Kidnapped and a Daring Escape (17 page)

    
She is troubled by her own conduct toward him, by how readily she
dares to contradict him, belittling what he says, even calling him names.
It is out of character, against her upbringing. Never in her life before has
she dared doing this to a male. But somehow the vibes she senses coming
from him seem to give her permission for it. What disturbs her even more
is that he takes it without reacting angrily or putting her down, the way
Franco would have done. In fact, he seems to enjoy sparring with her.

    
They both remain silent for a while, each munching on the little snack
of chocolate and figs. Although she does not dare looking at him directly,
she is aware that he smiles at her from time to time.

    
The four men are disappearing on the far side of the
superpàramo
.

    
"I think we should be on our way too," he says, getting up.

    
"You think we’re safe now. They won’t be back."

    
"Not these four. But, dear Bianca, that doesn’t mean we’re safe. In this
world of satellite communications, they may already have summoned
other help, particularly if
el commandante
discovered that his safe is
empty."

    
"Oh André, I thought we were safe and now you frighten me again. I
told you not to steal that money."

    
"No, you didn’t. You only asked if I was going to do it."

    
"The intended meaning was the same."

    
"How could I guess that? … Next time make sure that your words
fully reflect your intended meaning," he replies, chuckling.

    
Why does he turn everything into a joke? "This is not funny." She
emphasizes each word.

    
"I agree. It isn’t."

    
His ready admission throws her. She expected that he would defend
himself, but no. "You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met. You always do
the unexpected."

    
"I take this as the compliment it is intended to be."

    
She can’t help smiling at how he turns her reproach into a compliment.

    
"I like you better when you smile. Your whole face lights up and
sparkles. No longer angry with me?"

    
It feels strange to have a trivial thing like a smile referred to as
something beautiful. Franco never commented on personal things of that
sort, except to point out that she was pouting, like he did that last night
in Popayàn. "I was never angry. I was afraid and confused. I still am. And
whenever I think I understand you, you spring a new surprise on me."

    
"We would both still breathe the stale air of a small prison room with
a bucket to relieve ourselves if I were 100 percent predictable."

    
Yes, that’s right, she agrees silently.

 
    
"Let’s go. The track should be down there." He points to the southwest and shoulders the pack.

* * *

As the sun begins to dip under the western horizon, the track passes a
stone’s throw away from the lake the map indicates as a source of the
Caqueta.

    
"Let’s camp over there for the night," says André, pointing to the far
side of the lake."

    
"Is that safe?" Bianca questions. "Shouldn’t we continue to get as far
away as possible?"

    
"As safe as we can ever hope to be as long as we’re in Colombia. I’m
afraid, Bianca, that danger may not only come from the camp. If
el
commandante
has summoned reinforcement, it’s just as likely to come
up this track than down from the tops. Amongst the boulders and trees
over there we may find a good spot to camp hidden from the track, and
this time we won’t have to contend with dogs. I may even catch us a fish
for dinner."

    
"If you say so …"

    
"Yes. We must though make sure not to leave any visible footprints
once we leave the path. Only stand on solid and sufficiently large stones,
never on earth or grass, and be careful not to displace any stones. So
watch where I step."

    
He takes a big step to a stone barely sticking out of the ground and
continues in this way.

    
She follows, feeling a bit like as a small child when she hopped from
stone to stone on a rocky shore of the Mediterranean. On the fourth stone,
she slips and cries out: "Oh, André, I lost my balance. I’m sorry."

    
"Don’t worry, just continue down to the shore and wait for me."

    
She expected him to be displeased, to chide her for being clumsy, as
her father or Franco, for that matter, would have done. But no, he simply
smiles. Relieved, she smiles back. As she slowly makes her way to the
shore, she reflects that she has never seen him angry. In their several
arguments, and she is aware that she started most of them, he always
remained calm and never lost his humor.

    
From the shore she watches how he carefully obliterates the footprints
she left in the sandy soil, as well as any imprints on the stones. The going
becomes easier on the larger rocks and stones along the shore. They settle
on a campsite at the far end of the lake. Large trees hide it from the track
coming down. A few boulders offer shelter for a small fire. She finds a
nearby spot of soft leaf mold under the forest canopy, just right for
spreading out their plastic sheet to sleep on.

    
His comment about fish for dinner is still wistful on her mind. Just the
thought of a succulent baked fish makes her mouth water. "Do you really
think that there are fish in the lake?" she asks.

    
"Would you like to eat fish for dinner?"

    
"Yes."

    
"Then I’ll catch one for you."

    
He is teasing me again. "But there may be none," she exclaims,
exasperated. "How can you promise when you don’t even know?"

    
He points to his nose. "This delicate organ here smells fish."

    
"You are pulling my leg."

    
"No Bianca. Can’t you smell it?"

    
All she smells is the aromatic scent of some trees. "No, and I bet,
neither can you."

    
"What are you willing to bet? That I get one of your delicious smiles
if I catch a fish for you?"

    
She laughs, feeling flirtatious. "I’ll even give you a kiss."

    
"Oh, what heaven! I’ll hold you to that."

    
She shakes her head, amused by his exuberance.

    
He fetches the fishing tackle from the pack and uses a knife to search
for worms. He quickly digs up two. "Come and watch," he says, as he
carries everything down to the shore. There he removes his boots and
rolls up his pants. He baits the hook and throws the line as far out into the
water as he can. Nothing happens.

    
She doesn’t know whether she should be triumphant or disappointed.
She really would have liked to eat fish.

    
"Patience, Bianca, patience." He slowly pulls the line in. Suddenly it
jerks.

    
"I think I caught a shoe," he chuckles and continues pulling in the
violently swaying line. In the rapidly fading light, she can barely discern
a silvery shape fighting to get away. She guesses the fish is almost a foot
long.

    
"Don’t let it get away," she cries.

    
"Here, hold the line, while I grab it."

    
She wraps the nylon string around her right hand and holds the
struggling fish. He wades into the water, hooks the fish by its gill and
carries it to shore, where it flops for another few second and then grows
still. "That’s yours. And now comes mine."

    
It takes only another few minutes and he has his second catch. His
whole face is beaming, as he lifts it out of the water. She responds with
a wide grin, expecting him to demand his kiss, but he only winks. She is
confused. Doesn’t he want her kiss?

    
Half an hour later, the fish are slowly baking on two large flat stones
placed at the edge of glowing coals. She wouldn’t have thought of
cooking the fish like this, but can hardly wait until they are done.

    
"How will we eat them without plates?"

    
"We’ll eat them directly off the stones. I’ll simply shift them a bit
away from the fire."

    
When they are done, he peals away the skin on to topside of one fish
and shows her how to remove the flaky meat with the hunting knife. He
even produces salt from the pack. She is convinced that this is the best
meal she has eaten in a long time. They both are so intent on slowly
savoring the succulent meat that they hardly talk.

    
But there is more than just the food. There is the serenity of the place,
the clear night sky above with countless dots glimmering in it, the cozy
glow of the coals, the occasional white cinders rising from it like
fireflies, and André’s reassuring presence. For a moment she even forgets
that they are still hunted. Sated, they remain by the fire, smiling at each
other from time to time.

    
"I owe you a kiss," she finally breaks the silence.

    
"I know."

    
She expects him to come closer, but he simply smiles.

    
"Don’t you want one?"

    
"All in good time, Bianca. There’s no rush. It can be a goodnight
kiss."

    
She experiences a strange sort of disappointment. The whole
atmosphere of the scene has put her in a mood for a quick flirtatious kiss,
like tasting a forbidden fruit. It felt right, but no, he again does the
unexpected. She knows her cheeks have turned pink and hates herself for
it.

    
"Bianca, I’m filthy. I can hardly tolerate my own smell."

    
She is suddenly aware that she is filthy too. Was he giving her a subtle
hint? Her cheeks grow even redder, knowing he has seen it.

    
"I wouldn’t want you to turn up your nose," he continues. "I want to
have a thorough wash in the lake before I come close to you. In fact, I’m
going to do this right now."

    
His assertion sounds genuine. It wasn’t an oblique hint intended for
her, she reflects, relieved.

    
He rummages through the pack and removes a bar of soap and a small
towel. Then he turns his back on her and undresses, draping his clothes
over a low rock. The glow of the fire gives his taut skin an orange hue.
There is a fine fuzz of blond hair all the way down his backside. He
carries not an ounce of superfluous fat on his athletic body. She is
annoyed that at that moment Franco’s soft flab around the waist rises in
her mind. She cannot help but admire, not only André’s body, but also
the uninhibited, natural way he carries himself, as he walks down to the
shore.

    
I need a thorough wash too, she reminds herself. How many days has
it been since my last shower? … Almost five.
Is it only five days?
she
wonders. It feels so much longer. So many things happened. Spontaneously, she strips too and runs to the lake. She does not feel embarrassed.
It seems the most natural thing to join André. The night sky will reveal
no more than her silhouette. He is standing in knee-deep water, splashing
water over himself.

    
"Oh shock horror," he exclaims, noisily sucking in air through his
teeth. "This water is cold."

    
It is. For a second, she is tempted to forget about washing, but then
bravely splashes herself.

    
"Here, have the soap." He hands her the cake.