One night, about one in the morning, he had such a strong fit of coughing and choking that I had to call an ambulance. They gave him oxygen and took him away. I wanted to go with him, but one of his sons had arrived and they wouldn’t let me get in the ambulance. I thought he was going to die and I felt really anxious. They kept him in the Andes Medical Center for three weeks; I spent them keeping my eye on my cell phone in the hope that they would call and say: you can come back, Monsieur Echenoz is home again.
It was then, during those days of waiting, that the story broke in the press of eleven young men from Soacha, first presented as “disappeared,” and then reported as killed while fighting the army near Ocaña in Santander province. It was a great scandal, do you remember? Uribe went on television and said they weren’t disappeared but criminals, who had fallen in combat against the army. The family said they hadn’t been guerrillas, just unemployed young men. Uribe defended the army, but people started to protest, to go out on the street. Cases came to light in other parts of the country and there were more testimonies and accusations. The army put on a brave face: the safety of the citizens rests on our shoulders and our blood, the army is tireless in its task of building peace, these lies are being spread by terrorists and their accomplices, decent people have nothing to fear, we are an honest, humane army, our weapons are the basis of a new society, free from the scourge of violence, long live the state of law, long live President Uribe.
As was to be expected, Mother brought up the subject at dinner, saying, what’s the problem? why all this fuss over a bunch of dope fiends? Father refused to take part in the discussion, in the hope that it would die out by itself, but I couldn’t just bite my tongue, so I said, since when have we been on the side of the murderers? what’s happened to this family? when are you going to realize what’s going on in this country? and Mother lost her temper and retorted, what’s going on in this country isn’t what those terrorists at the National say, they only know what’s going on in the country that belongs to FARC and ELN, not in ours; the president, who is actually the president and not just some journalist, already explained what happened on television, and so did the attorney general, and they already know that those guys really were fighting the army, and you know how it is, those who live by the sword die by the sword, and I said, those poor guys were murdered, that’s social cleansing, like the paramilitaries do in other regions, social cleansing done by the army to earn rewards, it’s a State crime and Uribe is covering it up, and then Father got into the discussion and said, oh, Juanita, stop talking bullshit, how can it be a State crime when the army faces up to bandits, on the contrary, it’d be a crime if they didn’t defend us, Juanita, what they tell you at the university is really very twisted, you saw the president speaking, you saw the attorney general confirming that they had died while fighting, do you think they’re lying? do you think the president and the attorney general, the two highest authorities in the land, are lying? no, Juanita, let’s not exaggerate either, but I said to both of them, yes, they are lying, those boys were murdered, I believe the mothers, and then Mother said, oh, yes? and what would you have the mothers say about those lazy bums? they should have brought them up better.
I was so angry that the following Sunday I went with two fellow students to Soacha and we took part in a demonstration on behalf of the disappeared; I saw powerless women carrying pictures of their sons, raising banners, and weeping and shouting the names of those young men, some of whom had been brought back to them in bags, but not all; some said that their sons still hadn’t come back, not even dead, and my fellow students and I started shouting, and I felt grief and infinite pity, because what these poor mothers were asking for, that is, justice and truth, seemed such a crazy idea, a princely whim, because, as my parents said, who was going to question what the president and the attorney general both said, but I thought, anyone seeing these women walking, so dignified in their grief, anyone seeing how some collapse and fall on the ground and the others stop the procession and lift them up, anyone seeing that can only believe in them, and so I grabbed the arm of one of them and started to call out the name of her son, a boy who could have been my age or Manuel’s, I started to shout and she clung to me and we walked, and I noticed that she smelled of oil and onion and fresh coriander, and I thought, before coming to demonstrate these women left food ready for their other children and made the beds and washed clothes, and I felt something similar to the day I started at the National, and I thought again, this is my country! not the country of the hypocrites, not the country of those who close their eyes or the country of the murderers, and I was so moved that I started to cry and it was the woman who consoled me, saying, why are you crying, girl? and I said, I’m crying for all this, for what they did to you, because there are things that can never be made up for, and I’m crying with anger over the lies and the cynicism, and she passed her hand over my head and said, calm down, girl, keep walking, and I was able to do so, but at each step I told myself, it’s important to know and important to take revenge, there must be something I can do.
The following week Monsieur Echenoz returned home, so I went to look after him. What joy to walk up the little streets, cross the park, and climb the steps that led to his big old house. It was only then that I realized to what extent he had become part of my life, my little life, the thread of a story that I could continue. He was very frail, his skin wizened and covered with purplish veins around his nose. He was very pleased to see me and, as had been the case before his attack, I noticed that he was waiting anxiously for the other nurse to go so that he could be alone with me.
I told him about what I had seen in Soacha and said that I wanted to do something, and he said, they murdered those boys and while they’re putting together a story they come out and deny it, presenting details that deflect attention, and in the end there will be another scandal to distract people, but those women must keep going out on the street and you must support them, he said to me, and then, with a sly look, he added: you could try something else, do it from within. I looked at him in surprise, from within? Yes, he said. You’re young and pretty, you could get close to whoever you want and find out whatever you want. It may be difficult, but not impossible. Try to reach as high as you can, you may be able to help them from there. I already told you once: there is nothing a woman can’t get. Sex is the most powerful weapon on earth. I’m eighty-three years old and it’s the only thing I miss, the only reason I’d like to be young again. Anyone who tells you the opposite is either a dreamer or a fool who confuses real life with ideas and suppositions about how life should be. Infiltrate the world of those criminals and destroy them from within, if you really do hate them. It’s a world of men, of brute, unscrupulous males. If you manage to get close to it, they’ll eat out of your hand. Remember that a silly young American woman, using nothing but her mouth, almost brought down the most powerful president in the world, don’t you see? and I’ll tell you something: charge them a lot and don’t have any scruples. Destroy them and get what you can from them, when it comes down to it money is the one thing that gives us freedom in this wretched world. They’re going to tell you that you’re a prostitute but you won’t listen to them. Let them talk and shout. They’re going to tell you that you’re evil, a witch, let them bark. Never take your eyes off your goals. Your family will criticize you, forget them. Mothers tell their daughters: marry well, choose well, but that basically means “sell yourself well.” It’s the worst kind of prostitution, for a single client, and the payment is a lie called “respectability.” Don’t enter that world of insects, Juana, because you’re strong and intelligent, and you can have a destiny of your own. If you choose freedom you’ll be a truly lethal weapon. Destroy them.