Monday, April 26, 1937.

0100 Hours.

Zurito Bar.

"Sebas, brother," said Torito, placing his hand on the bed. "My ears seem to be playing tricks on me. Did you say we have to become deaf?" 

The priest cleared his throat, which made the entire room focus on him. But not even a thousand distractions could've lifted the somber mood that fell in the room. To be honest, I wasn't even sure it was the best way to go forward, but it was the most logical one at the moment. 

"That was a poor choice of words," I said. "But yes, that is the general idea." 

Lula, who was sitting on the bed, started to shake. "I already lost a leg. I cannot lose my ears, too!" 

"We won't be losing our ears!" I yelled, which made my insides twist in pain. I was pushing my limits, and I had to tread carefully going forward. "And it won't be a permanent state, either. Besides, this plan doesn't include you, Lula." God knew I had damaged her enough for that. 

"Yeah, lucky you," said Torito with enough pride and disdain in his eyes to stop a bull on his track. His arms were crossed in front of him, likey thinking me mad. "But pray tell, why would I subject myself to such extends?" 

Father Maximino interrupted me even before I started talking. "Because it is the only way the beast can be somewhat staved."

It was enough to make Torito stand back, but not without lowering his guard. If anything, it invited Father Maximino to continue. He, on the other hand, stared at me as if asking me to explain. 

"Father Jagger was able to walk amongst the beasts without being affected," I said. "And it was because he couldn't hear its call. He was deaf." 

"Good for him," said Torito. "But that doesn't mean I will sacrifice my hearing to beat the beast. There has to be another way."

If there was, nobody dared say it. Not even after Torito locked eyed with each and every one of us that he realized our resolve was beyond our needs. 

"There is not," I said with bravery unknown. "It is for the greater good." 

I didn't manage to finish the sentence before Torito bolted to the window, opening it wide. He lit up a cigarette, giving it two long drags that almost depleted it, tossing the butt with a dismissive flick. His hand caressed his face and he, what I assumed, came face to face with the prospect of having his life changed forever. 

A man can be very brave, right until it stares death in the eyes, then they become mewling babes, crying for their mother's bosom. As if I'm one to judge. 

"You said it wasn't going to be permanent," said Torito, breaking the silence that he himself cast among us. "How do you pretend we do that miracle?" 

The answer, interestingly enough, rested against his hip. 

"When I was in the tunnels, meeting the beast, Camarada shot his gun very close to my head. It must have damaged my ears because I couldn't hear anything for the longest time. It was enough to even break me away from the beast's trance." 

Much has been researched on the effects of detonations in human ears, mostly associated with long-term effects, such as tinnitus. Of course, I didn't know such effects at the time, only knowing such a thing would temporarily deprive me of my hearing. Even now, in my old age, I can still feel a slight ringing whenever there silence. I have to sleep with a fan on to drown the sound. 

Father Maximino scratched his cheeks, pacing back and forth between the bed and the wall. "That could work." 

"And if something goes wrong, we can have the father here cure us back," I said. A sentiment that was clearly not shared by Father Maximino as he bit his thumb in frustration. 

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," said the fat priest.

"Okay, not you," said Torito. "God or whatever."

"I mean, I can't," repeated the priest. "I'm out of power." 

"What are you, a battery?" asked Torito with a lopsided smile. "You need some electricity?" 

"It means that I have gone against the will of God!" he yelled. The whole room became still, not even the mice dared to speak. Father Maximino was red with anger, with bulging veins crawling up his neck. 

And with that, he managed to shut Torito up. An impressive feat in on itself. 

"I have brought a man from death," said Father Maximino. "I have taken the will the Lord and placed mine above it. By disgracing the powers bestowed upon me, I have been forsaken. And so have you." 

And so, Torito laughed. It was small at first, soon falling into a maddening cackle. I was afraid someone would find us through his ruckus. It was by sheer luck that there were no patrols in the vicinity.

"Welcome to the club, father," he said, half laughing, half speaking. "We were forsaken by God a long time ago." 

I couldn't tell if it was a pained expression or a smirk, but Father Maximino did it while lowering his head. He had also performed his greatest sacrifice. For the greater good. 

It was perhaps seeing how Father Maximino had thrown his life away, but it was enough to put a kick in Torito's step. 

"Alright," he said, sitting on the bed. He took the gun, Luger that still held that one bullet we absolutely needed, and placed it next to his ear. "So, I just shoot up, or-"

"No!" Lula, Maximino, and me yelled at the same time. 

He carefully placed the gun on the bed, shrugging his shoulders. "I shouldn't carry this anymore, should I?"

I took the gun. It was safer with me after all. "We don't need to do that now. First thing first is getting the machine gun." 

"A task made harder with the increased security near the town square," added Lula. 

"They're still trying to find the missing people?" 

"No, that's not it," said Lula. "Well, I don't know if that's it, but tomorrow is Market Day. Everyone from the neighboring towns will come to sell their produce." 

"But, that's madness! Lieutenant Aguirre must surely know there is something afoot here!" 

"Yeah, he does," said Torito. His smile was more pained than mocking. "He simply doesn't give a fuck. He is one to beat one of his own soldiers near death just to make a point. My guess is that he wants to run everything like usual. The town needs the morale." 

That changed everything. A bombing on Market Day, with thousands of people outside like sitting ducks, would be catastrophic. An act of war like the world had seldom seen until then. 

"That fool," whispered the priest. "He has doomed us all." 

"Not yet we aren't!" said Lula. "This is wonderful news!" 

It was a poorly-times jest, or so I thought at the moment. But Lula kept her head high and with resolve in her eyes. She was serious. 

"How?" I asked. 

"We will use the people as cover to steal the machine gun," she said with a smile. "You see, people start coming in around dawn. We blend with the crowd, and we are done!" 

It was a solid idea, one that Torito didn't waste time to praise. "Unless they changed their shift order, there is a change of guard around that time. We could, theoretically, slip in between shifts. We would have to move fast. Very fast, in fact. How much time do we have until the strike?" 

"I would say until noon," said Father Maximino. "So, six hours?" 

"More than enough time," said Torito. "And yet, not enough. We need to move fast." 

"And I will need at least half an hour to bless the munitions," said the priest. 

They two of them began to plant the details back and forth without leaving me an opportunity to say a word in edgewise. This is where Torito shone where I couldn't. He was a tactical genius, one that I could never rival. But what he lacked in leadership I made up for, and it is perhaps the best quality of a leader to know where to step back and let someone take the helm when needed. 

Still, there was one thing that kept bothering me. And it wasn't the plan.

"You kept saying 'we' a lot," I said, interrupting both of them from their banter. 

They all looked to where I was focusing my remarks. It wasn't towards Torito, or the priest. It was towards Lula.

"What?" asked Lula, seeing herself being thrust in the spotlight. "Can you repeat that?"

"I said, why do you keep saying 'we' like you are planning to storm the tunnels with us," I said. 

Her face turned from confusion, to anger, to shame, clutching the piece of wood she used as support to move around. "Why do you say that? Is it because I'm missing a leg?" 

I didn't want to say yes...but yes. That was the general feeling. I could sense it in the room. It was an unspoken understanding that somehow missed Lula, and she was only understanding it now. 

"Do you all think I'm useless?" she said. Tears started to form, her cheeks red with fluster. "Do you think because I'm missing a leg I'm suddenly less of a person?! Is that how it is?! Speak, you cowards!" 

But none dared say it out loud. It didn't mean nobody spoke up.

"My child," said Father Maximino, "you are perhaps the most important part of our plan." 

His words made Lula pause. The welled tears fell silently down her cheeks, but they didn't deter from looking at the priest with confusion. "What do you mean?" 

"In case we don't make it out alive, it falls to you to evacuate the town," said the priest. "There is no guarantee we shall succeed."

"I would bet against us to be honest," said Torito. He had a fresh cigarette hanging from his mouth, blowing up smoke like a man who gave up on life. 

"In case we fail," said the priest, "you are to toll the bells on top of the San Jose Church. I heard from the local priest that those bells are used as an air warning system. That ought to make your job easier." 

And so, with the possibility of failure, Lula was thrust an awesome responsibility, one that made her quiet down. I can't say what she was thinking of at that moment, but I could feel she took that moment in the somber solemnity that required it. After a few seconds with her eyes closed, she nodded.

"Alright, that settles it then," said Torito. He flicked the cigarette out of the window and closed it after him. "I haven't slept in a bed in months, so excuse me if I go take a nap before we march to our death." 

"We do need to rest," agreed the priest. "We will be up at 0400 hours. Rest until then. You deserve it." 

Both the men left the room, leaving me and Lula alone. 

"Well, good night," she said, standing up with sufficient effort to be visibly hurt. 

And without knowing, my hand reached out to her.

I am a coward. If it were up to me, I would've been going halfway to Bilbao by then. I was not a fighter, or a planner. I was shaking inside. Every instinct in my soul yelled at me to run. 

But I couldn't. I couldn't leave knowing Lula was going to stay behind. My love. My life. My Lula. She gave me strength and resolve, and even though I didn't deserve it, I had to make her know it. It was, perhaps, the last time I was going to be alone with her. 

What left my mouth, instead of a confession, was much, much worse. 

"Lula, will you marry me?"