My body hurt, and my nose, mouth and throat burned. I lifted my head. A man was sitting in front of me, his face painted black and green. It took me a few seconds to notice other things about him: a patrol hat, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, a camouflage uniform, a Galil rifle held between his hands, aimed at my forehead. “You have no idea how happy I am you’re alive,” he said cynically. I slowly began to trace, in my mind, the events leading up to that moment. Falling overboard, water rushing in my mouth and nose, my arms struggling desperately against the current, trying to stay afloat. I couldn’t remember anything else. The man identified himself as a paramilitary soldier. He told me he’d get two hundred thousand pesos if he brought me back to his camp alive. “You ought to be thankful. You’re the lucky one,” he said, the cigarette smoke dribbling out the side of his mouth. “See that guy next to you?” I turned my head to the side. A half-naked man lay flat on his stomach, hardly a yard away from me.
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