描述:22871197-1_w.jpg This novel traces three days in the life of Robert Jordan, an American Spanish professor who has volunteered to fight for the Loyalists in the Spanish Civil War. Jordan is a dynamite expert, and is ordered by General Golz, a Russian leader of the International Brigades, to bomb a bridge as part of their offensive against the Fascists. Golz is only interested in the offensive as a means of practicing his military tactics and he is cynical about its success in the hands of the Spanish peasants. Anselmo, an old guide, brings Jordan through the woods to the hideout, an abandoned cave, of the men who will help him complete his mission. The guerillas that Jordan encounters obviously do not want to be involved in the war any longer. They meet Agustin in the woods, visibly relieved to see them because he has forgotten the password to their lair. The gypsy Rafael, despite being the guard, is only interested in cracking jokes. He tells Jordan about Kashkin, the previous foreign dynamite expert who, ironically, killed himself after being wounded during their last mission, the explosion of a train. The most cynical and despondent guerilla, however, is Pablo, their leader. Despite being a courageous man before, Pablo now wants only to return to his village to raise the horses he gained as spoils of war. Many conflicts arise between Pablo and Jordan, as the Pablo resents that a foreigner is interfering in a matter that can risk his own life and those of his band. There are also two women at the camp: Pilar, who is Pablo's wife, and Maria, a girl they rescued from the train carrying prisoners of war. Despite her cropped hair, which was shaved during her interment by the Fascists and the obvious psychological damage wrought upon her, she is beautiful. Pilar is an ugly woman, but celebrated for her bravery. Since Pablo "went bad" and lost the courage and zeal he displayed at the beginning of the war, Pilar maintains the unity of his band. Pilar is a gypsy and, upon introductions, reads Jordan's palm. The future she foretells there, but will not reveal, is grim. Pablo's cowardice soon makes him relinquish power to Pilar, his bold wife. Pablo announces that he is against blowing up the bridge, but Pilar backs Robert Jordan and the men follow her lead. After the confrontation, Rafael tells Jordan that he should have killed Pablo, and that he would have had the support of the guerillas. Jordan reasons that, unprovoked, this would be assassination. As Pablo continues to insult and cause trouble of Jordan throughout the novel, Jordan wonders if he made the right decision. After the confrontation with Pablo, during the night after the first day, Jordan makes love to Maria when she comes to his makeshift bed outside the cave. The nineteen-year-old girl, who has been raped and orphaned, has fallen quickly and madly in love with Jordan. She believes that her love will purify her from past atrocities committed to her. Jordan returns her feelings, as he has gazed upon her all day with a lump in his throat. He celebrates finding, for the first time, happiness in unity with another individual. Jordan's newfound love, however, is overshadowed by the many obstacles he must face to complete his mission. The appearance of enemy planes, for one, heighten tension at the camp because either they are planning an attack of their own, or have gotten wind of the Loyalist offensive. So too, when Maria, Pilar and Jordan journey up the mountain to the guerilla leader El Sordo's camp, he reminds them of how dangerous the bridge mission is. He agrees to help them, but as they leave camp it begins to snow. Now, the enemy could be able to follow El Sordo's tracks to the bridge. The only person who really encourages Jordan is Anselmo, who he finds loyally waiting in his post, despite the storm, for Jordan to dismiss him. Besides being a loyal soldier who is committed to the Cause, Anselmo is distinguished as a true humanitarian. He is preoccupied not with the thought of losing his own life during the attack on the bridge, but rather fears that Jordan will order him to kill another human being. He sees the enemy not as evil Fascists, as do the others, but as poor countrymen like themselves. Pablo again makes trouble for Jordan on the second day, when he baits him about his relationship with Maria. Jordan tries to goad him into fighting, as this would be an appropriate time to kill him for the sake of the mission. Pablo refuses to be baited, however, and later resumes a cooperative mood. Jordan trusts him less than ever, and grows increasingly worrisome about the success of the mission. Thus, Jordan feels his time is limited, which is evidenced by his urgent need to make loveto Maria. The next morning, Jordan is awakened by the sounds of an approaching enemy horseman. Jordan shoots the soldier, and the camp frantically scrambles to arm themselves with a machine gun that did not even come with directions. Tension mounts as Fascist troops pass by the camp. Jordan acts as the example of level-headedness for his men, as Agustin wants to kill the passing soldiers. Then, sounds come from El Sordo's. His camp is attacked and bombed, and they all are killed. Primitivo urges Jordan to help El Sordo, but Jordan knows that the bridge mission must be his priority, even over the lives of his comrades. Thus, the guerillas remain undiscovered for the time being. The fighting between El Sordo and the Fascists, led by Lieutenant Berrendo, show how neither side really wants to fight or die. Jordan sends a young guerilla, to General Golz with news of El Sordo's defeat and a request that the offensive be cancelled. The last night before the attack is very eventful. Maria is inflicted by pain, so the couple discusses their future and their luck in finding each other. Jordan, however, thinks that being unable to make loveis a bad omen. Indeed, his presentiment comes true when Pilar wakes him with the news that Pablo, ever treacherous, has fled with some dynamite. Jordan is worried now that his plan won't work. Jordan does not have enough men and Pablo stole the equipment he needed to blow the bridge correctly. It is highly unlikely that the attack will be postponed, even if Andres does deliver the message to General Golz. Pablo returns that morning accompanied by five extra men and their horses, claiming that he is not a coward after all and will help blow the bridge. The apathy and inefficiency of the Loyalist army stalls Andres, and the message does not reach General Golz in time. The bridge bombing must proceed. At the bridge, Jordan orders Anselmo to kill the sentry, which he tearfully accomplishes. Then they dynamite the bridge, and Anselmo is killed by a falling rock. In the ensuing fighting, the only guerillas who survive are Pablo, Pilar, Maria, Primitivo and Agustin . Jordan is hit by a shell as they escape on horseback and is unable to escape. He tells Maria that they will always be one person, and refuses to be shot out of mercy. His comrades give him a machine gun so that he can defend himself from the approaching enemy. Jordan fights pain and suicidal thoughts with the hope that he can buy time for the fleeing guerillas. The novel closes here, as Jordan awaits his certain death on the pine-covered ground he appeared on in the first scene. 一九三六年初秋到一九三九年春的西班牙内战早已成为历史陈迹，今天已不大为人们所提及。然而它实际上是第二次世界大战欧洲战线的序幕，是全世界进步力量和德意法西斯政权之间的第一次较量。由于种种复杂的历史原因，进步力量在这场斗争中失败了。以文学形式来反映这一页历史的作品为数不多，而今天尚被人推崇、文学阅读的恐怕就只有这一部《丧钟为谁而鸣》了。 这是海明威篇幅最大的一部小说，但全书情节局限于三天之内（一九三七年五月底一个星期六的下午到星期二上午），写得紧凑非凡。那时候，由于三月中政府在首都东北瓜达拉哈拉城附近大败意大利侵略军，首都已转危为安。戈尔兹将军这时正准备在首都西北向瓜达拉马山区叛军山上防线发动进攻，为了切断敌人的援路线，派美国志愿人员罗伯特·乔丹到敌后深山中和游击队接上关系，等战斗一打响，炸毁一座铁桥。本书即从老向导安塞尔莫带乔丹到桥头哨所侦察写起，接着两人就向游击队的营地进发。老人唤来了小组头头巴勃罗，乔丹和他立刻进行了交锋，矛盾就一步步展开了。巴勃罗当年原是马贩子，给部队和斗牛场供应马匹，后在斗牛场做帮手时结识了和斗牛士菲尼托同居的比拉尔，菲尼托被牛挑伤死去后，她跟巴勃罗待在一起。革命爆发时，巴勃罗率众在家乡小镇包围了民防军的兵营，逮捕了所有的法西斯分子，把他们都处死了。三天后，遭到反动军队的反攻倒算，至深山中打游击，一年来，袭击了几次敌人的据点，炸了一次火车，弄到了几匹马，开始酗酒，意气消沉，只求能在这山区混下去。他得悉了乔丹的来意，当场提出他所谓的狐狸的原则：要在一个地区待得下去，就只能到别的地区去活动，不然会被敌人赶走。比拉尔是个直爽热情妇人，和几个苦出身的斗牛士生活过来，多少尝到了些人间的欢乐，因巴勃罗当初富有男人气概而倾心于他，但如今年近半百，看他堕落成个鼠目寸光的酒鬼和胆小鬼，心里非常懊恼，和那些苦大仇深的游击战士一样，正于无法为他们所热爱的共和国作出贡献。在这节骨眼上，共和国派来了爆破手。当晚大家聚集在山洞里，比拉尔带头对巴勃罗，赞成炸桥，大家一致表态支持她，她豁出来说：“这儿我作主。”在这剑拔弩张的关头，乔丹不由得伸手按在手熗上，巴勃罗屈服了，但后来出尔反尔，处处只从他个人的安危出发，乔丹不得不在比拉尔和大家的帮助下，克服了他的破坏活动以及敌机敌骑兵的干扰所带来的困难，于星期二早晨及时完成了炸桥任务，但不幸以身殉职。 海明威发挥他独特的叙事艺术，以细致入微的动作描写及丰富多彩的对白，紧紧环绕着罗伯特·乔丹的行动，一气呵成地把这故事讲到底，同时插入了大段大段的内心独白及回忆，使这个主人公的形象非常丰满。

上面一楼放不下了，字节太多

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第四十三章
　　罗伯特‘乔丹在公路和桥上方的山坡上，伏在一棵松树后面,看着天色亮起来，他总是赛欢一天中的这个时刻,现在仔细看着，觉得心里也在亮起来，仿佛自己就是太阳升起前天色渐明的一部分，那时候,随着白天来临，有形实体变得晦暗，空间变得明朗，在夜里照耀的灯光变成黄色，接着消失。他下面的一棵棵松树这时显得明确而清晰，树干坚实，呈黄褐色，公路上蒙着一层薄雾，泛着白光。路水沾湿了他,林中地面柔软，他感到掉在地上的褐色松针在胳膊肘的压力下往下陷。他透过河床上升起的轻雾,看到下面那笔直而坚挺的钢铁桥梁架在峡谷上，两堠各有一座木制岗亭。但在他看来，笼罩在河上的迷雾使那座桥的禊样显得象蜘蛛网般细巧。
　　他看到哨兵正站在岗亭里，弯着腰，双手在用打了洞的火油桶做成的火盆上取暖，背对着外面，披着毯子式的披风，头上戴着钢盔。罗伯特，乔丹听到下面山岩间潺潺的流水声，他看到岗亭里升起一缕淡淡的轻烟。
　　他望望手表,心想,不知道安德烈斯是否越过防线到了戈尔兹那儿　如果我们打算炸桥，我要十分缓悝地呼吸，让时间过得慢些，好好儿体味体味。你看他，安德烈斯，送到了吗？如果他送到了，他们会取消进攻吗？他们来得及取消吗？这是什么话！别发愁啦。他们可能取消，也可能不取消。再没有第三种可能，你很快就会知道。说不定进攻能成功。戈尔兹说能。有这种可能。把我们的坦克颃着那条公路开去，部队从右翼突玻,下山直冲过拉格兰哈，山上的整个左翼转入进攻。为什么你竟不想想怎样去打胜仗呢？你处在防御地位太久，所以想不到这个了。没错儿。但那是法西斯武器装备开上这条公略之前的情形，飞机飞来之前的情形。别那么天真啦。但是记住这一点。”只要我们能把他们牵制在这儿，我们就能困住这些法西斯。他们在消灭我们之前，不可能进攻别的地方，而他们永远不能消灭我们。要是法国人肯帮点忙,要是他们不封锁国塊’要是我们能得到美国的飞机,他们就永远不能消灭我们。永远不餌,要是我们能得到支援的话。这些人如果好好地武装起来，将永远战斗下去。
　　不，你千万别指望在这里打胜仗，也许在几年之内指望不到。这不过是一次牵制性进攻。你现在不能对此抱幻想。也许今天我们能突破敌人的防线呢？这是我们的第一次大规模攻势。要清醒地看到力量对比，不过,如果我们打胜了又怎样呢？别激动，他对自己说。别忘了公路上运过什么武器装备。关于这个情报，你已尽力而为。然而，我们应该有轻便的短波通讯设备。到时候我们会有。我们现在还没有。现在你只能注意观察,做你应该做的事情。
　　今天只不过是从现在到未来所有日子中的一天。但是在未来所有的日子中，好好坏坏全取决于你今天的作为。今年开始以来都是这样。这个样子已经有不知多少次了。这次战争弁始以来都是这样。他对自已说,在这清胜，你变得多浮夸哬。瞧，有什么人来了。
　　他看到两个穿毯子式披风、戴钢盔的哨兵在公路上拐了个弯，胡桥头走来，肩上挎着步熗。一个在桥的那一端停下来，走进岗亭不见了。另一个踏着沉重缓慢的步子跨过桥来，他在桥面上站停了，向河谷里唾了一口，然后悝吞吞地走到桥的这一端，这边的哨兵跟他说了些话，就返身从桥上走回去。这个下岗的哨兵走得比另一个快〈罗伯特’乔丹想。”因为他要去喝咖啡》，‘可是他也朝河谷里唾了一口。
　　我不知道这是不是一种迷信行为？罗伯特。乔丹想。我也得朝河谷里唾上一口，要是到时候我唾得出口水的话。不。这不可能是什么灵丹妙药。这起不了作用　我走上桥面之前，必须证明这是起不了作用的。
　　刚上岗的哨兵走进岗亭坐下了。他的上了剌刀的步熗斜靠在墒上。罗伯特，乔丹从衬衣口袋里掏出望远镜，调整目镜焦距，直到桥的这一墙显得轮廓分明，看清了漆成灰色的铁桥。他接着把望远镜对准岗亭。
　　哨兵背靠墙坐着。他的头盔挂在木钉上，脸显得清清楚楚。罗伯特、乔丹看出这个人就是前两天下午他来侦察时值班的那个哨兵。他还是戴着那顶绒线帽。他没有刮脸。他脸颊凹陷，颧骨突出。他长着毛茸茸的眉毛，眉字间连在一起。他显得很困乏，罗伯特　乔丹打蠹着他，看到他在打呵欠。他接着掏出烟荷包和一盒卷烟纸，卷了一支烟。他用打火机打了几下，没打上，结果把它放进衣袋，走到火盆边,弯下腰，从火盆里取出一块炭，在一只手中挥挥，一边往上面吹气，接着点燃了卷烟，把炭扔回火
　　罗伯特　乔丹透过蔡斯八倍望远镜观察他靠在岗亭墙上抽烟时的脸。他放下望远镜，合拢在一起，放进衣袋。我不要再看他了,他对自己说。
　　他伏在那儿望着公路，试图什么也不想。一只松鼠在他下面一棵松树上吱吱地叫,罗伯特　乔丹看它顺着树干往下爬,半路上停了一下，扭头张望那注视着它的人。他看到松鼠的眼睛又小又亮，尾巴激动地抖动着。它用小小的爪子和巨大的尾巴在地上跳远似地蹦跳着,珧上了另一棵树。它在树干上回头望望罗伯特‘乔丹，接着在树干上绕了一囷，消失了踪影。罗伯特　乔丹接着听到松鼠在一根髙枝上吱吱地叫，他望着它平伏在树枝上,尾巴抖动着。
　　罗伯特‘乔丹又穿过松树之间俯视着岗亭　他艮想捉住这只松鼠栽在衣袋里。他很想有一样可以触摸的东西。他用胳膊肘擦擦松针，但那是另一回事。谁也不知道在干这种事时你有多孤独。我可知道。但愿兔子能顺利地摆脱这个处境。现在别想这个啦。对，当然。但是我能这样希望，我确实也这样希望。希望我好好地把桥炸掉，希望她順利脱身。好,当然。只要这样。这是我唯一的要求。
　　他伏在那儿，不再望公路和岗亭，转而望着对面的远山。他对自己说。”你什么也别想了。他静静地伏在那儿，注视着早晨来临。这是个晴朗的初夏早晨，在五月底，早晨是来得很快的。有一次，有个穿皮外衣、戴皮头盔的摩托车司机，左瞄边挂着一支有熗套的自动步熗，驶过那座桥，顺者公路朝上驶去。有一次是一辆救护车驶过了桥，在他下面经过，顺着公路朝上驶去。这是全部动静。他闻到松树的香味，他听到河水的声响,这时桥在晨曦中显得淸楚而美丽。他伏在松树后面，手提机熗横放在左前臂上，再也不对岗亭望一眼，以为看来这次攻势决不会发生了，在这么一个可爱的五月底的早晨不可能发生什么事情，如是隔了好久，他才听到突如其来的接连不断的砰砰的炸弹声　
　　罗伯特、乔丹一听到炸弹的爆炸声，不等山间响起隆隆的回声,就深深地吸了口气,拿起手提机熗。他的手臂由于机熗的重压而觉得铒硬,手指麻木得不大灵便了.
　　岗亭里的哨兵听到炸弹声就站起身来。罗伯特　乔丹看到他伸手去拿步熗，从岗亭里走出来倾听。他站在公路上，阳光照在他身上，他头上斜戴着绒线帽，他抬头朝天空中飞机正在投弹的方向望着，阳光照射在他那没刮过的脸上。
　　公路上这时没有雾，罗伯特‘乔丹清楚而鲜明地看到哨兵站在公路上仰望着天空。阳光透过树丛照亮了他的身子。81。
　　罗伯特　乔丹这时觉得自己呼吸紧迫，仿佛有一困铁丝捆住了他的胸脯。他稳住了胳膊肘，觉得有椎纹的前熗把紧顶着自己的手指，他把这时已落入表尺缺口内的长方形准星对准那哨兵的胸膛中央,轻轻地扣动了扳机。
　　他感到熗托迅逮、滑溜、痉挛地撞在自己的肩头上，公路上的哨兵显得吃惊而痛苦，双膝一软向前倒下，前额磕在路面上。他的步熗掉在他身旁，一只手指还勾在扳机护困里面,手腌向前曲着。步熗掉在公路上，熗上的剌刀指向公路前方。罗伯特，乔丹的目光从这低垂着头躺在公路上的哨兵，转向桥和另一端的岗亭。他看不到那另一个哨兵，就顺着右下方的山坡望去，他知道奥古斯丁就埋伏在那儿。接着他听到安塞尔莫开熗了，熗声从河谷里传来回声。接着他听到安塞尔寞又开了一熗。
　　随着第二声熗响，桥那一端公路拐角处传来砰砰的手榴弹爆炸声。接着这边公路左方远处传来手楠弹爆炸声。接着他听到这边公路上的步熗声，从那边公路上传来巴勃罗那支骑兵用的自动步熗的达达声，和手榴弹声杂在一起　他看到安塞尔莫顾着陡峭的山路爬下，朝桥的那一端冲来，就把手提机熗挂上肩头,提起松树后面的两个沉重的背包，一手提一个，背包沉得使他觉得肩膀上的肌腱都要被拉出来了。他蹒珊地冲下陡峭的山坡,来到公路上。
　　他一边飞奔,一边听到奥古斯丁在叫喊。”干得好，英国人。干得好明"他想　千得好，亏你说的,干得好1”正在这时，他听到安塞尔莫在桥的那一端开了一熗,熗声在钢梁之间回响。他趙过躺在地上的哨兵，晃着背包奔上了桥。
老头儿一手提着卡宾熗，向他跑来。“平安无事。”他喊着。“没出差错，我不得不找补一熗,让他死绝。”
　　罗伯特"乔丹跪在桥中央，打开背包，取出他的东西。他看到眼泪从安塞尔莫脸颊上挂到花白的胡子茬上，直朝下淌。
　　“我也杀了一个。”他对安塞尔莫说。“我也杀了一个。”朝匍匐在桥这头公路上的哨兵甩了一下头。
　　“是啊，老弟，是啊，”安塞尔莫说。“我们非杀他们不可，所以就杀了。”
　　罗伯特，乔丹爬到桥面下的梁拄之间。他握住的钢梁上有露水，叉冷又湿。他小心翼翼地爬着，感到阳光照在背上　他在一根桥桁上站稳了,听到下面哗哗的流水声，听到熗声，听到公路上段的哨所那边熗声大作。桥下很阴凉,但这时他汗流浃背。他一条臂上挽着一圈铜丝，手腕上绕着的一拫皮带上挂着一把钳子。
　　“把炸药包一个个往下递给我，老头子。”他向上面的安塞尔莫喊道。老头儿在桥边探出半个身子，把长方形的炸药包递下来,罗伯特　乔丹伸手接住，用力塞在桥梁下他要放的地方，一包包紧紧排好，用锎铨扎住。“楔子，老头子　给我楔子　”他把-只只楔子轻轻敲紧，使炸药包牢固地嵌在钢梁之间，闻到了新削的木楔的新鲜木头香。
　　他忙着安放炸药，塞紧，加楔，用铜丝绑牢，一心只想着炸桥，迅速而熟练地干着，仿佛在做外科手术，这时听到下段公路上响起了一阵连续不停的熗声。接着是一枚手描弹的爆炸声。接着叉是一枚，在流水声中轰的一响。然后那个方向寂静无声了。“妈的。”他想。“不知道他们挨到了什么打击。“公路上段的哨所那边仍有熗声。熗声真他妈太多了。他把两枚手摘弹并排放在扎紧的炸药包顶上，把铜丝绕住手梅弹上的凹纹，这样它们可以被绑得结结实实，最后用钳子把锎丝拧紧。他摸摸所有的炸药包，为了更牢固起见，在手榴弹上面轻轻敲进一个木楔，使整个炸药包抵紧在钢梁上。
　　“现在到另一边去，老头子。“他向桥面上的安塞尔莫喊道，穿过桥架爬到桥的另一边,心想，好象人猿泰山在钢材林里啦。他接着从挢下的阴影里探出头来仰望,下面是滚滚淹水,他伸手去接从上面递给他的炸药包，看到了安塞尔莫的脸。他想,多善良的脸明。现在不在哭。这样才好呢。桥一迈已安放好了。现在把这一边搞好就完事了。这能把桥炸得稀巴烂。得了。别激动。干吧。干得干净利落，就象那边一样。别毛手毛脚。慢慢儿来。别勉强地干得太快。现在你不会失畋了。现在谁也阻挡不了你把桥的一边炸掉啦。你干得正如你应该干的那样。这是个阴凉的地方。天啊,阴凉得象个酒窖,而且没有脏东西。石桥下面往往都是脏东西。这是一座理想的桥，一座刮刮叫的理想的桥。处境危险的倒是在桥面上的老头子。别勉强地干得太快。但愿公路上段的射击就结束。“给我些楔子，老头子，“那些射击可不妙。比拉尔在那儿碰到麻烦了。哨所里肯定有些人当时在外面。在后面，或者在锯木厂后面。他们仍在射击。那就意味着锯木厂里有人。那些该死的锯末。一大堆　大堆的锯末。锯末干后压得很实，躲在后面打熗是个好掩护。他们一定还有好几个人。巴勃罗在下面公路那边一无动静。我不知道第二回突然打熗是怎么回事。准是开来了一辆汽车或摩托车。上帝保佑，开来的别是装甲车或坦克明。继续千吧。尽快放好炸药,插紧木楔，好好绑紧。你索索发抖,象个该死的女人。你到底怎么啦？你想仓伲了事。我敢打赌，在公路上段的那女人不在发抖，那个比拉尔。也许她也在发抖。从熗声听来,她碰到的麻烦可不少。如果受不了，她也会发抖，就象他妈的任何人一样。
　　他从挢下探身到阳光里，伸手去接安塞尔莫递给他的东西,他的头离下面的淹水声远了一点，这时公路上段的熗声突然增多,接着又是手棺弹的爆炸声。更多的手榴弹爆炸声。“这样看来,他们在袭击锯木厂。”
　　他想,幸亏我的炸药是成块的，不是条状的。那又怎么样?只不过整齐些罢了。然而满满一帆布袋的冻状炸药作用要更快些。两袋。不,一袋就够了。但愿我们有雷管和那旧的引爆器就好了。那婊子养的把我的引爆器扔到河里去了。那只旧龛子曾到过多少地方啊。他就扔在这条诃里。巴勃罗这杂种。他刚才在下边狠狠地打敌人呢。“把那东面再给我一些，老头子。”
　　老头子干得很不错,他在上面的处境可不妙。他不乐意杀那个哨兵。我也不乐意，但我当时没有考虑。现在也不考虑。你不得不那样干。安塞尔莫把那哨兵打残了。我知道被打残的人的情形。我想用自动武器杀人要轻松些。我是指对开熗的人来说，那可不一样。一扣扳机就行了，人是熗杀的，不是你杀的。把这个问题留到别的时候去想吧。你和你的脑袋啊。你有一颗不错的会思想的脑袋,老乔丹啊。冲啊，乔丹,冲啊　①以前打橄榄球，你抱着球飞奔的时候，他们老是这么喊。你知道喝,那条该死的约旦河实际上并不比下面那条小河大多少。你指的是约旦河起源的地方。任何事物的起源都是这样的。在这儿桥下面有块小地方。这是远离家乡的家。得了,乔丹，振作起来吧，这是严肃的事儿，乔丹。你难道不明白？严肃的。可实际上总是欠严肃。瞧瞧河对面。干吗呀？现在无论她怎么样，我都行。缅因州完了，国家也就完了。①约旦河完了，该死的以色列人也就完了。我指的是桥啊。那么乔丹完了，该死的桥也就完了，其实应该倒过来说，
①此处原文为　。1，?1“11，　。11　~是一支黑人灵歃的名字，意为'奔流啊,约旦河，奔流啊。”乔丹的姓和约。河名在英语中为同一个询，所以同学们傲用这畎名来为他助成。美国南部种植园里的黑奴，一代代受到基督教的彩响，在他们抒发心中悲愤的灵歌中，往往采用《圣经》中的典故。由于上帝许给犹太人的福地就在约旦何边，故灵歌中常引用它来象征苦难中的黑人所值慊的自由土地　
　　“把那东西再给我一些，安塞尔莫老伙计，”他说。老头儿点点头。“差不多摘好了，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。老头儿又点点头。
　　他在桥下面快扎好手榴弹的时候，不再听到公路上段的熗声了，他干着，干着，忽然只听到小河的流水声了。他低头看到下面的河水流过漂石，激起白色湍流，然后泻入一泓淸水，水底布满着小石。他刚才掉落的一个木楔在流水中打转。他看着看着，只见一条鳟鱼浮上水面，在追赶一只虫子，在靠近木楔打转的地方游了一圈。当他用钳子纹紧扎住那两枚手榴弹的锎丝时，他从铁桥钢梁之间看到那绿茵茵的山坡上的阳光。他想，三夫之前那里还是褐色的呢。
　　他从桥下阴凉的暗处探身到明亮的阳光中，冲着伸出头来的安塞尔莫叫道，“把那一大扎漆包线给我。”老头儿把它递了下来。
　　看上帝面上，眼前千万不能弄乱这卷漆包线。要用它来拉响手榴弹。但愿你能把它穿进去。罗伯特　乔丹摸着手榴弹上卡住能使弹簧杆反弹出来的拉环的开尾销，这时他想,但是，有了你正在用的那段长铜丝，就行了。他仔细看看,側绑着的那两颗手榴弹边留有足够的空隙，在拉出开尾销时弹簧杆能弹起来(绑手榴弹的锎丝是从弹簧杆下面绕过去的、接着他把漆包线的一端系在外侧那个手榴弹的拉环上，再拿一段钢丝，一端系在另一穎手榴弹的拉环上，另一端系在这漆包线上,从大卷上放出一段漆包线，把这大卷绕过一根钢桥桁，朝上递给安塞尔莫，说,“。”小心拿着他爬上桥面，从老头儿手里接过漆包线卷，身子探出在桥的―边，一面放线，一面尽快倒退着走向那哨兵倒毙的地方。
①这是一八八八年左右美国政界流行的一句蓽言‘
　　“把背包拿过来，”他倒退走着，对安塞尔其大声说。他一路上俯身拾起手提机熗，重新挎在肩上。
　　这时他抬头不再注视着放线，远远见到有几个人从高处的哨所那儿在公路上往回走。
　　他看到他们一起四个，接着不得不注意漆包线,免得被桥边上的钢架勾住。诶拉迪奥没有跟他们一起回来。
　　罗伯特，乔丹放线走过桥头，在最后一根桥柱上绕了一睡，就在公路上径直奔到一块石路标边停下来。他剪断漆包线，递给安塞尔莫。
　　“拿住了，老头子，”他说。“现在跟我回到桥上去　边走边把这线带上桥。不。还是我来吧。”
　　一到桥上，他把电线从桥柱上绕回来，这样,它就一直沿着桥边直通到手榴弹的环上，没有任何勾挂　他把电线的这一端递给安塞尔莫申
　　“拿着这个回到石路标边去，”他说。“轻轻拿住，可是要抓紧。别在上面使劲。只要使劲一拉，桥就爆炸。明白吗?”“是。”
　　“手里用力要小，可是别让电线荡下，免得勾住。轻巧地拿稳了,不到肘候别拉。明白吗？”
　　“要拉的时候，就老老实实地拉。别抖动。”
　　罗伯特　乔丹一边说话，一边望着公路上段比拉尔一伙里剩下的人。他们这时已走近，他看到普里米蒂伏和拉斐尔扶着费尔南多。看样子，他腹股沟被子弹击穿了，因为他两手按在上面,那汉子和小伙子一边一个架着他。他们扶着他走，他的右腿拖在地上，鞋帮在路面上刮着。比拉尔拿着三支步熗，正在爬上山坡进入路边的树林。罗伯特’乔丹看不清她的脸，但她正抬着头尽快地爬着。
　　“情况怎么样?”普里米蒂伏大声说。“好。我们差不多完成了，”罗伯特　乔丹大声回答。没有必要问他们的情况怎么样了。他扭头望着别处，那三人到了公路边。他们企图把费尔南多扶上坡来，可是他摇摇头。“就在这儿，给我一支步熗。”罗伯特　乔丹听到他哽塞着声音说。
　　“不,伙计。我们要把你扶到马那儿去。”“我要马有什么用？”费尔南多说。“我在这儿很好嘛。“罗伯特　乔丹没听到其余的话，因为他正在对安塞尔莫说话。
　　“坦克来了就炸桥。”他说。”但要等它们开到桥面上才炸。装甲车来了也炸桥，要等它们开到桥面上。别的人马车辆巴勃罗会阻击的。”
　　“你在桥下我不炸。”
　　“别考虑我。有必要，你就炸。我缚好另一条电线就回来。那时我们可以一起炸桥。”他拔脚朝桥的中部奔去。
　　安塞尔莫看罗伯特，乔丹奔上桥面，手臂上挽着那卷漆包线，一只手腌上挂着把钳子，背上挎着手提机熗。他看他从桥栏杆下爬下去,不见了。安塞尔莫用一只手，右手握着电线,知匐在石路标后面，职着公路朝桥望。在他和桥之间躺着那个哨兵，这时他的身子更紧密地貼在公路上，阳光直射在背上,他紧紧貼住平坦滑溜的路面。他的步熗掉在公路上，上面的刺刀直指着安塞尔莫。老头儿目光越过哨兵，顺着那笼罩在桥栏杆阴影中的桥面,望到公路沿着河谷向左拐弯，然后消失在峭壁后面。他望着那一端的岗亭上照耀着阳光，接着想到手里拿着电线，就转过头来望费尔南多那儿，他正在跟普里米蒂伏和吉普赛人说话。
　　“让我留在这儿吧，”费尔南多说。“伤口痛得厉害，里面在大出血。我一动就觉得。”
　　“我们把你抬上山去，”普里米蒂伏说。“把胳膊挽在我们肩上,我们抱住你的腿。”
　　“这没有用，”费尔南多说。“把我扶到一块岩石后面去。我在这儿跟在上面一样可以干。”
　　“可我们走了以后呢?”普里米蒂伏说　“让我留在这儿。”费尔南多说。“我这样根本不可能跟你们一起上路了。这样可以多出一匹马来。我在这里很好。敌人一定马上要来了，“
　　“我们能把你带上山去。”吉普赛人说。“很容易。”自然，他和普里米蒂伏一样，迫不及待地想马上离去，然而他们已经把他扶到了这儿。
　　“不，”费尔南多说。“我在这儿很好。埃拉迪奥怎么样了？”吉普赛人用手指指脑袋,表示头上中了弹。“打在这里，”他说。“在你挂彩之后。在我们冲锋的时侯。”“别管我了。”费尔南多说。安塞尔莫看得出，他痛苦得很。他这时两手按住小肚子,脑袋向后靠在山坡上，两腿直挺挺地伸在前面。他脸色灰白，在出汗。
　　“帮个忙吧，现在请别管我了，”他说。他痛得闭上了眼睛,嘴唇在抽搐。“我觉得在这儿很好。”
　　“步熗和子弹在这儿，”普里米蒂伏说。“是我的吗？”费尔南多闭着眼睛问。“不，你的在比拉尔手里，”普里米蒂伏说。“这是我的。”“我情愿要自己的。”费尔南多说。“自己的使起来顺手些。”“我去把它拿来，”吉普赛人哄他。“拿来之前先用这支。”“我这儿的位置很好，”费尔南多说。“不管从公路还是从桥上来的都看得见。”他睁幵眼睛,掉头望着桥对面，接着痛得又闭上了眼睹。
　　吉普赛人轻轻拍拍他的头，用大拇指跟普里米蒂伏做个姿势,表示他们可以走了。
　　“我们过后再下来扶你，”普里米蒂伏说,跟在吉普赛人后面开始上山坡，吉普赛人正迅速往上爬。
　　费尔南多仰靠在山坡上。他面前是一块剧白的标志公路边缘的界石。他的头在阴影中，但阳光直照在他却塞了纱布、包才　好的伤口上，照在他捂住伤口的双手上。他的腿和脚也在阳光中。他身边放着步熗，熗边有三个子弹夹在阳光中闪闪发亮。一只苍蝇在他手上爬，但是在剧痛中他不觉得这微微的搔痒。
　　“费尔南多。”安塞尔莫握着电线,从自己獬着的地方对他喊着。他已把电线捎绕成一个小圈，扭紧了，可以握在手心里，“费尔南多！”他又喊了一声。费尔南多睁开眼睛,对他望着　“情况怎么样？”费尔南多问。“很好，”安塞尔莫说，“我们一会儿就要炸挢了。”
　　“我很髙兴。有事用得着我，叫我好啦，”费尔南多说着又闭上了眼睛，身子里一阵阵剧痛。
　　安塞尔莫把目光移幵，向桥面上望去。他等待着英国人把漆包线卷递上桥面,然后从桥边爬上来,他那晒黑的脸和脑袋会接着出现。同时，他还留意着桥对面公路拐弯处有什么动静。他这时一点也不觉得害怕，而且这一整天也没害怕过。他想,情况发展得那么快，而又那么正常。我不乐意熗杀那个哨兵，这叫我很难受，不过现在没什么了。英国人怎么能说熗杀一个人和熗杀野善差不多？打猎的时候我总是兴髙采烈，不觉得有什么不对头。可是开熗杀人使我觉得好象是在兄弟们长大成人后打自己的兄弟。为了杀死他，还得打上好几熗呢。不,别想这个了。这叫人太难受了,你刚才从桥上奔过来时,哭哭啼啼的象个女人。
　　这已经过去了，他对自己说，你坷以设法赎这个罪華，就象为杀死其他人赎罪一样。但是你现在已经得到了昨天夜晚拥山回来时所希望的了。你在参加战斗，没什么可感到内疚的。即使我今天早晨就死’也没有关系。
　　然后他望着靠山坡躺着的费尔南多，只见他两手捂着放股沟，嘴唇发青，两眼紧闭,在费力而缓慢地嗤着气。安塞尔莫想,我要是死的话，但愿死得痛快些。不，我已经说过，如果今天我能得到我所需要的东西，我就不要求别的了。所以我不提其他要求了。懂吗？我不要求什么。什么都不要求了。只要满足我曾提出的要求，其他我都听其自然了，他听着远处山口传来的熗炮声，就对自己说,今天真是个了不起的日子。我应该明白今天是什么样的曰子。
但是他心里并不感到兴奋激动。这种感情已完全消失,心里52。
只有一片宁静。他这时蹲在一块石路标后面，手握绕成一个小阖的电线梢,手腕上也挽着一圈，双膝贴着路边的碎石子，他并不寂寞，也不感到孤单。他和手里的电线成为一体，和桥成为一体，和英国人放的炸药包成为一体了。他和那个仍在桥下操作的英国人成为体，和整个战斗以及共和国成为一体了。
　　但是并不感到激动。四下一片宁静，他蹲在那儿，太阳直晒在他的脖子和肩膀上，他抬眼望去，看到髙离的晴空和河对面隆起的山坡,他感到不愉快，然而他既不寂寞，也不害怕。
　　山坡上边,比拉尔伏在一棵树后面，注视着从山口通过来的公路。她身旁放着三支子弹上了膛的步熗，普里米蒂伏在她身边蹲下，她递了一支给他。
　　“下去，蹲在那儿，”她说。“那棵树后面。还有你，吉普赛人，到那边去，”她指指下面另一棵树。“他死了吗？”“没有，还没有，”普里米蒂伏说。
　　“真倒霉，”比拉尔说。“如果我们多两个人，就不会出这种事了。他应该爬着绕到那堆锯末后面去的。现在他待的地方好吗?”普里米蒂伏摇摇头。
　　“英国人炸桥的时候，碎片餌飞得这么远吗？”吉普赛人从他那棵树后面问。
　　“不知道，”比拉尔说。“不过掌握机熗的奥古斯丁比你更靠近。如果太近的话，英国人是不会把他安徘在那儿的。”
　　“可是我记得，炸火车的时侯,机车的头灯从我头上飞过去，碎铁片象燕子般乱飞
　　“你的回忆多富有诗意啊，”比拉尔说。“象燕子　妈的！我看象洗衣作里的锅炉。听着,吉普赛人,今天你表现不错。现在别让恐惧缠住了你。”
　　“噜，我只不过问问会不会炸得这么远，我好在树干后面好好躲起来。”吉普赛人说。
　　“就这样躲着吧，”比拉尔对他说。“我们杀了多少人?”“我们干掉了五个，这里千掉了两个。你不见远远那头有一个？朝桥那边望。见到岗亭吗？瞧！见到吗?”他指着。“还有，巴勃罗在下面收拾那八个人。我替英国人守望过那个哨所。”
　　比拉尔哼了一声，接着她大发雷霪，硖口大骂，“这个英国人怎么啦？跑到桥下面去他妈的干什么了？那么磨磨蹭蹭的!他在修桥还是炸桥啊?”
　　她伸出脑袋，向鱒在下面石路标后面的安塞尔莫望去。“嗨,老头子　”她喊道。“你的英国人在旃什么鬼名堂?”“耐心些，婆娘，”安塞尔莫对上面大声说，轻而稳地握着电线。“他就要干完啦。”
　　“他花了那么多时间，在玩什么把戏?”“这是细活。”安塞尔莫大声说。“这事很有学问。”“我搡他妈的学问，”比拉尔对吉普赛人发火了。“叫这个脏脸小子赶紧把桥炸了算啦。玛丽亚　”她声如洪钟地向山上喊着。“你的英国人一”她对想象中乔丹在桥下的作为滔滔不绝地骂了-阵。
　　“你静静，婆娘。”安塞尔莫在公路那边大声说　“他干的活可不简单。他就要完事啦。”
　　“真是活见鬼，”比拉尔怒气冲冲地说。“要紧的是快正在这时，大家都听到巴勃罗已拿下的哨所那边公路上晌起了熗声。比拉尔停止了谩骂,倾听着　“哟，”她说，“啊哟哟。真来啦。”
　　罗伯特‘乔丹一手把漆包线卷递上桥面，随后从下面爬上来,他也听到了熗声。他双膝抵在铁桥边,两手撑在桥面上，听到下面拐弯处响起了机熗声。这和巴勃罗的自动步熗的声音不一样。他站起来，探出身去，把漆包线卷绕过桥架，开始侧着身子沿桥倒退着走，一边放线。
　　他听到熗声，边走边觉得这声音直穿心窝，仿佛就在自已的横膈膜上回响宥。他走着走着，熗声越来越近了，他回头望望公路拐弯的地方，伹是仍然看不到任何汽车、坦克或人。他朝桥头走了一半路，仍然不见动静。他走了四分之三的路程，电线放得很顺利，没有被什么东西缠住，但路上仍然不见动静。他把拉着电线的手伸出桥外，不让它勾住桥架，爬者绕过岗亭的后面，仍然不见动静。他走上了公路，但对面公路上仍然不见动静。接着他迅速地顺着公路外侧山洪冲成的小沟倒退着走，就象棒球外野手倒退着接飞远的髙球一样。他始终绷紧着电线，这时差不多到了安塞尔莫躲着的石路标对面，但桥对面仍然不见动静。
　　他接着听到公路上段开来一辆卡车，他回头看到它刚开上桥头那长长的坡路。他把电线在手腕上挽了一颶,对安塞尔莫大喝一声　炸桥"他站稳脚跟，身体使劲往后仰，猛拉绕在手腕上的绷紧的电线，这时，后面传来卡车的声音，前面是躺着那死哨兵的公路、长桥和对岸那段仍旧空荡荡的公路。接着轰隆“响，桥的中段骞地飞入空中,犹如浪花飞溅。他感到爆炸的气浪扑面而来，就一头扑倒在布满鹅卵石的小沟里，双手紧紧护着头。他的脸紧貼在鹅卵石地上，炸飞的桥落下来，落在原来的地方，一片带着熟悉的辛辣气味的黄色烟雾向他滚滚而来，钢铁碎片开始象雨点般落下来。
　　钢铁碎片落定之后，他还活着,他抬头望对面的桥。桥的中段已炸掉了。桥面上散布着边缘参差不齐的钢铁碎片，新炸裂的断口亮闪闪的，公路上也遍地都是。那辆卡车停在离桥一百码左右的地方。司机和同车的两个人正向一个涵洞奔去。
　　费尔南多仍然背靠山坡躺着，他还在呼吸。他的两臂直挺挺地垂在两侧，两手松幵。
　　安塞尔莫脸向下，伏在白色的石路标后面。他的左铸曲在脑袋下面，右臂向前直伸。他右手腕上仍然挽着那围电线。罗伯特、乔丹站起身来，跨过公路，跪在他身旁，看到他确实已经死了。他没有闻过？“体来看什么地方被铁片击中了。他死了，没法可想了。
　　罗伯特　乔丹想。”他死了，个子显得真小明。他个子显得很小，头发灰白，罗伯特，乔丹不禁想:他个子真是这么小,我就弄不明白他怎么扛得动那么大的背包。他接着看到安塞尔莫灰色紧身牧人裤里的大腿和小腿肚的轮廓，绳底鞋的破鞋底。他拾起安塞尔莫的卡宾熗和那两只实际上巳空无一物的背包，又走过去拾起费尔南多身旁的步熗。他一脚踢开略面上一块钢铁碎片。接着他把两支步熗挎在肩上，握住了熗筒登上山坡，进入树林。他没有回头看，甚至也没有向桥对面的公路望望。他们还在桥下拐弯处打熗，伹他这时一点也不理会了。
　　梯恩梯炸药的烟雾使他咳起嗽来，他还觉得身子内外都麻木了。
　　他把一支步熗放在伏在一棵树后面的比拉尔身边。她望了望，看到这一来她又有三支步熗了。
　　“你这儿太髙，”他说。“你看不到公賂那头有一辆卡车。他们以为是飞机炸的。你不如躲得低一点。我跟奥古斯丁下去掩护巴勃罗。”
　　“老头子呢?”她盯着他的脸问。
　　“死了，“
　　他又剧烈地咳起来，朝地上吐口水，
　　“桥巳经炸掉了，英国人，”比拉尔望着他。“别忘掉这一个。”
　　“我什么都没忘掉。”他说。”你的嗓子不小，”他对比拉尔说。“我听到你刚才在吼。大声对上面的玛丽亚说吧,我很好。““我们在锯木厂牺牲了两个。”比拉尔说,想使他明白过来。“我看到了。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你干了蠹事吗？”“去你妈的，英国人，”比拉尔说。“费尔南多和埃拉迪奥都是好汉舸。”
　　“你为什么不上去看那些马儿?”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我在这儿掩护比你强。”
　　“你要去掩护巴勃罗嘛。”“巴勃罗见鬼去吧。让他用大粪去掩护自己吧。”“不，英国人。他回心转意了。他在下面打得很猛。’你没听见吗？他现在正在打，打坏家伙。你没听见吗？”
　　“我掩护他。可你们全是混账。你和巴勃罗全是。”“英国人，”比拉尔说。“你平静些。在炸桥的事上，我一直比谁都更支持你。巴勃罗千了对不起你的事，可是他回来了。”“如果我有引爆器的话，老头子是不会死的。我本来可以在这儿引爆。”
　　“老是如果,如果一”比拉尔说。
　　当他在卧倒的地方抬起头,看到安塞尔莫死了的时候,他心里充满了随着炸桥之后的松弛而来的愤怒、空虚和憎恨，这时这些感情仍然贯串着他全身。他心里还有一股失望情绪，这是从悲痛心情而来的，军人们为了能继续心安理得地当军人，往往把这分悲痛转变成为憎恨。如今大功告成了,他感到寂寞、孤单而消沉,他憎恨他所见到的每个人。
　　“却果当初不下雪的话一”比拉尔说。这时，他不是突然地象肉体上的解脱那样(比如说,如果这个女人用臂膀搂着他》，而是慢慢地从头脑里接受这个现实，并让憎恨发泄出来。是啊，这场雪。就是雪闯下的祸。雪,就是雪使别人遭了殃。你曾一度看到它象以往那样地伤害人，你曾一度把自已置之度外,在战争中总是不得不把自己置之度外。在战争中不可能有自己，在战争中只能把自己遗忘。这时，在这种忘我之中，他听到比拉尔说。”“‘聋子’一”“什么？”他说。“‘鸯予’-，
　　“说得对，”罗伯特　乔丹说。他对她露齿一笑，一个失常、生硬、脸部肌肉绷紧的笑容。“别提它啦。我错了。对不起，大娘。我们大家来好好地一起干吧。你说得好，桥炸掉了。”“不错。你得设身处地替他们想想。”‘　“那我现在到奥古斯丁那儿去。叫吉普赛人守在远远的下坡,好让他看得清公路上段的动静。把这几支熗给普里米蒂伏,你拿这支机抢　我来教你。”
　　“机熗你自己留着吧，”比拉尔说。“我们随时会离幵这里的，巴勃罗现在该来了，我们就要撤离了。”
　　“拉斐尔，”罗伯特　乔丹说，“跟我一起到这儿来。这儿，好，你看到从涵洞里出来的人吗？那边，在卡车的上方。朝卡车雎来的人,看到暍？给我打掉一个〃坐下。别着慌。”
　　吉普赛人仔细瞄准，打了“熗，当他猛的拉因熗栓,排出掸壳时，罗伯特　乔丹说，“髙了。你打中了上面的岩石。见到飞起的碎石呜？要低些，低两英尺。现在仔细瞄准了。他们在跑。好。继续射击。”
　　“打中一个了。”吉普赛人说。那人倒在涵洞和卡车之间的半路上。另外两个没有停下来把他拉起来。他们向涵洞奔去,钻了进去。
　　“别朝人打熗。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“朝卡车前轮胎上部打。这样，即使打不中，也会打在引擎上。好。”他用望远镜望着。“打得低一点儿。好。你的熗法很准。棒极啦　棒极啦　给我打散热器的上部-只要在散热器上，哪儿都行　你是第一流的熗手。瞧,别让谁通过那儿。懞吗。”
　　“瞧我把卡车上的挡风玻璃打碎,”吉螫赛人快活地说。“不。车子已经开不动啦。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“等公路上有什么车辆开来再打熗。等它开到涵洞对面才开始打熗。想法打中司机。这也是你们大家的目标。”他对和普里米蒂伏一起下山坡的比拉尔说。“你这儿的位置很妙　瞧那峭壁掩护了你侧面,有多好?”
　　“跟奥古斯丁一起去干你自己的事吧，”比拉尔说，“别发表演讲啦。我不是没见过世面的人。”
　　“叫普里米蒂伏再过去一些，守在那儿上面，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“那儿。懂吗,伙计？山坡的这一边。”
　　“别管我了，”比拉尔说，“你走吧，英国人　你和你的面面俱到，这儿没问娌。”
　　正在这时,他们听到了飞机声。
　　玛丽亚踉那几匹马一起待了好久，可是它们并不能使她感到宽慰　她也不錐使马感到窠慰。她在树林里待着的地方望不到公路，也望不到桥。以前，马匹圈在营地下面的树秫里时，她常常哏点东西给那匹白脸茱色大种马吃,使它很听话,因此在熗声初起的时候，她就用手臂搂着它的脖子。但这时她神经紧张，使这匹马也紧张起来，它听到了熗响和炸弹声，猛的把头一晃，鼻孔张大了。玛丽亚没法镇静下来，她来回走动着,轻轻拍着马儿，安抚着它们，结果使它们反而更紧张、更激动。
　　她试图设想正在进行的射击并不可怕，这不过是巴勃罗和新来的那些人在下面，比拉尔和其他人在上面开的熗，自己不用担心，也不必惊慌失措，必须相信罗伯托。伹是她做不到这点，于是桥上方和桥下方的熗声，象远方的暴风雨般从远处山口传来的战斗声，中间夹杂着一阵阵干巴巴的砰砰声和时起时伏的炸弹爆炸声,就可怕得使她差一点喘不过气来。
　　过了一会，她听到下面远远的山坡上传来比拉尔的大嗓门，朝她骂了“通粗话,她听不淸什么，就想，唉,天主啊，不能这样，不能这样。他正在危急关头，不要这样骂他呀。不要得罪任何人，不要冒无谓的险。别惹人恼火呀。
　　接着她迅速而不知不觉地为罗伯托祷告起来，躭象她在学校里那样，尽量快地念祷文，用左手手指记着数，反复地把那两段祷文念了好几十遍。接着那座桥爆炸了，有匹马一听到这轰隆一声，就竖起身体，脑袋猛地一扭，啦的挣断了嫿绳，一涠烟地跑进树林。玛丽亚好不容易抓住它牵回来-它浑身发抖，胸脯被汗水弄得发了黑，马鞍搭拉着。她从树林里回来的时候,听到下面在打熗，就想,我再也受不了啦。我不明真相，再也活不下去啦。我喘不过气来，嘴里干得要命。我害怕，我一无办法，我把马儿吓了，只因为这一匹在树上把鞍子撞了下来，脚钩住了马镫，才侥幸地被我抓住了，现在要我上鞍，天主啊，叫我怎么办？
　　我受不了啦。我一心一意只求他平安无事，我的整个身心全在桥上。共和国是　回事,而我们必须打胜仗又是一回事。但是，亲爱的圣母啊，只要您使他从桥上平安归来，您叫我干什么都行。因为我的心不在这儿。我根本不独立存在。我的心只跟他在一起。求求您为了我保佑他，这样我才能存在，今后我才能为您效劳，而他是不会在乎的。这样做也并不违反共和国。啊,请宽恕我，我心乱如麻。现在我的心太烦乱了，但是如果您保佑他，什么好事我都干。他怎么吩咐，您怎么吩咐，我都照办。有了您们两位，我什么都做。可现在这样不明真相，我受不了。
　　接着她缚好马儿，上了马鞍，展平马毯,收紧肚带，这时她听到下面树林里传来声如洪钟的叫声。”“玛丽亚！玛丽亚！你的英国人平安无事。你听到吗？平安无事。平安无事　”
　　玛丽亚双手捧住马鞍，把短发的头紧貼在上面,哭了。她听到那声如洪钟的嗓子又喊了一声，从马鞍上转过头来，哽咽着喊道:“听到了　谢谢你！”接着又哽咽着说谢谢你1多谢多谢”
　　一听到飞机声，大家都拾起头来,只见飞机银光闪闪地在高空中从塞哥维亚的方向飞来，隆隆声盖过了所有其他的声响。“这些飞机,比拉尔说。“雪上加霜，又来了这些飞机1”罗伯特“乔丹望着飞机，伸出一条手臂挽着她的肩膀。”不,大娘。”他说。“这些飞机不是来炸我们的。它们没时间来对付我们。你平静些。”
　　“我恨这些飞机。”
　　“我也恨。可现在我得到奥古斯丁那儿去了。”他穿过山坡上的松林，绕着圉子走,这时飞机的隆隆声响个不停,而在破桥对面的公路上,公路拐弯处那一带晌着一挺重机熗断断续续的砰砰声。　
　　罗伯特　乔丹来到下面奥古斯丁身边，他正伏在一丛小松树后,面前架着自动步熗，这时飞机始终不断地飞来。
　　“下面情况怎么样?”奥古斯丁说。“巴勃罗在千什么？难道他不知道桥已经炸掉了？”“也许他没法脱身。”“那我们撤走吧，让他见鬼去。”
　　“他有办法的话,现在该来了，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我们现在该见到他了。”
　　“我没听到他的动静，”奥古斯丁说。“有五分钟没听到了。不。在那儿！听　他在那儿。正是他。”
　　这时爆发了那支骑兵用的自动步熗啪啪啪的射击声，接着又是一阵,再是一阵。
　　“正是那个杂种，”罗伯特　乔丹说办他望望更多的飞机在那蔚蓝无云的髙空中飞来，遒望奥古斯丁仰望飞机的脸。接者他低头望那破桥，望着对面那段仍然空无一人的公路。他咳了一声，唾了一口，傾听着那重机熗在公路拐弯处的下面又砰砰地响了。听起来熗声仍在原来的地方　“这是什么熗声?”奥古斯丁问。“这悬什么莫名其妙的熗声?”
　　“我还没炸桥’这抢声就一直在咱,罗伯特　乔丹说。他这时俯视着那座桥,看见流水穿过被炸毁的桥的缺口，那儿桥的中段已沉落下去，弯弯的象条钢围裙。他听到飞过去的第一批飞机开始在山口上空投弹,而更多的飞机还在飞来。飞机的马达声响彻髙空，他抬头望到一架一，“点大的驱逐机高高地在其他飞机的上空盘旋。
　　〃我看前天早晨那些飞机没有越过火线，”普里米蒂伏说。“它们准是向西拐去了就飞回来的。要是他们见到了这些飞机,就不会发动进攻了。”
　　“这些飞机大多数是新的，”罗佑特，乔丹说一他有一种感觉，情况开始是正常的，尔后却带来了不少巨大的、大得不相称的特大反应。就象你扔了块石子,激起了一片涟漪，这涟漪象浪潮般咆哮着,排山倒海似地反冲回来。或者就象你大喊一声，引来阵阵雷鸣般的回声,震耳欲聋。或者就象你打了一个人，他倒下去了，而你只见漤山遒野的其他的人全副武装地站起来了。他高兴的是并不和戈尔兹一起在上面的山口。
　　他伏在奥古斯丁身边，望着飞机飞过,留神倾听身后有没有响起熗声,注视着面前的公路,他知道路上会出现一些动静，但不知道会是什么，这时他仍然为自已没在桥边被炸死而感到惊讶。他原来深信必然会被炸死,所以现在这一切显得不真实了。他对自己说，别神思恍惚啦。摆脱这种想法。今天要干的亊情很多很多。然而这想法还是缠住了他，因此他清楚地感到这一切如同梦境。
　　“你吸进的硝烟太多了，”他对自己说。伹是他知道原因不在这儿。他确实感到，在这绝对的现实环境中一切是那么不真实。他俯视那座桥，接着回过头来望望躺在公路上的那个哨兵，望望安塞尔莫躺着的地方,望望霏在山坡上的费尔南多，再回头顺着这平坦的掲色公路望去，直望到那辆开不动的卡车，可是一切仍然显得不真实。
　　“你还是马上甩掉这　套吧。”他对自己说。“你象只斗鸡场上的公鸡,谁也不知道你受了伤，外面也看不出，伹是伤势已使它快死了。“
　　“别扯淡啦，”他对自己说。“一句话，你有点儿头脑发晕，一句话，完成了任务,你松劲了。宽心些吧。”
　　这时奥古斯丁一把抓住他的臂膀，指点着，于是他向河谷对面望去，看到了巴勃罗。
　　他们看到他绕过公路拐角奔过来。他们看到他在那块把公路下段遮住的陡峭的山岩旁站住了，靠在石壁上向身后的公路方向打熗。罗伯特，乔丹看到矮胖粗壮的巴勃罗，帽子丢了，靠在石壁上打着那支骑兵用的自动步抢，他看到一个个铜弹壳喷泉似地跳出来，在阳光照耀下闪着亮。他们看到巴勃罗蹲下来又打了一梭子。接着这个罗圈腿的矮个子头也不回地拔脚飞跑，低着头向桥直奔而来。
　　罗伯特　乔丹把奥古斯丁推到一边，把这支大自动步熗的熗托抵住肩头，瞄着公路的拐角。他自己的手提机熗搁在左手边。距离那样远，用它是打不大准的。
　　巴勃罗一路向他们奔来，罗伯特‘乔丹瞄准着公路的拐角，但是没有动静。巴勃罗跑到桥头，回头望了一下，向桥瞥了一眼，就向左拐弯，朝下跑进河谷，消失了。罗伯特　乔丹仍然注视着那拐角，但还是一无动静。奥古斯丁爬起身，一膝跪着，他看得到巴勃罗象山羊艇爬下河谷。他们见到巴勃罗以来，下面一直没有熗声。
　　“你着到上面有动静吗？上面的山岩上。”罗伯特　乔丹问。农没有。”
　　罗伯特，乔丹注视着公路拐角。他知道，那堵石壁睫得谁也没法爬上来，伹再下面地势较平坦，可以迂回爬上来。
　　如果刚才“切显得不真实的话，这时突然变得够真实的了。这就象反光照相机的镜头突然对准了焦距。就在这时，他看到一辆低矮的坦克的扁车头和撅出了一挺机关熗的绿、灰、棕三色斑斑驳驳的炮塔在拐角处出现在明亮的太阳光下。他朝它打熗，听见子弹当当当地直射在钢板上。这辆小型轻便坦克慌忙缩回到石壁后面。罗伯特‘乔丹密切注视着那拐角，只见车头又露出来了，接着是炮塔的边缘，这炮塔转过来，熗口指向公路。“看样子真象老鼠出洞，”奥古斯丁说,“瞧，英国人“这坦克手没有多大信心，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“巴勃罗打的原来是这只大甲虫，”奥古斯丁说。〃再軔它打熗，英国人。”
　　“不。我伤不了它。可不想让它发现我们的位置。”坦克开始向公路的一头射击。子弹打在略面上，吱吱地反弹开去，乒乒乓乓地打在铁桥上。这就是那挺他们过去听到在下面开火的机关熗。
　　“王八蛋!”奥古斯丁说。“这就是那些了不起的坦克吗，英国人?”
　　“这是小型的。”
　　“王八蛋。要是有个装满汽油的小瓶,我就爬过去放火烧掉它。这家伙打算干什么，英国人?”
　　“等会儿他会再把坦克探出头来张望的。”“叫人害怕的就是这些家伙啊。”奥古斯丁说。“瞧,英国人1他在打那些死掉的哨兵。”
　　“因为他没有别的目标可打，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“别怪他。”但是他在想。”当然啦，要取笑他。然而，假使你自己回到了本国，人家用炮火把你拦阻在大路上。跟着桥给炸了。你难道不会以为前面埋着地雷或设着埋伏吗？你当然会这样想。这坦克手干得满不错，他在等待援军开上来。他正在和敌人交锋。实在只不过是我们这几个人罢了。但是他哪里知道啊。瞧这小杂、种。小坦克在拐角上慢慢露出一点儿头来。芷在这时，奥古斯丁看到巴勃罗用双手双膝从河谷边爬上来，胡子拉碴的脸上淌着汗。“婊子养的来了，”他说。“谁?”“巴勃罗。”
　　罗伯特　乔丹一望，看见了巴勃罗，接着就朝坦克上涂着伪装色的炮塔射击，瞄准了那机熗上方的一道隙缝。小坦克呼呼地慌忙缩回去，又消失了踪影。罗伯特　乔丹提起自动步熗，啪的把三脚架折起,貼在熗筒上,不管熗口还是很烫,就背上肩头。熗口烫得厉害，灼着他的肩头，他用手托起熗托，使劲把熗口指向后方。
　　“把那袋子弹盘和我那挺小机熗拿了"他大声说。“跑着跟”
　　罗伯特　乔丹穿过树林向山上奔去。奥古斯丁紧跟在后面，再后面跟着巴勃罗。
　　“比拉尔！”罗伯特　乔丹朝山坡那边叫喊。“来軻，大娘1”他们三人尽快地爬上陡削的山坡。他们没法奔跑，因为坡度太陡。巴勃罗只背着一支骑兵用的手提机熗,没有其他东西，紧紧赶上了他们俩。
　　“你那一伙人呢?”奥古斯丁嘴里发千，问巴勃罗。“全死了。”巴勃罗说。他几乎喘不过气来。奥古斯丁转过头来望着他。
　　“我们现在有不少马啦，英国人。”巴勃罗上气不接下气地说。
　　“好。”罗伯特　乔丹说。他想,你这杀人成性的杂种。“你碰上什么了?”
　　“什么都碰上了，”巴勃罗说。他大口大口地嗤着气。〃比拉尔怎么样?”
　　“她失去了费尔南多和那两兄弟中的一个一”“埃拉迪奥。”奥古斯丁说‘“你呐？”巴勃罗问。“我失掉了安塞尔莫。”
　　“马很多了。”巴勃罗说。“连耿行李也够了，“奥古斯丁咬咬嘴唇，望着罗伯待。乔丹,摇摇头。他们听到那坦克在被树林遮住的下面公路上又在向路面和桥扫射了。
　　罗伯特、乔丹把头猛的一甩。”那是怎么回事?”他对巴劫罗说。他不愿意望巴勃罗,或闻到他的气息,但他要听他的回答。
　　“那辆坦克来了，我脱不开身。”巴勃罗说。“我们在下面那哨所的拐角上被挡住了去路。后来坦克回去补给什么了，我就来啦,
　　“你在拐角上开熗打谁？”奥古斯丁单刀直入地问。巴勃罗望着他，露齿要笑,想想不行，结果没说什么。“你把他们全熗杀了？”奥古斯丁问。罗伯特　乔丹在想,你别开口。这不关你的事。你所指望的事，他们全干成了，而且述不止如此。这是帮派之争。别用道德观点来判断。对一个凶手，你能指望什么呢？你正在和一个凶手合作啊。你别开口。你本来就对他够了解的。这又不是新鲜事儿。可是这杂种多卑鄙，他想。这杂件多卑鄢、狠毒嗨。
　　他的胸脯由于爬了山而正在作痛，奔跑之后仿佛赛裂幵似的，这时他看到了前面树林里的马群。
　　“说呀，”奥古斯丁在说。“你干吗不说你毙了他们,“闭嘴，”巴勃罗说。“今天我大打了一场，干得不赖。问英国人好啦。”
　　“那么现在把我们带出去吧，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“因为这个主意是你想出来的。”
　　“我有一个很好的主意，”巴勃罗说只消有一点儿运气,我们就能脱险了。”
　　他开始呼吸得较正常了。
　　“你不打算杀我们中间的人吧。”奥古斯丁说。“因为我现在要杀你了。”
　　“闭嘴，”巴勃罗说。“我必须顾到你的利益和我们这一伙的利益。这是打仗啊。人不能想干什么就干什么。”“王八蛋，”奥古斯丁说。“你捞到了全部的好处。”“告诉我,你在下面碰上些什么了。”罗伯特　乔丹对巴勃罗
　　“什么都碰上了。”巴勃罗重复说。他还是气喘得胸脯象要袈开似的，伹这时能从容地说话了，他脸上和头上在淌汗，肩膀和胸膛全湿透了。他小心翼翼地望着罗伯特　乔丹，想知进他是不是真的怀着善校�接着他露齿笑笑。“什么都碰上了。”他又说。“我们先占领了哨所。接着来了个庫托兵。接着又来了—个。接着是辆救护车。接着是辆卡车。接着是那辆坦克〃就在你炸桥之前。�

Chapter 43 Robert Jordan lay behind the trunk of a pine tree on the slope of the hill above the road and the bridge and watched it become daylight. He loved this hour of the day always and now he watched it; feeling it gray within him, as though he were a part of the slow lightening that comes before the rising of the sun; when solid things darken and space lightens and the lights that have shone in the night go yellow and then fade as the day comes. The pine trunks below him were hard and clear now, their trunks solid and brown and the road was shiny with a wisp of mist over it. The dew had wet him and the forest floor was soft and he felt the give of the brown, dropped pine needles under his elbows. Below he saw, through the light mist that rose from the stream bed, the steel of the bridge, straight and rigid across the gap, with the wooden sentry boxes at each end. But as he looked the structure of the bridge was still spidery and fine in the mist that hung over the stream. He saw the sentry now in his box as he stood, his back with the hanging blanket coat topped by the steel casque on his head showing as he leaned forward over the hole-punched petrol tin of the brazier, warming his hands. Robert Jordan heard the stream, far down in the rocks, and he saw a faint, thin smoke that rose from the sentry box. He looked at his watch and thought, I wonder if  got through to Golz? If we are going to blow it I would like to breathe very slowly and slow up the time again and feel it. Do you think he made it? ? And if he did would they call it off? If they had time to call it off? _Qu?va_. Do not worry. They will or they won't. There are no more decisions and in a little while you will know. Suppose the attack is successful. Golz said it could be. That there was a possibility. With our tanks coming down that road, the people coming through from the right and down and past La Granja and the whole left of the mountains turned. Why don't you ever think of how it is to win? You've been on the defensive for so long that you can't think of that. Sure. But that was before all that stuff went up this road. That was before all the planes came. Don't be so na鴳e. But remember this that as long as we can hold them here we keep the fascists tied up. They can't attack any other country until they finish with us and they can never finish with us. If the French help at all, if only they leave the frontier open and if we get planes from America they can never finish with us. Never, if we get anything at all. These people will fight forever if they're well armed. No you must not expect victory here, not for several years maybe. This is just a holding attack. You must not get illusions about it now. Suppose we got a break-through today? This is our first big attack. Keep your sense of proportion. But what if we should have it? Don't get excited, he told himself. Remember what went up the road. You've done what you could about that. We should have portable short-wave sets, though. We will, in time. But we haven't yet. You just watch now and do what you should. Today is only one day in all the days that will ever be. But what will happen in all the other days that ever come can depend on what you do today. It's been that way all this year. It's been that way so many times. All of this war is that way. You are getting very pompous in the early morning, he told himself. Look there what's coming now. He saw the two men in blanket capes and steel helmets come around the corner of the road walking toward the bridge, their rifles slung over their shoulders. One stopped at the far end of the bridge and was out of sight in the sentry box. The other came on across the bridge, walking slowly and heavily. He stopped on the bridge and spat into the gorge, then came on slowly to the near end of the bridge where the other sentry spoke to him and then started off back over the bridge. The sentry who was relieved walked faster than the other had done (because he's going to coffee, Robert Jordan thought) but he too spat down into the gorge. I wonder if that is superstition? Robert Jordan thought. I'll have to take me a spit in that gorge too. If I can spit by then. No. It can't be very powerful medicine. It can't work. I'll have to prove it doesn't work before I am out there. The new sentry had gone inside the box and sat down. His rifle with the bayonet fixed was leaning against the wall. Robert Jordan took his glasses from his shirt pocket and turned the eyepieces until the end of the bridge showed sharp and gray-painted-metal clear. Then he moved them onto the sentry box. The sentry sat leaning against the wall. His helmet hung on a peg and his face showed clearly. Robert Jordan saw he was the same man who had been there on guard two days before in the afternoon watch. He was wearing the same knitted stocking-cap. And he had not shaved. His cheeks were sunken and his cheekbones prominent. He had bushy eyebrows that grew together in the center. He looked sleepy and as Robert Jordan watched him he yawned. Then he took out a tobacco pouch and a packet of papers and rolled himself a cigarette. He tried to make a lighter work and finally put it in his pocket and went over to the brazier, leaned over, reached inside, brought up a piece of charcoal, juggled it in one hand while he blew on it, then lit the cigarette and tossed the lump of charcoal back into the brazier. Robert Jordan, looking through the Zeiss 8-power glasses, watched his face as he leaned against the wall of the sentry box drawing on the cigarette. Then he took the glasses down, folded them together and put them in his pocket. I won't look at him again, he told himself. He lay there and watched the road and tried not to think at all. A squirrel chittered from a pine tree below him and Robert Jordan watched the squirrel come down the tree trunk, stopping on his way down to turn his head and look toward where the man was watching. He saw the squirrel's eyes, small and bright, and watched his tail jerk in excitement. Then the squirrel crossed to another tree, moving on the ground in long, small-pawed, tail-exaggerated bounds. On the tree trunk he looked back at Robert Jordan, then pulled himself around the trunk and out of sight. Then Robert Jordan heard the squirrel chitter from a high branch of the pine tree and he watched him there, spread flat along the branch, his tail jerking. Robert Jordan looked down through the pines to the sentry box again. He would like to have had the squirrel with him in his pocket. He would like to have had anything that he could touch. He rubbed his elbows against the pine needles but it was not the same. Nobody knows how lonely you can be when you do this. Me, though, I know. I hope that Rabbit will get out of this all right. Stop that now. Yes, sure. But I can hope that and I do. That I blow it well and that she gets out all right. Good. Sure. Just that. That is all I want now. He lay there now and looked away from the road and the sentry box and across to the far mountain. Just do not think at all, he told himself. He lay there quietly and watched the morning come. It was a fine early summer morning and it came very fast now in the end of May. Once a motorcyclist in a leather coat and all-leather helmet with an automatic rifle in a holster by his left leg came across the bridge and went on up the road. Once an ambulance crossed the bridge, passed below him, and went up the road. But that was all. He smelled the pines and he heard the stream and the bridge showed clear now and beautiful in the morning light. He lay there behind the pine tree, with the submachine gun across his left forearm, and he never looked at the sentry box again until, long after it seemed that it was never coming, that nothing could happen on such a lovely late May morning, he heard the sudden, clustered, thudding of the bombs. As he heard the bombs, the first thumping noise of them, before the echo of them came back in thunder from the mountain, Robert Jordan drew in a long breath and lifted the submachine gun from where it lay. His arm felt stiff from its weight and his fingers were heavy with reluctance. The man in the sentry box stood up when he heard the bombs. Robert Jordan saw him reach for his rifle and step forward out of the box listening. He stood in the road with the sun shining on him. The knitted cap was on the side of his head and the sun was on his unshaved face as he looked up into the sky toward where the planes were bombing. There was no mist on the road now and Robert Jordan saw the man, clearly and sharply, standing there on the road looking up at the sky. The sun shone bright on him through the trees. Robert Jordan felt his own breath tight now as though a strand of wire bound his chest and, steadying his elbows, feeling the corrugations of the forward grip against his fingers, he put the oblong of the foresight, settled now in the notch of the rear, onto the center of the man's chest and squeezed the trigger gently. He felt the quick, liquid, spastic lurching of the gun against his shoulder and on the road the man, looking surprised and hurt, slid forward on his knees and his forehead doubled to the road. His rifle fell by him and lay there with one of the man's fingers twisted through the trigger guard, his wrist bent forward. The rifle lay, bayonet forward on the road. Robert Jordan looked away from the man lying with his head doubled under on the road to the bridge, and the sentry box at the other end. He could not see the other sentry and he looked down the slope to the right where he knew Agust was hidden. Then he heard Anselmo shoot, the shot smashing an echo back from the gorge. Then he heard him shoot again. With that second shot came the cracking boom of grenades from around the corner below the bridge. Then there was the noise of grenades from well up the road to the left. Then he heard rifle-firing up the road and from below came the noise of Pablo's cavalry automatic rifle spat-spat-spat-spatting into the noise of grenades. He saw Anselmo scrambling down the steep cut to the far end of the bridge and he slung the submachine gun over his shoulder and picked up the two heavy packs from behind the pine trunks and with one in each hand, the packs pulling his arms so that he felt the tendons would pull out of his shoulders, he ran lurching down the steep slope to the road. As he ran he heard Agust shouting, "_Buena caza, Ingl廥. Buena caza!_" and he thought, "Nice hunting, like hell, nice hunting," and just then he heard Anselmo shoot at the far end of the bridge, the noise of the shot clanging in the steel girders. He passed the sentry where he lay and ran onto the bridge, the packs swinging. The old man came running toward him, holding his carbine in one hand. "_Sin novedad_," he shouted. "There's nothing wrong. _Tuve que rematarlo_. I had to finish him." Robert Jordan, kneeling, opening the packs in the center of the bridge taking out his material, saw that tears were running down Anselmo's cheeks through the gray beard stubble. "_Yo mat?uno tambien_," he said to Anselmo. "I killed one too," and jerked his head toward where the sentry lay hunched over in the road at the end of the bridge. "Yes, man, yes," Anselmo said. "We have to kill them and we kill them." Robert Jordan was climbing down into the framework of the bridge. The girders were cold and wet with dew under his hands and he climbed carefully, feeling the sun on his back, bracing himself in a bridge truss, hearing the noise of the tumbling water below him, hearing firing, too much firing, up the road at the upper post. He was sweating heavily now and it was cool under the bridge. He had a coil of wire around one arm and a pair of pliers hung by a thong from his wrist. "Hand me that down a package at a time, _viejo_," he called up to Anselmo. The old man leaned far over the edge handing down the oblong blocks of explosive and Robert Jordan reached up for them, shoved them in where he wanted them, packed them close, braced them, "Wedges, _viejo!_ Give me wedges!" smelling the fresh shingle smell of the new whittled wedges as he tapped them in tight to hold the charge between the girders. Now as he worked, placing, bracing, wedging, lashing tight with wire, thinking only of demolition, working fast and skillfully as a surgeon works, he heard a rattle of firing from below on the road. Then there was the noise of a grenade. Then another, booming through the rushing noise the water made. Then it was quiet from that direction. "Damn," he thought. "I wonder what hit them then?" There was still firing up the road at the upper post. Too damned much firing, and he was lashing two grenades side by side on top of the braced blocks of explosive, winding wire over their corrugations so they would hold tight and firm and lashing it tight; twisting it with the pliers. He felt of the whole thing and then, to make it more solid, tapped in a wedge above the grenades that blocked the whole charge firmly in against the steel. "The other side now, _viejo_," he shouted up to Anselmo and climbed across through the trestling, like a bloody Tarzan in a rolled steel forest, he thought, and then coming out from under the dark, the stream tumbling below him, he looked up and saw Anselmo's face as he reached the packages of explosive down to him. Goddamn good face, he thought. Not crying now. That's all to the good. And one side done. This side now and we're done. This will drop it like what all. Come on. Don't get excited. Do it. Clean and fast as the last one. Don't fumble with it. Take your time. Don't try to do it faster than you can. You can't lose now. Nobody can keep you from blowing one side now. You're doing it just the way you should. This is a cool place. Christ, it feels cool as a wine cellar and there's no crap. Usually working under a stone bridge it's full of crap. This is a dream bridge. A bloody dream bridge. It's the old man on top who's in a bad spot. Don't try to do it faster than you can. I wish that shooting would be over up above. "Give me some wedges, _viejo_." I don't like that shooting still. Pilar has got in trouble there. Some of the post must have been out. Out back; or behind the mill. They're still shooting. That means there's somebody still at the mill. And all that damned sawdust. Those big piles of sawdust. Sawdust, when it's old and packed, is good stuff to fight behind. There must be several of them still. It's quiet below with Pablo. I wonder what that second flare-up was. It must have been a car or a motorcyclist. I hope to God they don't have any armored cars come up or any tanks. Go on. Put it in just as fast as you can and wedge it tight and lash it fast. You're shaking, like a Goddamn woman. What the hell is the matter with you? You're trying to do it too fast. I'll bet that Goddamn woman up above isn't shaking. That Pilar. Maybe she is too. She sounds as though she were in plenty trouble. She'll shake if she gets in enough. Like everybody bloody else. He leaned out and up into the sunlight and as he reached his hand up to take what Anselmo handed him, his head now above the noise of the falling water, the firing increased sharply up the road and then the noise of grenades again. Then more grenades. "They rushed the sawmill then." It's lucky I've got this stuff in blocks, he thought. Instead of sticks. What the hell. It's just neater. Although a lousy canvas sack full of jelly would be quicker. Two sacks. No. One of that would do. And if we just had detonators and the old exploder. That son of a bitch threw my exploder in the river. That old box and the places that it's been. In this river he threw it. That bastard Pablo. He gave them hell there below just now. "Give me some more of that, _viejo_." The old man's doing very well. He's in quite a place up there. He hated to shoot that sentry. So did I but I didn't think about it. Nor do I think about it now. You have to do that. But then Anselmo got a cripple. I know about cripples. I think that killing a man with an automatic weapon makes it easier. I mean on the one doing it. It is different. After the first touch it is it that does it. Not you. Save that to go into some other time. You and your head. You have a nice thinking head old Jordan. Roll Jordan, Roll! They used to yell that at football when you lugged the ball. Do you know the damned Jordan is really not much bigger than that creek down there below. At the source, you mean. So is anything else at the source. This is a place here under this bridge. A home away from home. Come on Jordan, pull yourself together. This is serious Jordan. Don't you understand? Serious. It's less so all the time. Look at that other side. _Para qu?_ I'm all right now however she goes. As Maine goes, so goes the nation. As Jordan goes so go the bloody Israelites. The bridge, I mean. As Jordan goes, so goes the bloody bridge, other way around, really. "Give me some more of that, Anselmo old boy," he said. The old man nodded. "Almost through," Robert Jordan said. The old man nodded again. Finishing wiring the grenades down, he no longer heard the firing from up the road. Suddenly he was working only with the noise of the stream. He looked down and saw it boiling up white below him through the boulders and then dropping down to a clear pebbled pool where one of the wedges he had dropped swung around in the current. As he looked a trout rose for some insect and made a circle on the surface close to where the chip was turning. As he twisted the wire tight with the pliers that held these two grenades in place, he saw, through the metal of the bridge, the sunlight on the green slope of the mountain. It was brown three days ago, he thought. Out from the cool dark under the bridge he leaned into the bright sun and shouted to Anselmo's bending face, "Give me the big coil of wire." The old man handed it down. For God's sake don't loosen them any yet. This will pull them. I wish you could string them through. But with the length of wire you are using it's O.K., Robert Jordan thought as he felt the cotter pins that held the rings that would release the levers on the hand grenades. He checked that the grenades, lashed on their sides, had room for the levers to spring when the pins were pulled (the wire that lashed them ran through under the levers), then he attached a length of wire to one ring, wired it onto the main wire that ran to the ring of the outside grenade, paid off some slack from the coil and passed it around a steel brace and then handed the coil up to Anselmo. "Hold it carefully," he said. He climbed up onto the bridge, took the coil from the old man and walked back as fast as he could pay out wire toward where the sentry was slumped in the road, leaning over the side of the bridge and paying out wire from the coil as he walked. "Bring the sacks," he shouted to Anselmo as he walked backwards. As he passed he stooped down and picked up the submachine gun and slung it over his shoulder again. It was then, looking up from paying out wire, that he saw, well up the road, those who were coming back from the upper post. There were four of them, he saw, and then he had to watch his wire so it would be clear and not foul against any of the outer work of the bridge. Eladio was not with them. Robert Jordan carried the wire clear past the end of the bridge, took a ioop around the last stanchion and then ran along the road until he stopped beside a stone marker. He cut the wire and handed it to Anselmo. "Hold this, _viejo_," he said. "Now walk back with me to the bridge. Take up on it as you walk. No. I will." At the bridge he pulled the wire back out through the hitch so it now ran clear and unfouled to the grenade rings and handed it, stretching alongside the bridge but running quite clear, to Anselmo. "Take this back to that high stone," he said. "Hold it easily but firmly. Do not put any force on it. When thou pullest hard, hard, the bridge will blow. _Comprendes?_" "Yes." "Treat it softly but do not let it sag so it will foul. Keep it lightly firm but not pulling until thou pullest. _Comprendes?_" "Yes." "When thou pullest really pull. Do not jerk." Robert Jordan while he spoke was looking up the road at the remainder of Pilar's band. They were close now and he saw Primitivo and Rafael were supporting Fernando. He looked to be shot through the groin for he was holding himself there with both hands while the man and the boy held him on either side. His right leg was dragging, the side of the shoe scraping on the road as they walked him. Pilar was climbing the bank into the timber carrying three rifles. Robert Jordan could not see her face but her head was up and she was climbing as fast as she could. "How does it go?" Primitivo called. "Good. We're almost finished," Robert Jordan shouted back. There was no need to ask how it went with them. As he looked away the three were on the edge of the road and Fernando was shaking his head as they tried to get him up the bank. "Give me a rifle here," Robert Jordan heard him say in a choky voice. "No, hombre. We will get thee to the horses." "What would I do with a horse?" Fernando said. "I am very well here." Robert Jordan did not hear the rest for he was speaking to Anselmo. "Blow it if tanks come," he said. "But only if they come onto it. Blow it if armored cars come. If they come onto it. Anything else Pablo will stop." "I will not blow it with thee beneath it." "Take no account of me. Blow it if thou needest to. I fix the other wire and come back. Then we will blow it together." He started running for the center of the bridge. Anselmo saw Robert Jordan run up the bridge, coil of wire over his arm, pliers hanging from one wrist and the submachine gun slung over his back. He saw him climb down under the rail of the bridge and out of sight. Anselmo held the wire in his hand, his right hand, and he crouched behind the stone marker and looked down the road and across the bridge. Halfway between him and the bridge was the sentry, who had settled now closer to the road, sinking closer onto the smooth road surface as the sun weighed on his back. His rifle, lying on the road, the bayonet fixed, pointed straight toward Anselmo. The old man looked past him along the surface of the bridge crossed by the shadows of the bridge rail to where the road swung to the left along the gorge and then turned out of sight behind the rocky wall. He looked at the far sentry box with the sun shining on it and then, conscious of the wire in his hand, he turned his head to where Fernando was speaking to Primitivo and the gypsy. "Leave me here," Fernando said. "It hurts much and there is much hemorrhage inside. I feel it in the inside when I move." "Let us get thee up the slope," Primitivo said. "Put thy arms around our shoulders and we will take thy legs." "It is inutile," Fernando said. "Put me here behind a stone. I am as useful here as above." "But when we go," Primitivo said. "Leave me here," Fernando said. "There is no question of my travelling with this. Thus it gives one horse more. I am very well here. Certainly they will come soon." "We can take thee up the hill," the gypsy said. "Easily." He was, naturally, in a deadly hurry to be gone, as was Primitivo. But they had brought him this far. "Nay," Fernando said. "I am very well here. What passes with Eladio?" The gypsy put his finger on his head to show where the wound had been. "Here," he said. "After thee. When we made the rush." "Leave me," Fernando said. Anselmo could see he was suffering much. He held both hands against his groin now and put his head back against the bank, his legs straight out before him. His face was gray and sweating. "Leave me now please, for a favor," he said. His eyes were shut with pain, the edges of the lips twitching. "I find myself very well here." "Here is a rifle and cartridges," Primitivo said. "Is it mine?" Fernando asked, his eyes shut. "Nay, the Pilar has thine," Primitivo said. "This is mine." "I would prefer my own," Fernando said. "I am more accustomed to it." "I will bring it to thee," the gypsy lied to him. "Keep this until it comes." "I am in a very good position here," Fernando said. "Both for up the road and for the bridge." He opened his eyes, turned his head and looked across the bridge, then shut them as the pain came. The gypsy tapped his head and motioned with his thumb to Primitivo for them to be off. "Then we will be down for thee," Primitivo said and started up the slope after the gypsy, who was climbing fast. Fernando lay back against the bank. In front of him was one of the whitewashed stones that marked the edge of the road. His head was in the shadow but the sun shone on his plugged and bandaged wound and on his hands that were cupped over it. His legs and his feet also were in the sun. The rifle lay beside him and there were three clips of cartridges shining in the sun beside the rifle. A fly crawled on his hands but the small tickling did not come through the pain. "Fernando!" Anselmo called to him from where he crouched, holding the wire. He had made a loop in the end of the wire and twisted it close so he could hold it in his fist. "Fernando!" he called again. Fernando opened his eyes and looked at him. "How does it go?" Fernando asked. "Very good," Anselmo said. "Now in a minute we will be blowing it." "I am pleased. Anything you need me for advise me," Fernando said and shut his eyes again and the pain lurched in him. Anselmo looked away from him and out onto the bridge. He was watching for the first sight of the coil of wire being handed up onto the bridge and for the _Ingl廥's_ sunburnt head and face to follow it as he would pull himself up the side. At the same time he was watching beyond the bridge for anything to come around the far corner of the road. He did not feel afraid now at all and he had not been afraid all the day. It goes so fast and it is so normal, he thought. I hated the shooting of the guard and it made me an emotion but that is passed now. How could the _Ingl廥_ say that the shooting of a man is like the shooting of an animal? In all hunting I have had an elation and no feeling of wrong. But to shoot a man gives a feeling as though one had struck one's own brother when you are grown men. And to shoot him various times to kill him. Nay, do not think of that. That gave thee too much emotion and thee ran blubbering down the bridge like a woman. That is over, he told himself, and thou canst try to atone for it as for the others. But now thou has what thou asked for last night coming home across the hills. Thou art in battle and thou hast no problem. If I die on this morning now it is all right. Then he looked at Fernando lying there against the bank with his hands cupped over the groove of his hip, his lips blue, his eyes tight shut, breathing heavily and slowly, and he thought, If I die may it be quickly. Nay I said I would ask nothing more if I were granted what I needed for today. So I will not ask. Understand? I ask nothing. Nothing in any way. Give me what I asked for and I leave all the rest according to discretion. He listened to the noise that came, far away, of the battle at the pass and he said to himself, Truly this is a great day. I should realize and know what a day this is. But there was no lift or any excitement in his heart. That was all gone and there was nothing but a calmness. And now, as he crouched behind the marker stone with the looped wire in his hand and another loop of it around his wrist and the gravel beside the road under his knees he was not lonely nor did he feel in any way alone. He was one with the wire in his hand and one with the bridge, and one with the charges the _Ingl廥_ had placed. He was one with the _Ingl廥_ still working under the bridge and he was one with all of the battle and with the Republic. But there was no excitement. It was all calm now and the sun beat down on his neck and on his shoulders as he crouched and as he looked up he saw the high, cloudless sky and the slope of the mountain rising beyond the river and he was not happy but he was neither lonely nor afraid. Up the hill slope Pilar lay behind a tree watching the road that came down from the pass. She had three loaded rifles by her and she handed one to Primitivo as he dropped down beside her. "Get down there," she said. "Behind that tree. Thou, gypsy, over there," she pointed to another tree below. "Is he dead?" "Nay. Not yet," Primitivo said. "It was bad luck," Pilar said. "If we had had two more it need not have happened. He should have crawled around the sawdust pile. Is he all right there where he is?" Primitivo shook his head. "When the _Ingl廥_ blows the bridge will fragments come this far?" the gypsy asked from behind his tree. "I don't know," Pilar said. "But Agust with the _m嫭uina_ is closer than thee. The _Ingl廥_ would not have placed him there if it were too close." "But I remember with the blowing of the train the lamp of the engine blew by over my head and pieces of steel flew by like swallows." "Thou hast poetic memories," Pilar said. "Like swallows. _Joder!_ They were like wash boilers. Listen, gypsy, thou hast comported thyself well today. Now do not let thy fear catch up with thee." "Well, I only asked if it would blow this far so I might keep well behind the tree trunk," the gypsy said. "Keep it thus," Pilar told him. "How many have we killed?" "_Pues_ five for us. Two here. Canst thou not see the other at the far end? Look there toward the bridge. See the box? Look! Dost see?" He pointed. "Then there were eight below for Pablo. I watched that post for the _Ingl廥_." Pilar grunted. Then she said violently and raging, "What passes with that _Ingl廥?_ What is he obscenitying off under that bridge. _Vaya mandanga!_ Is he building a bridge or blowing one?" She raised her head and looked down at Anselmo crouched behind the stone marker. "Hey, _viejo!_" she shouted. "What passes with thy obscenity of an _Ingl廥?_" "Patience, woman," Anselmo called up, holding the wire lightly but firmly. "He is terminating his work." "But what in the name of the great whore does he take so much time about?" "Es muy _concienzudo!_" Anselmo shouted. "It is a scientific labor." "I obscenity in the milk of science," Pilar raged to the gypsy. "Let the filth-faced obscenity blow it and be done. Maria!" she shouted in her deep voice up the hill. "Thy _Ingl廥_--" and she shouted a flood of obscenity about Jordan's imaginary actions under the bridge. "Calm yourself, woman," Anselmo called from the road. "He is doing an enormous work. He is finishing it now." "The hell with it," Pilar raged. "It is speed that counts." Just then they all heard firing start down the road where Pablo was holding the post he had taken. Pilar stopped cursing and listened. "Ay," she said. "Ayee. Ayee. That's it." Robert Jordan heard it as he swung the coil of wire up onto the bridge with one hand and then pulled himself up after it. As his knees rested on the edge of the iron of the bridge and his hands were on the surface he heard the machine gun firing around the bend below. It was a different sound from Pablo's automatic rifle. He got to his feet, leaned over, passed his coil of wire clear and commenced to pay out wire as he walked backwards and sideways along the bridge. He heard the firing and as he walked he felt it in the pit of his stomach as though it echoed on his own diaphragm. It was closer now as he walked and he looked back at the bend of the road. But it was still clear of any car, or tank or men. It was still clear when he was halfway to the end of the bridge. It was still clear when he was three quarters of the way, his wire running clear and unfouled, and it was still clear as he climbed around behind the sentry box, holding his wire out to keep it from catching on the iron work. Then he was on the road and it was still clear below on the road and then he was moving fast backwards up the little washed-out gully by the lower side of the road as an outfielder goes backwards for a long fly ball, keeping the wire taut, and now he was almost opposite Anselmo's stone and it was still clear below the bridge. Then he heard the truck coming down the road and he saw it over his shoulder just coming onto the long slope and he swung his wrist once around the wire and yelled to Anselmo, "Blow her!" and he dug his heels in and leaned back hard onto the tension of the wire with a turn of it around his wrist and the noise of the truck was coming behind and ahead there was the road with the dead sentry and the long bridge and the stretch of road below, still clear and then there was a cracking roar and the middle of the bridge rose up in the air like a wave breaking and he felt the blast from the explosion roll back against him as he dove on his face in the pebbly gully with his hands holding tight over his head. His face was down against the pebbles as the bridge settled where it had risen and the familiar yellow smell of it rolled over him in acrid smoke and then it commenced to rain pieces of steel. After the steel stopped falling he was still alive and he raised his head and looked across the bridge. The center section of it was gone. There were jagged pieces of steel on the bridge with their bright, new torn edges and ends and these were all over the road. The truck had stopped up the road about a hundred yards. The driver and the two men who had been with him were running toward a culvert. Fernando was still lying against the bank and he was still breathing. His arms straight by his sides, his hands relaxed. Anselmo lay face down behind the white marking stone. His left arm was doubled under his head and his right arm was stretched straight out. The loop of wire was still around his right fist. Robert Jordan got to his feet, crossed the road, knelt by him and made sure that he was dead. He did not turn him over to see what the piece of steel had done. He was dead and that was all. He looked very small, dead, Robert Jordan thought. He looked small and gray-headed and Robert Jordan thought, I wonder how he ever carried such big loads if that is the size he really was. Then he saw the shape of the calves and the thighs in the tight, gray herdsman's breeches and the worn soles of the rope-soled shoes and he picked up Anselmo's carbine and the two sacks, practically empty now and went over and picked up the rifle that lay beside Fernando. He kicked a jagged piece of steel off the surface of the road. Then he swung the two rifles over his shoulder, holding them by the muzzles, and started up the slope into the timber. He did not look back nor did he even look across the bridge at the road. They were still firing around the bend below but he cared nothing about that now. He was coughing from the TNT fumes and he felt numb all through himself. He put one of the rifles down by Pilar where she lay behind the tree. She looked and saw that made three rifles that she had again. "You are too high up here," he said. "There's a truck up the road where you can't see it. They thought it was planes. You better get farther down. I'm going down with Agust to cover Pablo." "The old one?" she asked him, looking at his face. "Dead." He coughed again, wrackingly, and spat on the ground. "Thy bridge is blown," Pilar looked at him. "Don't forget that." "I don't forget anything," he said. "You have a big voice," he said to Pilar. "I have heard thee bellow. Shout up to the Maria and tell her that I am all right." "We lost two at the sawmill," Pilar said, trying to make him understand. "So I saw," Robert Jordan said. "Did you do something stupid?" "Go and obscenity thyself," Pilar said. "Fernando and Eladio were men, too." "Why don't you go up with the horses?" Robert Jordan said. "I can cover here better than thee." "Thou art to cover Pablo." "The hell with Pablo. Let him cover himself with _mierda_." "Nay, _Ingl廥_. He came back. He has fought much below there. Thou hast not listened? He is fighting now. Against something bad. Do you not hear?" "I'll cover him. But obscenity all of you. Thou and Pablo both." "_Ingl廥_," Pilar said. "Calm thyself. I have been with thee in this as no one could be. Pablo did thee a wrong but he returned." "If I had had the exploder the old man would not have been killed. I could have blown it from here." "If, if, if--" Pilar said. The anger and the emptiness and the hate that had come with the let-down after the bridge, when he had looked up from where he had lain and crouching, seen Anselmo dead, were still all through him. In him, too, was despair from the sorrow that soldiers turn to hatred in order that they may continue to be soldiers. Now it was over he was lonely, detached and unelated and he hated every one he saw. "If there had been no snow--" Pilar said. And then, not suddenly, as a physical release could have been (if the woman would have put her arm around him, say) but slowly and from his head he began to accept it and let the hate go out. Sure, the snow. That had done it. The snow. Done itto others. Once you saw it again as it was to others, once you got rid of your own self, the always ridding of self that you had to do in war. Where there could be no self. Where yourself is only to be lost. Then, from his losing of it, he heard Pilar say, "Sordo--" "What?" he said. "Sordo--" "Yes," Robert Jordan said. He grinned at her, a cracked, stiff, too-tightened-facial-tendoned grin. "Forget it. I was wrong. I am sorry, woman. Let us do this well and all together. And the bridge _is_ blown, as thou sayest." "Yes. Thou must think of things in their place." "Then I go now to Agust. Put thy gypsy much farther down so that he can see well up the road. Give those guns to Primitivo and take this _m嫭uina_. Let me show thee." "Keep the _m嫭uina_," Pilar said. "We will not be here any time. Pablo should come now and we will be going." "Rafael," Robert Jordan said, "come down here with me. Here. Good. See those coming out of the culvert. There, above the truck? Coming toward the truck? Hit me one of those. Sit. Take it easy." The gypsy aimed carefully and fired and as he jerked the bolt back and ejected the shell Robert Jordan said, "Over. You threw against the rock above. See the rock dust? Lower, by two feet. Now, careful. They're running. Good. _Sigue tirando_." "I got one," the gypsy said. The man was down in the road halfway between the culvert and the truck. The other two did not stop to drag him. They ran for the culvert and ducked in. "Don't shoot at him," Robert Jordan said. "Shoot for the top part of a front tire on the truck. So if you miss you'll hit the engine. Good." He watched with the glasses. "A little lower. Good. You shoot like hell. _Mucho! Mucho!_ Shoot me the top of the radiator. Anywhere on the radiator. Thou art a champion. Look. Don't let anything come past that point there. See?" "Watch me break the windshield in the truck," the gypsy said happily. "Nay. The truck is already sick," Robert Jordan said. "Hold thy fire until anything comes down the road. Start firing when it is opposite the culvert. Try to hit the driver. That you all should fire, then," he spoke to Pilar who had come farther down the slope with Primitivo. "You are wonderfully placed here. See how that steepness guards thy flank?" "That you should get about thy business with Agust," Pilar said. "Desist from thy lecture. I have seen terrain in my time." "Put Primitivo farther up there," Robert Jordan said. "There. See, man? This side of where the bank steepens." "Leave me," said Pilar. "Get along, _Ingl廥_. Thou and thy perfection. Here there is no problem." Just then they heard the planes. Maria had been with the horses for a long time, but they were no comfort to her. Nor was she any to them. From where she was in the forest she could not see the road nor could she see the bridge and when the firing started she put her arm around the neck of the big white-faced bay stallion that she had gentled and brought gifts to many times when the horses had been in the corral in the trees below the camp. But her nervousness made the big stallion nervous, too, and he jerked his head, his nostrils widening at the firing and the noise of the bombs. Maria could not keep still and she walked around patting and gentling the horses and making them all more nervous and agitated. She tried to think of the firing not as just a terrible thing that was happening, but to realize that it was Pablo below with the new men, and Pilar with the others above, and that she must not worry nor get into a panic but must have confidence in Roberto. But she could not do this and all the firing above and below the bridge and the distant sound of the battle that rolled down from the pass like the noise of a far-off storm with a dried, rolling rattle in it and the irregular beat of the bombs was simply a horrible thing that almost kept her from breathing. Then later she heard Pilar's big voice from away below on the hillside shouting up some obscenity to her that she could not understand and she thought, Oh, God no, no. Don't talk like that with him in peril. Don't offend any one and make useless risks. Don't give any provocation. Then she commenced to pray for Roberto quickly and automatically as she had done at school, saying the prayers as fast as she could and counting them on the fingers of her left hand, praying by tens of each of the two prayers she was repeating. Then the bridge blew and one horse snapped his halter when he rose and jerked his head at the cracking roar and he went off through the trees. Maria caught him finally and brought him back, shivering, trembling, his chest dark with sweat, the saddle down, and coming back through the trees she heard shooting below and she thought I cannot stand this longer. I cannot live not knowing any longer. I cannot breathe and my mouth is so dry. And I am afraid and I am no good and I frighten the horses and only caught this horse by hazard because he knocked the saddle down against a tree and caught himself kicking into the stirrups and now as I get the saddle up, Oh, God, I do not know. I cannot bear it. Oh please have him be all right for all my heart and all of me is at the bridge. The Republic is one thing and we must win is another thing. But, Oh, Sweet Blessed Virgin, bring him back to me from the bridge and I will do anything thou sayest ever. Because I am not here. There isn't any me. I am only with him. Take care of him for me and that will be me and then I will do the things for thee and he will not mind. Nor will it be against the Republic. Oh, please forgive me for I am very confused. I am too confused now. But if thou takest care of him I will do whatever is right. I will do what he says and what you say. With the two of me I will do it. But this now not knowing I cannot endure. Then, the horse tied again, she with the saddle up now, the blanket smoothed, hauling tight on the cinch she heard the big, deep voice from the timber below, "Maria! Maria! Thy _Ingl廥_ is all right. Hear me? All right. _Sin Novedad!_" Maria held the saddle with both hands and pressed her cropped head hard against it and cried. She heard the deep voice shouting again and she turned from the saddle and shouted, choking, "Yes! Thank you!" Then, choking again, "Thank you! Thank you very much!" When they heard the planes they all looked up and the planes were coming from Segovia very high in the sky, silvery in the high sky, their drumming rising over all the other sounds. "Those!" Pilar said. "There has only lacked those!" Robert Jordan put his arm on her shoulders as he watched them. "Nay, woman," he said. "Those do not come for us. Those have no time for us. Calm thyself." "I hate them." "Me too. But now I must go to Agust." He circled the hillside through the pines and all the time there was the throbbing, drumming of the planes and across the shattered bridge on the road below, around the bend of the road there was the intermittent hammering fire of a heavy machine gun. Robert Jordan dropped down to where Agust lay in the clump of scrub pines behind the automatic rifle and more planes were coming all the time. "What passes below?" Agust said. "What is Pablo doing? Doesn't he know the bridge is gone?" "Maybe he can't leave." "Then let us leave. The hell with him." "He will come now if he is able," Robert Jordan said. "We should see him now." "I have not heard him," Agust said. "Not for five minutes. No. There! Listen! There he is. That's him." There was a burst of the spot-spot-spotting fire of the cavalry submachine gun, then another, then another. "That's the bastard," Robert Jordan said. He watched still more planes coming over in the high cloudless blue sky and he watched Agust's face as he looked up at them. Then he looked down at the shattered bridge and across to the stretch of road which still was clear. He coughed and spat and listened to the heavy machine gun hammer again below the bend. It sounded to be in the same place that it was before. "And what's that?" Agust asked. "What the unnameable is that?" "It has been going since before I blew the bridge," Robert Jordan said. He looked down at the bridge now and he could see the stream through the torn gap where the center had fallen, hanging like a bent steel apron. He heard the first of the planes that had gone over now bombing up above at the pass and more were still coming. The noise of their motors filled all the high sky and looking up he saw their pursuit, minute and tiny, circling and wheeling high above them. "I don't think they ever crossed the lines the other morning," Primitivo said. "They must have swung off to the west and then come back. They could not be making an attack if they had seen these." "Most of these are new," Robert Jordan said. He had the feeling of something that had started normally and had then brought great, outsized, giant repercussions. It was as though you had thrown a stone and the stone made a ripple and the ripple returned roaring and toppling as a tidal wave. Or as though you shouted and the echo came back in rolls and peals of thunder, and the thunder was deadly. Or as though you struck one man and he fell and as far as you could see other men rose up all armed and armored. He was glad he was not with Golz up at the pass. Lying there, by Agust, watching the planes going over, listening for firing behind him, watching the road below where he knew he would see something but not what it would be, he still felt numb with the surprise that he had not been killed at the bridge. He had accepted being killed so completely that all of this now seemed unreal. Shake out of that, he said to himself. Get rid of that. There is much, much, much to be done today. But it would not leave him and he felt, consciously, all of this becoming like a dream. "You swallowed too much of that smoke," he told himself. But he knew it was not that. He could feel, solidly, how unreal it all was through the absolute reality and he looked down at the bridge and then back to the sentry lying on the road, to where Anselmo lay, to Fernando against the bank and back up the smooth, brown road to the stalled truck and still it was unreal. "You better sell out your part of you quickly," he told himself. "You're like one of those cocks in the pit where nobody has seen the wound given and it doesn't show and he is already going cold with it." "Nuts," he said to himself. "You are a little groggy is all, and you have a let-down after responsibility, is all. Take it easy." Then Agust grabbed his arm and pointed and he looked across the gorge and saw Pablo. They saw Pablo come running around the corner of the bend in the road. At the sheer rock where the road went out of sight they saw him stop and lean against the rock and fire back up the road. Robert Jordan saw Pablo, short, heavy and stocky, his cap gone, leaning against the rock wall and firing the short cavalry automatic rifle and he could see the bright flicker of the cascading brass hulls as the sun caught them. They saw Pablo crouch and fire another burst. Then, without looking back, he came running, short, bowlegged, fast, his head bent down straight toward the bridge. Robert Jordan had pushed Agust over and he had the stock of the big automatic rifle against his shoulder and was sighting on the bend of the road. His own submachine gun lay by his left hand. It was not accurate enough for that range. As Pablo came toward them Robert Jordan sighted on the bend but nothing came. Pablo had reached the bridge, looked over his shoulder once, glanced at the bridge, and then turned to his left and gone down into the gorge and out of sight. Robert Jordan was still watching the bend and nothing had come in sight. Agust got up on one knee. He could see Pablo climbing down into the gorge like a goat. There had been no noise of firing below since they had first seen Pablo. "You see anything up above? On the rocks above?" Robert Jordan asked. "Nothing." Robert Jordan watched the bend of the road. He knew the wall just below that was too steep for any one to climb but below it eased and some one might have circled up above. If things had been unreal before, they were suddenly real enough now. It was as though a reflex lens camera had been suddenly brought into focus. It was then he saw the low-bodied, angled snout and squat green, gray and brown-splashed turret with the projecting machine gun come around the bend into the bright sun. He fired on it and he could hear the spang against the steel. The little whippet tank scuttled back behind the rock wall. Watching the corner, Robert Jordan saw the nose just reappear, then the edge of the turret showed and the turret swung so that the gun was pointing down the road. "It seems like a mouse coming out of his hole," Agust said. "Look, _Ingl廥_." "He has little confidence," Robert Jordan said. "This is the big insect Pablo has been fighting," Agust said. "Hit him again, _Ingl廥_." "Nay. I cannot hurt him. I don't want him to see where we are." The tank commenced to fire down the road. The bullets hit the road surface and sung off and now they were pinging and clanging in the iron of the bridge. It was the same machine gun they had heard below. "_Cabr鏮!_" Agust said. "Is that the famous tanks, _Ingl廥?_" "That's a baby one." "_Cabr鏮_. If I had a baby bottle full of gasoline I would climb up there and set fire to him. What will he do, _Ingl廥?_" "After a while he will have another look." "And these are what men fear," Agust said. "Look, _Ingl廥!_ He's rekilling the sentries." "Since he has no other target," Robert Jordan said. "Do not reproach him." But he was thinking, Sure, make fun of him. But suppose it was you, way back here in your own country and they held you up with firing on the main road. Then a bridge was blown. Wouldn't you think it was mined ahead or that there was a trap? Sure you would. He's done all right. He's waiting for something else to come up. He's engaging the enemy. It's only us. But he can't tell that. Look at the little bastard. The little tank had nosed a little farther around the corner. Just then Agust saw Pablo coming over the edge of the gorge, pulling himself over on hands and knees, his bristly face running with sweat. "Here comes the son of a bitch," he said. "Who?" "Pablo." Robert Jordan looked, saw Pablo, and then he commenced firing at the part of the camouflaged turret of the tank where he knew the slit above the machine gun would be. The little tank whirred backwards, scuttling out of sight and Robert Jordan picked up the automatic rifle, clamped the tripod against the barrel and swung the gun with its still hot muzzle over his shoulder. The muzzle was so hot it burned his shoulder and he shoved it far behind him turning the stock flat in his hand. "Bring the sack of pans and my little _m嫭uina_," he shouted, "and come running." Robert Jordan ran up the hill through the pines. Agust was close behind him and behind him Pablo was coming. "Pilar!" Jordan shouted across the hill. "Come on, woman!" The three of them were going as fast as they could up the steep slope. They could not run any more because the grade was too severe and Pablo, who had no load but the light cavalry submachine gun, had closed up with the other two. "And thy people?" Agust said to Pablo out of his dry mouth. "All dead," Pablo said. He was almost unable to breathe. Agust turned his head and looked at him. "We have plenty of horses now," Pablo panted. "Good," Robert Jordan said. The murderous bastard, he thought. "What did you encounter?" "Everything," Pablo said. He was breathing in lunges. "What passed with Pilar?" "She lost Fernando and the brother--" "Eladio," Agust said. "And thou?" Pablo asked. "I lost Anselmo." "There are lots of horses," Pablo said. "Even for the baggage." Agust bit his lip, looked at Robert Jordan and shook his head. Below them, out of sight through the trees, they heard the tank firing on the road and bridge again. Robert Jordan jerked his head. "What passed with that?" he said to Pablo. He did not like to look at Pablo, nor to smell him, but he wanted to hear him. "I could not leave with that there," Pablo said. "We were barricaded at the lower bend of the post. Finally it went back to look for something and I came." "What were you shooting at, at the bend?" Agust asked bluntly. Pablo looked at him, started to grin, thought better of it, and said nothing. "Did you shoot them all?" Agust asked. Robert Jordan was thinking, keep your mouth shut. It is none of your business now. They have done all that you could expect and more. This is an intertribal matter. Don't make moral judgments. What do you expect from a murderer? You're working with a murderer. Keep your mouth shut. You knew enough about him before. This is nothing new. But you dirty bastard, he thought. You dirty, rotten bastard. His chest was aching with climbing as though it would split after the running and ahead now through the trees he saw the horses. "Go ahead," Agust was saying. "Why do you not say you shot them?" "Shut up," Pablo said. "I have fought much today and well. Ask the _Ingl廥_." "And now get us through today," Robert Jordan said. "For it is thee who has the plan for this." "I have a good plan," Pablo said. "With a little luck we will be all right." He was beginning to breathe better. "You're not going to kill any of us, are you?" Agust said. "For I will kill thee now." "Shut up," Pablo said. "I have to look after thy interest and that of the band. This is war. One cannot do what one would wish." "_Cabr鏮_," said Agust. "You take all the prizes." "Tell me what thou encountered below," Robert Jordan said to Pablo. "Everything," Pablo repeated. He was still breathing as though it were tearing his chest but he could talk steadily now and his face and head were running with sweat and his shoulders and chest were soaked with it. He looked at Robert Jordan cautiously to see if he were really friendly and then he grinned. "Everything," he said again. "First we took the post. Then came a motorcyclist. Then another. Then an ambulance. Then a camion. Then the tank. Just before thou didst the bridge." "Then--" "The tank could not hurt us but we could not leave for it commanded the road. Then it went away and I came." "And thy people?" Agust put in, still looking for trouble. "Shut up," Pablo looked at him squarely, and his face was the face of a man who had fought well before any other thing had happened. "They were not of our band." Now they could see the horses tied to the trees, the sun coming down on them through the pine branches and them tossing their heads and kicking against the botflies and Robert Jordan saw Maria and the next thing he was holding her tight, tight, with the automatic rifle leaning against his side, the flash-cone pressing against his ribs and Maria saying, "Thou, Roberto. Oh, thou." "Yes, rabbit. My good, good rabbit. Now we go." "Art thou here truly?" "Yes. Yes. Truly. Oh, thou!" He had never thought that you could know that there was a woman if there was battle; nor that any part of you could know it, or respond to it; nor that if there was a woman that she should have breasts small, round and tight against you through a shirt; nor that they, the breasts, could know about the two of them in battle. But it was true and he thought, good. That's good. I would not have believed that and he held her to him once hard, hard, but he did not look at her, and then he slapped her where he never had slapped her and said, "Mount. Mount. Get on that saddle, _guapa_." Then they were untying the halters and Robert Jordan had given the automatic rifle back to Agust and slung his own submachine gun over his back, and he was putting bombs out of his pockets into the saddlebags, and he stuffed one empty pack inside the other and tied that one behind his saddle. Then Pilar came up, so breathless from the climb she could not talk, but only motioned. Then Pablo stuffed three hobbles he had in his hand into a saddlebag, stood up and said, "_Qu?tal_, woman?" and she only nodded, and then they were all mounting. Robert Jordan was on the big gray he had first seen in the snow of the morning of the day before and he felt that it was much horse between his legs and under his hands. He was wearing rope-soled shoes and the stirrups were a little too short; his submachine gun was slung over his shoulder, his pockets were full of clips and he was sitting reloading the one used clip, the reins under one arm, tight, watching Pilar mount into a strange sort of seat on top of the duffle lashed onto the saddle of the buckskin. "Cut that stuff loose for God's sake," Primitivo said. "Thou wilt fall and the horse cannot carry it." "Shut up," said Pilar. "We go to make a life with this." "Canst ride like that, woman?" Pablo asked her from the _guardia civil_ saddle on the great bay horse. "Like any milk peddler," Pilar told him. "How do you go, old one?" "Straight down. Across the road. Up the far slope and into the timber where it narrows." "Across the road?" Agust wheeled beside him, kicking his soft-heeled, canvas shoes against the stiff, unresponding belly of one of the horses Pablo had recruited in the night. "Yes, man. It is the only way," Pablo said. He handed him one of the lead ropes. Primitivo and the gypsy had the others. "Thou canst come at the end if thou will," Pablo said. "We cross high enough to be out of range of that _m嫭uina_. But we will go separately and riding much and then be together where it narrows above." "Good," said Robert Jordan. They rode down through the timber toward the edge of the road. Robert Jordan rode just behind Maria. He could not ride beside her for the timber. He caressed the gray once with his thigh muscles, and then held him steady as they dropped down fast and sliding through the pines, tel ABOUT THE AUTHOR ERNEST HEMINGWAY was born in Oak Park, Illinois, in 1899, and began his writing career for _The Kansas City Star_ in 1917. During the First World War he volunteered as an ambulance driver on the Italian front but was invalided home, having been seriously wounded while serving with the infantry. In 1921 Hemingway settled in Paris, where he became part of the expatriate circle of Gertrude Stein, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, and Ford Madox Ford. His first book, _Three Stories and Ten Poems_, was published in Paris in 1923 and was followed by the short story selection _In Our Time_, which marked his American debut in 1925. With the appearance of _The Sun Also Rises_ in 1926, Hemingway became not only the voice of the "lost generation" but the preeminent writer of his time. This was followed by _Men Without Women_ in 1927, when Hemingway returned to the United States, and his novel of the Italian front, _A Farewell to Arms_ (1929). In the 1930s, Hemingway settled in Key West, and later in Cuba, but he traveled widely--to Spain, Italy, and Africa--and wrote about his experiences in _Death in the Afternoon_ (1932), his classic treatise on bullfighting, and _Green Hills of Africa_ (1935), an account of big-game hunting in Africa. Later he reported on the Spanish Civil War, which became the background for his brilliant war novel, _For Whom the Bell Tolls_ (1939), hunted U-boats in the Caribbean, and covered the European front during the Second World War. Hemingway's most popular work, _The Old Man and the Sea_, was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1953, and in 1954 Hemingway won the Nobel Prize in Literature "for his powerful, style-forming mastery of the art of narration." One of the most important influences on the development of the short story and novel in American fiction, Hemingway has seized the imagination of the American public like no other twentieth-century author. He died, by suicide, in Ketchum, Idaho, in 1961. His other works include _The Torrents of Spring_ (1926), _Winner Take Nothing_ (1933), _To Have and Have Not_ (1937), _The Fifth Column and the First Forty-Nine Stories_ (1938), _Across the River and Into the Trees_ (1950), and posthumously, _A Moveable Feast_ (1964), _Islands in the Stream_ (1970), _The Dangerous Summer_ (1985), and _The Garden of Eden_ (1986).

Chapter 42 During the time that Pablo had ridden back from the hills to the cave and the time the band had dropped down to where they had left the horses  had made rapid progress toward Golz's headquarters. Where they came onto the main highroad to Navacerrada on which the trucks were rolling back from the mountain there was a control. But when Gomez showed the sentry at the control his safe-conduct from the Lieutenant-Colonel Miranda the sentry put the light from a flashlight on it, showed it to the other sentry with him, then handed it back and saluted. "_Siga_," he said. "Continue. But without lights." The motorcycle roared again and  was holding tight onto the forward seat and they were moving along the highway, Gomez riding carefully in the traffic. None of the trucks had lights and they were moving down the road in a long convoy. There were loaded trucks moving up the road too, and all of them raised a dust that  could not see in that dark but could only feel as a cloud that blew in his face and that he could bite between his teeth. They were close behind the tailboard of a truck now, the motorcycle chugging, then Gomez speeded up and passed it and another, and another, and another with the other trucks roaring and rolling down past them on the left. There was a motorcar behind them now and it blasted into the truck noise and the dust with its klaxon again and again; then flashed on lights that showed the dust like a solid yellow cloud and surged past them in a whining rise of gears and a demanding, threatening, bludgeoning of klaxoning. Then ahead all the trucks were stopped and riding on, working his way ahead past ambulances, staff cars, an armored car, another, and a third, all halted, like heavy, metal, gun-jutting turtles in the hot yet settled dust, they found another control where there had been a smash-up. A truck, halting, had not been seen by the truck which followed it and the following truck had run into it smashing the rear of the first truck in and scattering cases of small-arms ammunition over the road. One case had burst open on landing and as Gomez and  stopped and wheeled the motorcycle forward through the stalled vehicles to show their safe-conduct at the control  walked over the brass hulls of the thousand of cartridges scattered across the road in the dust. The second truck had its radiator completely smashed in. The truck behind it was touching its tail gate. A hundred more were piling up behind and an overbooted officer was running back along the road shouting to the drivers to back so that the smashed truck could be gotten off the road. There were too many trucks for them to be able to back unless the officer reached the end of the ever mounting line and stopped it from increasing and  saw him running, stumbling, with his flashlight, shouting and cursing and, in the dark, the trucks kept coming up. The man at the control would not give the safe-conduct back. There were two of them, with rifles slung on their backs and flashlights in their hands and they were shouting too. The one carrying the safe-conduct in his hand crossed the road to a truck going in the downhill direction to tell it to proceed to the next control and tell them there to hold all trucks until his jam was straightened out. The truck driver listened and went on. Then, still holding the safeconduct, the control patrol came over, shouting, to the truck driver whose load was spilled. "Leave it and get ahead for the love of God so we can clear this!" he shouted at the driver. "My transmission is smashed," the driver, who was bent over by the rear of his truck, said. "Obscene your transmission. Go ahead, I say." "They do not go ahead when the differential is smashed," the driver told him and bent down again. "Get thyself pulled then, get ahead so that we can get this other obscenity off the road." The driver looked at him sullenly as the control man shone the electric torch on the smashed rear of the truck. "Get ahead. Get ahead," the man shouted, still holding the safeconduct pass in his hand. "And my paper," Gomez spoke to him. "My safe-conduct. We are in a hurry." "Take thy safe-conduct to hell," the man said and handing it to him ran across the road to halt a down-coming truck. "Turn thyself at the crossroads and put thyself in position to pull this wreck forward," he said to the driver. "My orders are--" "Obscenity thy orders. Do as I say." The driver let his truck into gear and rolled straight ahead down the road and was gone in the dust. As Gomez started the motorcycle ahead onto the now clear right-hand side of the road past the wrecked truck, , holding tight again, saw the control guard halting another truck and the driver leaning from the cab and listening to him. Now they went fast, swooping along the road that mounted steadily toward the mountain. All forward traffic had been stalled at the control and there were only the descending trucks passing, passing and passing on their left as the motorcycle climbed fast and steadily now until it began to overtake the mounting traffic which had gone on ahead before the disaster at the control. Still without lights they passed four more armored cars, then a long line of trucks loaded with troops. The troops were silent in the dark and at first  only felt their presence rising above him, bulking above the truck bodies through the dust as they passed. Then another staff came behind them blasting with its klaxon and flicking its lights off and on, and each time the lights shone  saw the troops, steel-helmeted, their rifles vertical, their machine guns pointed up against the dark sky, etched sharp against the night that they dropped into when the light flicked off. Once as he passed close to a troop truck and the lights flashed he saw their faces fixed and sad in the sudden light. In their steel helmets, riding in the trucks in the dark toward something that they only knew was an attack, their faces were drawn with each man's own problem in the dark and the light revealed them as they would not have looked in day, from shame to show it to each other, until the bombardment and the attack would commence, and no man would think about his face.   now passing them truck after truck, Gomez still keeping successfully ahead of the following staff car, did not think any of this about their faces. He only thought, "What an army. What equipment. What a mechanization. _Vaya gente!_ Look at such people. Here we have the army of the Republic. Look at them. Camion after camion. All uniformed alike. All with casques of steel on their heads. Look at the _m嫭uinas_ rising from the trucks against the coming of planes. Look at the army that has been builded!" And as the motorcycle passed the high gray trucks full of troops, gray trucks with high square cabs and square ugly radiators, steadily mounting the road in the dust and the flicking lights of the pursuing staff car, the red star of the army showing in the light when it passed over the tail gates, showing when the light came onto the sides of the dusty truck bodies, as they passed, climbing steadily now, the air colder and the road starting to turn in bends and switchbacks now, the trucks laboring and grinding, some steaming in the light flashes, the motorcycle laboring now too, and  clinging tight to the front seat as they climbed,  thought this ride on a motorcycle was mucho, mucho. He had never been on a motorcycle before and now they were climbing a mountain in the midst of all the movement that was going to an attack and, as they climbed, he knew now there was no problem of ever being back in time for the assault on the posts. In this movement and confusion he would be lucky to get back by the next night. He had never seen an offensive or any of the preparations for one before and as they rode up the road he marvelled at the size and power of this army that the Republic had built. Now they rode on a long slanting, rising stretch of road that ran across the face of the mountain and the grade was so steep as they neared the top that Gomez told him to get down and together they pushed the motorcycle up the last steep grade of the pass. At the left, just past the top, there was a loop of road where cars could turn and there were lights winking in front of a big stone building that bulked long and dark against the night sky. "Let us go to ask there where the headquarters is," Gomez said to  and they wheeled the motorcycle over to where two sentries stood in front of the closed door of the great stone building. Gomez leaned the motorcycle against the wall as a motorcyclist in a leather suit, showing against the light from inside the building as the door opened, came out of the door with a dispatch case hung over his shoulder, a wooden-holstered Mauser pistol swung against his hip. As the light went off, he found his motorcycle in the dark by the door, pushed it until it sputtered and caught, then roared off up the road. At the door Gomez spoke to one of the sentries. "Captain Gomez of the Sixty-Fifth Brigade," he said. "Can you tell me where to find the headquarters of General Golz commanding the ThirtyFifth Division?" "It isn't here," the sentry said. "What is here?" "The Comandancia." "What comandancia?" "Well, the Comandancia." "The comandancia of what?" "Who art thou to ask so many questions?" the sentry said to Gomez in the dark. Here on the top of the pass the sky was very clear with the stars out and , out of the dust now, could see quite clearly in the dark. Below them, where the road turned to the right, he could see clearly the outline of the trucks and cars that passed against the sky line. "I am Captain Rogelio Gomez of the first battalion of the Sixty-Fifth Brigade and I ask where is the headquarters of General Golz," Gomez said. The sentry opened the door a little way. "Call the corporal of the guard," he shouted inside. Just then a big staff car came up over the turn of the road and circled toward the big stone building where  and Gomez were standing waiting for the corporal of the guard. It came toward them and stopped outside the door. A large man, old and heavy, in an oversized khaki beret, such as _chasseurs a pied_ wear in the French Army, wearing an overcoat, carrying a map case and wearing a pistol strapped around his greatcoat, got out of the back of the car with two other men in the uniform of the International Brigades. He spoke in French, which  did not understand and of which Gomez, who had been a barber, knew only a few words, to his chauffeur telling him to get the car away from the door and into shelter. As he came into the door with the other two officers, Gomez saw his face clearly in the light and recognized him. He had seen him at political meetings and he had often read articles by him in Mundo Obrero translated from the French. He recognized his bushy eyebrows, his watery gray eyes, his chin and the double chin under it, and he knew him for one of France's great modern revolutionary figures who had led the mutiny of the French Navy in the Black Sea. Gomez knew this man's high political place in the International Brigades and he knew this man would know where Golz's headquarters were and be able to direct him there. He did not know what this man had become with time, disappointment, bitterness both domestic and political, and thwarted ambition and that to question him was one of the most dangerous things that any man could do. Knowing nothing of this he stepped forward into the path of this man, saluted with his clenched fist and said, "Comrade Marty, we are the bearers of a dispatch for General Golz. Can you direct us to his headquarters? It is urgent." The tall, heavy old man looked at Gomez with his outthrust head and considered him carefully with his watery eyes. Even here at the front in the light of a bare electric bulb, he having just come in from driving in an open car on a brisk night, his gray face had a look of decay. His face looked as though it were modelled from the waste material you find under the claws of a very old lion. "You have what, Comrade?" he asked Gomez, speaking Spanish with a strong Catalan accent. His eyes glanced sideways at , slid over him, and went back to Gomez. "A dispatch for General Golz to be delivered at his headquarters, Comrade Marty." "Where is it from, Comrade?" "From behind the fascist lines," Gomez said. Andr?Marty extended his hand for the dispatch and the other papers. He glanced at them and put them in his pocket. "Arrest them both," he said to the corporal of the guard. "Have them searched and bring them to me when I send for them." With the dispatch in his pocket he strode on into the interior of the big stone house. Outside in the guard room Gomez and  were being searched by the guard. "What passes with that man?" Gomez said to one of the guards. "_Est?loco_," the guard said. "He is crazy." "No. He is a political figure of great importance," Gomez said. "He is the chief commissar of the International Brigades." "_Apesar de eso, est?loco_," the corporal of the guard said. "All the same he's crazy. What do you behind the fascist lines?" "This comrade is a guerilla from there," Gomez told him while the man searched him. "He brings a dispatch to General Golz. Guard well my papers. Be careful with that money and that bullet on the string. It is from my first wound at Guadarama." "Don't worry," the corporal said. "Everything will be in this drawer. Why didn't you ask me where Golz was?" "We tried to. I asked the sentry and he called you." "But then came the crazy and you asked him. No one should ask him anything. He is crazy. Thy Golz is up the road three kilometers from here and to the right in the rocks of the forest." "Can you not let us go to him now?" "Nay. It would be my head. I must take thee to the crazy. Besides, he has thy dispatch." "Can you not tell some one?" "Yes," the corporal said. "I will tell the first responsible one I see. All know that he is crazy." "I had always taken him for a great figure," Gomez said. "For one of the glories of France." "He may be a glory and all," the corporal said and put his hand on 's shoulder. "But he is crazy as a bedbug. He has a mania for shooting people." "Truly shooting them?" "_Como lo oyes_," the corporal said. "That old one kills more than the bubonic plague. _Mata m嫳 que la peste bubonica_. But he doesn't kill fascists like we do. _Qu?va_. Not in joke. _Mata bichos raros_. He kills rare things. Trotzkyites. Divagationers. Any type of rare beasts."   did not understand any of this. "When we were at Escorial we shot I don't know how many for him," the corporal said. "We always furnish the firing party. The men of the Brigades would not shoot their own men. Especially the French. To avoid difficulties it is always us who do it. We shot French. We have shot Belgians. We have shot others of divers nationality. Of all types. _Tiene mania de fusilar gente_. Always for political things. He's crazy. _Purifica m嫳 que el Salvars嫕_. He purifies more than Salvarsan." "But you will tell some one of this dispatch?" "Yes, man. Surely. I know every one of these two Brigades. Every one comes through here. I know even up to and through the Russians, although only a few speak Spanish. We will keep this crazy from shooting Spaniards." "But the dispatch." "The dispatch, too. Do not worry, Comrade. We know how to deal with this crazy. He is only dangerous with his own people. We understand him now." "Bring in the two prisoners," came the voice of Andr?Marty. "_Quereis echar un trago?_" the corporal asked. "Do you want a drink?" "Why not?" The corporal took a bottle of anis from a cupboard and both Gomez and  drank. So did the corporal. He wiped his mouth on his hand. "_Vamonos_," he said. They went out of the guard room with the swallowed burn of the anis warming their mouths, their bellies and their hearts and walked down the hall and entered the room where Marty sat behind a long table, his map spread in front of him, his red-and-blue pencil, with which he played at being a general officer, in his hand. To  it was only one more thing. There had been many tonight. There were always many. If your papers were in order and your heart was good you were in no danger. Eventually they turned you loose and you were on your way. But the _Ingl廥_ had said to hurry. He knew now he could never get back for the bridge but they had a dispatch to deliver and this old man there at the table had put it in his pocket. "Stand there," Marty said without looking up. "Listen, Comrade Marty," Gomez broke out, the anis fortifying his anger. "Once tonight we have been impeded by the ignorance of the anarchists. Then by the sloth of a bureaucratic fascist. Now by the oversuspicion of a Communist." "Close your mouth," Marty said without looking up. "This is not a meeting." "Comrade Marty, this is a matter of utmost urgence," Gomez said. "Of the greatest importance." The corporal and the soldier with them were taking a lively interest in this as though they were at a play they had seen many times but whose excellent moments they could always savor. "Everything is of urgence," Marty said. "All things are of importance." Now he looked up at them, holding the pencil. "How did you know Golz was here? Do you understand how serious it is to come asking for an individual general before an attack? How could you know such a general would be here?" "Tell him, _tu_," Gomez said to . "Comrade General,"  started--Andr?Marty did not correct him in the mistake in rank--"I was given that packet on the other side of the lines--" "On the other side of the lines?" Marty said. "Yes, I heard him say you came from the fascist lines." "It was given to me, Comrade General, by an _Ingl廥_ named Roberto who had come to us as a dynamiter for this of the bridge. Understandeth?" "Continue thy story," Marty said to ; using the term story as you would say lie, falsehood, or fabrication. "Well, Comrade General, the _Ingl廥_ told me to bring it to the General Golz with all speed. He makes an attack in these hills now on this day and all we ask is to take it to him now promptly if it pleases the Comrade General." Marty shook his head again. He was looking at  but he was not seeing him. Golz, he thought in a mixture of horror and exultation as a man might feel hearing that a business enemy had been killed in a particularly nasty motor accident or that some one you hated but whose probity you had never doubted had been guilty of defalcation. That Golz should be one of them, too. That Golz should be in such obvious communication with the fascists. Golz that he had known for nearly twenty years. Golz who had captured the gold train that winter with Lucacz in Siberia. Golz who had fought against Kolchak, and in Poland. In the Caucasus. In China, and here since the first October. But he _had_ been close to Tukachevsky. To Voroshilov, yes, too. But to Tukachevsky. And to who else? Here to Karkov, of course. And to Lucacz. But all the Hungarians had been intriguers. He hated Gall. Golz hated Gall. Remember that. Make a note of that. Golz has always hated Gall. But he favors Putz. Remember that. And Duval is his chief of staff. See what stems from that. You've heard him say Copic's a fool. That is definitive. That exists. And now this dispatch from the fascist lines. Only by pruning out of these rotten branches can the tree remain healthy and grow. The rot must become apparent for it is to be destroyed. But Golz of all men. That Golz should be one of the traitors. He knew that you could trust no one. No one. Ever. Not your wife. Not your brother. Not your oldest comrade. No one. Ever. "Take them away," he said to the guards. "Guard them carefully." The corporal looked at the soldier. This had been very quiet for one of Marty's performances. "Comrade Marty," Gomez said. "Do not be insane. Listen to me, a loyal officer and comrade. That is a dispatch that must be delivered. This comrade has brought it through the fascist lines to give to Comrade General Golz." "Take them away," Marty said, now kindly, to the guard. He was sorry for them as human beings if it should be necessary to liquidate them. But it was the tragedy of Golz that oppressed him. That it should be Golz, he thought. He would take the fascist communication at once to Varloff. No, better he would take it to Golz himself and watch him as he received it. That was what he would do. How could he be sure of Varloff if Golz was one of them? No. This was a thing to be very careful about.   turned to Gomez, "You mean he is not going to send the dispatch?" he asked, unbelieving. "Don't you see?" Gomez said. "_Me cago en su puta madre!_"  said. "_Est?loco_." "Yes," Gomez said. "He is crazy. You are crazy! Hear! Crazy!" he shouted at Marty who was back now bending over the map with his red-and-blue pencil. "Hear me, you crazy murderer?" "Take them away," Marty said to the guard. "Their minds are unhinged by their great guilt." There was a phrase the corporal recognized. He had heard that before. "You crazy murderer!" Gomez shouted. "_Hijo de la gran puta_,"  said to him. "_Loco_." The stupidity of this man angered him. If he was a crazy let him be removed as a crazy. Let the dispatch be taken from his pocket. God damn this crazy to hell. His heavy Spanish anger was rising out of his usual calm and good temper. In a little while it would blind him. Marty, looking at his map, shook his head sadly as the guards took Gomez and  out. The guards had enjoyed hearing him cursed but on the whole they had been disappointed in the performance. They had seen much better ones. Andr?Marty did not mind the men cursing him. So many men had cursed him at the end. He was always genuinely sorry for them as human beings. He always told himself that and it was one of the last true ideas that was left to him that had ever been his own. He sat there, his moustache and his eyes focused on the map, on the map that he never truly understood, on the brown tracing of the contours that were traced fine and concentric as a spider's web. He could see the heights and the valleys from the contours but he never really understood why it should be this height and why this valley was the one. But at the General Staff where, because of the system of Political Commissars, he could intervene as the political head of the Brigades, he would put his finger on such and such a numbered, brown-thin-lined encircled spot among the greens of woods cut by the lines of roads that parallel the never casual winding of a river and say, "There. That is the point of weakness." Gall and Copic, who were men of politics and of ambition, would agree and later, men who never saw the map, but heard the number of the hill before they left their starting place and had the earth of diggings on it pointed out, would climb its side to find their death along its slope or, being halted by machine guns placed in olive groves would never get up it at all. Or on other fronts they might scale it easily and be no better off than they had been before. But when Marty put his finger on the map in Golz's staff the scarheaded, white-faced General's jaw muscles would tighten and he would think, "I should shoot you, Andr?Marty, before I let you put that gray rotten finger on a contour map of mine. Damn you to hell for all the men you've killed by interfering in matters you know nothing of. Damn the day they named tractor factories and villages and co-operatives for you so that you are a symbol that I cannot touch. Go and suspect and exhort and intervene and denounce and butcher some other place and leave my staff alone." But instead of saying that Golz would only lean back away from the leaning bulk, the pushing finger, the watery gray eyes, the graywhite moustache and the bad breath and say, "Yes, Comrade Marty. I see your point. It is not well taken, however, and I do not agree. You can try to go over my head if you like. Yes. You can make it a Party matter as you say. But I do not agree." So now Andr?Marty sat working over his map at the bare table with the raw light on the unshaded electric light bulb over his head, the overwide beret pulled forward to shade his eyes, referring to the mimeographed copy of the orders for the attack and slowly and laboriously working them out on the map as a young officer might work a problem at a staff college. He was engaged in war. In his mind he was commanding troops; he had the right to interfere and this he believed to constitute command. So he sat there with Robert Jordan's dispatch to Golz in his pocket and Gomez and  waited in the guard room and Robert Jordan lay in the woods above the bridge. It is doubtful if the outcome of 's mission would have been any different if he and Gomez had been allowed to proceed without Andr?Marty's hindrance. There was no one at the front with sufficient authority to cancel the attack. The machinery had been in motion much too long for it to be stopped suddenly now. There is a great inertia about all military operations of any size. But once this inertia has been overcome and movement is under way they are almost as hard to arrest as to initiate. But on this night the old man, his beret pulled forward, was still sitting at the table with his map when the door opened and Karkov the Russian journalist came in with two other Russians in civilian clothes, leather coats and caps. The corporal of the guard closed the door reluctantly behind them. Karkov had been the first responsible man he had been able to communicate with. "Tovarich Marty," said Karkov in his politely disdainful lisping voice and smiled, showing his bad teeth. Marty stood up. He did not like Karkov, but Karkov, coming from _Pravda_ and in direct communication with Stalin, was at this moment one of the three most important men in Spain. "Tovarich Karkov," he said. "You are preparing the attack?" Karkov said insolently, nodding toward the map. "I am studying it," Marty answered. "Are you attacking? Or is it Golz?" Karkov asked smoothly. "I am only a commissar, as you know," Marty told him. "No," Karkov said. "You are modest. You are really a general. You have your map and your field glasses. But were you not an admiral once, Comrade Marty?" "I was a gunner's mate," said Marty. It was a lie. He had really been a chief yeoman at the time of the mutiny. But he thought now, always, that he had been a gunner's mate. "Ah. I thought you were a first-class yeoman," Karkov said. "I always get my facts wrong. It is the mark of the journalist." The other Russians had taken no part in the conversation. They were both looking over Marty's shoulder at the map and occasionally making a remark to each other in their own language. Marty and Karkov spoke French after the first greeting. "It is better not to get facts wrong in _Pravda_," Marty said. He said it brusquely to build himself up again. Karkov always punctured him. The French word is _d嶲onfler_ and Marty was worried and made wary by him. It was hard, when Karkov spoke, to remember with what importance he, Andr?Marty, came from the Central Committee of the French Communist Party. It was hard to remember, too, that he was untouchable. Karkov seemed always to touch him so lightly and whenever he wished. Now Karkov said, "I usually correct them before I send them to _Pravda_, I am quite accurate in _Pravda_. Tell me, Comrade Marty, have you heard anything of any message coming through for Golz from one of our _partizan_ groups operating toward Segovia? There is an American comrade there named Jordan that we should have heard from. There have been reports of fighting there behind the fascist lines. He would have sent a message through to Golz." "An American?" Marty asked.  had said an _Ingl廥_. So that is what it was. So he had been mistaken. Why had those fools spoken to him anyway?" "Yes," Karkov looked at him contemptuously, "a young American of slight political development but a great way with the Spaniards and a fine _partizan_ record. Just give me the dispatch, Comrade Marty. It has been delayed enough." "What dispatch?" Marty asked. It was a very stupid thing to say and he knew it. But he was not able to admit he was wrong that quickly and he said it anyway to delay the moment of humiliation, not accepting any humiliation. "And the safe-conduct pass," Karkov said through his bad teeth. Andr?Marty put his hand in his pocket and laid the dispatch on the table. He looked Karkov squarely in the eye. All right. He was wrong and there was nothing he could do about it now but he was not accepting any humiliation. "And the safe-conduct pass," Karkov said softly. Marty laid it beside the dispatch. "Comrade Corporal," Karkov called in Spanish. The corporal opened the door and came in. He looked quickly at Andr?Marty, who stared back at him like an old boar which has been brought to bay by hounds. There was no fear on Marty's face and no humiliation. He was only angry, and he was only temporarily at bay. He knew these dogs could never hold him. "Take these to the two comrades in the guard room and direct them to General Golz's headquarters," Karkov said. "There has been too much delay." The corporal went out and Marty looked after him, then looked at Karkov. "Tovarich Marty," Karkov said, "I am going to find out just how untouchable you are." Marty looked straight at him and said nothing. "Don't start to have any plans about the corporal, either," Karkov went on. "It was not the corporal. I saw the two men in the guard room and they spoke to me" (this was a lie). "I hope all men always will speak to me" (this was the truth although it was the corpora! who had spoken). But Karkov had this belief in the good which could come from his own accessibility and the humanizing possibility of benevolent intervention. It was the one thing he was never cynical about. "You know when I am in the U.S.S.R. people write to me in _Pravda_ when there is an injustice in a town in Azerbaijan. Did you know that? They say 'Karkov will help us." Andr?Marty looked at him with no expression on his face except anger and dislike. There was nothing in his mind now but that Karkov had done something against him. All right, Karkov, power and all, could watch out. "This is something else," Karkov went on, "but it is the same principle. I am going to find Out just how untouchable you are, Comrade Marty. I would like to know if it could not be possible to change the name of that tractor factory." Andr?Marty looked away from him and back to the map. "What did young Jordan say?" Karkov asked him. "I did not read it," Andr?Marty said. "_Et maintenant fiche moi la paix_, Comrade Karkov." "Good," said Karkov. "I leave you to your military labors." He stepped out of the room and walked to the guard room.  and Gomez were already gone and he stood there a moment looking up the road and at the mountain tops beyond that showed now in the first gray of daylight. We must get on up there, he thought. It will be soon, now.   and Gomez were on the motorcycle on the road again and it was getting light. Now , holding again to the back of the seat ahead of him as the motorcycle climbed turn after switchback turn in a faint gray mist that lay over the top of the pass, felt the motorcycle speed under him, then skid and stop and they were standing by the motorcycle on a long, down-slope of road and in the woods, on their left, were tanks covered with pine branches. There were troops here all through the woods.  saw men carrying the long poles of stretchers over their shoulders. Three staff cars were off the road to the right, in under the trees, with branches laid against their sides and other pine branches over their tops. Gomez wheeled the motorcycle up to one of them. He leaned it against a pine tree and spoke to the chauffeur who was sitting by the car, his back against a tree. "I'll take you to him," the chauffeur said. "Put thy _moto_ out of sight and cover it with these." He pointed to a pile of cut branches. With the sun just starting to come through the high branches of the pine trees, Gomez and  followed the chauffeur, whose name was Vicente, through the pines across the road and up the slope to the entrance of a dugout from the roof of which signal wires ran on up over the wooded slope. They stood outside while the chauffeur went in and  admired the construction of the dugout which showed only as a hole in the hillside, with no dirt scattered about, but which he could see, from the entrance, was both deep and profound with men moving around in it freely with no need to duck their heads under the heavy timbered roof. Vicente, the chauffeur, came out. "He is up above where they are deploying for the attack," he said. "I gave it to his Chief of Staff. He signed for it. Here." He handed Gomez the receipted envelope. Gomez gave it to , who looked at it and put it inside his shirt. "What is the name of him who signed?" he asked. "Duval," Vicente said. "Good," said . "He was one of the three to whom I might give it." "Should we wait for an answer?" Gomez asked . "It might be best. Though where I will find the _Ingl廥_ and the others after that of the bridge neither God knows." "Come wait with me," Vicente said, "until the General returns. And I will get thee coffee. Thou must be hungry." "And these tanks," Gomez said to him. They were passing the branch-covered, mud-colored tanks, each with two deep-ridged tracks over the pine needles showing where they had swung and backed from the road. Their 45-mm. guns jutted horizontally under the branches and the drivers and gunners in their leather coats and ridged helmets sat with their backs against the trees or lay sleeping on the ground. "These are the reserve," Vicente said. "Also these troops are in reserve. Those who commence the attack are above." "They are many,"  said. "Yes," Vicente said. "It is a full division." Inside the dugout Duval, holding the opened dispatch from Robert Jordan in his left hand, glancing at his wrist watch on the same hand, reading the dispatch for the fourth time, each time feeling the sweat come out from under his armpit and run down his flank, said into the telephone, "Get me position Segovia, then. He's left? Get me position Avila." He kept on with the phone. It wasn't any good. He had talked to both brigades. Golz had been up to inspect the dispositions for the attack and was on his way to an observation post. He called the observation post and he was not there. "Get me planes one," Duval said, suddenly taking all responsibility. He would take responsibility for holding it up. It was better to hold it up. You could not send them to a surprise attack against an enemy that was waiting for it. You couldn't do it. It was just murder. You couldn't. You mustn't. No matter what. They could shoot him if they wanted. He would call the airfield directly and get the bombardment cancelled. But suppose it's just a holding attack? Suppose we were supposed to draw off all that material and those forces? Suppose that is what it is for? They never tell you it is a holding attack when you make it. "Cancel the call to planes one," he told the signaller. "Get me the Sixty-Ninth Brigade observation post." He was still calling there when he heard the first sound of the planes. It was just then he got through to the observation post. "Yes," Golz said quietly. He was sitting leaning back against the sandbag, his feet against a rock, a cigarette hung from his lower lip and he was looking up and over his shoulder while he was talking. He was seeing the expanding wedges of threes, silver and thundering in the sky that were coming over the far shoulder of the mountain where the first sun was striking. He watched them come shining and beautiful in the sun. He saw the twin circles of light where the sun shone on the propellers as they came. "Yes," he said into the telephone, speaking in French because it was Duval on the wire. "_Nous sommes foutus. Oui. Comme toujours. Oui. C'est dommage. Oui_. It's a shame it came too late." His eyes, watching the planes coming, were very proud. He saw the red wing markings now and he watched their steady, stately roaring advance. This was how it could be. These were our planes. They had come, crated on ships, from the Black Sea through the Straits of Marmora, through the Dardanelles, through the Mediterranean and to here, unloaded lovingly at Alicante, assembled ably, tested and found perfect and now flown in lovely hammering precision, the V's tight and pure as they came now high and silver in the morning sun to blast those ridges across there and blow them roaring high so that we can go through. Golz knew that once they had passed overhead and on, the bombs would fall, looking like porpoises in the air as they tumbled. And then the ridge tops would spout and roar in jumping clouds and disappear in one great blowing cloud. Then the tanks would grind clanking up those two slopes and after them would go his two brigades. And if it had been a surprise they could go on and down and over and through, pausing, cleaning up, dealing with, much to do, much to be done intelligently with the tanks helping, with the tanks wheeling and returning, giving covering fire and others bringing the attackers up then slipping on and over and through and pushing down beyond. This was how it would be if there was no treason and if all did what they should. There were the two ridges, and there were the tanks ahead and there were his two good brigades ready to leave the woods and here came the planes now. Everything he had to do had been done as it should be. But as he watched the planes, almost up to him now, he felt sick at his stomach for he knew from having heard Jordan's dispatch over the phone that there would be no one on those two ridges. They'd be withdrawn a little way below in narrow trenches to escape the fragments, or hiding in the timber and when the bombers passed they'd get back up there with their machine guns and their automatic weapons and the anti-tank guns Jordan had said went up the road, and it would be one famous balls up more. But the planes, now coming deafeningly, were how it could have been and Golz watching them, looking up, said into the telephone, "No. _Rien a faire. Rien. Faut pas penser. Faut accepter_." Golz watched the planes with his hard proud eyes that knew how things could be and how they would be instead and said, proud of how they could be, believing in how they could be, even if they never were, "_Bon. Nous ferons notre petit possible_," and hung up. But Duval did not hear him. Sitting at the table holding the receiver, all he heard was the roar of the planes and he thought, now, maybe this time, listen to them come, maybe the bombers will blow them all off, maybe we will get a break-through, maybe he will get the reserves he asked for, maybe this is it, maybe this is the time. Go on. Come on. Go on. The roar was such that he could not hear what he was thinking. 　　从巴勃罗打山间骑马回山洞，到那一队人马下山到达他们安放马匹的地方的期间，安德烈斯快速向戈尔兹的司令部前进。他们来到通向纳瓦塞拉达的公路干线，公路上有不少卡车从山区开回来。他们遇到一个关卡。戈麦斯向关卡哨兵出示米兰达中校签发的通行证，哨兵用手电照在通行证上,给跟他在一起的另一个哨兵过过目，就交还证件,行了个礼。“往前走。”他说。“可不准开灯。” 　　庠托车又噗噗噗地响起来，安德烈斯紧抓住前座，戈麦斯在车流中小心地沿着公路驶去。没有一辆卡车开着灯，长长一列车队在路上迎面开来。路上还有满载的卡车向山区驶去，每一辆都掀起了一片尘土，安德烈斯在黑暗中看不见,只觉得尘土随着风扑在脸上，弄得牙缝中都是。 　　他们紧踉着一辆卡车的后挡板,摩托噗噗作响，接着戈麦斯如快速度，超过这辆卡车，再超过一辆又一辆，而对面开来的别的卡车在他们的左侧隆隆驶过去。这时他们后面来了一辆汽车，喇叭接连地狂鸣，和卡车的噪声以及尘土混在一起；接着车灯倏的亮起来，把尘土照成了一极黄色柱体，在尖厉的换挡声中在咄咄逋人、恶意威胁的喇叭声中，汽车在他们身边一掠而过。 接着,前面的所有车辆都停下了，他们钻空档继续朝前驶,越过了几辆救护车、几辆参谋部用车和一辆装甲车，接着又是一辆，接着是第三辆，所有的车子都停着，停在那尚未沉落在地的尘土中，好象一只只笨重的、插着熗炮的金屑乌龟。他们发现前面又是一个关卡，那里发生了撞车事故。有一辆卡车停下时,后面的一辆没有发觉，因此后车向前驶去，撞坏了前车的尾部，使几箱轻武器弹药掉在路上。有一箱落地时摔碎了，当戈麦斯和安德烈斯停下来推车穿过那些被阻塞的车辆、向关卡出示通行证的时候，安德烈斯踩着散布在路面尘土中的成千上万颗子弹铜壳。第二辆卡车的散热器全被撞毁了。第三辆紧顶着它的后挡板。还有一百多辆车子排列在后面。一个穿套靴的军官在路上往回跑着,大声喝令司机们打倒车，以便把那辆被撞毁的卡车从公路上拖开，卡车多得没法打倒车，除非那军官跑到这越来越长的车队最后面，阻止后面的车子再驶上前来。安德烈斯看到他跌跌撞撞地跑着，打亮了手电，又叫又骂，而卡车在黑暗中还是不断驶上前来。 　　关卡上的哨兵不肯交还通行证。哨兵一起两个，背上背着步熗,手里拿了手电，他们也在叫喊。手拿通行证的那跨过公路,朝一辆从山上驶下来的卡车走去,吩咐司机开到下一个关卡时通知他们截住那儿所有的卡车，直到交通畅通为止。卡车司机听完就继续朝前开。哨兵手里仍拿着通行证，嘴里叫嚷着，走到那个车上东西被捶落在地上的司机身边。 　　“别管它了，着在天主面上，往前开吧，让我们保持交通杨通　”他冲着那司机喊道， 　　“我车上的传动器撞坏了，”司机说，他俯身在卡车的后边。“去你的传动器。往前幵，听到没有。““差速齿轮撞坏了，没法往前开，”司机对他说,又俯下身去。“那么叫人家把你的车拖走，好让我们把另“辆弄走。”司机阴沉地望着他，那关卡人员把手电直射在这卡车被撞毁的车尾上。 　　“往前开。往前开，”他手里仍拿着通行证大声说。“我的证件。”戈麦斯对他说。“我的通行证。我们荽赶路。”“你的通行证见鬼去吧，”那人说，把证件交还他，就横穿过公路，跑去阻挡一辆下行的卡车。 　　“在十字路口拐弯，倒过来拖走这辆玻车，”他对司机说，“我奉的命令是一，“去你的命令。照我说的办。”司机换了档,在略上笔直驶去，消失在尘土里。戈麦斯发动摩托车，越过那辆破卡车，开上这时没有车辆行驶的公路右侧，安德烈斯又抓紧前座，看见关卡上的哨兵叉拦住了一辆卡车，那司机从驾驶室里探出身来听他讲。 　　这时他们飞速行驶，顚着朝山上一步步升高的公路进发。所有上行的车辆都被阻在关卡上，只有下行的卡车在左边不断地开过，而摩托车不停地迅速往山上开，开始赶上早在关卡交通堵塞前就驶过去的上行车辆。 　　他们仍没开灯，又超过了四辆装甲车,接着超过了一长排运载士兵的卡车。士兵们在黑暗中默木作声，安德烈斯经过时起初只觉得在尘埃飞扬中高髙的卡车上有些槟糊的人形。接着，他们后面来了一辆参谋部的汽车，噶叭嘟嘟地叫，车灯一明一暗，每次亮灯的时候，安德烈斯看到这些士兵头戴钢盔，直握着步熗，机关熗直指黑黝勘的天空,轮廓分明地呈现在黑夜中，等灯光一熄灭，就倏的消失。有一次，当他们驶近一辆装载士兵的卡车而后面亮灯的时侯，他在这突然的闪光中看到他们死板而悲伤的脸。他们戴着钢盗，坐在卡车里,在黑暗中驶向某处地方，他们只知道要在那儿发动一场进攻，各自心事重重，耷拉着脸，这突来的灯光显示了他们的神情，换了白天，他们羞于给同伴着到，是不会流瀑的，除非到开始轰炸和攻击的时候,那时谁都顾不上自己的脸色了， 　　安镰烈斯和戈麦斯的摩托车超过一辆又一辆镛载士兵的卡车，仍旧在参谋郁汽车前面行驶着，戈麦斯可一点也没有想到他们的脸色问题。他想的只是:“多了不起的军队。多了不起的装备，多了不起的机械化啊。瞧啊！瞧这些人。这就是我们共和国的军队。瞧他们。一辆又一辆卡车。一式的制服。头上全都戴着钢盔。瞧卡车上架着机熗准备对付敌机。瞧我们已经建立的军队" 　　这些髙高的灰色卡车满载着士兵，车上有很髙的方形驾驶室和难看的方形散热器,摩托车趄过它们，在尘土中不停地烦着公路朝山上行驶,紧跟在后面的参谋部汽车的灯光时明时灭，部队的红星标志在摩托车经过卡车后挡板的时侯在亮光中闪现着，当车灯照在沾着尘土的卡车车身一侧的时侯闪现着。他们这时不停地向山上驶行，空气更寒冷了，公路开始常常拐弯，呈之字形，卡车艰难地嘎吱嘎吱地爬行，在车灯的闪光中有的卡车的水箱冒着汽雾,庫托车这时也在艰难地爬行，安德烈斯紧抓着前座，这时想。”这次乘摩托车时间太长了。实在太长了。他以前从没乘过摩托车，现在他们俩正在即将举行进攻的部队谏动中爬山，当他们向上驶行的时候，他知道，现在要赶回去袭击哨所是根本不可能的了。在这种调动和浪乱中，他第二天晚上能赶回去就算运气了。他以前从没见过进攻和进攻的准备工作，当他们在公路上行驶的时候，共和国所建立的这支军队的规模和力董，使他惊讶不已。 　　他们这时驶上了斜贯山坡的一长段又陡又斜的山路，接近山顶的时候，坡度更陡了，戈麦斯只得叫安德烈斯下了车，两人一起把庫托车推上这一段最后的陡坡。越过山顶，左面有一条汽车可以调头的回车道，夜空中出现了一幢又宽又黑的巨大的石头建筑物，门前闪烁着灯光。 　　“我们到那儿去问问司令部在什么地方吧，”戈麦斯对安德烈斯　　他们就把庠托车推向那巨大的石头建筑物，只见关闭的大门前站着两个哨兵。戈麦斯把车子靠在埔上，那建筑物的门这时开了，从里面透露出来的灯光中可以看出有个身穿皮上衣的摩托车司机走出来，肩背一只公文包，腰后挂着一支有木壳的毛瑟熗。就在灯光消失的时候，他在黑暗中在门口找到了他的摩托车，把它一直推到引擎发动起来，突突地响着，接着就在公路上噗噗地驶去。 　　戈麦斯在门口跟那两个警卫中的一个说话。“第六十五旅的戈麦斯上尉，”他说。“请问指挥第三十五师的戈尔兹将军的司令部在哪里?” 　　“这儿没有，”蒈卫说。“这儿是什么地方？”“指挥部。”“什么指挥部?” 　　“哎,就是指挥部嘛。” 　 　　“是什么指挥部啊?” 　　"你是谁，问这问那的’?”蓍卫在黑喑中对戈麦斯说。这里，山路顶点的上空非常晴朗，星星都露面了，现在没有了尘土,安德烈斯在黑暗中能看得很清楚。他们下面，公路向右转弯，他能清楚地看到卡车和汽车行驶到那里时被天空衬托出来的轮麻。 　　“我是第六十五旅第一营的罗赫略‘戈麦斯上尉,要打听戈尔兹将军的司令部在哪儿。”戈麦斯说。 　　那哨兵把门推开一点，朝里面喊道,“叫瞥卫班长。”正在这时，一辆参谋部的大汽车在公路的拐角处一个大转弯，朝这石头大建筑物驶来，安镩烈斯和戈麦斯正站在那儿等待瞀卫班长。车子开到他们面前停下。 　　一个年老肥胖的大个子和两个身穿国际纵队制服的人从车子后座下来。他戴着一顶过大的卡其贝雷帽，就象法国军队里轻步兵戴的那种，还穿着大衣，拎着一只地图包，大衣歴带上系着一支手熗。 　　他说的是法语，安德烈斯听不慷，戈麦斯当过理发师，能听憧几句。他吩咐司机把车子从门口开到车房里去。 　　他和其他两个军官进门的时候，戈麦斯在灯光中清楚地看到他的脸,认出他是谁。他曾在几次政治会议上见到过他,并且经常在《工人世界报》上看到从法文翻译过来的他的文章。他认出他那毛茸茸的眉毛、水汪汪的灰眼睛、肥胖的双下巴，他知道他是当代法国伟大的革命者之一，曾经领导过在黑海的法国海军起义。戈麦斯知道这个人在国际纵队的崇髙的政治地位，他—定知道戈尔兹的司令部所在地,并且能够指引他到那儿去。他不知道岁月的流逝、失望、家庭和政治那两方面的怨恨、挫伤了的抱负在这个人身上产生了什么变化；他不知道向他问讯是最最危险的事情之一。他一点也不知道这情况，径直朝这个人走去，握紧拳头敬，“个礼，说　“马蒂同志①，我们带有给戈尔兹将军的急件。你能指引我们到他司令部去吗？事情很紧急。” 　　这个髙高的肥胖的老人伸出了脑袋望着戈麦斯，一双水汪汪的眼睛仔细打量着他。即使在这儿前线，在这没有灯罩的灯泡的光线下，在凉爽的夜晚乘了敞篷汽车刚回来，他那张灰脸上还是露出了一副枯衰的神色。他的脸使你觉得象是一头十分衰老的狮子爪下的废料所组成的。 　　“你带着什么，同志?”他问戈麦斯，说的是带有很重的加泰隆语②口音的西班牙语。他从眼角上向安德烈斯扫了一眼，随即又回头望着戈麦斯。 　　“到戈尔兹司令部给他送一份急件，马蒂同志。”“哪儿来的急件，同志？”“从法西斯阵线后方来的。”戈麦斯说。安德烈〃马蒂伸手拿了急件和别的证件,赘了一眼,就放进衣袋里。 　　“把他们抓起来。”他对警卫班长说。“把他们身上拽査一下,等我吩咐再把他们带来。” 　　他衣袋里装着急件,大步走进那幢石头大房子。戈麦斯和安德烈斯在外面的聱卫室里受一个警卫搜查。 ①法国共产党领导人安德烈　马蒂生于一八八六年。“九一九年,他领导法国水兵在黑海起义,失敢后被捕，至一九二三年才被释放。一九二四和一九三六年,两度当选为法国国民议会议员，他是国际纵队的主要银导人之―，但革命窻志逐渐衰退，于一九五三年初正式被幵除出党。 ②加泰隆语为西班牙东北喘加泰罗尼亚地区的语言。法国南部沿地中海和西班牙接壤的东比利牛斯雀居民也讲这种语3，而马蒂的家乡正是该省雀城佩皮尼昂。 　　“这个人怎么啦？”戈麦斯对其中的一个瞀卫说。“神经病，”那蝥卫说。 　　“不。他是政界要人，”戈麦斯说。“他是国际纵队的第一政 　　“尽管这样，他还是有神经病，”警卫班长说。“你们在法西斯阵线后方是干什么的？” 　　“这位同志是那儿的游击认员，”戈麦斯对搜他的身的人说。“他给戈尔兹将军带来了一份急件。要保管好我的证件啊。别弄丢了这些钱和这颗串在带子上的子弹。这是我在瓜达拉马第一次挂彩时从伤口中取出来的。” 　　“别担心，”那班长说。“所有的东西都放在这只抽斗里。你干吗不问我戈尔兹在哪儿？” 　　“我们原想问的。我问了警卫，他把你叫来了。”“可是接着来了这个疯子,而你问他了。谁都不该问他什么事。他疯了。你要我的戈尔兹在从这公路上过去三公里的地方，在右边树林中的山岩间。” 　 　　“你现在不能放我们到他那儿去吗？”“不行。这等于要我的脑袋。我只能把你们带到疯子那儿去，再说,你的急件在他手里。”“你不能跟别人说一说吗？” 　　“行。”班长说。“我一看到负责的领导就对他说。谁都知道他疯了。” 　　“我一直以为他是大人物，”戈麦斯说。“以为他是值得法国夸耀的人物之一。” 　　“也许他是个信得夸耀的人物吧，”班长说，伸手放在安德烈斯肩上　“可是他疯狂透顶了。他得了熗毙人的狂热，“ 　　“真的熗毙人吗, 　　“一点不错，”班长说。“这老家伙杀的人比鼠疫还多。不过,他跟我们不一样，不杀法西斯。不是说笑话。他杀古怪的人。”托洛茨基分子、异己分子、各种各样的怪人。”这些话安德烈斯一点也不懂。 　　“我们在埃斯科里亚尔的时候,不知道为他杀了多少人。”班长说。“我们老是派行刑队。国际纵队队员不愿熗毙自己人，尤其是法国人。为了避免麻烦，总是由我们来执行。我们熗毙过法崮人、比利时人、各种国籍的人、各种各样的人。他有熗毙狂。都是出于政治原因。他疯了。他清洗得比六〇六治梅毒还凶“可是你能把急件这事跟谁说一说吗？”“能,伙计。当然。这两个旅的人我都认得。人人都要走过这儿。我甚至也认得俄国人，虽说只有少数人会讲西班牙话。我们不让这个疯子熗毙西班牙人。”“但是那份急件。” 　　“急件也“样。别担心，同志。我们知道怎样对付这个疯子。只有他的部下遇到他才危险。我们现在了解这家伙了。”“把两个俘虏带来，”传来了安德烈“马蒂的声音。“要喝口酒吗？”班长问。“干吗不?” 　　班长从食柜里拿出一瓶茴香酒,戈麦斯和安德烈斯都喝了。班长也喝了。他用手抹抹嘴　“咱们走吧,他说。 　　呷下了火辣辣的茴香酒，他们嘴里、肚子里和心里都热呼呼的,他们走出警卫室，顺着过道走去，来到马蒂的房间里,只见他坐在一只长桌子后面，面前摊着一张地图,手里摆弄着一支红蓝铅笔，做出一剖将军的样子。对安德烈斯说来，只是增加了一件麻烦事罢了。今天晚上的麻烦事不少。麻烦事总是很多。只要你的证件没问题，心脏没毛病,你就不会遇到危险。他们最终会放你过关，你走你的路。但是英国人说过要抓紧时间，他现在明白，自己不可能回去炸桥了，但是这份急件得送到，而桌边的这个老家伙把它装在衣袋里。 　　“在那儿站着，”马蒂头也不抬地说。“听着，马蒂同志，”戈麦斯脱口而出地说，茴香酒加强了他的气愤。“今天晚上我们被无政府主义者的无知阻挠了一次。接着被爿个法西斯官僚的怠惰阻挠了一次。现在又被你这个共产党员的过分怀疑阻挠住了，“ 　　“住口，”马蒂头也不抬堆说。“现在不是开会。”“马蒂同志，这是件极其紧急的事，”戈麦斯说。“头等重要的事啊。” 　　押他们来的班长和士兵发生了珙大的兴趣，他们好象在看一出已看过好多遍的戏，伹戏中的精采部分总使他们感到趣味无穷。 　　“样样事情都紧急，”马蒂说，“所有事情都重要。”他这时才抬起头来望着他们,握着铅笔。“你怎么知道戈尔兹在这儿？你难道不知道，进攻前来找某一个将军本人是很严重的事吗？你怎么知道有这样一个将军在这儿?” 　　“你对他说吧。”戈麦斯对安德烈斯说。“将军同志，”安锤烈斯开口说一他弄镥了头衔，安德烈　马蒂没有纠正他。”~“我是在火线另一边接到这个信件的一”“在火线另一边？马蒂说，“不错，我听他说你是从法西斯阵线那边来的，“。。。 　　“给我信件的人，将军同志，是个叫罗伯托的英国人,他到我们那儿来当炸桥的爆玻手。明白了吧?” 　　“把你的故事讲下去，”马蒂对安德烈斯说；他用了“故事”这个词儿，正如用撒谎、胡诌或捏造一样。 　　“好吧，将军同志,英国人叫我尽快把信送给戈尔兹将军。就在今天他要在这一带山区发动一场攻势，我们只要求马上把信送给他，要是你将军同志同意的话。” 　　马蒂又摇摇头。他正望着安德烈斯，但是视而不见，戈尔兹啊，马蒂想，心里又惊又喜，就象一个人听到自己事业上的敌手在一次极惨的车祸中毙命，或一个你所憎恶但对他的正直品德从没怀疑过的人却犯了挪用公款罪时所感到的一样。敢情戈尔兹也是他们中间的一个，戈尔兹竟然和法西斯分子这样明目张胆地勾勾搭搭。他认识了差不多有二十年的戈尔兹。那年冬天曾和卢卡茨在西伯利亚拦劫那列运黄金的火车的戈尔兹。曾和髙尔察克作战的、在波兰作战过的戈尔兹。在髙加索,在中国，自从去年十月以来,在这儿作战。伹是,接近图哈切夫斯基。①对，也接近伏罗希洛夫。但主要接近，“‘切夫斯基。另外还有谁？在这儿当然接近卡可夫，还有卢卡茨。可是匈牙利人一向全是阴谋家。他过去恨髙尔。戈尔兹过去恨髙尔。记住这一点。把这个记下来。戈尔兹一贯恨商尔。但是他喜欢普茨。记住这一点。社瓦尔是他的参谋长。瞧瞧产生了什么后果。你听他说过，考匹克是个笨蛋。那确实无疑。那是事实。而现在这份急件来自法西斯阵线那边。只有剪除这些腐朽的枝叶，才能使树木健康成长　必须使枯枝烂叶清楚地　　露,才能消灭。但怎么会是戈尔兹呢。戈尔兹怎么会也是个叛徒呢。他知道，谁也不能信任。谁也不能信任。永远不能。即使是你妻子。即使是你兄弟。即使是你最老的同志。谁也不能信任。永远不能。 ①这里　　到的一些国际纵队的领导人，都是西欧各国的共产党人，有的在苏联建国初期曾和红军一起向髙尔察克等匪帮作过战。伏罗希洛夫当时为军长，以保卫察里津著名。图哈切夭斯基为旧俄军人，笫一次世界大战中曾被德军俘虏。.一九一七年投身革命，入了梵，先后在高加索及西线任红军指挥员，后来担任伏龙芝军事学院院长，一九三六年得元帅衔。 　　“把他们带走，”他对警卫说。“小心看管着。”班长望望那小兵。就马蒂的一贯表现来说，这一次是着实温和的。 　　“马蒂同志，”戈麦斯说。“别发疯。听我说说，我是个忠心耿耿的军官和同志。这急件非送到不可。这位同志越过法西斯阵线,把这份急件带来给戈尔兹将军同志。” 　　“把他们带走，”马蒂这时亲切地对那蕾卫说。作为人，假如非消灭他们木可,他可怜他们。伹是,使他慼到沉重的是戈尔兹本人的悲剧。他想。”怎么会是戈尔兹呢。他要立即将这个法西斯的情报向伐洛夫报告。不,还不如把这急件交给戈尔兹本人,看他收到时的反映。

Chapter 41 Pablo stopped and dismounted in the dark. Robert Jordan heard the creaking and the heavy breathing as they all dismounted and the clinking of a bridle as a horse tossed his head. He smelled the horses and the unwashed and sour slept-in-clothing smell of the new men and the wood-smoky sleep-stale smell of the others who had been in the cave. Pablo was standing close to him and he smelled the brassy, dead-wine smell that came from him like the taste of a copper coin in your mouth. He lit a cigarette, cupping his hand to hide the light, pulled deep on it, and heard Pablo say very softly, "Get the grenade sack, Pilar, while we hobble these." "Agust," Robert Jordan said in a whisper, "you and Anselmo come now with me to the bridge. Have you the sack of pans for the _m嫭uina?_" "Yes," Agust said. "Why not?" Robert Jordan went over to where Pilar was unpacking one of the horses with the help of Primitivo. "Listen, woman," he said softly. "What now?" she whispered huskily, swinging a cinch hook clear from under the horse's belly. "Thou understandest that there is to be no attack on the post until thou hearest the falling of the bombs?" "How many times dost thou have to tell me?" Pilar said. "You are getting like an old woman, _Ingl廥_." "Only to check," Robert Jordan said. "And after the destruction of the post you fall back onto the bridge and cover the road from above and my left flank." "The first time thou outlined it I understood it as well as I will ever understand it," Pilar whispered to him. "Get thee about thy business." "That no one should make a move nor fire a shot nor throw a bomb until the noise of the bombardment comes," Robert Jordan said softly. "Do not molest me more," Pilar whispered angrily. "I have understood this since we were at Sordo's." Robert Jordan went to where Pablo was tying the horses. "I have only hobbled those which are liable to panic," Pablo said. "These are tied so a pull of the rope will release them, see?" "Good." "I will tell the girl and the gypsy how to handle them," Pablo said. His new men were standing in a group by themselves leaning on their carbines. "Dost understand all?" Robert Jordan asked. "Why not?" Pablo said. "Destroy the post. Cut the wire. Fall back on the bridge. Cover the bridge until thou blowest." "And nothing to start until the commencement of the bombardment." "Thus it is." "Well then, much luck." Pablo grunted. Then he said, "Thou wilt cover us well with the _m嫭uina_ and with thy small _m嫭uina_ when we come back, eh, _Ingl廥?_" "_Dela primera_," Robert Jordan said. "Off the top of the basket." "Then," Pablo said. "Nothing more. But in that moment thou must be very careful, _Ingl廥_. It will not be simple to do that unless thou art very careful." "I will handle the _m嫭uina_ myself," Robert Jordan said to him. "Hast thou much experience? For I am of no mind to be shot by Agust with his belly full of good intentions." "I have much experience. Truly. And if Agust uses either _m嫭uina_ I will see that he keeps it way above thee. Above, above and above." "Then nothing more," Pablo said. Then he said softly and confidentially, "There is still a lack of horses." The son of a bitch, Robert Jordan thought. Or does he think I did not understand him the first time. "I go on foot," he said. "The horses are thy affair." "Nay, there will be a horse for thee," Pablo said softly. "There will be horses for all of us." "That is thy problem," Robert Jordan said. "Thou dost not have to count me. Hast enough rounds for thy new _m嫭uina?_" "Yes," Pablo said. "All that the cavalryman carried. I have fired only four to try it. I tried it yesterday in the high hills." "We go now," Robert Jordan said. "We must be there early and well hidden." "We all go now," Pablo said. "_Suerte, Ingl廥_." I wonder what the bastard is planning now, Robert Jordan said. But I am pretty sure I know. Well, that is his, not mine. Thank God I do not know these new men. He put his hand out and said, "_Suerte_, Pablo," and their two hands gripped in the dark. Robert Jordan, when he put his hand out, expected that it would be like grasping something reptilian or touching a leper. He did not know what Pablo's hand would feel like. But in the dark Pablo's hand gripped his hard and pressed it frankly and he returned the grip. Pablo had a good hand in the dark and feeling it gave Robert Jordan the strangest feeling he had felt that morning. We must be allies now, he thought. There was always much handshaking with allies. Not to mention decorations and kissing on both cheeks, he thought. I'm glad we do not have to do that. I suppose all allies are like this. They always hate each other _au fond_. But this Pablo is a strange man. "_Suerte_, Pablo," he said and gripped the strange, firm, purposeful hand hard. "I will cover thee well. Do not worry." "I am sorry for having taken thy material," Pablo said. "It was an equivocation." "But thou has brought what we needed." "I do not hold this of the bridge against thee," Pablo said. "I see a successful termination for it." "What are you two doing? Becoming _maricones?_" Pilar said suddenly beside them in the dark. "That is all thou hast lacked," she said to Pablo. "Get along, and cut thy good-bys short before this one steals the rest of thy explosive." "Thou dost not understand me, woman," Pablo said. "The _Ingl廥_ and I understand one another." "Nobody understands thee. Neither God nor thy mother," Pilar said. "Nor I either. Get along, _Ingl廥_. Make thy good-bys with thy cropped head and go. _Me cago en tu padre_, but I begin to think thou art afraid to see the bull come out." "Thy mother," Robert Jordan said. "Thou never hadst one," Pilar whispered cheerfully. "Now go, because I have a great desire to start this and get it over with. Go with thy people," she said to Pablo. "Who knows how long their stern resolution is good for? Thou hast a couple that I would not trade thee for. Take them and go." Robert Jordan slung his pack on his back and walked over to the horses to find Maria. "Good-by, _guapa_," he said. "I will see thee soon." He had an unreal feeling about all of this now as though he had said it all before or as though it were a train that were going, especially as though it were a train and he was standing on the platform of a railway station. "Good-by, Roberto," she said. "Take much care." "Of course," he said. He bent his head to kiss her and his pack rolled forward against the back of his head so that his forehead bumped hers hard. As this happened he knew this had happened before too. "Don't cry," he said, awkward not only from the load. "I do not," she said. "But come back quickly." "Do not worry when you hear the firing. There is bound to be much firing." "Nay. Only come back quickly." "Good-by, _guapa_," he said awkwardly. "_Salud_, Roberto." Robert Jordan had not felt this young since he had taken the train at Red Lodge to go down to Billings to get the train there to go away to school for the first time. He had been afraid to go and he did not want any one to know it and, at the station, just before the conductor picked up the box he would step up on to reach the steps of the day coach, his father had kissed him good-by and said, "May the Lord watch between thee and me while we are absent the one from the other." His father had been a very religious man and he had said it simply and sincerely. But his moustache had been moist and his eyes were damp with emotion and Robert Jordan had been so embarrassed by all of it, the damp religious sound of the prayer, and by his father kissing him good-by, that he had felt suddenly so much older than his father and sorry for him that he could hardly bear it. After the train started he had stood on the rear platform and watched the station and the water tower grow smaller and smaller and the rails crossed by the ties narrowed toward a point where the station and the water tower stood now minute and tiny in the steady clicking that was taking him away. The brakeman said, "Dad seemed to take your going sort of hard, Bob." "Yes," he had said watching the sagebrush that ran from the edge of the road bed between the passing telegraph poles across to the streaming-by dusty stretching of the road. He was looking for sage hens. "You don't mind going away to school?" "No," he had said and it was true. It would not have been true before but it was true that minute and it was only now, at this parting, that he ever felt as young again as he had felt before that train left. He felt very young now and very awkward and he was saying good-by as awkwardly as one can be when saying good-by to a young girl when you are a boy in school, saying good-by at the front porch, not knowing whether to kiss the girl or not. Then he knew it was not the good-by he was being awkward about. It was the meeting he was going to. The good-by was only a part of the awkwardness he felt about the meeting. You're getting them again, he told himself. But I suppose there is no one that does not feel that he is too young to do it. He would not put a name to it. Come on, he said to himself. Come on. It is too early for your second childhood. "Good-by, _guapa_," he said. "Good-by, rabbit." "Good-by, my Roberto," she said and he went over to where Anselmo and Agust were standing and said, "_Vamonos_." Anselmo swung his heavy pack up. Agust, fully loaded since the cave, was leaning against a tree, the automatic rifle jutting over the top of his load. "Good," he said, "_Vamonos_." The three of them started down the hill. "_Buena suerte_, Don Roberto," Fernando said as the three of them passed him as they moved in single file between the trees. Fernando was crouched on his haunches a little way from where they passed but he spoke with great dignity. "_Buena suerte_ thyself, Fernando," Robert Jordan said. "In everything thou doest," Agust said. "Thank you, Don Roberto," Fernando said, undisturbed by Agust. "That one is a phenomenon," Agust whispered. "I believe thee," Robert Jordan said. "Can I help thee? Thou art loaded like a horse." "I am all right," Agust said. "Man, but I am content we are started." "Speak softly," Anselmo said. "From now on speak little and softly." Walking carefully, downhill, Anselmo in the lead, Agust next, Robert Jordan placing his feet carefully so that he would not slip, feeling the dead pine needles under his rope-soled shoes, bumping a tree root with one foot and putting a hand forward and feeling the cold metal jut of the automatic rifle barrel and the folded legs of the tripod, then working sideways down the hill, his shoes sliding and grooving the forest floor, putting his left hand out again and touching the rough bark of a tree trunk, then as he braced himself his hand feeling a smooth place, the base of the palm of his hand coming away sticky from the resinous sap where a blaze had been cut, they dropped down the steep wooded hillside to the point above the bridge where Robert Jordan and Anselmo had watched the first day. Now Anselmo was halted by a pine tree in the dark and he took Robert Jordan's wrist and whispered, so low Jordan could hardly hear him, "Look. There is the fire in his brazier." It was a point of light below where Robert Jordan knew the bridge joined the road. "Here is where we watched," Anselmo said. He took Robert Jordan's hand and bent it down to touch a small fresh blaze low on a tree trunk. "This I marked while thou watched. To the right is where thou wished to put the _m嫭uina_." "We will place it there." "Good." They put the packs down behind the base of the pine trunks and the two of them followed Anselmo over to the level place where there was a clump of seedling pines. "It is here," Anselmo said. "Just here." "From here, with daylight," Robert Jordan crouched behind the small trees whispered to Agust, "thou wilt see a small stretch of road and the entrance to the bridge. Thou wilt see the length of the bridge and a small stretch of road at the other end before it rounds the curve of the rocks." Agust said nothing. "Here thou wilt lie while we prepare the exploding and fire on anything that comes from above or below." "Where is that light?" Agust asked. "In the sentry box at this end," Robert Jordan whispered. "Who deals with the sentries?" "The old man and I, as I told thee. But if we do not deal with them, thou must fire into the sentry boxes and at them if thou seest them." "Yes. You told me that." "After the explosion when the people of Pablo come around that corner, thou must fire over their heads if others come after them. Thou must fire high above them when they appear in any event that others must not come. Understandest thou?" "Why not? It is as thou saidst last night." "Hast any questions?" "Nay. I have two sacks. I can load them from above where it will not be seen and bring them here." "But do no digging here. Thou must be as well hid as we were at the top." "Nay. I will bring the dirt in them in the dark. You will see. They will not show as I will fix them." "Thou are very close. _Sabes?_ In the daylight this clump shows clearly from below." "Do not worry, _Ingl廥_. Where goest thou?" "I go close below with the small _m嫭uina_ of mine. The old man will cross the gorge now to be ready for the box of the other end. It faces in that direction." "Then nothing more," said Agust. "_Salud, Ingl廥_. Hast thou tobacco?" "Thou canst not smoke. It is too close." "Nay. Just to hold in the mouth. To smoke later." Robert Jordan gave him his cigarette case and Agust took three cigarettes and put them inside the front flap of his herdsman's flat cap. He spread the legs of his tripod with the gun muzzle in the low pines and commenced unpacking his load by touch and laying the things where he wanted them. "_Nada mas_," he said. "Well, nothing more." Anselmo and Robert Jordan left him there and went back to where the packs were. "Where had we best leave them?" Robert Jordan whispered. "I think here. But canst thou be sure of the sentry with thy small _m嫭uina_ from here?" "Is this exactly where we were on that day?" "The same tree," Anselmo said so low Jordan could barely hear him and he knew he was speaking without moving his lips as he had spoken that first day. "I marked it with my knife." Robert Jordan had the feeling again of it all having happened before, but this time it came from his own repetition of a query and Anselmo's answer. It had been the same with Agust, who had asked a question about the sentries although he knew the answer. "It is close enough. Even too close," he whispered. "But the light is behind us. We are all right here." "Then I will go now to cross the gorge and be in position at the other end," Anselmo said. Then he said, "Pardon me, _Ingl廥_. So that there is no mistake. In case I am stupid." "What?" he breathed very softly. "Only to repeat it so that I will do it exactly." "When I fire, thou wilt fire. When thy man is eliminated, cross the bridge to me. I will have the packs down there and thou wilt do as I tell thee in the placing of the charges. Everything I will tell thee. If aught happens to me do it thyself as I showed thee. Take thy time and do it well, wedging all securely with the wooden wedges and lashing the grenades firmly." "It is all clear to me," Anselmo said. "I remember it all. Now I go. Keep thee well covered, when daylight comes." "When thou firest," Robert Jordan said, "take a rest and make very sure. Do not think of it as a man but as a target, _de acuerdo?_ Do not shoot at the whole man but at a point. Shoot for the exact center of the belly--if he faces thee. At the middle of the back, if he is looking away. Listen, old one. When I fire if the man is sitting down he will stand up before he runs or crouches. Shoot then. If he is still sitting down shoot. Do not wait. But make sure. Get to within fifty yards. Thou art a hunter. Thou hast no problem." "I will do as thou orderest," Anselmo said. "Yes. I order it thus," Robert Jordan said. I'm glad I remembered to make it an order, he thought. That helps him out. That takes some of the curse off. I hope it does, anyway. Some of it. I had forgotten about what he told me that first day about the killing. "It is thus I have ordered," he said. "Now go." "_Me voy_," said Anselmo. "Until soon, _Ingl廥_." "Until soon, old one," Robert Jordan said. He remembered his father in the railway station and the wetness of that farewell and he did not say _Salud_ nor good-by nor good luck nor anything like that. "Hast wiped the oil from the bore of thy gun, old one?" he whispered. "So it will not throw wild?" "In the cave," Anselmo said. "I cleaned them all with the pullthrough." "Then until soon," Robert Jordan said and the old man went off, noiseless on his rope-soled shoes, swinging wide through the trees. Robert Jordan lay on the pine-needle floor of the forest and listened to the first stirring in the branches of the pines of the wind that would come with daylight. He took the clip out of the submachine gun and worked the lock back and forth. Then he turned the gun, with the lock open and in the dark he put the muzzle to his lips and blew through the barrel, the metal tasting greasy and oily as his tongue touched the edge of the bore. He laid the gun across his forearm, the action up so that no pine needles or rubbish could get in it, and shucked all the cartridges out of the clip with his thumb and onto a handkerchief he had spread in front of him. Then, feeling each cartridge in the dark and turning it in his fingers, he pressed and slid them one at a time back into the clip. Now the clip was heavy again in his hand and he slid it back into the submachine gun and felt it click home. He lay on his belly behind the pine trunk, the gun across his left forearm and watched the point of light below him. Sometimes he could not see it and then he knew that the man in the sentry box had moved in front of the brazier. Robert Jordan lay there and waited for daylight. 　　巴勃罗在黑暗中停下来，跨下马背。穸伯特　乔丹听到他们大家下马时咯吱咯吱的声音、沉重的呼吸声和一匹马把头一甩时马勒上发出的叮当声。他闻到马的气味，新来的人没水洗脸洗澡、和农而睡而身上带着的酸臭，以及待在山洞里那些人身上隔宿的烟火味。巴勃罗就站在近旁，罗伯特　乔丹闻到他身上发出的锎腥般的酒酸味，仿佛嘴里含着锎币的感觉。他用手握成杯形，挡着火光点燃了香烟，深深地吸了一口，听到巴勃罗声音很低地说。”我们去栓马脚的时候，比拉尔，你把装手榴弹的口袋卸下来。” 　　“奥古斯丁。”罗伯特‘乔丹放低了声音说，现在你和安塞尔莫跟我到桥头去。装机熗子弹盘的口袋在你那儿吗。”“在，”奥古斯丁说。干吗不在啊？〃罗伯特　乔丹向比拉尔身边走去，普里米蒂伏正在帮她把东西从一匹马上卸下来。〃听着，大娘。”他低声说， 　　〃有什么事？”她沙哑地小声说，把马辑下的肚带钩解掉。“你要听到扔炸弹的声音才能袭击哨所，明白了吗？”“你得跟我说多少回啊？”比拉尔说。“英国人,你变得象个老太婆啦。” 　　〃不过是想检查一下。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“端掉了哨所，你得回过头来向桥靠垅，从上面和我的左翼用火力封锁公路，“ 　　“你第一次跟我交待的时候，我就明白了，再跟我说,我也一样。”比拉尔对他低声说。“干你自己的事吧。” 　　“没听到轰炸声,谁也不许动,不许放熗，也不许扔手梢弹，”罗伯特　乔丹低声说， 　　“别再烦我了。”比拉尔恼火地小声说。“我们在‘聋子，那儿的时候，我就明白了。” 　　罗伯特"乔丹走到巴勃罗在拴马的地方。　我只把那些容易受惊的马拴住脚。”巴勃罗说。“我这样拴，只要一拉绳子，它们就能自由行动，明白吗？”“好。” 　　“我来告诉丫头和吉普赛人怎样看管马儿，”巴勃罗说　他那伙新来的弟兄单独聚集在“起,身子支着卡宾熗。“大家都明白了?”罗伯特’乔丹问。“怎么不明白？”巴勃罗说。“端掉哨所。切断电线，回过头来向桥靠拢　封锁桥面,等你炸桥。”“轰炸幵始之前不许有任何行动。”“就是这样。”“那就行了。祝你顺利。” 　　巴勃罗咭噜了一声,他接着说，“我们回头赶来的时候，你会用机熗和你的小机熗好好掩护我们，英国人，对吗?”“亳无疑问。”罗伯特　乔丹说，“全力以赴。”“那好。”巴勃罗说。“没说的了，不过你到那时镡必须十分小心啊，英国人。这掩护的事儿不简单，除非你十分小心。”“我会亲自掌握机熗的，”罗伯特‘乔丹对他谀。““你很有经验吗？我可不逋意让奥古斯丁把興轉不,尽管，“没一点儿坏心眼。” ‘… 　　“我很有经验。没错。要是奥古斯丁使另外一挺机熗,我会叫他注意越过你的头射击。高高地越过你的头。” 　　“那就没说的了，”巴勃罗说。他接着推心置腹地低声说，“马还不够哪。” 　　这婊子养的，罗伯特，乔丹想。难道他以为我没有听懂他以前第一次跟我讲的话吗？ 　　“我可以步行，”他说。“马由你支面。”“不,有一匹马给你的，英国人"巴勃罗低声说。“我们每个人都有一匹, 　　“这是你的事情。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你不用把我算在里面。你那挺新机熗的弹药够吗。” 　　“够。”巴勃罗说，“那个骑兵身上的全部弹药都在。我只打了四发试试。我是昨天在高山里试的熗？ ‘ 　　“我们走吧，”罗伯特　乔丹诶。“我们必须一早就赶到那儿,好好隐蔽起来。” 　　“我们大家都走吧。”巴勃罗说，“祝你濮利，英国人。”我不知道这个杂种现在在打什么主意，罗伯特‘乔丹想，但是我十分肯定我摸准了。得了,这是他的事,和我不相干。感谢上帝我不认识这些新来的人。 　　他伸出手来说。”祝你顺利，巴勃罗。”黑暗中,两只手紧紧握在一起。 　　罗伯特　乔丹伸手的时候，以为会象握住什么爬虫的身体或接触麻风病患者的皮肤那样。他不知道擓巴勃罗手会有什么感觉。但是，在黑暗中，巴勃罗一把抓住了他的手,坦率地紧握着,他就报以同样的紧握。巴勃罗的手在黑暗中是强壮可靠的，握着它使罗伯特、乔丹产生了那夭早晨他心里最离奇的豳觉。。，“。 　　他想。”我们现在必须做盟友。盟友间总是多多握手言欢的。且不提授勋或吻脸颊那一套，他想。我高兴的是我们不用这样做。看来所有的盟友都是这么回事吧。他们总是打心底里彼此憎恨。这个巴勃罗可是个怪人啊。 　　“祝你順利，巴勃罗。”他说，紧握着这只陌生、有力而意志坚强的手。“我会好好掩护你的。别担心。” 　　“对不起得很，我拿走了你的爆破材料，”巴勃罗说。“那是我的错。” 　　“可是你带来了我们需要的人马。”“我并不为了炸桥而反对你，英国人。”巴勃罗说。“我估计是能圆满成功的。” 　　“你们两个在千什么，“栴同性恋爱？”黑暗中，比拉尔忽然在他们身旁说。“这正是你缺少的，”她对巴勃罗说。“走吧，英国人,别婆婆妈妈的道再见啦,免得这家伙再偷了你剩下的炸药。”“你不理解我，太太。”巴勃罗说。“英国人和我彼此理解了,” 　　“没人理解你。天主和你的娘都不理解你”比拉尔说。“我也不理解，走吧，英国人。跟你那短毛丫头说声再见就走吧去你的爹，不过我有个想法。”公牛就快放出来,你害怕了。”“你娘的。”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“你从来没娘，”比拉尔兴髙采烈地低声说。“现在走吧，因为我巴不得马上开始，赶快了掉。跟你的人一起走吧。”她对巴勃罗说。“谁知道他们的决心能维持多久？其中有两三个孬的，我可不愿拿你跟他们，“换呢。带他们走吧。” 　　罗伯特，乔丹背起背包，走到马那儿去找玛丽亚。“再见，漂亮的姑娘，”他说，“我不久就要和你见面的。” 　　这时,他对这一切产生了一种虚幻的感觉，好象这些话他以前全说过,又好象有一列火车正要开出，尤其象真有一列火车，而他正站在月台上。 　　“罗伯托,再见，”她说　“多加小心。”“当然。”他说。他低下头去吻地,背上的包向前滚，推在他后脑勺上，因而使他的前额跟她的重重地碰了一下。碰捶的时候，他想起这情形以前也碰到过， 　　“别哭。”他别扭地说，倒不仅仅是因为背藿很重的东西，“我没哭。”她说。“可你快回来啊。”二“听到熗声别担心。今儿必然会大打其熗。”“不担心，只要你快些回来。”“再见，漂亮的姑娘。”他别扭地说，“再见，罗伯托。” 　　自从罗伯特　乔丹第一次离家从红棚屋城乘火车到比林斯,再从那儿转车去上学以来,他还没感到过象现在的这种孩子佾绪。他当初怕离家，他不愿让任何人知道他怕，在车站上，就在列车员搬上踏脚箱让他能跨上普通客车的踏板时，他父亲向他吻别，并说。”在我们分居两地的时候，愿主保佑我们俩。”他父亲是个笃信宗教的人，这句话说得坦率而真挚。但他的胡子湿施漉的，他激动得眼眶都润湿了。这虔诚的祝祷，他父亲和他的吻别，这一切使罗伯特.乔丹非常宭，以致他突然间觉得比他父亲年老得多,并替他父亲感到难受，因为他竟然忍受不了这别离的哀愁。 　　火车开动后,他站在车厢的后平台上,望着车站和水塔变得越来越小，在那不断的卡嗒卡嗒声中，他被带到越来越远的地方,只见中间横着一根根枕木的铁轨在远处聚成了一点,旁边的车站和水塔显得精致而微小。 　　那司闸员说。”看来你爸笆为你离家很难受呢，鲍勃。”“是的，”他说，望着路基旁的艾灌丛，这片艾灌丛穿过在眼前飞掠过的一根根电线杆之间，直长到象小河般蜿蜓的泥路边。他想看看有没有大松鸡。 　　“离家去上学，你无所谓吗?”“无所谓。”他说。这是真的，在那以前并不是真的，而在那　刻却是真的。直到现在，在这次别离的时侯，他才感到当初火车开动前所感到的那种孩子情绪。他这时感到非常孩子气、非常别扭，他非常别扭地道别，就象做学生的时候,和年青的女同学在大门口说再见一样别扭，不知道是吻她好，还是不吻好。然而他知道,他感到别扭的不是道别，而是马上要来到的跟敌人的交锋。他对这次交锋感到非常别扭，道别给他的别扭的感觉仅仅是这种心情的一部分而已。 　　你又来这一套了，他对自己说。不过依我看，随便嗶个人，都会认为自己年纪太轻，应付不了这回事。他不想说这种心情是什么。得了，他对自己说。得了，你的第二童年①不会就来，还早着呢。 　　“再见，漂亮的姑娘。”他说。“再见，兔子。”“再见，我的罗伯托。”她说。他走到安塞尔莫和奥古斯丁站着的地方，说，“咱们走吧。” 　　安塞尔莫把沉重的背包扛上肩。奥古斯丁离山洞时全身挂满了东西,这时靠在一棵树身上，自动步熗戳出在背包顶上。“好，”他说。“咱们走，“ 　 ①指人老了，智力衰退而行动幼稚，好象回复到羃年时期 　　他们三人开始下山， 　　“祝你顺利，堂、罗伯托。”当他们三人排成单行在树林中行进，经过费尔南多身边时，费尔南多说。他在　他们不远的地方蹲着,说活的口气郑重其事。 　　“攻尔南多,祝你也顺利，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“祝你一切顺利，”奥古斯丁说。 　　“谢谢你，堂”罗伯托，”费尔南多不顾奥古斯丁打岔，说。“他真是个怪人,英国人，”奥古斯丁低声说。“你说得不错，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我能帮你拿些东西吗？你背这么多东西，象匹马了。” 　　“我能行“奥古斯丁说。“老兄，我髙兴的是我们要动手啦“ 　　“小点儿声，”安塞尔莫说。“从现在开始，少说话，声音放低些。” 　　他们小心地爬下山去，安塞尔莫领头，第二个是奥古斯丁，罗伯特’乔丹呢，小心地一步步踩着，免得摔交。他感到绳底鞋踩在枯萎的松针上，一只脚给松树裉绊了一下，就向前伸出一只手去，換到了撅出在前的自动步祐冷冷的熗简和折叠迨来的三脚熗架；接着走之字形下山，他的鞋子在松林地上“高一低地滑动,他又伸出左手，摸到“根粗糙的树干，接着挺起身来，手上摸到一块光澝涌的树皮被割开的地方,他把手缩回来，手心下部沾着粘糊糊的树脂。他们从树木丛生的陡坡上一路下来，来到桥上方的一个地方，那儿就是罗伯特　乔丹和安塞尔莫第一天伏着侦察的地方。 　　这时，安塞尔莫在黑暗中被一棵松树挡住了去硌，他握住罗伯特　乔丹的手腕,小声地说，声音低得罗伯特　乔丹几乎听不到。”瞧。那家伙的火盆里有火。” 　　这一点火光的所在，罗伯特　乔丹知道，就是下面那公路直通桥堍的地方。 　　“这儿就是我们上次侦察的地方，”安塞尔莫说。他抓住罗伯特　乔丹的手往下按，摸摸一根树干下部新割去一小块树皮的地方。“这是你侦察时我做的记号。右面是你打算架机熗的地方, 　　“我们就把它架在那儿吧。”“好。” 　　他们把背包放在几棵松树背后的地上，安塞尔莫领着其他两人向一块长着一簇小松树的平地走去。“这儿，”安塞尔莫说。“就是这儿。”“天一亮，”罗伯特　乔丹礴在小树后对奥古斯丁低声说，“你从这儿可以看到这边一小段公路和桥堍。还可以看到桥身和另一边一小段公路，再过去，公路就拐弯隐没在岩石后了。”奥古斯丁不作声。 　　“我们准备爆破时,你伏在这里，±面或下面有敌人来,你就射击。， 　　“这火光是什么地方?”奥古斯丁问。 　　“是这边的岗亭里的。”穸伸特、乔丹低声说　‘ 　　“谁来对付哨兵。” 　　“老头子和我，我已经踉你讲过啦。但是，如果我们来不及对付他们,你必须向岗亭里射击，看到人就射击。“"是。这个你银我说过了。” 　　 　　“爆炸之后，当巴勃罗一伙从那边拐角上转过来的时候，要是有人追他们，你必须越过他怕的头射击。他们出现的时候,你必须越过他们的头射击,不能让敌人追过来。你僮了吗？“怎么不僅？就象你昨天晚上所讲的那样。”、有问题吗？” 　　“没有。我带着两个麻袋。我可以在上面隐蔽的地方装满泥土，搬到这里来当沙袋。” 　　“但是别在这儿挖土　你必须象我们在山顶上一样，好好隐蔽起来。” 　　“不妨事。我会在黑暗中装好了土搬过来。你回头瞧吧。我会弄得妥妥帖帖，一点看不出来。” 　　“你太接近了。明白吗，“天一亮，下面能淸清楚楚地望到这簇小树。” 　　“别担心，英国人。你去哪儿呢,“我带着我这小机熗就在这儿下面。老头子要越过呋谷，准备攻另一头的岗亭。那岗亭和我们反方向。” 　　“那就没别的事了。”奥古斯丁说。“祝你顺利，英国人。你有烟吗?” 　　“你不能抽烟。离敌人太近了，“ ， 　　“木，只叼在嘴上。以后抽。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹把他的纸烟盒给他,奥古斯丁拿了三支，插在他那平顶牧人帽的前帽沿里。他拉开机熗的三脚架，把它架在矮松树间，开始換索着解开他背的包，把东西放在瓶手的地方。“没别的事了，”他说，“好了，没别的了。”安塞尔莫和罗伯特‘乔丹把他留在那儿，回到放背包的地方。 　　“我们把它们放在哪儿好?”罗伯特“乔丹低声说。“我看就在这儿　可是你用手提机熗从这儿有把握干掉那个哨兵吗？” 一 　　“这儿的确就是那天我们来过的地方?”“树就是那棵树，”安塞尔莫的说话声低得几乎听不到，罗伯特　乔丹知道，就象他第一天那样，说话时晡膊都不动，“我用刀子做了记号。” 　　罗伯特，乔丹又感到好象这一切以前全发生过，但这次是由于他重复提问和安塞尔莫的回答而产生的，奥古斯丁刚才也是这样，他问了一个有关哨兵的问题，虽然回答是他早知道的。“够近啦。简直太近了。”他低声说。“不过天亮后我们是逆光。我们在这儿没问题。” 　　“那我现在就到峡谷对面去，在那一头作好准备,”安塞尔莫说。他接着说。”请你再说一逍，英囯人。免得出差错。我兴许会傻了眼，“ 　　“什么？”罗伯特　乔丹说得悄没声儿的。“只要重说一遍,让我照做不误。”“等我开熗的时候,你开熗。消灭了你要对付的那个人之后，过桥到我这边来。我会把背包带到那儿去，你根据我向你交待的那样安放炸药。该做什么，我都会告诉你的。要是我出了毛病,根据我以前教你的办法，你自己千下去。别慌张，好好干，木楔都要塞牢,把手榴弹捆结实？ 　　“我全清楚了，”安塞尔莫说。”“我全记住了。现在我走了，英圉人，天亮的时候你自己要好好隐蔽。” 　　“你打熗的时候，”罗伯特‘乔丹说，“把熗支好,要打得十分稳。别把他们当人看，只当他们熗靶子，记住了？不要对整个人开熗,要睢准一点。假使他脸朝你，瞄准腹部中央射击　他脸朝别处的话,射击他背脊中央，听着，老头子。我开熗打坐着的人时，总乘他站起来还没拔脚奔跑或蹲下就打熗。如果他还是坐着，就打熗。别等。但要瞄准，要在五十码之内射击，你是猎人,不会有问陲，“ 　　“我照你的命令干，”安塞尔莫说。“对。我的命令就是这样，”罗伯特　乔丹说。高兴的是我没有忘记把这作为命令，他想。这会帮助他解决困难。这样多少可以打消他的一点内疚。反正我希望如此。多少打消一点。我记不起他第一天跟我谈的关于杀人的那些话了， 　　“这就是我的命令，”他说。“现在走吧，““我走啦，”安塞尔莫说。“回见，英国人。”“回见，老头子，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。他想起了他父亲在车站上的模样和告别的眼泪，他没有说乎安、再见、祝你顺利那一类的话。 　　“你熗简里的油擦掉了吗，老头子?”他低声说。“免得熗打不准。” 　　“在山润里，”安塞尔莫说，“我就用通条全擦过了。”“那么回见吧，”罗伯特“乔丹说罢，老头儿就大摇大摆地在树林里走开去了,绳底鞋踩在地上声息全无。 　　罗伯特　乔丹伏在树林的松针地上，倾听着随黎明而来的晨风吹拂树枝的声音。他把手提机熗的子弹夹抽出来，前后推动熗机。他接着把熗调过头来，拉开熗机，在黑暗中把熗口凑在嘴唇上，往熗筒里吹气，舌头触及熗筒边时尝到了滑腻的金属上的油味。他把熗横搁在前臂上，熗身朝上，免得松针和其他东西掉到里面去，用大拇指把所有的子弹从子弹夹中退出来，放在一块摊在面前的手帕上，然后在黑暗中摸着每颗子弹,在手指间转弄一下，再把子弹一颗颗地推进子弹夹。这时,他手里的子弹夹又变得沉甸甸的了，他把子弹夹再推进手提机熗，卡嗒一声上准了。他匍匐在一棵松树后面，机熗横架在他左前臂上，注视着下面的那点火光。他有时见不到这火光，他知道这是因为岗亭里的哨兵走到了火盆的前面。罗伯特‘乔丹伏在那儿等天亮。

Chapter 40 During the time that Robert Jordan had slept through, the time he had spent planning the destruction of the bridge and the time that he had been with Maria,  had made slow progress. Until he had reached the Republican lines he had travelled across country and through the fascist lines as fast as a countryman in good physical condition who knew the country well could travel in the dark. But once inside the Republican lines it went very slowly. In theory he should only have had to show the safe-conduct given him by Robert Jordan stamped with the seal of the S. I. M. and the dispatch which bore the same seal and be passed along toward his destination with the greatest speed. But first he had encountered the company commander in the front line who had regarded the whole mission with owlishly grave suspicion. He had followed this company commander to battalion headquarters where the battalion commander, who had been a barber before the movement, was filled with enthusiasm on hearing the account of his mission. This commander, who was named Gomez, cursed the company commander for his stupidity, patted  on the back, gave him a drink of bad brandy and told him that he himself, the ex-barber, had always wanted to be a _guerrillero_. He had then roused his adjutant, turned over the battalion to him, and sent his orderly to wake up and bring his motorcyclist. Instead of sending  back to brigade headquarters with the motorcyclist, Gomez had decided to take him there himself in order to expedite things and, with  holding tight onto the seat ahead of him, they roared, bumping down the shell-pocked mountain road between the double row of big trees, the headlight of the motorcycle showing their whitewashed bases and the places on the trunks where the whitewash and the bark had been chipped and torn by shell fragments and bullets during the fighting along this road in the first summer of the movement. They turned into the little smashed-roofed mountain-resort town where brigade headquarters was and Gomez had braked the motorcycle like a dirt-track racer and leaned it against the wall of the house where a sleepy sentry came to attention as Gomez pushed by him into the big room where the walls were covered with maps and a very sleepy officer with a green eyeshade sat at a desk with a reading lamp, two telephones and a copy of _Mundo Obrero_. This officer looked up at Gomez and said, "What doest thou here? Have you never heard of the telephone?" "I must see the Lieutenant-Colonel," Gomez said. "He is asleep," the officer said. "I could see the lights of that bicycle of thine for a mile coming down the road. Dost wish to bring on a shelling?" "Call the Lieutenant-Colonel," Gomez said. "This is a matter of the utmost gravity." "He is asleep, I tell thee," the officer said. "What sort of a bandit is that with thee?" he nodded toward . "He is a _guerrillero_ from the other side of the lines with a dispatch of the utmost importance for the General Golz who commands the attack that is to be made at dawn beyond Navacerrada," Gomez said excitedly and earnestly. "Rouse the _Teniente-Coronel_ for the love of God." The officer looked at him with his droopy eyes shaded by the green celluloid. "All of you are crazy," he said. "I know of no General Golz nor of no attack. Take this sportsman and get back to your battalion." "Rouse the _Teniente-Coronel_, I say," Gomez said and  saw his mouth tightening. "Go obscenity yourself," the officer said to him lazily and turned away. Gomez took his heavy 9 mm. Star pistol out of its holster and shoved it against the officer's shoulder. "Rouse him, you fascist bastard," he said. "Rouse him or I'll kill you." "Calm yourself," the officer said. "All you barbers are emotional."   saw Gomez's face draw with hate in the light of the reading lamp. But all he said was, "Rouse him." "Orderly," the officer called in a contemptuous voice. A soldier came to the door and saluted and went out. "His fianc is with him," the officer said and went back to reading the paper. "It is certain he will be delighted to see you." "It is those like thee who obstruct all effort to win this war," Gomez said to the staff officer. The officer paid no attention to him. Then, as he read on, he remarked, as though to himself, "What a curious periodical this is!" "Why don't you read _El Debate_ then? That is your paper," Gomez said to him naming the leading Catholic-Conservative organ published in Madrid before the movement. "Don't forget I am thy superior officer and that a report by me on thee carries weight," the officer said without looking up. "I never read _El Debate_. Do not make false accusations." "No. You read A. B. C.," Gomez said. "The army is still rotten with such as thee. With professionals such as thee. But it will not always be. We are caught between the ignorant and the cynical. But we will educate the one and eliminate the other." "'Purge' is the word you want," the officer said, still not looking up. "Here it reports the purging of more of thy famous Russians. They are purging more than the epsom salts in this epoch." "By any name," Gomez said passionately. "By any name so that such as thee are liquidated." "Liquidated," the officer said insolently as though speaking to himself. "Another new word that has little of Castilian in it." "Shot, then," Gomez said. "That is Castilian. Canst understand it?" "Yes, man, but do not talk so loudly. There are others beside the _Teniente-Coronel_ asleep in this Brigade Staff and thy emotion bores me. It was for that reason that I always shaved myself. I never liked the conversation." Gomez looked at  and shook his head. His eyes were shining with the moistness that rage and hatred can bring. But he shook his head and said nothing as he stored it all away for some time in the future. He had stored much in the year and a half in which he had risen to the command of a battalion in the Sierra and now, as the Lieutenant-Colonel came into the room in his pajamas he drew himself stiff and saluted. The Lieutenant-Colonel Miranda, who was a short, gray-faced man, who had been in the army all his life, who had lost the love of his wife in Madrid while he was losing his digestion in Morocco, and become a Republican when he found he could not divorce his wife (there was never any question of recovering his digestion), had entered the civil war as a Lieutenant-Colonel. He had only one ambition, to finish the war with the same rank. He had defended the Sierra well and he wanted to be left alone there to defend it whenever it was attacked. He felt much healthier in the war, probably due to the forced curtailment of the number of meat courses, he had an enormous stock of sodium-bicarbonate, he had his whiskey in the evening, his twenty-three-year-old mistress was having a baby, as were nearly all the other girls who had started out as _milicianas_ in the July of the year before, and now he came into the room, nodded in answer to Gomez's salute and put out his hand. "What brings thee, Gomez?" he asked and then, to the officer at the desk who was his chief of operation, "Give me a cigarette, please, Pepe." Gomez showed him 's papers and the dispatch. The Lieutenant-Colonel looked at the _Salvoconducto_ quickly, looked at , nodded and smiled, and then looked at the dispatch hungrily. He felt of the seal, tested it with his forefinger, then handed both the safe-conduct and dispatch back to . "Is the life very hard there in the hills?" he asked. "No, my Lieutenant-Colonel,"  said. "Did they tell thee where would be the closest point to find General Golz's headquarters?" "Navacerrada, my Lieutenant-Colonel,"  said. "The said it would be somewhere close to Navacerrada behind the lines to the right of there." "What ?_" the Lieutenant-Colonel asked quietly. "The  who is with us as a dynamiter." The Lieutenant-Colonel nodded. It was just another sudden unexplained rarity of this war. "The who is with us as a dynamiter." "You had better take him, Gomez, on the motor," the Lieutenant-Colonel said. "Write them a very strong _Salvoconducto_ to the _Estado Mayor_ of General Golz for me to sign," he said to the officer in the green celluloid eyeshade. "Write it on the machine, Pepe. Here are the details," he motioned for  to hand over his safe-conduct, "and put on two seals." He turned to Gomez. "You will need something strong tonight. It is rightly so. People should be careful when an offensive is projected. I will give you something as strong as I can make it." Then to , very kindly, he said, "Dost wish anything? To eat or to drink?" "No, my Lieutenant-Colonel,"  said. "I am not hungry. They gave me cognac at the last place of command and more would make me seasick." "Did you see any movement or activity opposite my front as you came through?" the Lieutenant-Colonel asked  politely. "It was as usual, my Lieutenant-Colonel. Quiet. Quiet." "Did I not meet thee in Cercedilla about three months back?" the Lieutenant-Colonel asked. "Yes, my Lieutenant-Colonel." "I thought so," the Lieutenant-Colonel patted him on the shoulder. "You were with the old man Anselmo. How is he?" "He is well, my Lieutenant-Colonel,"  told him. "Good. It makes me happy," the Lieutenant-Colonel said. The officer showed him what he had typed and he read it over and signed it. "You must go now quickly," he said to Gomez and . "Be careful with the motor," he said to Gomez. "Use your lights. Nothing will happen from a single motor and you must be careful. My compliments to Comrade General Golz. We met after Peguerinos." He shook hands with them both. "Button the papers inside thy shirt," he said. "There is much wind on a motor." After they went out he went to a cabinet, took out a glass and a bottle, and poured himself some whiskey and poured plain water into it from an earthenware crock that stood on the floor against the wall. Then holding the glass and sipping the whiskey very slowly he stood in front of the big map on the wall and studied the offensive possibilities in the country above Navacerrada. "I am glad it is Golz and not me," he said finally to the officer who sat at the table. The officer did not answer and looking away from the map and at the officer the Lieutenant-Colonel saw he was asleep with his head on his arms. The Lieutenant-Colonel went over to the desk and pushed the two phones close together so that one touched the officer's head on either side. Then he walked to the cupboard, poured himself another whiskey, put water in it, and went back to the map again. , holding tight onto the seat where Gomez was forking the motor, bent his head against the wind as the motorcycle moved, noisily exploding, into the light-split darkness of the country road that opened ahead sharp with the high black of the poplars beside it, dimmed and yellow-soft now as the road dipped into the fog along a stream bed, sharpening hard again as the road rose and, ahead of them at the crossroads, the headlight showed the gray bulk of the empty trucks coming down from the mountains. 　　当罗伯特，乔丹睡觉的时候，当他计划炸桥的时候，当他和玛丽亚在一起的时侯，安德烈斯进展很谩。他以一个体格强壮、熟悉地形的乡下人在黑夜里赶路的速度，越过田野,穿过法西斯防线，最后来到共和国的防线。不过，一旦进入了共和国防线,进程就很慢了。 　　从情理上说，他只要出示罗伯特’乔丹给他的盖有军蓽情报部公章的通行证和盖有同样公章的急件，然后用最快的速度向目的地进发就行了。，是他一开头在前线就遇上了那个连长，此人象只猫头鹰般对‘整个使命疑虑重重。 　　他跟随连长来到他所屑的营部，营长听了他谈到的使命后热情满怀。他在革命前是个理发师。这位名叫戈麦斯的营长骂连长蠢，拍拍安德烈斯的背，请他喝了一杯次货白兰地，还告诉他说，他以前做过理发师,一直想当游击队员。他接着叫酲了他的副官，把营的工作交给他，并派勤务兵去叫醒他的摩托车司机,把他带来。戈麦斯不是要摩托车司机送安德烈斯到旅部，而是决定亲自带他到那儿去赶。决了结这桩事，于是在那两边栽苷两行大树、布满炮弹窟窿的山路上，安德烈斯抓紧了前面的座垫，他们一路顛簸着，轰隆隆地前进，摩托车的前灯照亮了刷白的树身，显出革命开始后第一个夏季在这里沿路作战时树身上被弹片和子弹刮掉白粉和炸裂树皮的地方。他们拐进一个被炸坏屋顶的山区疗养院，旅部就设在那儿。戈麦斯象个赛车运动员一般刹住了庠托车，把车子停靠在墙边，有个瞌睡的门岗对他一个立正。戈麦斯把他推开,走进一个大房间，房里四壁张挂着大地图，有个十分瞌睡的军官坐在写字台旁，戴着一只绿色的护目鸭舌帽，台上有盏台灯、两架电话和一份《工人世界报　这位军官抬头望望戈麦斯说，“你到这儿来有什么事？你从没听说过有电话这东西吗,“我必须见中校，”戈麦斯说， 　　“他在睡觉，”军官说。“我在一英里外就见到你亮着车灯在路上幵来。你想把炮弹招来吗？” 　　“去叫中校吧，”戈麦斯说。“有件非常重要的事。”“我对你说，他在睡觉。”军官说。“是什么土匪跟你在一起啊？”他朝安德烈斯点点头。 　　“他是火线那边来的游击队员，带来一份给戈尔兹将军的极端重要的急件；戈尔兹将军指挥黎明时在纳瓦塞拉达那边发动的进攻，”戈麦斯激动而焦急地说。“看天主份上，把中校叫醒吧。” 　　军官用罩着绿色赛璐珞帽舌的眼睑松垂的眼睛望着他。“你们全疯了，”他说。“什么戈尔兹将军,什么进攻，我都不知道。带这个运动员因你营部去。” 　　“叫醍中校，我说，”戈麦斯说，安德烈斯见到他的嘴箱得紧紧的。” 　　“滚你妈的蛋，”军官懒洋洋地对他说,转过头去。戈麦斯从熗套里拔出他那沉重的九毫米口径的星牌手熗，猛的抵在军官肩上叫醒他，你这个法西斯杂种。”他说。“叫醒他，否则我要你的命, 　　“冷珍一点,军官说。“你们这些剃头的全是动不动就发火。” 　　安德烈斯在台灯光中见到戈麦斯恨得脸变了样，伹是他所说的只是。”叫醒他，“ 　　“勤务兵，”军官用轻蔑的声音喊道，一个小兵来到门口，敬了个礼，就走出去了。“他的未婚妻跟他在一起，”军官说着又看起报来。“他准会乐意见你的。”- 　　“妨碍人们努力打赢这场战争的就是象你这种家伙，”戈麦斯对这个参谋说。 　　军官不答理他。他接着一边读报，一边仿佛在自言自语。”这份刊物好不古怪” 　　“那你为什么不看《辩论报1》呢？那才是你们的报纸　戈麦斯对他说，指的是革命前在马德里出版的天主敎保守党的机关 报。“ 　　“别忘了我是你的上级军官，我给你打个报告是有分量的，”军官头也不抬地说。“我从来不看《辩论报》。别血口喷人。” 　　“不。你看的是《阿贝赛报。”　)。”戈麦斯说。“军队里还是多的是你这样的职业军人，真是腐败不堪。但是情况不会总是这样的，我们夹在无知的和冷眼寿观的这两种人中间。但是我们要轶胄前一种人，消灭后一种人。” 　　“你该用‘洧洗’这个词儿，”军官说，仍然没抬头。“这上面报道说，你的了不起的俄国人又被清洗了许多。在当今这个时代,他们清洗得比泻盐还凶。“ ①贝赛报为西班牙一大报,创刊于一九。四年，采取保守的保良派观点　 　　“不论什么词，”戈麦斯激烈地说。”不论用什么词,只要把你这号人肃清就行。” 　　“肃清，”军官傲慢而仿佛自言自语地说。“又是一个没有西班牙语味道的新名词儿。” 　　“那么用'熗錄戈麦斯说。“这是西班牙词儿。你懂吗？”“懂,老兄，可是别那么大声嚷嚷。在这旅参谋部睡觉的，除了中校还有别人哪。你的热情叫我厌烦。就为了这个原因,我总是自己刮脸。我一向讨厌和理发师谈话。〃 　　戈麦斯望望安德烈斯，摇摇头。他眼睛里闪着由于愤恨而激起的泪光，但是他摇摇头，没说什么，同时咽下所有的眼泪，留到将来的某一时刻。在这一年半里，他晋升为那一山区的营长，他咽下了多少眼泪轲。这时，穿着陲衣睡裤的中校来到屋里，他马上立正敬礼。 　　米兰达中校是个脸色灰白的矮子,一生都在军界，他在摩洛哥得宵病的时侯，失去了在马德里的妻子的爱情。他发现没法和妻子离婚(要恢复他的消化机能却不成问题、才参加了共和党，以中校身分参加了内战。他只有一个抱负，就是战争结束时保持同样的军衔。他守卫山区干得很出色,他希望留在那里,每当山区遭受攻击时加以保卫。大概是由于被迫缩减肉食的原因，他在战争中觉得健康多了，他储存了大量小苏打，晚上喝威士忌;他的二十三岁的情妇怀孕了，就象所有那些从去年七月开始当女民兵的其他姑娘一样。他这时来到房间里，点点头回答戈麦斯的敬礼，并伸出手来。 　　“戈麦斯，什么风把你吹来了？”他问，接着对写字台边的军官，他的作战科长说，“请给我支烟，佩贝。” 　　戈麦斯给他看安箱烈斯的证件和急件　中校对通行证倏的看了一眼，就望奢安德烈斯,点点头，微微一笑，然后如饥似渴地看急件。他摸摸印鉴，用食指检验一下,然后把通行证和急件一起交还安徳烈斯。 　　“山里生活很艰苦吗？”他问令“不，我的中校。”安德烈斯说。"他们告诉你最可能在什么地方找到戈尔兹将军吗？”“纳瓦塞拉达，我的中校，”安德烈斯说。“英国人说这地方在火线后，靠近纳瓦塞拉达的西南面。”“什么英国人?”中校静静地问道。“跟我们在一起的英国人,是个爆破手。”中校点点头。这恰恰又是这次战争中出人意外的无法解释的罕见现象。“跟我们在一起的英国人,是个爆破手。” 　　“戈麦斯，你还是用庠托车把他送去吧，”中校说。“给他们开一张到戈尔兹将军参谋部去的可靠的通行证，我来签字，”他对那戴着绿色赛璐珞护目帽的军官说。“用打字机打，佩贝。这是他的详细情況，”他示意安德烈斯把通行证拿出来。“盖上两个章。”他转身对戈麦斯。“你今晚霈要喝些烈酒。这是理所当然的。人们在计划发动进攻的时候，必须多加小心。我要给你些我调配的烈酒。”他接着十分亲切地对安德烈斯说，“想来些什么，吃的，还是喝的，“” 　　“不要，我的中校。”安德烈斯说。“我不饿。在最后一个队部，他们给我喝了法国白兰地,再喝要叫我头晕了。” 　　“你一路过来的时候，见到我的防线对面有什么军事活动吗？”中校客气地问安德烈斯。 　　“老样子,我的中校。很平静。很平静。， 　　“大约三个月前，我不是在塞尔赛迪利亚见过你喝？”中校 　　“是，我的中校。” 　　“我原是这么想的，”中校拍拍他的肩膀。“那时您跟安塞尔莫老头在一起。他好吗？” 　　“他好，我的中校，”安德烈斯对他说。“好。这使我艮高兴，”中校说。那军官给他看打好的证件,他看了一遍，签了名。“你们现在必须马上就走，”他对戈麦斯和安德烈斯说。“开车要注意，”他对戈麦斯说。“要把车灯打亮。单独一辆摩托车不会引起什么麻烦，可你们必须多加小心〃代我向戈尔兹将军同志问好。在佩格林诺斯战役后我们碰过头。”他和他们两人都握了手。“把证件扣在衬衣里面。”他说,“摩托车上风很大。” 　　他们走后，他走到食柜边拿出酒杯酒瓶，斟了些威士忌，从一把靠墙放在地上的瓦壶里掺了一点水在酒里。接着，他举杯慢悝地啜饮，面对挂在垴上的大地图，研究在纳瓦塞拉达以北有可能发动进攻的地点， 　　"幸亏由戈尔兹去对付，不是我，”他临X对坐在书桌边的军官说，军官没回话，中校的目光离开了地图，来望军官，只见他脑袋伏在手臂上，已睡着了，中校走到桌边，把两架电话推近在“起,在那军官脑袋两旁各放一架，紧挨着他的脑袋。他接着走到食柜边，又斟了些威士忌，在里面掺了水，再回到地图面前　 　　戈麦斯叉开双臂驾者摩托车，安德烈斯紧抓住座位,低头顶着风，庫托车噗噗噗地行驶在乡间大路上，车灯劈开了黑夜，前面的路面在路边两排黑黑的高大的白杨树中显得很分明，在大路朝下穿过小河河床边的迷雾时显得模模糊糊，呈现出柔和的晕黄色，等到路面升高时,又越来越分明了　前面出现了交叉路，车灯照亮了从山上幵下来的一行灰暗的空卡车。

Chapter 39 In the dark they came up the hill through the timber to the narrow pass at the top. They were all loaded heavily and they climbed slowly. The horses had loads too, packed over the saddles. "We can cut them loose if it is necessary," Pilar had said. "But with that, if we can keep it, we can make another camp." "And the rest of the ammunition?" Robert Jordan had asked as they lashed the packs. "In those saddlebags." Robert Jordan felt the weight of his heavy pack, the dragging on his neck from the pull of his jacket with its pockets full of grenades, the weight of his pistol against his thigh, and the bulging of his trouser pockets where the clips for the submachine gun were. In his mouth was the taste of the coffee, in his right hand he carried the submachine gun and with his left hand he reached and pulled up the collar of his jacket to ease the pull of the pack straps. Pablo said to him, walking close beside him in the dark. "What, man?" "These I have brought think this is to be successful because I have brought them," Pablo said. "Do not say anything to disillusion them." "Good," Robert Jordan said. "But let us make it successful." "They have five horses, _sabes?_" Pablo said cautiously. "Good," said Robert Jordan. "We will keep all the horses together." "Good," said Pablo, and nothing more. I didn't think you had experienced any complete conversion on the road to Tarsus, old Pablo, Robert Jordan thought. No. Your coming back was miracle enough. I don't think there will ever be any problem about canonizing you. "With those five I will deal with the lower post as well as Sordo would have," Pablo said. "I will cut the wire and fall back upon the bridge as we convened." We went over this all ten minutes ago, Robert Jordan thought. I wonder why this now-- "There is a possibility of making it to Gredos," Pablo said. "Truly, I have thought much of it." I believe you've had another flash in the last few minutes, Robert Jordan said to himself. You have had another revelation. But you're not going to convince me that I am invited. No, Pablo. Do not ask me to believe too much. Ever since Pablo had come into the cave and said he had five men Robert Jordan felt increasingly better. Seeing Pablo again had broken the pattern of tragedy into which the whole operation had seemed grooved ever since the snow, and since Pablo had been back he felt not that his luck had turned, since he did not believe in luck, but that the whole thing had turned for the better and that now it was possible. Instead of the surety of failure he felt confidence rising in him as a tire begins to fill with air from a slow pump. There was little difference at first, although there was a definite beginning, as when the pump starts and the rubber of the tube crawls a little, but it came now as steadily as a tide rising or the sap rising in a tree until he began to feel the first edge of that negation of apprehension that often turned into actual happiness before action. This was the greatest gift that he had, the talent that fitted him for war; that ability not to ignore but to despise whatever bad ending there could be. This quality was destroyed by too much responsibility for others or the necessity of undertaking something ill planned or badly conceived. For in such things the bad ending, failure, could not be ignored. It was not simply a possibility of harm to one's self, which _could_ be ignored. He knew he himself was nothing, and he knew death was nothing. He knew that truly, as truly as he knew anything. In the last few days he had learned that he himself, with another person, could be everything. But inside himself he knew that this was the exception. That we have had, he thought. In that I have been most fortunate. That was given to me, perhaps, because I never asked for it. That cannot be taken away nor lost. But that is over and done with now on this morning and what there is to do now is our work. And you, he said to himself, I am glad to see you getting a little something back that was badly missing for a time. But you were pretty bad back there. I was ashamed enough of you, there for a while. Only I was you. There wasn't any me to judge you. We were all in bad shape. You and me and both of us. Come on now. Quit thinking like a schizophrenic. One at a time, now. You're all right again now. But listen, you must not think of the girl all day ever. You can do nothing now to protect her except to keep her out of it, and that you are doing. There are evidently going to be plenty of horses if you can believe the signs. The best thing you can do for her is to do the job well and fast and get out, and thinking of her will only handicap you in this. So do not think of her ever. Having thought this out he waited until Maria came up walking with Pilar and Rafael and the horses. "Hi, _guapa_," he said to her in the dark, "how are you?" "I am well, Roberto," she said. "Don't worry about anything," he said to her and shifting the gun to his left hand he put a hand on her shoulder. "I do not," she said. "It is all very well organized," he told her. "Rafael will be with thee with the horses." "I would rather be with thee." "Nay. The horses is where thou art most useful." "Good," she said. "There I will be." Just then one of the horses whinnied and from the open place below the opening through the rocks a horse answered, the neigh rising into a shrill sharply broken quaver. Robert Jordan saw the bulk of the new horses ahead in the dark. He pressed forward and came up to them with Pablo. The men were standing by their mounts. "_Salud_," Robert Jordan said. "_Salud_," they answered in the dark. He could not see their faces. "This is the _Ingl廥_ who comes with us," Pablo said. "The dynamiter." No one said anything to that. Perhaps they nodded in the dark. "Let us get going, Pablo," one man said. "Soon we will have the daylight on us." "Did you bring any more grenades?" another asked. "Plenty," said Pablo. "Supply yourselves when we leave the animals." "Then let us go," another said. "We've been waiting here half the night." "_Hola_, Pilar," another said as the woman came up. "_Que me maten_, if it is not Pepe," Pilar said huskily. "How are you, shepherd?" "Good," said the man. "_Dentro de la gravedad_." "What are you riding?" Pilar asked him. "The gray of Pablo," the man said. "It is much horse." "Come on," another man said. "Let us go. There is no good in gossiping here." "How art thou, Elicio?" Pilar said to him as he mounted. "How would I be?" he said rudely. "Come on, woman, we have work to do." Pablo mounted the big bay horse. "Keep thy mouths shut and follow me," he said. "I will lead you to the place where we will leave the horses." 　　他们在黑暗中穿迓树林爬上山坡，来到山顶一条羊肠小道。他们全都背着沉重的装备,缓慢地爬山。马鞍上也驮着东西。 　　“必要的时候我们可以抛弃辎重，”比拉尔说。“不过，如果能够保存下来，我们可以用来再立一个营地，“ 　　“其他弹药呢？”他们用绳子捆紧包裹的时候,罗均特‘乔丹问。 　　“在马褡子里，“ 　　罗伯特‘乔丹感到沉甸甸的背包的重贽，感到口袋里装葙了手榴弹的上衣牵勒着他的脖子，惑到手熗貼着他大腿的重量，感到装着手提机熗子弹夹的裤袋饱鼓鼓的。他嘴里有着咖啡味，他右手提着手提机熗，伸出左手，把上衣领子拉起，来减轻一点背包带子的牵勒。 　　“英国人，”巴勃罗对他说，在黑暗中紧靠他身边走着。“什么事，伙计我带来的这些人以为这“回事情干得成，因为我把他们带来了，”巴勃罗说。“别说什么叫他们泄气的话。” 　　“好，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“我们来把事情干成吧。”“他们有五匹马，知道吗?”巴勃罗谨慎地说。“好。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我们把所有的马都集中在一起。”“好，”巴勃罗说，就不再说什么了。穸祸特〃乔丹想　老巴勃穸哬,我看你不象在去塔尔苏斯路上的圣保罗那样真正回心转意吧①。不。你回来就是一个奇迹。看来把你奉为圣徒是没有什么问题的。 　　“我带这五个人去对付下面的哨所，能干得跟‘聋子’一般好，”巴勃罗说。“我先切断电线，再回头向桥头靠拢，照我们协议的办法干。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹想！十分钟之前我们已经全郝讨论过了　我不知道为什么现在一 　　“我们有可能转移到格雷多斯山区去，”巴勃罗说。“说真的，这问题我动了不少脑筋。” 　　罗伯特‘乔丹对自己说。”我看你脑子里在这最后几分钟内叉闪现出什么念头了。你又看到启示了。①但是你别打算使我相信你欢迎我一起去，不，巴勃罗。别指望我对你具有太多的信任。 ①塔尔苏斯在今土耳其南部，滨东地中海，为保罗的诞生地。页注中曾提到他是在去大马士革的略上桩耶穌显灵所感化的，此处显系作者笔 　　巴勃罗进山洞来说他带来了五个人之后，罗伯特’乔丹的心情变得越来越好。巴勃罗的再次出现打硖了下雪以来整个行动计划显然要搁浅的悲剧格局；巴勃罗回来后，他并不以为自己的运气好转了，因为他不信运气，但是现在整个情况显得好转了，桥是炸得成了。他感到的不再是肯定会失败，而是鼓起了信心，就象气泵使车胎慢慢地充气一样。就象气泵开始打气的时候，橡皮轮胎的表面辋动起来那样，起先没有显著的差别，虽然有了明显的苗头，可是这信心象上涨的潮水或树身内升起的汁液般不断浦起，直到他开始感到接近不再疑惧的边缘，这种心情常会转化成行动前的真正喜悦。 　　这是他所具备的最大天赋，这种才能使他适宜参加战争，这就是蔑视而不是忽视可能出现的坏结局的能力。如果对别人怀着过多的责任感，或者不得不执行计划不周或设想不当的任务，这种能力就会被抵销，因为在这些事情上坏结局和失败是不应忽视的。这还不单是可能损害自己的问题，这是可。忽视的。他知道他个人无足轻重，死亡无足轻重。他确实认识到这一点，就象他确实知道别的事情一样。在最后的几天里，他明白他自己和另外一个人一起就等于一切了。但是他心里知道这是个例外。他想。我们经历过了。就这方面来说，我是最最幸运的，我所以被给与这一切，也许就是因为我从没争取过吧。这是无法夺走，也不会丢失的。但是在今天早晨，这一切都过去了，结束了，现在马上要干的就是我们的任务。 ①乔丹这时又在把巴勃罗比怍圣保罗　 　　你啊,他对自己说,我髙兴见到你重新得到了一度缺少的东西。可是你在那边表现得真糟。①我真为你羞愧。不过我就是你啊,我没有资格来评判你。我们俩的处境都很糟。你和我，我们俩都这样。得啦。别象双重性格的人般胡思乱想了。一个一个来吧。现在你又正常了。可是听着，你决不能再整天惦念着那姑娘了。你现在要保护她,除了别让她卷进战斗以外,别无他法，而你现在正在这样做。如果你相信种种迹象，显然会有很多马儿需要看管。你为她所能做的最好的事情，就是快些把桥炸掉,撤离此地,惦念着她只会妨碍你炸桥，所以别再想她了。得出了这个结论，他等玛丽亚跟比拉尔和拉斐尔牵着马走 　　“哏，漂亮的姑娘，”他在黑暗中对她说，“你好吗?”“我很好，罗伯托，”她说。 　　“什么也别愁。”他对她说-他把机熗移到左手里，伸出右手放在她肩上。 　　“我不愁，”她说。 　　“一切都安徘得很好，”他对她说。“拉斐尔和你一起看马。” 　　“我宁愿跟你在一起。” 　　“不。最需要你干的事是看马，“ 　　“好吧“她说。“我去。” 　　正在这时,有匹马嘶叫起来，下面空地上有匹马哨应着，声音穿过岩石的缺口传来,响得象一阵尖苈的断续的震颤声。罗伯特　乔丹看到前面黑魆魆的一群马。他赶紧走上前去跟巴勃罗一起来到馬群跟前。那些人正站在他们的坐骑旁边。“你们好，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“你好，”那些人在黑暗中回答。他看不清他们的脸。“这就是跟我们一伙的英国人，”巴勃罗说。〃爆硖手。“谁也不笞话。也许他们在黑暗中点头吧。“我们动身走吧，巴劫罗，”有一个人说。“天快亮了。”“你们带来了手榷弹吗?”另“个问。“有很多，”巴勃罗说。“等我们撇下了马儿，你们自己取用吧。” ①指潸霣和玛丽亚一起在睡袋中时思前想后，独自发愁，现在恢复了倌心，应该摆脱一切杂念，执行任务。 　　“那我们走吧，”另一个说。“我们在这儿等了半夜啦。” 　　"喂，比拉尔，”妇人走上前来的时候，另一个说。 　　“哎呀，那不是佩贝吗？”比拉尔声音嘶哑地说。“你好吗，羊倌?” 　　“好，”那人说。"还能凑合。” 　　“你骑的什么马？”比拉尔间他。 　　“巴勃罗的灰马。”那人说。“这匹马真带劲。” 　　“得啦，”另一个说。“我们走吧。在这里扯淡可不行。” 　　“你好啊，埃利西奥，”那人上马的时候，比拉尔对他说。 　　“我会好到哪里去？〃他粗魯地说。“走吧，大娘。我们忙着 呢。” 　　巴勃罗跨上了那匹大栗色马乡 　　“你们把嘴闭上，跟着我走。“他说。“我带你们到该下马步行的地方去。”

Chapter 38 They were in the cave and the men were standing before the fire Maria was fanning. Pilar had coffee ready in a pot. She had not gone back to bed at all since she had roused Robert Jordan and now she was sitting on a stool in the smoky cave sewing the rip in one of Jordan's packs. The other pack was already sewed. The firelight lit up her face. "Take more of the stew," she said to Fernando. "What does it matter if thy belly should be full? There is no doctor to operate if you take a goring." "Don't speak that way, woman," Agust said. "Thou hast the tongue of the great whore." He was leaning on the automatic rifle, its legs folded close against the fretted barrel, his pockets were full of grenades, a sack of pans hung from one shoulder, and a full bandolier of ammunition hung over the other shoulder. He was smoking a cigarette and he held a bowl of coffee in one hand and blew smoke onto its surface as he raised it to his lips. "Thou art a walking hardware store," Pilar said to him. "Thou canst not walk a hundred yards with all that." "_Qu?va_, woman," Agust said. "It is all downhill." "There is a climb to the post," Fernando said. "Before the downward slope commences." "I will climb it like a goat," Agust said. "And thy brother?" he asked Eladio. "Thy famous brother has mucked off?" Eladio was standing against the wall. "Shut up," he said. He was nervous and he knew they all knew it. He was always nervous and irritable before action. He moved from the wall to the table and began filling his pockets with grenades from one of the rawhide-covered panniers that leaned, open, against the table leg. Robert Jordan squatted by the pannier beside him. He reached into the pannier and picked out four grenades. Three were the oval Mill bomb type, serrated, heavy iron with a spring level held down in position by a cotter pin with pulling rig attached. "Where did these come from?" he asked Eladio. "Those? Those are from the Republic. The old man brought them." "How are they?" "_Valen  que pesan_," Eladio said. "They are worth a fortune apiece." "I brought those," Anselmo said. "Sixty in one pack. Ninety pounds, " "Have you used those?" Robert Jordan asked Pilar. "Qu?va have we used them?" the woman said. "It was with those Pablo slew the post at Otero." When she mentioned Pablo, Agust started cursing. Robert Jordan saw the look on Pilar's face in the firelight. "Leave it," she said to Agust sharply. "It does no good to talk." "Have they always exploded?" Robert Jordan held the graypainted grenade in his hand, trying the bend of the cotter pin with his thumbnail. "Always," Eladio said. "There was not a dud in any of that lot we used." "And how quickly?" "In the distance one can throw it. Quickly. Quickly enough." "And these?" He held up a soup-tin-shaped bomb, with a tape wrapping around a wire loop. "They are a garbage," Eladio told him. "They blow. Yes. But it is all flash and no fragments." "But do they always blow?" "_Qu?va_, always," Pilar said. "There is no always either with our munitions or theirs." "But you said the other always blew." "Not me," Pilar told him. "You asked another, not me. I have seen no _always_ in any of that stuff." "They all blew," Eladio insisted. "Speak the truth, woman." "How do you know they all blew?" Pilar asked him. "It was Pablo who threw them. You killed no one at Otero." "That son of the great whore," Agust began. "Leave it alone," Pilar said sharply. Then she went on. "They are all much the same.But the corrugated ones are more simple." I'd better use one of each on each set, Robert Jordan thought. But the serrated type will lash easier and more securely. "Are you going to be throwing bombs" Agust asked. "Why not?" Robert Jordan said. But crouched there, sorting out the grenades, what he was thinking was: it is impossible. How I could have deceived myself about it I do not know. We were as sunk when they attacked Sordo as Sordo was sunk when the snow stopped. It is that you can't accept it. You have to go on and make a plan that you know is impossible to carry out. You made it and now you know it is no good. It's no good, now, in the morning. You can take either of the posts absolutely O.K. with what you've got here. But you can't take them both. You can't be sure of it, I mean. Don't deceive yourself. Not when the daylight comes. Trying to take them both will never work. Pablo knew that all the time. I suppose he always intended to muck off but he knew we were cooked when Sordo was attacked. You can't base an operation on the presumption that miracles are going to happen. You will kill them all off and not even get your bridge blown if you have nothing better than what you have now. You will kill off Pilar, Anselmo, Agust, Primitivo, this jumpy Eladio, the worthless gypsy and old Fernando, and you won't get your bridge blown. Do you suppose there will be a miracle and Golz will get the message from  and stop it? If there isn't, you are going to kill them all off with those orders. Maria too. You'll kill her too with those orders. Can't you even get her out of it? God damn Pablo to hell, he thought. No. Don't get angry. Getting angry is as bad as getting scared. But instead of sleeping with your girl you should have ridden all night through these hills with the woman to try to dig up enough people to make it work. Yes, he thought. And if anything happened to me so I was not here to blow it. Yes. That. That's why you weren't out. And you couldn't send anybody out because you couldn't run a chance of losing them and being short one more. You had to keep what you had and make a plan to do it with them. But your plan stinks. It stinks, I tell you. It was a night plan and it's morning now. Night plans aren't any good in the morning. The way you think at night is no good in the morning. So now you know it is no good. What if John Mosby did get away with things as impossible as this? Sure he did. Much more difficult. And remember, do not undervaluate the element of surprise. Remember that. Remember it isn't goofy if you can make it stick. But that is not the way you are supposed to make it. You should make it not only possible but sure. But look at how it all has gone. Well, it was wrong in the first place and such things accentuate disaster as a snowball rolls up wet snow. He looked up from where he was squatted by the table and saw Maria and she smiled at him. He grinned back with the front of his face and selected four more grenades and put them in his pockets. I could unscrew the detonators and just use them, he thought. But I don't think the fragmentation will have any bad effect. It will come instantaneously with the explosion of the charge and it won't disperse it. At least, I don't think it will. I'm sure it won't. Have a little confidence, he told himself. And you, last night, thinking about how you and your grandfather were so terrific and your father was a coward. Show yourself a little confidence now. He grinned at Maria again but the grin was still no deeper than the skin that felt tight over his cheekbones and his mouth. She thinks you're wonderful, he thought. I think you stink. And the _gloria_ and all that nonsense that you had. You had wonderful ideas, didn't you? You had this world all taped, didn't you? The hell with all of that. Take it easy, he told himself. Don't get into a rage. That's just a way out too. There are always ways out. You've got to bite on the nail now. There isn't any need to deny everything there's been just because you are going to lose it. Don't be like some damned snake with a broken back biting at itself; and your back isn't broken either, you hound. Wait until you're hurt before you start to cry. Wait until the fight before you get angry. There's lots of time for it in a fight. It will be some use to you in a fight. Pilar came over to him with the bag. "It is strong now," she said. "Those grenades are very good,. You can have confidence in them." "How do you feel, woman?" She looked at him and shook her head and smiled. He wondered how far into her face the smile went. It looked deep enough. "Good," she said. "_Dentro de la gravedad_." Then she said, squatting by him, "How does it seem to thee now that it is really starting?" "That we are few," Robert Jordan said to her quickly. "To me, too," she said. "Very few." Then she said still to him alone, "The Maria can hold the horses by herself. I am not needed for that. We will hobble them. They are cavalry horses and the firing will not panic them. I will go to the lower post and do that which was the duty of Pablo. In this way we are one more." "Good," he said. "I thought you might wish to." "Nay," Pilar said looking at him closely. "Do not be worried. All will be well. Remember they expect no such thing to come to them." "Yes," Robert Jordan said. "One other thing," Pilar said as softly as her harsh whisper could be soft. "In that thing of the hand--" "What thing of the hand?" he said angrily. "Nay, listen. Do not be angry, little boy. In regard to that thing of the hand. That is all gypsy nonsense that I make to give myself an importance. There is no such thing." "Leave it alone," he said coldly. "Nay," she said harshly and lovingly. "It is just a lying nonsense that I make. I would not have thee worry in the day of battle." "I am not worried," Robert Jordan said. "Yes," she said. "Thou art very worried, for good cause. But all will be well. It is for this that we are born." "I don't need a political commissar," Robert Jordan told her. She smiled at him again, smiling fairly and truly with the harsh lips and the wide mouth, and said, "I care for thee very much." "I don't want that now," he said. "_Ni tu, ni Dios_." "Yes," Pilar said in that husky whisper. "I know. I only wished to tell thee. And do not worry. We will do all very well." "Why not?" Robert Jordan said and the very thinnest edge of the skin in front of his face smiled. "Of course we will. All will be well." "When do we go?" Pilar asked. Robert Jordan looked at his watch. "Any time," he said. He handed one of the packs to Anselmo. "How are you doing, old one?" he asked. The old man was finishing whittling the last of a pile of wedges he had copied from a model Robert Jordan had given him. These were extra wedges in case they should be needed. "Well," the old man said and nodded. "So far, very well." He held his hand out. "Look," he said and smiled. His hands were perfectly steady. "_Bueno, y qu?_" Robert Jordan said to him. "I can always keep the whole hand steady. Point with one finger." Anselmo pointed. The finger was trembling. He looked at Robert Jordan and shook his head. "Mine too," Robert Jordan showed him. "Always. That is normal." "Not for me," Fernando said. He put his right forefinger out to show them. Then the left forefinger. "Canst thou spit?" Agust asked him and winked at Robert Jordan. Fernando hawked and spat proudly onto the floor of the cave, then rubbed it in the dirt with his foot. "You filthy mule," Pilar said to him. "Spit in the fire if thou must vaunt thy courage." "I would not have spat on the floor, Pilar, if we were not leaving this place," Fernando said primly. "Be careful where you spit today," Pilar told him. "It may be some place you will not be leaving." "That one speaks like a black cat," Agust said. He had the nervous necessity to joke that is another form of what they all felt. "I joke," said Pilar. "Me too," said Agust. "But _me cago en la leche_, but I will be content when it starts." "Where is the gypsy?" Robert Jordan asked Eladio. "With the horses," Eladio said. "You can see him from the cave mouth." "How is he?" Eladio grinned. "With much fear," he said. It reassured him to speak of the fear of another. "Listen," Pilar began. Robert Jordan looked toward her and as he did he saw her mouth open and the unbelieving look come on her face and he swung toward the cave mouth reaching for his pistol. There, holding the blanket aside with one hand, the short automatic rifle muzzle with its flash-cone jutting above his shoulder, was Pablo standing short, wide, bristly-faced, his small red-rimmed eyes looking toward no one in particular. "Thou--" Pilar said to him unbelieving. "Thou." "Me," said Pablo evenly. He came into the cave. "_Hola, " he said. "I have five from the bands of Elias and Alejandro above with their horses." "And the exploder and the detonators?" Robert Jordan said. "And the other material?" "I threw them down the gorge into the river," Pablo said still looking at no one. "But I have thought of a way to detonate using a grenade." "So have I," Robert Jordan said. "Have you a drink of anything?" Pablo asked wearily. Robert Jordan handed him the flask and he swallowed fast, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "What passes with you?" Pilar asked. "_Nada_," Pablo said, wiping his mouth again. "Nothing. I have come back." "But what?" "Nothing. I had a moment of weakness. I went away but I am come back." He turned to Robert Jordan. "_En el fondo no soy cobarde_," he said. "At bottom I am not a coward." But you are very many other things, Robert Jordan thought. Damned if you're not. But I'm glad to see you, you son of a bitch. "Five was all I could get from Elias and Alejandro," Pablo said. "I have ridden since I left here. Nine of you could never have done it. Never. I knew that last night when the explained it. Never. There are seven men and a corporal at the lower post. Suppose there is an alarm or that they fight?" He looked at Robert Jordan now. "When I left I thought you would know that it was impossible and would give it up. Then after I had thrown away thy material I saw it in another manner." "I am glad to see thee," Robert Jordan said. He walked over to him. "We are all right with the grenades. That will work. The other does not matter now." "Nay," Pablo said. "I do nothing for thee. Thou art a thing of bad omen. All of this comes from thee. Sordo also. But after I had thrown away thy material I found myself too lonely." "Thy mother--" Pilar said. "So I rode for the others to make it possible for it to be successful. I have brought the best that I could get. I have left them at the top so I could speak to you, first. They think I am the leader." "Thou art," Pilar said. "If thee wishes." Pablo looked at her and said nothing. Then he said simply and quietly, "I have thought much since the thing of Sordo. I believe if we must finish we must finish together. But thou. I hate thee for bringing this to us." "But Pablo--" Fernando, his pockets full of grenades, a bandolier of cartridges over his shoulder, he still wiping in his pan of stew with a piece of bread, began. "Do you not believe the operation can be successful? Night before last you said you were convinced it would be." "Give him some more stew," Pilar said viciously to Maria. Then to Pablo, her eyes softening, "So you have come back, eh?" "Yes, woman," Pablo said. "Well, thou art welcome," Pilar said to him. "I did not think thou couldst be the ruin thou appeared to be." "Having done such a thing there is a loneliness that cannot be borne," Pablo said to her quietly. "That cannot be borne," she mocked him. "That cannot be borne by thee for fifteen minutes." "Do not mock me, woman. I have come back." "And thou art welcome," she said. "Didst not hear me the first time? Drink thy coffee and let us go. So much theatre tires me." "Is that coffee?" Pablo asked. "Certainly," Fernando said. "Give me some, Maria," Pablo said. "How art thou?" He did not look at her. "Well," Maria told him and brought him a bowl of coffee. "Do you want stew?" Pablo shook his head. "_No me gusta estar solo_," Pablo went on explaining to Pilar as though the others were not there. "I do not like to be alone. _Sabes?_ Yesterday all day alone working for the good of all I was not lonely. But last night. _Hombre!_ _Qu?mal lo pas?_" "Thy predecessor the famous Judas Iscariot hanged himself," Pilar said. "Don't talk to me that way, woman," Pablo said. "Have you not seen? I am back. Don't talk of Judas nor nothing of that. I am back." "How are these people thee brought?" Pilar asked him. "Hast brought anything worth bringing?" "_Son buenos_," Pablo said. He took a chance and looked at Pilar squarely, then looked away. "_Buenos y bobos_. Good ones and stupids. Ready to die and all. _A tu gusto_. According to thy taste. The way you like them." Pablo looked Pilar in the eyes again and this time he did not look away. He kept on looking at her squarely with his small, redrimmed pig eyes. "Thou," she said and her husky voice was fond again. "Thou. I suppose if a man has something once, always something of it remains." "_Listo_," Pablo said, looking at her squarely and flatly now. "I am ready for what the day brings." "I believe thou art back," Pilar said to him. "I believe it. But, hombre, thou wert a long way gone." "Lend me another swallow from thy bottle," Pablo said to Robert Jordan. "And then let us be going." 　　大家都在山洞里,男的站在炉灶前,玛丽亚在扇火　比拉尔已经煮好了一壶咖啡。她叫醒罗伯特　乔丹以后回去根本没睡过，这时正在这烟雾腾腾的山洞里，坐在爱子上，缝着乔丹一个背包上的裂口。另一个已经缝好。炉火照亮了她的脸。 　　“再吃些炖肉吧，”她对费尔南多说。“你肚子装满了，就无所谓啦。即使给牛角挑了，也没有医生动手术啊。” 　　“别说这种话，大娘，”奥古斯丁说。“你有条老婊子的舌头。” 　　他身子支在自动步熗上，熗脚架折起来貼着有网状散热孔的熗简，口袋里塞满了手棺弹，一只肩上背着一袋子弹盘，另一只肩上背着满满一条子弹带。他正在抽烟,一手拿着一碗咖啡，把碗举到屏边，在咖啡面上喷了一口烟。 　　“你变成一另活动五金店了，”比拉尔对他说。“带了这些东西,你走不到一百码远。” 　　“什么话，大娘。”奥古斯丁说。“一路都是下坡路嘛，““开始下坡之前。”费尔南多说，“哨所那儿有一段上坡路。” 　　“我会象山羊那样爬上去的。”奥古斯丁说。“你的兄弟呢?〃他问埃拉迪奥。“你那了不起的兄弟溜号了埃拉迪奥正靠墒站着” 　　“住口。”他说。 　　他神经很紧张，他明白大家都知道这个。行动前，他总是神经紧张而焦矂不安。他从墙边走到桌边，开始往自己衣袋里装手櫥弹；盛手榴弹的驮篮揭开了生皮盖,靠在桌子的一只脚旁。罗伯特‘乔丹挨着驮篮，蹲在他身边。他伸手到驮篮里拿了四顆手榴弹，有三親是椭圆形的、有祺盘格凹纹的米尔斯型手榴弹①，厚实的铁壳上端有一根用开尾销扣住的弹簧杆和拉环。 　　“这些手榴弹从哪儿来的？”他问埃拉迪奥。“这些吗？是从共和国搞来的。老头子捎来的，““好使吗？” 　　“分量挺重，不过挺管用，”埃拉迪奥说。“个个都是宝。”“是我捎来的，”安塞尔莫说。“一袋装六十颗。九十磅重,英国人。” 　　“你们用过这种手榴弹吗？〃罗伯特‘乔丹问比拉尔。“我们怎么没有用过？”妇人说。“巴勃罗就是用这种手榴弹干掉在奥特罗的哨所的。" 　　她一提到巴勃罗，奥古斯丁就破口大骂。罗伯特　乔丹在炉灶的火光中看到了比拉尔脸上的表情。 　　“别讲这个了。”比拉尔尖刻地对奥古斯丁说。“挂在嘴上没 田。” 　　“手榴弹准能爆炸吗。”罗伯特，乔丹握着一颗漆成灰色的手榴弹，用大拇指甲试试开尾销是不是结实。 　　“准能。”埃拉迪奥说。“我们用过的那一批中间没有一个瞎的。” 　　“爆炸快不快？” 　　“扔到之前不会爆炸。不过够快的。”“那么这些呢?” 　　他举起一只食品罐头形的手榴弹，拉环用一条带子绑着　 ①因发明家英国人威廉‘米尔斯爵士而得名，…九一五年由协约国军队在笫一次世界大战中首次使用。 　　“这些是废物"埃拉迪奥对他说。“会炸。不错。但是只有火,没有弹片。” 　　“可是准能炸吗。” 　　“哪有准能的事，”比拉尔说。“我们的军火也好，他们的军火也好，没有十拿十稳的。” 　　“坷是你刚才说那一种稳炸。〃 　　我没说过。”比拉尔对他说。“你问的是别人,不是我。我没见过有哪一种货色是卞字十寧的。” 　　“全都能炸。”埃拉迪　　坚持说。“说实话吧，大娘“你怎么知道全都能炸?”出拉尔问他。“扔这些手榴弹的人是巴勃罗。你在奥特罗没杀过人。”“那老婊子养的。”奥古斯丁开口说。“别说了。”比拉尔斩钉截铁地说。她接着说，"这些手櫥弹都差不多，英国人。有纹槽的手榴弹使起来要简单些。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹想我还是每一扎里每种用一颗吧。不过那有凹纹的扎起来容易些，稳当些。 　　“你打算扔手棺弹吗，英国人?”奥古斯丁问。“干吗不?”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　他蹲在那儿拣手榴弹，但是想的却是。”这不行明。我怎么可以在这事情上骗自己呢，这我不明白。敌人攻打“聋子”时我们感到沮丧，就象雪停时“聋子”感到沮丧一样厉害。这就是你所不愿正视的。你不得不千下去，制订了一个自己明知道没法完成的计划。你制订了个计划,而现在你明白这是没用的。唉，在这早燥是没用的。你能用现有的力量攻占两个哨所的哪一个都行，绝对不成问題，可是你没法同时攻占两个。我的意思是说，你是没有把握的。别骗自。啦，黎明快来临了，别骗自己啦， 　　想把那两个哨所都拿下来是根本不行的。巴勃穸始终明白这一点。我看他是一直打算开小差的，但是当“聋子”逭到攻击的时候，他明白我们完蛋了，你不能把行动计划建筑在可能出现奇迹的假想基础上。如果你没有比现在更好的条件，你会使他们全都栖牲，甚至桥也炸不成。你会使他们全都牺牲，比拉尔、安塞尔莫、奥古斯丁、普里米蒂伏、这个神经质的埃拉迪奥、废物吉膂赛人以及费尔南多,而你的桥还是炸不掉。你以为将出现奇迹，戈尔兹会收到了安德烈斯的信件,停止进攻？如果不出现奇迹的话，你这些命令将叫他们全都送命，玛丽亚也在内。这些命令会叫她也送命。你连她也解救不了吗？巴勃罗真该死，他想。不，别发脾气了，发脾气象吓破胆一样粮糕。不过，你原不该和你的情人睡觉，而应该跟那个女人骑了马整夜到这山区各地去物色足够的人马来使事情办成。他想,是锕,如果我这一来遭到不测，我就不能在这儿炸桥了。是柯，就是这个问题。这就是你不去别处的原因。你也不能派别人出去，因为你不能冒损失人手的危险,以致再少一个人。你必须保持现有的力量,根据它来制订行动计划。 　　可是你的计划糟透了。粮透了，我对你说呀。这是夜间制订的计划，而现在已是早晨。夜间制订的计划在早晨用不上。你晚上的想法在早晟是没用的。你现在总算明白了，这是没用的。 　　约翰，莫斯比曾侥幸办成过同样几乎不可能办成的事情①，那又怎么样呢？他当然办成过，尽管困难得多。记住啦，别低估突然袭击的作用。记住这一点。记住啦，如果你能坚持到底,那不算蠹。可是这不是你应该采用的方法。你应该使它不仅成为可能而且可靠。可是瞧瞧情况已经发展到了什么地步吧。唉，事情一开头就错了，这种情況加强了灾难的程度，就象湿雪地上滚雪球那样。 　　他蹲在桌边,抬头望去，望见了玛丽亚,她在对他傲笑。他也朝她露齿笑笑，但这笑意只停留在表面上。他再挑了四颗手榴弹，放进衣袋。我可以扭松手榴弹中的雷管，就拿它来引爆，他想。手榴弹壳爆裂不会引起不良的后果。掸壳一爆裂,立刻就能引爆炸药包,不会使炸药包飞散。至少我认为不会飞散。我肯定不会飞散。①他对自已说,要有点信心。你啊，昨夜你还在想，你和你祖父多么了不起，而你父亲却是个懦夫，现在显出一点信心来吧。 　　他又饍齿对玛丽亚笑笑，伹这一笑仅仅绷紧了颧骨和嘴边的皮肤，这笑意仍然只停留在表面上。 　　她认为你了不起呢，他想。我看你糟透了。还有那神妙的境界跟你那一派胡扯，全都糟透了。你有着了不起的想法，是不？你算彻底了解这个世界了，是不？这一切都见鬼去吧。 　　别焦媒，他对自己说。别发脾气了。发脾气无非也是一种出路。出路总是有的。你现在不得不解决最棘手的事啦。没有必要只因你将失去现有的一切而否定它。别象一条断了脊梁的该死的蛇那样噬啮自己　再说,你的脊梁并没有断,你这条猎狗。等你受了伤再开始哀叫吧。等战斗打响了你再发怒吧。战斗中有的是时间可以发怒。这在战斗中对你倒有点儿用处。比拉尔拿着背包走到他跟前。 ①因为背包里的引壜器、雷管和火幘等物都被巴勃罗偷掉了，乔丹只能考虑把手榷弹扎在安在桥面下关键地点的炸药包上，然后把一大卷漆包线的—端系在手榷弹的拉环上，从桥面上柄挢堍走，一路上放出漆包线，到离桥相当距离的地点,到时侯只消一拉，就能使手榴弹引壜炸药包。但他又怕弹壳炸裂吋，把炸药包一起炸飞了,抟在河里,不能把桥一炸两断， 　　“现在结实了，”她说。“这些手榴弹很好,英国人。你可以信得过它们。” 　　“你觉得怎样，大娘？” 　　她望着他，摇摇头，笑笑。他不知道她这一笑有多深,看来是够深的。 　　“不错，”她说。“还能凑合，“ 　　她接着蹲在他身旁,说现在真要动手了，你觉得怎么样?”“我们的人太少。”罗伯特‘乔丹马上对她说。“我也这样想。”她说。“太少了。”接着她仍对他一个人说，“玛丽亚能独个儿管马，不用我管这个了。我们可以把马脚拴住。这些马是骑兵队的，听到熗声不会受惊。我去对付下面的那个哨所，去承担巴勃罗的任务。这样我们就多一个人啦。” 　　〃好。”他说。“我早想到你可能有这打算。”“不,英国人。”比拉尔目不转睛地望着他。“别发愁。一切都会顺利的。你得记住，他们不会料到将发生这种事。”“对。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。 　　“还有一件事，英国人，”比拉尔用她那粗哑的矂音尽量温和地小声说。“至于手的事一”“什么手的事?”他恼怒地说。 　　“不,听着。别生气，小兄弟。至于手相的事情,那全是吉普赛人的胡扯　我拿它来抬髙自己罢了。哪有这种事呢。”“别谈这个了。”他冷冰冰地说。 　　“不,她粗哑而亲切地说。”我的话只是骗人的胡扯。今天荽打仗,希望你别发愁。” 　　“我不愁，”罗伯特，乔丹说。 　　“不对，英国人，”她说。“你很愁,这不是没道理的。不过一切都会顺利的，英国人。我们生来就是为了干这一个的啊。”“我不需要政治委员，”罗伯特　乔丹对她说。她对他又笑了笑，她那粗厚的嘴唇和咧开的大嘴带着一个好看而真挚的笑容,她说。”我很軎欢你,英国人。” 　　“我现在不需要这个，”他说。“既不要你,也不要上帝。”“要。”比拉尔用粗哑的声音小声说。“我知道。我只不过想对你说说罢了。别发愁。我们一切都会干得很顺利的。” 　　“当然啦，”罗伯特　乔丹淡淡一笑说。“我们当然会这祥的。一切都会顺利的。” 　　“我们什么时侯出发?”比拉尔问。罗伯特　乔丹看了看表。“随时都可以出发。”他说。他把一个背包递给安塞尔莫。〃你准备得怎么样了，老头子”他问。老头儿根据罗伯特‘乔丹给他的样品，削了一堆木楔,即将削好最后一个。这些額外的木楔是以防万一的。 　　“好。”老头儿说着,点点头。“到现在为止，都很好。”他伸出—只手来。“瞧，”他说,微镦一笑。他的手一点也不抖。 　　“好,那又怎么样？”罗伯特　乔丹对他说。“整个手不抖，我总是办得到，你伸出一个指头试试。” 　　安塞尔莫伸出一个指头。指头在抖。他望着罗伯特‘乔丹,“我也这样，”罗伯特　乔丹伸出一个指头给他看。"总是这样。那是正常的。” 　　“我可不是这样，”费尔南多说。他伸出右手的食指,给他们看,然后伸出左手的食指。 　　“你能啐出唾沫来吗?”奥古斯丁问他，对罗伯特，乔丹眨眨眼　 　　费尔南多咳了一声,骄傲地朝山洞的地上晬了一口，然后用脚在泥地上擦掉。 　　“你这头脏骡子，”比拉尔对他说。“你一定要逞英雄的话,往炉火里啐嘛。〃 　　“如果我们不打算离开这里，比拉尔，我就不会啐在地上了“费尔南多一本正经地说。 　　“留神你今天啐唾沫的地方。”比拉尔对他说，“说不定正是你离不开的地方。〃 　　“这个人老是说丧气话。”奥古斯丁说。他用玩笑来掩饰紧张,这正是他们大伙儿共同的心情。“我是说笑话，”比拉尔说。 　　“我也是，”奥古斯丁说。“可操他奶奶的,要等到动了手，我才心安理得稞。” 　　“吉普赛人在哪儿?”罗伯特　乔丹问埃拉迪奥。“跟马在一起，”埃拉迪奥说。“你从洞口望得到他。”“他怎么啦” 　　埃拉迪奥撂齿笑笑。“害怕极了。”他说。谈到别人的害怕，使他感到安心。 　　“听,英国人~”比拉尔开口说。罗伯特“乔丹朝她望去，只见她张开了嘴，脸上露出一副诧异的神色　他一边伸手拔手熗,一边飞快地转身对着洞口。洞口站着一个人，他一手拉开毽子，短自动步熗的锥形熗口露出在肩胛上面；这个人又矮又宽,满脸胡子，眼脸发红，一双小眼睛茫茫然地不知在望着谁。正是巴勃罗。 　　“你一”比拉尔诧异地对他说。“你。”“我，”巴勃罗不卑不亢地说。他走进山洞。“喂，英国人，”他说。〃我把埃利亚斯和亚历杭德罗队里的五个弟兄和他们的马带来了。” 　　“引爆器和雷管呢？”罗伯特　乔丹说。“还有别的东西呢?”“我扔到峡谷下面的河里去了，”巴勃罗还是茫茫然地不知在望着谁。“不过我想出了一个用手描弹引爆的办法，““我也想到了。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你有什么酒吗?”巴勃罗疲倦地问他。罗伯特　乔丹递给他那个扁瓶子,他急急地喝着，然后用手背抹抹嘴。 　　“你是怎么回事?”比拉尔问。 　　“没什么。”巴勃罗说,又抹抹嘴。“没什么。我回来了。”“那到底怎么回事?” 　　“没什么。我一时软弱。我走了，可我现在回来了。　他转身对罗伯特　乔丹说，“其实我不是胆小鬼，“可你何止是个胆小鬼，罗伯特。乔丹想。你不是才怪呢。可是我见到你很高兴，你这个婊子养的。 　　“从埃利亚斯和亚历杭德罗那儿我只能搞到五个人。”巴勃罗说。“我离开了这儿，一直骑着马奔走。你们九个人是绝对应付不了的。绝对不行。英国人昨晚讲的时候我就明白，绝对不行。下面的哨所里有七个士兵和一个班长，要是有蕾报器，或者他们拚命抵抗呢?” 　　他这时打量着罗伯特，乔丹。“我走的时候想，你会明白这是不行的,你就会撤手不干。后来我扔掉了你的器材后,对这件事倒另有一番想法了。” 　　“我见到你很髙兴。”罗伯特，乔丹说。他走到他身边。“我们有手榴弹。那也能行。别的东西无关紧要。” 　　“唉。”巴勃罗说。“我不为你干。你是个恶兆头。这一切都出在你身上。‘聋子’送命也是由于你。不过，我扔掉你的东西后,觉得自己太孤单了。”“你的妈一”比拉尔说。 　　“所以我骑了马去找人，想能不能把这次袭击摘成功。我把能找到的最棒的人找来了。我把他们留在山头上，好让我先来跟你谈谈。他们以为我是头头哪。” 　　“你荽想当头头的诺，”比拉尔说，“你是头头。”巴勃罗望着她，一句话也没有。他接着直截了当地悄声说，“‘聲子’出事以后，我想得很多。我看嗶，如果我们不得不完蛋的话，就一起完蛋吧。可是你啊,英国人。我恨你给我们带来这厄运。” 　　“不过，巴勃罗一”费尔南多开口说。他衣袋里装满了手榴弹，一个肩上背着一条子弹带,他还在用一块面包抹他盘子里的肉汁。“你认为这一仗不会打赢？可前天晚上你说过你相信会打赢的。” 　　“再给他些炖肉，”比拉尔恶狠狠地对玛丽亚说，然后眼色变得温柔些，对巴勃罗说。”你到底回来了，呃。”“是啊，太太，”巴勃罗说　 　　“好，欢迎你，”比拉尔对他说。"我原想你还不至于堕落到那种地步。” 　　“这次出走了，叫人感到孤单得受不了，”巴勃罗悄悄地对她 说。 　　“那种事叫你受不了。”她嘲笑他。“十五分钟就叫你受不了“别取笑我，太太。我回来啦。” 　　“欢迎你。”她说。“刚才我不是已经说了吗？喝了啪啡，我们走。这么做作叫我厌烦了。”“那是咖啡吗?”巴勃罗问。"当然罗，”费尔南多说。 　　“给我一些，玛丽亚，”巴勃罗说。“你好吗？”他看都不对她 　　“好，”玛丽亚对他说，端给他一碗咖啡。“你要炖肉吗？”巴勃罗摇摇头。 　　“独个儿真不是滋味呀，”巴勃罗继续向比拉尔解释，好象在场的只有他们两个人。“我不喜欢孤单单的。明白吗？昨天一整天我为大家的利益做事，不觉得孤单。可是昨天晚上哪。好家伙真不好受啊！” 　　加略人犹大，你的臭名昭著的老袓宗，最后是上吊自尽的①。”比拉尔说。 　　别这　样跟我说话,太太，”巴勃罗说。“我回来了,你没着见吗？别讲犹大什么的了，我回来了。” 　　“你带来的是些什么人?”比拉尔问他。“带来的人可顶用都是好汉，”巴勃罗说。他趁机正面对她望了一眼，然后望着别处。 ①耶稣十二门徒之一犹大为了三十块银洋，把耶稣出实给罗马统治者。等到耶稣狻定了死罪，犹大后悔了。他　把那三十块钱，拿回来给祭司长和长老说，我卖了无華之人的血，是有罪了。他们说，那与我们有什么相干，你自己承当吧。犹大就把那银钱丢在殿里，出去吊死了。”（见‘圣轻㈣马太禰者、第二十七鞏苐三到五节） 　　“好汉和傻子。准备送死就是了。配你口味的。你軎欢的就是这种人，“ 　　巴勃罗又朝她的哏睛望着，这次不再往别处看了。他那双眼睑通红的小小的渚眼直盯着她。 　　“你呀，”她说,她那粗哑的声音又变得亲热了。“你呀。我看一个男人有过一点骨气的话，是永远不会完全丢掉的。” 　　“准备好了。”巴劫罗说，这时直瞪瞪地盯着她。“不论今天怎么样，我都准备好啦。” 　　“我相信你回心转意了。”比拉尔对他说。“我相信，“。不过，你啊，去的时间可不短軻。” 　　“你瓶里的再让我喝一口。”巴勃罗对罗伯特　乔丹说　“然后我们动身吧。”

Chapter 37 Now Robert Jordan lay with the girl and he watched time passing on his wrist. It went slowly, almost imperceptibly, for it was a small watch and he could not see the second hand. But as he watched the minute hand he found he could almost check its motion with his concentration. The girl's head was under his chin and when he moved his head to look at the watch he felt the cropped head against his cheek, and it was as soft but as alive and silkily rolling as when a marten's fur rises under the caress of your hand when you spread the trap jaws open and lift the marten clear and, holding it, stroke the fur smooth. His throat swelled when his cheek moved against Maria's hair and there was a hollow aching from his throat all through him as he held his arms around her; his head dropped, his eyes close to the watch where the lance-pointed, luminous splinter moved slowly up the left face of the dial. He could see its movement clearly and steadily now and he held Maria close now to slow it. He did not want to wake her but he could not leave her alone now in this last time and he put his lips behind her ear and moved them up along her neck, feeling the smooth skin and the soft touch of her hair on them. He could see the hand moving on the watch and he held her tighter and ran the tip of his tongue along her cheek and onto the lobe of her ear and along the lovely convolutions to the sweet, firm rim at the top, and his tongue was trembling. He felt the trembling run through all of the hollow aching and he saw the hand of the watch now mounting in sharp angle toward the top where the hour was. Now while she still slept he turned her head and put his lips to hers. They lay there, just touching lightly against the sleep-firm mouth and he swung them softly across it, feeling them brush lightly. He turned himself toward her and he felt her shiver along the long, light lovely body and then she sighed, sleeping, and then she, still sleeping, held him too and then, unsleeping, her lips were against his firm and hard and pressing and he said, "But the pain." And she said, "Nay, there is no pain." "Rabbit." "Nay, speak not." "My rabbit." "Speak not. Speak not." Then they were together so that as the hand on the watch moved, unseen now, they knew that nothing could ever happen to the one that did not happen to the othei that no other thing could happen more than this; that this was all and always; this was what had been and now and whatever was to come. This, that they were not to have, they were having. They were having now and before and always and now and now and now. Oh, now, now, now, the only now, and above all now, and there is no other now but thou now and now is thy prophet. Now and forever now. Come now, now, for there is no now but now. Yes, now. Now, please now, only now, not anything else only this now, and where are you and where am I and where is the other one, and not why, not ever why, only this now; and on and always please then always now, always now, for now always one now; one only one, there is no other one but one now, one, going now, rising now, sailing now, leaving now, wheeling now, soaring now, away now, all the way now, all of all the way now; one and one is one, is one, is one, is one, is still one, is still one, is one descendingly, is one softly, is one longingly, is one kindly, is one happily, is one in goodness, is one to cherish, is one now on earth with elbows against the cut and slept-on branches of the pine tree with the smell of the pine boughs and the night; to earth conclusively now, and with the morning of the day to come. Then he said, for the other was only in his head and he had said nothing, "Oh, Maria, I love thee and I thank thee for this." Maria said, "Do not speak. It is better if we do not speak." "I must tell thee for it is a great thing." "Nay." "Rabbit--" But she held him tight and turned her head away and he asked softly, "Is it pain, rabbit?" "Nay," she said. "It is that I am thankful too to have been another time in _la gloria_." Then afterwards they lay quiet, side by side, all length of ankle, thigh, hip and shoulder touching, Robert Jordan now with the watch where he could see it again and Maria said, "We have had much good fortune." "Yes," he said, "we are people of much luck." "There is not time to sleep?" "No," he said, "it starts soon now." "Then if we must rise let us go to get something to eat." "All right." "Thou. Thou art not worried about anything?" "No." "Truly?" "No. Not now." "But thou hast worried before?" "For a while." "Is it aught I can help?" "Nay," he said. "You have helped enough." "That? That was for me." "That was for us both," he said. "No one is there alone. Come, rabbit, let us dress." But his mind, that was his best companion, was thinking La Gloria. She said La Gloria. It has nothing to do with glory nor La Gloire that the French write and speak about. It is the thing that is in the Cante Hondo and in the Saetas. It is in Greco and in San Juan de la Cruz, of course, and in the others. I am no mystic, but to deny it is as ignorant as though you denied the telephone or that the earth revolves around the sun or that there are other planets than this. How little we know of what there is to know. I wish that I were going to live a long time instead of going to die today because I have learned much about life in these four days; more, I think, than in all the other time. I'd like to be an old man and to really know. I wonder if you keep on learning or if there is only a certain amount each man can understand. I thought I knew about so many things that I know nothing of. I wish there was more time. "You taught me a lot, _guapa_," he said in English. "What did you say?" "I have learned much from thee." "_Qu?va_," she said, "it is thou who art educated." Educated, he thought. I have the very smallest beginnings of an education. The very small beginnings. If I die on this day it is a waste because I know a few things now. I wonder if you only learn them now because you are oversensitized because of the shortness of the time? There is no such thing as a shortness of time, though. You should have sense enough to know that too. I have been all my life in these hills since I have been here. Anselmo is my oldest friend. I know him better than I know Charles, than I know Chub, than I know Guy, than I know Mike, and I know them well. Agust, with his vile mouth, is my brother, and I never had a brother. Maria is my true love and my wife. I never had a true love. I never had a wife. She is also my sister, and I never had a sister, and my daughter, and I never will have a daughter. I hate to leave a thing that is so good. He finished tying his rope-soled shoes. "I find life very interesting," he said to Maria. She was sitting beside him on the robe, her hands clasped around her ankles. Some one moved the blanket aside from the entrance to the cave and they both saw the light. It was night still and here was no promise of morning except that as he looked up through the pines he saw how low the stars had swung. The morning would be coming fast now in this month. "Roberto," Maria said. "Yes, _guapa_." "In this of today we will be together, will we not?" "After the start, yes." "Not at the start?" "No. Thou wilt be with the horses." "I cannot be with thee?" "No. I have work that only I can do and I would worry about thee." "But you will come fast when it is done?" "Very fast," he said and grinned in the dark. "Come, _guapa_, let us go and eat." "And thy robe?" "Roll it up, if it pleases thee." "It pleases me," she said. "I will help thee." "Nay. Let me do it alone." She knelt to spread and roll the robe, then changed her mind and stood up and shook it so it flapped. Then she knelt down again to straighten it and roll it. Robert Jordan picked up the two packs, holding them carefully so that nothing would spill from the slits in them, and walked over through the pines to the cave mouth where the smoky blanket hung. It was ten minutes to three by his watch when he pushed the blanket aside with his elbow and went into the cave. 　　罗伯特　乔丹和姑娘一起躺着，他注视着手表，等时间过去。时闾缓慢地、几乎难以觉察地在过去,因为那是只小表，他看不到秒针-但是，他注视着分针，全抻贯注地看着,竟发现简直能觉察到它在走动。姑娘的头贴在他下巴下，他转过头来看表，感觉到她头上的頰发擦着他的脸颊，这短发象貂皮一般柔软，富有活力，滑溜地起伏，正如你松开夹住貂的捕醫机，解脱了它，抱在手里抚换它，光滑的毛抚平以后又翘起来。他脸頰擦藿玛丽亚的头发，喉咙哽塞起来了。他双臂搂着1喉头产生“种落寞的痈楚之感，贯穿着全身;他垂下了头，眼睛凑近表面，只见又尖又亮的针在表面的左半部朝上缓缓移动。他能看清楚它不停地移动着,他这时搂紧了玛丽亚，想延迟时间的进程，他不想弄醒她，但又不能放过这最后一次机会，让她一个人待着,于是他把嘴唇贴在她耳朵后,顒着她的脖子朝上移，感到皮肤滑溜溜的,上面的汗毛怪柔软的。他看到手表上的针在走动，于是更紧地搂着她,舌尖沿着她的脸颊一直移到她耳垂上,沿着那曲线优美的耳轮直移到可爱而饱满的顶部边缘，他的舌头在颤抖。他感觉到这一阵颤抖贯穿了那落寞的痛楚之感，他看到表上的分针朝上移，和时针成了一个小锐角,快到点了。她仍没雇来，于是他转过她的头，把自己的嘴唇贴上去。他们躺在那儿，他只是轻柔地吻着她在睡梦中的丰满的嘴唇，他温柔地在上面吻着，感到嘴蹲取嘴蹲微微地摩擦着，他转身向着她，感到她那颀长而轻盈可爱的身体在麵抖，接着她在睡梦中喘了口气，接着还是在睡梦中也搂住了他,接着她醒过来’嘴唇使劲而着力地贴上他的嘴,于是他说,“你要感到痛的。〃她说，“不，不痛。”“兔子，“　不，别说话。” 　　"我的兔子。” 。” 　　“别说话。别说话。” 　　于是他们合而为一了，这样，尽管表上的针仍在走动，但是没人看了，这时候他们知道，一个人没有的感受另一个也不会有,此外再没别的感觉了逾是永恒的过去、现在、将来，都是这样。他们现在正在享受的是他们将来不可能再享受的事。他们现在享有，过去享有,一直享有，伹主要是现在，现在，现在，舸，现在,现在，现在，唯有现在，首先是现在，除了你这个现在,没有别的现在，而现在是你的先知。。现在,永远是现在。来吧,现在,因为除了现在只有现在。是軻，现在。现在来吧，只有现在，除了现在什么都不存在，你在这儿，我在这儿，一个在这儿,另一个也在这儿，别问为什么，永远别问，只有这现在；一直下去，但愿永远是现在，永远是现在,因为永远只有一个现在　只有现在,只有一个，除了一个现在没有别的，一个，现在在进行，在升腾，在漂流，在离去，在盘旋，在翱翔，在消失，一直在消失,不停地消失；一个加一个等于一个,一个,一个,一个,还是-个，还是一个，下沉地在一起，温柔地在“起，渴望地在一起，亲切地在一起，幸福地在一起，畚良地在一起，宠爱地在一起,一起伏在土地上，胳膊肘支在砍下来当床睡的松枝上，散发着松枝和夜的气息；现在终于回到了大地上，清臊即将来临。这些想法只在他的头脑里，他一点也没透露出来，他说的是:“啊，玛丽亚,我爱你，我为这感谢你。” ①乔丹在这里套用了伊斯兰教创始人穆罕默德的名言。”　除了安拉没有别的神，而穆罕默德是他的先知。” 　　玛丽亚说，“别说话。我们还是不说话的好。”“我必须跟你说，因为这太美了。”“不。” 　　“兔子一” 　　但是她紧紧搂住他，扭过头去，他就温柔地问，“痛吗，兔 子。” 　　“不，”她说。“我又进入了神妙的境界,我也很感澉。”事后，他俩静狰地并排躺着，脚踝、大腿、脣部和肩膀都挨在一起,罗伯特，乔丹这时又看得到他的表了，这时玛丽亚说，“我们的运气真好。” 　　“是的，”他说。“我们是很幸运的人。”“没有时间睡觉了？”“没有了，”他说,“马上就要开始了。”“那么，如果非起来不可,我们去搞些吃的吧。”“好啊。” 　　“你。你不为什么发愁吧?”“不愁。”“真的？” 　　“不愁。现在不。” 　　“可你刚才在发愁, 　　“有一会儿 　　“我能帮点忙吗？” 　　“不。”他说。“你已经帮了大忙。” 　　“是那个吗？那是为了我呀，“ 　　“那是为了我们俩。”他说。“不是一个人的事。来,兔子,我们穿衣服吧。” 　　但是他的心,他最好的伴侣，正在思量那神妙的境界。她说过神妙的境界。这和英语中的光荣和法国人所写所说的荣耀没有共同之处①。这是西班牙民歌②和唱经③里的东西。这种境界当然也在画家格列柯和诗人圣胡安，德拉克鲁斯以及其他作家的作品中存在着。我不是神秘主义者,伹如果否认它的存在，就等于象否认电话,否认地球绕太阳旋转，或者世间还有别的行星一样无知。 　　我们对于该知道的东西知道得真少啊。但應我能活一个长时期，不要今天就死，因为我在这四天中学到了很多人生真谛， ①实际上这个词在英语和法语中眼西班牙语中一样，都猓出同样的拉，“询，“，因此也可以作“神妙的塊界、极乐世界,的解释。这里作者用的西班牙语词儿是大写的，专门意昧着“神妙的境界 ②原文为，特指西班牙南邹安达卢西亚地区的民歌，节奏单调、音调优郁深沉，带有吉苷赛风味。 ③原文为，为安达卢西亚地区在复活节前一周中宗敉行列路过时信徒们诵吟的祷文- 　　依我看，比我半辈子学到的东西更多。我愿傲个老人，具有真知灼见。我不知道人是否能不断地学下去，还是只能获得一定量的知识。我自以为知道的东西很多,实在什么也不知道。我希望有更多的时间。 　　“你教了我很多东西，溧亮的姑娘。”他用英语说　“你在说什么？” 　　“我从你那儿学到很多东西。” 、 　　“哪里的话。”她说。“你才是受过教育的人。”他想,教育,我受的教育仅仅开了个头,才开了个头。要是我今天死去，那就可情了，因为我现在僅得了一些事理。我难肯定，是不是由于时间短促，使你现在变得过于敏感，才学到了一些知识。然而,并没有所谓时间短促这回事。你应该懂得道理,明白这一点。我到这儿以来，一直生活在这一带山区。安塞尔莫是我最熟悉的朋友。我认识査尔斯、査布、盖伊、迈克①，这些人我都熟识，伹我和安塞尔莫最相熟。满嘴脏话的奥古斯丁是我的弟弟，而我从来没有过弟弟。玛丽亚是我真正的爱人、我的妻子。我从来没有过真正的爱人,没有过妻子。她也是我的妹妹,而我从来没有过妹妹，还是我的女儿，而我永远不会有女儿啦。我不愿意离开这样美好的环堍。他缚好了绳底鞋。 　　“我发现生活非常有意思”他对玛丽亚说。她在他身边坐在睡袋上，双手抱着脚踝。有人拉开了山洞口的毯子，他们俩都看到了灯光。这时仍是黑夜，还没有天亮的意思，不过他抬头穿过松林望去，看见星星悬挂得艮低。在这个月份,黎明会来得很 ①这些都是乔丹在家乡的肯　朋友。 　　“罗伯托，”玛丽亚说，“嗯，漂亮的姑娘，“ 　　“今天行动起来，我们可以在一起，对喝？”“开始以后,可以在一起。”“开始的时候不能吗?”“不能。你得跟马在一起。”“我不能跟你在一起?” 　　“不能。我的工作只能由我自己千，你在身边我要操心的。”“一结束你很快就回来吗。” 　　“很快，”他说，在黑暗中咧嘴笑了。“走,深亮的姑娘，我们.去吃吧。” 　　“你的睡袋呢?” 　　“要是你高兴，耙它卷起来。” 　　“我离兴。”她说。 　　“我来帮你。” 　　“不。我一个人来。〃 　　她跪下摊开睡袋，把它卷起来，接着改变了主意，站起身来把它抖抖,弄得啪啪的晌申她然后再跪下铺平、卷拢。罗伯特　乔丹提起两个背包，小心地捧着，免得包里的东西从裂缝里漏出来。他穿过松林来到那挂着毯子的冒烟的山洞口。他用胳膊肘推开毯子,进入山洞的时候，他表上是三点缺十分。

Chapter 36   had challenged at the government position. That is, he had lain down where the ground fell sharply away below the triple belt of wire and shouted up at the rock and earth parapet. There was no continual defensive line and he could easily have passed this position in the dark and made his way farther into the government territory before running into some one who would challenge him. But it seemed safer and simpler to get it over here. "_Salud!_" he had shouted. "_Salud, milicianos!_" He heard a bolt snick as it was pulled back. Then, from farther down the parapet, a rifle fired. There was a crashing crack and a downward stab of yellow in the dark.  had flattened at the click, the top of his head hard against the ground. "Don't shoot, Comrades,"  shouted. "Don't shoot! I want to come in." "How many are you?" some one called from behind the parapet. "One. Me. Alone." "Who are you?" " Lopez of Villaconejos. From the band of Pablo. With a message." "Have you your rifle and equipment?" "Yes, man." "We can take in none without rifle and equipment," the voice said. "Nor in larger groups than three." "I am alone,"  shouted. "It is important. Let me come in." He could hear them talking behind the parapet but not what they were saying. Then the voice shouted again, "How many are you?" "One. Me. Alone. For the love of God." They were talking behind the parapet again. Then the voice came, "Listen, fascist." "I am not a fascist,"  shouted. "I am a _guerrillero_ from the band of Pablo. I come with a message for the General Staff." "He's crazy," he heard some one say. "Toss a bomb at him." "Listen,"  said. "I am alone. I am completely by myself. I obscenity in the midst of the holy mysteries that I am alone. Let me come in." "He speaks like a Christian," he heard some one say and laugh. Then some one else said, "The best thing is to toss a bomb down on him." "No,"  shouted. "That would be a great mistake. This is important. Let me come in." It was for this reason that he had never enjoyed trips back and forth between the lines. Sometimes it was better than others. But it was never good. "You are alone?" the voice called down again. "_Me cago en la leche_,"  shouted. "How many times must I tell thee? I AM ALONE." "Then if you should be alone stand up and hold thy rifle over thy head."   stood up and put the carbine above his head, holding it in both hands. "Now come through the wire. We have thee covered with the _m嫭uina_," the voice called.   was in the first zigzag belt of wire. "I need my hands to get through the wire," he shouted. "Keep them up," the voice commanded. "I am held fast by the wire,"  called. "It would have been simpler to have thrown a bomb at him," a voice said. "Let him sling his rifle," another voice said. "He cannot come through there with his hands above his head. Use a little reason." "All these fascists are the same," the other voice said. "They demand one condition after another." "Listen,"  shouted. "I am no fascist but a _guerrillero_ from the band of Pablo. We've killed more fascists than the typhus." "I have never heard of the band of Pablo," the man who was evidently in command of the post said. "Neither of Peter nor of Paul nor of any of the other saints nor apostles. Nor of their bands. Sling thy rifle over thy shoulder and use thy hands to come through the wire." "Before we loose the _m嫭uina_ on thee," another shouted. "_Qu?poco amables sois!_"  said. "You're not very amiable." He was working his way through the wire. "_Amables_," some one shouted at him. "We are in a war, man." "It begins to appear so,"  said. "What's he say?"   heard a bolt click again. "Nothing," he shouted. "I say nothing. Do not shoot until I get through this fornicating wire." "Don't speak badly of our wire," some one shouted. "Or we'll toss a bomb on you." "_Quiero decir, qu?buena alambrada_,"  shouted. "What beautiful wire. God in a latrine. What lovely wire. Soon I will be with thee, brothers." "Throw a bomb at him," he heard the one voice say. "I tell you that's the soundest way to deal with the whole thing." "Brothers,"  said. He was wet through with sweat and he knew the bomb advocate was perfectly capable of tossing a grenade at any moment. "I have no importance." "I believe it," the bomb man said. "You are right,"  said. He was working carefully through the third belt of wire and he was very close to the parapet. "I have no importance of any kind. But the affair is serious. _Muy, muy serio_." "There is no more serious thing than liberty," the bomb man shouted. "Thou thinkest there is anything more serious than liberty?" he asked challengingly. "No, man,"  said, relieved. He knew now he was up against the crazies; the ones with the black-and-red scarves. "_Viva la Libertad!_" "_Viva la F. A. I. Viva la C.N.T._," they shouted back at him from the parapet. "_Viva el anarco-sindicalismo_ and liberty." "_Viva nosotros_,"  shouted. "Long life to us." "He is a coreligionary of ours," the bomb man said. "And I might have killed him with this." He looked at the grenade in his hand and was deeply moved as  climbed over the parapet. Putting his arms around him, the grenade still in one hand, so that it rested against 's shoulder blade as he embraced him, the bomb man kissed him on both cheeks. "I am content that nothing happened to thee, brother," he said. "I am very content." "Where is thy officer?"  asked. "I command here," a man said. "Let me see thy papers." He took them into a dugout and looked at them with the light of a candle. There was the little square of folded silk with the colors of the Republic and the seal of the S. I. M. in the center. There was the _Salvoconducto_ or safe-conduct pass giving his name, age, height, birthplace and mission that Robert Jordan had written out on a sheet from his notebook and sealed with the S. I. M. rubber stamp and there were the four folded sheets of the dispatch to Golz which were tied around with a cord and sealed with wax and the impression of the metal S. I. M. seal that was set in the top end of the wooden handle of the rubber stamp. "This I have seen," the man in command of the post said and handed back the piece of silk. "This you all have, I know. But its possession proves nothing without this." He lifted the _Salvoconducto_ and read it through again. "Where were you born?" "Villaconejos,"  said. "And what do they raise there?" "Melons,"  said. "As all the world knows." "Who do you know there?" "Why? Are you from there?" "Nay. But I have been there. I am from Aranju褯." "Ask me about any one." "Describe Jos?Rincon." "Who keeps the bodega?" "Naturally." "With a shaved head and a big belly and a cast in one eye." "Then this is valid," the man said and handed him back the paper. "But what do you do on their side?" "Our father had installed himself at Villacast before the movement,"  said. "Down there beyond the mountains on the plain. It was there we were surprised by the movement. Since the movement I have fought with the band of Pablo. But I am in a great hurry, man, to take that dispatch." "How goes it in the country of the fascists?" the man commanding asked. He was in no hurry. "Today we had much _tomate_,"  said proudly. "Today there was plenty of dust on the road all day. Today they wiped out the band of Sordo." "And who is Sordo?" the other asked deprecatingly. "The leader of one of the best bands in the mountains." "All of you should come in to the Republic and join the army," the officer said. "There is too much of this silly guerilla nonsense going on. All of you should come in and submit to our Libertarian discipline. Then when we wished to send out guerillas we would send them out as they are needed."   was a man endowed with almost supreme patience. He had taken the coming in through the wire calmly. None of this examination had flustered him. He found it perfectly normal that this man should have no understanding of them nor of what they were doing and that he should talk idiocy was to be expected. That it should all go slowly should be expected too; but now he wished to go. "Listen, _Compadre_," he said. "It is very possible that you are right. But I have orders to deliver that dispatch to the General commanding the Thirty-Fifth Division, which makes an attack at daylight in these hills and it is already late at night and I must go." "What attack? What do you know of an attack?" "Nay. I know nothing. But I must go now to Navacerrada and go on from there. Wilt thou send me to thy commander who will give me transport to go on from there? Send one with me now to respond to him that there be no delay." "I distrust all of this greatly," he said. "It might have been better to have shot thee as thou approached the wire." "You have seen my papers, Comrade, and I have explained my mission,"  told him patiently. "Papers can be forged," the officer said. "Any fascist could invent such a mission. I will go with thee myself to the Commander." "Good,"  said. "That you should come. But that we should go quickly." "Thou, Sanchez. Thou commandest in my place," the officer said. "Thou knowest thy duties as well as I do. I take this so-called Comrade to the Commander." They started down the shallow trench behind the crest of the hill and in the dark  smelt the foulness the defenders of the hill crest had made all through the bracken on that slope. He did not like these people who were like dangerous children; dirty, foul, undisciplined, kind, loving, silly and ignorant but always dangerous because they were armed. He, , was without politics except that he was for the Republic. He had heard these people talk many times and he thought what they said was often beautiful and fine to hear but he did not like them. It is not liberty not to bury the mess one makes, he thought. No animal has more liberty than the cat; but it buries the mess it makes. The cat is the best anarchist. Until they learn that from the cat I cannot respect them. Ahead of him the officer stopped suddenly. "You have your _carabine_ still," he said. "Yes,"  said. "Why not?" "Give it to me," the officer said. "You could shoot me in the back with it." "Why?"  asked him. "Why would I shoot thee in the back?" "One never knows," the officer said. "I trust no one. Give me the carbine."   unslung it and handed it to him. "If it pleases thee to carry it," he said. "It is better," the officer said. "We are safer that way." They went on down the hill in the dark. 　　安德烈斯在政府军阵地前喊了口令。那是说，他伏在三重铁丝网下陡蛸地朝下削的地方，抬头朝着石块和土坯垒成的胸墙大声呼喊。这里没有延绵不断的防守线，在撞见盘问他口令的人之前，他本可以轻而易举地在黑夜里绕过这个据点，深入政府军的地区。但是,通过这二关卡看来更安全而简单。“你们好，”他大声喊道。“你们好,民兵们!”他听到熗栓往后扳的卡嗒声。接着，在过去一点的胸墒后面，有人放了一熗。熗声砰地一响，黑暗中倏的出现了一道向下的黄光。安德烈斯听到检栓声,立刻卧倒，头顶狠狠地抵住地面。“别开熗,同志们。”安德烈斯喊道。“别开熗　我要过去。”“你们几个人?”胸墙后有人喊着。“一个。我。只有一个，““你是谁?” 　　“维利亚赓纳霍斯人安德烈斯〃洛佩斯。巴勃罗队里的人带着份信件。” 　　“你带着步熗和弹药吗”“带着，老兄。” 　　“我们不放带步熗和弹药的人进来，”那声音说。“三个人以上也不准进东。” 　　“我是一个人，”安德烈斯喊道。“有要紧事情。让我过去吧。”他听到他们在胸墙后面说话，伹听不清说什么。接着那声音又喊道。”你们是几个人？” 　　“我。只有一个。看天主的份上。”他们又在胸墙后面说活了。接着那声音说。听着，法西斯。““我不是法西斯，”安德烈斯喊道。“我是巴勃罗队里的游击队员，我来带信给总参谋部。” 　　“他疯了，”他听到有人在说。“给他扔个手雷。”“听着，”安德烈斯说。“只有我一个。光杆儿一个。我操他妈的就是一个人,别疑神疑鬼啦。让我过去吧。““他说话象个基督徒。”他听到有人笑着说。接着另外有人说,“最好还是给他扔个手雷。”“别，”安德烈斯喊道。“那就错透了。是要紧事情柄。放我过去吧。” 　　就为了这种原因，他一直不喜欢出入火线。有时盘问得宽些,但总是不愉快的。 　　“只有你一个人？”那声音又朝下面喊道。 　　“我操他妈的，”安德烈斯喊道，“我得跟你们说多少回啊？” 　　“要二个人,那么站起来，举熗过头，“安德烈斯站起来,双手握着卡宾熗,举过了头。。” 　　“现在从铁丝两里钻进来。我们用机熗对着你，”那声音喊道。 　　安德烈斯进入第一道之字形铁丝网。“我得用手拨开铁丝网啊。”他喊道。 　　“别把手放下，”那声音命令道。 　； 　　“我被铁丝网勾住了，”安德烈斯大声说。“还是简单点，给他扔个手雷，”有一个声音说。“让他把熗背着。”另一个声音说。“他举着双手是没法钴铁丝网的。要讲点理嘛。” 　　“法西斯分子全是一路货，”另一个声音说。“他们得寸进尺。”“听着，”安德烈斯喊道。“我不是法西斯，是巴勃罗队里的游击队员。我们杀掉的法西斯比斑疹伤寒杀死的法西斯还多。” 　　“我从没听说过巴勃罗的游击队，”那人说，他显然是这个据点的长官。“也没听说过什么彼得、保罗和什么其他的圣徒和门徒①。也没听说过他们的游击队。把熗背在肩上，用手钴铁丝网吧。” 　　“快钻，别等我们向你扫机关熗，”另一个叫着。“你们真不够朋友　”安德烈斯说。他正在费力地钻着铁丝网。 　　“眵朋友1”有人对他喊道。“我们是在打仗哪，伙计。”“有点打仗的意思了，”安德烈斯说。 ①彼得是耶妹十二。徒之一。惲罗原名扫罗，在公元—世纪中，起先着力迫害早期的基督徒。据说有次在去大马士革的路上，耶妹向他显灵，他才皈依基　教，到小亚细亚、希腊、罗马等地热憒宣传基督敉，最后被罗马人所.捕，于公元六七年左右被杀。后来教会尊他为圣保罗。保罗这名字在西班牙语中为巴勃罗，故此处那长官因听到巴勃罗的名字而开玩笑地提起彼得等其他圣徒及门徒， 　　“他说什么?” 　　安德烈斯又听到卡嗒一声扳熗栓的声音。“没什么，”他喊道。“我没说什么。别开熗，让我从这个他妈的铁丝网里钻进去。” 　　“不许骂我们的铁丝网，”有人叫道。“再骂，我们给你来个手雷。” 　　“我是想说，多好的铁丝网明，”安德烈斯喊道。“多漂亮的铁丝网。好比天主掉在茅坑里啦。多可爱的铁丝网啊。我快要和你们在一起啦，弟兄们。” 　　“给他扔个手雷，”他听到有个声音说。“我跟你说，对付这种鬼把戏，这是最爽快的办法。” 　　“弟兄们，”安德烈斯说。他大汗淋漓，知道这个鼓动扔手雷的人完全可能随时扔出来。“我没什么了不起“这我相信，”簌动扔手雷的人说。 　　“你说对了，”安德烈斯说。他正在小心翼翼地钻第三重铁丝网，离胸墒很近了。“我一点也没什么了不起。但是事情很要紧。非常、非常要紧。” 　　“没有比自由更要紧的事了。”鼓动扔手雷的人说。“你以为有什么比自由更重要的？”他挑衅地问。 　　“没有，伙计，”安德烈斯说，松了口气。他知道他面前的是帮狂热分子，那些佩戴红黑围巾的家伙。“自由万岁！” 　　“伊比利亚无政府主义者联合会万岁，全国劳工联合会万岁，”他们从胸墒上大声呼应着。“无政府一工团主义和自由万岁。” 　　“咱们大伙儿万岁，”安德烈斯喊道。““他是我们一派的，”鼓动扔手雷的人说。“幸亏我没用这个叫他完蛋，“ 　　他望着手里的手榷弹，看到安德烈斯翻过胸墙,他深深感动了。这个鼓动扔手雷的人双臂搂住他，一手仍握着手榴弹,因此当他拥抱安德烈斯的时侯，手榴弹搁在安德烈斯的肩胛上。他吻着安德烈斯的两颊。 　　“还好你没有出事，兄弟。”他说。“还好还好。”“你们的长官在哪儿？”安镰烈斯问。“这里归我指挥，”有一个人说。“给我看你的证件。”他把证件拿进掩体，借着烛光看。一小方折叠起来的印着共和国国旗的绸子，中央盖着军事情报部的公章。一张罗伯特　乔丹用笔记本上的纸写的列具他姓名、年龄、身髙、出生地点和任务的安全通行证,上面盖着军事情报部橡皮图章,坯有给戈尔兹的急件,一共四张折好的纸，用一根绳子扎好,用火漆封好,火漆上打上安在军事情报部橡皮图章木抦顶端的金属章。 　　“这个我见过，”这据点的长官说，把那块绸子还给他。“这个你们大家都有，我知道。不过有了它坯不说明什么问趣,还得有这个。”他拿起通行证，又看了一遍。“你生在什么地方?”“维利亚康纳霍斯。”安德烈斯说。“那儿种些什么庄稼?”“甜瓜，”安德烈斯说。“那是世界闻名的。”“你认识那儿的什么人?”。问这个干什么？你是那儿人吗？”“不。不过我到过那儿。我是阿兰胡埃斯①人。”“问我哪个人都行。” ①阿兰胡埃斯在马德里正南,位于肥沃平原上，盛产水果蓰菜,供应马德里市场， 、 　　“讲讲何塞〃林贡的摸样吧。”“开酒店的那个吗？”“自然啦。“ 　　“剃的是光头，腆着个大肚子,一眼斜视。”“这就行了，”那人说，交还证件。“可你在他们那边是干什么的，“” 　　“革命前我父亲在维利亚卡斯，“定居下来。”安德烈斯说-“那是在山脉另一边的平原上。革命突然爆发时我们就在那儿-革命开始以来，我就随着巴勃罗一伙打仗，不过，我很着急呢，伙计，得送那份急件，“ 　　“法西斯占区的情况怎么样？”那军官问。他不着急，“我们今天很热乎，”安德烈斯骄傲地说。“今天公路上热闹了一整天。今天他们把'聋子’一伙干掉啦。” 　　“‘聋子’是谁,对方轻蔑地问。 、 　　“山里一支了不起的游击队的头头。”“你们都应该到共和国来参军。”军官说。“愚鸞的游击队搞得太多啦。你们大家都该过来，服从我们自由派的纪律。到时候，如果我们想派游击队，就可以根据襦要调派，“ 　　安镩烈斯这个人的耐心简直好到极点。他心平气和地对付这次过铁丝网的事。这样的盘问一点也没使他着慌。他认为这是完全正常的。”这个人不理解他们，也不理解他们正在做些什么;他满口蠹话,原是意料之中的。慢条斯理的作风也是意料之中的，但是他这时希望走了。 　　“听着’好朋友，”他说。“你的话很可能有道理。可是我受命给指挥三十五师的将军送一份急件，天亮时要在这一带山里发动进攻,现在夜深了，我得走啦。”。。。 　　“什么进攻？你有进攻的消息吗？” 　　"不。我什么也不知道。可我现在必须到纳瓦塞拉达去，到了那里还要上路。带我到你的指挥官那儿去，让他派交通工具把我送去，好吗？马上派个人和我去找他，不要耽搁时间了。” 　　“我对这一切非常怀疑，”他说。“还是乘你走近铁丝网的时候，早把你毙了的好。” 　　“你看过我的证件啦，同志，我也解释了我的任务，”安德烈斯耐心地对他说。 　　“证件可以伪造的，”军官说。“这样的任务，哪个法西斯分子都编得出。我亲自带你去见指挥官。” 　　“好，”安德烈斯说。“你去就好。不过让我们快去。”“你，桑切斯。你代我指挥,军官说。“你跟我一样明闫你的职责。我带这个所谓的同志去见指挥官，“ 　　他们俩顺着山脊背后的浅战壕朝下走，安德烈斯在黑暗中闻到防守山顶的这些士兵拉在长着羊齿植物的山坡上的屎尿的典气。他不喜欢这些象无法无天的孩子般的人；他们肮脏，可厌,不受管束,伹亲切，可爱’无知又愚盡,然而有着武器，因此总是危险的。他，安德烈斯除了拥护共和国之外，没有自己的政见。他多次听到这些人说话，他认为他们所说的听起来往往是很美好的，但是他不喜欢。他想:人拉了屎尿不掩埋，不能说是自由。没有比猶更自由的动物了，而猫是把自己拉的屎掩埋起来的。猫是最好的无政府主义者。除非他们向猫学习埋尿，不然我可不会尊敬他们。 　　那军官在他前面突然站住了。“你仍旧带着卡宾熗，”他说。“是，”安德烈斯说。“干暍不?” 　　〃把熗给我，”军官说。“说不走你在我背后用熗打我。”“干吗打呀？”安德烈斯问他。“我干吗要从背后打你?”“谁料得到？”军官说。“我谁也不信。把卡宾熗给我，“安德烈斯解下卡宾熗，递给他。“你髙兴拿熗就拿吧“他说。“这样好些。”军官说。“这样我们安全些，“。于是，他们在黑暗中继续向山下走去。 ，“

Chapter 35 Robert Jordan lay in the robe beside the girl Maria who was still sleeping. He lay on his side turned away from the girl and he felt her long body against his back and the touch of it now was just an irony. You, you, he raged at himself. Yes, you. You told yourself the first time you saw him that when he would be friendly would be when the treachery would come. You damned fool. You utter blasted damned fool. Chuck all that. That's not what you have to do now. What are the chances that he hid them or threw them away? Not so good. Besides you'd never find them in the dark. He would have kept them. He took some dynamite, too. Oh, the dirty, vile, treacherous sod. The dirty rotten crut. Why couldn't he have just mucked off and not have taken the exploder and the detonators? Why was I such an utter goddamned fool as to leave them with that bloody woman? The smart, treacherous ugly bastard. The dirty _cabr鏮_. Cut it out and take it easy, he told himself. You had to take chances and that was the best there was. You're just mucked, he told himself. You're mucked for good and higher than a kite. Keep your damned head and get the anger out and stop this cheap lamenting like a damned wailing wall. It's gone. God damn you, it's gone. Oh damn the dirty swine to hell. You can muck your way out of it. You've got to, you know you've got to blow it if you have to stand there and--cut Out that stuff, too. Why don't you ask your grandfather? Oh, muck my grandfather and muck this whole treacherous muckfaced mucking country and every mucking Spaniard in it on either side and to hell forever. Muck them to hell together, Largo, Prieto, Asensio, Miaja, Rojo, all of them. Muck every one of them to death to hell. Muck the whole treachery-ridden country. Muck their egotism and their selfishness and their selfishness and their egotism and their conceit and their treachery. Muck them to hell and always. Muck them before we die for them. Muck them after we die for them. Muck them to death and hell. God muck Pablo. Pablo is all of them. God pity the Spanish people. Any leader they have will muck them. One good man, Pablo Iglesias, in two thousand years and everybody else mucking them. How do we know how he would have stood up in this war? I remember when I thought Largo was O.K. Durruti was good and his own people shot him there at the Puente de los Franceses. Shot him because he wanted them to attack. Shot him in the glorious discipline of indiscipline. The cowardly swine. Oh muck them all to hell and be damned. And that Pablo that just mucked off with my exploder and my box of detonators. Oh muck him to deepest hell. But no. He's mucked us instead. They always muck you instead, from Cortez and Menendez de Avila down to Miaja. Look at what Miaja did to Kleber. The bald egotistical swine. The stupid egg-headed bastard. Muck all the insane, egotistical, treacherous swine that have always governed Spain and ruled her armies. Muck everybody but the people and then be damned careful what they turn into when they have power. His rage began to thin as he exaggerated more and more and spread his scorn and contempt so widely and unjustly that he could no longer believe in it himself. If that were true what are you here for? It's not true and you know it. Look at all the good ones. Look at all the fine ones. He could not bear to be unjust. He hated injustice as he hated cruelty and he lay in his rage that blinded his mind until gradually the anger died down and the red, black, blinding, killing anger was all gone and his mind now as quiet, empty-calm and sharp, cold-seeing as a man is after he has had sexual intercourse with a woman that he does not love. "And you, you poor rabbit," he leaned over and said to Maria, who smiled in her sleep and moved close against him. "I would have struck thee there awhile back if thou had spoken. What an animal a man is in a rage." He lay close to the girl now with his arms around her and his chin on her shoulder and lying there he figured out exactly what he would have to do and how he would have to do it. And it isn't so bad, he thought. It really isn't so bad at all. I don't know whether any one has ever done it before. But there will always be people who will do it from now on, given a similar jam. If we do it and if they hear about it. If they hear about it, yes. If they do not just wonder how it was we did it. We are too short of people but there is no sense to worry about that. I will do the bridge with what we have. God, I'm glad I got over being angry. It was like not being able to breathe in a storm. That being angry is another damned luxury you can't afford. "It's all figured out, _guapa_," he said softly against Maria's shoulder. "You haven't been bothered by any of it. You have not known about it. We'll be killed but we'll blow the bridge. You have not had to worry about it. That isn't much of a wedding present. But is not a good night's sleep supposed to be priceless? You had a good night's sleep. See if you can wear that like a ring on your finger. Sleep, _guapa_. Sleep well, my beloved. I do not wake thee. That is all I can do for thee now." He lay there holding her very lightly, feeling her breathe and feeling her heart beat, and keeping track of the time on his wrist watch. 　　罗伯特　乔丹躺在睡袋里，挨着仍在睡梦中的玛丽亚。他惻身背对着姑娘，感到她颀长的身体碰着他的背，这时的接触仅仅成了一种嘲弄。你哬，你，他跟自己大发脾气。是啊,你。你第—次见到巴勃罗时就对自己说　当他表示友好的时候，就是要出卖你的时候。你这该死的笨蛋。你这该死的十足笨蛋。什么也别谈啦。现在不是抱怨的时候。 　　他可能把这些东西藏起来,还是扔掉呢？看来情况不大妙。再说，你在黑暗中哪里找得到柄。他会把东西欺起来的。他还拿走了—些炸药。嘿，这个卑鄉、恶劣、奸诈的酒鬼。这个卑瞅、不要脸的窝囊废。他自己滚蛋就行了，为什么要把引爆器和雷管带走呢？我怎么这样愚蠢，把东西交给那个混帐女人着管呢？这个狡猾、奸诈的狗杂种。这个卑鄙的王八蛋。 　　别多说了，宽心些吧，他对自己说。你只得听天由命,这是最好的办法。他对自己说　你就是给弄得晕头转向，晕得到了家。你脑袋不要发昏，别发脾气了，停止这种没有价值的怨天尤人吧。东旌没啦，真该死，东西没啦，让那卑鄞的畜生见鬼去吧3。 　　你可以闯过这一关的。你非这样不可，你知道非炸挢不可,如果你要在那儿站稳脚跟并且一也别想这事了。你为什么不请教你的祖父呢？ 　　嘿，我的袓父、这整个奸诈的棍账国家、交战双方的每个西班牙人都统统见鬼去，永世不得翻身。统统都给我见鬼去,拉尔戈、普列托、阿森西奥、米亚哈、罗霍，每个人都给我见鬼去吧。滚他妈的，这到处是奸诈的国家。滚他妈的，他们那利已主义、自私心理、个人主义、自负和奸诈，永远见鬼去吧。在我们为他们送死之前先滚他们的蛋。在我们为他们送死之后滚他们的蛋。叫他们见鬼去吧。上帝舸，滚他妈的巴勃罗。巴勃罗是他们的象征。上帝怜悯西班牙人民吧。他们的任何领袖都将使他们倒猱。两千年来只出了一个好人，巴勃罗　伊格莱西亚斯①，别的人都使他们倒霉。我们没法知道他在这次战争中是不是能坚持下去。我记得，当初我还以为拉尔戈②满不错呢。杜鲁蒂是个好人，但他的自已人在法圉人桥上把他熗杀了。熗杀他，是因为他要他们朝前进攻。根据光荣的无纪律的纪律熗杀了他。这阻小的畜生。嘿，这些该死的都见鬼去吧。还有那个刚偷走我的引爆器和我盒雷管的巴勃罗。嘿，把他打入十八层地狱里去吧。可是,不。倒是他坑了我们。从科尔特斯、梅嫩德斯。德阿维拉直到米亚哈都坑了我们。瞧米亚哈是怎祥对待克莱伯的。 ①巴勃罗，伊格莱西亚斯（为西班牙社会主乂运动的先驵，于一)、八五年创办《社会主义者报、进而筹组工人大同盟。一九一〇年成为被选入议会的第一个社会党人。为，“爱戴他，人们称他为“老爷爷拉尔戈为矿工出身的社会党入，一九三一年推翻君主制后，他出任劳动部邾长。内战瀑发后，他担任总理，一九三七年五月袪内格林所替代-他曾领导‘工人部队-在瓜达拉‘马山2作战。 　　这个自高自大的秃顶的畜生。这个愚套的、脑袋象鸡蛋那样精光的杂种。滚他妈的,那些个疯狂、自私、奸诈、一贯统治着西班牙和她的军队的畜生。除了老百姓，个个都滚他妈的蛋。等这帮人一旦掌了权，可得千万小心啊，留神他们会变成什么样子。他越骂越过分，蔑视和嘲笑的面越来越。”，越来越不公正，连他自己也不相信了。他的愤怒开始平息了。如果你说的是事实，那你在这儿干什么？那不是事实，你知道这一点。瞧瞧那些好人吧，瞧瞧那些优秀人物吧。他不愿对人不公正，他僧恨不公正，就象他僧恨残暴一样。他销着，狂怒冲昏了他的头脑，终于渐渐平息，那不分青红皂白、不可遏止、杀气腾腾的怒火全消失了，他的心佾变得平静、空虚、敏锐，抱着冷眼旁观的态度，就象　个人和他所不爱的女人发生关系之后的感觉一样。 　　“你啊，你这可怜的兔子，”他侧过身来，对玛丽亚说。她在睡梦中微笑着，并向他挨近。”要是你刚才开口说话，我会动手打你的。一个人发脾气的时侯多象畜生哨 　　他这时紧偎在姑娘身边,双臂搂者她,下巴贴在她肩上。他躺在那儿,仔细计划着他得干些什么，得怎么干。 　　他想,情况并不那么糟,事实上一点也不糟。我不知道别人以前是杏干过这种事。伹是今后,遇到类似的困境,总会有人去干的。问题是如果我们干了这事，而人们也听说了这事。如果人们听说了这事，那就行。如果人们没听说，他们就会奇怪我们是怎样干成的。我们人手太少了，不过为此而发愁是没有意思的。我要用我们现有的力量来炸桥。上帝啊，高兴的是我终于克服了愤怒。愤怒给人的感觉就象在暴风雨中透不过气来一样。发怒是你另一个不该有的奢望- 　　“全都计划好了,漂亮的姑娘，”他凑在玛丽亚肩上，温柔地说。“你一点也没被它打扰。你还不明白是怎么回事呢。我们要死啦，伹是我们会把桥炸掉。你不必为此发愁。那说不上是什么结婚礼品。然而人们不是说一夜安眠值千金吗？你安眠了一夜。看你能不能把这当指环戴在手指上。睡吧,溱亮的姑娘。好好睡吧，我亲爱的。我不来弄醒你。我现在能为你做的事只有这一件了。” 　　他躺在那儿，十分轻柔地抱着她，感觉到她的呼吸和心跳,住意着他手表上的时间。

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Chapter 34
The fascists held the crests of the hills here. Then there was a valley that no one held except for a fascist post in a farmhouse with its outbuildings and its barn that they had fortified. , on his way to Golz with the message from Robert Jordan, made a wide circle around this post in the dark. He knew where there was a trip wire laid that fired a set-gun and he located it in the dark, stepped over it, and started along the small stream bordered with poplars whose leaves were moving with the night wind. A cock crowed at the farmhouse that was the fascist post and as he walked along the stream he looked back and saw, through the trunks of the poplars, a light showing at the lower edge of one of the windows of the farmhouse. The night was quiet and clear and  left the stream and struck across the meadow.
There were four haycocks in the meadow that had stood there ever since the fighting in July of the year before. No one had ever carried the hay away and the four seasons that had passed had flattened the cocks and made the hay worthless.
  thought what a waste it was as he stepped over a trip wire that ran between two of the haycocks. But the Republicans would have had to carry the hay up the steep Guadarrama slope that rose beyond the meadow and the fascists did not need it, I suppose, he thought.
They have all the hay they need and all the grain. They have much, he thought. But we will give them a blow tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning we will give them something for Sordo. What barbarians they are! But in the morning there will be dust on the road.
He wanted to get this message-taking over and be back for the attack on the posts in the morning. Did he really want to get back though or did he only pretend he wanted to be back? He knew the reprieved feeling he had felt when the had told him he was to go with the message. He had faced the prospect of the morning calmly. It was what was to be done. He had voted for it and would do it. The wiping out of Sordo had impressed him deeply. But, after all, that was Sordo. That was not them. What they had to do they would do.
But when thehad spoken to him of the message he had felt the way he used to feel when he was a boy and he had wakened in the morning of the festival of his village and heard it raining hard so that he knew that it would be too wet and that the bullbaiting in the square would be cancelled.
He loved the bullbaiting when he was a boy and he looked forward to it and to the moment when he would be in the square in the hot sun and the dust with the carts ranged all around to close the exits and to make a closed place into which the bull would come, sliding down out of his box, braking with all four feet, when they pulled the end-gate up. He looked forward with excitement, delight and sweating fear to the moment when, in the square, he would hear the clatter of the bull's horns knocking against the wood of his travelling box, and then the sight of him as he came, sliding, braking out into the square, his head up, his nostrils wide, his ears twitching, dust in the sheen of his black hide, dried crut splashed on his flanks, watching his eyes set wide apart, unblinking eyes under the widespread horns as smooth and solid as driftwood polished by the sand, the sharp tips uptilted so that to see them did something to your heart.
He looked forward all the year to that moment when the bull would come out into the square on that day when you watched his eyes while he made his choice of whom in the square he would attack in that sudden head-lowering, horn-reaching, quick catgallop that stopped your heart dead when it started. He had looked forward to that moment all the year when he was a boy; but the feeling when the gave the order about the message was the same as when you woke to hear the reprieve of the rain falling on the slate roof, against the stone wall and into the puddles on the dirt Street of the village.
He had always been very brave with the bull in those village _capeas_, as brave as any in the village or of the other near-by villages, and not for anything would he have missed it any year although he did not go to the _capeas_ of other villages. He was able to wait still when the bull charged and only jumped aside at the last moment. He waved a sack under his muzzle to draw him off when the bull had some one down and many times he had held and pulled on the horns when the bull had some one on the ground and pulled sideways on the horn, had slapped and kicked him in the face until he left the man to charge some one else.
He had held the bull's tail to pull him away from a fallen man, bracing hard and pulling and twisting. Once he had pulled the tail around with one hand until he could reach a horn with the other and when the bull had lifted his head to charge him he had run backwards, circling with the bull, holding the tail in one hand and the horn in the other until the crowd had swarmed onto the bull with their knives and stabbed him. In the dust and the heat, the shouting, the bull and man and wine smell, he had been in the first of the crowd that threw themselves onto the bull and he knew the feeling when the bull rocked and bucked under him and he lay across the withers with one arm locked around the base of the horn and his hand holding the other horn tight, his fingers locked as his body tossed and wrenched and his left arm felt as though it would tear from the socket while he lay on the hot, dusty, bristly, tossing slope of muscle, the ear clenched tight in his teeth, and drove his knife again and again and again into the swelling, tossing bulge of the neck that was now spouting hot on his fist as he let his weight hang on the high slope of the withers and banged and banged into the neck.
The first time he had bit the ear like that and held onto it, his neck and jaws stiffened against the tossing, they had all made fun of him afterwards. But though they joked him about it they had great respect for him. And every year after that he had to repeat it. They called him the bulldog of Villaconejos and joked about him eating cattle raw. But every one in the village looked forward to seeing him do it and every year he knew that first the bull would come out, then there would be the charges and the tossing, and then when they yelled for the rush for the killing he would place himself to rush through the other attackers and leap for his hold. Then, when it was over, and the bull settled and sunk dead finally under the weight of the killers, he would stand up and walk away ashamed of the ear part, but also as proud as a man could be. And he would go through the carts to wash his hands at the stone fountain and men would clap him on the back and hand him wineskins and say, "Hurray for you, Bulldog. Long life to your mother."
Or they would say, "That's what it is to have a pair of _cojones!_ Year after year!"
  would be ashamed, empty-feeling, proud and happy, and he would shake them all off and wash his hands and his right arm and wash his knife well and then take one of the wineskins and rinse the ear-taste out of his mouth for that year; spitting the wine on the stone flags of the plaza before he lifted the wineskin high and let the wine spurt into the back of his mouth.
Surely. He was the Bulldog of Villaconejos and not for anything would he have missed doing it each year in his village. But he knew there was no better feeling than that one the sound of the rain gave when he knew he would not have to do it.
But I must go back, he told himself. There is no question but that I must go back for the affair of the posts and the bridge. My brother Eladio is there, who is of my own bone and flesh. Anselmo, Primitivo, Fernando, Agust, Rafael, though clearly he is not serious, the two women, Pablo and the though the  does not count since he is a foreigner and under orders. They are all in for it. It is impossible that I should escape this proving through the accident of a message. I must deliver this message now quickly and well and then make all haste to return in time for the assault on the posts. It would be ignoble of me not to participate in this action because of the accident of this message. That could not be clearer. And besides, he told himself, as one who suddenly remembers that there will be pleasure too in an engagement only the onerous aspects of which he has been considering, and besides I will enjoy the killing of some fascists. It has been too long since we have destroyed any. Tomorrow can be a day of much valid action. Tomorrow can be a day of concrete acts. Tomorrow can be a day which is worth something. That tomorrow should come and that I should be there.
Just then, as knee deep in the gorse he climbed the steep slope that led to the Republican lines, a partridge flew up from under his feet, exploding in a whirr of wingbeats in the dark and he felt a sudden breath-stopping fright. It is the suddenness, he thought. How can they move their wings that fast? She must be nesting now. I probably trod close to the eggs. If there were not this war I would tie a handkerchief to the bush and come back in the daytime and search out the nest and I could take the eggs and put them under a setting hen and when they hatched we would have little partridges in the poultry yard and I would watch them grow and, when they were grown, I'd use them for callers. I wouldn't blind them because they would be tame. Or do you suppose they would fly off? Probably. Then I would have to blind them.
But I don't like to do that after I have raised them. I could clip the wings or tether them by one leg when I used them for calling. If there was no war I would go with Eladio to get crayfish from that stream back there by the fascist post. One time we got four dozen from that stream in a day. If we go to the Sierra de Gredos after this of the bridge there are fine streams there for trout and for crayfish also. I hope we go to Gredos, he thought. We could make a good life in Gredos in the summer time and in the fall but it would be terribly cold in winter. But by winter maybe we will have won the war.
If our father had not been a Republican both Eladio and I would be soldiers now with the fascists and if one were a soldier with them then there would be no problem. One would obey orders and one would live or die and in the end it would be however it would be. It was easier to live under a regime than to fight it.
But this irregular fighting was a thing of much responsibility. There was much worry if you were one to worry. Eladio thinks more than I do. Also he worries. I believe truly in the cause and I do not worry. But it is a life of much responsibility.
I think that we are born into a time of great difficulty, he thought. I think any other time was probably easier. One suffers little because all of us have been formed to resist suffering. They who suffer are unsuited to this climate. But it is a time of difficult decisions. The fascists attacked and made our decision for us. We fight to live. But I would like to have it so that I could tie a handkerchief to that bush back there and come in the daylight and take the eggs and put them under a hen and be able to see the chicks of the partridge in my own courtyard. I would like such small and regular things.
But you have no house and no courtyard in your no-house, he thought. You have no family but a brother who goes to battle tomorrow and you own nothing but the wind and the sun and an empty belly. The wind is small, he thought, and there is no sun. You have four grenades in your pocket but they are only good to throw away. You have a carbine on your back but it is only good to give away bullets. You have a message to give away. And you're full of crap that you can give to the earth, he grinned in the dark. You can anoint it also with urine. Everything you have is to give. Thou art a phenomenon of philosophy and an unfortunate man, he told himself and grinned again.
But for all his noble thinking a little while before there was in him that reprieved feeling that had always come with the sound of rain in the village on the morning of the fiesta. Ahead of him now at the top of the ridge was the government position where he knew he would be challenged.
　　法西斯分子占领着这里这些山头。还有个山谷没人防守，只有一家带外屋和牲口棚的农舍，法西斯分子筑了工事，当作哨所。安德烈斯带着罗伯特、乔丹的信件在黑夜中去找戈尔兹，他兜了个大闻子，绕过这个哨所。他知道什么地方有根绊索,踩上就会牵动上了膛的熗扳机，他在黑夜中辨认出来，跨了过去，沿着一条岸边栽有白杨树的小河走去　树叶随着夜风覼动。一只公鸡在法西斯分子当做哨所的农舍里啼叫；他一边沿河走,一边回头望望，从白杨树干间看见农舍有扇窗子的下半部鳝出了灯光。夜寂静而晴朗，安德烈斯离开小河,穿过草地走去。
　　草地上有四个尖顶草垛，上一年七月打仗以来就堆在那儿了。没人把草搬走，过去的四季风吹雨打，垛尖都坍下去了，草成了废料。
　　安德烈斯跨过拉在两堆草垛间的绊索时想，这真是糟蹋啊。他想:共和分子不得不把草背上草地那边陡峭的瓜达拉马山坡，法西斯分子呢，看来就不需要草料申
　　他想:他们不缺草料粮食,他们有的是。伹是明天早臊我们要干他们一下子。明天早晨我们要给“聋子”报一下仇。他们真是野蛮人早晨公路上可要热闹啦，
　　他要赶快把信送到,赶回去参加早晨对哨所袭击。然而,他真的想回去吗?还是只不过假装想回去？英国人通知他由他去送信时，他体会到一种危险暂时缓解的感觉。他平静地看待早晨将要发生的事情，该干的总得干嘛。他赞成并愿意干这件事。“聋子”的毁灭深深地敹�了他。然�

Chapter 33 It was two o'clock in the morning when Pilar waked him. As her hand touched him he thought, at first, it was Maria and he rolled toward her and said, "Rabbit." Then the woman's big hand shook his shoulder and he was suddenly, completely and absolutely awake and his hand was around the butt of the pistol that lay alongside of his bare right leg and all of him was as cocked as the pistol with its safety catch slipped off. In the dark he saw it was Pilar and he looked at the dial of his wrist watch with the two hands shining in the short angle close to the top and seeing it was only two, he said, "What passes with thee, woman?" "Pablo is gone," the big woman said to him. Robert Jordan put on his trousers and shoes. Maria had not waked. "When?" he asked. "It must be an hour." "And?" "He has taken something of thine," the woman said miserably. "So. What?" "I do not know," she told him. "Come and see." In the dark they walked over to the entrance of the cave, ducked under the blanket and went in. Robert Jordan followed her in the dead-ashes, bad-air and sleeping-men smell of the cave, shining his electric torch so that he would not step on any of those who were sleeping on the floor. Anselmo woke and said, "Is it time?" "No," Robert Jordan whispered. "Sleep, old one." The two sacks were at the head of Pilar's bed which was screened off with a hanging blanket from the rest of the cave. The bed smelt stale and sweat-dried and sickly-sweet the way an Indian's bed does as Robert Jordan knelt on it and shone the torch on the two sacks. There was a long slit from top to bottom in each one. Holding the torch in his left hand, Robert Jordan felt in the first sack with his right hand. This was the one that he carried his robe in and it should not be very full. It was not very full. There was some wire in it still but the square wooden box of the exploder was gone. So was the cigar box with the carefully wrapped and packed detonators. So was the screw-top tin with the fuse and the caps. Robert Jordan felt in the other sack. It was still full of explosive. There might be one packet missing. He stood up and turned to the woman. There is a hollow empty feeling that a man can have when he is waked too early in the morning that is almost like the feeling of disaster and he had this multiplied a thousand times. "And this is what you call guarding one's materials," he said. "I slept with my head against them and one arm touching them," Pilar told him. "You slept well." "Listen," the woman said. "He got up in the night and I said, 'Where do you go, Pablo?' 'To urinate, woman,' he told me and I slept again. When I woke again I did not know what time had passed but I thought, when he was not there, that he had gone down to look at the horses as was his custom. Then," she finished miserably, "when he did not come I worried and when I worried I felt of the sacks to be sure all was well and there were the slit places and I came to thee." "Come on," Robert Jordan said. They were outside now and it was still so near the middle of the night that you could not feel the morning coming. "Can he get out with the horses other ways than by the sentry?" "Two ways." "Who's at the top?" "Eladio." Robert Jordan said nothing more until they reached the meadow where the horses were staked out to feed. There were three horses feeding in the meadow. The big bay and the gray were gone. "How long ago do you think it was he left you?" "It must have been an hour." "Then that is that," Robert Jordan said. "I go to get what is left of my sacks and go back to bed." "I will guard them." "_Qu?va_, you will guard them. You've guarded them once already." the woman said, "I feel in regard to this as you do. There is nothing I would not do to bring back thy property. You have no need to hurt me. We have both been betrayed by Pablo." As she said this Robert Jordan realized that he could not afford the luxury of being bitter, that he could not quarrel with this woman. He had to work with this woman on that day that was already two hours and more gone. He put his hand on her shoulder. "It is nothing, Pilar," he told her. "What is gone is of small importance. We shall improvise something that will do as well." "But what did he take?" "Nothing, woman. Some luxuries that one permits oneself." "Was it part of thy mechanism for the exploding?" "Yes. But there are other ways to do the exploding. Tell me, did Pablo not have caps and fuse? Surely they would have equipped him with those?" "He has taken them," she said miserably. "I looked at once for them. They are gone, too." They walked back through the woods to the entrance of the cave. "Get some sleep," he said. "We are better off with Pablo gone." "I go to see Eladio." "He will have gone another way." "I go anyway. I have betrayed thee with my lack of smartness." "Nay," he said. "Get some sleep, woman. We must be under way at four." He went into the cave with her and brought out the two sacks, carrying them held together in both arms so that nothing could spill from the slits. "Let me sew them up." "Before we start," he said softly. "I take them not against you but so that I can sleep." "I must have them early to sew them." "You shall have them early," he told her. "Get some sleep, woman." "Nay," she said. "I have failed thee and I have failed the Republic." "Get thee some sleep, woman," he told her gently. "Get thee some sleep." 　　比拉尔叫釅他的时侯是早晨两点钟。她的手碰到他身上，他起先还以为是玛丽亚的,就镅过身来对她说，“兔子，“等那妇人的大手播播他的肩膀，他才突然完全清陲过来，他一手握住放在赤裸的右腿旁的手熗柄，扳下保险，他全身也象那手熗一样的处于击发状态。 　　在黑暗中,他发现是比拉尔，就望望手表，表面上两根闪光的时针夹成很小的锐角指向上方，他一看才两点钟，就说,“你怎么啦，大娘?” 　　“巴勃罗溜啦，”大个子妇人对他说。 　　罗伯特　乔丹穿上裤子和鞋子。玛丽亚没有醒过来。 　　“什么时候走的？”他问。 　　“准有一小时了。” 　　“还有呢?” 　　“他拿了你的　些东西，”妇人悲伤地说。“原来这样。拿了些什么?”“不知道，”她对他说。“去看看吧。“他们在黑暗中走到洞口，撩起挂毪,钻进洞里。山洞里麻是熄灭了的炉灰、恶浊的空气和睡着的人们的鼻息的气味，罗伯特.乔丹跟随着比拉尔走，亮了手电，免得踩着躺在地上的人　安塞尔莫醒了，说时间到了？” 　　“没有。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“睡吧，老头子。” 　　两个背包放在比拉尔床头,床前挂着一条毯子,和山稱的其余部分隔开。罗伯特　乔丹跪在床上，把手电光射在两个背包上，闻到了印第安人床上所发出的那种隔宿的、叫人作呕的干掉的汗的气味。每个背包上从上到下有一条长长的裂缝。罗伯特　乔丹左手拿着手电，右手在第一个背包里摸索。这背包是装睡袋的，本来不很满。现在仍旧不很瀹。里面的一些锎丝还在，但是装引爆器的方木盒却不见了，被拿走的还有那个装仔细包扎好的雷管的雪茄烟龛，还有那放导火线、火帽的有蠔旋盖的铁雄。 　　罗伯特，乔丹在另一个背包里摸索。里面仍装满了炸药。也许少了一包。 　　他站起来，转身向着那妇人。一个人在早滕醒得太早，会有一种仿佛大祸临头般的空虚感，他现在的感觉比这要大一千倍。 　　“你就是这样替人家看管东西的吗?”他说。 　　“我睡觉的时侯,头抵着包裹，一条手臂放在上面，”比拉尔对他说。 　　“你睡得很沉轲。” 　　“听我说吧。”妇人说。“他半夜里起来，我说。”你去哪儿，巴勃罗？’他对我说，‘去撒尿，太太。”我就又入睡了。等我再醒来的时候，不知道过了多少时闻，可是我想，他人不在，准是按他老规矩去看马了。后来。”她悲伤地结束说，“还是不见他回来,我担心了，一担心就摸摸背包有没有出乱子,于是发现上面割开了口子,我就来找你了，“ 　　“来吧，”罗伯特、乔丹说。 　　他们到了外面，这时半夜刚过不久，还感不到早晨要来临的样子。 　　“他能不能不经过岗哨，带了马儿走别的路逃走？”“路有两条。”“谁在山顶上?”“埃拉迪奥。” 　　罗伯特’乔丹不再说什么,他们直走到拴马放牧的草地上。有三匹马在吃草。栗色大马和灰色马不见了。“你估计他离开你有多少时间了？”“准有一小时了。” 　　“那就完了，”罗伯特“乔丹说。“我去拿背包里剩下的东西，再回去睡觉。” 　　“我来看背包。” 　　“你来看,亏你说得出！你已经看过一次啦。”“英国人，”妇人说，“关于这件事,我跟你一样难受。只要能把你的东西找回来，我什么都肯干。你不用损我。我们俩都被巴勃罗骟了。” 　　经她这么一说，罗伯特　乔丹认识到自己不能放纵自己,对她冷言冷语，不能和这女人争吵。这一天他必须和这个女人合作,而这“天巳经过了两个多小时。 　　他把手放在她肩上。“没有什么，比拉尔，”他对她说。“丢掉的东西关系不大。我们找些代用的东西也能行，““可是他拿了什么？” 　　“没什么，大娘。一些个人享受的东西。”“其中有你爆玻设备中的东西。” 　　“有。不过还有别的引爆办法。告诉我，巴勃罗自己没有雷管和导火线吗？以前人家给他炸药时肯定也配备这种东西的。”“他拿走了，”婢悲伤地说。“我刚才马上就找过。也都不见了。” 　　他们穿过树林，回头向山洞口走去。“去睡一会儿吧，”他说。“巴勃罗走了，我们更好办。〃“我去看埃拉迪奥。”“他会走别的路的。” 　　“我反正得去。我不够机灵,辜负了你的信托。”“不，”他说。“去睡一会儿吧，大娘。我们四点钟得出发。”他跟她走进山洞，唯恐背包里的东西从裂缝中漏出来,用双臂捧着拿了出来。 　　“我来把它们缝一缝。” 　　“等我们出发之前缝吧。”他温和地说。“我拿走不是银你过不去，为了这样我才可以安心睡觉。”“我要早…点拿到才来得及錄。”“我一定早点给你，”他对她说。“去睡一会儿吧，大娘。”“不。”她说。“我对不起你，对不起共和国。”“去睡一会儿吧,大娘。”他温和地对她说。“去睡一会儿吧。”

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Chapter 32
On that same night in Madrid there were many people at the Hotel Gaylord. A car pulled up under the _porte-cochere_ of the hotel, its headlights painted over with blue calcimine and a little man in black riding boots, gray riding breeches and a short, gray high-buttoned jacket stepped out and returned the salute of the two sentries as he opened the door, nodded to the secret policeman who sat at the concierge's desk and stepped into the elevator. There were two sentries seated on chairs inside the door, one on each side of the marble entrance hall, and these only looked up as the little man passed them at the door of the elevator. It was their business to feel every one they did not know along the flanks, under the armpits, and over the hip pockets to see if the person entering carried a pistol and, if he did, have him check it with the concierge. But they knew the short man in riding boots very well and they hardly looked up as he passed.
The apartment where he lived in Gaylord's was crowded as he entered. People were sitting and standing about and talking together as in any drawing room and the men and the women were drinking vodka, whiskey and soda, and beer from small glasses filled from great pitchers. Four of the men were in uniform. The others wore windbreakers or leather jackets.and three of the four women were dressed in ordinary street dresses while the fourth, who was haggardly thin and dark, wore a sort of severely cut militiawoman's uniform with a skirt with high boots under it.
When he came into the room, Karkov went at once to the woman in the uniform and bowed to her and shook hands. She was his wife and he said something to her in Russian that no one could hear and for a moment the insolence that had been in his eyes as he entered the room was gone. Then it lighted again as he saw the mahoganycolored head and the love-lazy face of the well-constructed girl who was his mistress and he strode with short, precise steps over to her and bowed and shook her hand in such a way that no one could tell it was not a mimicry of his greeting to his wife. His wife had not looked after him as he walked across the room. She was standing with a tall, good-looking Spanish officer and they were talking Russian now.
"Your great love is getting a little fat," Karkov was saying to the girl. "All of our heroes are fattening now as we approach the second year." He did not look at the man he was speaking of.
"You are so ugly you would be jealous of a toad," the girl told him cheerfully. She spoke in German. "Can I go with thee to the offensive tomorrow?"
"No. Nor is there one."
"Every one knows about it," the girl said. "Don't be so mysterious. Dolores is going. I will go with her or Carmen. Many people are going."
"Go with whoever will take you," Karkov said. "I will not."
Then he turned to the girl and asked seriously, "Who told thee of it? Be exact."
"Richard," she said as seriously.
Karkov shrugged his shoulders and left her standing.
"Karkov," a man of middle height with a gray, heavy, sagging face, puffed eye pouches and a pendulous under-lip called to him in a dyspeptic voice. "Have you heard the good news?"
Karkov went over to him and the man said, "I only have it now. Not ten minutes ago. It is wonderful. All day the fascists have been fighting among themselves near Segovia. They have been forced to quell the mutinies with automatic rifle and machine-gun fire. In the afternoon they were bombing their own troops with planes."
"Yes?" asked Karkov.
"That is true," the puffy-eyed man said. "Dolores brought the news herself. She was here with the news and was in such a state of radiant exultation as I have never seen. The truth of the news shone from her face. That great face--" he said happily.
"That great face," Karkov said with no tone in his voice at all.
"If you could have heard her," the puffy-eyed man said. "The news itself shone from her with a light that was not of this world. In her voice you could tell the truth of what she said. I am putting it in an article for _Izvestia_. It was one of the greatest moments of the war to me when I heard the report in that great voice where pity, compassion and truth are blended. Goodness and truth shine from her as from a true saint of the people. Not for nothing is she called La Pasionaria."
"Not for nothing," Karkov said in a dull voice. "You better write it for _Izvestia_ now, before you forget that last beautiful lead."
"That is a woman that is not to joke about. Not even by a cynic like you," the puffy-eyed man said. "If you could have been here to hear her and to see her face."
"That great voice," Karkov said. "That great face. Write it," he said. "Don't tell it to me. Don't waste whole paragraphs on me. Go and write it now."
"Not just now."
"I think you'd better," Karkov said and looked at him, and then looked away. The puffy-eyed man stood there a couple of minutes more holding his glass of vodka, his eyes, puffy as they were, absorbed in the beauty of what he had seen and heard and then he left the room to write it.
Karkov went over to another man of about forty-eight, who was short, chunky, jovial-looking with pale blue eyes, thinning blond hair and a gay mouth under a bristly yellow moustache. This man was in uniform. He was a divisional commander and he was a Hungarian.
"Were you here when the Dolores was here?" Karkov asked the man.
"Yes."
"What was the stuff?"
"Something about the fascists fighting among themselves. Beautiful if true."
"You hear much talk of tomorrow."
"Scandalous. All the journalists should be shot as well as most of the people in this room and certainly the intriguing German unmentionable of a Richard. Whoever gave that Sunday _fuggler_ command of a brigade should be shot. Perhaps you and me should be shot too. It is possible," the General laughed. "Don't suggest it though."
"That is a thing I never like to talk about," Karkov said. "That American who comes here sometimes is over there. You know the one, Jordan, who is with the _partizan_ group. He is there where this business they spoke of is supposed to happen."
"Well, he should have a report through on it tonight then," the General said. "They don't like me down there or I'd go down and find out for you. He works with Golz on this, doesn't he? You'll see Golz tomorrow."
"Early tomorrow."
"Keep out of his way until it's going well," the General said. "He hates you bastards as much as I do. Though he has a much better temper."
"But about this--"
"It was probably the fascists having manoeuvres," the General grinned. "Well, we'll see if Golz can manceuvre them a little. Let Golz try his hand at it. We manoeuvred them at Guadalajara."
"I hear you are travelling too," Karkov said, showing his bad teeth as he smiled. The General was suddenly angry.
"And me too. Now is the mouth on me. And on all of us always. This filthy sewing circle of gossip. One man who could keep his mouth shut could save the country if he believed he could."
"Your friend Prieto can keep his mouth shut."
"But he doesn't believe he can win. How can you win without belief in the people?"
"You decide that," Karkov said. "I am going to get a little sleep."
He left the smoky, gossip-filled room and went into the back bedroom and sat down on the bed and pulled his boots off. He could still hear them talking so he shut the door and opened the window. He did not bother to undress because at two o'clock he would be starting for the drive by Colmenar, Cerceda, and Navacerrada up to the front where Golz would be attacking in the morning.
　　同一天晚上，马德里的乐爵饭店里有很多人。一辆汽车开到坂店的停车处，前灯上涂着蓝色墙粉;车里走出一个矮小的男人，穿着黑马靴、灰马裤和一件钮扣一直扣到领子的灰色上衣。他开门时给两个哨兵还礼，向坐在门蒈桌边的一个秘密警察点点头，然后跨进电梯。大理石门厅的大门里面两边各有一把椅子,坐着两个哨兵。小个子走过他们身边来到电梯门口时,他们只抬眼望望。他们的任务是检査陌生人，捩摸身体两拥、后裤袋，着有没有人夹带手熗进来，如有带熗的就交给门瞀加以盘问。但他们很熟悉这个矮小的穿马靴的人,他走过时他们简直头都没抬。
　　他走进他在乐爵饭店的房间时，里面挤满了人。大家坐的坐、站的站、交谈的交谈，就象在一般客厅里‘样,男男女女都在喝伏特加、威士忌苏打和啤酒，从大酒罐倒到小玻璃杯里。其中四个男人穿着制服。其他人有的穿防风外衣，有的穿皮外套，四个女人中三个是普通装束，另一个穿着剪裁简单的女民兵制服和裙子，脚上穿髙统靴,这个黑黑的女人骨瘦如柴，卡可夫一进房间，就向那穿制脤的女人走去，向她鞠躬，跟她握手。那是他妻子，他对她说了几句谁也听不清的俄国话，他进来时那种傲慢的眼神暂时消失了。然而当他看到一个身材匀称的姑娘，他情妇的时候,那种眼神又流餺出来了。她长着赤褐色的头发，表情懶洋洋的。他迈开短小、果断的步子走到她跟前,鞠躬，握手，那样子，谁都不会弄错是在摸仿他向自己妻子打招呼的方式，他在房里走过去时，他妻子并不目送着他。她跟一个髙髙的、漂亮的西班牙军官站在一起，正用俄国话交谈着。
　　“你那了不起的情人有些发胖了，”卡可夫对那姑娘说。“战争快进入第二个年头了，我们的英雄们全都发胖啦。”他并不对他提到的那个男人望望。
　　“你丑死了，连癩蛤蟆都要忌妒。”姑娘愉快地对他说。她说的是德国话。“明夭我可以跟你去参加进攻吗？”“不。再说,也没有这回事。”
　　“谁都知道了，”姑娘说。“别那么神秘啦。多洛雷斯①打算去。我要跟她，或者银卡门去。很多人都要去。”
　　“谁愿意带你去,就跟谁去，”卡可夫说。“我可不带，“接着他转身对着她，严肃地问，“是谁告诉你的？说得明确些。”
　　“理查德。”她同样严肃地说。
　　卡可夫耸耸肩膀走幵了，由她“个人站着。
　　“卡可夫，”一个中等身材的男人用一种没好气的声音招呼他说,此人一张灰脸肥胖松弛，眼脸浮肿，下嘴唇耷拉着。“你听到好消息了吗，“”

①即西班牙共产党领导人伊笆　　丽，多洛雷斯为她的名字

　　卡可夫走到他身边，那人说。”我还是刚听说的，不到十分钟。妙不可言。法西斯分子在塞哥维亚附近成天自相残杀。他们不得不用自动步熗和机关熗来镇压叛乱。他们下午用飞机轰炸自己的部队了。”“是吗，“”卡可夫问。
　　“不假。”那眼睑浮肿的人说。"这消息是多洛雷斯亲自带来的。她带着消息到这儿来，她容光焕发，那副高兴劲儿，我可从没见过。这消息的真实性可以从她脸上看出来。那张伟大的脸一”他快乐地说　
　　“那张伟大的脸,”卡可夫声调平板地说。“你听到她的话就好了。”眼睑浮肿的人说。“她透露这消息时的神情是人间所无的。你从她的声音能断定她讲的是事实。我根据这个在给《消息报》写文章。当我听到这个交织着怜悯、同佾和真理的伟大声音的拫道时，觉得这是这次战争中最伟大的时刻之一。她象一个真正的人民中的圣徒，身上闪耀着善和真的光辉。人们称她为‘热情之花’①不是无缘无故的。”
　　“不是无缘无故的，”卡可夫声音含糊地说。“你现在就给《消息报》写吧,免得把你刚才说的美妙的导语忘了
　　“她不是可以拿来取笑的女人,哪怕象你那样的玩世不恭之徒也不能。”眼睑浮肿的人说。“要是你在这儿听到她的声音，着到她的表情就好了。”
　　“那个伟大的声音。”卡可夫说那张伟大的脸。写文章吧，”
①伊芭露丽早年用的笔名后来成为大家对她的尊称‘

　　他说。“别跟我说了。别跟我浪费你的大块文章了。现在就去写吧。”
　　“现在可不行。”
　　“你还是去写的好，”卡可夫望着他说，然后望着别处　这眼睑浮肿的人拿着一杯伏特加站在那儿，尽管眼睑象往常一样浮肿,伹双眼全神贯注地盯着他所看到的和听到的美妙东西，隔了几分钟，他才离开房间去写了。
　　卡可夫走到另一个人身边，这人约摸四十八岁，身材矮胖,喜气洋洋，长着淡蓝色的眼睛、稀疏的金发和毛茸茸的黄胡子下一张笑嘻喀的嘴。这人穿的是制服。他是个师长，匈牙利人。“多洛雷斯来这儿的时候你在吗？卡可夫问这个人,“在，“
　　“都扯了些什么,“
　　“有关法西斯分子自相残杀的消息。是真的才美哪。”“关于明天的流言很多。”
　　“真不象话。所有的新闻记者和这房里极大部分人都该熗毙，尤其是那个不值得一提的诡计多端的德国佬理查箱。不管是谁，让这个市井负贩当上旅长的人都该熗毙。也许你我也该熗毙。这也有可能，”这位将军大笑着说。”可是别提醒别人啊。”“我从来不愿谈那种事情，”卡可夫说。“那个有时上这儿来的美国人正在那边。你认得那个人,乔丹,他跟游击队在一起。他就在他们传说要发生情况的那个地点。”
　　“咦，那么今夜他该送一份有关这件事的报告来啦。”将军说。“他们不喜欢我到那儿去，要不然,我亲自去给你把情况弄弄清楚。他是跟戈尔兹干这件事的，不是吗？你明天将见到戈尔兹。”
　　“明天清早。”
　　“在事情顺利进行之前，别打扰他，”将军说。“他跟我一样讨厌你们这些杂种,虽然他的脾气好得多。”“但是关于这次一”
　　〃也许是因为法西斯分子在调动，”将军斐菪πΑ！焙冒桑�让我们瞧瞧，戈尔兹能不能调动他们一下　让戈尔兹这次露一手吧。我们在瓜达拉哈拉调动过他们啦。�

Chapter 31 So now they were in the robe again together and it was late in the last night. Maria lay close against him and he felt the long smoothness of her thighs against his and her breasts like two small hills that rise out of the long plain where there is a well, and the far country beyond the hills was the valley of her throat where his lips were. He lay very quiet and did not think and she stroked his head with her hand. "Roberto," Maria said very softly and kissed him. "I am ashamed. I do not wish to disappoint thee but there is a great soreness and much pain. I do not think I would be any good to thee." "There is always a great soreness and much pain," he said. "Nay, rabbit. That is nothing. We will do nothing that makes pain." "It is not that. It is that I am not good to receive thee as I wish to." "That is of no importance. That is a passing thing. We are together when we lie together." "Yes, but I am ashamed. I think it was from when things were done to me that it comes. Not from thee and me." "Let us not talk of that." "Nor do I wish to. I meant I could not bear to fail thee now on this night and so I sought to excuse myself." "Listen, rabbit," he said. "All such things pass and then there is no problem." But he thought; it was not good luck for the last night. Then he was ashamed and said, "Lie close against me, rabbit. I love thee as much feeling thee against me in here in the dark as I love thee making love." "I am deeply ashamed because I thought it might be again tonight as it was in the high country when we came down from El Sordo's." "_Qu?va_," he said to her. "That is not for every day. I like it thus as well as the other." He lied, putting aside disappointment. "We will be here together quietly and we will sleep. Let us talk together. I know thee very little from talking." "Should we speak of tomorrow and of thy work? I would like to be intelligent about thy work." "No," he said and relaxed completely into the length of the robe and lay now quietly with his cheek against her shoulder, his left arm under her head. "The most intelligent is not to talk about tomorrow nor what happened today. In this we do not discuss the losses and what we must do tomorrow we will do. Thou art not afraid?" "_Qu?va_," she said. "I am always afraid. But now I am afraid for thee so much I do not think of me." "Thou must not, rabbit. I have been in many things. And worse than this," he lied. Then suddenly surrendering to something, to the luxury of going into unreality, he said, "Let us talk of Madrid and of us in Madrid." "Good," she said. Then, "Oh, Roberto, I am sorry I have failed thee. Is there not some other thing that I can do for thee?" He stroked her head and kissed her and then lay close and relaxed beside her, listening to the quiet of the night. "Thou canst talk with me of Madrid," he said and thought: I'll keep any oversupply of that for tomorrow. I'll need all of that there is tomorrow. There are no pine needles that need that now as I will need it tomorrow. Who was it cast his seed upon the ground in the Bible? Onan. How did Onan turn out? he thought. I don't remember ever hearing any more about Onan. He smiled in the dark. Then he surrendered again and let himself slip into it, feeling a voluptuousness of surrender into unreality that was like a sexual acceptance of something that could come in the night when there was no understanding, only the delight of acceptance. "My beloved," he said, and kissed her. "Listen. The other night I was thinking about Madrid and I thought how I would get there and leave thee at the hotel while I went up to see people at the hotel of the Russians. But that was false. I would not leave thee at any hotel." "Why not?" "Because I will take care of thee. I will not ever leave thee. I will go with thee to the Seguridad to get papers. Then I will go with thee to buy those clothes that are needed." "They are few, and I can buy them." "Nay, they are many and we will go together and buy good ones and thou wilt be beautiful in them." "I would rather we stayed in the room in the hotel and sent Out for the clothes. Where is the hotel?" "It is on the Plaza del Callao. We will be much in that room in that hotel. There is a wide bed with clean sheets and there is hot running water in the bathtub and there are two closets and I will keep my things in one and thou wilt take the other. And there are tall, wide windows that open, and outside, in the streets, there is the spring. Also I know good places to eat that are illegal but with good food, and I know shops where there is still wine and whiskey. And we will keep things to eat in the room for when we are hungry and also whiskey for when I wish a drink and I will buy thee manzanilla." "I would like to try the whiskey." "But since it is difficult to obtain and if thou likest manzanilla." "Keep thy whiskey, Roberto," she said. "Oh, I love thee very much. Thou and thy whiskey that I could not have. What a pig thou art." "Nay, you shall try it. But it is not good for a woman." "And I have only had things that were good for a woman," Maria said. "Then there in bed I will still wear my wedding shirt?" "Nay. I will buy thee various nightgowns and pajamas too if you should prefer them." "I will buy seven wedding shirts," she said. "One for each day of the week. And I will buy a clean wedding shirt for thee. Dost ever wash thy shirt?" "Sometimes." "I will keep everything clean and I will pour thy whiskey and put the water in it as it was done at Sordo's. I will obtain olives and salted codfish and hazel nuts for thee to eat while thou drinkest and we will stay in the room for a month and never leave it. If I am fit to receive thee," she said, suddenly unhappy. "That is nothing," Robert Jordan told her. "Truly it is nothing. It is possible thou wert hurt there once and now there is a scar that makes a further hurting. Such a thing is possible. All such things pass. And also there are good doctors in Madrid if there is truly anything." "But all was good before," she said pleadingly. "That is the promise that all will be good again." "Then let us talk again about Madrid." She curled her legs between his and rubbed the top of her head against his shoulder. "But will I not be so ugly there with this cropped head that thou wilt be ashamed of me?" "Nay. Thou art lovely. Thou hast a lovely face and a beautiful body, long and light, and thy skin is smooth and the color of burnt gold and every one will try to take thee from me." "_Qu?va_, take me from thee," she said. "No other man will ever touch me till I die. Take me from thee! _Qu?va_." "But many will try. Thou wilt see." "They will see I love thee so that they will know it would be as unsafe as putting their hands into a caldron of melted lead to touch me. But thou? When thou seest beautiful women of the same culture as thee? Thou wilt not be ashamed of me?" "Never. And I will marry thee." "If you wish," she said. "But since we no longer have the Church I do not think it carries importance." "I would like us to be married." "If you wish. But listen. If we were ever in another country where there still was the Church perhaps we could be married in it there." "In my country they still have the Church," he told her. "There we can be married in it if it means aught to thee. I have never been married. There is no problem." "I am glad thou hast never been married," she said. "But I am glad thou knowest about such things as you have told me for that means thou hast been with many women and the Pilar told me that it is only such men who are possible for husbands. But thou wilt not run with other women now? Because it would kill me." "I have never run with many women," he said, truly. "Until thee I did not think that I could love one deeply." She stroked his cheeks and then held her hands clasped behind his head. "Thou must have known very many." "Not to love them." "Listen. The Pilar told me something--" "Say it." "No. It is better not to. Let us talk again about Madrid." "What was it you were going to say?" "I do not wish to say it." "Perhaps it would be better to say it if it could be important." "You think it is important?" "Yes." "But how can you know when you do not know what it is?" "From thy manner." "I will not keep it from you then. The Pilar told me that we would all die tomorrow and that you know it as well as she does and that you give it no importance. She said this not in criticism but in admiration." "She said that?" he said. The crazy bitch, he thought, and he said, "That is more of her gypsy manure. That is the way old market women and caf?cowards talk. That is manuring obscenity." He felt the sweat that came from under his armpits and slid down between his arm and his side and he said to himself, So you are scared, eh? and aloud he said, "She is a manure-mouthed superstitious bitch. Let us talk again of Madrid." "Then you know no such thing?" "Of course not. Do not talk such manure," he said, using a stronger, ugly word. But this time when he talked about Madrid there was no slipping into make-believe again. Now he was just lying to his girl and to himself to pass the night before battle and he knew it. He liked to do it, but all the luxury of the acceptance was gone. But he started again. "I have thought about thy hair," he said. "And what we can do about it. You see it grows now all over thy head the same length like the fur of an animal and it is lovely to feel and I love it very much and it is beautiful and it flattens and rises like a wheatfield in the wind when I pass my hand over it." "Pass thy hand over it." He did and left his hand there and went on talking to her throat, as he felt his own throat swell. "But in Madrid I thought we could go together to the coiffeur's and they could cut it neatly on the sides and in the back as they cut mine and that way it would look better in the town while it is growing out." "I would look like thee," she said and held him close to her. "And then I never would want to change it." "Nay. It will grow all the time and that will only be to keep it neat at the start while it is growing long. How long will it take it to grow long?" "Really long?" "No. I mean to thy shoulders. It is thus I would have thee wear it." "As Garbo in the cinema?" "Yes," he said thickly. Now the making believe was coming back in a great rush and he would take it all to him. It had him now, and again he surrendered and went on. "So it will hang straight to thy shoulders and curl at the ends as a wave of the sea curls, and it will be the color of ripe wheat and thy face the color of burnt gold and thine eyes the only color they could be with thy hair and thy skin, gold with the dark flecks in them, and I will push thy head back and look in thy eyes and hold thee tight against me--" "Where?" "Anywhere. Wherever it is that we are. How long will it take for thy hair to grow?" "I do not know because it never had been cut before. But I think in six months it should be long enough to hang well below my ears and in a year as long as thou couldst ever wish. But do you know what will happen first?" "Tell me." "We will be in the big clean bed in thy famous room in our famous hotel and we will sit in the famous bed together and look into the mirror of the _armoire_ and there will be thee and there will be me in the glass and then I will turn to thee thus, and put my arms around thee thus, and then I will kiss thee thus." Then they lay quiet and close together in the night, hot-aching, rigid, close together and holding her, Robert Jordan held closely too all those things that he knew could never happen, and he went on with it deliberately and said, "Rabbit, we will not always live in that hotel." "Why not?" "We can get an apartment in Madrid on that street that runs along the Parque of the Buen Retiro. I know an American woman who furnished apartments and rented them before the movement and I know how to get such an apartment for only the rent that was paid before the movement. There are apartments there that face on the park and you can see all of the park from the windows; the iron fence, the gardens, and the gravel walks and the green of the lawns where they touch the gravel, and the trees deep with shadows and the many fountains, and now the chestnut trees will be in bloom. In Madrid we can walk in the park and row on the lake if the water is back in it now." "Why would the water be out?" "They drained it in November because it made a mark to sight from when the planes came over for bombing. But I think that the water is back in it now. I am not sure. But even if there is no water in it we can walk through all the park away from the lake and there is a part that is like a forest with trees from all parts of the world with their names on them, with placards that tell what trees they are and where they came from." "I would almost as soon go the cinema," Maria said. "But the trees sound very interesting and I will learn them all with thee if I can remember them." "They are not as in a museum," Robert Jordan said. "They grow naturally and there are hills in the park and part of the park is like a jungle. Then below it there is the book fair where along the sidewalks there are hundreds of booths with second-hand books in them and now, since the movement, there are many books, stolen in the looting of the houses which have been bombed and from the houses of the fascists, and brought to the book fair by those who stole them. I could spend all day every day at the stalls of the book fair as I once did in the days before the movement, if I ever could have any time in Madrid." "While thou art visiting the book fair I will occupy myself with the apartment," Maria said. "Will we have enough money for a servant?" "Surely. I can get Petra who is at the hotel if she pleases thee. She cooks well and is clean. I have eaten there with newspapermen that she cooks for. They have electric stoves in their rooms." "If you wish her," Maria said. "Or I can find some one. But wilt thou not be away much with thy work? They would not let me go with thee on such work as this." "Perhaps I can get work in Madrid. I have done this work now for a long time and I have fought since the start of the movement. It is possible that they would give me work now in Madrid. I have never asked for it. I have always been at the front or in such work as this. "Do you know that until I met thee I have never asked for anything? Nor wanted anything? Nor thought of anything except the movement and the winning of this war? Truly I have been very pure in my ambitions. I have worked much and now I love thee and," he said it now in a complete embracing of all that would not be, "I love thee as I love all that we have fought for. I love thee as I love liberty and dignity and the rights of all men to work and not be hungry. I love thee as I love Madrid that we have defended and as I love all my comrades that have died. And many have died. Many. Many. Thou canst not think how many. But I love thee as I love what I love most in the world and I love thee more. I love thee very much, rabbit. More than I can tell thee. But I say this now to tell thee a little. I have never had a wife and now I have thee for a wife and I am happy." "I will make thee as good a wife as I can," Maria said. "Clearly I am not well trained but I will try to make up for that. If we live in Madrid; good. If we must live in any other place; good. If we live nowhere and I can go with thee; better. If we go to thy country I will learn to talk _Ingl廥_ like the most _Ingl廥_ that there is. I will study all their manners and as they do so will I do." "Thou wilt be very comic." "Surely. I will make mistakes but you will tell me and I will never make them twice, or maybe only twice. Then in thy country if thou art lonesome for our food I can cook for thee. And I will go to a school to learn to be a wife, if there is such a school, and study at it." "There are such schools but thou dost not need that schooling." "Pilar told me that she thought they existed in your country. She had read of them in a periodical. And she told me also that I must learn to speak _Ingl廥_ and to speak it well so thou wouldst never be ashamed of me." "When did she tell you this?" "Today while we were packing. Constantly she talked to me about what I should do to be thy wife." I guess she was going to Madrid too, Robert Jordan thought, and said, "What else did she say?" "She said I must take care of my body and guard the line of my figure as though I were a bullfighter. She said this was of great importance." "It is," Robert Jordan said. "But thou hast not to worry about that for many years." "No. She said those of our race must watch that always as it can come suddenly. She told me she was once as slender as I but that in those days women did not take exercise. She told me what exercises I should take and that I must not eat too much. She told me which things not to eat. But I have forgotten and must ask her again." "Potatoes," he said. "Yes," she went on. "It was potatoes and things that are fried. Also when I told her about this of the soreness she said I must not tell thee but must support the pain and not let thee know. But I told thee because I do not wish to lie to thee ever and also I feared that thou might think we did not have the joy in common any longer and that other, as it was in the high country, had not truly happened." "It was right to tell me." "Truly? For I am ashamed and I will do anything for thee that thou should wish. Pilar has told me of things one can do for a husband." "There is no need to do anything. What we have we have together and we will keep it and guard it. I love thee thus lying beside thee and touching thee and knowing thou art truly there and when thou art ready again we will have all." "But hast thou not necessities that I can care for? She explained that to me." "Nay. We will have our necessities together. I have no necessities apart from thee." "That seems much better to me. But understand always that I will do what you wish. But thou must tell me for I have great ignorance and much of what she told me I did not understand clearly. For I was ashamed to ask and she is of such great and varied wisdom." "Rabbit," he said. "Thou art very wonderful." "_Qu?va_," she said. "But to try to learn all of that which goes into wifehood in a day while we are breaking camp and packing for a battle with another battle passing in the country above is a rare thing and if I make serious mistakes thou must tell me for I love thee. It could be possible for me to remember things incorrectly and much that she told me was very complicated." "What else did she tell thee?" "_Pues_ so many things I cannot remember them. She said I could tell thee of what was done to me if I ever began to think of it again because thou art a good man and already have understood it all. But that it were better never to speak of it unless it came on me as a black thing as it had been before and then that telling it to thee might rid me of it." "Does it weigh on thee now?" "No. It is as though it had never happened since we were first together. There is the sorrow for my parents always. But that there will be always. But I would have thee know that which you should know for thy own pride if I am to be thy wife. Never did I submit to any one. Always I fought and always it took two of them or more to do me the harm. One would sit on my head and hold me. I tell thee this for thy pride." "My pride is in thee. Do not tell it." "Nay, I speak of thy own pride which it is necessary to have in thy wife. And another thing. My father was the mayor of the village and an honorable man. My mother was an honorable woman and a good Catholic and they shot her with my father because of the politics of my father who was a Republican. I saw both of them shot and my father said, '_Viva la Republica_,' when they shot him standing against the wall of the slaughterhouse of our village. "My mother standing against the same wall said, 'Viva my husband who was the Mayor of this village,' and I hoped they would shoot me too and I was going to say '_Viva la Republica y vivan mis padres_,' but instead there was no shooting but instead the doing of the things. "Listen. I will tell thee of one thing since it affects us. After the shooting at the _matadero_ they took us, those relatives who had seen it but were not shot, back from the _matadero_ up the steep hill into the main square of the town. Nearly all were weeping but some were numb with what they had seen and the tears had dried in them. I myself could not cry. I did not notice anything that passed for I could only see my father and my mother at the moment of the shooting and my mother saying, 'Long live my husband who was Mayor of this village,' and this was in my head like a scream that would not die but kept on and on. For my mother was not a Republican and she would not say, '_Viva la Republica_,' but only _Viva_ my father who lay there, on his face, by her feet. "But what she had said, she had said very loud, like a shriek and then they shot and she fell and I tried to leave the line to go to her but we were all tied. The shooting was done by the _guardia civil_ and they were still there waiting to shoot more when the Falangists herded us away and up the hill leaving the _guardias civiles_ leaning on their rifles and leaving all the bodies there against the wall. We were tied by the wrists in a long line of girls and women and they herded us up by the hill and through the streets to the square and in the square they stopped in front of the barbershop which was across the square from the city hail. "Then the two men looked at us and one said, 'That is the daughter of the Mayor,' and the other said, 'Commence with her.' "Then they cut the rope that was on each of my wrists, one saying to others of them, 'Tie up the line,' and these two took me by the arms and into the barbershop and lifted me up and put me in the barber's chair and held me there. "I saw my face in the mirror of the barbershop and the faces of those who were holding me and the faces of three others who were leaning over me and I knew none of their faces but in the glass I saw myself and them, but they saw only me. And it was as though one were in the dentist's chair and there were many dentists and they were all insane. My own face I could hardly recognize because my grief had changed it but I looked at it and knew that it was me. But my grief was so great that I had no fear nor any feeling but my grief. "At that time I wore my hair in two braids and as I watched in the mirror one of them lifted one of the braids and pulled on it so it hurt me suddenly through my grief and then cut it off close to my head with a razor. And I saw myself with one braid and a slash where the other had been. Then he cut off the other braid but without pulling on it and the razor made a small cut on my ear and I saw blood come from it. Canst thou feel the scar with thy finger?" "Yes. But would it be better not to talk of this?" "This is nothing. I will not talk of that which is bad. So he had cut both braids close to my head with a razor and the others laughed and I did not even feel the cut on my ear and then he stood in front of me and struck me across the face with the braids while the other two held me and he said, 'This is how we make Red nuns. This will show thee how to unite with thy proletarian brothers. Bride of the Red Christ!' "And he struck me again and again across the face with the braids which had been mine and then he put the two of them in my mouth and tied them tight around my neck, knotting them in the back to make a gag and the two holding me laughed. "And all of them who saw it laughed and when I saw them laugh in the mirror I commenced to cry because until then I had been too frozen in myself from the shooting to be able to cry. "Then the one who had gagged me ran a clippers all over my head; first from the forehead all the way to the back of the neck and then across the top and then all over my head and close behind my ears and they held me so I could see into the glass of the barber's mirror all the time that they did this and I could not believe it as I saw it done and I cried and I cried but I could not look away from the horror that my face made with the mouth open and the braids tied in it and my head coming naked under the clippers. "And when the one with the clippers was finished he took a bottle of iodine from the shelf of the barber (they had shot the barber too for he belonged to a syndicate, and he lay in the doorway of the shop and they had lifted me over him as they brought me in) and with the glass wand that is in the iodine bottle he touched me on the ear where it had been cut and the small pain of that came through my grief and through my horror. "Then he stood in front of me and wrote U. H. P. on my forehead with the iodine, lettering it slowly and carefully as though he were an artist and I saw all of this as it happened in the mirror and I no longer cried for my heart was frozen in me for my father and my mother and what happened to me now was nothing and I knew it. "Then when he had finished the lettering, the Falangist stepped back and looked at me to examine his work and then he put down the iodine bottle and picked up the clippers and said, 'Next,' and they took me out of the barbershop holding me tight by each arm and I stumbled over the barber lying there still in the doorway on his back with his gray face up, and we nearly collided with Concepci鏮 GracIa, my best friend, that two of them were bringing in and when she saw me she did not recognize me, and then she recognized me, and she screamed, and I could hear her screaming all the time they were shoving me across the square, and into the doorway, and up the stairs of the city hall and into the office of my father where they laid me onto the couch. And it was there that the bad things were done." "My rabbit," Robert Jordan said and held her as close and as gently as he could. But he was as full of hate as any man could be. "Do not talk more about it. Do not tell me any more for I cannot bear my hatred now." She was stiff and cold in his arms and she said, "Nay. I will never talk more of it. But they are bad people and I would like to kill some of them with thee if I could. But I have told thee this only for thy pride if I am to be thy wife. So thou wouldst understand." "I am glad you told me," he said. "For tomorrow, with luck, we will kill plenty." "But will we kill Falangists? It was they who did it." "They do not fight," he said gloomily. "They kill at the rear. It is not them we fight in battle." "But can we not kill them in some way? I would like to kill some very much." "I have killed them," he said. "And we will kill them again. At the trains we have killed them." "I would like to go for a train with thee," Maria said. "The time of the train that Pilar brought me back from I was somewhat crazy. Did she tell thee how I was?" "Yes. Do not talk of it." "I was dead in my head with a numbness and all I could do was cry. But there is another thing that I must tell thee. This I must. Then perhaps thou wilt not marry me. But, Roberto, if thou should not wish to marry me, can we not, then, just be always together?" "I will marry thee." "Nay. I had forgotten this. Perhaps you should not. It is possible that I can never bear thee either a son or a daughter for the Pilar says that if I could it would have happened to me with the things which were done. I must tell thee that. Oh, I do not know why I had forgotten that." "It is of no importance, rabbit," he said. "First it may not be true. That is for a doctor to say. Then I would not wish to bring either a son or a daughter into this world as this world is. And also you take all the love I have to give." "I would like to bear thy son and thy daughter," she told him. "And how can the world be made better if there are no children of us who fight against the fascists?" "Thou," he said. "I love thee. Hearest thou? And now we must sleep, rabbit. For I must be up long before daylight and the dawn comes early in this month." "Then it is all right about the last thing I said? We can still be married?" "We are married, now. I marry thee now. Thou art my wife. But go to sleep, my rabbit, for there is little time now." "And we will truly be married? Not just a talking?" "Truly." "Then I will sleep and think of that if I wake." "I, too." "Good night, my husband." "Good night," he said. "Good night, wife." He heard her breathing steadily and regularly now and he knew she was asleep and he lay awake and very still not wanting to waken her by moving. He thought of all the part she had not told him and he lay there hating and he was pleased there would be killing in the morning. But I must not take any of it personally, he thought. Though how can I keep from it? I know that we did dreadful things to them too. But it was because we were uneducated and knew no better. But they did that on purpose and deliberately. Those who did that are the last flowering of what their education has produced. Those are the flowers of Spanish chivalry. What a people they have been. What sons of bitches from Cortez, Pizarro, Men幯dez de Avila all down through Enrique Lister to Pablo. And what wonderful people. There is no finer and no worse people in the world. No kinder people and no crueler. And who understands them? Not me, because if I did I would forgive it all. To understand is to forgive. That's not true. Forgiveness has been exaggerated. Forgiveness is a Christian idea and Spain has never been a Christian country. It has always had its own special idol worship within the Church. _Otra Virgen m嫳_. I suppose that was why they had to destroy the virgins of their enemies. Surely it was deeper with them, with the Spanish religion fanatics, than it was with the people. The people had grown away from the Church because the Church was in the government and the government had always been rotten. This was the only country that the reformation never reached. They were paying for the Inquisition now, all right. Well, it was something to think about. Something to keep your mind from worrying about your work. It was sounder than pretending. God, he had done a lot of pretending tonight. And Pilar had been pretending all day. Sure. What if they were killed tomorrow? What did it matter as long as they did the bridge properly? That was all they had to do tomorrow. It didn't. You couldn't do these things indefinitely. But you weren't supposed to live forever. Maybe I have had all my life in three days, he thought. If that's true I wish we would have spent the last night differently. But last nights are never any good. Last nothings are any good. Yes, last words were good sometimes. "_Viva_ my husband who was Mayor of this town" was good. He knew it was good because it made a tingle run all over him when he said it to himself. He leaned over and kissed Maria who did not wake. In English he whispered very quietly, "I'd like to marry you, rabbit. I'm very proud of your family." 　　他俩叉一起躺在睡袋里,这是最后的一夜，夜已很深了。玛丽亚紧偎在他身上，他静静地躺着，什么也不想，她用手抚摸着他的头。 　　“罗伯托。”玛丽亚柔情地说，吻他，“真惭愧。我不愿让你失望，可是一碰就痛，痛得厉害。看来我对你没多大用处了。” “总是会痛的，”他说。“不，兔子，没什么。我们不做任何会引起痛苦的事。” 　　“我不是指那回事。是这样，我想叫你快活,可是做不到。”“没关系。一会儿就会好的。我们躺在一起，就结合在一起 了。” 　　“话虽这么说，可我感到惭愧。我想这是以前人家糟蹋了我才引起的。不是你我的关系。”“我们别谈这个了。” 　　“我也不愿谈。我想说的是，最后一夜叫你失望,我受不了，因此就想为自己找借口。” 　　“听我说,兔子。”他说。“这种事一会儿就会好的,不会有什么问题的。”但是他想。”对最后一夜来说,这兆头不妙。 　　接着他过意不去地说，“紧紧挨着我，兔子。我客欢你在这儿黑夜里貼在我身边，就象我喜欢和你做爱一样。” 　　“我真惭愧,我原以为今夜又会和那次从‘聋子’那儿下山后在高地上那样的，“ 　　“什么话1”他对她说。“可不会每次都一样,这样和上一次那样，我都喜欢。”他撇开失望的心情,撤了个谎。“我们静静地在一起，我们睡觉。我们一起聊聊吧。我从谈话中知道你的情况极少。”“我们讲讲明天，讲讲你的工作好吗？我要学得聪明点，帮你做事。” 　　“不，”他说着在睡袋里彻底放松了筋骨，静静地躺着，脸颊貼在她肩上，左臂枕在她头下。“最聪明的办法是不谈明天，也不谈今天发生过的事。我们在这里不谈伤亡的事儿。明天非干不可的事，到时候干就是了。你不觉得害怕？” 　　“哪里的话　”她说。“我老是害怕。可现在我尽替你害怕，所以想不到自己了。” 　　“别这样,兔子。这种事我遇到得多啦。有的比这次更糟。”他撒了个谎。 　　接着，他突然放纵自己,听任自己沉溺在幻想中,他说,“我们谈谈马德里，谈谈我们在马德里的情景吧。” 　　“好，”她说。“唉，罗伯托，我让你失望了，真对不起。有什么别的事我可以替你做吗？” 　　他抚摸着她的头,吻她，然后舒适地偎依在她身边，倾听着夜籁。 　　“你可以跟我谈谈马德里，”他说，并想，我要为明天养精蓄锐。明天我霈要全部的精力。现在松针地上不会象我明天那样地谣要精力。《圣经》上说谁把它遗在地上了？俄南。他想，俄南结果怎么样？我想不起还听说过关于俄南的别的情況。① ①俄南的哥哥死去了，他父亲对他说。”你当与你哥哥的妻子同房，向他尽你为弟的本分，为你哥哥生子立后。俄南知道生子不归自己，所以同房的时候，便遗在地，免得给他哥哥留后。俄南所作的,在耶和华眼中看为恶，耶和华也就叫他死了。”(。”。圣经‘创世记》第三十八章第八到十节　 　　他在黑暗中微笑着。 　　接着他又听任自己沉溺在幻想中，感到沉溺在幻想中的逸乐，就象夜间迷迷糊糊地接受性爱，只感到接受的快感。 　　“我亲爱的。”他说，吻着她。“听宥，有天晚上我在想马德里,想我怎样到了那儿,把你留在旅馆里，而我呢，赶到俄国人住的饭店里去看朋友。不过那不对头，我不会把你留在旅馆里的。”“干吗不呢?” 　　“因为我要照联你。我永远也不离开你。我要银你一起到民政局去领证明。然后跟你一起去买需要的衣服。”“不需要多少衣服，我自己会买。”“不,要很多，我们一起去，买些好的衣服，你穿了一定很漂亮。” 　　“我宁愿我们待在旅馆的房间里，打发别人去买。旅馆在哪 儿?” 　　“在卡廖。”场。我们要在那家旅馆的房间里待很长的时间。有一张宽阔的床和干净的床单，澡盆里有热的自来水，还有两个壁柜,一个放我的东西，一个归你用。敞开的窗子又髙又宽，窗外街上有喷泉。我还知道几家挺好的饭店,那是没有执照的，但饭菜很好，我还知道几家店铺可以买到葡萄酒和威士忌。我们要在屋里放些吃的,饿了就吃，还有威士忌,想喝的时侯我就喝，我还要给你买些白葡萄酒。”“我想尝尝威士忌。” 　　“不过威士忌不容易搞到，如果你喜欢,还是喝白葡萄酒。““威士忌你留着自己喝吧，罗伯托。”她说。“暧，我真爱你，爱你和爱我喝不到的威士忌。你真小气。” 　　“好,你就喝一点吧。不过女人喝这种酒不合适。” 　　“我一向可只享用到对女人合适的东西，”玛丽亚说。“那么我在床上仍旧穿我的结婚衬衫吗？” 　　“不。要是你喜欢，我还要给你买各式各样的睡农、睡裤。”“我要买七件结婚衬衫。”她说。”一星期当中每天换一件。我要给你买一件干净的结婚衬衫。你洗过自己的衬衫吗？”“有时候洗。” 　　“我什么都要冼得干干净净，我要象在‘聋子’那儿那样，给你斟威士忌，在里面兑水。我要给你摘些橄榄、咸鳕鱼、榛子，给你下酒吃。我们要在房间里住一个月，一步也不离开。如果我能好好迎合你，”她说到这里，突然不高兴了。 　　“那没关系，”罗伯特　乔丹对她说。“真的没关系。可能是你那里以前受过伤，结了疤，现在又碰伤了。这情況是可能的。这一类情況过些时候都会好的。要是真有问题，马德里有的是好医生。” 　　“前几次挺好嘛。”她恳求似地说，“那说明以后也会挺好。” 　　“那么我们再谈谈马德里吧。”她把两腿曲在他的腿中间，头顶擦着他的肩头。“我一头短头发，那么难看,会不会替你丢人?”“不会。你很可爱。你有一张可爱的脸，颀长的身子又美丽又轻盈，金红色的皮肤很光滑，人人都会想把你从我身边夺走, 　　“什么话，把我从你那里夺走　”她说。”没有另一个男人能碰我,除非我死了。把我夺走,休想　” 　　“不过很多人会有这种打算的乡你等着瞧吧。”“他们会看到，我多么爱你，要是碰我的话，就象把手伸进一锅熔化的铅里那样危险。可你呢？你见了跟你一样有文化的漂亮女人，你不会替我害臊吗?”“决不。我要跟你结婚。” 　　“由你吧，”地说。“不过，我们已经取消了教堂，我看不结婚关系也不大。” 　　“我觉得我们还是结婚好。” 　　“由你吧。你听着。要是别的国家还有教堂,也许我们可以在那儿结婚。” 　　“我的国家里还有教堂。”他告诉她。”要是你觉得有意思，我们可以在那儿的教堂里结婚。我从没结过婚。役有问敏。” 　　“你从没结过婚，我很高兴，”她说。“我还髙兴的是，你见多识。”，告诉了我那些事，这说明你跟很多女人亲近过。比拉尔对我说过,只有这种男人才能傲丈夫。你现在可不会跟别的女人胡闹了吧？因为这准会叫我活不下去。” 　　“我从来没有踉很多女人胡闹过，”他真心实意地说。“在遇到你之前，我觉得自己是不会深爱一个女人的。“ 　　她抚摸着他的脸颊,接着双手搂住他的头。“你一定摘过很多女人。” 　　“没有爱过她们。” 　　“听着，比拉尔跟我讲过一件事一”“说吧。” 　　“不。还是不说的好。我们再谈谈马德里吧。”“你刚才想说的是什么事?”“我不想说了。“ 　　“是要紧事,也许还是说的好。” 　　“你认为要紧吗?” 　　“对, 　　“你还不知道是什么事,怎么知道要紧呢？”〃从你的态度看得出来。” 　　“那我不瞒你了。比拉尔告诉我说，我们明天都要死了，还说你跟她一样清楚，可是你不把它当一回事。她说这话不是批评,而是钦佩你。” 　　“她是这样说的吗？”他说。他想。”这个疯婊子。他说。”又是她那套吉普赛鬼名堂。那是市场上的女摊贩和泡在咖啡馆里的胆小鬼嘴里的胡话。她奶奶的鬼话。”他觉得胳肢窝里在出汗，汗水从胳膊和腰间淌下来。‘他心里嘀咕着，“敢情你害怕了，呃?”然后说出口来，“她这个迷信的婊子，满嘴胡话。我们再谈马德里吧。” 　　“那么你不知道这回事?” 　　“当然不知道。别谈这种废话了，”他说,用了一个更强烈更难听的词儿。 　　于是他再谈起马德里来，但这次没法再体会到身历其堍的感觉了，现在他只不过是在对他的女朋友、对自己撖谎，来消磨这战斗前的一夜,这他自己也明白。他喜欢这么做，但是接受了幻想而得到的乐趣却一点也没有了。然而他还是又讲开了。 　　“我想过你的头发，”他说。“我想过我们要拿它怎么办。你瞧,现在已经满头都长满了，就象动物身上的毛那样长，摸着很舒服，我非常喜欢。这头发很漂亮，我用手“捋,头发平伏之后又竖起来，就象风中的麦浪。”“用手摸摸吧。” 　　他摸着，把手留在头发上，继续貼着她的脖子说话，觉得自己的喉咙哽塞起来了。“不过,我们在马德里可以一起上理发店，让理发师照我的样子把两边和后面的头发剃掉,修得整整齐齐这样，在头发长长之前，在城里走动就看起来好多了。” 　　“我会着起来象你了，”她说,紧紧抱着他。“那我一定不再改变发型了。” 　　“不。头发会不断地长。那只不过是为了在头发长长之前弄得整齐些。头发长长要多久?”“很长很长吗。” 　　“不。我是说，长到齐肩。我要你留的就是这样的发型，““象电影里的赛宝那样?”“对。”他声音哽塞着说　 　　这时,那种身历其境的感觉义一下子兜上心头来了,他要尽佾地亊受它。这感觉这时控制了他，他又沉溺在其中，接着说下去。“头发会这样直垂在肩上,下端是鬃曲的，好象海浪一样，颜色好象热透的麦子,你的脸是金红色的，有了金色的头发和金色的皮肤，你的眼睛也只能是金色的，里面有黑色的瞒仁。我要让你仰起头来,凝视着你的限睛,紧紧拥抱你一”“在嘿儿。” 　　“在任何地方，不管我们在什么地方　你的头发长长要多久?” 　　“不知道，因为以前从没剪过。不过，我想六个月就会长到耳朵下面，要一年才能长到你喜欢的那样。你可知道我们先做 些什么。” 　　“跟我讲讲。” 　　“我们要在我们那个了不起的旅馆里,在你说的那个了不起的房间里干千净净的大床上，我们一起坐在那张了不起的床上照着大柜子上的镜子；镜子里是你、是我，跟着我要这样对着你，胳膊这样搂着你,银着这样吻着你。” 　　他们在夜色里静静地紧偎在一起，火热地、一动不动地紧偎在一起，紧紧地接着。罗伯特“乔丹抱着她，同时紧抱着他明知不会有的一切，伹他自得其乐地说下去,“兔子,我们不要老是住在那家旅馆里。”“干吗不？” 　　“我们可以在马德里静安公园旁边的街上租一套公寓。我认识一个在革命前出租公寓的美国女房东，我能按以前的租金标准租到这种公寓。那儿有的房间面对公园，从窗口能望到公园的铁栏杆、园地、卵石小路、路边的绿草地、荫輅的树木和很多喷泉。”菜树现在一定开花了。在马德里,我们可以在公园里散步，要是湖里现在又有水了，可以在湖上划船。”"湖里怎么会没有水呢?”“他们是在十二月份把水抽掉的,因为飞机来轰炸的时候会暴露目标。不过,我想现在又有水了。可是不一定。不过，即使湖里没有水，我们可以在公园里别的地方傲步；有一个部分象森林一样，世界各地的树木都有，每棵树上有标签，上面注明树的名称和扭处。” 　　“我可情愿上电影院，”玛丽亚说。“不过这些树听起来很有意思，如果能记住的话,我要跟你一起把树名全记下来。” 　　“那儿可跟博物院不一样。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“树木是自然生长的，公园里有小山，有一部分象原始森林。公园南面有　书市，人行道旁有成百个卖旧书的书摊，革命开始以来书籍很多,那是有人从挨到轰炸的住家和法西斯分子家里偷来了，拿到书市上来卖的。我在马锥里只要有时间，可以每天整天都消磨在这些书摊上，就象革命前有一度那样。” 　　“你去逛书市的时候，我在公寓里忙我的事。”玛丽亚说　我们有钱雇一个佣人吗？” ‘ 　　“当然。我可以找旅馆里的佩特拉，要是你喜欢她的话。她莱做得不坏，人又干净。她替几个新闻记者傲饭，我在他们那里吃过饭。他们房间里有电炉，“ 　　“你要她就行。”玛丽亚说。“要不，我去找一个。不过你为了工作,不是要常常出去的吗？干这种工作,他们不会让我陪你一起去的。” 　　“说不定我能在马德里找到工作。这种工作我已做了很久，革命一开始我就打仗。现在他们可能会让我在马德里工作了,我从没提过要求。我一直在前线，或者干这种工作。 　　“你可知道,在遇到你之前，我从来没有提过什么要求，也没有要过什么，除了革命和赢得这场战争以外,也没考虑过别的，说真的，我的志向是非常纯正的。我干了良多工作,现在爱上了你。”他这时说的话把一切不会发生的事都包括在内了，“我爱你，就象我爱我们为之奋斗的一切。我爱你，就象我爱自由，尊产和人们要求工作、不愿挨饿的权利。我爱你，就象我爱我们所保卫的马德里，就象我爱所有那些牺牲的同志。很多同志牺牲目了。很多,很多。你没法想象有多少。但是我爱你,就象我爱世界上我最爱的东西，而我爱你超过了这一切。我是多么地爱你两,兔子，我无法用话向你表达，而我现在说的话，仅仅告诉了你一点儿。我从没娶过妻子,你现在就是我的妻子，我很幸福。”“我要尽力做你的好妻子，”玛丽亚说-“我明摆着没受过良好的教育,但是我一定要弥补这个缺点。如果我们住在马德里,很好。如果我们不得不住在别的地方，也好。如果我们不定居在什么地方，只荽我可以跟你在一起,更好。要是我们到你的国家去,我要学讲英国话,象讲得最好的人一样。我要学他们的一 举一动，他们怎么样,我也怎么样。”“你会变得非常可笑。” 　　“当然啦。我会出差锴，不过你会对我指出，我就决不犯第二遍，或者只犯两逍。在你的国家里，如果你想吃我们的饭莱，我可以给你做。我要到学校里去学怎样当妻子，如果有这种学校的话，还要好好学。“ 　　“有这种学校，不过你用不着去学。”“比拉尔对我说过,她认为你的国家里有这种学校。她在杂志上看到过。她还对我说，我一定要学讲英国话，还要讲得地道，千万不能替你丢脸。” 　　“她什么时候跟你说这话的？” 　　“今天我们包扎东西的时候。她经常银我讲做你的妻子该做些什么。” 　　罗伯特，乔丹想　看来她也打算去马德里。他说，“她还说些什么？” 　　“她说，我应该把自己当做一个斗牛士，一定要保养自己的身体,保持苗条。她说这是很要紧的事。” 　　“不镨。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你在今后很多年里不用为这个担心。” 　　“不。她说,我们这个种族的人必须时时注意，因为会突然发胖。她对我说，她以前跟我一样苗条,不过那时候妇女是不锻炼身体的。她教我该怎样锻炼，不能吃得太多‘她教我什么东西不能吃。可我已经忘了，还得再问问地。““马铃薯,”他说。 　　“对了。”她接着说。”正是马铃薯,还有油炸的东西。我还跟她讲到痈的亊，她说千万不能对你说,只能忍住痛,不让你知道。 可是我对你说了,因为我永远不愿对你撖谎；我也很害怕，你可能会以为我们再不能双方都快活了，以为在高地上那回事没有真的发生过。” 　　“告诉我是对的。" 　　“真的？因为我感到惭愧，而且只要你喜欢，我什么都愿意做，比拉尔跟我讲了该为自己丈夫做些什么。” 　　“什么也不用做。我们的爱情是共同的，我们要保持它、爱护它。我爱这样躲在你身边，触摸到你，知道你真的在我身边;等你复元了,我们什么都可以做。” 　　“可我有什么地方可以满足你的需要呢？她跟我讲过这种事的。” 　　“没有。我们的需要是共同的。我的需要不能和你分开。”“这样说我绝得好多了。不过始终别忘了,你赛欢的事我定做。你可一定要对我说，因为我不僅的事太多了,她对我讲的,我很多都弄不明白。我不好意思问，她呢,僅得又多面义。”，““兔于，”他说。“你真了不起。” 　　“嗶里的话　”她说。“我们正在拔营,打行李，准备战斗,而另一场战斗正在山上进行，在这样的一天里要学会做妻子的一切可是难事啊。要是我出了大差错―你一定要对我说,因为我爱你。很可能我会记错事情，她踉我讲的很多事情复杂得很哪。”“她还跟你讲了些什么?” 　　“讲的事情很多,我记不住了。她说，我可以把我受到糟蹋的亊告诉你，要是我再记起来的话　因为你是个好人，已经了解了全部真相。不过最好还是永远别摁,除非这件事又跟以前那样象恶魔似地缠着我,那么政你讲讲能使我摆脱它，“ 　　“现在还使你难受。” 　　“不。自从我们第一次在一起以来，我觉得这事仿佛从没发生过。可是一直在为我爹妈难受。这种心情可是永远抹不掉的。不过既然我要做你的妻子，就应该为了尊重你,让你知道你应该知道的事。我从来也没有屈从过任何人。我总是挣扎，他们总是要两个人或更多的人才能糟蹋我。一个人坐在我头上抓住了我。我把这告诉你是为了尊重你。”“我尊重的是你。别说了。” 　　“不,我说的尊重是你为你的妻子应该感到的。还有一件事　我父亲是当地的村长，是个受人尊敬的人。我母亲也是个受人尊敬的人，是个好天主教徒，因为我父亲拥护共和国的政治观点，他们把母亲和父亲一起熗杀了。我眼看着他俩被打死，当时,父亲站在村里的屠宰场墒边,在被熗杀前说1‘共和国万岁、““我母亲也靠那堵墙站着，她说，‘我丈夫，本村村长万岁　我希望他们也把我杀了，我打算说”共和国万岁，爹妈万岁可是他们没开熗，而是干出伤天害理的事来。 　　“听着。我要告诉你一件事，因为它跟我们有关系。在屠宰场上熗杀之后，他们把我们这些看熗毙而没被熗杀的亲人从屠宰场带到一座陡峭的山上，来到镇上的大。”场。所有的人几乎都在哭,除了有些看得发呆的人，他们眼眶里的眼泪巳经干了。我也哭不出来。熗杀的时候我没注意其他情况，因为只看着父亲和母亲，而母亲说的‘我丈夫，本村村长万岁’这甸话在我头脑里象是一声号叫,再不会消失,而是不断回响着。我母亲不是共和分子，所以不说‘共和国万岁’,而只是髙喊我父亲万岁，他那时栽倒在她脚边,脸朝下躺着。 … 　　“可是她说得话声很大，大得拿尖叫，他们就开熗，她倒下了。我想离开队伍扑到她身边去,可是我们都被缚在一起，幵熗的是民防军,他们在那儿等着还要熗藉别人，这时长熗党党员们把我们象牲口般赶上山去，把民防军留在后面，支着步熗，墙脚下全是？“体。我们这些姑娘和妇女的手腌被缚着，连成一串，他们把我们一群人赶上了山，穿过街道来到。”场。到了。”场上,他们在镇公所对面的理发店门口停下了。 　　“那时有两个人瞧瞧我们,一个说，‘她是村长的女儿。”另一个说"拿她开头。’ 　　“他们割断了我手腕上的绳子,有一个对其他人说“把其他人用绳子结好。”这两个人就抓住了我的胳膊，把我拖进理发店,提起来，按在理发椅上不让动。 　　“我在理发店的镜子里看到了自己的脸，看到了那些抓住我的人的脸，看到了另外三个俯在我身上的人的脸，这些脸，我一个也不认得,伹是在镜子里我看到了自己和他们，而他们只看到我。那样子就象牙科诊所的椅子上坐了个人，有很多牙科医生,他们都发了疯。我几乎没法认出自己的脸了，因为我伤心得脸都变了样，但我望着它，知道是自己的脸。然而我伤心得不感到害怕，也没有什么感觉了,只是伤心。 　　“那时我的头发梳两条辨子，我从镜子里见到有个人抓住了一条辫子猛拉，这样在伤心之外突然使我痛得难熬。他接着用縱刀齐头发根把辫子割了下来。我看到自己只剩了一条辫子和另一条辫子的残根。他接着没有再拉,就把另一条辨子也割了，剃刀在我耳朵上划玻了一道小口子,我见到上面在淹血。你用指头能摸到伤疤吗?” 　　“能。可是别谈这事了,好吗？ 　　“没什么。我不谈那件不幸的事。他就这样用剃刀把我的辫子齐头发根割了下来，其他人哈哈大笑。”我简直没感觉到耳朵 上的伤口痛。他接者站在我面前，用辫子抽打我的脸,而其他两个人抓住了我，他说，‘这就是我们制造赤色尼姑的方法。这就叫你明白，怎样和你的无产阶级兄弟们打成一片申红色基督的新娘子，“ 　　“他用我自己的辫子一遍又一遒地抽打我的脸,然后用辫子勒住我的璨，紧扎住我的脖子，在脑后打了个铕，这样塞住了我的嘴。两个按住我的人哈哈大笑。 　　“看到的人都哈哈大笑。我在镜子里看到他们笑的样子，我哭起来了，因为直到那时为止，熗杀使我麻木得哭不出来。” 　　“接着，那个堵我嘴的人用理发推子在我头上到处乱推，先从前额开始，一直推到后脑脖子根，然后在头顶上横推过去，满头都推到了,耳朵后面的地方部没漏掉。他们抓住了我，我在理发店的铳子里看到替我剃头发的全部经过。剃过之后,我寘没法相信，我哭了又哭，伹我没法不看我自已脸上的那斟可怕模样　嘴张着，勒着辫子，推于经过的地方，头发全光了。“ 　　“拿推于的人剃完了头，在架子上拿了瓶碘酒（他们把理发师也熗杀了，因为他是工会会员，他就躺在店门口，他们拖我进来的时候，把我从他身上提了过去》，用碘酒瓶里的玻璃棒擦我耳朵上的伤口，在我的伤心和惊恐之中，加上了这种零星的痛苦” 　　“接者他站在我面前，拿碘酒在我前額上写了口.　？-三个字母，就象美术家那样慢条斯理地画着。我在镜子里望着他的一举一动,不再哭了，因为我父亲和母亲的遭进已使我伤心之极，我自己的遭遢无足轻重了。这我心里明白。 　　“那个长熗党写完后，后退了一步，望着我，检查他写得怎么样,接着放下碘酒瓶,拿起推子说，‘下一个。”于是他们紧紧拽住了我两条胳膊，把我从理发店里拖出去。那理发师还是仰天躺在门口，脸色死白，我在他身上绊了一交，当时有两个人正把我最好的朋友孔塞普西昂　格拉西亚拖进来，我和她几乎撞个满怀。她当时看见了我却不认得我了，后来才认出是我，就尖声大叫起来。他们推推搡搡地把我带进。”场对面村公所的大门，　直上楼到我父亲的办公室，把我按在长沙发上。这一路上,我始终听到她的尖叫声。他们就是在那儿干下那伤天害理的事来的，“ 　　“我的兔子。”罗伯特　乔丹说，尽量温柔地紧搂着她。可是他满腔仇恨，怒不可遏。“别再说了。别再跟我说了，因为现在仇恨使我受不了啦，“ 　　她在他怀里变得俚硬、冰冷，她说，“好。我再也不谈这亊了。可他们是坏人，如果可能的话，我要跟你一起杀他们几个才解恨。不过我刚才告诉你，只是为了尊重你,因为我要敗你的妻子。为了要你明白。” 　　“你告诉了我，我很离兴。”他说。“明天走运的话，我们可以杀很多人。“ 　　“我们要杀长熗党吗？坏事是池们干的啊。”“他们不打仗。”他阴郁地说。“他们在后方杀人。和我们交锋的不是他们。” 　　“难道我们没办法杀他们吗？我真想杀几个这种人。”“这种人我杀过，”他说。“今后我们还要杀。炸火车的时候我们杀过。” 　　“我想和你一起去炸一次火车，”玛丽亚说。“那次炸火车后，比拉尔把我带走时,我有点儿疯疯瘭癲了。她跟你讲过我那时的情形吗。” 　　"讲过。别谈这事了。” 　　“我当时头脑昏昏沉沉，只会哭。可是我还有“件事得告诉你。我非说不可。说了你也许不会娶我了。可是，罗伯托，要是你不愿意娶我，那么我们能不能还是一直在一起呢”“我要娶你。” 　　“不。这件事我忘了。也许你不应该娶我。我可能永远不会给你生儿育女了，因为比拉尔说，要是会生育，他们糟蹋我之后我就会生了，这件事我不能不告诉你。暧，我怎么会把这件事忘了。“ 　　“这没有关系，兔子，”他说。“首先，情况可能还不是这样。这得由医生来断定。其次，我不希望把几女带到如今这样的世界上来。此外，我要把我的爱全部给你。” 　　“我想给你生儿育女。”她对他说。“要是没有我们的子女跟法西斯打仗,这世界怎么会变好呢。” 　　“你啊，”他说。“我爱你。你听到吗？现在我们得睡了，兔子，因为早在天亮前我就得起身，这个月份,天亮得很早啊“那么我说的最后一件事不碍事吗？我们仍旧可以结婚？”“我们现在巳经结婚了。我现在娶你。你是我的妻子,睡吧，我的兔子，因为现在没有多少时间了。” 　　“那么我们要真的结婚吗？不只是说说的?”“真的 　　“那我睡了，如果醒来再想这件事吧。” 　　“我也这样。” 　　“晚安，我的丈夫。” 　　“晚安。”他说。“晚安，妻子。” 　　他听到她平稳而有规律地呼吸着,知道她睡熟了，躭躺着不入睡,一动也不动,怕惊蘼她　他躺在那儿回想她没有对他讲到的那部分情事，心怀愤恨，高兴的是明天就要杀人了，他想,可是我个人千万别参加杀人啊。 　　然而我怎能不杀人呢？我知道，我们对他们也干下了坷怕的事,但那是因为我们的人没受过敎育，不懂得好歹。他们可是有意而深思熟虑地干的。那些作恶的人是他们的教育所产生的最后一批尖子。那些人是西班牙骑士精神的精华。西班牙人曾经是什么样的民族啊。从科尔特斯、皮萨罗、梅嫩德斯、德阿维拉①一直到恩里克　利斯特和巴劫罗,这批婊子养的。多了不起的民族啊。世界上再没有比他们更出色、更邪恶的人了。再没有比他们更善良、更残暴的人了。谁理解他们呢？我不理解，因为如果我理解他们，就会宽恕他们的一切了。理解就是宽恕。这话不对。宽恕的精神被过分地夸大了。宽恕是基簧教的观念,而西班牙从来不是基督教国家。他们的教会里一直有其独特的偶像崇拜。崇拜另一个圣处女嘛。我看正为了这个原因，他们才要糟蹋他们敌人的处女。当然，这跟他们、踉西班牙宗教狂热分子的关系要比跟人民的关系更深。人民逐渐背弃教会，因为教会和政府合而为一,而政府一直是腐败的。这是宗教改革运动从未波及过的唯一的国家。现在他们正在为宗教审判付出代价了，错不了。唉,这是个值得思考的问题。思考这个问翅可以使你不为你的任务发愁，这比装聋作哑好得多。天哪，今晚他装聋作曬得也够呛啦。比拉尔可是整天在装聋作哑。没错儿　如果他们明天被打死又怎么样呢？只要他们把炸桥的事办妥了，死又有什么关系，“那是他们明天要干的全部事情。 ①科尔特斯和皮萨罗为西班牙殖民者，于十六佾纪分别以残磨的方式征服在今璺西哥的阿兹特克人的印第安人的帝国和在今秘齧的印加帝国。梅嫩德斯　德阿维拉应为梅嫩德斯‘德阿维莱斯,也是西班牙殖民者，于一五六五年被任命为古巴和佛罗里达总贅，卑舰队赴新大陆，在今美国东南部开辟殖民地。 　　死没有关系　你不可能无限期地老是干炸桥的事儿啊。不过你也不会长生不死。他想。”也许我在这三天里已经车受了我的一生。如果真是这样，我希望我们这最后一夜不这样度过就好了。但是,最后一夜总是不好的。最后的事物都是不好的。不,最后的话有时是好的。“我丈夫,本村村长万岁”是好的。 　　他知道这是好的，因为他在心里说这句话的时侯浑身感到激动。他抬起身体，吻吻熟睡着的玛丽亚。他用英语悄没声儿地说,我要娶你，兔子。我为你的家庭感到非常自亲　”

Chapter 30 So now everything had been done that there was to do that night. All orders had been given. Every one knew exactly what he was to do in the morning.  had been gone three hours. Either it would come now with the coming of the daylight or it would not come. I believe that it will come, Robert Jordan told himself, walking back down from the upper post where he had gone to speak to Primitivo. Golz makes the attack but he has not the power to cancel it. Permission to cancel it will have to come from Madrid. The chances are they won't be able to wake anybody up there and if they do wake up they will be too sleepy to think. I should have gotten word to Golz sooner of the preparations they have made to meet the attack, but how could I send word about something until it happened? They did not move up that stuff until just at dark. They did not want to have any movement on the road spotted by planes. But what about all their planes? What about those fascist planes? Surely our people must have been warned by them. But perhaps the fascists were faking for another offensive down through Guadalajara with them. There were supposed to be Italian troops concentrated in Soria, and at Siguenza again besides those operating in the North. They haven't enough troops or material to run two major offensives at the same time though. That is impossible; so it must be just a bluff. But we know how many troops the Italians have landed all last month and the month before at C墂iz. It is always possible they will try again at Guadalajara, not stupidly as before, but with three main fingers coming down to broaden it out and carry it along the railway to the west of the plateau. There was a way that they could do it all right. Hans had shown him. They made many mistakes the first time. The whole conception was unsound. They had not used any of the same troops in the Arganda offensive against the Madrid-Valencia road that they used at Guadalajara. Why had they not made those same drives simultaneously? Why? Why? When would we know why? Yet we had stopped them both times with the very same troops. We never could have stopped them if they had pulled both drives at once. Don't worry, he told himself. Look at the miracles that have happened before this. Either you will have to blow that bridge in the morning or you will not have to. But do not start deceiving yourself into thinking you won't have to blow it. You will blow it one day or you will blow it another. Or if it is not this bridge it will be some other bridge. It is not you who decides what shall be done. You follow orders. Follow them and do not try to think beyond them. The orders on this are very clear. Too very clear. But you must not worry nor must you be frightened. For if you allow yourself the luxury of normal fear that fear will infect those who must work with you. But that heads business was quite a thing all the same, he told himself. And the old man running onto them on the hilltop alone. How would you have liked to run onto them like that? That impressed you, didn't it? Yes, that impressed you, Jordan. You have been quite impressed more than once today. But you have behaved O.K. So far you have behaved all right. You do very well for an instructor in Spanish at the University of Montana, he joked at himself. You do all right for that. But do not start to thinking that you are anything very special. You haven't gotten very far in this business. Just remember Dur嫕, who never had any military training and who was a composer and lad about town before the movement and is now a damned good general commanding a brigade. It was all as simple and easy to learn and understand to Dur嫕 as chess to a child chess prodigy. You had read on and studied the art of war ever since you were a boy and your grandfather had started you on the American Civil War. Except that Grandfather always called it the War of the Rebellion. But compared with Dur嫕 you were like a good sound chess player against a boy prodigy. Old Dur嫕. It would be good to see Dur嫕 again. He would see him at Gaylord's after this was over. Yes. After this was over. See how well he was behaving? I'll see him at Gaylord's, he said to himself again, after this is over. Don't kid yourself, he said. You do it all perfectly O.K. Cold. Without kidding yourself. You aren't going to see Dur嫕 any more and it is of no importance. Don't be that way either, he told himself. Don't go in for any of those luxuries. Nor for heroic resignation either. We do not want any citizens full of heroic resignation in these hills. Your grandfather fought four years in our Civil War and you are just finishing your first year in this war. You have a long time to go yet and you are very well fitted for the work. And now you have Maria, too. Why, you've got everything. You shouldn't worry. What is a little brush between a guerilla band and a squadron of cavalry? That isn't anything. What if they took the heads? Does that make any difference? None at all. The Indians always took the scalps when Grandfather was at Fort Kearny after the war. Do you remember the cabinet in your father's office with the arrowheads spread out on a shelf, and the eagle feathers of the war bonnets that hung on the wall, their plumes slanting, the smoked buckskin smell of the leggings and the shirts and the feel of the beaded moccasins? Do you remember the great stave of the buffalo bow that leaned in a corner of the cabinet and the two quivers of hunting and war arrows, and how the bundle of shafts felt when you closed your hand around them? Remember something like that. Remember something concrete and practical. Remember Grandfather's saber, bright and well oiled in its dented scabbard and Grandfather showed you how the blade had been thinned from the many times it had been to the grinder's. Remember Grandfather's Smith and Wesson. It was a single action, officer's model .32 caliber and there was no trigger guard. It had the softest, sweetest trigger pull you had ever felt and it was always well oiled and the bore was clean although the finish was all worn off and the brown metal of the barrel and the cylinder was worn smooth from the leather of the holster. It was kept in the holster with a U.S. on the flap in a drawer in the cabinet with its cleaning equipment and two hundred rounds of cartridges. Their cardboard boxes were wrapped and tied neatly with waxed twine. You could take the pistol out of the drawer and hold it. "Handle it freely," was Grandfather's expression. But you could not play with it because it was "a serious weapon." You asked Grandfather once if he had ever killed any one with it and he said, "Yes." Then you said, "When, Grandfather?" and he said, "In the War of the Rebellion and afterwards." You said, "Will you tell me about it, Grandfather?" And he said, "I do not care to speak about it, Robert." Then after your father had shot himself with this pistol, and you had come home from school and they'd had the funeral, the coroner had returned it after the inquest saying, "Bob, I guess you might want to keep the gun. I'm supposed to hold it, but I know your dad set a lot of store by it because his dad packed it all through the War, besides out here when he first came out with the Cavalry, and it's still a hell of a good gun. I had her out trying her this afternoon. She don't throw much of a slug but you can hit things with her." He had put the gun back in the drawer in the cabinet where it belonged, but the next day he took it out and he had ridden up to the top of the high country above Red Lodge, with Chub, where they had built the road to Cooke City now over the pass and across the Bear Tooth plateau, and up there where the wind was thin and there was snow all summer on the hills they had stopped by the lake which was supposed to be eight hundred feet deep and was a deep green color, and Chub held the two horses and he climbed out on a rock and leaned over and saw his face in the still water, and saw himself holding the gun, and then he dropped it, holding it by the muzzle, and saw it go down making bubbles until it was just as big as a watch charm in that clear water, and then it was out of sight. Then he came back off the rock and when he swung up into the saddle he gave old Bess such a clout with the spurs she started to buck like an old rocking horse. He bucked her out along the shore Qf the lake and as soon as she was reasonable they went on back along the trail. "I know why you did that with the old gun, Bob," Chub said. "Well, then we don't have to talk about it," he had said. They never talked about it and that was the end of Grandfather's side arms except for the saber. He still had the saber in his trunk with the rest of his things at Missoula. I wonder what Grandfather would think of this situation, he thought. Grandfather was a hell of a good soldier, everybody said. They said if he had been with Custer that day he never would have let him be sucked in that way. How could he ever not have seen the smoke nor the dust of all those lodges down there in the draw along the Little Big Horn unless there must have been a heavy morning mist? But there wasn't any mist. I wish Grandfather were here instead of me. Well, maybe we will all be together by tomorrow night. If there should be any such damn fool business as a hereafter, and I'm sure there isn't, he thought, I would certainly like to talk to him. Because there are a lot of things I would like to know. I have a right to ask him now because I have had to do the same sort of things myself. I don't think he'd mind my asking now. I had no right to ask before. I understand him not telling me because he didn't know me. But now I think that we would get along all right. I'd like to be able to talk to him now and get his advice. Hell, if I didn't get advice I'd just like to talk to him. It's a shame there is such a jump in time between ones like us. Then, as he thought, he realized that if there was any such thing as ever meeting, both he and his grandfather would be acutely embarrassed by the presence of his father. Any one has a right to do it, he thought. But it isn't a good thing to do. I understand it, but I do not approve of it. _Lache_ was the word. But you _do_ understand it? Sure, I understand it but. Yes, but. You have to be awfully occupied with yourself to do a thing like that. Aw hell, I wish Grandfather was here, he thought. For about an hour anyway. Maybe he sent me what little I have through that other one that misused the gun. Maybe that is the only communication that we have. But, damn it. Truly damn it, but I wish the time-lag wasn't so long so that I could have learned from him what the other one never had to teach me. But suppose the fear he had to go through and dominate and just get rid of finally in four years of that and then in the Indian fighting, although in that, mostly, there couldn't have been so much fear, had made a _cobarde_ out of the other one the way second generation bullfighters almost always are? Suppose that? And maybe the good juice only came through straight again after passing through that one? I'll never forget how sick it made me the first time I knew he was a _cobarde_. Go on, say it in English. Coward. It's easier when you have it said and there is never any point in referring to a son of a bitch by some foreign term. He wasn't any son of a bitch, though. He was just a coward and that was the worst luck any man could have. Because if he wasn't a coward he would have stood up to that woman and not let her bully him. I wonder what I would have been like if he had married a different woman? That's something you'll never know, he thought, and grinned. Maybe the bully in her helped to supply what was missing in the other. And you. Take it a little easy. Don't get to referring to the good juice and such other things until you are through tomorrow. Don't be snotty too soon. And then don't be snotty at all. We'll see what sort of juice you have tomorrow. But he started thinking about Grandfather again. "George Custer was not an intelligent leader of cavalry, Robert," his grandfather had said. "He was not even an intelligent man." He remembered that when his grandfather said that he felt resentment that any one should speak against that figure in the buckskin shirt, the yellow curls blowing, that stood on that hill holding a service revolver as the Sioux closed in around him in the old Anheuser-Busch lithograph that hung on the poolroom wall in Red Lodge. "He just had great ability to get himself in and out of trouble," his grandfather went on, "and on the Little Big Horn he got into it but he couldn't get out. "Now Phil Sheridan was an intelligent man and so was Jeb Stuart. But John Mosby was the finest cavalry leader that ever lived." He had a letter in his things in the trunk at Missoula from General Phil Sheridan to old Killy-the-Horse Kilpatrick that said his grandfather was a finer leader of irregular cavalry than John Mosby. I ought to tell Golz about my grandfather, he thought. He wouldn't ever have heard of him though. He probably never even heard of John Mosby. The British all had heard of them though because they had to study our Civil War much more than people did on the Continent. Karkov said after this was over I could go to the Lenin Institute in Moscow if I wanted to. He said I could go to the military academy of the Red Army if I wanted to do that. I wonder what Grandfather would think of that? Grandfather, who never knowingly sat at table with a Democrat in his life. Well, I don't want to be a soldier, he thought. I know that. So that's out. I just want us to win this war. I guess really good soldiers are really good at very little else, he thought. That's obviously untrue. Look at Napoleon and Wellington. You're very stupid this evening, he thought. Usually his mind was very good company and tonight it had been when he thought about his grandfather. Then thinking of his father had thrown him off. He understood his father and he forgave him everything and he pitied him but he was ashamed of him. You better not think at all, he told himself. Soon you will be with Maria and you won't have to think. That's the best way now that everything is worked out. When you have been concentrating so hard on something you can't stop and your brain gets to racing like a flywheel with the weight gone. You better just not think. But just suppose, he thought. Just suppose that when the planes unload they smash those anti-tank guns and just blow hell out of the positions and the old tanks roll good up whatever hill it is for once and old Golz boots that bunch of drunks, _clochards_, bums, fanatics and heroes that make up the Quatorzieme Brigade ahead of him, and I _know_ how good Dur嫕's people are in Golz's other brigade, and we are in Segovia tomorrow night. Yes. Just suppose, he said to himself. I'll settle for La Granja, he told himself. But you are going to have to blow that bridge, he suddenly knew absolutely. There won't be any calling off. Because the way you have just been supposing there for a minute is how the possibilities of that attack look to those who have ordered it. Yes, you will have to blow the bridge, he knew truly. Whatever happens to  doesn't matter. Coming down the trail there in the dark, alone with the good feeling that everything that had to be done was over for the next four hours, and with the confidence that had come from thinking back to concrete things, the knowledge that he would surely have to blow the bridge came to him almost with comfort. The uncertainty, the enlargement of the feeling of being uncertain, as when, through a misunderstanding of possible dates, one does not know whether the guests are really coming to a party, that had been with him ever since he had dispatched  with the report to Golz, had all dropped from him now. He was sure now that the festival would not be cancelled. It's much better to be sure, he thought. It's always much better to be sure. 　　那天晚上该做的事情这时都落实了。命令全部下达了。人人都知道了自己在早晨的确切任务。安德烈斯巳走了三个小时。天亮时不发动进攻的话，就不会发动，“。罗伯特‘乔丹到上面的岗哨跟普里米蒂伏说话之后，在回来的路上对自己说。”我相倌会发动的。” 　　戈尔兹部署了这次进攻，但他无权撤消。要撖消必须得到马德里的批准。他们很可能没法叫醖那儿的人，即使叫得醒，那些人也会充满着睡意，不会认真考虑。我应该把敌人为了对付进攻所作的准备的情况及早拫告戈尔兹，但是事情还没有发生,我怎能事先就打报告呢？天一断黑敌人才调动那些武器。他们不希望公路上的活动被我们的飞机发现。但是他们的那些飞机又怎么说呢？法西斯分子的这些飞机又怎么说呢？ 　　当然啦，我们的人一定看到了这些飞机而引起了蓍惕。可是，法西斯分子也许想用这些飞机来假装将向瓜达拉哈拉发动另一次进攻，据说意大利军队在索里亚集结，除了那些在北方活动的之外,又在西昆萨集结①。然而他们没有足够的军队和物资同时发动两次大进攻。那是不可能的，所以肯定不过是虚张声势。 　　但是我们都知道，上个月和前一个月在加的斯②登陆的意大利军队有多少。他们想再进攻瓜达拉哈拉的可能性是始终存在的，当然不会象上一次那么愚蠢，而会用三股主力军朝南直插,然后扩大突玻点，沿着铁路线向高原西部进军。他们有一个可以采用的好办法。汉斯跟他讲过。上一次他们犯了很多错误。那整个设想就不对头。他们进攻阿甘迖企图切断马德里和瓦伦西亚之间的公路时③，没有动用他们进攻瓜达拉哈拉时用的任何部队。他们当时为什么不双管齐下？为什么？为什么？我们什么时侯才能知道为什么？ 　　然而我们两次都用同样的那些部队挡住了他们。要是他们双管齐下，我们就绝对挡不住他们。他对自己说,别愁。想想以前出现过的奇迹吧。你要就必须在早上炸桥,要就不需要炸。但是别欺骗自己，以为可以不必炸桥。反正总有一天要炸。不是这座桥，就是另一座。决定要干些什么,由不得你。你服从命令。按照命令办事，不用想别的。 　　炸桥的命令很明确。太明确了。可是你不能愁，也不能怕　害怕固然是正常的，可是如果你听任自己害怕，这种害怕的心情就会感染那些必须跟你一起工作的人。 ①这一年三月，叛军躭是从西昆萨朝西南进攻瓜达拉哈拉的，目的在攻占该城，进而从东北方向威胁马德里，结果在瓜达拉哈拉东北的布里乌埃加遭到了大敗。 ②加的斯为西班牙南端滨大西洋的大海港，内战一开始即陷入叛军之手，成为从西厲庠洛哥及德意法西斯输送武装人员及军用物资的补给港。阿甘达在马德里东南，在通往瓦伦西亚的公路干线上。 　　他对自己说，可是砍头那件事还是叫人觖目惊心明。老头儿独自在山顶上发现了那些？“体，要是你象那样发现它们,会有什么感觉？这件事震动了你，不是吗？是哬，震动了你，乔丹。今天使你受到震动的事可不止一件，可是你的表现还可以。到目前为止，你的表现还不错。 　　他揶揄自己说　作为蒙大拿大学的西班牙语讲师,你干得满不锥舸。已经不容易了。但是别以为自己是什么特殊人物。在这方面,你还没有做出多大的成绩。想想杜兰吧，他从役受过军事训练，是个作曲家，革命前经常出没于交际场所，现在却成了个了不起的军官,指挥一个旅。对杜兰来说，这一切是那么简单容易，就象一个象棋神童学下象棋一样。你从小就看战略战术的书籍’有些研究，你祖父给你讲美国南北战争，启发，“你的兴趣，不过祖父把南北战争说成是叛乱。但是你和杜兰相比，就象一个稳健的好棋手和一个神童对局。老杜兰啊。再见见杜兰倒不错。等这终行动之后，他将在乐爵饭店见到杜兰。对，等这次行动结束之后，看看他的表现有多好？ 　　他又对自己说。”等这次行动之后，我将在乐爵饭店见到他。他说,别哄碥自己啦。你千得完全对头。要冷静。别哄骟自己。你不会再见到牡兰了，伹那也无关紫要。也别想这种亊了,他对自已说。别想这种不切实际的事情啦。 　　也不要英雄般的克己。在这一带山区，我们不需要任何英雄般的克已的公民。你祖父在我国的内战中打了四年仗，你在这次战争中才剐打满，“一年。你还有一段漫长的时间，你十分适合做这项工作。再说，你现在还有了玛丽亚。嗅,你什么都不缺啦，你不该发愁。一支游击队和一队骑兵之间的一场小小遭遇战，算得了什么？这算不了什么　他们砍了头又怎样呢？那有什么关系？不必大惊小怪。 　　祖父内战后在卡尼堡的时候，印第安人经常剥人头皮。你父亲办公室里有一个柜子,柜架上摊满了箭头,挂在埔上的军權上斜插着苍鹰羽翎,皮绑腿和衬衣上有一股熏制的鹿皮的味儿，有珠子装饰的鹿皮鞋摸上去十分柔软，这一切你还记得吗?靠在柜子角落里的野牛骨制的大弓，两个箭筒中装满了打猎和打仗用的箭，你用手紧紧地握住那一把箭杆时的感觉,这一切你还记得吗？ 　　要想想这些事情。要想想具体而实际的东西。要想想祖父的马刀，亮晃晃的，擦遍了油，插在有齿纹的刀鞘里,袓父给你看经过多次打磨巳经变薄的刀刃。要想想祖父的史密斯-韦森手熗，那是一支　32口径、没有扳机护围的军官用的单发熗。熗上的扳机是你觖摸到的最轻巧最顺手的，手熗总是擦遍了油,熗膛干干净净，虽然熗身上的装饰花纹全磨损了’褐色的钢熗筒和转轮被皮熗套磨得滑溜溜的。这支熗插在盖口上烙有字样的熗套里，跟擦熗工具和两百发子弹一起放在柜子的抽屉里。放子弹的纸板盒用蜡线扎得整整齐齐。 　　你可以从抽屉里把手熗拿出来，握在手里，“随意摸弄“，这是袓父的说法。但是你不能拿它耍着玩，因为这是一支“不能闹着玩的熗”。 　　你有一次问袓父，他是否用这支熗杀过人，他说，“杀过。”于是你说。”什么时候，爷爷?”他说，“叛乱战争期间，和战“ 　　你说,“你跟我讲讲好吗,爷爷？”他说,“我不想谈它，罗伯特，“ 　　后来，你父亲用这支手熗自杀了，你从学校请俱回家，他们举行了葬礼。法医验？“后发还了手熗,他说，“鲍勃①，我看你很想保存这支熗吧。本来是应该没收的，但我知道你爸爸很看重这支熗，因为他的爸爸第一次随骑兵出征就用它，整个内战期间一直随身带着，现在这支熗仍然好得很。我今天下午把它拿到外面试了试。它打得不快，伹有准头。” 　　他把熗放在原来的柜子抽屉里，伹是第二天他把它傘出来，和査布两人骑马直赶到红棚厘城北面的高地上，如今那儿筑，“一条穿过山口、横跨熊齿髙原、通往库克城的公路②。那里不大有风,整个夏天山上也有积雪。他们来到一个湖边,据说这湖有八百英尺深，湖水是深绿色的。查布牵着两匹马，他呢，爬上一块岩石，採出身子，在那静静的水面看到了自己的脸，看到了自已握着熗的身形，接着握住了熗口把熗扔下去，看它在清澈的水里冒着气泡，直沉到变成表链上的小饰物那么大小，然后消失了踪迹。他接着从岩石上下来，跳上马鞍，用马刺狠剌了一下老贝斯，使它象只摇木马般弹眺起来。他策马沿湖狂奔,等它恢复了正常,他们才沿着山路返回。 　　“我知道你为什么这样处理这支旧熗，鲍勃，”查布说。“这样，往后我们就不用再谈它啦，”他说。他们就此再也没谈过这支熗，那就是袓父的除了马刀之外的腰佩武器的结局。他把那把马刀和他自己的其他物品仍然放在米苏拉的箱子里。 ①鲍勃为罗伯特的爱称。 ②红棚屋城在兼大拿州南部，该公路一直朝西甫，通过州界上的熊齿山口？往西通到美国风景坯黄石公园东北角的库克城。 　　他想,我不知道祖父会怎样看待这眼前的情况。人人都说袓父是个了不起的军人。他们说，要是那天他跟卡斯特在一起，决不会让卡斯特陷入包围的。他怎能没看见小巨角河边洼地上那些印第安人棚屋的炊烟和尘土呢?除非那天早晨有浓霧，可是实际上并没有。① 　　但愿在这儿的是我祖父,而不是我。噢，也许明天晚上我们又都可以在一起了。如果真有所谓“来世”这种鬼玩意儿一他想，这肯定是没有的一我当然想跟他谈谈，因为有很多事情我想弄弄清楚。我现在有权问他了，因为我自己也必须做同样的事了。看来他现在不会计较我发问了。我从前没有权利问他。他不肯告诉我是可以理解的，因为他不了解我。然而现在我想，我们该谈得拢了。我希望现在能和他谈谈,听听他的意见。妈的，即使不想征求他的意见，我也希望银他谈谈。在我们这样的人之间竟隔着这种时间的距离,真不象话。 　　他一边想，一边认识到，如果真的能见面，他和他祖父俩都会为他父亲在场而感到非常难堪。他想,任何人都有权自杀。伹是这样做不是好事。我理解这种行为，但是并不赞成　这就叫窝囊。可是你亭，“理解它吗？当然，我理解它，但是。是舸，伹是。一个人得“，“了牛角尖才会干出这种事情来。 ①乔治，卡斯特　在内战中为北军立下了出色战功。内战后经常率领部队在密西西比河西向夏延族和苏族印第安人的区域进犯。一八七六年六月二十五日，他在费大拿州南部边界。”、巨角河边发现有个印第安营地，没有觉察对方人数众多，就贸然分兵三路出击,结果他自己率领的二百多人全部在一坡地上被杀　 　　他想,唉,真要命！但愿袓父在这里就好了，嗶怕来一个小时也行。我仅有的一点气质也许是他通过那个滥用手熗的人传给我的。也许那是我们三代之间唯一的共通之点。但是,妈的。真他妈的，但是我只指望这时间上的间隔不是那么长，这样我就能从他那里学到父亲决不会教给我的东西了，是不是他当初必须经受、克服和终于在四年的南北战争和后来对印第安人的战斗(当然，这实在不大可能引起很大的恐惧〉中彻底摆脱的恐惧,使我父亲成了一个懦夫，正如斗牛士的儿子几乎都是懦夫一样呢?是不是这样呢？也许那些好的气质只有通过了父亲这一关才能重新发扬吧？ 　　我决不会忘记，当我第一次知道父亲是个①时，我感到多么难受。说下去吧，用英语说。”慊夫。说出来就轻松些了，而且用外国话来骂人是狗娘养的，又有什么意义呢？当然他也不是什么狗娘养的。他仅仅是个慊夫，这是人生的最大不幸。因为如果他不是慊夫，他就会挺身反抗那个女人，不让她欺侮他。我不知道如果他娶了另一个女人，我会是个什么样的人。那是你永远无法知道的，他想，不禁露齿笑笑。也许她身上的蛮横劲儿有助于补充父亲所不足的地方。你呀,别太激动吧。等你干完了明天的事，再提什么好气质那一套吧。别过早地自高自大啦。再说，根本不能自高自大。我们要瞧瞧你在明天能表现出什么气质。他可又想起祖父来了。 　　"乔治，卡斯特不是个聪明的骑兵领袖，罗伯特，”他祖父说。“他甚至谈不上是个聪明人。” 　　他记得，红棚屋城他家弹子房墙上挂有一张旧的安休塞-比施的石版画，画的是穿着鹿皮衫的卡斯特，黄色的鬈发在风中飆拂，手握军用左轮熗站在山上，苏族印第安人正在包围拢来。对这样一位英雄，他祖父竟说出这样的话来,使他感到愤慨， ①西班牙语:惲夫 　　“他就是有陷入困境再摆脱困境的极大本领，”担父接着说,“但在小巨角河他陷入了困境，却无法脱身了。 　　“而菲尔，谢里登却是个聪明人，杰布〃斯图尔特也一样。但约翰　莫斯比才是历来最出色的骑兵领袖。” 　　他在米苏拉的箱子里的物品中有一封菲尔，谢里登将军写给老“骑死马”基尔帕特里克①的信，信上说他袓父是个非正规骑兵队的领袖，比约翰、莫斯比更出色。 　　他想，我应该跟戈尔兹谈谈我的袓父。他也许从没听人说起过吧，也许连约翰〃莫斯比也从没听说过。英国人都听说过他们，因为他们不得不比欧洲大陆上的人们更多地研究我们的南北战争。卡可夫说过，在这次行动之后，要是我愿意，可以进英斯科的列宁学院。他说，要是我愿意的话,坯可以进红军的军事学院。我不知道祖父会对此有什么想法，“祖父嘛，一辈子从没有意地和民主党人同坐一桌。 　　他想,得，“，我不想当军人啊，这我知道。所以这个问娌不存在。我只想要我方打廉这场战争。他想,我看囑，真正的好军人真正擅长的除了打胜仗以外，别无所长。这看法显然是不对的。瞧拿波企和威灵顿。他想,你今天晚上多蠹啊。 　　他的思想通常是个非常好的伴侶，今夜对他袓父的回忆就是如此，接着对他父亲的回忆使他沮丧。他理解父亲，原谅他的一切，可怜他，但为他感到羞愧。 ①基尔帕特里克为北军将领，在一八六四年谢尔爱将军从亚特兰大向萨凡纳港的进军中　担任騎兵司令， 　　他对自己说，你最好还是什么也别想。你不久就要和玛丽亚在一起，你就不用想了。如今事事都落实了,最好的办法就是什么也别去想了。当你使劲想一件事的时候，就停不下来,你的脑子就象个失去了负重的飞轮那样越转越快。你最好还是别想。他想,但是还得假设一下。假设飞机投弹的时候，炸毁了那些反坦克炮,把阵地炸得稀巴烂，那些老坦克车在什么山上翻了个儿,而老戈尔兹能把十四旅那批酒鬼、流浪汉、无輓、狂热分子和蛮汉赶在前面冲锋陷阵(我甲寧戈尔兹另一个旅里的杜兰的部下都是好样的〉，这一来我们、纟天晚上就能攻占塞哥维亚了，对，他对自己说，只要这样设想一下就行了。他对自己说，我能到拉格兰哈就心满意足了。他忽然心里完全明白。”可是你得把那座桥炸掉。这计划不会取消。因为你刚才的设想正是那些发号施令的人想象中的这次进攻的可能结果。对　你必须炸掉这座桥。他知道这不会错。不管安德烈斯通到什么悄况，都无足轻重。 　　他独自怀着愉快的心情在黑暗中从小路上下来，因为今后四小时里该做的事都安排好了，并且由于回想到具体的细节后产生了信心，因此这时想起他肯定非炸桥不可,使他简直感到舒坦了。 　　那种犹豫,那种扩大的犹豫情绪，就象一个人由于摘错了可能的日期，不知道客人是否真的会来参加晚会一样一这种佾绪是从他打发安德烈斯给戈尔兹送报告后一直存在的——现在全消失了。他现在确信这个重要的日子不会被取消。他想，鏵确信有多好啊。能确信总是大好的事。

Chapter 29 Anselmo found Robert Jordan sitting at the plank table inside the cave with Pablo opposite him. They had a bowl poured full of wine between them and each had a cup of wine on the table. Robert Jordan had his notebook out and he was holding a pencil. Pilar and Maria were in the back of the cave out of sight. There was no way for Anselmo to know that the woman was keeping the girl back there to keep her from hearing the conversation and he thought that it was odd that Pilar was not at the table. Robert Jordan looked up as Anselmo came in under the blanket that hung over the opening. Pablo stared straight at the table. His eyes were focused on the wine bowl but he was not seeing it. "I come from above," Anselmo said to Robert Jordan. "Pablo has told us," Robert Jordan said. "There were six dead on the hill and they had taken the heads," Anselmo said. "I was there in the dark." Robert Jordan nodded. Pablo sat there looking at the wine bowl and saying nothing. There was no expression on his face and his small pig-eyes were looking at the wine bowl as though he had never seen one before. "Sit down," Robert Jordan said to Anselmo. The old man sat down at the table on one of the hide-covered stools and Robert Jordan reached under the table and brought up the pinch-bottle of whiskey that had been the gift of Sordo. It was about half-full. Robert Jordan reached down the table for a cup and poured a drink of whiskey into it and shoved it along the table to Anselmo. "Drink that, old one," he said. Pablo looked from the wine bowl to Anselmo's face as he drank and then he looked back at the wine bowl. As Anselmo swallowed the whiskey he felt a burning in his nose, his eyes and his mouth, and then a happy, comforting warmth in his stomach. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he looked at Robert Jordan and said, "Can I have another?" "Why not?" Robert Jordan said and poured another drink from the bottle and handed it this time instead of pushing it. This time there was not the burning when he swallowed but the warm comfort doubled. It was as good a thing for his spirit as a saline injection is for a man who has suffered a great hemorrhage. The old man looked toward the bottle again. "The rest is for tomorrow," Robert Jordan said. "What passed on the road, old one?" "There was much movement," Anselmo said. "I have it all noted down as you showed me. I have one watching for me and noting now. Later I will go for her report." "Did you see anti-tank guns? Those on rubber tires with the long barrels?" "Yes," Anselmo said. "There were four camions which passed on the road. In each of them there was such a gun with pine branches spread across the barrels. In the trucks rode six men with each gun." "Four guns, you say?" Robert Jordan asked him. "Four," Anselmo said. He did not look at his papers. "Tell me what else went up the road." While Robert Jordan noted Anselmo told him everything he had seen move past him on the road. He told it from the beginning and in order with the wonderful memory of those who cannot read or write, and twice, while he was talking, Pablo reached out for more wine from the bowl. "There was also the cavalry which entered La Granja from the high country where El Sordo fought," Anselmo went on. Then he told the number of the wounded he had seen and the number of the dead across the saddles. "There was a bundle packed across one saddle that I did not understand," he said. "But now I know it was the heads." He went on without pausing. "It was a squadron of cavalry. They had only one officer left. He was not the one who was here in the early morning when you were by the gun. He must have been one of the dead. Two of the dead were officers by their sleeves. They were lashed face down over the saddles, their arms hanging. Also they had the _m嫭uina_ of El Sordo tied to the saddle that bore the heads. The barrel was bent. That is all," he finished. "It is enough," Robert Jordan said and dipped his cup into the wine bowl. "Who beside you has been through the lines to the side of the Republic?" " and Eladio." "Which is the better of those two?" "." "How long would it take him to get to Navacerrada from here?" "Carrying no pack and taking his precautions, in three hours with luck. We came by a longer, safer route because of the material." "He can surely make it?" "No s? there is no such thing as surely." "Not for thee either?" "Nay." That decides that, Robert Jordan thought to himself. If he had said that he could make it surely, surely I would have sent him. " can get there as well as thee?" "As well or better. He is younger." "But this must absolutely get there." "If nothing happens he will get there. If anything happens it could happen to any one." "I will write a dispatch and send it by him," Robert Jordan said. "I will explain to him where he can find the General. He will be at the Estado Mayor of the Division." "He will not understand all this of divisions and all," Anselmo said. "Always has it confused me. He should have the name of the General and where he can be found." "But it is at the Estado Mayor of the Division that he will be found." "But is that not a place?" "Certainly it is a place, old one," Robert Jordan explained patiently. "But it is a place the General will have selected. It is where he will make his headquarters for the battle." "Where is it then?" Anselmo was tired and the tiredness was making him stupid. Also words like Brigades, Divisions, Army Corps confused him. First there had been columns, then there were regiments, then there were brigades. Now there were brigades and divisions, both. He did not understand. A place was a place. "Take it slowly, old one," Robert Jordan said. He knew that if he could not make Anselmo understand he could never explain it clearly to  either. "The Estado Mayor of the Division is a place the General will have picked to set up his organization to command. He commands a division, which is two brigades. I do not know where it is because I was not there when it was picked. It will probably be a cave or dugout, a refuge, and wires will run to it.  must ask for the General and for the Estado Mayor of the Division. He must give this to the General or to the Chief of his Estado Mayor or to another whose name I will write. One of them will surely be there even if the others are out inspecting the preparations for the attack. Do you understand now?" "Yes." "Then get  and I will write it now and seal it with this seal." He showed him the small, round, wooden-backed rubber stamp with the seal of the S. I. M. and the round, tin-covered inking pad no bigger than a fifty-cent piece he carried in his pocket. "That seal they will honor. Get  now and I will explain to him. He must go quickly but first he must understand." "He will understand if I do. But you must make it very clear. This of staffs and divisions is a mystery to me. Always have I gone to such things as definite places such as a house. In Navacerrada it is in the old hotel where the place of command is. In Guadarrama it is in a house with a garden." "With this General," Robert Jordan said, "it will be some place very close to the lines. It will be underground to protect from the planes.  will find it easily by asking, if he knows what to ask for. He will only need to show what I have written. But fetch him now for this should get there quickly." Anselmo went out, ducking under the hanging blanket. Robert Jordan commenced writing in his notebook. "Listen," Pablo said, still looking at the wine bowl. "I am writing," Robert Jordan said without looking up. "Listen," Pablo spoke directly to the wine bowl. "There is no need to be disheartened in this. Without Sordo we have plenty of people to take the posts and blow thy bridge." "Good," Robert Jordan said without stopping writing. "Plenty," Pablo said. "I have admired thy judgment much today," Pablo told the wine bowl. "I think thou hast much _picardia_. That thou art smarter than I am. I have confidence in thee." Concentrating on his report to Golz, trying to put it in the fewest words and still make it absolutely convincing, trying to put it so the attack would be cancelled, absolutely, yet convince them he wasn't trying to have it called off because of any fears he might have about the danger of his own mission, but wished only to put them in possession of all the facts, Robert Jordan was hardly half listening. Pablo said. "I am writing," Robert Jordan told him without looking up. I probably should send two copies, he thought. But if I do we will not have enough people to blow it if I have to blow it. What do I know about why this attack is made? Maybe it is only a holding attack. Maybe they want to draw those troops from somewhere else. Perhaps they make it to draw those planes from the North. Maybe that is what it is about. Perhaps it is not expected to succeed. What do I know about it? This is my report to Golz. I do not blow the bridge until the attack starts. My orders are clear and if the attack is called off I blow nothing. But I've got to keep enough people here for the bare minimum necessary to carry the orders out. "What did you say?" he asked Pablo. "That I have confidence,Pablo was still addressing the wine bowl. Man, I wish I had, Robert Jordan thought. He went on writing. 　　安塞尔莫发现罗伯特　乔丹在山洞里和巴勃罗面对面坐在板桌旁。他们斟满了一缸酒，放在中间，各自面前放着　杯滴。罗伯特　乔丹拿出了笔记本，握着一枝铅笔。比拉尔和玛丽亚在山洞后部，安塞尔莫看不见她们。他没法知道那女人让玛丽亚待在后边是为了不让她听到谈话。他觉得比拉尔不在桌边倒是怪事。 安塞尔莫从挂在洞口的毯子外钻进来的时候，罗伯特‘乔丹抬头望了一跟。巴勃罗直瞪着臬子。他的眼光集中在酒缸上,但是视而不见。 　　“我从山上来，”安塞尔莫对罗伯特，乔丹说。“巴勃罗告诉我们了，”罗伯特，乔丹说，“山上有六个死人,敌人把脑袋都砍掉了。”安塞尔莫说。”我摸黑到那儿去过，“ 　　罗伯特“乔丹点点头。巴勃罗坐在那儿望着酒缸，一句话也没有。他脸上毫无表情,猪样的小眼睛望着酒缸,仿佛他以前从没看到过似的。 　　“坐下吧。”罗伯特　乔丹对安塞尔莫说。老头儿在桌边一只兼着生皮的凳子上坐下，罗伯特　乔丹伸手到桌子下面取出“聋子”送的那瓶威士忌。瓶里约摸有半瓶酒。罗伯特　奍丹伸手在臬上傘了一只杯于,斟了些威士忌，把它放在桌上，推向安塞尔莫。“喝了吧，老头子，”他说。 　　安塞尔莫喝酒的时候，巴勃罗的目光从酒缸上移到他脸上,接着又回过来望着酒缸。 　　安塞尔莫喝下威士忌，感到鼻子、眼睛和嘴里都火辣辣的,接着胃里也觉得畅快、舒适而暖和了。他用手背抹抹嘴。他然后望着罗伯特，乔丹说。”我可以再来一杯吗?”“千吗不可以？”罗伯特‘乔丹说着又从瓶里斟了一杯，这次是递过去,不是推给他。 　　这次喝下去没有火辣辣的感觉了,伹加倍的暖和而舒适。他精神一振，就象“个大出血的人给注射了一次盐水针。老头儿又朝酒瓶望望。 　　“剩下的明天喝了。”罗伯特‘乔丹说公路上有什么情况,老头子?” 　　“情况不少，”安塞尔莫说-“我照你的吩咐，都记下了。我找了一个人现在在替我守望、做记录。过后我去向她要情 报。 　　〃你见到反坦克炮吗？有榇皮轮胎和长炮筒的家伙?，“见到，”安塞尔莫说。“路上开过四辆卡车。每辆上有一门这种炮，上面的炮简由松枝遮着。卡车上每门炮有六个人。”“你说有四门炮?”罗伯特　乔丹问他。　四门。”安塞尔莫说。他没看记录。〃跟我谈谈路上还有什么情况？ 　　安塞尔莫把他所看到的公路上的调动情况全吿诉罗伯特　乔丹，罗伯特　乔丹作着记录。他以不识字不会写的人所特有的那种惊人的记忆力从头说起，讲得井井有条。他讲的时候,巴勃罗两次伸手从缸里添酒， 　　“还有‘队到拉格兰哈去的骑兵，他们是从‘聋子’作战的髙地上来的。”安塞尔莫继续说。 　　他接着讲了他见到的受伤的人数和架在马鞍上的死者的人数。 　　“有一捆叫我弄不懂的东西横架在一个马鞍上。”他说，“现在我知道了，是脑袋。”他不停地接着说。”那是一个骑兵中队。他们只剩了一个军官。他不是今天—早你守在机熗边见到的那个。死掉的人里面准有他。从袖章上看来，死掉的有两个是军官。他们被捆在马鞍上，脸面朝下，手臂下垂着。敌人还把‘聋子’的自动步熗系在耿脑袋的马鞍上。熗筒弯了。就是这些。”他最后说。 　　〃够了，”罗伯特“乔丹说，用杯子在酒缸里舀酒。“除了你之外，越过火线到共和国那边去过的还有谁。"安德烈斯和埃拉迪奥。” 　　“这两个人,嘟个好些?”“安德烈斯。” 　　“他从这儿到纳瓦塞拉达去，要多少时间？”“不背包裹，小心留神，运气好，要三个小时。因为带着情报，我们挑一条路线比较长、比较安全的路走。”“他准能到达目的地吗，“”“不知道，哪有什么说得准的事情1”“你也没准?’"是啊。” 　　就这样决定吧，罗伯特，乔丹心想。如果他说准能到达目的地，我当然会派他去。 　　“安德烈斯能象你一样到那儿。”“跟我一样，或许更有把握。他年青。”“可是情报非送到那儿不可。“ 　　“要是不出事故，他能到得了那儿。出了事故，谁也没办 1，“。 　　“我写份急件派他送去,罗伯特，乔丹说。”我来跟他讲,到什么地方去找将军。他在师参谋部。” 　　“师明什么的，他是弄不明白的，”安塞尔莫说。”这种事情老是弄得我也稀里糊涂。得告诉他将军叫什么名字，在什么地方能找到他。” 　　“可正是在师参谋部能找到他呀。”“师参谋部可是个地方？” 　　“当然是个地方，老头子，”罗伯特，乔丹细心地解释。“不过这是由将军自己挑选的地方。他把作战司令部设在那儿。”〃那么这个地方在哪儿呢?”安塞尔莫感到疲乏，疲乏使他脑筋迟钝，“。而且，象旅呀、师呀、军呀这种字眼，也叫他摸不着头脑。起先只有纵队，后来有团了，后来有旅了。现在是既有旅又有师了。他弄不懂。地方就是地方嘛。 　　“慢慢地来，老头子，”罗伯特　乔丹说。他知道，如果他没法使安塞尔莫明白，也就根本没法向安德烈斯交待清楚。‘师参谋部是由将军挑选来作为指挥所的地方。他指挥一个师；一个师等于两个旅。我不知道那地方在哪几，因为选择地点的时候我不在场。很可能是个山洞,或者地下掩蔽部，有电话线通到那儿。安德烈斯得去打听将军和师参谋部在什么地方。他得把这份情报交给将军或者师参谋长,或者交给另外一个人，他的名字我会写在上面的。即使他们外出视察进攻的准备工作了，肯定有一个人留守在那儿。你现在明白，“？”“明白了。” 　　“那么去叫安德烈斯来吧。我马上就写,用这个公章封印。”他从口袋里掏出一个圆形的木柄小橡皮图章给他看，上面有三个字母，还有一个不比五角硬币大多少的铁壳圆形小印台。“这个公章他们一定会重视的。现在去叫安镩烈斯来，让我跟他交待。他得马上就走，但荽先弄慊。” 　　“我僅他也会懂。可你非交待得清清楚楚不可。参谋部啦,师啦，这些名堂，我是莫名其妙的。我去的地方总是象房子之类有确切地点的。纳瓦塞拉达的指挥所是在一家老客栈里。瓜达拉马的指挥所是一幢带花园的房子。” 　　“这个将军的指挥所，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。”该在靠火线很近的某处地方。为了防飞机，会是设在地下的。安德烈斯知道了要打听什么，一问就找得到。他只要拿出我写的东西就行了。现在去叫他来，因为马上要送去。” 　　安塞尔莫低头从挂着的毯子下面钻出去了。罗伯特　乔丹开始在他的笔记本上写着。 　　“听着，英国人，”巴勃罗说,仍然耵着那只酒缸，“我在写哪。”罗伯特，乔丹说，没有抬头。“听着，英国人，”巴勃罗直接朝着酒缸说。"这件事你不用灰心丧气　没有了‘聋子、我们还有很多人，能攻下哨所，把你的桥炸掉。” 　　“好，”罗伯特，乔丹一边说,一边不停地写。“很多人，”巴勃罗说。“今天我很佩服你的果断，英国人，”巴勃罗对宥酒缸说。“我看你很有两下子，你比我机灵。我信得过你。” 　　罗伯特。乔丹正在集中注意力给戈尔兹写报告，试图用最简洁的字句，但仍要写得完全令人信脤，要写得使对方把这次进攻完全取消，但又要使他们相信，他之所以主张取消这次进攻，并非由于害怕在执行他自己的使命时可能遇到危险，而只是希望他们了解所有的情况。巴勃穸的活，他几乎一句也没有听清， 　　“英国人。”巴勃罗说。 　　“我在写哪。”罗伯特‘乔丹对他说，没有抬头，他想,也许我应该分送两份。然而要这祥做，又必须炸桥的话,我们炸桥的人就不够了。关于发动这次进攻的原因，我知道些什么呢？也许这只是一次牵制性攻势。也许他们是想吸引其他地方的军队。也许他们这么干是为了吸引北方的飞机。也许就是为了这个吧　他们也许并不指望这次进攻获得成功。我知道些什么呢？这是我给戈尔兹的拫告。我要等到进攻开始才炸桥。我接到的命令是清楚的。要是取消这次进攻，我就什么也不炸。伹是我必须在这儿保持万一必须执行那个命令时所需要的人手。 　　〃你说什么?”他问巴勃罗， 　　“我有信心了，英国人。”巴勃罗仍然对着酒缸说。“ 　　伙计啊，罗伯特　乔丹想，但愿我有儐心啊，他继续写着，

Chapter 28 After the planes went away Robert Jordan and Primitivo heard the firing start and his heart seemed to start again with it. A cloud of smoke drifted over the last ridge that he could see in the high country and the planes were three steadily receding specks in the sky. They've probably bombed hell out of their own cavalry and never touched Sordo and Company, Robert Jordan said to himself. The damned planes scare you to death but they don't kill you. "The combat goes on," Primitivo said, listening to the heavy firing. He had winced at each bomb thud and now he licked his dry lips. "Why not?" Robert Jordan said. "Those things never kill anybody." Then the firing stopped absolutely and he did not hear another shot. Lieutenant Berrendo's pistol shot did not carry that far. When the firing first stopped it did not affect him. Then as the quiet kept on a hollow feeling came in his chest. Then he heard the grenades burst and for a moment his heart rose. Then everything was quiet again and the quiet kept on and he knew that it was over. Maria came up from the camp with a tin bucket of stewed hare with mushrooms sunken in the rich gravy and a sack with bread, a leather wine bottle, four tin plates, two cups and four spoons. She stopped at the gun and ladled out two plates for Agust and Eladio, who had replaced Anselmo at the gun, and gave them bread and unscrewed the horn tip of the wine bottle and poured two cups of wine. Robert Jordan watched her climbing lithely up to his lookout post, the sack over her shoulder, the bucket in one hand, her cropped head bright in the sun. He climbed down and took the bucket and helped her up the last boulder. "What did the aviation do?" she asked, her eyes frightened. "Bombed Sordo." He had the bucket open and was ladling out stew onto a plate. "Are they still fighting?" "No. It is over." "Oh," she said and bit her lip and looked out across the country. "I have no appetite," Primitivo said. "Eat anyway," Robert Jordan told him. "I could not swallow food." "Take a drink of this, man," Robert Jordan said and handed him the wine bottle. "Then eat." "This of Sordo has taken away desire," Primitivo said. "Eat, thou. I have no desire." Maria went over to him and put her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Eat, old one," she said. "Each one should take care of his strength." Primitivo turned away from her. He took the wine bottle and tipping his head back swallowed steadily while he squirted a jet of wine into the back of his mouth. Then he filled his plate from the bucket and commenced to eat. Robert Jordan looked at Maria and shook his head. She sat down by him and put her arm around his shoulder. Each knew how the other felt and they sat there and Robert Jordan ate the stew, taking time to appreciate the mushrooms completely, and he drank the wine and they said nothing. "You may stay here, guapa, if you want," he said after a while when the food was all eaten. "Nay," she said. "I must go to Pilar." "It is all right to stay here. I do not think that anything will happen now." "Nay. I must go to Pilar. She is giving me instruction." "What does she give thee?" "Instruction." She smiled at him and then kissed him. "Did you never hear of religious instruction?" She blushed. "It is something like that." She blushed again. "But different." "Go to thy instruction," he said and patted her on the head. She smiled at him again, then said to Primitivo, "Do you want anything from below?" "No, daughter," he said. They both saw that he was still not yet recovered. "_Salud_, old one," she said to him. "Listen," Primitivo said. "I have no fear to die but to leave them alone thus--" his voice broke. "There was no choice," Robert Jordan told him. "I know. But all the same." "There was no choice," Robert Jordan repeated. "And now it is better not to speak of it." "Yes. But there alone with no aid from us--" "Much better not to speak of it," Robert Jordan said. "And thou, _guapa_, get thee to thy instruction." He watched her climb down through the rocks. Then he sat there for a long time thinking and watching the high country. Primitivo spoke to him but he did not answer. It was hot in the sun but he did not notice the heat while he sat watching the hill slopes and the long patches of pine trees that stretched up the highest slope. An hour passed and the sun was far to his left now when he saw them coming over the crest of the slope and he picked up his glasses. The horses showed small and minute as the first two riders came into sight on the long green slope of the high hill. Then there were four more horsemen coming down, spread out across the wide hill and then through his glasses he saw the double column of men and horses ride into the sharp clarity of his vision. As he watched them he felt sweat come from his armpits and run down his flanks. One man rode at the head of the column. Then came more horsemen. Then came the riderless horses with their burdens tied across the saddles. Then there were two riders. Then came the wounded with men walking by them as they rode. Then came more cavalry to close the column. Robert Jordan watched them ride down the slope and out of sight into the timber. He could not see at that distance the load one saddle bore of a long rolled poncho tied at each end and at intervals so that it bulged between each lashing as a pod bulges with peas. This was tied across the saddle and at each end it was lashed to the stirrup leathers. Alongside this on the top of the saddle the automatic rifle Sordo had served was lashed arrogantly. Lieutenant Berrendo, who was riding at the head of the column, his flankers out, his point pushed well forward, felt no arrogance. He felt only the hollowness that comes after action. He was thinking: taking the heads is barbarous. But proof and identification is necessary. I will have trouble enough about this as it is and who knows? This of the heads may appeal to them. There are those of them who like such things. It is possible they will send them all to Burgos. It is a barbarous business. The planes were _muchos_. Much. Much. But we could have done it all, and almost without losses, with a Stokes mortar. Two mules to carry the shells and a mule with a mortar on each side of the pack saddle. What an army we would be then! With the fire power of all these automatic weapons. And another mule. No, two mules to carry ammunition. Leave it alone, he told himself. It is no longer cavalry. Leave it alone. You're building yourself an army. Next you will want a mountain gun. Then he thought of Juli嫕, dead on the hill, dead now, tied across a horse there in the first troop, and as he rode down into the dark pine forest, leaving the sunlight behind him on the hill, riding now in the quiet dark of the forest, he started to say a prayer for him again. "Hail, holy queen mother of mercy," he started. "Our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we send up our sighs, mournings and weepings in this valley of tears--" He went on with the prayer the horses' hooves soft on the fallen pine needles, the light coming through the tree trunks in patches as it comes through the columns of a cathedral, and as he prayed he looked ahead to see his flankers riding through the trees. He rode out of the forest onto the yellow road that led into La Granja and the horses' hooves raised a dust that hung over them as they rode. It powdered the dead who were tied face down across the saddles and the wounded, and those who walked beside them, were in thick dust. It was here that Anselmo saw them ride past in their dust. He counted the dead and the wounded and he recognized Sordo's automatic rifle. He did not know what the poncho-wrapped bundle was which flapped against the led horse's flanks as the stirrup leathers swung but when, on his way home, he came in the dark onto the hill where Sordo had fought, he knew at once what the long poncho roll contained. In the dark he could not tell who had been up on the hill. But he counted those that lay there and then made off across the hills for Pablo's camp. Walking alone in the dark, with a fear like a freezing of his heart from the feeling the holes of the bomb craters had given him, from them and from what he had found on the hill, he put all thought of the next day out of his mind. He simply walked as fast as he could to bring the news. And as he walked he prayed for the souls of Sordo and of all his band. It was the first time he had prayed since the start of the movement. "Most kind, most sweet, most clement Virgin," he prayed. But he could not keep from thinking of the next day finally. So he thought: I will do exactly as the _Ingl廥_ says and as he says to do it. But let me be close to him, O Lord, and may his instructions be exact for I do not think that I could control myself under the bombardment of the planes. Help me, O Lord, tomorrow to comport myself as a man should in his last hours. Help me, O Lord, to understand clearly the needs of the day. Help me, O Lord, to dominate the movement of my legs that I should not run when the bad moment comes. Help me, O Lord, to comport myself as a man tomorrow in the day of battle. Since I have asked this aid of thee, please grant it, knowing I would not ask it if it were not serious, and I will ask nothing more of thee again. Walking in the dark alone he felt much better from having prayed and he was sure, now, that he would comport himself well. Walking now down from the high country, he went back to praying for the people of Sordo and in a short time he had reached the upper post where Fernando challenged him. "It is I," he answered, "Anselmo." "Good," Fernando said. "You know of this of Sordo, old one?" Anselmo asked Fernando, the two of them standing at the entrance of the big rocks in the dark. "Why not?" Fernando said. "Pablo has told us." "He was up there?" "Why not?" Fernando said stolidly. "He visited the hill as soon as the cavalry left." "He told you--" "He told us all," Fernando said. "What barbarians these fascists are! We must do away with all such barbarians in Spain." He stopped, then said bitterly, "In them is lacking all conception of dignity." Anselmo grinned in the dark. An hour ago he could not have imagined that he would ever smile again. What a marvel, that Fernando, he thought. "Yes," he said to Fernando. "We must teach them. We must take away their planes, their automatic weapons, their tanks, their artillery and teach them dignity." "Exactly," Fernando said. "I am glad that you agree." Anselmo left him standing there alone with his dignity and went on down to the cave. 　　飞机离去以后，罗伯特。乔丹和普里米蒂伏听到熗声开始响了，他的心似乎又随着熗响而猛跳。一片烟雾飘过他能望到的高地上最远的山脊，飞机在空中变成了三点稳定地越来越小的斑点。 　　“说不定他们狂轰滥炸了自己的骑兵,根本没炸到‘聋子’一伙，”罗伯特　乔丹自言自语。“那些该死的飞机吓得你要死，却不一定把你炸死。” 　　“还在打哪，”普里米蒂伏听着猛烈的熗声，说。炸弹每次砰的爆炸都使他战栗,他这时舔着干燥的嘴唇。 　　〃干吗不打”罗伯特　乔丹说，“那些玩意儿根本杀害不了谁。” 　　接着熗声完全停息了，他再也听不到射击声。贝仑多中尉开手熗的声音没传得那么远。 　　熗声初停时，他倒不觉得什么。然而持续的癍静却使他心里感到空洞洞的。他接着听到手榴弹的爆炸声，心里顿时振奋起来。接着又是鸦雀无声，就此一片寂静，他知道，战斗结束了。 　　玛丽亚从营地带来了一铅皮桶汤汁很浓的蘑菇炖兔肉，袋面包，一瓶酒，四只铅皮盘子，两只杯子和四把汤匙　她走到熗边停下了步，给奥古斯丁和埃拉迪奥容了两盘兔肉，拿出面包，旋开角质的酒瓶塞,斟了两杯酒。埃拉迪奥代替安塞尔莫在看守着熗。 ①两者都是天主教徒常用的涛文。 　　罗伯特　乔丹望着她轻捷地朝他的观察哨爬上来，肩上挎着面包袋,手里提着桶，一头短发在阳光中闪亮。他爬下几步接过铅皮桶，扶她爬上最后的一块山石。“飞机来干什么了？‘她眼神惊恐地问　“轰炸'聋子’。” 　　他揭开桶盖，往一只盘子里舀莱　“他们还在打吗？”“不。结束了。” 　　“啊。”她说,咬晈嘴膊，望着对面的田野。“我没有胃口，“。”普里米蒂伏说。“总得吃一些”罗伯特‘乔丹对他说，“我咽不下，“ 　　“喝点这个吧，伙计，”罗伯特　乔丹说，把酒瓶递给他豸“然后吃饭。” 　　“‘聋子’的事叫我不想吃了，”普里米蒂伏说。“你吃。我不想吃。” 　　玛丽亚走到他身边,两臂搂住他的脖子，吻他，“吃吧，老朋友，”她说。“人人都得保重自己的身体啊。”普里米蒂伏转身避开了她。他举起酒瓶,仰起了头,让喷出的酒直灌进矂子眼里，咕咚咕咚地咽了下去。他接着从桶里舀了菜，盛满盘子,开始吃起来。 　　罗伯特，乔丹望望玛丽亚，摇摇头。她在他身旁坐下,一条胳膊搂着他的肩膀。两人心照不宣地坐在那儿，罗伯特　乔丹从容不迫地细细品着蘑菇炖兔肉的滋味。他暍着酒，大家都不说话。 　　“你愿意的话，漂亮的姑娘，可以待在这儿，”过了一会儿,他吃完了东西说。 　　“不。”她说。“我得到比拉尔那儿去。”“待在这儿很好嘛。我看现在不会发生什么事了。’“不。我得到比拉尔那儿去。她正在给我上课。”“她给你上什么课?” 　　“上课。”她朝他微笑,接着吻了他一下。“你从没听说过宗教课吗？”她脸红了　“就是那一类东西。”她又脸红了。“可是不一 　　“去听你的课吧，”他说，拍拍她的头，她又对他撖笑，接着对普里米蒂伏说，“你需要什么东西从下面给你捎来?” 　　“不要，好姑娘，”他说。罗伯特　乔丹和玛丽亚都看出他心里仍旧不痛快， 　　“好，老朋友，”她对他说。 　　〃听着，”普里米蒂伏说。“我不怕死，可象这样不颊他们死活一”他说不下去了。 　　“没别的办法。”罗伯特　乔丹对他说，“我知道。不过还是叫人受不了啊。”“没别的办法。”罗伯特‘乔丹又说了一遍。“现在还是别再提它的好，“ 　　是啊。可是在那儿孤军作战，我们一点也不支援一一”“最好还是别再提它了，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你，漂亮的姑娘，去听你的课吧，“ 　　他看她在岩石中间爬下去。然后，他望着那片髙地,坐在郑 儿想了很久。 　　普里米蒂伏对他说活，但他不回答。太阳底下很热，但他感觉不到，只顾坐着眺望山坡和延伸到山坡顶端的那长长的一片松林。一小时过去了，太阳落到左边远处，他这时看到有队人马翻过坡来，就拿起望远镜。 　　头两个骑马的人出现在髙山的长长的绿坡上的时候，马显得又小又清楚。接着又有四个散开的骑兵越过宽。”的山坡下山来，接着在望远镜里清清楚楚地看到两行人马来到他的视野里。他望着他们，觉得胳肢窝里的汗水淌到腰上。有一个人带领着这伙人马。接着来了更多的骑兵。接着是没骑人的马匹，鞍上横捆着东西。接着是两个骑马的。接着是骑马的伤兵，旁边有步行的人伴随着。最后又是一些骑兵。 　　罗伯特　乔丹望着他们骑下山坡，消失在树抹里。距离这么远，他看不见有个马鞍上搁着个两头扎紧、中间捆了几道的用披风卷成的包裹，这包裹被绳子勒得象个内含饱鼓鼓的莧子的豆荚,横捆在马鞍上，两头结在马镫的皮带上。“聋予”用的自动步熗和这包裹并排放在马鞍上,显得威风瘭凜。 　　贝仑多中尉骑在那伙人马前面，两翼各派出了护卫,前有尖兵，在老远的前方,伹他并不觉得威风。他只感到战斗之后的空虚。他在想。”砍头是残酷的。伹是验明正身是必要的手续。事情到这个地步已经够麻烦了，谁管得了这么多？这次把首级带-回去，可能会使他们高兴。他们中有些人是喜欢这种玩意儿的。说不定他们会把这些首级都送到布尔戈斯去。这是件残醱的事。用飞机太过分了。太过分了。但是用一门斯多克斯迫击炮①，几乎一点伤亡也不会有，我们就能解决这一仗，两头骡子驮炮弹，―头骡子驮两门迫击炮，一边一门，那就成一支象样的军队啦　 　　加上这些自动武器的火力。再来一头骡子。不,两头骡子来驮弹药，他对自己说,别想下去啦。这祥可不象支骑兵队啦。别想下去啦。你在为自已编制军队啦。你下一步就要一尊过山炮啦。 　　他接着想到死在山上的胡利安，如今在第一队人马中横捆在马背上。于是他撇下身后阳光普照的山坡，骑马穿进幽暗睁寂的松林，又为胡利安念起祷文来。 　　万福，慈悲的圣母，”他开始祷告，“我们的生命，我们的欢乐，我们的希望。在这眼泪之谷，我们向您叹息、哀悼、哭泣一” 　　他不停地祷告，马蹄踩在柔软的铺着松针的地上，阳光从树身和树身的间隙处投下斑斑光影，就象从大教堂的庭柱之间射下那样。他一边祷告，一边望着前面，看两翼的部下在树林中骑行。 　　他穿出树林，，来到通往拉格兰哈的黄土公路上，马蹄在他们周围掀起阵阵尘土。尘土落到横捆在马铵上、脸面朝下的死者身上，那些伤兵和在旁边步行的人们都被裹在弥渙的尘埃 　　安塞尔莫就是在这里看到他们风尘仆仆地骑马经过的。他数着死者和伤员的人数，认出了“聋子”的自动步熗。那只用披风包成的包裹随着马镫皮带的晃动，碰撞着带头的马的侧腹，他不知道这里面是什么玩意儿，可是等他在回营的路上換黑走上了“聋子”战斗过的山头，他立刻明白这一长卷东西里面藏的是什么了。他在黑暗中分辨不出山上躺着的人是谁。但是他把这些？“体数了一下,就越过山岭回巴勃罗的营地去了。 ①斯多克斯迫击炮最早由英国制迪，口径三英寸，炮弹仅十磅重，为轻型迫违炮，.使用方使， 　　那些掸坑使他震惊，那些弹坑以及小山上的情景，使他心里凉了半截，他这时独自在黑暗中走着，心里一点也不在考虑第二天的事情了。他只顾加快脚步回去报告。他一边走，一边给“聋子”一伙祷告。自从革命开始以来，这是他第一次祷告。“最善良、最亲爱、最仁慈的圣母啊，”他祷告。他最后还是不禁想到了第二天的事情。他想:我要听英国人的，完全照他说的去做。可得让我跟他在一起，主明，愿他的指示讲得明确，因为在飞机的轰炸下，我觉得自己是难以控制住自己的。保佑我，主啊，明天让我象个男子汉在他生命最后的时刻那样干吧。保佑我，主啊，让我弄清楚那一夭该怎么干。保佑我，主啊，让我两条腿听我使唤，免得在危急的时候逃靼。保佑我，主哬，明天打仗的时候让我象个男子汉那样行动。既然我祈求您帮助，就请您答应吧，因为您知道，不是万不得已我是不会求您的，我也不再有别的请求了。 　　他独自在黑暗中行走，觉得祷告之后舒坦多了，他这时深信自己会表现得满好的。当他从高地下来的时侯，又给“聋予”一伙做了一次祷告。不一会儿,他就走到了营地上面的哨岗，费尔南多要他回答口令。 　　“是我，”他回答,“安塞尔莫“好。”费尔南多说。 　　“你知道‘聋子’的情况吗，老弟？”安塞尔莫问费尔南多，他们在黑暗中站在山路口。 　　“怎么不知道。”费尔南多说。“巴勃罗告诉我们了。”、“他到过山上？” 　　“怎么没到过？”费尔南多声色不动地说。”骑兵一走，他就上山去看了。’ ， 　　“他告诉了你们一‘ 　　“他全告诉了我们，”费尔南多说。"这帮法西斯分子真是野兽！我们一定要在西班牙把这种野兽全消灭干净。”他停了一下,沉痛地说，“他们心里啊,哪里懂得什么人的尊严。” 　　安塞尔莫在黑暗中咧嘴笑了。一小时以前，他没法设掇自已竟能再笑。他想。”这个费尔南多真叫人敬佩。 　　“对，”他对费尔南多说。“我们一定要教训他们。我们一定要夺走他们的飞机、自动武器、坦克、大炮，教训他们该怎样尊重人，“” 　　”一点不错。”费尔南多说。“我髙兴你有同样的想法。”安塞尔莫一直下坡朝山洞走去，撇下他独自站在那儿感到义愤填膺。

Chapter 27 El Sordo was making his fight on a hilltop. He did not like this hill and when he saw it he thought it had the shape of a chancre. But he had had no choice except this hill and he had picked it as far away as he could see it and galloped for it, the automatic rifle heavy on his back, the horse laboring, barrel heaving between his thighs, the sack of grenades swinging against one side, the sack of automatic rifle pans banging against the other, and Joaqu and Ignacio halting and firing, halting and firing to give him time to get the gun in place. There had still been snow then, the snow that had ruined them, and when his horse was hit so that he wheezed in a slow, jerking, climbing stagger up the last part of the crest, splattering the snow with a bright, pulsing jet, Sordo had hauled him along by the bridle, the reins over his shoulder as he climbed. He climbed as hard as he could with the bullets spatting on the rocks, with the two sacks heavy on his shoulders, and then, holding the horse by the mane, had shot him quickly, expertly, and tenderly just where he had needed him, so that the horse pitched, head forward down to plug a gap between two rocks. He had gotten the gun to firing over the horse's back and he fired two pans, the gun clattering, the empty shells pitching into the snow, the smell of burnt hair from the burnt hide where the hot muzzle rested, him firing at what came up to the hill, forcing them to scatter for cover, while all the time there was a chill in his back from not knowing what was behind him. Once the last of the five men had reached the hilltop the chill went out of his back and he had saved the pans he had left until he would need them. There were two more horses dead along the slope and three more were dead here on the hilltop. He had only succeeded in stealing three horses last night and one had bolted when they tried to mount him bareback in the corral at the camp when the first shooting had started. Of the five men who had reached the hilltop three were wounded. Sordo was wounded in the calf of his leg and in two places in his left arm. He was very thirsty, his wounds had stiffened, and one of the wounds in his left arm was very painful. He also had a bad headache and as he lay waiting for the planes to come he thought of a joke in Spanish. It was, "_Hay que tomar la muerte como si fuera aspirina_," which means, "You will have to take death as an aspirin." But he did not make the joke aloud. He grinned somewhere inside the pain in his head and inside the nausea that came whenever he moved his arm and looked around at what there was left of his band. The five men were spread out like the points of a five-pointed star. They had dug with their knees and hands and made mounds in front of their heads and shoulders with the dirt and piles of stones. Using this cover, they were linking the individual mounds up with stones and dirt. Joaqu, who was eighteen years old, had a steel helmet that he dug with and he passed dirt in it. He had gotten this helmet at the blowing up of the train. It had a bullet hole through it and every one had always joked at him for keeping it. But he had hammered the jagged edges of the bullet hole smooth and driven a wooden plug into it and then cut the plug off and smoothed it even with the metal inside the helmet. When the shooting started he had clapped this helmet on his head so hard it banged his head as though he had been hit with a casserole and, in the last lung-aching, leg-dead, mouth-dry, bulletspatting, bullet-cracking, bullet-singing run up the final slope of the hill after his horse was killed, the helmet had seemed to weigh a great amount and to ring his bursting forehead with an iron band. But he had kept it. Now he dug with it in a steady, almost machinelike desperation. He had not yet been hit. "It serves for something finally," Sordo said to him in his deep, throaty voice. "_Resistir y fortificar es vencer_," Joaqu said, his mouth stiff with the dryness of fear which surpassed the normal thirst of battle. It was one of the slogans of the Communist party and it meant, "Hold out and fortify, and you will win." Sordo looked away and down the slope at where a cavalryman was sniping from behind a boulder. He was very fond of this boy and he was in no mood for slogans. "What did you say?" One of the men turned from the building that he was doing. This man was lying flat on his face, reaching carefully up with his hands to put a rock in place while keeping his chin flat against the ground. Joaqu repeated the slogan in his dried-up boy's voice without checking his digging for a moment. "What was the last word?" the man with his chin on the ground asked. "_Vencer_," the boy said. "Win." "_Mierda_," the man with his chin on the ground said. "There is another that applies to here," Joaqu said, bringing them out as though they were talismans, "Pasionaria says it is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees." "_Mierda_ again," the man said and another man said, over his shoulder, "We're on our bellies, not our knees." "Thou. Communist. Do you know your Pasionaria has a son thy age in Russia since the start of the movement?" "It's a lie," Joaqu said. "_Qu?va_, it's a lie," the other said. "The dynamiter with the rare name told me. He was of thy party, too. Why should he lie?" "It's a lie," Joaqu said. "She would not do such a thing as keep a son hidden in Russia out of the war." "I wish I were in Russia," another of Sordo's men said. "Will not thy Pasionaria send me now from here to Russia, Communist?" "If thou believest so much in thy Pasionaria, get her to get us off this hill," one of the men who had a bandaged thigh said. "The fascists will do that," the man with his chin in the dirt said. "Do not speak thus," Joaqu said to him. "Wipe the pap of your mother's breasts off thy lips and give me a hatful of that dirt," the man with his chin on the ground said. "No one of us will see the sun go down this night." El Sordo was thinking: It is shaped like a chancre. Or the breast of a young girl with no nipple. Or the top cone of a volcano. You have never seen a volcano, he thought. Nor will you ever see one. And this hill is like a chancre. Let the volcanos alone. It's late now for the volcanos. He looked very carefully around the withers of the dead horse and there was a quick hammering of firing from behind a boulder well down the slope and he heard the bullets from the submachine gun thud into the horse. He crawled along behind the horse and looked out of the angle between the horse's hindquarters and the rock. There were three bodies on the slope just below him where they had fallen when the fascists had rushed the crest under cover of the automatic rifle and submachine gunfire and he and the others had broken down the attack by throwing and rolling down hand grenades. There were other bodies that he could not see on the other sides of the hill crest. There was no dead ground by which attackers could approach the summit and Sordo knew that as long as his ammunition and grenades held out and he had as many as four men they could not get him out of there unless they brought up a trench mortar. He did not know whether they had sent to La Granja for a trench mortar. Perhaps they had not, because surely, soon, the planes would come. It had been four hours since the observation plane had flown over them. This hill is truly like a chancre, Sordo thought, and we are the very pus of it. But we killed many when they made that stupidness. How could they think that they would take us thus? They have such modern armament that they lose all their sense with overconfidence. He had killed the young officer who had led the assault with a grenade that had gone bouncing and rolling down the slope as they came up it, running, bent half over. In the yellow flash and gray roar of smoke he had seen the officer dive forward to where he lay now like a heavy, broken bundle of old clothing marking the farthest point that the assault had reached. Sordo looked at this body and then, down the hill, at the others. They are brave but stupid people, he thought. But they have sense enough now not to attack us again until the planes come. Unless, of course, they have a mortar coming. It would be easy with a mortar. The mortar was the normal thing and he knew that they would die as soon as a mortar came up, but when he thought of the planes coming up he felt as naked on that hilltop as though all of his clothing and even his skin had been removed. There is no nakeder thing than I feel, he thought. A flayed rabbit is as well covered as a bear in comparison. But why should they bring planes? They could get us out of here with a trench mortar easily. They are proud of their planes, though, and they will probably bring them. Just as they were so proud of their automatic weapons that they made that stupidness. But undoubtedly they must have sent for a mortar too. One of the men fired. Then jerked the bolt and fired again, quickly. "Save thy cartridges," Sordo said. "One of the sons of the great whore tried to reach that boulder," the man pointed. "Did you hit him?" Sordo asked, turning his head with difficulty. "Nay," the man said. "The fornicator ducked back." "Who is a whore of whores is Pilar," the man with his chin in the dirt said. "That whore knows we are dying here." "She could do no good," Sordo said. The man had spoken on the side of his good ear and he had heard him without turning his head. "What could she do?" "Take these sluts from the rear." "_Qu?va_," Sordo said. "They are spread around a hillside. How would she come on them? There are a hundred and fifty of them. Maybe more now." "But if we hold out until dark," Joaqu said. "And if Christmas comes on Easter," the man with his chin on the ground said. "And if thy aunt had _cojones_ she would be thy uncle," another said to him. "Send for thy Pasionaria. She alone can help us." "I do not believe that about the son," Joaqu said. "Or if he is there he is training to be an aviator or something of that sort." "He is hidden there for safety," the man told him. "He is studying dialectics. Thy Pasionaria has been there. So have Lister and Modesto and others. The one with the rare name told me." "That they should go to study and return to aid us," Joaqu said. "That they should aid us now," another man said. "That all the cruts of Russian sucking swindlers should aid us now." He fired and said, "_Me cago en tal_; I missed him again." "Save thy cartridges and do not talk so much or thou wilt be very thirsty," Sordo said. "There is no water on this hill." "Take this," the man said and rolling on his side he pulled a wineskin that he wore slung from his shoulder over his head and handed it to Sordo. "Wash thy mouth out, old one. Thou must have much thirst with thy wounds." "Let all take it," Sordo said. "Then I will have some first," the owner said and squirted a long stream into his mouth before he handed the leather bottle around. "Sordo, when thinkest thou the planes will come?" the man with his chin in the dirt asked. "Any time," said Sordo. "They should have come before." "Do you think these sons of the great whore will attack again?" "Only if the planes do not come." He did not think there was any need to speak about the mortar. They would know it soon enough when the mortar came. "God knows they've enough planes with what we saw yesterday." "Too many," Sordo said. His head hurt very much and his arm was stiffening so that the pain of moving it was almost unbearable. He looked up at the bright, high, blue early summer sky as he raised the leather wine bottle with his good arm. He was fifty-two years old and he was sure this was the last time he would see that sky. He was not at all afraid of dying but he was angry at being trapped on this hill which was only utilizable as a place to die. If we could have gotten clear, he thought. If we could have made them come up the long valley or if we could have broken loose across the road it would have been all right. But this chancre of a hill. We must use it as well as we can and we have used it very well so far. If he had known how many men in history have had to use a hill to die on it would not have cheered him any for, in the moment he was passing through, men are not impressed by what has happened to other men in similar circumstances any more than a widow of one day is helped by the knowledge that other loved husbands have died. Whether one has fear of it or not, one's death is difficult to accept. Sordo had accepted it but there was no sweetness in its acceptance even at fifty-two, with three wounds and him surrounded on a hill. He joked about it to himself but he looked at the sky and at the far mountains and he swallowed the wine and he did not want it. If one must die, he thought, and clearly one must, I can die. But I hate it. Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. Living was a hawk in the sky. Living was an earthen jar of water in the dust of the threshing with the grain flailed out and the chaff blowing. Living was a horse between your legs and a carbine under one leg and a hill and a valley and a stream with trees along it and the far side of the valley and the hills beyond. Sordo passed the wine bottle back and nodded his head in thanks. He leaned forward and patted the dead horse on the shoulder where the muzzle of the automatic rifle had burned the hide. He could still smell the burnt hair. He thought how he had held the horse there, trembling, with the fire around them, whispering and cracking, over and around them like a curtain, and had carefully shot him just at the intersection of the cross-lines between the two eyes and the ears. Then as the horse pitched down he had dropped down behind his warm, wet back to get the gun to going as they came up the hill. "_Eras mucho caballo_," he said, meaning, "Thou wert plenty of horse." El Sordo lay now on his good side and looked up at the sky. He was lying on a heap of empty cartridge hulls but his head was protected by the rock and his body lay in the lee of the horse. His wounds had stiffened badly and he had much pain and he felt too tired to move. "What passes with thee, old one?" the man next to him asked. "Nothing. I am taking a little rest." "Sleep," the other said. "_They_ will wake us when they come." Just then some one shouted from down the slope. "Listen, bandits!" the voice came from behind the rocks where the closest automatic rifle was placed. "Surrender now before the planes blow you to pieces." "What is it he says?" Sordo asked. Joaqu told him. Sordo rolled to one side and pulled himself up so that he was crouched behind the gun again. "Maybe the planes aren't coming," he said. "Don't answer them and do not fire. Maybe we can get them to attack again." "If we should insult them a little?" the man who had spoken to Joaqu about La Pasionaria's son in Russia asked. "No," Sordo said. "Give me thy big pistol. Who has a big pistol?" "Here." "Give it to me." Crouched on his knees he took the big 9 mm. Star and fired one shot into the ground beside the dead horse, waited, then fired again four times at irregular intervals. Then he waited while he counted sixty and then fired a final shot directly into the body of the dead horse. He grinned and handed back the pistol. "Reload it," he whispered, "and that every one should keep his mouth shut and no one shoot." "_Bandidos!_" the voice shouted from behind the rocks. No one spoke on the hill. "_Bandidos!_ Surrender now before we blow thee to little pieces." "They're biting," Sordo whispered happily. As he watched, a man showed his head over the top of the rocks. There was no shot from the hilltop and the head went down again. El Sordo waited, watching, but nothing more happened. He turned his head and looked at the others who were all watching down their sectors of the slope. As he looked at them the others shook their heads. "Let no one move," he whispered. "Sons of the great whore," the voice came now from behind the rocks again. "Red swine. Mother rapers. Eaters of the milk of thy fathers." Sordo grinned. He could just hear the bellowed insults by turning his good ear. This is better than the aspirin, he thought. How many will we get? Can they be that foolish? The voice had stopped again and for three minutes they heard nothing and saw no movement. Then the sniper behind the boulder a hundred yards down the slope exposed himself and fired. The bullet hit a rock and ricocheted with a sharp whine. Then Sordo saw a man, bent double, run from the shelter of the rocks where the automatic rifle was across the open ground to the big boulder behind which the sniper was hidden. He almost dove behind the boulder. Sordo looked around. They signalled to him that there was no movement on the other slopes. El Sordo grinned happily and shook his head. This is ten times better than the aspirin, he thought, and he waited, as happy as only a hunter can be happy. Below on the slope the man who had run from the pile of stones to the shelter of the boulder was speaking to the sniper. "Do you believe it?" "I don't know," the sniper said. "It would be logical," the man, who was the officer in command, said. "They are surrounded. They have nothing to expect but to die." The sniper said nothing. "What do you think?" the officer asked. "Nothing," the sniper said. "Have you seen any movement since the shots?" "None at all." The officer looked at his wrist watch. It was ten minutes to three o'clock. "The planes should have come an hour ago," he said. Just then another officer flopped in behind the boulder. The sniper moved over to make room for him. "Thou, Paco," the first officer said. "How does it seem to thee?" The second officer was breathing heavily from his sprint up and across the hillside from the automatic rifle position. "For me it is a trick," he said. "But if it is not? What a ridicule we make waiting here and laying siege to dead men." "We have done something worse than ridiculous already," the second officer said. "Look at that slope." He looked up the slope to where the dead were scattered close to the top. From where he looked the line of the hilltop showed the scattered rocks, the belly, projecting legs, shod hooves jutting out, of Sordo's horse, and the fresh dirt thrown up by the digging. "What about the mortars?" asked the second officer. "They should be here in an hour. If not before." "Then wait for them. There has been enough stupidity already." "_Bandidos!_" the first officer shouted suddenly, getting to his feet and putting his head well up above the boulder so that the crest of the hill looked much closer as he stood upright. "Red swine! Cowards!" The second officer looked at the sniper and shook his head. The sniper looked away but his lips tightened. The first officer stood there, his head all clear of the rock and with his hand on his pistol butt. He cursed and vilified the hilltop. Nothing happened. Then he stepped clear of the boulder and stood there looking up the hill. "Fire, cowards, if you are alive," he shouted. "Fire on one who has no fear of any Red that ever came out of the belly of the great whore." This last was quite a long sentence to shout and the officer's face was red and congested as he finished. The second officer, who was a thin sunburned man with quiet eyes, a thin, long-lipped mouth and a stubble of beard over his hollow cheeks, shook his head again. It was this officer who was shouting who had ordered the first assault. The young lieutenant who was dead up the slope had been the best friend of this other lieutenant who was named Paco Berrendo and who was listening to the shouting of the captain, who was obviously in a state of exaltation. "Those are the swine who shot my sister and my mother," the captain said. He had a red face and a blond, British-looking moustache and there was something wrong about his eyes. They were a light blue and the lashes were light, too. As you looked at them they seemed to focus slowly. Then "Reds," he shouted. "Cowards!" and commenced cursing again. He stood absolutely clear now and, sighting carefully, fired his pistol at the only target that the hilltop presented: the dead horse that had belonged to Sordo. The bullet threw up a puff of dirt fifteen yards below the horse. The captain fired again. The bullet hit a rock and sung off. The captain stood there looking at the hilltop. The Lieutenant Berrendo was looking at the body of the other lieutenant just below the summit. The sniper was looking at the ground under his eyes. Then he looked up at the captain. "There is no one alive up there," the captain said. "Thou," he said to the sniper, "go up there and see." The sniper looked down. He said nothing. "Don't you hear me?" the captain shouted at him. "Yes, my captain," the sniper said, not looking at him. "Then get up and go." The captain still had his pistol out. "Do you hear me?" "Yes, my captain." "Why don't you go, then?" "I don't want to, my captain." "You don't _want_ to?" The captain pushed the pistol against the small of the man's back. "You don't _want_ to?" "I am afraid, my captain," the soldier said with dignity. Lieutenant Berrendo, watching the captain's face and his odd eyes, thought he was going to shoot the man then. "Captain Mora," he said. "Lieutenant Berrendo?" "It is possible the soldier is right." "That he is right to say he is afraid? That he is right to say he does not _want_ to obey an order?" "No. That he is right that it is a trick." "They are all dead," the captain said. "Don't you hear me say they are all dead?' "You mean our comrades on the slope?" Berrendo asked him. "I agree with you." "Paco," the captain said, "don't be a fool. Do you think you are the only one who cared for Juli嫕? I tell you the Reds are dead. Look!" He stood up, then put both hands on top of the boulder and pulled himself up, kneeing-up awkwardly, then getting on his feet. "Shoot," he shouted, standing on the gray granite boulder and waved both his arms. "Shoot me! Kill me!" On the hilltop El Sordo lay behind the dead horse and grinned. What a people, he thought. He laughed, trying to hold it in because the shaking hurt his arm. "Reds," came the shout from below. "Red canaille. Shoot me! Kill me!" Sordo, his chest shaking, barely peeped past the horse's crupper and saw the captain on top of the boulder waving his arms. Another officer stood by the boulder. The sniper was standing at the other side. Sordo kept his eye where it was and shook his head happily. "Shoot me," he said softly to himself. "Kill me!" Then his shoulders shook again. The laughing hurt his arm and each time he laughed his head felt as though it would burst. But the laughter shook him again like a spasm. Captain Mora got down from the boulder. "Now do you believe me, Paco?" he questioned Lieutenant Berrendo. "No," said Lieutenant Berrendo. "_Cojones!_" the captain said. "Here there is nothing but idiots and cowards." The sniper had gotten carefully behind the boulder again and Lieutenant Berrendo was squatting beside him. The captain, standing in the open beside the boulder, commenced to shout filth at the hilltop. There is no language so filthy as Spanish. There are words for all the vile words in English and there are other words and expressions that are used only in countries where blasphemy keeps pace with the austerity of religion. Lieutenant Berrendo was a very devout Catholic. So was the sniper. They were Carlists from Navarra and while both of them cursed and blasphemed when they were angry they regarded it as a sin which they regularly confessed. As they crouched now behind the boulder watching the captain and listening to what he was shouting, they both disassociated themselves from him and what he was saying. They did not want to have that sort of talk on their consciences on a day in which they might die. Talking thus will not bring luck, the sniper thought. Speaking thus of the _Virgen_ is bad luck. This one speaks worse than the Reds. Juli嫕 is dead, Lieutenant Berrendo was thinking. Dead there on the slope on such a day as this is. And this foul mouth stands there bringing more ill fortune with his blasphemies. Now the captain stopped shouting and turned to Lieutenant Berrendo. His eyes looked stranger than ever. "Paco," he said, happily, "you and I will go up there." "Not me." "What?" The captain had his pistol out again. I hate these pistol brandishers, Berrendo was thinking. They cannot give an order without jerking a gun out. They probably pull out their pistols when they go to the toilet and order the move they will make. "I will go if you order me to. But under protest," Lieutenant Berrendo told the captain. "Then I will go alone," the captain said. "The smell of cowardice is too strong here." Holding his pistol in his right hand, he strode steadily up the slope. Berrendo and the sniper watched him. He was making no attempt to take any cover and he was looking straight ahead of him at the rocks, the dead horse, and the fresh-dug dirt of the hilltop. El Sordo lay behind the horse at the corner of the rock, watching the captain come striding up the hill. Only one, he thought. We get only one. But from his manner of speaking he is _caza mayor_. Look at him walking. Look what an animal. Look at him stride forward. This one is for me. This one I take with me on the trip. This one coming now makes the same voyage I do. Come on, Comrade Voyager. Come striding. Come right along. Come along to meet it. Come on. Keep on walking. Don't slow up. Come right along. Come as thou art coming. Don't stop and look at those. That's right. Don't even look down. Keep on coming with your eyes forward. Look, he has a moustache. What do you think of that? He runs to a moustache, the Comrade Voyager. He is a captain. Look at his sleeves. I said he was _caza mayor_. He has the face of an _Ingl廥_. Look. With a red face and blond hair and blue eyes. With no cap on and his moustache is yellow. With blue eyes. With pale blue eyes. With pale blue eyes with something wrong with them. With pale blue eyes that don't focus. Close enough. Too close. Yes, Comrade Voyager. Take it, Comrade Voyager. He squeezed the trigger of the automatic rifle gently and it pounded back three times against his shoulder with the slippery jolt the recoil of a tripoded automatic weapon gives. The captain lay on his face on the hillside. His left arm was under him. His right arm that had held the pistol was stretched forward of his head. From all down the slope they were firing on the hill crest again. Crouched behind the boulder, thinking that now he would have to sprint across that open space under fire, Lieutenant Berrendo heard the deep hoarse voice of Sordo from the hilltop. "_Bandidos!_" the voice came. "_Bandidos!_ Shoot me! Kill me!" On the top of the hill El Sordo lay behind the automatic rifle laughing so that his chest ached, so that he thought the top of his head would burst. "_Bandidos_," he shouted again happily. "Kill me, _bandidos!_" Then he shook his head happily. We have lots of company for the Voyage, he thought. He was going to try for the other officer with the automatic rifle when he would leave the shelter of the boulder. Sooner or later he would have to leave it. Sordo knew that he could never command from there and he thought he had a very good chance to get him. Just then the others on the hill heard the first sound of the coming of the planes. El Sordo did not hear them. He was covering the down-slope edge of the boulder with his automatic rifle and he was thinking: when I see him he will be running already and I will miss him if I am not careful. I could shoot behind him all across that stretch. I should swing the gun with him and ahead of him. Or let him start and then get on him and ahead of him. I will try to pick him up there at the edge of the rock and swing just ahead of him. Then he felt a touch on his shoulder and he turned and saw the gray, fear-drained face of Joaqu and he looked where the boy was pointing and saw the three planes coming. At this moment Lieutenant Berrendo broke from behind the boulder and, with his head bent and his legs plunging, ran down and across the slope to the shelter of the rocks where the automatic rifle was placed. Watching the planes, Sordo never saw him go. "Help me to pull this out," he said to Joaqu and the boy dragged the automatic rifle clear from between the horse and the rock. The planes were coming on steadily. They were in echelon and each second they grew larger and their noise was greater. "Lie on your backs to fire at them," Sordo said. "Fire ahead of them as they come." He was watching them all the time. "_Cabrones!_ _Hijos de puta!_" he said rapidly. "Ignacio!" he said. "Put the gun on the shoulder of the boy. Thou!" to Joaqu, "Sit there and do not move. Crouch over. More. No. More." He lay back and sighted with the automatic rifle as the planes came on steadily. "Thou, Ignacio, hold me the three legs of that tripod." They were dangling down the boy's back and the muzzle of the gun was shaking from the jerking of his body that Joaqu could not control as he crouched with bent head hearing the droning roar of their coming. Lying flat on his belly and looking up into the sky watching them come, Ignacio gathered the legs of the tripod into his two hands and steadied the gun. "Keep thy head down," he said to Joaqu. "Keep thy head forward." "Pasionaria says 'Better to die on thy--' " Joaqu was saying to himself as the drone came nearer them. Then he shifted suddenly into "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; Blessed art thou among women and Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Holy Mary, Mother of God," he started, then he remembered quickly as the roar came now unbearably and started an act of contrition racing in it, "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee who art worthy of all my love--" Then there were the hammering explosions past his ears and the gun barrel hot against his shoulder. It was hammering now again and his ears were deafened by the muzzle blast. Ignacio was pulling down hard on the tripod and the barrel was burning his back. It was hammering now in the roar and he could not remember the act of contrition. All he could remember was at the hour of our death. Amen. At the hour of our death. Amen. At the hour. At the hour. Amen. The others all were firing. Now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Then, through the hammering of the gun, there was the whistle of the air splitting apart and then in the red black roar the earth rolled under his knees and then waved up to hit him in the face and then dirt and bits of rock were falling all over and Ignacio was lying on him and the gun was lying on him. But he was not dead because the whistle came again and the earth rolled under him with the roar. Then it came again and the earth lurched under his belly and one side of the hilltop rose into the air and then fell slowly over them where they lay. The planes came back three times and bombed the hilltop but no one on the hilltop knew it. Then the planes machine-gunned the hilltop and went away. As they dove on the hill for the last time with their machine guns hammering, the first plane pulled up and winged over and then each plane did the same and they moved from echelon to V-formation and went away into the sky in the direction of Segovia. Keeping a heavy fire on the hilltop, Lieutenant Berrendo pushed a patrol up to one of the bomb craters from where they could throw grenades onto the crest. He was taking no chances of any one being alive and waiting for them in the mess that was up there and he threw four grenades into the confusion of dead horses, broken and split rocks, and torn yellow-stained explosive-stinking earth before he climbed out of the bomb crater and walked over to have a look. No one was alive on the hilltop except the boy Joaqu, who was unconscious under the dead body of Ignacio. Joaqu was bleeding from the nose and from the ears. He had known nothing and had no feeling since he had suddenly been in the very heart of the thunder and the breath had been wrenched from his body when the one bomb struck so close and Lieutenant Berrendo made the sign of the cross and then shot him in the back of the head, as quickly and as gently, if such an abrupt movement can be gentle, as Sordo had shot the wounded horse. Lieutenant Berrendo stood on the hilltop and looked down the slope at his own dead and then across the country seeing where they had galloped before Sordo had turned at bay here. He noticed all the dispositions that had been made of the troops and then he ordered the dead men's horses to be brought up and the bodies tied across the saddles so that they might be packed in to La Granja. "Take that one, too," he said. "The one with his hands on the automatic rifle. That should be Sordo. He is the oldest and it was he with the gun. No. Cut the head off and wrap it in a poncho." He considered a minute. "You might as well take all the heads. And of the others below on the slope and where we first found them. Collect the rifles and pistols and pack that gun on a horse." Then he walked down to where the lieutenant lay who had been killed in the first assault. He looked down at him but did not touch him. "_Qu?cosa m嫳 mala es la guerra_," he said to himself, which meant, "What a bad thing war is." Then he made the sign of the cross again and as he walked down the hill he said five Our Fathers and five Hail Marys for the repose of the soul of his dead comrade. He did not wish to stay to see his orders being carried out. 　　“聋子”在小山顼上作战。他不喜欢这座小山，他见到这座山的时候，就觉得它的形状很象下疳。伹是除了这座山之外投有其他选择。他从老远望来，看到了这座山，就选中了它，策马朝它跑来，背上背着沉重的自动步熗，马儿吃力地爬着坡，身子在他胯下颠箱，一袋手榴弹在他身体的一边晃荡着，一袋自动步熗的弹药盘碰撞着他身体的另一边。华金和伊袼纳西奥不时停一会儿，开几熗,停一会儿,开几熗，好让他有时间找个有利的地形架熗。 　　那时,使他们遭殃的雪还没化尽。“聋于”的马被打中了,因此它呼哧呼哧地喘着气，缓漫而蹒珊地爬上通向山顶的最后一段路，伤口鲜血直进，洒在雪地上，“聋子”拉着马笼头,肩上搭着马继绳，使劲拉着马一起爬山。熗弹啪啪地射在岩石上,他肩上挎着两袋沉重的弹药，拼命爬山，接着他挑了个合适的地方,抓住马鬃，利索、熟练而怀着深情地对马开了一熗。于是马儿脑袋向前栽倒，填补了两块岩石之间的缺口。他把熗架在马背上射击，射掉了两盘弹药。熗身格袼作响，空弹壳进到雪地里,搁在马身上的灼热的熗筒烫焦了马皮，散发出马鬃毛的焦糊味。他向冲上山来的敌人射击，迫使他们散开去找掩护,同时总觉得背上发毛,不知道背后会出现什么情况。等到他们五个人中间最后的一个到达了山顶，他才没有后顾之忧，保留下剩下的那几盘弹药，以备不时之冊。 　　山坡上还有两匹死马，这儿山顶上也有三匹。昨夜他只倫到三匹马，其中有一匹，当他们跟敌人一交上火，在营地的马栏里来不及备鞍就想跨上去时，拔脚逃跑了。 　　到达山顶的五个人中三个负了伤。“聋子”腿肚上受了伤，左臂上伤了两处。他非常口渴，伤口庥木发硬，左臂上有个伤口很痛。还有，他头痛欲裂，他躺着等待飞机飞来，想起了一句西班牙俏皮话,“应当象吃阿司匹林片那样地接受死亡。”但是他并没有把这甸笑话大声说出来。每当他挪动胳臂，扭头看看周围他那伙剩下的弟兄时，就感到头痛恶心。他在头痛和恶心中咧。 　　五个人象五角星的五个角尖般展开着，他们用双手双睞挖掘,用泥土和石块在头和肩膀前筑起了土墩。有了这些土墩当掩护，他们用石块和泥土把各个土墩联起来。华金十八岁，他有一个钢盔，便用来挖掘并传送泥土孩。 　　他这只头盔是在炸火车时搞到的。头盔上有个子弹窟寤，大家常常取笑他保存这头盔。伹他敲平了窟瘙边的豁口，在窟寐中打了个木塞，然后把里面的木塞头削掉，锉得和钢皮一烺熗声初响时，他猛地把钢盔套在头上,哐啷一声，好象头上给莱锅揍了一下。他的马被打死后,他肺部剧痛,两腿死沉，嘴里千渴，在子弹纷飞、熗声大作中冲上山坡最后一段路时，那顶头盔仿佛变得重极，“，象一道铁箱般箍住了他那要炸裂的前额。但是他没有丢掉它-他现在就用它不停地，简直象台机器似地拼命挖掘。他还没中弹。 　　“它总算还有点儿用处啊。”“聋子”用低沉的堠音对他说。 　　“坚持斗争就是胜利。”华金说，由于恐惧，他口腾干得不听使唤，超过了战斗时常有的口渴。那是共产党的一句口号　 　　“聋子”转过头去，望着山坡下有个骑兵躲在一块大岩石后打冷熗。他很喜欢这个小伙子，但没心情欣赏口号了，“你说什么?” 　　他们中间有个人从他在筑的工事面前转过头来　　这个人脸面籾下匍匆着，下巴抵住地面,小心翼翼地伸手放　块岩石。华金一刻不停地在挖，他用那干渴而年靑的声音把口号又说了一遍。 　　“最后一个词是什么。”下巴抵住地面的人问。。” 　　“胜利，”小伙子说。 　　“狗屁，”下巴抵住地面的人说1 　　“还有一句，这里也用得上，”华金说，仿佛这句话的每一个词是一个护身符似的，“伊芭露丽说　宁愿站着死，不愿跪着 生。“ 　　“又是狗屁，”那人说。另一个人扭过头说。”“我们是伏着，不是跪着。” 　　“你明。共产党员。你的伊芭露丽有个儿子和你年岁相仿,革命开始以来，送去了俄国,你知道吗？”“那是胡扯。”华金说。 　　“什么胡祉，”另一个说。“这是那个名字古怪的爆破手跟我讲的。他也是你的同党。他干吗胡扯?” 　　“胡扯。”华金说。“把儿子藏在俄国逃避战争，她不会干这种事。” 　　“我在俄国就好了，”聋子伙里又一个说。“你的伊芭露丽现在不会把我从这里送到俄国去吧,共产党员？” 　　〃要是你这样信赖你的伊芭露丽,那么叫她帮我们离开这个山头吧，”一个大腿上绑着绑带的人说。 　　“法西斯分子会叫你离幵的。”下巴抵在泥里的人说。“别说这种话了，”华金对他说。 　　“把你嘴上你妈妈的奶水擦擦干,给我一头盔泥吧。”下巴抵住地面的人说。“我们谁也看不到今晚太阳下山了。“ 　　“聋子〃在想　这座山的样子真象下疳。要不,象大姑娘没有扔头的乳房。要不，象圆锥形的火山顶。他想。”你从来没见过火山。你永远也见不着了。这座山象下疳。别提火山了。现在想看火山已经太迟啦。 ①伊芭露丽为西班牙共产党创始人之一，早年即用　热情之花，为笔名为革命报刊撰文，曾霣次被捕入狱。一九三六年二月当选为议会代表。内战期间鉑终留在马德里撰写文章为共和国政府作宜传。一九三九年三月首都陷落后，她出国到苏联流亡,并到欧洲和檗国参加反佛朗哥政权的活动咨上面引的一旬话是她的名言　 　　他从死马的肩隆边万分小心地朝外望了一眼，山坡下方一块大岩石后面立刻射来一梭子弹，他听到手提机熗子弹射入马身上的噗噗声。他在马？“后面匍匐爬去，从马臀部和一块岩石之间的缺口朗外望去。就在他下面的山坡上有三具？“体，那是法西斯分子在自动步熗和手提机熗的火力掩护下肉山顶冲锋时倒下的；他当时和其他人把手榴弹扔下去，从山坡上滚下去，粉碎了这次进攻。山顶的另一边还有些？“体，他没法看到。敌人没有可以倩以冲上山顶的射击死角，而“聋子”知道,只要他的弹药和手榴弹够用，他的一伙还有四个人，敌人就没法把他从这里赶跑,除非拉来迫击炮。他不知道他们是否已派人到拉格兰哈去要迫击炮。也许没去，因为飞机当然就快来了，侦察机从他们头上飞过巳有四个小时了， 　　这座山真象下疳,“聋子”想,我们呢，就是上面的脓。但是他们愚蠢地进攻时被我们杀死了不少。他们怎么会以为这样就可以打垮我们呢？他们有了这样新式的武器，忘乎所以，昏了头啦。他们弯着腰冲上山的时侯，他扔了个手櫥弹,“騸一跳地滚下山坡，把那带头强攻的年青军官炸死了,他在1片黄色的闪光和灰色的尘雾中看到这个军官身子朝前一冲，栽倒在他这时躺着的地方，象一大堆披烂的农服。这是他们进攻所达到的最远的地方。“聋子”望望这具？“体,然后望着山坡下方的其他？“体。 　　这帮家伙有勇无谋，他想。但是他们现在头脑清醒了,飞机到来之前不再进攻了。当然啦，除非他们派来“尊迫击炮。有了迫击炮就好办了。这种情況下一般都用迫击炮。他知道，迫击炮一来他们就会完蛋,但是当他想到要来飞机的时候,他觉得自己在山顶上一充遮蔽，好象赤身裸体，甚至连皮肤都被扒掉了似的，他想,我觉得没有比这更赤裸棵的了　相形之下,一只剥皮的兔子也象一头熊那样有遮盖的了，可是他们干吗赛派飞机来?他们用一尊迫击炮就可以轻而易举地把我们从山上轰走。然而他们认为他们的飞机了不起，说不定会派飞机来。正象他们认为他们的自动武器了不起,于是就干出了那种蠹事。可是不用说,他们一定巳经去调迫击炮了。 　　有人开了一熗，随即猛的一拉熗栓，又开了一熗。“要节省子弹，”“聋子”说。 　　“有个老婊子养的想冲到那块岩石后面，”那人指着。“你打中他没有？”“聋子”困难地转过头来问，“没有，”那人说。“杂种缩回去了。”“比拉尔是头号婊子，”下巴抵在泥里的那人说，“这婊子知道我们在这儿要完蛋了。” 　　“她帮不了忙，”“聋子”说。那人这句话是在他那只正常的耳朵一边说的，他不用回头就听到了，“她有什么办法?”“从背后干这些婊子养的，“ 　　“什么话。”“聋子”说。"他们布满了整个山坡。她怎样下手打他们呢？他们有一百五十人。现在说不定更多了。”“不过，要是我们能坚持到天黑的话。”华金说。“要是圣诞节成了复活节的话。”下巴抵在泥里的人说。“要是你大婶有卵子的话,她就成了你大伯了，”另一个对他说。“叫你的伊芭露丽来吧。只有她能保佑我们了。” 　　〃我不信关于她儿子的说法，”华金说〃“如果他在那儿，准是在受训练，将来当飞机驾驶员什么的。” 、 　　“他躲在那儿保险,”那人对他说。 　　“他正在学辩证法。你的伊芭鼉丽到那儿去过。利斯特和莫德斯托那一帮人都去过，这是那个怪名字的家伙跟我讲的。” 　　“他们应该到那边去学习好了回来帮助我们。”华金说。“他们现在就应该来帮助我们，”另“个说。“那伙肮脏的俄国骗子手现在都该来帮助我们。”他又打了一熗说。”“我搡他的,义没打中。” 　　“要节省子弹，话别太多,要不然会很口渴,聋子”说，—这儿山上没水。” 　　“喝这个吧，”那人说着,侧过身子从头上退下挎在肩上的皮酒袋，递给“聋子”。“湫湫口，老伙计。你受了伤，一定。艮口浪。” 　　“大家喝。”“聋子”说。 　　“那我来先喝一点，”主人说着，把酒袋一挤，喷了好些酒在自己嘴里，这才把它递给大家。 　　“‘聋子’，你看飞机什么时候来？”下巴抵在泥里的人问， 　　“随时都会来，?聋子”说。“他们早该来了。”“你认为这些老婊子养的会再进攻吗?”“只要飞机不来。” 　　他觉得没必要提追击炮。迫击炮一来,他们马上会明白的，“我的天主，拿我们昨夭看到的来说，他们的飞机是够多的。” 　　"太多啦"聋子”说， 　　他头痛得厉害，一条胳膊僅硬得一动就痛得简直受不了。他用那条好胳膊举起皮酒袋,同时仰望着那明净蔚藍的初夏天空，他五十二岁了，他相信这准是他最后一次看到那样的天空了， 　　他一点也不怕死，但气愤的是给困在这座只能当作葬身之地的小山上。他想。”如果我们能够脱身，如果我们能迫使他们从那长长的山谷中过来，或者我们能突出去,穿过那公路，那就好了。可是这座下疳般的山哪。我们必须尽可能好好利用这座山的地形，到目前为止，我们利用得满不错。 　　如果他知道历史上有许多人不得不用一座小山作为葬身之地，他的情绪不会因此而高一些，因为在他当时的情况下，人们不会关心别人在相同情况下的遭遇，正如一个新寡的妇人不会由于得知别人心爱的丈夫去世而凭添慰藉。不管一个人怕不怕死,死亡是难以接受的。“聋子”不怕死,但尽管他已经五十二岁，身上三处负伤，被困在山上,死亡还是没有可爱的地方。 　　他在心里拿这个来开玩笑，但他望望天空，望望远处的山岭,喝了口酒,却并不想死。他想，要是人一定要死的话一显然人是非死不可的一那么我可以死。只是我讨厌死啊，死没什么了不起，他心中投有死的图景，也没有对死的惧怕。但是山坡上麦浪起伏的田地、天空中的苍麼、打稻筛谷时秣屑飞扬中喝的一陶罐水、你胯下的马儿、一条腿下夹着的卡宾熗、小山、河谷、两岸长着树木的小溪、河谷的那一边以及远方的群山，这一切都生意盎然。 　　〃聋子”交还皮酒袋，点头致谢。他向前欠身,拍拍被自动步熗熗筒烫焦皮的死马肩头。他仍能闻到马鬃毛的焦味。他回想到当时子弹在他们头上和四周嘘嘘而过,密集得象帷幕，他怎样把战栗的马牵到这里，小心地对准马儿两眼和两耳之间的连结线的交叉点打了一熗。然后，乘马栽倒的时候,他立刻伏在那暖和而潮湿的马背后,架好熗射击冲上山来的故人。’“真是匹了不起的好马，”他说，“聋子〃这时把身子没受伤的一侧貼在地上，仰望着天空。他躺在一堆空弹壳上，他的头有岩石遮掩着，身体伏在马？“背后。他感到伤口僅硬,痛得厉害,他觉得疲乏得没法动弹了。“ 　　“你怎么啦，老伙计?”他身边的人问他。“没什么。我休息一会儿。” 　　“睡吧，”身边那人说。来的时候会吵醒我们的。”正在这时，山坡下有人“喊　了。 　　“听着，土匪！”声音来自架着离他们最近的自动步熗的岩石后面。“飞机一来要把你们炸得粉身碎骨，现在就投降吧。”“他说什么?”“聋子”问。 　　华金告诉了他。“聋子”侧身一滚,抬起上半身,这样又鳟伏在熗后面了。 　　“飞机也许不会就来，”他说。“别答理他们，别开熗　说不定我们可以引他们再来攻。” 　　“我们骂他们几声怎么样?”那个跟华金谈起伊芭露丽的儿子在俄国的人问。 　　“不行，”“聋子”说。“把你的大手熗给我。谁有大手熗?”“这儿。” 　　“把熗给我。”他双膝跪着，接过一支九毫米口径的星脒大手熗，朝死马旁边的地上打了一熗，等了一会儿，叉断断续续地打了四熗。接着，他数到六十,然后对准马？“体上打了最后一熗。他露齿笑笑,交还手熗。 　　“上好子弹，”他低声说,“大家都别开口，谁也不许开熗，““土匪　”岩石后大声喊着。山上没人说话。 　　“土匪！投降吧，不然把你们炸得粉碎。”“他们要上钩啦，”“聋子”髙兴地低声说。在他等着的时候，一个人从岩石堆后面探出头来。山顶上一弹不发，那顆脑袋又缩回去了？聋子”等着、张望着,却再投出现什么情况。他转过头，着到其他的人都在观察着各人前面的山坡,他望着他们，他们都摇摇头。“谁也不许动，”他低声说。“老婊子养的，”岩石后又传来了骂声。“共匪。嫖娘的。咂你们爸爸鸡巴的。”“聋子”霣齿笑着。他侧过那只正常的耳朵，才听清这大声臭骂。他想　这可比阿司匹林妙啊。我们能打死几个呢？他们能那样蠢吗？ 　　骂声又停了,他们有三分钟没听到什么声音，没见到什么动静。接着，山坡下一百码远的一块岩石后面埋伏着的人探出头来,开了一熗。子弹打在一块岩石上，一声尖厉的呼啸，眺飞开去-接着，“聋子”看到有人弯睡从架着自动步熗的岩石后面跑出来,穿过空地,朝躲在一块大岩石后的伏击者跑去　他几乎是纵身一眺扑到这大岩石后边去的。 　　“聋子”朝四周望着。他们对他打手势，表示其他山坡上没有动静。“聋子”高兴地笑笑，摇摇头。他想,这可比阿司匹林妙上十倍。他等着，这股髙兴劲儿只有猎人才会有。 　　山坡下从岩石堆后奔到大岩石后去的那个人正在对那伏击者讲话。 　　“你相倌吗？”“说不准，”伏击者说。 　　“这是合乎情理的，”这个身任指挥官的人说。“他们被包围，“,没了指望，只有死路一条。“伏击者没说什么，“你认为怎么样？”指挥官问。〃看不出名堂，”伏击者说。 　　“刚才那几声熗响以后，你看到过什么动静?"“一点也没有。” 　　指挥官看看手表,两点五十分。 　　“一个钟点以前，飞机就该来了，”他说。正在这时，另一个军官冲到大岩石后面。伏击者挪过一点身子，给他让出些地方。“你，帕科，”第一个军官说。“你看是怎么回事?”第二个军官刚从山坡上自动步熗熗位那儿猛冲过来，正在喘大气。 　　“我看这里面有鬼，”他说。 　　“要是没有鬼呢？我们在这儿苦等着，包围着些死人，不是笑话吗?” 　　“我们干的事岂止可笑哪，”第二个军官说。“瞧这山坡。”他抬头望着山坡，那里？“体一直遍布到山顶。从他那儿望去，看得见山顶上一片凌乱的山石、“聋子”的死马的肚子、伸出的马腿、撅出的马蹄以及新翻起的泥土。“迫击炮怎么搞的？”第二个军官问。“再过一小时该来啦。那是说最多一小时。”“那就等迫击炮吧。蠢事已经干得够多啦。”“土匪！”第一个军官突然站起身大喊，脑袋暴露在大岩石上面。他这样站直了身体，山顶望过去显得近得多了‘“共匪　怕死鬼　” 　　第二个军官望望伏击者，摇摇头。伏击者转过头去,但抿紧了嘴唇。 　　第一个军官站在那儿，一手按在手熗柄上，把脑袋完全暴露在岩石上方。他朝山顶恶骂、诅咒。一点动静也没有。接着他干脆从岩石后面走出来，站在那儿仰望着山顶， 　　“没死的话,开熗吧，怕死鬼，”他大声叫喊。“开熗打我这个不怕哪个从老婊子肚里钻出来的共匪的人吧。” 　　最后这句话很长,等他喊完的时候，脸涨得通红，第二个军官又摇摇头。此人长得又瘦又黑,眼神温和,嘴阔唇薄，凹陷的双颊上布满了胡子茬。首次下令进攻的是那个在大叫大喊的军官。死在山坡上的青年中尉是这个名叫帕科　贝仑多的中尉最亲密的朋友。帕科正在听那显然处于狂热状态的上尉在叫喊。 　　“杀我姐姐和娘的就是这帮畜生，”上尉说。他长着一张红脸，留着两繳金黄色的英国式小胡子，眼睛有点毛病。这双眼睛是浅蓝色的,睫毛也是浅色的。你如果仔细看他的眼睛,会发现它们似乎不会一下子就把注意力集中在你身上。“共亜。”他接着大喊　“怕死鬼。”又开始咒骂了。 　　他这时完全没有掩护，站着用手熗仔细瞄淮,朝山顶上的唯一目标，“聋子”的死马，开了一熗。熗弹在死马下面十五码的地方溅起了一股泥土。上尉又开了一熗。熗弹射在山石上，嗖的—声弹开去。 　　上尉站在那儿望着山顶。贝仑多中尉望着离山峰不远的另一个中尉的？“体，伏击者望着眼前的地面　他接着抬头望望上 　　“上面没有活人了，”上尉说。“你，”他对伏击者说,“到上面去　“ 　　伏击者垂下了头。他一声不吭。 　　“你没听到我的话?”上尉对他大喝一声。 　　“是,我的上尉，”伏击者说,并不朝他看. 　　“那么站起来，走。”上尉仍握着手熗。“你没听到我的话?” 　　”是，我的上尉。”“那干吗不走？”“我不想去，我的上尉。” 　　“你予亭去?”上尉用手熗抵住他的后腰。“你予寧去?”“我么。”我的上尉。”士兵理直气壮地说。’’贝仑多中尉望着上尉的脸和异样的眼晴，以为他要就地熗涛这个兵了。 　　“莫拉上尉，”他说， 　　“贝仑多中尉？” 　　“这个弟兄也许没错。” 　　“他说怕,没错，“他说不服从命令,没错？” 　　“不。他说里面有鬼，没 　　“他们全都死了，”上尉说。“你没听到我说，他们全都死 了？“ 　　“你是指躺在山坡上的伙伴们?”贝仑多问他。“我同意你的 话,” 　　“帕科，”上尉说，“别做傻瓜了。你以为惋惜胡利安中尉的只有你一个人？我跟你说，这帮共匪都死了。瞧　” 　 　　他站起身来，双手按在大岩石顶上，引体上升，双膝别扭地搁上岩石,最后在顶上站直了身体。 　　“开熗吧。”他站在这灰色的花岗岩石上挥舞着两臂大“开熗打我吧　杀死我吧　” 　　山顶上，伏在死马后面的“聋子”咧嘴笑了　 　　他想　这种人啊。他笑了，因为一笑胳膊就痛，竭力忍住 了。 　　“共匪。”声音从下面传来。“流氓，开熗打我吧　杀死我吧　” 　　“聋子”笑得胸口直颤，从马屁股旁偷偷张望，看到那上尉站在大岩石上挥舞着两臂。另一个军官站在岩石旁边。那个伏击者站在另一边。“聋子”目不转睹地望着，髙兴地摆着头。 　　“开熗打我吧他低声自语。“杀死我吧！”他的肩膀又颤动起来。他一笑胳膊就痛，脑袋也象要裂开似的。但是他又笑得象发急惊风似的全身抖动。 　　莫拉上尉从大岩石上下来了。 　　“你现在相信我了吧，帕科。”他质问贝仑多中尉。 　　“不。”贝仑多中尉说。 　　“王八蛋！”上尉说。“这儿只有自痴和怕死鬼。”伏击者又小心翼翼地躲到大岩石后面，贝仑多蹲在他旁边殳上尉站在大岩石旁毫无遮蔽，开始朝山顶谩骂。西班牙语里的賍话最多。有些脏诘英语里也有，但是另外有一些词儿却只在渎神和敬神并驾齐驱的国家①里应用。贝仑多中尉是个非常虔诚的天主教徒。伏击者也是。他们是纳瓦拉的保皇派，他们在火头上诅咒谩骂之后，认为这是罪孽，总得向神父作忏悔。 　　他们俩如今蹲在大岩石后望着上尉，听他大骂的时候，认为他这个人和他的咒骂都和自己无关。他们在这生死莫測的一天，不愿说这种话来使得良心上感到内疚。伏击者想,这样的谩骂不会带来好运。这样提到圣母是个凶兆。这家伙比赤色分子骂得还恶毒。 　　贝仑多中尉在想，胡利安死啦　在这样一个日子死在山坡 ①指信奉天主教的国家　 　　上尉这时不喊了，转身朝着贝仑多中尉。他的眼神显得空前古怪。 　　“帕科，”他高兴地说，“你和我一起上山吧。”“我不。” 　　“什么？”上尉又拔出手熗。 　　贝仑多在想。”我讨厌这种挥舞手熗的家伙。他们一下命令就拔手熗。也许他们上厕所也要拔出手熗才拉得出屎来。 　　“如果你下命令，我可以去，但是我抗议”贝仑多中尉对上尉说。 　　“那我一个人去，”上尉说。“这几胆小鬼的臭气太重了。”他右手握着熗，不慌不忙地大步走上山坡。贝仑多和伏击者望着他。上尉无意找掩护，笔直望着他面前山顶上的岩石、马？“和那堆新挖出的泥土。 　　“聋子”伏在马？“后面岩石犄角那儿，注视着上尉大步爬上山来， 　　他想　只有一个。我们只捞到一个，伹从他的口气听来,他是个大猎物。瞧他走路的样子。瞧这畜生。瞧他大步向前来了。这家伙归我的了。我带这家伙上路啦，现在过来的这个人跟我是同路。来吧，同路的旅伴。迈开步子。笔直过来吧。过来领教领教。来啊。“直走啊。别放悝脚步。笔直过来吧。要走来就走来吧。别停下来看那些死人啦。这就对了-别朝脚下看啊。眼睛朝前,继续走啊。瞧，他留着小胡子-你觉得这小胡子怎么样？他喜欢留小胡子,这位同路的旅伴。他是个上尉。瞧他的袖章。我说过他是个大猎物嘛。他的脸象英国人。瞧啊。长着红脸，黄头发，蓝眼睛。找戴军犓,小胡予是黄色的，长着萆嚷睛。淡蓝色的眼瞎。有点毛病的淡蓝色的眼晴。有点斜视的淡蓝色的艱睛。离我够近啦。太近了。好，同路的旅伴。挨一下子吧，同路的旅伴。 　　他轻轻扣紧自动步熗的扳机，这种自动武器射击时的后坐力使三脚熗架朝后滑动,熗托在他肩头连撞了三下。 　　上尉脸朝下地倒在山坡上。他左臂压在身下。握手熗的右臂伸出在脑袋前方。山坡下又一齐向山顶开熗了， 　　贝仑多中尉伏在大岩石后面，心想现在非得在火力掩护下冲过这开阔地带啦。他这时听到山顶传来“聋子”低沉而嘶哑的声音。 　　“强盗　”声音传来。“强盗！开熗打我吧！杀死我吧!”“聋子”在山顶上状在自动步熗后面,笑得胸部发痛，笑得他自以为天灵盖要裂开了。 　　“强盗，”他又愉快地喊着。“杀死我吧，强盗1”然后他愉快地摇着头。他想　我们同路的旅伴可不少哪。 　　他打算等这军官离开大岩石掩护的时候，用自动步熗结果他。他迟早不得不离开那里。“聋子”知道他躲在那里没法指挥，他认为时机很好,能把他干掉。 　　正在这时，山上其他人第一次听到了飞机来临的声音。“聋子”没听到飞机声。他正用自动步熗瞄准着大岩石軔下坡的那一边。他想:等我见到他的时候,他‘定已经在奔跑，如果不留神，会打不中他的。他跑这段路时，我可以打他后背-我应当把熗随着他转动，打他前面。或者让他逃,然后射击他，打他前面。我要在那块岩石边上收拾他，对准他前面打熗。接着他觉得自己肩上给碰了一下，扭头看到华金那灰白而惊恐的脸。他朝这小伙子指点的方向一看，见到三架飞机正在飞来　。 　　正在这时，贝仑多中尉突然从大岩石后面冲出来，他低着头，撒开两腿，打着斜冲下山坡，奔到岩石堆后架着自动步熗的地方。 　　“聋子”在注视飞机，没看到他溜了。“帮我把熗抽出来，”他对华金说，小伙子就把架在马？“和岩石间的自动步熗拖出来。 　　飞机不慌不忙地正在飞来。它们排成梯队飞行，形体和声音越来越大。 　　“朝天卧倒，射击飞机，”“聋子”说。“等它们飞来，朝它们前面打。” 　　他始终望着飞机。“王八蛋1婊子养的。”他连珠炮地骂着。 　　“伊格纳西奥！”他说。“把熗架在小伙子肩上。你!”对华金说,“坐在那儿别动。蹲下。蹲得低些。不行。再低些，“他仰卧着，用自动步熗瞄着笔直飞来的飞机。“你，伊格纳西奥,给我按住那个三脚熗架。”熗架在华金背上晃动，熗简在他不能自制地震額的身上跳动，而他躊伏着，低着头,听着飞机来近的轰响。 　　伊格纳西奥匍匐在地，抬头望着天空，注视着飞来的飞机,用双手紧握住三脚架，稳住了熗身。“低头。”他对华金说。“头朝前。”“伊芭霈丽说过。”‘宁應站着死一〃隆隆声越来越近了，华金对自己说。接着,他突然改口默念着。”满被圣宠的玛利亚啊，天主与你同在；您是女人中有福的，你儿子耶穌也是有福的。天主圣母玛利亚，在我们临死的时刻，为我等罪人祈祷吧。阿门。⑦天主圣母玛利亚，”他祈祷到这里，这时飞机声响得使人难以忍受了,他突然想起来了，就心急慌忙地做起忏悔来,“我的天主啊，我衷心忏悔，得罪了值得我全心敬爱的您一‘ 　　他这时耳边响起了哒哒哒的熗声，熗筒灼热地抵在他的肩上。哒哒哒的熗声这时又响了，熗口的声波把他的耳朵都快震聋了。伊格纳西奥拚命把三脚熗架朝下拉，熗身烤灼着他的背部。飞机的隆隆声中响着哒哒哒的熗声，他想不起忏悔该怎么做了。 　　他想得起的只有这一些话。”在我们临死的时刻。阿门。在我们临死的时刻。阿门。在这时刻。在这时刻。阿门。其他人都在射击，现在，在我们临死的时刻。阿门。 　　接着，在哒哒哒的熗声中响起了一声撕破空气的呼啸声，接着，轰的一声，眼前一片又红又黑的景象，他膝下的土地媒动起来，掀起泥土，打在他的脸上，接着，泥土和碎石劈头盖脑地落下来，伊格纳西奥压在他身上’熗也压在他身上。但是他没死，因为听见呼啸声又响了，随着一声轰晌，他身下的土地又展动起来。接着又是一声轰晌，他肚子下面的土地突然倾斜，山顶的一边腾空升起,接着泥土砂石渐渐落下来,盖在他们销着的身上。 　　飞机又飞来了三次,轰炸山顶,但是山顶上的人谁也不知道了。接着，飞机用机熗扫射山顶之后飞走了。当这些飞机最后一次向山顶俯冲、用机熗哒哒地扫射时，第一架飞机拉起机头，一个鹞子翻身，跟着每架飞机依样行事，队形就由梯形变为艾形，朝塞哥维亚方向飞去。 　　贝仑多中尉命令密集火力压住山头，同时带一个小队爬到一个可以向山顶扔手榴弹的炸弹坑。他唯恐还有人活着，守在残破的山顶等着他们，于是先向那堆马？“、炸裂的岩石、带有火药味的被翻起的黄土扔了四颗手榴弹，这才从弹坑里爬出来,走上山顶去察看。 ①这是《圣母经　的全文，译时曾参照天主教会常用的文本 　　山顸上除了华金之外，没有活人了。这小伙子被压在伊格纳西奥的？“体下面,失去了知觉。华金的典孔和耳朵都在淌血，一颗炸弹落在离他那么近的地方,他一下子处在爆炸的中心,顿时透不过气来，此后就什么也不知道，什么也感觉不到了。贝仑多中尉划了个十字，对准他后脑勺就是一熗，动作干脆，又很斯文一如果这种暴庚的行动能够说得上斯文的话一就象“聋子”打死那匹受伤的马一样。 　　贝仑多中尉站在山顶，俯视着山坡上被打死的自己的伙伴，然后眺望对面的田野，望着“聋子”在这里作困兽之斗之前他们拍马追逐的地方，他看到自己的部队所作的一切部署，然后命令把死去的伙伴们的马牵来，把？“体横捆在马鞍上，以便运到拉格兰哈去。 　　“把那一个也带走”他说。“那个抱着自动步熗的家伙。他准是‘聋子’。他年纪最大，掌握熗的就是他。不。把脑袋砍下，包在披风里。”他考虑了‘会儿。“你们还是把他们的脑袋都砍下带走吧。还有山坡上的那几个，我们一开始就发现的揶几个。把步抢和手熗收起来，把那挺自动步熗放在马背上。” 　　接着，他下坡走到第一次进攻时被打死的中尉躺着的地方。他低头望着他，但并不碰他。 　　“战争真是坏事啊，”他自言自语说。然后他又划了个十字，一路走下山坡,为死去的伙伴的灵魂得到安息念了五遍《天主经》和五遍《圣母经》①。他不想待下去看他的命令如何执行了。

Chapter 26 It was three o'clock in the afternoon before the planes came. The snow had all been gone by noon and the rocks were hot now in the sun. There were no clouds in the sky and Robert Jordan sat in the rocks with his shirt off browning his back in the sun and reading the letters that had been in the pockets of the dead cavalryman. From time to time he would stop reading to look across the open slope to the line of the timber, look over the high country above and then return to the letters. No more cavalry had appeared. At intervals there would be the sound of a shot from the direction of El Sordo's camp. But the firing was desultory. From examining his military papers he knew the boy was from Tafalla in Navarra, twenty-one years old, unmarried, and the son of a blacksmith. His regiment was the Nth cavalry, which surprised Robert Jordan, for he had believed that regiment to be in the North. He was a Carlist, and he had been wounded at the fighting for Irun at the start of the war. I've probably seen him run through the streets ahead of the bulls at the feria in Pamplona, Robert Jordan thought. You never kill any one that you want to kill in a war, he said to himself. Well, hardly ever, he amended and went on reading the letters. The first letters he read were very formal, very carefully written and dealt almost entirely with local happenings. They were from his sister and Robert Jordan learned that everything was all right in Tafalla, that father was well, that mother was the same as always but with certain complaints about her back, that she hoped he was well and not in too great danger and she was happy he was doing away with the Reds to liberate Spain from the domination of the Marxist hordes. Then there was a list of those boys from Tafalla who had been killed or badly wounded since she wrote last. She mentioned ten who were killed. That is a great many for a town the size of Tafalla, Robert Jordan thought. There was quite a lot of religion in the letter and she prayed to Saint Anthony, to the Blessed Virgin of Pilar, and to other Virgins to protect him and she wanted him never to forget that he was also protected by the Sacred Heart of Jesus that he wore still, she trusted, at all times over his own heart where it had been proven innumerable--this was underlined--times to have the power of stopping bullets. She was as always his loving sister Concha. This letter was a little stained around the edges and Robert Jordan put it carefully back with the military papers and opened a letter with a less severe handwriting. It was from the boy's _novia_, his fianc嶪, and it was quietly, formally, and completely hysterical with concern for his safety. Robert Jordan read it through and then put all the letters together with the papers into his hip pocket. He did not want to read the other letters. I guess I've done my good deed for today, he said to himself. I guess you have all right, he repeated. "What are those you were reading?" Primitivo asked him. "The documentation and the letters of that _requet嶱 we shot this morning. Do you want to see it?" "I can't read," Primitivo said. "Was there anything interesting?" "No," Robert Jordan told him. "They are personal letters." "How are things going where he came from? Can you tell from the letters?" "They seem to be going all right," Robert Jordan said. "There are many losses in his town." He looked down to where the blind for the automatic rifle had been changed a little and improved after the snow melted. It looked convincing enough. He looked off across the country. "From what town is he?" Primitivo asked. "Tafalla," Robert Jordan told him. All right, he said to himself. I'm sorry, if that does any good. It doesn't, he said to himself. All right then, drop it, he said to himself. All right, it's dropped. But it would not drop that easily. How many is that you have killed? he asked himself. I don't know. Do you think you have a right to kill any one? No. But I have to. How many of those you have killed have been real fascists? Very few. But they are all the enemy to whose force we are opposing force. But you like the people of Navarra better than those of any other part of Spain. Yes. And you kill them. Yes. If you don't believe it go down there to the camp. Don't you know it is wrong to kill? Yes. But you do it? Yes. And you still believe absolutely that your cause is right? Yes. It is right, he told himself, not reassuringly, but proudly. I believe in the people and their right to govern themselves as they wish. But you mustn't believe in killing, he told himself. You must do it as a necessity but you must not believe in it. If you believe in it the whole thing is wrong. But how many do you suppose you have killed? I don't know because I won't keep track. But do you know? Yes. How many? You can't be sure how many. Blowing the trains you kill many. Very many. But you can't be sure. But of those you are sure of? More than twenty. And of those how many were real fascists? Two that I am sure of. Because I had to shoot them when we took them prisoners at Usera. And you did not mind that? No. Nor did you like it? No. I decided never to do it again. I have avoided it. I have avoided killing those who are unarmed. Listen, he told himself. You better cut this out. This is very bad for you and for your work. Then himself said back to him, You listen, see? Because you are doing something very serious and I have to see you understand it all the time. I have to keep you straight in your head. Because if you are not absolutely straight in your head you have no right to do the things you do for all of them are crimes and no man has a right to take another man's life unless it is to prevent something worse happening to other people. So get it straight and do not lie to yourself. But I won't keep a count of people I have killed as though it were a trophy record or a disgusting business like notches in a gun, he told himself. I have a right to not keep count and I have a right to forget them. No, himself said. You have no right to forget anything. You have no right to shut your eyes to any of it nor any right to forget any of it nor to soften it nor to change it. Shut up, he told himself. You're getting awfully pompous. Nor ever to deceive yourself about it, himself went on. All right, he told himself. Thanks for all the good advice and is it all right for me to love Maria? Yes, himself said. Even if there isn't supposed to be any such thing as love in a purely materialistic conception of society? Since when did you ever have any such conception? himself asked. Never. And you never could have. You're not a real Marxist and you know it. You believe in Liberty, Equality and Fraternity. You believe in Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. Don't ever kid yourself with too much dialectics. They are for some but not for you. You have to know them in order not to be a sucker. You have put many things in abeyance to win a war. If this war is lost all of those things are lost. But afterwards you can discard what you do not believe in. There is plenty you do not believe in and plenty that you do believe in. And another thing. Don't ever kid yourself about loving some one. It is just that most people are not lucky enough ever to have it. You never had it before and now you have it. What you have with Maria, whether it lasts just through today and a part of tomorrow, or whether it lasts for a long life is the most important thing that can happen to a human being. There will always be people who say it does not exist because they cannot have it. But I tell you it is true and that you have it and that you are lucky even if you die tomorrow. Cut out the dying stuff, he said to himself. That's not the way we talk. That's the way our friends the anarchists talk. Whenever things get really bad they want to set fire to something and to die. It's a very odd kind of mind they have. Very odd. Well, we're getting through today, old timer, he told himself. It's nearly three o'clock now and there is going to be some food sooner or later. They are still shooting up at Sordo's, which means that they have him surrounded and are waiting to bring up more people, probably. Though they have to make it before dark. I wonder what it is like up at Sordo's. That's what we all have to expect, given enough time. I imagine it is not too jovial up at Sordo's. We certainly got Sordo into a fine jam with that horse business. How does it go in Spanish? _Un callej鏮 sin salida_. A passageway with no exit. I suppose I could go through with it all right. You only have to do it once and it is soon over with. But wouldn't it be luxury to fight in a war some time where, when you were surrounded, you could surrender? _Estamos copados_. We are surrounded. That was the great panic cry of this war. Then the next thing was that you were shot; with nothing bad before if you were lucky. Sordo wouldn't be lucky that way. Neither would they when the time ever came. It was three o'clock. Then he heard the far-off, distant throbbing and, looking up, he saw the planes. 　　等到卞午三点，飞机才飞来。雪到中午就全化掉了，岩石如今被阳光晒得很热。喑空无云，罗伯特　乔丹坐在岩石堆中,脱掉了衬衫，让阳光晒着背脊，看那个死去的骑兵衣袋里的信件。他不时放下了信,望望宽阔的斜坡对面那排树林，望望上面的髙地，接着继续看信。再没有出现骑兵。“荣子”营地那个方向偶尔传来一声熗响。这种射击是零零碎碎的。 　　他仔细看了死者部队里的证件，知道这青年是纳瓦拉省塔法利亚人，二十一岁，未婚，是铁匠的儿子。他所厲的团队是风骑兵团，这使罗伯特，乔丹稂铭异，因为他原来以为这支部队在北方。此人拥护西班牙王室，战争初斯曾在围攻伊伦的战斗中负过伤。 　　罗伯特　乔丹想，说不定在潘普洛纳过节的时候，我见过他在街上在公牛前面奔跑躲避①。他对自己说,在战争中，你杀的任何人总不是你想杀的人。唉,差不多都不是的,他修正了自己 ①潘苷洛纳为西班牙一古城,当时为纳瓦拉省省会，在这骑兵家乡塔法利亚以北。毎年七月圣费尔明节斯间，有盛大的斗牛赛，人们事先把公牛在大街上一直赶到斗牛场去，一路上喝醉了酒的居民们任惫逗弄公牛，有的甚至被牛角挑饬，但在那如醉如狂的欢乐气敢中，人们不以为意的想法，就继续看信了， 　　他看的头几封信写得十分正经仔细，谈的几乎全是当地的新闻。那是他姐姐写来的，因此罗伯特　乔丹了解到。”塔法利亚一切平安，父亲健朗，母亲还是老样子，只是有些鼷酸背痛,她祝他平安，希望他处境不太危险，她髙兴的是他正在消灭赤色分于，把西班牙从马克思主义匪帮统治下解放出来。接着是一张塔法利亚的青年的名单，自从她上次写信以来，这些人有的阵亡了，有的受了重伤。她提到了十个死者的名字，罗伯特，乔丹想。”对塔法利亚这种规摸的城市来说,死的人真不算少了。 　　这封信宗教气息很浓。她祈求圣安东尼，祈求比拉尔的圣母,祈求其他圣母①保佑他，她要他永远别忘掉，那个她相信他始终佩戴在自己胸前的耶稣基督圣心也在保佑他，这种圣心经过无数次的实例一“无数次”三字下面划了道道一证明具有阻挡熗弹的功能。她是永远爱他的姐姐孔査。 　　这封信信纸的四周有些脏，罗伯特。乔丹小心地重新把它和部队里的证件放在一起，打开一封字迹没那么端正的信。那是这靑年的未婚妻写给他的，信中隐隐地、一本正经地、十足神经质地为他的安全担心。罗伯待〃乔丹把它看了—遍，就把所有的信件和证件一起放进他的后裤袋里。他不想看其他的信了，他对自己说,看来我今天干了一件好事。他又说了一遍。”看来你确实干了一件好事。 　　“你看的是些什么东西?”普里米蒂伏问他。 　　“今天早晨我们毙掉的那个保皇派的证件和信。你要看看吗？” ①天主教各大教童、圣地及神龛往往有圣母玛丽1像，各有各的名称。此处的比拉尔为地名. 　　“我不识字，”普里米蒂伏说。“有什么要紧的事吗。”“没有，”罗伯特　乔丹对他说。“是些私人信件。““他家乡情况怎么样？你从信上能看出来吗？“看来情况不错，”罗伯特　乔丹说。〃他家乡的人伤亡很多。”他低头望着掩护自动步熗的地方,化雪后有些变样,更完醬了，看起来没有什么疑点　他转过头去眺望田野对面，“他是什么地方的人？”普里米蒂伏问　“塔法利亚，”罗伯特　乔丹告诉他。好吧，他对自己说。我感到遗憾,要是这样说有什么好处的话。 　　没什么好处啊，他对自已说。那么好吧，别想它了，他对自己说。行啦，不想了。 　　伹是要不想也不那么容易。他问自己,你杀掉的人有多少？我不知道。你以为自己有权杀人吗?没有。可是我不得不杀。你杀掉的人中间有几个是真正的法西斯分子？很少。可是他们都、是敌人，我们用武力对付他们的武力。可是你对纳瓦拉人比对西班牙任何地方的人都更有好感。对,可是你杀他们。对。如果你不相信，那么下山回苕地去看看吧。你知道杀人是伤夭害理的吗？对。可是你还是杀了？对。你仍然绝对相信自己的事业是正义的？对，他并不是为了给自己打气，而是骄傲地对自，“说　是正义的。我相信人民,相信他们有权按照自己的愿望管理自己。但是你别相信杀人啊，他对自己说。你只能在万不得已的时候才杀人，但千万别迷信杀人，如果你相信杀人的话，那就全盘都镨 了 　　但是依你看你已经杀了多少人？我不知道，因为我不想记录下来。可是你知道吗？知道。有多少呢?你就说不准有多少了　炸火车时你杀了很多。很多很多。可是你说不准。那你能说准的有多少？二十个以上。其中有几个是真正的法西斯分子？我敢肯定的有两个，因为当我在乌塞拉俘虏他们的时候，我不得不毙了他们。这你不放在心上？对。可是你不喜欢这种事吧?不喜欢。我决心不再这祥做。我避免这样做。我避免杀那些手无寸铁的人　他对自己说　听着,你还是别想这个问埋了。这对你和你的工作是很不利的，他的自我接着对他说。”你听着，知迸吗[因为你正在做一件十分严肃的事，我得使你时刻记在心上。我必须使你保持头脑清醒。因为，煆如你的头脑不是绝对清醒，你躭没权利做你在做的事,因为这一切都是罪華，谁也没权利夺取别人的生命,除非为了防止其他的人遭到更大的不幸。所以,头脑要淸醒,别骗你自己。 　　他对自己说。”伹是我不愿把我杀掉的人象战利品或者熗托上的计数刻痕那样记录下来，那使人厌恶。我有权不把被杀的人数记录下来，我有权忘掉他们。 　　他的自我说:不，你没权忘掉任何事物。对这中间的任何亊物你都无权闭眼不看、抛到脑后、加以冲淡或者壤改。 　　住口，他对自己说。你变得夸夸其谈了。 　 　　关于这件事,也决不要编自己啦，他的自我接着说，好吧，他对自己说，谢谢所有的忠告，那么我爱玛丽亚行不行呢？ 他的自我说；行。 　　根据纯之又纯的唯物主义的社会观，爱情这种东西看来是稂本不存在的，那么即使这样也行吗？ 　　你从什么时侯开始有这种观念的？他的自我问道。稂本没有。你根本就不可能有。你不是真正的马克思主义者，这你自己知道。你信仰“自由、平等、博爱”。你信仰“生命、自由和对幸福的追求”①。别用太多的辩证法来作弄你自己了。那是给别人应用的，不是给你的。你必须知道那一套。为，“打赢这场战争，你把很多事情搁在一边了。假如这场战争失敗的话，一切都完蛋 　　然而等到事过塊迁了，你可以摒弃你不相信的一切。你不相信的事情很多，而你相信的事情也不少。 　　还有一点。”爱情决非儿戏。问翅仅仅在于大多数人命运欠佳,得不到爱慊。你已往从没得到过爱情,现在得到了。你从玛丽亚那里得到的爱情，不管它只能持缕今天一天和明天的部分时间,或者能持续长久的一辈子，毕竟是人生所能遇到的最重大的事情。常有人说，爱情是不存在的，原因是他们得不到它。可是我对你说,爱情真是有的，你得到了它,哪怕你明天就死去，也是幸运的。 　　别谈死亡这种事情了，他对自己说。我们可不能说这种话。那是我们的朋友，无政府主义者的话鹿。每当情況真的恶化，他们就想去放火，去送死。他们的思想方法十分古怪。十分古怪。得了,今天我们快过完了，老伙计，他对自己说。现在快三点了，迟早就要有吃的东西送来了。“聋子”那里还在开火,那就是说，他们也许把他包围了，在等增拔,尽管他们必须在断黑前结束这场战斗。 ①前者是法国大革命时提出的口号，后者引自美国革命时的《独立窒宫、后来写进了典国宪法，作为公民的基本权利乡两者都厲于资产阶级民主革命思想范畴　 　　我不知道“聋子”那儿的情况怎样。我们大家迟早也会遇到这种事。想来“聋子”那儿情绪不会太髙。我们叫他去摘些马来,当然会使他陷入了困境。这个词儿在西班牙语中怎么说？一条死胡同。看来我能顺利地度过这次战斗吧。这事佾只要干一次，就结束了。但是，如果有一夭在战争中你被包围了能投降的话，那么打仗不是就成为愉快的事儿了吗？“我们被包围了”这是这次战争中最令人惊慌的呼喊。其次就是你遭到熗击；如果走运的话，在这之前没有什么别的不幸了。“聋子”可不那么走运。等到轮到他们的时候，他们也不会走运了。 　　三点钟了。他听到远处的隆隆声，抬头一望，看到了飞机。