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

358 OUT OF CAPTIVITYout both the best and the worst in us. I had been a part of the best, andI wasn’t willing to let it go that easily.The next day, I walked out of our hooch and saw Ingrid sitting in hernewly assigned area. Our eyes met, and with a single look it was clearthat we didn’t need to speak to convey our feelings. Just looking intoher eyes, I felt how much pain she was in and how desperate she wasto be able to keep our connection alive. Even without words, we shareda bond that the FARC could not break.Maintaining communication meant having to be selective aboutwhich guards we could speak together in front of. Even when she andI weren’t talking, we’d communicate with a wave or a look; sometimesjust seeing each other was enough to keep us going. We’d walk pasteach other and slip each other letters, using all the methods that Keith,Tom, and I had developed during our months of enforced silence earlyon. The letters we wrote to each other were important, not just becausethey were our lifeline, but because they were our chance to speak withoutthe intruding eyes of the guards. The letters gave us a chance to airour feelings about each other and about life in captivity. In the letterswe could be honest with each other and with ourselves.What really troubled me was that it wasn’t just the guards who didn’twant us talking; it was some of the other prisoners. Every time I spoketo Ingrid or she sat near me, one of the military prisoners, AmahónFlores, was right there. He’d try to eavesdrop and then slink off to reportto Lucho. At first it was kind of amusing; we were in such a smallarea that it was hard for him to be stealthy, but our amusement turnedto disgust one evening when Moster came up to me and said, “Youwere speaking with Ingrid today. That’s not allowed. You know this.”It wasn’t that I minded Moster getting on my case, but he hadn’tbeen in camp all day. The only time I’d seen him was when he wasspeaking with Amahón on the outskirts of our camp. That was not thelast time Amahón ratted us out—far from it. Eventually Ingrid wasmoved farther away, to an area about twenty-five or thirty yards from