Young Guillermo

I

It was early spring in this year of 1884. The war had been raging for two years already between England and Spain. The Spanish navy was heading towards Western Ireland, where important strategic points were to be seized. Young Guillermo, as his companions called him, was to experience his first battle, having just joined the army at age 19. He was not eager to it at all, and he felt alone in that.

"Do you know what we say when we send an Englishman to hell, Young Guillermo?"

"What do you say?"

"Long live the king!"

"Don't they have a king already?"

"Our king, you buffoon..."

"Ah, yes..."

He was not eager to it. For him, it was all pointless nonsense. What was there to do in Ireland, the green land where the sun is never warm or simply never there? The sky was all gray, ready to unleash its rainy hell upon him, and he missed his homeland.

They spent four days and nights in their ship on their way to Galway. If you were at the helm you could start to see the land afar. All were ready to shed blood, except for Young Guillermo. He prayed for it all to cease. Then suddenly there was a loud boom, a quick flash, as if God had come to extract him from this life, and then nothing for a while. Void. When he regained consciousness, Young Guillermo lay on the wet gravel, stunned. His hands were red with blood, which appeared to issue from his side. His heartbeat started speeding up. Turn around. Behind him, the remains of the battleship and tens of pulseless bodies scattered around the reddened shore. Not one moving. He stood up with difficulty and tried to find just a living soul.

"Hey! Can anyone hear me? Is anyone there?"

He could only shout for so long before a grimace of pain emerged from his face and had him stop. Falling to his knees, he resigned himself to join his fallen comrades. Then, lifting his eyes in a last hopeful attempt, he caught sight of one of the horses of the cavalry, standing proud and looking right back at him. Alone, just like him. Seemingly unscathed, unlike him. The mount started to gallop towards Young Guillermo and soon stood beside him, then bent down, and took him on its back. God, what does this all mean? he thought. And then they were off to the heart of the island. Young Guillermo had to trust its guide, for his hour had not come.