Table of Contents
ALSO BY INGRID BETANCOURT
Until Death Do Us Part: My Struggle to Reclaim Colombia
Letter to My Mother
THE PENGUIN PRESS NEW YORK 2010
THE PENGUIN PRESS
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published in 2010 by The Penguin Press,
a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Copyright Ingrid Betancourt, 2010
All rights reserved
Translated from the French by Alison Anderson, with the collaboration of Sarah Llewellyn
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING IN PUBLICATION DATA
Betancourt, Ingrid, date.
Even silence has an end : my six years of captivity in the Colombian jungle / Ingrid Betancourt. p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-44291-3
1. Betancourt, Ingrid, 1961Captivity, 2002-2008. 2. Betancourt, ingrid, 1961Kidnapping, 2002. 3. HostagesColombiaBiography. 4. Kidnapping victimsColombiaBiography. 5. Political kidnappingColombia. 6. Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia. 7. Women presidential candidatesColombiaBiography. 8. Women legislatorsColombiaBiography. 9. ColombiaBiography. 10. ColombiaPolitics and government1974- I. Title.
F2279.22.B48A3 2011
986.10634092dc22
[B] 2010024201
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To my brothers who are still held hostage.
To my companions in captivity.
To all those who fought for our freedom.
To Astrid, Melanie, Lorenzo, Sebastian, and Fabrice.
To my mother
ONE
ESCAPING THE CAGE
DECEMBER 2002
I had made my decision to escape. It wasnt the first time. This was my fourth attempt, but after my last one the conditions of our captivity had become even more terrible. They had put us in a cage made of wooden boards, with a tin roof. Summer was coming, and for over a month now we had not had any storms at night. And a storm was absolutely necessary. I spotted a half-rotten board in a corner of our cage. By pushing hard with my foot, I split it enough to make an opening. I did this one afternoon after lunch, when the guard was dozing on his feet, balanced on his rifle. But it made a dreadful noise. The guard, edgy, walked all around the cage slowly, like a pacing animal. I followed him, peering through the slits between the boards, holding my breath. He stopped twice, put his eye up to a hole, and for a split second our eyes met. He jumped back, terrified. Then, to regain his composure, he planted himself at the entrance to the cage; this was his revenge. He would not take his eyes off me.
I avoided his gaze and thought carefully. Could someone squeeze through that opening? In principle, if you could get your skull through, your body would follow. In my childhood games, I squeezed through the bars of the fence at Parc Monceau, headfirst. It was always your head that blocked everything. But I was no longer so sure. It worked for the body of a child, but for an adult were the proportions the same? I was all the more worried because although we, Clara and I, were terribly thin, I had noticed over the last few weeks a sort of swelling of our bodies, probably liquid retention from enforced immobility. In my companion it was very visible. It was harder for me to judge my own condition, because we didnt have a mirror.
I had talked to her about this, and it had irritated her no end. Wed made two previous escape attempts, and the subject sowed tension between us. We didnt talk much. She was touchy, and I was prey to my own obsession. All I could think of was freedom, finding a way to escape from the hands of the FARC.
So I spent the entire day plotting, preparing in detail the equipment for our expedition, giving importance to stupid things. For example, I could not conceive of leaving without my jacket. I had forgotten that the jacket was not waterproof, and once it got wet it would weigh a ton. I also thought we ought to take the mosquito net along.
Ill have to figure out what to do about the boots. At night we always leave them in the same place, at the entrance to the cage. Ill have to start bringing them inside, so they get used to not seeing them anymore when were asleep.... And well have to get hold of a machete. To protect ourselves from wild beasts and to clear our way through the vegetation. It will be almost impossible. Theyre on their guard. They havent forgotten that we already managed to steal one when they were setting up the old camp.... Take scissorsthey lend them to us from time to time. I have to think about food, too. We have to stock up without their realizing. And it all has to be wrapped up in plastic, because well have to swim. It cant be too heavy, or well have difficulty making headway. We have to be as light as possible. And I must take my treasures: I cant possibly leave behind the photos of my children and the keys to my apartment.
I spent the day turning such questions over and over in my mind. Twenty times or more, I thought about our route once we were out of the cage. I tried to calculate all sorts of things: where the river must be, how many days it would take us until we could get help. I imagined the horror of an anaconda attacking us in the water, or an enormous cayman like the one whose red and shining eyes I had seen in the guards flashlight when we were coming down the river. I saw myself wrestling with a jaguar; the guards had regaled us with a ferocious description. I thought of everything that might possibly frighten me, to prepare myself psychologically and be ready to respond. I had to know how to control my emotions. Id decided that this time nothing would stop me.
