The Story of Elizabeth Smart

17

Chapter Seventeen-Tracks in the mud

Water was a big deal. It was precious. It was rare. Mitchell and Barzee rationed it closely. It took a lot of work to get and we conserved it carefully. We kept a small bowl to wash our hands in, but that is all the washing we ever did. The rest of the water we drank. It was warm and tasted of plastic, but I didn't care. Getting my share of water was a really big deal.

Mitchell hated going down to the spring at the bottom of the canyon, which meant that every couple days we'd run out of water. He'd usually make us go a day or so before he'd finally gather up the plastic containers and head on down the canyon. These waterless days were miserable. I was already hot and dry and filthy. Going a day without any water while enduring the summer heat only made it worse.

When he'd go for water, I'd beg him to let me go with him. His reply was always the same: "You're not ready." Which was an interesting thing to say. Already, he was starting to manipulate me. Be good and I will reward you. I can be generous and kind. But you have to earn it. And you will owe me once I have given some freedoms to you.

It's ironic that by letting me off the cable, he was trying to reel me in. Even then, he was trying to get me to love him. But it certainly didn't work. Never did I develop any feelings for him or Barzee. All I ever felt was fear and repulsion.

When it came to the possibility of letting me go down with him to get some water, I don't think he was worried that I would escape. For one thing, he could always hold on to the other end of my cable. And it was two adults against a child, hardly 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.