I Gave Him Soup

CW: kidnapping, physical restraint, and implied sexual threat

So, I've just moved to the island. I'm in my fifties and a single woman. I thought I'd stay in the Airbnb that had everything I needed. With my car, I can make it to the row of houses on the mountainside from the port town in 20 minutes. The thing is, there is just one neighbor. He likes to bring me mangoes and homemade things, like tortilla española and almogrote, a spicy spread. Today he brought me guavas. So, I gave him a bowl of soup. That was a wrong move.

He started telling me a story about how he used to have many goats and sheep. One sheep died pregnant because he wasn't there in time to help it deliver. Then, he talked about finding two dead goats, among his big herd. So he gave them all away, he told me, because it hurt him too much to see his animals suffer. But first, he butchered the 40 kilo male goat who had hurt him too many times. With his hand, he gestured how he had slit the goat's throat and, as he said that, he stepped into my house and closed the door.

My hands started to sweat. His broken, discolored teethy grin got close to my face and I backed away as he came towards me. Oh, I slipped to the side and around into the patio, but I guess he knew that it was not possible for me to escape there, so he stayed inside. While trying to figure out what to do, I heard him shuffling around in the kitchen for something.

"Come here, sweet thing," he said. "Don't be afraid, I'm a nice guy. I sometimes drink too much and I smoke, and with the women, you know I enjoy them, too, sometimes." Oh, why did I give him the soup? I thought. What he had found in the kitchen was a strong, sharp knife. "I'll cut up a few guavas for us to enjoy, what do you say?" he said with a smile. I said, "Ok," and sat at the table in the studio Airbnb apartment, trying to breathe calmly. I thought, so it's turning into a conversation, but the door is closed, and he is between me and the door. We had a few bites of guava. They aren't my favorite, because of the hard seeds. I kind of gummed it down, while listening to him rambling about past stories and about how his goat dog would have puppies, soon, in November. And then about how his fat and old dachshund is the sweetest, and is so fat because he loves to eat chorizo.

Then, he stood up, while looking at me, and reached up to cut the laundry lines that so practically hung between the walls in the living room. While maintaining eye contact, he gathered the ropes and came closer to me with the knife in his hand. "What I'm going to do," he told me, "is tie you up so that I can hold you for a while." He said this with a grin and quiet excitement. And so, that's what he did. He tied my hands and feet to a chair. Then he left.

After arriving at this house, several weeks before, I realized that I did not have phone coverage at this remote location, but it did have internet service. How could I reach my phone? I wondered, as my feet and hands were bound. Night came. Morning came. I was so uncomfortable after a night sitting in a chair. My medication was also out of reach. I had to take that to have any strength for the day.

I drowsed in and out all morning long. Then, I awoke to the sound of the door being unlocked. The sun was bright and hot outside, and the clock by the door showed that it was 2pm. The neighbor was there with his two friends. One was a younger, stout man who picked me up and carried me awkwardly out to a white pickup truck that had the island's forest service logo on the side. Then, two men got onto the truck bed and they lifted me inside. Then, they jumped out, shut the end-gate with a slam, and climbed into the front seat.

The neighbor started driving. We wound through the mountains, up and down and around sharp curves. I was lying on my side, in that truck bed, tied tothat chair. My head rested on a coiled rope, and I could smell the stink of dirty rags and the musty tools that were clanking around as we drove.

The truck finally stopped, and it turned out that we were at a garden plot. They hauled me to the small cement shed and sat me upright inside the doorway looking out. The shed had a cemented porch where several old metal, rusty chairs with red and white plastic wiring sat. The three men got comfortable and started drinking beer and talking about the guava, mango, and banana trees on the property. Why was I there, and what were they going to do with me? I thought. I was so tired, and really weary.

After a few hours, they said, "Ok, it's time." They were so drunk and could hardly stand straight. They came close and surrounded me, and were laughing and saying stupid things. The neighbor pulled out his knife and started cutting the ropes from my hands. I passed out.

I later woke up in the hospital to the sound of machines beeping. A woman was rapidly slapping my cheeks and telling me to breathe. "It's going to be alright," she told me. "You're lucky Canela found you. She had been at her garden plot and heard the drunk neighbors talking trash." I thought, with an unbelievable relief, thank you, Canela.

Who would have thought giving a bowl of soup would be a wrong move? I've recovered from that incident, but I haven't forgotten it. I know that the next time someone starts to bring me nice things, I will say thank you, shut the door, and turn the key.