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

The Swamp 369ing Don Quixote. Maybe it was irony on top of irony on top of irony thatgot me, but LJ, a guard, and Arteaga, the trusty, were talking about theFARC and how even though they were down in numbers, they couldpick off the military guys one by one and eventually take over the country.Here I was reading a book about a delusional but admirable idealist,and these two guys were running their mouths off about what greatthings the FARC could accomplish. The fact that one of them was aprisoner who wasn’t setting the guard straight bothered me.“You guys are just a bunch of assassins. You go out and grab innocentpeople and then, at the first sign of trouble, you kill them. That’syour military action.”LJ looked at me and asked, “What are you saying? Do you know whatyou’re saying?”His macho tone was too much for me. “Hell yes I know what I’msaying. And you should just take your commie bullshit and go to theother side of the camp with it. I don’t want to hear it.”“You need to be respectful, Tom. You really don’t want me to reportwhat you’re saying.”“I don’t care. Go ahead and tell Enrique.”LJ went away and returned a few minutes later with Enrique. I wasin my hammock when Enrique told me to come out of the coleta so wecould talk.“I’m not coming out. If you want me for something, you come inhere.”Each of the commandantes—whether it was Sombra or Enrique orthe lower-ranked Milton—was a mini-dictator in my eyes. Enrique wasthe worst of the bunch. He was full of his idealistic talk about equality,and I would see him sitting in a chair looking like the lord of themanor with a young girl lounging beside him. He would keep his laptopcomputer with him and all his troops would gather around to catcha glimpse of el jefe’s movie selection.By not bowing to his command, I wanted to show up the little dicta-