My Story by Chris Stewart, Elizabeth Smart Page A

an even fight. But trying to get away wasn’t what motivated me. I was simply desperate to relieve the boredom. I was so tired of being cabled that I wanted to scream. Watching as he headed down the mountain, I longed to be free of the cable that held me in its narrow cage.
    Looking back on it now, I think that might have been the beginning of my subjection to him.
    Soon I would be walking around the city with Mitchell and Barzee and not telling anyone who I was. Soon, I would be questioned by a policeman in the Salt Lake City Library, and not dare to answer when he asked me my name. People wonder how I could have done that. Why didn’t I cry out for help? Why didn’t I scream to escape when, finally, I had the opportunity?
    The answer is difficult to explain, but it comes down to fear. Fear for my life. Fear for my family. Fear of the pain and humiliation. Part of it too was the constant intimidation. Part of it was the feeling that I had already lost my life and everything worth having—the feeling that I had gone too far to be saved.
    All of these emotions were going to overwhelm me. They were going to make it possible for Mitchell to take me into the city and lead me around like a dog. Every ounce of energy and courage I had was used on maintaining my drive to survive; nothing was left to use on plans of escape … yet.
    And I think most of that started when I was raped and chained up every day.
    *   *   *
    One morning, Mitchell and Barzee had a big fight. They were constantly at each other’s throats, always nagging and poking and getting on each other’s nerves, but this one was a big one. Lots of screaming and yelling and calling bad names. Barzee was tired of all the attention I had been getting. “You’re just being lustful!” she screamed at her husband. “Just because she’s young and beautiful. You’re being lustful! You’re being carnal. It’s not right!”
    I sat on my bucket and listened to them fight about me, wishing I could be somewhere else.
    They screamed at each other for a while but eventually settled down. After they had a chance to cool off, Mitchell approached his wife, all humble and submissive. He never said that he was sorry, but he was certainly groveling and acting like a child.
    Then I saw something I had never seen before, but would see again.
    In an act of contrition, Mitchell asked if she wanted him to give her a blessing, kind of a special prayer that is anointed on her head. Her body language seemed to soften and she nodded yes. Mitchell put his hands on her head and started to pray. Using his authority as a prophet, he reminded her that he was God’s servant. He had been called by God. But just like Moses needed Aaron, he needed her as well. She was his strength and wisdom. She was smarter and more worthy than he. While he was forced to go into the world, she was to be his rock and salvation, his source of his spiritual strength. He told her that she was the one who made it possible for him to lead the world out of sin and oppression. He needed her. God needed her. She was the great one, not he. He told her that she was a friend and companion to Mary, the mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene. She was a friend to all the great women in the history of the world. Her position in heaven was assured. Finally, he reminded her that she needed to be patient when he was weak. He would try to be better, but she would always be greater than he. She needed to show that by her patience when he did wrong.
    When the blessing was over, I stared at them, dumbfounded. Barzee was beaming. She was eating it up.
    I thought it was the strangest thing that I had ever heard—and I had heard a lot of strange things over the past few weeks.
    *   *   *
    Sometime during the second week, I begged him once again to let me go with him to get some water. It seemed that he and Barzee had already talked about it and made a decision. Without saying anything, he walked to where my cable was