Even Silence Has an End Part 24

"Give me the dictionary. I need it."

His tone left me puzzled.

"Yes, of course, how long did you need it for?"

"A week."

"Listen, I'm working with it. Have it over the weekend if you like."

He looked me up and down, then eventually gave in. He brought the book back the following Monday and said, "Don't let it get ruined. I'll come and get it again next Friday."

The following week he tried a new strategy.

"The soldiers need the dictionary."

"Sure, no problem. Take it and ask them to send it back to me with the receptionist, please."

But this time he didn't bring it back.

There was a new commander in the camp. He was an older man, over forty, with graying hair and a hard gaze. His name was Alfredo. Everybody thought that Sombra was going to be dismissed, but in the end they settled into a power sharing that seemed to function, despite obvious tension between them.

Commander Alfredo summoned the prisoners. I met with him, together with Sombra, for a whole afternoon, in what Sombra referred to as his "office." I immediately broached the subject of the dictionary.

"I want to know if I can use the dictionary as I please. Guillermo seems to think not. In fact, he has it now, and he hasn't given it back."

Sombra seemed embarra.s.sed. Alfredo was staring at him harshly, like a raptor circling its prey.

"This dictionary is yours," declared Sombra, to make matters absolutely clear. I deduced he didn't want to give any reason to Alfredo to report back to Mono Jojoy.

That was enough for me. The next morning Guillermo brought me the dictionary. He smiled as he handed it to me.

"el que rie de ultimas rie mejor."44 His warning did not manage to spoil my satisfaction. I immersed myself once again in hours of spellbinding reading, seeking to find, to know, to understand, as if solving a puzzle.

FORTY-THREE.

MY FRIEND LUCHO.

AUGUST 2004.

Lucho and I became inseparable. The more I got to know him, the more I loved him. He was a sensitive soul, very wise, with a sense of humor that could withstand anything. His intelligence and wit were, for me, as vital as oxygen. Moreover, he was the most generous person on earth, which made him a rare pearl in Sombra's prison. I placed all my trust in him, and together we tried incessantly to think up ways to escape.

Orlando asked us about it one evening. He suggested we try to escape together. Lucho and I knew that this was impossible. We were convinced that Orlando would never dare, and we were not even sure that we ourselves would. Moreover, he was a big, heavyset man. We could not picture him making his way unnoticed through the chain-link fence and the barbed wire.

However, because we talked about it so much, we began to study the various options and to make plans. We concluded that it would take us months or even years to get out of this jungle, and that we would have to learn to live in it with no resources other than our ingenuity.

So we set to work making equipos, equipos, like the one Lucho had. Sombra had set up a leather workshop in the camp for making and repairing backpacks and the troops' equipment. When we presented our request, we were fortunate that the timing was right-not only was the material available but also, if we were to be evacuated, we would need something in which to carry our belongings. like the one Lucho had. Sombra had set up a leather workshop in the camp for making and repairing backpacks and the troops' equipment. When we presented our request, we were fortunate that the timing was right-not only was the material available but also, if we were to be evacuated, we would need something in which to carry our belongings.

Our plan was to make two each: one regular size, to be able to carry everything in case of an evacuation, and then a much smaller one, which Orlando called a "mini-crusero," "mini-crusero," for our escape. Orlando, who had done some leatherworking before, guided us through the basic techniques. Very quickly everyone in the prison joined in. Not only because we all sensed that sooner or later we would have to leave this camp (military planes were flying overhead on an almost-daily basis) but also because the opportunity to make a good backpack seemed to please everyone. for our escape. Orlando, who had done some leatherworking before, guided us through the basic techniques. Very quickly everyone in the prison joined in. Not only because we all sensed that sooner or later we would have to leave this camp (military planes were flying overhead on an almost-daily basis) but also because the opportunity to make a good backpack seemed to please everyone.

In the evening, Orlando would come and sit in my hut with a piece of wire that he'd taken from a corner of the fence and a big file that I'd lifted from a distracted receptionist. He wanted to make some fishhooks.

"This way we won't die of hunger!" he said proudly, brandis.h.i.+ng a sort of crooked, handmade hook.

"With that thing you'll only be catching whales," said Lucho, gently mocking.

I had managed to get a reserve of sugar from Sombra in case Lucho had a fit. We were also counting on this reserve for our escape. I worried about the shortage of sugar because we really had only very little, and I was obliged to use it because Lucho often seemed on the verge of another diabetic coma.

I had learned to recognize the symptoms long before he felt he was in danger of a relapse. It began in the afternoon. His face suddenly became gaunt, and his skin would go gray. I would tell him it was time to take some sugar. As a rule he would reply mildly that he wanted to go lie down and that it would pa.s.s. But when he reacted badly, shouting at me that I was bothering him and no, he would not take any sugar, I knew that any minute now he would drop to the floor in a seizure. It was a real struggle. I had to use all sorts of tricks to get him to swallow his dose of sugar. Inevitably, at some point he would swing from aggression to apathy. By then he was completely at a loss, and I could get the sugar into his mouth. He would sit there dazed for minutes on end, then finally he became Lucho again and apologize for not having listened to me.

We were dependent upon each other, and this was both our strength and our vulnerability. Because of it we suffered twice as much-first of all from our own sorrow and then, just as intensely, from the other's afflictions.

It happened one morning. But I'm not so sure; it could have been at dawn, because sadness came upon us like an eclipse, and what I remember is a long day full of darkness.

We were sitting side by side, in silence, listening to the little radio together. It should have been a day like any other, but it wasn't. We were waiting for my mother's message; no messages for him, because his wife called him every Wednesday on Caracol, and this wasn't Wednesday. When he heard his sister's voice, his face lit up. He adored his sister, Estela. He was wriggling with happiness on his chair, as if to sit more comfortably, while his sister, in an infinitely tender, soft voice, said to him, "Lucho, be strong. Our little mother has pa.s.sed away." I had a sudden violent memory of the asphyxia I'd felt on discovering my father's death in that old newspaper. Lucho was there beside me in the same overwhelming suspension of time, his breathing halted. His suffering reactivated my own, and I curled up on myself. I could not help him. He wanted to weep, as if to get his breath back, to get rid of his sadness and let it drain from his body, expel it. But he was weeping with dry eyes, and that was even more terrible. There was nothing to be done, nothing to say.

This eclipse of emotions lasted for days, until the prison gate opened and Arnoldo shouted, "Take just what is absolutely necessary-hammock, mosquito net, toothbrus.h.!.+ We're out of here. You have two minutes."

They told us to line up one behind the other, and out we went. I took my dictionary. I wasn't nervous. I was slowly recovering from that long sadness, from that silence without thoughts. I wanted to go outside, I needed words.

"It will be good for us."

"Yes, it will be good for us."

"She was already dead."

"Yes, she was already gone. She had forgotten that I was no longer there." Then he added, "I was expecting it."

"You expect it, but you're never prepared."

We went slowly through the outside fence of the prison. Ahead of us the military prisoners walked, in chains, two by two. They had seen us, and now they waved, with big smiles across their hollow faces.

"Do you think we look like that?"

"I think we look worse."

We filed out of the camp, walking past the trenches for twenty minutes along the little path we'd taken with s.h.i.+rley on the night of the raid.

We sat down among the trees, on our black plastic sheeting, far from the military prisoners, whom we couldn't see but whom we could still hear through the trees.

"Orlando, did you take the radio?"

"Yes, I've got it, don't worry."

Gloria went to set up her hammock, since it looked like we would be waiting a long time. She stretched out in it, then fell to the ground like a ripe fruit. This time it didn't make her laugh, although we did. We needed such moments to be lighthearted and silly. I went to give her a hug.

"Leave me alone, I'm in a bad mood."

"Oh, come on!"

"Leave me alone. I don't like it when you make fun of me. I'm sure it was Tom who untied the knots so I'd fall down."

"Not at all! Don't be silly! He didn't do anything to you, poor Tom."

They gave the order to set up tents. We would sleep three per tent. We were about to set ours up-Lucho, Orlando, and I.

"I warn you, I'm a terrible snorer," said Orlando.

Just then an increasingly loud roar made us raise our heads. We stopped everything.

"Helicopters."

"There are at least three of them."

"They're flying right over us-they're on top of us."

The forest began to s.h.i.+ver. We were all looking up. I could feel the sound of the engines in my breast.

"They're right nearby!"

The sky went dark. The metal birds seemed immense as they pa.s.sed above us.

Orlando, Lucho, and I all thought the same thing at the same time. We had just put our mini-cruseros mini-cruseros on our backs. I took Lucho's hand. With him, I could face anything. on our backs. I took Lucho's hand. With him, I could face anything.

FORTY-FOUR.

TE CHILD.

The guards loaded their rifles and came closer. We were surrounded. I was praying for a miracle, some unexpected event. A bombardment that would create panic and allow us to slip away. A troop landing, even if it meant death. I knew that there was a standing order to kill me. Before any maneuver or change of location, a guerrilla was a.s.signed to this mission. He had orders either to save me and pull me out of the way if there was crossfire or to execute me if there was a chance I might end up in the hands of the chulos. chulos.

Some years later, during one of the long marches that became our martyrdom in the hands of the FARC, a young guerrilla woman bluntly explained the situation to me.

She was called "Fluff," and she deserved the nickname: She was pet.i.te and very cute. I liked her. She had a big heart. On this occasion I was having trouble walking and keeping up with the others. She'd been a.s.signed as my guard, which was a relief to me. That day when we stopped somewhere to drink water, we heard a movement in the underbrush, and she loaded her revolver and aimed it at me. Her expression changed; I could hardly recognize her, she was so ugly and cold.

"What's going on?"

"You do what I say, or I'll shoot you."

I was speechless.

"Walk ahead of me. Start running straight ahead, and don't stop until I tell you to."

I began trotting ahead of her, weighed down by a backpack that was too heavy.

"Hurry up!" she shouted, annoyed.

She pushed me abruptly behind some rocks and we stayed hidden like that for a few minutes. A cajuche cajuche45 ran straight ahead, a few yards from us, head down. Then came the entire herd, twenty animals or more, much bigger than the first one. Fluff took aim, fired, and hit one of the wild boars. The animal collapsed in front of us, steaming black blood running from the back of its skull. ran straight ahead, a few yards from us, head down. Then came the entire herd, twenty animals or more, much bigger than the first one. Fluff took aim, fired, and hit one of the wild boars. The animal collapsed in front of us, steaming black blood running from the back of its skull.

"We were lucky it was only cajuches cajuches! But it could've been the army, and if it had been, I would have had to execute you. Those are the orders." She explained that the chulos chulos would not be able to tell the difference between us, and they would shoot me. Therefore, I had to learn to run fast, or else she would be the one shooting me. "So you've got no choice-or, better still, your best choice is me!" would not be able to tell the difference between us, and they would shoot me. Therefore, I had to learn to run fast, or else she would be the one shooting me. "So you've got no choice-or, better still, your best choice is me!"

I hovered behind Lucho. The helicopters shaved the treetops, went away, came back again, circled, and then went right over our heads again, without seeing us. They disappeared in the distance.

The day was nearly over, and there were a few minutes of light left. We had just enough time to put up our tent, spread out our plastic sheets, hang up our mosquito nets, and lie down for the night.

Orlando handed me the radio.

"Listen to the news tonight. Be careful, they're right nearby. Lucho and I will talk loudly to cover the sound."

The next morning at dawn, I handed him the radio after Mom's message and the one from Angela, Lucho's wife. I got up to go clean my teeth and stretch my legs while waiting for breakfast. Orlando was last to come out of the tent, long after us. All the blood had drained from his face. He looked like a walking corpse.

Lucho took me by the arm. "My G.o.d, something's happened!"

Orlando looked at us without seeing us and walked like a robot down to the river to get some water. He came back with his eyes red and swollen, his face empty of any expression.

"Orlando? What's going on?" After a long silence, he opened his mouth.

"My mother has died," he said with a sigh, looking away.

"s.h.i.+t! s.h.i.+t!" shouted Lucho, stamping his foot on the ground. "I hate this jungle, I hate the FARC! How much longer is the Lord going to hound us like this?" he cried, looking up at the sky.

At the beginning of December, it was Jorge's mother who had pa.s.sed away, then Lucho's, and now Orlando's. Death was pursuing us. Without their mothers my companions felt adrift, dispossessed of the women who safeguarded the memory of their lives. Now they were projected into a s.p.a.ce where to be forgotten by others was to enter the worst of prisons. I shuddered at the idea that I might be the next victim of this curse.

As if fate wanted to make fun of us, life, like death, was also present in this makes.h.i.+ft camp. At least, I thought so. During the night, in the silence of the trees, I'd heard the cries of a small baby. Clara had given birth, I concluded. On waking, I spoke of it to my companions, but they hadn't heard anything.

Lucho made fun of me. "That's no baby you heard-those are cats. The soldiers have a few. I saw them carrying them when they went ahead of us."

The helicopters didn't come back. We returned to Sombra's prison and to our belongings, which had been colonized by ants and termites while we were tramping around the forest, and as if to confirm Lucho's comment, some cats had shown up.

There was a big tomcat with the coat of a jaguar and fiery yellow eyes that drew everyone's gaze, no doubt a cross between a cat and a jaguar. He was the king of the gang, surrounded by females all as extraordinary as he was, but more belligerent. He was immediately adopted by our group, and we all did what we could to contribute to his well-being. He was a magnificent animal, with a white chest and white paws that made him look as if he were wearing elegant gloves.