untie me. The rope was so
tight around my neck it prevented me from screaming as loud as I would have
liked.
I could not
believe what was taking place. Containing my anger, I tried to undo the knot at
my neck. It was so compact that the leather strands seemed glued together. I
hurt my nails trying to pull them apart.
I had an
attack of uncontrollable wrath and growled like an impotent animal. Then I
grabbed the rope, twisted it around my forearms, and bracing my feet against
the cinder-block column, pulled. But the leather was too tough for the strength
of my muscles. I felt humiliated and scared. Fear brought me a moment of
sobriety. I knew I had let don Juan's false aura of reasonableness deceive me.
I assessed my situation as objectively as I could and saw no way to escape
except by cutting the leather rope. I frantically began to rub it against the
sharp corner of the cinder-block column. I thought that if I could rip the rope
before any of the men came to the back, I had a chance to run to my car and
take off, never to return.
I puffed
and sweated and rubbed the rope until I had nearly worn it through. Then I
braced one foot against the column, wrapped the rope around my forearms again,
and pulled it desperately until it snapped, throwing me back into the house.
As I crashed
backward through the open door, don Juan, Vicente, and Silvio Manuel were
standing in the middle of the room, applauding.
"What
a dramatic reentry," Vicente said, helping me up. "You fooled me. I
didn't think you were capable of such explosions."
Don Juan
came to me and snapped the knot open, freeing my neck from the piece of rope
around it.
I was
shaking with fear, exertion, and anger. In a faltering voice, I asked don Juan
why he was tormenting me like this. The three of them laughed and at that moment
seemed the farthest thing from threatening.
"We
wanted to test you and find out what sort of a man you really are," don
Juan said.
He led me
to one of the couches and politely offered me a seat. Vicente and Silvio Manuel
sat in the armchairs, don Juan sat facing me on the other couch.
I laughed
nervously but was no longer apprehensive about my situation, nor about don Juan
and his friends. All three regarded me with frank curiosity. Vicente could not
stop smiling, although he seemed to be trying desperately to appear serious.
Silvio Manuel shook his head rhythmically as he stared at me. His eyes were
unfocused but fixed on me.
"We
tied you down," don Juan went on, "because we wanted to know whether
you are sweet or patient or ruthless or cunning. We found out you are none of
those things. Rather you're a king-sized indulger, just as I had said.
"If
you hadn't indulged in being violent, you would certainly have noticed that the
formidable knot in the rope around your neck was a fake. It snaps. Vicente designed
that knot to fool his friends."
"You
tore the rope violently. You're certainly not sweet," Silvio Manuel said.
They were
all quiet for a moment, then began to laugh.
"You're
neither ruthless nor cunning," don Juan went on. "If you were, you
would easily have snapped open both knots and run away with a valuable leather
rope. You're not patient either. If you were, you would have whined and cried
until you realized that there was a pair of clippers by the wall with which you
could have cut the rope in two seconds and saved yourself all the agony and
exertion.
"You
can't be taught, then, to be violent or obtuse. You already are that. But you
can learn to be ruthless, cunning, patient, and sweet."
Don Juan
explained to me that ruthlessness, cunning, patience, and sweetness were the
essence of stalking. They were the basics that with all their ramifications had
to be taught in careful, meticulous steps.
He was
definitely addressing me, but he talked looking at Vicente and Silvio Manuel,
who listened with utmost attention and shook their heads in agreement from time
to time.
He stressed
repeatedly that teaching stalking was one of
tight around my neck it prevented me from screaming as loud as I would have
liked.
I could not
believe what was taking place. Containing my anger, I tried to undo the knot at
my neck. It was so compact that the leather strands seemed glued together. I
hurt my nails trying to pull them apart.
I had an
attack of uncontrollable wrath and growled like an impotent animal. Then I
grabbed the rope, twisted it around my forearms, and bracing my feet against
the cinder-block column, pulled. But the leather was too tough for the strength
of my muscles. I felt humiliated and scared. Fear brought me a moment of
sobriety. I knew I had let don Juan's false aura of reasonableness deceive me.
I assessed my situation as objectively as I could and saw no way to escape
except by cutting the leather rope. I frantically began to rub it against the
sharp corner of the cinder-block column. I thought that if I could rip the rope
before any of the men came to the back, I had a chance to run to my car and
take off, never to return.
I puffed
and sweated and rubbed the rope until I had nearly worn it through. Then I
braced one foot against the column, wrapped the rope around my forearms again,
and pulled it desperately until it snapped, throwing me back into the house.
As I crashed
backward through the open door, don Juan, Vicente, and Silvio Manuel were
standing in the middle of the room, applauding.
"What
a dramatic reentry," Vicente said, helping me up. "You fooled me. I
didn't think you were capable of such explosions."
Don Juan
came to me and snapped the knot open, freeing my neck from the piece of rope
around it.
I was
shaking with fear, exertion, and anger. In a faltering voice, I asked don Juan
why he was tormenting me like this. The three of them laughed and at that moment
seemed the farthest thing from threatening.
"We
wanted to test you and find out what sort of a man you really are," don
Juan said.
He led me
to one of the couches and politely offered me a seat. Vicente and Silvio Manuel
sat in the armchairs, don Juan sat facing me on the other couch.
I laughed
nervously but was no longer apprehensive about my situation, nor about don Juan
and his friends. All three regarded me with frank curiosity. Vicente could not
stop smiling, although he seemed to be trying desperately to appear serious.
Silvio Manuel shook his head rhythmically as he stared at me. His eyes were
unfocused but fixed on me.
"We
tied you down," don Juan went on, "because we wanted to know whether
you are sweet or patient or ruthless or cunning. We found out you are none of
those things. Rather you're a king-sized indulger, just as I had said.
"If
you hadn't indulged in being violent, you would certainly have noticed that the
formidable knot in the rope around your neck was a fake. It snaps. Vicente designed
that knot to fool his friends."
"You
tore the rope violently. You're certainly not sweet," Silvio Manuel said.
They were
all quiet for a moment, then began to laugh.
"You're
neither ruthless nor cunning," don Juan went on. "If you were, you
would easily have snapped open both knots and run away with a valuable leather
rope. You're not patient either. If you were, you would have whined and cried
until you realized that there was a pair of clippers by the wall with which you
could have cut the rope in two seconds and saved yourself all the agony and
exertion.
"You
can't be taught, then, to be violent or obtuse. You already are that. But you
can learn to be ruthless, cunning, patient, and sweet."
Don Juan
explained to me that ruthlessness, cunning, patience, and sweetness were the
essence of stalking. They were the basics that with all their ramifications had
to be taught in careful, meticulous steps.
He was
definitely addressing me, but he talked looking at Vicente and Silvio Manuel,
who listened with utmost attention and shook their heads in agreement from time
to time.
He stressed
repeatedly that teaching stalking was one of
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