Colombiano

by Rusty Young

  ‘Girls aren’t watching,’ Silvestre comforted sarcastically.

  ‘Hey, girls!’ called Rambo. ‘You’re not watching, are you?’ But now, of course, they were.

  I exchanged a glance with Palillo. Then I swam towards the pier and climbed out of the water.

  ‘¡Mierda!’ yelled Palillo suddenly. Thrashing through thigh-deep water, he waded towards the bank. ‘I think I saw an anaconda.’

  ‘Where?’ demanded Silvestre above the splash of panicked swimmers racing towards land.

  ‘Down there.’ He pointed between his legs. ‘It was huge.’

  The other boys’ panic turned into laughter.

  Grabbing Ñoño’s shoulder, I spoke in his ear. ‘Climb out when the girls do!’ Then I hurled him off the pier.

  Palillo winked at me. With one neat manoeuvre he’d distracted attention from Ñoño and shown the girls what lay captive in his boxers.

  After lights out, as Culebra checked our hammock ropes, Palillo made a loud enquiry. He felt he’d outgrown the name Toothpick. Was it possible, please comando, to change his alias to a much longer and thicker word starting with ‘A’? Hilarity ensued, to Culebra’s considerable bemusement.

  Lying awake that night, I worried about Tango and Murgas’s plans to desert. My refusal to drive them to Puerto Bontón wouldn’t deter them for long. At the moment, their inability to swim meant that they couldn’t cross the river, and it would be too risky to break through the closely guarded perimeter. But the water level was dropping. Another week or two without rain and they’d be able to wade across the causeway.

  I didn’t really believe that they had a master key to the weapons rack, but if anything went missing from the container, the trainers would assume I was responsible.

  The next day I suggested to Culebra that we put a second lock on the top eyelet of the container door. I was always making suggestions on how to improve things and he didn’t think anything of it.

  ‘You’ll need to bring out the stepladder twice a day to open and close it,’ was all he said.

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  It was a small price to pay to ensure I wasn’t accused of stealing weapons. I didn’t anticipate that Tango and Murgas wouldn’t wait until the water level dropped. Or that my suggestion about the padlock would lead suspicion exactly where I hadn’t wanted it: directly back to me.

  27

  TANGO AND MURGAS left that very night, breaking through the perimeter security rather than trying to cross La Quebrada. Every changeover, the new perimeter guard performed a count of those sleeping. But Tango and Murgas had stuffed their blankets with newspaper and positioned stolen boots at the foot of their hammocks, and as a result their absence wasn’t detected until the following morning’s parade. Pandemonium overtook the camp. They weren’t the only deserters. Jirafa, Pele and Armani were also missing.

  Training was suspended immediately. Following a flurry of radio and phone calls, a full-scale search began. Three additional SUVs were called in, two flat-bottomed boats began patrolling through the reeds in the river, and Alfa 1 sent out the recruits in groups of five in different directions with radios.

  I avoided eye contact with Culebra. I’d been stupid to suggest the padlock. I had no idea they’d escape that very night. The commanders were already analysing the possibility that the deserters might have received inside help. Six perimeter guards were interviewed, and when the escape path was found, the two guards on either side of it were tied up to the wooden posts for El Soleado.

  ‘We didn’t help them,’ insisted one of the guards to Alfa 1.

  ‘You didn’t stop them either.’

  Even for unintentional acts of omission, someone had to be held responsible. We were all put on half-rations because, according to Alfa 1, someone should have noticed the boys leaving, even at night. I was sure that suspicion would soon fall on Palillo and me. We’d arrived in the same van as Tango and Murgas. Their hammocks were hung near ours and they sat at our breakfast table. If anyone had known about their plans, it was us. I wasn’t worried about Palillo; not only was he innocent, he could act his way out of anything. But my suggestion about the padlock was too much of a coincidence for the trainers to ignore.

  There was only one way for the deserters to go – inland – and MacGyver had no doubt they’d be found.

  Several times while we were searching, a helicopter flew overhead.

  ‘Army?’ I asked MacGyver.

  ‘Too small. El Patrón.’

  El Patrón was Don Carlos Trigeño, the owner of La 50, who lived fifteen kilometres uphill at La 35, his other property. In Puerto Bontón, I’d heard it said that not a leaf fell without his permission.

  I waited all that first day for the commanders to question me, but they didn’t. However, at breakfast the next morning Beta spoke the words I was dreading: ‘Culebra wants to see you in the armoury.’

  I now had exactly seventy paces – from the mess hall to the container – to finalise what I was prepared to divulge. If I admitted knowledge of the escape plot, I would not only be punished for failing to inform the commanders, but also forced to confess that the deserters were headed to Puerto Bontón, making their capture more likely. If I denied knowing anything and Tango and Murgas were caught and implicated me, I’d be in even worse trouble for lying.

  When I entered the container, Culebra was leaning over the radio. He straightened as I came in, and I noticed that he had something concealed in his right hand.

  ‘Buenos días.’ His tone was casual but he was watching me intently. ‘Notice anything different?’

  I scanned the equipment racks carefully. Everything appeared to be in order. Then I saw the window. The mosquito mesh had been punched through and was hanging by a thread.

  ‘I guess your window wasn’t such a great idea after all.’

  I’d been so focused on my request for the extra padlock – something that was at least designed to keep the deserters out – that I hadn’t realised my innocent suggestion of a window might lead Culebra to think I’d actively helped them to get in.

  However, I tried to remain cool as I inspected the damage. ‘What did they take?’

  ‘Compasses.’ He paused significantly. ‘The ones you left on the desk.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I never imagined …’ Unlike Palillo, I was a terrible actor.

  Culebra smiled slightly at my discomfort. If he’d previously suspected that I knew of the deserters’ plans, he was now certain of it.

  ‘Don’t apologise. The window was a bad idea, but the padlock wasn’t.’

  He opened his hand to reveal the two padlocks. The padlock from the bottom eyelet had been filed through. But the lock I’d suggested for the top eyelet was intact.

  ‘They couldn’t get to it without the stepladder,’ he explained. ‘The compasses were all they could reach. And energy bars.’

  I realised that Culebra wasn’t accusing me – he was thanking me. He’d only mentioned the window as a test, to find out whether I’d known about the escape plan.

  I eyed him warily. ‘So we’re good?’

  ‘If the weapons are safe, I’m safe. And if I’m safe, you’re safe.’ He patted me on the back. ‘And I now know you’re not a sapo.’

  It was a simple lesson in loyalty. By not revealing the deserters’ plan, I’d proven I wasn’t an informant. At the same time, I’d protected Culebra by suggesting the second padlock. If they’d stolen weapons, he’d be the one crumpled against a pole shrivelling like an apricot in the hot December sun.

  ‘Remember that pistol shooting lesson you asked for?’ he said. ‘Consider it a promise.’ From the spares box, he tossed me a silver key. ‘And when the Blazer gets back, we need double-sided tape from Puerto Bontón.’

  He was making it clear that I was now trusted enough to drive out of La 50 by myself. I was so relieved at not being punished that I didn’t consider the opportunities this would present, but they wouldn’t be long in coming.

  28


  FROM THAT DAY on, I was regularly sent off base alone to buy supplies. Soon, the commanders also had me running personal errands.

  ‘Drive into Puerto Bontón and buy a box of batteries for the flashlights,’ Culebra would say. ‘And while you’re there, get me a soft drink and some cigarettes.’

  To demonstrate my discretion, I stapled their personal packages closed since they contained liquor bottles, porn magazines and letters from their wives and girlfriends. Palillo thought my helping them so attentively was undignified. Other recruits whispered that I was the teachers’ pet, but I didn’t care. I had my reasons for being there, and they didn’t include status or popularity.

  Three days after the deserters’ escape, training resumed. It was tougher than ever, especially since we were still on half-rations. Nevertheless, our collective punishment drew us closer together. And at least we weren’t suffering like the two perimeter guards, still tied up in the sun.

  At the end of the fourth day, the search was terminated. We all breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was Christmas Eve and our spirits were high since the deserters had made it. Although they’d let the group down, we’d feared the consequences for them if they were captured. In the barracks following evening political class, we were light-hearted – flicking towels and tipping each other out of hammocks.

  While everyone else joked around, Ñoño wanted to continue the class discussion about communism. Few of us properly understood the doctrine. Most hadn’t studied beyond the sixth grade. But Ñoño, who was probably the brightest of our group, insisted on giving us a dissertation on communism, using big words like ‘proletariat’.

  ‘You need to get outside more often,’ Palillo told him. ‘You’ve spent too much time reading the encyclopaedia.’

  ‘You’re just intimidated by my intelligence,’ said Ñoño. ‘Do you even know what that word means? In-tim-i-date.’

  Palillo, being twice Ñoño’s size, couldn’t retaliate. Instead, he unbuttoned his trousers, saying, ‘You think I’m intimidated by you? I’ll show you intimidating.’ He pulled out his dick at the exact moment Alfa 1 walked in.

  ‘Everything okay?’ asked Alfa 1, immediately detecting from the direction of everyone’s gaze some dispute between Palillo and Ñoño.

  ‘Yes, comando,’ said Palillo in a casual voice. He had his back to Alfa 1 and he did not turn around or make any sudden movements that would have raised suspicion. He left his big, black dick hanging out. ‘Ñoño here is just giving me a spelling lesson.’ Palillo ticked off the letters on his fingers. ‘I-N-T-I-M-I-D-A-T-E. Jesus, Ñoño. That word must be ten inches long.’

  Everyone laughed except Alfa 1, who shook his head and walked out. Palillo grabbed Ñoño by the neck, lifting him off the floor.

  ‘Put me down, Toothpick,’ protested Ñoño.

  ‘Who you calling Toothpick, Harry Potter? Show me that little white wand of yours. Because you better have some magic in that thing for me to be intimidated.’

  Funny moments like that broke the gruelling monotony of training, but they never lasted long. And as training continued, short moments of hilarity were often followed by lengthy periods of horror.

  Christmas Day was free time. However, breakfast rations were still half and the two guards were still tied to the poles in the sun. We played a football game against a team of trainers and guards, although only half-heartedly. Their side won, but they knew we hadn’t tried.

  At noon the same day, the two punished guards were brought in from their poles and made to stand before the recruits at afternoon parade.

  ‘This is what’s called a second chance,’ Alfa 1 told us. He turned to the guards. ‘Plank position. Backs straight. Three minutes. If one knee touches the ground,’ he added, training his revolver on them, ‘you’re dead.’

  It was El Suplicio Chino.

  After two minutes of planking, the guards’ bodies began to tremble. After two and a half, they seemed to be convulsing.

  ‘Breathe!’ advised Culebra.

  For the last ten seconds, Beta counted down and we joined in. ‘Ten, nine, eight …’

  The guards made it to three minutes and then collapsed.

  Alfa 1 announced that guard duty would now be added to our camp chores, even though we only had wooden rifles. He paired us up with the real perimeter guards for one-hour shifts. Although it was only an hour per day, if we were assigned a night shift our sleep was interrupted and there was no time to catch it up.

  After seeing what had happened to their colleagues, the guards were jittery and this new task only increased their resentment towards us. However, we had to practise – soon we’d start rifle training and, when the guards finished their advanced course, we’d be responsible for our own security.

  After seeing how harshly the perimeter guards had been punished, I added planks to my nightly exercise routine.

  Ñoño came out and did planks beside me. I moved back inside. Although I felt sorry for him, I couldn’t be associated with weakness.

  On the second morning after Christmas, I was called to the gate because a tarpaulin-covered army supply truck had arrived, honking its horn.

  ‘Delivery for Alfa 1,’ the lieutenant who was driving informed me. He said I couldn’t sign for it so I radioed Alfa 1 and was close enough to overhear their conversation. Evidently Alfa 1 knew Lieutenant Alejandro, but from the way they shook hands I could tell the lieutenant was neither expected nor welcome.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ asked Alfa 1 warily.

  ‘Special delivery,’ Alejandro answered, holding up typewritten documents. ‘Courtesy of General Itagüí.’

  ‘We haven’t ordered anything.’

  ‘We have some property that might interest you. Some lost property,’ said the lieutenant, flinging open the tarpaulin.

  I don’t know who looked more surprised – Alfa 1 or the five boys. I guessed they’d climbed into the truck voluntarily, having been told a destination different to La 50. But their faces went from calm to panicked in an instant.

  ‘¡Joder!’ Alfa 1 swore then shook his head. ‘Where did you find them?’

  ‘They wandered in through our front gate,’ said the lieutenant, handing the documents to Alfa 1. ‘They had some rather interesting stories to tell. We wrote them down, but of course we didn’t believe them.’

  The documents were witness statements signed by the boys denouncing the Autodefensa training school at La 50.

  ‘You lot. Out!’ Alfa 1 jerked his head. Terrified, the boys obeyed.

  Lieutenant Alejandro delivering the deserters confirmed what should have been obvious. The indicators were already there long before: the official sign on a government highway – GUERRILLA, NOT A PEEP! – and the army waving us through the Puerto Bontón checkpoint. The Autodefensas worked hand in hand with the police, army and provincial government. Even if you made it off La 50, there was no higher authority to escape to. In Los Llanos, the Autodefensas were the highest authority.

  We all expected the deserters to be punished immediately. But they trained with us that day. They ate with us at lunch and dinner. They slept in their usual hammocks. The fact that nothing was said or done only compounded their sense of dread. Their punishment did not come until the next morning when we were introduced to Don Carlos Trigeño, the supreme commander for the entire region of Los Llanos.

  29

  COMANDANTE TRIGEÑO FLEW in by helicopter from La 35. At six foot two, Trigeño stood half a head taller than Alfa 1. His shoulders were broad and he wore an immaculate, tight-fitting camouflage uniform. A grenade hung from his belt, along with two side-arms, both in leather holsters – a revolver and a Colt .45 pistol. His sideburns were greying and he looked to be in his mid-forties. Trigeño’s eyelids drooped like a lizard’s while the steel-grey eyes beneath them darted everywhere.

  He observed our morning training session and afterwards, as we stood at ease in parade formation, he mounted a wooden crate in front of us and delivered a rousing speech. My first i
mpressions of Trigeño were positive. He was articulate, purposeful and had a sense of humour. Where Alfa 1 called the Paramilitaries by their military title – Las Autodefensas – Trigeño had a different name: La Empresa, meaning ‘The Company’.

  ‘New recruits, I bid you a very special welcome to La Empresa,’ he began. ‘You are now members of one of the biggest companies in our great nation and, as such, you will influence Colombia’s history. La Empresa has thousands of employees but, unlike most companies, does not discriminate based on your family name, where you come from or your education level. All we care about is how hard you work. Each one of you has an equal opportunity to advance within this company. Your own capabilities and efforts will determine how quickly you ascend.’

  Trigeño stepped from his crate, opened the lid and took out two empty green glass bottles. He strolled ten paces to the right and placed them side by side on a tree stump. Then he began to walk up and down between the rows of boys, as though conducting a parade ground inspection. By the time he passed me in the third row, I realised he was scrutinising faces not uniforms. I also saw that he’d removed his revolver from its leather holster, and as he continued his speech, he flourished it to emphasise his points. The effect was unsettling. Even without it, his presence and his voice commanded our complete attention.

  ‘Unlike many companies,’ he continued, ‘La Empresa pays in full and on time.’ His booming voice, with its staccato words and melodramatic pauses, was now coming from behind me. ‘You will be given rest time as deserved. You may occasionally receive bonuses for outstanding work. We do not deduct money for food. We do not deduct money for uniforms or housing. And best of all, you do not pay taxes.’

  Here he received a few chuckles.

  ‘In return, what do we expect from you?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘We expect loyalty.’ Crack! went his revolver.