Even Silence Has an End by Ingrid Betancourt

Author:Ingrid Betancourt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-08-29T16:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-EIGHT

BACK IN THE PRISON

MARCH 24, 2004

Everything happened very quickly. On leaving the chicken run, I noticed Shirley as I went by: She wanted to reassure me, to tell me that everything would be fine.

When the steel gates of the prison creaked open, I felt that I was at the gates of hell again. I summoned all my courage and walked in. The morbid satisfaction on the face of one of my companions struck me like a blow.

“You didn’t stay away long,” he hissed viciously.

“I’m sure you missed us,” answered Lucho curtly. “Maybe it was you who insisted we come back quickly?”

The man sniggered. “Well, we, too, have some influence.”

His laugh turned sour when he saw that the guards were clearing a space next to the toilets. A plastic roof was set up. Shirley had sent along the little round table, the two chairs, and the shelf. In the courtyard of the prison, they were building a hut like the one in the chicken run.

Brian and Arnoldo were in charge of the operation. I looked on in silence. When they had finished their work, they picked up their tools and left.

Brian turned to me and spoke loudly, so that everyone could hear. “The commander doesn’t want any more problems. You will sleep in here, and no one will bother you. If anyone behaves disrespectfully, you must call the receptionist.”

I began to organize my little belongings, so that I wouldn’t have to face their angry gazes. I heard someone spit, “That’s fine! Let her live in the smell of shit!”

I was mad at myself. Why did this still keep on hurting? I should have been immune to it by now. I felt an arm go around my shoulders. It was Gloria.

“Hey, come on. Don’t start crying. Why give them the pleasure? Here, go on, I’ll help you. You know, I’m very sad for your sake that they made you come back. But I’m so happy for my own—I missed you! And then without Lucho, there was no more laughter in this prison!”

Jorge came over, as courteous as ever. He kissed my hand and used a few words of French that he had learned to welcome me. Then he added, “Now I don’t know where to hang my hammock. I hope you’ll invite us chez toi, madame chérie.”

Marc came over, shyly. He and I had only rarely spoken, and always in English. I’d often observed him because he always stood apart from the group, and he was the only one among us all who had never gotten into a dispute with anybody. I’d also noticed that his two companions respected him and listened to him. The other two were always arguing, going from a spiteful silence where they ignored each other ferociously to verbal explosions that were short but harsh. Marc was the go-between, smoothing the edges. I could tell he wanted to keep at a distance, particularly from me. I had no difficulty imagining what he might have heard, and I hoped that over time he might change his attitude.

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