Even Silence Has an End Read Online Free PDF Page B

of being as inaccessible as he could. I sensed that he had a strong inferiority complex. He managed to emerge from his pathological mistrust when the conversation turned to everyday life. He was madly in love with a pretty young thing who hungered for power, and she had him wrapped around her little finger. She was obviously bored with him, but being the commander’s woman gave her access to some of the luxuries of the jungle. She reigned over the others, and as if somehow it went with being queen, she was putting on weight before our very eyes. Perhaps he thought I might be of use to him in decoding the secrets of this female heart he coveted more than anything. On several occasions he would stop by to talk with me, beating around the bush, lacking the courage to come straight out with his thoughts. I helped him to relax, to talk about his life, to share his personal thoughts. In a way it made me feel useful.
    Andres was above all a peasant. His greatest pride was that he had learned how to adapt to the demands of life as a guerrilla. Small but sturdy, he was better than anyone at doing what he required his men to do. He earned respect by fixing his subordinates’ slapdash work himself. His leadership resided in the admiration he galvanized in his troops. But he had two weak spots: alcohol and women.
    I found him sprawled on his camp bed, indulging in a tickling session with Jessica, his partner; her squeals of pleasure carried beyond the river. He knew I was there, but he hadn’t the slightest intention of allowing me to think they might interrupt their game for my sake. I waited. Eventually Andres turned, gave me a disdainful look, and asked what I wanted.
    “I’d like to talk to you, but I think it would be better if we were alone.” He sat down, ran his hands through his hair, and asked his girlfriend to leave, which she did, pouting and dragging her feet. After a few minutes, he asked the guard who had come with me to leave as well. Finally he looked at me.
    The hostility and harshness he displayed signaled that he was not the least bit sensitive to the sight of this ravaged creature in chains who stood before him. We were sizing each other up. It was odd for me to be this pivotal in a scene where all the workings of human machinery were becoming so patently obvious. I knew there were far too many things at stake, things that, like the jagged cogs of a clock, depended upon one another to set them in motion. First of all, I was a woman. Faced with a man, he might have been indulgent; it would have revealed his nobility of heart and thereby increased his prestige. But in this case he knew he was surrounded, that dozens of pairs of eyes were watching him all the more eagerly since they could not hear him, so his body language had to be flawless. He must treat me fiercely, to avoid any risk of appearing weak. Still, what they had done was hateful. The written codes by which they were supposed to abide left no room for doubt. So they had to seek refuge in gray zones, justifying themselves with what they called the casualties of war: I was the enemy, I had tried to escape.
    The punishment they had inflicted upon me could not be considered an error that they might have to explain, or even a blunder they could try to hide. They pretended that what had happened was the price I must pay for the affront I had made them suffer. There would therefore be no sanctions against his men, let alone any consideration for me.
    I was an educated woman and consequently terribly dangerous. I might be tempted to manipulate him, to bamboozle him and cause his undoing. As a result he was more than ever on his guard, stiff with all his prejudice and guilt.
    I stood before him, filled with the serenity of detachment. I had nothing to prove. I was defeated, mortified beyond bounds, there was no place left in me for pride. I could live with my conscience, but I wanted to understand how he could live with his.
    The silence that came between us