The Soundmaker

The Pious Man, The Man Devoid Of Blame

Friday, April 23, 1937.

2100 Hours.

Old Roots Hall.

I could never pretend to know how Lula felt at that moment. What I can deduce is that the pain of seeing her mother and sister being turned into mindless, inhumane beast broke her spirit. In the few seconds that happened after they left, I was able to see how Lula's soul broke into a million pieces.

She was a raging fire of a woman, always with a spark of magic and a sprint to her step; she was now a flickering candle being half-blown by the wind.

I could only see her fall to the ground like a leaf when the influence of the beats spirited away from her body. There was no sobbing, or wailing, or pain, at least not physically. But the tears cascading from her eyes betrayed the inner turmoil of her soul.

I know it because I've been there. That wash of love and togetherness than the beasts offer in exchange for our surrender. It's seducing and enticing, and more so if it comes from someone as close as family, I assume. To have that and then coming to the excruciating realization that you are now completely and utterly alone in the universe must be painful beyond belief.

How fragile is life, than in the moment that it takes to snap your fingers it can be ruined forever.

Torito also fell back, but tears didn't grace his face. He took a cigarette out of his breast pocket, all the while shaking from top to bottom. He tried to light a match but his shaking hands didn't give him enough force to strike it lit. After a few attempts, he threw the matchbox to the ground in frustration while combing his hair with his hand.

My attention was focused on Lula's leg as it continued to bleed profusely.

"Lula," I said as I knelt before her. "Talk to me."

But she didn't, and the blood was getting worse. I took out a handkerchief from my satchel and crudely wrapped it around the leg. It didn't stop the bleeding, but it wasn't gushing, either. There was no exit bullet hole which told me the bullet was still inside her. I was given basic medical training as an officer, and I knew the bullet hole was dangerously close to a main artery. Without immediate help, she was in extreme danger of bleeding out.

I cupped her face in my hands and shook it lightly to snap her out of it. After a few seconds, she seemed to wake up from her stupor.

"Mama, Fátima," she whispered. "Gone. They are gone."

There were a lot of things I could say to try to console her, and none would've worked. But we had to press on--the priority had changed.

"Can you stand up?" I asked, but she continued to ramble.

"They are gone," she whispered. "I'm alone."

I made her stood up placing one of her arms over me and lifting her up, but she acted like a ragdoll. She slipped down with a thump and continued to whisper to herself. This was a two-man job.

"Torito," I called. "Help me up here."

But he didn't listen, or maybe he was ignoring me. Either case, he didn't budge. It wasn't after I yelled his name that he snapped out of his stupor.

"What?" he yelled un annoyance before seeing Lula's bleeding leg. "Oh shit."

He moved as fast as he could to lift her up. Even in her state, she was easily carried by us. There was only a small problem.

"Are we going to leave Camarada to die?" asked Torito.

"Yes," I sentenced. I know, you can judge me all you want. It was either Lula, or the hopes of maybe saving Camarada, if he was still alive. It has already been too costly, and my own priority was Lula. Lucky for me, Torito didn't fight me on that. He was smarter than me, and he knew better. It would've taken a miracle for us to push forward.