El largo sueño de tu nombre

Pamplona, ??May 22, 1938. 'You can go out, comrades, we are free!' The powerful voice of the prisoner made its way through the prison yard. Joaquín got up immediately and shook Tomás, sitting next to him on the floor of the cell. 'Come on, boy!', He told her pulling her sweater and lifting it up. They belonged to the second brigade. His dungeon was on the first floor of Fort San Cristóbal. Barely twenty-five square meters that constricted their spirits, forced as they were to remain within its walls practically the entire day. Someone opened the door to his cell and they ran down the stairs. They crossed the courtyard without detaching themselves from each other and, hidden among the crowd of prisoners who, guided by an anonymous voice that shouted 'France, France!' They crossed the courtyard of the fort heading towards the prison gate. Once they had crossed her, and before a vast horizon, hope settled in her mind. The hunger for freedom spurred on their legs as they ran immersed in a silence filled with fear.