The Story of Elizabeth Smart

18

Chapter 18-Food and Wine

A little more than a week into my captivity, we ran out of food. Up to that point, we hadn't eaten well, but we had enough to get by. And I hadn't given a lot of thought as to where our food had come from, or where any more food was going to come from in the future. I just didn't think about it. It was obvious Mitchell and Barzee had been in the camp for a long time. They hadn't starved. They had to continue eating in the future. Surely they had a plan.

But then we ran out of food. The coolers were completely empty. Nothing in the plastic containers. No raisins. No tortillas. No crackers or apples. Nothing at all to eat. In my church, on the first Sunday of the month, we fast for twenty-four hours, then take what money we would have spent on food and give it to the poor. It's a day of fasting and prayer and giving, which is a good thing. But I guess I'm just a baby. It was always really hard for me to go hungry. So even though I was used to going a day without eating, it was very discouraging to be trapped in the camp without any food. I'm the kind of person who has to eat every three hours or I feel miserable and become a little cranky. And I don't think I'm alone. Most of us don't realize, or we forget because we don't have to do it very often, how quickly we feel hungry and how badly we want to eat.

We went a morning without eating. And then a day. And then another. I was getting really hungry. All of us were. It was miserable. My belly hurt. Then I started to wonder, What's going to happen? Is he going to go and get us some food? How is he going to get it? How long is it going to take?

About midmorning, Barzee and I were in the tent. She was teaching me how to patch our robes, which was a good wifely duty and one I had to learn. To do this, she had brought out new robes for us to wear while we mended the linen ones. (Initially they had been a whitish light-beige color but now they were more brown than beige.) The new robes were made from gold sheets that we had to pull over our heads, then secure with a clasp and tie with a sash. The material was cheap and flimsy, but the sheets were not well worn, making them the finest clothing in the camp. They were awkward and ugly, though, with sleeves that fell to our sides in huge triangles, giving them the appearance of an African muumuu. All morning we sewed and patched away, getting the linen robes into fine shape. But it was hot and miserable. And I was getting so hungry. It was the only thing that I could think about.

Finally, Mitchell poked his head into the tent and announced, "I'm going to go down to Babylon to plunder."

At first I didn't know what he meant. Babylon?

At first I didn't know what he meant. Babylon? Plunder? But then I got really excited. Going down to Babylon. I was smart enough to figure that one out. He was going down into the world. He was going to get us food.

But that wasn't the only thing that made me happy. This meant an entire day without him. I wouldn't get raped. I wouldn't get abused. I wouldn't have to listen to him tell me how he was going to kill my family. I wouldn't have to listen to him tell me how grateful I should be that he had saved me from the world. I didn't know which was more exciting, a day away from him or the possibility of getting food.

Watching him get ready to leave, I felt like a little girl on Christmas morning. My mouth began to water at the prospect of finally having something to eat. My heart raced as he put on his boots and picked up his pack. Yes, I wanted to say. Go down to Babylon and get me food!

But how was he going to get it? What did plunder really mean? I looked at him, confused. But Mitchell didn't offer to explain, which was unusual, for he was always searching for something new to talk about. It turned out that it didn't matter. I would learn about plunder soon enough.

Then another thought popped into my mind. Maybe he would bring me some news of what was going on with my family. Maybe he would tell me about the search efforts. I could picture him using the news to torment me: Esther, they were so close. So close. And yet so far away. Maybe he would bring me news of the world, anything at all to break the boredom. Or better yet, maybe someone would follow him when he came back to our camp. Maybe someone would stumble upon us while he was gone. Maybe someone would catch him while he was down in the city. I knew all of these things were extremely unlikely, but I couldn't keep the thoughts out of my mind. He was going to the city. He was exposing himself to society, other people, maybe even the police. That had to be helpful, I just couldn't figure out how.