillas, all the backpacks, and a dozen st.u.r.dy plastic bags filled with provisions.

Clara and I were made to sit in the center. Andres and Jessica sat just behind us, next to William and Andrea, his attractive but disagreable girlfriend, who'd been escorting us when we were chased by the helicopters. They were talking loudly, so that we would overhear.

"I guess we got rid of the chulos chulos again!" again!"

"If they think they're going to get hold of our cargo that easily, they're in for a surprise."

They were laughing maliciously. I didn't want to listen to them anymore.

"They took everything that was left after the bombing and burned the rest. The old women's mattress, their Bible, all the s.h.i.+t they had collected."

"So much the better-there's less to carry now!"

"And to think they wanted to swim away from us, stupid old bags. Now they're with us for years!"

"They'll be grandmothers by the time they get out."

That made them laugh even harder. There was a silence, and then Andres turned to me and said disdainfully, "Ingrid, hand over the mochila mochila. It's mine now."

SEVENTEEN.

THE CAGE.

We traveled for days, heading down rivers that grew ever wider. Most often we moved at night, so no one would see us. Sometimes, but rarely, we risked traveling during the day, beneath a baking sun. And I always made sure to look into the distance, to search the horizon, to fill my soul with beauty, because I knew that once we went into the forest, I would no longer see the sky.

Walls of trees rose a hundred feet above the riverbanks in a compact formation that blocked all light. We glided through the jungle, aware that no human beings had ever ventured here before, on a mirror of water the color of emeralds that parted like velvet as we pa.s.sed. The sounds of the jungle seemed to grow louder inside this tunnel of water. I could hear the cry of monkeys, but I couldn't see them. As a rule, Ferney would sit next to me and point out the salados. salados. I stared at the riverbank, hoping to see some mythological beast emerge, to no avail. I confessed that I didn't know what I stared at the riverbank, hoping to see some mythological beast emerge, to no avail. I confessed that I didn't know what salados salados meant. He laughed at my expense, but he eventually explained that meant. He laughed at my expense, but he eventually explained that salados salados was where the tapirs, the was where the tapirs, the lapas lapas,24 and the deer went to drink. This was the place hunters always looked for. and the deer went to drink. This was the place hunters always looked for.

No one, however, was able to name any of the thousands of birds that crossed our sky. I'd been surprised to see kingfishers, egrets, and swallows, and I was delighted that I could recognize them just as if they were flying out to me from the pages of a picture book. The parrots and parakeets with their brilliant, deceptive feathers were outraged by our pa.s.sage. They flew away from their shelters, then returned as soon as we went by, giving us a chance to admire their magnificent wings. There were also those that flew off like arrows, skimming the water alongside us, as if they were racing our boat. They were little tiny birds with marvelous colors. Sometimes I thought I could see cardinals or nightingales, and I remembered my grandfather watching out for them for hours from his window, and now I understood him, the way I understood so many things I hadn't taken the time to grasp before.

One bird fascinated me more than all the others. It was turquoise, the underside of its wings was fluorescent green, and its beak was bloodred. When I saw it I alerted everyone, not only in the hope that someone might be able to tell me its name but above all from a need to share the sight of this magical creature.

I knew these visions would remain etched forever within me. But not as good memories, for good memories are only those you can share, especially with your loved ones. If only I had known the name of that bird, I would have felt I could bring it back with me. But there, nothing was left.

We finally reached the end of our journey. We had sailed down a wide river, which we then left behind to head up a secret tributary hidden behind thick vegetation and winding unpredictably around a small hill. We disembarked in dense jungle. We sat on our belongings and waited while the guys went at it with their machetes to clear a s.p.a.ce for our camp.

In a few hours, they built a wooden dwelling with a zinc roof, closed on all sides, with a narrow opening for a door. It was a cage! I was afraid to go in. I antic.i.p.ated that this new walled-in s.p.a.ce would exacerbate the tension between Clara and me.

After my third escape attempt, when Yiseth had recaptured me near the river, a group of six guerrillas, including Ferney and Jhon Janer, erected an iron fence all around the cage. At night they locked us in with a padlock.

Behind the metal fence, the feeling of imprisonment plunged me into unbearable distress. I stood there for days praying in an attempt to find an explanation, some meaning behind my misfortune. Why, why? Why, why?

Ferney was on duty once and came over. He handed me a tiny radio that he could just squeeze through the mesh of the fence. "Here, listen to the news, it will take your mind off things. Hide it. Believe me, this fence hurts me more than it does you."

After they had locked us in like rats, they spent several days digging a hole behind our cage, taking turns. At first I thought they were setting out to dig a trench. Then, when I saw that the hole was getting deeper and that they weren't digging it all the way around the cage, I concluded it must be a grave, so they could kill us and throw us in. I had not forgotten that FARC had threatened to a.s.sa.s.sinate us after one year of captivity. I lived in terrible dread. I would have preferred for them to announce my execution. Uncertainty was eating away at me. It was only when the porcelain toilet made its appearance that I realized they were merely building a cesspool. They had just finished digging nine feet down, as they'd been ordered. They thought it was great fun to jump into the hole and climb out again without any help, just the strength of their arms, slithering up a wall so smooth and s.h.i.+ny it looked polished by a machine. Someone came up with the idea of letting me have a go, too, and I refused at once, adamantly.

My obstinacy only served to get them all the more excited. They pushed me in, and I found myself at the bottom of the hole, frightened yet determined. They had placed their bets. Everyone was shouting and laughing, eager for the show to commence.

Clara came up to the hole and gave a doubtful look. "She'll make it," she predicted.

I did not share her conviction. Ultimately, however, I proved her right, with much effort and just as much luck. The joy of the two guerrillas who had placed their bets on my success made me laugh. For a moment the barriers that kept us apart had fallen and another division, subtler, very human, had surfaced. There were those who disliked me because of what I represented. They saw in me everything that they were not. And then there were the others, like Ferney and Jhon Janer, the ones who were curious to know who I was and who were ready to build bridges rather than walls. And there was Clara, who had played the referee this time, and who had come out in my favor. In spite of the tension between us, she had wanted me to succeed, and I was grateful to her for that.

This interlude of peace among all of us helped us to prepare our first Christmas in captivity. We had to let bitterness flow between our fingers like water you can't hold back anymore.

To me the most unbearable thing of all was the distress I must be causing my family. This was their first Christmas without my father, and without me. In a way I felt more fortunate than they were, because I could imagine them together on Christmas, which is also my birthday. But they knew nothing about what had happened to me, and they didn't even know whether I was still alive. The idea of my son, Lorenzo-who was still a young boy-of my teenage daughter, Melanie, and of Sebastian, already an adult, all tormented by the horrors their imagination might construe regarding my fate was driving me mad.

To escape from my labyrinth, I busied myself with making a manger from the clay that had been dug up for the cesspool, molding figurines dressed in the tropical bulrush that grew abundantly in the surrounding swamps. My work attracted the attention of the young girls. Yiseth wove a lovely garland of b.u.t.terflies with the metallic paper from cigarette packs. Another came to cut out cardboard angels with me, and we hung them from the tin roof just above the manger. Finally, two days before Christmas, Yiseth came back with an ingenious system of Christmas lights. She had obtained a supply of little flashlight bulbs that she'd fastened to an electric wire. All it took was contact with a radio battery and we had Christmas lights in the middle of the jungle.

I was surprised to see that they had also decorated their caletas caletas for the occasion. Some of them had even put up Christmas trees, the branches draped with surgical cotton and decorated with childish drawings. for the occasion. Some of them had even put up Christmas trees, the branches draped with surgical cotton and decorated with childish drawings.

On Christmas Eve, Clara and I hugged each other. She gave me some soap from her supply. I made a greeting card for her. We had somehow become a family-and as is the case with real families, we hadn't chosen each other. Sometimes, like that day, it was rea.s.suring to be together. We prayed and sang our few villancicos, villancicos, traditional Colombian carols, and we knelt on the ground by our makes.h.i.+ft manger, as if our songs could take us home again even if just for a few moments. traditional Colombian carols, and we knelt on the ground by our makes.h.i.+ft manger, as if our songs could take us home again even if just for a few moments.

Our thoughts bore us far away. Mine traveled to another s.p.a.ce and another time, to the place where I had been a year earlier with my father, my mother, and my children, amid a happiness I thought was unshakable-and that only now could I fully appreciate.

Lost in our meditation, we had not noticed that there was a crowd behind us: Ferney, Edinson, Yiseth, El Mico, Jhon Janer, and the others had come to sing with us. Their strong, steady voices filled the forest and seemed to resonate ever louder, beyond the barriers of thick vegetation, toward the sky, beyond the stars, toward the mystical North, where it is written that G.o.d dwells, and where I imagined he could hear the silent quest of our hearts only he could answer.

EIGHTEEN.

FRIENDS WHO COME AND GO.

We had a new recruit. William and Andrea had captured a baby monkey. One evening when we had just set up camp for the night by the river, we saw a family of monkeys swinging from branch to branch in the treetops, stopping just long enough to throw sticks at us or p.i.s.s to mark their territory. A mother with her baby hanging from her back clung carefully to make sure her baby was holding on. William shot the mother. The baby fell at his feet, to become Andrea's mascot. The same bullet that had killed its mother had injured its hand. The little animal cried like a child and licked its fingers, not understanding what had happened. Now it was tied by a rope to a bush near Andrea's caleta. caleta. Rain had begun coming down, and the little monkey was s.h.i.+vering, all alone, looking wet and wretched. I had a small flask of sulfonamide in my belongings that I'd managed to hang on to since the day of my abduction. I decided I would treat the baby monkey. The little animal was screaming with fear, pulling on the rope and nearly choking itself. Bit by bit I took its tiny hand, all black and soft like a human hand in miniature. I covered its wound with the powder and made a bandage around its wrist. It was a baby female. They had baptized it "Cristina." Rain had begun coming down, and the little monkey was s.h.i.+vering, all alone, looking wet and wretched. I had a small flask of sulfonamide in my belongings that I'd managed to hang on to since the day of my abduction. I decided I would treat the baby monkey. The little animal was screaming with fear, pulling on the rope and nearly choking itself. Bit by bit I took its tiny hand, all black and soft like a human hand in miniature. I covered its wound with the powder and made a bandage around its wrist. It was a baby female. They had baptized it "Cristina."

Once we settled into the camp, I asked for permission to go to say h.e.l.lo to Cristina. When she saw me coming, she would call out with joy. I would keep something from my morning food ration to give to her. She would grab it from my hands and run off to eat it with her back to me.

I heard Cristina shrieking violently one morning. The guard explained that they were bathing her because she smelled bad. Finally I saw her coming at a run, dragging her rope behind her and moaning with sorrow. She grabbed hold of my boot desperately, looking behind her to see if anyone was following. She then clambered up to cling to my neck and eventually fell asleep with her tail wrapped around my arm so she wouldn't fall.

They had given her hair a military haircut that they called la mesa la mesa (the table), which gave her a flat head, and they'd dunked her in the water to give her a good rinse. Cristina's bath became a regular torture. Andrea had decided that the little monkey had to get used to her daily grooming, like a human being. Cristina in response would s.h.i.+t everywhere, which made Andrea and William hysterical. Whenever she managed to escape, she came to me. I cuddled her, I talked to her, and I trained her as much as I could. When Andrea would come to get her, she would shriek and cling to my s.h.i.+rt. I had to force myself to hide my sorrow. (the table), which gave her a flat head, and they'd dunked her in the water to give her a good rinse. Cristina's bath became a regular torture. Andrea had decided that the little monkey had to get used to her daily grooming, like a human being. Cristina in response would s.h.i.+t everywhere, which made Andrea and William hysterical. Whenever she managed to escape, she came to me. I cuddled her, I talked to her, and I trained her as much as I could. When Andrea would come to get her, she would shriek and cling to my s.h.i.+rt. I had to force myself to hide my sorrow.

One day the guy who brought the supplies in the motorboat brought with him two little dogs that Jessica wanted to train. I never saw Cristina again. Andrea came one evening to explain that she and William had gone deep into the forest to release Cristina. It made me very sad; I'd grown so fond of Cristina. But I was relieved that she was free, and whenever I heard monkeys overhead, I would look up in the hope of seeing her again.

One night when I was again prey to insomnia, I overheard a conversation that made my blood run cold. The guards were joking together, saying that Cristina had been the best meal Jessica's dogs had ever had.

Cristina's story shook me profoundly. I was so angry at myself that I hadn't done more to help her. But above all I knew that I could not afford the luxury of any attachment while in the hands of the FARC, as it could use one to blackmail me and alienate me further. Perhaps that was why I tried to keep my distance from everyone, in particular Ferney, who was often kind.

After my aborted escape, he had come to see me. He felt terrible about what his comrades had done to me. "Here, too, there are good people and there are bad people. But you mustn't judge the FARC on the basis of what the bad people do."

Every time Ferney was on duty, he managed to start up a conversation, taking care to speak loudly so that the entire camp could follow. His invariable topic was politics. He justified his armed struggle on the basis that too many people in Colombia lived in poverty. I answered that the FARC wasn't doing anything to combat poverty-on the contrary, the organization had become an important cog in the system it was claiming to fight against, because it was a source of corruption, drug trafficking, and violence. "You are becoming a part of this," I argued.

He was born nearby. He came from a very poor family; his father was blind, and his mother, a peasant, did what she could with a small acre of land. All his brothers had gone into subversive activities. But he liked what he was doing. He was learning things, had a career ahead of him, had friends among the guerrillas.

One afternoon he escorted me to work out in the gym Andres had built on the border of the camp. There was a jogging track, parallel bars, a horizontal bar, a hoop for practicing somersaults, and a beam three yards from the ground for practicing jumps. Everything had been built by hand, by removing the bark from young trees and fixing the bars to st.u.r.dy trunks with lianas. Ferney showed me how to jump from the beam to land properly on the ground, which I did-in spite of my fear-just to impress him. I couldn't keep up with him when he did push-ups or other endurance exercises. But I beat him in some of the acrobatics and exercises that required suppleness. Andres joined us and gave us a demonstration of his strength that confirmed he'd had years of training. I asked to use the gym on a regular basis, but he refused. He did, however, allow us to take part in the guerrillas' training, which started every morning at four-thirty. Some days later he had parallel bars put up near the cage for Clara and me to use.

Ferney had intervened in our favor. I thanked him.

"If you find the right words, the proper tone of voice, and you ask at the right moment, you're sure of getting what you want," he replied.

After a quarrel I had with Clara, Ferney came over to the fence and said, "You're letting it get to you. You have to create a distance; otherwise you'll go insane, too. Ask them to separate you. At least you'll get some peace."

He was very young-he must have been seventeen. And yet his remarks made me reflect. He had a generous soul and an uncommon sense of honesty. He had gained my respect.

Among the things I lost in the raid was the rosary I had made out of a wire that I had found lying on the ground. I decided to craft a new one by removing the b.u.t.tons from the military jacket I'd been given and using bits of nylon thread I had left over from my weaving.

It was a fine day in the month of December, the dry season in the jungle, the best in the year. A warm breeze caressed the palm trees, filtering down to us through the foliage, bringing a rare sensation of tranquillity.

I was sitting outside the cage, in the shade, working furiously in the hope of finis.h.i.+ng my rosary that same day. Ferney was on duty, and I asked him to cut me some little pieces of wood to make a crucifix that I could hang from my rosary.

Clara was getting lessons in belt weaving from El Mico, who would stop by to check on her progress from time to time. As soon as her teacher left, seeing that Ferney was bringing the little cross to me, she stood up, a tense look on her face. She dropped her weaving and threw herself at Ferney, as if she wanted to tear his eyes out.

"So you don't like what I'm doing? Go on, say it!"

She was much taller than he was, and she was taking a provocative pose, thrusting her torso forward, which obliged Ferney to duck his head so as not to brush against her body. He gently took his rifle to put it out of her reach and withdrew, cautiously stepping backward, saying, "No, no, I like what you are doing a lot, but I'm on duty. I can't come and help you right now."

She pursued him for a dozen yards or so, provoking him, shoving him, lunging at him, while he continuted to move backward to avoid physical contact. Andres was alerted by the other troops and came to order us back into our cage. I silently complied. Maturity had nothing to do with age. I admired Ferney's self-control. He trembled with rage but had not reacted.

When I shared my thoughts with him, he replied, "When you carry a weapon, you have a responsibility toward other people. You can't afford mistakes."

I, too, could choose how to react. But I was often wrong. Life in captivity had not removed the necessity to act in the right way. It was not about pleasing others or gaining support. I felt I had to change. Rather than try to adapt to the ignominy of the situation, I had to learn to be a better person.

Drinking my usual hot drink one morning, I saw a red and blue flash overhead in the foliage. I pointed to show the guard the extraordinary guacamaya that had just landed a few yards above us. It was a huge parrot, a vision of paradise with carnival colors, and it sat watching us, intrigued, from up on its perch, unaware of its extreme beauty.

What had I done? The guards sounded the alarm, and Andres hurried over with his hunting rifle. The bird was easy prey; it was no feat to kill this magnificent, naive creature. A second later its inert body lay on the ground, a pile of blue and orange feathers scattered everywhere.

I took it out on Andres. Why had he done something so pointless and stupid?

He answered, spitting his words out like a machine gun, "I can kill what I want! Especially pigs and people like you!"

There were reprisals. Andres felt that I had judged him, and his behavior changed abruptly. We had to stay within six feet of the cage at the most and were not allowed to go to the rancha rancha or walk around the camp anymore. The bird ended up in the garbage, and for weeks its beautiful blue feathers were scattered all over the camp, until the new rains brought the mud and buried them completely. I vowed to be cautious and keep quiet. I observed myself as I never had before, and I understood that spiritual fulfillment required a constancy and rigor that I needed to acquire. or walk around the camp anymore. The bird ended up in the garbage, and for weeks its beautiful blue feathers were scattered all over the camp, until the new rains brought the mud and buried them completely. I vowed to be cautious and keep quiet. I observed myself as I never had before, and I understood that spiritual fulfillment required a constancy and rigor that I needed to acquire. I had to watch myself, to stop repeating the same mistakes, I had to watch myself, to stop repeating the same mistakes, I concluded, I concluded, keep my impetuous nature in check keep my impetuous nature in check.