by Gary Brozek
What struck me was not just that she understood, but how easy I found it to talk to her, to let her know things that I’d kept mostly private for so long. I liked how when the two of us were talking, it seemed as if the rest of the jungle and everyone in it just disappeared. For a hostage, the moments when you don’t feel like you are being held captive are so few. Just as I wished that I had Jhon’s freedom, I wanted more of those moments with Ingrid when the harshness of our reality dimmed and a brighter perspective rose.
After that night, Ingrid and I talked more frequently. Something about being in that boat on the river made it feel like we were away from everyone and everything else. The noise of the motor, the water running past the boat’s bow, and the rush of the breeze cocooned any two people who were next to each other. Only if you shouted or if someone asked you what was being said could you have a conversation with a large group. I knew that Ingrid and Lucho were very close but weren’t able to speak to each other. With Jhon gone, I felt like I needed and wanted to fill the void in Ingrid’s life. Her role as an outsider touched me in a vulnerable spot. Like most of us, Shane had been dealing with some personal issues when I met her. I felt good about myself because I’d been able to help her through them. We all have a vision of ourselves, and a part of mine was that I was approachable and trustworthy. If Ingrid needed someone to help her get through the horrors and sadness of captivity, I would try to be that person.
In addition to wanting to help, I really enjoyed our conversations. I felt so good about myself when I said something that made her smile; it was as if all her pain and suffering were wiped away. We passed many pleasant hours just talking. She told me a lot about her travels and her boarding-school education. I was fascinated by someone who had been sent off at an early age to another country. I was public school educated, and even though I’d joined the air force, I hadn’t seen that much of the world. Getting married at the age of nineteen, I hadn’t spent any real part of my adulthood venturing far beyond the duties and the responsibilities of a family man. I had no regrets, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t take vicarious pleasure in hearing the stories of a life so different from my own.
After twenty-eight days of boat rides and mud treks, our wandering came to a close. The last month of spontaneous camps had taken a toll on our bodies and everyone was grateful to settle into a more permanent camp. When we were told where to set up our hooches, Ingrid was placed at the end of the line, but not as far away from me as she had been before. She and I took advantage of this to talk more than we ever had before.
Lucho and Ingrid were not allowed any contact at all, and it didn’t take any great sensitivity to recognize that he was upset by my time with Ingrid. The three of us had seen his jealous nature at Caribe. I wanted to do what I could to avoid any kind of conflict again, but it didn’t seem fair to Ingrid or to me. We were adults who were becoming good friends. We’d shared some intimate moments and we had similar interests. One afternoon, I stopped by her hooch to say hello.
Ingrid was startled, a rosy color came to her cheeks, and her bottom lip quivered. “Oh, hello, Marc.” She composed herself and smiled. I could sense that she was nervous, and I was flattered to think that this powerful woman was slightly off balance around me.
We made small talk for a while, and our discussion turned to the Bible. I told her that I believed that Jesus’ mother, Mary, was at the tomb on the day of the Resurrection. When the stone was rolled back to reveal the empty tomb, she was there to witness His burial garments lying there and His corporeal body gone. Ingrid disagreed. Each of us reread passages from the Bible, from each of the four books of the New Testament, to bolster our cases. I’d read and reread Sergeant Lasso’s Bible, and to have someone I could talk about it with was great. There was no one else at camp whom I felt as connected to and who understood my need to think about and talk about spiritual matters. Ingrid felt the same way. Our captivity was the greatest test of our faith that each of us had ever faced, and having someone to share this element with went beyond the connection I shared with Tom or Keith.
It soon became obvious to us both that other people had been watching as we grew closer and spent more time together. Ingrid was truly the outsider, and for someone like me, who worked hard to get along with everybody, it made perfect sense that I would be the one to reach out to her and for her to reach out to me. Based on how Ingrid had behaved in previous camps, I could see that others might think of us as oil and water, but we were much more complementary than that.
The fact that Lucho and the other Colombian men would be jealous of us seemed ridiculous. I tried not to pay much attention to them, but at times it grew difficult. When Ingrid sat with me to help me patch my tent (she was a very good seamstress and my efforts at sewing were passable at best), Lucho or one of the others would sit and stare at us. She didn’t tell me what had passed between them, but it was clear there had been some breach in their relationship. It was none of my business, so I didn’t press her for details. I hated camp gossip and the various allegiances everyone had. I chose to look beyond all that and simply do what I saw as the hard right thing and the thing I wanted to do.
I suppose that what the others were experiencing was another form of the envy that we had all experienced when Jhon had escaped. They saw Ingrid and me taking great pleasure in each other’s company. Being able to laugh with someone, share fears and concerns, and connect on a deep emotional level was something we all wanted and needed in order to survive. Unfortunately, the FARC also saw how much time we were spending together and how frequently we were engrossed in one of our “disappearing” conversations. It was a difficult choice, but we decided that we needed to limit the amount of time we spent together. The FARC’s divide-and-conquer mentality, as well as their heightened state of alertness following Jhon’s escape, made the decision necessary.
“This is not something I want,” Ingrid told me, “but I don’t want to see either of us get in any trouble because of this.”
“You’re right, but this seems like just another bit of unfairness piled onto more unfairness.”
Ingrid nodded, and I could see that she was fighting tears. I held her hand for a minute before Moster walked past us and shouted at her, “If you keep talking to the gringos, I’m going to chain you to a tree!” He didn’t say anything at all to me.
Ingrid rolled her eyes and shook her head. “What is it with these guys? Why do I pose such a threat to them?”
“I don’t get it, either. We’re just standing here talking. I told them once I’d speak Spanish if that would make them more comfortable.”
Ingrid shook her head. “Even before Jhon’s escape, or my escape, it was like this. Not just with you. They don’t know what to do with me. If I were weak and submissive, they’d like it, but I’m not.”
I saw again her vulnerability and her desire to make it seem as if she could handle anything. She was also truly angry, and I could see how she might pose a threat to the guards. She was a strong and fierce woman, and she didn’t want anyone or anything to dictate how she should behave. I didn’t, either, but I also didn’t want to be responsible for Ingrid being punished any more than she already had been.
“Ingrid, Tom, Keith, and I talk about this all the time. As much as I hate Moster and some of these other guerrillas, this isn’t about winning or losing these little battles. You can’t win them. You can’t lose sight of the bigger goal. We win when we get out of here and go back to our families.”
Ingrid shut her eyes. I could see her making an effort to compose her face into a smile. Piece by piece she did so. “Thank you, Marc. Thanks for that reminder. If I didn’t have someone looking out for me—”
She paused and let the thought remain suspended.
I could probably have put up with the FARC’s arbitrary decision to isolate her and forbid her to talk to me if at any time I’d posed a threat to their security. I figured that one of the reasons why Moster hadn’t yelled at me was that I hadn’t cau
sed him any trouble before. Even though the guards tried to separate us, they couldn’t. It was as if they didn’t understand that Ingrid and I were on our way toward developing a relationship that transcended our circumstances and the conditions the FARC imposed on us, a similar relationship to the one I had with Keith and Tom.
I wrote her a note after separating, reiterating the things we’d said, and concluded with, “Thank you for the good talks. Be strong. We will get through this.”
Ingrid wrote beautifully, and her return message made me feel again as though I was no longer a hostage, no longer struggling alone to understand something that had been forced on me for a reason I couldn’t understand. I was learning about the depth of the connection we can make with one another as humans and how circumstances can bring out both the best and the worst in us. I had been a part of the best, and I wasn’t willing to let it go that easily.
The next day, I walked out of our hooch and saw Ingrid sitting in her newly assigned area. Our eyes met, and with a single look it was clear that we didn’t need to speak to convey our feelings. Just looking into her eyes, I felt how much pain she was in and how desperate she was to be able to keep our connection alive. Even without words, we shared a bond that the FARC could not break.
Maintaining communication meant having to be selective about which guards we could speak together in front of. Even when she and I weren’t talking, we’d communicate with a wave or a look; sometimes just seeing each other was enough to keep us going. We’d walk past each other and slip each other letters, using all the methods that Keith, Tom, and I had developed during our months of enforced silence early on. The letters we wrote to each other were important, not just because they were our lifeline, but because they were our chance to speak without the intruding eyes of the guards. The letters gave us a chance to air our feelings about each other and about life in captivity. In the letters we could be honest with each other and with ourselves.
What really troubled me was that it wasn’t just the guards who didn’t want us talking; it was some of the other prisoners. Every time I spoke to Ingrid or she sat near me, one of the military prisoners, Amahón Flores, was right there. He’d try to eavesdrop and then slink off to report to Lucho. At first it was kind of amusing; we were in such a small area that it was hard for him to be stealthy, but our amusement turned to disgust one evening when Moster came up to me and said, “You were 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’t been in camp all day. The only time I’d seen him was when he was speaking with Amahón on the outskirts of our camp. That was not the last time Amahón ratted us out—far from it. Eventually Ingrid was moved farther away, to an area about twenty-five or thirty yards from us. It felt like miles. I started to pass time by engaging in little experiments. I’d linger by Ingrid’s space and see how long it would take for Amahón to go to the guards. Usually it didn’t take very long.
Again, I couldn’t understand why Ingrid was the one who was being disciplined and I wasn’t. I knew that Tom, Keith, and I had conducted ourselves well, but none of what was being done to her seemed fair. A few days after Ingrid was moved from the main cluster of hooches, I spotted Enrique nearby.
“What’s the deal? Why were Ingrid and I able to speak before and now we can’t?”
The sun was in Enrique’s glasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes. I moved to my left, hoping that he would turn with me so that I could meet his eyes. He didn’t.
“Those are the rules.”
“But why are those the rules now when they weren’t before?”
I moved again to stand directly in his line of sight. He folded his arms across his chest and said, “Those are the orders from above.”
I was sick to death of hearing that, and to avoid doing something I’d regret, I walked away. I hated that helpless feeling of speaking to a rock. I went to sleep that night with a prayer on my lips for more patience.
The next morning, after I’d exercised, I had my usual little break and snack. I intended to get a cup of coffee. A couple of coletas down, I heard shouting. I could hear Lucho and Malagón screaming at each other. I pulled my boots on and ran over. As I was approaching them I could see that Malagón had pinned Lucho to the ground. He was kneeling on top of him and he had Lucho’s arms immobilized. Lucho was thrashing his legs and twisting his torso to try to get free. Without thinking, I ran into the hooch, grabbed Malagón, and dragged him off of Lucho. I wasn’t really thinking or hearing anything at all. I just saw Lucho staggering to his feet like he wanted to go after Malagón again. I looked to the side and I saw Ingrid shrieking and crying. She was crushing some papers in her hands, and she threw them at Malagón and stormed out of the coleta.
The next thing I remember clearly was Keith’s voice telling me to get out of there. I walked back toward our hooch. Keith put his arm around my shoulder and sat me down on his hammock. I wasn’t hurt, but I was so stunned at what had just happened that I didn’t know what to think. Keith waited for everything to settle down before he spoke.
“Marc, I didn’t want to see you get into that with those guys. It’s a fucking swamp. You can’t get out of there clean.”
“I didn’t want to see Lucho get his ass kicked.”
“I know that. Lucho’s a grown man. He decided he wanted to throw down with somebody, that’s his choice. He’s always running his mouth. Maybe he needed to learn a lesson.”
“Still, the guy’s always talking about how sick he is.”
“The whole thing is sick, Marc. Those guys have got themselves so twisted in knots; they’re like vipers going after their own tails. Or maybe I should say one tail. You know that.” He gave me a chance to let that thought sink in. “I don’t know what’s going on with Amahón, bro. The guy’s like stalking you every minute lately. And Malagón—he’s crossed the line.”
“What are you talking about?” At first, I was confused by Keith’s remark, but right after he said it, I remembered something that had happened during one of our marches. Malagón had grabbed Ingrid a couple of times. He claimed he was just fooling around, but Ingrid was incensed. I always felt it was instances like this that had led Ingrid to send me a note just to thank me for treating her decently. Perhaps this time Malagón had gone too far.
“Armando came to me this morning,” Keith responded. “He’s worried about Malagón. He showed me these notes that Malagón had written to Ingrid. Just really foul and disrespectful stuff. He’s been sniffing around Ingrid for a while, you know that. He just really lost it. I told him so. I said that he was an officer and he had better start acting like one again.”
“He didn’t listen to you. Ingrid had the notes.” I remembered painfully the sight of Ingrid tearing at those sheets of paper and crying. If it wasn’t Lucho faking illnesses, it was Amahón interfering with her friendships and Malagón making an ass of himself. It was like she couldn’t win no matter what man she was dealing with.
“Marc, bro, you know I don’t like Ingrid one bit. In this case, she didn’t deserve to be treated that way. But listen to me, man. This is just a stinking fetid swamp here with these guys and her. All you’re going to do is get dragged down into it. All this mucking around in the shit is going to come back to hurt you. All you’re trying to do is the hard right thing, but that doesn’t count for much with all this bullshit.”
I got up to clear my head. I’d been working so hard on making changes in my life. I didn’t know if I could just walk away and let all this stuff continue. I had no delusions that I was a white knight on a charger rescuing a damsel in distress. As Ingrid had said to me in one of our earliest conversations, everything there, all the hostages’ relationships, was complex. I wanted things to be black and white. I wanted to know that it was just the guards, the FARC, whom we had to fight against. That we often had to fight against one another and most often against our own impulses to do the wrong, easy thing was a difficult reality to
face.
Part of what made the whole situation harder was that I began to realize that my actions risked getting Keith and Tom in trouble, too. Each night the clicks of the Colombians’ chains were audible reminders of what bad behavior would bring. If the threat of chains wasn’t enough, it also seemed that the chains had brought about changes in many of the military guys. Whereas before we had seen them as examples to emulate, rifts had begun taking shape causing too much petty crap to come to the surface.
Ingrid and I were thrown into this mix of emotions. Two people in the jungle trying to sort through a precarious chemistry of feelings. As confusing as that was, I could understand why the FARC would want to separate us, but why would my fellow hostages not want us to be happy? It seemed like no one really understood what was going on. I wanted to get everyone together and spell it out for them: Ingrid and I were attracted to each other; we enjoyed each other’s company immensely. That should have been obvious, just as it was obvious to them all that at no time did we express those feelings through any kind of physical intimacy other than a brief touch or a held hand. We were trying to balance our desire to do no harm with an impulse to do whatever was best for ourselves; what we didn’t know was whether we’d be able to maintain that balance.
The morning after Lucho and Malagón’s confrontation, I lay awake fretting over what was going on. I wanted to talk to Ingrid, to speak to somebody who understood. Normally at that hour, the Colombians were released from their chains. Instead of the sound of their chains being folded and their locks opened, I heard the sound of chains being dragged across the ground. I rolled out from underneath Keith’s hammock and into the compound.
