Sin Salida

After the showers, the players returned to class, expecting nothing more dangerous than another tedious lesson in biology.

They were wrong.

The classroom door suddenly opened, and the commander of the Pro-Freedom Battalion marched in with two soldiers behind him.

“Tomorrow,” he announced, “all male students over eighteen will report to the changing rooms for inspection.”

The biology teacher slowly lowered his book.

“Inspection for what?”

The commander looked at the students as though he were about to reveal the secret of the universe.

“There are very few soldiers left at the front. If the United Armies of Americana la Capitana capture our brigades, they will turn us into capitalist slaves.”

The classroom fell silent.

“And I ask you,” he continued, raising his fist, “do we want that?”

“No, sir!”

A soldier immediately shouted at the class.

“More respect for Commander Pimienta!”

“Yes, sir, Pimienta!”

The commander frowned at the soldier.

“Enough.”

He then walked toward the desk of his son, Abdulah, the star forward of the school’s glorious football team, Los Furiosos.

“There will be no special treatment,” Pimienta said. “After tomorrow’s game, many of you will become soldiers. The homeland will thank you.”

Abdulah swallowed.

He loved football.

He loved his family.

And, according to everything he had been told since childhood, he was supposed to love the army too.

Unfortunately, he was beginning to suspect that the three things were not necessarily compatible.

Later, Garfia approached the commander when nobody was around.

She was sixteen, proud, intelligent, and increasingly tired of watching adults make promises they never kept.

“You don’t act like my father,” she said.

Pimienta sighed.

“We’re at war.”

“I’ve seen my mother crying. She’s falling apart.”

“I know.”

“And you keep pretending everything is normal.”

“It isn’t normal,” he replied. “But I will come next week for your birthday. What would you like me to give you? A sleepy teddy bear?”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“I don’t want a present.”

“Nothing?”

“I want you to come back.”

Pimienta’s expression changed.

“That is more difficult.”

“You’re always saying that.”

He smiled sadly.

“I love you. I love both of you.”

Garfia looked toward her friends, who were watching from a distance.

“If you really loved us…”

She stopped.

For once, she had nothing clever to say.

Pimienta gently took her hand.

“You’re still young. You shouldn’t have to carry all this.”

“I already am.”

He knew she was right.

The war had made children grow up faster than their parents could understand.

Then Garfia made him a proposition.

“If you really want to give me something for my birthday, leave this place with us.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Then stop playing soldier.”

“I am the commander.”

“That’s exactly the problem.”

Pimienta almost laughed.

Almost.

“All right,” he said finally. “This afternoon I’ll come to see you.”

“No. Not home.”

“Where, then?”

“The train station.”

He stared at her.

“We’re going to the Republic of Americana. I want to leave this miserable communist atmosphere behind.”

Pimienta sighed.

“I suppose I’d better pack.”

Garfia smiled.

“If you’re not there…”

She deliberately left the sentence unfinished.

Pimienta understood.

He had spent his entire life commanding armies, but he had just discovered that a sixteen-year-old girl could frighten him more effectively than an enemy general.

Meanwhile, Garfia returned to cheerleading practice.

She had begun looking at the other girls differently.

Soon I’ll leave this place, she thought. Soon I’ll be living among people who actually win their wars.

Sinsa watched her from across the field.

Perhaps it was envy.

Perhaps it was pride.

Perhaps it was simply the natural rivalry between two girls who had known each other too long.

After classes, Abdulah went to the park to meet Lida, his girlfriend.

They sat beneath an old tree while the distant sound of military trucks passed along the avenue.

“Why do you look so miserable?” Lida asked.

“Which face would you like me to wear today?”

“The one that doesn’t look like you’re going to war tomorrow.”

“My father came to your class too, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He mentioned humanitarian service and the Red Cross. Apparently everyone has to contribute.”

Abdulah kicked a stone.

“I don’t mind serving.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

He hesitated.

Then, with the seriousness of a man announcing a national catastrophe, he said:

“If they send me to the front, I might die before I’ve ever had a chance to fall properly in love.”

Lida stared at him.

Then she laughed.

Abdulah looked offended.

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You’re afraid of dying a virgin.”

Abdulah’s face turned red.

“I didn’t say it like that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He looked toward the lake.

“Everyone in my family talks about honor, courage, military service… but nobody talks about what happens to the person underneath the uniform.”

Lida’s expression softened.

“That is actually the first intelligent thing you’ve said all day.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They remained silent for a moment.

Then Lida said:

“Would you really marry someone just because you’re afraid of dying without experiencing love?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I want something real.”

“Then don’t let the war decide your life for you.”

Abdulah looked at her.

“You sound like a philosopher.”

“I sound like your girlfriend.”

“That’s even more dangerous.”

She laughed.

For a few minutes, the war seemed very far away.

Then Abdulah remembered something.

“Sinsa has apparently decided she wants to remain a virgin until marriage.”

Lida smiled.

“That’s her decision.”

“I know. I’m just surprised.”

“Why?”

“Because Tomy seems to be completely in love with her.”

“So?”

“So I can’t imagine him waiting patiently for the rest of his life.”

Lida shrugged.

“Then perhaps they will both discover that love requires more patience than football.”

Abdulah groaned.

“Don’t tell my father that.”

“Why?”

“He’ll turn it into a military doctrine.”

That evening, the family gathered around the dinner table.

The conversation inevitably returned to the war.

Abdulah’s stepmother complained about the shortages.

His father complained about the government.

The government, presumably, would have complained about everyone else if it had been sitting at the table.

Sinsa remained unusually quiet.

Abdulah noticed.

“You’re thinking about Tomy.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Sinsa threw a napkin at him.

“Mind your own business.”

“I am. You’re my sister.”

“We’re not actually related.”

“That has never stopped you from acting like my sister.”

“And it has never stopped you from acting like an idiot.”

Their stepmother smiled.

“Children…”

“We’re not children,” Sinsa answered.

Everyone became silent.

Outside, military vehicles rumbled through the streets.

For a moment, nobody joked.

The war had entered their home without knocking.

And somewhere beyond the city, soldiers were preparing for another night at the front.

Abdulah looked at Sinsa.

She looked back.

Neither of them knew what tomorrow would bring.

But Abdulah knew one thing:

If he survived the war, he wanted his first great love to be something he chose for himself—not something dictated by fear, tradition, military orders, or the ridiculous expectations of everyone around him.

And, for the first time that night, his fear of dying a virgin seemed less important than his fear of never getting the chance to live his own life.

To be continued…