Original subtitles

All the women were asleep.

It was the early hours, since the prison was already silent.

Suddenly, I heard my name being shouted out.

I was afraid because

It wasn't usual to be summoned at that time,

I thought they were coming to take me to the punishment well.

The "prison crier" who was shouting for me

came to my cell and told me to get up,

that I had to go to the visitors' grille.

It was a really long corridor...

When I got to the visitors' grille,

I was standing there

when a man came along

and told me,

Are you Miriam Carvajal Yescas?

Yes.

I'm going to read this to you:

As per article this and that,

on this day 31 August 2010,

for lack of evidence,

Miriam Carvajal

is unconditionally released

I couldn't quite believe it at first.

No...

No words can express the emotion you feel

when they tell you you're free.

I grabbed some trainers, trousers, a T-shirt,

and the photo of my son, the first thing I saw when I woke up...

We knew there was a curfew in Matamoros at nights,

it was almost as if the city was at war

and every day there'd be clashes between the Zetas and the Gulf Cartel

and the police and all.

The lawyer who came to collect me

was afraid that we might be kidnapped on the way.

Just five days before, they'd found 72 migrants

in a mass grave in San Fernando.

I didn't have any money, I was a very long way from home,

in the north of Mexico.

I had to travel across the whole country to reach my house in Tulum.

More than 2,000 kilometers.

I remember that I got to the bus station

and went into the toilet.

It was the first time I'd seen myself in the mirror for ages

and I didn't recognise myself,

I didn't recognise the woman standing in front of me.

I couldn't look people in the eye because I felt

as if everybody knew I'd been in prison,

as if I was carrying a placard saying

"This woman was a convict" or "She's a convict!"

I started

trying...

to get my head to understand that I was out.

That the prison was left behind now

and that I had to carry on.

I began to...

to imagine that last morning I saw my child

and tried to remember where his bed was

or some things about his clothes,

what Leo's room was like, what my house was like,

the color of the walls.

I was terrified of opening the door of my house

and finding that pot of chicken stock

I'd made just before

they took me away.

And I said, well, I'm going to start from there,

pick up where I left off as if this had been a break or a dream.

There was another part of my head,

and above all of my heart, that was excited.

I was making plans, like...

I'm going to paint my house and we're going to go

to the beach every day.

Where are you going, Sir?

Just to Victoria.

The terminal.

- The bus terminal? - Yes.

- Is this suitcase yours? - Yes.

- Where are you from? - From here, from Matamoros.

- What do you do? - I'm a driver.

- Where do you work? - At the Royal company.

- Do you have any ID? - Yes.

And where are you headed?

To the port in Tampico to pick up a truck.

- A company truck? - Yes.

What's your address?

It's an address in the central district, here in Matamoros.

Why's the address on the ID in Guanajuato?

The thing is, they haven't given me a new ID for here.

So here is where you lived before?

- Here? - This address?

Ah! Yes.

You'll need to change your ID as soon as possible.

Of course.

Next.

- Is this yours? - Yes.

Has it already been checked?

Yes, it has.

- What do you do, Miss? - I'm studying.

- Where are you studying? - At the... I'm at high school.

- Where are you going? - To Tampico, Madero.

- Reason for the trip? - To visit my dad.

- Is that where your dad lives? - Yes.

- What's your dad's address? - It's on calle Rhin...

Where the hospital is. Behind the...

By the Pemex wall. Around there.

Has your case already been checked?

Your colleague's already checked it.

- Reason for your trip? - Business.

- What's your job? - Electrician.

- Are you traveling for a company? - Yes, for a company.

- How long are you staying in Tampico? - A week.

Take your hands out of your pockets, please.

- Is this your current address? - Yes, sir.

They arrested me on March 2nd, 2010.

That day, I got up at 6 in the morning.

I showered,

made my lunch

and woke up Leo to give him a bottle.

I was working at Cancun airport, in the immigration area.

I had already got started on my work

which consisted of processing incoming tourists

when a man

dressed in plain clothes

approached my passport control desk

and said to me "I need you to go to the office,"

"right now."

When I got to the office,

most of my colleagues were already there.

They told us we were going to have to go to Mexico City,

there and then.

And I said,

"Oh well, that's just the way it is, it comes with the job."

I asked them if it'd take long

because I'd need to find somebody to look after my son

if I wasn't going to be back in time for bed that night.

When the plane landed in Mexico City

I noticed that there were 20 police cars

surrounding the plane.

They took us directly to the offices

of the Federal Investigation Agency.

There were like 30 photographers who began to take photos

and a man, a public prosecutor,

who said we were there

accused of organized crime

and people trafficking.

They took us to a place called El Arraigo, the holding cells.

It made the national news, it was on the telly,

in the newspapers,

"We've caught a gang of people traffickers,"

something like that.

Once we were in the holding cells, that's when they first took me down

to my court-appointed lawyer...

They provide the lawyer for you.

I wanted to know who was accusing me, what proof they had

why this thing had blown up.

And he said:

"The National Institute of Immigration"

"has brought charges against you."

And he said,

"Look, I know that your case has come from the top"

"this is a political situation where they have"

"to show they're getting results"

"in their handling of people trafficking, which does exist."

"Here, we call you payers,"

"people who pay for other people's crimes."

"We know you didn't do anything but,"

"well, somebody's got to pay."

What on earth can you say to that?!

I remember that I said to my sister

"I don't know, do whatever it takes but get me out of here."

When I'd served the maximum 80 days in the holding cells

they read us out a paper that said:

"Miss So and So"

"will be transferred to Matamoros prison."

They handcuffed me immediately

and put a black fabric bag over my head.

When we got to the prison

we went along a really narrow corridor,

where they asked me my name,

my age.

The guard who signed me in told me

to be on my best behaviour and do everything that they told me.

I didn't know who she was talking about.

There was a big courtyard

and in this courtyard there were

something like...

25 men.

Their appearance was

very intimidating.

They had machetes and were carrying assault rifles.

The first thing they told us to do was to kneel down

with our faces to the wall

and they introduced themselves

"This is the territory of the Cartel,"

"you're in a self-governing prison"

"and we're in charge here".

They told us we wouldn't be staying there for free

and that the fee for respecting our lives was five thousand dollars.

They tortured each of us in turn

they beat us with boards on our bodies.

They went from one person to the next

with a note book and a pencil or a pen

"Let's see, your mother,"

"your father - what are they called? Where do they live?"

They wanted our relatives' phone numbers

so that they could start sending money.

And I...

if I could have remembered anybody's phone number

maybe I'd have given it.

Afterwards, another person arrived

with a piece of paper that had the whole family's name

including my son.

Which makes me think that they were getting reports

directly from the police.

At one point, they hit me on the head,

a single blow and I fell down at once.

When I woke up I noticed that I had a broken tooth.

The pieces of the tooth were still in my mouth.

It was a totally dark room.

I began to make out women's faces,

their eyes, their features.

It was a very small place about one and a half metres by two.

The heat was stifling, stifling.

And somebody said to me

"Hey! Are you awake now?"

"The way it works here is like this."

"The last one to arrive fans air for the rest of us".

And I didn't understand...

"Yes, yes, take off your T-shirt and fan us".

What?

"Yes, take off your T-shirt and fan us".

I took off my T- shirt and began to do it

for hours...

until somebody else arrived.

All of us were almost always on our feet,

we relieved ourselves right there,

in the same place where we were standing.

After three days...

they took me out themselves, carrying me,

and took me to another cell.

The first thing I saw was an old woman,

without any teeth,

stark naked,

skinny, skinny, skinny,

who shouted in my face

"Let me get some fucking sleep!"

I started crying really loudly,

someone got up and told me

"Don't cry,"

"be quiet, otherwise you'll annoy them".

I had no idea where all the others were,

the people I'd arrived with,

I didn't know if my family already knew where I was.

I fell asleep.

I woke up when a trolley came in, and someone started shouting

"Gruuuub's up".

I sat on the floor

watching the other women lining up with a cup, a glass...

Until that toothless old woman came back,

sat down beside me and looked into my eyes.

She gave me some of her coffee

and she gave me half of her bread.

Grab it, Santis!

Hang on - I'm admiring the landscape here!

It looks so pretty!

Come on now!

Wait!

Everyday it's the same old thing with this table...

My name is Adela

I have three children, I'm mother to three children

and although none of them work in the circus,

they certainly liked their mummy being a clown.

They used to come along with me, they liked seeing me working.

All my family are circus people

my uncles,

my brothers,

my nephews.

Since my grandparents' time,

there've been several generations of us.

My dad was born in the circus.

He was the one who taught us to feel affection for this work.

What's happened?

Let's see, come here, come here!

What's the matter? Why are you crying?

Why are you crying? What's the matter with you?

- Nothing. - Do you need to pee?

No?

Let's wake up Regis. Regis!

Regis!

When my dad used to rehearse with my uncles,

we were their public.

I was probably about seven years old.

Now then! Up, up, up,

up.

That's it!

Run, run, run, run!

That's it - run, run, there's nothing the matter!

Up!

That's it!

Down!

Up!

Down!

Up!

Down!

I went to school like all the normal children

but...

my dad said he wanted us to rehearse

so we started to rehearse

like all the circus children with acrobatics,

and the way they taught us,

it was

a tougher discipline

than it is today.

Elephants.

Elephants, elephants.

Katy!

Elephants!

Katy!

Elephants!

That one is waiting for you!

I remember that one time I fell over and so then I kind of wanted to cry

but they just said, "Come on now, get up"

as if I hadn't fallen over.

In fact they might even give you a great whack, like that,

with those strong hands people like that have hard, sturdy, rough.

And I didn't like that.

That was what made me give up on rehearsing.

Katy!

It's your turn, Katy.

That's it!

That's it, tuck your head right in.

That's it.

Being a clown is quite different, it isn't easy either.

It took years for me to find out what my character type was.

I really liked it when I found out that my character was really

that of an elegant clown,

and I'm really proud of it because

I'm the only one with a character like my dad's.

Stretch it more pull it back further.

More, more, more, more as far as you can,

stretch it.

Let's see,

I'm moving you as if you were chewing gum.

But hard.

That's it.

Ok, how are you going to salute the audience?

Elegantly your head held high.

Now to the other side always very elegantly.

Absolute elegance.

That's it.

To the other side.

That's it.

Remember, pull your legs and hands at the same time.

Hard, everything, everything hard legs, buttocks, belly, everything.

Ok? Right.

Slowly.

When I first became a mother

I couldn't imagine just how much you love a child.

That's it.

I immediately wanted to breastfeed my child,

to look after it.

It's a transformation

of love you've never experienced before

having that little creature.

When you give that life and see it growing

every day, every day,

time

slips by, unnoticed.

When you have a child

that child is unique,

one child can never

replace another.

That morning

I saw the sunshine for the first time after many days.

It was as if everything was brown,

everything was tinged with that color.

I was firmly convinced that I was going to end up dying there.

It's like, when you come out of the well,

everybody knows it

and they're all kind of nice to you

because all of them have been there themselves.

They gave me a bar of soap, some toothpaste,

a brush.

And among the women who came up to me

was that little old lady again,

she gave me a clean T-shirt and said to me,

"Have a shower you dirty pig!"

She was called Juanita.

Immediately afterwards,

they sent for me

and took me to the men's section.

The entrance is very impressive because

there was a gigantic poster that said:

"Abandon hope, all ye who enter here".

There's a wall with a painting

of Santa Muerte

with a scythe in her hand.

It's the size of a building, I mean a three-storey building.

At one end, I saw four men

sitting at a table

with very nice haircuts really clean, ironed shirts.

They really stood out from the others.

They were the bosses round there.

And they said, "Now then, sit down."

"Do you understand how things are going to work?

"You're going to have to pay for your stay here."

"You do know we mean this seriously, don't you?"

"Until your family gets here or you get in touch with them"

"the rule here is that the ones who've just arrived"

"do all the cleaning in the prison".

That same day I started to do the cleaning.

The women's section is like a tenement.

I think there were about 160 prisoners.

There are no bars in that prison

nobody is locked in

there are no uniforms

there are no police.

And there's really loud music all the time

there was a juke box that cost a peso a song,

everybody would be shouting or there'd be somebody dancing.

They are really cheerful.

There were three or four women

who were the local prostitutes,

you'd see them going out, dressed up

to the nines in miniskirts and high heels

and they'd go to what they call the village,

which is where the men are.

There were restaurants and a lot of shops.

There was a cantina, where you could drink beer

and have a snack.

A market, a normal market

where they sell fruit, vegetables,

there's a butcher's, a poultry seller

and there was also another part where all the tattoo artists were.

Since the prison's on the border,

there were lots of prisoners from Central America

and other countries.

Once we'd paid our five thousand dollars

they demanded five hundred dollars a week.

These five hundred dollars were the fee they charged you

for protection against themselves,

so that you'd he able to stay alive

until the next week.

And they did keep their promise, that once I'd paid

nobody would ever lay a finger on me again.

The foreman in charge of the women's section told me

"If you lose a pin or a hair-slide, tell me at once,"

"because nobody steals here,"

"any woman who steals goes to the well."

One of their most important resources is fear.

When my relatives began to pay the money

I knew that they weren't going to kill me because

I was a business for them, and they were profiting

from what my family gave them.

Every Monday, the accountant would turn up.

We chatted once

and he told me he really was a proper accountant.

He kept account books

where he would record what Miss so and so paid this week...

he'd come by with his muscle...

I mean with his gang of minders,

charging, cell by cell.

But he was a very nice man,

so when he came along he'd be a bit embarrassed, like...

"Here I am again, madame..."

I was told they had kidnapped him

to make him do this accountancy work.

You can get pretty much anything there inside with money,

If you have money, you have things,

you have respect,

it gives you power and it gives you safety.

And everything costs.

Actually, it's not so different from here on the outside.

People who have no money have a very bad time,

they're called sicarios -

and they can get jobs with people who do have money,

working kind of like their servants.

But sicarios are also the executioners,

the ones who do the torturing.

As the days and weeks

go by things are no longer as sordid as in the very first days.

And you gradually

start to relax.

I started to see things differently,

as if I was in their shoes.

Juanita was the noblest and sweetest woman

I've ever met.

And although sometimes she seemed older

she was only 47.

She adopted me.

She'd come to my cell and say "It's time for our song now!"

We'd go to the jukebox and put on "Lamento de amor"

by Rigo Tovar.

She sang and wept

every day.

She always used to tell me Rigo had written that song for her.

And as soon as the song was over we'd laugh

but she'd carry on dancing and lift up her skirt.

I told her that when I was a girl,

they'd amputated one of my legs.

She always told me I was lucky because

I'd never have to kick the bucket.

My second pregnancy was really special to me,

I was pregnant with Monica.

My sisters used to say they could see me coming

before I'd even turned the corner.

I remember looking for clothes, and not finding

any that would disguise my belly, my belly was absolutely enormous.

All the women gave birth at thirty-something weeks, 38, 37

and there was I, 42 weeks pregnant.

So I asked the doctor,

"Listen, is my birth going to be at all risky?"

He told me, "No, it's just that your baby is still growing."

I said "Oh well - the baby's just going to grow even more!"

On the day of the birth

I was in the middle of a performance

when the pains started

and I said, "OK, I'll finish working first".

I finished taking off my make-up and everything

and my brother took me to hospital.

While they were in the middle of giving me a check

I grabbed the last doctor, who was on his way out

I squeezed his hand and said,

"Don't leave, because I'm about to give birth."

"No, no, you're not going to give birth, wait a bit".

And I told him,

"Yes I am, I'm going to give birth and you're not to leave."

When they were wheeling me along the corridor on a stretcher,

at that moment

she came out...

She wept,

she wept, in that first cry

and that was something that...

that was etched on my memory my whole life.

My daughter Monica,

when she was in primary school

she was learning baton twirling,

so I made a suggestion,

"listen child, would you like to work with me in the show?"

And she liked the idea.

We worked together for a while,

it was really nice because she was the one who'd start.

Monica performed with a great deal of passion and tenderness.

She was always very methodical,

I don't know where she learnt that because I never taught her.

That's why I say she doesn't take after me, but her dad.

She was just about to finish her Psychology degree,

I think she only had one semester left.

She had plenty of suitors, but hadn't had a boyfriend yet.

That fly just stung me.

Don't talk, you can stay here, but don't talk

because your voice mustn't be recorded, only ours.

They say they're going to do an interview.

As the actresses say, count me in 3, 2, 1.

Hold it, excuse me, sorry, sorry.

No, but as they say...

that's right, roll camera,

ok, ok,

but how do you do it, auntie?

- With your fingers... - Ok, ok!

Auntie,

Carla says: "Hey Auntie Lupe,"

"Is it true that they have a squirrel tail in there?"

Who said that?

A squirrel tail, of course...

Leave your fleas alone!

What fleas? My fingers are itchy and I'm scratching them on my head...

What, what, what?

The worst of it is, you've got the microphone on...

Exactly! I've been ready for a while now.

Fede will say, hey, the microphone

is banging against your T-shirt.

Oh stop messing around, be serious.

- Come on, be serious. - Come over here!

What?

You're in the wrong place, come here!

I think you want me over there so you can fart about;

and the worst of it is that I still do what you say...

Carry on, carry on.

No, don't carry on doing that, ok?

Carry on and carry on and this one...

That's why she wants to be near her

because she's already leaning over here to...

ready to attack...

Don't go talking about that here.

What's up with you?

And why are you crossing your legs?

Take her to the toilet!

Go to the toilet!

If you've already crapped yourself, don't piss yourself too, Lupe!

Stop, stop.

All these moments I spend with you, do me so much good

because when I leave and I'm on my own...

- You start laughing to yourself? - No, it's different.

No, because she doesn't have anybody to laugh with.

I love you so much,

I'm glad you're here with us.

You know you've got so much support from us.

- I know, child. - We're your family, auntie.

I know, child.

That's why I like

these moments I spend with you, they're special.

And I know how much all of you have always loved my daughter.

But we're not going to be sad, ok?

We're going to carry on laughing.

But listen, they're announcing: "Miss Piggie!"

And there I am still one foot in and one foot out of my costume.

Run for it! But then there's the steel wire

the ropes are attached to...

and fuck it! I ended up over there!

I went on stage with mud all over my knee,

but with a huge smile on my face, feeling stylish.

Up to here. Up to here.

That's it.

There's one image that's really etched on my mind,

the day I saw Juanita running all around the courtyard

in no particular direction, like a madwoman.

When she ran, it was as if,

as if she couldn't recognise where she was.

She crashed against the walls.

Like a hunted animal

that's reached the end of the field and crashed;

she went back, fell, then ran again.

Leo represented my... strength.

I liked to go behind the prison and throw myself down on the grass.

I imagined that Leo was waiting for me

and that he needed to hug me too.

I imagined scenes with him.

How it would be when I got to see him again,

mixed up at the same time with a lot of fear

at the thought that he might not recognise me...

That thought really overwhelmed me.

I was already part of the prison

and felt some sense of belonging to that place.

Just when I was beginning to feel that way

something happened...

It was Saturday and a "prison crier"

came to tell me to go to the visiting booth

because my lawyer was there.

There were a lot of people in the courtyard

and I lost the "prison crier".

Then somebody showed me a way.

It was like a really long passageway and it was very dark.

When I got to the end

the door was closed.

I leaned against the wall

and opposite me

there was a boy who was like,

like 17 years old.

He was a migrant, you could see it at once.

His hands were tied.

He looked at me,

I remember that I thought about his eyes,

I thought they had the same look as I had when I arrived.

I knew what he was feeling.

I asked him his name

and he said "Martin".

Just then, the door opened and somebody pulled him in,

all I saw was that Martin fell to his knees,

somebody in there

had a board in his hands.

That person

raised his hands

with the board in

to hit him.

And I closed my eyes.

When I opened them

Martin was dead...

There was blood coming out of his ears and mouth.

That man who was there with the board was completely delirious

pacing this way and that

and there was a moment where we looked at each other,

I looked him straight in the eyes

and there was nothing in his eyes.

Then, in the darkness, I was able to make out

bodies piled up in there.

Everything became muffled,

I felt as

if something had broken in me, something good.

Such fear...

That's what it's about.

My daughter was 20 when they took her.

It was a Tuesday.

I left home very early that day,

she was still in bed.

My husband says she left at around 10 in the morning.

She had gone to university,

she said goodbye to her dad,

asked him for some money and left.

That afternoon,

one of her fellow-students called us;

they were supposed to hand in some work together,

and she told my other daughter that Monica

hadn't turned up at school.

It was approximately 4 in the afternoon.

The first thing I thought was that there must have been

some kind of accident

and that she might be in a hospital somewhere

or something like that.

My husband went out to look for her.

When

my husband arrived home very late

and told me...

that there was no news of her

not on the route she took to school or in the hospitals,

that there was no information about my daughter anywhere,

I lost my head because

I was just jumping,

jumping, jumping

with all the desperation.

I was jumping like a grasshopper.

Although my other children were there

I didn't see them.

The whole family mobilized,

we began looking for Monica everywhere.

Her fellow-student Jesus Martin Contreras,

who'd been her friend throughout her degree,

was very involved.

He was in touch constantly to find out

what news we had of Monica.

It was something we found very striking.

A few days later,

they sent a message demanding a ransom.

Telling us that if we didn't pay it

they'd send her back to us in pieces.

We found a way of getting the FIA to come to us,

that's a police organization.

They're supposed to be very good at rescuing kidnap victims.

And, in fact, they came to the house

installed some telephones.

They told us that we couldn't go out

on the street now,

that we shouldn't take phone calls from anybody,

and that we couldn't have people coming round to the house.

And...

well, the days went by, we waited,

we waited for that call but

it never came.

The FIA was in my house for around six months.

All that time, they kept us there,

we couldn't go out, couldn't investigate,

couldn't see anybody.

I didn't speak for about three or four days

I was thinking about that man who was there

killing those people.

It was a confusion of...

But how come?

I already knew what...

the worst that could happen to me

and how.

And as my family isn't rich, so

the time would come when they wouldn't be able to pay any more.

I began to think weird things, like that the solution was

to work for them.

I had to find a way not to be on this side,

so vulnerable.

The most important thing in my life was

to be back with Leo again.

When I managed to leave my cell

went to the tattoo artists' area and there I was,

along with all the others, with the same needle...

tattooing myself, just like them.

It was as if some of my fear had gone, too.

I began to work out a way of approaching these people and

I talked to

a woman

who was

an important leader in their organization

and

I happened to notice that she liked music and had a guitar.

I often went to her cell in the evenings to sing.

I began to befriend her.

Later, she told me that once you belong

you don't have to pay the quota any more.

And I actually started to think that I was capable of doing things

I'd never imagined, I'd be able to do.

Once, I went into a Catholic church

and kneeling,

praying,

I saw that man.

He was begging and praying with such passion!

When he got up

he went towards a bench

and picked up a little girl of about two

and carried her in his arms.

I became a bit obsessed with him,

went looking for him,

stood there watching what he was doing.

I'd often see him eating in the canteen.

When I saw him carrying his daughter

sharing out his food among his family...

Just like any father!

I thought a great deal about how he came to do that...

to do that work, or...

or what process he went through

to be able to kill so many people and

carry on living as normal.

I wanted him to look me in the eyes,

to know that I had seen him.

But no,

it never happened.

We've spent many years now, looking for my daughter.

It's been a very tough struggle,

very painful.

It's been 10 years.

The authorities

have extorted money from us, they've lied to us.

All this time,

all the information we have gathered,

makes us think she's held by a network of people traffickers.

We know that Jesus was the one who handed her over,

Monica's university friend,

and we know she was taken by the sons of federal police.

the FIA, federal police, security forces,

every so often their name is changed

but they're the same people.

It's taken a long time for me and my family

to accept that they may have taken her to prostitute her,

or something like that.

Even the thought of it

is very,

very hard to bear.

The absence of a child drives you out of your mind,

You want to know there's a little light somewhere there...

she'll come back,

they'll bring her back.

I've always longed for that moment where they say to me

she's in a certain place,

your daughter.

The family I made for myself

has changed completely

because

some time back, we had to leave our home,

we've spent time apart.

We live in hiding as if we were the criminals.

In a way, we could say we've gone underground

because we're facing death threats.

This policeman's son and his group

have threatened us directly on the phone

saying that if we don't stop our search,

if we don't agree to just forget everything

they're going to kill us.

But at this point,

at this stage in life, in this situation

I'm not afraid.

I prefer

to go out and search.

Death

no longer troubles me.

I would like to tell her that I am waiting for her

I want to see her smile.

Listen to her voice again.

I'm waiting for her with arms wide open,

to hug her again.

And wherever she might be, I want her to know

that we won't stop until she comes back to us.

A month after Martin was killed

I got out.

It was a feeling of...

happiness and

also a lot of sadness too.

The FIA knew that the jail was self-governing.

I passed from the hands of the police

into the hands of the Cartel.

The police handed me over.

I'm going home, just like that?

With all the deaths,

all the pain.

When I eventually...

faced the fact of being alone in my home with my son

I begin

to shut myself in.

I thought that...

if I left my house, they'd arrest me again,

they'd kidnapped me.

I couldn't be in places where there were a lot of people any more.

Somebody else had to take Leo to school because

I was no longer able to.

That thing that happens to me, the trembling,

which has been happening since Martin was killed,

it's a trembling that I can't control,

my whole face falls apart.

Sometimes I even catch myself talking to him.

Martin is still here,

with me.

For many months I slept with Leo in my arms.

He got used to sleeping like that, the two of us, feeling afraid.

But there was a point

when I realised

what I was doing to my son.

I realised that I couldn't let the damage spread to him.