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。

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Flyleaf
Flyleaf:
In 1937 Ernest Hemingway traveled to Spain to cover the civil war there for the North American Newspaper Alliance. Three years later he completed the greatest novel to emerge from "the good fight," _For Whom the Bell Tolls_. The story of Robert Jordan, a young American in the International Brigades attached to an antifascist guerilla unit in the mountains of Spain, it tells of loyalty and courage, love and defeat, and the tragic death of an ideal. In his portrayal of Jordan's love for the beautiful Maria and his suberb account of El Sordo's last stand, in his brilliant travesty of La Pasionaria and his unwillingness to believe in blind faith, Hemingway surpasses his achievement in _The Sun Also Rises_ and _A Farewell to Arms_ to create a work at once rare and beautiful, strong and brutal, compassionate, moving and wise. "If the function of a writer is to reveal reality," Maxwell Perkins wrote to Hemingway after reading the manuscript, "no one ever so completely performed it." Greater in power, broader in scope, and more intensely emotional than any of the author's previous works, it stands as one of the best war novels of all time.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book is for
MARTHA GELLHORN
Chapter 1
He lay flat on the brown, pine-needled floor of the forest, his chin on his folded arms, and high overhead the wind blew in the tops of the pine trees. The mountainside sloped gently where he lay; but below it was steep and he could see the dark of the oiled road winding through the pass. There was a stream alongside the road and far down the pass he saw a mill beside the stream and the falling water of the dam, white in the summer sunlight.
"Is that the mill?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I do not remember it."
"It was built since you were here. The old mill is farther down; much below the pass."
He spread the photostated military map out on the forest floor and looked at it carefully. The old man looked over his shoulder. He was a short and solid old man in a black peasant's smock and gray iron-stiff trousers and he wore rope-soled shoes. He was breathing heavily from the climb and his hand rested on one of the two heavy packs they had been carrying.
"Then you cannot see the bridge from here."
"No," the old man said. "This is the easy country of the pass where the stream flows gently. Below, where the road turns out of sight in the trees, it drops suddenly and there is a steep gorge--"
"I remember."
"Across this gorge is the bridge."
"And where are their posts?"
"There is a post at the mill that you see there."
The young man, who was studying the country, took his glasses from the pocket of his faded, khaki flannel shirt, wiped the lenses with a handkerchief, screwed the eyepieces around until the boards of the mill showed suddenly clearly and he saw the wooden bench beside the door; the huge pile of sawdust that rose behind the open shed where the circular saw was, and a stretch of the flume that brought the logs down from the mountainside on the other bank of the stream. The stream showed clear and smooth-looking in the glasses and, below the curl of the falling water, the spray from the dam was blowing in the wind.
"There is no sentry."
"There is smoke coming from the millhouse," the old man said. "There are also clothes hanging on a line."
"I see them but I do not see any sentry."
"Perhaps he is in the shade," the old man explained. "It is hot there now. He would be in the shadow at the end we do not see."
"Probably. Where is the next post?"
"Below the bridge. It is at the roadmender's hut at kilometer five from the top of the pass."
"How many men are here?" He pointed at the mill.
"Perhaps four and a corporal."
"And below?"
"More. I will find out."
"And at the bridge?"
"Always two. One at each end."
"We will need a certain number of men," he said. "How many men can you get?"
"I can bring as many men as you wish," the old man said. "There are many men now here in the hills."
"How many?"
"There are more than a hundred. But they are in small bands. How many men will you need?"
"I will let you know when we have studied the bridge."
"Do you wish to study it now?"
"No. Now I wish to go to where we will hide this explosive until it is time. I would like to have it hidden in utmost security at a distance no greater than half an hour from the bridge, if that is possible."
"That is simple," the old man said. "From where we are going, it will all be downhill to the bridge. But now we must climb a little in seriousness to get there. Are you hungry?"
"Yes," the young man said. "But we will eat later. How are you called? I have forgotten." It was a bad sign to him that he had forgotten.
"Anselmo," the old man said. "I am called Anselmo and I come from Barco de Avila. Let me help you with that pack."
The young man, who was tall and thin, with sun-streaked fair hair, and a wind- and sun-burned face, who wore the sun-faded flannel shirt, a pair of peasant's trousers and rope-soled shoes, leaned over, put his arm through one of the leather pack straps and swung the heavy pack up onto his shoulders. He worked his arm through the other strap and settled the weight of the pack against his back. His shirt was still wet from where the pack had rested.
"I have it up now," he said. "How do we go?"
"We climb," Anselmo said.
Bending under the weight of the packs, sweating, they climbed steadily in the pine forest that covered the mountainside. There was no trail that the young man could see, but they were working up and around the face of the mountain and now they crossed a small stream and the old man went steadily on ahead up the edge of the rocky stream bed. The climbing now was steeper and more difficult, until finally the stream seemed to drop down over the edge of a smooth granite ledge that rose above them and the old man waited at the foot of the ledge for the young man to come up to him.
"How are you making it?"
"All right," the young man said. He was sweating heavily and his thigh muscles were twitchy from the steepness of the climb.
"Wait here now for me. I go ahead to warn them. You do not want to be shot at carrying that stuff."
"Not even in a joke," the young man said. "Is it far?"
"It is very close. How do they call thee?"
"Roberto," the young man answered. He had slipped the pack off and lowered it gently down between two boulders by the stream bed.
"Wait here, then, Roberto, and I will return for you."
"Good," the young man said. "But do you plan to go down this way to the bridge?"
"No. When we go to the bridge it will be by another way. Shorter and easier."
"I do not want this material to be stored too far from the bridge."
"You will see. If you are not satisfied, we will take another place."
"We will see," the young man said.
He sat by the packs and watched the old man climb the ledge. It was not hard to climb and from the way he found hand-holds without searching for them the young man could see that he had climbed it many times before. Yet whoever was above had been very careful not to leave any trail.
The young man, whose name was Robert Jordan, was extremely hungry and he was worried. He was often hungry but he was not usually worried because he did not give any importance to what happened to himself and he knew from experience how simple it was to move behind the enemy lines in all this country. It was as simple to move behind them as it was to cross through them, if you had a good guide. It was only giving importance to what happened to you if you were caught that made it difficult; that and deciding whom to trust. You had to trust the people you worked with completely or not at all, and you had to make decisions about the trusting. He was not worried about any of that. But there were other things.
This Anselmo had been a good guide and he could travel wonderfully in the mountains. Robert Jordan could walk well enough himself and he knew from following him since before daylight that the old man could walk him to death. Robert Jordan trusted the man, Anselmo, so far, in everything except judgment. He had not yet had an opportunity to test his judgment, and, anyway, the judgment was his own responsibility. No, he did not worry about Anselmo and the problem of the bridge was no more difficult than many other problems. He knew how to blow any sort of bridge that you could name and he had blown them of all sizes and constructions. There was enough explosive and all equipment in the two packs to blow this bridge properly even if it were twice as big as Anselmo reported it, as he remembered it when he had walked over it on his way to La Granja on a walking trip in 1933, and as Golz had read him the description of it night before last in that upstairs room in the house outside of the Escorial.
"To blow the bridge is nothing," Golz had said, the lamplight on his scarred, shaved head, pointing with a pencil on the big map. "You understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Absolutely nothing. Merely to blow the bridge is a failure."
"Yes, Comrade General."
"To blow the bridge at a stated hour based on the time set for the attack is how it should be done. You see that naturally. That is your right and how it should be done."
Golz looked at the pencil, then tapped his teeth with it.
Robert Jordan had said nothing.
"You understand that is your right and how it should be done," Golz went on, looking at him and nodding his head. He tapped on the map now with the pencil. "That is how I should do it. That is what we cannot have."
"Why, Comrade General?"
"Why?" Golz said, angrily. "How many attacks have you seen and you ask me why? What is to guarantee that my orders are not changed? What is to guarantee that the attack is not annulled? What is to guarantee that the attack is not postponed? What is to guarantee that it starts within six hours of when it should start? Has any attack ever been as it should?"
"It will start on time if it is your attack," Robert Jordan said.
"They are never my attacks," Golz said. "I make them. But they are not mine. The artillery is not mine. I must put in for it. I have never been given what I ask for even when they have it to give. That is the least of it. There are other things. You know how those people are. It is not necessary to go into all of it. Always there is something. Always some one will interfere. So now be sure you understand."
"So when is the bridge to be blown?" Robert Jordan had asked.
"After the attack starts. As soon as the attack has started and not before. So that no reinforcements will come up over that road." He pointed with his pencil. "I must know that nothing will come up over that road."
"And when is the attack?"
"I will tell you. But you are to use the date and hour only as an indication of a probability. You must be ready for that time. You will blow the bridge after the attack has started. You see?" he indicated with the pencil. "That is the only road on which they can bring up reinforcements. That is the only road on which they can get up tanks, or artillery, or even move a truck toward the pass which I attack. I must know that bridge is gone. Not before, so it can be repaired if the attack is postponed. No. It must go when the attack starts and I must know it is gone. There are only two sentries. The man who will go with you has just come from there. He is a very reliable man, they say. You will see. He has people in the mountains. Get as many men as you need. Use as few as possible, but use enough. I do not have to tell you these things."
"And how do I determine that the attack has started?"
"It is to be made with a full division. There will be an aerial bombardment as preparation. You are not deaf, are you?"
"Then I may take it that when the planes unload, the attack has started?"
"You could not always take it like that," Golz said and shook his head. "But in this case, you may. It is my attack."
"I understand it," Robert Jordan had said. "I do not say I like it very much."
"Neither do I like it very much. If you do not want to undertake it, say so now. If you think you cannot do it, say so now."
"I will do it," Robert Jordan had said. "I will do it all right."
"That is all I have to know," Golz said. "That nothing comes up over that bridge. That is absolute."
"I understand."
"I do not like to ask people to do such things and in such a way," Golz went on. "I could not order you to do it. I understand what you may be forced to do through my putting such conditions. I explain very carefully so that you understand and that you understand all of the possible difficulties and the importance."
"And how will you advance on La Granja if that bridge is blown?"
"We go forward prepared to repair it after we have stormed the pass. It is a very complicated and beautiful operation. As complicated and as beautiful as always. The plan has been manufactured in Madrid. It is another of Vicente Rojo, the unsuccessful professor's, masterpieces. I make the attack and I make it, as always, not in sufficient force. It is a very possible operation, in spite of that. I am much happier about it than usual. It can be successful with that bridge eliminated. We can take Segovia. Look, I show you how it goes. You see? It is not the top of the pass where we attack. We hold that. It is much beyond. Look-- Here-- Like this--"
"I would rather not know," Robert Jordan said.
"Good," said Golz. "It is less of baggage to carry with you on the other side, yes?"
"I would always rather not know. Then, no matter what can happen, it was not me that talked."
"It is better not to know," Golz stroked his forehead with the pencil. "Many times I wish I did not know myself. But you do know the one thing you must know about the bridge?"
"Yes. I know that."
"I believe you do," Golz said. "I will not make you any little speech. Let us now have a drink. So much talking makes me very thirsty, Comrade Hordan. You have a funny name in Spanish, Comrade Hordown."
"How do you say Golz in Spanish, Comrade General?"
"Hotze," said Golz grinning, making the sound deep in his throat as though hawking with a bad cold. "Hotze," he croaked. "Comrade Heneral Khotze. If I had known how they pronounced Golz in Spanish I would pick me out a better name before I come to war here. When I think I come to command a division and I can pick out any name I want and I pick out Hotze. Heneral Hotze. Now it is too late to change. How do you like _partizan_ work?" It was the Russian term for guerilla work behind the lines.
"Very much," Robert Jordan said. He grinned. "It is very healthy in the open air."
"I like it very much when I was your age, too," Golz said. "They tell me you blow bridges very well. Very scientific. It is only hearsay. I have never seen you do anything myself. Maybe nothing ever happens really. You really blow them?" he was teasing now. "Drink this," he handed the glass of Spanish brandy to Robert Jordan. "You _really_ blow them?"
"Sometimes."
"You better not have any sometimes on this bridge. No, let us not talk any more about this bridge. You understand enough now about that bridge. We are very serious so we can make very strong jokes. Look, do you have many girls on the other side of the lines?"
"No, there is no time for girls."
"I do not agree. The more irregular the service, the more irregular the life. You have very irregular service. Also you need a haircut."
"I have my hair cut as it needs it," Robert Jordan said. He would be damned if he would have his head shaved like Golz. "I have enough to think about without girls," he said sullenly.
"What sort of uniform am I supposed to wear?" Robert Jordan asked.
"None," Golz said. "Your haircut is all right. I tease you. You are very different from me," Golz had said and filled up the glasses again.
"You never think about only girls. I never think at all. Why should I? I am _G幯廨al Sovietique_. I never think. Do not try to trap me into thinking."
Some one on his staff, sitting on a chair working over a map on a drawing board, growled at him in the language Robert Jordan did not understand.
"Shut up," Golz had said, in English. "I joke if I want. I am so serious is why I can joke. Now drink this and then go. You understand, huh?"
"Yes," Robert Jordan had said. "I understand."
They had shaken hands and he had saluted and gone out to the staff car where the old man was waiting asleep and in that car they had ridden over the road past Guadarrama, the old man still asleep, and up the Navacerrada road to the Alpine Club hut where he, Robert Jordan, slept for three hours before they started.
That was the last he had seen of Golz with his strange white face that never tanned, his hawk eyes, the big nose and thin lips and the shaven head crossed with wrinkles and with scars. Tomorrow night they would be outside the Escorial in the dark along the road; the long lines of trucks loading the infantry in the darkness; the men, heavy loaded, climbing up into the trucks; the machine-gun sections lifting their guns into the trucks; the tanks being run up on the skids onto the long-bodied tank trucks; pulling the Division out to move them in the night for the attack on the pass. He would not think about that. That was not his business. That was Golz's business. He had only one thing to do and that was what he should think about and he must think it out clearly and take everything as it came along, and not worry. To worry was as bad as to be afraid. It simply made things more difficult.
He sat now by the stream watching the clear water flowing between the rocks and, across the stream, he noticed there was a thick bed of watercress. He crossed the stream, picked a double handful, washed the muddy roots clean in the current and then sat down again beside his pack and ate the clean, cool green leaves and the crisp, peppery-tasting stalks. He knelt by the stream and, pushing his automatic pistol around on his belt to the small of his back so that it would not be wet, he lowered himself with a hand on each of two boulders and drank from the stream. The water was achingly cold.
Pushing himself up on his hands he turned his head and saw the old man coming down the ledge. With him was another man, also in a black peasant's smock and the dark gray trousers that were almost a uniform in that province, wearing rope-soled shoes and with a carbine slung over his back. This man was bareheaded. The two of them came scrambling down the rock like goats.
They came up to him and Robert Jordan got to his feet.
"_Salud, Camarada_," he said to the man with the carbine and smiled.
"_Salud_," the other said, grudgingly. Robert Jordan looked at the man's heavy, beard-stubbled face. It was almost round and his head was round and set close on his shoulders. His eyes were small and set too wide apart and his ears were small and set close to his head. He was a heavy man about five feet ten inches tall and his hands and feet were large. His nose had been broken and his mouth was cut at one corner and the line of the scar across the upper lip and lower jaw showed through the growth of beard over his face.
The old man nodded his head at this man and smiled.
"He is the boss here," he grinned, then flexed his arms as though to make the muscles stand out and looked at the man with the carbine in a half-mocking admiration. "A very strong man."
"I can see it," Robert Jordan said and smiled again. He did not like the look of this man and inside himself he was not smiling at all.
"What have you to justify your identity?" asked the man with the carbine.
Robert Jordan unpinned a safety pin that ran through his pocket flap and took a folded paper out of the left breast pocket of his flannel shirt and handed it to the man, who opened it, looked at it doubtfully and turned it in his hands.
So he cannot read, Robert Jordan noted.
"Look at the seal," he said.
The old man pointed to the seal and the man with the carbine studied it, turning it in his fingers.
"What seal is that?"
"Have you never seen it?"
"No."
"There are two," said Robert Jordan. "One is S. I. M., the service of the military intelligence. The other is the General Staff."
"Yes, I have seen that seal before. But here no one commands but me," the other said sullenly. "What have you in the packs?"
"Dynamite," the old man said proudly. "Last night we crossed the lines in the dark and all day we have carried this dynamite over the mountain."
"I can use dynamite," said the man with the carbine. He handed back the paper to Robert Jordan and looked him over. "Yes. I have use for dynamite. How much have you brought me?"
"I have brought you no dynamite," Robert Jordan said to him evenly. "The dynamite is for another purpose. What is your name?"
"What is that to you?"
"He is Pablo," said the old man. The man with the carbine looked at them both sullenly.
"Good. I have heard much good of you," said Robert Jordan.
"What have you heard of me?" asked Pablo.
"I have heard that you are an excellent guerilla leader, that you are loyal to the republic and prove your loyalty through your acts, and that you are a man both serious and valiant. I bring you greetings from the General Staff."
"Where did you hear all this?" asked Pablo. Robert Jordan registered that he was not taking any of the flattery.
"I heard it from Buitrago to the Escorial," he said, naming all the stretch of country on the other side of the lines.
"I know no one in Buitrago nor in Escorial," Pablo told him.
"There are many people on the other side of the mountains who were not there before. Where are you from?"
"Avila. What are you going to do with the dynamite?"
"Blow up a bridge."
"What bridge?"
"That is my business."
"If it is in this territory, it is my business. You cannot blow bridges close to where you live. You must live in one place and operate in another. I know my business. One who is alive, now, after a year, knows his business."
"This is my business," Robert Jordan said. "We can discuss it together. Do you wish to help us with the sacks?"
"No," said Pablo and shook his head.
The old man turned toward him suddenly and spoke rapidly and furiously in a dialect that Robert Jordan could just follow. It was like reading Quevedo. Anselmo was speaking old Castilian and it went something like this, "Art thou a brute? Yes. Art thou a beast? Yes, many times Hast thou a brain? Nay. None. Now we come for something of consummate importance and thee, with thy dwelling place to be undisturbed, puts thy fox-hole before the interests of humanity. Before the interests of thy people. I this and that in the this and that of thy father. I this and that and that in thy this. _Pick up that bag_."
Pablo looked down.
"Every one has to do what he can do according to how it can be truly done," he said. "I live here and I operate beyond Segovia. If you make a disturbance here, we will be hunted out of these mountains. It is only by doing nothing here that we are able to live in these mountains. It is the principle of the fox."
"Yes," said Anselmo bitterly. "It is the principle of the fox when we need the wolf."
"I am more wolf than thee," Pablo said and Robert Jordan knew that he would pick up the sack.
"Hi. Ho. . . ," Anselmo looked at him. "Thou art more wolf than me and I am sixty-eight years old."
He spat on the ground and shook his head.
"You have that many years?" Robert Jordan asked, seeing that now, for the moment, it would be all right and trying to make it go easier.
"Sixty-eight in the month of July."
"If we should ever see that month," said Pablo. "Let me help you with the pack," he said to Robert Jordan. "Leave the other to the old man." He spoke, not sullenly, but almost sadly now. "He is an old man of great strength."
"I will carry the pack," Robert Jordan said.
"Nay," said the old man. "Leave it to this other strong man."
"I will take it," Pablo told him, and in his sullenness there was a sadness that was disturbing to Robert Jordan. He knew that sadness and to see it here worried him.
"Give me the carbine then," he said and when Pablo handed it to him, he slung it over his back and, with the two men climbing ahead of him, they went heavily, pulling and climbing up the granite shelf and over its upper edge to where there was a green clearing in the forest.
They skirted the edge of the little meadow and Robert Jordan, striding easily now without the pack, the carbine pleasantly rigid over his shoulder after the heavy, sweating pack weight, noticed that the grass was cropped down in several places and signs that picket pins had been driven into the earth. He could see a trail through the grass where horses had been led to the stream to drink and there was the fresh manure of several horses. They picket them here to feed at night and keep them out of sight in the timber in the daytime, he thought. I wonder how many horses this Pablo has?
He remembered now noticing, without realizing it, that Pablo's trousers were worn soapy shiny in the knees and thighs. I wonder if he has a pair of boots or if he rides in those _alpargatas_, he thought. He must have quite an outfit. But I don't like that sadness, he thought. That sadness is bad. That's the sadness they get before they quit or before they betray. That is the sadness that comes before the sell-out.
Ahead of them a horse whinnied in the timber and then, through the brown trunks of the pine trees, only a little sunlight coming down through their thick, almost-touching tops, he saw the corral made by roping around the tree trunks. The horses had their heads pointed toward the men as they approached, and at the foot of a tree, outside the corral, the saddles were piled together and covered with a tarpaulin.
As they came up, the two men with the packs stopped, and Robert Jordan knew it was for him to admire the horses.
"Yes," he said. "They are beautiful." He turned to Pablo. "You have your cavalry and all."
There were five horses in the rope corral, three bays, a sorrel, and a buckskin. Sorting them out carefully with his eyes after he had seen them first together, Robert Jordan looked them over individually. Pablo and Anselmo knew how good they were and while Pablo stood now proud and less sad-looking, watching them lovingly, the old man acted as though they were some great surprise that he had produced, suddenly, himself.
"How do they look to you?" he asked.
"All these I have taken," Pablo said and Robert Jordan was pleased to hear him speak proudly.
"That," said Robert Jordan, pointing to one of the bays, a big stallion with a white blaze on his forehead and a single white foot, the near front, "is much horse."
He was a beautiful horse that looked as though he had come out of a painting by Velasquez.
"They are all good," said Pablo. "You know horses?"
"Yes."
"Less bad," said Pablo. "Do you see a defect in one of these?"
Robert Jordan knew that now his papers were being examined by the man who could not read.
The horses all still had their heads up looking at the man. Robert Jordan slipped through between the double rope of the corral and slapped the buckskin on the haunch. He leaned back against the ropes of the enclosure and watched the horses circle the corral, stood watching them a minute more, as they stood still, then leaned down and came out through the ropes.
"The sorrel is lame in the off hind foot," he said to Pablo, not looking at him. "The hoof is split and although it might not get worse soon if shod properly, she could break down if she travels over much hard ground."
"The hoof was like that when we took her," Pablo said.
"The best horse that you have, the white-faced bay stallion, has a swelling on the upper part of the cannon bone that I do not like."
"It is nothing," said Pablo. "He knocked it three days ago. If it were to be anything it would have become so already."
He pulled back the tarpaulin and showed the saddles. There were two ordinary vaquero's or herdsman's saddles, like American stock saddles, one very ornate vaquero's saddle, with hand-tooled leather and heavy, hooded stirrups, and two military saddles in black leather.
"We killed a pair of _guardia civil_," he said, explaining the military saddles.
"That is big game."
"They had dismounted on the road between Segovia and Santa Maria del Real. They had dismounted to ask papers of the driver of a cart. We were able to kill them without injuring the horses."
"Have you killed many civil guards?" Robert Jordan asked.
"Several," Pablo said. "But only these two without injury to the horses."
"It was Pablo who blew up the train at Arevalo," Anselmo said. "That was Pablo."
"There was a foreigner with us who made the explosion," Pablo said. "Do you know him?"
"What is he called?"
"I do not remember. It was a very rare name."
"What did he look like?"
"He was fair, as you are, but not as tall and with large hands and a broken nose."
"Kashkin," Robert Jordan said. "That would be Kashkin."
"Yes," said Pablo. "It was a very rare name. Something like that. What has become of him?"
"He is dead since April."
"That is what happens to everybody," Pablo said, gloomily. "That is the way we will all finish."
"That is the way all men end," Anselmo said. "That is the way men have always ended. What is the matter with you, man? What hast thou in the stomach?"
"They are very strong," Pablo said. It was as though he were talking to himself. He looked at the horses gloomily. "You do not realize how strong they are. I see them always stronget always better armed. Always with more material. Here am I with horses like these. And what can I look forward to? To be hunted and to die. Nothing more."
"You hunt as much as you are hunted," Anselmo said.
"No," said Pablo. "Not any more. And if we leave these mountains now, where can we go? Answer me that? Where now?"
"In Spain there are many mountains. There are the Sierra de Gredos if one leaves here."
"Not for me," Pablo said. "I am tired of being hunted. Here we are all right. Now if you blow a bri

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Chapter 2
They had come through the heavy timber to the cup-shaped upper end of the little valley and he saw where the camp must be under the rim-rock that rose ahead of them through the trees.
That was the camp all right and it was a good camp. You did not see it at all until you were up to it and Robert Jordan knew it could not be spotted from the air. Nothing would show from above. It was as well hidden as a bear's den. But it seemed to be little better guarded. He looked at it carefully as they came up.
There was a large cave in the rim-rock formation and beside the opening a man sat with his back against the rock, his legs stretched out on the ground and his carbine leaning against the rock. He was cutting away on a stick with a knife and he stared at them as they came up, then went on whittling.
"_Hola_," said the seated man. "What is this that comes?"
"The old man and a dynamiter," Pablo told him and lowered the pack inside the entrance to the cave. Anselmo lowered his pack, too, and Robert Jordan unslung the rifle and leaned it against the rock.
"Don't leave it so close to the cave," the whittling man, who had blue eyes in a dark, good-looking lazy gypsy face, the color of smoked leather, said. "There's a fire in there."
"Get up and put it away thyself," Pablo said. "Put it by that tree."
The gypsy did not move but said something unprintable, then, "Leave it there. Blow thyself up," he said lazily. "Twill cure thy diseases."
"What do you make?" Robert Jordan sat down by the gypsy. The gypsy showed him. It was a figure four trap and he was whittling the crossbar for it.
"For foxes," he said. "With a log for a dead-fall. It breaks their backs." He grinned at Jordan. "Like this, see?" He made a motion of the framework of the trap collapsing, the log falling, then shook his head, drew in his hand, and spread his arms to show the fox with a broken back. "Very practical," he explained.
"He catches rabbits," Anselmo said. "He is a gypsy. So if he catches rabbits he says it is foxes. If he catches a fox he would say it was an elephant."
"And if I catch an elephant?" the gypsy asked and showed his white teeth again and winked at Robert Jordan.
"You'd say it was a tank," Anselmo told him.
"I'll get a tank," the gypsy told him. "I will get a tank. And you can say it is what you please."
"Gypsies talk much and kill little," Anselmo told him.
The gypsy winked at Robert Jordan and went on whittling.
Pablo had gone in out of sight in the cave. Robert Jordan hoped he had gone for food. He sat on the ground by the gypsy and the afternoon sunlight came down through the tree tops and was warm on his outstretched legs. He could smell food now in the cave, the smell of oil and of onions and of meat frying and his stomach moved with hunger inside of him.
"We can get a tank," he said to the gypsy. "It is not too difficult."
"With this?" the gypsy pointed toward the two sacks.
"Yes," Robert Jordan told him. "I will teach you. You make a trap. It is not too difficult."
"You and me?"
"Sure," said Robert Jordan. "Why not?"
"Hey," the gypsy said to Anselmo. "Move those two sacks to where they will be safe, will you? They're valuable."
Anselmo grunted. "I am going for wine," he told Robert Jordan. Robert Jordan got up and lifted the sacks away from the cave entrance and leaned them, one on each side of a tree trunk. He knew what was in them and he never liked to see them close together.
"Bring a cup for me," the gypsy told him.
"Is there wine?" Robert Jordan asked, sitting down again by the gypsy.
"Wine? Why not? A whole skinful. Half a skinful, anyway."
"And what to eat?"
"Everything, man," the gypsy said. "We eat like generals."
"And what do gypsies do in the war?" Robert Jordan asked him.
"They keep on being gypsies."
"That's a good job."
"The best," the gypsy said. "How do they call thee?"
"Roberto. And thee?"
"Rafael. And this of the tank is serious?"
"Surely. Why not?"
Anselmo came out of the mouth of the cave with a deep stone basin full of red wine and with his fingers through the handles of three cups. "Look," he said. "They have cups and all." Pablo came out behind them.
"There is food soon," he said. "Do you have tobacco?"
Robert Jordan went over to the packs and opening one, felt inside an inner pocket and brought out one of the flat boxes of Russian cigarettes he had gotten at Golz's headquarters. He ran his thumbnail around the edge of the box and, opening the lid, handed them to Pablo who took half a dozen. Pablo, holding them in one of his huge hands, picked one up and looked at it against the light. They were long narrow cigarettes with pasteboard cylinders for mouthpieces.
"Much air and little tobacco," he said. "I know these. The other with the rare name had them."
"Kashkin," Robert Jordan said and offered the cigarettes to the gypsy and Anselmo, who each took one.
"Take more," he said and they each took another. He gave them each four more, they making a double nod with the hand holding the cigarettes so that the cigarette dipped its end as a man salutes with a sword, to thank him.
"Yes," Pablo said. "It was a rare name."
"Here is the wine." Anselmo dipped a cup out of the bowl and handed it to Robert Jordan, then dipped for himself and the gypsy.
"Is there no wine for me?" Pablo asked. They were all sitting together by the cave entrance.
Anselmo handed him his cup and went into the cave for another. Coming out he leaned over the bowl and dipped the cup full and they all touched cup edges.
The wine was good, tasting faintly resinous from the wineskin, but excellent, light and clean on his tongue. Robert Jordan drank it slowly, feeling it spread warmly through his tiredness.
"The food comes shortly," Pablo said. "And this foreigner with the rare name, how did he die?"
"He was captured and he killed himself."
"How did that happen?"
"He was wounded and he did not wish to be a prisoner."
"What were the details?"
"I don't know," he lied. He knew the details very well and he knew they would not make good talking now.
"He made us promise to shoot him in case he were wounded at the business of the train and should be unable to get away," Pablo said. "He spoke in a very rare manner."
He must have been jumpy even then, Robert Jordan thought. Poor old Kashkin.
"He had a prejudice against killing himself," Pablo said. "He told me that. Also he had a great fear of being tortured."
"Did he tell you that, too?" Robert Jordan asked him.
"Yes," the gypsy said. "He spoke like that to all of us."
"Were you at the train, too?"
"Yes. All of us were at the train."
"He spoke in a very rare manner," Pablo said. "But he was very brave."
Poor old Kashkin, Robert Jordan thought. He must have been doing more harm than good around here. I wish I would have known he was that jumpy as far back as then. They should have Pulled him out. You can't have people around doing this sort of Work and talking like that. That is no way to talk. Even if they accomplish their mission they are doing more harm than good, talking that sort of stuff.
"He was a little strange," Robert Jordan said. "I think he was a little crazy."
"But very dexterous at producing explosions," the gypsy said. "And very brave."
"But crazy," Robert Jordan said. "In this you have to have very much head and be very cold in the head. That was no way to talk."
"And you," Pablo said. "If you are wounded in such a thing as this bridge, you would be willing to be left behind?"
"Listen," Robert Jordan said and, leaning forward, he dipped himself another cup of the wine. "Listen to me clearly. If ever I should have any little favors to ask of any man, I will ask him at the time."
"Good," said the gypsy approvingly. "In this way speak the good ones. Ah! Here it comes."
"You have eaten," said Pablo.
"And I can eat twice more," the gypsy told him. "Look now who brings it."
The girl stooped as she came out of the cave mouth carrying the big iron cooking platter and Robert Jordan saw her face turned at an angle and at the same time saw the strange thing about her. She smiled and said, "_Hola_, Comrade," and Robert Jordan said, "_Salud_," and was careful not to stare and not to look away. She set down the flat iron platter in front of him and he noticed her handsome brown hands. Now she looked him full in the face and smiled. Her teeth were white in her brown face and her skin and her eyes were the same golden tawny brown. She had high cheekbones, merry eyes and a straight mouth with full lips. Her hair was the golden brown of a grain field that has been burned dark in the sun but it was cut short all over her head so that it was but little longer than the fur on a beaver pelt. She smiled in Robert Jordan's face and put her brown hand up and ran it over her head, flattening the hair which rose again as her hand passed. She has a beautiful face, Robert Jordan thought. She'd be beautiful if they hadn't cropped her hair.
"That is the way I comb it," she said to Robert Jordan and laughed. "Go ahead and eat. Don't stare at me. They gave me this haircut in Valladolid. It's almost grown out now."
She sat down opposite him and looked at him. He looked back at her and she smiled and folded her hands together over her knees. Her legs slanted long and clean from the open cuffs of the trousers as she sat with her hands across her knees and he could see the shape of her small up-tilted breasts under the gray shirt. Every time Robert Jordan looked at her he could feel a thickness in his throat.
"There are no plates," Anselmo said. "Use your own knife." The girl had leaned four forks, tines down, against the sides of the iron dish.
They were all eating out of the platter, not speaking, as is the Spanish custom. It was rabbit cooked with onions and green peppers and there were chick peas in the red wine sauce. It was well cooked, the rabbit meat flaked off the bones, and the sauce was delicious. Robert Jordan drank another cup of wine while he ate. The girl watched him all through the meal. Every one else was watching his food and eating. Robert Jordan wiped up the last of the sauce in front of him with a piece of bread, piled the rabbit bones to one side, wiped the spot where they had been for sauce, then wiped his fork clean with the bread, wiped his knife and put it away and ate the bread. He leaned over and dipped his cup full of wine and the girl still watched him.
Robert Jordan drank half the cup of wine but the thickness still came in his throat when he spoke to the girl.
"How art thou called?" he asked. Pablo looked at him quickly when he heard the tone of his voice. Then he got up and walked away.
"Maria. And thee?"
"Roberto. Have you been long in the mountains?"
"Three months."
"Three months?" He looked at her hair, that was as thick and short and rippling when she passed her hand over it, now in embarrassment, as a grain field in the wind on a hillside. "It was shaved," she said. "They shaved it regularly in the prison at Valladolid. It has taken three months to grow to this. I was on the train. They were taking me to the south. Many of the prisoners were caught after the train was blown up but I was not. I came With these."
"I found her hidden in the rocks," the gypsy said. "It was when we were leaving. Man, but this one was ugly. We took her along but many times I thought we would have to leave her."
"And the other one who was with them at the train?" asked Maria. "The other blond one. The foreigner. Where is he?"
"Dead," Robert Jordan said. "In April."
"In April? The train was in April."
"Yes," Robert Jordan said. "He died ten days after the train."
"Poor man," she said. "He was very brave. And you do that same business?"
"Yes."
"You have done trains, too?"
"Yes. Three trains."
"Here?"
"In Estremadura," he said. "I was in Estremadura before I came here. We do very much in Estremadura. There are many of us working in Estremadura."
"And why do you come to these mountains now?"
"I take the place of the other blond one. Also I know this country from before the movement."
"You know it well?"
"No, not really well. But I learn fast. I have a good map and I have a good guide."
"The old man," she nodded. "The old man is very good."
"Thank you," Anselmo said to her and Robert Jordan realized suddenly that he and the girl were not alone and he realized too that it was hard for him to look at her because it made his voice change so. He was violating the second rule of the two rules for getting on well with people that speak Spanish; give the men tobacco and leave the women alone; and he realized, very suddenly, that he did not care. There were so many things that he had not to care about, why should he care about that?
"You have a very beautiful face," he said to Maria. "I wish I would have had the luck to see you before your hair was cut."
"It will grow out," she said. "In six months it will be long enough."
"You should have seen her when we brought her from the train. She was so ugly it would make you sick."
"Whose woman are you?" Robert Jordan asked, trying not to pull out of it. "Are you Pablo's?"
She looked at him and laughed, then slapped him on the knee.
"Of Pablo? You have seen Pablo?"
"Well, then, of Rafael. I have seen Rafael."
"Of Rafael neither."
"Of no one," the gypsy said. "This is a very strange woman. Is of no one. But she cooks well."
"Really of no one?" Robert Jordan asked her.
"Of no one. No one. Neither in joke nor in seriousness. Nor of thee either."
"No?" Robert Jordan said and he could feel the thickness coming in his throat again. "Good. I have no time for any woman. That is true."
"Not fifteen minutes?" the gypsy asked teasingly. "Not a quarter of an hour?" Robert Jordan did not answer. He looked at the girl, Maria, and his throat felt too thick for him to trust himself to speak.
Maria looked at him and laughed, then blushed suddenly but kept on looking at him.
"You are blushing," Robert Jordan said to her. "Do you blush much?"
"Never."
"You are blushing now."
"Then I will go into the cave."
"Stay here, Maria."
"No," she said and did not smile at him. "I will go into the cave now." She picked up the iron plate they had eaten from and the four forks. She moved awkwardly as a colt moves, but with that same grace as of a young animal.
"Do you want the cups?" she asked.
Robert Jordan was still looking at her and she blushed again.
"Don't make me do that," she said. "I do not like to do that."
"Leave them," they gypsy said to her. "Here," he dipped into the stone bowl and handed the full cup to Robert Jordan who Watched the girl duck her head and go into the cave carrying the heavy iron dish.
"Thank you," Robert Jordan said. His voice was all right again, now that she was gone. "This is the last one. We've had enough of this."
"We will finish the bowl," the gypsy said. "There is over half a skin. We packed it in on one of the horses."
"That was the last raid of Pablo," Anselmo said. "Since then he has done nothing."
"How many are you?" Robert Jordan asked.
"We are seven and there are two women."
"Two?"
"Yes. The _mujer_ of Pablo."
"And she?"
"In the cave. The girl can cook a little. I said she cooks well to please her. But mostly she helps the _mujer_ of Pablo."
"And how is she, the _mujer_ of Pablo?"
"Something barbarous," the gypsy grinned. "Something very barbarous. If you think Pablo is ugly you should see his woman. But brave. A hundred times braver than Pablo. But something barbarous."
"Pablo was brave in the beginning," Anselmo said. "Pablo was something serious in the beginning."
"He killed more people than the cholera," the gypsy said. "At the start of the movement, Pablo killed more people than the typhoid fever."
"But since a long time he is _muy flojo_," Anselmo said. "He is very flaccid. He is very much afraid to die."
"It is possible that it is because he has killed so many at the beginning," the gypsy said philosophically. "Pablo killed more than the bubonic plague."
"That and the riches," Anselmo said. "Also he drinks very much. Now he would like to retire like a _matador de toros_. Like a bullfighter. But he cannot retire."
"If he crosses to the other side of the lines they will take his horses and make him go in the army," the gypsy said. "In me there is no love for being in the army either."
"Nor is there in any other gypsy," Anselmo said.
"Why should there be?" the gypsy asked. "Who wants to be in an army? Do we make the revolution to be in an army? I am willing to fight but not to be in an army."
"Where are the others?" asked Robert Jordan. He felt comfortable and sleepy now from the wine and lying back on the floor of the forest he saw through the tree tops the small afternoon clouds of the mountains moving slowly in the high Spanish sky.
"There are two asleep in the cave," the gypsy said. "Two are on guard above where we have the gun. One is on guard below. They are probably all asleep."
Robert Jordan rolled over on his side.
"What kind of a gun is it?"
"A very rare name," the gypsy said. "It has gone away from me for the moment. It is a machine gun."
It must be an automatic rifle, Robert Jordan thought.
"How much does it weigh?" he asked.
"One man can carry it but it is heavy. It has three legs that fold. We got it in the last serious raid. The one before the wine."
"How many rounds have you for it?"
"An infinity," the gypsy said. "One whole case of an unbelievable heaviness."
Sounds like about five hundred rounds, Robert Jordan thought.
"Does it feed from a pan or a belt?"
"From round iron cans on the top of the gun."
Hell, it's a Lewis gun, Robert Jordan thought.
"Do you know anything about a machine gun?" he asked the old man.
"Nada," said Anselmo. "Nothing."
"And thou?" to the gypsy.
"That they fire with much rapidity and become so hot the barrel burns the hand that touches it," the gypsy said proudly.
"Every one knows that," Anselmo said with contempt.
"Perhaps," the gypsy said. "But he asked me to tell what I know about a _m嫭uina_ and I told him." Then he added, "Also, unlike an ordinary rifle, they continue to fire as long as you exert pressure on the trigger."
"Unless they jam, run out of ammunition or get so hot they melt," Robert Jordan said in English.
"What do you say?" Anselmo asked him.
"Nothing," Robert Jordan said. "I was only looking into the future in English."
"That is something truly rare," the gypsy said. "Looking into the future in _Ingl廥_. Can you read in the palm of the hand?"
"No," Robert Jordan said and he dipped another cup of wine. "But if thou canst I wish thee would read in the palm of my hand and tell me what is going to pass in the next three days."
"The _mujer_ of Pablo reads in the hands," the gypsy said. "But she is so irritable and of such a barbarousness that I do not know if she will do it."
Robert Jordan sat up now and took a swallow of the wine.
"Let us see the _mujer_ of Pablo now," he said. "If it is that bad let us get it over with."
"I would not disturb her," Rafael said. "She has a strong hatred for me."
"Why?"
"She treats me as a time waster."
"What injustice," Anselmo taunted.
"She is against gypsies."
"What an error," Anselmo said.
"She has gypsy blood," Rafael said. "She knows of what she speaks." He grinned. "But she has a tongue that scalds and that bites like a bull whip. With this tongue she takes the hide from any one. In strips. She is of an unbelievable barbarousness."
"How does she get along with the girl, Maria?" Robert Jordan asked.
"Good. She likes the girl. But let any one come near her seriously--" He shook his head and clucked with his tongue.
"She is very good with the girl," Anselmo said. "She takes good care of her."
"When we picked the girl up at the time of the train she was very strange," Rafael said. "She would not speak and she cried all the time and if any one touched her she would shiver like a wet dog. Only lately has she been better. Lately she has been much better. Today she was fine. Just now, talking to you, she was very good. We would have left her after the train. Certainly it was not worth being delayed by something so sad and ugly and apparently worthless. But the old woman tied a rope to her and when the girl thought she could not go further, the old woman beat her with the end of the rope to make her go. Then when she could not really go further, the old woman carried her over her shoulder. When the old woman could not carry her, I carried her. We were going up that hill breast high in the gorse and heather. And when I could no longer carry her, Pablo carried her. But what the old woman had to say to us to make us do it!" He shook his head at the memory. "It is true that the girl is long in the legs but is not heavy. The bones are light and she weighs little. But she weighs enough when we had to carry her and stop to fire and then carry her again with the old woman lashing at Pablo with the rope and carrying his rifle, putting it in his hand when he would drop the girl, making him pick her up again and loading the gun for him while she cursed him; taking the shells from his pouches and shoving them down into the magazine and cursing him. The dusk was coming well on then and when the night came it was all right. But it was lucky that they had no cavalry."
"It must have been very hard at the train," Anselmo said. "I was not there," he explained to Robert Jordan. "There was the band of Pablo, of El Sordo, whom we will see tonight, and two other bands of these mountains. I had gone to the other side of the lines."
"In addition to the blond one with the rare name--" the gypsy said.
"Kashkin."
"Yes. It is a name I can never dominate. We had two with a machine gun. They were sent also by the army. They could not get the gun away and lost it. Certainly it weighed no more than that girl and if the old woman had been over them they would have gotten it away." He shook his head remembering, then went on. "Never in my life have I seen such a thing as when the explosion Was produced. The train was coming steadily. We saw it far away. And I had an excitement so great that I cannot tell it. We saw steam from it and then later came the noise of the whistle. Then it came chu-chu-chu-chu-chu-chu steadily larger and larger and then, at the moment of the explosion, the front wheels of the engine rose up and all of the earth seemed to rise in a great cloud of blackness and a roar and the engine rose high in the cloud of dirt and of the Wooden ties rising in the air as in a dream and then it fell onto its side like a great wounded animal and there was an explosion of white steam before the clods of the other explosion had ceased to fall on us and the _m嫭uina_ commenced to speak ta-tat-tat-ta!" went the gypsy shaking his two clenched fists up and down in front of him, thumbs up, on an imaginary machine gun. "Ta! Ta! Tat! Tat! Tat! Ta!" he exulted. "Never in my life have I seen such a thing, with the troops running from the train and the _m嫭uina_ speaking into them and the men falling. It was then that I put my hand on the _m嫭uina_ in my excitement and discovered that the barrel burned and at that moment the old woman slapped me on the side of the face and said, 'Shoot, you fool! Shoot or I will kick your brains in!' Then I commenced to shoot but it was very hard to hold my gun steady and the troops were running up the far hill. Later, after we had been down at the train to see what there was to take, an officer forced some troops back toward us at the point of a pistol. He kept waving the pistol and shouting at them and we were all shooting at him but no one hit him. Then some troops lay down and commenced firing and the officer walked up and down behind them with his pistol and still we could not hit him and the _m嫭uina_ could not fire on him because of the position of the train. This officer shot two men as they lay and still they would not get up and he was cursing them and finally they got up, one two and three at a time and came running toward us and the train. Then they lay flat again and fired. Then we left, with the _m嫭uina_ still speaking over us as we left. It was then I found the girl where she had run from the train to the rocks and she ran with us. It was those troops who hunted us until that night."
"It must have been something very hard," Anselmo said. "Of much emotion."
"It was the only good thing we have done," said a deep voice. "What are you doing now, you lazy drunken obscene unsayable son of an unnameable unmarried gypsy obscenity? What are you doing?"
Robert Jordan saw a woman of about fifty almost as big as Pablo, almost as wide as she was tall, in black peasant skirt and waist, with heavy wool socks on heavy legs, black rope-soled shoes and a brown face like a model for a granite monument. She had big but nice-looking hands and her thick curly black hair was twisted into a knot on her neck.
"Answer me," she said to the gypsy, ignoring the others.
"I was talking to these comrades. This one comes as a dynamiter."
"I know all that," the _mujer_ of Pablo said. "Get out of here now and relieve Andr廥 who is on guard at the top."
"_Me voy_," the gypsy said. "I go." He turned to Robert Jordan. "I will see thee at the hour of eating."
"Not even in a joke," said the woman to him. "Three times you have eaten today according to my count. Go now and send me Andr廥.
"_Hola_," she said to Robert Jordan and put out her hand and smiled. "How are you and how is everything in the Republic?"
"Good," he said and returned her strong hand grip. "Both with me and with the Republic."
"I am happy," she told him. She was looking into his face and smiling and he noticed she had fine gray eyes. "Do you come for us to do another train?"
"No," said Robert Jordan, trusting her instantly. "For a bridge."
"_No es nada_," she said. "A bridge is nothing. When do we do another train now that we have horses?"
"Later. This bridge is of great importance."
"The girl told me your comrade who was with us at the train is dead."
"Yes."
"What a pity. Never have I seen such an explosion. He was a man of talent. He pleased me very much. It is not possible to do another train now? There are many men here now in the hills. Too many. It is already hard to get food. It would be better to get out. And we have horses."
"We have to do this bridge."
"Where is it?"
"Quite close."
"All the better," the _mujer_ of Pablo said. "Let us blow all the bridges there are here and get out. I am sick of this place. Here is too much concentration of people. No good can come of it. Here is a stagnation that is repugnant."
She sighted Pablo through the trees.
"_Borracho!_" she called to him. "Drunkard. Rotten drunkard!" She turned back to Robert Jordan cheerfully. "He's taken a leather wine bottle to drink alone in the woods," she said. "He's drinking all the time. This life is ruining him. Young man, I am very content that you have come." She clapped him on the back. "Ah," she said. "You're bigger than you look," and ran her hand over his shoulder, feeling the muscle under the flannel shirt. "Good. I am very content that you have come."
"And I equally."
"We will understand each other," she said. "Have a cup of wine."
"We have already had some," Robert Jordan said. "But, will you?"
"Not until dinner," she said. "It gives me heartburn." Then she sighted Pablo again. "_Borracho!_" she shouted. "Drunkard!" She turned to Robert Jordan and shook her head. "He was a very good man," she told him. "But now he is terminated. And listen to me about another thing. Be very good and careful about the girl. The Maria. She has had a bad time. Understandest thou?"
"Yes. Why do you say this?"
"I saw how she was from seeing thee when she came into the cave. I saw her watching thee before she came out."
"I joked with her a little."
"She was in a very bad state," the woman of Pablo said. "Now she is better, she ought to get out of here."
"Clearly, she can be sent through the lines with Anselmo."
"You and the Anselmo can take her when this terminates."
Robert Jordan felt the ache in his throat and his voice thickening. "That might be done," he said.
The _mujer_ of Pablo looked at him and shook her head. "Ayee. Ayee," she said. "Are all men like that?"
"I said nothing. She is beautiful, you know that."
"No she is not beautiful. But she begins to be beautiful, you mean," the woman of Pablo said. "Men. It is a shame to us women that we make them. No. In seriousness. Are there not homes to care for such as her under the Republic?"
"Yes," said Robert Jordan. "Good places. On the coast near Valencia. In other places too. There they will treat her well and she can work with children. There are the children from evacuated villages. They will teach her the work."
"That is what I want," the _mujer_ of Pablo said. "Pablo has a sickness for her already. It is another thing which destroys him. It lies on him like a sickness when he sees her. It is best that she goes now."
"We can take her after this is over."
"And you will be careful of her now if I trust you? I speak to you as though I knew you for a long time."
"It is like that," Robert Jordan said, "when people understand one another."
"Sit down," the woman of Pablo said. "I do not ask any promise because what will happen, will happen. Only if

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Chapter 3
They came down the last two hundred yards, moving carefully from tree to tree in the shadows and now, through the last pines of the steep hillside, the bridge was only fifty yards away. The late afternoon sun that still came over the brown shoulder of the mountain showed the bridge dark against the steep emptiness of the gorge. It was a steel bridge of a single span and there was a sentry box at each end. It was wide enough for two motor cars to pass and it spanned, in solid-flung metal grace, a deep gorge at the bottom of which, far below, a brook leaped in white water through rocks and boulders down to the main stream of the pass.
The sun was in Robert Jordan's eyes and the bridge showed only in outline. Then the sun lessened and was gone and looking up through the trees at the brown, rounded height that it had gone behind, he saw, now, that he no longer looked into the glare, that the mountain slope was a delicate new green and that there were patches of old snow under the crest.
Then he was watching the bridge again in the sudden short trueness of the little light that would be left, and studying its construction. The problem of its demolition was not difficult. As he watched he took out a notebook from his breast pocket and made several quick line sketches. As he made the drawings he did not figure the charges. He would do that later. Now he was noting the points where the explosive should be placed in order to cut the support of the span and drop a section of it into the gorge. It could be done unhurriedly, scientifically and correctly with a half dozen charges laid and braced to explode simultaneously; or it could be done roughly with two big ones. They would need to be very big ones, on opposite sides and should go at the same time. He sketched quickly and happily; glad at last to have the problem under his hand; glad at last actually to be engaged upon it. Then he shut his notebook, pushed the pencil into its leather holder in the edge of the flap, put the notebook in his pocket and buttoned the pocket.
While he had sketched, Anselmo had been watching the road, the bridge and the sentry boxes. He thought they had come too close to the bridge for safety and when the sketching was finished, he was relieved.
As Robert Jordan buttoned the flap of his pocket and then lay flat behind the pine trunk, looking out from behind it, Anselmo put his hand on his elbow and pointed with one finger.
In the sentry box that faced toward them up the road, the sentry was sitting holding his rifle, the bayonet fixed, between his knees. He was smoking a cigarette and he wore a knitted cap and blanket style cape. At fifty yards, you could not see anything about his face. Robert Jordan put up his field glasses, shading the lenses carefully with his cupped hands even though there was now no sun to make a glint, and there was the rail of the bridge as clear as though you could reach out and touch it and there was the face of the senty so clear he could see the sunken cheeks, the ash on the cigarette and the greasy shine of the bayonet. It was a peasant's face, the cheeks hollow under the high cheekbones, the beard stubbled, the eyes shaded by the heavy brows, big hands holding the rifle, heavy boots showing beneath the folds of the blanket cape. There was a worn, blackened leather wine bottle on the wall of the sentry box, there were some newspapers and there was no telephone. There could, of course, be a telephone on the side he could not see; but there were no wires running from the box that were visible. A telephone line ran along the road and its wires were carried over the bridge. There was a charcoal brazier outside the sentry box, made from an old petrol tin with the top cut off and holes punched in it, which rested on two stones; but he held no fire. There were some fire-blackened empty tins in the ashes under it.
Robert Jordan handed the glasses to Anselmo who lay flat beside him. The old man grinned and shook his head. He tapped his skull beside his eye with one finger.
"_Ya lo veo_," he said in Spanish. "I have seen him," speaking from the front of his mouth with almost no movement of his lips in the way that is quieter than any whisper. He looked at the sentry as Robert Jordan smiled at him and, pointing with one finger, drew the other across his throat. Robert Jordan nodded but he did not smile.
The sentry box at the far end of the bridge faced away from them and down the road and they could not see into it. The road, which was broad and oiled and well constructed, made a turn to the left at the far end of the bridge and then swung out of sight around a curve to the right. At this point it was enlarged from the old road to its present width by cutting into the solid bastion of the rock on the far side of the gorge; and its left or western edge, looking down from the pass and the bridge, was marked and protected by a line of upright cut blocks of stone where its edge fell sheer away to the gorge. The gorge was almost a canyon here, where the brook, that the bridge was flung over, merged with the main stream of the pass.
"And the other post?" Robert Jordan asked Anselmo.
"Five hundred meters below that turn. In the roadmender's hut that is built into the side of the rock."
"How many men?" Robert Jordan asked.
He was watching the sentry again with his glasses. The sentry rubbed his cigarette out on the plank wall of the box, then took a leather tobacco pouch from his pocket, opened the paper of the dead cigarette and emptied the remnant of used tobacco into the pouch. The sentry stood up, leaned his rifle against the wall of the box and stretched, then picked up his rifle, slung it over his shoulder and walked out onto the bridge. Anselmo flattened on the ground and Robert Jordan slipped his glasses into his shirt pocket and put his head well behind the pine tree.
"There are seven men and a corporal," Anselmo said close to his ear. "I informed myself from the gypsy."
"We will go now as soon as he is quiet," Robert Jordan said. "We are too close."
"Hast thou seen what thou needest?"
"Yes. All that I need."
It was getting cold quickly now with the sun down and the light was failing as the afterglow from the last sunlight on the mountains behind them faded.
"How does it look to thee?" Anselmo said softly as they watched the sentry walk across the bridge toward the other box, his bayonet bright in the last of the afterglow, his figure unshapely in the blanket coat.
"Very good," Robert Jordan said. "Very, very good."
"I am glad," Anselmo said. "Should we go? Now there is no chance that he sees us."
The sentry was standing, his back toward them, at the far end of the bridge. From the gorge came the noise of the stream in the boulders. Then through this noise came another noise, a steady, racketing drone and they saw the sentry looking up, his knitted cap slanted back, and turning their heads and looking up they saw, high in the evening sky, three monoplanes in V formation, showing minute and silvery at that height where there still was sun, passing unbelievably quickly across the sky, their motors now throbbing steadily.
"Ours?" Anselmo asked.
"They seem so," Robert Jordan said but knew that at that height you never could be sure. They could be an evening patrol of either side. But you always said pursuit planes were ours because it made people feel better. Bombers were another matter.
Anselmo evidently felt the same. "They are ours," he said. "I recognize them. They are _Moscas_."
"Good," said Robert Jordan. "They seem to me to be _Moscas_, too."
"They are _Moscas_," Anselmo said.
Robert Jordan could have put the glasses on them and been sure instantly but he preferred not to. It made no difference to him who they were tonight and if it pleased the old man to have them be ours, he did not want to take them away. Now, as they moved out of sight toward Segovia, they did not look to be the green, red wing-tipped, low wing Russian conversion of the Boeing P32 that the Spaniards called _Moscas_. You could not see the colors but the cut was wrong. No. It was a Fascist Patrol coming home.
The sentry was still standing at the far box with his back turned.
"Let us go," Robert Jordan said. He started up the hill, moving carefully and taking advantage of the cover until they were out of sight. Anselmo followed him at a hundred yards distance. When they were well out of sight of the bridge, he stopped and the old man came up and went into the lead and climbed steadily through the pass, up the steep slope in the dark.
"We have a formidable aviation," the old man said happily.
"Yes."
"And we will win."
"We have to win."
"Yes. And after we have won you must come to hunt."
"To hunt what?"
"The boar, the bear, the wolf, the ibex--"
"You like to hunt?"
"Yes, man. More than anything. We all hunt in my village. You do not like to hunt?"
"No," said Robert Jordan. "I do not like to kill animals."
"With me it is the opposite," the old man said. "I do not like to kill men."
"Nobody does except those who are disturbed in the head," Robert Jordan said. "But I feel nothing against it when it is necessary. When it is for the cause."
"It is a different thing, though," Anselmo said. "In my house, when I had a house, and now I have no house, there were the tusks of boar I had shot in the lower forest. There were the hides of wolves I had shot. In the winter, hunting them in the snow. One very big one, I killed at dusk in the outskirts of the village on my way home one night in November. There were four wolf hides on the floor of my house. They were worn by stepping on them but they were wolf hides. There were the horns of ibex that I had killed in the high Sierra, and there was an eagle stuffed by an embalmer of birds of Avila, with his wings spread, and eyes as yellow and real as the eyes of an eagle alive. It was a very beautiful thing and all of those things gave me great pleasure to contemplate."
"Yes," said Robert Jordan.
"On the door of the church of my village was nailed the paw of a bear that I killed in the spring, finding him on a hillside in the snow, overturning a log with this same paw."
"When was this?"
"Six years ago. And every time I saw that paw, like the hand of a man, but with those long claws, dried and nailed through the palm to the door of the church, I received a pleasure."
"Of pride?"
"Of pride of remembrance of the encounter with the bear on that hillside in the early spring. But of the killing of a man, who is a man as we are, there is nothing good that remains."
"You can't nail his paw to the church," Robert Jordan said.
"No. Such a barbarity is unthinkable. Yet the hand of a man is like the paw of a bear."
"So is the chest of a man like the chest of a bear," Robert Jordan said. "With the hide removed from the bear, there are many similarities in the muscles."
"Yes," Anselmo said. "The gypsies believe the bear to be a brother of man."
"So do the Indians in America," Robert Jordan said. "And when they kill a bear they apologize to him and ask his pardon. They put his skull in a tree and they ask him to forgive them before they leave it."
"The gypsies believe the bear to be a brother to man because he has the same body beneath his hide, because he drinks beer, because he enjoys music and because he likes to dance."
"So also believe the Indians."
"Are the Indians then gypsies?"
"No. But they believe alike about the bear."
"Clearly. The gypsies also believe he is a brother because he steals for pleasure."
"Have you gypsy blood?"
"No. But I have seen much of them and clearly, since the movement, more. There are many in the hills. To them it is not a sin to kill outside the tribe. They deny this but it is true."
"Like the Moors."
"Yes. But the gypsies have many laws they do not admit to having. In the war many gypsies have become bad again as they were in olden times."
"They do not understand why the war is made. They do not know for what we fight."
"No," Anselmo said. "They only know now there is a war and people may kill again as in the olden times without a surety of punishment."
"You have killed?" Robert Jordan asked in the intimacy of the dark and of their day together.
"Yes. Several times. But not with pleasure. To me it is a sin to kill a man. Even Fascists whom we must kill. To me there is a great difference between the bear and the man and I do not believe the wizardry of the gypsies about the brotherhood with animals. No. I am against all killing of men."
"Yet you have killed."
"Yes. And will again. But if I live later, I will try to live in such a way, doing no harm to any one, that it will be forgiven."
"By whom?"
"Who knows? Since we do not have God here any more, neither His Son nor the Holy Ghost, who forgives? I do not know."
"You have not God any more?"
"No. Man. Certainly not. If there were God, never would He have permitted what I have seen with my eyes. Let _them_ have God."
"They claim Him."
"Clearly I miss Him, having been brought up in religion. But now a man must be responsible to himself."
"Then it is thyself who will forgive thee for killing."
"I believe so," Anselmo said. "Since you put it clearly in that way I believe that must be it. But with or without God, I think it is a sin to kill. To take the life of another is to me very grave. I will do it whenever necessary but I am not of the race of Pablo."
"To win a war we must kill our enemies. That has always been true."
"Clearly. In war we must kill. But I have very rare ideas," Anselmo said.
They were walking now close together in the dark and he spoke softly, sometimes turning his head as he climbed. "I would not kill even a Bishop. I would not kill a proprietor of any kind. I would make them work each day as we have worked in the fields and as we work in the mountains with the timbet all of the rest of their lives. So they would see what man is born to. That they should sleep where we sleep. That they should eat as we eat. But above all that they should work. Thus they would learn."
"And they would survive to enslave thee again."
"To kill them teaches nothing," Anselmo said. "You cannot exterminate them because from their seed comes more with greater hatred. Prison is nothing. Prison only makes hatred. That all our enemies should learn."
"But still thou hast killed."
"Yes," Anselmo said. "Many times and will again. But not with pleasure and regarding it as a sin."
"And the sentry. You joked of killing the sentry."
"That was in joke. I would kill the sentry. Yes. Certainly and with a clear heart considering our task. But not with pleasure."
"We will leave them to those who enjoy it," Robert Jordan said. "There are eight and five. That is thirteen for those who enjoy it."
"There are many of those who enjoy it," Anselmo said in the dark. "We have many of those. More of those than of men who would serve for a battle."
"Hast thou ever been in a battle?"
"Nay," the old man said. "We fought in Segovia at the start of the movement but we were beaten and we ran. I ran with the others. We did not truly understand what we were doing, nor how it should be done. Also I had only a shotgun with cartridges of large buckshot and the _guardia civil_ had Mausers. I could not hit them with buckshot at a hundred yards, and at three hundred yards they shot us as they wished as though we were rabbits. They shot much and well and we were like sheep before them." He was silent. Then asked, "Thinkest thou there will be a battle at the bridge?"
"There is a chance."
"I have never seen a battle without running," Anselmo said. "I do not know how I would comport myself. I am an old man and I have wondered."
"I will respond for thee," Robert Jordan told him.
"And hast thou been in many battles?"
"Several."
"And what thinkest thou of this of the bridge?"
"First I think of the bridge. That is my business. It is not difficult to destroy the bridge. Then we will make the dispositions for the rest. For the preliminaries. It will all be written."
"Very few of these people read," Anselmo said.
"It will be written for every one's knowledge so that all know, but also it will be clearly explained."
"I will do that to which I am assigned," Anselmo said. "But remembering the shooting in Segovia, if there is to be a battle or even much exchanging of shots, I would wish to have it very clear what I must do under all circumstances to avoid running. I remember that I had a great tendency to run at Segovia."
"We will be together," Robert Jordan told him. "I will tell you what there is to do at all times."
"Then there is no problem," Anselmo said. "I can do anything that I am ordered."
"For us will be the bridge and the battle, should there be one," Robert Jordan said and saying it in the dark, he felt a little theatrical but it sounded well in Spanish.
"It should be of the highest interest," Anselmo said and hearing him say it honestly and clearly and with no pose, neither the English pose of understatement nor any Latin bravado, Robert Jordan thought he was very lucky to have this old man and having seen the bridge and worked out and simplified the problem it would have been to surprise the posts and blow it in a normal way, he resented Golz's orders, and the necessity for them. He resented them for what they could do to him and for what they could do to this old man. They were bad orders all right for those who would have to carry them out.
And that is not the way to think, he told himself, and there is not you, and there are no people that things must not happen to. Neither you nor this old man is anything. You are instruments to do your duty. There are necessary orders that are no fault of yours and there is a bridge and that bridge can be the point on which the future of the human race can turn. As it can turn on everything that happens in this war. You have only one thing to do and you must do it. Only one thing, hell, he thought. If it were one thing it was easy. Stop worrying, you windy bastard, he said to himself. Think about something else.
So he thought about the girl Maria, with her skin, the hair and the eyes all the same golden tawny brown, the hair a little darker than the rest but it would be lighter as her skin tanned deeper, the smooth skin, pale gold on the surface with a darkness underneath. Smooth it would be, all of her body smooth, and she moved awkwardly as though there were something of her and about her that embarrassed her as though it were visible, though it was not, but only in her mind. And she blushed with he looked at her, and she sitting, her hands clasped around her knees and the shirt open at the throat, the cup of her breasts uptilted against the shirt, and as he thought of her, his throat was choky and there was a difficulty in walking and he and Anselmo spoke no more until the old man said, "Now we go down through these rocks and to the camp."
As they came through the rocks in the dark, a man spoke to them, "Halt. Who goes?" They heard a rifle bolt snick as it was drawn back and then the knock against the wood as it was pushed forward and down on the stock.
"Comrades," Anselmo said.
"What comrades?"
"Comrades of Pablo," the old man told him. "Dost thou not know us?"
"Yes," the voice said. "But it is an order. Have you the password?"
"No. We come from below."
"I know," the man said in the dark. "You come from the bridge.  I know all of that. The order is not mine. You must know the second half of a password."
"What is the first half then?" Robert Jordan said.
"I have forgotten it," the man said in the dark and laughed. "Go then unprintably to the campfire with thy obscene dynamite."
"That is called guerilla discipline," Anselmo said. "Uncock thy piece."
"It is uncocked," the man said in the dark. "I let it down with my thumb and forefinger."
"Thou wilt do that with a Mauser sometime which has no knurl on the bolt and it will fire."
"This is a Mauser," the man said. "But I have a grip of thumb and forefinger beyond description. Always I let it down that way."
"Where is the rifle pointed?" asked Anselmo into the dark.
"At thee," the man said, "all the time that I descended the bolt. And when thou comest to the camp, order that some one should relieve me because I have indescribable and unprintable hunger and I have forgotten the password."
"How art thou called?" Robert Jordan asked.
"Agust璯," the man said. "I am called Agust璯 and I am dying with boredom in this spot."
"We will take the message," Robert Jordan said and he thought how the word _aburmiento_ which means boredom in Spanish was a word no peasant would use in any other language. Yet it is one of the most common words in the mouth of a Spaniard of any class.
"Listen to me," Agust璯 said, and coming close he put his hand on Robert Jordan's shoulder. Then striking a flint and steel together he held it up and blowing on the end of the cork, looked at the young man's face in its glow.
"You look like the other one," he said. "But something different. Listen," he put the lighter down and stood holding his rifle. "Tell me this. Is it true about the bridge?"
"What about the bridge?"
"That we blow up an obscene bridge and then have to obscenely well obscenity ourselves off out of these mountains?"
"I know not."
"_You_ know not," Agust璯 said. "What a barbarity! Whose then is the dynamite?"
"Mine."
"And knowest thou not what it is for? Don't tell me tales."
"I know what it is for and so will you in time," Robert Jordan said. "But now we go to the camp."
"Go to the unprintable," Agust璯 said. "And unprint thyself. But do you want me to tell you something of service to you?"
"Yes," said Robert Jordan. "If it is not unprintable," naming the principal obscenity that had larded the conversation. The man, Agust璯, spoke so obscenely, coupling an obscenity to every noun as an adjective, using the same obscenity as a verb, that Robert Jordan wondered if he could speak a straight sentence. Agust璯 laughed in the dark when he heard the word. "It is a way of speaking I have. Maybe it is ugly. Who knows? Each one speaks according to his manner. Listen to me. The bridge is nothing to me. As well the bridge as another thing. Also I have a boredom in these mountains. That we should go if it is needed. These mountains say nothing to me. That we should leave them. But I would say one thing. Guard well thy explosive."
"Thank you," Robert Jordan said. "From thee?"
"No," Agust璯 said. "From people less unprintably equipped than I."
"So?" asked Robert Jordan.
"You understand Spanish," Agust璯 said seriously now. "Care well for thy unprintable explosive."
"Thank you."
"No. Don't thank me. Look after thy stuff."
"Has anything happened to it?"
"No, or I would not waste thy time talking in this fashion."
"Thank you all the same. We go now to camp."
"Good," said Agust璯, "and that they send some one here who knows the password."
"Will we see you at the camp?"
"Yes, man. And shortly."
"Come on," Robert Jordan said to Anselmo.
They were walking down the edge of the meadow now and there was a gray mist. The grass was lush underfoot after the pineneedle floor of the forest and the dew on the grass wet through their canvas rope-soled shoes. Ahead, through the trees, Robert Jordan Could see a light where he knew the mouth of the cave must be.
"Agust璯 is a very good man," Anselmo said. "He speaks very filthily and always in jokes but he is a very serious man."
"You know him well?"
"Yes. For a long time. I have much confidence in him."
"And what he says?"
"Yes, man. This Pablo is bad now, as you could see."
"And the best thing to do?"
"One shall guard it at all times."
"Who?"
"You. Me. The woman and Agust璯. Since he sees the danger."
"Did you think things were as bad as they are here?"
"No," Anselmo said. "They have gone bad very fast. But it was necessary to come here. This is the country of Pablo and of El Sordo. In their country we must deal with them unless it is something that can be done alone."
"And El Sordo?"
"Good," Anselmo said. "As good as the other is bad."
"You believe now that he is truly bad?"
"All afternoon I have thought of it and since we have heard what we have heard, I think now, yes. Truly."
"It would not be better to leave, speaking of another bridge, and obtain men from other bands?"
"No," Anselmo said. "This is his country. You could not move that he would not know it. But one must move with much precautions."
　　他们赶着最后的二百码路程，在树荫下小心翼翼地从这棵树移动到那棵树，这时，穿过陡峭的山坡上最后几棵松树，离桥只有五十码了。。“阳仍然越过褐色的山肩照来，那座桥被睃峭的峡谷间的辽阔空间衬托着，显得黑魆魅的。那是一座单孔铁桥，两端各有一个岗亭。桥面很宽,可以并行两辆汽车。线条优美的坚固的铁桥横跨深谷,在下面深深的谷底，白浪翻滚的河水淹过大块圆石，奔向山口那边的主流。
　　阳光正对着罗伯特　乔丹的眼睛，那座桥只现出一个剪影。随着太阳落到圆滚滚的褐色山头后边，阳光减弱消失,他透过树林眺望这山头，这时他不再直视着剌眼的阳光，发现山坡竟是一片葱翠的新绿，山峰下还有一摊摊积雪。
　　接着他在那短暂的余辉中又望望那突然显得真切的铁桥，观察它的结构。要炸掉这座桥并不难。他一面望着，一面从胸口衣袋里掏出一本笔记本，迅速勾勒了几张草图。他在本子上画图时并不同时计算炸药用量。他要以后再计算。他现在注意的是安放炸药的位置,以揮炸断桥面的支撑，让桥的一部分塌到峡谷中去。安放五六个炸药包，同时引爆，就能从容不迫，井井有条而正确无误地干成功；要不然，用两个大炸药包也能大致完成。那就捕要非常大的炸药包，放在两面同时引爆。他高兴而快速地勾勒着草图；他为了终于着手处理这件事，终于真的动手干起来而髙兴。他接考合上笔记本，把铅笔插进本子护封里边的皮套，把笔记本藏进衣袋,扣好袋盖　
　　他画草图的时候，安塞尔莫监视着公硌、铁桥和岗亭。他认为他们太接近桥,未免危险，草图画完后,他才算松了口气。
　　罗伯特　乔丹扣好衣袋盖,匍匐在一棵松树后面，从那里了望。安塞尔莫把手搭在他胳膊肘上，用一个指头指点。
　　公路这一头面对着他们的岗亭里坐着一个哨兵，膝间夹着一支上了刺刀的步熗。他正在抽烟,头上戴着顶绒线椹，身上穿着件毯子式的披风。相距五十码，没法看清他脸上的五官。罗伯特　乔丹举起望远镜，尽管现在没一点阳光,他还是两手捏成空拳，小心地围着镜片，以免产生反光，被哨兵发现，于是桥上的栏杆显得非常淸晰,仿佛伸手就能摸到似的,而那哨兵的脸也清清楚楚，连他那凹陷的腮帮、香烟上的烟灰和剌刀上闪亮着的油迹都历历在目。那是一张农民的脸,高颧骨下服帮凹陷，满面胡子茬，浓眉毛遮着眼睛，一双大手握着熗，毪子式的披风下面鱔出了笨重的长统靴。岗亭埔上挂着一只磨得发黑的皮酒袋，还有一些报纸，但没有电话机。”当然，在他看不到的另外一边可能有架电话机；但是看不到岗亭四周有通到外面的电线。沿公路有一条电话线通过铁桥。岗亭外边有一只炭火盆，是用一只旧汽油桶做的，截去了桶顶，桶壁上凿了几个洞，架在两块石头上，但盆里没生火。火盆下面的灰里有几只烧黑了的空铁縑。
　　罗伯特、乔丹把望远镜递给平躺在他身旁的安塞尔莫。老头儿露齿笑笑，摇摇头。他用手指敲敲自己眼睛边的太阳穴。
　　“我看见过他，”他用西班牙话说。他用嘴尖讲话，嘴唇几乎不动，这样发出的声音比耳语还低。”罗伯特　乔丹冲着他揪笑,他呢，注视着哨兵，一手指着哨兵，用另一手的食指在自己脖子上划了一下，罗伯特　乔丹点点头，但没有笑。
　　桥另一头的岗亭背对着他们，朝着公路下段，因此他们看不
到里面的情况。这条公路很宽，浇过柏油，铺得很道地，在较远的那个桥堍向左拐弯，再绕一个大弯子向右面拐出去，看不见了。眼前这一段公路是劈去峡谷那一边坚固的石壁，在旧路面的基础上加宽到现有的宽度的；从山口和桥上望下去,公路的左边，也就是西边，面临陡峭的峡谷的地方，竖着一排劈下来的石块做界石，作为防护。这里的峡谷十分幽深，上面架着桥的溪水和山口的主流在这里汇合。
　　“另外那个哨所呢?”罗伯特　乔丹问安塞尔莫，“从那个拐弯过去五百米。在靠着石壁盖起的养路工的小屋边。“
　　“有多少人?”罗伯特　乔丹问。
　　他又用望远镜观察那个哨兵。只见哨兵在岗亭的木板墙上揿熄烟卷,然后从口袋里掏出一只烟荷包，剥开那熄掉的烟蒂的烟纸，把剩下的烟丝倒进荷包。哨兵站起来，把步熗靠在岗亭的墙上，伸了“个懒腰，然后拿起步熗，挎在肩上，走到桥面上。安塞尔莫身体贴在地上，罗伯特　乔丹把望远镜塞进衣袋,脑袋闪在一棵松树后面。
　　“一起有七个士兵和一个班长。”安塞尔莫凑近他的耳朵说，“我是从吉普赛人那儿打听来的。”
　　“等他停下来，我们就走，”罗伯特，乔丹说，“我们太近了。”
　　“你要看的东西都看到了”“不错。我要看的都看到了。“
　　随着。“阳西沉，他们身后的山上的。“照逐渐消失,天气马上冷起来，天色也越来越暗了。
　　“你认为怎么样”安塞尔莫低声问，他们望着那哨兵跨过桥
面，向另一个岗亭走去,他的剌刀在。“阳的余辉中闪闪发亮，他披着那件毯子式的外衣，形状很古怪。
　　“非常好，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“非常、非常好。“我挺高兴。“安塞尔莫说。“我们走好吧？他现在不会发现我们了。
　　哨兵在桥的那一头，背对他们站着。峡谷里传来溪水流过圆石间的淙淙声。接着，夹在流水声中响起了另一种声音,一种持续不断的响亮的隆隆声。他们看到哨兵抬起头来，帽子推到后脑勺上。他们掉头仰望，只见高空中有三架列成乂字队形的单翼飞机,在还照得到阳光的上空显得清清楚楚，银光闪闪。飞机越过天空，快得难以置信，马达声震响个不停。“我们的?”安塞尔莫问。
　　“好象是我们的，”罗伯特　乔丹说，但是他明白，飞得这样髙，根本没法断定。既可能是我方，也可能是敌方在傍晚作巡逻飞行。不过人们总是说驱逐机是我们的，因为这使人感到安慰　轰炸机可是另外一回事。
　　安塞尔莫显然也有同样的感觉。“是我们的飞机。”他说。“我认识这些飞机。这些是蝇式。”
　　“对，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我看也象是我们的蝇式。”“这是些蝇式，”安塞尔莫说。
　　罗伯特　乔丹原可以把望远镜对准飞机,马上看个分明，但他觉得还是不看为好。今晚,这些飞机是谁的,对他都一样。如果把它们当作我们的会使老头儿高兴，他何苦使他失望呢。飞机现在越出棵野，向塞哥维亚飞去，看来它们不象是俄国人玫装的那种有绿机身、红翼梢、机翼安在机身下面的波音。”32型飞机。西班牙人把这种飞机叫作蝇式。颜色潢不清,但式样显然不对头。
　　”不。那是返航的法西斯巡逻机队“
　　哨兵仍旧背着身，站在远处的岗亭边。“我们走吧，”罗伯特，乔丹说。他开始上山,小心翼翼地爬着,利用地形,避开桥那面的视线。安塞尔莫跟在他后面，相距一百码。罗伯特　乔丹走到从挢上不可能望见他们的地方，就站停了脚步，老头儿赶上来，走到前面去带路，不慌不忙地摸黑爬着,穿过山口，肫上那陡峭的山坡。
　　“咱们的空军真了不起，”老头儿高兴地说。“对。”
　　“我们准打胜仗。”“我们必须胜利。”
　　“是啊。我们胜利后你一定要来这儿打猎。“打什么?”
　　“野猪、熊、狼、野山羊~”“你喜欢打猎吗?”
　　“是啊，老弟。比啥都喜欢。我们村里人人都打猎。你不喜欢打猎吗?”
　　“不喜欢，”罗伯特”乔丹说。“我不喜欢杀死动物。“我呐，正好相反，”老头儿说。“我不喜欢杀人。”“除了那些头脑不对劲的人，谁都不客欢杀人。“罗伯特　乔丹说。“可是在必要的时候,我一点也不反对，尤其是为了我们的事业的时候。”
　　“打猎可是另一回事，”安塞尔莫说。“我现在没有家了，以前可有过,在我家里藏着我在山下树林里打来的野猪的牙齿。还有我打到的狼的皮。那是冬天在雪地里打的。有一条梃大，十一月有天晚上，我回家路过村边，在黑地里把它打死了。我家地上铺了四张狼皮。它们都踩呀了，不过毕竟是狼皮啊。还有我在高山上打到的野山羊的角和一只鹰，请阿维拉一个专门剥制禽鸟标本的人加了�

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Chapter 4
They came down to the mouth of the cave, where a light shone out from the edge of a blanket that hung over the opening. The two packs were at the foot of the tree covered with a canvas and Robert Jordan knelt down and felt the canvas wet and stiff over them. In the dark he felt under the canvas in the outside pocket of one of the packs and took out a leather-covered flask and slipped it in his pocket. Unlocking the long barred padlocks that passed through the grommet that closed the opening of the mouth of the packs, and untying the drawstring at the top of each pack, he felt inside them and verified their contents with his hands. Deep in one pack he felt the bundled blocks in the sacks, the sacks wrapped in the sleeping robe, and tying the strings of that and pushing the lock shut again, he put his hands into the other and felt the sharp wood outline of the box of the old exploder, the cigar box with the caps, each little cylinder wrapped round and round with its two wires (the lot of them packed as carefully as he had packed his collection of wild bird eggs when he was a boy), the stock of the submachine gun, disconnected from the barrel and wrapped in his leather jacket, the two pans and five clips in one of the inner pockets of the big pack-sack arid the small coils of copper wire and the big coil of light insulated Wire in the other. In the pocket with the wire he felt his pliers and the two wooden awls for making holes in the end of the blocks and then, from the last inside pocket, he took a big box of the Russian cigarettes of the lot he had from Golz's headquarters and tying the mouth of the pack shut, he pushed the lock in, buckled the flaps down and again covered both packs with the canvas. Anselmo had gone on into the cave.
Robert Jordan stood up to follow him, then reconsidered and, lifting the canvas off the two packs, picked them up, one in each hand, and started with them, just able to carry them, for the mouth of the cave. He laid one pack down and lifted the blanket aside, then with his head stooped and with a pack in each hand, carrying by the leather shoulder straps, he went into the cave.
It was warm and smoky in the cave. There was a table along one wall with a tallow candle stuck in a bottle on it and at the table were seated Pablo, three men he did not know, and the gypsy, Rafael. The candle made shadows on the wall behind the men and Anselmo stood where he had come in to the right of the table. The wife of Pablo was standing over the charcoal fire on the open fire hearth in the corner of the cave. The girl knelt by her stirring in an iron pot. She lifted the wooden spoon out and looked at Robert Jordan as he stood there in the doorway and he saw, in the glow from the fire the woman was blowing with a bellows, the girl's face, her arm and the drops running down from the spoon and dropping into the iron pot.
"What do you carry?" Pablo said.
"My things," Robert Jordan said and set the two packs down a little way apart where the cave opened out on the side away from the table.
"Are they not well outside?" Pablo asked.
"Some one might trip over them in the dark," Robert Jordan said and walked over to the table and laid the box of cigarettes on it.
"I do not like to have dynamite here in the cave," Pablo said.
"It is far from the fire," Robert Jordan said. "Take some cigarettes." He ran his thumbnail along the side of the paper box with the big colored figure of a warship on the cover and pushed the box toward Pablo.
Anselmo brought him a rawhide-covered stool and he sat down at the table. Pablo looked at him as though he were going to speak again, then reached for the cigarettes.
Robert Jordan pushed them toward the others. He was not looking at them yet. But he noted one man took cigarettes and two did not. All of his concentration was on Pablo.
"How goes it, gypsy?" he said to Rafael.
"Good," the gypsy said. Robert Jordan could tell they had been talking about him when he came in. Even the gypsy was not at ease.
"She is going to let you eat again?" Robert Jordan asked the gypsy.
"Yes. Why not?" the gypsy said. It was a long way from the friendly joking they had together in the afternoon.
The woman of Pablo said nothing and went on blowing up the coals of the fire.
"One called Agust璯 says he dies of boredom above," Robert Jordan said.
"That doesn't kill," Pablo said. "Let him die a little."
"Is there wine?" Robert Jordan asked the table at large, leaning forward, his hands on the table.
"There is little left," Pablo said sullenly. Robert Jordan decided he had better look at the other three and try to see where he stood.
"In that case, let me have a cup of water. Thou," he called to the girl. "Bring me a cup of water."
The girl looked at the woman, who said nothing, and gave no sign of having heard, then she went to a kettle containing water and dipped a cup full. She brought it to the table and put it down before him. Robert Jordan smiled at her. At the same time he sucked in on his stomach muscles and swung a little to the left on his stool so that his pistol slipped around on his belt closer to where he wanted it. He reached his hand down toward his hip pocket and Pablo watched him. He knew they all were watching him, too, but he watched only Pablo. His hand came up from the hip pocket with the leather-covered flask and he unscrewed the top and then, lifting the cup, drank half the water and poured very Slowly from the flask into the cup.
"It is too strong for thee or I would give thee some," he said to the girl and smiled at her again. "There is little left or I would offer some to thee," he said to Pablo.
"I do not like anis," Pablo said.
The acrid smell had carried across the table and he had picked out the one familiar component.
"Good," said Robert Jordan. "Because there is very little left."
"What drink is that?" the gypsy asked.
"A medicine," Robert Jordan said. "Do you want to taste it?"
"What is it for?"
"For everything," Robert Jordan said. "It cures everything. If you have anything wrong this will cure it."
"Let me taste it," the gypsy said.
Robert Jordan pushed the cup toward him. It was a milky yellow now with the water and he hoped the gypsy would not take more than a swallow. There was very little of it left and one cup of it took the place of the evening papers, of all the old evenings in caf廥, of all chestnut trees that would be in bloom now in this month, of the great slow horses of the outer boulevards, of book shops, of kiosques, and of galleries, of the Parc Montsouris, of the Stade Buffalo, and of the Butte Chaumont, of the Guaranty Trust Company and the Ile de la Cite, of Foyot's old hotel, and of being able to read and relax in the evening; of all the things he had enjoyed and forgotten and that came back to him when he tasted that opaque, bitter, tongue-numbing, brain-warming, stomach-warming, idea-changing liquid alchemy.
The gypsy made a face and handed the cup back. "It smells of anis but it is bitter as gall," he said. "It is better to be sick than have that medicine."
"That's the wormwood," Robert Jordan told him. "In this, the real absinthe, there is wormwood. It's supposed to rot your brain out but I don't believe it. It only changes the ideas. You should pour water into it very slowly, a few drops at a time. But I poured it into the water."
"What are you saying?" Pablo said angrily, feeling the mockery.
"Explaining the medicine," Robert Jordan told him and grinned. "I bought it in Madrid. It was the last bottle and it's lasted me three weeks." He took a big swallow of it and felt it coasting over his tongue in delicate anxsthesia. He looked at Pablo and grinned again.
"How's business?" he asked.
Pablo did not answer and Robert Jordan looked carefully at the other three men at the table. One had a large flat face, flat and brown as a Serrano ham with a nose flattened and broken, and the long thin Russian cigarette, projecting at an angle, made the face look even flatter. This man had short gray hair and a gray stubble of beard and wore the usual black smock buttoned at the neck. He looked down at the table when Robert Jordan looked at him but his eyes were steady and they did not blink. The other two were evidently brothers. They looked much alike and were both short, heavily built, dark haired, their hair growing low on their foreheads, dark-eyed and brown. One had a scar across his forehead above his left eye and as he looked at them, they looked back at him steadily. One looked to be about twenty-six or -eight, the other perhaps two years older.
"What are you looking at?" one brother, the one with the scar, asked.
"Thee," Robert Jordan said.
"Do you see anything rare?"
"No," said Robert Jordan. "Have a cigarette?"
"Why not?" the brother said. He had not taken any before. "These are like the other had. He of the train."
"Were you at the train?"
"We were all at the train," the brother said quietly. "All except the old man."
"That is what we should do now," Pablo said. "Another train."
"We can do that," Robert Jordan said. "After the bridge."
He could see that the wife of Pablo had turned now from the fire and was listening. When he said the word "bridge" every one was quiet.
"After the bridge," he said again deliberately and took a sip of the absinthe. I might as well bring it on, he thought. It's coming anyWay.
"I do not go for the bridge," Pablo said, looking down at the table. "Neither me nor my people."
Robert Jordan said nothing. He looked at Anselmo and raised the cup. "Then we shall do it alone, old one," he said and smiled.
"Without this coward," Anselmo said.
"What did you say?" Pablo spoke to the old man.
"Nothing for thee. I did not speak to thee," Anselmo told him.
Robert Jordan now looked past the table to where the wife of Pablo was standing by the fire. She had said nothing yet, nor given any sign. But now she said something he could not hear to the girl and the girl rose from the cooking fire, slipped along the wall, opened the blanket that hung over the mouth of the cave and went out. I think it is going to come now, Robert Jordan thought. I believe this is it. I did not want it to be this way but this seems to be the way it is.
"Then we will do the bridge without thy aid," Robert Jordan said to Pablo.
"No," Pablo said, and Robert Jordan watched his face sweat. "Thou wilt blow no bridge here."
"No?"
"Thou wilt blow no bridge," Pablo said heavily.
"And thou?" Robert Jordan spoke to the wife of Pablo who was standing, still and huge, by the fire. She turned toward them and said, "I am for the bridge." Her face was lit by the fire and it was flushed and it shone warm and dark and handsome now in the firelight as it was meant to be.
"What do you say?" Pablo said to her and Robert Jordan saw the betrayed look on his face and the sweat on his forehead as he turned his head.
"I am for the bridge and against thee," the wife of Pablo said. "Nothing more."
"I am also for the bridge," the man with the flat face and the broken nose said, crushing the end of the cigarette on the table.
"To me the bridge means nothing," one of the brothers said. "I am for the _mujer_ of Pablo."
"Equally," said the other brother.
"Equally," the gypsy said.
Robert Jordan watched Pablo and as he watched, letting his right hand hang lower and lower, ready if it should be necessary, half hoping it would be (feeling perhaps that were the simplest and easiest yet not wishing to spoil what had gone so well, knowing how quickly all of a family, all of a clan, all of a band, can turn against a stranger in a quarrel, yet thinking what could be done with the hand were the simplest and best and surgically the most sound now that this had happened), saw also the wife of Pablo standing there and watched her blush proudly and soundly and healthily as the allegiances were given.
"I am for the Republic," the woman of Pablo said happily. "And the Republic is the bridge. Afterwards we will have time for other projects."
"And thou," Pablo said bitterly. "With your head of a seed bull and your heart of a whore. Thou thinkest there will be an afterwards from this bridge? Thou hast an idea of that which will pass?"
"That which must pass," the woman of Pablo said. "That which must pass, will pass."
"And it means nothing to thee to be hunted then like a beast after this thing from which we derive no profit? Nor to die in it?"
"Nothing," the woman of Pablo said. "And do not try to frighten me, coward."
"Coward," Pablo said bitterly. "You treat a man as coward because he has a tactical sense. Because he can see the results of an idiocy in advance. It is not cowardly to know what is foolish."
"Neither is it foolish to know what is cowardly," said Anselmo, unable to resist making the phrase.
"Do you want to die?" Pablo said to him seriously and Robert Jordan saw how unrhetorical was the question.
"No."
"Then watch thy mouth. You talk too much about things you do not understand. Don't you see that this is serious?" he said almost pitifully. "Am I the only one who sees the seriousness of this?"
I believe so, Robert Jordan thought. Old Pablo, old boy, I believe so. Except me. You can see it and I see it and the woman read it in my hand but she doesn't see it, yet. Not yet she doesn't see it.
"Am I a leader for nothing?" Pablo asked. "I know what I speak of. You others do not know. This old man talks nonsense. He is an old man who is nothing but a messenger and a guide for foreigners. This foreigner comes here to do a thing for the good of the foreigners. For his good we must be sacrificed. I am for the good and the safety of all."
"Safety," the wife of Pablo said. "There is no such thing as safety. There are so many seeking safety here now that they make a great danger. In seeking safety now you lose all."
She stood now by the table with the big spoon in her hand.
"There is safety," Pablo said. "Within the danger there is the safety of knowing what chances to take. It is like the bullfighter who knowing what he is doing, takes no chances and is safe."
"Until he is gored," the woman said bitterly. "How many times have I heard matadors talk like that before they took a goring. How often have I heard Finito say that it is all knowledge and that the bull never gored the man; rather the man gored himself on the horn of the bull. Always do they talk that way in their arrogance before a goring. Afterwards we visit them in the clinic." Now she was mimicking a visit to a bedside, "Hello, old timer. Hello," she boomed. Then, "_Buenas, Compadre_. How goes it, Pilar?" imitating the weak voice of the wounded bullfighter. "How did this happen, Finito, Chico, how did this dirty accident occur to thee?" booming it out in her own voice. Then talking weak and small, "It is nothing, woman. Pilar, it is nothing. It shouldn't have happened. I killed him very well, you understand. Nobody could have killed him better. Then having killed him exactly as I should and him absolutely dead, swaying on his legs, and ready to fall of his own weight, I walked away from him with a certain amount of arrogance and much style and from the back he throws me this horn between the cheeks of my buttocks and it comes out of my liver." She commenced to laugh, dropping the imitation of the almost effeminate bullfighter's voice and booming again now. "You and your safety! Did I live nine years with three of the worst paid matadors in the world not to learn about fear and about safety? Speak to me of anything but safety. And thee. What illusions I put in thee and how they have turned out! From one year of war thou has become lazy, a drunkard and a coward."
"In that way thou hast no right to speak," Pablo said. "And less even before the people and a stranger."
"In that way will I speak," the wife of Pablo went on. "Have you not heard? Do you still believe that you command here?"
"Yes," Pablo said. "Here I command."
"Not in joke," the woman said. "Here I command! Haven't you heard _la gente?_ Here no one commands but me. You can stay if you wish and eat of the food and drink of the wine, but not too bloody much, and share in the work if thee wishes. But here I command."
"I should shoot thee and the foreigner both," Pablo said suilenly.
"Try it," the woman said. "And see what happens."
"A cup of water for me," Robert Jordan said, not taking his eyes from the man with his sullen heavy head and the woman standing proudly and confidently holding the big spoon as authoritatively as though it were a baton.
"Maria," called the woman of Pablo and when the girl came in the door she said, "Water for this comrade."
Robert Jordan reached for his flask and, bringing the flask out, as he brought it he loosened the pistol in the holster and swung it on top of his thigh. He poured a second absinthe into his cup and took the cup of water the girl brought him and commenced to drip it into the cup, a little at a time. The girl stood at his elbow, watching him.
"Outside," the woman of Pablo said to her, gesturing with the spoon.
"It is cold outside," the girl said, her cheek close to Robert Jordan's, watching what was happening in the cup where the liquor was clouding.
"Maybe," the woman of Pablo said. "But in here it is too hot." Then she said, kindly, "It is not for long."
The girl shook her head and went out.
I don't think he is going to take this much more, Robert Jordan thought to himself. He held the cup in one hand and his other hand rested, frankly now, on the pistol. He had slipped the safety catch and he felt the worn comfort of the checked grip chafed almost smooth and touched the round, cool companionship of the trigger guard. Pablo no longer looked at him but only at the woman. She went on, "Listen to me, drunkard. You understand who commands here?"
"I command."
"No. Listen. Take the wax from thy hairy ears. Listen well. I command."
Pablo looked at her and you could tell nothing of what he was thinking by his face. He looked at her quite deliberately and then he looked across the table at Robert Jordan. He looked at him a long time contemplatively and then he looked back at the woman, again.
"All right. You command," he said. "And if you want he can command too. And the two of you can go to hell." He was looking the woman straight in the face and he was neither dominated by her nor seemed to be much affected by her. "It is possible that I am lazy and that I drink too much. You may consider me a coward but there you are mistaken. But I am not stupid." He paused. "That you should command and that you should like it. Now if you are a woman as well as a commander, that we should have something to eat."
"Maria," the woman of Pablo called.
The girl put her head inside the blanket across the cave mouth. "Enter now and serve the supper."
The girl came in and walked across to the low table by the hearth and picked up the enameled-ware bowls and brought them to the table.
"There is wine enough for all," the woman of Pablo said to Robert Jordan. "Pay no attention to what that drunkard says. When this is finished we will get more. Finish that rare thing thou art drinking and take a cup of wine."
Robert Jordan swallowed down the last of the absinthe, feeling it, gulped that way, making a warm, small, fume-rising, wet, chemicalchange-producing heat in him and passed the cup for wine. The girl dipped it full for him and smiled.
"Well, did you see the bridge?" the gypsy asked. The others, who had not opened their mouths after the change of allegiance, were all leaning forward to listen now.
"Yes," Robert Jordan said. "It is something easy to do. Would you like me to show you?"
"Yes, man. With much interest."
Robert Jordan took out the notebook from his shirt pocket and showed them the sketches.
"Look how it seems," the flat-faced man, who was named Primitivo, said. "It is the bridge itself."
Robert Jordan with the point of the pencil explained how the bridge should be blown and the reason for the placing of the charges.
"What simplicity," the scarred-faced brother, who was called Andr廥, said. "And how do you explode them?"
Robert Jordan explained that too and, as he showed them, he felt the girl's arm resting on his shoulder as she looked. The woman of Pablo was watching too. Only Pablo took no interest, sitting by himself with a cup of wine that he replenished by dipping into the big bowl Maria had filled from the wineskin that hung to the left of the entrance to the cave.
"Hast thou done much of this?" the girl asked Robert Jordan softly.
"Yes."
"And can we see the doing of it?"
"Yes. Why not?"
"You will see it," Pablo said from his end of the table. "I believe that you will see it."
"Shut up," the woman of Pablo said to him and suddenly remembering what she had seen in the hand in the afternoon she was wildly, unreasonably angry. "Shut up, coward. Shut up, bad luck bird. Shut up, murderer."
"Good," Pablo said. "I shut up. It is thou who commands now and you should continue to look at the pretty pictures. But remember that I am not stupid."
The woman of Pablo could feel her rage changing to sorrow and to a feeling of the thwarting of all hope and promise. She knew this feeling from when she was a girl and she knew the things that caused it all through her life. It came now suddenly and she put it away from her and would not let it touch her, neither her nor the Republic, and she said, "Now we will eat. Serve the bowls from the pot, Maria."
　　他们下山来到山洞口，一道光线从挂在洞口的毯子边缘透出来。两个背包还在树脚边，上面盖着帆布。罗伯特。乔丹跪下来,摈到兼在背包上的帆布又潮又硬。黑暗中，他在帆布下一个背包外面的口袋里摸索，掏出一只有皮套的扃酒瓶,并把它插在衣袋里。背包是由串在背包口上的金属扣眼里的长抦挂锁锁住的,他打开锁,解开系在每个背包。上的绳子，把手伸进去,摸摸里面的东西有没有短少。他把手伸到一个背包的底部，換到了捆好的一个个炸药包，那薀忘在睡袋里的；他系上背包口上的绳子，再把它锁上，然后伸手到另一个背包里，摸到了那只放旧引爆器的硬邦邦的木盒,装雷管的雪茄烟盒,每个圃柱形的雷管外面都有两根锎线团团绕住〈这—切都放得整整齐齐,就象他小时候收集的野鸟蛋那样〉,他还摸到从手提机熗上卸下来的包在他皮茄兖里的熗托，装在大背包内袋里的两个子弹盘和五个子。”弹夹，以及另　个内袋里的几小卷锎丝和一大卷细漆包线。他在藏电线的内袋里摈到了老虎钳和两把在炸药包一端钻涧用的木头锥子；接着从最后一个内袋里掏出一大盒从戈尔兹的司令部弄来的俄国香畑。他扎紧背包口，插上挂锁，扣上背包盖，再用帆布盖上这两个背包。安塞尔莫已到山涧里去了。
　　罗伯特，乔丹站起身想跟他进去，接着又想了想，揭去两个背包上的帆布，一手各提一个，勉强地朝山洞口走去。到了洞口，他放下一个背包，撩幵门毯，然后弯了腰，一手提着一个背包的皮带,进入山洞里。
　　洞里很暖和，烟雾缭绕。沿洞壁有一张桌子，上面有一个插着一支牛腊烛的瓶子，坐在桌边的是巴勃罗，三个他不认识的人和吉普赛人拉斐尔。烛光在洞壁上投射着他们的影子，安塞尔莫还站在桌子右边他刚才进来时的地方。巴勃罗的老婆站在洞犄角生炭火的炉灶边。臒兔娘晚在她身旁，搅动着一只铁锅里的东西。她把木汤匙拿出来，望着这时站在门口的罗伯特。乔丹。”他借炉火的光看到那妇人在拉风箱，看到姑娘的脸和一条手臂，汤汁从汤匙中滴下来，滴入铁锅　“你提着什么东西?”巴勃罗问。
　　“我的东西，”罗伯特　乔丹说，在桌子对面山洞比较开阔的地方放下了背包,两个背包隔开-些距离。“放在外面不是满好吗?”巴勃罗问。“人家可能在黑暗中绊着，”罗伯特.乔丹说着，走到桌子边，把那盒香烟放在桌上。
　　“我不喜欢把炸药放在这儿洞里,”巴勃罗说。“离炉火远着呢，”罗伯特一乔丹说。“拿几支烟吧。〃他用拇指指甲划开兼上印有　艘彩色大兵舰的纸食　边的封。，把它推到巴勃罗面前，安塞尔莫给他搬来一只蒙着生皮的凳子，他就在桌边坐下来。巴勃罗望着他，好象有话要说，却伸手去拿烟卷，
　　罗伯待〃乔丹随即把烟卷推向别人面前。他并不正眼打量他们。不过他觉察到有一个人拿了烟卷，两个人没拿。他的注意力全集中在巴勃罗一人身上。
　　“情况怎么样，吉普赛人？”他对拉斐尔说。“不坏，”吉普赛人说，罗伯特，乔丹看得出，他进来的时候,他们正在议论他。连吉普赛人也局伲不安。
　　“她打算让你再吃呜？”罗伯持　乔丹问吉普赛人。“是呀。干吗不。”吉普赛人说。这时的气氛和他们下午友好地又说又笑大不相同了。“
　　巴勃罗的老婆一句话也没说，只顾拉风箱、扇炭火，“有个叫奥古斯丁的说，他在山上厌倦得要死。“罗伯特，乔丹说。
　　“死不了，”巴勃罗说。“让他死一会儿也好。”“有酒吗”罗伯特　乔丹把身体朝前靠，手搁在桌上，向大伙儿随便问。
　　“剩下不多了。“巴勃罗阴郁地说。罗伯特　乔丹决定,他还不如观察一下另外三个人的神情,来判断自己的处塊怎么样。“既然这样，就让我喝杯水　你。“他叫臒兔娘,“给我来杯水。“
　　姑娘望望那妇人,妇人一声不吭，只当没听到。她随即向水锅那边走去,舀了一满杯。她把水端到桌上,放在他面前。”罗伯特　乔丹朝她笑笑。同时，他收紧了腹肌，身子在発子上向左微微一转，这样,腰带上的手熗滑到了更烦手的地方。他朝后裤袋仲下手去,巴勃罗紧盯着他。他知道大家也都在紧盯者他，但他只注意巴勃罗一个人。他从后裤袋里抽出那有皮套的扃酒瓶，旋开瓶盖，然后举起杯子，暍了半杯水，把瓶里的酒十分缓慢地倒在杯子里。
　　“这太凶，你受不了，不然我给你一点，”他对姑娘说，又对她笑笑。“剩下不多了，不然我请你喝一点。“他对巴勃罗说，“我不喜欢大茴香酒。“巴勃罗说。
　　刚才一股辛辣味飙过桌面，他闻到了其中一种熟悉的成分的气味。”
　　“那好，”罗伯特　乔丹说，“因为反正只剩一点儿了。”“那是什么酒?”吉普赛人问。“药，”罗伯特“乔丹说。“你想尝尝吗？”“喝了管什么甩的？”
　　“什么都管，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“什么病都能治。你如果有什么病，它准能治好。
　　“让我尝尝，”吉普赛人说。
　　罗伯特　乔丹把杯子向他推去。这酒搀了水变成了乳黄色，他希望吉普赛人只喝“口。剩下的只有一点儿了，这样一杯东西，可以代替晚报，可以代替往日在咖啡馆里消磨的所有的夜晚，代眷毎年这个月份里开花的所有的栗子树，代替郊区林荫路上的策马缓行,代替书店,代醬报亭,代替美术陈列馆,代替漦特苏里公园，代替布法罗运动场，代替夏兼髙地，代替保险信托公司和巴黎旧城岛,代替古老的福约特旅馆,可以代替在傍晚读书、休息？代替他享受过的、已被遗忘了的一切〃当他尝着这乳浊、苦涩、使舌头麻木、使头脑发热、使肚子暖和、使思想起变化的神妙的液体时，所有这一切又都重现在他眼前。
　　吉普赛人皱眉蹙额，交还杯子。“气味象大茴香，味道却象苦胆，”他说。“喝这种药我宁可生病。”
　　“那是苦艾，”罗伯特，乔丹对他说。“在这种真正的文酒里搀有苦艾。据说它会把你的脑子都烂掉，不过我不信。它只会使思想起变化。你原该把水很慢地倒在里面，每一次倒几滴，不过,我却把它直接倒在水里。”
　　“你在说啥？”巴勃罗觉得受到了嘲弄,气忿地说。“说明这药的性能。”罗伯特“乔丹对他说，并露齿笑笑。”我是在马德里买的。这是最后一瓶，已经喝了三个星期。”他喝了一大口，觉得酒顺着他舌头朝下淌,神经都麻木了，特别舒服。他望着巴勃罗，又鼷齿笑笑。“情况怎么样？〃他问道。”
　　巴勃罗不回笞，罗伯特　乔丹留神望着桌边另外那三个人。有一个长着一张大扁脸,扁而红揭色,象只塞拉诺火腿,断鼻梁，扁鼻子，嘴角斜叼者细长的俄国烟卷，使那张脸显得更扁了。这个人留着灰色的短头发和灰色的胡子茬，穿着通常的骚色軍衣，齐脖子扣住。罗伯特。乔丹望着他,他垂下眼光看桌子,可是目光坚定，一眨不眨。另外两个显然是兄弟。他们长得很象，都是矮胖结实，黑头发,前额很低,黑眼睛，皮肤棕褐色，一个前额上有条刀疤,在左眼上方。他望着他们俩，他们俩也目不转睛地望着他。一个看来二十七八岁光景,另一个可能要大两岁　“你望什么?”两兄弟中那个有刀疤的问。〃你。”罗伯特　乔丹说。
　　“有什么可奇怪的暍?”
　　“没有，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“来支烟？“行，”那人说。他刚才没拿烟卷，”这烟银那个人的一样。炸火车的那个人。　
　　“你参加了炸火车?”
　　“我们都参加了。“那人冷静地说。“只有老头子没去。““这就是我们现在应该干的事，”巴勃罗说。“再炸一列火车。“
　　“那可以，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“等炸桥以后。他注意到巴勃罗的老婆在炉灶边转过身来，正在留心听。他一提到桥，大家都不作声了。
　　“等炸桥以后，”他故意重说一遒,呷了口文酒。他想。”我还是挑明的好。这个问题反正要谈到的。
　　“我可不去炸桥。”巴勃罗说，低头望着桌子。“我也好,我的手下也好，都不去。”
　　罗伯特　乔丹没说什么。他望着安塞尔莫,举起了杯子，”那我们只好单干啦,老伙计，”他微笑着说　“不要这个胆小鬼，”安塞尔莫说。“你说什么?”巴勃罗对老头儿说。“不关你的事。”我没有银你说话，”安塞尔莫对他说。罗伯特，乔丹这时隔着桌子望望站在炉火边的巴勃罗的老婆。她还没开过口，也没任何表示。但她这时对臒兔娘说了些他听不清的话，姑娘就从火边站起身来，沿洞壁悄悄走去，揭开挂在洞口的敌子，出去了。罗伯特　乔丹想。”我看现在要摊脾了-我相信就在眼前了。我不希望发生这种佾況，可是实际情況看来就会如此。
　　“那我们要不靠你的帮劢来炸桥。“罗伯特　乔丹对巴勃罗
说。
　　“不，”巴勃罗说;罗伯特’乔丹望着他出汗的脸。你不能在这里炸桥。
　　“不能？”
　　“你不能炸桥，”巴勃罗缓慢地说。
　　“那你怎么说?”罗伯特。乔丹对巴勃罗的老婆说，她站在炉灶边显得镇静而高大。她转身对大家说,“我赞成炸桥。”她的脸被火光映亮了，显得红黑红黑的，热情而漂亮，流露出了她的本色。
　　“你说什么？”巴勃罗对她说；罗伯特　乔丹看到他转过头来,脸上显出感到众叛亲离的神色，前额上在冒汗。
　　“我赞成炸桥，反对你。”巴勃罗的老婆说。“没别的话啦。”
　　“我也赞成炸挢。“长着扁脸和断晷梁的人说,在桌上揿灭了烟蒂。
　　“对我来说，那座桥算不上什么“两兄弟中的一个说。“我拥护的是巴勃罗大娘。“
　　“我也一样，”另一个说。
　　“我也一样，”吉普赛人说。
　　罗伯特“乔丹注视着巴勃罗，同时，右手慢慢地放下来，以防万一，心里有点希望发生这种情况。他觉得那也许是最简易的解决办法,然而又不愿意损害已有的良好进展。他知道，一家人、一族人、一帮人在争吵的时候，很容易迅速团结起来反对一个外来的人；然而他又想,既然问題已经挑明，用这只手所能干出来的事也许是最简单而最好的，象外科手术那样录干脆。他还注意到巴勃罗的老婆站在那里，在众人表态时激动得脸上霣出骄傲、坚强、健康的红色，
　　“我拥护共和国，”巴勃罗的老婆欢快地说。“桥关系到共和国的命运。要干别的我们以后有时间。”
　　“你呀，”巴勃罗刻薄地说。“你这个种牛脑袋、婊子心肠的东西。你以为炸这座桥还会有　以后’吗？你考虑到会发生什么事吗？”
　　“会发生该发生的事情，”巴勃罗的老婆说。“非发生不可的事情总得发生。”
　　“炸这座桥我们得不到好处，炸桥之后我们会象野兽一样被人搜捕，你觉得无所谓吗？炸桥时万一死掉也无所谓吗？”“无所谓，”巴勃罗的老婆说。“你别来吓唬我，胆小鬼。”“胆小鬼，”巴勃罗忿忿地说。“你把一个有战术头脑的人叫做胆小鬼，因为他能事先看到干索事要遭殃。僅得什么叫蠹事的可不是胆小鬼。”
　　“僅得什么叫胆小鬼的也不见得蠢，”安塞尔莫忍不住插了一句。
　　“你要找死吗？”巴勃罗严苈地对他说。罗伯特　乔丹看到这句话问得太不够策略。“不。“
　　“那么留神你的嘴。你话太多了，讲的事自己也不懂。你没看出这件事的严重性吗？”他简直瘙出了一副可怜相。“难道只有我一个人才看出这件事的严重性吗?”
　　罗伯特　乔丹想。我也这样认为。老巴勃罗啊，老伙计，我也这样认为哪。还有我。你看得出来,我也看出来了，那妇人从我手拿上也看出来了，只是她自己还没有明白过来。目前她还没有明白过来。
　　“老子当家难道是吃千饭的?”巴勃罗问，“我说的活，我有
稂据。你们这帮人哪里知道。这个老头予在胡扯。他呀，这老头子,只会给外国人当通讯员、做向导，这个外国人到这里来干的事只对外国人有好处，为了他的好处，我们却得付出牺牲。我关心的是大家的好处和安全。”
　　“安全，”巴勃罗的老婆说。“安全这种东西根本不存在。到这里来找安全的人太多了，以致引起了大危险，为了寻求安全，现在把什么都丢啦。
　　她这时站在桌边，一手拿着那把大汤匙。“有安全，”巴勃罗说。“在危险中僅得如何见机行事就有安全。正象斗牛士知道自己在干什么,不冒不必要的险,就会安全。。”“直到他被牛角挑伤为止，”那妇人尖刻地说。“斗牛士被牛挑伤前也说这种话，我听到过不知有多少次了。我老是听菲尼托说，这全雜学问，牛决不会挑伤你，而是人自己推到牛角上去的。他们挨牛角之前，总是这样吹大气。结果是我们到病房里去看他们。”这时,她学着在探病的样子。”哏,老伙计，”她声如洪钟地说。接着,她用受了重伤的斗牛士的衰弱的声音说,“你好，朋友。怎么啦，比拉尔？”“怎么镝的，菲尼托,�

Chapter 5 Robert Jordan pushed aside the saddle blanket that hung over the mouth of the cave and, stepping out, took a deep breath of the cold night air. The mist had cleared away and the stars were out. There was no wind, and, outside now of the warm air of the cave, heavy with smoke of both tobacco and charcoal, with the odor of cooked rice and meat, saffron, pimentos, and oil, the tarry, wine-spilled smell of the big skin hung beside the door, hung by the neck and the four legs extended, wine drawn from a plug fitted in one leg, wine that spilled a little onto the earth of the floor, settling the dust smell; out now from the odors of different herbs whose names he did not know that hung in bunches from the ceiling, with long ropes of garlic, away now from the copper-penny, red wine and garlic, horse sweat and man sweat dried in the clothing (acrid and gray the man sweat, sweet and sickly the dried brushed-off lather of horse sweat), of the men at the table, Robert Jordan breathed deeply of the clear night air of the mountains that smelled of the pines and of the dew on the grass in the meadow by the stream. Dew had fallen heavily since the wind had dropped, but, as he stood there, he thought there would be frost by morning. As he stood breathing deep and then listening to the night, he heard first, firing far away, and then he heard an owl cry in the timber below, where the horse corral was slung. Then inside the cave he could hear the gypsy starting to sing and the soft chording of a guitar. "_I had an inheritance from my father_," the artificially hardened voice rose harshly and hung there. Then went on:   "_It was the moon and the sun_   "_And though I roam all over the world_   "_The spending of it's never done_." The guitar thudded with chorded applause for the singer. "Good," Robert Jordan heard some one say. "Give us the Catalan, gypsy." "No." "Yes. Yes. The Catalan." "All right," the gypsy said and sang mournfully,   "_My nose is flat_.   "_My face is black_.   "_But still I am a man_." "Ole!" some one said. "Go on, gypsy!" The gypsy's voice rose tragically and mockingly.   "_Thank God I am a Negro_.   "_And not a Catalan!_" "There is much noise," Pablo's voice said. "Shut up, gypsy." "Yes," he heard the woman's voice. "There is too much noise. You could call the _guardia civil_ with that voice and still it has no quality." "I know another verse," the gypsy said and the guitar commenced "Save it," the woman told him. The guitar stopped. "I am not good in voice tonight. So there is no loss," the gypsy said and pushing the blanket aside he came out into the dark. Robert Jordan watched him walk over to a tree and then come toward him. "Roberto," the gypsy said softly. "Yes, Rafael," he said. He knew the gypsy had been affected by the wine from his voice. He himself had drunk the two absinthes and some wine but his head was clear and cold from the strain of the difficulty with Pablo. "Why didst thou not kill Pablo?" the gypsy said very softly. "Why kill him?" "You have to kill him sooner or later. Why did you not approve of the moment?" "Do you speak seriously?" "What do you think they all waited for? What do you think the woman sent the girl away for? Do you believe that it is possible to continue after what has been said?" "That you all should kill him." "_Qu?va_," the gypsy said quietly. "That is your business. Three or four times we waited for you to kill him. Pablo has no friends." "I had the idea," Robert Jordan said. "But I left it." "Surely all could see that. Every one noted your preparations. Why didn't you do it?" "I thought it might molest you others or the woman." "_Qu?va_. And the woman waiting as a whore waits for the flight of the big bird. Thou art younger than thou appearest." "It is possible." "Kill him now," the gypsy urged. "That is to assassinate." "Even better," the gypsy said very softly. "Less danger. Go on. Kill him now." "I cannot in that way. It is repugnant to me and it is not how one should act for the cause." "Provoke him then," the gypsy said. "But you have to kill him. There is no remedy." As they spoke, the owl flew between the trees with the softness of all silence, dropping past them, then rising, the wings beating quickly, but with no noise of feathers moving as the bird hunted. "Look at him," the gypsy said in the dark. "Thus should men move." "And in the day, blind in a tree with crows around him," Robert Jordan said. "Rarely," said the gypsy. "And then by hazard. Kill him," he went on. "Do not let it become difficult." "Now the moment is passed." "Provoke it," the gypsy said. "Or take advantage of the quiet." The blanket that closed the cave door opened and light came out. Some one came toward where they stood. "It is a beautiful night," the man said in a heavy, dull voice. "We will have good weather." It was Pablo. He was smoking one of the Russian cigarettes and in the glow, as he drew on the cigarette, his round face showed. They could see his heavy, long-armed body in the starlight. "Do not pay any attention to the woman," he said to Robert Jordan. In the dark the cigarette glowed bright, then showed in his hand as he lowered it. "She is difficult sometimes. She is a good woman. Very loyal to the Republic." The light of the cigarette jerked slightly now as he spoke. He must be talking with it in the corner of his mouth, Robert Jordan thought. "We should have no difficulties. We are of accord. I am glad you have come." The cigarette glowed brightly. "Pay no attention to arguments," he said. "You are very welcome here. "Excuse me now," he said. "I go to see how they have picketed the horses." He went off through the trees to the edge of the meadow and they heard a horse nicker from below. "You see?" the gypsy said. "Now you see? In this way has the moment escaped." Robert Jordan said nothing. "I go down there," the gypsy said angrily. "To do what?" "_Qu?va_, to do what. At least to prevent him leaving." "Can he leave with a horse from below?" "No." "Then go to the spot where you can prevent him." "Agust璯 is there." "Go then and speak with Agust璯. Tell him that which has happened." "Agust璯 will kill him with pleasure." "Less bad," Robert Jordan said. "Go then above and tell him all as it happened." "And then?" "I go to look below in the meadow." "Good. Man. Good," he could not see Rafael's face in the dark but he could feel him smiling. "Now you have tightened your garters," the gypsy said approvingly. "Go to Agust璯," Robert Jordan said to him. "Yes, Roberto, yes," said the gypsy. Robert Jordan walked through the pines, feeling his way from tree to tree to the edge of the meadow. Looking across it in the darkness, lighter here in the open from the starlight, he saw the dark bulks of the picketed horses. He counted them where they were scattered between him and the stream. There were five. Robert Jordan sat down at the foot of a pine tree and looked out across the meadow. I am tired, he thought, and perhaps my judgment is not good. But my obligation is the bridge and to fulfill that, I must take no useless risk of myself until I complete that duty. Of course it is sometimes more of a risk not to accept chances which are necessary to take but I have done this so far, trying to let the situation take its own course. If it is true, as the gypsy says, that they expected me to kill Pablo then I should have done that. But it was never clear to me that they did expect that. For a stranger to kill where he must work with the people afterwards is very bad. It may be done in action, and it may be done if backed by sufficient discipline, but in this case I think it would be very bad, although it was a temptation and seemed a short and simple way. But I do not believe anything is that short nor that simple in this country and, while I trust the woman absolutely, I could not tell how she would react to such a drastic thing. One dying in such a place can be very ugly, dirty and repugnant. You could not tell how she would react. Without the woman there is no organization nor any discipline here and with the woman it can be very good. It would be ideal if she would kill him, or if the gypsy would (but he will not) or if the sentry, Agust璯, would. Anselmo will if I ask it, though he says he is against all killing. He hates him, I believe, and he already trusts me and believes in me as a representative of what he believes in. Only he and the woman really believe in the Republic as far as I can see; but it is too early to know that yet. As his eyes became used to the starlight he could see that Pablo was standing by one of the horses. The horse lifted his head from grazing; then dropped it impatiently. Pablo was standing by the horse, leaning against him, moving with him as he swung with the length of the picket rope and patting him on the neck. The horse was impatient at the tenderness while he was feeding. Robert Jordan could not see what Pablo was doing, nor hear what he was saying to the horse, but he could see that he was neither unpicketing nor saddling. He sat watching him, trying to think his problem out clearly. "Thou my big good little pony," Pablo was saying to the horse in the dark; it was the big bay stallion he was speaking to. "Thou lovely white-faced big beauty. Thou with the big neck arching like the viaduct of my pueblo," he stopped. "But arching more and much finer." The horse was snatching grass, swinging his head sideways as he pulled, annoyed by the man and his talking. "Thou art no woman nor a fool," Pablo told the bay horse. "Thou, oh, thou, thee, thee, my big little pony. Thou art no woman like a rock that is burning. Thou art no colt of a girl with cropped head and the movement of a foal still wet from its mother. Thou dost not insult nor lie nor not understand. Thou, oh, thee, oh my good big little pony." It would have been very interesting for Robert Jordan to have heard Pablo speaking to the bay horse but he did not hear him because now, convinced that Pablo was only down checking on his horses, and having decided that it was not a practical move to kill him at this time, he stood up and walked back to the cave. Pablo stayed in the meadow talking to the horse for a long time. The horse understood nothing that he said; only, from the tone of the voice, that they were endearments and he had been in the corral all day and was hungry now, grazing impatiently at the limits of his picket rope, and the man annoyed him. Pablo shifted the picket pin finally and stood by the horse, not talking now. The horse went on grazing and was relieved now that the man did not bother him. 　　罗伯特　乔丹撩开挂在山洞口的马毯，跨到外面；深深地吸了一口夜凉空气。迷雾已消散,星星露面了。这时洞外没有风,他不再闻到洞里暧和的空气，那里弥漫着烟草和炭火的烟味，夹杂着米饭、芮、蕃红花、辣椒和食油的香味，还有那拴住脖子挂在洞边的盛酒用的大皮袋，四腿伸幵，一条雎上安了一个塞子，取酒时溅出来的酒洒在泥地上，酒味压倒了尘埃的气味；他不再闻到和长长的一串串大蒜一起挂在洞顶的一扎扎不知名称的各种药草的气味，他不再闻到铟币、红酒和大蒜的气味，马汗和人衣服上的汗味(人汗是刺鼻的酸味，刷下来的马汗沫千了以后带有怪味，令人作呕。罗伯特　乔丹现在离开了桌边的那些人，深深吸着夜晚山中带着松树和溪边草地上的露水气息的清新空气。风已停息，露水更浓了,但是他站在那里，却认为早展准会有霜。 　　他站着深深地呼吸着，倾听着夜籁，这时，他先听到远方的熗声，接着是下面树林中马栏那边传来猫头鹰的叫声。然后他又听到吉普赛人在山洞里幵始唱耿，还有吉他轻柔的伴奏声。 　　“我爹留给我一笔遗产。”粗哑的假嗓音晌了起来，在那里荡漾。他接着唱下去。“那就是月充和太阳。我虽然走遍夭涯诲角，这笔遣产永远花不光。低沉的吉他声里混杂着大家为耿手喝彩的声音。“好，”罗伯特。乔丹听到有人在噓。“唱那支加泰隆民耿①给我们听,吉普赛人,“不。“ 　　“唱吧。喝吧。噴加泰隆民耿。”“好吧，”吉普赛人说，就哀伤地唱起来，我的鼻子扁，我的脸儿黑，不过我还是人。” ①指用西班牙东北部加泰罗尼亚地区的方言加麥隆语写的民取办 “好　”有人喊。“唱下去，吉普赛人!”吉普赛人的軟声伤心而嘲弄地响起来， 　　“幸好我是个黑人，不是加泰罗尼亚人。“ 　　〃真闹死了，”只听得巴勃罗的声音说。“住口，吉普赛人。”“是呀，”他听到那妇人的声音说。“闹得太厉害了。你这副矂子可以把民防军都招来，不过唱得还是不够格。” 　　“我还会唱一节，”吉普赛人说,接着响起了吉他声，“留着吧，”那妇人对他说。吉他声停了　 　　“今晚我嗓子不好。不唱也没什么关系。”吉普赛人说着，撩幵毯子，走到外面黑夜中去。 　　罗伯特　乔丹看见他走到“棵树边,然后向他这边走来。“罗伯托，”吉普赛人低声说。 　　“嗯，拉斐尔。“他说。他从吉普赛人的声调里听出他有了几分醉意。他自己也喝了两杯艾酒和一些红酒，但是由于刚才和巴勃罗紧张地较量了一番,他的头脑却清醒而冷静。“你干吗不杀了巴勃罗？”吉普赛人悄悄地说，“为什么要杀他, 　　“你迟早得杀了他。你为啥不利用当时的机会？”　你这是说正经话?” 　　“你以为我们大伙在盼着什么？你以为那女人把丫头支出去是为了什么？刚才说了那番话，你以为我们往后还呆得下去 “我以为你们大家会杀他的。” 　　“什么话　”吉普赛人冷静地说。“那是你的事。有三四次我们等你动手杀他。巴勃罗没有朋友。” 　　“我起过这念头，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“不过我打消了。”“大家也都看到啦。大家都注意到你准备动手。你干吗不动手?” 　　“我觉得这样做说不定会使你们有些人,或者使那女人不高兴。“ 　　“什么话　那婆娘就象婊子盼嫖客那样心焦地盼着。你看上去挺老练，实际还嫩着呢。“ 　　“那倒有可能。” 　　“现在去杀他吧。“吉普赛人催促着。“那就等于暗杀。” 　　“这样更好些，”吉普赛人悄声说。“危险少些。动手吧。现在就干掉他。” 　　“我不能那么干。我讨厌那种做法，为了我们的事业，不应该那么干。“ 　　“那么就惹他发火，”吉普赛人说。“你非杀他不可，没别的办法。“ 　　他们交谈的时候,那只猫头鹰在树林里悄没声儿地飞着，先在他们身旁落下，随即又飞上天去，迅速扑动着翅膀，可是尽管它一路觅食,拍击着翅膀,却一点声音也没有。 　　“瞧它，”吉普赛人在黑暗中说。“人就该这么行动。”“可是到了白天，它在树上一点也看不见，却被乌鸦包围起来了。“罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“这是难得如此的，”吉普赛人说。“再说，也是偶然的事,杀 他吧，”他接着说。“别等到事情棘手的时候。”“现在已经错过机会啦。 　　“向他挑衅，”吉普赛人说。“或者趁现在夜深人静。”遮住山洞口的毪子撩开了，霜出亮光来。有一个人向他们站的地方走来。 　　“夜色真好。”那人用低沉而单调的嗓音说。〃天气要放晴啦。” 　　那是巴勃罗。 　　他正在抽一支俄国烟卷，吸烟时烟头的火光映出了他的圆脸。在袩外中,他们看得清他的一双长臂和粗壮的身子。 　　“别理会那婆娘，”他对罗伯特　乔丹说。黑暗中，烟头的红光很亮，接着臒外亮随着他的手垂下了。她有时真别扭。她人不坏。对共和国很忠诚。”他说话时烟头的光在微微抖动着。罗伯特。乔丹想　他说话时准是把烟卷叼在嘴角，“我们不应当闹别扭，大家是一条心嘛。你来了’我很高兴。”这时烟头的光变得很亮。“别把争吵放在心上，”他说。“你在这里很受欢迎。“ 　　“现在我要失陪了，”他说，“我去看看他们是不是把马拴好了。“ 　　他穿过树林，走到革地边，他们听到草地上有匹马在嘶叫公“你明白了吧?”吉普赛人说。“现在你总明白了吧？这一来，机会错过了。” 　　罗伯特“乔丹一句话也没说　“我到下面去，”吉普赛人忿忿地说。“去干什么?” 　　“瞧你说的,干什么！至少防止他溜掉呗。”“他能从下面骑了马走掉吗？” 　　“不能。” 　　“那么你到一个能防止他走掉的地点去。““奥古斯丁在那儿。 　　“那你去通知奥古斯丁。把刚才发生的事情告诉他。“奥古斯丁会很乐意杀掉他的。” 　　“这倒不坏，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“那就到山上去把发生的情况都照实告诉他。““接着呢?” 　　“我到下面草地上去看看。“ 　　“好。伙计。好。”他在黑暗中看不到拉斐尔的脸，但能感觉到他在撖笑。“现在你可要真干啦。”吉普赛人赞许地说。“去找奥古斯丁吧。”罗伯特　乔丹对他说，“好,罗伯托，好，”吉普赛人说。 　　罗伯特。乔丹在松林中穿行，从这棵树摸到另一棵树，来到草地边。他在黑暗中望着眼前的草地，在袩外下,这空扩的草地显得较明亮，他看到那些拴住的马的黑黝黝的身影。他数数敢开在从他眼前到小溪边这片草地上的马群。一共五匹。罗伯特，乔丹坐在一棵松树脚下,眺望面前的草地。 　　他想,我累啦，也许我的判断力不行了，不过我的责任是炸桥，在完成这个任务之前，我不能拿自己作无谓的冒险。当然，放过必须抓住的机会有时候吏危险,但是我　直听其自然，让事态自己发展。要是真象吉普赛人说的,大家都指望我杀掉巴勃罗，那我就应该杀了他。但我一点也摸不透，他们是不是真的指望我那样做。让一个外来的人来杀人,而事后又不得不和大家一起工作，这是非常糟的，在打仗时可以这么干，有了充分的纪律保证也可以这样干，可是我觉得,在眼前的情况下这样干是十分糟的，尽管这办法很吸引人，似乎又干脆又简单。但是在这个地方,我是不信任何事能这样干脆而简单的，尽管我完全信任那女人，可我说不准她对这样走极端的行动会有什么反应。一个人在这种场合死去也许是非常丑恶、肮脏、令人厌恶的。你摸不透她会有什么反应。没有这个女人，这里就没有组织,也没有纪律，有了她，事情就能很好办。如果她杀了他，或者由吉普赛人来杀〈但他是不会的〉，或者由那哨兵奥古斯丁来杀，那就理想了。如果我要求安塞尔莫，他是肯动手的，虽然他说反对杀任何人。我相信,他恨巴勃罗，他对我已经有了信任，而且把我当作他所信仰的事物的代表那样信任我。依我看，只有他和那女人才真正信仰共和国;不过，现在下这种绪论还太早。 　　他眼睛习愤了袩外，他看到巴勃罗站在一匹马旁边。那匹马抬起头来不再吃草了；接着又不耐烦地垂下头去。巴勃罗站在马旁边，挨着它，跟它顺着缀绳的长度转面子，不时拍拍它的脖颈。马在吃草的时候，对这样的爱抚显得不耐烦。罗伯特　乔丹看不清巴勃罗在做什么,也听不到他对马在说些什么，但是他看得出巴勃罗不在解缰绳，也不在备鞍。他坐在地上望者巴勃罗，想把他的问题理出个头绪来。 　　“你呀，我的大个儿小乖马，”巴勃罗在黑暗中对那匹马说，就是那匹茱色大种马。“你这个可爱的白脸大美人儿呀。你呀，你的长脖子弯得象我老家村子里的旱桥。”他停了一会儿。”弯得更高、更好看。“马在哨萆，把草咬断时头歪向一边，被这个人和他的唠叨弄得厌烦了。“你可不是婆娘，也不是傻瓜，”巴勃罗对栗色马说。“你呀，明，你呀你，我的大个儿小乖马　你不是那个象滚烫的石头　样的婆娘。你也不是那个剃了光头、象乳臭未干的小牝马般走动的丫头，你不骂街,也不撤诡,可僅事薄。你呀你，我的大个儿小乖马呀。“ 　　如果听到巴勃罗跟那栗色马谈心，罗伯特。乔丹准会觉得非常有趣，但他没听到，因为他深信巴勃罗只是下来检查他的马匹，认为在这时杀他并不可取，所以站起身来，回山湎去了。巴勃罗留在草地上对那匹马谈了很久。马儿一点也不懂他说的话，只听得出那语调是亲热的表示。伹它在马栏里被圏了一天，这时正饿着，不耐烦地在系马桩上的绳子长度所及的范围里吃萆，这家伙的唠叨叫它恼火。巴勃罗后来把系马桩搬了一个位置，仍旧站在马身边，可是不说话了，马儿继续吃荜，这个人不再打扰它了,使它觉得轻松不少。

Chapter 6 Inside the cave, Robert Jordan sat on one of the rawhide stools in a corner by the fire listening to the woman. She was washing the dishes and the girl, Maria, was drying them and putting them away, kneeling to place them in the hollow dug in the wall that was used as a shelf. "It is strange," she said. "That El Sordo has not come. He should have been here an hour ago." "Did you advise him to come?" "No. He comes each night." "Perhaps he is doing something. Some work." "It is possible," she said. "If he does not come we must go to see him tomorrow." "Yes. Is it far from here?" "No. It will be a good trip. I lack exercise." "Can I go?" Maria asked. "May I go too, Pilar?" "Yes, beautiful," the woman said, then turning her big face, "Isn't she pretty?" she asked Robert Jordan. "How does she seem to thee? A little thin?" "To me she seems very well," Robert Jordan said. Maria filled his cup with wine. "Drink that," she said. "It will make me seem even better. It is necessary to drink much of that for me to seem beautiful." "Then I had better stop," Robert Jordan said. "Already thou seemest beautiful and more." "That's the way to talk," the woman said. "You talk like the good ones. What more does she seem?" "Intelligent," Robert Jordan said lamely. Maria giggled and the woman shook her head sadly. "How well you begin and how it ends, Don Roberto." "Don't call me Don Roberto." "It is a joke. Here we say Don Pablo for a joke. As we say the Se隳rita Maria for a joke." "I don't joke that way," Robert Jordan said. "Camarada to me is what all should be called with seriousness in this war. In the joking commences a rottenness." "Thou art very religious about thy politics," the woman teased him. "Thou makest no jokes?" "Yes. I care much for jokes but not in the form of address. It is like a flag." "I could make jokes about a flag. Any flag," the woman laughed. "To me no one can joke of anything. The old flag of yellow and gold we called pus and blood. The flag of the Republic with the purple added we call blood, pus and permanganate. It is a joke." "He is a Communist," Maria said. "They are very serious _gente_." "Are you a Communist?" "No I am an anti-fascist." "For a long time?" "Since I have understood fascism." "How long is that?" "For nearly ten years." "That is not much time," the woman said. "I have been a Republican for twenty years." "My father was a Republican all his life," Maria said. "It was for that they shot him." "My father was also a Republican all his life. Also my grandfather," Robert Jordan said. "In what country?" "The United States." "Did they shoot them?" the woman asked. "_Qu?va_," Maria said. "The United States is a country of Republicans. They don't shoot you for being a Republican there." "All the same it is a good thing to have a grandfather who was a Republican," the woman said. "It shows a good blood." "My grandfather was on the Republican national committee," Robert Jordan said. That impressed even Maria. "And is thy father still active in the Republic?" Pilar asked. "No. He is dead." "Can one ask how he died?" "He shot himself." "To avoid being tortured?" the woman asked. "Yes," Robert Jordan said. "To avoid being tortured." Maria looked at him with tears in her eyes. "My father," she said, "could not obtain a weapon. Oh, I am very glad that your father had the good fortune to obtain a weapon." "Yes. It was pretty lucky," Robert Jordan said. "Should we talk about something else?" "Then you and me we are the same," Maria said. She put her hand on his arm and looked in his face. He looked at her brown face and at the eyes that, since he had seen them, had never been as young as the rest of her face but that now were suddenly hungry and young and wanting. "You could be brother and sister by the look," the woman said. "But I believe it is fortunate that you are not." "Now I know why I have felt as I have," Maria said. "Now it is clear." "_Qu?va_," Robert Jordan said and reaching over, he ran his hand over the top of her head. He had been wanting to do that all day and now he did it, he could feel his throat swelling. She moved her head under his hand and smiled up at him and he felt the thick but silky roughness of the cropped head rippling between his fingers. Then his hand was on her neck and then he dropped it. "Do it again," she said. "I wanted you to do that all day." "Later," Robert Jordan said and his voice was thick. "And me," the woman of Pablo said in her booming voice. "I am expected to watch all this? I am expected not to be moved? One cannot. For fault of anything better; that Pablo should come back." Maria took no notice of her now, nor of the others playing cards at the table by the candlelight. "Do you want another cup of wine, Roberto?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "Why not?" "You're going to have a drunkard like I have," the woman of Pablo said. "With that rare thing he drank in the cup and all. Listen to me, _Ingl廥_." "Not _Ingl廥_. American." "Listen, then, American. Where do you plan to sleep?" "Outside. I have a sleeping robe." "Good," she said. "The night is clear?" "And will be cold." "Outside then," she said. "Sleep thee outside. And thy materials can sleep with me." "Good," said Robert Jordan. "Leave us for a moment," Robert Jordan said to the girl and put his hand on her shoulder. "Why?" "I wish to speak to Pilar." "Must I go?" "Yes." "What is it?" the woman of Pablo said when the girl had gone over to the mouth of the cave where she stood by the big wineskin, watching the card players. "The gypsy said I should have--" he began. "No," the woman interrupted. "He is mistaken." "If it is necessary that I--" Robert Jordan said quietly but with difficulty. "Thee would have done it, I believe," the woman said. "Nay, it is not necessary. I was watching thee. But thy judgment was good." "But if it is needful--" "No," the woman said. "I tell you it is not needful. The mind of the gypsy is corrupt." "But in weakness a man can be a great danger." "No. Thou dost not understand. Out of this one has passed all capacity for danger." "I do not understand." "Thou art very young still," she said. "You will understand." Then, to the girl, "Come, Maria. We are not talking more." The girl came over and Robert Jordan reached his hand out and patted her head. She stroked under his hand like a kitten. Then he thought that she was going to cry. But her lips drew up again and she looked at him and smiled. "Thee would do well to go to bed now," the woman said to Robert Jordan. "Thou hast had a long journey." "Good," said Robert Jordan. "I will get my things." 　　在山洞里，罗伯特。乔丹挨着炉火坐在角落里一只蒙着生牛皮的凳子上，听那女人说话。她正在洗碗碟，臒兔娘玛丽亚把它们擦干净,放在一边，然后跪下来放进当作柜子用的壁润里。“真怪。”那女人说，“怎么　聋子’还不来？一小时以前他就该到了 　　“你捎过话叫他来吗?”“没有。他每晚都来。““他也许有事。有工作。“ 　　“可能，”她说。“他要是不来，我们明天得去看他。”　对。离这里远吗？” 　　“不远。出去走走也不错。我缺少活动。““我能去吗?”玛丽亚问.“我也可以去吗，比拉尔” 　　“可以，美人儿，“那妇人说，随即转过她的大脸，“她不是很漾亮吗？”她问罗伯特，乔丹。”“你觉得她怎么样？稍微瘦着点?” 　　“我看她很不错，”罗伯特，乔丹说。玛丽亚替他斟满了酒。“把它喝了，”她说。“这样，我就显得更好看。要喝许多许多酒才会觉得我漂亮。” 　　“那我还是不喝的好，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你已经狼澦亮了，并且还不止是漂亮呢。” 　　“这话说对啦，”妇人说。“你的话有道理。她看上去还有什么优点呢?” 　　“聪明，”罗伯特。乔丹前言不搭后语地说。玛丽亚吃吃地笑了，妇人失望地摇摇头。“你开头说得多好，最后却这么说，堂。罗伯托。“ 　　“别叫我堂　罗伯托。” 　　“那是开玩笑。我们这里开玩笑时就叫堂　巴勃罗。就象我们叫玛丽亚小姐那样，也是开玩笑。” 　　“我不开这种玩笑，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“依我看，在当前的战争中大家都应当非常认真地称呼同志。一开玩笑就会出现不好的苗头。” 　　“你对你的政洽象对宗教那么虔诚，”妇人取笑他。“你从不开玩笑?” 　　“也开。我很爱开玩笑，可不在称呼上开，称呼好比一面旗帜。” 　　“我连旗帜也要开玩笑，不管什么旗帜。“妇人大笑。“和我相比，任何别人的玩笑就算不上一回事了。我脽蛙禪面黄、金两色的老旗子叫做脓和血，加上紫色的共和国国旗，我脽蛙它叫 做血、脓和高镇敢钾。那是开玩笑。” 　　“他薀筒产党，”玛丽亚说。“他们是很严肃的人。“你薀筒产党吗?”“不,我是反法西斯主义者。”“很久了吗?” 　　“自从我了解法西斯主义以来。”“多久了。““差不多十年了。” 　　“那时间不算长，”妇人说。“我做，“二十年共和分子啦。”“我父亲做了一辈子的共和分子。”玛丽亚说。“就为这个，他们把他熗毙了。” 　　“我父亲也是个终生的共和分子，还有我担父，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“ 　　“在哪一国?”“美国。” 　　“他们给熗毙了吗?”那妇人问， 　　“怎么会呢，”玛丽亚说。”“美国薀筒和分子的国家，那里的共和分子是不会被熗毙的。” 　　“有一个共和分子的祖父反正是好事，”那妇人说。“从这里看得出家世很好。“ 　　“我祖父薀筒和党全国委员会委员，”罗伯特。乔丹说。这句话连玛丽亚也觉得印象很深。 　　“你父亲还在共和国做事吗？”比拉尔问。“不。他去世了。“　能不能问问，他是怎样去世的,“他开熗自杀的。” 　　“为了避免遭受拷打吗？”那妇人向。“是的，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“为了避免受到折磨。”玛丽亚望着他，眼睛里喰着眼泪。“我父亲，”她说,“当时弄不到熗。噢，我真高兴，你父亲有运气,能弄到熗。” 　　“是呀。真侥幸。“罗伯特，乔丹说。”我们谈谈别的好不好?”“这么说,你和我，我们的身世是一样的，”玛丽亚说。她把手放在他胳臂上，凝视着他的脸。他望着她那褐色的脸，望着她的眼睛；自从他见到她的眼睹以来，总觉得它们不及她脸上的其他部分那么年青,而现在，顷刻之间，这双眼睛却显得年青，带着渴望的神情。 　　“看你们的模样很象兄妹,那妇人说。“不过，我觉得你们俩不是兄妹倒好。” 　　“我现在才明白，为什么我一直有那么样的心情，”玛丽亚说。“现在清楚了。“ 　　“什么话，”罗伯特　乔丹说着，伸手抚摸她的头顶。整天来，他一直想抚摸它，现在如愿，“，他只觉得自己的喉咙哽得慌。她在他的抚摸之下，把头微微挪动着，她抬头向他微笑；他感到浓密而柔顺的短发在他指缝中波动着。他把手随后放在她脖子上,接着就拿开了　 　　“再摸一次，”她说。“我整天都盼望着你这样做。”“以后再说吧，”罗伯特　乔丹声音沙哑地说。“那我昵，”巴勃罗的老婆嗓音洪亮地说。“难道要我在旁边看着这副模样吗？难道要我无动于衷吗？做不到明，不得已而求其次，只指望巴勃罗回来。” 　　玛丽亚这时既不理会她，也不理会那几个在桌边借烛光玩纸牌的人了。 　 　　“要不要再来一杯酒，罗伯托?”她问。“好，”他说。〃干吗不?” 　　“你跟我一样，也要弄到一个酒鬼了。”巴勃罗的老婆说。“他喝了杯里的怪东西，还喝这喝那的。”听我说，英国人。““不是英国人。是美国人。①。”“那么听着,美国人。你打算睡在哪儿?”“外面。我有睡袋。”“好的。“她说。“天气晴朗吗。““而且还会很凉快。” 　　“那就在外面吧。”她说。“你睡在外面。你那些货色可以放在我睡的地方。 　　“好。“罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“走开一会儿。“罗伯特　乔丹对姑娘说，并把手按在她肩膀上。 　　“干吗。“ 　　“我想跟比拉尔说句话。”“非走不可吗？ 　　〃什么事？”等姑娘走到山抦口，站在大酒袋边看人打脾的时候,巴勃罗的老婆问。 　　“吉普赛人说我应当一”他开口说。 　　“不，妇人打断了他的话。　他错了。 　　“如果有必要一”罗伯特。乔丹平静但又犹豫地说。 ①　　因为美国人也讲英语，所以这些西班牙人自此以后经黹称他为英国人、 　　“我相信,那时你是会下手的，”妇人说。“不，没有必要。我一直在注意你。不过你的看法是对的。”“但是如果有需要一” 　　“不，”妇人说。“我跟你说，没有需要。吉普赛人的心思坏透了。” 　　“可是人在软弱的时候能造成很大危害, 　　“不。你不懂。这个人是已经不可能造成危害的了。“ 　　“我弄不懂。” 　　“你还很年青，”她说，“你以后会懂的。”接着对姑娘说，“来吧，玛丽亚。我们谈完了。” 　　姑娘走过来，罗伯特　乔丹伸手轻轻拍拍她的头。地在他的抚摸之下，象只小猫。他以为她要哭了。但是她的嘴唇又往上一弯，望着他微笑了， 　　“你现在还是去睡觉吧。”妇人对罗伯特　乔丹说。“你赶了很多路啦。” 　　“好。“罗泊特　乔丹说。“我把我的东西收拾一下。”

Chapter 6 Inside the cave, Robert Jordan sat on one of the rawhide stools in a corner by the fire listening to the woman. She was washing the dishes and the girl, Maria, was drying them and putting them away, kneeling to place them in the hollow dug in the wall that was used as a shelf. "It is strange," she said. "That El Sordo has not come. He should have been here an hour ago." "Did you advise him to come?" "No. He comes each night." "Perhaps he is doing something. Some work." "It is possible," she said. "If he does not come we must go to see him tomorrow." "Yes. Is it far from here?" "No. It will be a good trip. I lack exercise." "Can I go?" Maria asked. "May I go too, Pilar?" "Yes, beautiful," the woman said, then turning her big face, "Isn't she pretty?" she asked Robert Jordan. "How does she seem to thee? A little thin?" "To me she seems very well," Robert Jordan said. Maria filled his cup with wine. "Drink that," she said. "It will make me seem even better. It is necessary to drink much of that for me to seem beautiful." "Then I had better stop," Robert Jordan said. "Already thou seemest beautiful and more." "That's the way to talk," the woman said. "You talk like the good ones. What more does she seem?" "Intelligent," Robert Jordan said lamely. Maria giggled and the woman shook her head sadly. "How well you begin and how it ends, Don Roberto." "Don't call me Don Roberto." "It is a joke. Here we say Don Pablo for a joke. As we say the Se隳rita Maria for a joke." "I don't joke that way," Robert Jordan said. "Camarada to me is what all should be called with seriousness in this war. In the joking commences a rottenness." "Thou art very religious about thy politics," the woman teased him. "Thou makest no jokes?" "Yes. I care much for jokes but not in the form of address. It is like a flag." "I could make jokes about a flag. Any flag," the woman laughed. "To me no one can joke of anything. The old flag of yellow and gold we called pus and blood. The flag of the Republic with the purple added we call blood, pus and permanganate. It is a joke." "He is a Communist," Maria said. "They are very serious _gente_." "Are you a Communist?" "No I am an anti-fascist." "For a long time?" "Since I have understood fascism." "How long is that?" "For nearly ten years." "That is not much time," the woman said. "I have been a Republican for twenty years." "My father was a Republican all his life," Maria said. "It was for that they shot him." "My father was also a Republican all his life. Also my grandfather," Robert Jordan said. "In what country?" "The United States." "Did they shoot them?" the woman asked. "_Qu?va_," Maria said. "The United States is a country of Republicans. They don't shoot you for being a Republican there." "All the same it is a good thing to have a grandfather who was a Republican," the woman said. "It shows a good blood." "My grandfather was on the Republican national committee," Robert Jordan said. That impressed even Maria. "And is thy father still active in the Republic?" Pilar asked. "No. He is dead." "Can one ask how he died?" "He shot himself." "To avoid being tortured?" the woman asked. "Yes," Robert Jordan said. "To avoid being tortured." Maria looked at him with tears in her eyes. "My father," she said, "could not obtain a weapon. Oh, I am very glad that your father had the good fortune to obtain a weapon." "Yes. It was pretty lucky," Robert Jordan said. "Should we talk about something else?" "Then you and me we are the same," Maria said. She put her hand on his arm and looked in his face. He looked at her brown face and at the eyes that, since he had seen them, had never been as young as the rest of her face but that now were suddenly hungry and young and wanting. "You could be brother and sister by the look," the woman said. "But I believe it is fortunate that you are not." "Now I know why I have felt as I have," Maria said. "Now it is clear." "_Qu?va_," Robert Jordan said and reaching over, he ran his hand over the top of her head. He had been wanting to do that all day and now he did it, he could feel his throat swelling. She moved her head under his hand and smiled up at him and he felt the thick but silky roughness of the cropped head rippling between his fingers. Then his hand was on her neck and then he dropped it. "Do it again," she said. "I wanted you to do that all day." "Later," Robert Jordan said and his voice was thick. "And me," the woman of Pablo said in her booming voice. "I am expected to watch all this? I am expected not to be moved? One cannot. For fault of anything better; that Pablo should come back." Maria took no notice of her now, nor of the others playing cards at the table by the candlelight. "Do you want another cup of wine, Roberto?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "Why not?" "You're going to have a drunkard like I have," the woman of Pablo said. "With that rare thing he drank in the cup and all. Listen to me, _Ingl廥_." "Not _Ingl廥_. American." "Listen, then, American. Where do you plan to sleep?" "Outside. I have a sleeping robe." "Good," she said. "The night is clear?" "And will be cold." "Outside then," she said. "Sleep thee outside. And thy materials can sleep with me." "Good," said Robert Jordan. "Leave us for a moment," Robert Jordan said to the girl and put his hand on her shoulder. "Why?" "I wish to speak to Pilar." "Must I go?" "Yes." "What is it?" the woman of Pablo said when the girl had gone over to the mouth of the cave where she stood by the big wineskin, watching the card players. "The gypsy said I should have--" he began. "No," the woman interrupted. "He is mistaken." "If it is necessary that I--" Robert Jordan said quietly but with difficulty. "Thee would have done it, I believe," the woman said. "Nay, it is not necessary. I was watching thee. But thy judgment was good." "But if it is needful--" "No," the woman said. "I tell you it is not needful. The mind of the gypsy is corrupt." "But in weakness a man can be a great danger." "No. Thou dost not understand. Out of this one has passed all capacity for danger." "I do not understand." "Thou art very young still," she said. "You will understand." Then, to the girl, "Come, Maria. We are not talking more." The girl came over and Robert Jordan reached his hand out and patted her head. She stroked under his hand like a kitten. Then he thought that she was going to cry. But her lips drew up again and she looked at him and smiled. "Thee would do well to go to bed now," the woman said to Robert Jordan. "Thou hast had a long journey." "Good," said Robert Jordan. "I will get my things." 　　在山洞里，罗伯特。乔丹挨着炉火坐在角落里一只蒙着生牛皮的凳子上，听那女人说话。她正在洗碗碟，臒兔娘玛丽亚把它们擦干净,放在一边，然后跪下来放进当作柜子用的壁润里。“真怪。”那女人说，“怎么　聋子’还不来？一小时以前他就该到了 　　“你捎过话叫他来吗?”“没有。他每晚都来。““他也许有事。有工作。“ 　　“可能，”她说。“他要是不来，我们明天得去看他。”　对。离这里远吗？” 　　“不远。出去走走也不错。我缺少活动。““我能去吗?”玛丽亚问.“我也可以去吗，比拉尔” 　　“可以，美人儿，“那妇人说，随即转过她的大脸，“她不是很漾亮吗？”她问罗伯特，乔丹。”“你觉得她怎么样？稍微瘦着点?” 　　“我看她很不错，”罗伯特，乔丹说。玛丽亚替他斟满了酒。“把它喝了，”她说。“这样，我就显得更好看。要喝许多许多酒才会觉得我漂亮。” 　　“那我还是不喝的好，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你已经狼澦亮了，并且还不止是漂亮呢。” 　　“这话说对啦，”妇人说。“你的话有道理。她看上去还有什么优点呢?” 　　“聪明，”罗伯特。乔丹前言不搭后语地说。玛丽亚吃吃地笑了，妇人失望地摇摇头。“你开头说得多好，最后却这么说，堂。罗伯托。“ 　　“别叫我堂　罗伯托。” 　　“那是开玩笑。我们这里开玩笑时就叫堂　巴勃罗。就象我们叫玛丽亚小姐那样，也是开玩笑。” 　　“我不开这种玩笑，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“依我看，在当前的战争中大家都应当非常认真地称呼同志。一开玩笑就会出现不好的苗头。” 　　“你对你的政洽象对宗教那么虔诚，”妇人取笑他。“你从不开玩笑?” 　　“也开。我很爱开玩笑，可不在称呼上开，称呼好比一面旗帜。” 　　“我连旗帜也要开玩笑，不管什么旗帜。“妇人大笑。“和我相比，任何别人的玩笑就算不上一回事了。我脽蛙禪面黄、金两色的老旗子叫做脓和血，加上紫色的共和国国旗，我脽蛙它叫 做血、脓和高镇敢钾。那是开玩笑。” 　　“他薀筒产党，”玛丽亚说。“他们是很严肃的人。“你薀筒产党吗?”“不,我是反法西斯主义者。”“很久了吗?” 　　“自从我了解法西斯主义以来。”“多久了。““差不多十年了。” 　　“那时间不算长，”妇人说。“我做，“二十年共和分子啦。”“我父亲做了一辈子的共和分子。”玛丽亚说。“就为这个，他们把他熗毙了。” 　　“我父亲也是个终生的共和分子，还有我担父，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“ 　　“在哪一国?”“美国。” 　　“他们给熗毙了吗?”那妇人问， 　　“怎么会呢，”玛丽亚说。”“美国薀筒和分子的国家，那里的共和分子是不会被熗毙的。” 　　“有一个共和分子的祖父反正是好事，”那妇人说。“从这里看得出家世很好。“ 　　“我祖父薀筒和党全国委员会委员，”罗伯特。乔丹说。这句话连玛丽亚也觉得印象很深。 　　“你父亲还在共和国做事吗？”比拉尔问。“不。他去世了。“　能不能问问，他是怎样去世的,“他开熗自杀的。” 　　“为了避免遭受拷打吗？”那妇人向。“是的，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“为了避免受到折磨。”玛丽亚望着他，眼睛里喰着眼泪。“我父亲，”她说,“当时弄不到熗。噢，我真高兴，你父亲有运气,能弄到熗。” 　　“是呀。真侥幸。“罗伯特，乔丹说。”我们谈谈别的好不好?”“这么说,你和我，我们的身世是一样的，”玛丽亚说。她把手放在他胳臂上，凝视着他的脸。他望着她那褐色的脸，望着她的眼睛；自从他见到她的眼睹以来，总觉得它们不及她脸上的其他部分那么年青,而现在，顷刻之间，这双眼睛却显得年青，带着渴望的神情。 　　“看你们的模样很象兄妹,那妇人说。“不过，我觉得你们俩不是兄妹倒好。” 　　“我现在才明白，为什么我一直有那么样的心情，”玛丽亚说。“现在清楚了。“ 　　“什么话，”罗伯特　乔丹说着，伸手抚摸她的头顶。整天来，他一直想抚摸它，现在如愿，“，他只觉得自己的喉咙哽得慌。她在他的抚摸之下，把头微微挪动着，她抬头向他微笑；他感到浓密而柔顺的短发在他指缝中波动着。他把手随后放在她脖子上,接着就拿开了　 　　“再摸一次，”她说。“我整天都盼望着你这样做。”“以后再说吧，”罗伯特　乔丹声音沙哑地说。“那我昵，”巴勃罗的老婆嗓音洪亮地说。“难道要我在旁边看着这副模样吗？难道要我无动于衷吗？做不到明，不得已而求其次，只指望巴勃罗回来。” 　　玛丽亚这时既不理会她，也不理会那几个在桌边借烛光玩纸牌的人了。 　 　　“要不要再来一杯酒，罗伯托?”她问。“好，”他说。〃干吗不?” 　　“你跟我一样，也要弄到一个酒鬼了。”巴勃罗的老婆说。“他喝了杯里的怪东西，还喝这喝那的。”听我说，英国人。““不是英国人。是美国人。①。”“那么听着,美国人。你打算睡在哪儿?”“外面。我有睡袋。”“好的。“她说。“天气晴朗吗。““而且还会很凉快。” 　　“那就在外面吧。”她说。“你睡在外面。你那些货色可以放在我睡的地方。 　　“好。“罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“走开一会儿。“罗伯特　乔丹对姑娘说，并把手按在她肩膀上。 　　“干吗。“ 　　“我想跟比拉尔说句话。”“非走不可吗？ 　　〃什么事？”等姑娘走到山抦口，站在大酒袋边看人打脾的时候,巴勃罗的老婆问。 　　“吉普赛人说我应当一”他开口说。 　　“不，妇人打断了他的话。　他错了。 　　“如果有必要一”罗伯特。乔丹平静但又犹豫地说。 ①　　因为美国人也讲英语，所以这些西班牙人自此以后经黹称他为英国人、 　　“我相信,那时你是会下手的，”妇人说。“不，没有必要。我一直在注意你。不过你的看法是对的。”“但是如果有需要一” 　　“不，”妇人说。“我跟你说，没有需要。吉普赛人的心思坏透了。” 　　“可是人在软弱的时候能造成很大危害, 　　“不。你不懂。这个人是已经不可能造成危害的了。“ 　　“我弄不懂。” 　　“你还很年青，”她说，“你以后会懂的。”接着对姑娘说，“来吧，玛丽亚。我们谈完了。” 　　姑娘走过来，罗伯特　乔丹伸手轻轻拍拍她的头。地在他的抚摸之下，象只小猫。他以为她要哭了。但是她的嘴唇又往上一弯，望着他微笑了， 　　“你现在还是去睡觉吧。”妇人对罗伯特　乔丹说。“你赶了很多路啦。” 　　“好。“罗泊特　乔丹说。“我把我的东西收拾一下。”

Chapter 7 He was asleep in the robe and he had been asleep, he thought, for a long time. The robe was spread on the forest floor in the lee of the rocks beyond the cave mouth and as he slept, he turned, and turning rolled on his pistol which was fastened by a lanyard to one wrist and had been by his side under the cover when he went to sleep, shoulder and back weary, leg-tired, his muscles pulled with tiredness so that the ground was soft, and simply stretching in the robe against the flannel lining was voluptuous with fatigue. Waking, he wondered where he was, knew, and then shifted the pistol from under his side and settled happily to stretch back into sleep, his hand on the pillow of his clothing that was bundled neatly around his rope-soled shoes. He had one arm around the pillow. Then he felt her hand on his shoulder and turned quickly, his right hand holding the pistol under the robe. "Oh, it is thee," he said and dropping the pistol he reached both arms up and pulled her down. With his arms around her he could feel her shivering. "Get in," he said softly. "It is cold out there." "No. I must not." "Get in," he said. "And we can talk about it later." She was trembling and he held her wrist now with one hand and held her lightly with the other arm. She had turned her head away. "Get in, little rabbit," he said and kissed her on the back of the neck. "I am afraid." "No. Do not be afraid. Get in." "How?" "Just slip in. There is much room. Do you want me to help you?" "No," she said and then she was in the robe and he was holding her tight to him and trying to kiss her lips and she was pressing her face against the pillow of clothing but holding her arms close around his neck. Then he felt her arms relax and she was shivering again as he held her. "No," he said and laughed. "Do not be afraid. That is the pistol." He lifted it and slipped it behind him. "I am ashamed," she said, her face away from him. "No. You must not be. Here. Now." "No, I must not. I am ashamed and frightened." "No. My rabbit. Please." "I must not. If thou dost not love me." "I love thee." "I love thee. Oh, I love thee. Put thy hand on my head," she said away from him, her face still in the pillow. He put his hand on her head and stroked it and then suddenly her face was away from the pillow and she was in his arms, pressed close against him, and her face was against his and she was crying. He held her still and close, feeling the long length of the young body, and he stroked her head and kissed the wet saltiness of her eyes, and as she cried he could feel the rounded, firm-pointed breasts touching through the shirt she wore. "I cannot kiss," she said. "I do not know how." "There is no need to kiss." "Yes. I must kiss. I must do everything." "There is no need to do anything. We are all right. But thou hast many clothes." "What should I do?" "I will help you." "Is that better?" "Yes. Much. It is not better to thee?" "Yes. Much better. And I can go with thee as Pilar said?" "Yes." "But not to a home. With thee." "No, to a home." "No. No. No. With thee and I will be thy woman." Now as they lay all that before had been shielded was unshielded. Where there had been roughness of fabric all was smooth with a smoothness and firm rounded pressing and a long warm coolness, cool outside and warm within, long and light and closely holding, closely held, lonely, hollow-making with contours, happymaking, young and loving and now all warmly smooth with a hollowing, chest-aching, tight-held loneliness that was such that Robert Jordan felt he could not stand it and he said, "Hast thou loved others?" "Never." Then suddenly, going dead in his arms, "But things were done to me." "By whom?" "By various." Now she lay perfectly quietly and as though her body were dead and turned her head away from him. "Now you will not love me." "I love you," he said. But something had happened to him and she knew it. "No," she said and her voice had gone dead and flat. "Thou wilt not love me. But perhaps thou wilt take me to the home. And I will go to the home and I will never be thy woman nor anything." "I love thee, Maria." "No. It is not true," she said. Then as a last thing pitifully and hopefully. "But I have never kissed any man." "Then kiss me now." "I wanted to," she said. "But I know not how. Where things were done to me I fought until I could not see. I fought until-- until--until one sat upon my head--and I bit him--and then they tied my mouth and held my arms behind my head--and others did things to me." "I love thee, Maria," he said. "And no one has done anything to thee. Thee, they cannot touch. No one has touched thee, little rabbit." "You believe that?" "I know it." "And you can love me?" warm again against him now. "I can love thee more." "I will try to kiss thee very well." "Kiss me a little." "I do not know how." "Just kiss me." She kissed him on the cheek. "No." "Where do the noses go? I always wondered where the noses would go." "Look, turn thy head," and then their mouths were tight together and she lay close pressed against him and her mouth opened a little gradually and then, suddenly, holding her against him, he was happier than he had ever been, lightly, lovingly, exultingly, innerly happy and unthinking and untired and unworried and only feeling a great delight and he said, "My little rabbit. My darling. My sweet. My long lovely." "What do you say?" she said as though from a great distance away. "My lovely one," he said. They lay there and he felt her heart beating against his and with the side of his foot he stroked very lightly against the side of hers. "Thee came barefooted," he said. "Yes." "Then thee knew thou wert coming to the bed." "Yes." "And you had no fear." "Yes. Much. But more fear of how it would be to take my shoes off." "And what time is it now? _lo sabes?_" "No. Thou hast no watch?" "Yes. But it is behind thy back." "Take it from there." "No." "Then look over my shoulder." It was one o'clock. The dial showed bright in the darkness that the robe made. "Thy chin scratches my shoulder." "Pardon it. I have no tools to shave." "I like it. Is thy beard blond?" "Yes." "And will it be long?" "Not before the bridge. Maria, listen. Dost thou--?" "Do I what?" "Dost thou wish?" "Yes. Everything. Please. And if we do everything together, the other maybe never will have been." "Did you think of that?" "No. I think it in myself but Pilar told me." "She is very wise." "And another thing," Maria said softly. "She said for me to tell you that I am not sick. She knows about such things and she said to tell you that." "She told you to tell me?" "Yes. I spoke to her and told her that I love you. I loved you when I saw you today and I loved you always but I never saw you before and I told Pilar and she said if I ever told you anything about anything, to tell you that I was not sick. The other thing she told me long ago. Soon after the train." "What did she say?" "She said that nothing is done to oneself that one does not accept and that if I loved some one it would take it all away. I wished to die, you see." "What she said is true." "And now I am happy that I did not die. I am so happy that I did not die. And you can love me?" "Yes. I love you now." "And I can be thy woman?" "I cannot have a woman doing what I ao. But thou art my woman now." "If once I am, then I will keep on. Am I thy woman now?" "Yes, Maria. Yes, my little rabbit." She held herself tight to him and her lips looked for his and then found them and were against them and he felt her, fresh, new and smooth and young and lovely with the warm, scalding coolness and unbelievable to be there in the robe that was as familiar as his clothes, or his shoes, or his duty and then she said, frightenedly, "And now let us do quickly what it is we do so that the other is all gone." "You want?" "Yes," she said almost fiercely. "Yes. Yes. Yes." 　　他躺在睡袋里。他想。”我已入睡了狠久啦。睡袋铺在树林中的地上,在山洞口一边岩石的背风处；他睡眠中翻过身来，压在手熗上，这手熗的带子系在一只手腕上，是临睡前放在身边的。他当时觉得睡酸背痛，两腿乏力，肌肉由于疲劳而有点僅硬,所以感到地面很柔软，疲乏的身子在有法兰绒衬里的睡袋中舒展一下,使他觉得十分舒适。他醒来时恍恍惚坶,不知道自己在什么地方，过后才明白过来，就挪开身体底下的手熗，满意地伸伸胳膊和腿，又入睡了，一只手放在用衣服整齐地卷住绳底鞋做成的枕头上，一条胳臂搂着这个枕头。 　　随后，他觉得有只手按到自己肩上，立即翻过身来，右手握住遍袋里的手熗。 　　“嗅,原来是你，”他说着放下手熗,伸出双臂把她朝下拉。他抱住她时，感觉到她在发抖。 　　“进来吧，”他轻柔地说。〃外面很冷。“”不。不行。“ 　　“进来吧，”他说。“我们等会儿再谈吧。她索索发抖；他一手握住她的手腌，另一条胳臂轻轻地楼住她　她扭过头去了。 　　“来吧，小兔子。“他说，吻着她的后颈，“我怕。” 　　“别。别怕。进来吧。”〃怎样进来啊?” 　　“钻进来就是。里面有地方。要我帮你吗？”“不。”她说着就钻进了睡袋，他把她紧紧貼着自己，想吻她的嘴唇，她呢，把脸伏在用衣服卷成的枕头上，但双臂紧搂着他的脖子。接着，他感到她的手臂松开了，他伸手拥抱她，她又哆嗦起来。 　　“别这样,他说着笑了。“别怕。那是手熗。”他拿起手熗，推到自己背后。“我寄臊。”她说,脸朝着别处。“不，没有必要。好。来吧。”“不,我不能。我害臊，我怕。” 　　“别。我的兔子。请不要见怪。““不行。假如你不爱我呢。”“我爱你。” 　　“我爱你。啊，我爱你。把手放在我头上。”她朝着别处说，脸仍伏在枕上。他把手放在她头上抚摸着，接着，她突然从枕头上转过脸,偎在他怀里,紧挨着他，脸贴着他的脸，哭了。 　　他静静地、紧紧地抱着她，抚摸着她那颀长而年青的身体,抚換着她的头，吻着她那润湿而带咸味的眼睛；她哭着，他感到她衬衫里面那对圆圆的、隆起的、坚实的乳房在颤抖一“我不会接吻，”她说。“我不知道怎么接。”“不一定要接吻。” 　　“不。我一定要。该做的我都得做。”“没有必要做什么嘛。我们现在很好。不过你的衣服多了。“ 　　“我该怎么办。“ 　　“我来帮你。“ 　　“这样是不是好些了？” 　　“好。好多了。你是不是也觉得好些?” 　　“好。好多了。我可以象比拉尔说的那样跟你走吗？〃 　　“可以。” 　　“可是不去养育院。我要跟你在一起。”“不，要去养育院。” 　　“不。不，不。我要跟你在一起,我要做你的女人。”他俩这样躺着，原先遮蔽的，现在全裸露了　原先是粗糙的衣服，现在全是润滑的肌肤，润滑、坚实、圆鼓鼓地紧挨着，长久的温暌的凉意，外面凉而里面暖。长久、轻快而紧密的拥抱，落莫空虚却又轮廓分明,青春可爱而使人心醉神移,现在都是温蓽润滑，绐人一种空虚、胸口隐隐作痛、紧密拥抱的落莫之感,这一切如此强烈，以至罗伯特　乔丹觉得再也忍不住了，他说,“你爱过别人吗?”“从来没有。“ 　　这时，她在他怀里突然象死去了一般，“可是人家糟蹋过我。” 　　“好几个。“ 　　她这时躺着动也不动，仿佛她的躯体巳经死去；她的脸转向别处。 　　“你现在不会爱我了。” 　　“我爱你，”他说。 　　但是他有了变化，她感觉得到。 　　“不，”她说，声音变得呆板而没生气。“你不会爱我了。不过你也许会带我去养育院的。我去养育院，永远不可能做你的女人，什么也不是了。““我爱你，玛丽亚。“ 　　“不。不是真的，”她说。接着，作为最后的努力，她可怜巴巴但仍怀着希望地说。” 　　“可是我从没螣妄任何人。”〃那么现在吻我吧。” 　 　　“我要吻，”她说。“可我不会　当初他们糟蹋我的时候，我拼命挣扎，直到我什么都看不见。我挣扎到一到一直到有个人坐在我头上一我就咬他一后来他们蒙住我的嘴，把我两手反捆在脑后一，别人就糟蹋我。” 　　“我爱你，玛丽亚，”他说。“谁也没能把你怎么样。他们碰不了你，谁也没碰过你，小兔子。““你相信是那样吗?。“我知道。“ 　　“那么你会爱我吗？”这时又热烈地紧挨着他了。 　　“我会更爱你。” 　　“我要好好吻你。” 　　“吻我一下吧。” 　　“我不会。” 　　“吻我就是了。” 　 　　她吻他的脸颊。 　　“不。” 　　“鼻子怎么办？我老是不知道鼻子往哪里搁。”“瞧，把头偏一点,他俩的嘴就紧貼在一起了。她紧挨在他身上，她的嘴悝悝地张开了一点，他拥抱着她，突然感到从来也没有过的喜悦，轻柔、亲切、欢欣、内心的喜悦，无忧无虑,不再疲倦,不再担心,只感到无比的喜悦,于是他说，“我的小兔子。我的好宝贝。我的小亲亲。我的长身玉立的美人儿。“你说什么？〃她说，那声音好象来自遥远的地方　“我可爱的人儿。”他说　 　　他俩躺在那儿，他感到她的心顶着自己的心在。。动,他用他的脚轻轻地擦着她的脚。“你光着脚来的。”他说。 　　“是的。” 　　“那你是存心来睡觉的啦。”“对。“ 　　“那你当时不害怡。” 　　“怕。很怕。不过更怕穿了鞋再脱。 　　“现在什么时候了？你知道吗?” 　　“不知道。你没表？” 　　“有。在你身背后。” 　　“把它拿过来吧。” 　　“不。” 　　“那么隔着我的肩膀看吧。” 　　在黑暗的睡袋中，表面显得很亮。已经一点了。 　　“你的下巴扎得我的肩膀好痛 　　“对不起。我没刮脸的家伙。“ 　　“我喜欢。你的胡于是金黄色的?” 　　“是的。“ 　　“会长得很长吗。“ 　　“炸桥之前不会很长。听着，玛丽亚。你一？”“我怎么?”“你想吗？” 　　“想。怎么都行。随你。要是我们一起把什么都干了，也许那件事就象没有发生过一样。“你这样想过吗。“ 　　”不。我有过这祥的念头,讲出来的却是比拉尔？“她非常聪明。” 　　“还有一件事，”玛丽亚温柔地说。“她要我告诉你，说我没有病。这种事她懂，她要我告诉你。”“是她要你告诉我的？” 　　“是呀。我对她谈了,告诉她说我爱你。今天一见到你，我 就爱你了。仿佛我早就爱着你了，可是从没见到过你。我就告诉了比拉尔，妯叫我要把所有的事全告诉你，还告诉你我没病，那件事是她很久以前对我说的。在炸火车之后不久。”“她说了什么?” 　　“她说。”一个人只要不愿意，人家就不能拿她怎么样，还说要是我爱上了一个人,就能把过去的全部抹掉。那时我想死,你知道。” 　　“她讲的话很对。” 　　“我现在真高兴，那时没有死掉。我真高兴，那时没死。那么你爱我吗?” 　　“爱。我现在就爱你。”“我可以做你的女人吗？　 　　“干我这一行的，不能有女人。不过，你现在就是我的女人。” 　　“我一做了你的女人，就永远是你的了。我现在是你的女人吗?” 　　“是的，玛丽亚。”是的，小兔子。” 　　她紧紧地抱着他,嘴唇寻找着他的嘴唇，接着找到了，就紧吻着,他呢，觉得她娇嫩、润滑、年青、可爱，而又带着热烈得发烫的凉爽，躺在那象他的衣服、鞋子或他的任务一样熟悉的睡袋里，简直难以相信。她惊慌地说，“我们要做的事现在快做吧，把那回事全抹去吧。”“你要?” 　　“要，”她简直狂热地说。“要。要。要。“

Chapter 7 He was asleep in the robe and he had been asleep, he thought, for a long time. The robe was spread on the forest floor in the lee of the rocks beyond the cave mouth and as he slept, he turned, and turning rolled on his pistol which was fastened by a lanyard to one wrist and had been by his side under the cover when he went to sleep, shoulder and back weary, leg-tired, his muscles pulled with tiredness so that the ground was soft, and simply stretching in the robe against the flannel lining was voluptuous with fatigue. Waking, he wondered where he was, knew, and then shifted the pistol from under his side and settled happily to stretch back into sleep, his hand on the pillow of his clothing that was bundled neatly around his rope-soled shoes. He had one arm around the pillow. Then he felt her hand on his shoulder and turned quickly, his right hand holding the pistol under the robe. "Oh, it is thee," he said and dropping the pistol he reached both arms up and pulled her down. With his arms around her he could feel her shivering. "Get in," he said softly. "It is cold out there." "No. I must not." "Get in," he said. "And we can talk about it later." She was trembling and he held her wrist now with one hand and held her lightly with the other arm. She had turned her head away. "Get in, little rabbit," he said and kissed her on the back of the neck. "I am afraid." "No. Do not be afraid. Get in." "How?" "Just slip in. There is much room. Do you want me to help you?" "No," she said and then she was in the robe and he was holding her tight to him and trying to kiss her lips and she was pressing her face against the pillow of clothing but holding her arms close around his neck. Then he felt her arms relax and she was shivering again as he held her. "No," he said and laughed. "Do not be afraid. That is the pistol." He lifted it and slipped it behind him. "I am ashamed," she said, her face away from him. "No. You must not be. Here. Now." "No, I must not. I am ashamed and frightened." "No. My rabbit. Please." "I must not. If thou dost not love me." "I love thee." "I love thee. Oh, I love thee. Put thy hand on my head," she said away from him, her face still in the pillow. He put his hand on her head and stroked it and then suddenly her face was away from the pillow and she was in his arms, pressed close against him, and her face was against his and she was crying. He held her still and close, feeling the long length of the young body, and he stroked her head and kissed the wet saltiness of her eyes, and as she cried he could feel the rounded, firm-pointed breasts touching through the shirt she wore. "I cannot kiss," she said. "I do not know how." "There is no need to kiss." "Yes. I must kiss. I must do everything." "There is no need to do anything. We are all right. But thou hast many clothes." "What should I do?" "I will help you." "Is that better?" "Yes. Much. It is not better to thee?" "Yes. Much better. And I can go with thee as Pilar said?" "Yes." "But not to a home. With thee." "No, to a home." "No. No. No. With thee and I will be thy woman." Now as they lay all that before had been shielded was unshielded. Where there had been roughness of fabric all was smooth with a smoothness and firm rounded pressing and a long warm coolness, cool outside and warm within, long and light and closely holding, closely held, lonely, hollow-making with contours, happymaking, young and loving and now all warmly smooth with a hollowing, chest-aching, tight-held loneliness that was such that Robert Jordan felt he could not stand it and he said, "Hast thou loved others?" "Never." Then suddenly, going dead in his arms, "But things were done to me." "By whom?" "By various." Now she lay perfectly quietly and as though her body were dead and turned her head away from him. "Now you will not love me." "I love you," he said. But something had happened to him and she knew it. "No," she said and her voice had gone dead and flat. "Thou wilt not love me. But perhaps thou wilt take me to the home. And I will go to the home and I will never be thy woman nor anything." "I love thee, Maria." "No. It is not true," she said. Then as a last thing pitifully and hopefully. "But I have never kissed any man." "Then kiss me now." "I wanted to," she said. "But I know not how. Where things were done to me I fought until I could not see. I fought until-- until--until one sat upon my head--and I bit him--and then they tied my mouth and held my arms behind my head--and others did things to me." "I love thee, Maria," he said. "And no one has done anything to thee. Thee, they cannot touch. No one has touched thee, little rabbit." "You believe that?" "I know it." "And you can love me?" warm again against him now. "I can love thee more." "I will try to kiss thee very well." "Kiss me a little." "I do not know how." "Just kiss me." She kissed him on the cheek. "No." "Where do the noses go? I always wondered where the noses would go." "Look, turn thy head," and then their mouths were tight together and she lay close pressed against him and her mouth opened a little gradually and then, suddenly, holding her against him, he was happier than he had ever been, lightly, lovingly, exultingly, innerly happy and unthinking and untired and unworried and only feeling a great delight and he said, "My little rabbit. My darling. My sweet. My long lovely." "What do you say?" she said as though from a great distance away. "My lovely one," he said. They lay there and he felt her heart beating against his and with the side of his foot he stroked very lightly against the side of hers. "Thee came barefooted," he said. "Yes." "Then thee knew thou wert coming to the bed." "Yes." "And you had no fear." "Yes. Much. But more fear of how it would be to take my shoes off." "And what time is it now? _lo sabes?_" "No. Thou hast no watch?" "Yes. But it is behind thy back." "Take it from there." "No." "Then look over my shoulder." It was one o'clock. The dial showed bright in the darkness that the robe made. "Thy chin scratches my shoulder." "Pardon it. I have no tools to shave." "I like it. Is thy beard blond?" "Yes." "And will it be long?" "Not before the bridge. Maria, listen. Dost thou--?" "Do I what?" "Dost thou wish?" "Yes. Everything. Please. And if we do everything together, the other maybe never will have been." "Did you think of that?" "No. I think it in myself but Pilar told me." "She is very wise." "And another thing," Maria said softly. "She said for me to tell you that I am not sick. She knows about such things and she said to tell you that." "She told you to tell me?" "Yes. I spoke to her and told her that I love you. I loved you when I saw you today and I loved you always but I never saw you before and I told Pilar and she said if I ever told you anything about anything, to tell you that I was not sick. The other thing she told me long ago. Soon after the train." "What did she say?" "She said that nothing is done to oneself that one does not accept and that if I loved some one it would take it all away. I wished to die, you see." "What she said is true." "And now I am happy that I did not die. I am so happy that I did not die. And you can love me?" "Yes. I love you now." "And I can be thy woman?" "I cannot have a woman doing what I ao. But thou art my woman now." "If once I am, then I will keep on. Am I thy woman now?" "Yes, Maria. Yes, my little rabbit." She held herself tight to him and her lips looked for his and then found them and were against them and he felt her, fresh, new and smooth and young and lovely with the warm, scalding coolness and unbelievable to be there in the robe that was as familiar as his clothes, or his shoes, or his duty and then she said, frightenedly, "And now let us do quickly what it is we do so that the other is all gone." "You want?" "Yes," she said almost fiercely. "Yes. Yes. Yes." 　　他躺在睡袋里。他想。”我已入睡了狠久啦。睡袋铺在树林中的地上,在山洞口一边岩石的背风处；他睡眠中翻过身来，压在手熗上，这手熗的带子系在一只手腕上，是临睡前放在身边的。他当时觉得睡酸背痛，两腿乏力，肌肉由于疲劳而有点僅硬,所以感到地面很柔软，疲乏的身子在有法兰绒衬里的睡袋中舒展一下,使他觉得十分舒适。他醒来时恍恍惚坶,不知道自己在什么地方，过后才明白过来，就挪开身体底下的手熗，满意地伸伸胳膊和腿，又入睡了，一只手放在用衣服整齐地卷住绳底鞋做成的枕头上，一条胳臂搂着这个枕头。 　　随后，他觉得有只手按到自己肩上，立即翻过身来，右手握住遍袋里的手熗。 　　“嗅,原来是你，”他说着放下手熗,伸出双臂把她朝下拉。他抱住她时，感觉到她在发抖。 　　“进来吧，”他轻柔地说。〃外面很冷。“”不。不行。“ 　　“进来吧，”他说。“我们等会儿再谈吧。她索索发抖；他一手握住她的手腌，另一条胳臂轻轻地楼住她　她扭过头去了。 　　“来吧，小兔子。“他说，吻着她的后颈，“我怕。” 　　“别。别怕。进来吧。”〃怎样进来啊?” 　　“钻进来就是。里面有地方。要我帮你吗？”“不。”她说着就钻进了睡袋，他把她紧紧貼着自己，想吻她的嘴唇，她呢，把脸伏在用衣服卷成的枕头上，但双臂紧搂着他的脖子。接着，他感到她的手臂松开了，他伸手拥抱她，她又哆嗦起来。 　　“别这样,他说着笑了。“别怕。那是手熗。”他拿起手熗，推到自己背后。“我寄臊。”她说,脸朝着别处。“不，没有必要。好。来吧。”“不,我不能。我害臊，我怕。” 　　“别。我的兔子。请不要见怪。““不行。假如你不爱我呢。”“我爱你。” 　　“我爱你。啊，我爱你。把手放在我头上。”她朝着别处说，脸仍伏在枕上。他把手放在她头上抚摸着，接着，她突然从枕头上转过脸,偎在他怀里,紧挨着他，脸贴着他的脸，哭了。 　　他静静地、紧紧地抱着她，抚摸着她那颀长而年青的身体,抚換着她的头，吻着她那润湿而带咸味的眼睛；她哭着，他感到她衬衫里面那对圆圆的、隆起的、坚实的乳房在颤抖一“我不会接吻，”她说。“我不知道怎么接。”“不一定要接吻。” 　　“不。我一定要。该做的我都得做。”“没有必要做什么嘛。我们现在很好。不过你的衣服多了。“ 　　“我该怎么办。“ 　　“我来帮你。“ 　　“这样是不是好些了？” 　　“好。好多了。你是不是也觉得好些?” 　　“好。好多了。我可以象比拉尔说的那样跟你走吗？〃 　　“可以。” 　　“可是不去养育院。我要跟你在一起。”“不，要去养育院。” 　　“不。不，不。我要跟你在一起,我要做你的女人。”他俩这样躺着，原先遮蔽的，现在全裸露了　原先是粗糙的衣服，现在全是润滑的肌肤，润滑、坚实、圆鼓鼓地紧挨着，长久的温暌的凉意，外面凉而里面暖。长久、轻快而紧密的拥抱，落莫空虚却又轮廓分明,青春可爱而使人心醉神移,现在都是温蓽润滑，绐人一种空虚、胸口隐隐作痛、紧密拥抱的落莫之感,这一切如此强烈，以至罗伯特　乔丹觉得再也忍不住了，他说,“你爱过别人吗?”“从来没有。“ 　　这时，她在他怀里突然象死去了一般，“可是人家糟蹋过我。” 　　“好几个。“ 　　她这时躺着动也不动，仿佛她的躯体巳经死去；她的脸转向别处。 　　“你现在不会爱我了。” 　　“我爱你，”他说。 　　但是他有了变化，她感觉得到。 　　“不，”她说，声音变得呆板而没生气。“你不会爱我了。不过你也许会带我去养育院的。我去养育院，永远不可能做你的女人，什么也不是了。““我爱你，玛丽亚。“ 　　“不。不是真的，”她说。接着，作为最后的努力，她可怜巴巴但仍怀着希望地说。” 　　“可是我从没螣妄任何人。”〃那么现在吻我吧。” 　 　　“我要吻，”她说。“可我不会　当初他们糟蹋我的时候，我拼命挣扎，直到我什么都看不见。我挣扎到一到一直到有个人坐在我头上一我就咬他一后来他们蒙住我的嘴，把我两手反捆在脑后一，别人就糟蹋我。” 　　“我爱你，玛丽亚，”他说。“谁也没能把你怎么样。他们碰不了你，谁也没碰过你，小兔子。““你相信是那样吗?。“我知道。“ 　　“那么你会爱我吗？”这时又热烈地紧挨着他了。 　　“我会更爱你。” 　　“我要好好吻你。” 　　“吻我一下吧。” 　　“我不会。” 　　“吻我就是了。” 　 　　她吻他的脸颊。 　　“不。” 　　“鼻子怎么办？我老是不知道鼻子往哪里搁。”“瞧，把头偏一点,他俩的嘴就紧貼在一起了。她紧挨在他身上，她的嘴悝悝地张开了一点，他拥抱着她，突然感到从来也没有过的喜悦，轻柔、亲切、欢欣、内心的喜悦，无忧无虑,不再疲倦,不再担心,只感到无比的喜悦,于是他说，“我的小兔子。我的好宝贝。我的小亲亲。我的长身玉立的美人儿。“你说什么？〃她说，那声音好象来自遥远的地方　“我可爱的人儿。”他说　 　　他俩躺在那儿，他感到她的心顶着自己的心在。。动,他用他的脚轻轻地擦着她的脚。“你光着脚来的。”他说。 　　“是的。” 　　“那你是存心来睡觉的啦。”“对。“ 　　“那你当时不害怡。” 　　“怕。很怕。不过更怕穿了鞋再脱。 　　“现在什么时候了？你知道吗?” 　　“不知道。你没表？” 　　“有。在你身背后。” 　　“把它拿过来吧。” 　　“不。” 　　“那么隔着我的肩膀看吧。” 　　在黑暗的睡袋中，表面显得很亮。已经一点了。 　　“你的下巴扎得我的肩膀好痛 　　“对不起。我没刮脸的家伙。“ 　　“我喜欢。你的胡于是金黄色的?” 　　“是的。“ 　　“会长得很长吗。“ 　　“炸桥之前不会很长。听着，玛丽亚。你一？”“我怎么?”“你想吗？” 　　“想。怎么都行。随你。要是我们一起把什么都干了，也许那件事就象没有发生过一样。“你这样想过吗。“ 　　”不。我有过这祥的念头,讲出来的却是比拉尔？“她非常聪明。” 　　“还有一件事，”玛丽亚温柔地说。“她要我告诉你，说我没有病。这种事她懂，她要我告诉你。”“是她要你告诉我的？” 　　“是呀。我对她谈了,告诉她说我爱你。今天一见到你，我 就爱你了。仿佛我早就爱着你了，可是从没见到过你。我就告诉了比拉尔，妯叫我要把所有的事全告诉你，还告诉你我没病，那件事是她很久以前对我说的。在炸火车之后不久。”“她说了什么?” 　　“她说。”一个人只要不愿意，人家就不能拿她怎么样，还说要是我爱上了一个人,就能把过去的全部抹掉。那时我想死,你知道。” 　　“她讲的话很对。” 　　“我现在真高兴，那时没有死掉。我真高兴，那时没死。那么你爱我吗?” 　　“爱。我现在就爱你。”“我可以做你的女人吗？　 　　“干我这一行的，不能有女人。不过，你现在就是我的女人。” 　　“我一做了你的女人，就永远是你的了。我现在是你的女人吗?” 　　“是的，玛丽亚。”是的，小兔子。” 　　她紧紧地抱着他,嘴唇寻找着他的嘴唇，接着找到了，就紧吻着,他呢，觉得她娇嫩、润滑、年青、可爱，而又带着热烈得发烫的凉爽，躺在那象他的衣服、鞋子或他的任务一样熟悉的睡袋里，简直难以相信。她惊慌地说，“我们要做的事现在快做吧，把那回事全抹去吧。”“你要?” 　　“要，”她简直狂热地说。“要。要。要。“

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Chapter 8
It was cold in the night and Robert Jordan slept heavily. Once he woke and, stretching, realized that the girl was there, curled far down in the robe, breathing lightly and regularly, and in the dark, bringing his head in from the cold, the sky hard and sharp with stars, the air cold in his nostrils, he put his head under the warmth of the robe and kissed her smooth shoulder. She did not wake and he rolled onto his side away from her and with his head out of the robe in the cold again, lay awake a moment feeling the long, seeping luxury of his fatigue and then the smooth tactile happiness of their two bodies touching and then, as he pushed his legs out deep as they would go in the robe, he slipped down steeply into sleep.
He woke at first daylight and the girl was gone. He knew it as he woke and, putting out his arm, he felt the robe warm where she had been. He looked at the mouth of the cave where the blanket showed frost-rimmed and saw the thin gray smoke from the crack in the rocks that meant the kitchen fire was lighted.
A man came out of the timber, a blanket worn over his head like a poncho Robert Jordan saw it was Pablo and that he was smoking a cigarette. He's been down corralling the horses, he thought.
Pablo pulled open the blanket and went into the cave without looking toward Robert Jordan.
Robert Jordan felt with his hand the light frost that lay on the worn, spotted green balloon silk outer covering of the five-year-old down robe, then settled into it again. _Bueno_, he said to himself, feeling the familiar caress of the flannel lining as he spread his legs wide, then drew them together and then turned on his side so that his head would be away from the direction where he knew the sun would come. _Qu?m嫳 da_, I might as well sleep some more.
He slept until the sound of airplane motors woke him.
Lying on his back, he saw them, a fascist patrol of three Fiats, tiny, bright, fast-moving across the mountain sky, headed in the direction from which Anselmo and he had come yesterday. The three passed and then came nine more, flying much higher in the minute, pointed formations of threes, threes and threes.
Pablo and the gypsy were standing at the cave mouth, in the shadow, watching the sky and as Robert Jordan lay still, the sky now full of the high hammering roar of motors, there was a new droning roar and three more planes came over at less than a thousand feet above the clearing. These three were Heinkel one-elevens, twin-motor bombers.
Robert Jordan, his head in the shadow of the rocks, knew they would not see him, and that it did not matter if they did. He knew they could possibly see the horses in the corral if they were looking for anything in these mountains. If they were not looking for anything they might still see them but would naturally take them for some of their own cavalry mounts. Then came a new and louder droning roar and three more Heinkel one-elevens showed coming steeply, stiffly, lower yet, crossing in rigid formation, their pounding roar approaching in crescendo to an absolute of noise and then receding as they passed the clearing.
Robert Jordan unrolled the bundle of clothing that made his pillow and pulled on his shirt. It was over his head and he was pulling it down when he heard the next planes coming and he pulled his trousers on under the robe and lay still as three more of the Heinkel bimotor bombers came over. Before they were gone over the shoulder of the mountain, he had buckled on his pistol, rolled the robe and placed it against the rocks and sat now, close against the rocks, tying his rope-soled shoes when the approaching droning turned to a greater clattering roar than ever before and nine more Heinkel light bombers came in echelons; hammering the sky apart as they went over.
Robert Jordan slipped along the rocks to the mouth of the cave where one of the brothers, Pablo, the gypsy, Anselmo, Agust璯 and the woman stood in the mouth looking out.
"Have there been planes like this before?" he asked.
"Never," said Pablo. "Get in. They will see thee."
The sun had not yet hit the mouth of the cave. It was just now shining on the meadow by the stream and Robert Jordan knew they could not be seen in the dark, early morning shadow of the trees and the solid shade the rocks made, but he went in the cave in order not to make them nervous.
"They are many," the woman said.
"And there will be more," Robert Jordan said.
"How do you know?" Pablo asked suspiciously.
"Those, just now, will have pursuit planes with them."
Just then they heard them, the higher, whining drone, and as they passed at about five thousand feet, Robert Jordan counted fifteen Fiats in echelon of echelons like a wild-goose flight of the V-shaped threes.
In the cave entrance their faces all looked very sober and Robert Jordan said, "You have not seen this many planes?"
"Never," said Pablo.
"There are not many at Segovia?"
"Never has there been, we have seen three usually. Sometimes six of the chasers. Perhaps three Junkers, the big ones with the three motors, with the chasers with them. Never have we seen planes like this."
It is bad, Robert Jordan thought. This is really bad. Here is a concentration of planes which means something very bad. I must listen for them to unload. But no, they cannot have brought up the troops yet for the attack. Certainly not before tonight or tomorrow night, certainly not yet. Certainly they will not be moving anything at this hour.
He could still hear the receding drone. He looked at his watch. By now they should be over the lines, the first ones anyway. He Pushed the knob that set the second hand to clicking and watched it move around. No, perhaps not yet. By now. Yes. Well over by now. Two hundred and fifty miles an hour for those one-elevens anyway. Five minutes would carry them there. By now they're well beyond the pass with Castile all yellow and tawny beneath them now in the morning, the yellow crossed by white roads and spotted with the small villages and the shadows of the Heinkels moving over the land as the shadows of sharks pass over a sandy floor of the ocean.
There was no bump, bump, bumping thud of bombs. His watch ticked on.
They're going on to Colmenar, to Escorial, or to the flying field at Manzanares el Real, he thought, with the old castle above the lake with the ducks in the reeds and the fake airfield just behind the real field with the dummy planes, not quite hidden, their props turning in the wind. That's where they must be headed. They can't know about the attack, he told himself and something in him said, why can't they? They've known about all the others.
"Do you think they saw the horses?" Pablo asked.
"Those weren't looking for horses," Robert Jordan said.
"But did they see them?"
"Not unless they were asked to look for them."
"Could they see them?"
"Probably not," Robert Jordan said. "Unless the sun were on the trees."
"It is on them very early," Pablo said miserably.
"I think they have other things to think of besides thy horses," Robert Jordan said.
It was eight minutes since he had pushed the lever on the stop watch and there was still no sound of bombing.
"What do you do with the watch?" the woman asked.
"I listen where they have gone."
"Oh," she said. At ten minutes he stopped looking at the watch knowing it would be too far away to hear, now, even allowing a minute for the sound to travel, and said to Anselmo, "I would speak to thee."
Anselmo came out of the cave mouth and they walked a little way from the entrance and stood beside a pine tree.
"_Qu?tal?_" Robert Jordan asked him. "How goes it?"
"All right."
"Hast thou eaten?"
"No. No one has eaten."
"Eat then and take something to eat at mid-day. I want you to go to watch the road. Make a note of everything that passes both up and down the road."
"I do not write."
"There is no need to," Robert Jordan took out two leaves from his notebook and with his knife cut an inch from the end of his pencil. "Take this and make a mark for tanks thus," he drew a slanted tank, "and then a mark for each one and when there are four, cross the four strokes for the fifth."
"In this way we count also."
"Good. Make another mark, two wheels and a box, for trucks. If they are empty make a circle. If they are full of troops make a straight mark. Mark for guns. Big ones, thus. Small ones, thus. Mark for cars. Mark for ambulances. Thus, two wheels and a box with a cross on it. Mark for troops on foot by companies, like this, see? A little square and then mark beside it. Mark for cavalry, like this, you see? Like a horse. A box with four legs. That is a troop of twenty horse. You understand? Each troop a mark."
"Yes. It is ingenious."
"Now," he drew two large wheels with circles around them and a short line for a gun barrel. "These are anti-tanks. They have rubber tires. Mark for them. These are anti-aircraft," two wheels with the gun barrel slanted up. "Mark for them also. Do you understand? Have you seen such guns?"
"Yes," Anselmo said. "Of course. It is clear."
"Take the gypsy with you that he will know from what point you will be watching so you may be relieved. Pick a place that is safe, not too close and from where you can see well and comfortably. Stay until you are relieved."
"I understand."
"Good. And that when you come back, I should know everything that moved upon the road. One paper is for movement up. One is for movement down the road."
They walked over toward the cave.
"Send Rafael to me," Robert Jordan said and waited by the tree. He watched Anselmo go into the cave, the blanket falling behind him. The gypsy sauntered out, wiping his mouth with his hand.
"_Qu?tal?_" the gypsy said. "Did you divert yourself last night?"
"I slept."
"Less bad," the gypsy said and grinned. "Have you a cigarette?"
"Listen," Robert Jordan said and felt in his pocket for the cigarettes. "I wish you to go with Anselmo to a place from which he will observe the road. There you will leave him, noting the place in order that you may guide me to it or guide whoever will relieve him later. You will then go to where you can observe the saw mill and note if there are any changes in the post there."
"What changes?"
"How many men are there now?"
"Eight. The last I knew."
"See how many are there now. See at what intervals the guard is relieved at that bridge."
"Intervals?"
"How many hours the guard stays on and at what time a change is made."
"I have no watch."
"Take mine." He unstrapped it.
"What a watch," Rafael said admiringly. "Look at what complications. Such a watch should be able to read and write. Look at what complications of numbers. It's a watch to end watches."
"Don't fool with it," Robert Jordan said. "Can you tell time?"
"Why not? Twelve o'clock mid-day. Hunger. Twelve o'clock midnight. Sleep. Six o'clock in the morning, hunger. Six o'clock at night, drunk. With luck. Ten o'clock at night--"
"Shut up," Robert Jordan said. "You don't need to be a clown. I want you to check on the guard at the big bridge and the post on the road below in the same manner as the post and the guard at the saw mill and the small bridge."
"It is much work," the gypsy smiled. "You are sure there is no one you would rather send than me?"
"No, Rafael. It is very important. That you should do it very carefully and keeping out of sight with care."
"I believe I will keep out of sight," the gypsy said. "Why do you tell me to keep out of sight? You think I want to be shot?"
"Take things a little seriously," Robert Jordan said. "This is serious."
"Thou askest me to take things seriously? After what thou didst last night? When thou needest to kill a man and instead did what you did? You were supposed to kill one, not make one! When we have just seen the sky full of airplanes of a quantity to kill us back to our grandfathers and forward to all unborn grandsons including all cats, goats and bedbugs. Airplanes making a noise to curdle the milk in your mother's breasts as they pass over darkening the sky and roaring like lions and you ask me to take things seriously. I take them too seriously already."
"All right," said Robert Jordan and laughed and put his hand on the gypsy's shoulder. "_Don't_ take them too seriously then. Now finish your breakfast and go."
"And thou?" the gypsy asked. "What do you do?"
"I go to see El Sordo."
"After those airplanes it is very possible that thou wilt find nobody in the whole mountains," the gypsy said. "There must have been many people sweating the big drop this morning when those passed."
"Those have other work than hunting guerillas."
"Yes," the gypsy said. Then shook his head. "But when they care to undertake that work."
"_Qu?va_," Robert Jordan said. "Those are the best of the German light bombers. They do not send those after gypsies."
"They give me a horror," Rafael said. "Of such things, yes, I am frightened."
"They go to bomb an airfield," Robert Jordan told him as they went into the cave. "I am almost sure they go for that."
"What do you say?" the woman of Pablo asked. She poured him a bowl of coffee and handed him a can of condensed milk.
"There is milk? What luxury!"
"There is everything," she said. "And since the planes there is much fear. Where did you say they went?"
Robert Jordan dripped some of the thick milk into his coffee from the slit cut in the can, wiped the can on the rim of the cup, and stirred the coffee until it was light brown.
"They go to bomb an airfield I believe. They might go to Escorial and Colmenar. Perhaps a!! three."
"That they should go a long way and keep away from here," Pablo said.
"And why are they here now?" the woman asked. "What brings them now? Never have we seen such planes. Nor in such quantity. Do they prepare an attack?"
"What movement was there on the road last night?" Robert Jordan asked. The girl Maria was close to him but he did not look at her.
"You," the woman said. "Fernando. You were in La Granja last night. What movement was there?"
"Nothing," a short, open-faced man of about thirty-five with a cast in one eye, whom Robert Jordan had not seen before, answered. "A few camions as usual. Some cars. No movement of troops while I was there."
"You go into La Granja every night?" Robert Jordan asked him.
"I or another," Fernando said. "Some one goes."
"They go for the news. For tobacco. For small things," the woman said.
"We have people there?"
"Yes. Why not? Those who work the power plant. Some others."
"What was the news?"
"_Pues nada_. There was nothing. It still goes badly in the north. That is not news. In the north it has gone badly now since the beginning."
"Did you hear anything from Segovia?"
"No, _hombre_. I did not ask."
"Do you go into Segovia?"
"Sometimes," Fernando said. "But there is danger. There are controls where they ask for your papers."
"Do you know the airfield?"
"No, _hombre_. I know where it is but I was never close to it. There, there is much asking for papers."
"No one spoke about these planes last night?"
"In La Gnanja? Nobody. But they will talk about them tonight certainly. They talked about the broadcast of Quiepo de Llano. Nothing more. Oh, yes. It seems that the Republic is preparing an offensive."
"That what?"
"That the Republic is preparing an offensive."
"Where?"
"It is not certain. Perhaps here. Perhaps for another pant of the Sierra. Hast thou heard of it?"
"They say this in La Granja?"
"Yes, _hombre_. I had forgotten it. But there is a!ways much talk of offensives."
"Where does this talk come from?"
"Where? Why from different people. The officers speak in the caf廥 in Segovia and Avila and the waiters note it. The rumors come running. Since some time they speak of an offensive by the Republic in these parts."
"By the Republic or by the Fascists?"
"By the Republic. If it were by the Fascists all would know of it. No, this is an offensive of quite some size. Some say there are two. One here and the other over the Alto del Leon near the Escorial. Have you heard aught of this?"
"What else did you hear?"
"_Nada, hombre_. Nothing. Oh, yes. There was some talk that the Republicans would try to blow up the bridges, if there was to be an offensive. But the bridges are guarded."
"Art thou joking?" Robert Jordan said, sipping his coffee.
"No, _hombre_," said Fernando.
"This one doesn't joke," the woman said. "Bad luck that he doesn't."
"Then," said Robert Jordan. "Thank you for all the news. Did you hear nothing more?"
"No. They talk, as always, of troops to be sent to clear out these mountains. There is some talk that they are on the way. That they Rave been sent already from Valladolid. But they always talk in that Way. It is not to give any importance to."
"And thou," the woman of Pablo said to Pablo almost viciously. "With thy talk of safety."
Pablo looked at her reflectively and scratched his chin. "Thou," he said. "And thy bridges."
"What bridges?" asked Fernando cheerfully.
"Stupid," the woman said to him. "Thick head. _Tonto_. Take another cup of coffee and try to remember more news."
"Don't be angry, Pilar," Fernando said calmly and cheerfully. "Neither should one become alarmed at rumors. I have told thee and this comrade all that I remember."
"You don't remember anything more?" Robert Jordan asked.
"No," Fernando said with dignity. "And I am fortunate to remember this because, since it was but rumors, I paid no attention to any of it."
"Then there may have been more?"
"Yes. It is possible. But I paid no attention. For a year I have heard nothing but rumors."
Robert Jordan heard a quick, control-breaking sniff of laughter from the girl, Maria, who was standing behind him.
"Tell us one more rumor, Fernandito," she said and then her shoulders shook again.
"If I could remember, I would not," Fernando said. "It is beneath a man's dignity to listen and give importance to rumors."
"And with this we will save the Republic," the woman said.
"No. _You_ will save it by blowing bridges," Pablo told her.
"Go," said Robert Jordan to Anselmo and Rafael. "If you have eaten."
"We go now," the old man said and the two of them stood up. Robert Jordan felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Maria. "Thou shouldst eat," she said and let her hand rest there. "Eat well so that thy stomach can support more rumors."
"The rumors have taken the place of the appetite."
"No. It should not be so. Eat this now before more rumors come." She put the bowl before him.
"Do not make a joke of me," Fernando said to her. "I am thy good friend, Maria."
"I do not joke at thee, Fernando. I only joke with him and he should eat or he will be hungry."
"We should all eat," Fernando said. "Pilar, what passes that we are not served?"
"Nothing, man," the woman of Pablo said and filled his bowl with the meat stew. "Eat. Yes, that's what you _can_ do. Eat now."
"It is very good, Pilar," Fernando said, all dignity intact.
"Thank you," said the woman. "Thank you and thank you again."
"Are you angry at me?" Fernando asked.
"No. Eat. Go ahead and eat."
"I will," said Fernando. "Thank you."
Robert Jordan looked at Maria and her shoulders started shaking again and she looked away. Fernando ate steadily, a proud and dignified expression on his face, the dignity of which could not be affected even by the huge spoon that he was using or the slight dripping of juice from the stew which ran from the corners of his mouth.
"Do you like the food?" the woman of Pablo asked him.
"Yes, Pilar," he said with his mouth full. "It is the same as usual."
Robert Jordan felt Maria's hand on his arm and felt her fingers tighten with delight.
"It is for _that_ that you like it?" the woman asked Fernando.
"Yes," she said. "I see. The stew; as usual. Como siempre. Things are bad in the north; as usual. An offensive here; as usual. That troops come to hunt us out; as usual. You could serve as a monument to as usual."
"But the last two are only rumors, Pilar."
"Spain," the woman of Pablo said bitterly. Then turned to Robert Jordan. "Do they have people such as this in other countries?"
"There are no other countries like Spain," Robert Jordan said politely.
"You are right," Fernando said. "There is no other country in the world like Spain."
"Hast thou ever seen any other country?" the woman asked him.
"Nay," said Fernando. "Nor do I wish to."
"You see?" the woman of Pablo said to Robert Jordan.
"Fernandito," Maria said to him. "Tell us of the time thee went to Valencia"
"I did not like Valencia."
"Why?" Maria asked and pressed Robert Jordan's arm again. "Why did thee not like it?"
"The people had no manners and I could not understand them. All they did was shout _ch嶱 at one another."
"Could they understand thee?" Maria asked.
"They pretended not to," Fernando said.
"And what did thee there?"
"I left without even seeing the sea," Fernando said. "I did not like the people."
"Oh, get out of here, you old maid," the woman of Pablo said. "Get out of here before you make me sick. In Valencia I had the best time of my life. _Vamos!_ Valencia. Don't talk to me of Valencia."
"What did thee there?" Maria asked. The woman of Pablo sat down at the table with a bowl of coffee, a piece of bread and a bowl of the stew.
"_Qu?_ what did we there. I was there when Finito had a contract for three fights at the Feria. Never have I seen so many people. Never have I seen caf廥 so crowded. For hours it would be impossible to get a seat and it was impossible to board the tram cars. In Valencia there was movement all day and all night."
"But what did you do?" Maria asked.
"All things," the woman said. "We went to the beach and lay in the water and boats with sails were hauled up out of the sea by oxen. The oxen driven to the water until they must swim; then harnessed to the boats, and, when they found their feet, staggering up the sand. Ten yokes of oxen dragging a boat with sails out of the sea in the morning with the line of the small waves breaking on the beach. That is Valencia."
"But what did thee besides watch oxen?"
"We ate in pavilions on the sand. Pastries made of cooked and shredded fish and red and green peppers and small nuts like grains of rice. Pastries delicate and flaky and the fish of a richness that was incredible. Prawns fresh from the sea sprinkled with lime juice. They were pink and sweet and there were four bites to a prawn. Of those we ate many. Then we ate _paella_ with fresh sea food, clams in their shells, mussels, crayfish, and small eels. Then we ate even smaller eels alone cooked in oil and as tiny as bean sprouts and curled in all directions and so tender they disappeared in the mouth without chewing. All the time drinking a white wine, cold, light and good at thirty centimos the bottle. And for an end, melon. That is the home of the melon."
"The melon of Castile is better," Fernando said.
"_Qu?va_," said the woman of Pablo. "The melon of Castile is for self abuse. The melon of Valencia for eating. When I think of those melons long as one's arm, green like the sea and crisp and juicy to cut and sweeter than the early morning in summer. Aye, when I think of those smallest eels, tiny, delicate and in mounds on the plate. Also the beer in pitchers all through the afternoon, the beer sweating in its coldness in pitchers the size of water jugs."
"And what did thee when not eating nor drinking?"
"We made love in the room with the strip wood blinds hanging over the balcony and a breeze through the opening of the top of the door which turned on hinges. We made love there, the room dark in the day time from the hanging blinds, and from the streets there was the scent of the flower market and the smell of burned powder from the firecrackers of the _traca_ that ran though the streets exploding each noon during the Feria. It was a line of fireworks that ran through all the city, the firecrackers linked together and the explosions running along on poles and wires of the tramways, exploding with great noise and a jumping from pole to pole with a sharpness and a cracking of explosion you could not believe.
"We made love and then sent for another pitcher of beer with the drops of its coldness on the glass and when the girl brought it, I took it from the door and I placed the coldness of the pitcher against the back of Finito as he lay, now, asleep, not having wakened when the beer was brought, and he said, 'No, Pilar. No, woman, let me sleep.' And I said, 'No, wake up and drink this to see how cold,' and he drank without opening his eyes and went to sleep again and I lay with my back against a pillow at the foot of the bed and watched him sleep, brown and dark-haired and young and quiet in his sleep, and drank the whole pitcher, listening now to the music of a band that was passing. You," she said to Pablo. "Do you know aught of such things?"
"We have done things together," Pablo said.
"Yes," the woman said. "Why not? And thou wert more man than Finito in your time. But never did we go to Valencia. Never did we lie in bed together and hear a band pass in Valencia."
"It was impossible," Pablo told her. "We have had no opportunity to go to Valencia. Thou knowest that if thou wilt be reasonable. But, with Finito, neither did thee blow up any train."
"No," said the woman. "That is what is left to us. The train. Yes. Always the train. No one can speak against that. That remains of all the laziness, sloth and failure. That remains of the cowardice of this moment. There were many other things before too. I do not want to be unjust. But no one can speak against Valencia either. You hear me?"
"I did not like it," Fernando said quietly. "I did not like Valencia."
"Yet they speak of the mule as stubborn," the woman said. "Clean up, Maria, that we may go."
As she said this they heard the first sound of the planes returning.
　　夜里天气很冷，罗伯特　乔丹睡得香极了。他醒过一次,在伸展身体的时候，发现臒兔娘还在，蜷缩在睡袋下方，轻轻地、均匀地呼吸着。夜空繁星点点，空气凜冽，鼻孔吸进的空气很凉，他在黑暗里把头从寒气中缩到温暖的睡袋里，吻吻她臒外滑的肩膀。她没醒，他就侧过身背着她，把脑袋又伸到睡袋外面的寒气中，他醒着躺了一会儿,感到一股悠然的快意沁透了困倦的身子，跟着是两人光滑的身体接触时的喜悦，随后，他把两腿一直伸到睡袋底端，立即进入了睡乡。
　　天蒙兼亮他就醒了，姑娘已经离去。他一醒就发现身边是空的，就伸出手去摸摸,觉得她睡过的地方还是温暖的。他望望山涧口，看到挂毯四边结了一层霜花，岩石缝里冒出灰色的淡烟，说明已经生起了炉灶。
　　有人从树林里出来，披着　条毯子象拉，“美洲的披风似的。罗伯特　乔丹一看原来是巴勃罗，他正在抽烟。他想，巴勃罗已去下面把马儿关进了马栏。
　　巴勃罗没有朝罗伯特。乔丹这面张望，他撩开毯子，径直进了山洞。
　　罗伯特　乔丹用手摸摸睡袋外面的薄霜，这只绿色旧鸭绒睡袋的面子是用气球的绸布做的，已经用了五年，全是斑斑点点。接着，他把手缩回睡袋，自言自语说,好聃，就伸开两腿，身子挨着睡袋的法兰绒衬里，感到熟悉舒适，然后并起腿儿，侧过身子,把头避开他知道太阳等会将要升起的方向。管它,我不如再睡一会儿吧。
　　他一直睡到飞机的引擎声把他闹醒。他仰天躺着，看到了飞机，那是三架菲亚特飞机①组成的法西斯巡逻小队，三个闪亮的小点，急速越过山巔上空，向安塞尔莫和他昨天走来的方向飞去。三架过去后又来了九架，飞得髙得多，一，“点大，成三角形的三三编队。
　　巴勃罗和吉普赛人站在山洞口的背阴处仰望着天空；罗伯特　乔丹静静地躺着，天空中这时响彻着引擎的轰鸣声，接着传来了新的隆隆吼声，又飞来了三架，在林中空地的上空不到一千英尺。这是三架海因克尔111型双引擎轰炸机②。
　　罗伯特　乔丹的头在岩石的暗处，他知道从飞机上望不到自已，即使望到也没关系。他知道，如果飞机在这一带山区搜索什么，有可能看到马栏里的马。即使他们不在搜索,也会看到马匹，不过他们会很自然地以为是自己骑兵队的坐骑。这时又传来了新的更响的轰鸣声，只见又有三架海因克尔111型轰炸机排成了整齐的队形，笔直、顽强、更低地飞过来，声音越来越近，越来越响，震耳欲聋,等到越过林地后，声音逐渐消失。
　　罗伯特，乔丹解开那卷当枕头用的衣眼，穿上衬衣。他把衣服套在头上往下拉的时候，听到下一批飞机来了，他在睡袋里穿上裤子，静静地躺着，等那三架海因克尔双引擎轰炸机飞过去。飞机越过山脊前，他已佩好手熗,卷起睡袋，放在岩石旁，自己靠山崖坐下’结扎绳底鞋的带子。这时,渐近的轰鸣声比刚才更厉害了，又飞来了九架排成梯形的海因克尔轻型轰炸机。飞机飞过头顶时，声音震天动地。
①　　菲亚特(力巡逻机为窻大利产。
②　　海因克尔型轰炸机为德国产争
　　罗伯特　乔丹沿着山崖悄悄走到洞口，站在那里现望的有两兄弟中的一个、巴勃罗、吉普赛人、安塞尔莫、奥古斯丁和那个妇人。
　　“以前来过这样多的飞机吗?”他问，“从来没有过。”巴勃罗说。“进来吧。他们会发现你的。“阳光刚照菊溪边的草地上，还没有射到山洞口，罗伯特　乔丹知道，在晨嗛矇胧的树荫和山岩的浓浓的阴影中是不会被发现的,不过为，“让他们安心，他还是进了山洞。“真不少，”那妇人说。“还会有更多的，”罗伯特“乔丹说。“你怎么知道？”巴勃罗疑神疑鬼地问。“刚才这些飞机要有驱遂机伴随。”说着,他们就听到了飞得更髙的飞机的呜咽般的嗡嗡声，它们在五千英尺左右的高空中飞过，罗拍特書乔丹点了数,共有十五架菲亚特飞机,每三架排成一个。字形，一队队地构成梯阵,象一群大雁。
　　大家在山洞口，脸上都显得十分严肃，罗伯特。乔丹说，“你们没见过这么多的飞机吗”“从来没有，”巴勃罗说。“塞哥维亚也没有这么多呜？，
　　“从来没有过，我们逋常只见到三架。有时是六架驱逐机。有时说不定是三架容克式飞机①，那种三引擎的大飞机,和驱逐机在一起。我们从来也没见过现在这样多的飞机。”
　　糟了，罗伯特　乔丹想，真糟了乡飞机集中到这里乘，说明
①容克式三引擎巨型扒为德国产傘
　　情况很糟糕。我得注意听它们扔炸弹的声音。可是不，他们现在还不可能把部队调上来准备进攻。当然啦，今晚或者明晚之前是不可能的，眼前是绝对不可能的。他们这时候是绝对不会采取任何行动的。
　　他还能听到渐渐消失的嗡嗡声。他看看表。这时该飞到火线上空了，至少第一批该到达了。他按下表上的定时卡子，看着秒针嗒嗒嗒地走动。不，也许还没有飞到。现在才到。对。”现在飞过好远了。那些111型飞机的速度每小时达两百五十英里。五分钟就能飞到火线上空。它们现在早越过山口，飞到卡斯蒂尔地区的上空了，在早晨这个时光，下面是一片黄褐色的田野,中间交错着一条条白色的道路，点缀着小村庄,海因克尔飞机的阴影掠过田地，就象鲨鱼的阴影在海底的沙上移动。
　　没有砰砰砰的炸弹爆炸声。他表上的秒针继续嗒嗒嗒地响着，他想，这些飞机正继续飞往科尔梅那尔，埃斯科里亚尔，或曼萨纳雷斯①的飞机场，那里的湖边有一座古老的城堡，芦苇荡里躲着野鸭,假飞机场在真正的飞机场另一面，上面停放着假飞机,没什么掩饰,飞机的螺旋桨在风中转动着。他们准是在朝那边飞去。他对自已说，他们不会知道这次进攻计划，可是心头又出现另一个想法。”为什么不会�

Chapter 9 They stood in the mouth of the cave and watched them. The bombers were high now in fast, ugly arrow-heads beating the sky apart with the noise of their motors. They _are_ shaped like sharks, Robert Jordan thought, the wide-finned, sharp-nosed sharks of the Gulf Stream. But these, wide-finned in silver, roaring, the light mist of their propellers in the sun, these do not move like sharks. They move like no thing there has ever been. They move like mechanized doom. You ought to write, he told himself. Maybe you will again some time. He felt Maria holding to his arm. She was looking up and he said to her, "What do they look like to you, _guapa?_" "I don't know," she said. "Death, I think." "They look like planes to me," the woman of Pablo said. "'Where are the little ones?" "They may be crossing at another part," Robert Jordan said. "Those bombers are too fast to have to wait for them and have come back alone. We never follow them across the lines to fight. There aren't enough planes to risk it." Just then three Heinkel fighters in V formation came low over the clearing coming toward them, just over the tree tops, like clattering, wing-tilting, pinch-nosed ugly toys, to enlarge suddenly, fearfully to their actual size; pouring past in a whining roar. They were so low that from the cave mouth all of them could see the pilots, helmeted, goggled, a scarf blowing back from behind the patrol leader's head. "_Those_ can see the horses," Pablo said. "Those can see thy cigarette butts," the woman said. "Let fall the blanket." No more planes came over. The others must have crossed farther up the range and when the droning was gone they went out of the cave into the open. The sky was empty now and high and blue and clear. "It seems as though they were a dream that you wake from," Maria said to Robert Jordan. There was not even the last almost unheard hum that comes like a finger faintly touching and leaving and touching again after the sound is gone almost past hearing. "They are no dream and you go in and clean up," Pilar said to her. "What about it?" she turned to Robert Jordan. "Should we ride or walk?" Pablo looked at her and grunted. "As you will," Robert Jordan said. "Then let us walk," she said. "I would like it for the liver." "Riding is good for the liver." "Yes, but hard on the buttocks. We will walk and thou--" She turned to Pablo. "Go down and count thy beasts and see they have not flown away with any." "Do you want a horse to ride?" Pablo asked Robert Jordan. "No. Many thanks. What about the girl?" "Better for her to walk," Pilar said. "She'll get stiff in too many places and serve for nothing." Robert Jordan felt his face reddening. "Did you sleep well?" Pilar asked. Then said, "It is true that there is no sickness. There could have been. I know not why there wasn't. There probably still is God after all, although we have abolished Him. Go on," she said to Pablo. "This does not concern thee. This is of people younger than thee. Made of other material. Get on." Then to Robert Jordan, "Agust璯 is looking after thy things. We go when he comes." It was a clear, bright day and warm now in the sun. Robert Jordan looked at the big, brown-faced woman with her kind, widely set eyes and her square, heavy face, lined and pleasantly ugly, the eyes merry, but the face sad until the lips moved. He looked at her and then at the man, heavy and stolid, moving off through the trees toward the corral. The woman, too, was looking after him. "Did you make love?" the woman said. "What did she say?" "She would not tell me." "I neither." "Then you made love," the woman said. "Be as careful with her as you can." "What if she has a baby?" "That will do no harm," the woman said. "That will do less harm." "This is no place for that." "She will not stay here. She will go with you." "And where will I go? I can't take a woman where I go." "Who knows? You may take two where you go." "That is no way to talk." "Listen," the woman said. "I am no coward, but I see things very clearly in the early morning and I think there are many that we know that are alive now who will never see another Sunday." "In what day are we?" "Sunday." "_Qu?va_," said Robert Jordan. "Another Sunday is very far. If we see Wednesday we are all right. But I do not like to hear thee talk like this." "Every one needs to talk to some one," the woman said. "Before we had religion and other nonsense. Now for every one there should be some one to whom one can speak frankly, for all the valor that one could have one becomes very alone." "We are not alone. We are all together." "The sight of those machines does things to one," the woman said. "We are nothing against such machines." "Yet we can beat them." "Look," the woman said. "I confess a sadness to you, but do not think I lack resolution. Nothing has happened to my resolution." "The sadness will dissipate as the sun rises. It is like a mist." "Clearly," the woman said. "If you want it that way. Perhaps it came from talking that foolishness about Valencia. And that failure of a man who has gone to look at his horses. I wounded him much with the story. Kill him, yes. Curse him, yes. But wound him, no." "How came you to be with him?" "How is one with any one? In the first days of the movement and before too, he was something. Something serious. But now he is finished. The plug has been drawn and the wine has all run out of the skin." "I do not like him." "Nor does he like you, and with reason. Last night I slept with him." She smiled now and shook her head. " _Vamos a ver_," she said. "I said to him, 'Pablo, why did you not kill the foreigner?' "'He's a good boy, Pilar,' he said. 'He's a good boy.' "So I said, 'You understand now that I command?' "'Yes, Pilar. Yes,' he said. Later in the night I hear him awake and he is crying. He is crying in a short and ugly manner as a man cries when it is as though there is an animal inside that is shaking him. "'What passes with thee, Pablo?' I said to him and I took hold of him and held him. "'Nothing, Pilar. Nothing.' "'Yes. Something passes with thee.' "'The people,' he said. 'The way they left me. The _gente_.' "'Yes, but they are with me,' I said, 'and I am thy woman.' "'Pilar,' he said, 'remember the train.' Then he said, 'May God aid thee, Pilar.' "'What are you talking of God for?' I said to him. 'What way is that to speak?' "'Yes,' he said. 'God and the Virgen.' "'_Qu?va_, God and the _Virgen_,' I said to him. 'Is that any way to talk?' "'I am afraid to die, Pilar,' he said. '_Tengo miedo de morir_. Dost thou understand?' "'Then get out of bed,' I said to him. 'There is not room in one bed for me and thee and thy fear all together.' "Then he was ashamed and was quiet and I went to sleep but, man, he's a ruin." Robert Jordan said nothing. "All my life I have had this sadness at intervals," the woman said. "But it is not like the sadness of Pablo. It does not affect my resolution." "I believe that." "It may be it is like the times of a woman," she said. "It may be it is nothing," she paused, then went on. "I put great illusion in the Republic. I believe firmly in the Republic and I have faith. I believe in it with fervor as those who have religious faith believe in the mysteries." "I believe you." "And you have this same faith?" "In the Republic?" "Yes." "Yes," he said, hoping it was true. "I am happy," the woman said. "And you have no fear?" "Not to die," he said truly. "But other fears?" "Only of not doing my duty as I should." "Not of capture, as the other had?" "No," he said truly. "Fearing that, one would be so preoccupied as to be useless." "You are a very cold boy." "No," he said. "I do not think so." "No. In the head you are very cold." "It is that I am very preoccupied with my work." "But you do not like the things of life?" "Yes. Very much. But not to interfere with my work." "You like to drink, I know. I have seen." "Yes. Very much. But not to interfere with my work." "And women?" "I like them very much, but I have not given them much importance." "You do not care for them?" "Yes. But I have not found one that moved me as they say they should move you." "I think you lie." "Maybe a little." "But you care for Maria." "Yes. Suddenly and very much." "I, too. I care for her very much. Yes. Much." "I, too," said Robert Jordan, and could feel his voice thickening. "I, too. Yes." It gave him pleasure to say it and he said it quite formally in Spanish. "I care for her very much." "I will leave you alone with her after we have seen El Sordo." Robert Jordan said nothing. Then he said, "That is not necessary." "Yes, man. It is necessary. There is not much time." "Did you see that in the hand?" he asked. "No. Do not remember that nonsense of the hand." She had put that away with all the other things that might do ill to the Republic. Robert Jordan said nothing. He was looking at Maria putting away the dishes inside the cave. She wiped her hands and turned and smiled at him. She could not hear what Pilar was saying, but as she smiled at Robert Jordan she blushed dark under the tawny skin and then smiled at him again. "There is the day also," the woman said. "You have the night, but there is the day, too. Clearly, there is no such luxury as in Valencia in my time. But you could pick a few wild strawberries or something." She laughed. Robert Jordan put his arm on her big shoulder. "I care for thee, too," he said. "I care for thee very much." "Thou art a regular Don Juan Tenorio," the woman said, embarrassed now with affection. "There is a commencement of caring for every one. Here comes Agust璯." Robert Jordan went into the cave and up to where Maria was standing. She watched him come toward her, her eyes bright, the blush again on her cheeks and throat. "Hello, little rabbit," he said and kissed her on the mouth. She held him tight to her and looked in his face and said, "Hello. Oh, hello. Hello." Fernando, still sitting at the table smoking a cigarette, stood up, shook his head and walked out, picking up his carbine from where it leaned against the wall. "It is very unformal," he said to Pilar. "And I do not like it. You should take care of the girl." "I am," said Pilar. "That comrade is her _novio_." "Oh," said Fernando. "In that case, since they are engaged, I encounter it to be perfectly normal." "I am pleased," the woman said. "Equally," Fernando agreed gravely. "_Salud_, Pilar." "Where are you going?" "To the upper post to relieve Primitivo." "Where the hell are you going?" Agust璯 asked the grave little man as he came up. "To my duty," Fernando said with dignity. "Thy duty," said Agust璯 mockingly. "I besmirch the milk of thy duty." Then turning to the woman, "Where the un-nameable is this vileness that I am to guard?" "In the cave," Pilar said. "In two sacks. And I am tired of thy obscenity." "I obscenity in the milk of thy tiredness," Agust璯 said. "Then go and befoul thyself," Pilar said to him without heat. "Thy mother," Agust璯 replied. "Thou never had one," Pilar told him, the insults having reached the ultimate formalism in Spanish in which the acts are never stated but only implied. "What are they doing in there?" Agust璯 now asked confidentially. "Nothing," Pilar told him. "_Nada_. We are, after all, in the spring, animal." "Animal," said Agust璯, relishing the word. "Animal. And thou. Daughter of the great whore of whores. I befoul myself in the milk of the springtime." Pilar slapped him on the shoulder. "You," she said, and laughed that booming laugh. "You lack variety in your cursing. But you have force. Did you see the planes?" "I un-name in the milk of their motors," Agust璯 said, nodding his head and biting his lower lip. "That's something," Pilar said. "That is really something. But really difficult of execution." "At that altitude, yes," Agust璯 grinned. "_Desde luego_. But it is better to joke." "Yes," the woman of Pablo said. "It is much better to joke, and you are a good man and you joke with force." "Listen, Pilar," Agust璯 said seriously. "Something is preparing. It is not true?" "How does it seem to you?" "Of a foulness that cannot be worse. Those were many planes, woman. Many planes." "And thou hast caught fear from them like all the others?" "_Qu?va_," said Agust璯. "What do you think they are preparing?" "Look," Pilar said. "From this boy coming for the bridges obviously the Republic is preparing an offensive. From these planes obviously the Fascists are preparing to meet it. But why show the planes?" "In this war are many foolish things," Agust璯 said. "In this war there is an idiocy without bounds." "Clearly," said Pilar. "Otherwise we could not be here." "Yes," said Agust璯. "We swim within the idiocy for a year now. But Pablo is a man of much understanding. Pablo is very wily." "Why do you say this?" "I say it." "But you must understand," Pilar explained. "It is now too late to be saved by wiliness and he has lost the other." "I understand," said Agust璯. "I know we must go. And since we must win to survive ultimately, it is necessary that the bridges must be blown. But Pablo, for the coward that he now is, is very smart." "I, too, am smart." "No, Pilar," Agust璯 said. "You are not smart. You are brave. You are loyal. You have decision. You have intuition. Much decision and much heart. But you are not smart." "You believe that?" the woman asked thoughtfully. "Yes, Pilar." "The boy is smart," the woman said. "Smart and cold. Very cold in the head." "Yes," Agust璯 said. "He must know his business or they would not have him doing this. But I do not know that he is smart. Pablo I _know_ is smart." "But rendered useless by his fear and his disinclination to action." "But still smart." "And what do you say?" "Nothing. I try to consider it intelligently. In this moment we need to act with intelligence. After the bridge we must leave at once. All must be prepared. We must know for where we are leaving and how." "Naturally." "For this--Pablo. It must be done smartly." "I have no confidence in Pablo." "In this, yes." "No. You do not know how far he is ruined." "_Pero es muy vivo_. He is very smart. And if we do not do this smartly we are obscenitied." "I will think about it," Pilar said. "I have the day to think about it." "For the bridges; the boy," Agust璯 said. "This he must know. Look at the fine manner in which the other organized the train." "Yes," Pilar said. "It was really he who planned all." "You for energy and resolution," Agust璯 said. "But Pablo for the moving. Pablo for the retreat. Force him now to study it." "You are a man of intelligence." "Intelligent, yes," Agust璯 said. "But _sin picardia_. Pablo for that." "With his fear and all?" "With his fear and all." "And what do you think of the bridges?" "It is necessary. That I know. Two things we must do. We must leave here and we must win. The bridges are necessary if we are to Win." "If Pablo is so smart, why does he not see that?" "He wants things as they are for his own weakness. He wants tO stay in the eddy of his own weakness. But the river is rising. Forced to a change, he will be smart in the change. _Es muy vivo_." "It is good that the boy did not kill him." "_Qu?va_. The gypsy wanted me to kill him last night. The gypsy is an animal." "You're an animal, too," she said. "But intelligent." "We are both intelligent," Agust璯 said. "But the talent is Pablo!" "But difficult to put up with. You do not know how ruined." "Yes. But a talent. Look, Pilar. To make war all you need is intelligence. But to win you need talent and material." "I will think it over," she said. "We must start now. We are late." Then, raising her voice, "English!" she called. "_Ingl廥!_ Come on! Let us go." 　　他们站在山洞口望着飞机。轰炸机这时飞得很髙，象一支支迅疾而丑陋的箭头，引擎声把天空展得象要进裂似的。它们的外型象鲨鱼，罗伯特’乔丹想，象墨西哥湾流里尖鼻宽螬的鲨鱼。这些飞机银翼宽阔，隆隆作晌，飞转的螺旋桨在阳光中象一个个模糊的光环，它们的行动可不象鲨鱼。它们的行动和世上的任何事物都不同。它们象机械化的死神在行动。 　　你应该写作,他对自已说。也许你有一天会再拿起笔来。他觉得玛丽亚紧握着他的胳臂。她正望着天空，他就对她说,“你看飞机象什么，漂亮的姑娘?” 　　“我不知道。”她说。 　　“我看象死神吧。” 　　“我看飞机就是飞机，”巴勃罗的老婆说。 　　“那些小飞机呢?” 　　“可能打别的地方飞过去了，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“轰炸机飞得太快，等不及那些小飞机,单独回来了。我们的飞机从不越过火线来追击它们。也没足够的飞机去冒这种险。” 　　正在这时，三架组成乂字形的海因克尔战斗机在林中空地上空朝他们飞来，低得差点儿擦到树梢，就象嘎嘎作响的、机翼1。。朝下冲的、扁鼻子的丑陋的玩具飞机，突然可怕地变大到实际的尺寸，吼叫宥一掠而过。飞机飞得那么低，以致大家从洞口看得见戴着头盔和护目镜的驾驶员，以及巡逻机队队长脑后飘拂的围巾。 　　“那些飞机能见到马儿，”巴勃罗说。 　　“它们能觅到你的烟头，”妇人说。“放下毯子吧。”没有别的飞机再飞来。其余的飞机一定越过了远处那边的山脊,等隆隆声消失以后，他们走出山洞，来到空地上。天空这时显得空旷、髙爽、蔚蓝、明朗。 　　“这些飞机仿佛是一场梦,我们现在醒过来了。”玛丽亚对罗伯特　乔丹说。飞机声已经远得几乎听不到了，微弱的嗡嗡声象手指轻轻碰了你一下，放开后又碰一下，现在连最后的难以觉察的嗡嗡声都消失了。 　　“这不是梦，你进去收拾一下吧。”比拉尔对她说。”怎么办?”她转身对罗伯特　乔丹说。“咱们骑马，还是走去?”巴勃罗瞅她一眼，嘴里哼了一声，“随你便，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“那我们走去吧，”她说。“为了我的肝，我想走走。”“骑马对肝有好处。” 　　“是啊，不过屁股可受不了。咱们走去，你一”她转身对巴勃罗，“到下面去点点你的牲口，看看有没跟飞机飞掉。” 　　“你要弄匹马骑骑吗？”巴勃罗问罗伯特　乔丹。 　　“不要。多谢。臒兔娘怎么办？” 　　“她走走也好，”比拉尔说。“不然她身上好多地方全僵了，要没用啦。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹觉得脸红了。 “你睡得好吗?”比拉尔问，接着说,“真的没病。本来可能有的。我不懂怎么会没有。说不定天主到底还是有的，虽然我们把他废了。你走你的，”她对巴勃罗说。“不关你的事,这是比你年青的人的事。人家不是你那种料，走吧接着又对罗伯特　乔丹说,“叫奥古斯丁看守你的东西。他一来我们就走，“ 　　天色清澈明朗，阳光温暧。罗伯特，乔丹望着这个脸色棕揭的大个子女人，她长着一双和善的分得很开的眼睛，一张大方脸上有了皱纹，难看却不讨厌，眼睛是欢乐的，但嘴唇不动的时候，脸色是悲伤的。他望着她，随后望着那体格魁梧而呆头呆脑的男人,这时他正穿过树林，朝着马栏走去。那妇人也在望着他的后影。 　　“你们睡过觉吗？”妇人问。 　　“她是怎么说的。” 　　“她不肯告诉我。” 　　“我也不肯。” 　　“这么说你们睡过了，”妇人说。“你对她可要尽量小心啊。” 　　“假如她怀了孩子怎么办?” 　　“不碍事，”妇人说。“不碍事。” 　　“在这里可不好办。” 　　“她不呆在这里。她跟你走。” 　　“那我上哪里去呢？我不能随身带个女人。” 　　“谁知道？你带藿两个都行，“ 　　“可不能那么说。” 　　“听着，”妇人说，”我不是胆小鬼，不过，清早的情况我看得很清楚。我知道，我们眼前的人中间有许多也许再也活不到下―个星期天。” 　　“今天是星期几?”“星期天。” 　　“真格的，”罗馅特“乔丹说。“下个星期天还远着呢。我们活到星期三就不错了。不过，我不爱听你说这种话。” 　　“每个人都得找个人谈谈心里话，”妇人说。“以前我们有宗教和那一套劳什子。现在谁都得找个可以推心置腹的人聊聊,因为不管怎么勇敢的人也觉得非常孤单。” 　　“我们并不孤单。我们大家在一起。” 　　“看到那些飞机就叫人上心事。”妇人说。“我们根本对付不了这样的飞机。” 　　“可是我们能打垮他们。” 　　“听着，”妇人说。”我对你讲心里的疙瘩，可别以为我决不够。什么也动摇不了我的决心。“ 　　“太阳一升起，悲哀就消啦。悲哀就象雾。”“那当然，”妇人说。“假如你往好处想的话。看来是讲了关于瓦伦西亚的那套无聊话的缘故。是讲了那个去看马的窝囊废的缘故。我讲了过去的事使他伤心了。杀他,行。骂他,行。伤他的心，可不行。” 　　“你怎么会跟他在一起的。” 　　“别人是怎么会在一起的？革命刚开始时和开始以前，他算是一条汉子。是响当当的。现在他可完蛋了。塞子拔掉了，皮袋里的酒全流光了。”“我不喜欢他。” 　　“他也不軎欢你，并且满有道理。昨晚我跟他睡觉。”她这时笑了笑，摇摇头。“咱们眼前不谈这个，”她说。“我对他说，‘巴勃罗，你干吗不杀了那个外国佬, “‘这小伙子不错，比拉尔，’他说。‘这小伙子不错。”“我于是说，‘现在我作主，你明白了？’“‘明白了，比拉尔。明白了他说。后半夜我听到他醒了，一个人在哭。他哭得气咻咻的,难听极了,就象身体里有只野兽在折腾。 　　“‘你怎么啦，巴勃罗？’我对他说，把他拉过来抱住。〃没什么，比拉尔。没什么。’“‘不。你准有什么地方不对头。’“‘大家，’他说，‘大家抛弃我的情形真叫我伤心。““‘是呀，不过他们支持我，，我说，‘而我是你的女人。”“‘比拉尔。“他说，‘想想火车吧。”他接着说，‘愿天主保佑你，比拉尔。’ 　　〃你提天主干吗？’我对他说。‘你怎么讲这种话？’ 　　“就是，’他说。‘天主和圣母玛利亚。” 　　〃什么话，天主和圣母玛利亚！’我对他说。‘能这样说话 吗，“’ 　　“‘我怕死，比拉尔，’他说。‘我怕死。你明白吗？’“‘那你给我从床上下去，’我对他说。'一张床上挤不下我、你和你的害怕。’ 　　“那时他害臊了，不作声了，我就睡着了。不过，小伙子，他这个人完蛋了。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹默不作声。 　　“我这辈子时不时也会有这种悲哀，”妇人说。“可是跟巴勃罗的不一样。我的悲衮动摇不了我的决心。” 　　“这我相信。” 　　“那也许是女人常有的心情。”她说。“也许根本算不了一回事，”她停了一下,接着又说。“我对共和国有很大的幻想。我坚决相信共和国，我有信心。我象那些有宗教信仰的人相信奇迹一样，狂热地相信共和国。” 　　“我相信你。” 　　“你也有这同样的信仰吗？” 　　“信仰共和国？” 　　“是呀。” 　　“当然，”他说，希望自己说的是真话。 　　“我很高兴，”妇人说。“那你不怕吗？" 　　“死倒不怕，”他说，这是真话。“别的呢？” 　　“只怕完成不了我应该完成的任务。” 　　“不象上次那个人怕当俘虏吗？” 　　“不怕，”他老实说。“有了那种害怕心理，包揪太重,什么也干不成。” 　　“你是个很冷静的小伙子。” 　　“不，”他说，“我不这样看。” 　　“不。你的头脑很冷静。” 　　“我只是对工作考虑得很多罢了。” 　　“难道你不喜欢生活的乐趣?” 　　“喜欢。很甚欢。但是不能妨害我的工作 　　“你喜欢喝酒，我知道。我看到了。” 　　“不错。很喜欢。但是也不能妨害我的工作。” 　　“那么女人呢?” 　　“也很喜欢,但我不怎么把她们放在心上。” 　　“你不在乎？” 　　“在乎。不过人们常说女入能打动你的心，可我还没找到打动我的心的女人，“ 　　“我看你是在撒谦，“ 　　“可能有点儿。〃 　　“可你喜欢玛丽亚。” 　　“对。突然之间非常喜欢。” 　　“我也是。我很喜欢这个丫头。不错。很窖欢，“ 　　“我也是，”罗伯特，乔丹说，感到自己的声音又嘶哑了。“我也是。是呀。”说出来使他很偷快，他很正经地用西班牙语说　“我非常爱她。” 　　“我们见了‘萆子’后，我让你们俩单独在一起。”罗伯特　乔丹不吭声，过了一会儿才说,那没有必要。”“不，小伙子。有必要。时间不多呀。”“你在手上看出来了？”他问。“不。别再想手相那套胡扯啦。” 　　凡是对共和国不利的事情她都不爱提，这件事也播在一边。罗伯特　乔丹没说什么。他望着玛丽亚在山洞里收拾碗碟。她擦擦手，转身对他笑笑。她听不清比拉尔在说些什么，但是她对罗伯特“乔丹笑的时候，褐色的脸涨得通红,她接着又对他笑笑。 　　“还有白天呢。”妇人说。”你脽妄了一晚，还有白天呢。现在自然没有我当初在瓦伦西亚时的那些玩意儿。可是你们可以采些野草莓或别的什么。”她笑了。 　　罗伯特，乔丹用手臂搂着她的宽肩膀。“我也喜欢你。”他说。“我很喜欢你。” 　　“你真是个地道的猎艳能手，”妇人说,被这种亲热的表示弄 榑很窘。“你快把每个人都爱上了。奥古斯丁来了。” 　　罗伯特’乔丹走进山洞，走向玛丽亚站着的地方。她看他走来，眼晴明亮，脸蛋和脖子又涨红了。 　　“喂，小兔子，”他说着吻她的嘴。她紧紧拥抱他，凝视着他的脸说。 　　“喂。噢，喂。喂。”原先坐在桌边抽烟的费尔南多站起身,摇摇头，捡起靠在洞壁的卡宾熗就走出去了。 　　“真不象话，”他对比拉尔说。“我不軎欢这样。你该管管这 丫头。“ 　　“我在管，”比拉尔说。“那位同志是她的未婚夫。” 　　“噢，”费尔南多说。“既然这样，他们订了婚，那我就认为很象话啦。” 　　“我很高兴，”妇人说。 　　“我也很髙兴，”费尔南多一本正经地赞同。“再见,比拉尔。” 　　“你上哪儿去?” 　　“到上面岗哨去接普里米蒂伏的班。” 　　“你他妈的上哪儿去？”奥古斯丁这时走上前来，问这个一本正经的小个子。 　　“去值班，”费尔南多理直气壮地说。 　　“你去值班。”奥古斯丁嘲弄地说。“我操你奶奶的班。”接着转身对那女人，“要我看守的他妈的劳什子在哪里呀。” 　　“在山洞里，”比拉尔说。“装在两个背包里。你满嘴脏话叫我腻烦 　　“我操你的膩烦，”奥古斯丁说。 　　“那就去操你自己吧，”比拉尔不温不火地对他说， 　　“你妈的，”奥古斯丁回答　 　　“你从来没妈，”比拉尔对他说，双方的骂人话达到了西斑牙语里的最高水平,其内容从不明说,只能意会。 　　“他们在里面搞什么名堂，“”奥古斯丁这时问，好象在打听什么机密似的。 　　“不搞什么名堂，”比拉尔对他说。“没什么。我们毕竟是在春天里，你这个畜生。” 　　“畜生，”奥古斯丁说，玩味着这个词儿。“畜生。还有你呐。你这大婊子养的。我操它的春天。”比拉尔给他肩上一巴攀。 　　“你呀。”她说，声如洪钟地大笑了，“你骂人翻不出花样。不过劲头倒挺足。你看到飞机没有?” 　　“我操它们引擎的祖宗，”奥古斯丁点点头，咬着下膊说。 　　 　　“那才有点儿意思，”比拉尔说。“真有点儿意思。不过干起来实在不容易。” 　　“飞得那么髙，确实够不着，”奥古斯丁露齿笑着说。“那还用说。不过说说笑话总比担惊受怕强吧。” 　　“是呀，”巴勃罗的老婆说。“总比担惊受怕强。你这人不错，说笑话很带劲。” 　　“听着，比拉尔。”奥古斯丁认真地说。“要出事了。是真的。“ 　　“你看怎么样。” 　　“糟得不能再糟了。飞机可不少轲，太太。可不少啊。”“原来你跟别人一样也给飞机吓着了？”“哪里的话!”奥古斯丁说。“你看他们打算干什么？”“听好，”比拉尔说。“从这小伙子来炸桥看，显然共和国在准备发动一次进攻。从这些飞机来看，显然法西斯分子在准备迎战，不过干吗把飞机亮出来呢?” 　　“这次战争中蠹事真不少，”奥古斯丁说。“这次战争疯撖得 没底。” 　　“这很明白，”比拉尔说。“不然我们也不会在这里啦。”“是呀，”奥古斯丁说。“我们疯疯癲癲地混了一年啦。不过,巴勃罗这人挺有判断力。巴勃罗足智多谋。”“你说这话干吗？”“我要说。” “你可要明白。”比拉尔解释说。“现在要靠智谋来挽救局势已经太晚了，而且他已经失去了判断力。” 　　“我明自。”奥古斯丁说。“我知道我们得撤走。既然我们必须打胜才能活下去，就必须把桥都炸掉。不过，尽管巴勃罗现在成了胆小鬼,他还是很机灵的。”“我也很机灵啊，“ 　　“不，比拉尔，”奥古斯丁说。“你不机灵。你勇敢。你忠诚。你果断。你有直觉。很果断，很热情。可是你不机灵。““你以为这样?”妇人若有所思地问。“正是，比拉尔。” 　　“那小伙子很机灵，”妇人说。“又机灵又冷静。头脑非常冷静" 　　“不错，”奥古斯丁说。“他一定很在行,不然人家不会要他来干这一个了。可是我没看出他机灵。巴勃罗呢，我字,他是机灵的。” 　　“可是他吓破了胆,成了废物，撤手不干了。”“可还是机灵。”“你说什么？” 　　“没什么。我要好好想想。当前我们做事要动动脑子，炸桥之后，我们得马上撤走。一切都得有个准备。我们要考虑好到哪里去、怎么走。”“那当然啦。” 　　这就用得上巴勃罗。这件事必须干得机灵。” 　　“我信不过巴勃罗。” 　　“在这件事上，要信任他。” 　　“不。你不了解他垮到了什么地步。” 　　“但他很机灵。这件事我们如果干得不机灵，我们就他妈完蛋啦。” 　　“我得想想，”比拉尔说。“我还有一天时间可以考虑。” 　　“炸桥是那小伙子的事。”奥古斯丁说。”这方面他准有一手。另一个安排炸火车的，干得多么出色啊。” 　　“不错，”比拉尔说。“事实上全是他安徘的。” 　　“你拿出魄力和决断来。”奥古斯丁说。“可是让巴勃罗负责行动，让巴勃穸负责撤退。现在道他研究方案吧。” 　　“你是个聪明人。” 　　“聪明，不错。”奥古斯丁说，“可是不精明。这方面，巴勃罗 行。” 　　“吓破了胆也行?” 　　“吓破了胆也行。” 　　“你看炸桥这事怎么样?” 　　“非干不可。这我知道。有两件事我们非干不可。我们必须离开这里，我们必须打胜仗。要打胜仗就得炸掉桥。” 　　“巴勃罗如果机灵，为什么看不到这点?” 　　“因为他自已软弱无能,所以想保持现状，他宁愿保持软弱无能，好象待在一个旋涡里。不过河水在涨。形势逼他改变的话,他会变得机灵的。他非常机灵。” 　　“幸好那小伙子没把他杀了。” 　　“真格的。昨晚吉普赛人要我杀掉他。吉普赛人是个畜生。” 　　“你也是畜生，”她说。“不过是聪明的畜生。” 　　“你我都聪明，”奥古斯丁说。“不过有能耐的还是巴勃罗！” 　　“可是叫人受不了。你不知道他垮到了什么地步。”“知道。可是有能酎呀。听着，比拉尔。发动战争只要靠聪明就成。不过要打胜仗却需要能耐和物资。” 　　“我好好考虑考虑。”她说。“我们现在得动身了。我们已经迟了。”接着提高了嗓门。”英国人1”她喊着。“英国人！来呀，咱们走吧。”

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Chapter 10
"Let us rest," Pilar said to Robert Jordan. "Sit down here, Maria, and let us rest."
"We should continue," Robert Jordan said. "Rest when we get there. I must see this man."
"You will see him," the woman told him. "There is no hurry. Sit down here, Maria."
"Come on," Robert Jordan said. "Rest at the top."
"I rest now," the woman said, and sat down by the stream. The girl sat by her in the heather, the sun shining on her hair. Only Robert Jordan stood looking across the high mountain meadow with the trout brook running through it. There was heather growing where he stood. There were gray boulders rising from the yellow bracken that replaced the heather in the lower part of the meadow and below was the dark line of the pines.
"How far is it to El Sordo's?" he asked.
"Not far," the woman said. "It is across this open country, down into the next valley and above the timber at the head of the stream. Sit thee down and forget thy seriousness."
"I want to see him and get it over with."
"I want to bathe my feet," the woman said and, taking off her rope-soled shoes and pulling off a heavy wool stocking, she put her right foot into the stream. "My God, it's cold."
"We should have taken horses," Robert Jordan told her.
"This is good for me," the woman said. "This is what I have been missing. What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing, except that I am in a hurry."
"Then calm yourself. There is much time. What a day it is and how I am contented not to be in pine trees. You cannot imagine how one can tire of pine trees. Aren't you tired of the pines, _guapa?_"
"I like them," the girl said.
"What can you like about them?"
"I like the odor and the feel of the needles under foot. I like the wind in the high trees and the creaking they make against each other."
"You like anything," Pilar said. "You are a gift to any man if you could cook a little better. But the pine tree makes a forest of boredom. Thou hast never known a forest of beech, nor of oak, nor of chestnut. Those are forests. In such forests each tree differs and there is character and beauty. A forest of pine trees is boredom. What do you say, Ingl廥?"
"I like the pines, too."
"_Pero, venga_," Pilar said. "Two of you. So do I like the pines, but we have been too long in these pines. Also I am tired of the mountains. In mountains there are only two directions. Down and up and down leads only to the road and the towns of the Fascists."
"Do you ever go to Segovia?"
"_Qu?va_. With this face? This is a face that is known. How would you like to be ugly, beautiful one?" she said to Maria.
"Thou art not ugly."
"_Vamos_, I'm not ugly. I was born ugly. All my life I have been ugly. You, _Ingl廥_, who know nothing about women. Do you know how an ugly woman feels? Do you know what it is to be ugly all your life and inside to feel that you are beautiful? It is very rare," she put the other foot in the stream, then removed it. "God, it's cold. Look at the water wagtail," she said and pointed to the gray ball of a bird that was bobbing up and down on a stone up the stream. "Those are no good for anything. Neither to sing nor to eat. Only to jerk their tails up and down. Give me a cigarette, _Ingl廥_," she said and taking it, lit it from a flint and steel lighter in the pocket of her skirt. She puffed on the cigarette and looked at Maria and Robert Jordan.
"Life is very curious," she said, and blew smoke from her nostrils. "I would have made a good man, but I am all woman and all ugly. Yet many men have loved me and I have loved many men. It is curious. Listen, _Ingl廥_, this is interesting. Look at me, as ugly as I am. Look closely, _Ingl廥_."
"Thou art not ugly."
"_Qu?no?_ Don't lie to me. Or," she laughed the deep laugh. "Has it begun to work with thee? No. That is a joke. No. Look at the ugliness. Yet one has a feeling within one that blinds a man while he loves you. You, with that feeling, blind him, and blind yourself. Then one day, for no reason, he sees you ugly as you really are and he is not blind any more and then you see yourself as ugly as he sees you and you lose your man and your feeling. Do you understand, _guapa?_" She patted the girl on the shoulder.
"No," said Maria. "Because thou art not ugly."
"Try to use thy head and not thy heart, and listen," Pilar said. "I am telling you things of much interest. Does it not interest you, _Ingl廥?_"
"Yes. But we should go."
"_Qu?va_, go. I am very well here. Then," she went on, addressing herself to Robert Jordan now as though she were speaking to a classroom; almost as though she were lecturing. "After a while, when you are as ugly as I am, as ugly as women can be, then, as I say, after a while the feeling, the idiotic feeling that you are beautiful, grows slowly in one again. It grows like a cabbage. And then, when the feeling is grown, another man sees you and thinks you are beautiful and it is all to do over. Now I think I am past it, but it still might come. You are lucky, _guapa_, that you are not ugly."
"But I _am_ ugly," Maria insisted.
"Ask _him_," said Pilar. "And don't put thy feet in the stream because it will freeze them."
"If Roberto says we should go, I think we should go," Maria said.
"Listen to you," Pilar said. "I have as much at stake in this as thy Roberto and I say that we are well off resting here by the stream and that there is much time. Furthermore, I like to talk. It is the only civilized thing we have. How otherwise can we divert ourselves? Does what I say not hold interest for you, _Ingl廥?_"
"You speak very well. But there are other things that interest me more than talk of beauty or lack of beauty."
"Then let us talk of what interests thee."
"Where were you at the start of the movement?"
"In my town."
"Avila?"
"_Qu?va_, Avila."
"Pablo said he was from Avila."
"He lies. He wanted to take a big city for his town. It was this town," and she named a town.
"And what happened?"
"Much," the woman said. "Much. And all of it ugly. Even that which was glorious."
"Tell me about it," Robert Jordan said.
"It is brutal," the woman said. "I do not like to tell it before the girl."
"Tell it," said Robert Jordan. "And if it is not for her, that she should not listen."
"I can hear it," Maria said. She put her hand on Robert Jordan's. "There is nothing that I cannot hear."
"It isn't whether you can hear it," Pilar said. "It is whether I should tell it to thee and make thee bad dreams."
"I will not get bad dreams from a story," Maria told her. "You think after all that has happened with us I should get bad dreams from a story?"
"Maybe it will give the _Ingl廥_ bad dreams."
"Try it and see."
"No, _Ingl廥_, I am not joking. Didst thou see the start of the movement in any small town?"
"No," Robert Jordan said.
"Then thou hast seen nothing. Thou hast seen the ruin that now is Pablo, but you should have seen Pablo on that day."
"Tell it."
"Nay. I do not want to."
"Tell it."
"All right, then. I will tell it truly as it was. But thee, _guapa_, if it reaches a point that it molests thee, tell me."
"I will not listen to it if it molests me," Maria told her. "It cannot be worse than many things."
"I believe it can," the woman said. "Give me another cigarette, _Ingl廥_, and _vamonos_."
The girl leaned back against the heather on the bank of the stream and Robert Jordan stretched himself out, his shoulders against the ground and his head against a clump of the heather. He reached out and found Maria's hand and held it in his, rubbing their two hands against the heather until she opened her hand and laid it flat on top of his as they listened.
"It was early in the morning when the _civiles_ surrendered at the barracks," Pilar began.
"You had assaulted the barracks?" Robert Jordan asked.
"Pablo had surrounded it in the dark, cut the telephone wires, placed dynamite under one wall and called on the _guardia civil_ to surrender. They would not. And at daylight he blew the wall open. There was fighting. Two _civiles_ were killed. Four were wounded and four surrendered.
"We all lay on roofs and on the ground and at the edge of walls and of buildings in the early morning light and the dust cloud of the explosion had not yet settled, for it rose high in the air and there was no wind to carry it, and all of us were firing into the broken side of the building, loading and firing into the smoke, and from within there was still the flashing of rifles and then there was a shout from in the smoke not to fire more, and out came the four _civiles_ with their hands up. A big part of the roof had fallen in and the wall was gone and they came out to surrender.
"'Are there more inside?' Pablo shouted.
"'There are wounded.'
"'Guard these,' Pablo said to four who had come up from where we were firing. 'Stand there. Against the wall,' he told the _civiles_. The four _civiles_ stood against the wall, dirty, dusty, smoke-grimed, with the four who were guarding them pointing their guns at them and Pablo and the others went in to finish the wounded.
"After they had done this and there was no longer any noise of the wounded, neither groaning, nor crying out, nor the noise of shooting in the barracks, Pablo and the others came out and Pablo had his shotgun over his back and was carrying in his hand a Mauser pistol.
"'Look, Pilar,' he said. 'This was in the hand of the officer who killed himself. Never have I fired a pistol. You,' he said to one of the guards, 'show me how it works. No. Don't show me. Tell me.'
"The four _civiles_ had stood against the wall, sweating and saying nothing while the shooting had gone on inside the barracks. They were all tall men with the faces of _guardias civiles_, which is the same model of face as mine is. Except that their faces were covered with the small stubble of this their last morning of not yet being shaved and they stood there against the wall and said nothing.
"'You,' said Pablo to the one who stood nearest him. 'Tell me how it works.'
"'Pull the small lever down,' the man said in a very dry voice. 'Pull the receiver back and let it snap forward.'
"'What is the receiver?' asked Pablo, and he looked at the four _civiles_. 'What is the receiver?'
"'The block on top of the action.'
"Pablo pulled it back, but it stuck. 'What now?' he said. 'It is jammed. You have lied to me.'
"'Pull it farther back and let it snap lightly forward,' the _civil_ said, and I have never heard such a tone of voice. It was grayer than a morning without sunrise.
"Pablo pulled and let go as the man had told him and the block snapped forward into place and the pistol was cocked with the hammer back. It is an ugly pistol, small in the round handle, large and flat in the barrel, and unwieldy. All this time the _civiles_ had been watching him and they had said nothing.
"'What are you going to do with us?' one asked him.
"'Shoot thee,' Pablo said.
"'When?' the man asked in the same gray voice.
"'Now,' said Pablo.
"'Where?' asked the man.
"'Here,' said Pablo. 'Here. Now. Here and now. Have you anything to say?'
"'_Nada_,' said the _civil_. 'Nothing. But it is an ugly thing.'
"'And you are an ugly thing,' Pablo said. 'You murderer of peasants. You who would shoot your own mother.'
"'I have never killed any one,' the _civil_ said. 'And do not speak of my mother.'
"'Show us how to die. You, who have always done the killing.'
"'There is no necessity to insult us,' another _civil_ said. 'And we know how to die.'
"'Kneel down against the wall with your heads against the wall,' Pablo told them. The _civiles_ looked at one another.
"'Kneel, I say,' Pablo said. 'Get down and kneel.'
"'How does it seem to you, Paco?' one _civil_ said to the tallest, who had spoken with Pablo about the pistol. He wore a corporal's stripes on his sleeves and was sweating very much although the early morning was still cool.
"'It is as well to kneel,' he answered. 'It is of no importance.'
"'It is closer to the earth,' the first one who had spoken said, trying to make a joke, but they were all too grave for a joke and no one smiled.
"'Then let us kneel,' the first _civil_ said, and the four knelt, looking very awkward with their heads against the wall and their hands by their sides, and Pablo passed behind them and shot each in turn in the back of the head with the pistol, going from one to another and putting the barrel of the pistol against the back of their heads, each man slipping down as he fired. I can hear the pistol still, sharp and yet muffled, and see the barrel jerk and the head of the man drop forward. One held his head still when the pistol touched it. One pushed his head forward and pressed his forehead against the stone. One shivered in his whole body and his head was shaking. Only one put his hands in front of his eyes, and he was the last one, and the four bodies were slumped against the wall when Pablo turned away from them and came toward us with the pistol still in his hand.
"'Hold this for me, Pilar,' he said. 'I do not know how to put down the hammer,' and he handed me the pistol and stood there looking at the four guards as they lay against the wall of the barracks. All those who were with us stood there too, looking at them, and no one said anything.
"We had won the town and it was still early in the morning and no one had eaten nor had any one drunk coffee and we looked at each other and we were all powdered with dust from the blowing up of the barracks, as powdered as men are at a threshing, and I stood holding the pistol and it was heavy in my hand and I felt weak in the stomach when I looked at the guards dead there against the wall; they all as gray and as dusty as we were, but each one was now moistening with his blood the dry dirt by the wall where they lay. And as we stood there the sun rose over the far hills and shone now on the road where we stood and on the white wall of the barracks and the dust in the air was golden in that first sun and the peasant who was beside me looked at the wall of the barracks and what lay there and then looked at us and then at the sun and said, '_Vaya_, a day that commences.'
"'Now let us go and get coffee,' I said.
"'Good, Pilar, good,' he said. And we went up into the town to the Plaza, and those were the last people who were shot in the village."
"What happened to the others?" Robert Jordan asked. "Were there no other fascists in the village?"
"_Qu?va_, were there no other fascists? There were more than twenty. But none was shot."
"What was done?"
"Pablo had them beaten to death with flails and thrown from the top of the cliff into the river."
"All twenty?"
"I will tell you. It is not so simple. And in my life never do I wish to see such a scene as the flailing to death in the plaza on the top of the cliff above the river.
"The town is built on the high bank above the river and there is a square there with a fountain and there are benches and there are big trees that give a shade for the benches. The balconies of the houses look out on the plaza. Six streets enter on the plaza and there is an arcade from the houses that goes around the plaza so that one can walk in the shade of the arcade when the sun is hot. On three sides of the plaza is the arcade and on the fourth side is the walk shaded by the trees beside the edge of the cliff with, far below, the river. It is three hundred feet down to the river.
"Pablo organized it all as he did the attack on the barracks. First he had the entrances to the streets blocked off with carts as though to organize the plaze for a _capea_. For an amateur bullfight. The fascists were all held in the _Ayuntamiento_, the city hall, which was the largest building on one side of the plaza. It was there the clock was set in the wall and it was in the buildings under the arcade that the club of the fascists was. And under the arcade on the sidewalk in front of their club was where they had their chairs and tables for their club. It was there, before the movement, that they were accustomed to take the ap廨itifs. The chairs and the tables were of wicker. It looked like a caf?but was more elegant."
"But was there no fighting to take them?"
"Pablo had them seized in the night before he assaulted the barracks. But he had already surrounded the barracks. They were all seized in their homes at the same hour the attack started. That was intelligent. Pablo is an organizer. Otherwise he would have had people attacking him at his flanks and at his rear while he was assaulting the barracks of the _guardia civil_.
"Pablo is very intelligent but very brutal. He had this of the village well planned and well ordered. Listen. After the assault was successful, and the last four guards had surrendered, and he had shot them against the wall, and we had drunk coffee at the caf?that always opened earliest in the morning by the corner from which the early bus left, he proceeded to the organization of the plaza. Carts were piled exactly as for a _capea_ except that the side toward the river was not enclosed. That was left open. Then Pablo ordered the priest to confess the fascists and give them the necessary sacraments."
"Where was this done?"
"In the _Ayuntamiento_, as I said. There was a great crowd outside and while this was going on inside with the priest, there was some levity outside and shouting of obscenities, but most of the people were very serious and respectful. Those who made jokes were those who were already drunk from the celebration of the taking of the barracks and there were useless characters who would have been drunk at any time.
"While the priest was engaged in these duties, Pablo organized those in the plaza into two lines.
"He placed them in two lines as you would place men for a rope pulling contest, or as they stand in a city to watch the ending of a bicycle road race with just room for the cyclists to pass between, or as men stood to allow the passage of a holy image in a procession. Two meters was left between the lines and they extended from the door of the _Ayuntamiento_ clear across the plaza to the edge of the cliff. So that, from the doorway of the _Ayuntamiento_, looking across the plaza, one coming out would see two solid lines of people waiting.
"They were armed with flails such as are used to beat out the grain and they were a good flail's length apart. All did not have flails, as enough flails could not be obtained. But most had flails obtained from the store of Don Guillermo Martin, who was a fascist and sold all sorts of agricultural implements. And those who did not have flails had heavy herdsman's clubs, or ox-goads, and some had wooden pitchforks; those with wooden tines that are used to fork the chaff and straw into the air after the flailing. Some had sickles and reaping hooks but these Pablo placed at the far end where the lines reached the edge of the cliff.
"These lines were quiet and it was a clear day, as today is clear, and there were clouds high in the sky, as there are now, and the plaza was not yet dusty for there had been a heavy dew in the night, and the trees cast a shade over the men in the lines and you could hear the water running from the brass pipe in the mouth of the lion and falling into the bowl of the fountain where the women bring the water jars to fill them.
"Only near the _Ayuntamiento_, where the priest was complying with his duties with the fascists, was there any ribaldry, and that came from those worthless ones who, as I said, were already drunk and were crowded around the windows shouting obscenities and jokes in bad taste in through the iron bars of the windows. Most of' the men in the lines were waiting quietly and I heard one say to another, 'Will there be women?'
"And another said, 'I hope to Christ, no.'
"Then one said, 'Here is the woman of Pablo. Listen, Pilar. Will there be women?'
"I looked at him and he was a peasant dressed in his Sunday jacket and sweating heavily and I said, 'No, Joaqu璯. There are no women. We are not killing the women. Why should we kill their women?'
"And he said, 'Thanks be to Christ, there are no women and when does it start?'
"And I said, 'As soon as the priest finishes.'
"'And the priest?'
"'I don't know,' I told him and I saw his face working and the sweat coming down on his forehead. 'I have never killed a man,' he said.
"'Then you will learn,' the peasant next to him said. 'But I do not think one blow with this will kill a man,' and he held his flail in both hands and looked at it with doubt.
"'That is the beauty of it,' another peasant said. 'There must be many blows.'
"'_They_ have taken Valladolid. _They_ have Avila,' some one said. 'I heard that before we came into town.'
"'_They_ will never take _this_ town. _This_ town is ours. We have struck ahead of them,' I said. 'Pablo is not one to wait for them to strike.'
"'Pablo is able,' another said. 'But in this finishing off of the _civiles_ he was egoistic. Don't you think so, Pilar?'
"'Yes,' I said. 'But now all are participating in this.'
"'Yes,' he said. 'It is well organized. But why do we not hear more news of the movement?'
"'Pablo cut the telephone wires before the assault on the barracks. They are not yet repaired.'
"'Ah,' he said. 'It is for this we hear nothing. I had my news from the roadmender's station early this morning.'
"'Why is this done thus, Pilar?' he said to me.
"'To save bullets,' I said. 'And that each man should have his share in the responsibility.'
"'That it should start then. That it should start.' And I looked at him and saw that he was crying.
"'Why are you crying, Joaqu璯?' I asked him. 'This is not to cry about'
"'I cannot help it, Pilar,' he said. 'I have never killed any one.'
"If you have not seen the day of revolution in a small town where all know all in the town and always have known all, you have seen nothing. And on this day most of the men in the double line across the plaza wore the clothes in which they worked in the fields, having come into town hurriedly, but some, not knowing how one should dress for the first day of a movement, wore their clothes for Sundays or holidays, and these, seeing that the others, including those who had attacked the barracks, wore their oldest clothes, were ashamed of being wrongly dressed. But they did not like to take off their jackets for fear of losing them, or that they might be stolen by the worthless ones, and so they stood, sweating in the sun and waiting for it to commence.
"Then the wind rose and the dust was now dry in the plaza for the men walking and standing and shuffling had loosened it and it commenced to blow and a man in a dark blue Sunday jacket shouted 'Agua! Agua!' and the caretaker of the plaza, whose duty it was to sprinkle the plaza each morning with a hose, came and turned the hose on and commenced to lay the dust at the edge of the plaza, and then toward the center. Then the two lines fell back and let him lay the dust over the center of the plaza; the hose sweeping in wide arcs and the water glistening in the sun and the men leaning on their flails or the clubs or the white wood pitchforks and watching the sweep of the stream of water. And then, when the plaza was nicely moistened and the dust settled, the lines formed up again and a peasant shouted, 'When do we get the first fascist? When does the first one come out of the box?'
"'Soon,' Pablo shouted from the door of the _Ayuntamiento_. 'Soon the first one comes out.' His voice was hoarse from shouting in the assault and from the smoke of the barracks.
"'What's the delay?' some one asked.
"'They're still occupied with their sins,' Pablo shouted.
"'Clearly, there are twenty of them,' a man said.
"'More,' said another.
"'Among twenty there are many sins to recount.'
"'Yes, but I think it's a trick to gain time. Surely facing such an emergency one could not remember one's sins except for the biggest.'
"'Then have patience. For with more than twenty of them there are enough of the biggest sins to take some time.'
"'I have patience,' said the other. 'But it is better to get it over with. Both for them and for us. It is July and there is much work. We have harvested but we have not threshed. We are not yet in the time of fairs and festivals.'
"'But this will be a fair and festival today,' another said. 'The Fair of Liberty and from this day, when these are extinguished, the town and the land are ours.'
"'We thresh fascists today,' said one, 'and out of the chaff comes the freedom of this pueblo.'
"'We must administer it well to deserve it,' said another. 'Pilar,' he said to me, 'when do we have a meeting for organization?'
"'Immediately after this is completed,' I told him. 'In the same building of the _Ayuntamiento_.'
"I was wearing one of the three-cornered patent leather hats of the _guardia civil_ as a joke and I had put the hammer down on the pistol, holding it with my thumb to lower it as I pulled on the trigger as seemed natural, and the pistol was held in a rope I had around my waist, the long barrel stuck under the rope. And when I put it on the joke seemed very good to me, although afterwards I wished I had taken the holster of the pistol instead of the hat. But one of the men in the line said to me, 'Pilar, daughter. It seems to me bad taste for thee to wear that hat. Now we have finished with such things as the _guardia civil_.'
"'Then,' I said, 'I will take it off.' And I did.
"'Give it to me,' he said. 'It should be destroyed.'
"And as we were at the far end of the line where the walk runs along the cliff by the river, he took the hat in his hand and sailed it off over the cliff with the motion a herdsman makes throwing a stone underhand at the bulls to herd them. The hat sailed far out into space and we could see it smaller and smaller, the patent leather shining in the clear air, sailing down to the river. I looked back over the square and at all the windows and all the balconies there were people crowded and there was the double line of men across the square to the doorway of the _Ayuntamiento_ and the crowd swarmed Outside against the windows of that building and there was the noise of many people talking, and then I heard a shout and some one said 'Here comes the first one,' and it was Don Benito Garcia, the Mayor, and he came out bareheaded walking slowly from the door and down the porch and nothing happened; and he walked between the line of men with the flails and nothing happened. He passed two men, four men, eight men, ten men and nothing happened and he was walking between that line of men, his head up, his fat face gray, his eyes looking ahead and then flickering from side to side and walking steadily. And nothing happened.
"From a balcony some one cried out, '_Qu?pasa, cobardes?_ What is the matter, cowards?' and still Don Benito walked along between the men and nothing happened. Then I saw a man three men down from where I was standing and his face was working and he was biting his lips and his hands were white on his flail. I saw him looking toward Don Benito, watching him come on. And still nothing happened. Then, just before Don Benito came abreast of this man, the man raised his flail high so that it struck the man beside him and smashed a blow at Don Benito that hit him on the side of the head and Don Benito looked at him and the man struck again and shouted, 'That for you, _Cabron_,' and the blow hit Don Benito in the face and he raised his hands to his face and they beat him until he fell and the man who had struck him first called to others to help him and he pulled on the collar of Don Benito's shirt and others took hold of his arms and with his face in the dust of the plaza, they dragged him over the walk to the edge of the cliff and threw him over and into the river. And the man who hit him first was kneeling by the edge of the cliff looking over after him and saying, 'The Cabron! The Cabron! Oh, the Cabron!' He was a tenant of Don Benito and they had never gotten along together. There had been a dispute about a piece of land by the river that Don Benito had taken from this man and let to another and this man had long hated him. This man did not join the line again but sat by the cliff looking down where Don Benito had fallen.
"After Don Benito no one would come out. There was no noise now in the plaza as all were waiting to see who it was that would come out. Then a drunkard shouted in a great voice, '_Qu?salga el toro!_ Let the bull out!'
"Then some one from by the windows of the _Ayuntamiento_ yelled, 'They won't move! They are all praying!'
"Another drunkard shouted, 'Pull them out. Come on, pull them out. The time for praying is finished.'
"But none came out and then I saw a man coming out of the door.
"It was Don Federico Gonzalez, who owned the mill and feed store and was a fascist of the first order. He was tall and thin and his hair was brushed over the top of his head from one side to the other to cover a baldness and he wore a nightshirt that was tucked into his trousers. He was barefooted as when he had been taken from his home and he walked ahead of Pablo holding his hands above his head, and Pablo walked behind him with the barrels of his shotgun pressing against the back of Don Federico Gonzalez until Don Federico entered the double line. But when Pablo left him and returned to the door of the _Ayuntamiento_, Don Federico could not walk forward, and stood there, his eyes turned up to heaven and his hands reaching up as though they would grasp the sky.
"'He has no legs to walk,' some one said.
"'What's the matter, Don Federico? Can't you walk?' some one shouted to him. But Don Federico stood there with his hands up and only his lips were moving.
"'Get on,' Pablo shouted to him from the steps. 'Walk.'
"Don Federico stood there and could not move. One of the drunkards poked him in the backside with a flail handle and Don Federico gave a quick jump as a balky horse might, but still stood in the same place, his hands up, and his eyes up toward the sky.
"Then the peasant who stood beside me said, 'This is shameful. I have nothing against him but such a spectacle must terminate.' S

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“我们拿下了那个小镇，那时还是清早，没人吃过东西，也没人喝过咖啡；我们互相望望，炸了兵营之后，大家都弄得漪身尘土，就象打谷场上的人那样。我拿了手熗站着，手里沉甸甸的，望着墙边民防军的？”体，我觉得恶心。死？“和我们一样，浑身是土，灰扑扑的，只是每个死人都在淌血，润湿了他们身边墙脚下的干泥地。我们站在那儿，太阳从远方的山上升起，阳光照在我们当时站着的路上，照在兵营的白墙上。空中的灰尘在旭日中变成了金黄　。我身边那个农民望望兵营的墙，望望倒在埔边的？”体，再箄望我们，望望太阳，然后说，瞧啊，一天开始了，“”我们现在去喝咖啡吧。“我说。
“好，比拉尔，好，他说。于是我们走进小镇到了。”场上。那些是这小镇上最后被熗杀的一批。“
“其他的人怎么样？”罗伯特　乔丹问　“镇上难道没有别的法西斯分子吗？”
“什么话，怎么会没有别的法西斯分子？还有二十多个。可是。个也没被熗杀。”
“那是怎么回事？”
“巴勃罗命令用连枷把他们活活打死，然后在峭壁上把他们扔进江里。”
“二十个都这样？”
“我跟你讲吧。事情不那么简单。我这一辈子再也不想看这种情景了，在江边峭壁上的。”场上用连枷把人活活打死。
“那小镇建在江岸边，离江面很高，那里有一个。”场，。“场上有喷泉，几条长凳和给长凳遮荫的大树。住家的餺台都对着。”场。六条街汇向。“场，周围有一条和每座房子相通的连拱廊，太阳毒晒的时候，人们可以在廊荫下行走……”场三边都是连拱廊，第四边是峭壁边上的一条树木遮荫的走道，下面是相距三百英尺的江面。
“当时的安排由巴勃罗一手包办，就象安排袭击兵费时一样。他先用大车堵住通各条大街的路口，仿佛在。”场上准备举行民间斗牛戏似的。法西斯分子统统被关在镇公所里，那是。“场一边最大的房子，墙上有一个大钟，法西斯分子的俱乐部就在那连拱廊下的房屋里。在连拱庵底下，俱乐部门前的人行道上，他们摆了一些桌椅。革命以前，他们愤常在这里喝他们的开胃酒。桌椅是梆条编制的。那样子很象咖啡馆，不过更是雅致”俘虏这些人的时候难道没有发生战斗？“”巴勃罗是在袭击兵营的前一晚把他们逮住的。不过，当时已把兵营包围住了。在袭击开始的同时，他们全都在家里被逮住。干得真聪明。巴勃罗有组织才能。不这样，他在袭击民防军兵营的时候，人家就会在他的侧冀和背后向他进攻了。
“巴勃罗真聪明，不过也真残暴。他把在镇上干的这桩事布置得面面俱到、井井有条。听着。袭击得手之后，最后四个民防军投降了，他在墙脚下熗毙了他们，我们在拐角上早班公共汽车终点站边那家总是最早营业的咖啡店里喝了咖啡。随后，他就动手布置。”场。大车给架在一起，就和准备举行民间斗牛戏时一模一样，只有面江的一边不堵住。网开一面。巴勃罗接着命令神父给法西斯分子忏悔，还给他们做必要的圣事。“”这事在什么地方干的？“
“我说过了，在镇公所里。神父在里面干这些事，外面人山人海，有的嘻嘻哈哈，骂了一些脏话，不过大多数人还是十分认真、恭恭敬敬的。开玩笑的是那些庆祝拿下兵营而已经喝醉的人，还有一些整天醉醺醺的游手好闲的人。
“神父在做圣事的时侯，巴勃罗吩咐。”场上的人们排成两行。
“他叫大家排成两行，就象叫人们排好了准备来一场拔河比赛，或者象人们在城里看自行车比赛到终点时那样，只给运动员留出一条狭路从中通过，或者象人们站着让路给圣像仪仗队通过一样。两排人之间空出两公尺宽的一条道，人们从镇公所门口排起，通过整个。”场，直到峭壁边上。这样，从镇公所大门出来的人朝。“场一看，只见两行排得很紧密的人在等待着，
“他们配备了打谷用的连枷，两排之间有足够的抡连枷的空地。不是所有的人都拿着连枷，因为搞不到这许多。可是大多数人从堂　吉列尔莫马，”的铺子里搞来了，这个人是法西斯分子，卖各种各样的农具。没有连枷的人就拿着粗大的牧羊棍，或赶牛棒，有的拿着木制的干草叉，那是打谷后把干革和麦秆挑向空中用的木叉，有的拿着镰刀，不过，巴勃罗把这些人安排在队伍中靠近峭壁的那一头。
“两排人静俏悄的，那天就象今天一样晴朗，就象现在一样天高云淡，。”场上还没有灰尘，因为上一晚露水很浓，两排人的身上有树荫遮着，你听得到泉水从那狮子塑像嘴里的铜管喷出来，落到水池里的声音，妇女们平时带了水罐就在这里舀水的。
“只有神父在给法西斯分子做圣事的镇公所附近有下流的叫骂声；那些人，我已说过，是巳经喝醉的二流子，他们挤在窗外，隔着窗上的铁栅栏，对里面大骂粗话，开些低级下淹的玩笑。站队的两排人大多数不声不响地等着。这时，我听到有人在问另一个人，里面有女的吗？
“另一个回答，基督保佑，但愿没有女的。”“这时还有一个说，巴勃罗的老婆在这里。喂，比拉尔。里面有女的吗？
“我望着他，那是个农民，穿着出客穿的外套，满头是汗。我就说，没有，华金。没女的。我们不杀女的。我们干吗杀他们的女人呀？
“他说，多谢基督，没女的。那啥时候动手啊V”我说，等神父做完祈祷就开始。“那么神父怎么办？
“我不知道。”我对他说。我看到他脸上的肌肉在抽动，汗从前額上淌下来。我从没杀过人。“他说。
“那么你得学学啦。”他身旁的一个农民说。不过依我看，这家伙揍一下是不会叫人送命的。他双手握着连枷，怀疑地望着。
“妙就妙在这里，'另一个农民说。一定要揍许多下才行。”
“拿下了瓦利阿多里德。堆拿下了阿维拉，有一个人说。我们进镇前，我就听到这消
“哗巧拿不下本镇。字　镇是我们的。我们赶在他们前面先动了，；我说。先下为、，巴勃罗可不是那种婆婆妈妈的人。，”巴勃罗真能，另一个说。'但是在结果民防军的时候，他有点自私。你说对不，比拉尔？
“'对呀，我说。'可目前的事大家都插手了。”不锴，他说。这次安排得很好。不过我们为什么再听不到关于战争的消息呢？
“袭击兵营前，巴勃罗把电话线割断了。电话线坯没有接好。
“噢，他说。原来这样，怪不得我们听不到消息了。我这个消息是今天清早在养路站那里听来的。
“干吗用这个办法来对付他们，比拉尔？他问我。为了省子弹，我说。还有，每个人都应该承担一份责任
那么就该动手了。该动手了，“我望着他，只见他哭了。”你千吗哭，华金？我问他。'这有哙好哭的。我忍不住，比拉尔，他说。我从没杀过人，“”小镇上大家认识大家，一向知道底细，你要是没见过小镇上革命开头时的情况，你就等于没见过世面。这天，。“场上那两排人里，大多数穿着在地里干活的衣服，原是匆匆赶到镇上来的，不过也有人不知道革命头一天该怎么打扮，穿了礼拜天或者过节时的农服，后来看到别人，包括那些袭击兵营的人，都穿着最旧的衣裳，发觉自己穿得不对头，很不好意思。不过他们不愿意脱下来，生怕丢失，或者被二流子偷去。他们就这样满头大汗地站在太阳底下，等着动手，
“那时起风了，大家刚才在。”场上走的走、站的站，来回走动，泥土被踩得又干又松，被风刮起来，于是有一个穿藏青色出客外套的人喊道“洒水，洒水每天早晨用皮管在。”场上洒水的。“场管理员便走上前来拧开水龙头，从。”场旁边向中间洒水，把尘土压下去。两排人随即向后退去，让他在。“场中间洒水；皮管大幅度地挥动着，喷出的水在阳光中闪闪发亮，大家把身体拄在自己的连枷、棍子或者白木草叉上，望着那喷射的水。等。”场上洒得很潮，灰尘不再飞扬了，两排人就又站好了队，有个农民大声喊道。“我们啥时侯伺候第一个法西斯分子啊？苐一个啥时候从畜栏里出来呀？
“快了，巴勃穸在镇公所的门里提髙了嗓门说，第一个马上就出来，”在袭击兵背时，他大声吆喝，硝烟又呛人，所以他的声音哑了。
“还磨蹐什么呀？有人问。
“他们还在忏悔自己的罪孽哪。”巴勃罗提高了嗓门说。“是呀，总共有二十个呢，有人说。”不止，另一个说。“'二十个人的罪孽讲起来可不少。”是呀，我看，他们是在搞鬼，在拖时间。在这紧要当口，除了穷凶极恶的事之外，一般的罪孽谁还会记得？
“只能耐心点。这二十多个人穷凶极恶的罪孽也眵多的，讲起来可花时间哪
“我有耐心。”另一个说。不过最好还是快点了事。对他们，对我们，都是快点好。现在七月天了，事情多着。收割后还没打谷。现在可还不是赶集过节的时光。
“今天就等于赶集过节。”另“个说。'是自由节，从今天起，这些家伙消灭以后，这镇和土地就是我们的了。”
“这些法西斯分子就是我们今天要打的谷子，有。个人说。打掉粃槺就有了本镇的自由。”
“我们必须管好镇上的事，不能丢人"另一个说。比拉尔，他对我说，我们什么时候开组织大会？
“这件事办完就开，，我对他说。就在镇公所的房子里开。”“我诹上一顶民防军的三角漆皮帽闹着好玩。我把手熗上了保险，那当然是扣住了扳机，同时用大拇指把击铁轻轻地朝前推。我把手熗插在腰上，长长的熗筒插在束在腰上的绳子里。我戴帽子的时候，觉得这个玩笑很有意思，尽管后来我想，当初拿民防军的權子还不如拿熗套的好。两排人畢有个人对我说，比拉尔，好闺女。你戴这顶帽子，我心里觉得不是滋味。我们现在已经把民防军这类东西消灭掉了。
“那么，我说，我就摘下吧。，我摘了帽子。”把帽子给我，他说。应当毁掉它“我们那时正站在这两排人的尽头，沿江峭壁边缘的走道上，所以他随手把帽子从峭壁上扔下去，就象牧人不抬手扔石块赶牛似的。帽子飘到远远的空中，越来越小，漆皮在清澈的空中闪闪发亮，一直落到江里。我回过头来望。”场，只见所有的窗口和露台上都挤满了人，那两排人在。“场上一直排到镇公所门口，大楼窗前也尽是人，挤来挤去，七嘴八舌，那时只听得一声大叫，有人说。”头一个出来啦。“原来是镇长堂　贝尼托加西亚，他光着脑袋从大门里慢吞吞走出来，走下门廊，没有什么动静走到两排拿着连枷的人中间，还是没有动静。他在两个、四个、八个、十个人中间走过，没有动静。他在这两排人中间昂首走着，胖险上脸色灰白，眼睛先是向前望，接着朝左右偷看，走得很稳。还是没有动静。
“有人在露台上喊了。”怎么搞的，你们这些胆小鬼？堂事贝尼托仍旧在两排人中间走着，没有动静。那时，离我三个人的地方，有个人脸上的肌肉在抽动，他晈着嘴唇，使劲握住连枷的手失去了血色。我看他朝堂　贝尼托的方向望着，等他走过来。仍旧没有动静。堂贝尼托刚走到他面前的时候，他髙高抡起连枷，竞然碰到了身边的人，然后一下子往堂　贝尼托理去，打在他脑袋一边，堂　贝尼托对他瞅了一眼，这人又是一下子，同时嚷道“给你点颜色看看，王八蛋，这一下打在堂，贝尼托脸上，他举起双手捂住脸，于是大家纷纷动手，把他打拥在地；最早动手的那入叫别人帮忙，他一把抓住堂争贝尼托的衬衫领子，别的人抓住他的胳臂，他的脸擦着。”场的泥地，大家就这样把他一路拖着，越过走道，拖到峭壁边，扔出去落到江里。第一个动手的人跪在峭壁边上看他往下掉，说"王八蛋1王八蛋　舸，王八蛋。“这个人是堂　贝尼托的佃户，他们早就结了仇。堂”贝尼托把江边―块地从他手里收因给别人种，他们为此吵过，这个人早就恨他了。这个人不再回到队伍里面，只是坐在峭壁上，望着堂　贝尼托掉下去的地方。
“堂　贝尼托之后没人肯出来。这时。”场上鸦雀无声，因为大家都等待着，要看看下一个出来的是谁。这时有个醉汉大声嚷嚷。“把牛放出来”
“这时镇公所窗边有人嚷道，他们不肯动窝啦！他们都在祷告。”。
“另一个醉汉叫了，把他们拖出来。来吧，把他们拖出来。祷告时间过啦。”
“不过一个也没出来，过了一会，我看到大门里出来一个人。”那是堂　费德里科，冈萨雷斯，他是磨坊和饲料铺的老板，是个首要的法西斯分子。他又高又瘦，头发是横梳的，好遮住秃顶，他穿着长睡衣，下摆塞在裤子里。他光着脚，仍是他在家被逮捕时的那副換样。他两手举过脑袋，在巴勃罗前面走着，巴勃罗跟在后面，用猎熗熗口顶住他的后背，一直逼他走到两排人中间。可是等巴勃罗撇下了他，回到镇公所门口的时候，他却站在那里不动了，眼睛望着天空，两手高举，好象想抓住老天似的。“他没腿走路了。”有人说。
“怎么啦，堂，费德里科？你不会走路吗？有人对他大叫。堂　费德里科却举起两手站在那里，只有嘴唇在动-”走呀。“巴勃罗在石阶上对他嚷道。走。”“堂”费德里科站在那儿不会动了。有个醉汉用连枷柄戳他屁股，堂，费德里科象匹执拗的马那样突然蹦了一下，可是仍旧站在原地，举起两手，翻着眼睛望天。
“于是站在我身边的那个农民说。”这太丢人了。我对他没什么仇，不过这场戏该结束了。他向这排人的前头走去，挤到堂“费德里科站着的地方，说，对不起你啦。”朝他头拥就猛打一棍。
“堂费德里科把举起的双手按在头上，挡住秃顶，他低下用两手蒙住的头，手指间露出了盖在秃顶上的几根长头发，他在两排人中间飞奔，可是连枷接二连三地落在他背上和肩上，直到他栽倒在地。队伍尽头处的那些人把他拽起来，扔到峭壁外。自从巴勃罗用猎熗把他逼出大门之后，他没开过口。他唯一的难处就是往前走。两条腿仿佛不听他使唤了，
“在堂，费德里科之后，我看到，最狠心的人都聚到队伍尽头的蛸壁边来。我就离幵那里，走到镇公所的庳前，推开了两个醉汉，朝窗里张望。在镇公所的大厅里，大家围成半画形跪在那里祷告；神父也跪着和他们一起祷告。巴勃罗一伙拿着猎熗站着，其中有个叫四指头，的皮匠，当时总跟巴勃罗在一起的，另外还有两个人。巴勃罗对神父说，现在谁去神父只顾继续祷告，不答理他。
“你听着。”巴勃罗粗声粗气地对神父说，现在谁去？谁准备好了？
“神父不愿跟巴勃罗说话，只当没有他这个人在身边。我看得出，巴勃罗很恼火。
“我们大家一起去，堂，里卡多　蒙塔尔沃抬起头，停了祷告对巴勃罗说。这家伙是地主。
“什么话，巴勃罗说，准备好了，一次去一个。”“那我去，堂里卡多说。我永远不会比现在更有准备了。他说时神父替他祝福，他站起身的时候，神父又替他祝福。神父不停地祷告，举起十字架，让堂，里卡多亲吻。堂　里卡多吻了十字架后转身对巴勃罗说，并且再也不会比现在更有准备了。你这个孬种。咱们走吧。”
“堂”里卡多是个矮子，灰头发，粗脖子，穿件没安硬领的衬衫。因为他常骑马，有点罗圈腿。永别了，他对所有跪着的人说。不要难过。死没有什么了不起。倒鏵的是死在这个混蛋手里。别碓我。“他对巴勃罗说。别用熗碰我，”
“他走出镇公所大门，长着灰头发、灰色的小眼睛和粗脖子，显得很矮，很恼火。他望望两排农民，朝地上啐，”一口唾沫。在当时的处境下，你知道，英国人，他居然真的啐了唾沬，这种事很少见。他说，西班牙万岁！打倒假共和国　我操你们的祖宗！
“经他这一骂，大家很快就揍死了他。他走到第一个人身前就挨了打，他还想抬起头来朝前走，就继续挨着打，直到栽倒在地，他们用镰钩和镰刀砍他，很多人把他抬到峭壁边，扔了下去。这时，大家的手上和衣服上都沾上了血迹，这时，他们才觉得，走出来的人是他们真正的敌人，应该杀掉。
“在堂，里卡多恶狠狠走出来骂娘之前，我敢说，不少人是宁愿不站在这队伍里的。要是叭伍里有人大叫"得了，我们饶了其余的人吧。他们已经得到教训啦。”我敢说，大多数人是会同意的。
“可是堂里卡多那副拚着千的架势给别人帮了倒忙。因为他惹怒了这两排人，本来大家只是为了履行公事，对这种事劲头不大，而现在冒火了，情绪显然起了变化。
“把神父放出来，干起来就快啦，有个人大叫。”把抻父放出来。
“我们千掉了三个强盗，让我们把神父干掉吧。”“两个强盗，一个矮矮的农民对那个大叫的人说。跟我们的主一起钉十字架的是两个强盗。①”谁的主？那人说，他的脸气得通红，“根据习惯的说法，我们的主。”
他不是我的主，绝对不是，另一个说……你要是不打算在这两排人中间走走，最好留心你的嘴巴。“
①据《圣经、马太福音，第二十七章第三十八节。“当吋，有两个强盗，和他同钉十字架，一个在右边一个在左边。”
“我拥护自由、拥护共和国，并不比你差，那个矮个子农民说。我打在堂里卡多的脸上。我打了堂，费德里科的背脊。我打了堂。贝尼托，可是没打中。我说，我们的主，就是那个人的正式称呼，跟他一起只有两个强盗嘛。
“你他妈的拥护什么共和国，嘴里老是堂长堂短的。”这里就是这样称呼他们的嘛。“
“我可不这么称呼，他们是王八蛋。还有你的主——-嗨　这下又来了一个。”
“那时，我们看到了一葙丢人的景象，因为从镇公所大门里出来的是堂　福斯蒂诺里维罗，也就是地主堂　塞莱斯蒂诺　里维罗的大儿子。他是高个儿，一头黄发刚朝后面梳理过，因为他口袋里老是播着一把栋子，这次出来之前也梳了头发。他老是和姑娘们纠缠不清，还是个胆小鬼，并且一直想当个业余斗牛士。他常和吉普赛人、斗牛士和养牛人混在一起，爱穿那种安达卢西亚①式斗牛服，可是他役胆量，被人瞧不起。有次风传他要在替阿维拉孤老院募捐而举行的业余斗牛表演中出场，照安达卢西亚式骑在马上把牛杀死，他已经花了很多时间练习过。他事先挑了一头没有腿力的小牛，到场上发现换了一头个儿够大的，马上推说自己感到恶心，并且据说用三个手指伸进自已的嗓子眼，让自己呕吐。
“两排人看到是他，大叫起来，喂，堂　福斯蒂诺。留心别呕呀。”
“听我说，堂福斯蒂诺。峭壁下面漂亮姑娘多着呢。”堂　福斯蒂诺。等一等，我们牵条更大的牛来。
①安达卢西亚（厶以〉。“西班牙南部一地区　1　。
“另一个喊道，听我说，堂，福斯蒂诺。你听说过死吗？”堂福斯蒂诺站在那里，还在充好汉。他一时冲动，对别人说他准备走出镇公所。同样的冲动曾使他宣布要去斗牛。那种冲动使他希望并相信自己能成为一个业余斗牛士。堂，里卡多的榜样给他打了气，他站在那里显出既漂亮又勇敢的样子，脸上还摆出一副瞧不起人的神气。不过他说不出话来。
“来吧，堂，福斯蒂诺。”队伍里有人叫道，来吧，堂　福斯蒂诺。这里有条最大的牛。
“堂福斯蒂诺站着朝前望。我觉得他在望的时候，那两排人中间没有人怜悯他。他还是要显得漂亮、不可一世　可是时间不等人，他只有”条路可走。
“堂，福斯蒂诺。”有人喊着。你在等什么呀，堂。福斯蒂诺，“
“他在准备呕吐。”有人说。那两行人都笑了。“堂。福斯蒂诺，有个农民喊道。你觉得呕吐有趣就呕吐吧。我一点也不在乎。'
“我们等着的时候，只见堂　福斯蒂诺望望那两排人，望望。”场尽头的峭壁，接着，等他看到峭壁和蛸壁之外。“大的空间，他飞快地转过身，往镇公所门口退回去。
“两排人全都吼叫起来了，有个人拉幵矂门大喊。”'你到哪里去，堂　福斯蒂诺？你到嗛里去？
“他去呕吐。”另一个叫道，大家又都哈哈大笑。“我们看到堂福斯蒂诺又走出门来，巴勃罗拿着猎熗在他身后。现在他的架子全完蛋了。看到那两排人，他一点气派也没有了，巴勃罗跟在他后面走出来，好象在扫街似的，前面的堂　福斯蒂诺就是他往前扫的垃圾。堂福斯蒂诺走出门口，一边划十字，一边祷告，接着，他用手挡住眼猜，从石阶上下来，向两排人走去。
~随他去，有人叫。'别碰他。
“两排人心领神会，没人动手去碰堂　福斯蒂诺，只见他两手颤抖，挡在跟前，嘴唇微微抽搐，在两排人中间朝前走去。”没人说话，没人碰他；他走了一半路，再也迈不开步了，双膝跪在地上。
“没人打他。我顺着队伍走去，看个究竟，只见一个农民弯下腰，把他拖起来，说，站起来，堂。福斯蒂诺，接着走吧。牛还没出来哪。”
“堂，福斯蒂诺自己没法走路，这个穿黑衣裳的农民就在一边架着他，另一个穿黑农裳和牧人靴的农民在另一边架着他，堂、福斯蒂诺两手挡在蔽前，嘴膊一直在抖，脑瓜上的黄头发滑溜溜的，在阳光中闪亮，在两排人中间朝前走。他路过的时候，农民们说，堂福斯蒂诺，祝你好胃口，堂、福斯蒂诺。有的说，堂福斯蒂诺，听您吩咐，堂。福斯蒂诺。有一个自己斗牛也没有斗成的人说，'堂　福斯蒂诺。斗牛士，听您吩咐。另一个说，堂福斯蒂诺，天堂里有的是漂亮姑娘，堂福斯蒂诺。他们在两旁紧紧架着他在两排人中间走，脚几乎不着地，而他只阚用手遮住眼睛。不过，他准在指缝中偷看，因为给拖到蛸壁边的时候，他又双膝跪下，扑倒在地，抓住了草，死也不肯起身，他说，别。别。别。求求你们。千万别。求求你们。求求你们。别。千万别。
“那时挟住他的农民和队伍尽头处的狠心人，趁他跪下的时候，飞快地在他身后蹲下，把他向前猛地一推，于是他没挨到一拳一脚，就掉下峭壁去了，只听得他在半空里摔下去时的大声叫口。
“那时候我知道这两排人眼睛都红了。使他们变成这副样子的，先是堂　里卡多的咒骂，后是堂。福斯蒂诺的怕死相。
“再绐咱们来一个，一个农民叫道，另一个农民在他背上柏了一下说，堂，福斯蒂诺　真是活宝　堂福斯蒂诺！”他现在见到大牛啦，另一个说。呕吐也帮不了他忙啦。“
“我这辈子。”另一个农民说，我这辈子从没见过象堂福斯蒂诺这样的活宝。“
“后面还有呢，另一个农民说。耐心些。谁猜得到我们还会见到什么样的家伙？
“有长子，有矮子，第一个农民说。说不定还有黑人和非洲来的稀有动物。不过我看，再也不会有堂　福斯蒂诺那样的活宝了。可是给咱们再来一个来呀。再来一个"
“醉汉们从法西斯分子的俱乐部的酒吧里抄来了一瓶瓶大茴香酒和法国白兰地，大家传来传去，当葡萄酒来大喝，而队伍里不少人，因为干掉了堂条贝尼托、堂费镩里科、堂，里卡多，特别是堂　福斯蒂诺，激动得有点儿晕头转向，这时暍得开始有点醉意了，不喝瓶装烈酒的人，传递着盛葡萄酒的皮酒袋。有人把皮酒袋递给我，我喝了一大口，让皮袋里凉丝丝的酒觏着喉咙流下去，因为我也渴极了。
“杀人使人口渴得慌。”拿酒袋的人对我说。“怎么，我说。'你杀过人吗？
“咱们杀了四个啦，他神气地说。民防军不算在里面。你杀了一个民防军，是真的吗，比拉尔？
“不是，我说。我跟别人一样，墙倒时，朝烟尘里开熗。就是这么回事。”
“你那支手熗是从哪儿搞来的，比拉尔？”巴勃罗给的。他杀了民防军，把手熗给了我。“”'他就用这支熗杀掉民防军的？“正是，，我说。之后他就武装了我。，”我看看行吗，比拉尔？让我拿一拿熗，行吗？“干吗不行，伙计，我说着从束腰绳里拔出熗递给他。不过，我在纳闷为什么没人出来了，就在这时，堂　吉列尔莫　马，”出来了。偏偏是他。那些连枷啦，牧羊棍啦，木草叉啦，都是从他的铺子里拿来的。堂　吉列尔莫是个法西斯分子，除此之外，人们对他没有什么芥蒂。
“不锥，他付给制连枷的工人的钱不多，不过，他卖出来收费也不髙.如果不想问他买连枷，只要付木头和皮革的价钱定做也行。他说话很粗鲁，肯定是个法西斯分子，还是他们俱乐部里的成员。中午和傍晚，他总是坐在俱乐部的藤椅上看《辩论报》①，一面叫人擦皮鞋，一面喝苦艾酒和矿泉水，吃炒杏仁、虾干和躲鱼。人们可不会因为这点而要他死的，我敢说，要不是堂"里卡多蒙塔尔沃的骂街和堂福斯蒂诺的丢人相，使人们感情激动，因而喝醉了酒，准会有人叫，让这个堂，吉列尔莫太太平平地走吧。我们手里的连枷还是他的。放他走吧。”
“因为这小镇上的人是心地善良的，虽然也能变得凶狠，他们生来有正义感，主张公道。可是凶狠已经进入这两排人的心里，加上陶醉，或者刚起头的陶醉感，人们的心情已不象堂、贝
①《辩论报奴！　，“切）为天主教侏守党的机关报，革命前在马德里出販，
尼托走出来时那样了。我不知道别的国家怎样。我比谁都喜欢酒醉的乐趣，不过在西班牙，由别的东西，而不是酒引起的陶醉是十分糟糕的，人们会干出在一般情况下不会干的事情。你的国家里不是这样吗，英国人？“
“也是这样的，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我七岁的时候，跟母亲到俄亥俄州去参加一次婚礼，在拿花的一对男女小傧相中我是那个男小孩一。
“你当过小滨相？”玛丽亚问。“真好！”“在那个城里有个黑人被吊在灯柱上，后来被火活活烧死。灯柱上是一盏弧光灯。点灯时把弧光灯从灯柱上放低到人行道上。这黑人先被人用那吊弧光灯的滑车吊了上去，可是滑车断了一”
“一个黑人，”玛丽亚说。“真野蛮1”“这些人是不是喝醉了？”比拉尔问。“他们是不是醉得太厉害以至要烧死一个黑人？”
“我不知道，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“因为我只是在屋里从窗帘下面望出去时看到的，那植房屋就在弧光灯拄的拐角上。当时街上人山人海，他们第二次把黑人吊上去的时候一”
“你那时才七岁，又在屋里，你猓能知道他们醉不醉，”比拉尔说。
“我刚才讲到，他们第二次把黑人吊上去，那时侯，我母亲把我从窗口拉开了，所以没看下去，”罗伯特乔丹说。“反正后来我有过类似的经历，说明人们给冲昏了头脑在我的国家里也是这样的。这种事是残忍而野蛮的。”
“你才七岁，年纪太小，玛丽亚说。”你太小，不懂这些事。我只在马戏团里看到过黑人。除非摩尔人也可算是黑人。“
“有的是，有的不是，”比拉尔说。“我可以给你们讲讲摩尔人，”
“你不及我清楚，”玛丽亚说。“可不，你不及我清楚。”“别谈这些了，”比拉尔说　“这些事听了不舒服。我们刚才讲到哪儿啦？”
“讲到那两排人醉了，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“讲下去吧。”“说他们醉是不公平的，”比拉尔说。“因为他们离喝醉还远着呢。不过他们的心情已经起了变化。那时，堂，吉列尔寞走出来了，站得笔直，他目光近视，头发灰白，中等身栻，身上的衬衫有硬领扣子，但没有硬领，他站在那里，在自己身上划了一个十字，眼睹望着前面，不过他不戴眼镜什么也看不清，但还是平静地步步往前走，他那副模样能叫人怜悯。可是有人在队伍里叫道，过来吧，堂　吉列尔莫。到这里来吧，堂　吉列尔莫。朝这边来吧。我们这里都有你铺子里的货色。
“他们刚才把堂　福斯蒂诺揶揄得够呛，所以没有想到堂　吉列尔莫是不一样的。假使要弄死堂　吉列尔莫的话，应该让他马上就死，不要伤他的面子。
“堂　吉列尔莫。”另一个叫道，要我们派人到府上去拿眼镜吗“
“堂，吉列尔莫家不是大户人家，因此他不很富裕，只得开一家木制农具铺子，挣几个钱，当上法西斯分子无非是想可以谄上欺下，并且为自己的心灵找些安慰。他当法西斯分子迅有一层原因，那是为，”讨好他老婆，因为他老婆对法西斯有宗教般的虔诚感情。他住在一套公寓里，就在这。“场上过去三家门面的地方。堂　吉列尔莫站在那里，眯起一双近视眼望着那两排人，他知道不得不在这两排人中间穿过去，这时，有个女人在他住的公寓蹊
台上大声尖叫。她在露台上可以望到他，她就是他的老婆。“吉列尔莫，她喊道。吉列尔莫。等等，我要跟你一起去。”
“堂吉列尔莫朝喊声传来的方向转过头去。他看不到她。他想说几句话，可是说不出声。于是他朝他老婆叫喊的方向挥挥手，开始走进两排人中间。
“吉列尔莫"她喊道。吉列尔莫1吉列尔莫呀”她两手抓住露台上的栏杆，身体前后摇晃。吉列尔莫"
“堂　吉列尔莫又朝喊声方向挥挥手，抬起头走进两排人中间，你没法知道他的心情，只能从他的脸色看出一二。
“队伍里有个醉汉学他老婆的尖叫声喊了一声"吉列尔莫！堂　吉列尔莫这时脸上淌着眼泪，不顼死活地向那人冲去，那人对准他脸上就是一连枷，这一下份量很重，把堂　吉列尔奠打得坐在地上。他坐在地上哭了，倒不是因为害怕。醉汉们打他，还有一个甚至眺上去，骑在他肩上，用酒瓶砸他。随后，不少人离开了队伍，顶替他们的是那些原来在镇公所窗外胡闹和说下流话的醉汉。
“看到巴勃罗打死民防军，我很澉动，”比拉尔说。“那件事面然很不光彩，可是我认为如果非这么干不可，也只能这样干，至少不好算残忍，只不过是杀生而已。这些年来大家都懂得，杀生是不光彩的事，不过为了胜利，为了保住共和国，也不得不这么干。
“当场被堵住、人们排成队伍的时候，我很佩服巴勃罗的这个主意，并且也理解，尽管我认为有点异想天开，我觉得如果这一切是非千不可的，就得干得体面些，别叫人难受。当然，如果法西斯分子由百姓来处决，最好人人动手；我希望跟大家一起承担良心责备，正象我希望等这个镇子归我们的时候跟大家一起分享胜利果实。可是，堂。吉列尔莫被杀之后，我觉得害臊、难受，再加上队伍里面来了醉汉和二流子，有些人又因为看到堂，吉列尔莫的情况，离开了队伍表示抗议，我希望自己也和那两排人完全脱离关系，便穿过。”场，在一棵大树荫下的长凳上坐下。“队伍里有两个农民，一边说话，一边走来，其中一个叫我。”比拉尔，你怎么啦？
“没什么，伙计，我对他说。”肯定有事，他说。'说吧。出了什么事。“我看我巳经受够了，我对他说。”我们也一样，他说，他们俩一起在长凳上坐下。其中一个拿着一个皮酒袋，把它递给了我。
“你湫漱口”他说，另一个继续他们俩刚才的谈话，说"最糟的是，这会给我们带来厄运。谁也没法保证，象那样把堂　吉列尔莫整死，不会给我们带来厄运，“
另一个接着埤，我不栢信非把他们统统弄死不可，即使非弄死不可，也该让他们死得象个样，别作弄他们。
“作弄堂、福斯蒂诺还情有可原”另“个说。他本来就油腔滑调，不是正经人。可是作弄堂，吉列尔莫这样的正经人，真正不公道。　我受够了”我对他说，这是实在话，因为我真感到五脏六腑都不舒服，头上出冷汗，胃里折腾，好象吃了不新鲜的海货。
“那没关系，”这个农民说。我们别再参加在内了。不过我不知道别地方的情形怎么样。
“他们还没接好电话线，我说。这是疏忽，得补救，”1.2
正是他说。咱们不如把力气花在加强这个镇子的防守上面，别这么拖泥带水而残暴地大批杀人。“
“我去跟巴勃罗讲。”我对他们说。我从长凳上站起来，向通镇公所大门的回廊走去。从门口排到。“场上的队伍已经变得弯弯曲曲，乱糟糟的，很多人已经醉得厉害。有两个人栽倒了，仰夭躺在。”场中央，还把酒瓶传来递去。一个呷了口酒，躺在地上发疯似地朝天髙喊。“无政府万岁[①他脖子上围着一条红黑两色的领巾。另一个大叫。”自由万岁两只脚在空中乱踢，接着又吼了“声"自由万岁　，他也有一条红黑两色的领巾，他一只手挥舞领巾，另一只手摇着酒瓶。
“有个离幵了队伍、站到回廊阴影里的农民厌恶地望着他们说”他们该喊“醉酒万岁”才对。他们只信这个。
“他们连这点也不信吧，另一个农民说。'这些人啥也不懂，啥也不信
“正在这时，有个醉汉站起来，紧握拳头，举起双铸，大叫，”政府万岁！自由万岁！我操你奶奶的共和国“
“另一个仍旧仰躺着的醉汉抓住了那个大喊万岁的醉汉的脚踝，翻了一个身，这一来那个喊叫着的家伙也跌倒了。他们俩一起打了一个滾，接着又坐起来，那个拖人跌倒的醉汉用手臂搂着那大叫的人的脖子，把酒瓶塞给他，一边吻他围在脖上的红黑两色的领巾。他们俩一起喝酒。
“正是那时，队伍里响起一声狂吼，我在回廊里抬头一望，看不见走出来的是谁，因为镇公所门口挤满了人，那人的脑袋被别①人民阵线也包括无政莳一工团主义者组织，这里写到的就是无玫府一工团主乂组织在地方上的汪热信徒離人挡住了。我只看见有人被拿着猎熗的巴勃罗和四指头，推了出来，但看不见究竟是谁，我就朝拥在大门口的那两排人走去，想看看清楚。
“那时挤得很厉害，法西斯分子俱乐部里的桌椅全翻了身，只有一张桌子没有翻倒，上面躺着一个醉汉，他的脑袋垂在桌边，咧开了嘴；我就拖了一把椅子，靠在柱子边，跨到椅子上，这才能从人群的头顶上望过去。
“被巴勃罗和四指头淮出来的人是堂　安纳斯塔西奥　里瓦斯，他确是个法西斯分子，是城里最胖的胖子。他收买粮食，是好几家保险公司的掮客，还放高利贷。我站在椅子上，看见他走下石阶，向那两排人走去，脖子上的肥肉鼓起在衬衫硬领后面，秃顶在阳光下闪亮，可是他到底没有走进队伍中去，因为那时不是几个人，而是大家一齐喊起来了。那是一种难听的喊声，是那两排醉汉同时狂吼的声音；大家向他身上扑去，队伍散开了；我只看到堂　安纳斯塔西奥两手抱住脑袋，扑倒在地。那时没法看到他了，因为大家压在他身上了。等他们从堂，安纳斯塔西奥身上爬起来，他已经完蛋了，脑袋在回廊里铺着的石板地上被硒碎了，队伍已乱了套，成了一群暴民。
“咱们到里面去。”他们开始大喊。到里面去收拾他们，“这家伙重得拖不动，有一个人踢踢俯躺在那儿的堂”安纳斯塔西奥的？“体。让他待在那儿吧。”
“咱们干吗花力气把这口肥猪拖到峭壁边去呀？随他待在那儿吧。，
“咱们现在进去干掉里面的家伙，有一个人喊道。'咱们进去。
干吗整天在太阳底下傻等？另一个狂叫。来呀！咱们走。“
“这群暴民在挤进回廊。他们呼喊、挤撞，发出的声音就象野兽的吼叫；他们一齐喊着。”开门！开门！开门！因为队伍散幵的时候，看守们把镇公所的门都关上了。
“我站在椅子上，隔着装有铁栅的窗子，望得见镇公所的大厅，只见里面的情形和刚才一样。神父站着，剩下的那些人在他前面围成一个半圆形跪着，每人都在祷告。巴勃罗坐在镇长座椅前的大桌子上，背上挎着猎熗，两腿垂在桌边，他正在卷一支烟。四指头坐在镇长的座椅里，两脚搁在桌上，正在抽烟。看守他们的人个个拿着熗，坐在镇公所大厅的几把椅子里。大门钥匙放在巴勃罗近身的桌子上。
“暴民象喝欧似的一声声地喊道。”开门　开门！开门！可是巴勃罗坐在那里，只当没听到。他对神父说了几句话，可是那伙人闹得太凶，我听不清说的是什么。
“那神父象刚才一样，不答理他，仍旧在祷告。狠多人在我后面推，我也和他们一样，端起椅子朝前面推，把椅子移近墙边。我站在椅子上，脸紧貼着窗上的铁栅，手抓住铁条。有人也睬上了我的椅子，两条手臂围着我肩膀，抓住了外面两根铁条。”椅子要塌啦。“我对他说。”那有什么关系？他说。看他们，看他们祷告？“他嘴里呼出的气，喷在我脖子上，带着那伙暴民的气味，就象石板地上的呕吐物的酸臭和喝醉的人的酒气，接着他把脑袋越过我的肩膀，把嘴凑在铁窗的空档里，大喊　开门　开门1我当时的感觉就象那伙暴民都压在我背上，就象在恶梦中魔鬼压在背上一样。
“那伙人这时使劲顶在门上，前面的人几乎被后面的人挤扁了；。”场上有个大个儿醉汉，身穿黑罩衣，脖子上围条红黑两色的领巾，他跑来朝推推搡搡的人身上猛撞，倒在他们身上，然后站起身往后倒退几步，又向前猛冲，撞在那些推推搡搡的人的背上，大喊“老子万岁！无政府万岁"
“我正望着的时候，这个醉汉转身离幵那伙人，走过去坐在地上端着瓶子暍酒，他往下坐的时候，看到堂、安纳斯塔西奥仍然脸貼着石板合扑在地上，身体已被踩得一塌糊涂了。这醉汉就站起来走到堂，安纳斯塔西奥身边，弯下腰，拿瓶里的酒倒在堂安纳斯塔西奥头上和衣服上，然后从口袋里掏出火柴盒，擦了几根火柴，想点火烧堂，安纳斯塔西輿。不过这时风吹得紧，把火柴吹灭了；不一会，这醉大汉在堂　安纳斯塔西輿身边坐下来，摇摇头，凑着瓶芋喝酒，不时探过身去，拍拍堂。安纳斯塔西奥？”体的肩膀。
“这时候，那伙暴民一直在大叫开门，跟我一起站在椅子上的那个男人抓紧了窗铁栅大叫开门，喊声在我耳朵旁晨得我啥也听不到，他嘴里呼出的臭气喷在我脸上。我转过脸，不去看那个想焚烧堂麵安纳斯塔西奥的醉汉，再望着镇公所的大厅。里面的情景仍然和刚才一样，他们仍旧和先前那样在祷告，全跪在地上，敞开着衬衫，有的耷拉着脑袋，有的抬起了头，望着神父和他手里的十字架，神父祷告得义快又使劲，从他们头顶上望过去。他们身后是巴勃罗，他这时已点上了烟卷，坐在桌上，晃着两腿，挎着猜熗，手里在摆弄那把钥匙。
“我看到巴勃罗从桌上俯下身体，又对神父说话。可是人声嘈杂，没法听清他说些什么。神父仍旧继续祷告，不答埋巴勃罗。接着，围成半圓形在祷告的人里面有个家伙站起来了，我看他想走出去　那是堂何塞卡斯特罗，人们都叫他堂　佩贝。他是个死硬的法西斯分子，马贩子，这时他站起身来，显得很矮小，胡子拉碴的，样子倒还干净，身穿一件睡衣，下摆塞在灰条纹的裤子里。他吻了十字架，神父为他祝福；他站直身体望着巴勃罗，还向大门那边摆摆头。
“巴勃罗摇摇头，继渎抽烟，我能看到堂、佩贝跟巴勃罗说话，可是听不出说些啥。巴勃罗不答理，他不过又摇摇头，并且对大门那边点头示愈
“我接着看到堂，佩贝端详着大门，才明白他先前没有注意到大门已锁上。巴勃罗给他看看钥匙，他站着看了一会儿，然后转身走回去又跪在地上。我看到，神父扭头望望巴勃罗，而巴勃罗对他咧嘴笑笑，给他看看钥匙，神父好象这才知道门锁上了，看样子似乎想摇摇头，不过结果却又低下头去祷告了，
“我不明白他们怎么会不知道门上了锁，看来他们一心在祷告，只想自己的事，这时他们当然弄清楚了，还知道外面在大叫大嚷的原因，于是他们准知道瑰在情况都变了。不过他们的神色还和原来一样。
“这时候的叫嚷声大得叫人什么也听不到，跟我一起站在椅子上的那个醉汉两手摇着窗铁橱吼叫，'开门　开门1嗓子都叫得嘶哑了
“我看到巴勃罗又跟神父说话，神父不答理　接着我看到巴勃罗取下肩上的猎熗，用熗戳戳神父的肩膀。神父没理睬他，我看到巴勃罗摇摇头。接着他扭回头去对四指头说话　四指头对那些看守说了几句，于是他们都站起来走到房间另一头，提熗站在那里。
“我看到巴勃罗吩咐了四指头几句话，他就掀拥了两张桌子和几条长凳，看守们提着猎熗站在桌発背后。他们在房闾的那一角搭成一道屏障。巴勃罗探过身去，又用猎熗戳戳神父的肩膀，神父一点不理睬他；不过我看到，别人都在专心一意地祷告，堂　佩贝却望着巴勃罗。巴勃罗摇摇头，看到堂、佩贝在望自己，就对堂、佩贝摇摇头，举起手来，让他看看手里的钥匙。堂　佩臾会意，就垂下头去，开始飞快地祷告。
“巴勃罗两腿一晃，从桌上跳下来，绕过桌子，走向长会议桌后面讲台上那把镇长的大座椅。他坐在椅子上，卷了一支烟，一直盯着那些和神父一起祷告的法西斯分子。你根本看不出他脸上有什么表情。他面前桌上放着那把钥匙。那是一把一英尺多长的大铁钥匙。巴勃罗接着对看守们喊了几句话，我没听出来，只见一个看守朝大门走去。我看出大家祷告得越来越快，我知道他们现在全明白了。
“巴勃罗对神父说了些什么，但神父不答理。于是巴勃罗向前弯下身体，检起钥匙，順手扔给门边的看守。看守接住钥匙，巴勃罗对他笑笑。看守把钥匙插进门锁，转动一下，猛地把门向后拉开，自己躲在门后，让那伙暴民冲进去。
“我看见他们冲了进去，正在这时，和我一起站在椅子上的醉汉大叫了，暧唷　嗳唷　嗳唷！他探出了脑袋，弄得我没法看了，他接着又大叫"杀掉他们1杀掉他们！用棍子揍他们　杀掉他们
"他用双臂把我推到一边，我啥也见不到了。
“我用胳膊肘捅了下他的肚子，说，醉鬼，这是谁的椅子？让我看。
“但他只顾用双手双臂不停地捶打着窗铁栅，一面大叫，杀掉他们　用棍子揍他们！用棍子揍他们　对啦。用棍子揍他们呀1杀掉他们王八蛋！王八蛋　王八蛋！
我用胳膊肘狠狠撞他，说，你这个王八蛋　醉鬼　让我看呀。“
“他双手搁在我头上，把我按下去，自己可以看得更清楚些，他把全身重量全压在我头上，不停地大叫，用棍子揍他们　对啦。用棍子揍他们呀。”
“'揍你自己吧，'我说，猛撞他最不经打的部位；这下子够他受的，他把两手从我脑袋上松开，捂着自己的小肚子，说道，太太，你可不能这么干哬.”这时，我从铁栅中望去，只见厅里一片混乱，大家用棍棒连枷乱打，用巳经折断尖齿、被血沾红的白木草叉戳刺，推搡。厅里到处在打人，而巴勃罗坐在大椅子里观看着，膝盖上搁着他那支猎怆。人们在叫喊，挥舞棍棒草叉，被打的人尖叫着，象马儿遇火受惊时的嘶鸣。我看到那神父撩起了袍子，想爬上一条长凳，追他的人用镰刀和镰钩砍他，接着有个人抓住了他的袍子，只听得接连两声尖叫，我看到两个人用镰刀砍他的背脊，另一个人拉住他的袍子边，神父举起手臂，他死命抱住一把椅子的靠背，正在这时候，我站的椅子坍了，那醉汉和我一起跌倒在带着泼翻的酒和呕吐物的臭气的石板地上。醉汉拿手指点着我说，你可不能这样干，太太，可不能这样干。你把我害苦啦。人们踩在我和他身上，争先恐后拥进镇公所大厅，我眼前只见跨进门的腿儿，那醉汉坐在我对面，用手捧住被我揸痛的地方。
“我们镇上杀法西斯分子的经过就到此结束了，幸亏后面的事我没有见到，但要不是那个醉鬼捣乱，我准能从头看到尾。这可要谢谢他了，因为见了镇公所里的惨况会叫人难受的。
“可是那另一个醉汉更薀团怪。椅子班了，我们爬了起来，人们仍旧不断涌进镇公所，这时侯，我见到。”场上那个围着红黑两色领巾的醉汉又在堂，安纳斯塔西奥？“体上浇什么东西。他的脑袋左摇右晃的，身体也坐不直，可是他在浇什么，划火柴，接着又浇，又划火柴，我走到他身边问，你在干什么，你这个不要脸的东西？
“没啥，太太，没啥。”他说。别管我。“”大概是因为我站在那儿，我的腿挡住了风，火柴才点着了，一道蓝色的火焰沿着堂　安纳斯塔西輿外衣的肩部烧起来了，直烧到他的颈背，那醉汉抬起头扯高了嗓门大喊，有人在烧死人啦　有人在烧死人啦1“谁？有人说。”在哪里？另一个大叫。“在这里，那醉汉狂叫。就在这里。”“有人用连枷朝他脑瓜边上猛砸一下，他仰天跌倒在地上，还抬眼望望揍他的那个人，然后闭上眼睛，双手交叉搁在胸口，躺在堂”安纳斯塔西奥身迈，好象睡热了。那人没再揍他，他就躺在那�

“安塞尔莫跟我说,这一带山里有一百多个呢。”“没好的。“ 　　“你说过有三十个，”罗伯特　乔丹对比拉尔说。“三十个多少比较可霏的 　　“埃利亚斯手下的人怎么样？”比拉尔对“聋子”大声说。他摇摇头。 　　“没好的。” 　　“你十个都摘不到吗。”罗伯特　乔丹问。“聋子”用他那呆滞的黄眼睹望望他，摇摇头。 　　“四个，”他说，伸出四个指头。 　　“你手下的人好吗？”罗伯特　乔丹问，一出口就懊悔了。“聋子”点点头。 　　“要看情况危险不危险。”他用西班牙语说，咧嘴笑笑。“这次行动艰险吧，呢?”“可能。” 　　“对我反正一样，”“聋子”直率地说，并不吹牛。“宁要四个好的,不要许多杯的。这次战争中总是坏的多,好的很少。好的一天比—天少。巴勃罗呢？”他望着比拉尔。 　　“正象你知道的。”比拉尔说，“一天比一天坏。”“聋子”耸耸肩。“ 　　“喝酒呀，”“聋子”对罗伯特　乔丹说。“我带上我的人和另外四个。一共十二个。今晚我们仔细商璧。我有六十包炸药。你要吗?” 　　“什么成份的?” 　　“不知遒。普通炸药。我带来。” 　　“我们就用它来炸上游的那座小桥，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“好得很。今晚你下山吗？把炸药带着,好不好？我没得到命令炸小桥,不过也该把它炸掉。” 　　“今晚我来。然后去弄马，““弄到马的希望大不大?”“说不定。现在吃吧。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹想，他跟谁说话都是这样简短的吗？还是为了让外国人听僅才这样的呢？ 　　“炸了桥，我们到哪里去?”比拉尔对着“聋子”的耳朵大声说。 　　他耸耸肩。 　　“一切都得安排好。”那妇人说。“当然。”“聋子”说。“干吗不？”“事情很棘手，”比拉尔说。“一切都要很好安排。〃“不错，太太。”“聋子”说。“你愁什么”“什么都愁。”比拉尔大声说　    ‘ “聋子”咧嘴朝她笑笑。“你是一直在跟巴勃罗干嘛。”他说。罗伯特，乔丹想原来他对外国人才说那种蹩脚西班牙语。好。我高兴听到他直截了当地说话了，“你看我们到嗶儿去好？”比拉尔问， 　　“哪儿?” 　　“对，哪儿。” 　　“去处不少。”“聋子”说。“去处不少。你知道格雷多斯山脉 吗？” 　　“那里我们的人很多　人家一旦腾得出手来就会扫荡所有这些地方。” 　　“不错。不过,那地方很大，很荒僻。”“到那里去很难哪，”比拉尔说。 　　“样样事情都难，”“聋子”说。”我们去哪儿都行,格雷多斯也去得。昼伏夜行。现在这里很危险。我们能在这里待这么久,真是个狐格雷多斯要比这里安全得多。”“你知道我想到哪里去?”比拉尔问他，“哪里？帕拉梅拉？那不好。” 　　“不。”比拉尔说。“不是帕拉梅拉山区。我要到共和国①去。 　　”“那办得到。”“你手下的人愿去吗?”“愿。只要我开口，“ 　　“我手下的人，我可说不准。”比拉尔说。“巴勃罗不会愿意去，其实他到了那里兴许会觉得安全些。他年纪大了，不用去当兵，除非他们扩大征兵范围。那吉普赛人是不愿去的。不知道别人怎么样。”- 　　“这里长久以来太平无事，所以他们就看不出危险了。”“聋子”说。 　　“今天来了飞机，他们会看得清楚一些了，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“但是我看你在格雷多斯山区能干得很出色。” ①指到共和国政府军所管辖的地区去，不恶再待在敢后山区打游击　 　　“什么？”“聋子”说，眼睛直勾勾地盯着他。他问话的声调一点也不友好。 　　“你从那里出击更有效。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“原来如此。”“聋子”说。“你了解格雷多斯吗?”“了解。你从那里可以袭击铁路干线。就象我们在更南的埃斯特雷马杜拉地区所干的那样，你可以经常切断铁路。在那里打游击要比回共和国好，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“你在那边作用更大, 　　他在说这些话的时候，对方那两个人都变得脸色阴沉了　“聋子”望望比拉尔，比拉尔也望望“聋子”。“你了解格雷多斯吗??聋子”问。“真的？”“当然。”罗伯特，乔丹说。“你要到哪里去呢？” 　　〃到阿维拉省的巴尔科城北面去。那些地方要比这里好。可以袭击公路主干线以及贝哈尔和普拉森西亚之间的铁路线。”“很难，”“聋子”说。 　　“我们在挨斯特雷马杜拉地区危险得多的地方切断过这同一条铁路。”罗柏特一乔丹说。“我们是谁?〃 　　“埃斯特雷马杜拉地区的游击队。” 　　“你们人多吧?”“大约四十个。” 　　“那个神经紧张、名字古怪的人就是从那里来的吧?”比拉尔问。 　　“他现在在哪儿？” 　　“死啦，我对你讲过了。” 　　“你也是从那里来的？” 　　“你明白我的意思了吧?”比拉尔问他。罗伯特　乔丹心想，我犯“个错误啦。我竞对西班牙人说,我们比他们能干，而原则是，决不要提起自己的功绩或能力。本来应该拍拍他们的马屁才是，而我却指点他们应当干这干那，现在他们恼火了。噢,他们可能不会记在心里，也可能会。他们在格雷多斯山区的作用当然要比在这里大得多。证据是，自从卡希金组织炸火车以来，他们在这里亳无成绩。虽然炸火车也没什么了不起。这一炸使法西斯分子损失了一台机车，死了几个人,可是他们全都把它说得好象那是战争中的髙峰。也许他们会感到羞愧而撤退到格雷多斯去。不错,也许我也会在这儿被撵走。反正看起来光景不大妙。 　　“英国人,你听着，”比拉尔对他说。“你的神经怎么样,“很好呀，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“没问题。”“因为上次他们派来和我们一起干的爆玻手虽说是个很棒的专家，却很神经质,所以我问问。” 　　“我们中间是有神经质的人，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我不是说他是个胆小鬼,因为他干得很不错。”比拉尔接着说，“可是他说话十分古怪，夸夸其谈。”她提髙了嗓门。“上次的那个爆破手，炸火车的那个,有点古怪,圣地亚哥，你说是不？"“有点古怪这聋子点点头，目光在罗伯特‘乔丹脸上一扫，那样子,使他想起真空吸尘器那条软管顶端的圃嘴。“对,有点古怪，不过是个好人。”    、 　　“他死啦，”罗伯特，乔丹凑着这聋子的耳朵说。“怎么回事?”这聋子问，目光从罗伯特、乔丹的眼睛移到他的嘴展上。 　　“我开熗打死了他，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“他伤势太重，没法赶路，我开熗打死了他。” 　　“他老是说非要这么干不可，”比拉尔说。“这就是他摆脱不了的念头。” 　　“是呀，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“他老是说非要这么干不可，这就是他摆脱不了的念头。” 　　“怎么发生的？”聋子问。“是在炸火车的时侯吗。” 　　“是炸了火车撤退的时侯,罗伯特。乔丹说。“火车炸成了。我们在黑夜里撤退，遇到了法西斯巡邀队，我们奔逃的时候，他背脊的上部挨了一熗，其实没打中骨头,只伤了肩胛。他跑了很长一段路，伹伤势使他再也跑不动了。他不愿意留下来,我便开熗打死了他。“ 　　“这样也好。”“聋于”说。 　　“你能保证你的神经没问题吗？”比拉尔问罗伯特　乔丹　“能。”他对她说。“我保证自。的神经很健全，而且我认为,等我们炸桥的事了结之后,你们到格雷多斯去是上策。” 　　他说这句话的时候,那女人连珠炮似地臭骂起来，好象溫泉突然迸发，一股白花花的热水直朝他身上喷来。 　　“聋子”对罗伯特‘乔丹摇摇头，高兴得咧开嘴笑了。比拉尔骂个没完，他只顾乐得直晃脑袋。罗伯特　乔丹知道，现在又一切顺利了。最后,她住了口，伸手拿起水壶倒水,喝了一口,平静地说。”我们今后怎么干,不关你事，你闭嘴好不好，英国人？你回共和国去,带着你那宝贝，让我们自己来决定要死在这　带山里。 　　“什么地方。” 　　“活在什么地方，”“聋子”说。“你镇静狴，比拉尔。”“活在什么地方，死在什么地方，”比拉尔说。“最后怎样，我看得清清楚楚。我喜欢你,英国人，可是别谈等你的事办完之后我们该干些什么。” 　　“这是你的事。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我不插手。”“你插手了。”比拉尔说。“带着你那剃光头的小婊子回共和国去吧，可是你别把人家关在门外，人家又不是外国人，你还在吃娘奶的时候，人家就爱共和国了。” 　　他们正在交谈的时候，玛丽亚从山路上回来了，刚好比拉尔又提高了嗓门在对罗伯特‘乔丹壤嚷，最后的一句被她听到了。玛丽亚对罗伯特‘乔丹使劲地摇头，还晃着指头警告他。比拉尔看到罗伯特　乔丹望着臒兔娘，并看到他在微笑，于是她转身说，“是嘛。我说是婊子嘛，就是婊子。依我看哪，你们会一起去瓦伦西亚，而我们到格雷多斯去吃羊粪。” 　　“你爱这么说，那我就算婊子吧，比拉尔，”玛丽亚说。“我想,只要是你说的，我算什么都行。不过你镇静些。你怎么啦?” 　　“没什么，”比拉尔说,在长凳上坐下，她的声音这时平静了，再也听不出那种火星直冒的怒气了。“我不是存心叫你婊子。可是我真想到共和国去。” 　　“我们可以一起去，”玛丽亚说。 　　“干吗不可以。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“既然看来你不大喜欢格雷多斯。” 　　〃聋子”咧开嘴对他笑了， 　　“我们走着瞧吧，”比拉尔说，这时,她的怒气消失了。“给我一杯那种怪酒。我气得喉咙都干啦。我们走着瞧吧。我们看情况怎样发展吧。” 　　“你知道，同志，”“聋子”解释说,“难办的是在早晨。”他现在讲的不是那种蹩脚的西班牙语了，他平静而开诚布公地盯着罗伯特　乔丹的眼睛，不是搜索或怀疑地,也不是先前那种摆老资格、自以为高人一等的目光了。“我簷得你的霈要，我知道在你执行任务的时候必须拔掉哨所,掩护桥头。这些,我全懂。在拂晓前,或拂晓时，这是容易办到的。” 　　“对，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你走开一会儿，好吗？”他对玛丽亚说，看都没看她。 　　姑娘走到听不到他们谈话的地方坐下，双手抱着脚踝。“你看，”“聋子”说，“这方面是没有问题的。不过，事后要在大白天撤走，离开这一带，倒是个严重的问题。” 　　“当然啦，”罗伯特“乔丹说。“我也考虑到了。对我也一样是大白天。” 　　“可你只是一个人。”“聋子”说。“我们是好几个人。”“也许可以先回到营地，晚上再撤走，”比拉尔说，把杯子举到唇边，接着又放下来。 　　“那也很危险，”“聋子”说。“也许更危险。”“这我能意会得到，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“晚上炸桥就容易了，”“聋子”说。“可你提的条件是必须在大白天干，这就带来了严重的后果，““我知道。” 　　“你不能在晚上干吗?” 　　“晚上干，我就要被熗毙。” 　　“你在白天干，我们大家很可能都会送命。” 　　“对我个人来说,只要炸掉挢,送命不送命关系不大，”罗伯特“乔丹说。“不过我了解你的观点。你不能制订出白天撤退的方案吗？” 　　“当然能够，”“聋子”说。“我们要想出在这种情况下撤退的方案。不过我要跟你解释，为什么一个人心事重重，另一个人大发脾气。你说什么到格雷多斯去，好象不过是完成一次军事演习。要是能到得了格雷多斯，那才是奇迹哪。”罗伯特“乔丹没说什么。 　　“听我说吧。”“聋子”说。“我话说了不少。不过多唠叨两甸，可以互相了解。我们在这里站住脚跟完全是奇迹。这是法西斯分予懒惰、愚業而造成的竒迹，不过，到时侯他们是会补救的。当然，我们也非常当心，没有在这一带山里惹麻烦。”“我知道。” 　　“可是现在有了炸桥的事，我们就不得不撤走了。我们必须多考虑考虑撤走的方式。”“完全正确。” 　　“那么，”“聋子”说。”我们吃东西吧。我的话说得不少了。”“我从没听你这样唠叨过。”比拉尔说。“是这个原因吗。”她举起杯子。 　　“不，”“聋子〃摇摇头。“不是威士忌的关系。是因为以前从没这么多事可谈的。” 　　“我感激你的帮助和诚意，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我理解炸桥时间所引起的困难。” 　　“别谈这个了，”“聋子”说。“我们在这里尽力而为。不过，这件事不简单。” 　　“纸上谈兵很简单，”罗伯特　乔丹露齿笑了。“纸上的计划是在幵始进攻的同时炸桥，这样可防止公路上有增援通过。纸上谈兵很简单，“ 　　“那他们也该让我们在纸上行动，”“聋子〃说。“让我们在纸上制订方案并贯彻执行。” 　　“‘纸头是割不出血的’，”罗伯特，乔丹引用了“甸谚语。“可是非常有用，”比拉尔说。“伹愿你的命令在纸上能完成。” 　　“我也这样想"罗伯特“乔丹说。“可是这样决不会打胜 仗。“ 　　“对。”这大个子女人说。“我看不会。不过你知道我喜欢干什么吗?” 　　“到共和国去，”“聋子”说。比拉尔说话的时侯,他把他那只不太聋的耳朵凑近她。“你快去啦,太太,但愿我们打胜这一仗，都去共和国。” 　　“好。”比拉尔说。“看天主面上，我们现在吃吧。”

Chapter 12 They left El Sordo's after eating and started down the trail. El Sordo had walked with them as far as the lower post. "_Salud_," he said. "Until tonight." "_Salud, Camarada_," Robert Jordan had said to him and the three of them had gone on down the trail, the deaf man standing looking after them. Maria had turned and waved her hand at him and El Sordo waved disparagingly with the abrupt, Spanish upward flick of the forearm as though something were being tossed away which seems the negation of all salutation which has not to do with business. Through the meal he had never unbuttoned his sheepskin coat and he had been carefully polite, careful to turn his head to hear and had returned to speaking his broken Spanish, asking Robert Jordan about conditions in the Republic politely; but it was obvious he wanted to be rid of them. As they had left him, Pilar had said to him, "Well, Santiago?" "Well, nothing, woman," the deaf man said. "It is all right. But I am thinking." "Me, too," Pilar had said and now as they walked down the trail, the walking easy and pleasant down the steep trail through the pines that they had toiled up, Pilar said nothing. Neither Robert Jordan nor Maria spoke and the three of them travelled along fast until the trail rose steeply out of the wooded valley to come up through the timber, leave it, and come out into the high meadow. It was hot in the late May afternoon and halfway up this last steep grade the woman stopped. Robert Jordan, stopping and looking back, saw the sweat beading on her forehead. He thought her brown face looked pallid and the skin sallow and that there were dark areas under her eyes. "Let us rest a minute," he said. "We go too fast." "No," she said. "Let us go on." "Rest, Pilar," Maria said. "You look badly." "Shut up," the woman said. "Nobody asked for thy advice." She started on up the trail but at the top she was breathing heavily and her face was wet with perspiration and there was no doubt about her pallor now. "Sit down, Pilar," Maria said. "Please, please sit down." "All right," said Pilar and the three of them sat down under a pine tree and looked across the mountain meadow to where the tops of the peaks seemed to jut out from the roll of the high country with snow shining bright on them now in the early afternoon sun. "What rotten stuff is the snow and how beautiful it looks," Pilar said. "What an illusion is the snow." She turned to Maria. "I am sorry I was rude to thee, _guapa_. I don't know what has held me today. I have an evil temper." "I never mind what you say when you are angry," Maria told her. "And you are angry often." "Nay, it is worse than anger," Pilar said, looking across at the peaks. "Thou art not well," Maria said. "Neither is it that," the woman said. "Come here, guapa, and put thy head in my lap." Maria moved close to her, put her arms out and folded them as One does who goes to sleep without a pillow and lay with her head on her arms. She turned her face up at Pilar and smiled at her but the big woman looked on across the meadow at the mountains. She stroked the girl's head without looking down at her and ran a blunt finger across the girl's forehead and then around the line of her ear and down the line where the hair grew on her neck. "You can have her in a little while, _Ingl_," she said. Robert Jordan was sitting behind her. "Do not talk like that," Maria said. "Yes, he can have thee," Pilar said and looked at neither of them. "I have never wanted thee. But I am jealous." "Pilar," Maria said. "Do not talk thus." "He can have thee," Pilar said and ran her finger around the lobe of the girl's ear. "But I am very jealous." "But Pilar," Maria said. "It was thee explained to me there was nothing like that between us." "There is always something like that," the woman said. "There is always something like something that there should not be. But with me there is not. Truly there is not. I want thy happiness and nothing more." Maria said nothing but lay there, trying to make her head rest lightly. "Listen, _guapa_," said Pilar and ran her finger now absently but tracingly over the contours of her cheeks. "Listen, _guapa_, I love thee and he can have thee, I am no _tortillera_ but a woman made for men. That is true. But now it gives me pleasure to say thus, in the daytime, that I care for thee." "I love thee, too." "_Qu?va_. Do not talk nonsense. Thou dost not know even of what I speak." "I know." "_Qu?va_, that you know. You are for the _Ingl_. That is seen and as it should be. That I would have. Anything else I would not have. I do not make perversions. I only tell you something true. Few people will ever talk to thee truly and no women. I am jealous and say it and it is there. And I say it." "Do not say it," Maria said. "Do not say it, Pilar." "_Por qu嶱, do not say it," the woman said, still not looking at either of them. "I will say it until it no longer pleases me to say it. And," she looked down at the girl now, "that time has come already. I do not say it more, you understand?" "Pilar," Maria said. "Do not talk thus." "Thou art a very pleasant little rabbit," Pilar said. "And lift thy head now because this silliness is over." "It was not silly," said Maria. "And my head is well where it is." "Nay. Lift it," Pilar told her and put her big hands under the girl's head and raised it. "And thou, _Ingl?_" she said, still holding the girl's head as she looked across at the mountains. "What cat has eaten thy tongue?" "No cat," Robert Jordan said. "What animal then?" She laid the girl's head down on the ground. "No animal," Robert Jordan told her. "You swallowed it yourself, eh?" "I guess so," Robert Jordan said. "And did you like the taste?" Pilar turned now and grinned at him. "Not much." "I thought not," Pilar said. "I _thought_ not. But I give you back our rabbit. Nor ever did I try to take your rabbit. That's a good name for her. I heard you call her that this morning." Robert Jordan felt his face redden. "You are a very hard woman," he told her. "No," Pilar said. "But so simple I am very complicated. Are you very complicated, _Ingl?_" "No. Nor not so simple." "You please me, _Ingl_," Pilar said. Then she smiled and leaned forward and smiled and shook her head. "Now if I could take the rabbit from thee and take thee from the rabbit." "You could not." "I know it," Pilar said and smiled again. "Nor would I wish to. But when I was young I could have." "I believe it." "You believe it?" "Surely," Robert Jordan said. "But such talk is nonsense." "It is not like thee," Maria said. "I am not much like myself today," Pilar said. "Very little like myself. Thy bridge has given me a headache, _Ingl_." "We can tell it the Headache Bridge," Robert Jordan said. "But I will drop it in that gorge like a broken bird cage." "Good," said Pilar. "Keep on talking like that." "I'll drop it as you break a banana from which you have removed the skin." "I could eat a banana now," said Pilar. "Go on, _Ingl_. Keep on talking largely." "There is no need," Robert Jordan said. "Let us get to camp." "Thy duty," Pilar said. "It will come quickly enough. I said that I would leave the two of you." "No. I have much to do." "That is much too and does not take long." "Shut thy mouth, Pilar," Maria said. "You speak grossly." "I am gross," Pilar said. "But I am also very delicate. _Soy muy delicada_. I will leave the two of you. And the talk of jealousness is nonsense. I was angry at Joaqu because I saw from his look how ugly I am. I am only jealous that you are nineteen. It is not a jealousy which lasts. You will not be nineteen always. Now I go." She stood up and with a hand on one hip looked at Robert Jordan, who was also standing. Maria sat on the ground under the tree, her head dropped forward. "Let us all go to camp together," Robert Jordan said. "It is better and there is much to do." Pilar nodded with her head toward Maria, who sat there, her head turned away from them, saying nothing. Pilar smiled and shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly and said, "You know the way?" "I know it," Maria said, not raising her head. "_Pues me voy_," Pilar said. "Then I am going. We'll have something hearty for you to eat, _Ingl_." She started to walk off into the heather of the meadow toward the stream that led down through it toward the camp. "Wait," Robert Jordan called to her. "It is better that we should all go together." Maria sat there and said nothing. Pilar did not turn. "_Qu?va_, go together," she said. "I will see thee at the camp." Robert Jordan stood there. "Is she all right?" he asked Maria. "She looked ill before." "Let her go," Maria said, her head still down. "I think I should go with her." "Let her go," said Maria. "Let her go!" 　　他们饭后离开“聋子”的营地，开始顺着小路下山。“聋子”一直把他们送到半山的岗哨那儿。“祝你平安，”他说。“今晚见。” 　　“祝你平安，同志，”罗伯特‘乔丹对他说，他们三人就走下山去，“聋子”站着目送他们。玛丽亚转身向他挥挥手,“聋子”以西班牙人的方式，用前臂突然向上一挥，仿佛轻蔑地扔掉一样东西似的，根本不象在行礼,一点儿也不正经。他吃饭时一直没有解开他那件羊皮外套上的钮扣，他十分注意礼貌,注意转过头来听人说话，又用他那种蹩脚的西班牙语来回答，彬彬有礼地问罗伯特　乔丹关于共和国的情况;但是他显然很想摆脱他们。他们向他告别的时侯，比拉尔对他说,“怎么样，圣地亚哥,“噢，没什么，太太，”“聋子”说。“没问题。不过我正在考虑。”“我也在考虑，”比拉尔说。他们如今穿过松树林，顺着山路轻松愉快地往下走去。他们刚才就是从这条陡削的山路上费力地走来的。比拉尔这时一句话也不说。罗伯特　乔丹和玛丽亚也不开口，他们三人走得很快，穿过树木丛生的山谷后，山路又变得陡了,朝上穿过一个树林子，直通髙坡草地。 　　那是五月下旬一个炎热的下午，走到最后一段陡峭的山路的中途，那女人停下来了。罗伯特　乔丹停步回头一看,只见她前额上渗着一顆颗汗珠。他发现她棕揭色的脸上失去了血色，皮肤灰黄，眼睛下面有黑圈。 　　“咱们欧一会几吧。”他说。“咱们走得太快了。”“不，”她说。“继续走吧。” 　　“歇一会儿吧，比拉尔,玛丽亚说。“你的脸色不好。““别说了，”妇人说。“不用你插嘴。“她拔脚顺着山路向上爬，但是到了顶端，她大口喘着气，脸上全是汗,真是一副病容。 　　“坐下吧，比拉尔，”玛丽亚说。“求求你，求求你坐下吧。”“好吧，”比拉尔说，于是他们三人坐在一棵松树下，眺望着高坡草地对面那些轰立在层层山峦之上的高峰，那时刚到下午，峰顶积雷在阳光下闪烁着光芒。 　　“雪这东西真讨厌，可看起来多美呀。”比拉尔说。“雪呀，寘叫人看不透。”她转身对玛丽亚。“我刚才对你很粗鲁，对不起，漂亮的姑娘，我不知道今天是怎么搞的　我脾气很不好。“ 　　“你生气时讲的话我从来不在意，”玛丽亚对她说。“再说，你常常生气。” 　　“不，比生气更糟，”比拉尔说，眺望着对面的山峰。“你身体不舒服。”玛丽亚说。 　　“也不是这么回事。”妇人说，“过来，漂亮的姑娘，把脑袋搁在我腿上。” 　　玛丽亚挨近她，伸出双臂，交迭起来，象人们不用枕头睡觉那样，就用双臂枕着脑袋躺下来。她把脸转过来，仰望着比拉尔，对她微笑，那个大个子女人可仍然凝望着草地对面的群山。她并不低头来看姑娘，只抚摸着姑娘的头,用一个粗大的手指从姑娘的前额上摸过去，然后沿着耳朵边向下一直摸到她脖子上的头发根　 　　“过一会儿，她就是你的了，英国人“她说。罗伯特，乔丹正坐在她背后。 　　“别这么说，”玛丽亚说， 　　“是呀，他可以占有你。”比拉尔说，对他们俩谁都不看。“我从来不想要你。不过我感到妒忌。”“比拉尔。”玛丽亚说。“别这么说。”“他可以占有你，”比拉尔说，指头沿着姑娘的耳垂边換着 　　“不过我非常妒忌。” 　　“可是比拉尔。”玛丽亚说,“你我之间不会有那种情形，这是你自已对我讲的。” 　　“那种情形总是有的，”妇人说。“那种情形照说不该有，伹终究难免会有的，不过，我倒没这种心情。真的没有。我要你幸福，只要你幸福。“ 　　玛丽亚没说什么，只是躺在那里,尽量使自己的头轻轻地搁 在她腿上。 　　“听着，漂亮的姑娘，”比拉尔说，一边心不在焉地用指头抚摸着她的腮帮。“听着，漂亮的姑娘，我爱你，可是他才能占有你，‘我不是摘同性恋爱的，而只是个为男人而生的女人。这是真话。伹是，我现在大白天里把这种话说出来，说我爱你，我心里是舒畅的。” 　　“我也爱你。” 　　“什么话。别胡说八道。你根本不僅我是什么意思。”“我僮。” 　　”你懂什么，你是配英国人的。这“看就知道，也该这样。我就是希望这样，不这样，我就不髙兴。我不摘不正常的性行为。我只不过把真心话告诉你。对你说真心话的人不多，女人根本没有-我感到妒忌，说了出来,就是这么回事。我说了。”“别说出来，”玛丽亚说。“别说出来，比拉尔。”“为什么不说?”妇人说，还是不看他们俩。“我要说,直到不想说为止。还有，”这时，她低头望着姑娘。”好时光已经到啦。我不多说了，你懂吗?” 　　“比拉尔，”玛丽亚说。“别这么说。”“你是只挺讨人喜欢的小兔子，”比拉尔说。“现在你把头抬起来，因为鑾话已经说完啦。“ 　　“不癱，”玛丽亚说。。再说,我的头搁在这里很好。”“不。抬起头来。”比拉尔对她说,把自己那双大手扰在姑娘豳后,把她的头拾起来。“你怎么不开口,英国人？”她说，仍然托着姑娘的头，　边眺望着对面的群山。“难道你的舌头给猫叼走啦。” 　　〃不是猫，”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“那么是什么野兽叼了？”她把姑娘的头放在地上。 　　“不是野兽，”罗伯特　乔丹对她说。 　　“那你自己吞掉了，呃?” 　　“我看是吧，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。 　　“那你觉得味儿好吗？”现在比拉尔转身对他露齿笑着。 　　“不太好。” 　　“我看也不好，”比拉尔说。“我，就是不好。不过我还是要把你的小兔子还给你。我从来也没‘要过你的小兔子。这个名字给她起得好。今天早晨我听到你叫她小兔子。”罗伯特”乔丹觉得自己的脸红了。“你这个女人很刻薄，”他对她说。 　　“不，”比拉尔说。“不过，我是又单纯又复杂。你这个人很复杂吗，英国人，“” 　　“不。不过也不是那么单纯，“ 　　“你这个人叫我高兴，英国人“比拉尔说。随即她笑了-笑，身体向前倾，又笑着摇摇头。“要是我现在把兔子从你手里抢走，或者把你从兔子手里抢走,怎么办。”“你办不到。” 　　“这我知道。”比拉尔说着又笑了。“我也不想这样做。不过，我年青的时候办得到。”“这话我相信。”“你信我的话” 　　“当然，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“不过这是废话“这不象是你说的话，”玛丽亚说。 　　“今天我不大象我原来的样子，”比拉尔说　“简直一点儿不象我自己了。英国人，你的桥叫我头痛。” 　　“我们就叫它头痛桥吧，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“可是我要叫它象只破鸟笼似地掉在那峡谷里，” 　　“好，”比拉尔说。“说话该一直这样。”“我要象你折断一只剥了皮的香蕉似的把它一炸为二。”“我现在很想吃只香蕉，”比拉尔说。“说下去，英国人。尽管说大话吧。” 　　“不必啦，”罗伯特。乔丹说。“我们回营地去吧。”“你的任务。”比拉尔说，“就在眼前。我说过要让你们俩一起呆一会儿。” 　　“不。我有不少事要做。　“那也是事呀，花不了很长时间。”“闭上你的嘴，比拉尔，”玛丽亚说。“你说得太过分了。”“我过分。”比拉尔说。“可我也很体贴人呢。我要让你们俩在一起了。妒忌的话是胡扯。我恼恨华金，因为我从他神色上看出来我是多么丑。叫我妒忌的只是你才十九岁。这种妒忌不会长的。你不会老是十九岁的。现在我走了。” 　　她站起来，一手插在腰上，望着罗伯特“乔丹,他呢,也站起来了。玛丽亚坐在树下,头垂在胸前， 　　“我们大家一起回营地去吧。”罗伯特’乔丹说。”这样好些,有不少事情要做哪。” 　　比拉尔朝玛丽亚点点头，玛丽亚坐在那里没说什么,头转同别处。 　　比拉尔笑笑，差不多使人觉察不到地耸耸肩膀,还说，“你们认得路吗” 　　“我认得，”玛丽亚仍然低了头说。 　　“那我走了。”比拉尔说罾“我们要给你多准备些好吃的，英国人。” 　　她开始走进草地上的石南树丛，朝通向营地的小河走去。“等等。”罗伯特　乔丹喊她。“我们还是一起走好。”玛丽亚坐在那里不作声。比拉尔没转身。 ’. 　　“一起走，没的事。”她说。“我在营地见你。”罗伯特，乔丹站在那里。 　　“她身体没事吗?”他问玛丽亚。“她刚才看来病了，““让她走，”玛丽亚说，仍然低着头，“我看我应该踉她一起走。““让她走，”玛丽亚说，“让她一个人走1”

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Chapter 13
They were walking through the heather of the mountain meadow and Robert Jordan felt the brushing of the heather against his legs, felt the weight of his pistol in its holster against his thigh, felt the sun on his head, felt the breeze from the snow of the mountain peaks cool on his back and, in his hand, he felt the girl's hand firm and strong, the fingers locked in his. From it, from the palm of her hand against the palm of his, from their fingers locked together, and from her wrist across his wrist something came from her hand, her fingers and her wrist to his that was as fresh as the first light air that moving toward you over the sea barely wrinkles the glassy surface of a calm, as light as a feather moved across one's lip, or a leaf falling when there is no breeze; so light that it could be felt with the touch of their fingers alone, but that was so strengthened, so intensified, and made so urgent, so aching and so strong by the hard pressure of their fingers and the close pressed palm and wrist, that it was as though a current moved up his arm and filled his whole body with an aching hollowness of wanting. With the sun shining on her hair, tawny as wheat, and on her gold-brown smooth-lovely face and on the curve of her throat he bent her head back and held her to him and kissed her. He felt her trembling as he kissed her and he held the length of her body tight to him and felt her breasts against his chest through the two khaki shirts, he felt them small and firm and he reached and undid the buttons on her shirt and bent and kissed her and she stood shivering, holding her head back, his arm behind her. Then she dropped her chin to his head and then he felt her hands holding his head and rocking it against her. He straightened and with his two arms around her held her so tightly that she was lifted off the ground, tight against him, and he felt her trembling and then her lips were on his throat, and then he put her down and said, "Maria, oh, my Maria."
Then he said, "Where should we go?"
She did not say anything but slipped her hand inside of his shirt and he felt her undoing the shirt buttons and she said, "You, too. I want to kiss, too."
"No, little rabbit."
"Yes. Yes. Everything as you."
"Nay. That is an impossibility."
"Well, then. Oh, then. Oh, then. Oh."
Then there was the smell of heather crushed and the roughness of the bent stalks under her head and the sun bright on her closed eyes and all his life he would remember the curve of her throat with her head pushed back into the heather roots and her lips that moved smally and by themselves and the fluttering of the lashes on the eyes tight closed against the sun and against everything, and for her everything was red, orange, gold-red from the sun on the closed eyes, and it all was that color, all of it, the filling, the possessing, the having, all of that color, all in a blindness of that color. For him it was a dark passage which led to nowhere, then to nowhere, then again to nowhere, once again to nowhere, always and forever to nowhere, heavy on the elbows in the earth to nowhere, dark, never any end to nowhere, hung on all time always to unknowing nowhere, this time and again for always to nowhere, now not to be borne once again always and to nowhere, now beyond all bearing up, up, up and into nowhere, suddenly, scaldingly, holdingly all nowhere gone and time absolutely still and they were both there, time having stopped and he felt the earth move out and away from under them.
Then he was lying on his side, his head deep in the heather, smelling it and the smell of the roots and the earth and the sun came through it and it was scratchy on his bare shoulders and along his flanks and the girl was lying opposite him with her eyes still shut and then she opened them and smiled at him and he said very tiredly and from a great but friendly distance, "Hello, rabbit." And she smiled and from no distance said, "Hello, my _Ingl_."
"I'm not an _Ingl_," he said very lazily.
"Oh yes, you are," she said. "You're my _Ingl_," and reached and took hold of both his ears and kissed him on the forehead.
"There," she said. "How is that? Do I kiss thee better?"
Then they were walking along the stream together and he said, "Maria, I love thee and thou art so lovely and so wonderful and so beautiful and it does such things to me to be with thee that I feel as though I wanted to die when I am loving thee."
"Oh," she said. "I die each time. Do you not die?"
"No. Almost. But did thee feel the earth move?"
"Yes. As I died. Put thy arm around me, please."
"No. I have thy hand. Thy hand is enough."
He looked at her and across the meadow where a hawk was hunting and the big afternoon clouds were coming now over the mountains.
"And it is not thus for thee with others?" Maria asked him, they now walking hand in hand.
"No. Truly."
"Thou hast loved many others."
"Some. But not as thee."
"And it was not thus? Truly?"
"It was a pleasure but it was not thus."
"And then the earth moved. The earth never moved before?"
"Nay. Truly never."
"Ay," she said. "And this we have for one day."
He said nothing.
"But we have had it now at least," Maria said. "And do you like me too? Do I please thee? I will look better later."
"Thou art very beautiful now."
"Nay," she said. "But stroke thy hand across my head."
He did that feeling her cropped hair soft and flattening and then rising between his fingers and he put both hands on her head and turned her face up to his and kissed her.
"I like to kiss very much," she said. "But I do not do it well."
"Thou hast no need to kiss."
"Yes, I have. If I am to be thy woman I should please thee in all ways."
"You please me enough. I would not be more pleased. There is no thing I could do if I were more pleased."
"But you will see," she said very happily. "My hair amuses thee now because it is odd. But every day it is growing. It will be long and then I will not look ugly and perhaps you will love me very much."
"Thou hast a lovely body," he said. "The loveliest in the world."
"It is only young and thin."
"No. In a fine body there is magic. I do not know what makes it in one and not in another. But thou hast it."
"For thee," she said.
"Nay."
"Yes. For thee and for thee always and only for thee. But it is littie to bring thee. I would learn to take good care of thee. But tell me truly. Did the earth never move for thee before?"
"Never," he said truly.
"Now am I happy," she said. "Now am I truly happy.
"You are thinking of something else now?" she asked him.
"Yes. My work."
"I wish we had horses to ride," Maria said. "In my happiness I would like to be on a good horse and ride fast with thee riding fast beside me and we would ride faster and faster, galloping, and never pass my happiness."
"We could take thy happiness in a plane," he said absently.
"And go over and over in the sky like the little pursuit planes shining in the sun," she said. "Rolling it in loops and in dives. _Qu?bueno!_" she laughed. "My happiness would not even notice it."
"Thy happiness has a good stomach," he said half hearing what she said.
Because now he was not there. He was walking beside her but his mind was thinking of the problem of the bridge now and it was all clear and hard and sharp as when a camera lens is brought into focus. He saw the two posts and Anselmo and the gypsy watching. He saw the road empty and he saw movement on it. He saw where he would place the two automatic rifles to get the most level field of fire, and who will serve them, he thought, me at the end, but who at the start? He placed the charges, wedged and lashed them, sunk his caps and crimped them, ran his wires, hooked them up and got back to where he had placed the old box of the exploder and then he started to think of all the things that could have happened and that might go wrong. Stop it, he told himself. You have made love to this girl and now your head is clear, properly clear, and you start to worry. It is one thing to think you must do and it is another thing to worry. Don't worry. You mustn't worry. You know the things that you may have to do and you know what may happen. Certainly it may happen.
You went into it knowing what you were fighting for. You were fighting against exactly what you were doing and being forced into doing to have any chance of winning. So now he was compelled to use these people whom he liked as you should use troops toward whom you have no feeling at all if you were to be successful. Pablo was evidently the smartest. He knew how bad it was instantly. The woman was all for it, and still was; but the realization of what it really consisted in had overcome her steadily and it had done plenty to her already. Sordo recognized it instantly and would do it but he did not like it any more than he, Robert Jordan, liked it.
So you say that it is not that which will happen to yourself but that which may happen to the woman and the girl and to the others that you think of. All right. What would have happened to them if you had not come? What happened to them and what passed with them before you were ever here? You must not think in that way. You have no responsibility for them except in action. The orders do not come from you. They come from Golz. And who is Golz? A good general. The best you've ever served under. But should a man carry out impossible orders knowing what they lead to? Even though they come from Golz, who is the party as well as the army? Yes. He should carry them out because it is only in the performing of them that they can prove to be impossible. How do you know they are impossible until you have tried them? If every one said orders were impossible to carry out when they were received where Would you be? Where would we all be if you just said, "Impossible," when orders came?
He had seen enough of commanders to whom all orders were impossible. That swine Gomez in Estremadura. He had seen enough attacks when the flanks did not advance because it was impossible. No, he would carry out the orders and it was bad luck that you liked the people you must do it with.
In all the work that they, the _partizans_, did, they brought added danger and bad luck to the people that sheltered them and worked with them. For what? So that, eventually, there should be no more danger and so that the country should be a good place to live in. That was true no matter how trite it sounded.
If the Republic lost it would be impossible for those who believed in it to live in Spain. But would it? Yes, he knew that it would be, from the things that happened in the parts the fascists had already taken.
Pablo was a swine but the others were fine people and was it not a betrayal of them all to get them to do this? Perhaps it was. But if they did not do it two squadrons of cavalry would come and hunt them out of these hills in a week.
No. There was nothing to be gained by leaving them alone. Except that all people should be left alone and you should interfere with no one. So he believed that, did he? Yes, he believed that. And what about a planned society and the rest of it? That was for the others to do. He had something else to do after this war. He fought now in this war because it had started in a country that he loved and he believed in the Republic and that if it were destroyed life would be unbearable for all those people who believed in it. He was under Communist discipline for the duration of the war. Here in Spain the Communists offered the best discipline and the soundest and sanest for the prosecution of the war. He accepted their discipline for the duration of the war because, in the conduct of the war, they were the only party whose program and whose discipline he could respect.
What were his politics then? He had none now, he told himself. But do not tell any one else that, he thought. Don't ever admit that. And what are you going to do afterwards? I am going back and earn my living teaching Spanish as before, and I am going to write a true book. I'll bet, he said. I'll bet that will be easy.
He would have to talk with Pablo about politics. It would certainly be interesting to see what his political development had been. The classical move from left to right, probably; like old Lerroux. Pablo was quite a lot like Lerroux. Prieto was as bad. Pablo and Prieto had about an equal faith in the ultimate victory. They all had the politics of horse thieves. He believed in the Republic as a form of government but the Republic would have to get rid of all of that bunch of horse thieves that brought it to the pass it was in when the rebellion started. Was there ever a people whose leaders were as truly their enemies as this one?
Enemies of the people. That was a phrase he might omit. That was a catch phrase he would skip. That was one thing that sleeping with Maria had done. He had gotten to be as bigoted and hidebound about his politics as a hard-shelled Baptist and phrases like enemies of the people came into his mind without his much criticizing them in any way. Any sort of _clich_ both revolutionary and patriotic. His mind employed them without criticism. Of course they were true but it was too easy to be nimble about using them. But since last night and this afternoon his mind was much clearer and cleaner on that business. Bigotry is an odd thing. To be bigoted you have to be absolutely sure that you are right and nothing makes that surety and righteousness like continence. Continence is the foe of heresy.
How would that premise stand up if he examined it? That was probably why the Communists were always cracking down on Bohemianism. When you were drunk or when you committed either fornication or adultery you recognized your own personal fallibility of that so mutable substitute for the apostles' creed, the party line. Down with Bohemianism, the sin of Mayakovsky.
But Mayakovsky was a saint again. That was because he was safely dead. You'll be safely dead yourself, he told himself. Now stop thinking that sort of thing. Think about Maria.
Maria was very hard on his bigotry. So far she had not affected his resolution but he would much prefer not to die. He would abandon a hero's or a martyr's end gladly. He did not want to make a Thermopylae, nor be Horatius at any bridge, nor be the Dutch boy With his finger in that dyke. No. He would like to spend some time With Maria. That was the simplest expression of it. He would like to spend a long, long time with her.
He did not believe there was ever going to be any such thing as a long time any more but if there ever was such a thing he would like to spend it with her. We could go into the hotel and register as Doctor and Mrs. Livingstone I presume, he thought.
Why not marry her? Sure, he thought. I will marry her. Then we will be Mt and Mrs. Robert Jordan of Sun Valley, Idaho. Or Corpus Christi, Texas, or Butte, Montana.
Spanish girls make wonderful wives. I've never had one so I know. And when I get my job back at the university she can be an instructor's wife and when undergraduates who take Spanish IV come in to smoke pipes in the evening and have those so valuable informal discussions about Quevedo, Lope de Vega, Gald鏀 and the other always admirable dead, Maria can tell them about how some of the blue-shirted crusaders for the true faith sat on her head while others twisted her arms and pulled her skirts up and stuffed them in her mouth.
I wonder how they will like Maria in Missoula, Montana? That is if I can get a job back in Missoula. I suppose that I am ticketed as a Red there now for good and will be on the general blacklist. Though you never know. You never can tell. They've no proof of what you do, and as a matter of fact they would never believe it if you told them, and my passport was valid for Spain before they issued the restrictions.
The time for getting back will not be until the fall of thirtyseven. I left in the summer of thirty-six and though the leave is for a year you do not need to be back until the fall term opens in the following year. There is a lot of time between now and the fall term. There is a lot of time between now and day after tomorrow if you want to put it that way. No. I think there is no need to worry about the university. Just you turn up there in the fall and it will be all right. Just try and turn up there.
But it has been a strange life for a long time now. Damned if it hasn't. Spain was your work and your job, so being in Spain was natural and sound. You had worked summers on engineering projects and in the forest service building roads and in the park and learned to handle powder, so the demolition was a sound and normal job too. Always a little hasty, but sound.
Once you accept the idea of demolition as a problem it is only a problem. But there was plenty that was not so good that went with it although God knows you took it easily enough. There was the constant attempt to approximate the conditions of successful assassination that accompanied the demolition. Did big words make it more defensible? Did they make killing any more palatable? You took to it a little too readily if you ask me, he told himself. And what you will be like or just exactly what you will be suited for when you leave the service of the Republic is, to me, he thought, extremely doubtful. But my guess is you will get rid of all that by writing about it, he said. Once you write it down it is all gone. It will be a good book if you can write it. Much better than the other.
But in the meantime all the life you have or ever will have is today, tonight, tomorrow, today, tonight, tomorrow, over and over again (I hope), he thought and so you had better take what time there is and be very thankful for it. If the bridge goes bad. It does not look too good just now.
But Maria has been good. Has she not? Oh, has she not, he thought. Maybe that is what I am to get now from life. Maybe that is my life and instead of it being threescore years and ten it is fortyeight hours or just threescore hours and ten or twelve rather. Twenty-four hours in a day would be threescore and twelve for the three full days.
I suppose it is possible to live as full a life in seventy hours as in seventy years; granted that your life has been full up to the time that the seventy hours start and that you have reached a certain age.
What nonsense, he thought. What rot you get to thinking by yourself. That is _really_ nonsense. And maybe it isn't nonsense too. Well, we will see. The last time I slept with a girl was in Madrid. No it wasn't. It was in the Escorial and, except that I woke in the night and thought it was some one else and was excited until I realized who it really was, it was just dragging ashes; except that it was pleasant enough. And the time before that was in Madrid and except for some lying and pretending I did to myself as to identity while things were going on, it was the same or something less. So I am no romantic glorifier of the Spanish Woman nor did I ever think of a casual piece as anything much other than a casual piece in any country. But when I am with Maria I love her so that I feel, literally, as though I would die and I never believed in that nor thought that it could happen.
So if your life trades its seventy years for seventy hours I have that value now and I am lucky enough to know it. And if there is not any such thing as a long time, nor the rest of your lives, nor from now on, but there is only now, why then now is the thing to praise and I am very happy with it. Now, _ahora_, _maintenant_, _heute_. _Now_, it has a funny sound to be a whole world and your life. _Esta noche_, tonight, _ce soir_, _heute abend_. Life and wife, _Vie_ and _Mari_. No it didn't work out. The French turned it into husband. There was now and _frau_; but that did not prove anything either. Take dead, _mort_, _muerto_, and _todt_. _Todt_ was the deadest of them all. War, _guerre_, _guerra_, and _krieg_. _Krieg_ was the most like war, or was it? Or was it only that he knew German the least well? Sweetheart, _ch廨ie_, _prenda_, and _schatz_. He would trade them all for Maria. There was a name.
Well, they would all be doing it together and it would not be long now. It certainly looked worse all the time. It was just something that you could not bring off in the morning. In an impossible situation you hang on until night to get away. You try to last out until night to get back in. You are all right, maybe, if you can stick it out until dark and then get in. So what if you start this sticking it out at daylight? How about that? And that poor bloody Sordo abandoning his pidgin Spanish to explain it to him so carefully. As though he had not thought about that whenever he had done any particularly bad thinking ever since Golz had first mentioned it. As though he hadn't been living with that like a lump of undigested dough in the pit of his stomach ever since the night before the night before last.
What a business. You go along your whole life and they seem as though they mean something and they always end up not meaning anything. There was never any of what this is. You think that is one thing that you will never have. And then, on a lousy show like this, co-ordinating two chicken-crut guerilla bands to help you blow a bridge under impossible conditions, to abort a counteroffensive that will probably already be started, you run into a girl like this Maria. Sure. That is what you would do. You ran into her rather late, that was all.
So a woman like that Pilar practically pushed this girl into your sleeping bag and what happens? Yes, what happens? What happens? You tell me what happens, please. Yes. That is just what happens. That is exactly what happens.
Don't lie to yourself about Pilar pushing her into your sleeping robe and try to make it nothing or to make it lousy. You were gone when you first saw her. When she first opened her mouth and spoke to you it was there already and you know it. Since you have it and you never thought you would have it, there is no sense throwing dirt at it, when you know what it is and you know it came the first time you looked at her as she came out bent over carrying that iron cooking platter.
It hit you then and you know it and so why lie about it? You went all strange inside every time you looked at her and every time she looked at you. So why don't you admit it? All right, I'll admit it. And as for Pilar pushing her onto you, all Pilar did was be an intelligent woman. She had taken good care of the girl and she saw what was coming the minute the girl came back into the cave with the cooking dish.
So she made things easier. She made things easier so that there was last night and this afternoon. She is a damned sight more civilized than you are and she knows what time is all about. Yes, he said to himself, I think we can admit that she has certain notions about the value of time. She took a beating and all because she did not want other people losing what she'd lost and then the idea of admitting it was lost was too big a thing to swallow. So she took a beating back there on the hill and I guess we did not make it any easier for her.
Well, so that is what happens and what has happened and you might as well admit it and now you will never have two whole nights with her. Not a lifetime, not to live together, not to have what people were always supposed to have, not at all. One night that is past, once one afternoon, one night to come; maybe. No, sir.
Not time, not happiness, not fun, not children, not a house, not a bathroom, not a clean pair of pajamas, not the morning paper, not to wake up together, not to wake and know she's there and that you're not alone. No. None of that. But why, when this is all you are going to get in life of what you want; when you have found it; why not just one night in a bed with sheets?
You ask for the impossible. You ask for the ruddy impossible. So if you love this girl as much as you say you do, you had better love her very hard and make up in intensity what the relation will lack in duration and in continuity. Do you hear that? In the old days people devoted a lifetime to it. And now when you have found it if you get two nights you wonder where all the luck came from. Two nights. Two nights to love, honor and cherish. For better and for worse. In sickness and in death. No that wasn't it. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part. In two nights. Much more than likely. Much more than likely and now lay off that sort of thinking. You can stop that now. That's not good for you. Do nothing that is not good for you. Sure that's it.
This was what Golz had talked about. The longer he was around, the smarter Golz seemed. So this was what he was asking about; the compensation of irregular service. Had Golz had this and was it the urgency and the lack of time and the circumstances that made it? Was this something that happened to every one given comparable circumstances? And did he only think it was something special because it was happening to him? Had Golz slept around in a hurry when he was commanding irregular cavalry in the Red Army and had the combination of the circumstances and the rest of it made the girls seem the way Maria was?
Probably Golz knew all about this too and wanted to make the point that you must make your whole life in the two nights that are given to you; that living as we do now you must concentrate all of that which you should always have into the short time that you can have it.
It was a good system of belief. But he did not believe that Maria had only been made by the circumstances. Unless, of course, she is a reaction from her own circumstance as well as his. Her one circumstance is not so good, he thought. No, not so good.
If this was how it was then this was how it was. But there was no law that made him say he liked it. I did not know that I could ever feel what I have felt, he thought. Nor that this could happen to me. I would like to have it for my whole life. You will, the other part of him said. You will. You have it _now_ and that is all your whole life is; now. There is nothing else than now. There is neither yesterday, certainly, nor is there any tomorrow. How old must you be before you know that? There is only now, and if now is only two days, then two days is your life and everything in it will be in proportion. This is how you live a life in two days. And if you stop complaining and asking for what you never will get, you will have a good life. A good life is not measured by any biblical span.
So now do not worry, take what you have, and do your work and you will have a long life and a very merry one. Hasn't it been merry lately? What are you complaining about? That's the thing about this sort of work, he told himself, and was very pleased with the thought, it isn't so much what you learn as it is the people you meet. He was pleased then because he was joking and he came back to the girl.
"I love you, rabbit," he said to the girl. "What was it you were saying?"
"I was saying," she told him, "that you must not worry about your work because I will not bother you nor interfere. If there is anything I can do you will tell me."
"There's nothing," he said. "It is really very simple."
"I will learn from Pilar what I should do to take care of a man well and those things I will do," Maria said. "Then, as I learn, I will discover things for myself and other things you can tell me."
"There is nothing to do."
"_Qu?va_, man, there is nothing! Thy sleeping robe, this morning, should have been shaken and aired and hung somewhere in the sun. Then, before the dew comes, it should be taken into shelter."
"Go on, rabbit."
"Thy socks should be washed and dried. I would see thee had two pair."
"What else?"
"If thou would show me I would clean and oil thy pistol."
"Kiss me," Robert Jordan said.
"Nay, this is serious. Wilt thou show me about the pistol? Pilar has rags and oil. There is a cleaning rod inside the cave that should fit it."
"Sure. I'll show you."
"Then," Maria said. "If you will teach me to shoot it either one of us could shoot the other and himself, or herself, if one were wounded and it were necessary to avoid capture."
"Very interesting," Robert Jordan said. "Do you have many ideas like that?"
"Not many," Maria said. "But it is a good one. Pilar gave me this and showed me how to use it," she opened the breast pocket of her shirt and took out a cut-down leather holder such as pocket combs are carried in and, removing a wide rubber band that closed both ends, took out a Gem type, single-edged razor blade. "I keep this always," she explained. "Pilar says you must make the cut here just below the ear and draw it toward here." She showed him with her finger. "She says there is a big artery there and that drawing the blade from there you cannot miss it. Also, she says there is no pain and you must simply press firmly below the ear and draw it downward. She says it is nothing and that they cannot stop it if it is done."
"That's right," said Robert Jordan. "That's the carotid artery."
So she goes around with that all the time, he thought, as a definitely accepted and properly organized possibility.
"But I would rather have thee shoot me," Maria said. "Promise if there is ever any need that thou wilt shoot me."
"Sure," Robert Jordan said. "I promise."
"Thank thee very much," Maria told him. "I know it is not easy to do."
"That's all right," Robert Jordan said.
You forget all this, he thought. You forget about the beauties of a civil war when you keep your mind too much on your work. You have forgotten this. Well, you are supposed to. Kashkin couldn't forget it and it spoiled his work. Or do you think the old boy had a hunch? It was very strange because he had experienced absolutely no emotion about the shooting of Kashkin. He expected that at some time he might have it. But so far there had been absolutely none.
"But there are other things I can do for thee," Maria told him, walking close beside him, now, very serious and womanly.
"Besides shoot me?"
"Yes. I can roll cigarettes for thee when thou hast no more of those with tubes. Pilar has taught me to roll them very well, tight and neat and not spilling."
"Excellent," said Robert Jordan. "Do you lick them yourself?"
"Yes," the girl said, "and when thou art wounded I will care for thee and dress thy wound and wash thee and feed thee--"
"Maybe I won't be wounded," Robert Jordan said.
"Then when you are sick I will care for thee and make thee soups and clean thee and do all for thee. And I will read to thee."
"Maybe I won't get sick."
"Then I will bring thee coffee in the morning when thou wakest--"
"Maybe I don't like coffee," Robert Jordan told her.
"Nay, but you do," the girl said happily. "This morning you took two cups."
"Suppose I get tired of coffee and there's no need to shoot me and I'm neither wounded nor sick and I give up smoking and have only one pair of socks and hang up my robe myself. What then, rabbit?" he patted her on the back. "What then?"
"Then," said Maria, "I will borrow the scissors of Pilar and cut thy hair."
"I don't like to have my hair cut."
"Neither do I," said Maria. "And I like thy hair as it is. So. If there is nothing to do fo

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Chapter 14
By the time they reached the camp it was snowing and the flakes were dropping diagonally through the pines. They slanted through the trees, sparse at first and circling as they fell, and then, as the cold wind came driving down the mountain, they came whirling and thick and Robert Jordan stood in front of the cave in a rage and watched them.
"We will have much snow," Pablo said. His voice was thick and his eyes were red and bleary.
"Has the gypsy come in?" Robert Jordan asked him.
"No," Pablo said. "Neither him nor the old man."
"Will you come with me to the upper post on the road?"
"No," Pablo said. "I will take no part in this."
"I will find it myself."
"In this storm you might miss it," Pablo said. "I would not go now."
"It's just downhill to the road and then follow it up."
"You could find it. But thy two sentries will be coming up now with the snow and you would miss them on the way."
"The old man is waiting for me."
"Nay. He will come in now with the snow.
Pablo looked at the snow that was blowing fast now past the mouth of the cave and said, "You do not like the snow, _Ingl?_"
Robert Jordan swore and Pablo looked at him through his bleary eyes and laughed.
"With this thy offensive goes, _Ingl_," he said. "Come into the cave and thy people will be in directly."
Inside the cave Maria was busy at the fire and Pilar at the kitchen table. The fire was smoking but, as the girl worked with it, poking in a stick of wood and then fanning it with a folded paper, there was a puff and then a flare and the wood was burning, drawing brightly as the wind sucked a draft out of the hole in the roof.
"And this snow," Robert Jordan said. "You think there will be much?"
"Much," Pablo said contentedly. Then called to Pilar, "You don't like it, woman, either? Now that you command you do not like this snow?"
"_A mi qu?_" Pilar said, over her shoulder. "If it snows it snows."
"Drink some wine, _Ingl_," Pablo said. "I have been drinking all day waiting for the snow."
"Give me a cup," Robert Jordan said.
"To the snow," Pablo said and touched cups with him. Robert Jordan looked him in the eyes and clinked his cup. You bleary-eyed murderous sod, he thought. I'd like to clink this cup against your teeth. _Take it easy_, he told himself, _take it easy_.
"It is very beautiful the snow," Pablo said. "You won't want to sleep outside with the snow falling."
So _that's_ on your mind too is it? Robert Jordan thought. You've a lot of troubles, haven't you, Pablo?
"No?" he said, politely.
"No. Very cold," Pablo said. "Very wet."
You don't know why those old eiderdowns cost sixty-five dollars, Robert Jordan thought. I'd like to have a dollar for every time I've slept in that thing in the snow.
"Then I should sleep in here?" he asked politely.
"Yes."
"Thanks," Robert Jordan said. "I'll be sleeping outside."
"In the snow?"
"Yes" (damn your bloody, red pig-eyes and your swine-bristly swines-end of a face). "In the snow." (In the utterly damned, ruinous, unexpected, slutting, defeat-conniving, bastard-cessery of the snow.)
He went over to where Maria had just put another piece of pine on the fire.
"Very beautiful, the snow," he said to the girl.
"But it is bad for the work, isn't it?" she asked him. "Aren't you worried?"
"_Qu?va_," he said. "Worrying is no good. When will supper be ready?"
"I thought you would have an appetite," Pilar said. "Do you want a cut of cheese now?"
"Thanks," he said and she cut him a slice, reaching up to unhook the big cheese that hung in a net from the ceiling, drawing a knife across the open end and handing him the heavy slice. He stood, eating it. It was just a little too goaty to be enjoyable.
"Maria," Pablo said from the table where he was sitting.
"What?" the girl asked.
"Wipe the table clean, Maria," Pablo said and grinned at Robert Jordan.
"Wipe thine own spillings," Pilar said to him. "Wipe first thy chin and thy shirt and then the table."
"Maria," Pablo called.
"Pay no heed to him. He is drunk," Pilar said.
"Maria," Pablo called. "It is still snowing and the snow is beautiful."
He doesn't know about that robe, Robert Jordan thought. Good old pig-eyes doesn't know why I paid the Woods boys sixty-five dollars for that robe. I wish the gypsy would come in though. As soon as the gypsy comes I'll go after the old man. I should go now but it is very possible that I would miss them. I don't know where he is posted.
"Want to make snowballs?" he said to Pablo. "Want to have a snowball fight?"
"What?" Pablo asked. "What do you propose?"
"Nothing," Robert Jordan said. "Got your saddles covered up good?"
"Yes."
Then in English Robert Jordan said, "Going to grain those horses or peg them out and let them dig for it?"
"What?"
"Nothing. It's your problem, old pal. I'm going out of here on my feet."
"Why do you speak in English?" Pablo asked.
"I don't know," Robert Jordan said. "When I get very tired sometimes I speak English. Or when I get very disgusted. Or baffled, say. When I get highly baffled I just talk English to hear the sound of it. It's a reassuring noise. You ought to try it sometime."
"What do you say, _Ingl?_" Pilar said. "It sounds very interesting but I do not understand."
"Nothing," Robert Jordan said. "I said, 'nothing' in English."
"Well then, talk Spanish," Pilar said. "It's shorter and simpler in Spanish."
"Surely," Robert Jordan said. But oh boy, he thought, oh Pablo, oh Pilar, oh Maria, oh you two brothers in the corner whose names I've forgotten and must remember, but I get tired of it sometimes. Of it and of you and of me and of the war and why in all why did it have to snow now? That's too bloody much. No, it's not. Nothing is too bloody much. You just have to take it and fight out of it and now stop prima-donnaing and accept the fact that it is snowing as you did a moment ago and the next thing is to check with your gypsy and pick up your old man. But to snow! Now in this month. Cut it out, he said to himself. Cut it out and take it. It's that cup, you know. How did it go about that cup? He'd either have to improve his memory or else never think of quotations because when you missed one it hung in your mind like a name you had forgotten and you could not get rid of it. How did it go about that cup?
"Let me have a cup of wine, please," he said in Spanish. Then, "Lots of snow? Eh?" he said to Pablo. "_Mucha nieve_."
The drunken man looked up at him and grinned. He nodded his head and grinned again.
"No offensive. No _aviones_. No bridge. Just snow," Pablo said.
"You expect it to last a long time?" Robert Jordan sat down by him. "You think we're going to be snowed in all summer, Pablo, old boy?"
"All summer, no," Pablo said. "Tonight and tomorrow, yes."
"What makes you think so?"
"There are two kinds of storms," Pablo said, heavily and judiciously. "One comes from the Pyrenees. With this one there is great cold. It is too late for this one."
"Good," Robert Jordan said. "That's something."
"This storm comes from the Cantabrico," Pablo said. "It comes from the sea. With the wind in this direction there will be a great storm and much snow."
"Where did you learn all this, old timer?" Robert Jordan asked.
Now that his rage was gone he was excited by this storm as he was always by all storms. In a blizzard, a gale, a sudden line squall, a tropical storm, or a summer thunder shower in the mountains there was an excitement that came to him from no other thing. It was like the excitement of battle except that it was clean. There is a wind that blows through battle but that was a hot wind; hot and dry as your mouth; and it blew heavily; hot and dirtily; and it rose and died away with the fortunes of the day. He knew that wind well.
But a snowstorm was the opposite of all of that. In the snowstorm you came close to wild animals and they were not afraid. They travelled across country not knowing where they were and the deer stood sometimes in the lee of the cabin. In a snowstorm you rode up to a moose and he mistook your horse for another moose and trotted forward to meet you. In a snowstorm it always seemed, for a time, as though there were no enemies. In a snowstorm the wind could blow a gale; but it blew a white cleanness and the air was full of a driving whiteness and all things were changed and when the wind stopped there would be the stillness. This was a big storm and he might as well enjoy it. It was ruining everything, but you might as well enjoy it.
"I was an _arroyero_ for many years," Pablo said. "We trucked freight across the mountains with the big carts before the camions came into use. In that business we learned the weather."
"And how did you get into the movement?"
"I was always of the left," Pablo said. "We had many contacts with the people of Asturias where they are much developed politically. I have always been for the Republic."
"But what were you doing before the movement?"
"I worked then for a horse contractor of Zaragoza. He furnished horses for the bull rings as well as remounts for the army. It was then that I met Pilar who was, as she told you, with the matador Finito de Palencia."
He said this with considerable pride.
"He wasn't much of a matador," one of the brothers at the table said looking at Pilar's back where she stood in front of the stove.
"No?" Pilar said, turning around and looking at the man. "He wasn't much of a matador?"
Standing there now in the cave by the cooking fire she could see him, short and brown and sober-faced, with the sad eyes, the cheeks sunken and the black hair curled wet on his forehead where the tightfitting matador's hat had made a red line that no one else noticed. She saw him stand, now, facing the five-year-old bull, facing the horns that had lifted the horses high, the great neck thrusting the horse up, up, as that rider poked into that neck with the spiked pole, thrusting up and up until the horse went over with a crash and the rider fell against the wooden fence and, with the bull's legs thrusting him forward, the big neck swung the horns that searched the horse for the life that was in him. She saw him, Finito, the not-so-good matador, now standing in front of the bull and turning sideways toward him. She saw him now clearly as he furled the heavy flannel cloth around the stick; the flannel hanging blood-heavy from the passes where it had swept over the bull's head and shoulders and the wet streaming shine of his withers and on down and over his back as the bull raised into the air and the banderillas clattered. She saw Finito stand five paces from the bull's head, profiled, the bull standing still and heavy, and draw the sword slowly up until it was level with his shoulder and then sight along the dipping blade at a point he could not yet see because the bull's head was higher than his eyes. He would bring that head down with the sweep his left arm would make with the wet, heavy cloth; but now he rocked back a little on his heels and sighted along the blade, profiled in front of the splintered horn; the bull's chest heaving and his eyes watching the cloth.
She saw him very clearly now and she heard his thin, clear voice as he turned his head and looked toward the people in the first row of the ring above the red fence and said, "Let's see if we can kill him like this!"
She could hear the voice and then see the first bend of the knee as he started forward and watch his voyage in onto the horn that lowered now magically as the bull's muzzle followed the low swept cloth, the thin, brown wrist controlled, sweeping the horns down and past, as the sword entered the dusty height of the withers.
She saw its brightness going in slowly and steadily as though the bull's rush plucked it into himself and out from the man's hand and she watched it move in until the brown knuckles rested against the taut hide and the short, brown man whose eyes had never left the entry place of the sword now swung his sucked-in belly clear of the horn and rocked clear from the animal, to stand holding the cloth on the stick in his left hand, raising his right hand to watch the bull die.
She saw him standing, his eyes watching the bull trying to hold the ground, watching the bull sway like a tree before it falls, watching the bull fight to hold his feet to the earth, the short man's hand raised in a formal gesture of triumph. She saw him standing there in the sweated, hollow relief of it being over, feeling the relief that the bull was dying, feeling the relief that there had been no shock, no blow of the horn as he came clear from it and then, as he stood, the bull could hold to the earth no longer and crashed over, rolling dead with all four feet in the air, and she could see the short, brown man walking tired and unsmiling to the fence.
She knew he could not run across the ring if his life depended on it and she watched him walk slowly to the fence and wipe his mouth on a towel and look up at her and shake his head and then wipe his face on the towel and start his triumphant circling of the ring.
She saw him moving slowly, dragging around the ring, smiling, bowing, smiling, his assistants walking behind him, stooping, picking up cigars, tossing back hats; he circling the ring sad-eyed and smiling, to end the circle before her. Then she looked over and saw him sitting now on the step of the wooden fence, his mouth in a towel.
Pilar saw all this as she stood there over the fire and she said, "So he wasn't a good matador? With what class of people is my life passed now!"
"He was a good matador," Pablo said. "He was handicapped by his short stature."
"And clearly he was tubercular," Primitivo said.
"Tubercular?" Pilar said. "Who wouldn't be tubercular from the punishment he received? In this country where no poor man can ever hope to make money unless he is a criminal like Juan March, or a bullfighter, or a tenor in the opera? Why wouldn't he be tubercular? In a country where the bourgeoisie over-eat so that their stomachs are all ruined and they cannot live without bicarbonate of soda and the poor are hungry from their birth till the day they die, why wouldn't he be tubercular? If you travelled under the seats in third-class carriages to ride free when you were following the fairs learning to fight as a boy, down there in the dust and dirt with the fresh spit and the dry spit, wouldn't you be tubercular if your chest was beaten out by horns?"
"Clearly," Primitivo said. "I only said he was tubercular."
"Of course he was tubercular," Pilar said, standing there with the big wooden stirring spoon in her hand. "He was short of stature and he had a thin voice and much fear of bulls. Never have I seen a man with more fear before the bullfight and never have I seen a man with less fear in the ring. "You," she said to Pablo. "You are afraid to die now. You think that is something of importance. But Finito was afraid all the time and in the ring he was like a lion."
"He had the fame of being very valiant," the second brother said.
"Never have I known a man with so much fear," Pilar said. "He would not even have a bull's head in the house. One time at the feria of Valladolid he killed a bull of Pablo Romero very well--"
"I remember," the first brother said. "I was at the ring. It was a soap-colored one with a curly forehead and with very high horns. It was a bull of over thirty arrobas. It was the last bull he killed in Valladolid."
"Exactly," Pilar said. "And afterwards the club of enthusiasts who met in the Caf?Colon and had taken his name for their club had the head of the bull mounted and presented it to him at a small banquet at the Caf?Colon. During the meal they had the head on the wall, but it was covered with a cloth. I was at the table and others were there, Pastora, who is uglier than I am, and the Nina de los Peines, and other gypsies and whores of great category. It was a banquet, small but of great intensity and almost of a violence due to a dispute between Pastora and one of the most significant whores over a question of propriety. I, myself, was feeling more than happy and I was sitting by Finito and I noticed he would not look up at the bull's head, which was shrouded in a purple cloth as the images of the saints are covered in church duing the week of the passion of our former Lord.
"Finito did not eat much because he had received a _palotaxo_, a blow from the flat of the horn when he had gone in to kill in his last corrida of the year at Zaragoza, and it had rendered him unconscious for some time and even now he could not hold food on his stomach and he would put his handkerchief to his mouth and deposit a quantity of blood in it at intervals throughout the banquet. What was I going to tell you?"
"The bull's head," Primitivo said. "The stuffed head of the bull."
"Yes," Pilar said. "Yes. But I must tell certain details so that you will see it. Finito was never very merry, you know. He was essentially solemn and I had never known him when we were alone to laugh at anything. Not even at things which were very comic. He took everything with great seriousness. He was almost as serious as Fernando. But this was a banquet given him by a club of _aficionados_ banded together into the _Club Finito_ and it was necessary for him to give an appearance of gaiety and friendliness and merriment. So all during the meal he smiled and made friendly remarks and it was only I who noticed what he was doing with the handkerchief. He had three handkerchiefs with him and he filled the three of them and then he said to me in a very low voice, 'Pilar, I can support this no further. I think I must leave.'
"'Let us leave then,' I said. For I saw he was suffering much. There was great hilarity by this time at the banquet and the noise was tremendous.
"'No. I cannot leave,' Finito said to me. 'After all it is a club flamed for me and I have an obligation.'
"'If thou art ill let us go,' I said.
"'Nay,' he said. 'I will stay. Give me some of that manzanilla.'
"I did not think it was wise of him to drink, since he had eaten nothing, and since he had such a condition of the stomach; but he was evidently unable to support the merriment and the hilarity and the noise longer without taking something. So I watched him drink, very rapidly, almost a bottle of the manzanilla. Having exhausted his handkerchiefs he was now employing his napkin for the use he had previously made of his handkerchiefs.
"Now indeed the banquet had reached a stage of great enthusiasm and some of the least heavy of the whores were being paraded around the table on the shoulders of various of the club members. Pastora was prevailed upon to sing and El Ni隳 Ricardo played the guitar and it was very moving and an occasion of true joy and drunken friendship of the highest order. Never have I seen a banquet at which a higher pitch of real _flamenco_ enthusiasm was reached and yet we had not arrived at the unveiling of the bull's head which was, after all, the reason for the celebration of the banquet.
"I was enjoying myself to such an extent and I was so busy clapping my hands to the playing of Ricardo and aiding to make up a team to clap for the singing of the Nina de los Peines that I did not notice that Finito had filled his own napkin by now, and that he had taken mine. He was drinking more manzanilla now and his eyes were very bright, and he was nodding very happily to every one. He could not speak much because at any time, while speaking, he might have to resort to his napkin; but he was giving an appearance of great gayety and enjoyment which, after all, was what he was there for.
"So the banquet proceeded and the man who sat next to me had been the former manager of Rafael el Gallo and he was telling me a story, and the end of it was, 'So Rafael came to me and said, "You are the best friend I have in the world and the noblest. I love you like a brother and I wish to make you a present." So then he gave me a beautiful diamond stick pin and kissed me on both cheeks and we were both very moved. Then Rafael el Gallo, having given me the diamond stick pin, walked out of the caf?and I said to Retana who was sitting at the table, "That dirty gypsy had just signed a contract with another manager."'
"'"What do you mean?" Retana asked.'
"'I've managed him for ten years and he has never given me a present before,' the manager of El Gallo had said. 'That's the only thing it can mean.' And sure enough it was true and that was how El Gallo left him.
"But at this point, Pastora intervened in the conversation, not perhaps as much to defend the good name of Rafael, since no one had ever spoken harder against him than she had herself, but because the manager had spoken against the gypsies by employing the phrase, 'Dirty gypsy.' She intervened so forcibly and in such terms that the manager was reduced to silence. I intervened to quiet Pastora and another _Gitana_ intervened to quiet me and the din was such that no one could distinguish any words which passed except the one great word 'whore' which roared out above all other words until quiet was restored and the three of us who had intervened sat looking down into our glasses and then I noticed that Finito was staring at the bull's head, still draped in the purple cloth, with a look of horror on his face.
"At this moment the president of the Club commenced the speech which was to precede the unveiling of the head and all through the speech which was applauded with shouts of '_Ole!_' and poundings on the table I was watching Finito who was making use of his, no, my, napkin and sinking further back in his chair and staring with horror and fascination at the shrouded bull's head on the wall opposite him.
"Toward the end of the speech, Finito began to shake his head and he got further back in the chair all the time.
"'How are you, little one?' I said to him but when he looked at me he did not recognize me and he only shook his head and said, 'No. No. No.'
"So the president of the Club reached the end of the speech and then, with everybody cheering him, he stood on a chair and reached up and untied the cord that bound the purple shroud over the head and slowly pulled it clear of the head and it stuck on one of the horns and he lifted it clear and pulled it off the sharp polished horns and there was that great yellow bull with black horns that swung Way out and pointed forward, their white tips sharp as porcupine quills, and the head of the bull was as though he were alive; his forehead was curly as in life and his nostrils were open and his eyes were bright and he was there looking straight at Finito.
"Every one shouted and applauded and Finito sunk further back in the chair and then every one was quiet and looking at him and he said, 'No. No,' and looked at the bull and pulled further back and then he said, 'No!' very loudly and a big blob of blood came out and he didn't even put up the napkin and it slid down his chin and he was still looking at the bull and he said, 'All season, yes. To make money, yes. To eat, yes. But I can't eat. Hear me? My stomach's bad. But now with the season finished! No! No! No!' He looked around at the table and then he looked at the bull's head and said, 'No,' once more and then he put his head down and he put his napkin up to his mouth and then he just sat there like that and said nothing and the banquet, which had started so well, and promised to mark an epoch in hilarity and good fellowship was not a success."
"Then how long after that did he die?" Primitivo asked.
"That winter," Pilar said. "He never recovered from that last blow with the flat of the horn in Zaragoza. They are worse than a goring, for the injury is internal and it does not heal. He received one almost every time he went in to kill and it was for this reason he was not more successful. It was difficult for him to get out from over the horn because of his short stature. Nearly always the side of the horn struck him. But of course many were only glancing blows."
"If he was so short he should not have tried to be a matador," Primitivo said.
Pilar looked at Robert Jordan and shook her head. Then she bent over the big iron pot, still shaking her head.
What a people they are, she thought. What a people are the Spaniards, "and if he was so short he should not have tried to be a matador." And I hear it and say nothing. I have no rage for that and having made an explanation I am silent. How simple it is when one knows nothing. _Qu?sencillo!_ Knowing nothing one says, "He was not much of a matador." Knowing nothing another says, "He was tubercular." And another says, after one, knowing, has explained, "If he was so short he should not have tried to be a matador."
Now, bending over the fire, she saw on the bed again the naked brown body with the gnarled scars in both thighs, the deep, seared whorl below the ribs on the right side of the chest and the long white welt along the side that ended in the armpit. She saw the eyes closed and the solemn brown face and the curly black hair pushed back now from the forehead and she was sitting by him on the bed rubbing the legs, chafing the taut muscles of the calves, kneading them, loosening them, and then tapping them lightly with her folded hands, loosening the cramped muscles.
"How is it?" she said to him. "How are the legs, little one?"
"Very well, Pilar," he would say without opening his eyes.
"Do you want me to rub the chest?"
"Nay, Pilar. Please do not touch it."
"And the upper legs?"
"No. They hurt too badly."
"But if I rub them and put liniment on, it will warm them and they will be better."
"Nay, Pilar. Thank thee. I would rather they were not touched."
"I will wash thee with alcohol."
"Yes. Do it very lightly."
"You were enormous in the last bull," she would say to him and he would say, "Yes, I killed him very well."
Then, having washed him and covered him with a sheet, she would lie by him in the bed and he would put a brown hand out and touch her and say, "Thou art much woman, Pilar." It was the nearest to a joke he ever made and then, usually, after the fight, he would go to sleep and she would lie there, holding his hand in her two hands and listening to him breathe.
He was often frightened in his sleep and she would feel his hand grip tightly and see the sweat bead on his forehead and if he woke, she said, "It's nothing," and he slept again. She was with him thus five years and never was unfaithful to him, that is almost never, and then after the funeral, she took up with Pablo who led picador horses in the ring and was like all the bulls that Finito had spent his life killing. But neither bull force nor bull courage lasted, she knew now, and what did last? I last, she thought. Yes, I have lasted. But for what?
"Maria," she said. "Pay some attention to what you are doing. That is a fire to cook with. Not to burn down a city."
Just then the gypsy came in the door. He was covered with snow and he stood there holding his carbine and stamping the snow from his feet.
Robert Jordan stood up and went over to the door, "Well?" he said to the gypsy.
"Six-hour watches, two men at a time on the big bridge," the gypsy said. "There are eight men and a corporal at the roadmender's hut. Here is thy chronometer."
"What about the sawmill post?"
"The old man is there. He can watch that and the road both."
"And the road?" Robert Jordan asked.
"The same movement as always," the gypsy said. "Nothing out of the usual. Several motor cars."
The gypsy looked cold, his dark face was drawn with the cold and his hands were red. Standing in the mouth of the cave he took off his jacket and shook it.
"I stayed until they changed the watch," he said. "It was changed at noon and at six. That is a long watch. I am glad I am not in their army."
"Let us go for the old man," Robert Jordan said, putting on his leather coat.
"Not me," the gypsy said. "I go now for the fire and the hot soup. I will tell one of these where he is and he can guide you. Hey, loafers," he called to the men who sat at the table. "Who wants to guide the _Ingl_ to where the old man is watching the road?"
"I will go," Fernando rose. "Tell me where it is."
"Listen," the gypsy said. "It is here--" and he told him where the old man, Anselmo, was posted.
　　他们到达营地的时候，巳经在下雪了。雪片在松树之间打着斜飘下来,起先稀疏地斜穿过树林,打着转飘落下来,接着,寒风从山上刮卞来，雪片稠密地盘旋而下，这时，罗伯特，乔丹恼怒地站在山洞口凝望着风雪，
　　“我们要遇到大雪了。”巴勃罗说。他矂音沙哑,眼睛昏红。“吉普赛人回来了没有?”罗伯特　乔丹问他。“没有，”巴勃罗说。“他没回来,老头子也没回来。”“你陪我到公路上段的哨所去好吗?”“不，”巴勃穸说。“这事我不插手，““我自己去找。”
　　“这样大的风雪你会找岔的。”巴勃罗说。“换了我，现在可不去。”
　　“只要下坡到了公路边,然后顺路走去就是了，““你能找到的。不过，下了雪，你那两个侦察员多半正在回来的路上，你可能会和他们错过。”“老头子正在等我。”“不。现在下了雪,他会回来的。”巴勃罗望着飞扫过洞口的风雪说，“你不喜欢下雪吧，英国
人?”
　　罗伯特　乔丹咒骂了一声，巴勃罗用他那迷糊的眼睛望着他笑。
　　“这场风雪叫你的进攻吹啦，英国人,他说。“进洞来吧，你的侦察员就要回来了。”
　　山洞里，玛丽亚在炉灶前忙着，比拉尔在收拾饭桌。炉火正在冒烟，姑娘在烧火,塞进一根木头，随即用“张折好的纸扇着，扑的一声，火苗一亮，柴火旺了，风从山洞顶上一个小口子里灌进来,火就熊熊地燃烧起来。
　　“这场雪。”罗伯特‘乔丹说，“你看会下大吗?”
　　“大，”巴勃罗心满意足地说，然后对比拉尔喊道,“你也不喜欢下雪吧，太太？现在是你当家，你不喜欢这场雪吧？”
　　“跟我有什么关系,比拉尔转过头来说。“要下就下呗。”“喝点酒吧，英国人，”巴勃罗说。“我喝了一整天就等着下雪。”
　　“给我来一杯。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“为雪干杯，”巴勃罗说，和他碰杯。罗伯特　乔丹盯着他的眼睛,，“的一声碰了杯，他想。”你这个醉眼朦胧的挨刀的,我巴不得用这杯子磕你的牙齿。，考等，他对自己说，巧等警。“雪真美，”巴勃罗说。“圣雀宁雪，你不想亭在　　了吧。”罗伯特，乔丹想。”原来你也在想这个问题。巴勃罗，你操心的事也不少啊，对不对？
　　“不睡在外面？”他客气地说。“不睡在外面。很冷。”巴勃罗说。“很潮湿。”罗伯特，乔丹想。”你才不知道那只鸭绒睡袋为什么值六十五块钱哪。我在下雪天在那睡袋里过夜已不知有多少次，如果每次人家给我一块钱，那才美呢。
　　“那么我该睡在这儿山洞里啦?”他客气地问。“不错。”
　　“谢谢，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我还是睡在外面，““睡在雪地里?”
　　“不错。”(他心里说,你那双通红的猪眼睛，你那张长满猪鬃的猪屁股似的脸,都见鬼去吧。〉“睡在雪地里。、就睡在这场该死透顶、害人不浅、意料不到、别有用心、叫人失败、�

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Chapter 15
Anselmo was crouched in the lee of the trunk of a big tree and the snow blew past on either side. He was pressed close against the tree and his hands were inside of the sleeves of his jacket, each hand shoved up into the opposite sleeve, and his head was pulled as far down into the jacket as it would go. If I stay here much longer I will freeze, he thought, and that will be of no value. The _Ingl_ told me to stay until I was relieved but he did not know then about this storm. There has been no abnormal movement on the road and I know the dispositions and the habits of this post at the sawmill across the road. I should go now to the camp. Anybody with sense would be expecting me to return to the camp. I will stay a little longer, he thought, and then go to the camp. It is the fault of the orders, which are too rigid. There is no allowance for a change in circumstance. He rubbed his feet together and then took his hands out of the jacket sleeves and bent over and rubbed his legs with them and patted his feet together to keep the circulation going. It was less cold there, out of the wind in the shelter of the tree, but he would have to start walking shortly.
As he crouched, rubbing his feet, he heard a motorcar on the road. It had on chains and one link of chain was slapping and, as he Watched, it came up the snow-covered road, green and brown painted, in broken patches of daubed color, the windows blued over so that you could not see in, with only a half circle left clear in the blue for the occupants to look out through. It was a two-year-old Rolls-Royce town car camouflaged for the use of the General Staff but Anselmo did not know that. He could not see into the car where three officers sat wrapped in their capes. Two were on the back seat and one sat on the folding chair. The officer on the folding chair was looking out of the slit in the blue of the window as the car passed but Anselmo did not know this. Neither of them saw the other.
The car passed in the snow directly below him. Anselmo saw the chauffeur, red-faced and steel-helmeted, his face and helmet projecting out of the blanket cape he wore and he saw the forward jut of the automatic rifle the orderly who sat beside the chauffeur carried. Then the car was gone up the road and Anselmo reached into the inside of his jacket and took out from his shirt pocket the two sheets torn from Robert Jordan's notebook and made a mark after the drawing of a motorcar. It was the tenth car up for the day. Six had come down. Four were still up. It was not an unusual amount of cars to move upon that road but Anselmo did not distinguish between the Fords, Fiats, Opels, Renaults, and Citroens of the staff of the Division that held the passes and the line of the mountain and the Rolls-Royces, Lancias, Mercedes, and Isottas of the General Staff. This was the sort of distinction that Robert Jordan should have made and, if he had been there instead of the old man, he would have appreciated the significance of these cars which had gone up. But he was not there and the old man simply made a mark for a motorcar going up the road, on the sheet of note paper.
Anselmo was now so cold that he decided he had best go to camp before it was dark. He had no fear of missing the way, but he thought it was useless to stay longer and the wind was blowing colder all the time and there was no lessening of the snow. But when he stood up and stamped his feet and looked through the driving snow at the road he did not start off up the hillside but stayed leaning against the sheltered side of the pine tree.
The _Ingl_ told me to stay, he thought. Even now he may be on the way here and, if I leave this place, he may lose himself in the snow searching for me. All through this war we have suffered from a lack of discipline and from the disobeying of orders and I will wait a while still for the _Ingl_. But if he does not come soon I must go in spite of all orders for I have a report to make now, and I have much to do in these days, and to freeze here is an exaggeration and without utility.
Across the road at the sawmill smoke was coming out of the chimney and Anselmo could smell it blown toward him through the snow. The fascists are warm, he thought, and they are comfortable, and tomorrow night we will kill them. It is a strange thing and I do not like to think of it. I have watched them all day and they are the same men that we are. I believe that I could walk up to the mill and knock on the door and I would be welcome except that they have orders to challenge all travellers and ask to see their papers. It is only orders that come between us. Those men are not fascists. I call them so, but they are not. They are poor men as we are. They should never be fighting against us and I do not like to think of the killing.
These at this post are Gallegos. I know that from hearing them talk this afternoon. They cannot desert because if they do their families will be shot. Gallegos are either very intelligent or very dumb and brutal. I have known both kinds. Lister is a Gallego from the same town as Franco. I wonder what these Gallegos think of this snow now at this time of year. They have no high mountains such as these and in their country it always rains and it is always green.
A light showed in the window of the sawmill and Anselmo shivered and thought, damn that _Ingl!_ There are the Gallegos warm and in a house here in our country, and I am freezing behind a tree and we live in a hole in the rocks like beasts in the mountain. But tomorrow, he thought, the beasts will come out of their hole and these that are now so comfortable will die warm in their blankets. As those died in the night when we raided Otero, he thought. He did not like to remember Otero.
In Otero, that night, was when he first killed and he hoped he would not have to kill in this of the suppressing of these posts. It was in Otero that Pablo knifed the sentry when Anselmo pulled the blanket over his head and the sentry caught Anselmo's foot and held it, smothered as he was in the blanket, and made a crying noise in the blanket and Anselmo had to feel in the blanket and knife him until he let go of the foot and was still. He had his knee across the man's throat to keep him silent and he was knifing into the bundle when Pablo tossed the bomb through the window into the room where the men of the post were all sleeping. And when the flash came it was as though the whole world burst red and yellow before your eyes and two more bombs were in already. Pablo had pulled the pins and tossed them quickly through the window, and those who were not killed in their beds were killed as they rose from bed when the second bomb exploded. That was in the great days of Pablo when he scourged the country like a tartar and no fascist post was safe at night.
And now, he is as finished and as ended as a boar that has been altered, Anselmo thought, and, when the altering has been accomplished and the squealing is over you cast the two stones away and the boar, that is a boar no longer, goes snouting and rooting up to them and eats them. No, he is not that bad, Anselmo grinned, one can think too badly even of Pablo. But he is ugly enough and changed enough.
It is too cold, he thought. That the _Ingl_ should come and that I should not have to kill in this of the posts. These four Gallegos and their corporal are for those who like the killing. The _Ingl_ said that. I will do it if it is my duty but the _Ingl_ said that I would be with him at the bridge and that this would be left to others. At the bridge there will be a battle and, if I am able to endure the battle, then I will have done all that an old man may do in this war. But let the _Ingl_ come now, for I am cold and to see the light in the mill where I know that the Gallegos are warm makes me colder still. I wish that I were in my own house again and that this war were over. But you have no house now, he thought. We must win this war before you can ever return to your house.
Inside the sawmill one of the soldiers was sitting on his bunk and greasing his boots. Another lay in his bunk sleeping. The third was cooking and the corporal was reading a paper. Their helmets hung on nails driven into the wall and their rifles leaned against the plank wall.
"What kind of country is this where it snows when it is almost June?" the soldier who was sitting on the bunk said.
"It is a phenomenon," the corporal said.
"We are in the moon of May," the soldier who was cooking said. "The moon of May has not yet terminated."
"What kind of a country is it where it snows in May?" the soldier on the bunk insisted.
"In May snow is no rarity in these mountains," the corporal said. "I have been colder in Madrid in the month of May than in any other month."
"And hotter, too," the soldier who was cooking said.
"May is a month of great contrasts in temperature," the corporal said. "Here, in Castile, May is a month of great heat but it can have much cold."
"Or rain," the soldier on the bunk said. "In this past May it rained almost every day."
"It did not," the soldier who was cooking said. "And anyway this past May was the moon of April."
"One could go crazy listening to thee and thy moons," the corporal said. "Leave this of the moons alone."
"Any one who lives either by the sea or by the land knows that it is the moon and not the month which counts," the soldier who was cooking said. "Now for example, we have just started the moon of May. Yet it is coming on June."
"Why then do we not get definitely behind in the seasons?" the corporal said. "The whole proposition gives me a headache."
"You are from a town," the soldier who was cooking said. "You are from Lugo. What would you know of the sea or of the land?"
"One learns more in a town than you _analfabetos_ learn in thy sea or thy land."
"In this moon the first of the big schools of sardines come," the soldier who was cooking said. "In this moon the sardine boats will be outfitting and the mackerel will have gone north."
"Why are you not in the navy if you come from Noya?" the corporal asked.
"Because I am not inscribed from Noya but from Negreira, where I was born. And from Negreira, which is up the river Tambre, they take you for the army."
"Worse luck," said the corporal.
"Do not think the navy is without peril," the soldier who was sitting on the bunk said. "Even without the possibility of combat that is a dangerous coast in the winter."
"Nothing can be worse than the army," the corporal said.
"And you a corporal," the soldier who was cooking said. "What a way of speaking is that?"
"Nay," the corporal said. "I mean for dangers. I mean the endurance of bombardments, the necessity to attack, the life of the parapet."
"Here we have little of that," the soldier on the bunk said.
"By the Grace of God," the corporal said. "But who knows when we will be subject to it again? Certainly we will not have something as easy as this forever!"
"How much longer do you think we will have this detail?"
"I don't know," the corporal said. "But I wish we could have it for all of the war."
"Six hours is too long to be on guard," the soldier who was cooking said.
"We will have three-hour watches as long as this storm holds," the corporal said. "That is only normal."
"What about all those staff cars?" the soldier on the bunk asked. "I did not like the look of all those staff cars."
"Nor I," the corporal said. "All such things are of evil omen."
"And aviation," the soldier who was cooking said. "Aviation is another bad sign."
"But we have formidable aviation," the corporal said. "The Reds have no aviation such as we have. Those planes this morning were something to make any man happy."
"I have seen the Red planes when they were something serious," the soldier on the bunk said. "I have seen those two motor bombers when they were a horror to endure."
"Yes. But they are not as formidable as our aviation," the corporal said. "We have an aviation that is insuperable."
This was how they were talking in the sawmill while Anselmo waited in the snow watching the road and the light in the sawmill window.
I hope I am not for the killing, Anselmo was thinking. I think that after the war there will have to be some great penance done for the killing. If we no longer have religion after the war then I think there must be some form of civic penance organized that all may be cleansed from the killing or else we will never have a true and human basis for living. The killing is necessary, I know, but still the doing of it is very bad for a man and I think that, after all this is over and we have won the war, there must be a penance of some kind for the cleansing of us all.
Anselmo was a very good man and whenever he was alone for long, and he was alone much of the time, this problem of the killing returned to him.
I wonder about the _Ingl_, he thought. He told me that he did not mind it. Yet he seems to be both sensitive and kind. It may be that in the younger people it does not have an importance. It may be that in foreigners, or in those who have not had our religion, there is not the same attitude. But I think any one doing it will be brutalized in time and I think that even though necessary, it is a great sin and that afterwards we must do something very strong to atone for it.
It was dark now and he looked at the light across the road and shook his arms against his chest to warm them. Now, he thought, he would certainly leave for the camp; but something kept him there beside the tree above the road. It was snowing harder and Anselmo thought: if only we could blow the bridge tonight. On a night like this it would be nothing to take the posts and blow the bridge and it would all be over and done with. On a night like this you could do anything.
Then he stood there against the tree stamping his feet softly and he did not think any more about the bridge. The coming of the dark always made him feel lonely and tonight he felt so lonely that there was a hollowness in him as of hunger. In the old days he could help this loneliness by the saying of prayers and often coming home from hunting he would repeat a great number of the same prayer and it made him feel better. But he had not prayed once since the movement. He missed the prayers but he thought it would be unfair and hypocritical to say them and he did not wish to ask any favors or for any different treatment than all the men were receiving.
No, he thought, I am lonely. But so are all the soldiers and the Wives of all the soldiers and all those who have lost families or parents. I have no wife, but I am glad that she died before the movement. She would not have understood it. I have no children and I never will have any children. I am lonely in the day when I am not working but when the dark comes it is a time of great loneliness. But one thing I have that no man nor any God can take from me and that is that I have worked well for the Republic. I have worked hard for the good that we will all share later. I have worked my best from the first of the movement and I have done nothing that I am ashamed of.
All that I am sorry for is the killing. But surely there will be an opportunity to atone for that because for a sin of that sort that so many bear, certainly some just relief will be devised. I would like to talk with the _Ingl_ about it but, being young, it is possible that he might not understand. He mentioned the killing before. Or was it I that mentioned it? He must have killed much, but he shows no signs of liking it. In those who like it there is always a rottenness.
It must really be a great sin, he thought. Because certainly it is the one thing we have no right to do even though, as I know, it is necessary. But in Spain it is done too lightly and often without true necessity and there is much quick injustice which, afterward, can never be repaired. I wish I did not think about it so much, he thought. I wish there were a penance for it that one could commence now because it is the only thing that I have done in all my life that makes me feel badly when I am alone. All the other things are forgiven or one had a chance to atone for them by kindness or in some decent way. But I think this of the killing must be a very great sin and I would like to fix it up. Later on there may be certain days that one can work for the state or something that one can do that will remove it. It will probably be something that one pays as in the days of the Church, he thought, and smiled. The Church was well organized for sin. That pleased him and he was smiling in the dark when Robert Jordan came up to him. He came silently and the old man did not see him until he was there.
"_Hola, viejo_," Robert Jordan whispered and clapped him on the back. "How's the old one?"
"Very cold," Anselmo said. Fernando was standing a little apart, his back turned against the driving snow.
"Come on," Robert Jordan whispered. "Get on up to camp and get warm. It was a crime to leave you here so long."
"That is their light," Anselmo pointed.
"Where's the sentry?"
"You do not see him from here. He is around the bend."
"The hell with them," Robert Jordan said. "You tell me at camp. Come on, let's go."
"Let me show you," Anselmo said.
"I'm going to look at it in the morning," Robert Jordan said. "Here, take a swallow of this."
He handed the old man his flask. Anselmo tipped it up and swallowed.
"_Ayee_," he said and rubbed his mouth. "It is fire."
"Come on," Robert Jordan said in the dark. "Let us go."
It was so dark now you could only see the flakes blowing past and the rigid dark of the pine trunks. Fernando was standing a little way up the hill. Look at that cigar store Indian, Robert Jordan thought. I suppose I have to offer him a drink.
"Hey, Fernando," he said as he came up to him. "A swallow?"
"No," said Fernando. "Thank you."
Thank _you_, I mean, Robert Jordan thought. I'm glad cigar store Indians don't drink. There isn't too much of that left. Boy, I'm glad to see this old man, Robert Jordan thought. He looked at Anselmo and then clapped him on the back again as they started up the hill.
"I'm glad to see you, _viejo_," he said to Anselmo. "If I ever get gloomy, when I see you it cheers me up. Come on, let's get up there."
They were going up the hill in the snow.
"Back to the palace of Pablo," Robert Jordan said to Anselmo. It sounded wonderful in Spanish.
"_El Palacio del Miedo_," Anselmo said. "The Palace of Fear."
"_La cueva de los huevos perdidos_," Robert Jordan capped the other happily. "The cave of the lost eggs."
"What eggs?" Fernando asked.
"A joke," Robert Jordan said. "Just a joke. Not eggs, you know. The others."
"But why are they lost?" Fernando asked.
"I don't know," said Robert Jordan. "Take a book to tell you. Ask Pilar," then he put his arm around Anselmo's shoulder and held him tight as they walked and shook him. "Listen," he said. "I'm glad to see you, hear? You don't know what it means to find somebody in this country in the same place they were left."
It showed what confidence and intimacy he had that he could say anything against the country.
"I am glad to see thee," Anselmo said. "But I was just about to leave."
"Like hell you would have," Robert Jordan said happily. "You'd have frozen first."
"How was it up above?" Anselmo asked.
"Fine," said Robert Jordan. "Everything is fine."
He was very happy with that sudden, rare happiness that can come to any one with a command in a revolutionary arm; the happiness of finding that even one of your flanks holds. If both flanks ever held I suppose it would be too much to take, he thought. I don't know who is prepared to stand that. And if you extend along a flank, any flank, it eventually becomes one man. Yes, one man. This was not the axiom he wanted. But this was a good man. One good man. You are going to be the left flank when we have the battle, he thought. I better not tell you that yet. It's going to be an awfully small battle, he thought. But it's going to be an awfully good one. Well, I always wanted to fight one on my own. I always had an opinion on what was wrong with everybody else's, from Agincourt down. I will have to make this a good one. It is going to be small but very select. If I have to do what I think I will have to do it will be very select indeed.
"Listen," he said to Anselmo. "I'm awfully glad to see you."
"And me to see thee," the old man said.
As they went up the hill in the dark, the wind at their backs, the storm blowing past them as they climbed, Anselmo did not feel lonely. He had not been lonely since the _Ingl_ had clapped him on the shoulder. The _Ingl_ was pleased and happy and they joked together. The _Ingl_ said it all went well and he was not worried. The drink in his stomach warmed him and his feet were warming now climbing.
"Not much on the road," he said to the _Ingl_.
"Good," the _Ingl_ told him. "You will show me when we get there."
Anselmo was happy now and he was very pleased that he had stayed there at the post of observation.
If he had come in to camp it would have been all right. It would have been the intelligent and correct thing to have done under the circumstances, Robert Jordan was thinking. But he stayed as he was told, Robert Jordan thought. That's the rarest thing that can happen in Spain. To stay in a storm, in a way, corresponds to a lot of things. It's not for nothing that the Germans call an attack a storm. I could certainly use a couple more who would stay. I most certainly could. I wonder if that Fernando would stay. It's just possible. After all, he is the one who suggested coming out just now. Do you suppose he would stay? Wouldn't that be good? He's just about stubborn enough. I'll have to make some inquiries. Wonder what the old cigar store Indian is thinking about now.
"What are you thinking about, Fernando?" Robert Jordan asked.
"Why do you ask?"
"Curiosity," Robert Jordan said. "I am a man of great curiosity."
"I was thinking of supper," Fernando said.
"Do you like to eat?"
"Yes. Very much."
"How's Pilar's cooking?"
"Average," Fernando answered.
He's a second Coolidge, Robert Jordan thought. But, you know, I have just a hunch that he would stay.
The three of them plodded up the hill in the snow.
　　安塞尔莫蹲在一棵大树的背风处，奮从树干两边吹过。他紧靠树干蹲着，两手合抱，笼在袖筒里,脑袋竭力往外套里缩。他想，要是再待下去，我要冻偁了，那才没愈思哩，这英国人叫我一直待到换班的时侯，可是他那时不知道会来这场暴风雪。公路上并没有特殊情況，而且我知道公路对面锯木厂边那哨所的人员部署和栝动规律。我现在要回营地去啦。凡是通情达理的人都会指望我囬营地去的，他想，我再等一会儿才回去吧。那是命令的毛病，太死板了申不允许根据具体情況作出改变　他把两只脚互相搓擦，然后从衣袖里抽出手来，弯下身体用手揉腿,再拍击双脚使血液流通。待在树后吹不到风,冷得不厉害,但他还是要过一会儿就动身走回去，他弯身揉脚的时侯，听到公路上开来一辆汽车。车轮上系着防滑铁链,有一节铁链啪哒啪哒地响着；他望见车子在覆盖着雪的公路上驶来，车身上的油漆绿一块、褐一块的乱漆一气，车窗上涂了蓝色，使人看不到里面，上面只留出一个半圓形没有涂漆，让里面的人可以看到外面。那是“辆用过两年的罗尔斯　罗伊斯(！)轿车，涂了伪装漆，供总参谋部使用，安塞尔典可不知道这情形。他看不见车子里坐着三个军官，身上裹着披风。两个坐在后座,一个坐在对面的折椅上。车子幵过的时候，坐在折椅上的军官正从蓝车窗上的缺口向外张望。安塞尔莫可不知道这情况。他们俩都没有发现对方，车子就在他下面的雪地里经过。安塞尔莫看见了头戴钢盔、脸色红红的司机,脸和钢盔露在他身穿的毯子式的披风上面，他还看到司机身边那勤务兵携带的自动步熗的上半截朝前撅出着。车子朝公路上段驶去，安塞尔莫就把手伸进外套，从衬衣袋里掏出罗伯特、乔丹笔记本上撕下的两张纸，按规格画了一辆汽车的记号。这是那天驶上山的第十辆车于。有六辆已回下山来，四辆仍然在山上。路上驶过的车于并不太多，安塞尔莫也分不清控制着各山口和山顶防线的师参谋部的车辆和总参谋部的车辆之间的区别。”师参谋部有福特、菲亚特、奥贝尔、雷诺和雪铁龙等牌的汽车；总参谋部有罗尔斯〃罗伊斯、兰西亚斯、默塞德斯和伊索塔等。罗伯特‘乔丹分得清这种区别，要是在那儿的是他而不是老头儿，他就能领会那些车子上山的含意了，但是他不在那儿，而老头儿呢，只在那张纸上给每一辆上山去的汽车画上　划罢了　。
　　安塞尔莫这时非常冷，所以他决定，最好还是在断黑以前回营地去。他不怕迷路，可是他认为再待下去没意思了　风越刮越冷，雪也不见小。他站起身来，跺跺脚，目光穿过飞舞的霄花望望公路,并不动身雉登山坡,却仍旧靠在那棵挡风的松树后面不动。
　　他想　英国人叫我别走。说不定这会几他就在路上快到这里了，要是我离开这里,他在雪里找我可能会迷路。我们这次打仗老是因为缺乏纪律、不听命令而吃苦头，我要再等一等英国人。不过,如果他不马上来,臒蛙它命令不命令,我一定要走,因路对面锯木厂的烟因正在冒烟，安塞尔莫闻得出烟在雪中正向他这边飘来。他想，法西斯分子又暖和又舒服，可明天晚上我们要叫他脽烷天啦。这事情真怪，我可不爱想它。我整整守望了他们一天，可他们跟我们一样是人。我看哪，要不是他们奉有命令要盘问一切过路人、检查身份证的话，我满可以走到锯木厂去敲敲门，而且他们准会欢迎我的。我们之间只隔着一道命令。那些人不是法西斯分子。虽说我叫他们法西斯分子,其实不是。他们是穷光蛋，和我们一样。他们绝对不应该和我们打仗，我可不爱想到杀人的事儿　。
　　这个哨所里的人都是加利西亚①人。我从今天下午听他们说话的口苷中听出的。他们不会开小差,因为开了小差，一家老小部要给熗毙。加利西亚人要么非常聡明,要么笨头笨脑、野蛮得很。这两种人我都遇见过。利斯特就是加利西亚人，和佛朗哥是同乡②。现在这种季节下雪，我真不知道这些加利西亚人是怎样想的。他们没有这样高的山，他们家乡老是下雨，四季常青。
　　“锯木厂的窗子里露出了灯光’安塞尔莫哆嗦了一下，心想,那个英国人真该死1这些加利西亚人在我们这里呆在龈和的屋子里,我却在树脊后冻得发僵，而我们呢，却象山里的野兽般住在山洞里。他想。”可是明天哪,野兽要从润里出来,而这些现在这么舒服的人却要暖暖和和地在毯子里归天啦。他想，就象我们在袭击奥特罗时那样叫他们在夜里归天。他可不爱回想在奥特罗发生的事。
　　他第一次杀人就是在奥特罗的那天晚上。他希望这次拔除哨所时不用杀人。在奥特罗，安塞尔莫用毯子蒙住哨兵的脑袋,巴勃罗用力捅，那哨兵抓住了安塞尔莫的一只脚不放,虽然闷在毯子里透不过气来,却在里面喊叫，安塞尔莫只得在毯于里摸索着，给了他一刀,才叫他放掉了脚,不动了。他当时用膝头抵住了那家伙的喉咙，不让他发出声来，一边用刀捅进这被毯子裹住的人。巴勃罗同时把手雷从窗口扔进屋里，哨所的士兵们全在里面睡觉。火光一亮，好象全世界在你眼前被炸成了一片红黄色,紧接着又扔进了两頼手雷。当时，巴勃罗拉开保险，飞快地扔进窗子，那些在床上没被炸死的家伙刚爬起来，却被第二颗手雷炸死了。那是巴勃罗大出风头的日子，他象瘟神似地把那一带摘得天翻地覆，法西斯分子的哨所在晚上没有一个是安全的。
　　安塞尔莫想，可现在呢，巴勃罗完蛋了，不中用了，就象阉过的公猪一样，等手术一倣好，它停止了尖叫，你把那两颗卵蛋扔掉了，而那只公猪，其实已算不上公猪啦，却用鼻子嗅来嗅去，把卵蛋拱出来吃掉。不，他还没糟到这个地步。安塞尔莫咧开嘴笑了　你竟然把巴勃罗看得这么精明。不过,他薀突讨厌了，变得很不象祥了。
　　他想，天气太冷了。但愿英国人就来。但愿在这次袭击哨所的行动中我不用杀人。这四个加利西亚人和他们的班长该留给那些爱杀人的人去对付。英国人说过这话。假如是分配给我的任务V我就杀；可是英国人说过，要我跟他一起在桥头干,这里的人留给别人。桥头一定会打一仗，要是这次我能顶住,那么在这场战争中，我就好算尽到了一个老头子的全部责任啦。现在嗬，英国人你可该来啦，因为我感到很冷，看到锯木厂里的灯光，知道这些加利西亚人在里面暖呼呼的，叫我感到更冷了。但愿我能再回到自己家里,但愿这场战争就结束吧。他想,可是你现在已没家了。要回到你自己家乡，我们就必须先打廉这场战争。
　　锯木厂里，有个兵坐在铺上拣靴子。另一个躺在铺上睡着了。第三个在煮东西。班长在看报。他们的钢盔挂在墙上的钉子上，步熗靠在木扳墙上。
　　“快到六月还下雪,这是什么鬼地方?”坐在铺上的兵说。〃真薀椭事，”班长说。
　　“现在是太阴历五月。”在煮东西的兵说。“太阴历五月还刚开始呐。”
　　“五月天下雪，这是什么鬼地方。”坐在铺上的兵坚持说。“这一带山里五月天下雪也不是罕见的事班长说。“我在马德里的时候，五月份要比哪个月都冷。”“也更热，”在煮东西的兵说。
　　“五月的气温差别最大，”班长说。“在这里卡斯蒂尔地区,五月是大热的月份，不过也会变得很冷。”
　　“要么下雨。”坐在铺上的兵说。“这刚过去的五月份差不多天天下雨。”
　　“没有的事。”在煮东西的兵说，“反正这刚过去的五月，实在是太阴历四月。”
　　“听你扯什么太阴历的月份，真叫人头痛，”班长说。“别谈什么太阴历的月份啦。”
　　“住在海边或者乡下的人都知道,重要的是看太阴历的月份而不是看太阳历的。”在煮东西的兵说。“举个例子来说吧,现在太阴历五月刚开头,可是太阳历马上就到六月份了。”
　　“那我们为什么不老是落在季节后面呢？”班长说。“这些个事叫我糊涂了
　　“你是城里人，”在煮东西的兵说。“你是卢戈①人。你知道什么叫海，什么叫乡下？”
　　“城里人可比你们这些文盲在海边或乡下要见识多些。”“第一批沙，“鱼群在这个太阴历的月份里要来了，”在煮东西的兵说。“沙，“鱼船在这个太阴历的月份里要整装待发了，鲭鱼可已经到北方去了。”
　　“你既然是诺亚②人,干吗没有参加海军？”班长问。“因为我登记表上填的不是诺亚，而是我的出生地内格雷拉。内格雷拉在坦布雷河上游，那里的人都被编进陆军。"“运气更坏，”班长说。
“别以为当海军就没危险，”坐在铺上的兵说。“即使不大会打仗,那一带海岸在冬天也满危险的。”
　　“再没有比当陆军更糟糕的了，”班长说。〃你还算是班长哪。”在煮东西的兵说。“你哪能说这种话?”“不，”班长说。“我是就危险性来说的。我是说要挨到炮轰空袭，不得不冲锋陷阵，躲在掩体里度时光，““我们在这里倒没什么，”坐在铺上的兵说。“托天主的福。”班长说。“可谁知道什么时候我们又会吃到这种苦头呀？我们当然不可能永远过现在这种舒服日子的”“你看，我们这个任务还要执行多久?”
①卢戈　为加利西亚地区卢戈省省会。
②诺亚为滨大西洋的一个渔港,居民惯于海上生活　

　　“我不知道，”班长说。“不过我希望整个战争期间我们能一直执拧这个任务。”
　　“六小时值一班岗，时间太长啦，”在煮东西的兵说。“如果风雪不停,我们三小时值一岗，”班长说。“这原是应该的嘛。”
　　“参谋部那些汽车是什么意思？”坐在铺上的兵问。“这么许多参谋部的汽车开来开去,我可不喜欢。”
　　“我也不喜欢，”班长说。“这些都不是好兆头。”“还有飞机，”在煮东西的兵说。“又是个不妙的兆头。”“可是我们的飞机很厉害。”班长说。“共产党可没有我们这样的飞机。今天早晨的那些飞机，叫谁都会髙兴的。”
　　“我见过共产党的飞机，也够厉害的。”坐在铺上的兵说。“我见过那些双引擎轰炸机,当初挨到它们轰炸的时候，真叫人胆战心惊。”
　　“不错。可是没我们的厉害。”班长说。“我们的飞机谁也敌不过。”
　　这就是他们在锯木厂里的聊天，而这时安塞尔莫在雪中等待，望着公路和锯木厂窗子里的灯光。
　　安塞尔莫正在想，但愿杀人的事不由我来干。我看嗛，等战争结束了，对杀人的行为总得有些好好儿苦行赎罪的办法　要是战后我们不再信教了,那么我看，百姓总得采取一种苦行赎罪的办法，来涤除杀过人的罪孳，否则，我们的生活就没有真正的人性基础了。杀人是必要的，我知道，可是对一个人来说,干这种事总是缺德的。我看哪，等战争结束了，我们得了胜利，一定会有一祌苦行赎罪的办法，来涤除我们大家的罪孽。
　　安塞尔莫是个十分善良的人，每当他一个人待着的时间一长一而他是经常一个人待着的一这个杀人的问题就在他心里浮起。
他想，我弄不懂这个英国人。他对我说过，他不在乎杀人。可是他的样子既敏感又善良。也许对年轻人说来,这是无所谓的。也许对外国人说来，或者对不信奉我们的宗教的人们说来，态度就不一样。不过依我看，凡是杀人的人，迟早都要变得毫无人性，而且依我看，即使杀人是必要的,它仍然是桩大罪过,事后我们要花极大的力气才能赎罪。
　　天黑了，他望着公略对面的灯光,用双手拍拍胸脯取暧。他想，现在“定要回营地去了。但是有一种感情使他仍待在公路上边的那株树旁不走。这时雪下得更大了，安塞尔莫就想。”要是今夜能炸桥就好了。象这样的夜晚，拿下哨所，炸掉大桥，都算不上一回事，一下子可以全都干好。象这样的夜晚，千什么事都行。
　　随后他靠着树站在那里，轻轻地跺着脚，不再去想那座桥了。黑夜的来临总使他感到孤单，今夜他特别感到孤单,心里有一种饥饿般的空虚。往日里，他孤单的时候可以靠祷告来帮忙，他经常在打猎回家的路上反反复复地念着同一段祷文，这使他觉得好受一点。但是革命开始以来，他一次也没祷告过。他感到若有所失,但是他认为现在再祷告是不适当的�