The next day everyone was nervous. The news of Demóstenes’s disappearance spread through the town and people started saying he’d been taken by FARC. “The boys are getting angry,” people said, so Wilson decided to halt operations and rely on intelligence. Demóstenes’s wife went to the barracks to report her husband’s kidnapping, and the officer who took her statement and made her sign it was the same one who’d shot him three times in the back of the neck the previous night. That’s what this damned war was like.
Another day, Wilson called me to say: Father, be careful, the mother of the first young man told us that the only person she’d talked to about her son before he disappeared was you, so you need to take care, she may have told the guerillas the same thing. Don Aurelio sent two men to guard the clergy house and gave me a revolver, but I wasn’t scared. How could I be scared? You may think a priest with a gun is a strange thing. But the archangels were militiamen, haven’t you seen them in paintings, with swords, harquebuses, and spears? You have to adapt to the times. If Jesus were alive today, he’d be on our side. He’d be wearing a camouflage jacket and tramping the roads at night, looking to take out Communists.
With the kidnapping of young Tomás Paredes, other small landowners who hadn’t wanted to cooperate until now made up their minds. They saw that the thing was getting serious and that a line was being drawn in the sand.
After three months the guerrillas sent a communication to the doctor in which they proposed exchanging Tomás for a group of people who had disappeared, and they appended a list of seven names. The doctor, Don Alirio, Wilson, and I analyzed it, and there was one big problem: they were all pushing up daisies!
In spite of that, we decided to answer yes, and asked for proof that Tomás was still alive. We waited for the call with tracking equipment, but the sons of bitches knew all about that and managed not to let themselves be traced.
With the help of the other landowners things were progressing well. Now we had two hundred well-armed boys, committed to serving their country and God’s justice. This group started searching, making use of intelligence. They combed the mountains and gradually got a foothold.
One day Dr. Paredes White said to Lieutenant Urrelo, look, Wilson, don’t attempt any rescue operation without my consent, these guys are dangerous. Before any attack I want to see what the conditions are like, I don’t want him to get killed. And Wilson replied, don’t worry, Doctor, you’re the boss, we’re clear about that. What we’re doing is securing some areas and advancing into others, to see if we can find out where they have him. But you give the orders.
Time passed, and then one day Wilson called and said, Father, something terrible has happened . . . They’ve killed Tomás Paredes! Can I come to the clergy house?
Of course, I said, what a tragedy! Come here as quickly as you can and tell me all about it.
There had been something of an accident. A group of our people was out on reconnaissance and suddenly a guerrilla squad appeared. There were more of our boys and they were eager, so they opened fire on them, and when it was over they found nine bodies. When they checked in order to send them to the brigade they found that one of them was young Tomás Paredes. The sons of bitches had put him in camouflage gear! We don’t know if the bullets he has in him are theirs or ours, they could be either, what a mess, don’t you think? They’re already on their way to Gaviotas with the bodies. They’ll get there in the early hours of the morning. I don’t know how to tell the doctor, Father.
God above, I said to Wilson, what a tragedy!
I went into the church and fell to my knees. Lord, give me some advice, a light, how can I say what cannot be said? Sometimes your ways are like deep caverns, and even I get lost in them.
I stayed there on my knees until six in the evening, I cried, and pulled myself together. Then I called Wilson and said, look, pick me up from the back door and we’ll go see the doctor, let’s just let it out without telling him in advance, that’s best, because if I call him he’s going to get ideas and then it’ll be worse. I also gave instructions about what the boys should do before bringing Tomás’s body.
I went to the clergy house and took a bottle of aguardiente from the closet. Not that I’m a drinker, but I’m a peasant, I like the taste, and then and there I had three glasses, and even a fourth. When Wilson arrived, I said to him, let’s go.
We drove through Aguacatal. The good thing is that the barracks jeep has polarized windows and you can’t see who’s inside. I kept praying to God: put the right words in my mouth.
The headlights of the jeep illumined the paved surface of the main road, then a dirt road. When we got to the gate the guards recognized Urrelo and let us pass, raising two fingers. After a while, the lights of the house appeared, on top of a low hill. I recognized the doctor from a distance, waiting in the corridor. He was smoking a small cigar, but when we got out he threw it on the ground and crushed it with the sole of his boot.
Good evening, Father. Lieutenant, good evening. What in God’s name brings you here?
Let’s go to your office, Doctor, I said, and have a few glasses of aguardiente.
He looked at me in surprise and said, yes, Father, right away.
At last, God, through the mediation of St. Escrivá, put the right words in my head and I said to him, Doctor, I’ve come to tell you something very sad, the lieutenant here told me about it a while ago.
Is there news of Tomasito? the doctor asked.
Our men encountered a squad of the guerrillas, I said, and had to confront them. After a long combat, the bandits retreated and on the path they found various bodies. Among them was Don Tomasito . . .
The doctor knocked back his aguardiente in one go and gritted his teeth. Tears welled in his eyes. I hugged him and we stayed like that for a few seconds that seemed to me an eternity. Your son fought like a hero, Doctor, I said, isn’t that so, Wilson?
He acted like a man and a patriot, the lieutenant confirmed.
Dr. Paredes embraced me and said, Father, I’m going to tell his mother and the girls so that we can pray, all right? He went up to the second floor and a moment later we heard the cries of the mother and sisters. Then they came down dressed in black and we prayed in the chapel. Around nine, we called the boys and they said they’d almost arrived. We arranged to meet at Gaviotas.
After checking, the bodies of the guerillas were handed over to the brigade. Tomás Paredes was buried with full honors in the cemetery in Aguacatal. The official version was that he had been murdered by the terrorists.
From that day on, the war intensified. Dr. Paredes White hired counterinsurgency instructors from El Salvador and brought them to his ranch. The peasants cooperated with information, but sometimes they were walls of silence, which got on the doctor’s nerves. Once in El Tame, an isolated village up in the mountain, he lost it completely. He got his boys to choose fifteen youths from the village, made them kneel on a bridge, and said to them: I’m going to count to three and I want to hear names, otherwise you can tell the Lord.
And he began: one, two . . .
Everyone thought he was going to stop, that he wouldn’t continue, but when he said three he fired the first shot. That gave the signal to the boys. The fifteen peasants fell to the ground. The roar of the gunfire was horrendous.
The doctor left a manager in charge of his ranch and devoted himself completely to the war. The whole thing had become personal, which is very important in view of what happened afterwards.
In Aguacatal, life improved. People walked calmly in and out of the church. That was the reward for my sacrifice. The people loved me. They greeted me on the street.
One night the boys went to pick up some dopeheads who were selling drugs. They were six of them in all. They were selling crack, pills, and cocaine in an area of Aguacatal that was a real den of corruption: there were motels and three discotheques with girls, and of course, that’s w
here these scum multiplied, coming in on motorcycles, bringing their poison with them. The people there were apparently protecting these pushers, so one night, in two jeeps, we grabbed the six of them and took them to Gaviotas. Freddy, the guy from Cali, was in charge.
We told them, you have three options: either you tell us who gives you the drugs and where you trade them, and then you get out of Aguacatal forever, or you work with us. And to do that you have to kick the habit and undergo training. The third option is a bullet in the ass for all of you.
As was to be expected, they preferred to save their skins. I didn’t agree, because these people were scum and would continue to be scum, but that’s how it went. Freddy was the one who trained them and just imagine, about six months later Don Alirio came to me and told me they’d had to shoot them. And what was it they’d done?
They’d broken into a family home, apparently saying they were with the guerrillas, and what they did was look for money, said Don Alirio. They were high on drugs. They raped two peasant women and an Indian servant.
They were tried and sentenced to death. They were made to dig a ditch and then kneel in it, and it was Freddy who shot them all, more fresh meat for the maggots.
A couple of years went by.
The group grew. There were about three hundred of us and we had a camp in Alamedas, going up toward Dabeiba. The boys trained there, they had study centers. The Salvadorean instructors, along with Freddie from Cali, gave counterinsurgency classes. I demanded that they should have regular religious services, and I went up once a month to celebrate mass.
The situation was still tense and rumors started circulating that the guerrillas were going to launch a final assault and take the town. The Agrarian Savings Bank closed, as did the schools and the Telecom office. Everybody was waiting.
The following Sunday I kept the church open and again few people came. I remember a dark-skinned boy I’d never seen before. He came in and looked around, as if taking notes, and I started to get worried. Then I saw another one, sitting in the central pews. He was kneeling and praying. And one more behind the font, who was crossing himself, although he looked out of place. I was getting nervous, I didn’t know what to think, so when I finished I quickly went out to the sacristy.
At this point I saw Don Alirio and I said, how good that you’ve come to salute the Lord, and he said, yes, Father, in these complicated times we have to keep our souls up-to-date.
We laughed, and I gave him a hug. I walked him to the door. When he put one foot outside I heard the first shot, and some cries: fucking paramilitary! murderer! A shootout started with the bodyguards, who’d been waiting for him outside. I heard the bullets hit the door, but I resisted the impulse to throw myself on the ground. In the house of the Lord I was protected.
All at once there was a heavy silence. And a cry:
They’ve killed Don Alirio!
I went out and saw him on the steps, with a gun hanging from his hand. Fresh blood was pouring down the steps and seeping into the cracks and gaps in the stone.
Now the war began in earnest. That same night, Wilson asked for a meeting with Don Alirio’s widow and his eldest son, whose name was Jerónimo Vélez. There were fifteen of us, landowners, storekeepers, the lieutenant, and I. There was also Freddy, the sinister man from Cali, who had gone up in rank.
Jerónimo said, gentlemen, this is a very sad day, but I’m not going to sit around and cry. I announce to you that I’m taking both the ranch and collaboration with the self-defense group in hand, are we clear?
We all said yes.
It was decided to take the boys out in various groups, and we gave the heads of squads names: Palomino, Nuche, Toribio, Familia, Bombombún, and Recocha. The coordinator would be Freddy, along with Jerónimo himself. The order was to comb each area and not stop until we found the murderers or their accomplices. I gave descriptions of the three men in the church. They had gotten away in a red Daihatsu van and one of the guys had been limping and losing blood.
Jerónimo Vélez told the boys: I’ll give a reward to anyone who brings me the heads of these men, in fact, as of now I offer ten million.
Jerónimo and Freddy set off with one of the groups and Dr. Paredes White with another. The doctor’s soul had been poisoned and it was well known that he liked to blow people’s heads off.
In the confessional, I often said to him, Doctor, you have to seek relief, why not travel? Leave things in our hands for a while. The press is going a bit crazy, they’re on the lookout.
But the doctor said, don’t worry about me, Father, in this fight we’re shoulder to shoulder, how can I go away now? Don’t forget that the municipal elections are coming up and we have to support our candidates, organize people in the towns, raise funds. I myself have to take charge of this campaign that’s starting. Don’t ask me to leave now.
Two days later, Bombombún’s boys found the bloodstained Daihatsu near Doradal, and so we went there. I was scared, but something told me I had to go with them. Jerónimo asked to take charge.
And what can I tell you, my friend, the thing was a mess, really cruel.
When we arrived, Jerónimo and Freddy gathered the villagers in the square, a small paved area with a flower bed and a basketball court.
Jerónimo talked to the people through a loudspeaker: we know the terrorists came to this area, and at least one of them is wounded, which means they can’t get far . . . Maybe they’re hidden in one of these houses. That’s what I’ve come to ask you. You already know that hiding a terrorist and not reporting him is a crime and in this war the price you pay for it is your life, so I’m going to ask you this one question, where are they?
Freddy had a line of men and youths brought to the front. The children were taken to the edge of the square.
Nobody said anything and there was a heavy silence. Finally, an elderly woman, an Indian, said, we haven’t seen them around here, Doctor, don’t kill us.
Jerónimo’s jaws shook with anger. He approached the line of men and shot the first one in the back of the head. The head exploded and there were screams. A woman came running up and slapped Jerónimo, but he took a step back and fired, first at her body, then at her face. The woman fell beside her husband. There was a horrible silence. A child could be heard crying from the sidewalk. He must have been about five and was covering his eyes.
Jerónimo went back to the line and grabbed another of the peasants by the hair. He dragged him to the ground and put the barrel of his gun to his bald patch.
I’ll count to three and I want to hear someone say something: one, two . . . three . . .
There was a gush of blood. The peasant’s body twitched a couple of times on the ground, like a snake, then lay still.
He went on to the next one and grabbed him by the hair. A young peasant who was shaking with fear. A damp patch spread on his pants.
Very well, Jerónimo said. I’ll start counting again: one, two . . .
Wait, someone said, a woman.
Yes? Jerónimo said.
I saw some people going up to the mountains along the old path. They had a mule with them, with a wounded man on it. They weren’t in uniform and I didn’t think they were bandits.
Freddy called her to the front. She was a woman of about fifty. He asked her where she lived and she said just on the edge of the village and that she had seen them the day before. Jerónimo asked her who her husband was and she pointed to a man of sixty-five, kneeling in the line. He said to him, come, stand up, what’s your name? and the old man said, Ananías Mejía, Doctor. And did you also see them? and the old man said, no, señor, I didn’t know my wife had seen that, then Jerónimo put the barrel of his gun to his neck and lifted his chin, didn’t you tell him? and the woman said, no, Doctor, I saw them from a distance and I only just remembered it now that you asked.
Then the sinister Freddy said to the woman, and why didn�
�t you tell the police? and she replied, almost crying, well, Doctor, because there are no police here, you’d have to go down to Playón or Aguacatal and go to the barracks, and Jerónimo insisted, but you know that this way you make yourself an accomplice, you know that, don’t you, and the woman said, I don’t know anything, Doctor, I’m illiterate, I don’t have any education.
Jerónimo stroked the trigger and said, where are they? where did they hide themselves? whose mule was it? The old man was shaking and there was a dark patch on his pants. How am I supposed to know that, Doctor, if I only just heard about it? And the woman added, it was a gray mule I hadn’t seen before around here, maybe they brought it with them from the mountains.
Jerónimo, blind with anger, said to her, you see a mule you don’t know, with people you don’t know carrying a wounded man, and you don’t tell your husband? Señora, do me a favor and come over here.
Then he cried to the people, close your eyes! Anyone with their eyes open, I’ll shoot them, close them and put your hands behind your heads.
He went back to the woman and said to her, now, Mother, the moment of truth has come. All you have to do is point your finger at those who are in the guerrillas, those who help that group of terrorists, and whoever owns the mule. Point them out with your finger and if you do you’ll save your husband’s life, how about it, Mother?
But the lady said, no, Doctor, I’m not going to kill anybody by pointing at them because nobody here is in the guerrillas, the guerrillas are in the mountains and we don’t see much of them, they’re dangerous people. All we do is keep our heads down and work, nothing else, Doctor.
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