Kidnapped and a Daring Escape (26 page)

    
"There’s no rush to think of that now. Maybe by then we know more."

    
"But you promise that you’ll stick by me, that you’ll help me."

    
"I will, in fact, I intend to marry you."

    
She smiles through tears. "Is this a marriage proposal?"

    
"Yes, this is the genuine article, if there ever was one … and what’s
your reply? Or do I first have to go down on my knees?"

    
"Yes, André, I want it too," she replies.

    
He lowers himself, ready to kneel in front of her.

    
She pulls him back up, exclaiming: "No, you silly man. I meant, I
want to be your wife." He grins, and she slaps him lightly. "You’re so
mean. You’re always teasing me."

    
He briefly pecks her cheek and whispers: "But I also love you like
you’ve never been loved before."

    
Yes, I know, is her silent response as she kisses his cheek.

    
They check the bus schedule to Popayàn. There is a departure every
hour from early morning. They buy two tickets. The clerk accepts a
twenty-dollar bill and gives them the change in pesos. André reckons that
the exchange rate is rather bad, but he doesn’t care. There is a lot more
where that money came from.

* * *

To buy a change of clothes, they need pesos. Monday morning André
inquires with ‘
la chèvre
’ about foreign exchange services. The man
informs him that only the two major banks exchange dollars. He also
adds that they will demand identification papers. Since he accepted
dollars for the room, André asks him: "Would you be willing to exchange
another two hundred dollars for me?"

    
‘
La chèvre
’ wags his head back and forth a few times and then
answers: "Yes, but I cannot give you the bank rate."

    
"That’s fine,
señor."

    
After breakfast, armed with a fat wad of peso bills and directions to
the town’s major department store, André and Bianca venture hand-in-hand into the center. They spot the department store at the far side of the
town square. A small shop displaying handcrafted local fashion attracts
Bianca’s curiosity. She pulls him back to look at the garments displayed
and points to a blouse. "Isn’t it nice. I mean I would consider buying this
at home."

    
"It is. Why don’t we go in?"

    
"You think so? Didn’t we want to go to the department store?"

    
"Yes, but this stuff looks nice and I’m sure will cost a fraction of what
you would pay for similar things in Rome. Come."

    
He leads her into the store, where a fashionably dressed woman in her
mid-thirties greets them. He watches Bianca as she fingers the blouses on
display and hanging on racks. Her eyes, her face, her movements, all
betray her excitement. The woman also studies her critically and then
takes a different blouse from another rack.

    
"
Señora
, this blouse here has been made for you. It is one of a kind."

    
André likes that she addresses Bianca as
señora
rather than
señorita
.

    
She places the blouse on Bianca’s chest, turning her toward the mirror.
He has to admit that it is, in fact, a stunning garment.

    
"Try it on," he encourages her.

    
"Should I?"

    
"Yes." He turns to the woman. "Do you have a matching skirt or a pair
of slacks, and maybe a jacket?"

    
The woman answers his smile. "Certainly,
señor
."

    
Bianca eyes him, uncertain. He simply smiles.

    
The woman picks out a black skirt, holds it up critically, puts it back
and reaches for another one, nods, and then removes a black jacket from
a bust at the front of the store.

    
"Oh, how beautiful," exclaims Bianca, as the woman shows her the
garments.

    
Both disappear in the changing cubicle at the back of the narrow store.
A minute later, Bianca, comes out, barefoot. She looks a different person,
distinguished and stunning in the beautifully tailored jacket. Her face is
beaming as she turns around in front of the mirror. The saleswoman
clearly seems pleased by her choice.

    
"They are made for you,
señora
," she says, and André has to agree that
these garments fit Bianca perfectly.

    
"Take them, Bianca. You look stunning."

    
"Are you sure?"

    
"Yes, and look, over there … the sandals? Check if you find
something suitable." He turns to the woman, switching to Spanish and
giving her his most charming smile. "
Señora
, somebody stole my wallet
when I stupidly put my rain jacket on a bench at the soccer stadium. Are
you willing to accept American dollars?"

    
She only hesitates for a second and then answers: "Certainly."

    
Bianca tries on several sandals. Again, the woman finds her a pair that
complements the new garments.

    
André pays, thanking the woman for her help. They leave, Bianca
wearing her new outfit, her boots and old clothes in a paper bag.

    
"Are you pleased with your purchases?" he asks, as they walk hand in
hand toward the department store.

    
"Yes, they’re beautiful and the woman was great. She advised me
well."

    
He squeezes her hand. "How much do you think you would have paid
in Rome for similar things?"

    
"I don’t know … over a thousand euros."

    
"It only cost two hundred and forty dollars. That’s about a hundred
and eighty euros."

    
In the department store they purchase another few pieces of clothing
for both of them, including underwear, as well as an overnight bag.
André does not want to travel with the backpack. They also buy
shampoo, toothbrushes, toothpaste, disposable shavers for him — he
needs another shave badly — and other toiletries. On their way home, he
quickly enters a pharmacy, saying "wait".

    
When she asks him what he bought, he replies: "Condoms."

    
He sees her grin and blush at the same time.

* * *

The bus that departs from Timbio shortly after noon sees them among its
dozen or so passengers. It is less than a one-hour ride into Popayàn. At
the Popayàn bus station André goes to the display board of hotels and
guesthouses.

    
"Aren’t we going back to the Cipriano?" Bianca asks.

    
"No, that’s the first place they’d be watching out for us. No, we’ll find
ourselves a nice little guesthouse."

    
"But what about our things?"

    
"I’ll go and fetch them tonight, alone. In the meantime, we both keep
a low profile. Tomorrow we’re out of here on the first plane to Bogotà."

    
"Shouldn’t we get in touch with the police, though?"

    
"No, we can let the Popayàn police know once we are in Bogotà. I
don’t want to be interrogated here by them and delayed maybe for days.
They’ll get my phone call from a public booth in Bogotà." He points to
the plastic coated announcement of Casa Familiar Portrero, half a block
north of the university. "Look, this looks like a decent place. There are
some rooms with showers. Let’s take a taxi."

    
He asks the taxi to take them to the tourist information office opposite
the university. His index finger across his lips preempts Bianca from
correcting him. After paying the taxi outside the information office, they
quickly go inside and wait for the taxi to drive off. Then they walk the
short distance to the guesthouse. They are lucky. Not only has one of the
three rooms with a shower just been vacated, but it will be ready for them
within a few minutes. In contrast to the suspicious glances they got in
Timbio, Bianca’s elegant outfit makes the right impression on the woman
at the reception. André again explains their lack of travel documents and
pays for one night. They wait in a corner of the lobby. In hushed voices,
they discuss the plan for the next twenty-four hours. Bianca wants to
know when she should call her parents. He advises her to wait until they
are in Bogotà and ask to be allowed to place the call from the Italian
Embassy. The staff there can then provide confirmation that she is truly
free and the call is not a cruel hoax.

    
They eat lunch in the nearby university cafeteria. In the tourist
information office across the street, André books two seats on the early
morning flight to Bogotà. Again, he is lucky. The office accepts US
dollars. Then they return to their guesthouse. Both are keen for a long,
hot shower.

    
Bianca strips and carefully hangs up her new clothes in the wardrobe.
He follows suit and they both enter the shower together. For a minute or
so they simply stand close together under the strong spray of warm water.

    
"I would like to soap you all over," he whispers. "May I?"

    
She nods, giggling in anticipation. He turns off the shower. Starting
with her neck, he massages her back, her round buttocks, the legs, first
their back and then going up their fronts toward her groin. He gently rubs
her inner thighs, searching her eyes. She closes them. He moves up her
belly, ending up at her proud breasts, circling them, lingering around her
nipples. Then he kisses her on the mouth. She presses herself to him.

    
"Now I’ll do you," she says.

    
She follows his pattern. She pulls back the foreskin of his penis and
rubs the shaft. He senses the rush of blood swelling it. She giggles and
then encloses his erect penis between her thighs. She wraps her arms
around his neck. He turns the shower on again and then cups her
buttocks, lifting her up. She guides him to her opening. He takes a deep
breath as his penis slides into the warmth of her well. They move in
unison, first gently and slowly and then ever more forcefully, letting the
warm water flow over them, between them, while kissing. He is close to
exploding when Bianca cries out and bites his shoulder. One powerful
thrust and he catches up with a shudder of bliss. Then they rest in each
other arms under the spray of the water, letting their rapture slowly ebb
away.

    
They shampoo their hair. It is the first time in ten days. After drying
each other off, they crawl into bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

10

It is getting dark by the time they wake up. Bianca giggles when she sees
André’s hair stick out in all direction, the way it dried while he was
asleep.

    
"You have a tuft like Tintin," she exclaims, while trying unsuccessfully to smooth it down. "You’ll have to wet your hair again."

    
"And so do you. Your curls need to be realigned also, but I love you
even like this."

    
She pushes him down onto the pillow and covers his upper body, skin
on skin. "I love you too, André. Will you always love me?" She knows
the question is silly, but cannot help asking it.

    
"Yes, always and more every day."

    
She searches his eyes. They are dark blue and locked on to hers,
steady, unblinking. There is an inviting smile in them.

    
"Will you marry me?" he asks.

    
"Yes."

    
"When we are back in Europe?"

    
"Yes."

    
"Even if your parents are against it?"