Out of Captivity : Surviving 1,967 Days in the Colombian Jungle

The Transition 105over wooden frameworks. Keith was at one end of the clearing, andI was at the other. I think the FARC knew that our being able to seeone another but not being able to speak to one another was worse thancomplete separation. With that arrangement, we would be constantlyreminded of what was being taken from us.Before Keith and I were led to our new quarters, the three of us gottogether. Together we’d formed what we referred to as a “bubble”—aplace together that enabled us to endure this madness.“Look, guys in Nam that were POWs figured out ways to communicatewith another. Even in the Hanoi Hilton they managed to put upwith some shit that was about as bad as it could get.” Keith looked atTom and me and nodded.“Whether we’re in the same hooch or forty feet apart doesn’t matter,”I said. “We’re still in the bubble. We just need to check on each othereveryday. Get ourselves back in it.”Tom said, “We’ll figure out some way to get through this. We’ll bestrong—stronger than them.”The FARC’s imposition of silence on us was cruel, and I couldn’tsee what advantage it had for them. We’d figured out early on that theywanted to keep us calm and in control. Silence and separation wouldonly do the opposite—make us agitated and angry. I had to remindmyself that responding to those feelings would not be a good idea. Wewere sure that the FARC could further separate us and make good ontheir promise of us never seeing one another again. The FARC wereholding hostages all over the country, and the thought of another longmarch to a different camp was enough of a deterrent to keep us fromblatantly disregarding their rules. It didn’t make any sense to riskthe one thing we had going for us—the three of us and our collectivestrength.I knew that I needed to keep to as strict a routine as possible. WhenFerney gave us the notebooks upon our arrival, the first thing I didwas draw the layout of my family’s house. Our house in the Keys was