The Flight of the Condor: Stories of Violence and War from Colombia

The Soldiers

The Soldiers Álvaro Cepeda Samudio In this story, Álvaro Cepeda Samudio, one of the most brilliant and innovative writers Colombian literature has ever produced, tackles one of the most tragic and documented events in Colombia’s political history: the so-called banana plantation massacre, when army troops put a bloody end to the strike of the United Fruit Company workers. According to the history books, dozens of plantation workers were killed as a result of this violent repression; however, in a famous passage in Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, these dozens become thousands as the author conjures interminable trainloads of victims. In “The Soldiers,” Cepeda Samudio approaches these events from a point of view different from his friend and collaborator García Márquez: the events are narrated from the perspective of the government soldiers who set out to finish off the strikers and whose only refuge from their fears and uncertainty is incessant conversation, which reveals to the reader some of the most absurd and contradictory aspects of the Colombian armed conflict. - “Are you awake?” “Yes.” “I haven’t been able to sleep either. The rain soaked my blanket.” “Why is it raining so much when this is the dry season? Why do you think it’s been raining so much?” “I don’t know. It’s not the rainy season.” 10 11 The Soldiers “Want a cigarette?” “Alright.” “Damn. They all got wet.” “It doesn’t matter.” “How are we going to smoke them now?” “It doesn’t matter.” “Nothing ever matters to you. I bet it doesn’t even bother you that the rain won’t let us sleep.” “Rain doesn’t bother me.” “Then why haven’t you been able to sleep?” “I’ve been thinking.” “About what?” “About tomorrow.” “Are you scared? The lieutenant said they’re armed, but I doubt it.” “I’ve been thinking about why they’re sending us there.” “Didn’t you hear what the lieutenant said—they refuse to work, they left the plantations and they’re looting the villages.” “They’re on strike.” “Yeah, but they have no right to be. They also want higher wages.” “They’re on strike.” “Exactly. And that’s why they’re sending us there: to break up the strike.” “That’s what I don’t like. That’s not our job.” “What is not our job?” “Breaking up strikes.” “Our job is to do whatever is necessary. I’m glad we’re going. I’ve never been to the banana region. And it’s better to be on active duty than to be stuck in the barracks—we don’t have to pass under review, we don’t have to do drills, they can’t put you in the brig.” “Yes, they can.” “How can they when we’re on active duty?” “I don’t know, but they can.” “In any case, it’s better than being in the barracks.” “Yeah, but it’s not right.” “What difference does it make if it’s right or not? The point is that we’re on active duty and not in the barracks.” “It does make a difference.” “So now it does make a difference to you; you’re just scared.” “Of course I’m not scared.” “Then what are you so worried about?” “Because it’s a strike, and we should respect it and not get involved.” “They’re the ones who should have respect.” “Respect for who?” “The authorities, us.” “We’re not the authorities, we’re soldiers. The authorities are the police.” “Yeah, but the police are useless. That’s why they’re sending us.” “It’s just that the police haven’t been able to contain them.” “You’re scared.” “What the hell! I’m not scared. I just don’t like the idea of breaking up a strike. Who knows, maybe the strikers are right.” “They have no right.” “No right to do what?” “To strike.” “What do you know?” “The lieutenant said so.” “The lieutenant doesn’t know anything.” “You’ve got a point there.” “He just repeats what the commander says.” “This morning when we were tying up our kit bags, he said, ‘Just pack your bedrolls and mats.’ And when we were already on our way to the boat, he made us unhitch our bags and remove the bedrolls and mats and then he sent us to the...