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

244 OUT OF CAPTIVITYFARC having a little celebration of their own. The wind was up andwhipping us that night, and we all sat hugging our own legs to keepwarm.We heard footsteps behind us, and turned around to find Eliécerstanding there.“Why aren’t you at the party?” I asked.“I was there. I just wanted to come to wish you all a good Christmas.”He stepped in front of us and offered his hand. I extended mine, andEliécer took it in both of his large callused hands. He nodded formallyand said, “Merry Christmas, Keith. I’m sorry that you won’t be withyour family.”I thanked him and asked him about his own.“I don’t want to think about them tonight. I want to choose to thinkabout other things.”He continued down the line, wishing Marc and Tom well just as hehad me.“Eliécer’s a smart guy,” I said as we watched him walk away. “He’sfigured out what freedom means out here. I’m glad he realizes he hassome choice about what to think about.”MARCIn addition to overseeing our imprisonment, Milton was also responsiblefor managing a work detail. Ever since we’d arrived at this temporarycamp, we’d heard the sound of chain saws in the distance. We sawFARC guards carrying what looked like building supplies from as faraway as a quarter of a mile. Whatever it was that they were building, wehad a feeling we’d be heading there soon.After our second Christmas in captivity and New Year’s 2005 hadcome and gone, the camp that Milton’s group had been working on wasfinally ready for its inhabitants. As we walked uphill toward our newspace, a dry wind was blowing and leaves skittered along the steeplysloped terrain. The sun was warm but the air cool. To rid myself of my