Even Silence Has an End Read Online Free PDF Page A

to isolate myself, to hide my emotions. Clara was sitting facing the wall with her back to me, by a wooden board that served as a table. She turned around. I found her expression disconcerting, I sensed a surge of satisfaction, which hurt me. I brushed by her, aware of the gulf that separated us. I sought out my little corner, to find refuge under my mosquito net, on my mat, trying not to think too much, because I was not in a state to make clearheaded judgments. For the time being, I was relieved that they had not found it necessary to attach the other end of my chain to the cage with a padlock. I knew that later they would. My companion did not ask me any questions, and I was grateful for that. After a long silence, she said, simply, “I won’t have a chain around my neck.”
    I lapsed into a deep sleep, curled up on myself like an animal. The nightmares had returned, but they were different. It was no longer Papa whom I encountered when I fell asleep, it was myself, drowning in deep and stagnant waters. I saw the trees looking at me, their branches yearning toward the shuddering surface. I felt the water trembling as if it were alive, and then I lost the trees and their branches from view. I was submerged in the briny liquid that was drawing me down, each time deeper and deeper, my body straining painfully toward that light, toward that inaccessible sky, despite my struggle to free my feet and rise up to the surface for air.
    I awoke exhausted and bathed in sweat. I opened my eyes on my companion, who was looking at me attentively. When she saw I was awake, she went back to her business.
    “Why didn’t you follow me?”
    “The girl put on a light just as I was about to go out. She must have heard a noise. . . . And I hadn’t prepared my decoy very well. She saw right away that I wasn’t in my bed.”
    “Who was it?”
    “Betty.”
    I didn’t want to probe further. In a way I was angry at her for not trying to find out what had happened to me. But on the other hand, I was relieved I didn’t have to talk about things that hurt too much. Sitting on the ground, with that chain around my neck, I went back over the entire course of the past twenty-four hours. Why had I failed? Why was I back in this cage again, whereas I had been free, totally free, all through that fantastic night?
    I forced myself to think of the ordeal I had just lived through in the swamp. I made an extreme effort to make myself recognize the bestiality of those men. I wanted to give myself the right to name it, to be able to cauterize my wounds and clean myself.
    My body rebelled: I was overcome by spasms. Quickly picking up the lengths of metal coiled at my feet, I jumped up, and in a panic I asked the guard for permission to go to the chontos. He didn’t bother to reply, since he saw I was already on my way there, taking great strides to reduce the distance to the makeshift latrines. My body knew the distance by heart—and also knew that I would not make it. The inevitable occurred three feet too soon. I squatted at the foot of a young tree and vomited my guts out. I stayed there, my stomach empty, still racked by dry, painful contractions that brought nothing more to the surface. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up at an absent sky. There was nothing but green. Foliage covered the space like a dome. Faced with the vastness of nature, I felt even smaller, and my eyes were moist with effort and sorrow.
    “I have to wash.”
    The wait for the appointed bathing time seemed to take forever, far too long for someone who had nothing better to do than ruminate on her own repugnant state. In addition, my clothes were soaked from the night before, and I stank. I wanted to talk with the commander, but I knew he would refuse to receive me. And yet the idea of disturbing the guard with my request gave me the energy to emerge from my apathy and formulate my request. At the very least, he would be so annoyed at having to respond to me