[Novel] 《丧钟为谁而鸣》——For Whom the Bell TollS（中英文对照）完结

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 bridge here, we will be hunted. If they know we are here and hunt for us with planes, they will find us. If they send Moors to hunt us out, they will find us and we must go. I am tired of all this. You hear?" He turned to Robert Jordan. "What right have you, a foreigner, to come to me and tell me what I must do?" "I have not told you anything you must do," Robert Jordan said to him. "You will though," Pablo said. "There. There is the badness." He pointed at the two heavy packs that they had lowered to the ground while they had watched the horses. Seeing the horses had seemed to bring this all to a head in him and seeing that Robert Jordan knew horses had seemed to loosen his tongue. The three of them stood now by the rope corral and the patchy sunlight shone on the coat of the bay stallion. Pablo looked at him and then pushed with his foot against the heavy pack. "There is the badness." "I come only for my duty," Robert Jordan told him. "I come under orders from those who are conducting the war. If I ask you to help me, you can refuse and I will find others who will help me. I have not even asked you for help yet. I have to do what I am ordered to do and I can promise you of its importance. That I am a foreigner is not my fault. I would rather have been born here." "To me, now, the most important is that we be not disturbed here," Pablo said. "To me, now, my duty is to those who are with me and to myself." "Thyself. Yes," Anselmo said. "Thyself now since a long time. Thyself and thy horses. Until thou hadst horses thou wert with us. Now thou art another capitalist more." "That is unjust," said Pablo. "I expose the horses all the time for the cause." "Very little," said Anselmo scornfully. "Very little in my judgment. To steal, yes. To eat well, yes. To murder, yes. To fight, no." "You are an old man who will make himself trouble with his mouth." "I am an old man who is afraid of no one," Anselmo told him. "Also I am an old man without horses." "You are an old man who may not live long." "I am an old man who will live until I die," Anselmo said. "And I am not afraid of foxes." Pablo said nothing but picked up the pack. "Nor of wolves either," Anselmo said, picking up the other pack. "If thou art a wolf." "Shut thy mouth," Pablo said to him. "Thou art an old man who always talks too much." "And would do whatever he said he would do," Anselmo said, bent under the pack. "And who now is hungry. And thirsty. Go on, guerilla leader with the sad face. Lead us to something to eat." It is starting badly enough, Robert Jordan thought. But Anselmo's a man. They are wonderful when they are good, he thought. There is no people like them when they are good and when they go bad there is no people that is worse. Anselmo must have known what he was doing when he brought us here. But I don't like it. I don't like any of it. The only good sign was that Pablo was carrying the pack and that he had given him the carbine. Perhaps he is always like that, Robert Jordan thought. Maybe he is just one of the gloomy ones. No, he said to himself, don't fool yourself. You do not know how he was before; but you do know that he is going bad fast and without hiding it. When he starts to hide it he will have made a decision. Remember that, he told himself. The first friendly thing he does, he will have made a decision. They are awfully good horses, though, he thought, beautiful horses. I wonder what could make me feel the way those horses make Pablo feel. The old man was right. The horses made him rich and as soon as he was rich he wanted to enjoy life. Pretty soon he'll feel bad because he can't join the Jockey Club, I guess, he thought. Pauvre Pablo. Il a manqu?son Jockey. That idea made him feel better. He grinned, looking at the two bent backs and the big packs ahead of him moving through the trees. He had not made any jokes with himself all day and now that he had made one he felt much better. You're getting to be as all the rest of them, he told himself. You're getting gloomy, too. He'd certainly been solemn and gloomy with Golz. The job had overwhelmed him a little. Slightly overwhelmed, he thought. Plenty overwhelmed. Golz was gay and he had wanted him to be gay too before he left, but he hadn't been. All the best ones, when you thought it over, were gay. It was much better to be gay and it was a sign of something too. It was like having immortality while you were still alive. That was a complicated one. There were not many of them left though. No, there were not many of the gay ones left. There were very damned few of them left. And if you keep on thinking like that, my boy, you won't be left either. Turn off the thinking now, old timer, old comrade. You're a bridge-blower now. Not a thinker. Man, I'm hungry, he thought. I hope Pablo eats well. 　　他匍匐在树林里褐色的、积着一层松针的地上，交叉的手臂支着下颚；在高高的上空，风在松树梢上呼啸而过。他俯躺着的山坡坡度不大，再往下却很陡峭，他看得到黑色的柏油路蜿蜒穿过山口。沿柏油路有条小河，山口远处的河边有家锯木厂，拦水坝的泄水灾夏天的阳光下泛着白光。 　　“那就是锯木厂么？”他问。 　　“就是。” 　　“我记不得了。” 　　“那是你离开这儿以后造的。老锯木厂还在前面，离山口很远。” 　　他在地上摊开影印的军用地图，仔细端详。老头儿从他肩后看着。他是个结实的矮老头儿，身穿农民的黑罩衣和硬邦邦的灰裤子，叫上是一双绳底鞋。他爬山刚停下来，还在喘气，一手搁在他们带来的两只沉重的背包的一只上面。 　　“这么说从这里是望不到那座桥了。” 　　“望不到，”老头儿说。“这山口一带地势比较平坦，水流不急。再往前，公路拐进林子不见了踪影，那里地势突然低下去，有个挺深的峡谷－－－” 　　“我记得。” 　　“峡谷上面就是那座桥。” 　　“他们的哨所在哪儿？” 　　“你看到的锯木厂那边有个哨所。” 　　这个正在研究地形的年轻人从他褐色的黄褐色法兰绒衬衫口袋里掏出望远镜，用手帕擦擦镜片，调整焦距，目镜中的景象突然清晰，连锯木厂的木板都看到了，他还看到了门边的一条长板凳，敞棚里的圆锯，后面有一大堆木屑；他还看到一段把小河对岸山坡上的木材运下来的滑槽。小河在望远镜里显得清澈而平静，打着漩涡的水从拦水坝泻下来，底下的水花在风中飞溅。 　　“没有岗哨。” 　　“锯木房里在冒烟，”老头儿说。“还有晒衣服上挂着衣服。” 　　“这些我见到了，但看不到岗哨。” 　　“说不定他在背阴处，”老头儿解释说。“那儿现在挺热。他也许在我们看不到的背阴那头。” 　　“可能。另一个哨所在哪里？” 　　“在桥下方。在养路工的小屋边，里山口五公里的里程碑那里。” 　　“这里有多少士兵？”他指指锯木厂。 　　“也许有四个加上一个班长。” 　　“下面呢？” 　　“要多些。我能探听明白。” 　　“那么桥头呢？” 　　“总是两个。每边一个。” 　　“我们需要一批人手，”他说。“你能召集多少？” 　　“你要多少，我就能召集多少，”老头儿说。“这一带山里现在就有不少人。” 　　“多少？” 　　“一百多个。不过他们三三五五分散开了。你需要多少人？” 　　“等我们勘察了桥以后再跟你说。” 　　“你想现在就去勘察桥吗？” 　　“不。现在我想去找个地方把炸药藏起来，要用的时候再去取。我希望把它藏在最安全的地方，假如可能的话，离桥不能超过半个小时的路程。” 　　“那简单，”老头儿说。“从我们现在要去的地方到桥头全都是下坡路。不过，我们现在要去那儿倒得很认真地爬一会山哪。你饿吗？” 　　“饿，”年轻人说。“不过，我们过后再吃吧。你叫什么名字？我忘了。”他竟把名字都忘了，这对他来说是个不祥之兆。 　　“安塞尔莫，”老头儿说。“我叫安塞尔莫，老家在阿维拉省的巴尔科城。我来帮你拿那只背包。” 　　这年轻人是个瘦高个儿，张着闪亮的金发和一张饱经风霜日晒的脸，他穿着一件晒得褪了色的法兰绒衬衫，一条农民的裤子和一双绳底鞋。他弯下腰去，一条胳膊伸进背包皮带圈里，把那沉重的背包甩上肩头。他把另一条胳膊伸进另一条皮带圈里，使背包的重量全压在背上。他衬衫上原先被背包压住的地方还是汗湿的。 　　“我把它背上啦，”他说。“我们怎么走？” 　　“咱俩爬山。”安塞尔莫说。 　　他们被背包压得弯下了腰，在山坡上的松树林里一步步向上爬，身上淌着汗。年轻人发现林中并没有路径，但是他们继续向上攀登，绕到了前山，这时跨过了一条小溪，老头儿踩着溪边石块稳健地向前走去。这时，山路更陡峭，爬山更艰难了，到后来，溪水似乎是从他们头顶上一个平滑的花岗石悬崖边上直泻下来，于是老头儿在悬崖下停了步，等着年轻人赶上来。 　　“你行吗？” 　　“行，”年轻人说。他大汗淋漓，因为爬了陡峭的山路，大腿的肌肉抽搐起来。 　　“在这里等我。我先去通知他们。你带了这玩意总不希望人家朝你开熗吧。” 　　“当然不希望，”年轻人说。“路远吗？” 　　“很近。怎么称呼你？” 　　“罗伯托（这是本书主人公罗伯托　乔丹的名字的西班牙语读法的音译。），”年轻人回答。他卸下背包，轻轻地放在溪边两块大圆石之间。 　　“那么就在这儿等着，罗伯托，我回来接你。” 　　“好，”年轻人说。“难道你打算以后走这条路到下面桥头吗？” 　　“不。我们到桥头去得走另一条路。那条路近一些，比较容易走。” 　　“我不想把这东西藏得离桥太远。” 　　“你瞧着办吧。要是你不满意，我们另找地方。” 　　“我们瞧着办吧，”年轻人说。 　　他坐在背包旁边，看着老头儿攀登悬崖。这悬崖不难攀登，而且这年轻人发现，从老头儿不用摸索就找到攀手地方的利落样子看来，这地方他已经爬过好多次了。然而，待在上面的人们一向小心翼翼地不让留下任何痕迹来。 　　这年轻人名叫罗伯特•乔丹，他饿极了，并且心事重重。挨饿是常有的事，但担心却不常有，因为他对自己出的处境一向并不在意，并且他凭经验知道，在这一带开展敌后活动是多么容易。假如你有个好向导的话，在敌后活动也好，在他们防线中间穿插也好，都不是难事。问题只在于如果被敌人抓住，事情就不好办了；此外，就是判断可以信任谁的问题。你要么完全信任和你一起工作的人，要么丝毫也不信任，在这方面你必须作出决定。这些都不使他发愁。但是还有别的问题呢。 　　这个安塞尔莫一直是个好向导，他走山路的本领真了不起。罗伯特•乔丹自己也是走山路的能手，但是，他从黎明前跟着他走到现在，他知道这老家伙能够使他走得累死。除了判断力，罗伯特•乔丹事事都信得过这个安塞尔莫。他还没机会考验这老头儿的判断力，不过，反正这一回应该由他自己来负责作出判断。不，他不愁安塞尔莫，而炸桥的事也见不得比许多别的事更难办。随便什么样的桥，只要你叫得出名称他都会炸，各种大小和结构的桥，他都炸过。即使这座桥比安塞尔莫所介绍的大两倍，这两只背包里的炸药和装置也足够把它全炸掉。他记得一九三三年徒步旅行到拉格兰哈去的时候曾走过这座桥，戈尔兹①前晚在埃斯科里亚尔城外一幢房子的楼上曾给他念过关于这座桥的资料。 　　“炸桥本身没有什么了不起，”戈尔兹当时说，用铅笔在一张大地图上指着。灯光照在他那有伤疤的光头上。“你懂吗？” 　　“是，我懂。” 　　“根本不算一回事。仅仅把桥炸掉只能算是一种失败。” 　　“是，将军同志。” 　　“应该做到的是根据发动进攻的时间，在指定的时刻炸桥。你当然明白这一点。这就是你的权利，这就是你的任务。” 　　戈尔兹看看铅笔，然后用它轻轻地敲敲牙齿。 　　罗伯特•乔丹什么也没说。 　　“你明白，这就是你的权利和你的任务，”戈尔兹接着说，对他点点头。他这时用铅笔敲敲地图。“那就是我的责任。那也正是我们无法做到的。” 　　“为什么，将军同志？” 　　“为什么？”戈尔兹气愤地说。“你经历过好多次进攻，还问我为什么？有什么能保证我的命令不被变动？有什么能保证这次进攻不被取消？有什么能保证这次进攻不被推迟？有什么能保证实际发动进攻的时间和预定时间相差不超过六个小时？有过一次按计划进行的进攻吗？” 　　“如果指挥进攻的是你，就会准时发动，”罗伯特•乔丹说。 　　“我从来也指挥不了，”戈尔兹说。“我只是发动而已。但我就是指挥不了。炮队不是我的。我必须提出申请。即使他们有的东西也从没按照我要求的给我。那还是最小的事情。还有别的呢。你知道这些人的作风。没必要详谈。总是出问题。总有人干扰。你得了解这一点。” 　　“那么什么时候炸桥呢？”罗伯特•乔丹问。 　　“在进攻开始之后。进攻一开始就炸，不能提前。这样，增援部队就不能从那条路上开上来。”他用铅笔指着。“我必须肯定那条路上来不了援兵。” 　　“什么时候进攻？” 　　“我会告诉你的。但是你只能把日期和时间当作一种可能性的参考。你必须在那之前准备就绪。进攻开始后就炸桥。明白吗？”他用铅笔指着。“他们增援兵力只能进攻那条路。他们只能从那条路把坦克、大炮一直卡车开到我发动攻击的山口。我必须肯定桥要炸掉。不能提前，不然的话，如果进攻推迟，他们就可以把桥修好。那可不行。进攻开始的时候，就必须炸掉，我必须有充分把握。岗哨只有两个。跟你一起去的那人刚从那里来。据说他非常可靠。你就会明白的。他在山里有人。你需要多少人，就要多少。尽可能少用人，但要够用。我不必对你说这些事情了。” 　　“怎样才能断定进攻已经开始了呢？” 　　“进攻将由整整一师兵力发动。现有飞机轰炸作为准备。你耳朵不聋吧？” 　　“那么，我是不是可以这样理解，当飞机礽炸弹的时候，进攻就开始了？” 　　“你不能老是这样理解，”戈尔兹说，还摇摇头。“但是这一次，你可以这样看待。这是我布置的进攻。” 　　“我不懂了，”罗伯特•乔丹说，“老实说我不喜欢这个任务。” 　　“我也不是分喜欢。你要是不愿承担，现在就说。要是你认为自己干不了，现在就说。” 　　“我干，”罗伯特•乔丹说。“我去干，没问题。” 　　“我要知道的就是这一点。”戈尔兹说。“那就是桥上不能有任何东西通过。那一点要绝对保证。” 　　“我懂。” 　　“我不喜欢要求人做这种事情，并且用这种方式做，”戈尔兹接着说。“我不能命令你干这种事。我明白犹豫我提出的条件，你将被迫干些什么。我已经仔细解释过了，为的是要你明白，要你明白种种可能遇到的困难和任务的重要性。” 　　“如果桥炸了，你们怎样向拉格兰哈推进？” 　　“等我们攻占山口，就着手把桥修起来。这是一次十分复杂而漂亮的军事行动，象以往一切军事行动那样复杂而漂亮。这计划是在马德里制订的。这是维森特　罗霍，那位失意的教授的又一杰作。我布置这次进攻，象历来那样是在兵力不足的情况下进行的。尽管如此，这是一次大有可为的军事行动。我为这次行动比往常感到更为乐观。把桥炸掉之后，这一仗是可能大胜的。我们能拿下塞哥维亚。看，我来指给你看这是怎么回事。你看到吗？我们的目标可不是这次进攻的山口的顶端。我们要守住它。我们的目标在远远的那边。看－在这里－象这样－” 　　“我还是不知道的好，”罗伯特•乔丹说。 　　“好，”戈尔兹说。“这样，你到那边就可以少一点思想负担，是吗？” 　　“我即使不去那边也不想知道。那样，不管发生什么事，泄露情况的不会是我。” 　　“确实是不知道的好，”戈尔兹用铅笔敲敲前额。“有好多次我也希望自己不知道。但是你必须知道的有关桥的是，你知道了吗？” 　　“是。那我知道。” 　　“我相信你知道了，”戈尔兹说。“我不再向你发表讲话啦。我们现在来喝点酒吧。话说得不少，我很口渴了，霍丹同志。你的姓氏用西班牙语念起来很有趣，霍丹同志。” 　　“‘戈尔兹’用西班牙语是怎么念的，将军同志？” 　　“‘霍茨’，”戈尔兹露齿笑了，从喉咙深处发出这声音，就像患了重感冒咳痰似的。“‘霍茨’，”他声音嘶哑地说。“‘霍茨将军同志’。假使我早知道‘戈尔兹’在西班牙语里是这样念的，我来这里打仗以前就给自己另外取个好一点的名字了。我明知道要来指挥一个师，随便取什么名字都可以，可是竟取了‘霍茨’。‘霍茨将军’，现在要改已经太迟了，你喜欢partizan工作吗？” 　　“有时候。” 　　“你炸这座桥，可最好不要说什么‘有时候’啊。得，咱们别再唠叨这座桥啦。关于这座桥，你现在相当清楚了。我们非常认真，所以才能开些大玩笑。听着，你在火线另一边有很多姑娘吗？” 　　“没有，没时间花在姑娘身上。” 　　＂我不同意。任务越不正规，生活也就越不正规。你的任务太不正规。还有，你得把头发理一理。” 　　“我的头发理得很合适，”罗伯特•乔丹说。要他象戈尔兹那样把头发剃光才见鬼呢。“没有姑娘，我该思考的事情已经够多啦，”他阴郁地说。 　　“我该穿什么样的制服？”罗伯特•乔丹问。 　　“什么制服都不用穿，”戈尔兹说。“你的头发理得很不错。我是在逗你。你跟我很不一样，”戈尔兹说着有斟满了两人的酒杯。 　　“你思考的事情从来不仅仅是姑娘。我根本不思考。干吗要思考呢？我是将军。我从来不思考。别引诱我去思考吧。” 　　有个师部的人员坐在椅子上，正在研究制图板上的一张地图，这时用一种罗伯特•乔丹听不懂的语言对戈尔兹大声地说了些什么。 　　“闭嘴，”戈尔兹用英语说。“我想开玩笑就开。正因为我很认真，才能开玩笑。现在把酒喝了就走吧。你懂了吗，呃？” 　　“是，”罗伯特•乔丹说。“我懂了。” 　　他俩握了手，他敬了礼，出来上了师部的汽车，老头儿等在里面，已经睡着了。他们乘这辆车一路经过瓜达拉马镇，老头儿仍在睡觉，再顺着上纳瓦塞拉达的公路，来到登山俱乐部的小屋，罗伯特•乔丹在那儿睡了三小时才出发。 　　那是他最后一次会见戈尔兹的情景，戈尔兹有着一张永远晒不黑的白得出奇的脸，鹰一样的眼睛，大鼻子，薄嘴唇，剃光的头上有着一条条皱纹和伤疤。明天晚上，部队将集合在埃斯科里亚尔城外黑魅魅的公路上，长长两行车在夜色中装载着步兵；配备沉重的士兵爬上卡车；机熗排把他们的熗支抬上卡车；坦克顺着垫木开上装坦克的长平板车；在深夜把一师兵力拉出去，调动布置，准备进攻山口。他不愿想这些事。那不是他的事。那是戈尔兹的事。他只有一件事要做，那才是他应该考虑的，而且必须把它计划得清清楚楚，把所有的情况都估计到，不能发愁。发愁和恐惧一样糟糕。这只会使事情更难办。 　　这是，他坐在小溪边，望着山石间清澈的水流。他发现溪水对面有一簇稠密的水田芥。他涉过小溪，拔了两把，在水流中把根上的泥洗净，然后返身坐在背包旁，吃着那干净而凉爽的绿叶和鲜嫩尔带辣味的茎梗。他跪在溪边，把系在腰带上的自动手熗挪到背后，免得弄潮。他两手各撑在一块岩石上，附身去和溪水。溪水冷彻骨髓。 　　他撑起身体，转过头来，看见老头儿正在悬崖上爬下来。和他一起的还有一个人，也穿着这地区几乎成为制服的农民黑罩衣和深灰色裤子，脚上是一双绳底鞋，还背着一支卡宾熗。这人光着脑袋。两人象山羊般灵活地从悬崖上爬上来。 　　他们向他走来，罗伯特•乔丹站起身。 　　”你好，同志，“他对背卡宾熗的人说，并且微微一笑。 　　”你好，“对方勉强地说。罗伯特•乔丹望着这个人满是胡子茬的大脸。这张脸盘差不多是滚圆的，脑袋也是圆圆的，紧挨在肩膀上。两只眼睛小而分得很开，一双耳朵小而紧贴在脑袋上。他身子粗壮，高五英尺十英寸左右，大手大脚，鼻子破裂过，嘴角一边被刀砍过，横过上唇和小颌的刀疤在丛生的胡子中露了出来。 　　老头儿对这个人点点头，微微一笑。 　　”他是这里的头儿，“他露齿笑着说，然后屈起双臂，仿佛要使肌肉鼓起来似的。他以一种半带嘲弄的钦佩神情望着这个背卡宾熗的人。”一条好汉。“ 　　“我看得出来，”罗伯特•乔丹说，又笑了笑。他不喜欢这个人的神情，心里没有一丁点儿笑意。 　　“你有什么可以证明你的身份？”背卡宾熗的人问。 　　罗伯特•乔丹把别住衣带盖的安全别针解开，从法兰绒衬衫的左胸袋里掏出一张折好的纸，交给这个人，这个人摊开证件，怀疑地看看，在手里翻弄着。 　　罗伯特•乔丹看出他原来不识字。 　　“看这公章，”他说。 　　老头儿指指印鉴，背卡宾熗的人端详着，把证件夹在手指间翻来翻去。 　　“这是啥公章？” 　　“你以前从没见过？” 　　“没有。” 　　“有两个，”罗伯特•乔丹说。“一个是S.I.M.-军事情报部。另一个是总参谋部的。” 　　“对，那个公章我以前见过。不过在这里要我说了才算数，”对方阴郁地说。“你包里藏的什么？” 　　“炸药，”老头儿神气地说。“昨晚我们摸黑越过了火线，今天一整天，背着这炸药走山路。” 　　“我用得着炸药，”背卡宾熗的人说。他把证件还给罗伯特•乔丹，上下打量着他。“对。炸药对我很有用。你给我带来了多少？” 　　“我带来的炸药不是给你的，”罗伯特•乔丹平静地对他说。“炸药另有用处。你叫什么名字？” 　　“这跟你有什么相干？” 　　“他叫巴勃罗，”老头儿说。背卡宾熗的人阴郁地望着他们俩。 　　“好。我听到过很多夸你的话，”罗伯特•乔丹说。 　　“你听到关于我的什么话？”巴勃罗问。 　　“我听说你是个了不起的游击队长，你忠于共和国，并用行动证实了你的忠诚，你这个人既严肃又勇敢。我给你带来了总参谋部的问候。” 　　“你这些话是从哪里听来的？”巴勃罗问。罗伯特•乔丹注意到这个人一点也不吃马屁。 　　“从布伊特拉戈到埃斯科里亚尔，我都听说，”他说，提到了火线另一边的整个地区。 　　“布伊特拉戈也好，埃斯科里亚尔也好，我都没熟人，”巴勃罗对他说。 　　“山脉的另一边有很多人从前都不是住在哪里的②。你是哪里人？” 　　“阿维拉省人。你打算用炸药干什么？” 　　“炸毁一座桥。” 　　“什么桥？” ① 　　西班牙于一九三一年四月十四日推翻君主制，成立共和国。一九三六年二月十六日的国会选举中，以共产党、共和党左派等为中坚力量的人民阵线取得了压倒多数，成立联合政府。在德国和意大利的公开武装支持下，佛朗哥将军于七月十八日在西属摩洛哥发动叛乱，西班牙法西斯组织长熗党等右派集团及各地驻军纷起响应，很快就占领了西班牙西北及西南部。八月十四日，叛军攻陷西部边境重镇巴达霍斯，南北部队在此会师，整个西部都落入叛军之手，就集中兵力进攻首都马德里。十一月初，四支纵队兵临城下。这时形势非常危急，共和国政府被迫于十一月九日迁东部地中海边的瓦伦西亚。内战爆发后，德意源源不绝地提供飞机、大炮、坦克等军需及武装人员直接介入，英法却在“不干涉政策”的名义下对西班牙实行封锁。国际进步力量在各国共产党的领导下积极支援西班牙政府，在法国成立由志愿人员组成的国际纵队，于十月正式西班牙参战，和英雄的首都人民一起，在马德里保卫战中起了积极的作用，马德里巍然不动。本书故事发生在第二年五月，地点是马德里西北的瓜达拉马山区，改山脉为西南-东北向，叛军占领着各山口，并在山顶有一道防线，但防线后深山中有几个游击小组在展开敌后活动。这是政府军司令戈尔兹将军正计划向该山区发动强攻，目的在突破敌人防线，收复山后重镇塞哥维亚。本书主人公美国志愿军罗伯特•乔丹奉命进山，和游击队取得联系，配合此次进攻，完成炸桥任务。 ②　　由于国内战争，很多拥护共和国政府的人从敌占区投奔到瓜达拉马山脉东南政府军控制的地区去。 　　“那是我的事。” 　　“如果桥在这个地区，那就是我的事。你不能在紧挨你住的地方炸桥。你住在一个地方，就只能到另一个地方去活动。我这儿的事我了解。在这儿能带上ｙ８ｉｎｉａｎ没死掉的人了解自己的事。” 　　“这是我的事，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我们可以一起商量，你愿意帮我们拿背包吗？” 　　“不，”巴勃罗说，摇摇头。 　　老头儿突然转过身，用一种罗伯特　乔丹勉强能听懂的方言，迅速而愤怒地对巴勃罗说话。仿佛是在朗诵克维多的诗篇。安塞尔莫这时是在说古卡斯迪语①，大意是这样的：“你是野兽吗？是呀。你是畜生吗？一点不错。你有头脑吗？不，没有。我们这次来，要干的是重要透顶的事，可你呢，只求不惊动你自家住的地方，把你自己的狐狸洞看得比人类的利益海中。比你同胞的利益还要紧。我操你的祖宗。把背包提起来。” 　　巴勃罗把头低了下去。 　　“人人都得根据实际情况干他力所能及的事，”他说。“我住在这里，就到塞哥维亚以外活动。你要是在这一带山里搞什么名堂，我们就会被敌人从这里赶出去。我们只有在这一带山里按兵不动，才待得下去。这是狐狸的原则。” 　　“是啊，”安塞尔莫尖刻地说。“这是狐狸的原则，可是我们需要的是狼。” 　　“我比你更像狼啊，”巴勃罗说，罗伯特　乔丹看出他会拿起那个背包的。 ①　　克维多(1580-1645）：西班牙作家，著有讽刺文、流浪汉小说及诗歌等。阿维拉省及塞哥维亚省属古卡斯蒂尔地区，其方言至今带有古风。 　　“唏，嗬，”安塞尔莫冲着他说，“你居然跟我比谁更象狼，我六十八啦。” 　　他往地上唾了一口，摇摇头。 　　&ldqu

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 you will not take her out, then I ask a promise." "Why if I would not take her?" "Because I do not want her crazy here after you will go. I have had her crazy before and I have enough without that." "We will take her after the bridge," Robert Jordan said. "If we are alive after the bridge, we will take her." "I do not like to hear you speak in that manner. That manner of speaking never brings luck." "I spoke in that manner only to make a promise," Robert Jordan said. "I am not of those who speak gloomily." "Let me see thy hand," the woman said. Robert Jordan put his hand out and the woman opened it, held it in her own big hand, rubbed her thumb over it and looked at it, carefully, then dropped it. She stood up. He got up too and she looked at him without smiling. "What did you see in it?" Robert Jordan asked her. "I don't believe in it. You won't scare me." "Nothing," she told him. "I saw nothing in it." "Yes you did. I am only curious. I do not believe in such things." "In what do you believe?" "In many things but not in that." "In what?" "In my work." "Yes, I saw that." "Tell me what else you saw." "I saw nothing else," she said bitterly. "The bridge is very difficult you said?" "No. I said it is very important." "But it can be difficult?" "Yes. And now I go down to look at it. How many men have you here?" "Five that are any good. The gypsy is worthless although his intentions are good. He has a good heart. Pablo I no longer trust." "How many men has El Sordo that are good?" "Perhaps eight. We will see tonight. He is coming here. He is a very practical man. He also has some dynamite. Not very much, though. You will speak with him." "Have you sent for him?" "He comes every night. He is a neighbor. Also a friend as well as a comrade." "What do you think of him?" "He is a very good man. Also very practical. In the business of the train he was enormous." "And in the other bands?" "Advising them in time, it should be possible to unite fifty rifles of a certain dependability." "How dependable?" "Dependable within the gravity of the situation." "And how many cartridges per rifle?" "Perhaps twenty. Depending how many they would bring for this business. If they would come for this business. Remember thee that in this of a bridge there is no money and no loot and in thy reservations of talking, much danger, and that afterwards there must be a moving from these mountains. Many will oppose this of the bridge." "Clearly." "In this way it is better not to speak of it unnecessarily." "I am in accord." "Then after thou hast studied thy bridge we will talk tonight with El Sordo." "I go down now with Anselmo." "Wake him then," she said. "Do you want a carbine?" "Thank you," he told her. "It is good to have but I will not use it. I go to look, not to make disturbances. Thank you for what you have told me. I like very much your way of speaking." "I try to speak frankly." "Then tell me what you saw in the hand." "No," she said and shook her head. "I saw nothing. Go now to thy bridge. I will look after thy equipment." "Cover it and that no one should touch it. It is better there than in the cave." "It shall be covered and no one shall touch it," the woman of Pablo said. "Go now to thy bridge." "Anselmo," Robert Jordan said, putting his hand on the shoulder of the old man who lay sleeping, his head on his arms. The old man looked up. "Yes," he said. "Of course. Let us go." 　　　　他们穿过浓密的树林，来到这小山谷的杯形的上端，他看到前面树林里隆起一座凹形的石壁，下面一定躭是营地， 　　那儿果真是营地，地形选得不坏。不走近根本看不出,罗伯特　乔丹知道，从空中是发现不了的。从上面看什么痕迹都没有。营地象熊窝那样隐蔽。可是，看来也不比熊窝防卫得更好些。他们走上前去的时候，他仔细地打量着， 　　那凹形石壁上有一个大山洞，洞口坐着一个人，背靠山岩，伸着两腿，一支卡宾熗靠在岩石旁。他正在用刀削一根木棍，他们走近时,他盯了他们一眼,然后继续削木棍。 　　“喂，”坐着的人说。“来的是什么人哪?”　　〃老头子和一个爆破手，”巴勃罗告诉他，卸下背包，放在洞口的里面，安塞尔莫也卸下了背包,罗伯特　乔丹解下卡宾熗,把它靠在山石旁。 　　“别把背包搁得离洞口这么近，”削木棍的人说，他长着一双蓝眼睛，黝黑、漂亮的吉普赛型的脸上带着懒洋洋的神情，脸色象熏黑的皮革。“里面生着火哪。” 　　“你起来,去把它放好，”巴勃罗说。“把它搁在那棵树下。” 　　吉普赛人不动身,说了句粗话,接着说，“让它搁在那儿得了，把你自己炸死吧，”他懒洋洋地说。“这样会治好你的毛病。” 　　“你在做什么东西?”罗伯特　乔丹在吉普赛人身边坐下。吉　普赛人拿给他看。那是一个4字形的捕兽器，他正在削上面的横档。 　　“逮狐狸用的，”他说。“上面支一段树干充当打击的工具。它会把狐狸的背脊砸断。”他朝罗伯特　乔丹露齿笑笑。“是这样操作的，你瞧。”他做了个捕兽架倒塌、树干砸下去的样子，然后摇摇头，把手缩回去,张开双臂，装出被碾断脊骨的狐狸的模样。“挺实用，”他解释说。 　　“他喜欢逮兔子，”安塞尔莫说。“他是吉普赛人。所以逮到了兔子说是狐狸。逮到了狐狸就说是象。” 　　“那么逮到了象呢?”吉普赛人问，又露出一口白牙齿，对罗伯特　乔丹眨眨眼睛。 　　“你会说是坦克，”安塞尔莫对他说。 　　“我会俘获一辆坦克的，”吉普赛人对他说。“我会俘获一辆坦克。那时候随你说我逮到的是什么吧。” 　　“吉普赛人讲得多，做得少，”安塞尔莫对他说。 　　吉普赛人对罗伯特　乔丹眨眨眼睛，继续削木棍。巴勃罗早走进了山洞，看不见了。罗伯特　乔丹希望他是去找吃的东西的。他在吉普赛人身边地上坐下来，下午的阳光从树梢上射下，温暖地照在他伸直的腿上。这时他闻到了山洞里散发出饭莱的气味，闻到了食油、洋葱和煎肉的香昧。他饿得饥肠辘辘。 　　“我们能俘获坦克，”他对吉普赛人说。“并不太难。” 　　“用这玩意儿吗？”吉普赛人指指那两个背包。 　　“对，”罗伯特‘乔丹对他说，“我以后教你。你可以布置一个陷阱。这不太难。” 　　“你和我？” 　　“当然，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“干吗不行？　　“嗨，”吉普赛人对安塞尔莫说。“把这两个背包搬到安全的地方去，行吗？这东西很宝贵。“ 　　安塞尔莫咕哝了一声。“我去拿酒，”他对罗伯特　乔丹说。罗伯特　乔丹站起身把背包提离洞口，在一棵树的两边各放一只。他知道里面是什么，决不愿意让这两只背包之间的距离挨得太近。 　　“给我带一杯来，”吉普赛人对他说。 　　“有酒吗？”罗伯特　乔丹问，又在吉普赛人身边坐下来。 　　“酒？干吗没有？满满的一皮袋。反正半皮袋总会有的。” 　　“有什么吃的?” 　　“样样都有,伙计，”吉普赛人说。“我们的伙食跟将军吃的差不多。” 　　“那么吉普赛人在战争期间干些什么?”罗伯特　乔丹问他。 　　“他们还是当他们的吉普赛人。” 　　“这个行当不坏。” 　　“最好的啦，”吉普赛人说。“人家叫你什么名字？” 　　“罗伯托。你呢？” 　　〃拉斐尔。坦克的事可当真?” 　　“当然。干吗不当真?” 　　安塞尔莫从洞口出来，捧着满满一瓦缸红酒,手指钩着三只杯子的柄。“瞧，”他说。“杯子呀什么的，他们全有。”巴勃罗在他们背后出现了。 　　“吃的马上就来：他说。“你有烟吗？“ 　　罗伯特　乔丹走到背包边，打开了一只,伸手摸到里面的夹 层口袋，掏出一盒他在戈尔兹司令部里弄到的扁盒装的俄国香烟。他用拇指指甲划幵了烟盒一边的封口，揭开盒盖，递给巴勃罗，巴勃罗拿了五六支。他用一只大手握住烟卷,拣了一支对光看着。烟卷细长,一头有硬纸咬嘴。 　　“卷得松,没多少烟草，”他说。“这烟我知道。那个名字古怪的人也抽这种烟。” 　　“卡希金，”罗伯特　乔丹说，把烟盒递给吉普赛人和安塞尔莫，他们每人拿了一支， 　　“多拿几支，”他说，于是他们毎人义拿了一支。他再给了他们每人四支。他们手拿烟卷，向他点头致谢，因此烟卷的头也上下摆动，就象人们持剑行礼那样。 　　“对，”巴勃罗说，“那个名字很古怪。”　　“喝酒吧。”安塞尔莫从缸里舀了一杯递给罗伯特　乔丹,然后为自已和吉普赛人舀酒。 　　“没我的吗?”巴勃罗问。他们都坐在洞口， 　　安塞尔莫把他的一杯递给他，自己进洞去再拿杯子。他走出洞来，俯身从缸里舀了滴满的一杯，大家就相互碰杯。 　　酒不坏，有一点儿皮酒袋的松脂香味，但好极了，他舌头上只觉得请爽而鲜堉。罗伯特　乔丹慢慢儿喝着，觉得一股暖意流遍了疲乏的全身。 　　”吃的马上就来，”巴勃罗说。“那个名字古怪的外国人，他是怎么死的?” 　　“他被抓住后自杀的。“ 　　“那是怎么回事?”　 　　”他受了伤，不愿当俘虏。“ 　　“详细经过呢?〃 　　“我不知道，”他撤谎说。他明明知道详细佾况，但他知道，这时讲这些情况不妥当。 　　“他要我们保证,万一炸火车的时候受了伤,逃脱不掉，就熗杀他，”巴勃罗说。“他说话的神气挺古怪。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹想，早在那时候，他准是已经神经过敏了。可怜的卡希金啊。 　　“他这人特别反对自杀，”巴勃罗说。“他对我说过。他还特别害怕被俘后受刑。” 　　“他连这一点也告诉了你吗?”罗伯特，乔丹问他。　　“是的，”吉普赛人说。 　　“他对我们大家都说过类似的话。” 　　“你也参加了炸火车?” 　　“是呀。我们大家都参加了。” 　　“他说话的神气挺古怪，”巴勃罗说。“不过他非常勇敢。” 　　可怜的卡希金呀，罗伯特　乔丹想。他在这一带造成的影响准是坏的多于好的。我早知道他那时候已经这么神经过敏就好了。他们就可以把他抽调回去。你派去执行这种任务的人不能说这种话。绝对不能说这种话。说了这种话，即使他们完成了任务，他们造成的影响也是坏多于好。 　　“他有点古怪，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我看他神经有点儿不正常。” 　　“不过他搞爆破挺在行，”吉普赛人说。“并且非常勇敢。“ 　　“不过有点不正常，”罗伯特^乔丹说。“干这种事，必须要很有头脑，而且头脑要特别冷静。说那种话可不行。” 　　“那么你呢：巴勃罗说。“如果你在炸桥这种事情上受了伤，你愿意被人撂在后面吗？” 　　“听着，”罗伯特　乔丹说，他身体向前凑去，替自己又舀了杯酒,“把我的话听清楚了。假使我有一天要请哪位帮点儿小忙的话,到那时候我会请求他的。“ 　　“好样的，”吉普赛人称赞说。“好汉说话就是这个样。啊！吃的来啦。” 　　“你巳经吃过了，”巴勃罗说。 　　“再来两份也吃得下，”吉普赛人对他说。“瞧谁拿吃的来了．“ 　　一个姑娘端着一只大铁食盘，弯着身体从洞口钻出来，罗伯特　乔丹看到她脸的惻面，同时看到她异样的地方。她微笑着说，“你好，同志。”罗伯特　乔丹也说，“你好，”并且注意着不住她看，但也不掉头不顾。她把平底铁盘放在他面前,他注意到了她那双漂亮的褐色的手。她这时正眼望着他的脸,微微一笑。她那褐色的脸上有一口白牙齿，她的皮肤和眼睛也是这种金褐色的。她长着高顴骨，欢乐的眼睛，和一张丰满而墒正的嘴。她的头发象金黄色的田野，已被阳光晒得黑黝黝的，可是给全部剪短了，只比海狸皮的毛稍长一点，她冲着罗伯特　乔丹的脸笑着，举起褐色的手去抚摩头发，手过之处,那抚平的头发随即又翘起来。她的脸很美，罗伯特　乔丹想。要是人家没有把她的头发剪短，她一定很美。 　　“我就是这祥梳头的，”她笑着对罗伯特　乔丹说。“吃你的吧。别盯着我。人家是在瓦利阿多里德①把我的头发剃成这副样子的，现在算是长出来啦。” 　　她坐在他对面望着他。他也回看她,她微微一笑,合抱着双 　　手搁在膝头。她这样双手搁在膝上坐在那儿,一双长腿斜搁着，裤管口露出一截干净的腿儿，他能看到她灰色衬衫内耸起的小乳房的轮廓。罗伯特　乔丹每次对她望的时候，都感到自己的喉咙哽塞起来。 　　“没有碟子，”安塞尔莫说。“用你自己的刀吧。”姑娘在铁盘子边上搁了四把叉，叉尖朝下。 　　大家直接从大铁食盘里拿东西吃，就象西班牙人的习惯那样，不说话。吃的是洋葱青椒烧兔肉，加红酒的调味汁里放着青豆。菜烧得不错，兔肉烂得从骨头上掉了下来，调味汁很鲜美。罗伯特　乔丹吃着，又喝了杯酒。姑娘一直在看他吃。其余的人都望着自己的食物，只顾吃着，罗伯特　乔丹拿一片面包擦干净自己面前盘里剩下的调味汁，把兔骨堆在一边，擦净底下的调味汁,然后拿面包擦净叉和自己的刀，把刀藏起，再把面包吃掉,他凑身前去，潢满地舀了一杯酒,那姑娘还在望着他。 　　罗伯特　乔丹喝了半杯，可是等到向姑娘说话时，喉咙里又哽塞起来了。 　　“你叫什么名宇？”他问。巴勃罗听到他说话的声调,马上对他瞥了一眼。接着他站起身走开了。 　　“玛丽亚。你呢?〃 　　”罗伯托。你在山里待了很久吗?” 　　“三个月。“ 　　“三个月？”他望着她那又密又短的头发，她这时局伲不安地用手一捋，这头发就象山坡上的麦田在风中泛起麦浪那样波动着。“头发给剃光了，”她说。“在瓦利阿多里德监狱里,按规矩都得剃光头。三个月之后才长成这副样子。我那时也在火车上。他们打箅把我带到南方去。火车被炸之后，很多犯人又被逮住了，但我没有。我跟着这些人来了？” 　　“我瞅见她躲在山石中闾，”吉普赛人说。“那时我们正要撤退。乖乖，那时她可真难看哪。我们带着她走，可有好多次，依我看，我们差一点不得不扔下她。” 　　“还有跟他们一起炸火车的那个人呢?”玛丽亚问。“也是个金黄头发的。那个外国人。他在哪里?” 　　“死了，”罗伯特"乔丹说。“四月份死的。” 　　“四月份？炸火车是四月份嘛。“ 　　“是的，”罗伯待、乔丹说。“他在炸火车十天之后死的。” 　　“怪可怜的/她说。“他非常勇敢。那你也是干这一行的?” 　　“是的。” 　　“你也炸过火车,“ 　　“是的。三列火车” 　　“在这里吗？“ 　　“在埃斯特雷马杜拉②，”他说。“我来这里以前在埃斯特雷马杜拉。我们在那里干了不少事。我们有很多人在那里活动。” 　　“那你现在干吗到这山里来？” 　　“接替那个金黄头发的人,还因为革命以前我就熟悉这个地区。“ 　　“你很熟悉这里？” 　　“不，其实不很热。不过我很快能熟悉。我有一张好地图,还有一位好向导。“ 　　“那个老头子，”她点点头。“老头子人很好。“ 　　〃谢谢你，”安塞尔莫对她说。于是罗伯特‘乔丹突然意识到，在场的不只是他和姑娘两个人，他还意识到，他很难正眼看这姑娘，因为这会使他说话时声音变样。他正在违犯和说西班牙话的人搞好关系的两条纪律中的一条:请男人抽烟，别碰女人。他十分突然地意识到自己顾不得这些了。很多事情他都不在乎了，为什么要计较这一点呢？ ①　　瓦利阿多里德为西班牙北部一古城，有大教堂、旧王宫等名胜古迹。 ②　　埃斯特雷马杜拉：西班牙西部一地区，和葡萄牙接壤。 　　“你的脸长得很美，”他对玛丽亚说。“我要是有幸在你的头发剃掉之前看到你就好了。“ 　　“会长出来的，”她说。“六个月之后就会很长了。” 　　“你该在我们把她从火车里带走时见见她。她难看得叫人恶心。” 　　“你是谁的女人？“罗伯特　乔丹问，他这时想摆脱这件事了。“是巴勃罗的吗？” 　　她望着他笑，然后在他膝盖上打了一下。 　　“巴勃罗的？你见过巴勃罗吗?” 　　“噢，那么是拉斐尔的罗。我见过拉斐尔。” 　　“也不是拉斐尔的。” 　　“她不屑于任何人，”吉普赛人说。“这个女人梃怪。她不属于任何人。可她饭菜做得不坏。” 　　“真的不属于任何人吗?”罗伯特　乔丹问她。 　　“不属于任何人。才不哪。不管是说笑话，还是说正经的，都是这样。也不是你的。” 　　“是吗?”罗伯特I乔丹说，他感到喉咙里又哽塞起来了。“好啊。我没时间跟女人打交道,那倒是真的。” 　　“连十五分钟也没有?”吉苷赛人戏弄地问。“一刻钟工夫也没有？“罗伯特‘乔丹不回答。他望着这姑娘玛丽亚，觉得喉咙里哽塞得不敢开口说话了。 　　玛丽亚望着他笑，接着突然脸红了，但是仍旧盯住他看。 　　“你在脸红，”罗伯特　乔丹对她说。“你常脸红吗” 　　“从来不。” 　　“你现在脸红了。” 　　“那么我要到山洞里去了。” 　　“别走，玛丽亚。” 　　“不，”她说,不对他微笑了。“我现在要到里面去了。“她收拾起他们吃饭的铁盘和四把叉。她走起路来象小马般不大自然,但同时也象小动物那么姿态优美。 　　“你们还要用杯子吗?”她问。　　罗伯特　乔丹仍旧在望着她,她又脸红了，　　“别惹我脸红，”她说。“我不喜欢这样。”　　“别拿走，”吉普赛人对她说。“来一杯吧，”他在酒缸里舀了满满的一杯递给罗伯特　莽丹，而他正看着姑娘端着笨重的铁盘低了头钻进山洞。 　　“谢谢你，”罗伯特　乔丹说。她走了，他的声调叉恢复了常态。“这是最后一杯了。我们已经喝够了。” 　　“我们来喝干这一缸，”吉普赛人说。“还有大半皮袋酒。那是我们用马驮来的。“ 　　“那次是巴勃罗最后的一次出击，”安塞尔奠说。“自此以后他啥也不干。” 　　“你们有多少人?”罗伯待一乔丹问。　　“我们有七个男人，还有两个女的。” 　　“两个?” 　　“对。一个是巴勃罗的老婆。” 　　“她人呢。“ 　　“在山洞里。那姑娘稍许会做些饭菜。我说她做得好是为了让她高兴。她多半是帮巴勃罗的老婆做下手。”　　“巴勃罗的女人，她这人怎么样?” 　　“有点儿野，”吉普赛人露齿笑笑。“实在太野了。如果你以为巴勃罗长得丑，那你应当见见他老婆。那女人很勇敢。比巴勃罗勇敢一百倍。只是有点儿野。” 　　“想当初巴勃罗也很勇敢，〃安塞尔莫说。〃想当初巴勃罗是很认真的。” 　　“他杀的人比霍乱还多，”吉普赛人说。“革命开始时,巴勃罗杀的人比伤寒还多。” 　　“可是长远以来,他太差劲了，”安塞尔莫说。“他太差劲了，他非常怕死。” 　　“可能是因为当初杀的人太多了，“吉普赛人寓有哲理地说。”巴勃罗.杀死的人比鼠疫还多。” 　　“这是一点,再加上贪财，“安塞尔莫说。〃另外他酒喝得太多。现在他打算象斗牛士一样退休了。不过他没法退休。” 　　“他要是跨过火线到了那边，人家准会扣下他的马，叫他入伍，”吉普赛人说。“至于我,我也不喜欢在部队里当兵。“ 　　“别的吉普赛人也不喜欢这样,”安塞尔莫说。 　　“干吗喜欢？〃吉普赛人问。“谁肯进部队？我们干革命是为了进部队吗？我愿意打仗，可不愿待在部队里。” 　　“还有些人在哪里？”罗伯特　乔丹问。他喝了酒,这会儿觉得很舒服，昏昏欲睡，他仰天躺在树林中的地上，透过树稍望见午后的小片云朵在西班牙高空中徐徐漂移。 　　“有两个在洞里睡觉，”吉普赛人说。，“两个在山上咱们架熗的地方放哨。一个在山下放哨，说不定他们都睡着了。“ 　　罗伯特，乔丹翻身侧卧着。 　　“是什幺熗?” 　　“熗名挺怪，”吉普赛人说。“我一下子想不起来了。是一架机关熗。” 　　罗伯特’乔丹想，一定是支自动步熗。 　　“有多重?”他问。 　　“一个人能扛，不过挺重。熗有三条腿，可以折起来。那是我们在末一次大出击中缴获的。就是在搞到酒的那次之前的那一次。” 　　“你们那支抢有多少子弹?” 　　“多得数不尽，”吉普赛人说。“整整一箱，沉得叫人不相信。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹想，听他这样说象是五百发光景。　　“上子弹是用圆盘还是长带？“ 　　“用装在熗上面的圆铁盒。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹想：了不起，是挺刘易斯轻机关熗①。 　　“你懂得机熗吗？”他问那老头儿。 　　“不懂，”安塞尔莫说。“一点不懂。“ 　　”那你呢?”问吉普赛人。 　　“这种熗开起来快极了，熗筒越打越烫，烫得手没法碰，”吉普赛人神气地说。 　　“那有谁不知道！”安塞尔莫蔑视地说。 　　“也许是这样，”吉普赛人说。“不过他既然要我讲讲机关熗是怎么样的,我就告诉他。”他接着补充说,“还有，它不像普通步熗,只要你扣住扳机，这种熗可以打个不歇。“ 　　“除非卡了壳，子弹打光或熗筒烫得发软，”罗伯特，乔丹用英语说。 　　“你说啥？”安塞尔莫问他。 ^ 　　“没什么，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我只是用英语在讲未来的事。“ 　　“那才怪了，”吉普赛人说。“用英国话来讲未来的事。你会看手相吗？“ 　　“不会，”罗伯特^乔丹说着又舀了杯酒。“不过，要是你会的话，我倒希望你给我看看，吿诉我最近的三天里会发生什么事情。” 　　“巴勃罗的老婆会看手相，“吉普赛人说。“不过她挺暴躁，挺野,她肯不肯看，我可说不准。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹坐起来，喝了口酒。 　　“我们现在去见见巴勃罗的老婆吧，”他说。“很使真是这样糟糕的话，那我们去试试，不行就算了。“ 　　“我不想去打扰她，”拉斐尔说。“她最讨厌我。“ 　　“为什么？” 　　“她拿我当二流子看待。” 　　“真不公平，“安塞尔莫嘲弄地说。 　　“她讨厌吉普赛人” 　　“真是糟透了，”安塞尔莫说。 　　"她有吉普赛血统：拉斐尔说。“她说的话不是没有道理。”他露齿笑笑。“可是她的舌头太伤人,象条牛鞭子。用那条舌头她能把人的皮都扒下来，撕成一条条的。她真野得不得了。” 　　“她和那姑娘玛面亚相处得怎么样”罗伯特　乔丹问。 　　“好。她疼那丫头。有谁敢去接近这丫头，打她主意的话－”他摇摇头，舌头啧啧作响。 　　“她待那姑娘真不错，“安塞尔莫说。“好好照顾着她。” 　　“我们炸了火车把她带回来时，她模样很怪，”拉斐尔说。“她不吭声，哭个不停，谁碰碰她，她就抖得象只落水狗。最近她才好了点。最近她好多了。今儿她很好。刚才跟你说话的时候，她非常好。我们炸火车后打箅扔下她不管。她愁眉苦脸，那么难看，显然一无用处，当然不值得为她耽误时间。可是老太婆在那丫头身上系了根绳子，等她觉得再也走不动了，老太婆就用绳子梢抽她,抽她走。后来，她真的走不动了，老太婆就把她扛在肩上。等老太婆扛不动了，就由我来扛。那时我们是在爬山，山上金雀花和石南长得齐胸高。等到我也扛不动了，就由巴勃罗来扛。老太婆逼我们扛她的时候，骂得可凶哪！”他想起了往事还直摇头。“是啊，这丫头固然长得髙，身体可不重。瘦骨头不压什么分量。不过当时我们不得不扛着她，一会儿停下来开熗，一会儿再把她扛起来，那时候她可够沉的。老太婆呢，用绳子抽打巴勃罗，替他拿步熗，当他打算扔下丫头时

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工，翅膀是展开的，黄黄的眼睛，就象活的一样。这只鹰挺好看，我看到这些东西心里非常髙兴，”“是啊，”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“我村教堂门上钉着一只熊掌，那熊是我春夭打的，我发现它在山坡上的雪地里，就用那只爪子在拔一段木头“ 　　“那是什么时侯的事?” 　　“六年前了。那只熊掌象人手，不过爪子很长,已经干瘪了，穿过掌心钉在教堂门上,我每次见到，心里就乐。”“出于骄傲吗?” 　　“想到初春在那山坡上和那头熊遭遇确实感到骄傲。不过讲到杀人，象我们一模一样的人，回忆起来一点也不愉快。”“你不能把人的手掌钉在教堂门上，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“不能。这种伤天害理的事是不能想象的，不过,人手很象熊举。” 　　“人的胸部也很象熊的胸部，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“熊剥掉了皮，它的肌肉有很多和人的肌肉相象的地方。” 　　“是啊，”安塞尔莫说。“吉普赛人认为熊是人的兄弟。”“美洲的印第安人也有这种看法，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“他们杀了熊就向它道歉,请它原谅，他们把它的脑壳搁在树上,临走前请求它宽恕。 　　“吉普赛人认为熊是人的兄弟，是因为熊剥掉了皮，身体和人的是一祥的，因为熊也喝啤酒，也喜欢听音乐，也喜欢跳舞。”耗印第安人也有这种看法,“那。印第安人就是吉普赛人了?” “不。不过他们对熊的看法是一致的。““一点也不假。吉普赛人认为它是人的兄弟，还因为它爱偷东西取乐。 　　“你有吉普赛血统吗?” 　　“没有。不过这种人我见得多了，认识得梃清楚。自从革命开始以来见得更多了。山里就有不少。他们认为杀掉外族人不算罪过。他们不承认这一点,不过这是事实“象靡尔人一样。“ 　　“是的。不过吉普赛人有很多规矩，他们自己却不承认。在打仗时很多吉普赛人又变得象古时候那样坏了。” 　　“他们不懂为什么要打仗。他们不知道我们作战的目的。”“对呀，”安塞尔莫说，“他们只知道现在在打仗，大家又可以象古时候那样杀人而不一定受惩罚了。” 　　“你杀过人吗？”由于相处一天混熟了，现在天色又黑，罗伯特舟乔丹便这么问。 　　“杀过。有好几回。不过不是很乐意的。依我看，杀人是罪过。哪怕是杀那些我们非杀不可的法西斯，依我看，熊和人大不一样,我不相信吉普赛人那种蛊惑人心的说法,什么人跟畜生是兄弟。不。凡是杀人，我都反对“可是你杀过人了。” 　　“是呀。而且以后还要杀呢，不过，要是我能活得下去，我萝好好儿过活，不伤害任何人,这样就会被人宽恕了“被谁?” 　　“谁知道？既然在这里我们不再信天主，不再信圣子和圣灵了,谁来宽恕呀？我不知道。““你们不再信天主了？” 　　“是呀。老弟。当然是呀。要是有夭主,他决不会让我亲睱百睹的那一切发生的。让冬巧信天主吧。”“人们是需要天主的。。”　 　　“我是在信教的环境中长大的，我当然想念天主。不过做人现在得由自己负黉了。 　　“那么宽恕你杀人罪过的人，就是你自己罗。”“我看就是这么回事，〃安塞尔莫说。“既然你打开天窗说亮话，我看一定就是这样。不过，不管有投有天主，我认为杀人就是罪过。我觉得寄人一命可不是儿戏。必要的时侯我才杀人，不过我不是巴勃罗那号人。” 　　“要打胜仗，我们躭必须杀敢人。这是历来的真理。“那当然。”我们打仗就得杀人。不过我有些古怪的念头。”安塞尔莫说。 　　他们这时正挨在一起摸黑走着，他低声说着，一边爬山，一边还常常回过头来。”“我连主教也不想杀。我也不想杀哪个财主老板。我要叫他们后半辈子象我们一样，天天在地里干活,象我们一样在山里砍树，他们这样才会明白，人生在世该干些啥。让他们睡我们睡的地方。让他们吃我们吃的东西。不过，顶要紧的是让他们干活。这样他们就会得到教训了。”“这样他们会活下来再奴役你。” 　　“把他们杀了并不给他们教训，”安塞尔莫说。“你没法把他们斩尽杀绝,因为他们会播下更深的仇恨的种子。监牢没用，监牢只会制造仇恨。应该让我们所有的敌人都得到教训。〃不过你还是杀过人。“ 　　〃是的，”安塞尔莫说。“杀过好几次，以后还要杀，但不是乐意的，而且把它看作罪过。” 　　“那个哨兵呢？你刚才幵玩笑说要杀掉他。““那是开玩笑。我原可以杀掉他。是呀。考虑到我们的任务,当然要杀，而且问心无愧。不过心里是不乐意的，” 　　“我们就把这些哨兵留给喜欢杀人的人吧，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“他们是八个加五个。一共十三个，让喜欢杀人的人去对付 　　“喜欢杀人的人可不少呢，”安塞尔莫在黑暗中说。“我们就有很多这种人。这种人要比愿意上战场打仗的人多。“你参加过战役吗?” 　　“没有，”老头儿说。“革命开始的时候我们在塞哥维亚打过仗,不过我们吃了畋仗,溃敢啦。我跟了别人一起跑。我们并不真正了解自己在干啥，也不知道该每么干，再说,我只有一支猎熗和大号铅弹，可是民防军有毛瑟熗。我在一百码外用大号铅弹没法打中他们,他们在三百码外，却可以随心所欲地象打兔子似的打我们。他们打得又快又准，我们在他们面前象绵羊似的。他不作声了，接着问，“你看炸桥的时候会打上“仗吗”“有可能。” 　　“我毎逢打仗没有一次不逃跑的。”安塞尔莫说〃“我不知道自己该怎么做。我是老头子啦，可我一直闹不清。“ 　　“我来帮衬你，”罗伯特　乔丹对他说　“那你打过很多仗吗？　〃打过几次。“ 　　“你觉得炸桥这件事怎么样” 　　　我首先考虑的是炸桥。那是我的工作。把桥炸掉并不难。然后我们再作其它部署。做好准备工作。这一切都得写下来。”“这里的人识字的很少。”安塞尔莫说。 　　“要根据每个人的理解程度，写得大家都看得懂，而且还要把它讲清楚。“ 　　“派给我什么任务,我准干，”安塞尔莫说。“不过，想起塞哥维亚开火的情形,假使要打，甚至于大打，最好先跟我讲明白，遇到各种情况，我得怎么干，免得逃跑。记得在塞哥维亚时我老是想逃跑。” 　　“我俩会在一起的，”罗伯特　乔丹对他说。“我会告诉你什么时侯该怎么办。” 　　“那就没问题了，”安塞尔莫说。“吩咐我做的，我都能傲到。” 　　“对我们来说就是炸桥和战斗，假如发生战斗的话，”罗伯特　乔丹说，他觉得在黑暗中说这番话有点象做戏,但是用西班牙话诶来很带劲。“ 　　“那该是头等大事嗨，”安塞尔莫谗。罗伯特。乔丹听他说得直率、不含糊、不做作，既没有说英语民族的那种故意含蓄的谈吐,也役有说拉，“语民族的那种夸夸其谈的作风。他觉得能得到这个老头儿很幸运，他看过了这座桥，设想出了一个简化'的解决问理的方案。”只赛突然袭击哨所，就能按常规的办法炸掉它。他这时对戈尔兹的命令，对产生这些命令的必婆性起了反感。他所以反感，是因为这些命令会给他；会给这个老头儿带来木拥的后果。对于不得不执行这些命令的人来说，这自然是棘手的命令。 　　这个想法可不对头哪，他对自己说，你也好，别人也好，稀没法保证不道豳不拥。你和这个老头儿都不是什么了不起询又物。你们是完成你们的任务的工具。”有些命令非执行不可，这不是你们所造成的。有座桥非炸掉不可,这座挢可以成为人类未来命运的转折点，好象它能左右这次战争中所发生的一切-你只有一件事好做,并旦非做不可。只有一件事，妈的，他想。如果只此一件事，那就容易办了。他对自己说。”别发愁啦，你这个说空话的野杂种。想想别的事情吧。 　　于是他想起了那姑娘玛丽亚，想起了她的皮肤、头发和眼睹,全是一样的金褐色。头发的颜色比她的皮肤要深些,不过由于皮肤将被阳光晒得越来越黑，头发就会显得淡了。这光滑的皮肤表面上是浅金色的，从内部透出更深的底色。这皮肤一定很光滑，她的整个身体一定都很光滑。她的举止很别扭，仿佛她身上有些东西使她局伲不安，她觉得那些东西流鳟在外面，实在不然,只存在于她的心里。他望着她，她就脸红。她坐着，双手抱住膝头，衬衫领子敞开着，一对耸起的乳房顶着衬衫。想到她，他的喉头就哽住了,走路也不自在了。他和安塞尔莫都不作声,后来老头儿说，“我们现在穿过这些岩石下去就回营了。 　　他们捵黑走着山路，这时，有一个人向他们喝了一声，“站住，秘一个,他们听到往后拉熗栓的喀嚓一声,接着是推上子弹，熗栓朝下扳碰到木熗身的声音。 　　“同志，”安塞尔莫说。　“什么同志?”“巴勃罗的同志，”老头儿对他说。“你不认识我们吗。“认识。“那声音说。“可这是命令。你们有口令吗？“没有。我们是从山下来的。” 　　“我晓得。“那人在黑暗中说。“你们是从桥头来的。”我都晓得。命令可不是我下的。”你们必须对得上口令。”“那么上半句是什么?”罗伯特。乔丹问。”“我忘了，”那人在黑暗中说着笑了。”“那就带着你他妈的炸药到炉火边去吧。“ 　　“这就叫做游击队的纪律，”安塞尔莫说。“把熗的击铁推上。”“没扳起击铁，”那人在黑暗中说。“我用大拇指和食指把它顶着。” 　　“如果你用毛瑟熗这样干,熗栓没有卡子会走火的。”“我这支就是毛瑟熗，”那人说。“可是我的大拇指和食指很管用。我老是这样顶着的。“ 　　“你的熗口朝着哪里？”安塞尔莫对着黑暗问。“朝着你，”那人说，“我推上熗栓的时候一直对着你。你到了营地，关照他们派人来换我班，因为我饿得真他妈的没法说，我还忘了口令啦。” 　　“你叫什么名字?”罗伯特　乔丹问。 　　“奥古斯丁，”那人说。“我叫奥古斯丁，我在这儿厌倦死了。” 　　“我们一定带去口信，“穸伯特　乔丹说。他在想。”西班牙语中的“厌倦”这个词，说别种语言的农民是都不会用的。然而对于各个阶层的西班牙人这却是个最普通的字眼。” 　　“听我说，”奥古斯丁说着，走上前来把手按在罗伯特“乔丹的肩上。接着他用打火石打上了火,吹亮火绒，凑着火光端详着　这个年轻人的脸。 　　“你和另一个的样子很象，”他说。〃不过也有些不一样。听着，”他放下火绒，握熗站着。“告诉我这件事。”关于桥的事是真的吗?” 　　　什么桥的事?” 　　“就是要我们把他妈的那座桥炸掉，过后我们就得操他妈的从山里撤出去。“ 　　“我不知道。“ 　　”不知道。”奥古斯丁说。“真是笑话！那么炸药是谁的？ 　　“嶔的。 　　“那你不知道炸药是用来干什么的？别跟我撒谎啦。”“我知道做什么用，到时候你也会知道的”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我们现在可要到营地去了。” 　　“到你他妈的地方去吧“奥古斯丁说。“去你的吧，你可要我给你讲一件对你有用的事, 　　“要，”罗伯特’乔丹说。“只要不老是他妈的。“他指的是交谈中随时都能听到的那种粗话。奥古斯丁这个人，说的话那么脏,老是把“他妈的”这个词加在每个名词前当作形容词，还把它用作动词，罗伯特　乔丹不禁纳闷，他会不会说一句干净的话。奥古斯丁听到后,在黑暗中笑了。“这是我的口头禅，可能不好听。谁知道？说话嘛，谁都有自己的习惯。听我说。桥对我没什么了不起。桥也罢，别的东西也罢，我都不在乎。再说，我在山里厌倦啦。荽走我们就走吧。这山区对我没啥了不起，我们该撒走啦。不过有件事我得说说。好好保管你的炸药。“谢谢你，”罗伯特　乔丹说，“提防你吗？”“不,奥古斯丁说。“提防郑些他妈的不象我这样有种的人。” 　　“是吗。“罗伯特　乔丹问。 　　“你懂西班牙话，”奥古斯丁这时认真地说。“好好保管你那些他妈的炸药。”“谢谢你。” 　　〃不.不用谢我。看好你的货色吧。　炸药出毛病了吗?” 一 “不，出了毛病我就不会跟你费时间磨嘴皮了。”“我还是要谢谢你。我们现在到营地去吧。”“好，”奥古斯丁说，“叫他们派个知道口令的到这里来。”“我们会在营地和你见面吗?”“会，老兄。一会儿就见面。”“走吧，”罗伯特　乔丹对安塞尔莫说。他们沿着萆地边走去，这时升起了灰色的雾气。在树林里铺着松针的地上走了许久之后，现在踩着茂盛的青草感到怪美妙的，草上的露水湿透了他们的帆布绳底鞋。罗伯特　乔丹透过树林看到前面有一线光亮,他知道，那里一定就是山润口。 　　“奥古斯丁这个人挺不错，”安塞尔莫说。“他说话嘴巴不干净,老是开玩笑，不过，他人挺认真。” 　　“你和他很熟吗?”　“是的。认识很久了。我挺相信他。” 　　“也相信他的话?”，“对，老弟。这个巴勃罗现在可变坏了,你看得出来。”“该怎么办才好呢?”“应该时刻有人看守着。” 　　“你。我。那女人和奥古斯丁。因为他看到了危险。”“你从前就知道这里的情况这祥糟吗?”。”“不。”安塞尔莫说。“不过箱得很快。然而到这里来是必要的。这是巴勃罗和　聋子’的地段。在他们的地段上，我们不得不踉他们打交道,除非我们有力量单干。”“那么'聋子，这个人呢?” 　　“很好。“安塞尔莫说，“好的程度就象另一个坏的程度一 样。“ 　　“你现在认为他真是坏人了?” 　　“整个下午我都在想这事，既然我们听到了种种情况，我现在认为他确实坏了。真的坏。” 　　“我们是不是推说要炸另一座桥，现在就离开这里，到别的几帮那里去找人更好些?” 　　“不。”安塞尔莫说。“这里是他的地段。你的一举一动他不会不知道。可是我们办事要多加小心。”

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，那是裹在睡袋里的；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。那姑娘晚在她身旁，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。“他叫那姑娘,“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。但她这时对那姑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,好孩子舸，你怎么碰到了这种倒霉事儿?”她用自己那洪亮的声音说。接着再学衰弱的声音，“没什么，太太。比拉尔，没什么。本来不会出这种事的。我顺顺当当地剌死了它，你知道。谁都没有我利索。我干净利落地把它杀了,它呢,死定啦儿摇猫晃晃的，支撑不住自身的重量，眼看就要栽倒了。我从它身边走开,祺样挺神气，挺帅，哪知道，它从背后把角捅进我的屁股，从肚皮上截了出来。”她不再学斗牛士那简直象女人一觖柔弱的声音了，哈哈大笑起来，接着又声音洪亮地说话了。“你扯什么安全明　我和天下三个收入最少的斗牛士待过九年，还不知道什么叫恐惧、什么叫安全吗？跟我讲什么事都行，可别讲安全。而你呀。我是一门心思指垫你干番大事,现在可落得这样的下场　打了一年仗,你就变成了懒鬼、酒鬼、胆小鬼。” 　　“你没权利这样说话。“巴勃罗说。“尤其在大家面前，在陌生人面前。“ 　　“我就是要这样说话，”巴勃罗的老婆接着说。“你听到没有?你以为这里还是你作主?” 　　“对，”巴勃罗说。“这里我作主。” 　　“没的事，”那妇人说。“这里我作主　你们大伙听到了没有？这里除了我没有别人能作主。你要愿意,可以待着，吃你的饭，喝你的酒，可不能不要命似的喝那么多。你要愿意,可以于一部分活。可这里我作主。“ 　　“我该把你和这个外国佬一起毙了。”巴勃罗阴沉地说。“试试看，”那妇人说。“看看会怎么样。““给我来杯水。”罗伯特　乔丹说，跟睛仍然盯着这个脸色阴沉而脑袋笨重的汉子和那个自嶔而信心十足地站着的女人，她拿着一把大汤匙，威风凜凜地仿佛拿的是指挥棒。” 　　“玛丽亚，”巴勃罗的老婆喊道，等姑娘进了门，她说。”拿水给这位同志。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹伸手去掏扁酒瓶，他一边拿出瓶子，一边松幵熗套里的手熗，把它在联带上转过来顶着大鼯根。他再往杯子里倒了点艾酒，端起姑娘簪他嬝来的那杯水，开始-滴一满地倒在酒杯里。姑娘站在他身边望着他。 　　“到外面去，”巴勃罗的老婆对她说，用汤匙朝外面指指。〃外面冷哪。”姑娘说，脸颊挨近了罗伯特　乔丹的脸，注视着杯子里面的液体逐渐变得混浊　 　　“兴许是吧，”巴勃罗的老婆说。“不过这里可太热了。”她換着亲切地说。”要不了多久啦。”姑娘摇摇头,出去了。 　　罗伯特　乔丹暗自思忖。”我看他就要按捺不住了。”他一手握着杯子,一手毫不掩饰地放在手熗上。他已经打开了保险拴，抚摩着原先有小方格、现在几乎已磨平的熗抦，摸着鬪圆的冰凉的扳机护圈，一种舒适的伴侣感油然而生。巴勃罗不再望着他了，只望着那妇人，她接着说，“听我说，酒鬼。你明白这里是谁作主吗?” “我作主。” “不。听着。把你那毛耳朵里的耳垢掏掉。好好听着。”我作主” 　　巴勃罗望着她，从他的脸上“点看不出他在想些什么。他故意直勾勾地望着她，接着望望桌子对面的罗伯特。乔丹。他若有所思地看了他好久,接着又回头望者那妇人。 　　“行呀。你作主。“他说。“你愿意的话，他作主也行。”你们两个见鬼去吧。”他正睬望着那妇人的脸，他既没被她镇住，似乎也没受她多大的影响。“我或许是慷，酒喝得太多。你可以把我当胆小鬼，不过这一点你错了。我可不是傻瓜。”他停了一会。“你想作主，你也審欢作主。那好,你既然作主,又是女当家,就该给我们摘些吃的了。“ 　　“玛丽亚，”巴勃罗的老婆喊道。姑娘从山洞口的毯子边探头进来。“进来侍候吃晚饭。” 　　姑娘走进来，走到炉灶边的矮桌前，端起一些搪瓷琬，放到 　　“红酒够大家喝的，”巴勃罗的老婆对罗伯特　乔丹说。“别 理会那酒鬼的话。喝完了这些酒，我们可以再搞一些。喝掉你那怪东西，来一杯红酒吧。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹一口干了最后一点艾酒，由于这样一饮而尽，觉得一股暖和、滋润、冒出浓烈气味、产生化学变化的细细的热流在他肚子里直泻而下，他递过杯子去要红酒。姑娘微笑着给他舀得满满的。 　　“呃，你去看过桥了？”吉普赛人问。刚才摊牌表态后还没开琿口的人，现在都凑过来听- 　　“是呀，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“这件事不难干。要我讲给你们听吗？” 　　“好，伙计。挺有兴趣。” 　　罗伯特。乔丹从衬衫袋里掏出笔记本，给他们看草图。“瞧这桥的样儿，”那个名叫普里米蒂伏的扁脸汉子说。“画得真象。” 　　罗伯特。乔丹用铅笔尖指着1讲解如何炸桥的方法，为什么要那样安放炸药包的原因。 　　“真简单极了，”两兄弟中脸上有刀疤的那个说，他名叫安德烈斯。“那你怎样引爆这些炸药包呢?” 　　罗伯特　乔丹又作了解释。他给他们讲解着,发觉那姑娘在旁边望着,手臂搁在他肩膀上。巴勃罗的老婆也在看着。只有巴勃罗不感兴趣，用杯子在大缸里又舀满了酒，坐在一旁独酌。大，“里辟酒是玛丽亚从挂在山洞进口左侧的皮酒袋里倒出来的。“这种事你干得很多吗?”姑娘悄声问罗伯特　乔丹。“对。” 　　“我们可以去看炸桥吗。““可以。于吗不。“ 　　“你会看到的，”巴勃罗在桌子的那头说。“我相信你会看到的,“ 　　“闭嘴，”巴勃罗的老婆对他说。她突然想起下午在手掌上看到的预兆，猛的冒出一股无名之火。“闭嘴，胆小鬼。闭嘴，不祥的老鸦。闭嘴,亡命之徒。” 　　“好，”巴勃罗说。“我闭嘴。现在作主的是你，你只顾自得其乐吧。不过别忘了，我可不是傻瓜。” 　　巴勃罗的老婆感到自己的愤怒变成了优伤，感到受到了挫折，丧失了一切希望，前途茫茫。当她还是小姑娘的时候，她就体会过这种心情，她一生中一直知道产生这种心情的来源。现在突然又出现了这种心情，她把它置之脑后，不让它影响她，既不让它影畹她，也不让它影响共和国,于是她说。”我们现在来吃吧。把锅里的菜盛在碗里，玛丽亚。“

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。在星光中,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，接着那光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，在星光下,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。 　　他眼睛习愤了星光，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，那姑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。我们管禪面黄、金两色的老旗子叫做脓和血，加上紫色的共和国国旗，我们管它叫 做血、脓和高镇敢钾。那是开玩笑。” 　　“他是共产党，”玛丽亚说。“他们是很严肃的人。“你是共产党吗?”“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。”“美国是共和分子的国家，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。“ 　　“我祖父是共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，那姑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。我们管禪面黄、金两色的老旗子叫做脓和血，加上紫色的共和国国旗，我们管它叫 做血、脓和高镇敢钾。那是开玩笑。” 　　“他是共产党，”玛丽亚说。“他们是很严肃的人。“你是共产党吗?”“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。”“美国是共和分子的国家，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。“ 　　“我祖父是共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。” 　　“可是我从没吻过任何人。”〃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。” 　　“可是我从没吻过任何人。”〃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 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，发现那姑娘还在，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，吻吻她那光滑的肩膀。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。”为什么不会呢？以前每次进攻他们不是事先都知道的吗？ 　　“你说他们看到了马吗？”巴勃罗问。“人家不是来找马的，”罗伯特“乔丹说。“不过，他们看到没有?”“没有，除菲他们是奉命来找马的。” ①这些地方都在马德里西北，政府军在瓜达拉马山脉下的防线的后方 　 　　”他们能看到吗?” 　　“可能不会吧，“　罗伯特。乔丹说。“除非那时太阳光正照在树上。” 　　“树上很早就有太阳光，”巴勃罗伤心地说。“我看，人家还有别的事要考虑，不光是为了你的马吧，”罗伯特　乔丹说， 　　他按下耖针卡子后已经过了八分钟，但仍然没有轰炸的声音. 　　“你用表干吗?”那妇人问。“我要推算飞机飞到哪儿去了。“ 　　“哦，”她说。等到过了十分钟，他不再看表了，因为他知道,飞机这时已经太远，即使假定声波传来得花一分钟也不会听到了，他对安塞尔莫说,“我想跟你谈谈。“ 　　安塞尔莫从洞口出来，两人走出不远，在一棵松树边停了步。 　　“情况怎么样?”罗伯特　乔丹问他-“很好。““你吃了吗?”“没有。谁也没吃过。” 　　“那么去吃吧。再带些中午吃的干粮。我要你去守望公路、路上来往的车辆人马都要记下来，”〃我不会写字。” 　　“不霈要写，”罗伯特　乔丹从笔记本上掮下两张纸，用刀把自己的铅笔截下一段。”“把这个带着，用这个记号代表坦克。”他画了一辆嵌斜的坦克。“每见一辆坦克就划一道，划了四道之后，看见第五辆就在四条线上横划一道。” 　　“我们也是这样记数的。” 　　“好。卡车用另一个记号，两个轮子和一个方块。空车，画个圆圈。装满部队的，画条直线。炮也要记。大的这样。小的这样。汽车这样记。救护车这样记。两个轮子和一个方块，上面画一个十字。成队的步兵按连记算，做这样的记号,懂吗？一个小方块，然后在旁边画一条线。骑兵的记号是这样的，懂吗？象匹马。一个方块加四条腿。”这记号代表二十个骑兵一队。你懂吗？每一队画一道线。　“懂了。这办法真妙。” 　　“还有，”他画了两个大轮子，周围画上几个圉，再画了一条短线,算是炮筒。“这是反坦克炮。有胶皮轮子的。记下来。这是高射炮，”他画了向上翘的炮筒和两个轮子。“也记下来。你懂了吗？你见过这种炮吗?” 　　“见过，”安塞尔莫说。“当然啦。很清楚。”“带吉普赛人一起去，让他知道你守望的地点，以便派人跟你换班。挑一个安全而不太近公路的地点，可以舒舒服服地看个清楚。要待到换你下来的时候。“我懂了, 　　“好。还有,回来后要让我知道公路上的一切调动情况。一张纸上记去的动静，一张纸上记来的动静。〃他们向山洞走去。 　　“叫拉斐尔到我这里来。”罗伯特　乔丹说，在树边站住了等着。他望着安塞尔莫进入山洞，门毯在他身后落下。吉普赛人一摇一摆地走出来，用手擦着嘴巴。 　　“你好，”吉普赛人说。“昨晚玩得好吗。“私我睡得好, 　　“不坏，”吉普赛人笑嘻喀地说。“有烟吗？”“听着，”罗伯特　乔丹一面说，一面在衣袋里掏烟卷。“我要你跟安塞尔莫到一个地方去，他去观察公路。你就在那里和他分手，记住那地点，以便过后可以领我或别的换班的人到那儿去。然后你再到一个可以观察锯木厂的地方，注意那边的哨所有没有变化。”“什么变化?”“那里现在有多少人?”“八个。这是我最后了解的情况。”“去看看现在有多少。看看那边桥头的哨兵间隔多久换一次岗。” 　　“间隔” 　　“哨兵值一班要几小时,什么时候换岗。“我没有表。” 　　“把我的拿去。”他解下手表。 　　“多好的表啊。“拉斐尔羡慕地说。“你看它多复杂。这样的表准会读会写。看上面的字码密密麻麻的。这样一块表把别的表全比下去啦。” 　　“别瞎摆弄　罗伯特，乔丹说。“你会看表吗？”“干吗不会？中午十二点。肚子饿，半夜十二点。睡觉。早上六点，肚子饿。晚上六点，喝得醉醣醺。运气好的话。夜里十点一“ 　　“闭嘴。“罗伯特　乔丹说。“你用不着这样油腔滑调。我要你监视大桥边的哨兵和公路下段的哨所，就象监视银木。一边的哨所和小桥边的哨兵一样。” 　　“活儿可不少栴，”吉普赛人笑喀喀地说。“你一定要我去,不能派别人吗？” 　　“不能，拉斐尔。这个工作很重要。你必须小心谨慎，注意不要暴露。” 　　“我相信不会暴露的，”吉普赛人说。“你干吗叫我不要暴露？你以为我乐意给人打死吗。” 　　“认真一点，”罗伯特”乔丹说。“这不是闹着玩的。”　　“你昨晚干了好事，现在却叫我认真一点？你原该杀一个人,可你干出了什么事来着？你原该杀一个人，可不是造一个人哪！我们刚看到满天飞机，多得可以前把我们祖宗三代,后把我们没出娘胎的孙子，加上猫儿、山羊、臭虫统统杀死。飞机飞过遮黑了天，声音象狮子吼，晌得能叫你老娘奶子里的奶汁都结成硬块，你却叫我认真一点。我已经太认真啦。〃 　　“好吧，”罗伯特　乔丹说着笑了，把手放在吉普赛人的肩上。“那么就太认真吧。现在吃完早饭就走。” 　　“那你呢，”吉普赛人问。“你干什么事?”“我去看‘聋子’。” 　　“来了这些飞机，你在整个山区很可能一个人也见不到了。”吉普赛人说。“今早飞机飞过时,一定有很多人在冒大汗哪。” 　　 　　“那些飞机可不是专来捜索游击队的。” 　　“对，”吉普赛人说，然后摇摇头。“不过，等人家打算这么干的时候就糟啦。” 　　“没的事。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“那是德国最好的轻型轰炸机。人家不会派这些飞机来对付吉普赛人的。” 　　“这些飞机把我吓怕了，”拉斐尔说。“可不，我就怕这些东 西。” 　　“它们是去轰炸飞机场的，”他们走进山洞时,罗伯特，乔丹对他说。“我可以肯定是去轰炸飞机场的。” 　　“你说什么？”巴勃罗的老婆问。她替他倒了一大杯咖啡，还递给他一罐炼乳。 　　“还有牛奶？真豪华啊。” 　　“什么都不缺。”她说。“来了飞机，大家很怕。你刚才说它们飞到哪儿去?” 　　罗伯特　乔丹从罐头顶上凿开的一道缝里倒了些稠厚的炼乳在咖啡里,在杯口刮千净罐头边的炼乳，把咖啡搅成了淡褐色。“我看他们是去轰炸飞机场的。也许去埃斯科里亚尔和科尔梅那尔。也许这三个地方都去。” 　　“那样要飞很远路，不应该到这里来，”巴勃罗说。“那么他们干吗现在到这里来呢？”那妇人问，“现在来干什么？我们从没见过这样的飞机。也没见过这么多，上面准备发动进攻吗?” 　　“昨晚公路上有什么动静?”罗伯特　乔丹问。那姑娘玛丽亚就挨在他身边,但他没对她看。 　　“你。”妇人说。“费尔南多。你昨晚在拉格兰哈。那边有啥动静?” 　　“没动静，”回答的是个三十五岁左右的矮个子，表情坦率，一只眼睛有点斜视,罗伯特　乔丹以前没见过他。“还是老祥子,有几辆卡车。几辆汽车。我在那里的时候，没有部队调动。”“你每天晚上都到拉格兰哈去吗?”罗伯特　乔丹问他。“我，或者另一个人，”费尔南多说。“总有一个人去。”“他们去探听消息。去买烟草。买些零星东西，”妇人说。“那儿有我们的人吗？” 　　“有，怎么会没有？在发电。“干洁的工人。另外还有一些人？“ 　　“有什么新闻？” 　　“没有。什么新闻也没有。北方的情况仍旧很糟。这不算新闻了。北方哪，从开始到现在一直就糟①，”“你听到塞哥维亚有什么消息?”“没有，伙计。我没问。”“你去塞哥维亚吗？” 　　“有时去,费尔南多说。“不过有危险。那里有检查站，要查身份证。” 　　“你了解飞机场的情况吗。” 　　“不，伙计。我知道机场在哪儿，不过从没走近过。那里身份证查得很严。” 　　“昨晚没人谈起飞机吗？” 　　“在拉格兰哈吗？没有。伹是他们今晚当然要谈论了。他们谈过基卜　德籾亚诺②的。”播。没别的了。唔，还有。看样子共和国在准备发动一次进攻。”“看样子怎么？” 　　“共和国在准备发动“次进攻，““在哪里?” 　　“不明确。说不定在这里。说不定在瓜达拉马山区的另外 ①　　内战一爆发，西北部即陷入叛军之手，北部沿比斯开海一狭长地带仍忠于共和国，东起法西边界上的伊伦，西止阿斯图里亚斯的吉洪港。一九三七年四月，叛军主将莫拉将军再次发动进攻，从六月十九日攻陷防守坚固的毕尔巴鄂港起一直到十月二十一日进入吉洪港为止，全部占领了共和国这一地带。 ②基卜　德利亚诺　；西班牙将军，在内战期间为佛朗哥的叛军主持传播宣抟工作。 　　”一个地方。你听到过没有？” 　　“在拉格兰哈是这么传说的吗?” 　　“是呀，伙计。我把这个消息忘了。不过关于进攻的传说一直很多。” 　　“这话从哪儿传来的？” 　　“哪儿？噢，从各种各样的人的嘴里。塞哥维亚和阿维拉的咖啡馆里军官都在讲，侍者听到啦。谣言就传幵来。‘些时候以来，他们在说共和国在这些地区要发动一次进攻。”“是共和国，还是法西斯分子发动?”“是共和国。要是法西斯分子发动进攻，大家都会知道的。可不,这次进攻规模不小。有人说分两处进行。一处是这里，另一处在埃斯科里亚尔附近的狮子山那边；你听说过这消息吗？”“你还听到什么?” 　　“没有了。唔，还有。有些人说,要是发动进攻，共和国打算炸桥。不过每痤桥都有人防守。“ 　　“你在开玩笑吧?”罗伯特’乔丹说，啜饮着咖啡。“不，伙计，”费尔南多说。 　　“他这人不开玩笑，”那妇人说。“倒霉的是他不开玩笑。”“那好，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“谢谢你报告了这些情況。没听到别的了吗？” 　　“没有啦。大家象往常一样讲到要派军队到山里来扫荡。还有的说，军队巳经出动了。他们已经从瓦利阿多里德开拔了。不过总是那么说。不值得理会。” 　　“可你。”巴勃罗的老婆简直恶狠狠地对巴勃罗说，“还说什 么安全。” 　　巴勃罗沉思地望着她，搔搔下巴。“你呀，”他说。“你的桥。” 　　“什么桥?”费尔南多兴高采烈地问。“蠢货，”妇人对他说。“笨蛋。再喝杯咖啡，使劲想想还有什么新闻。” 　　“别生气，比拉尔，”费尔南多平静而髙兴地说。〃听到了谣言也不必大惊小怪。我记得的全告诉了你和这位同志啦。”“你不记得还有什么别的了？”罗伯特　乔丹问。“没有了。”费尔南多一本正经地说。“还算运气，我没忘记这些，因为都不过是谣言,我一点也没放在心上“那么，还可能有别的谣言吧?” 　　“是。可能有。不过我没留心。一年来，我听到的尽是谣 言。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹听到站在他背后的姑娘忍不住嗤的一声笑出 来。 　　“再跟我们讲个谣言吧，小费尔南多。”她说，接着笑得两肩直颤。 　　“即使记起来也不说了。”费尔南多说。“听了谣言还当桩大事的人太差劲了。” 　　“不过我们了解了情况能救共和国。”那妇人说。“不。，炸了桥才能救共和国，”巴勃罗对她说。“走吧　罗伯特　乔丹对安塞尔莫和拉斐尔说。“如果你们已经吃过饭的话。” 　　“我们这就走。”老头儿说着,他们俩就站起身来。罗伯特，乔丹觉得有人把手按在他肩膀上。那是玛丽亚。“你该吃饭了，”她说，手仍搁在肩上。“好好吃,让你的肚子顶得住更多的谣言。”“谣言把我肚子填饱了。” 　　“不。不该这样。在听到更多的谣言之前，先把这些吃下去。”她把碗放在他面前。 　　“别取笑我，”费尔南多对她说。“我是你的好朋友，玛丽亚。”“我不是取笑你，费尔南多。我只是在跟他开玩笑，他不吃要肚子饿的。” 　　“我们大家都该吃了，”费尔南多说。“比拉尔，怎么啦，没给我们端来吃的？〃 　　“没什么，伙计，”巴勃罗的老婆说着,在他碗里盛满了炖肉。　　“吃吧。是啊，那是你的。现在吃吧。” 　　“好极啦，比拉尔，“。南多依旧一本正经地说。 　　“谢谢你，”妇人说。“谢谢你,多谢了。” 　　“你生我的气吗？”费尔南多问。“没有。吃。赶紧吃吧。” 　　“我吃，”费尔南多说。“谢谢你。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹望着玛丽亚,她的双肩又开始颤动了，她就把眼晴望着别处。费尔南多吃得兴致勃勃，脸上一副骄傲而正经的样子，即使他用着一把特大汤匙，嘴角边淌着一点儿炖肉汁，也没影响他的正经模样。 　　“你爱吃这东西吗？”巴勃罗的老婆问他。 　　“是啊，比拉尔。”他说，嘴里塞得满满的。“还是老样子。” 　　罗伯特‘乔丹感觉到玛丽亚伸手搁在他手臂上，感觉到她乐得用手指紧捏着他。 　　“就为了字等　，你才爱吃吗?”妇人问费尔南多。“是晡“我明白了。炖肉；老样子。北方情况很糟；老样子。这里准备发动进攻1老样子。部队来搜索我们；老样子。你这个人可以当做老样子立脾坊了。”“可是后两件事只是谣言，比拉尔。” 　　“西班牙啊，”巴勃罗的老婆尖刻地说。然后转向罗伯特　乔丹。“别的国家里有象这样的人吗？” 　　“没有别的国家象西班牙一样，”罗伯特　乔丹有礼貌地说。“你说得对。”费尔南多说。“世界上没有一个国家象西班 牙。” 　　“你到过别的国家吗？”妇人问他。“没有，”费尔南多说，“我也不想去。”“你明白了吧？”巴勃罗的老婆对罗伯特、乔丹说。“小费尔南多，”玛丽亚对他说，“给我们讲讲你在瓦伦西亚的情况吧。” 　　“我不喜欢瓦伦西亚。”1“为什么?”玛丽亚问，又捏捏罗伯特，乔丹的手臂。“你千吗不爱瓦伦西亚?” 　　“那里的人没有礼貌，我听不懂他们的话。他们老是冲着彼此大声嚷嚷:喂，喂1”“他们懂你的话吗？”“他们假装不懂，”费尔南多说，“你在那里干什么, 　　“我连海都没看就走了，”费尔南多说。“我不喜欢那里的 人。” 　　“呸,滚到别地方去，你这个老姑娘，”巴勃罗的老婆说。“滚到别地方去，别叫我恶心啦。我这辈子最好的日子是在瓦伦西亚过的。可不是吗！瓦伦西亚。别跟我讲瓦伦西亚。”“你在那里做什么？”玛丽亚问。 　　巴勃罗的老婆端了碗咖啡、一块面包和一碗炖肉，在桌边坐。 　　“什么？不是我，而是我们在那里做什么。菲尼托订了个合同，在那边过节的期间斗三场牛,我就去那里。我从没见过那么多人。我从没见过那么挤的啪啡馆。等几个小时也没有座位，电车也没法上得去。瓦伦西亚一天到晚热热闹闹，““那么你做些什么呢?”玛丽亚问。 　　“挪样没玩过？”妇人说。“我们去海滩，躺在海水里，张着帆的船用牛从海里拉上来。牛被赶到海里，它们只得游水1然后把牛拴在船头上，它们站住了脚，就摇摇晃晃地在沙滩上走上来。早燥一阵阵细浪拍打着海滩，十对同轭的牛拖一条张了帆的船。那就是瓦伦西亚。” 　　“你除了看牛，还玩些什么？” 　　“我们在沙滩上的凉亭里吃东西。有鱼肉馅儿饼，有红椒、青椒，还有米粒那么大的小榛子。饼子又香又薄，鱼肉鲜极了。海里捞上来的新鲜明虾浇上酸橙汁。虾肉是粉红色的,味儿真美,一只要咬四口才吃光。这玩意儿我们吃得不少。我们还吃什锦饭，配鲜海味，带壳给蜊、淡莱、小龙虾和小线鱼。我们还吃到小不点儿的淸炸鳗鱼，小得象豆芽，弯弯曲曲盘成一团，嫩得不用嚼，到嘴里就化掉。老是喝一种白酒，冰凉，爽口，真棒，三毛钱一瓶。最后吃甜瓜。那里盛产甜瓜。” 　　“卡斯蒂尔的甜瓜更好，”费尔南多说。“什么话。”巴勃罗的老婆说。 　　“卡斯蒂尔的甜瓜细得象鸡巴。瓦伦西亚的甜瓜才是可吃的。回想起来，那些瓜有人的胳臂那么长,绿得象海水，一刀切下去，绷脆绷脆的，汁水又多，比复天的清早更甜美。唉，我想起了盆子里盘成一堆的小不点儿的鲜嫩的鳗鱼啦。还有，整个下午喝大杯的啤酒，冰凉的啤酒盛在水罐那么大的杯子里，杯子外面都凝着水珠。” 　　“那么你不吃不喝的时候，干什么呢?” 　　“我们在屋里睡觉，阳台上挂着细木条编的帘子，小风从弹簧门顶上的气窗里吹进来。我们在那里睡觉,放下了帘子,屋里白天也是暗的。街上飘来花市上的香味和爆竹的火药味。在过节期间，每天中午放爆竹，爆竹拴在沿街的绳子上，满城都有，爆竹用药线连起来，顺着电线杆、电车线一个挨一个地炸晌，声音可大哪，劈劈啪啪,简直没法想象。“ 　　“我们睡觉，然后再要了一大罐啤酒，凉得玻璃外面都凝结着水珠，女侍者把啤酒端来时，我在门口接，我把冰凉的玻璃雉贴在菲尼托背上，他已经睡着了，啤酒拿来时也没醒。这时，他说了”别，比拉尔。别这样，太太，让我睡呀。’我说，‘好啦，醒醒吧,你喝这个，有多凉啊，’他眼睛也不睁开就喝了，喝了又睡；我在床脚搁了个枕头,斜靠着，看他睡。他皮肤赭红、头发乌黑,那么年青，睡得那么安静。我把一雄全喝了，听着过路乐队的演奏，你呀。”她对巴勃罗说，“这种日子你经历过吗？” 　　“我们一起也痛快过，”巴勃罗说。 　　“不错，”妇人说。“当然啦。你当年比菲尼托更富有男子气。不过我们从没去过瓦伦西亚。我们从没在瓦伦西亚一起躺在床上听乐队在街上经过。” 　　“那是不可能的事，”巴勃罗对她说。“我们没机会去瓦伦西亚啊。你讲道理的话就能理解这一点了。不过，你和菲尼托没炸过火车。” 　　“不错，”妇人说。“炸火车是该我们干的事。炸火车。不错。开口闭口老是火车，谁也没法说不是。结果呢，是懒，死样怪气，完蛋了事。结果变成了现在这样胆怯。以前也千过不少别的好事，我说话要公平。不过同样，谁也不能说瓦伦西亚的不是。“ 　　”你听到我的活了？” 　　“我不喜欢瓦伦西亚，”费尔南多平静地说。“我不喜欢瓦伦西亚。” 　　“难怪人家说，驴子的倔脾气是改不过来的。”妇人说。“把桌子收拾干净,玛丽亚，我们准备上路。“ 　　她说这句话的时候，大家听到了第一批飞机返回的声音。

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。那姑娘怎么办？” 　　“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。”你们过了一晚，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。”

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.' So he walked down the line and pushed through to where Don Federico was standing and said, 'With your permission,' and hit him a great blow alongside of the head with a club. "Then Don Federico dropped his hands and put them over the top of his head where the bald place was and with his head bent and covered by his hands, the thin long hairs that covered the bald place escaping through his fingers, he ran fast through the double line With flails falling on his back and shoulders until he fell and those at the end of the line picked him up and swung him over the cliff. Never did he open his mouth from the moment he came out pushed by the shotgun of Pablo. His only difficulty was to move forward. It was as though he had no command of his legs. "After Don Federico, I saw there was a concentration of the hardest men at the end of the lines by the edge of the cliff and I left there and I went to the Arcade of the _Ayuntamiento_ and pushed aside two drunkards and looked in the window. In the big room of the _Ayuntamiento_ they were all kneeling in a half circle praying and the priest was kneeling and praying with them. Pablo and one named Cuatro Dedos, Four Fingers, a cobbler, who was much with Pablo then, and two others were standing with shotguns and Pablo said to the priest, 'Who goes now?' and the priest went on praying and did not answer him. "'Listen, you,' Pablo said to the priest in his hoarse voice, 'who goes now? Who is ready now?' "The priest would not speak to Pablo and acted as though he were not there and I could see Pablo was becoming very angry. "'Let us all go together,' Don Ricardo Montalvo, who was a land owner, said to Pablo, raising his head and stopping praying to speak. "'_Qu?va_,' said Pablo. 'One at a time as you are ready.' "'Then I go now,' Don Ricardo said. 'I'll never be any more ready.' The priest blessed him as he spoke and blessed him again as he stood up, without interrupting his praying, and held up a crucifix for Don Ricardo to kiss and Don Ricardo kissed it and then turned and said to Pablo, 'Nor ever again as ready. You _Cabron_ of the bad milk. Let us go.' "Don Ricardo was a short man with gray hair and a thick neck and he had a shirt on with no collar. He was bow-legged from much horseback riding. 'Good-by,' he said to all those who were kneeling. 'Don't be sad. To die is nothing. The only bad thing is to die at the hands of this _canalla_. Don't touch me,' he said to Pablo. 'Don't touch me with your shotgun.' "He walked out of the front of the _Ayuntamiento_ with his gray hair and his small gray eyes and his thick neck looking very short and angry. He looked at the double line of peasants and he spat on the ground. He could spit actual saliva which, in such a circumstance, as you should know, _Ingl廥_, is very rare and he said, '_Arriba Espana!_ Down with the miscalled Republic and I obscenity in the milk of your fathers.' "So they clubbed him to death very quickly because of the insult, beating him as soon as he reached the first of the men, beating him as he tried to walk with his head up, beating him until he fell and chopping at him with reaping hooks and the sickles, and many men bore him to the edge of the cliff to throw him over and there was blood now on their hands and on their clothing, and now began to be the feeling that these who came out were truly enemies and should be killed. "Until Don Ricardo came out with that fierceness and calling those insults, many in the line would have given much, I am sure, never to have been in the line. And if any one had shouted from the line, 'Come, let us pardon the rest of them. Now they have had their lesson,' I am sure most would have agreed. "But Don Ricardo with all his bravery did a great disservice to the others. For he aroused the men in the line and where, before, they were performing a duty and with no great taste for it, now they were angry, and the difference was apparent. "'Let the priest out and the thing will go faster,' some one shouted. "'Let out the priest.' "'We've had three thieves, let us have the priest.' "'Two thieves,' a short peasant said to the man who had shouted. 'It was two thieves with Our Lord.' "'Whose Lord?' the man said, his face angry and red. "'In the manner of speaking it is said Our Lord.' "'He isn't my Lord; not in joke,' said the other. 'And thee hadst best watch thy mouth if thou dost not want to walk between the lines.' "'I am as good a Libertarian Republican as thou,' the short peasant said. 'I struck Don Ricardo across the mouth. I struck Don Federico across the back. I missed Don Benito. But I say Our Lord is the formal way of speaking of the man in question and that it was two thieves.' "'I obscenity in the milk of thy Republicanism. You speak of Don this and Don that.' "'Here are they so called.' "'Not by me, the _cabrones_. And thy Lord-- Hi! Here comes a new one!' "It was then that we saw a disgraceful sight, for the man who walked out of the doorway of the _Ayuntamiento_ was Don Faustino Rivero, the oldest son of his father, Don Celestino Rivero, a land owner. He was tall and his hair was yellow and it was freshly combed back from his forehead for he always carried a comb in his pocket and he had combed his hair now before coming out. He was a great annoyer of girls, and he was a coward, and he had always wished to be an amateur bullfighter. He went much with gypsies and with builfighters and with bull raisers and delighted to wear the Andalucian costume, but he had no courage and was considered a joke. One time he was announced to appear in an amateur benefit fight for the old people's home in Avila and to kill a bull from on horseback in the Andalucian style, which he had spent much time practising, and when he had seen the size of the bull that had been substituted for him in place of the little one, weak in the legs, he had picked out himself, he had said he was sick and, some said, put three fingers down his throat to make himself vomit. "When the lines saw him, they commenced to shout, '_Hola_, Don Faustino. Take care not to vomit.' "'Listen to me, Don Faustino. There are beautiful girls over the cliff.' "'Don Faustino. Wait a minute and we will bring out a bull bigger than the other.' "And another shouted, 'Listen to me, Don Faustino. Hast thou ever heard speak of death?' "Don Faustino stood there, still acting brave. He was still under the impulse that had made him announce to the others that he was going out. It was the same impulse that had made him announce himself for the bullfight. That had made him believe and hope that he could be an amateur matador. Now he was inspired by the example of Don Ricardo and he stood there looking both handsome and brave and he made his face scornful. But he could not speak. "'Come, Don Faustino,' some one called from the line. 'Come, Don Faustino. Here is the biggest bull of all.' "Don Faustino stood looking out and I think as he looked, that there was no pity for him on either side of the line. Still he looked both handsome and superb; but time was shortening and there was only one direction to go. "'Don Faustino,' some one called. 'What are you waiting for, Don Faustino?' "'He is preparing to vomit,' some one said and the lines laughed. "'Don Faustino,' a peasant called. 'Vomit if it will give thee pleasure. To me it is all the same.' "Then, as we watched, Don Faustino looked along the lines and across the square to the cliff and then when he saw the cliff and the emptiness beyond, he turned quickly and ducked back toward the entrance of the _Ayuntamiento_. "All the lines roared and some one shouted in a high voice, 'Where do you go, Don Faustino? Where do you go?' "'He goes to throw up,' shouted another and they all laughed again. "Then we saw Don Faustino coming out again with Pablo behind him with the shotgun. All of his style was gone now. The sight of the lines had taken away his type and his style and he came out now with Pablo behind him as though Pablo were cleaning a Street and Don Faustino was what he was pushing ahead of him. Don Faustino came out now and he was crossing himself and praying and then he put his hands in front of his eyes and walked down the steps toward the lines. "'Leave him alone,' some one shouted. 'Don't touch him.' "The lines understood and no one made a move to touch Don Faustino and, with his hands shaking and held in front of his eyes, and with his mouth moving, he walked along between the lines. "No one said anything and no one touched him and, when he was halfway through the lines, he could go no farther and fell to his knees. "No one struck him. I was walking along parallel to the line to see what happened to him and a peasant leaned down and lifted him to his feet and said, 'Get up, Don Faustino, and keep walking. The bull has not yet come out.' "Don Faustino could not walk alone and the peasant in a black smock helped him on one side and another peasant in a black smock and herdsman's boots helped him on the other, supporting him by the arms and Don Faustino walking along between the lines with his hands over his eyes, his lips never quiet, and his yellow hair slicked on his head and shining in the sun, and as he passed the peasants would say, 'Don Faustino, _buen provecho_. Don Faustino, that you should have a good appetite,' and others said, 'Don Faustino, _a sus ordenes_. Don Faustino at your orders,' and one, who had failed at bullfighting himself, said, 'Don Faustino. _Matador, a sus ordenes_,' and another said, 'Don Faustino, there are beautiful girls in heaven, Don Faustino.' And they walked Don Faustino through the lines, holding him close on either side, holding him up as he walked, with him with his hands over his eyes. But he must have looked through his fingers, because when they came to the edge of the cliff with him, he knelt again, throwing himself down and clutching the ground and holding to the grass, saying, 'No. No. No. Please. NO. Please. Please. No. No.' "Then the peasants who were with him and the others, the hard ones of the end of the line, squatted quickly behind him as he knelt, and gave him a rushing push and he was over the edge without ever having been beaten and you heard him crying loud and high as he fell. "It was then I knew that the lines had become cruel and it was first the insults of Don Ricardo and second the cowardice of Don Faustino that had made them so. "'Let us have another,' a peasant called out and another peasant slapped him on the back and said, 'Don Faustino! What a thing! Don Faustino!' "'He's seen the big bull now,' another said. 'Throwing up will never help him, now.' "'In my life,' another peasant said, 'in my life I've never seen a thing like Don Faustino.' "'There are others,' another peasant said. 'Have patience. Who knows what we may yet see?' "'There may be giants and dwarfs,' the first peasant said. 'There may be Negroes and rare beasts from Africa. But for me never, never will there be anything like Don Faustino. But let's have another one! Come on. Let's have another one!' "The drunkards were handing around bottles of anis and cognac that they had looted from the bar of the club of the fascists, drinking them down like wine, and many of the men in the lines were beginning to be a little drunk, too, from drinking after the strong emotion of Don Benito, Don Federico, Don Ricardo and especially Don Faustino. Those who did not drink from the bottles of liquor were drinking from leather wineskins that were passed about and one handed a wineskin to me and I took a long drink, letting the wine run cool down my throat from the leather _bota_ for I was very thirsty, too. "'To kill gives much thirst,' the man with the wineskin said to me. "'_Qu?va_,' I said. 'Hast thou killed?' "'We have killed four,' he said, proudly. 'Not counting the _civiles_. Is it true that thee killed one of the _civiles_, Pilar?' "'Not one,' I said. 'I shot into the smoke when the wall fell, as did the others. That is all.' "'Where got thee the pistol, Pilar?' "'From Pablo. Pablo gave it to me after he killed the _civiles_.' "'Killed he them with this pistol?' "'With no other,' I said. 'And then he armed me with it.' "'Can I see it, Pilar? Can I hold it?' "'Why not, man?' I said, and I took it out from under the rope and handed it to him. But I was wondering why no one else had come out and just then who should come out but Don Guillermo Martin from whose store the flails, the herdsman's clubs, and the wooden pitchforks had been taken. Don Guillermo was a fascist but otherwise there Was nothing against him. "It is true he paid little to those who made the flails but he charged little for them too and if one did not wish to buy flails from Don Guillermo, it was possible to make them for nothing more than the cost of the wood and the leather. He had a rude way of speaking and he was undoubtedly a fascist and a member of their club and he sat at noon and at evening in the cane chairs of their club to read _El Debate_, to have his shoes shined, and to drink vermouth and seltzer and eat roasted almonds, dried shrimps, and anchovies. But one does not kill for that, and I am sure if it had not been for the insults of Don Ricardo Montalvo and the lamentable spectacle of Don Faustino, and the drinking consequent on the emotion of them and the others, some one would have shouted, 'That Don Guillermo should go in peace. We have his flails. Let him go.' "Because the people of this town are as kind as they can be cruel and they have a natural sense of justice and a desire to do that which is right. But cruelty had entered into the lines and also drunkenness or the beginning of drunkenness and the lines were not as they were when Don Benito had come out. I do not know how it is in other countries, and no one cares more for the pleasure of drinking than I do, but in Spain drunkenness, when produced by other elements than wine, is a thing of great ugliness and the people do things that they would not have done. Is it not so in your country, _Ingl廥?_" "It is so," Robert Jordan said. "When I was seven years old and going with my mother to attend a wedding in the state of Ohio at which I was to be the boy of a pair of boy and girl who carried flowers--" "Did you do that?" asked Maria. "How nice!" "In this town a Negro was hanged to a lamp post and later burned. It was an arc light. A light which lowered from the post to the pavement. And he was hoisted, first by the mechanism which was used to hoist the arc light but this broke--" "A Negro," Maria said. "How barbarous!" "Were the people drunk?" asked Pilar. "Were they drunk thus to burn a Negro?" "I do not know," Robert Jordan said. "Because I saw it only looking out from under the blinds of a window in the house which stood on the corner where the arc light was. The street was full of people and when they lifted the Negro up for the second time--" "If you had only seven years and were in a house, you could not tell if they were drunk or not," Pilar said. "As I said, when they lifted the Negro up for the second time, my mother pulled me away from the window, so I saw no more," Robert Jordan said. "But since I have had experiences which demonstrate that drunkenness is the same in my country. It is ugly and brutal." "You were too young at seven," Maria said. "You were too young for such things. I have never seen a Negro except in a circus. Unless the Moors are Negroes." "Some are Negroes and some are not," Pilar said. "I can talk to you of the Moors." "Not as I can," Maria said. "Nay, not as I can." "Don't speak of such things," Pilar said. "It is unhealthy. Where were we?" "Speaking of the drunkenness of the lines," Robert Jordan said. "Go on." "It is not fair to say drunkenness," Pilar said. "For, yet, they were a long way from drunkenness. But already there was a change in them, and when Don Guillermo came out, standing straight, near-sighted, gray-headed, of medium height, with a shirt with a collar button but no collar, standing there and crossing himself once and looking ahead, but seeing little without his glasses, but walking forward well and calmly, he was an appearance to excite pity. But some one shouted from the line, 'Here, Don Guillermo. Up here, Don Guillermo. In this direction. Here we all have your products.' "They had had such success joking at Don Faustino that they could not see, now, that Don Guillermo was a different thing, and if Don Guillermo was to be killed, he should be killed quickly and with dignity. "'Don Guillermo,' another shouted. 'Should we send to the house for thy spectacles?' "Don Guillermo's house was no house, since he had not much money and was only a fascist to be a snob and to console himself that he must work for little, running a wooden-implement shop. He was a fascist, too, from the religiousness of his wife which he accepted as his own due to his love for her. He lived in an apartment in the building three houses down the square and when Don Guillermo stood there, looking near-sightedly at the lines, the double lines he knew he must enter, a woman started to scream from the balcony of the apartment where he lived. She could see him from the balcony and she was his wife. "'Guillermo,' she cried. 'Guillermo. Wait and I will be with thee.' "Don Guillermo turned his head toward where the shouting came from. He could not see her. He tried to say something but he could not. Then he waved his hand in the direction the woman had called from and started to walk between the lines. "'Guillermo!' she cried. 'Guillermo! Oh, Guillermo!' She was holding her hands on the rail of the balcony and shaking back and forth. 'Guillermo!' "Don Guillermo waved his hand again toward the noise and walked into the lines with his head up and you would not have known what he was feeling except for the color of his face. "Then some drunkard yelled, 'Guillermo!' from the lines, imitating the high cracked voice of his wife and Don Guillermo rushed toward the man, blindly, with tears now running down his cheeks and the man hit him hard across the face with his flail and Don Guillermo sat down from the force of the blow and sat there crying, but not from fear, while the drunkards beat him and one drunkard jumped on top of him, astride his shoulders, and beat him with a bottle. After this many of the men left the lines and their places were taken by the drunkards who had been jeering and saying things in bad taste through the windows of the _Ayuntamiento_. "I myself had felt much emotion at the shooting of the _guardia civil_ by Pablo," Pilar said. "It was a thing of great ugliness, but I had thought if this is how it must be, this is how it must be, and at least there was no cruelty, only the depriving of life which, as we all have learned in these years, is a thing of ugliness but also a necessity to do if we are to win, and to preserve the Republic. "When the square had been closed off and the lines formed, I had admired and understood it as a conception of Pablo, although it seemed to me to be somewhat fantastic and that it would be necessary for all that was to be done to be done in good taste if it were not to be repugnant. Certainly if the fascists were to be executed by the people, it was better for all the people to have a part in it, and I wished to share the guilt as much as any, just as I hoped to share in the benefits when the town should be ours. But after Don Guillermo I felt a feeling of shame and distaste, and with the coming of the drunkards and the worthless ones into the lines, and the abstention of those who left the lines as a protest after Don Guillermo, I wished that I might disassociate myself altogether from the lines, and I walked away, across the square, and sat down on a bench under one of the big trees that gave shade there. "Two peasants from the lines walked over, talking together, and one of them called to me, 'What passes with thee, Pilar?' "'Nothing, man,' I told him. "'Yes,' he said. 'Speak. What passes.' "'I think that I have a belly-full,' I told him. "'Us, too,' he said and they both sat down on the bench. One of them had a leather wineskin and he handed it to me. "'Rinse out thy mouth,' he said and the other said, going on with the talking they had been engaged in, 'The worst is that it will bring bad luck. Nobody can tell me that such things as the killing of Don Guillermo in that fashion will not bring bad luck.' "Then the other said, 'If it is necessary to kill them all, and I am not convinced of that necessity, let them be killed decently and without mockery.' "'Mockery is justified in the case of Don Faustino,' the other said. 'Since he was always a farcer and was never a serious man. But to mock such a serious man as Don Guillermo is beyond all right.' "'I have a belly-full,' I told him, and it was literally true because I felt an actual sickness in all of me inside and a sweating and a nausea as though I had swallowed bad sea food. "'Then, nothing,' the one peasant said. 'We will take no further part in it. But I wonder what happens in the other towns.' "'They have not repaired the telephone wires yet,' I said. 'It is a lack that should be remedied.' "'Clearly,' he said. 'Who knows but what we might be better employed putting the town into a state of defense than massacring people with this slowness and brutality.' "'I will go to speak with Pablo, I told them and I stood up from the bench and started toward the arcade that led to the door of the _Ayuntamiento_ from where the lines spread across the square. The lines now were neither straight nor orderly and there was much and very grave drunkenness. Two men had fallen down and lay on their backs in the middle of the square and were passing a bottle back and forth between them. One would take a drink and then shout, '_Viva la Anarquia!_' lying on his back and shouting as though he were a madman. He had a red-and-black handkerchief around his neck. The other shouted, '_Viva la Libertad!_' and kicked his feet in the air and then bellowed, '_Viva Ia Libertad!_' again. He had a red-andblack handkerchief too and he waved it in one hand and waved the bottle with the other. "A peasant who had left the lines and now stood in the shade of the arcade looked at them in disgust and said, 'They should shout, "Long live drunkenness." That's all they believe in.' "'They don't believe even in that,' another peasant said. 'Those neither understand nor believe in anything.' "Just then, one of the drunkards got to his feet and raised both arms with his fists clenched over his head and shouted, 'Long live Anarchy and Liberty and I obscenity in the milk of the Republic!' "The other drunkard who was still lying on his back, took hold of the ankle of the drunkard who was shouting and rolled over so that the shouting drunkard fell with him, and they rolled over together and then sat up and the one who had pulled the other down put his arm around the shouter's neck and then handed the shouter a bottle and kissed the red-and-black handkerchief he wore and they both drank together. "Just then, a yelling went up from the lines and, looking up the arcade, I could not see who it was that was coming out because the man's head did not show above the heads of those crowded about the door of the _Ayuntamiento_. All I could see was that some one was being pushed out by Pablo and Cuatro Dedos with their shotguns but I could not see who it was and I moved on close toward the lines where they were packed against the door to try to see. "There was much pushing now and the chairs and the tables of the fascists' caf?had been overturned except for one table on which a drunkard was lying with his head hanging down and his mouth open and I picked up a chair and set it against one of the pillars and mounted on it so that I could see over the heads of the crowd. "The man who was being pushed out by Pablo and Cuatro Dedos was Don Anastasio Rivas, who was an undoubted fascist and the fattest man in the town. He was a grain buyer and the agent for several insurance companies and he also loaned money at high rates of interest. Standing on the chair, I saw him walk down the steps and toward the lines, his fat neck bulging over the back of the collar band of his shirt, and his bald head shining in the sun, but he never entered them because there was a shout, not as of different men shouting, but of all of them. It was an ugly noise and was the cry of the drunken lines all yelling together and the lines broke with the rush of men toward him and I saw Don Anastasio throw himself down with his hands over his head and then you could not see him for the men piled on top of him. And when the men got up from him, Don Anastasio was dead from his head being beaten against the stone flags of the paving of the arcade and there were no more lines but only a mob. "'We're going in,' they commenced to shout. 'We're going in after them.' "'He's too heavy to carry,' a man kicked at the body of Don Anastasio, who was lying there on his face. 'Let him stay there.' "'Why should we lug that tub of tripe to the cliff? Let him lie there.' "'We are going to enter and finish with them inside,' a man shouted. 'We're going in.' "'Why wait all day in the sun?' another yelled. 'Come on. Let us go.' "The mob was now pressing into the arcade. They were shouting and pushing and they made a noise now like an animal and they were all shouting 'Open up! Open up!' for the guards had shut the doors of the _Ayuntamiento_ when the lines broke. "Standing on the chair, I could see in through the barred window into the hail of the _Ayuntamiento_ and in there it was as it had been before. The priest was standing, and those who were left were kneeling in a half circle around him and they were all praying. Pablo was sitting on the big table in front of the Mayor's chair with his shotgun slung over his back. His legs were hanging down from the table and he was rolling a cigarette. Cuatro Dedos was sitting in the Mayor's chair with his feet on the table and he was smoking a cigarette. All the guards were sitting in different chairs of the administration, holding their guns. The key to the big door was on the table beside Pablo. "The mob was shouting, 'Open up! Open up! Open up!' as though it were a chant and Pablo was sitting there as though he did not hear them. He said something to the priest but I could not hear what he said for the noise of the mob. "The priest, as before, did not answer him but kept on praying. With many people pushing me, I moved the chair close against the wall, shoving it ahead of me as they shoved me from behind. I stood on the chair with my face close against the bars of the window and held on by the bars. A man climbed on the chair too and stood with his arms around mine, holding the wider bars. "'The chair will break,' I said to him. "'What does it matter?' he said. 'Look at them. Look at them pray.' "His breath on my neck smelled like the smell of the mob, sour, like vomit on paving stones and the smell of drunkenness, and then he put his mouth against the opening in the bars with his head over my shoulder, and shouted, 'Open up! Open!' and it was as though the mob were on my back as a devil is on your back in a dream. "Now the mob was pressed tight against the door so that those in front were being crushed by all the others who were pressing and from the square a big drunkard in a black smock with a red-and-black handkerchief around his neck, ran and threw himself against the press of the mob and fell forward onto the pressing men and then stood up and backed away and then ran forward again and threw himself against the backs of those men who were pushing, shouting, 'Long live me and long live Anarchy.' "As I watched, this man turned away from the crowd and went and sat down and drank from a bottle and then, while he was sitting down, he saw Don Anastasio, who was still lying face down on the stones, but much trampled now, and the drunkard got up and went over to Don Anastasio and leaned over and poured out of the bottle onto the head of Don Anastasio and onto his clothes, and then he took a matchbox out of his pocket and lit several matches, trying to make a fire with Don Anastasio. But the wind was blowing hard now and it blew the matches out and after a little the big drunkard sat there by Don Anastasio, shaking his head and drinking out of the bottle and every once in a while, leaning over and patting Don Anastasio on the shoulders of his dead body. "All this time the mob was shouting to open up and the man on the chair with me was holding tight to the bars of the window and shouting to open up until it deafened me with his voice roaring past my ear and his breath foul on me and I looked away from watching the drunkard who had been trying to set fire to Don Anastasio and into the hall of the _Ayuntamiento_ again; and it was just as it had been. They were still praying as they had been, the men all kneeling, with their shirts open, some with their heads down, others with their heads up, looking toward the priest and toward the crucifix that he held, and the priest praying fast and hard and looking Out over their heads, and in back of them Pablo, with his cigarette now lighted, was sitting there on the table swinging his legs, his shotgun slung over his back, and he was playing with the key. "I saw Pablo speak to the priest again, 第十章 “咱们歇歇，”比拉尔对罗伯特，乔丹说。“在这里坐下，玛丽亚，咱们躭一会儿。” “我们该继续赶路，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“咱们到了那里再休息。我必须见到这个人。” “你能见到的。”那妇人对他说。“不用着急。在这里坐下，玛丽亚。” “走吧，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“到山顶上再休息。” “我现在休息，”妇人说着在小溪边坐下了。姑娘挨着她坐在石南丛中，阳光照耀着她的头发。只有罗伯特　乔丹还站着，在这髙山上的草地上纵目远眺，草地上有道小溪，流贯其间，溪水里有鳟鱼。他站着的地方长着石南。比较低的草地上长着黄色的羊齿椬物，而不是石南；一块块灰色的大圆石兀立在羊齿丛中间，山坡下面是一排黑魆魆的松树。“到聋于那儿有多远？”他问 不远，“妇人说，”穿过这一片空地，走下前面那个山谷，到这小溪源头那片树林髙处就是。你坐下吧，别那么心事重重的。“ “我要见他，把事情安排好。” “我要洗脚。”妇人说着脱掉绳底鞋，拉下一只长统厚羊毛袜，就把右脚伸进溪水。“天哪，真冷。” “咱们骑马就好了，”罗伯特“乔丹对她说，”走走对我有好处，“妇人说。 “这是我一直想望的。你这是怎么啦？” “没什么，不过，我得赶紧。” “别着急。有的是时间。今天天气真好，离开了松林心里真痛快。一个人会觉得松树讨厌，你哪里想得到。你不讨厌松树，漂亮的姑娘？” “我喜欢松树，”姑娘说。 “松树有什么可喜欢的？” “我喜欢松树的香味和脚踩在松针上的感觉。我喜欢大树树梢间的风声和树枝碰擦的响声。” “你什么都喜欢，”比拉尔说。“如果你饭菜烧得稍微好一点，哪个男人娶了你都是好福气。可是松树林子叫人陚烦得要死。你从没见过山毛榉、橡树或栗树的林子。那才叫树林。在那种林子里每棵树都不同，有特色，有美。松林叫入讨厌。你说响，英国人？” “我也喜欢松林。”。 “瞧你的，”比拉尔说。“你们俩一唱一和。其实我也喜欢松林，不过我们在松林里待得太久了。我还讨厌这些山。山里只有两个方向。下山，上山，而且下山只有一条路，通到法西斯分子占领的城镇。” “你到过塞哥维亚吗？” “什么话，带了这张脸去？这张脸出了名。你愿意长得丑吗，漂亮的姑娘？”她对玛丽亚说。“你不丑。” “得啦，我不丑！我生来就丑，我一辈子都丑。你这个英国人一点也不懂女人。你知道丑女人的心情吗？你知道一辈子都丑的人心里却以为长得很美是怎么回事吗？是很古怪的，”她把另一只脚也伸进溪水，随即又缩回去。“天哪，真冷。瞧那只鹡鸨，”她说，指指一只在溪水上游一块石头上蹋镅眺眺的圆滚滚的灰色鸟。“这种鸟一点用处也没有。叫得不好听，肉又不能吃。只会尾巴翘上翘下。给我一支烟，英国人，”她说着接过烟来，并从衬衣袋里掏出火刀火石，点着了烟。她抽着烟，望望玛丽亚和罗伯特乔丹。 “生活真古怪，”她说着从鼻孔里喷出烟来。“我换成男人准是条好汉，可惜我是个十足的女人，长得丑死了。可是不少男人爱过我，我也爱过不少男人。真古怪。听着，英国人，这是怪有趣的。你看我呀，尽管我长得丑。仔细看看，英国人。” “你不丑。” “怎么不丑？别跟我撒谎。难道说，”她深沉地大笑起来。“你也开始动心了？不。那是说笑话。不。看看这副丑栩。可是，你心里有一种感情，使男人爱上你的时候不辨美丑了。有了迳种感情，你就使他迷糊，使你自己迷糊了　然后有一天不知什么道理，他看出了你本来的丑相，不再迷糊啦，于是你象他一样，也看出了你自己的丑相，你就失去了你的男人和你自己的感情，你僅吗，漂亮的姑娘？”她拍拍姑娘的肩膀。 “不懂，”玛丽亚说。 “因为你并不丑。” “用你的脑袋，可别用你的心，并且好好听着，”比拉尔说。“我跟你们讲的这些事是很有趣的。你觉得有趣吗，英国人？” “有趣。可是我们得走啦，” “走，那是什么话。我在这里很舒服。”她这时接下去对罗伯特　乔丹说，仿佛在教室里讲课。“要不了多久，等你变得跟我-样丑，变得要多丑有多丑的时候，依我看呀，要不了多久，这种感情，这种自以为溧亮的白痴般的感情又会在心里慢慢滋长。象棵大白莱般长起来了。那时候，等到这种感情长起来了，另一个男人看中了你，认为你长得很漂亮，于是一切就重新开始了。我现在觉得自己已经过时了，不过，说不定以后还会动痴情，你很交运，漂亮的姑娘，你长得不丑。” “我，丑呢。”玛醑亚坚持说。 “问吧，”比拉尔说。“别把脚伸到溪水里去，会冻俚的。” “罗　托说我们该走，我看我们还是走吧，”玛丽亚说。 “听你说的。”比拉尔说。“这件事对我跟对你的罗伯托关系—般重大，可我说咱们在这儿溪边歇息歇息梃舒跟，时间有的是。还有，我喜欢聊聊。这是我们仅有的一点文明的东西。我们还有什么别的消遣呢，”我说的，你不感兴趣吗，英国人？ 你说得很好，可是除了议论美不美之外，还有别的事使我感兴趣呢。“ “那我们就来谈谈使你感兴趣的事吧。” “革命开始的时候，你在哪里。” “在老家。” 阿维拉？“ “什么阿维拉。” “巴勃罗说他是阿维拉人。” “他吹牛，他想把自己说成是大城市里的人。他的老家是―”她讲了个小镇的名字。“当时出了什么事？” “多着哪，”妇人说。“多着哪。可全都是恶劣不堪的。哪怕本来该是光荣的事。” “跟我讲讲吧，”罗伯特，乔丹说。 “太惨啦，”妇人说。“我不想当着这姑娘的面讲。” “讲吧。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“她不该听的，不听就是了。” “我可以听。”玛丽亚说。她把手搁在罗伯特　乔丹的手上。“没有什么是我不该听的。” “问题不在你该不该听。”比拉尔说。“而是我该不该对你讲，让你做恶梦。” “我不会听了一段故事就做恶梦的。”玛丽亚对她说。“我们经历了这许多，你以为我听了故事还会做恶梦吗？” “说不定会叫英国人做恶梦，” “试试看吧。” “不，英国人，我不是说笑话。你见过革命开头时小城镇的情况吗，” “没有。”罗伯特　乔丹说。 “那么你根本没有见过世面。你看到巴勃罗现在垮了的模样，可是你该看看巴勃罗当日的威风。 “讲吧。” “不。我不想讲。” “讲吧。” “那好吧。我要把事实的真相讲出来。可你，深亮的姑娘，假如讲到你受不了的地方，跟我说。” “假如我受不了，我就不听。”玛丽亚对她说。“不见得会比那许许多多的不幸事更糟吧。” “我看说不定"妇人说。”再给我一支烟，英国人，咱们就开始吧。“ 姑娘仰靠在长着石南的小溪岸上，罗伯特。乔丹摊手摊脚地躺着，双肩着地，脑袋枕着一丛石南。他伸手摸到了玛丽亚的手，把它握在自己手中，在石南上擦着，直到她摊开手掌，平放在他手上，两人就这样听着。 “兵营里的民防军在大清早投降，”比拉尔开始讲。 “你们袭击了兵营。”罗伯特　乔丹问。 “巴勃罗乘黑夜包围了兵营，割断了电话线，在一堵墙脚下放了炸药包，命令民防军投降。他们不肯。天亮时他把那堵墙炸开了。接着就幵火。两个民防军被打死了，四个受了伤，四个投降了。” “在朦胧的清早我们大家伏在房顶上、地上、墙脚和建筑旁边。爆炸引起的尘土还浮在空中，因为扬得很髙，没风吹散它。我们大家朝着建筑被炸开的那一面开火，边装子弹，边向烟雾里幵熗，屋里仍有步熗发射的闪光，接着烟雾里有人叫喊别再打熗，四个民防军举着手幸出来了。屋顶已经坍下了一大片，那一边的墒没有了，他们便出来投降。”里面还有人吗？巴勃罗喊着。“有些受伤的。”夕“看住他们，巴叙罗对从我们射击的地方走过来的四个人说。站在那儿。靠着墙。”他对民防军说。四个民防军贴墙站着，又是脏，又是灰，给硝烟熏得漆黑，那四个看守用熗口对准了他们，巴勃罗和别的人就到屋里去结果那些受伤的人。 “他们干了这个之后，就此再没伤兵的声息了，没有呻吟，没有呼喊，兵营里也没有熗声了。巴勃罗一伙从里面走出来，他背着猎熗，手里拿着一支毛瑟手熗。 “瞧，比拉尔。”他说。这家伙在一个自杀的军官手里。我从没开过手熗。你，他对一个民防军说，把这熗开给我看看。不。你自已别开。讲给我听。“ “兵营里在熗杀伤兵的时候，那四个民防军靠墙站着，满头大汗，一句话也不说。他们都是高个子，一副丘八相，跟我的脸型差不多，只是他们的脸上长满了胡子茬，在他们一生的末一个早晨，没有时间刮。他们靠墙站着，一句话也没有。 "你。“巴勃罗对离他最近的那个人说。'讲给我听，熗怎样”把控制杆往下扳，那人声音千巴巴地说。把反弹器向后拉，让它朝前弹。 “反弹器是什么…巴勃罗问，望着那四个民防军。反掸器是什么？ “扳机上面的那个活动帽模，” “巴勃罗往后一拉，但卡住了。现在怎么办他说。给卡住啦。你骗了我。” “还要往后拉，让它轻轻地朝前弹回去。”那民防军说。我从没听到过那样的说话声调。比没有日出的清晨还要阴沉。 “巴勃罗照那人讲的扳了”下，然后一松手，顇模向前弹到原处，击抶处在击发位置。那是一支难看的手熗，熗把小而岡，熗筒大而扁，使起来不灵巧。在这段时间里民防军一直望着巴勃罗，一声不吭。 “你打算把我们怎么办？有一个问他。”毙了你们，巴勃罗说。“什么时候？那人用同样阴沉的声调问。”现在，巴勃罗说。“在什么地方，”那人问。 “这里。”巴勃罗说。这里。现在。就在此时此地。你们有什么要说的？ “没有，那个民防军说。没什么要说的。不过这样做太卑鄙了。 “你才卑邮，，巴勃罗说。你们杀害老乡。你们连自己的亲娘都会杀掉。吣我从没杀过人，那个民防军说。别提我娘啦。”死给我们看看吧。你们这帮杀人成性的家伙。“没有必要侮辱我们。”另一个民防军说。我们知道怎么死。“    、 “脸朝墒雉下，脑袋顶着墙，巴勃罗对他们说。这些民防军你望望我，我望望你。 “跪下，听着。”巴勃罗说。蹲下身子，跪在地上。“”你看怎么样，巴柯？有个民防军朝那个长得最高、跟巴勃罗讲怎样使用手熗的人说。他衣袖上佩着班长的条纹，尽管清早还很凉爽，他却满头大汗。 “跪就跪，他回答。无所谓。 “这就跟土地更接近一些啦，第一个说过话的人说。他想说句笑话，但是大家都没有开玩笑的心情，谁也不笑。 “那我们就跪下吧，第一个民防军说。四个人都跪下了，脑袋顶着墙，双手垂在身体两侧，模样很别扭。巴勃罗走到他们背后，用熗口遂个抵着他们的后脑勺开了熗。熗声响处，一个个倒下去。我现在好象还能听到那尖厉而被闷住的熗响，还能看到那熗筒猛的一跳，那人的脑袋向前耷拉下去。手熗抵着后脑勺的时候，有一个脑袋一动不动。有一个脑袋向前一冲，前额紧貼在石墙上。有一个浑身哆嗦，脑袋直晃。只有一个用双手捂住了眼睛，那是最后一个。巴勃罗手里仍旧握着熗，转身向我们走来时，那四具？”体都倒在墙脚边。 “替我拿着熗，比拉尔”他说。我不知道怎么放下击铁。“他把手熗交给我，望着倒在营墒脚下的那四个民防军。我们这伙人也都站在那里，望着死人，谁都不说话。

“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是古怪。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，他就躺在那里。当天晚上打扫镇公所之后，人们抬起堂安纳斯塔西奥，把他和别的？“体一起装上大车，拖到峭壁边把他们全扔了下去，那醉汉仍旧躺在老地方。如果把这二三十个醉汉也扔下去，尤其是那些围红黑两色领巾的醉汉，那么这小镇就会更太平啦。如果我们再闹爿次革命，我看，一开头就得把这种人摘掉。不过，当时我们还不懂这一点。我们后来就得到了教训。 “可是，那天晚上我们还不知道会出什么事。镇公所大屠杀之后，不再杀人了，不过我们当晚没法开会，因为醉汉太多了。没法维持秩序，会议只好推迟到第二天幵。 “那天晚上我跟巴勃罗睡觉。这话我不该对你说，漂亮的姑娘，不过，另一方面，让你什么都知道知道也好，至少我对你讲的都是真话。听着，英国人。这回事很古怪。 “我说呀，那天晚上我们一起吃饭，感到情况很古怪。好象经过了一场暴风雨，一场水灾，或者一场战斗，大家都累了，谁也不多说话。我自己觉得空空洞洞，身体不好受，感到丢人缺德，心上仿佛压了一块大石头，有一种倒霉的预感，就象今天早上飞机过后的心情。不出所料，倒霉事三天之后就来了。”巴勃罗在我们吃饭的时候很少说话。“'刚才的事你喜欢吗，比拉尔”他终于问道，嘴里塞满了烤小羊肉。我们在公共汽车起点站那儿的一家小客栈里吃饭，里面挤满了人，大家在唱歌，挤得端菜端汤也有困难。 “不，我说。除了对待堂福斯蒂诺的那一段，别的我都不客欢。 “我可喜欢，他说。”全部吗？我问他。 “全部。”他说，还用刀切了一大片面包，用它去蘸抹盘子里的肉汁。除了那个神父的情况，一切都好，“ “神父的情况你不喜欢喝？因为我知道，他恨神父比恨法西斯分子还厉害。 “他叫我大失所望，，巴勃罗伤心地说， “唱欹的人太多了，我们几乎要喊叫，才听得清彼此讲的话。 “为什么？ “他死得非常窝囊，巴勃罗说。他一点也不体面。”暴民在追他，你哪能指望他体面呢？我说。依我看，在这之前，他一直很体面。世上的体面他享尽了。 “对，，巴勃罗说，不过到了最后关头，他怕啦。”谁能不怕？我说。人们拿着什么东西在追他，你看见没有？ 我怎么会肴不见？巴勃罗说。不过我觉得他死得窝囊 “碰到这种情形，谁都会死得窝囊，我对他说。你指望什么呀？镇公所里发生的每件事都叫人厌恶。 是的“巴勃罗说。'没有一点组织，不过神父是另一回事。他该做出榜样。， 我以前以为你浪神父。“ “不错。”巴勃罗说着又切了块面包。'不过，空字字神父不同，，字　神父应该死得漯亮。， “我，看他苑得够漂亮的。”我说。一点仪式都没有。“”不，巴勃罗说。我觉得他叫人大失所望。我整天在等那神父死。我原以为他会最后走进那两排人中间去的。我满心希望地等着。我等着出现高湖的场面。我从没见过神父是怎么死的。“ “机会有的是呢，我挖苦他说。”革命今天刚开头。“”不“他说。我失望了。”“得了，我说。我看你要失去信仰了。”“你不懂，比拉尔，，他说。他是个，字字神父呀。”“西班牙人是多好的人民啊。”我对“。”他们的自尊心多么强，呃，英国人？多好的人民啊。“ “我们得走了。”罗伯特　乔丹说。他望望太阳。“快到中午了， “好吧，”比拉尔说。“我们现在走吧。不过我要跟你讲讲巴勃罗。那天晚上他对我说，比拉尔，今晚我们什么都不干了。”就好。“我对他说。这叫我髙兴。”我觉得，杀了那么多人之后，干那不合适，“ “什么话，我对他说。你成了圣徒啦。我和斗牛士待了那么多年，你以为我不知道他们斗牛之后的心境吗？”真的吗，比拉尔？他问我。“我什么时候骗过你？我对他说。”真的，比拉尔，今晚我不中用啦。你不怪我吧？“不，伙计，，我对他说。可是别天天杀人呀，巴勃罗。”“那天晚上，他睡得象个小孩，等早晨天亮了，我才把他叫醒。不过那晚我睡不着，就爬起身来坐在椅子里，望着窗外，我看到白天那两排人站队的。”场如今浸在月光里，看到。“场对面在月光下闪烁的树和黑魆魆的树荫，在月光下泛白的长凳和闪亮着的散布在地上的酒瓶，以及法西斯分子在那儿被扔进江里的峭壁边沿。夜晚静悄悄，只听到潺潺的喷泉声，我坐着想，我们开头就干糟了。 “窗开着，。”场上喷泉那儿传来一个女人的哭声。我光着脚走到露台上，站在地上铺着的铁板上，月光照在。“场边所有房屋的墙面上。哭声是从堂　吉列尔莫家露合上传来的。那是堂　吉列尔莫的老婆，她跪在露台上哭。 “我随即回到房里，坐在那里不想动脑子，因为直到另一天来到之前，我这辈子从没那么不痛快过。”“另一天是什么回事？”玛丽亚问。“那是三天后，法西斯分子占领这个镇的时候，”“别说那天的情形了。”玛丽亚说。“我不要听了。够啦。叫人太难受了。” “我早对你说你不该听。”比拉尔说。“瞧。我不希望你听。现在你要做恶梦啦。” “不。”玛丽亚说。“不过我不要再听了 “我倒希望你以后有机会给我讲讲，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我一定讲，”比拉尔说。“不过玛丽亚受不了。”“我不要听，”玛丽亚可怜巴巴地说。“求求你，比拉尔。我在场的时候别讲，因为我会忍不住要听的，” 她的嘴脣在抖动，罗伯特　乔丹发觉她要哭了。“求求你，比拉尔，别讲了。” “别发愁，短头发的小东西，”比拉尔说。“别发愁。不过我以后要讲给英国人听。” “可我要常銀他在一起，”玛丽亚说。“眄，比拉尔，你干脆别讲了。” “以后等你干活的时候，我讲。”“不。不。求求你。千万别讲了，”玛丽亚说，“既然我讲了我们干的事，讲讲他们干的事也是应该的，”比拉尔说。“不过，不会让你听到的。” “难道没有愉快的事情可讲了吗？”玛丽亚说。“我们老是得讲骇人的事吗？” “今天下午，”比拉尔说，“让你和英国人在一起。你们俩想讲什么就讲什么吧。” “那么但愿下午快点到来，”玛丽亚说。“下午快快地来吧。”“会来的，”比拉尔对她说。“会快快地来的，同样也会快快地去的，明天也会快来快去的。” “今天下午，”玛丽亚说。“今天下午，让今天下午快来吧。”

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Chapter 11
As they came up, still deep in the shadow of the pines, after dropping down from the high meadow into the wooden valley and climbing up it on a trail that paralleled the stream and then left it to gain, steeply, the top of a rim-rock formation, a man with a carbine stepped out from behind a tree.
"Halt," he said. Then, "_Hola_, Pilar. Who is this with thee?"
"An _Ingl_," Pilar said. "But with a Christian name--Roberto. And what an obscenity of steepness it is to arrive here."
"_Salud, Camarada_," the guard said to Robert Jordan and put out his hand. "Are you well?"
"Yes," said Robert Jordan. "And thee?"
"Equally," the guard said. He was very young, with a light build, thin, rather hawk-nosed face, high cheekbones and gray eyes. He wore no hat, his hair was black and shaggy and his handclasp was strong and friendly. His eyes were friendly too.
"Hello, Maria," he said to the girl. "You did not tire yourself?"
"_Qu?va_, Joaqu," the girl said. "We have sat and talked more than we have walked."
"Are you the dynamiter?" Joaqu asked. "We have heard you were here."
"We passed the night at Pablo's," Robert Jordan said. "Yes, I am the dynamiter."
"We are glad to see you," Joaqu said. "Is it for a train?"
"Were you at the last train?" Robert Jordan asked and smiled.
"Was I not," Joaqu said. "That's where we got this," he grinned at Maria. "You are pretty now," he said to Maria. "Have they told thee how pretty?"
"Shut up, Joaqu, and thank you very much," Maria said. "You'd be pretty with a haircut."
"I carried thee," Joaqu told the girl. "I carried thee over my shoulder."
"As did many others," Pilar said in the deep voice. "Who didn't carry her? Where is the old man?"
"At the camp."
"Where was he last night?"
"In Segovia."
"Did he bring news?"
"Yes," Joaqu said, "there is news."
"Good or bad?"
"I believe bad."
"Did you see the planes?"
"Ay," said Joaqu and shook his head. "Don't talk to me of that. Comrade Dynamiter, what planes were those?"
"Heinkel one eleven bombers. Heinkel and Fiat pursuit," Robert Jordan told him.
"What were the big ones with the low wings?"
"Heinkel one elevens."
"By any names they are as bad," Joaqu said. "But I am delaying you. I will take you to the commander."
"The commander?" Pilar asked.
Joaqu nodded seriously. "I like it better than 'chief," he said. "It is more military."
"You are militarizing heavily," Pilar said and laughed at him.
"No," Joaqu said. "But I like military terms because it makes orders clearer and for better discipline."
"Here is one according to thy taste, _Ingl_," Pilar said. "A very serious boy."
"Should I carry thee?" Joaqu asked the girl and put his arm on her shoulder and smiled in her face.
"Once was enough," Maria told him. "Thank you just the same."
"Can you remember it?" Joaqu asked her.
"I can remember being carried," Maria said. "By you, no. I remember the gypsy because he dropped me so many times. But I thank thee, Joaqu, and I'll carry thee sometime."
"I can remember it well enough," Joaqu said. "I can remember holding thy two legs and thy belly was on my shoulder and thy head over my back and thy arms hanging down against my back."
"Thou hast much memory," Maria said and smiled at him. "I remember nothing of that. Neither thy arms nor thy shoulders nor thy back."
"Do you want to know something?" Joaqu asked her.
"What is it?"
"I was glad thou wert hanging over my back when the shots were coming from behind us."
"What a swine," Maria said. "And was it for this the gypsy too carried me so much?"
"For that and to hold onto thy legs."
"My heroes," Maria said. "My saviors."
"Listen, _guapa_," Pilar told her. "This boy carried thee much, and in that moment thy legs said nothing to any one. In that moment only the bullets talked clearly. And if he would have dropped thee he could soon have been out of range of the bullets."
"I have thanked him," Maria said. "And I will carry him sometime. Allow us to joke. I do not have to cry, do I, because he carried me?"
"I'd have dropped thee," Joaqu went on teasing her. "But I was afraid Pilar would shoot me."
"I shoot no one," Pilar said.
"_No hace falta_," Joaqu told her. "You don't need to. You scare them to death with your mouth."
"What a way to speak," Pilar told him. "And you used to be such a polite little boy. What did you do before the movement, little boy?"
"Very little," Joaqu said. "I was sixteen."
"But what, exactly?"
"A few pairs of shoes from time to time."
"Make them?"
"No. Shine them."
"_Qu?va_," said Pilar. "There is more to it than that." She looked at his brown face, his lithe build, his shock of hair, and the quick heel-and-toe way that he walked. "Why did you fail at it?"
"Fail at what?"
"What? You know what. You're growing the pigtail now."
"I guess it was fear," the boy said.
"You've a nice figure," Pilar told him. "But the face isn't much. So it was fear, was it? You were all right at the train."
"I have no fear of them now," the boy said. "None. And we have seen much worse things and more dangerous than the bulls. It is clear no bull is as dangerous as a machine gun. But if I were in the ring with one now I do not know if I could dominate my legs."
"He wanted to be a bullfighter," Pilar explained to Robert Jordan. "But he was afraid."
"Do you like the bulls, Comrade Dynamiter?" Joaqu grinned, showing white teeth.
"Very much," Robert Jordan said. "Very, very much."
"Have you seen them in Valladolid?" asked Joaqu.
"Yes. In September at the feria."
"That's my town," Joaqu said. "What a fine town but how the _buena gente_, the good people of that town, have suffered in this war." Then, his face grave, "There they shot my father. My mother. My brother-in-law and now my sister."
"What barbarians," Robert Jordan said.
How many times had he heard this? How many times had he watched people say it with difficulty? How many times had he seen their eyes fill and their throats harden with the difficulty of saying my father, or my brother, or my mother, or my sister? He could not remember how many times he had heard them mention their dead in this way. Nearly always they spoke as this boy did now; suddenly and apropos of the mention of the town and always you said, "What barbarians."
You only heard the statement of the loss. You did not see the father fall as Pilar made him see the fascists die in that story she had told by the stream. You knew the father died in some courtyard, or against some wall, or in some field or orchard, or at night, in the lights of a truck, beside some road. You had seen the lights of the car from the hills and heard the shooting and afterwards you had come down to the road and found the bodies. You did not see the mother shot, nor the sister, nor the brother. You heard about it; you heard the shots; and you saw the bodies.
Pilar had made him see it in that town.
If that woman could only write. He would try to write it and if he had luck and could remember it perhaps he could get it down as she told it. God, how she could tell a story. She's better than Quevedo, he thought. He never wrote the death of any Don Faustino as well as she told it. I wish I could write well enough to write that story, he thought. What we did. Not what the others did to us. He knew enough about that. He knew plenty about that behind the lines. But you had to have known the people before. You had to know what they had been in the village.
Because of our mobility and because we did not have to stay afterwards to take the punishment we never knew how anything really ended, he thought. You stayed with a peasant and his family. You came at night and ate with them. In the day you were hidden and the next night you were gone. You did your job and cleared out. The next time you came that way you heard that they had been shot. It was as simple as that.
But you were always gone when it happened. The _partizans_ did their damage and pulled out. The peasants stayed and took the punishment. I've always known about the other, he thought. What we did to them at the start I've always known it and hated it and I have heard it mentioned shamelessly and shamefully, bragged of, boasted of, defended, explained and denied. But that damned woman made me see it as though I had been there.
Well, he thought, it is part of one's education. It will be quite an education when it's finished. You learn in this war if you listen. You most certainly did. He was lucky that he had lived parts of ten years ifl Spain before the war. They trusted you on the language, principally. They trusted you on understanding the language completely and speaking it idiomatically and having a knowledge of the different places. A Spaniard was only really loyal to his village in the end. First Spain of course, then his own tribe, then his province, then his village, his family and finally his trade. If you knew Spanish he was prejudiced in your favor, if you knew his province it was that much better, but if you knew his village and his trade you were in as far as any foreigner ever could be. He never felt like a foreigner in Spanish and they did not really treat him like a foreigner most of the time; only when they turned on you.
Of course they turned on you. They turned on you often but they always turned on every one. They turned on themselves, too. If you had three together, two would unite against one, and then the two would start to betray each other. Not always, but often enough for you to take enough cases and start to draw it as a conclusion.
This was no way to think; but who censored his thinking? Nobody but himself. He would not think himself into any defeatism. The first thing was to win the war. If we did not win the war everything was lost. But he noticed, and listened to, and remembered everything. He was serving in a war and he gave absolute loyalty and as complete a performance as he could give while he was serving. But nobody owned his mind, nor his faculties for seeing and hearing, and if he were going to form judgments he would form them afterwards. And there would be plenty of material to draw them from. There was plenty already. There was a little too much sometimes.
Look at the Pilar woman, he thought. No matter what comes, if there is time, I must make her tell me the rest of that story. Look at her walking along with those two kids. You could not get three better-looking products of Spain than those. She is like a mountain and the boy and the girl are like young trees. The old trees are all cut down and the young trees are growing clean like that. In spite of what has happened to the two of them they look as fresh and clean and new and untouched as though they had never heard of misfortune. But according to Pilar, Maria has just gotten sound again. She must have been in an awful shape.
He remembered a Belgian boy in the Eleventh Brigade who had enlisted with five other boys from his village. It was a village Of about two hundred people and the boy had never been away froni the village before. When he first saw the boy, out at Hans' Brigade Staff, the other five from the village had all been killed and the boy was in very bad shape and they were using him as an orderly to wait on table at the staff. He had a big, blond, ruddy Flemish face and huge awkward peasant hands and he moved, with the dishes, as powerfully and awkwardly as a draft horse. But he cried all the time. All during the meal he cried with no noise at all.
You looked up and there he was, crying. If you asked for the wine, he cried and if you passed your plate for stew, he cried; turning away his head. Then he would stop; but if you looked up at him, tears would start coming again. Between courses he cried in the kitchen. Every one was very gentle with him. But it did no good. He would have to find out what became of him and whether he ever cleared up and was fit for soldiering again.
Maria was sound enough now. She seemed so anyway. But he was no psychiatrist. Pilar was the psychiatrist. It probably had been good for them to have been together last night. Yes, unless it stopped. It certainly had been good for him. He felt fine today; sound and good and unworried and happy. The show looked bad enough but he was awfully lucky, too. He had been in others that announced themselves badly. Announced themselves; that was thinking in Spanish. Maria was lovely.
Look at her, he said to himself. Look at her.
He looked at her striding happily in the sun; her khaki shirt open at the neck. She walks like a colt moves, he thought. You do not run onto something like that. Such things don't happen. Maybe it never did happen, he thought. Maybe you dreamed it or made it up and it never did happen. Maybe it is like the dreams you have when some one you have seen in the cinema comes to your bed at night and is so kind and lovely. He'd slept with them all that way When he was asleep in bed. He could remember Garbo still, and Harlow. Yes, Harlow many times. Maybe it was like those dreams.
But he could still remember the time Garbo came to his bed the flight before the attack at Pozoblanco and she was wearing a soft silky wool sweater when he put his arm around her and when she leaned forward her hair swept forward and over his face and she said why had he never told her that he loved her when she had loved him all this time? She was not shy, nor cold, nor distant. She was just lovely to hold and kind and lovely and like the old days with Jack Gilbert and it was as true as though it happened and he loved her much more than Harlow though Garbo was only there once while Harlow--maybe this was like those dreams.
Maybe it isn't too, he said to himself. Maybe I could reach over and touch that Maria now, he said to himself. Maybe you are afraid to he said to himself. Maybe you would find out that it never happened and it was not true and it was something you made up like those dreams about the people of the cinema or how all your old girls come back and sleep in that robe at night on all the bare floors, in the straw of the haybarns, the stables, the _corrales_ and the _cortijos_, the woods, the garages, the trucks and all the hills of Spain. They all came to that robe when he was asleep and they were all much nicer than they ever had been in life. Maybe it was like that. Maybe you would be afraid to touch her to see if it was true. Maybe you would, and probably it is something that you made up or that you dreamed.
He took a step across the trail and put his hand on the girl's arm. Under his fingers he felt the smoothness of her arm in the worn khaki. She looked at him and smiled.
"Hello, Maria," he said.
"Hello, _Ingl_," she answered and he saw her tawny brown face and the yellow-gray eyes and the full lips smiling and the cropped sun-burned hair and she lifted her face at him and smiled in his eyes. It was true all right.
Now they were in sight of El Sordo's camp in the last of the pines, where there was a rounded gulch-head shaped like an upturned basin. All these limestone upper basins must be full of caves, he thought. There are two caves there ahead. The scrub pines growing in the rock hide them well. This is as good or a better place than Pablo's.
"How was this shooting of thy family?" Pilar was saying to Joaqu.
"Nothing, woman," Joaqu said. "They were of the left as many others in Valladolid. When the fascists purified the town they shot first the father. He had voted Socialist. Then they shot the mother. She had voted the same. It was the first time she had ever voted. After that they shot the husband of one of the sisters. He was a member of the syndicate of tramway drivers. Clearly he could not drive a tram without belonging to the syndicate. But he was without politics. I knew him well. He was even a little hit shameless. I do not think he was even a good comrade. Then the husband of the other girl, the other sister, who was also in the trams, had gone to the hills as I had. They thought she knew where he was. But she did not. So they shot her because she would not tell them where he was."
"What barbarians," said Pilar. "Where is El Sordo? I do not see him."
"He is here. He is probably inside," answered Joaqu and stopping now, and resting the rifle butt on the ground, said, "Pilar, listen to me. And thou, Maria. Forgive me if I have molested you speaking of things of the family. I know that all have the same troubles and it is more valuable not to speak of them."
"That you should speak," Pilar said. "For what are we born if not to aid one another? And to listen and say nothing is a cold enough aid."
"But it can molest the Maria. She has too many things of her own."
"_Qu?va_," Maria said. "Mine are such a big bucket that yours falling in will never fill it. I am sorry, Joaqu, and I hope thy sister is well."
"So far she's all right," Joaqu said. "They have her in prison and it seems they do not mistreat her much."
"Are there others in the family?" Robert Jordan asked.
"No," the boy said. "Me. Nothing more. Except the brother-inlaw who went to the hills and I think he is dead."
"Maybe he is all right," Maria said. "Maybe he is with a band in other mountains."
"For me he is dead," Joaqu said. "He was never too good at getting about and he was conductor of a tram and that is not the best preparation for the hills. I doubt if he could last a year. He was Somewhat weak in the chest too."
"But he may be all right," Maria put her arm on his shoulder.
"Certainly, girl. Why not?" said Joaqu.
As the boy stood there, Maria reached up, put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Joaqu turned his head away because he was crying.
"That is as a brother," Maria said to him. "I kiss thee as a brother."
The boy shook his head, crying without making any noise.
"I am thy sister," Maria said. "And I love thee and thou hast a family. We are all thy family."
"Including the _Ingl_," boomed Pilar. "Isn't it true, _Ingl?_"
"Yes," Robert Jordan said to the boy, "we are all thy family, Joaqu."
"He's your brother," Pilar said. "Hey _Ingl?_"
Robert Jordan put his arm around the boy's shoulder. "We are all brothers," he said. The boy shook his head.
"I am ashamed to have spoken," he said. "To speak of such things makes it more difficult for all. I am ashamed of molesting you."
"I obscenity in the milk of my shame," Pilar said in her deep lovely voice. "And if the Maria kisses thee again I will commence kissing thee myself. It's years since I've kissed a bullfighter, even an unsuccessful one like thee, I would like to kiss an unsuccessful bullfighter turned Communist. Hold him, _Ingl_, till I get a good kiss at him."
"_Deja_," the boy said and turned away sharply. "Leave me alone. I am all right and I am ashamed."
He stood there, getting his face under control. Maria put her hand in Robert Jordan's. Pilar stood with her hands on her hips looking at the boy mockingly now.
"When I kiss thee," she said to him, "it will not be as any sister. This trick of kissing as a sister."
"It is not necessary to joke," the boy said. "I told you I am all right, I am sorry that I spoke."
"Well then let us go and see the old man," Pilar said. "I tire myself with such emotion."
The boy looked at her. From his eyes you could see he was suddenly very hurt.
"Not thy emotion," Pilar said to him. "Mine. What a tender thing thou art for a bullfighter."
"I was a failure," Joaqu said. "You don't have to keep insisting on it."
"But you are growing the pigtail another time."
"Yes, and why not? Fighting stock serves best for that purpose economically. It gives employment to many and the State will control it. And perhaps now I would not be afraid."
"Perhaps not," Pilar said. "Perhaps not."
"Why do you speak in such a brutal manner, Pilar?" Maria said to her. "I love thee very much but thou art acting very barbarous."
"It is possible that I am barbarous," Pilar said. "Listen, _Ingl_. Do you know what you are going to say to El Sordo?"
"Yes."
"Because he is a man of few words unlike me and thee and this sentimental menagerie."
"Why do you talk thus?" Maria asked again, angrily.
"I don't know," said Pilar as she strode along. "Why do you think?"
"I do not know."
"At times many things tire me," Pilar said angrily. "You understand? And one of them is to have forty-eight years. You hear me? Forty-eight years and an ugly face. And another is to see panic in the face of a failed bullfighter of Communist tendencies when I say, as a joke, I might kiss him."
"It's not true, Pilar," the boy said. "You did not see that."
"_Qu?va_, it's not true. And I obscenity in the milk of all of you. Ah, there he is. _Hola_, Santiago! _Qu?tal?_"
The man to whom Pilar spoke was short and heavy, brownfaced, with broad cheekbones; gray haired, with wide-set yellowbrown eyes, a thin-bridged, hooked nose like an Indian's, a long Upper lip and a wide, thin mouth. He was clean shaven and he walked toward them from the mouth of the cave, moving with the bow-legged walk that went with his cattle herdsman's breeches and boots. The day was warm but he had on a sheep's-wool-lined short leather jacket buttoned up to the neck. He put out a big brown hand toPilar. "_Hola_, woman," he said. "_Hola_," he said to Robert Jordan and shook his hand and looked him keenly in the face. Robert Jordan saw his eyes were yellow as a cat's and flat as reptile's eyes are. "_Guapa_," he said to Maria and patted her shoulder.
"Eaten?" he asked Pilar. She shook her head.
"Eat," he said and looked at Robert Jordan. "Drink?" he asked, making a motion with his hand decanting his thumb downward.
"Yes, thanks."
"Good," El Sordo said. "Whiskey?"
"You have whiskey?"
El Sordo nodded. "_Ingl?_" he asked. "Not _Ruso?_"
"_Americano_."
"Few Americans here," he said.
"Now more."
"Less bad. North or South?"
"North."
"Same as _Ingl_. When blow bridge?"
"You know about the bridge?"
El Sordo nodded.
"Day after tomorrow morning."
"Good," said El Sordo.
"Pablo?" he asked Pilar.
She shook her head. El Sordo grinned.
"Go away," he said to Maria and grinned again. "Come back," he looked at a large watch he pulled out on a leather thong from inside his coat. "Half an hour."
He motioned to them to sit down on a flattened log that served as a bench and looking at Joaqu, jerked his thumb down the trail in the direction they had come from.
"I'll walk down with Joaqu and come back," Maria said.
El Sordo went into the cave and came out with a pinch bottle of Scotch whiskey and three glasses. The bottle was under one arm, and three glasses were in the hand of that arm, a finger in each glass, and his other hand was around the neck of an earthenware jar of water. He put the glasses and the bottle down on the log and set the jug on the ground.
"No ice," he said to Robert Jordan and handed him the bottle.
"I don't want any," Pilar said and covered her glass with her hand.
"Ice last night on ground," El Sordo said and grinned. "All melt. Ice up there," El Sordo said and pointed to the snow that showed on the bare crest of the mountains. "Too far."
Robert Jordan started to pour into El Sordo's glass but the deaf man shook his head and made a motion for the other to pour for himself.
Robert Jordan poured a big drink of Scotch into the glass and El Sordo watched him eagerly and when he had finished, handed him the water jug and Robert Jordan filled the glass with the cold water that ran in a stream from the earthenware spout as he tipped up the jug.
El Sordo poured himself half a glassful of whiskey and filled the glass with water.
"Wine?" he asked Pilar.
"No. Water."
"Take it," he said. "No good," he said to Robert Jordan and grinned. "Knew many English. Always much whiskey."
"Where?"
"Ranch," El Sordo said. "Friends of boss."
"Where do you get the whiskey?"
"What?" he could not hear.
"You have to shout," Pilar said. "Into the other ear."
El Sordo pointed to his better ear and grinned.
"Where do you get the whiskey?" Robert Jordan shouted.
"Make it," El Sordo said and watched Robert Jordan's hand check on its way to his mouth with the glass.
"No," El Sordo said and patted his shoulder. "Joke. Comes from La Granja. Heard last night comes English dynamiter. Good. Very happy. Get whiskey. For you. You like?"
"Very much," said Robert Jordan. "It's very good whiskey."
"Am contented," Sordo grinned. "Was bringing tonight with information"
"What information?"
Much troop movement."
Where?
"Segovia. Planes you saw."
"Yes."
"Bad, eh?"
"Bad."
"Troop movement?"
"Much between Villacast and Segovia. On Valladolid road. Much between Villacast and San Rafael. Much. Much."
"What do you think?"
"We prepare something?"
"Possibly."
"They know. Prepare too."
"It is possible."
"Why not blow bridge tonight?"
"Orders."
  "Whose orders?"
"General Staff."
"So."
"Is the time of the blowing important?" Pilar asked.
"Of all importance."
"But if they are moving up troops?"
"I will send Anselmo with a report of all movement and concentrations. He is checking the road."
"You have some one at road?" Sordo asked.
Robert Jordan did not know how much he had heard. You never know with a deaf man.
"Yes," he said.
"Me, too. Why not blow bridge now?"
"I have my orders."
"I don't like it," El Sordo said. "This I do not like."
"Nor I," said Robert Jordan.
El Sordo shook his head and took a sip of the whiskey. "You want of me?"
"How many men have you?"
"Eight."
"To cut the telephone, attack the post at the house of the roadmenders, take it, and fall back on the bridge."
"It is easy."
"It will all be written out."
"Don't trouble. And Pablo?"
"Will cut the telephone below, attack the post at the sawmill, take it and fall back on the bridge."
"And afterwards for the retreat?" Pilar asked. "We are seven men, two women and five horses. You are," she shouted into Sordo's ear.
"Eight men and four horses. _Faltan caballos_," he said. "Lacks horses."
"Seventeen people and nine horses," Pilar said. "Without accounting for transport."
Sordo said nothing.
"There is no way of getting horses?" Robert Jordan said into Sordo's best ear.
"In war a year," Sordo said. "Have four." He showed four fingers. "Now you want eight for tomorrow."
"Yes," said Robert Jordan. "Knowing you are leaving. Having no need to be careful as you have been in this neighborhood. Not having to be cautious here now. You could not cut out and steal eight head of horses?"
"Maybe," Sordo said. "Maybe none. Maybe more."
"You have an automatic rifle?" Robert Jordan asked.
Sordo nodded.
"Where?"
"Up the hill."
"What kind?"
"Don't know name. With pans."
"How many rounds?"
"Five pans."
"Does any one know how to use it?"
"Me. A little. Not shoot too much. Not want make noise here. Not want use cartridges."
"I will look at it afterwards," Robert Jordan said. "Have you hand grenades?"
Plenty.
"How many rounds per rifle?"
"Plenty."
"How many?"
"One hundred fifty. More maybe."
"What about other people?"
"For what?"
"To have sufficient force to take the posts and cover the bridge While I am blowing it. We should have double what we have."
"Take posts don't worry. What time day?"
"Daylight."
"Don't worry."
"I could use twenty more men, to be sure," Robert Jordan said.
"Good ones do not exist. You want undependables?"
"No. How many good ones?"
"Maybe four."
"Why so few?"
"No trust."
"For horseholders?"
"Must trust much to be horseholders."
"I'd like ten more good men if I could get them."
"Four."
"Anselmo told me there were over a hundred here in these hills."
"No good."
"You said thirty," Robert Jordan said to Pilar. "Thirty of a certain degree of dependability."
"What about the people of Elias?" Pilar shouted to Sordo. He shook his head.
"No good."
"You can't get ten?" Robert Jordan asked. Sordo looked at him with his flat, yellow eyes and shook his head.
"Four," he said and held up four fingers.
"Yours are good?" Robert Jordan asked, regretting it as he said it.
Sordo nodded.
"_Dentro de la gravedad_," he said in Spanish. "Within the limits of the danger." He grinned. "Will be bad, eh?"
"Possibly."
"Is the same to me," Sordo said simply and not boasting. "Better four good than much bad. In this war always much bad, very little good. Every day fewer good. And Pablo?" he looked at Pilar.
"As you know," Pilar said. "Worse every day."
Sordo shrugged his shoulders.
"Take drink," Sordo said to Robert Jordan. "I bring mine and four more. Makes twelve. Tonight we discuss all. I have sixty sticks dynamite. You want?"
"What per cent?"
"Don't know. Common dynamite. I bring."
"We'll blow the small bridge above with that," Robert Jordan said. "That is fine. You'll come down tonight? Bring that, will you? I've no orders for that but it should be blown."
"I come tonight. Then hunt horses."
"What chance for horses?"
"Maybe. Now eat."
Does he talk that way to every one? Robert Jordan thought. Or is that his idea of how to make foreigners understand?
"And where are we going to go when this is done?" Pilar shouted into Sordo's ear.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"All that must be arranged," the woman said.
"Of course," said Sordo. "Why not?"
"It is bad enough," Pilar said. "It must be planned very well."
"Yes, woman," Sordo said. "What has thee worried?"
"Everything," Pilar shouted.
Sordo grinned at her.
"You've been going about with Pablo," he said.
So he does only speak that pidgin Spanish for foreigners, Robert Jordan thought. Good. I'm glad to hear him talking straight.
"Where do you think we should go?" Pilar asked.
"Where?"
"Yes, where?"
"There are many places," Sordo said. "Many places. You know Gredos?"
"There are many people there. All these places will be cleaned up as soon as they have time."
"Yes. But it is a big country and very wild."
"It would be very difficult to get there," Pilar said.
"Everything is difficult," El Sordo said. "We can get to Gredos as well as to anywhere else. Travelling at night. Here it is very dangerous now. It is a miracle we have been here this long. Gredos is safer country than this."
"Do you know where I want to go?" Pilar asked him.
"Where? The Paramera? That's no good."
"No," Pilar said. "Not the Sierra de Paramera. I want to go to the Republic."
"That is possible."
"Would your people go?"
"Yes. If I say to."
"Of mine, I do not know," Pilar said. "Pablo would not want to although, truly, he might feel safer there. He is too old to have to go for a soldier unless they call more classes. The gypsy will not wish to go. I do not know about the others."
"Because nothing passes her for so long they do not realize the danger," El Sordo said.
"Since the planes today they will see it more," Robert Jordan said. "But I should think you could operate very well from the Gredos."
"What?" El Sordo said and looked at him with his eyes very flat. There was no friendliness in the way he asked the question.
"You could raid more effectively from there," Robert Jordan said.
"So," El Sordo said. "You know Gredos?"
"Yes. You could operate against the main line of the railway from there. You could keep cutting it as we are doing farther south in Estremadura. To operate from there would be better than returning to the Republic," Robert Jordan said. "You are more useful there."
They had both gotten sullen as he talked.
Sordo looked at Pilar and she looked back at him.
"You know Gredos?" Sordo asked. "Truly?"
"Sure," said Robert Jordan.
"Where would you go?"
"Above Barco de Avila. Better places than here. Raid against the main road and the railroad between B嶴ar and Plasencia."
"Very difficult," Sordo said.
"We have worked against that same railroad in much more dangerous country in Estremadura," Robert Jordan said.
"Who is we?"
"The _guerrilleros_ group of Estremadura."
"You are many?"
"About forty."
"Was the one with the bad nerves and the strange name from there?" asked Pilar.
"Yes."
"Where is he now?"
"Dead, as I told you."
"You are from there, too?"
"Yes."
"You see what I mean?" Pilar said to him.
And I have made a mistake, Robert Jordan thought to himself. I have told Spaniards we can do something better than they can when the rule is never to speak of your own exploits or abilities. When I should have flattered them I have told them what I think they should do and now they are furious. Well, they will either get over it or they will not. They are certainly much more useful in the Gredos than here. The proof is that here they have done nothing since the train that Kashkin organized. It was not much of a show. It cost the fascists one engine and killed a few troops but they all talk as though it were the high point of the war. Maybe they will shame into going to the Gredos. Yes and maybe I will get thrown out of here too. Well, it is not a very rosy-looking dish anyway that you look into it.
"Listen _Ingl_," Pilar said to him. "How are your nerves?"
"All right," said Robert Jordan. "O.K."
"Because the last dynamiter they sent to work with us, although a formidable technician, was very nervous."
"We have nervous ones," Robert Jordan said.
"I do not say that he was a coward because he comported himself very well," Pilar went on. "But he spoke in a very rare and windy way." She raised her voice. "Isn't it true, Santiago, that the last dynamiter, he of the train, was a little rare?"
"_Algo raro_," the deaf man nodded and his eyes went over Robert Jordan's face in a way that reminded him of the round opening at the end of the wand of a vacuum cleaner. "_Si, algo raro, pero bueno_."
"_Muri醭," Robert Jordan said into the deaf man's ear. "He is dead."
"How was that?" the deaf man asked, dropping his eyes down from Robert Jordan's eyes to his lips.
"I shot him," Robert Jordan said. "He was too badly wounded to travel and I shot him."
"He was always talking of such a necessity," Pilar said. "It was his obsession."
"Yes," said Robert Jordan. "He was always talking of such a necessity and it was his obsession."
"_Como fu?_" the deaf man asked. "Was it a train?"
"It was returning from a train," Robert Jordan said. "The train was successful. Returning in the dark we encountered a fascist patrol and as we ran he was shot high in the back but without hitting any bone except the shoulder blade. He travelled quite a long way, but with the wound was unable to travel more. He was unwilling to be left behind and I shot him."
"_Menos mal_," said El Sordo. "Less bad."
"Are you sure your nerves are all right?" Pilar said to Robert Jordan.
"Yes," he told her. "I am sure that my nerves are all right and I think that when we terminate this of the bridge you would do well to go to the Gredos."
As he said that, the woman started to curse in a flood of obscene invective that rolled over and around him like the hot white water splashing down from the sudden eruption of a geyser.
The deaf man shook his head at Robert Jordan and grinned in delight. He continued to shake his head happily as Pilar went on vilifying and Robert Jordan knew that it was all right again now. Finally she stopped cursing, reached for the water jug, tipped it up and took a drink and said, calmly, "Then just shut up about what we are to do afterwards, will you, _Ingl?_ You go back to the Republic and you take your piece with you and leave us others alone here to decide what part of these hills we'll die in."
"Live in," El Sordo said. "Calm thyself, Pilar."
"Live in and die in," Pilar said. "I can see the end of it well enough. I like thee, _Ingl_, but keep thy mouth off of what we must do when thy business is finished."
"It is thy business," Robert Jordan said. "I do not put my hand in it."
"But you did," Pilar said. "Take thy little cropped-headed whore and go back to the Republic but do not shut the door on others who are not foreigners and who loved the Republic when thou wert wiping thy mother's milk off thy chin."
Maria had come up the trail while they were talking and she heard this last sentence which Pilar, raising her voice again, shouted at Robert Jordan. Maria shook her head at Robert Jordan violently and shook her finger warningly. Pilar saw Robert Jordan looking at the girl and saw him smile and she turned and said, "Yes. I said whore and I mean it. And I suppose that you'll go to Valencia together and we can eat goat crut in Gredos."
"I'm a whore if thee wishes, Pilar," Maria said. "I suppose I am in all case if you say so. But calm thyself. What passes with thee?"
"Nothing," Pilar said and sat down on the bench, her voice calm now and all the metallic rage gone out of it. "I do not call thee that. But I have such a desire to go to the Republic."
"We can all go," Maria said.
"Why not?" Robert Jordan said. "Since thou seemest not to love the Gredos."
Sordo grinned at him.
"We'll see," Pilar said, her rage gone now. "Give me a glass of that rare drink. I have worn my throat out with anger. We'll see. We'll see what happens."
"You see, Comrade," El Sordo explained. "It is the morning that is difficult." He was not talking the pidgin Spanish now and he was looking into Robert Jordan's eyes calmly and explainingly; not searchingly nor suspiciously, nor with the flat superiority of the old campaigner that had been in them before. "I understand your needs and I know the posts must be exterminated and the bridge covered while you do your work. This I understand perfectly. This is easy to do before daylight or at daylight."
"Yes," Robert Jordan said. "Run along a minute, will you?" he said to Maria without looking at her.
The girl walked away out of hearing and sat down, her hands clasped over her ankles.
"You see," Sordo said. "In that there is no problem. But to leave afterward and get out of this country in daylight presents a grave problem"
"Clearly," said Robert Jordan. "I have thought of it. It is daylight for me also."
"But you are one," El Sordo said. "We are various."
"There is the possibility of returning to the camps and leaving from there at dark," Pilar said, putting the glass to her lips and then lowering it.
"That is very dangerous, too," El Sordo explained. "That is perhaps even more dangerous."
"I can see how it would be," Robert Jordan said.
"To do the bridge in the night would be easy," El Sordo said. "Since you make the condition that it must be done at daylight, it brings grave consequences."
"I know it."
"You could not do it at night?"
"I would be shot for it."
"It is very possible we will all be shot for it if you do it in the daytime."
"For me myself that is less important once the bridge is blown," Robert Jordan said. "But I see your viewpoint. You cannot work Out a retreat for daylight?"
"Certainly," El Sordo said. "We will work out such a retreat. But I explain to you why one is preoccupied and why one is irritated. You speak of going to Gredos as though it were a military manceuvre to be accomplished. To arrive at Gredos would be a miracle."
Robert Jordan said nothing.
"Listen to me," the deaf man said. "I am speaking much. But it is so we may understand one another. We exist here by a miracle. By a mixacle of laziness and stupidity of the fascists which they will remedy in time. Of course we are very careful and we make no disturbance in these hills."
"I know."
"But now, with this, we must go. We must think much about the manner of our going."
"Clearly."
"Then," said El Sordo. "Let us eat now. I have talked much."
"Never have I heard thee talk so much," Pilar said. "Is it this?" she held up the glass.
"No," El Sordo shook his head. "It isn't whiskey. It is that never have I had so much to talk of."
"I appreciate your aid and your loyalty," Robert Jordan said. "I appreciate the difficulty caused by the timing of the blowing of the bridge."
"Don't talk of that," El Sordo said. "We are here to do what we can do. But this is complicated."
"And on paper very simple," Robert Jordan grinned. "On paper the bridge is blown at the moment the attack starts in order that nothing shall come up the road. It is very simple."
"That they should let us do something on paper," El Sordo said. "That we should conceive and execute something on paper."
"Paper bleeds little," Robert Jordan quoted the proverb.
"But it is very useful," Pilar said. "_Es muy util_. What I would like to do is use thy orders for that purpose."
"Me too," said Robert Jordan. "But you could never win a war like that."
"No," the big woman said. "I suppose not. But do you know what I would like?"
"To go to the Republic," El Sordo said. He had put his good ear close to her as she spoke. "_Ya ir嫳, mujer_. Let us win this and it will all be Republic."
"All right," Pilar said. "And now, for God's sake let us eat."
　　他们从髙山坡上的草地笔直朝下走进树木葱茏的山谷，再爬上一条和小溪平行的山路，随即在松树的浓荫里弃路登上一个陡峭的圓山顶,这时，只见一个手握卡宾熗的男人从一棵树后闪出来。
　　“站住，”他说，接着说，“是你，比拉尔。跟你一起的是谁?”
　　“一个英国人。”比拉尔说。“不过倒有个天主教的教名一罗伯托。到这里的路真他妈的徒。”
　　“你好吗，同志。”哨兵对罗伯特　乔丹说，伸出手来　。
　　“好。”罗伯特’乔丹说。“你呢？〃
　　“也好，”那哨兵说。这个人很年轻，身材又小又瘦，长着很髙的鹰钩鼻，高顴骨，灰眼睛。他没戴帽子，头发粗浓漆黑，握手有力而友好。他的眼神也是友好的。
　　“喂，玛丽亚，”他对那姑娘说。“你没有累坏吗？”“什么话，华金！”姑娘说。“我们坐着聊天的时间比走路的时间长，“
　　“你就是爆玻手吗？”华金问。“我们听说你来这里了？“我们在巴勃罗那儿过的夜，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“对，我就是爆破手。”
　　”“很高兴见到侔，”华金说。“准备炸火车吗？”。”“上次炸火车你在吗？”罗伯特-乔丹微笑着问。“怎么不在　”华金说。“我们就是在那里把她收下的，”他对玛丽亚露齿笑笑。“你琛在长得漂亮了。”他对玛丽亚谗，〃人家对你说过，你有多漂亮吗?”
　　“算了，华金，谢谢你，”玛丽亚说。“你剃了头也满漂亮的。”“是我背你的，”华金对姑娘说。“我把你背在肩上，““好多人都背过。”比拉尔用低沉的声音说。“哪个没背过她?老头子在哪儿?”“在营地。”“昨晚他在哪里?”“在塞哥维亚。”“他带来了消息吗,“带来了，”华金说。“有消息。”“好的还是坏的?”“我看是坏的，““你看到飞机没有?”
　　“唉，”华金摇摇头说。“甭提啦。爆玻手同志，那些是什么飞机?”
　　“海因克尔111型轰炸机。海因克尔和菲亚特驱逐机，”罗伯特’乔丹对他说。
　　“那些低机翼的大飞机是什么飞机?”“海因克尔111型。”
　　“管它叫什么名字，反正一样糟，”华金说　“我在耽搁你们的时间了，我带你们到司令那儿去。”“司令？”比拉尔问。
　　华金一本正经地点点头，“我喜欢叫司令，不喜欢叫‘头目、”他说。“叫司令更富有部队的气派。”“你越来越军事化了，，比拉尔取笑他说,“不，”华金说。“不过我喜欢军事术语，可以使命令更明确，纪律更严明。”
　　“这里有个配你胃口的小伙子,英国人，”比拉尔说。“很认真的小伙子，“
　　“我背你好吗？”华金问姑娘，并把手放在她肩上，冲着她徽
笑。
　　“背过一次就够啦，”玛丽亚对他说。“不过还是谢谢你。”；“你记得当时的情景吗？”华金问她。“我记得有人背我。”玛丽亚说。“你背我，记不得了。我记得那吉普赛人，因为他好几次把我扔下了。可是我要谢谢你,华金，以后有机会我来背你。”
　　“我还记得很清楚。”华金说。“我记得，抓住了你两条腿，你肚子贴在我肩上，你的头和两条手臂垂在我背后。”
　　“你的记性不错。”玛丽亚对他笑着说。“我一点也记不得了。你的手臂啦，肩膀啦，背啦，我全记不得了。”“你想知道一件事吗？”华金问她。“什么事?” ，
　　“我髙兴的是，当时子弹是从我们背后打来的，你的身体正好挡住了我的背。”
　　“你这个畜生。”玛丽亚说。“吉普赛人背了我好久，难道也是这个原因？”
　　“也是这个原因,并且还因为可以抱住你的大腿。”〃这就是我的英雄们”玛丽亚说,“我的救命恩人““听着，漂亮的姑娘，”比拉尔对她说。“这小伙子背了你好长时间，在那个关头,对你的大腿谁都不会动心。那时候只听到嘘嘘的子弹声。要是把你扔下，他早就能跑出子弹的射程了，““我谢过他了。”玛丽亚说，“我以后一定也背背他。让我们说说笑诘吧。我总不应该为了他背过我而哭吧,是不是?”
　　“我原想把你扔下的，”华金继续逗她。“可是我怕比拉尔熗爽我。”
　　“我没熗毙过人，”比拉尔说。
　　“没有熗毙的必要。”华金对她说。“你一开口就能把人吓死。”
　　“油嘴滑舌，”比拉尔对他说。“你以前一直是个懂规矩的小伙子。革命前你干什么，孩子。“
　　“不干什么。”华金说。“我那时只有十六岁，“
　　“究竟干些什么。”
　　“时不时摆弄摆弄几双皮鞋
　　“做皮鞋吗？”
　　“不。擦皮鞋。“
　　“什么话，”比拉尔说。“不止是擦皮鞋吧,她望着他那棕色的脸,矫健的身材，蓬乱的头发和那敏捷的步伐。“你干吗不干了?”
　　“不干什么？”
　　“什么？你自己知道什么。你现在已经在留头发好扎斗牛士的小辫啦。”
　　“我看是害怕的缘故，”小伙子说。“你身材不错。”比拉尔对他说。“只是相貌平常一些。那么是由于害怕,是吗？炸火车的时候，你干得不坏嘛。”
　　“我现在不怕牛了。”那小伙子说。“随便哪一头都不怕了。比牛凶得多、危险得多的东西，我们都见过了。当然，嗛头牛都比不上机关熗危险。不过,要是现在上斗牛场去斗牛,我不知道两条腿还打不打哆嗦。”
　　“他原想当斗牛士，”比拉尔对罗伯特　乔丹讲。“不过他害
怕。”
　　‘“你喜欢看斗牛吗，爆玻手同志?”华金笑着，露出了洁白的牙齿。
　　“非常喜欢，”罗伯特’乔丹说。“非常、非常喜欢。”
　　“你在瓦利阿多里德看过斗牛吗？”华金问。
　　“看过。在九月份的节期内。”
　　“那是我家乡，”华金说。“我的家乡多好呀，可是城里那些善良的乡亲在这次战争中吃了多少苦啊。”他的脸色变得严肃了，“他们在那里熗杀了我爹，我妈，我姐夫，后来又杀了我姐姐。”
　　“杀人不眨眼的畜生，”罗伯特，乔丹说。这种话他听过多少次啦？他多少次看到人们难受地说着这种话？他多少次见到人们满眶泪水、哽着喉咙、难受地讲到“我爹，我兄弟，我妈，或者我姐妹、听人们这样讲到死去的亲人，他记不得有多少次了。人们讲的几乎总和现在这个小伙子讲的一样；一提起家乡，就一下子讲开了，而你呢，总是这么一句话　“杀人不眨眼的畜生。”你只不过听人们提起家人丧亡罢了。你没看到他们的父亲死去，不象比拉尔在小溪边向他描述法西斯分子死去的情心茄�生动，就象亲眼看见似的。你知道那父亲死在某个院子里，某堵墙脚�

“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　乔丹望着那姑娘，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”

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 for thee, I will sit by thee and watch thee and in the nights we will make love." "Good," Robert Jordan said. "The last project is very sensible." "To me it seems the same," Maria smiled. "Oh, _Ingl_," she said. "My name is Roberto." "Nay. But I call thee _Ingl_ as Pilar does." "Still it is Roberto." "No," she told him. "Now for a whole day it is _Ingl_. And _Ingl_, can I help thee with thy work?" "No. What I do now I do alone and very coldly in my head." "Good," she said. "And when will it be finished?" "Tonight, with luck." "Good," she said. Below them was the last woods that led to the camp. "Who is that?" Robert Jordan asked and pointed. "Pilar," the girl said, looking along his arm. "Surely it is Pilar." At the lower edge of the meadow where the first trees grew the woman was sitting, her head on her arms. She looked like a dark bundle from where they stood; black against the brown of the tree trunk. "Come on," Robert Jordan said and started to run toward her through the knee-high heather. It was heavy and hard to run in and when he had run a little way, he slowed and walked. He could see the woman's head was on her folded arms and she looked broad and black against the tree trunk. He came up to her and said, "Pilar!" sharply. The woman raised her head and looked up at him. "Oh," she said. "You have terminated already?" "Art thou ill?" he asked and bent down by her. "_Qu?va_," she said. "I was asleep." "Pilar," Maria, who had come up, said and kneeled down by her. "How are you? Are you all right?" "I'm magnificent," Pilar said but she did not get up. She looked at the two of them. "Well, _Ingl_," she said. "You have been doing manly tricks again?" "You are all right?" Robert Jordan asked, ignoring the words. "Why not? I slept. Did you?" "No." "Well," Pilar said to the girl. "It seems to agree with you." Maria blushed and said nothing. "Leave her alone," Robert Jordan said. "No one spoke to thee," Pilar told him. "Maria," she said and her voice was hard. The girl did not look up. "Maria," the woman said again. "I said it seems to agree with thee." "Oh, leave her alone," Robert Jordan said again. "Shut up, you," Pilar said without looking at him. "Listen, Maria, tell me one thing." "No," Maria said and shook her head. "Maria," Pilar said, and her voice was as hard as her face and there was nothing friendly in her face. "Tell me one thing of thy own volition." The girl shook her head. Robert Jordan was thinking, if I did not have to work with this woman and her drunken man and her chicken-crut outfit, I would slap her so hard across the face that--. "Go ahead and tell me," Pilar said to the girl. "No," Maria said. "No." "Leave her alone," Robert Jordan said and his voice did not sound like his own voice. I'll slap her anyway and the hell with it, he thought. Pilar did not even speak to him. It was not like a snake charming a bird, nor a cat with a bird. There was nothing predatory. Nor was there anything perverted about it. There was a spreading, though, as a cobra's hood spreads. He could feel this. He could feel the menace of the spreading. But the spreading was a domination, not of evil, but of searching. I wish I did not see this, Robert Jordan thought. But it is not a business for slapping. "Maria," Pilar said. "I will not touch thee. Tell me now of thy own volition." "_De tu propia voluntad_," the words were in Spanish. The girl shook her head. "Maria," Pilar said. "Now and of thy own volition. You hear me? Anything at all." "No," the girl said softly. "No and no." "Now you will tell me," Pilar told her. "Anything at all. You will see. Now you will tell me." "The earth moved," Maria said, not looking at the woman. "Truly. It was a thing I cannot tell thee." "So," Pilar said and her voice was warm and friendly and there was no compulsion in it. But Robert Jordan noticed there were small drops of perspiration on her forehead and her lips. "So there was that. So that was it." "It is true," Maria said and bit her lip. "Of course it is true," Pilar said kindly. "But do not tell it to your own people for they never will believe you. You have no _Cali_ blood, _Ingl?_" She got to her feet, Robert Jordan helping her up. "No," he said. "Not that I know of." "Nor has the Maria that she knows of," Pilar said. "_Pues es muy raro_. It is very strange." "But it happened, Pilar," Maria said. "_C鏔o que no, hija?_" Pilar said. "Why not, daughter? When I was young the earth moved so that you could feel it all shift in space and were afraid it would go out from under you. It happened every night." "You lie," Maria said. "Yes," Pilar said. "I lie. It never moves more than three times in a lifetime. Did it _really_ move?" "Yes," the girl said. "Truly." "For you, _Ingl?_" Pilar looked at Robert Jordan. "Don't lie." "Yes," he said. "Truly." "Good," said Pilar. "Good. That is something." "What do you mean about the three times?" Maria asked. "Why do you say that?" "Three times," said Pilar. "Now you've had one." "Only three times?" "For most people, never," Pilar told her. "You are sure it moved?" "One could have fallen off," Maria said. "I guess it moved, then," Pilar said. "Come, then, and let us get to camp." "What's this nonsense about three times?" Robert Jordan said to the big woman as they walked through the pines together. "Nonsense?" she looked at him wryly. "Don't talk to me of nonsense, little English." "Is it a wizardry like the palms of the hands?" "Nay, it is common and proven knowledge with _Gitanos_." "But we are not _Gitanos_." "Nay. But you have had a little luck. Non-gypsies have a little luck sometimes." "You mean it truly about the three times?" She looked at him again, oddly. "Leave me, _Ingl_," she said. "Don't molest me. You are too young for me to speak to." "But, Pilar," Maria said. "Shut up," Pilar told her. "You have had one and there are two more in the world for thee." "And you?" Robert Jordan asked her. "Two," said Pilar and put up two fingers. "Two. And there will never be a third." "Why not?" Maria asked. "Oh, shut up," Pilar said. "Shut up. _Busnes_ of thy age bore me." "Why not a third?" Robert Jordan asked. "Oh, shut up, will you?" Pilar said. "Shut up!" All right, Robert Jordan said to himself. Only I am not having any. I've known a lot of gypsies and they are strange enough. But so are we. The difference is we have to make an honest living. Nobody knows what tribes we came from nor what our tribal inheritance is nor what the mysteries were in the woods where the people lived that we came from. All we know is that we do not know. We know nothing about what happens to us in the nights. When it happens in the day though, it is something. Whatever happened, happened and now this woman not only has to make the girl say it when she did not want to; but she has to take it over and make it her own. She has to make it into a gypsy thing. I thought she took a beating up the hill but she was certainly dominating just now back there. If it had been evil she should have been shot. But it wasn't evil. It was only wanting to keep her hold on life. To keep it through Maria. When you get through with this war you might take up the study of women, he said to himself. You could start with Pilar. She has put in a pretty complicated day, if you ask me. She never brought in the gypsy stuff before. Except the hand, he thought. Yes, of course the hand. And I don't think she was faking about the hand. She wouldn't tell me what she saw, of course. Whatever she saw she believed in herself. But that proves nothing. "Listen, Pilar," he said to the woman. Pilar looked at him and smiled. "What is it?" she asked. "Don't be so mysterious," Robert Jordan said. "These mysteries tire me very much." "So?" Pilar said. "I do not believe in ogres, soothsayers, fortune tellers, or chicken-crut gypsy witchcraft." "Oh," said Pilar. "No. And you can leave the girl alone." "I will leave the girl alone." "And leave the mysteries," Robert Jordan said. "We have enough work and enough things that will be done without complicating it with chicken-crut. Fewer mysteries and more work." "I see," said Pilar and nodded her head in agreement. "And listen, _Ingl_," she said and smiled at him. "Did the earth move?" "Yes, God damn you. It moved." Pilar laughed and laughed and stood looking at Robert Jordan laughing. "Oh, _Ingl_. _Ingl_," she said laughing. "You are very comical. You must do much work now to regain thy dignity." The Hell with you, Robert Jordan thought. But he kept his mouth shut. While they had spoken the sun had clouded over and as he looked back up toward the mountains the sky was now heavy and gray. "Sure," Pilar said to him, looking at the sky. "It will snow." "Now? Almost in June?" "Why not? These mountains do not know the names of the months. We are in the moon of May." "It can't be snow," he said. "It _can't_ snow." "Just the same, _Ingl_," she said to him, "it will snow." Robert Jordan looked up at the thick gray of the sky with the sun gone faintly yellow, and now as he watched gone completely and the gray becoming uniform so that it was soft and heavy; the gray now cutting off the tops of the mountains. "Yes," he said. "I guess you are right." 　　他们在山间草地的石南丛中走着，罗伯特〃乔.丹感到石南的枝叶擦着他的腿，感到熗套里沉甸甸的手熗贴着自己的大腿,感到阳光晒在自己头上，感到从积雪的山峰上来的风吹在背上凉飕飕的，感到手里握着的姑娘的手结实而有力，手指扣着他的手指。由于她的掌心贴在他的掌心上，由于手指扣在一起，由于她的手腕和他的手腕交在一起，有一种奇异的感觉从她的手、手指和手腕传到了他的手、手指和手腕上，这种感觉就象海上飘来的第一阵徽微吹皱那平静如镜的海面的轻风那么清新，又象羽毛擦过唇边,或者风息全无时飙下一片落叶那么轻柔,只能由他们俩手指的接触才能感觉到，然而这种感觉又由于他们俩相扣的手指、紧贴在一起的掌心和手旌而变得那么强烈，那么紧张, 　　那么迫切，那么痛楚，那么有力，仿佛有一股电流贯串了他那条手臂，使他全身充满了若有所求的剧烈欲望。阳光照耀在她麦浪般黄褐色的头发上，照耀在她光洁可爱的金褐色脸上，照耀在她线条优美的脖颈上，这时，他使她的头往后仰，把她搂在怀里吻她。他吻着她，感到她的身体在颤栗；他把她的全身紧贴在自己身上，一条手臂搂住她的背脊,她仰头站着,浑身哆嗦。她随即把下巴搁在他头上，他感到她双手抱着他的头贴着她胸口来回摇晃。他直起腰来,用双臂紧紧抱着她，以致使她全身紧贴在他身上，离开了地面，他感到她在颤栗，她的双唇压在他脖子上，他接着把她放下来,说。”玛丽亚，舸，我的玛丽亚。”接着他说，“我们到哪儿去好?” 　　她没说什么，只把手伸进他的衬衫里,他感到她在解他的衬衫钮扣。她说，“我也要。我也要吻。““不，小兔子。”“要。要。要跟你一样。”“不。那怎么行。” 　　“嗯,那就……哦,那就……哦，哦。”接着是压在身子底下的石南的气味，她脑袋下面被压弯的茎枝的粗糙感，明亮的阳光照射在她紧闭的眼睛上,于是他将一辈子也忘不了她那线条优美的脖颈，她仰在石南丛中的头，她不由自主地微微蟮动的双唇,她那对着太阳、对着一切紧闭的眼睛的睫毛的颤动。阳光照在她紧闭的眼睛上，使她觉得一切郁是红色的,橙红的，金红色的；那一切也都是这种颜色，充塞，占有，委身,都成了这种颜色，眼花缭乱地成为一色。对他说来，那是一条不知通往哪里的黑暗通道,一次又一次地不知通往哪里，永远不知通往哪里；胳將射沉重地支在地上,不知通往哪里，黑晻的、永无尽头的、不知名的去处，始终坚持着通往不知名的去处，-‘次又一次地永远不知通往哪里，现在再也无法忍受了，无法忍受地一直、一直、一直通往不知名的去处，突然地，灼热地，屏紧地，这不知名的去处消失了，时间猝然停止，他们俩一起躺在那里，时间已经停止，他感到地面在移动,在他们俩的身体下面移开去。他接着侧身躺着，脑袋深深地枕在石南丛里,闻着石南的气味，闻着石南根、泥土、阳光透过石南丛的气味,石南刮着他赤裸的肩膀和两腰，使他发痒，姑娘躺在他对面，眼睛仍然闭着，这时，她睁幵眼睛，对他微笑。他十分疲乏地，似乎隔着很远的距离亲切地对她说，“暧，兔子。”她微笑着,毫无隔阂地说。”哎，我的英国人。” 　　“我不是英国人。”他疲惫地说， 　　“唤，你是的，”她说。“你是我的英国人。”并且伸手抓住了他的两只耳朵，吻他的前额。 　　“噑，”她说。“怎么样，“我吻得好一些了吧?”接着,他俩顺溪而行，他说，“玛丽亚，我爱你「你真可爱，真好,真美,跟你在一起太美妙啦，使我只觉得，在爱你的那时，好象要死过去了。” 　　“噢，”她说。“我每次都死过去。你没有死过去吗?”〃没有。也差不多。不过你觉得地面在移动吗。”“是呀。在我死过去的那时刻。请用手臂搂着我　“不。我巳经握着你的手了。握着你的手就够啦。”他望望她,望望草地对面空中一只鹰在盘旋觅食，午后大块的云朵这时正在向山上压过来。 　　“你跟别人也是这样吗？”玛丽亚问他,他们这时手拉手地走 着。 　　“不。说真的“你爱过不少女人了，““有几个。诃是跟你不一样。”“不象我们这个样子吗？真的?”“也快活，可是不象我们这么样。”“刚才地面移动了。以前没动过吗？”“没有。真的从来没有。”“哎，”她说。“象这样，我们有过一天啦。”他没说什么。 　　“我们现在至少有过啦，”玛丽亚说。“你也喜欢我吗？我讨你喜欢吗？我以后会长得好看些的。”“你现在就非常美丽。”“不,她说。“你用手摸摸我的头吧。”他抚摸她的头，觉得她那头短发很柔软，在他手指下被压平了，随后又翘起来。他把双手捧着她的头，使她仰起脸来对着自己，然后吻她。 　　“我很喜欢亲吻"她说。“可我吻得不好。，“你不用亲吻。” 　　“不，我耍。如果我做你的女人,就该事事都叫你髙兴。”“你巳经叫我非常髙兴。我不能比现在更髙兴啦，如果更竊兴了，我就不知道该怎么办啦，“ 　　“可你以后看吧，”她非常愉快地说。“我的头发现在使你觉得有趣，因为样子怪。不过头发天天在长　会长得很长,那时候我就不难看了，说不定你会非常爱我。“ 　　“你的身体很可爱，”他说。“再可爱也没有啦。”“只不过是因为年青而苗条吧。” 　　“不。美妙的身体有一种麋力。我不懂为什么有人有，有人没有。不过，你有。” 　　“那是给你的，”她说。“不，“ 　　“就是。给你，永远给你，只给你一个人。可是这并不会给你带来什么。我要学会好好照頋你。你可要跟我说真话。你以前从没觉得地面移动吗?” 　　“从来也没有，”他老实地说。“现在我高兴了，”她说。“现在我真的高兴了。”　“现在你在想别的事吗？”她问他。“是呀。我的任务，“ 　　“我们有马儿就好了。”玛丽亚说。“我高兴的时候就想骑匹好马飞奔，有你在我身边，也骑着马飞奔，我们要越跑越快,骑着马儿飞奔,我的髙兴就永远没个完。“ 　　“我们可以把你的高兴带到飞机上，”他心不在焉地说。“还要象那些小驱逐机那样，在天上的阳光里闪亮，不停地飞来飞去。”她说。"在空中翻筋斗呀，俯冲呀。多棒呀　”她大笑了，“我高兴得自己也不知道在乘飞机呐。” 　　“你的高兴没有边，”他说，没有完全听见她讲的话。因为这时他出了神。他虽走在她身旁，心里却想着桥的问题，一切都显得清楚，确实，轮廓分明,好象照相机的镜头对准了，焦距。他看到那两个哨所,着到安塞尔莫和那吉普赛人在守望。他看到那空荡荡的公路，他看到公路上的部队调动。他看到能使那两挺自动步熗发挥最大火力的位置，可是由谁来掌握这两挺自动步熗呢？他想，收尾时是我，那么开始时由谁呢？他看到自己放好炸药，卡住,扎紧,安好雷管,接好电线,联上接头,回到他放痱只旧引爆箱的地方，接着他开始琢磨可能发生的种种情况，以及可能出差错的地方，别想啦，他对自己说。你跟这个姑娘睡过觉，现在头脑清醒，完全清醒，你却开始发愁了，考虑你非干不可的事情是一回事，发愁又是一回事。别发愁。你不能发愁呀。你了解你也许不得不千的事情，你还了解可能发生什么情况。这些情况当然可能发生的啦。　 　　你知道自己斗争的目标，于是你全力以赴。你反对的正是现在要干的，并且为了有希望得到胜利而不得不干的事情。所以，你如今不得不使用你所喜爱的这些人，就象你要取胜而必须使用那些你对之毫无感情的军队一样。巴勃罗显然最精明　他立刻就了解情况如何险恶。那女人全力支持,现在仍然没变，但是对这件事的实质的认识遂渐压垮了她，巳经使她十分沮丧。“聋子”马上看清这件事，他干倒肯干，但是并不比他，罗伯特　乔丹,更喜欢干。 　　原来你是说你考虑的并不是你自己，而是那女人、那姑娘以及别的人将会碰到的逋遇。好吧。如果你没来，他们又将碰到怎样的遭遇呢？你来这里之前，他们碰到了些佧么，她们的情况又是怎样的呢？你不能那样想。除了行动时，你对他们并不负有责任。发号施令的不是你。是戈尔兹。那戈尔兹算老几？是个好将军。是你到目前为止最好的顶头上司。然而，一个人明知那些行不通的命令会导致什么后果,他还应该执行吗?哪怕命令来自那个既是军队又是党的领导人戈尔兹？对。他应该执行这些命令，因为只有在执行过程中，才能证明行不通。你没有尝试哪能知道行不通呢？要是接到命令的时侯人人都说没法执行，那么你这个人将落到什么样的境地？要是命令来到的时候你就说“行不通那么我们大家将落到什么样的塊地？ 　　他见过不少将领1对他们来说,所有的命令都行不通。埃斯特雷马杜拉的那个畜生戈麦斯就是如此。他见过不少次迸攻战,两翼按兵不动，理由是行不通。不，他要执行这些命令，倒霉的是不得不和这些他很喜欢的人一起干。 　　他们游击队所干的每桩事情，都给掩护他们、和他们一起干的人带来意外的危险和厄运。为的是什么呢？为的是最终消除危险，让这个国家成为可以安居乐业的好地方。这种话听起来象是陈词滥调,不过，这是真话。 　　如果共和国失败的话，那些信仰共和国的人就不能在西班牙生活下去。不过，会失败吗？是呀，根据那些已被法西斯分子占领的地区所发生的情形看来，他知道是会失败的。 　　巴勃罗是个畜生，可是别的人都是好样的，那么叫他们去炸桥不是出卖他们每个人吗？也许是。然而，如果他们不这样干，一星期之内就会来两中队骑兵，把他们从这个山区里赶走。 　　不。把他们扔在一边是不会得到任何好处的。除非你的原则是把所有的人都扔在一边，你不应该干涉任何人的事。他原来是这样想的，是不是，“对，他是这样想的。银么一个有计划的社会等等，又是怎么一回事呢？那是该由别人去干的事啦。这次战争之后，他有别的事要干。他投入这次战争是因为战争发生在他所热爱的国家里,他儐仰共和国，并且，要是共和国被毁灭,那些信仰共和国的人日子都要过不下去。整个战争期间他都得服从共产党的纪律。在西班牙，共产党提供了最好的纪律，最健全、最英明的作战纪律。战争期间他服从他们的纪律，因为在作战的时候,只有这个党的纲领和纪律是他所尊敬的。 　　那么他的政见又是什么呢？他对自己说　目前没有什么政见。可是跟谁也不能讲呀，他想。永远别透露这点。那么你以后打算干什么呢？我要回去,象以前一样，教西班牙语谋生，并且打算写一本真正的书　我说得准，他说，我说得准这不是什么难事　 　　他应该跟巴勃罗谈谈政治才对。了解了解他在政治上的发展肯定是很有趣的。可能是典型的由左向右的蜕变，就象老勒洛①。巴勃罗很象老勒洛。普列托②也同样的糟糕。巴勃罗和普列托对最后胜利的信心大致上差不离。他们都抱着偷马贼的政见。他把共和国作为一种政府形式加以信任，但是共和国必须淸除这帮偷马贼，在叛乱开始时他们这帮人害共和国落到了什么境地啊。领导人民的人同时又是人民的真正的敌人，世界上哪个国家有过这种情况？ 　　人民的敌人。这种词儿他还是不讲为妙。他不愿用这种口号式的词儿。这是和玛丽亚睡了觉而引起的思想变化。在政治方面，他已经变得象个顽固不化的浸礼会教友那样偏执死板，因此象“人民的敌人”这样的词儿是没有多加考虑就浮上心头的。任何革命的或爱国的八股也是这样。他没有考虑就使用这种词儿。当然啦，它们不是假话，但是非常容易把它们滥用。自从昨夜和今天下午发生那事以来，对这种事情，他的头脑变得越来越清酲，纯洁得多了。偏执是件古怪的东西。偏执的人必然绝对相倌自己是正确的，而克制自己，保持正统思想，正是最能助长这种自以为正确和正直的看法的。克制是异端邪说的敌人申 如果他仔细检查的话，这个前提怎么站得住脚呢？共产党总是强烈反对放荡不羁的作风，也许就是为了这个缘故吧。当你酗酒或私通的时候，你就会发觉，拿党的路线来衡量，你是多么容易犯错误啊。打倒放荡不羁的作风，那是马雅可夫斯基所犯的错误。 然而马雅可夫斯基又被尊为圣徒了。那是因为他已经盖棺论定了。他对自己说。”你自己也会盖棺论定的。现在别去想这种事情吧。想想玛丽亚吧。 ①勒洛(入　。扭1　11。13X。8。。—1。。。)1西班牙激进党领袖，一九三三年十二月起曾几度出任共和国总理。一九三六年二月大选中，被人民阵线所击败。他在政治上从共和派遂渐堕落为右派。 ②普列托〔11　，“1。。1。 〉。”西班牙社会党领袖，生于一八八三年，一九三一年起先后任财政部长等职，政治上逐渐堕落为社会党右霣分子。 　 　　玛丽亚使他的偏执十分难堪。到目前为止，她还没有影晌他的决心，然而他巴不得活在人间。他愿意欣然放弃英雄或烈士的结局。他不想打一场德摩比利式的保卫战①，也不想当桥头阻敌的罗马壮士霍拉修斯②，更不想成为那个用手指堵塞堤坝窟窿的荷兰孩子　不。他乐意和玛丽亚一起生活。说得最简单，就是这样。他乐意和她共度一段漤长的岁月。 　　他不信再有什么渎长的岁月之类的事了,伹是,如果真有的话，他乐意和她一起消磨，他想,我们在住旅馆的时候，我看，可以用利文斯通博士③夫妇的名字来填登记表。 ①公元前四八。年，斯巴达茵王列舆尼达牢三百名战士坠守德摩比利阻口，阻击波斯便略军，结杲被田，全部牺牲。 ②崔拉修斯为罗马传说中的英雄,于公元前五。八年左右，和其他两名杜士坚守罗马一木桥，阻挡住入侵的伊特拉斯坎人的大军，待罗马人班桥后才眺入台伯河中，游至对岸。有说在河中袂淹死。 ⑨苏格兰医学博士利;　通　1。，“1118。1。118.131，“—1，“于一八四。年离英至非洲南部任传教士，一面行医，一面到处旅行探险。一八六六年第二次到非洲，一度和外界失去联系。一七""年，典纽约先驵报、派英籍记者字利　斯坦利率探险队到非洲寻找他的下落，于十一月十曰在坦噶尼嗜湖边乌吉吉城与他会面，斯坦利第一句话躭是。”‘我者这位是利大斯通博士吧。”罗伯特　乔丹在此处用开玩笑的心情引用了这句活。 　　干吗不娶她？当然罗，他想。我要娶她。这样我们就成为爱达荷州太阳谷城的罗伯特申乔丹夫妇，或者是得克萨斯州科珀斯克里斯蒂城，或蒙大拿州比尤特城①的罗伯特　乔丹夫妇了參西班牙姑娘能成为了不起的妻子。我从没结过婚，所以很相信这一点。等我回大学复了职，她就是讲师太太啦。西班牙语系四年级学生傍晚来我家抽板烟，饶有兴味地换谈克维多、维加、加尔多斯②以及其他始终受人尊敬的死者的时候，玛丽亚可以跟他们讲讲某些为正统信仰而斗争的蓝衫十字军③怎样骑在她头上，而另一些拧住她胳臂，把她的裙子撩上去堵住她嘴的情况， 　　我不知道蒙大拿树米苏拉城的人们会怎样看待玛丽亚？那是说，假使我能回到米苏拉找到工作的话。看来我在那里要永远被戴上赤色分子的糈子，列在总的黑名单上了。尽管你自己永远不会知道　你永远说不准。他们没法证明你以前干过什么事，事实上即使你告诉了他们，他们也不会相信你，而我的护照在他们颁发限制条例之前去西班牙是有效的， 　　我可以待到三七年的秋天才回去，我是在三六年夏天离开的，假期虽然是一年，但在第二年秋季开学时回去也没有问题。从现在到秋季开学还有不少时间。你也可以这样说,从现在到后天这段时间也不短。不。我看没必要为大学发愁吧。只要你秋天回到那儿去就行。只要想办法回到那儿去就行。 ①这三个城市都在美国西部。罗伯特“乔丹的家乡在蒙大拿州西郁米苏拉城，离其中两个城市不远。他在设想回美国后带了玛丽亚到那几个地方定居。 ③维加(！　诉　　V雄、1。。2—1。85):西班牙戏剧家，现存作品四百余部，大部分为軎剧，以　羊泉，“为代表作。加尔多斯？如―18。3—1。2。〉。”西班牙作家，著有长篇小说、剧本多种,⑧指西班牙法西斯组织长熗韋窍裤， 　　 　　但是现在呢,这一段时期的生活多奇怪呀。不怪才有鬼呢。西班牙就是你的任务、你的工作，因此待在西班牙是自然而合理的。好几个夏天,你在一些工程项目中干过，在林业部门参加筑路并在国家公园里干过，学会了使用炸药，所以干爆玻工作对你也是合理而适当的。虽然时间仓促，不过学得很扎实。你一旦把爆玻当做问题来看待，那它就仅仅是一个问娌罢了。但是随之而来的好多问题却不好对付，尽管天知道你不把它当作一回事。人们一直把爆破比做有效的谋杀。讲一套冠冕堂皇的话，就能使它情有可原吗？讲一套冠冕堂皇的话，就会使杀人听起来更有趣吗？他对自己说。”依我看，你看待这问题未免太轻率了。他想　等你不再为共和国服役，你的情况将会如何,你究竟配做些什么，这些,对我来说,都是大成问翅的。他对自己说　不过我的设想是，只要你把它写出来，就能把这些包袱全都放下。你一旦把它写出来，一切就会成为过去。要是你能写的话，那将是本好书。要比另外那一本好得多. 　　他想。”然而在这阶段，你眼前的生活，或今后的生活，就是今天，今晚，明天!今天，今晚，明天，我希望能一遍遍地周而复始，他想，所以你最好还是抓住目前的时光,并且感到十分欣慰。要是炸桥的佾況不妙呢？眼前看来可不太妙。 　　然而，玛丽亚是美好的。可不是暍？他想,喵,可不是吗？我现在能从生活中得到的也许就是这个了　也许这就是我的生活，不是七十年，而是四十八小时，或者说得确切些，是七十或者七十二小时。一天二十四小时，三个整天是七十二小时。 　　我看,七十小时跟七十年一样，也可以充分享受生活　只要你已经到达了适当的竿龄，并且这七十小时开始时你已经有，“丰富的生活，真是胡扯，他想。你一个人在想些什么鬼名堂。这,是胡扯。也许这不是胡扯。得了，我们走着瞧吧。我上一次　！女人睡觉是在马德里，不，不对。那是在埃斯科里亚尔，那晚上我醞来，以为是另一个人在身边，感到相当激动，后来才知道到底是谁，除了这一点之外，别的很平淡；不过，那还是很愉快的。那次之前是在马德里，除了在睡觉时我对自己的身份说了一些谎和推托的话之外，情况也差不多，或者更差劲一些。所以，我不是过分美化西班牙女人的风流人物，也不认为在西班牙逢场作戏要比在别的国家逢场作戏更强。可是，我和玛丽亚在一起的时候，我爱她之深使我觉得自己确实象要死过去似的，我从来不信会这样，也不认为会有这种事，所以，假如把七十年来换七十小时，我现在觉得也很值得，而且我能这样认识是够幸福的。假如根本没有那种所谓的漫长岁月，没有人的余生，也没有从今以后，而只有现在,那么“现在”就值得赞美，而我为此感到非常愉快。“现在西班牙语叫访，法语叫德语叫“　　，“。”现在”这个词听起来狠好笑,事实上却等于全世界和你的一生。今晚，西班牙语叫的切吐。，法语叫。。如比,德语叫么抑切，“1　。(1。生命和妻子,法语叫V！3和11　。不对,不能这样讲　法国人把这个解作丈夫，还可以说现在和妻子；可是这也说明不了什么，拿死亡来说，法语叫进。代，西班牙语叫11111耽忉，德语叫访战。德语的死亡听起来最可怕。战争，法语叫【拽，西班牙语叫豹，“风，梅语叫德语的战争听起来火药味最浓,是不是呢？要就是因为他的德语最差劲才这么想吗？宝贝儿，法语叫西班牙 语叫冗拍，“，德语叫沉“仏。他愿惫把这些词儿都换成玛丽並。这个名字才美哪。 　　得了,他们就要一起行动了，时间近在眼前了。看起来情况确实是越来越坏。那种任务根本没法在早晨完成。如果碰到无可奈何的情况，你得一直坚持到晚上才能脱身。你竭力想拖到晚上才动手。要是能拖到晚上，也许就没问题了。那么,假如在白天就开始拖，又怎么样呢？能行吗？那该死的“聋子”，特地用了正规的西班牙语来仔细地向他解释这一点。他好象以为，自从戈尔兹首次提出这事以来，每逢罗伯特　乔丹特意想到坏的方面时，从没认真考虑过那一点。好象自从大前天晚上以来,他一直象没事似的，而不是心窝里搁着一团消化不了的死面疙瘩。 　　这件事真眵呛。你活了半辈子，常常觉得生活似乎有点儿意义，但结果总是一无所得。你以为这是你永远也得不到的了。接着,在这样一场糟糕的把戏中，设法取得两帮胆小如鼠的游击队的配合,在难以想象的情况下帮你炸桥，来阻止一场也许早已开始了的反攻，这时,你却遇见了玛丽亚这个姑娘。当然啦，那正是你想望的事。伹是遇见得太晚了，就是这么回事。 　　原来实际上是比拉尔那么一个女人把这姑娘硬推进了你的睡袋，那结果怎么样呢？是呀，结果怎么样呢？请你跟我说说结果怎么样吧。是呀。结果就成了这副样子，结果就是这副样子。 　　别自欺欺人地说什么比拉尔把她硬推进了你的睡袋，别企图不把它当作一回事，或者认为真要不得。你“见到她就失魂落魄啦。她一开口跟你说话，你就产生了爱情，这你是知道的。你既然有了爱情，可是一向认为决不会有这种爱情，那么何必毁谤它呢，因为你当时明知道是什么回事，当她托着铁盘，弯着身子走出洞来,你第一次看见她的时侯，你就知道是什么回事了，你那时就堕入情网了，这你知道，那么干吗自欺欺人呢？每当你望着她，每当她望着你，你心里就折腾开了，所以你为什么不承认呢？好吧，我承认。至于比拉尔把这姑娘硬塞给你,她做的这一切正表明了她是个有头脑的女人。她处处关心这姑娘，姑娘托着菜盘回进山洞的时候，她一眼就看出苗头来了。 　　因此她使日子好过一些。她作了巧安排，所以才有昨天夜里和今夭下午的事。她可比你有见识得多，她知道一寸光阴一寸金。他对自己说。”是呀,着来我们得承认，她相当懂得时间的可责。她宁愿忍受不快，因为她不希望别人错过她所错过的青春，但是承认自己失去了青春实在太痛苦了　因此刚才在山上她很难受,我想我们也并没有使她好受些呢,眼前的情况就是这样，过去的情况就是这样，所以你还不如承认，如今你不会再有两个整夜可以和她待在一起了，不会白头到老，不会生活在一起,不会享受到别人都能享受到的幸福，根本不会这样了。“夜已经过去了，下午又搞了一次，也许还有一夜。不，先生。 　　没有时间，没有幸福，没有乐趣，没有儿女，没有屋子，没有浴室,没有干净的睡衣，没有日报，不会双欢醒来，不会醒来看到她在身边而你不是孑然一身。不。不会有那等事，可是，哎，既然你想向生活索取而能得到的只有这一点儿，既然你已经找到了，那为什么不能在铺有床单的床上睡上哪怕一晚呢？ 　　你在想望办不到的事。你在想望根本办不到的事。所以如果你真象你所说的那样爱这个姑娘，那么你不如使劲爱她，用爱情的強度来弥补这头关系所缺少的持久性和连续性。你听到这话吗，“往苷人们把自己的一生奉献给爱情　而现在，当你找到了爱情的时候，却想知道，如果你能领受两夜的话，这种运气究竟从何而来，两夜。两夜工夫，彼此相爱、相敬、相怜。有福同享,有难同当。无论生病或死亡。不，不是这么说的。无论生病或健康。至死才分离。①只有两夜。可能性很大。可能性很大,不过现在别胡思乱想啦。现在可别乱想啦。这对你没有好处。别做对你没好处的事。这话确实是说对了　 　　这正是戈尔兹淡起过的事，你和他相处愈久，他就愈显得精明　原来这就是他那时问到的，那就是不正规战争生活里的调济。戈尔兹有没有这种情况,是不是由于情况紧急，缺少时间和所处的环境才造成的？在类似的情形下，人人都会遇到这种事吗？难道说，仅仅是因为他遇到了这种事才认为这是特殊佾况吗？戈尔兹在指挥非正规的骑兵队时，是不是也匆匆忙忙地和女人睡觉，是不是因为情況错综复杂，阴错阳差，才使那些姑娘也象玛丽亚现在这副样子吗？ 　　戈尔兹可能也理解这一切，所以要你相信，你应该把给你的那两个晚上当作你的一生来享受；既然我们现在过着这种生活，就应该把你应得的一切集中在你仅有的能享受人生的短暂时刻里.这种想法固然不错。但是他不信玛丽亚的所作所为仅仅是环境造成的。当然，除非她是受到了他的处境以及她自己的处塊的影响。他想，她的处境是不太好的。是啊,不太好。 　　如果事实正是如此，那么就只能是如此。可是并没有法律规定你非接受它不可。他想　我过去不知道自己竞能产生这种感受，也不知道我会遇到这种经历。我但愿能一辈子车受这种感受。他心中另一个声音说。”你能够这样。就有着这种感受,而你整个的一生就在现在。除了现在再没有别的了，既没有昨天，当然啦，也没有明天。你要活到多大才能明白这一点呢?只有现在，而如果“现在”只有两天的话，那么两天就是你的一生，而这一生中的一切都将相应地压缩。你就这样在两天中度过一生。如果你不再抱怨，不再要求你永远不会得到的东西，那么，你就会过到美好的一生。美好的一生并不是用圣经上规定的七十年去计量的。 ①罗伯恃‘奍丹这里在回忆基督教徒在礼拜堂内结婚时，新人对坎师所作的誓言　　 　　所以现在别愁啦，接受你现有的东西，干你的工作，那么，你就能过到禊长的一生，十分快乐的一生。最近不是很快乐吗？你还抱怨什么呢？他对自己说，这种工作的性质就是这样的，他很髙兴有这样的想法，你学到的事不及你遇到的人那么重要。想到这里，他感到髙兴了，因为他在开玩笑了，于是他的思想又回到了玛瓯亚身上。 　　“我爱你，兔子，”他对姑娘说。“你刚才在说什么？”“我在说。”她对他说，“你千万别愁你的工作，因为我不会来麻烦你，也不会来妨碍你的，有什么事我可以出力的，你对我说好了。” 　　“没有什么，”他说。“其实事情很简单。”“我要问比拉尔，该做些什么才能照顾好男人，然后我就去做那些事。”玛丽亚说。“这样，我一边学，一边也会自己发现一些事情,另外有些事情呢，你也可以对我说说。”“没什么事要做的。” 　　“什么话，你啊，没什么事！你的睡袋今天早晨就诙拍拍，挂在有太阳光的地方晒晒。然后在降露水前收起来，“2。。 　　“说下去，兔子。” 　　“你的袜子得洗,得晒。我要让你有两双替换。”。1还有呢?” 　　“你要是肯教我，我就给你擦熗，上油。”“吻我吧，”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“不，现在说正经话。你肯教我保养手熗吗，“擦布啊，油啊，比拉尔有。山洞里有根擦熗用的通条,准配得上。”“当然啦。我一定教你。” 　　“还有，”玛丽亚说，“如果你教了我开熗，那么，万一我或你-受了伤，为了不被俘虏，有必要时你可以熗杀我，我也可以熗杀你,或者自杀。” 　　“真有意思，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你有很多这样的主意吗？”“不多。”玛丽亚说。“不过这是个好主意。比拉尔把这个给了我，还教我怎么用，”她解开衬衫前胸的口袋，掏出一只放随身带的梳子的那种短皮套子，解开勒住两端的宽橡皮筋，抽出一张刮胡子用的单面刀片。“我一直把这个带在身上，”她解释说。“比拉尔说，你该搁在耳朵下面，朝这里一划。”她用指头比划给他看。“她说这里有一根大动脉，你用刀片朝这儿一划，保险不会划镨。她还说，不会有痛苦，你只要在耳朵下面按紧，用刀片向下划。她说，这是轻而易举的，只要划成，他们就拿你没办法了。” 　　“她说得不错，”罗伯特"乔丹说。“那是颈动脉。”他想　原来她走东走西一直随身带着，认为这是种理所当然而准备恰当的应付万一的办法。 　　“可是我宁愿你熗杀我，”玛丽亚说。“答应吧，必要的时候你一定要熗杀我。” 　　“当然，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我答应。〃“多谢你啦，”玛丽亚对他说。“我知道，这种事做起来可不容易。” 　　“没有什么。”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　他想。”这一切你全忘啦。你太多地考虑你自己的任务，却忘了内战的种种妙处啦　你把这种事给忘了。得了，你是应该忘掉它的-卡希金忘不了这种事，结果毁了他的工作。或许你认为这位老兄事先就有预感的吧，“真是怪事，他对熗杀卡希金一事竟然无动于衷。他原以为到了某个时候，心里准会难受。然而到现在为止坯心安理得， 　　“不过，我还可以替你做别的事，”玛丽亚对他说，这时紧挨在他身边走着，态度十分认真，富有女人的味儿，“除了熗杀我之外,还能干别的事吗？”“是呀。等你吸完了那狴带嘴的烟卷，我可以替你卷烟。比拉尔教过我怎么把烟卷得好好的,又紧叉整齐，不会绽开。”“好极了。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“是你自己舔湿卷烟纸的吗?”“是呀，”姑娘说。“等你受了伤,我来看护你，给你包扎伤口，给你擦身，哦你吃一“ 　　“要是我不受伤呢”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“那么等你害病的时候，我来看护你，给你做汤，给你擦身，事事伺候你。我还要读书给你听。”“要是我不生病呢?” 　　“那么等你早晨釅来的时候，我给你端啪啡来一” 　　“要是我不爱咖啡呢?”罗伯特‘乔丹对她说。 　　“不，你爱的嘛,姑娘快乐地说。“今天早晨你就喝了两 杯，“ 　　“如果我喝腻了咖啡，没有必要熗杀我,我既不受伤，也不害病，戒了烟，只有一双袜子，自己晒睡袋，那么怎么办呢，兔子啊?”他拍拍她的背，“那么怎么办呢?” 　　“那么。”玛丽亚说，“我要向比拉尔借把剪刀，给你理发，““我不爱理发，“ 　　“我也不爱，”玛丽亚说。“我喜欢你现在的头发式样。那么，要是没事可替你做，我就坐在你身边，看着你，晚上,我们睡觉。”“好。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“最后这个主意非常明智。’“我也这样想，”玛丽亚微笑了。“噢,英国人，”她说。“我的名字叫罗伯托，““不嘛。我要和比拉尔一样，叫你英国人。”“可我的名字还是叫罗伯托啊。” 　　"不，”她对他说。“今儿一天都叫你英国人。英国人，我可以帮你做工作吗？” 　　“不。我现在干的事只能由我一个人来做，而且头脑要很冷 静。” 　　“好吧，”她说。“什么时候可以完成?”“走运的话,今天晚上。”“好。”她说。 　　他们所在的山坡下面，是通往营地的最后一片松林。 　　“那是谁?”罗伯特畠乔丹问，用手指指。 　　“比拉尔姑娘顺着他手臂指的方向望着说。“准是比拉尔。” 　　草坡的下端出现第一批树木，那妇人就坐在那里,头伏在双臂上。从他们站着的地方望去，她好象一团什么深色的东西,衬着那棕褐色的树干,显得黑黝黝的春。 　　“走吧，”罗伯特‘乔丹说，拔脚穿过齐膝髙的石南丛向她奔去。石南长得密,他跑不快，才跑了一小段路，就放慢脚步走了。他看得见那妇人的头伏在交抱着的双臂上，衬托在树干前面，她显得又宽又黑。他走到她跟前，猛的叫一声。”比拉尔。”妇人抬起头来望着他。“唔，”她说。“你们已经解决了？”“你不舒服吗？”他凑在她身边俯身问道。“哪里的话。”她说。“我睡着了。” 　　“比拉尔，”玛丽亚走上前来说，在她身旁跪下。“你身体好吗？没病吧？” 　　“好得很，”比拉尔说，但没站起来。她望着他们俩。“好啊，英国人。”她说。“你又在要男人的那套花招了？”“你身体可好?”罗伯特　乔丹不睬她的话，问。“干吗不好？我睡着了，你呢?〃“ 　　”没有。” 　　“嗯。”比拉尔对姑娘说。“看来合你的心意。”玛丽亚红了脸，没说什么。“别惹她，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。 　　“没人跟你说话。”比拉尔对他说。“玛丽亚。”她说，声音很生硬。姑娘仍然低着头。 　　“玛丽亚，”女人又说。“我在讲，看来合你的心意，““噢，别惹她啦。”罗伯特　乔丹又说。“你给我闭嘴。”比拉尔说,一眼都不看他。“听着，玛丽亚,告诉我。” 　　“不。”玛丽亚说，摇摇头。 　　“玛丽亚。”比拉尔说，声音就象她那脸相那样生硬，一点不友好。“你要自觉自愿地告诉我。”姑娘摇摇头， 　　罗伯特　乔丹思量着，要不是我得跟这女人和她那酒鬼男人和她那帮胆小鬼合作，我要狠狼揍她的嘴巴，要揍得她一“说呀，告诉我，”比拉尔对姑娘说。“不，”玛丽亚说。“不。” 　　“别惹她。”罗伯特　乔丹说，他的声音听起来好象不是他自己的。他想。”我无论如何得揍她，管她娘的。 　　比拉尔根本不跟他说话。这并不象蛇把鸟吓呆，也不象猫把鸟吓呆的情况。没有一点弱肉强食的意味。也没有丝毫反常的地方。然而他感到这回事在他心里越胀越大，就象一条取镜蛇的脖子在膨胀。他能感觉到。他能感到这种膨胀的威胁。这回事在他心头占着压倒的优势，然而它并不是邢恶的，倒是带有试探性的。罗伯特　乔丹想，伹愿我没有看到这点就好了。可是，这不是揍嘴巴能解决的问题。 　　“玛丽亚，”比拉尔说。“我不会碰你。现在你自己讲。”这句话是用西班牙语说的。姑娘摇摇头。 　　“玛丽亚，”比拉尔说。“现在就讲，要你自己讲。你听到我的话吗？只要你说一句。” 　　“不，”姑娘小声说。“不，不。” 　　“现在你要告诉我了吧，”比拉尔对她说。“只要你说一句。你明白啦。现在你要告诉我了吧。” 　　“刚才地面移动了，”玛丽亚说，没朝那妇人看。“真的。这种事我是不该告诉你的。” 　　“原来这样，”比拉尔说，她的声音变得热情而友好，里面没有强迫的意思了。但是，罗伯特　乔丹注意到她前額和嘴唇上出现了细小的汗珠。“原来如此。那就对了。”“是真的，”玛丽亚咬着嘴唇说， 　　“当然是真的，”比拉尔亲切地说。“可别告诉你的同胞，因为他们决不会信你的。你没有黑人血统吧,英国人？”罗伯特“乔丹扶着她站起来。“没有，”他说。“就我所知，没有。”“就玛丽亚所知也没有。”比拉尔说。“不过那就怪了。”“可是真的动了，比拉尔,玛丽亚说。“千吗不这样，丫头?”比拉尔说。“我年青时地面移动过，动得你好象觉得什么都在移动，动得你害怕身子下面的地面要裂开似的。这种情形每夜都有。”“你骗人，”玛丽亚说。 　　“不错，”比拉尔说。“我骟人。一生一世决不会超过三次。刚才地动了吗？〃 　　”动.了。”姑娘说。“真动了。” 　　“那么你呢，英国人?”比拉尔望着罗伯特　乔丹。“要说真 话。” 　　“动了，”他说。“真动了。” 　　“好，”比拉尔说。“好。那才对了。” 　　“你说三次是什么意思?”玛丽亚问。“你说这干吗？” 　　“三次，”比拉尔说。“你们现在有了一次 　　“只有三次吗?” 　　“大多数人是一次也没有的。”比拉尔对她说。“你肯定动 了?， 　　“人好象往下掉似的玛丽亚说，“那么我想是动过了，”比拉尔说。“走吧，我们到营地去吧。”“你胡扯什么三次干吗?”他们一起穿过松林，罗伯特，乔丹对妇人说。 　　“胡扯?”她挖苦地望着他。“别跟我说什么胡扯，英国小 子。” 　　“这又是象手相那一套骗人的把戏吧？““不,这是吉普赛人都知道的确实可靠的常识。““我们可不是吉普赛人。” 　　“对啊。不过你有一点小运气。不是吉普赛人，有时倒有些运气的。” 　　“你真的相信三次这种事吗?” 　　她又古怪地望着他，“别问我了，英国人，”她说。“别来烦我啦。你年纪太轻，我跟你说不通。”“不过，比拉尔闸。”玛丽亚说。 　　“闭嘴，”比拉尔对她说。“你有过一次，这辈子还有两次。”“那么你呢?”罗伯特"乔丹问她。“两次，”比拉尔说，伸出两个手指。“两次。再不会有第三次啦。。 　　“干吗不会?”玛丽亚问。 　　“啊，别说了。”比拉尔说。”别说了。你年青不懂，叫我厌烦。”“于吗不会有第三次?”罗伯特’乔丹问。“啊，你闭嘴好不好?”比拉尔说。“闭嘴　”行，罗伯特，乔丹对自己说。问题只在我就此得不到了。我认识很多吉普赛人，这些人怪得很。不过,我们自己又何尝不怪呢。不同的是我们得正正当当地挣钱过活。谁也不知道我们的祖先是什么种族,不知道我们的种族的传统,也不知道我们祖先生活在丛林里时的神秘事迹。我们只知道自己的无知。我们一点也不知道我们在黑夜里的情况，白天发生的情况，那　另一回事。不管发生什么事情，都是事已成事了，可现在这个　。”人不仅逼得这姑娘说出了她不愿说的事情，而且偏要把它拿来当作她自己的经验。她偏要把它说成是吉普赛人的鬼把戏。我原以为她在山上时艮难受，可现在回到这里，她又神气活现了，这种行为要是有什么恶惫，该把她熗毙。但是并没恶意，这只不过是她想保持生活的乐趣，通过玛丽亚来保持生活的乐趣罢了。 　　他对自己说。”等你打完了这次仗，你可以着手研究女人了。你可以拿比拉尔开个头。依我看哪，她度过了颇不简单的一天。过去她从没提起过吉普赛人的玩意儿。他想，除了手相吧。对，正是手相，没错儿。我看，手相这玩意儿不见得是她捏造的。当然啦,她看到了什么是不会告诉我的。不管她看到什么,她自己可是深信不疑的。可是这种鬼把戏是不会应验的　“听着，比拉尔，”他对妇人说。比拉尔朝着他微笑。“什么事？”她问。 　　“别那么故弄玄虚了，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“这种鬼把戏叫我讨厌透啦。” 　　“是这样吗？”比拉尔说。 　　“我不信妖怪、占卜者、算命先生，或者乌七八糟的吉普赛巫术。” 　　“唔。”比拉尔说。 　　“对。你别去惹玛丽亚啦。” 　　“我不惹这丫头了。” 　　“也别故弄玄虚了。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我们够忙的1要做的事不少，不讲这些神秘莫测的事也够复杂了。少算些命，多做点事吧。” 　　“我明白了，”比拉尔说，同意地点点头。“不过听着，英国人，”她对他笑着说。“地动过吗？”“动过，你这个该死的。地动过比拉尔笑了又笑，站着朝罗伯特‘乔丹笑。“噢，英国人。英国人呀，”她笑着说，“你这人真滑稽。你再要装得一本正经可不容易了。” 　　滚你妈的蛋，罗伯特。乔丹想。但是他默不作声。他们刚才说话的时候,太阳被乌云遮住了。他回头仰望那些山头，只见天空阴霾密布。 　　“错不了，”比拉尔望着天空对他说。“要下雪了。”“现在吗？怏到六月了。” 　　“干吗不能下？山区是不分月份的。现在是太阴历五月。”“不可能下雪。”他说。下雪，““不管怎么说，英国人。”他说。”要下。”罗伯特“乔丹仰望着灰沉沉的天空，只见太阳变成一团昏黄。他望着望着，太阳完全消失，天际一片灰暗，天色显得模糊阴沉;乌云这时把山峰都遮掉了。“是明，”他说，“看来你说对了。”

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、臭婊子养的雪里。〉 　　他走到玛丽亚身边，她刚才在炉灶里又添了一根松柴。 　　“这场雪多美哬。”他对姑娘说。“不过对工作可不利，对吧？”她问他。“你不愁？“什么话1”他说。“愁也没用。晚饭什么时候能做好?”“我早知道你今晚胄口一定好的，”比拉尔说。“要不要现在吃一片干酪?” 　　“谢谢，”他说。她伸手把挂在洞顶的一只放着一大块干酪的网袋取下来，拿刀在切过的那头切下厚厚一大片，递给他。他站着吃。膻味重了一点，不然倒是很好吃的。“玛丽亚，”坐在桌子边的巴勃罗说，“什么事？”姑娘问。 　　“把桌子抹抹干净，玛丽亚。”巴勃罗说，对罗伯特　乔丹露齿笑笑。 　　“把你自己泼洒在桌上的东西抹掉吧。”比拉尔对他说，“先抹你自己的下巴，抹你的衬衫,再抹桌子。““玛丽亚,巴勃罗喊着。“别理他，他醉了，”比拉尔说。“玛丽亚，”巴勃罗喊着。“雪还在下,真美呀。”罗伯特　乔丹想。”他哪里知道那只睡袋的价值，这个猪眼老家伙不知道我干吗花六十五块钱向伍兹家的兄弟们买下这只睡袋。可是，我真希望吉普赛人就回来啊。他一回来我就去找老头儿。我应该现在就走，不过很可能跟他们在路上错过。我不知道他在哪儿放哨。 　　“想做雪球吗？”他对巴勃罗说。“想玩雪战吗“什么?”巴勃罗问。“你打算干什么?”“没什么。”罗伯特“乔丹说。“你的马鞍都盖好了吗?” 　　罗伯特　乔丹然后用英语说,“打算去喂马吗？还是把它们拴在外面让它们自已扒掉了雪啃草吃?”“你说什么?” 　　“没什么。那是该你来操心的事，老朋友。我要到外面去走走啦。” 　　“你干吗说英国话?”巴勃罗问。 　　“我不知道。”罗伯特，乔丹说。“我非常疲乏的时候往往讲英语，或者在十分厌烦的时候。要不,譬如说，在举棋不定的时候。我在走投无路的时侯就说英国话,为了听听这种话的调子。这种调子叫人心里踏实。今后你也该试试。” 　　“你说什么,英国人?”比拉尔问。“这种话听起来很有趣，可我听不懂。” 　　“没说什么，”罗伯特　乔丹说。”我讲的英国话的意思是‘没什么、” 　　“那还是用西班牙话讲吧，”比拉尔说。“西班牙话来得简 短。” 　　“当然啦，”罗伯特　乔丹说。他想　可是老兄啊，巴勃罗啊，比拉尔啊，玛丽亚啊，坐在角落里的两兄弟啊，我该记住你们俩的名字,却忘了、这些事有时使我讨厌。讨厌这些事，讨厌你们，讨厌我自己，讨厌战争，唉，到底为什么现在非下雪不可呢？这真他妈使人鼕不了。不，不是这样。哪有什么使人受不了的事啊。你只有接受现实，并在现实中杀出一条路来。现在别情绪波动啦，应当象刚才那样接受正在下雪这个现实，而下一步要做的事，就是向吉普赛人打听情况,找到老头儿。可是下雪啦！这个月份竟然下雪。他对自己说，别想啦。别想啦，接受现实吧。这就是苦杯,你知道。关于这苦杯是怎么说的？他要就必须提髙自己的记忆力，荽就永远别去想什么引语①，因为当你想不起来的时候，就象忘了一个人名似的，老在心里挂着，抹不掉也推不开。关于苦杯是怎么说的呢？ 　　“请给我来一杯酒，”他用西班牙话说。接着对巴勃罗说。”雪下得不小，呃？” 　　那醉汉抬起头来看他，露齿笑笑。他点点头，又露齿笑笑。“进攻吹啦。飞机不来啦。桥炸不成啦。只有雪啦，”巴勃罗说， 　　“你巴望下很久吗？”罗伯特　乔丹在他旁边坐下。“巴勃罗，你看整个夏天我们都会被雪困住吗，老兄?” 　　“整个夏天，不会。”巴勃罗说。“今天晚上和明天，那错不了。”“你凭什么这样看?” 　　“风雪有两种，”巴勃罗一本正经而宵有见识地说。“―种是从比利牛斯山②刮来的。来了这种风雪，天就要大冷。”现在已过了时候,所以不是这一种。” 　　“不错，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“有道理。”“现在这场风雪是从坎塔布里科③刮来的，”巴勃罗说。“是从海上来的，风朝这个方向刮,会有大风大雪，“ ①耶稣最后一次上耶路撤冷时，对十二门徒说，他将被交给祭司长和文士，被定死罪，钉在十字架上。后来在客西马尼花园里，他向上帝祷吿。”是否可以让他不要喝这一杯苦酒。。圣经　路加福音1第二十二章第四十一节至四十四节:“……跪下祷告，说，父啊，你若愿惫，就把这杯撤去，然而不要成妹我的意思,只要成就你的意思。有~位夭使，从天上显现，加添他的力里。耶稣极其伤痛，祷告更加恳切,汗珠如大血点，滴在地上。”最后来捉拿他时，门徒彼得拔刀砍掸一个来人的右耳，但耶稣对彼得说“收刀入鞘吧。我父所给我的那杯,我岜可不喝呢。《圣经，约翰福音1第十八章第十一节） ②在西班牙东北部，是西班牙和法国之间的天然甭界。 ③桷贯西班牙北部一大山脉,滨大西洋的比斯开湾春 　　“你这些是从哪里学来的,老师傅？”罗伯特　乔丹问，他的怒气消失了,这场风雪象以往任何风雪一样使他激动。暴风雪、飓风、突然的风暴、热带暴风雨或者夏天山区的雷阵雨都会使他激动，这是其他事物做不到的。就象战斗中产生的激动一样，不过比战争中的来得纯洁。在战斗中会刮起一阵风,那是一阵热风，又热又干，就象你嘴里的感觉那样　它刮得劲头十足，又热又脏，随着一天中战局的变化而起风或停息。他很了解这种风。 　　伹是暴风雪和这种风完全不同。在暴风雪中你走近野兽的时候，它们并不感到害怕。它们在旷野里乱跑,不知道自己在什么地方，有时候，一只鹿会躲到小屋的背风处去站着。在暴风雪中，你骑马碰到一头廉鹿，它会把你的马误认为另一头糜鹿，　路小跑着向你迎来。在暴风雪中，你总有种感觉，似乎一时什么仇敌都没有了。在暴风雪中，风可能大极了　但是天地“片沽白，满天白雪飞舞，一切都变了样，等风停息下来，四下万籁俱寂　现在一场大风雪来临了，他还是喜欢它吧。这场风雪打乱了一切，可是你还是喜欢它吧。 　　“我赶过好多年牲口。”巴勃罗说。”‘我们在山里用大车运货。那时还没用卡车。我们干了这一行才学会了识天时。”“你是怎么参加革命的？” 　　“我一向是左派。”巴勃罗说。“我们和阿斯图里亚斯①那里的人接触很多，他们在政治上很进步。我一向拥护共和国。““那么你革命前在干什么?” 　　“那时我替萨拉戈萨②的一个马贩子干活。他向军队和斗牛场提供马匹。我就是在那时遇见比拉尔的，就象她自己跟你讲的，她那时正和帕伦西亚①的斗牛士菲尼托作伴。”他说这句话的时侯显得相当得意。 ①阿斯图里亚斯　西班牙西北部一地区，滨比斯开湾。 ②萨拉戈萨〔〉。”西班牙东北部萨拉戈萨省省会， 　　“他这个斗牛士没什么了不起，”桌边两兄弟中的一个望着站在炉灶前的比拉尔的后背说。 　　“没什么了不起?”比拉尔转身冲着他说。“他没什么了不起?” 　　她这时站在山洞里的炉灶前，想象中看到了他，身材矮小，皮肤棕揭，神情安详，眼睛忧郁，双颊深陷，汗湿的黑鬈发贴在前额上，紧箍在头上的斗牛帽在前额上勒出了一条别人不会注意到的红痕。这时她看见他站着,面对着那头五岁的公牛,面对着那两只曾把好几匹马挑得老高的牛角。骑着马的斗牛士用尖利的标熗剌进了牛脖子，而那粗壮的牛脖子把那匹马越顶越髙,越项越髙，.直到啪哒一声把马掀翻，骑手摔在木栅栏上，公牛把腿扎使劲抵着地面，身子朝前冲，粗脖子朝上一挥，一对角扎进那西奄奄一息的马儿，要结果它的性命。她看到菲尼托这个没什么了不起的斗牛士这时站在牛的面前，侧身对着它。她这时清鸡埤看到他把那块带杆的厚实的法兰绒卷起来！公牛腾空跃起，肩头扎着的那几根铒镡熗嗒嗒地碰击着、同时那块法兰绒在交锋中掠过牛头，牛肩以及淌着鲜血、弄得湿漉漉、亮闪闪的牛肩隆,一直掠过牛的背部，弄得沾满了鲜血,重甸甸的。她看到菲尼托侧身轱在离牛五步远的地方，那头牛笨重地站着不动；他悝悝地把剑举到齐肩高，目光顺着朝下倾斜的剑锋瞄准他这时还看不见的要害,因为牛的头挡住了他的视线。他要用左臂挥动那块又湿艾重的绒布，引牛低下头去；但他这时把脚跟抵在地上，身体向后微微一仰，侧身站在那只碎裂了角的牛面前，用剑锋瞄着牛的脑后；牛的胸脯一起一伏，两只眼睛盯着那块绒布。 ①帕伦西亚:西班牙北郎帕伦西亚省省会參2找 　　她这时很清楚地看到了他的模样，听到了他那尖细而清晰的声音，只见他扭头望着斗牛场红色栅栏上方的第一排观众，并且说,“咱们来试试能不能就这样杀死它　” 　　她能听到他的话声,还能看到他膝头一弯，走上前去，看清他一直朝牛角走去，这时候牛角奇怪地低下来了，因为牛嘴跟着那块在低处摆动的绒布下垂了;他用瘦细的棕色手腕操纵着，使牛角低低地从身边擦过，同时把利剑刺进沾着尘土的牛肩隆　她看到雪亮的剑慢慢地、平稳地刺进去,仿佛是牛的冲刺把斗牛士手中的剑顶进了身体，她看到那把剑一直插进去，直到那棕褐色的手指节抵住了绷紧的牛皮1这个棕揭色的矮小的斗牛士，眼光从没离开过剑刺进去的地方,这时从牛角前转过收缩的肚子，利索地摆脱了那头畜生，左手拿了那幅带杆的绒布，举起右手，望着那牛死去。 　　她看到他站着，眼睛盯住那头想站稳身子的牛,看它摇摇晃晃,象一棵即将倒下的树，看它拚命想在地上站稳，而这个矮小的斗牛士桉照常规,举起一手,打着表示胜利的手势。她看到他站在那里满头大汗,为这场斗牛的结束而感到空虚的宽慰，眼看那头牛即将死去而感到松了一口气，因为他身子在牛角边擦过的时候没挨到冲撞、挑刺而感到松了一口气。跟着那头牛没法再站稳了,啪哒一声栽倒在地，四脚朝天地死去了；她看到这个矮小的棕褐色的斗牛士疲惫而一无笑意地朝场边的櫥栏走去。 　　她知道即使拚出性命他也没法跑着穿过斗牛场　她望着他慢吞吞地走到栅栏边，拿一块毛巾抹抹嘴，抬头望望她，.还摇摇头，用毛巾抹抹脸,然后开始胜利地绕场走一圈。 　　她看到他悝吞吞地拖着脚步绕斗牛场走着，微笑，鞠躬，微笑　助手们跟在他后面,俯身把观众扔下来的雪茄烟拾起来，把帽子扔因去；他眼色忧郁、面带笑容地绕场一周，最后来到她面前结束巡礼。她从上面看去，只见他坐在木栅栏的台阶上，拿毛巾捂着嘴， 　　比拉尔站在炉灶边看到了这一切，她说，“难道他是个没什么了不起的斗牛士，“现在跟我一起过日子的倒是些什么角色呢。” 　　“他是个斗牛好手。”巴勃罗说。“他吃亏的是身材矮小。”“而且他明摆着害着肺病,”普里米蒂伏说。“肺病?”比拉尔说。“象他那样吃过苦的人，谁能不得肺病？在这个国家里，要不做胡安　马契那样的恶棍，要不当斗牛士，要不做耿剧院的男高音，哪个穷人能盼着挣到钱俩？他怎么能不得肺病？在这个国家里，资产阶级吃得胀破了肚子，不吃小苏打就不能活命，而穷人从出娘胎到进棺材都吃不饱，他怎么能不得肺病？你躲在三等车厢的座位底下，为了可以不买车票,到外地各市集去看斗牛,想从小学点本领；待在座位底下和尘土、垃圾、刚吐的痰和干了的痰打交道，假使你胸部又被牛角抵过，你能不得肺病?〃 　　”一点也不假。”普里米蒂伏说。“我只是说他得了肺病。”“他当然得了肺病。”比拉尔站在那儿说,手拿一把摁拌用的大木汤匙。“他个子矮小,嗓子尖细，见牛非常害怕。我从没见过在斗牛前比他更胆小的，也从没见过在斗牛场里比他更勇敢的人.你呀,地对巴勃罗说。”你现在就是怕死，你以为死是不得了的事　靡尼托可是一直胆小的,到了斗牛场里却象头狮子。” 　　“他的勇敢是出过名的，”两兄弟中的另一个说。“我从没见到过这样胆小的人，”比拉尔说。“他把牛头放在家里都不敢。有次节日里，他在瓦利阿多里德把巴勃罗　罗梅罗的一头牛宰了，干得真漂亮一” 　　“我记得，”那第一个兄弟说。“我那时在斗牛场上。那条牛是皂色的，前额上有鬈毛，一对角很长很大。这头公牛有七苜六十多磅①重。这是他在瓦利阿多里德宰掉的最后一头牛。” 　　“说得一点也不错，”比拉尔说。“后来，捧场的人在哥伦布饭店聚会，用他的名字给他们的俱乐部命名，还把那只牛头剥制成标本，在哥伦布饭店的一个小型宴会上送给他。他们吃饭的时候，把牛头挂在墙上，不过用布蒙了起来。当时在座的有我和一些别的人,还有帕斯托拉，她比我长得还要丑　还有贝纳家的妞儿和别的吉普赛姑娘，以及几个髙级婊子。这次宴会规模不大，可是热闹得很，因为帕斯托拉和一个最红的婊子争论一个礼貌问题，差不多闹翻了天。我自己也是开心得不能再开心了　我坐在菲尼托身边，发现他不肯抬起头来望那牛头；牛头上蒙上了—块紫布，就象我们过去信奉的主耶稣受难周教堂里圣徒傢上蒙的那种布一样。 　　“菲尼托吃得不多，因为那年在萨拉戈萨参加的最后一场斗牛中,他正要动手剌杀那条公牛时，被牛角横扫了一下，弄得他昏过去了好些时候，因此即使参加这次宴会时,他的胃口还是不奸、他会不时拿手帕捂在嘴上，往里面吐血。我刚才讲到哪儿啦？” 　　“牛头，”普里米蒂伏说。“那只剥制的牛头。”―〃对，”比拉尔说。“对了。不过有些细节我必须讲一讲，好让你们明白是什么回事。你们知道，菲尼托是一向兴致不大高的。他是天生严肃的,我跟他单独在一起的时候,从没见他为，“什么事情大笑过。哪怕是很滑稽的事，他也是不笑的。他遇事都是一本正经。差不多象费尔南多一般一本正经，不过，那次宴会是由一群斗牛爱好者组成的菲尼托俱乐部为他举办的，所以他必须显得高高兴兴、和和气气、喜气洋洋。所以宴会时他始终笑嘻喀的，说着亲热的话儿；只有我一个人注意到他在拿手帕干什么亊。他随身带了三条手帕，结果三条手帕都吐满了血。接着他声音放得很低地对我说，‘比拉尔,我再也支持不住啦。我看只有走了。” 　　〃那我们就走吧。”我说。因为我看他很难受。宴会到了这个时侯热闹极了,吵闹声大得不得了， 　　〃不。我不能走。”菲尼托对我说。‘说到头,这个俱乐部用的是我的名字，义不容辞哪。“ 　　“‘你既然不舒服,我们还是走吧，’我说。“不能。”他说。‘我不走。给我些岛葡萄酒。”“我觉得他不该喝酒，因为他一点东西也没吃，而胃叉不好；不过,要是不吃点喝点的话，他是明摆着再也应付不了这种唷喀哈哈、吵吵闹闹的场面的。就那样，我看他很快地喝了差不多一瓶白葡萄酒。他把手帕都弄脏了以后，这时把餐巾来当手粕用了。 　　“这时宴会可真到了最热火的时候，有些骨头最轻的婊子跨在几个俱乐部成员的肩膀上大出洋相。应大家的邀请，帕斯托拉喝起敢来,小里卡多弹起了吉他，场面非常动人，真叫人开心。大家醉醺醎地亲热到了极点。我从来也没见过鄺次宴会能达到这样的真疋的安达卢西亚式的热情，不过，我们还没到替牛头揭幕的时候，归根到底，举行这次宴会就是为了这一个。 　　“我开心极了，不停地伴着里卡多的琴声拍手，跟一些人一起给贝纳家的妞儿的歌声打拍子，竟然没留心到菲尼托把他自己那块餐巾吐满了血，已经把我的那块也拿去了。他那时又喝了些白葡萄酒，眼睛变得亮亮的,髙髙兴兴地对每个人点头。他不能多讲话，因为一开口就随时得使用那块餐巾，可是他装得喜气洋洋，非常髙兴，这次要他来出席毕竟是为了让他享受享受乐趣啊。 　　“宴会继续进行下去，坐在我旁边的是‘公鸡’拉斐尔的前经理,他正在给我讲故事，故事的结尾是。‘所以拉斐尔走到我身边说，“您是我在世界上的最髙尚的莫逆之交。我对您的爱象兄弟一般，我要送您一件礼物。”因此他就送了我一只漂亮的钻石钡针，还吻了我的双颊。我们俩都很感动。“公鸡”拉斐尔送了我那只钻石领针之后，就走出了咖啡馆，我对坐在桌边的雷塔娜说,“这个下流的吉普赛人刚和另一位经理签了一个合同。”’“‘“你这话是什么意思？”雷塔娜问道。’“‘我替他当了十年经理，以前从没送过我礼物，’‘公鸡'的前经理说。‘这回送礼无非说明了这一点。’果然不错，‘公鸡’就这样和他吹了。 　　“可是，正在这时帕斯托拉插嘴了，也许不是为了替拉斐尔辩护,因为谁也比不上她自己那样诋毁拉斐尔，只是因为这位经理提到吉普赛人的时候，说了句‘下淹的吉普赛人’。她插身进来,讲得声色俱历，使得经理哑口无言。我就插进去要帕斯托拉别吵,而另一个吉普赛女人插进来要我别吵，因此闹成一片，谁也没法听清我们之间所讲的话,只有一个词儿，‘臭婊子、最蕺响亮。最后重新安静下来了，我们三个插嘴的人都坐下来，低头望着自己的酒杯，这时，我才留惫到菲尼托脸上餺出惊骇的神气，正瞪着那只仍然蒙在紫色布里的牛头。〃这时，俱乐部主席开始演说了，等他讲完了就要给牛头揭去蒙着的布。滇说时从头到尾只听到人们喝彩叫好,拍桌拍凳，赛呢,望着菲尼托正在朝他的,不，朝我的餐巾里吐血，身体在椅子里往下瘫，一面惊骇而迷惘地瞪着他对面墙上蒙着布的牛头。“演说快结束时，菲尼托开始摇头，身体在椅予里越来越往下瘫了。 　　“‘你怎么啦，小不点儿?’我对他说，但他望着我时的神气却好象不认得我了,他只管摇着头说，‘别。别。别。’ 　　“俱乐部主席的演说到此结束，在大家的一片喝彩声中，他站在椅子上伸手解开缚在牛头上的紫布的带子，悝慢地把布揭开，布被一只牛角勾住了，他把布提起来，从那尖锐而光滑的牛角上拉掉,露出那只黄色大牛头和那对挑出在两旁、角尖朝前的黑牛角，那白色的牛角尖象豪猪身上的粳刺般锐利，牛头挺精神，好象活的一样，前额象活着的肘候一样长着鬆毛，舁孔是张幵的,眼睹乌亮,正直瞪瞪地望着菲尼托。 　　“每个人都欢呼、拍手，菲尼托却更往椅子里瘫下去;大家顿时静下来望着他，他呢,一边说着‘别。别，’一边望着牛头，身子更向下瘫了,接着他大喊一声‘别“吐出“大口血，他顾不上拿起餐巾，血就顺着他下巴淌下来，他仍旧望着那只牛头，说，'斗牛季节，好。挣钱，好〃吃，好。可是我不能吃啦。昕到了吗？我的胃坏了。可现在我的季节也过去了　别！别1别　’他望望桌予四周的人,望望那只牛头，又说了一声‘别，’接着低下头去，拿起22。 　　餐巾捂在嘴上，就那样坐在那里,一句话也不说了，那次宴会开头很好，眼看在寻欢作乐和交流情谊方面会得到划时代的成功，结果却失败了。” 　　“那之后他过了多久死去的呢？”普里米蒂伏问。“那年冬天。”比拉尔说。“他在萨拉戈萨被牛角横扫一下之后一直没有复元。这比被牛角挑伤还厉害，因为这是内伤，治不好的。他每次最后剌牛的时候差不多都要挨这么一下，他不是最出名，就是这个道理。他个子矮小,想要把上半身躲开牛角不容易。差不多每次都要挨一下横扫。不过当然，好多次仅仅是擦一下罢了。” 　　“既然他个子矮小，就不该去当斗牛士，”普里米蒂伏说。比拉尔望望罗伯特　乔丹，对他摇摇头。她然后弯身望着那只大铁锅,还在摇头。 　　她想，这是什么样的人民哪。西班牙人是什么样的人民哪。“既然他个子矮小，就不该去当斗牛士。”我听着，无话可说。我现在已不恼恨这种话了。我刚才跟他们解释过，现在无话可说了。不知道底细，那说说多容易舸。不知道底细，有个人就说,〃他是个没什么了不起的斗牛士。”不知道底细，另外一个人说，“他得了肺病。”等我这知情人讲明了之后,又有人说了。”既然他个子矮小,就不该去当斗牛士。” 　　她这时俯身凝望着炉火，眼前又浮现出那赤裸的棕色身体躺在床上,两条大腿上都是瘫痕，右胸助骨下面有个深深的岡伤疤,身子“侧有一长条一直延伸到胳胺窝的白色疤痕。她看到那双闭拢的眼瞎，严肃的棕揭色的脸，前额上的黑色鬆发那时被掠到了脑后。她挨着他坐在床上,揉着他的两条腿,揉着小腿肚上绷紧的肌肉，揉着肌肉，使它松舒，然后用她握紧的双手轻轻插打，松舒抽筋的肌肉。 　　“怎么样?”她对他说。“小不点儿，腿上好些吗,“很好，比拉尔，”他闭着眼睹说。“要我揉揉胸膛吗？”“别，比拉尔。请你别碰脚膛。，“大腿呢?” 　　“别。腿上痛得太厉害啦。” 　　“不过，要是让我揉一探,搽点药奔，就会使肌肉发热，舒服―点儿的。” 　　“别，比拉尔。谢谢你。还是别去碰它。”“我来用酒精给你擦擦。”“好的。要很轻很轻。” 　　“你最后一次斗牛真了不起。”她对他说，而他回答道，“正是，那头牛我宰得真不赖，“ 　　她给他擦洗之后,盖上一条被子，然后上床躺在他身边；他伸出棕揭色的手来摸摸她，说，“你真是个好女人，比拉尔。”这就算是他说的笑话了。他通常在斗牛之后就睡熟了，她就躺在那儿，把他的手握在自己的两只手里，听他呼吸。 　　他在睡梦中常常会受惊，她就会觉得他的手紧紧握住了她的手，还见到他前额上冒出汗珠　要是他醒过来，她就说，“没事。”于是他又睡去。她就这样跟了他五年，从来没有对他不贞过，那是说几乎从来没有。葬礼之后，她就和在斗牛场给斗牛士牵马的巴勃罗相好了，他就象菲尼托消磨一生所宰的牛那样壮实。但是她现在知道，牛的劲头，牛的勇气都不能持久，那么什么能持久呢？她想,我是持久的。是呀,我是持久的。可是，为了什么呢？ 　　“玛丽亚，”她说。“注意些你在干什么。这炉火是用来煮吃的。可不是用来烧掉城市的。“ 　　正在这时,吉普赛人走进门来　他满身是雪，握着卡宾熗站住了，跺着脚把雪抖掉。 　　罗伯特　乔丹站起身来向门边走去。”情况怎么样?”他对吉普赛人说， 　　“大桥上每岗两个人，六小时换一次。”吉普赛人说。“养路工小屋那边有八个人和一个班长，这是你的手表“锯木厂边的哨所的情况怎么样？”“老头子在那儿，他可以同时监督哨所和公路。”“那么公路上呢?”罗伯特　乔丹问　“老样子。”吉普赛人说。“没什么特别情況。有几辆汽车。”吉普赛人浑身透露出寒意，黑黑的脸冻得皮肤都绷紧了，两手发红。他站在洞口，臊下外衣抖雪。 　　“我一直待到他们换岗的时侯。”他说，“换岗的时间是中午十二点钟和下午六点。这一岗可不頰　幸亏我不在他们部队里当兵。” 　　“我们去找老头子，”罗伯特　乔丹穿上皮外农说。〃我不干了吉普赛人说。“我现在要烤火、暍碗热汤了。我把他守望的地方告诉这里的　个人,他会给你带路的。嗨,你们这帮二流子，”他对坐在桌边的那些人大声说　“猓个肯带英国人去老头子守望公路的地方?” 　　“我去。”费尔南多站起身来。“把地点告诉我。”“听着，”吉普赛人说。“那是在一”他告诉他老头儿安塞尔萇放哨的地方

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,那管它命令不命令,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们归天啦。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,他是够讨厌了，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。〃真是怪事，”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，是言行不一致的，他不愿祈求任何恩宠，或接受与众不同的待遇。 　　他想，是舸，我感到孤单。但是所有那些当兵的，当兵的老婆，那些失去家人或爹娘的人都是如此。我没老婆了,幸好在革命前她就死了。她是不会理解的，我没儿女，再不会有儿女啦。白天没事干的时侯我感到孤单，可是黑夜来到了感到更孤单。不过，我有一桩事是无论谁还是天主都没法夺走的，那就是我给共和国好好出了力。我一直在为争取以后我们大家可以分享的好处而出大力。革命一开始，我就尽力而为，我干的事没一桩是问心有愧的。 　　我感到惭愧的只是杀人的事儿。不过以后一定有机会来补偿,因为有这种罪孳的人可不少，以后当然会想出一个补救办法来的。我倒要跟这个英国人谈谈这件事,不过人家年青，不一定能理解。他提起过杀人的问题。要不，是我提起的吧？他一定杀过很多人，不过他没露出喜欢干这种事的迹象。喜欢杀人的人总是骨子里就堕落的。 　　他想,杀人必然是罪大恶极的事。因为，我知道，即使有必要，我们也没权利杀人。可是在西班牙，杀人太随便啦，而且常常是没有真正的必要，萆菅人命的事多得很，事后无法补救。他想，我还是别在这个问题上多费心思吧。但愿有赎罪的办法,让人家现在就开始做，因为我一辈子干的事情中只有这件使我在—个人待着时感到难受。任何别的事情都可以得到宽恕，要不,你总有机会做些好事或者用什么合理的办法来补偿。可是我看,杀人这种事肯定是罪大恶极，我希望能弥补这件事。也许在以后的日子里，一个人可以为国家做些什么工作或者力所能及的事去涤除杀人的罪孽。也许象是在教堂里做礼拜时的捐献，他想，不禁微笑了。教会为赎罪安排得好好的。想到这个,他离兴起来，罗伯特　乔丹朝他走来时，他正在黑睹中微笑。罗伯特　乔丹悄悄地走来，走到老头儿跟前他才看到。 　　“你好，老头子，”罗伯特“乔丹压低了声音说，还拍拍他的 背. 　　“冷得很哪，”安塞尔莫说，费尔南多站得稍远些，背顶着风 雪. 　　“来吧，”罗伯特，乔丹低声说，“上山到营地去取暖吧。把你一个人撇在这儿这么久，真是罪过。”“那是他们的灯火。”安塞尔莫指点说，“哨兵在哪儿?” 　　“你在这里望不到。他在拐角处。”“让他们见鬼去吧，”罗伯特”乔丹说。“你到营地再跟我讲吧。来，我们走。“ 　　“我指给你看，”安塞尔莫说。 　　“我早晨会来看的，”罗伯特　乔丹说。〃来吧，喝一口。”他把扁酒瓶递给老头儿。安塞尔莫侧着瓶子喝了一口。“哎哟，”他说，擦擦嘴。“象火一样。”“来吧，〃罗俏特〃乔丹在黑暗中说。“咱们走。”天色这时黑得叫人只能看到在空中刮过去的雪片和那些一动不动的黑魆魆的松树干。费尔南多站在山坡上，离他们几步路。罗伯特　乔丹想　他真象雪茄烟店门口的木雕印第安人①。看来我得请他也喝一口。 　　“嗨，费尔南多，”他走上前去说，“来一口吧?”“不，”费尔南多说。“谢谢你。” 　　罗伯特，乔丹想。”我得谢谢，呢，幸亏雪茄烟店门口的印第安人不喝酒。剩下不多啦。罗，“特‘乔丹想　好样的，我艮商兴见到这老头子。他望望安塞尔莫,接着又拍拍他的背,一起开始上山。 　　“我见到你很高兴明，老头子，”他对安塞尔莫说？我优闷的时候见到你就髙兴。来,我们上山吧他们在雪中爬山。回巴勃罗的宫殿去，”罗伯特　乔丹对安塞尔莫说。这句话用西班牙语来说听起来很美妙。“怕死鬼的宮殿，”安塞尔莫说。 　　“没蛋的岩洞，”穸伯特　乔丹乐呵呵地比另一个说得更俏 皮。 ①这种彩色木離像一觖和真人差不多大　、，作招徕颈客之用。此处喻指费尔南多站在雷中一动不动的样子， 　　“什么蛋?”费尔南多问。 　　“说笑话。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“说笑话呐。不是蛋，你知道,是另外的那一种。” 　　“可为什么没了？”费尔南多问。 　　“我不知道，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“说起来话可长呢。问比拉尔吧。”他说罢紧搂着安塞尔莫的肩膀一起走，还摇摇他。“听着，”他说。“见到你真离兴，听到吗？在这个国家你把一个人留在一个地方，之后竟能在原地方找到他，这不知道会使人多髙兴呢。， 　　他对这个国家竟说出这种不尊重的话，这说明他对它怀着多大的信任和亲密感啊。 　　“我见到你也高兴，”安塞尔莫说。“不过，刚才我正打算不等下去了。” 　　“你才不会呢，”罗伯特　乔丹髙兴地说。“你冻僵了才会离 开。” 　　“山上的情况怎么样”安塞尔莫问。“很好，”罗馅特，乔丹说。“一切都好，“他感到一种在革命队伍里当指挥的人才有的突如其来的难得的快乐心情，那种发规自己的两翼中竟有一翼仍然坚守着阵地时的快乐心情。他想，要是两翼都能坚守下去,我看就力量无比。我看任何敌人都不指望出现这种局面，如果你把一翼的队形，任何一翼的队形拉开的话，最终就得每一个人独力作战。对啊，每一个人。他需要的可不是这种不言自明的道理。然而这是个好人。一个好人。他想:我们这次进行战斗的时候，你一个人当左翼。我现在最好先不告诉你。他想，这将是一次规模挺小的战斗。但它将是一次挺出色的战斗。噢，我一直想独力地指挥一次战斗。我对从阿让库尔战役①以来所有别人指挥的战斗的毛病，一向是有自己的看法的。我一定要打好这一仗。这一仗规模不会大，然而会很精采。如果我必须按照自己认为必要的方式去干的话，那确实会成为非常精采的一仗。“听着，”他对安塞尔莫说。“见到你我真是髙兴，““我见到你也一样髙兴。”老头儿说。他们在黑暗中爬山的时候是顺风，风雪在他们身边吹过。安塞尔莫这时不觉得孤单了。英国人刚才在他背上拍拍之后，他就不再觉得孤单了。英国人非常高兴,他们俩就说说笑笑。英国人刚才说一切都好，因此老头儿不愁了。酒一下肚,使他暖呼呼的,如今爬着山，两腿也暖和起来啦。 　　“公路上没什么情况。”他对英国人说。“好。”英国人对他说。“我们到了营地你再给我看吧。”安塞尔莫这时很髙兴，他很髙兴自己刚才在观察哨坚持了下来。 ①阿让库尔为法国西北部滨英吉利海峡的布洛涅港东南约三十英里处一小村，因一四一五年十月二十五。英法两军在此决战而箸名。英王亨利五世利用弓箭手以寡敌众，大玻穿戴笨重盔甲的法国骑士，使该‘战役成为世界军寧史上著名战役之一。 　　罗伯特　乔丹在想:即使他自己回营地,也不能怪他。在那样的情况下回来,也是明智和正确的。罗伯特，乔丹想。”然而他遒照命令待下去了。这在西班牙是非常难得的情形。在暴风雪中能坚守下去，从某种程度上来说，说明了不少问题。德国人把进攻称为暴风雨①，不是没有道理的。我当然愿意多用几个这种肯坚守下去的人。那是当然的啦。我不知道那个费尔南多会不会待着不走。这也是可能的。反正刚才自动跟来的是他。你以为他会待着不走吗？这难道不是好事吗？他相当顽强。我来试探试探。不知道这个雪茄烟店门口的印第安人现在在想些什么。 　　“你在想什么，费尔南多，“”罗伯特　乔丹问。“你问干吗？” 　　“好奇，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我是个很好奇的人。” 　　“我在想晚饭。”费尔南多说。 　　“你喜欢吃?” 　　“是呀。很喜欢。” 　　“比拉尔做饭手艺怎么样?” 　　“平常。”费尔南多回答。 　　罗伯特”乔丹想。”他也是个讲究吃喝的人。不过，你知道， 　　我总觉得他也会坚守下去的。 　　三个人在雪中一步一弯腰地爬山。 ①英语中的暴风雨，此处指暴珂雪)来自德语中，两者都可作“进攻、袭击”解.

Chapter 16 "El Sordo was here," Pilar said to Robert Jordan. They had come in out of the storm to the smoky warmth of the cave and the woman had motioned Robert Jordan over to her with a nod of her head. "He's gone to look for horses." "Good. Did he leave any word for me?" "Only that he had gone for horses." "And we?" "_No s," she said. "Look at him." Robert Jordan had seen Pablo when he came in and Pablo had grinned at him. Now he looked over at him sitting at the board table and grinned and waved his hand. "_Ingl_," Pablo called. "It's still falling, _Ingl_." Robert Jordan nodded at him. "Let me take thy shoes and dry them," Maria said. "I will hang them here in the smoke of the fire." "Watch out you don't burn them," Robert Jordan told her. "I don't want to go around here barefoot. What's the matter?" he turned to Pilar. "Is this a meeting? Haven't you any sentries out?" "In this storm? _Qu?va_." There were six men sitting at the table and leaning back against the wall. Anselmo and Fernando were still shaking the snow from their jackets, beating their trousers and rapping their feet against the wall by the entrance. "Let me take thy jacket," Maria said. "Do not let the snow melt on it." Robert Jordan slipped out of his jacket, beat the snow from his trousers, and untied his shoes. "You will get everything wet here," Pilar said. "It was thee who called me." "Still there is no impediment to returning to the door for thy brushing." "Excuse me," Robert Jordan said, standing in his bare feet on the dirt floor. "Hunt me a pair of socks, Maria." "The Lord and Master," Pilar said and poked a piece of wood into the fire. "_Hay que aprovechar el tiempo_," Robert Jordan told her. "You have to take advantage of what time there is." "It is locked," Maria said. "Here is the key," and he tossed it over. "It does not fit this sack." "It is the other sack. They are on top and at the side." The girl found the pair of socks, closed the sack, locked it and brought them over with the key. "Sit down and put them on and rub thy feet well," she said. Robert Jordan grinned at her. "Thou canst not dry them with thy hair?" he said for Pilar to hear. "What a swine," she said. "First he is the Lord of the Manor. Now he is our ex-Lord Himself. Hit him with a chunk of wood, Maria." "Nay," Robert Jordan said to her. "I am joking because I am happy." "You are happy?" "Yes," he said. "I think everything goes very well." "Roberto," Maria said. "Go sit down and dry thy feet and let me bring thee something to drink to warm thee." "You would think that man had never dampened foot before," Pilar said. "Nor that a flake of snow had ever fallen." Maria brought him a sheepskin and put it on the dirt floor of the cave. "There," she said. "Keep that under thee until thy shoes are dry." The sheepskin was fresh dried and not tanned and as Robert Jordan rested his stocking feet on it he could feel it crackle like parchment. The fire was smoking and Pilar called to Maria, "Blow up the fire, worthless one. This is no smokehouse." "Blow it thyself," Maria said. "I am searching for the bottle that El Sordo left." "It is behind his packs," Pilar told her. "Must you care for him as a sucking child?" "No," Maria said. "As a man who is cold and wet. And a man who has just come to his house. Here it is." She brought the bottle to where Robert Jordan sat. "It is the bottle of this noon. With this bottle one could make a beautiful lamp. When we have electricity again, what a lamp we can make of this bottle." She looked at the pinch-bottle admiringly. "How do you take this, Roberto?" "I thought I was _Ingl_," Robert Jordan said to her. "I call thee Roberto before the others," she said in a low voice and blushed. "How do you want it, Roberto?" "Roberto," Pablo said thickly and nodded his head at Robert Jordan. "How do you want it, Don Roberto?" "Do you want some?" Robert Jordan asked him. Pablo shook his head. "I am making myself drunk with wine," he said with dignity. "Go with Bacchus," Robert Jordan said in Spanish. "Who is Bacchus?" Pablo asked. "A comrade of thine," Robert Jordan said. "Never have I heard of him," Pablo said heavily. "Never in these mountains." "Give a cup to Anselmo," Robert Jordan said to Maria. "It is he who is cold." He was putting on the dry pair of socks and the whiskey and water in the cup tasted clean and thinly warming. But it does not curl around inside of you the way the absinthe does, he thought. There is nothing like absinthe. Who would imagine they would have whiskey up here, he thought. But La Granja was the most likely place in Spain to find it when you thought it over. Imagine Sordo getting a bottle for the visiting dynamiter and then remembering to bring it down and leave it. It wasn't just manners that they had. Manners would have been producing the bottle and having a formal drink. That was what the French would have done and then they would have saved what was left for another occasion. No, the true thoughtfulness of thinking the visitor would like it and then bringing it down for him to enjoy when you yourself were engaged in something where there was every reason to think of no one else but yourself and of nothing but the matter in hand--that was Spanish. One kind of Spanish, he thought. Remembering to bring the whiskey was one of the reasons you loved these people. Don't go romanticizing them, he thought. There are as many sorts of Spanish as there are Americans. But still, bringing the whiskey was very handsome. "How do you like it?" he asked Anselmo. The old man was sitting by the fire with a smile on his face, his big hands holding the cup. He shook his head. "No?" Robert Jordan asked him. "The child put water in it," Anselmo said. "Exactly as Roberto takes it," Maria said. "Art thou something special?" "No," Anselmo told her. "Nothing special at all. But I like to feel it burn as it goes down." "Give me that," Robert Jordan told the girl, "and pour him some of that which burns." He tipped the contents of the cup into his own and handed it back empty to the girl, who poured carefully into it from the bottle. "Ah," Anselmo took the cup, put his head back and let it run down his throat. He looked at Maria standing holding the bottle and winked at her, tears coming from both eyes. "That," he said. "That." Then he licked his lips. "That is what kills the worm that haunts us." "Roberto," Maria said and came over to him, still holding the bottle. "Are you ready to eat?" "Is it ready?" "It is ready when you wish it." "Have the others eaten?" "All except you, Anselmo and Fernando." "Let us eat then," he told her. "And thou?" "Afterwards with Pilar." "Eat now with us." "No. It would not be well." "Come on and eat. In my country a man does not eat before his woman." "That is thy country. Here it is better to eat after." "Eat with him," Pablo said, looking up from the table. "Eat with him. Drink with him. Sleep with him. Die with him. Follow the customs of his country." "Are you drunk?" Robert Jordan said, standing in front of Pablo. The dirty, stubble-faced man looked at him happily. "Yes," Pablo said. "Where is thy country, _Ingl_, where the women eat with the men?" "In _Estados Unidos_ in the state of Montana." "Is it there that the men wear skirts as do the women?" "No. That is in Scotland." "But listen," Pablo said. "When you wear skirts like that, _Ingl_--" "I don't wear them," Robert Jordan said. "When you are wearing those skirts," Pablo went on, "what do you wear under them?" "I don't know what the Scotch wear," Robert Jordan said. "I've wondered myself." "Not the _Escoceses_," Pablo said. "Who cares about the _Escoceses?_ Who cares about anything with a name as rare as that? Not me. I don't care. You, I say, _Ingl_. You. What do you wear under your skirts in your country?" "Twice I have told you that we do not wear skirts," Robert Jordan said. "Neither drunk nor in joke." "But under your skirts," Pablo insisted. "Since it is well known that you wear skirts. Even the soldiers. I have seen photographs and also I have seen them in the Circus of Price. What do you wear under your skirts, _Ingl?_" "_Los cojones_," Robert Jordan said. Anselmo laughed and so did the others who were listening; all except Fernando. The sound of the word, of the gross word spoken before the women, was offensive to him. "Well, that is normal," Pablo said. "But it seems to me that with enough _cojones_ you would not wear skirts." "Don't let him get started again, _Ingl_," the flat-faced man with the broken nose who was called Primitivo said. "He is drunk. Tell me, what do they raise in your country?" "Cattle and sheep," Robert Jordan said. "Much grain also and beans. And also much beets for sugar." The three were at the table now and the others sat close by except Pablo, who sat by himself in front of a bowl of the wine. It was the same stew as the night before and Robert Jordan ate it hungrily. "In your country there are mountains? With that name surely there are mountains," Primitivo asked politely to make conversation. He was embarrassed at the drunkenness of Pablo. "Many mountains and very high." "And are there good pastures?" "Excellent; high pasture in the summer in forests controlled by the government. Then in the fall the cattle are brought down to the lower ranges." "Is the land there owned by the peasants?" "Most land is owned by those who farm it. Originally the land was owned by the state and by living on it and declaring the intent~on of improving it, a man could obtain a title to a hundred and fifty hectares." "Tell me how this is done," Agust asked. "That is an agrarian reform which means something." Robert Jordan explained the process of homesteading. He had never thought of it before as an agrarian reform. "That is magnificent," Primitivo said. "Then you have a communism in your country?" "No. That is done under the Republic." "For me," Agust said, "everything can be done under the Republic. I see no need for other form of government." "Do you have no big proprietors?" Andr asked. "Many." "Then there must be abuses." "Certainly. There are many abuses." "But you will do away with them?" "We try to more and more. But there are many abuses still." "But there are not great estates that must be broken up?" "Yes. But there are those who believe that taxes will break them up." "How?" Robert Jordan, wiping out the stew bowl with bread, explained how the income tax and inheritance tax worked. "But the big estates remain. Also there are taxes on the land," he said. "But surely the big proprietors and the rich will make a revolution against such taxes. Such taxes appear to me to be revolutionary. They will revolt against the government when they see that they are threatened, exactly as the fascists have done here," Primitivo said. "It is possible." "Then you will have to fight in your country as we fight here." "Yes, we will have to fight." "But are there not many fascists in your country?" "There are many who do not know they are fascists but will find it out when the time comes." "But you cannot destroy them until they rebel?" "No," Robert Jordan said. "We cannot destroy them. But we can educate the people so that they will fear fascism and recognize it as it appears and combat it." "Do you know where there are no fascists?" Andr asked. "Where?" "In the town of Pablo," Andr said and grinned. "You know what was done in that village?" Primitivo asked Robert Jordan. "Yes. I have heard the story." "From Pilar?" "Yes." "You could not hear all of it from the woman," Pablo said heavily. "Because she did not see the end of it because she fell from a chair outside of the window." "You tell him what happened then," Pilar said. "Since I know not the story, let you tell it." "Nay," Pablo said. "I have never told it." "No," Pilar said. "And you will not tell it. And now you wish it had not happened." "No," Pablo said. "That is not true. And if all had killed the fascists as I did we would not have this war. But I would not have had it happen as it happened." "Why do you say that?" Primitivo asked him. "Are you changing your politics?" "No. But it was barbarous," Pablo said. "In those days I was very barbarous." "And now you are drunk," Pilar said. "Yes," Pablo said. "With your permission." "I liked you better when you were barbarous," the woman said. "Of all men the drunkard is the foulest. The thief when he is not stealing is like another. The extortioner does not practise in the home. The murderer when he is at home can wash his hands. But the drunkard stinks and vomits in his own bed and dissolves his organs in alcohol." "You are a woman and you do not understand," Pablo said equably. "I am drunk on wine and I would be happy except for those people I have killed. All of them fill me with sorrow." He shook his head lugubriously. "Give him some of that which Sordo brought," Pilar said. "Give him something to animate him. He is becoming too sad to bear." "If I could restore them to life, I would," Pablo said. "Go and obscenity thyself," Agust said to him. "What sort of place is this?" "I would bring them all back to life," Pablo said sadly. "Every one." "Thy mother," Agust shouted at him. "Stop talking like this or get out. Those were fascists you killed." "You heard me," Pablo said. "I would restore them all to life." "And then you would walk on the water," Pilar said. "In my life I have never seen such a man. Up until yesterday you preserved some remnants of manhood. And today there is not enough of you left to make a sick kitten. Yet you are happy in your soddenness." "We should have killed all or none," Pablo nodded his head. "All or none." "Listen, _Ingl_," Agust said. "How did you happen to come to Spain? Pay no attention to Pablo. He is drunk." "I came first twelve years ago to study the country and the language," Robert Jordan said. "I teach Spanish in a university." "You look very little like a professoi" Primitivo said. "He has no beard," Pablo said. "Look at him. He has no beard." "Are you truly a professor?" "An instructor." "But you teach?" "Yes." "But why Spanish?" Andr asked. "Would it not be easier to teach English since you are English?" "He speaks Spanish as we do," Anselmo said. "Why should he not teach Spanish?" "Yes. But it is, in a way, presumptuous for a foreigner to teach Spanish," Fernando said. "I mean nothing against you, Don Roberto." "He's a false professor," Pablo said, very pleased with himself. "He hasn't got a beard." "Surely you know English better," Fernando said. "Would it not be better and easier and clearer to teach English?" "He doesn't teach it to Spaniards--" Pilar started to intervene. "I should hope not," Fernando said. "Let me finish, you mule," Pilar said to him. "He teaches Spanish to Americans. North Americans." "Can they not speak Spanish?" Fernando asked. "South Americans can." "Mule," Pilar said. "He teaches Spanish to North Americans who speak English." "Still and all I think it would be easier for him to teach English if that is what he speaks," Fernando said. "Can't you hear he speaks Spanish?" Pilar shook her head hopelessly at Robert Jordan. "Yes. But with an accent." "Of where?" Robert Jordan asked. "Of Estremadura," Fernando said primly. "Oh my mother," Pilar said. "What a people!" "It is possible," Robert Jordan said. "I have come here from there." "As he well knows," Pilar said. "You old maid," she turned to Fernando. "Have you had enough to eat?" "I could eat more if there is a sufficient quantity," Fernando told her. "And do not think that I wish to say anything against you, Don Roberto--" "Milk," Agust said simply. "And milk again. Do we make the revolution in order to say Don Roberto to a comrade?" "For me the revolution is so that all will say Don to all," Fernando said. "Thus should it be under the Republic." "Milk," Agust said. "Black milk." "And I still think it would be easier and clearer for Don Roberto to teach English." "Don Roberto has no beard," Pablo said. "He is a false professor." "What do you mean, I have no beard?" Robert Jordan said. "What's this?" He stroked his chin and his cheeks where the threeday growth made a blond stubble. "Not a beard," Pablo said. He shook his head. "That's not a beard." He was almost jovial now. "He's a false professor." "I obscenity in the milk of all," Agust said, "if it does not seem like a lunatic asylum here." "You should drink," Pablo said to him. "To me everything appears normal. Except the lack of beard of Don Roberto." Maria ran her hand over Robert Jordan's cheek. "He has a beard," she said to Pablo. "You should know," Pablo said and Robert Jordan looked at him. I don't think he is so drunk, Robert Jordan thought. No, not so drunk. And I think I had better watch myself. "Thou," he said to Pablo. "Do you think this snow will last?" "What do you think?" "I asked you." "Ask another," Pablo told him. "I am not thy service of information. You have a paper from thy service of information. Ask the woman. She commands." "I asked thee." "Go and obscenity thyself," Pablo told him. "Thee and the woman and the girl." "He is drunk," Primitivo said. "Pay him no heed, _Ingl_." "I do not think he is so drunk," Robert Jordan said. Maria was standing behind him and Robert Jordan saw Pablo watching her over his shoulder. The small eyes, like a boar's, were watching her out of the round, stubble-covered head and Robert Jordan thought: I have known many killers in this war and some before and they were all different; there is no common trait nor feature; nor any such thing as the criminal type; but Pablo is certainly not handsome. "I don't believe you can drink," he said to Pablo. "Nor that you're drunk." "I am drunk," Pablo said with dignity. "To drink is nothing. It is to be drunk that is important. _Estoy muy borracho_." "I doubt it," Robert Jordan told him. "Cowardly, yes." It was so quiet in the cave, suddenly, that he could hear the hissing noise the wood made burning on the hearth where Pilar cooked. He heard the sheepskin crackle as he rested his weight on his feet. He thought he could almost hear the snow falling outside. He could not, but he could hear the silence where it fell. I'd like to kill him and have it over with, Robert Jordan was thinking. I don't know what he is going to do, but it is nothing good. Day after tomorrow is the bridge and this man is bad and he constitutes a danger to the success of the whole enterprise. Come on. Let us get it over with. Pablo grinned at him and put one finger up and wiped it across his throat. He shook his head that turned only a little each way on his thick, short neck. "Nay, _Ingl_," he said. "Do not provoke me." He looked at Pilar and said to her, "It is not thus that you get rid of me." "_Sinverguenza_," Robert Jordan said to him, committed now in his own mind to the action. "_Cobarde_." "It is very possible," Pablo said. "But I am not to be provoked. Take something to drink, _Ingl_, and signal to the woman it was not successful." "Shut thy mouth," Robert Jordan said. "I provoke thee for myself." "It is not worth the trouble," Pablo told him. "I do not provoke." "Thou art a _bicho raro_," Robert Jordan said, not wanting to let it go; not wanting to have it fail for the second time; knowing as he spoke that this had all been gone through before; having that feeling that he was playing a part from memory of something that he had read or had dreamed, feeling it all moving in a circle. "Very rare, yes," Pablo said. "Very rare and very drunk. To your health, _Ingl_." He dipped a cup in the wine bowl and held it up. "_Salud y cojones_." He's rare, all right, Robert Jordan thought, and smart, and very complicated. He could no longer hear the fire for the sound of his own breathing. "Here's to you," Robert Jordan said, and dipped a cup into the wine. Betrayal wouldn't amount to anything without all these pledges, he thought. Pledge up. "_Salud_," he said. "_Salud_ and _Salud_ again," you _salud_, he thought. _Salud_, you _salud_. "Don Roberto," Pablo said heavily. "Don Pablo," Robert Jordan said. "You're no professor," Pablo said, "because you haven't got a beard. And also to do away with me you have to assassinate me and, for this, you have not _cojones_." He was looking at Robert Jordan with his mouth closed so that his lips made a tight line, like the mouth of a fish, Robert Jordan thought. With that head it is like one of those porcupine fish that swallow air and swell up after they are caught. "_Salud_, Pablo," Robert Jordan said and raised the cup up and drank from it. "I am learning much from thee." "I am teaching the professor," Pablo nodded his head. "Come on, Don Roberto, we will be friends." "We are friends already," Robert Jordan said. "But now we will be good friends." "We are good friends already." "I'm going to get out of here," Agust said. "Truly, it is said that we must eat a ton of it in this life but I have twenty-five pounds of it stuck in each of my ears this minute." "What is the matter, _negro?_" Pablo said to him. "Do you not like to see friendship between Don Roberto and me?" "Watch your mouth about calling me _negro_." Agust went over to him and stood in front of Pablo holding his hands low. "So you are called," Pablo said. "Not by thee." "Well, then, _blanco_--" "Nor that, either." "What are you then, Red?" "Yes. Red. _Rojo_. With the Red star of the army and in favor of the Republic. And my name is Agust." "What a patriotic man," Pablo said. "Look, _Ingl_, what an exemplary patriot." Agust hit him hard across the mouth with his left hand, bringing it forward in a slapping, backhand sweep. Pablo sat there. The corners of his mouth were wine-stained and his expression did not change, but Robert Jordan watched his eyes narrow, as a cat's pupils close to vertical slits in a strong light. "Nor this," Pablo said. "Do not count on this, woman." He turned his head toward Pilar. "I am not provoked." Agust hit him again. This time he hit him on the mouth with his closed fist. Robert Jordan was holding his pistol in his hand under the table. He had shoved the safety catch off and he pushed Maria away with his left hand. She moved a little way and he pushed her hard in the ribs with his left hand again to make her get really away. She was gone now and he saw her from the corner of his eye, slipping along the side of the cave toward the fire and now Robert Jordan watched Pablo's face. The round-headed man sat staring at Agust from his flat little eyes. The pupils were even smaller now. He licked his lips then, put up an arm and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looked down and saw the blood on his hand. He ran his tongue over his lips, then spat. "Nor that," he said. "I am not a fool. I do not provoke." "_Cabr鏮_," Agust said. "You should know," Pablo said. "You know the woman." Agust hit him again hard in the mouth and Pablo laughed at him, showing the yellow, bad, broken teeth in the reddened line of his mouth. "Leave it alone," Pablo said and reached with a cup to scoop some wine from the bowl. "Nobody here has _cojones_ to kill me and this of the hands is silly." "_Cobarde_," Agust said. "Nor words either," Pablo said and made a swishing noise rinsing the wine in his mouth. He spat on the floor. "I am far past words." Agust stood there looking down at him and cursed him, speaking slowly, clearly, bitterly and contemptuously and cursing as steadily as though he were dumping manure on a field, lifting it with a dung fork out of a wagon. "Nor of those," Pablo said. "Leave it, Agust. And do not hit me more. Thou wilt injure thy hands." Agust turned from him and went to the door. "Do not go out," Pablo said. "It is snowing outside. Make thyself comfortable in here." "And thou! Thou!" Agust turned from the door and spoke to him, putting all his contempt in the single, "_Tu_." "Yes, me," said Pablo. "I will be alive when you are dead." He dipped up another cup of wine and raised it to Robert Jordan. "To the professor," he said. Then turned to Pilar. "To the Se隳ra Commander." Then toasted them all, "To all the illusioned ones." Agust walked over to him and, striking quickly with the side of his hand, knocked the cup out of his hand. "That is a waste," Pablo said. "That is silly." Agust said something vile to him. "No," Pablo said, dipping up another cup. "I am drunk, seest thou? When I am not drunk I do not talk. You have never heard me talk much. But an intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend his time with fools." "Go and obscenity in the milk of thy cowardice," Pilar said to him. "I know too much about thee and thy cowardice." "How the woman talks," Pablo said. "I will be going out to see the horses." "Go and befoul them," Agust said. "Is not that one of thy customs?" "No," Pablo said and shook his head. He was taking down his big blanket cape from the wall and he looked at Agust. "Thou," he said, "and thy violence." "What do you go to do with the horses?" Agust said. "Look to them," Pablo said. "Befoul them," Agust said. "Horse lover." "I care for them very much," Pablo said. "Even from behind they are handsomer and have more sense than these people. Divert yourselves," he said and grinned. "Speak to them of the bridge, _Ingl_. Explain their duties in the attack. Tell them how to conduct the retreat. Where will you take them, _Ingl_, after the bridge? Where will you take your patriots? I have thought of it all day while I have been drinking." "What have you thought?" Agust asked. "What have I thought?" Pablo said and moved his tongue around exploringly inside his lips. "_Qu?te importa_, what have I thought." "Say it," Agust said to him. "Much," Pablo said. He pulled the blanket coat over his head, the roundness of his head protruding now from the dirty yellow folds of the blanket. "I have thought much." "What?" Agust said. "What?" "I have thought you are a group of illusioned people," Pablo said. "Led by a woman with her brains between her thighs and a foreigner who comes to destroy you." "Get out," Pilar shouted at him. "Get out and fist yourself into the snow. Take your bad milk out of here, you horse exhausted _maricon_." "Thus one talks," Agust said admiringly, but absent-mindedly. He was worried. "I go," said Pablo. "But I will be back shortly." He lifted the blanket over the door of the cave and stepped out. Then from the door he called, "It's still falling, _Ingl_." 　　〃聋子'来过了，”比拉尔对罗伯特　乔丹说。他们从风雪中走进烟雾弥裡、热气腾腾的山洞里。那妇人点点头，示意罗伯特　乔丹到她身边去。“他去找马了。”“好。他有口信留给我吗？”“他只说去找马了。”“我们怎么办?”“不知道，”她说。“瞧他。” 　　罗伯特’乔丹进洞的时候就看见了巴勃罗，巴勃罗对他露齿笑笑。这时他坐在板桌边朝他望着，又露齿笑笑，挥挥手。“英国人，”巴勃罗招呼他。“天还在下雪呢，英国人。“罗伯特。乔丹朝他点点头。 　　“我把你的鞋拿去烤烤干，”玛丽亚说。“我把它挂在这炉灶的烟火上。” 　　“留心别把鞋烧了。”罗伯特　乔丹对她说。“我不想在这里光着脚板走路。怎么回事?”他转身对比拉尔说。“这是在幵会吗？你派人放了哨没有?” 　　“在这样的风雪里？亏你说的。” 　　桌边坐着六个人，背靠在墙上。安塞尔莫和费尔南多仍在洞口拍掉外套和裤子上的雪，朝墙上跺脚。 　　“把你的外套给我，”玛丽亚说。“别让雪化在农服上。”罗伯特　乔丹轻轻脱下外套,拍掉裤子上的雪，解开鞋带。“这里全要给你弄湿了，”比拉尔说。 　　“是你招呼我过来的明，““可没人拦住你,不让你回到洞口去拍雪哪。”“对不起。”罗伯特　乔丹说，光着脚踏在泥地上。“找双袜子给我，玛丽亚。” 　　“夫君吩咐啦，”比拉尔说，向火里添了一块柴。“你得抓紧现有的时间，”罗伯特　乔丹对她说。“背包上着锁。”玛丽亚说。"钥匙在这里，”他把钥匙扔过去。“这不是这只包上的钼匙。”“开另一只包。袜子就在上面边上。”姑娘找到了袜子，关好背包，上，“锁，把袜子和钥匙一起拿过来， 　　“坐下来穿上袜子,把脚好好揉揉，”她说。罗伯特，乔丹咧嘴朝她笑笑。 　　“你不能用你的头发来把它们擦干吗，“”他这活是故意说给比拉尔听的。 　　“真不是人。”她说。“开头象当家的，现在是我们的前任天主啦。拿木柴揍他，玛丽亚。” 　　“不。”罗伯特“乔丹对她说。“我是幵玩笑，因为心里高兴。” 　　“你高兴?” 　　“对。”他说。“看来一切都很顺利，““罗伯托，”玛丽亚说。“坐下，擦干脚,让我拿些喝的给你暖和肤和。” 　　“听她这么说，你会以为他从没睬湿过脚。”比拉尔说，“身上也从没掉过一片雪花。” 　　玛丽亚替他拿来一张羊皮，铺在山涧的泥地上。“踩在上面，”她说。“踩在羊皮上，等鞋子干了再穿。”羊皮是刚晾干不久的，还没有鞣过，罗伯特，乔丹把穿着袜子的脚踩在上面，羊皮窸窣作响，象张羊皮纸。 　　炉火在冒烟，比拉尔对玛丽亚叫道，“扇扇炉火吧，没用的丫头啊。这里可不是熏制作坊。” 　　“你自己扇吧，”玛丽亚说。“我在找'聋子’留下的酒瓶。”“在他的背包后面，”比拉尔对她说。“你非把他当吃奶的娃娃来照顾不可吗？” 　　“不，”玛丽亚说。“把他当一个又冷又湿的男人，一个才回家的男人。我到啦。”她把酒瓶拿到罗伯特　乔丹坐着的地方。“这瓶酒就是你今天中午喝过的。瓶子可以做盏漯亮的灯。等再有电的时候,真可以把它做盏灯呢。”她赞赏地看着这只瓶身上有三个大凹痕的酒瓶。“你看它好不好,罗伯托?” 　　“我原以为我是叫英国人呢，”罗伯特　乔丹对她说。“我要当着大家的面叫你罗伯托。”她红着脸低声说。“你爱喝这酒吗,罗伯托？” 　　“罗伯托。”巴勃罗嘶哑地说，对罗伯特“乔丹点点头。“你爱喝这酒吗，堂，罗伯托。” 　　“你要喝点吗?”罗伯特‘乔丹问他。巴勃罗摇摇头。“我正在用葡萄酒把自己灌醉，”他神气地说。 　　“那你去找巴克斯①吧，”罗伯特‘乔丹用西班牙话说。“巴克斯是谁?”巴勃罗问。 ①巴克斯为希腊抻话中面神狄俄尼索斯的别名　　 　　“你的同志。”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“我可从没听到过他，”巴勃罗气咻咻地说。“在这山区里从没听到过。” 　　“给安塞尔莫来一杯，”罗伯特　乔丹对玛丽亚说。“挨冻的是他。”他正在穿上烘干的袜子。杯里兑水的威士忌爽口而暖人。他想　但是不象艾酒那么在肚子里翻腾。什么酒及得上艾酒啊他想谁想得到这儿山里竟有威士忌。不过，要是仔细想想，在西班牙最可能摘到威士忌的地方，就得算拉格兰哈了。想想看，这“聋子”拿出一瓶来请作客的爆破手，并且记在心上，把它带来留在这里。这不光是由于他们的风俗习惯。他们的习愤是拿出瓶子，循规蹈矩地请人喝一杯。法国人就是会这样做的，他们还会把喝剩的留到下一次。是哬，当你干的事使你有充分理由可以奄不顾及别人，只顾你自己,可以毫不顾及别人的亊，只顾你自己手头的事的时候，竟能真心体贴地想到客人会喜欢喝威士忌，并且后来再把它带来让他喝个痛快一这是西班牙人的本色。他想　这是某一种西班牙人的吧。你爱这些人的原因之一，也就是他们想到把威士忌带来。他想，别把他们看得太理想化了。美国人各各不同，西班牙人也如此。不过,带威士忌来这一点还是干得很漂亮。 　　“你觉得酒怎么样,他问安塞尔莫　老头儿坐在炉边,脸上堆着笑,两只大手捧着杯子。他摇播头。 　　“不喜欢?”罗伯特‘乔丹问他。 　　〃小丫头在里头兑了水，”安塞尔莫说。 　　“罗伯托就是这么喝的嘛，”玛丽亚说，“你就跟人家不一样。“ 　　“不。“安塞尔莫对她说。“一点没什么不一样。我只是喜欢喝下肚火辣辣的劲头。” 　　“把杯子给我，”罗伯特”乔丹对姑娘说，“给他斟些火辣辣的玩意儿。” 　　他拿杯里的酒倒在自己杯里，把空杯递给玛丽亚，她小心萁翼地把酒瓶里的酒倒在杯里。 　　“啊，”安塞尔莫拿起酒杯，一仰脖淮进喉咙。他望望拿着酒瓶站在那儿的玛丽亚，对她眨眨眼睛，眼睛里涌出泪水,对头，”他说。“对头。”他然后舔舔嘴唇。“这才能把我们肚里作怪的蛆虫杀死哪。” 　　“罗伯托，”玛丽亚走到他身边说，仍然拿着酒瓶。“你要吃饭吗？” 　　“饭做好了喝？”“你要吃什么时候都行。”“别人吃过了？” 　　“只有你,安塞尔莫和费尔南多还没吃，““那我们吃吧。”他对她说。“你呢?”“等会儿跟比拉尔一起吃。”“现在跟我们“起吃吧。” 　　“不。那不好。” 　 　　“来，吃吧。在我的国家里，男人不在他女人之前先吃。”“那是你的国家。这里后吃比较合适。” 、 　　“跟他吃吧，”巴勃罗从桌边抬头说。“跟他吃。跟他喝。跟他睡。跟他死。照他国家的规矩办。” 　　“你醉了吗?”罗伯特。乔丹站在巴勃罗面前说。这个肮脏的、满脸胡子茬的大汉兴离采烈地望着他。 　　“不错。”巴勃罗说。“你那个女人跟男人一起吃饭的国家，英国人，在哪里?” 　　“在美利坚合众国，在蒙大拿州。” 　　“男人跟女人一样穿裙子的地方,就是那里呜？” 　　“不。那是苏格兰，“ 　　“可是听着，”巴勃罗说。“你穿裙子时，英国人一”“我不穿裙子，”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“当你穿这种裙子的时候。”巴勃罗顾自说下去，“裙于里面穿什么?” 　　“我不知道苏格兰人的穿着，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我自已也想知道。” 　　“别管苏格兰人，”巴勃罗说。“谁管苏格兰人呀？谁管名称那么希奇古怪的人呀？我不管。我才不管哪。你，我说，英国人。你。在你们国家，你们在裙子里面穿什么?” 　　“我对你说过两次啦，我们不穿裙子。”罗伯特“乔丹说。“既不是说酒话,也不是讲笑话。” 　　“可是你在裙子里面穿什么？〃巴勃罗不放松地说。“因为大家知道，你们是穿裙子的。连大兵也穿。我见过照片‘我在马戏场也见过。你在裙子里面穿什么，英国人?”“那两个蛋，”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　安塞尔矣哈哈大笑,其他听着的人也笑了，只有费尔南多例外。他认为在女人面前讲这样的粗话有失体统。 　　“趣,这是合情合理的嘛，”巴勃罗说。“不过我看，你真有了两个蛋　你就不会穿裙子了。” 　　“别让他再说这种话，英国人，”那个名叫普里米蒂伏的扃脸、断鼻梁的汉子说。“他醉了。跟我讲讲，你们国家种什么庄稼，养计么牲口？” 　　“牛羊，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“还种很多粮食豆子。还种很多做糖的甜菜。” 　　这时他们三个坐在桌边，其他人挨在旁边坐着,只有巴勃罗独自坐在一边，面前放着一碗酒。炖肉还是跟昨晚的一样，罗伯特　乔丹狼吞虎咽地吃着。 　　“你们那里有大山吗？既然叫蒙大拿①，当然有大山啦，”普里米蒂伏客气地问，想打开话匣子。巴勃罗暍醉了酒,使他很窘,“有很多大山，高得很嘟。” 、 　　“有好牧场吗?” 　　“好极了；夏天有政府管理的森林里的高原牧场。到秋天，就把牛羊赶到较低的山坡上去放牧。”“那里土地是农民自己的?” 　　“大多数土地归种地的人所有。土地本来是国家的，不过,如果有人在那里生活，并且表示愿意开垦的话，一个人可以得到一百五十公顷土地。”’ 　　“跟我讲讲,这是怎么回事“奥古斯丁问。“这是种蛮有意思的土地改革呀。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹讲解了分给定居移民宅地噚的过程。他以前从没想到这算是一种土改。 　　“真是呱呱叫，”普里米蒂伏说。“这么说你的国家实行共产主义罗？” 　　“不。那是在共和国领导下进行的。”“依我看，”奥古斯丁说，“在共和国领导下，什么事都办得好。我看不需要别的政府形式了。”“你们没有大业主吧?”安德烈斯问，“有很多。” 　　“那就一定有弊病罗。” 　　“当然。有很多 　　"你们可要想法消灭这些弊病。” 　　“我们越来越想这样做。不过弊病仍旧很多。” 　　“有没有很大的产业必须加以限制的?” 　　“有。不过,有人认为,靠抽税就能限制它们扩展。” 　　“怎样做法?” 　　萝伯特　乔丹解释所得税和逋产税的作用，一边用面包抹着炖肉碗。〃不过，大产业还是有的。还有土地也要征税，”他说。 　　“可是大业主和有钱人准要闹革命来反对这些税啦。我看这些税倒是革命的。他们看到自己要倒痗，准会起来反抗政府,就象法西斯分子在这里千的那样。”“这可能。” 　　“那么在你们国家里，也得象我们这里“样,必须斗争啦。” 　　“是啊，我们不斗争不行。” 　　“不过在你们国家里，法西斯分子不多吧” 　　“很多，但他们不知道自己就是法西斯分子，不过到头来是会明白过来的。” 　　“可是，他们不造反,你们就不能消灭他们吧?”“对罗伯特　乔丹说。“我们不能消灭他们。不过我们可以教育人民餐惕法西斯主义，等它一出现就有所认识，向它斗争。” 　　“你知道什么地方没有法西斯分子?”安德烈斯问。“什么地方?” 　　“在巴勃罗老家的那个镇上，”安德烈斯说，露齿笑了。“那镇上发生的情况，你知道吧?”普里米蒂伏问罗伯特　乔丹。 　　“知道。我听说了。” 　　“是比拉尔讲的?” 　　“不错。” 　　“你从那女人嘴里是听不到全部真相的，”巴勃罗气咻咻地说。“她没看到结局，因为她在窗外从椅子上摔下去了。” 　　“那你把后来的情形给他讲讲吧。”比拉尔说。“既然我不知道,你讲就是了。” 　　“不，”巴勃罗说。“我从来没对人讲过。”“不错，〃比拉尔说，“你以后也不会讲啦。如今你可希望根本没有发生那件事。” 　　“不，”巴勃罗说。“这话说得不对。要是大家跟我一样把法西斯分子杀个千净,我们就不会有这场战争了　不过,我但悤当时的情况不象已经发生的那样，“ 　　“你说这话算什么意思?”普里米蒂伏问他。“你在玫变政治见解吗?” 　　“不。不过当时太狠心了巴勃罗说。“那些日子里我太狠 心了。” 　　“你现在可醉了。”比拉尔说。“对，”巴勃罗说。“请你包涵。” 　　“我倒喜欢你狠心的时候，”妇人说。“男人中最讨人厌的是酒鬼。贼不偸的时候就象人样。流氓不在自己家里敲诈勒索。杀人犯在家里会洗手不干。可是酒鬼臭气冲天,在自己床上呕吐,让酒精把他的五脏六腑都烂掉。” 　　“你是女人,不懂，”巴勃罗心平气和地说。“我喝得烂醉，如果我没有杀过那些人就快活了。那些人叫我伤心不堪。”他忧郁地摇着头。 　　“拿'聋子’捎来的酒给他一些。”比拉尔说。”给他一些壮壮胆。他伤心得受不住了。” 　　“要是我有本事使他们复活，我一定干。”巴勃罗说。“去你奶奶的。”奥古斯丁对他说。“这里是什么地方?”“我一定使他们都复活。”巴勃罗伤心地说。“每个人。”“去你妈的，”奥古斯丁朝他大叫。“免了这种话吧，要不就滚出去。你杀的人是法西斯分子嘛。” 　　“你听见我说的了，”巴勃罗说。“我要使他们都复活。”“那你就能在海面上行走啦①，”比拉尔说。“我一辈子也没见过这样的男人。到昨天为止你还有一点男人气概。今天呢,你还不如一只有病的小猫。你喝得醉麵醺的,还怪髙兴呢。”“那时应该一个也不留，要躭一个也不杀，”巴勃罗点着头说。一一个也不留，要就一个也不杀。” 　　“听着，英国人，”奥古斯丁说。“你怎么会到西班牙来的？别理巴勃罗。他醉了。” 　　“我第一次来是在十二年前，为了研究这个国家和西班牙语， 　　”罗伯特，乔丹说。“我在大学里教西班牙语。”“你可不大象教授啊，”普里米蒂伏说。“他没有胡子，”巴勃罗说。“瞧他，他没胡子。”“你真的是教授吗?”“是讲师。”“反正你教课?”“对。” 　　“可是干吗教西班牙语呢。”安镰烈斯问　你既然是英国人,教英语不是容易些?” 　　“他的西班牙语说得跟我们一样。”安塞尔莫说。“干吗他不教西班牙语?” 　　“对。不过外国人教西班牙语可多少有点自不量力。”费尔南多说。“我可没有反对你的意思,堂‘罗伯托。” 　　“他是个冒牌教授，”巴勃罗自得其乐地说。“他没有胡子　“你的英语肯定更好些。”费尔南多说。“救英语不是更好些、更容易些、更清楚些?” 　　“他不是教西班牙人一”比拉尔开始插嘴了。“但愿如此，”费尔南多说。 　　“让我把话说完,你这个蠹驴,”比拉尔对他说。“他是给美洲人教西班牙语。北美人，“ 　　“他们不会讲西班牙话吗?”费尔南多问。“南美人是会讲的。” 　　“蠢驴，”比拉尔说。“他教说英语的北美人。“ 　　“不管怎么样，他既然讲英语，我看坯是教英文容易些,费尔南多说。 　　“难道你没听到他说的西班牙话吗?”比拉尔无可奈何地对罗伯特　乔丹摇摇头。 ‘ 　　“不错。不过带点口音。”“邴里的口音?”罗伯特　乔丹问。“埃斯特雷马杜拉的，”费尔南多一本正经地说。“我的妈呀，”比拉尔说。“这种人哪　”“可能的。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我是从那儿来的。”“他自己很清楚。”比拉尔说。“你这个老姑娘。”她扭头对费尔南多说，“你吃够了吗?〃 　　“东西多的话，我还能吃。”费尔南多对地说。“别以为我的话是反对你，堂‘罗伯托一一” 　　“奶奶的，”奥古斯丁干脆地说。“操你奶奶的。咱们干革命就是为了对同志称呼堂‘罗伯托吗。” 　　“依我看，革命就是为了让大家相互称呼‘堂费尔南多说。“共和国领导下就该这样，“ 　　“奶奶的奥古斯丁说。“黑奶奶的。。“我还是认为堂　罗伯托教英语来得容易些、请楚些。”“堂　罗伯托没胡子，”巴勃罗说。“他是冒牌教授。”“你说我没胡子是什么意思。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“这是什么,他摈摈下巴和脸颊，三天没刮脸，长了一片黄色的短胡须。 　　“不是胡子，”巴勃罗说。他摇摇头。“那不算胡子，“他这时简直喜气洋洋了。“他是个冒牌教授。“ 　　“我操你们的奶奶，”奥古斯丁说。“这里简直象疯人院，““你该喝酒，”巴勃罗对他说，“依我看,什么都正常,就只是堂”罗伯托没长胡子。” 　　玛丽亚伸手摸着罗伯特　乔丹的脸颊。“他有胡子，”她对巴勃罗说， 　　“你当然知道，”巴勃罗说。罗伯特，乔丹对他望着。’罗伯特　乔丹想。”我看他不见得真醉成这样。不，不见得真酔成这样，我看最好还是多加小心。“ 　　“你。”他对巴勃罗说。“你看这场雪会下长吗？”“你看呢?”“我问你。” 　　“问别人吧。”巴勃罗对他说。“我不是你的情报部。你有情报部的证明文件嘛。问那女人。她当家。”“我问你,” 　　“去你妈的。”巴勃罗对他说。“你和这女人和这丫头,全见鬼去吧。” 　　“他醉了，”普里米蒂伏说。“别睬他，英国人。”“我看他没有真的醉成这样”罗伯特，乔丹说。玛丽亚站在他背后。罗伯特　乔丹看到巴勃罗隔着他的肩头在打量着她。他那满脸胡子的圆脑袋上长着两只小跟睛，这双公猪般的小眼睛正在打量着她。罗伯特　乔丹想　我在这次战争中见过不少杀人者，以前也见过一些，他们各不相同；没有相同的特征,没有相同的面貌,也没有所谓天生的凶犯相　不过巴勃罗确实长得丑。 　　“我看你不会喝酒，”他对巴勃罗说。“我看你也没有喝醉。”“我醉了，”巴劫罗神气地说，“喝酒没什么了不起。喝醉才了不起。我醉得很厉害。” 　　“我不信，”罗伯特　乔丹对他说。“胆小如鼠，倒是真的。”山洞里颊时鸦雀无声，他听得到比拉尔烧饭的炉灶里柴火发出的咝咝声！他听到自己把全身的分量踩在羊皮上所弄出的窸窣声。他自以为简直能听到洞外的下雪声。他实在听不到，伹能听出落地无声的寂静。 　　罗伯特　乔丹在想。”我真想把他杀掉，一了百了啊。我不知道他打算耍些什么花招，伹肯定不会有好事。后天早晨就要炸桥,而这家伙真糟糕，他对整个任务的完成实在是危险的罾来吧。我们把这件事了了吧。 　　巴勃罗朝他露齿笑笑，伸出一只指头,在脖子上一划。他摇摇头，可是脑袋在那又粗又短的脖子上只微微晃动了一下。 　　“不行，英国人，”他说。“别惹我发火。”他望着比拉尔,对她说，“你想这样把我摘掉可不行。” 　　“无耻之徒，”罗伯特　乔丹对他说，存心想动手了乡“胆小 由” 　　“很可能是嘛。”巴勃罗说。“可我才不会让你惹恼呢-喝点儿什么吧，英国人，给那女人打个手势告诉她没成功，”“闭嘴。”罗伯特，乔丹说。“我是自己向你寻事。”“白费心思,巴勃罗对他说。“我才不会被惹恼呢，““你真是个怪物，”罗伯特　乔丹说,不愿就此罢休；不愿这第二次尝试又遭到失敗！他说话时就明白，这种场面以前已演过一遍，“；他感到他正根据记忆　按照耸在书上看到的、或梦中见过的样子在演一个角色,觉得一切在周而复始。 　　“很怪，是啊，”巴勃罗说。“很怪，并且很醉了。祝你健康，英国人。”他在酒缸里舀了一杯,举起杯子。“祝你健康,有种25。 　　罗伯特，乔丹想。”是轲,他这个人很怪，很机灵,很不简单。他只听到自己呼吸的声音,听不到炉灶里的声音了。 　　“为你干杯，”罗伯特-乔丹说，也舀了杯酒。他想，不来上这一套祝酒的玩艺，就谈不上什么背弃自己的打算了。干杯吧。“干杯，”他说。“干杯，再一次干杯。”他想。”你干杯吧。干杯，你干杯吧。 　　“堂“罗伯托，”巴勃罗气咻咻地说。“堂，巴勃罗。”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“你不是教授，”巴勃罗说，“因为你没长胡子。再说,要把我干掉,只能靠暗杀，伹要这样干，你可没种。” 　　他望着罗伯特　乔丹，紧闭着嘴，嘴唇抿成一条线。罗伯特‘乔丹想。”真象鱼的嘴。长着这样一个脑袋，就象被捉住后的针钝在吸进空气,把身体胀大， 　　“干杯，巴勃罗。”罗伯特。乔丹说，举起杯子，喝了一口。“我从你那里学到不少东西。”‘ 　　“我在教教授啦，”巴勃罗点点头。“来吧，堂　罗伯托，我们做个朋友吧。” 　　“我们已经是朋友了，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“现在我们可要做好朋友啦？ 　　“我们已经是好朋友了。” 　　“我要离开这里了。”奥古斯丁说。“一点不镨，人家说我们活一辈子至少要听到几顿假话，刚才这一会儿我毎个耳朵里就灌进了二十五磅。” 　　“你怎么啦，黑鬼?”巴勃罗对他说　“你看到堂‘罗伯托报我做朋友不喜欢吗？” 　　“你嘴里可别不干不净地叫我黑鬼。”奥古斯丁走到他面前站住了，双手垂在身旁。 　　“人家就是这样叫你的嘛，”巴勃罗说。“不要你叫。”“行，那么叫白人一”“也不要这样叫。” 　　“那么叫你什么呢？赤色分子一。“对。赤色分子。佩着部队的红星，拥护共和国。我的名字叫奥古斯丁。” 　　“好一个爱国者。”巴勃罗说。“瞧，英国人，好一个爱国者。“ 　　奥古斯丁举起左手，反手一挥，狠狼地给了他一巴掌。巴勃罗坐在那儿,嘴角上沾着酒，声色不动，但罗伯特‘乔丹注意到，他眯细了眼睛，就象猫的瞳孔在强光前收缩成一条垂直的狭缝那样。 　　“这也不行呢，”巴勃罗说。“别指望这么做啦，太太。”他转过头来朝着比拉尔。“我不会被惹恼的，“ 　　奥古斯丁又揍了他一下。他这次紧握了拳头,打在他嘴上。罗伯特“乔丹在桌子下面用手握着手熗。他扳开保险，左手推开玛丽亚。她挪了挪身子，他用左手在她肋骨上又使劲地推了一下，叫她真的走开。地这才走开了。穸伯特‘乔丹从眼梢上瞅见她沿着洞壁朝炉灶悄悄走去，于是才注视着巴勃罗的脸色。 　　这个困脑袋的汉子坐着，没神的小眼睛瞪着奥古斯丁。这时,瞳孔竟变得更小了。他舔舔嘴屏，举起一条手臂，用手背擦擦嘴，低头一看，看到了手上的血，他用舌头舔着嘴唇,接着唾了一口血水。 　　这也不行。”他说。“我不是傻瓜。我不会着恼。” 　　“王八蛋。”奥古斯丁说。 　　“你哪会不知道。”巴勃罗说。“你了解这女人的嘛。”奥古斯丁又狠狼地给他晡上一拳。巴勃罗冲着他哈哈大笑,染红的嘴里餌出一口黄色的坏牙。 　　“算了吧，”巴勃罗说，用杯子从缸里舀了些酒。”这里谁也找有种来杀我，挥拳头是傻瓜。““胆小鬼。”奥古斯丁说， 　　“骂人也是白搭。”巴勃罗说，用酒漱着口，发出咕噜噜噜的声音，然后吐在地上。“骂我，根本是白搭。” 　　奥古斯丁站在那里,低头望着他，悝吞吞地,一字一句地,刻薄而轻蔑地骂他,一迭连声地骂着，好象正在用粪耙从粪车里一下下地挑起肥料，给地里施肥似的。 　　“再骂也是白搭，”巴勃罗说。“算了，奥古斯丁。别再揍我啦。你会伤了自已的手。” 　　奥古斯丁从他身旁走开，朝洞口走去。“别出去。”巴勃罗说。“外面在下雪　你就在里面舒尿一会吧。” 　　“你！你。”奥古斯丁在门口转身对他说,把他满腔的轻班都放在“你”这个字里面- 　　“对，就是我。”巴勃罗说。“等你归天的时候，我一定还活 着。” 　　他又舀了一杯酒，向罗伯特　乔丹举起杯子。"为教授干杯，”他说。然后转身对比拉尔。“为太太司令干杯。”接着为大家祝酒，“为全体痴心妄想的人干杯，“ 　　奥古斯丁走到他面前，用手倏的一砍，打掉了他手中的杯 子。 　　“把酒糟蹋了，”巴勃罗说。“多蠢哬。”奥古斯丁对他恶毒地骂了一声粗诘。“不，”巴勃罗说，又舀了一杯。“我醉了,你没看到吗？我不醉的时候不大说话。你从没听到过我说这么许多话。不过，聪明人和傻瓜泡时间，有时就不得不喝醉。” 　　“滚,操你奶奶的怕死鬼，”比拉尔对他说。“你这个怕死鬼，我看透啦。” 　　“这女人家的嘴多脏啊，”巴勃罗说。“我要出去看马了。”“操它们去吧，”奥古斯丁说。“这不是你的老规矩吗?”“不，”巴勃罗说着摇摇头。他从洞壁上取下毯子式的披风,望望奥古斯丁。“你啊，”他说。“太粗暴了，““你去和马干什么？”奥古斯丁说。“去査看一下。”巴勃罗说。“操它们。”奥古斯丁说。“嫖马客。”“我非常客欢它们。”巴勃罗说。“哪怕从屁股后边望去，它们也要比这帮家伙漂亮些、懂事些。你们自己消遣吧，”他露齿笑笑说。“跟他们谈谈桥吧,英国人。向他们交代袭击时的任务。告诉他们撤走的击时的任务。告诉他们撤走的办法。炸桥之后，英国人，你要把他们带到哪里去？你把你这些爱国者带到嗛里去呀？整整一天,我一面喝酒，-面在琢磨这件事。” 　　“你想到了什么?”奥古斯丁问。 　　“我想到了什么?”巴勃罗说,舌头在嘴里到处舔着？我想到了叶么，跟你有什么相干?”“说说吧，”奥古斯丁对他说。 　　“很多事，”巴勃罗说。他把披风从头上套下去,那滚困的脑袋从这肮脏的黄披风中央的圆孔里伸了出来。“我想到了很多事。” 　　“什么事，“”奥古斯丁说。“什么事?”“我想到，你们是一帮痴心妄想的家伙，”巴勃罗说。“带头的一个是女人,头脑长在两条大腿中间，另一个是来送你们上西天的外国佬。” 　　“滚，”比拉尔对他喝道。“滚，到雪里去玩你自己吧。你给我滚开，你这被马儿掏空了身子的嫖客。” 　　“说得多带劲啊。”奥古斯丁钦佩地说,可是有点心不在焉。他发愁了。 　　“我走，”巴勃罗说。“不过我马上就要回来。”他撩起洞口的毯子,走到外面，接着在洞外嚷嚷，“英国人，还在下雪哪。“

Chapter 17 The only noise in the cave now was the hissing from the hearth where snow was falling through the hole in the roof onto the coals of the fire. "Pilar," Fernando said. "Is there more of the stew?" "Oh, shut up," the woman said. But Maria took Fernando's bowl over to the big pot set back from the edge of the fire and ladled into it. She brought it over to the table and set it down and then patted Fernando on the shoulder as he bent to eat. She stood for a moment beside him, her hand on his shoulder. But Fernando did not look up. He was devoting himself to the stew. Agust stood beside the fire. The others were seated. Pilar sat at the table opposite Robert Jordan. "Now, _Ingl_," she said, "you have seen how he is." "What will he do?" Robert Jordan asked. "Anything," the woman looked down at the table. "Anything. He is capable of doing anything." "Where is the automatic rifle?" Robert Jordan asked. "There in the corner wrapped in the blanket," Primitivo said. "Do you want it?" "Later," Robert Jordan said. "I wished to know where it is." "It is there," Primitivo said. "I brought it in and I have wrapped it in my blanket to keep the action dry. The pans are in that sack." "He would not do that," Pilar said. "He would not do anything with the _m嫭uina_." "I thought you said he would do anything." "He might," she said. "But he has no practice with the _m嫭uina_. He could toss in a bomb. That is more his style." "It is an idiocy and a weakness not to have killed him," the gypsy said. He had taken no part in any of the talk all evening. "Last night Roberto should have killed him." "Kill him," Pilar said. Her big face was dark and tired looking. "I am for it now." "I was against it," Agust said. He stood in front of the fire, his long arms hanging by his sides, his cheeks, stubble-shadowed below the cheekbones, hollow in the firelight. "Now I am for it," he said. "He is poisonous now and he would like to see us all destroyed." "Let all speak," Pilar said and her voice was tired. "Thou, Andr?" "_Matarlo_," the brother with the dark hair growing far down in the point on his forehead said and nodded his head. "Eladio?" "Equally," the other brother said. "To me he seems to constitute a great danger. And he serves for nothing." "Primitivo?" "Equally." "Fernando?" "Could we not hold him as a prisoner?" Fernando asked. "Who would look after a prisoner?" Primitivo said. "It would take two men to look after a prisoner and what would we do with him in the end?" "We could sell him to the fascists," the gypsy said. "None of that," Agust said. "None of that filthiness." "It was only an idea," Rafael, the gypsy, said. "It seems to me that the _facciosos_ would be happy to have him." "Leave it alone," Agust said. "That is filthy." "No filthier than Pablo," the gypsy justified himself. "One filthiness does not justify another," Agust said. "Well, that is all. Except for the old man and the _Ingl_." "They are not in it," Pilar said. "He has not been their leader." "One moment," Fernando said. "I have not finished." "Go ahead," Pilar said. "Talk until he comes back. Talk until he rolls a hand grenade under that blanket and blows this all up. Dynamite and all." "I think that you exaggerate, Pilar," Fernando said. "I do not think that he has any such conception." "I do not think so either," Agust said. "Because that would blow the wine up too and he will be back in a little while to the wine." "Why not turn him over to El Sordo and let El Sordo sell him to the fascists?" Rafael suggested. "You could blind him and he would be easy to handle." "Shut up," Pilar said. "I feel something very justified against thee too when thou talkest." "The fascists would pay nothing for him anyway," Primitivo said. "Such things have been tried by others and they pay nothing. They will shoot thee too." "I believe that blinded he could be sold for something," Rafael said. "Shut up," Pilar said. "Speak of blinding again and you can go with the other." "But, he, Pablo, blinded the _guardia civil_ who was wounded," the gypsy insisted. "You have forgotten that?" "Close thy mouth," Pilar said to him. She was embarrassed before Robert Jordan by this talk of blinding. "I have not been allowed to finish," Fernando interrupted. "Finish," Pilar told him. "Go on. Finish." "Since it is impractical to hold Pablo as a prisoner," Fernando commenced, "and since it is repugnant to offer him--" "Finish," Pilar said. "For the love of God, finish." "--in any class of negotiation," Fernando proceeded calmly, "I am agreed that it is perhaps best that he should be eliminated in order that the operations projected should be insured of the maximum possibility of success." Pilar looked at the little man, shook her head, bit her lips and said nothing. "That is my opinion," Fernando said. "I believe we are justified in believing that he constitutes a danger to the Republic--" "Mother of God," Pilar said. "Even here one man can make a bureaucracy with his mouth." "Both from his own words and his recent actions," Fernando continued. "And while he is deserving of gratitude for his actions in the early part of the movement and up until the most recent time--" Pilar had walked over to the fire. Now she came up to the table. "Fernando," Pilar said quietly and handed a bowl to him. "Take this stew please in all formality and fill thy mouth with it and talk no more. We are in possession of thy opinion." "But, how then--" Primitivo asked and paused without completing the sentence. "_Estoy listo_," Robert Jordan said. "I am ready to do it. Since you are all decided that it should be done it is a service that I can do." What's the matter? he thought. From listening to him I am beginning to talk like Fernando. That language must be infectious. French, the language of diplomacy. Spanish, the language of bureaucracy. "No," Maria said. "No." "This is none of thy business," Pilar said to the girl. "Keep thy mouth shut." "I will do it tonight," Robert Jordan said. He saw Pilar looking at him, her fingers on her lips. She was looking toward the door. The blanket fastened across the opening of the cave was lifted and Pablo put his head in. He grinned at them all, pushed under the blanket and then turned and fastened it again. He turned around and stood there, then pulled the blanket cape over his head and shook the snow from it. "You were speaking of me?" he addressed them all. "I am interrupting?" No one answered him and he hung the cape on a peg in the wall and walked over to the table. "_Qu?tal?_" he asked and picked up his cup which had stood empty on the table and dipped it into the wine bowl. "There is no wine," he said to Maria. "Go draw some from the skin." Maria picked up the bowl and went over to the dusty, heavily distended, black-tarred wineskin that hung neck down from the wall and unscrewed the plug from one of the legs enough so that the wine squirted from the edge of the plug into the bowl. Pablo watched her kneeling, holding the bowl up and watched the light red wine flooding into the bowl so fast that it made a whirling motion as it filled it. "Be careful," he said to her. "The wine's below the chest now." No one said anything. "I drank from the belly-button to the chest today," Pablo said. "It's a day's work. What's the matter with you all? Have you lost your tongues?" No one said anything at all. "Screw it up, Maria," Pablo said. "Don't let it spill." "There'll be plenty of wine," Agust said. "You'll be able to be drunk." "One has encountered his tongue," Pablo said and nodded to Agust. "Felicitations. I thought you'd been struck dumb." "By what?" Agust asked. "By my entry." "Thinkest thou that thy entry carries importance?" He's working himself up to it, maybe, Robert Jordan thought. Maybe Agust is going to do it. He certainly hates him enough. I don't hate him, he thought. No, I don't hate him. He is disgusting but I do not hate him. Though that blinding business puts him in a special class. Still this is their war. But he is certainly nothing to have around for the next two days. I am going to keep away out of it, he thought. I made a fool of myself with him once tonight and I am perfectly willing to liquidate him. But I am not going to fool with him beforehand. And there are not going to be any shooting matches or monkey business in here with that dynamite around either. Pablo thought of that, of course. And did you think of it, he said to himself? No, you did not and neither did Agust. You deserve whatever happens to you, he thought. "Agust," he said. "What?" Agust looked up sullenly and turned his head away from Pablo. "I wish to speak to thee," Robert Jordan said. "Later." "Now," Robert Jordan said. "_Por favor_." Robert Jordan had walked to the opening of the cave and Pablo followed him with his eyes. Agust, tall and sunken cheeked, stood up and came over to him. He moved reluctantly and contemptuously. "Thou hast forgotten what is in the sacks?" Robert Jordan said to him, speaking so low that it could not be heard. "Milk!" Agust said. "One becomes accustomed and one forgets." "I, too, forgot." "Milk!" Agust said. "_Leche!_ What fools we are." He swung back loose-jointedly to the table and sat down. "Have a drink, Pablo, old boy," he said. "How were the horses?" "Very good," Pablo said. "And it is snowing less." "Do you think it will stop?" "Yes," Pablo said. "It is thinning now and there are small, hard pellets. The wind will blow but the snow is going. The wind has changed." "Do you think it will clear tomorrow?" Robert Jordan asked him. "Yes," Pablo said. "I believe it will be cold and clear. This wind is shifting." Look at him, Robert Jordan thought. Now he is friendly. He has shifted like the wind. He has the face and the body of a pig and I know he is many times a murderer and yet he has the sensitivity of a good aneroid. Yes, he thought, and the pig is a very intelligent animal, too. Pablo has hatred for us, or perhaps it is only for our projects, and pushes his hatred with insults to the point where you are ready to do away with him and when he sees that this point has been reached he drops it and starts all new and clean again. "We will have good weather for it, _Ingl_," Pablo said to Robert Jordan. "_We_," Pilar said. "_We?_" "Yes, we," Pablo grinned at her and drank some of the wine. "Why not? I thought it over while I was outside. Why should we not agree?" "In what?" the woman asked. "In what now?" "In all," Pablo said to her. "In this of the bridge. I am with thee now." "You are with us now?" Agust said to him. "After what you have said?" "Yes," Pablo told him. "With the change of the weather I am with thee." Agust shook his head. "The weather," he said and shook his head again. "And after me hitting thee in the face?" "Yes," Pablo grinned at him and ran his fingers over his lips. "After that too." Robert Jordan was watching Pilar. She was looking at Pablo as at some strange animal. On her face there was still a shadow of the expression the mention of the blinding had put there. She shook her head as though to be rid of that, then tossed it back. "Listen," she said to Pablo. "Yes, woman." "What passes with thee?" "Nothing," Pablo said. "I have changed my opinion. Nothing more." "You were listening at the door," she told him. "Yes," he said. "But I could hear nothing." "You fear that we will kill thee." "No," he told her and looked at her over the wine cup. "I do not fear that. You know that." "Well, what passes with thee?" Agust said. "One moment you are drunk and putting your mouth on all of us and disassociating yourself from the work in hand and speaking of our death in a dirty manner and insulting the women and opposing that which should be done--" "I was drunk," Pablo told him. "And now--" "I am not drunk," Pablo said. "And I have changed my mind." "Let the others trust thee. I do not," Agust said. "Trust me or not," Pablo said. "But there is no one who can take thee to Gredos as I can." "Gredos?" "It is the only place to go after this of the bridge." Robert Jordan, looking at Pilar, raised his hand on the side away from Pablo and tapped his right ear questioningly. The woman nodded. Then nodded again. She said something to Maria and the girl came over to Robert Jordan's side. "She says, 'Of course he heard," Maria said in Robert Jordan's ear. "Then Pablo," Fernando said judicially. "Thou art with us now and in favor of this of the bridge?" "Yes, man," Pablo said. He looked Fernando squarely in the eye and nodded. "In truth?" Primitivo asked. "_De veras_," Pablo told him. "And you think it can be successful?" Fernando asked. "You now have confidence?" "Why not?" Pablo said. "Haven't you confidence?" "Yes," Fernando said. "But I always have confidence." "I'm going to get out of here," Agust said. "It is cold outside," Pablo told him in a friendly tone. "Maybe," Agust said. "But I can't stay any longer in this _manicomio_." "Do not call this cave an insane asylum," Fernando said. "A _manicomio_ for criminal lunatics," Agust said. "And I'm getting out before I'm crazy, too." 　　雪从山洞顶上的窟甯里飘落在炉灶的煤火上，发出咝聪声,这是这时山洞里唯一的声音。 　　“比拉尔，”费尔南多说。“还有炖肉吗?”“呸，闭嘴。”妇人说。但玛丽亚接过费尔南多的碗，拿到已从炉灶边端下的大铁锅旁,在里面舀吃的。她把它槺到桌边　搁在桌上，费尔南多俯身去吃。她拍拍他的肩头，在他身旁站了一会儿，一只手搁在他肩上。 　　伹费尔南多没有抬头。他一心一意地吃着炖肉。 　　奥古斯丁站在炉灶边。其他人都坐着。比拉尔坐在桌边,罗伯特　乔丹的对面。 　　“挨,英国人，”她说，“你看到他是什么模样啦，“ 　　“他会怎么干?”罗伯特‘乔丹问。“什么都干得出来。”妇人低头望着桌子。“什么都干得出来。他这人什么都干得出来。” 　　“自动步熗在哪里?”罗伯特　乔丹问　“在那边角落里，裹在毪子里。”普里米蒂伏说。“你要吗?”〃等会要。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我想知道熗藏在哪儿。”“就在那儿。”普里米蒂伏说。“我把它拿进来裹在我的毯子里了　免得受匍。弹药盘在那只包里。” 　　“他不会动它的。”比拉尔说。“他不会拿这支机关熗干什么名堂。” 　　“我记得你刚才还说他这人什么都干得出来。”“有这个可能。”她说。“不过他没有使过机关熗。他可能扔个炸弹进来。这才更符合他的作风。” 　　“不把他干掉，就是鸞，胆小。”吉普赛人说。在整个晚上这场谈话中，他没开过口。“罗伯托昨晚就该把他干了。” 　　“杀了他吧。”比拉尔说。她那张大脸上鳝出了阴郁而疲惫的神色。“我现在赞成这个办法了。” 　　“我本来是反对的。”奥古斯丁说，他站在炉灶前，两条长手臂垂在身体两摘,颧骨下满是胡子茬的两頰,在炉火映照下显得凹陷了　“我现在赞成了。”他说。”他这个人现在很恶毒，珙了我们大家他才离兴。” 　　“大家说说吧，”比拉尔说，但她的声音有气无力。“安德烈斯,你说呢?” 　　“杀掉他，”两兄弟中那个黑头发在前額上生得很低的说，还“埃拉迪奥。” 　　“一样，”另一个兄弟说。“依我看,他是个大祸根。而且他根本不中用了。” 　　“普里米蒂伏?”’“一样。”“费尔南多?” 　　“我们不能把他关起来吗。”费尔南多问。"谁来看守囚徒？” 　　普里米蒂伏说。“一个囚徒得两个人看。再说，最后我们怎么处理他?” 　　“我们可以把他抛给法西斯分于，”吉普赛人说。“这种事干不得。”奥古斯丁说。“这种卑鄙勾当千不得。”“我不过是出个主意罢了。”吉普赛人拉斐尔说。“依我看哪，叛乱分子会高兴把他弄到手的。” 　　“算了吧，”奥古斯丁说。“那太卑铘了。”“也不比巴勃罗更卑髎吧，”吉普赛人为自己辨护道。“不能用卑讎来对付卑鄙。”奥古斯丁说，“好,大家都说了。还有老头子和英国人没讲。” 　　“他们跟这没关系。”比拉尔说，“他没有当过他们的头。”“等一等，”费尔南多说。“我的话还没说完，““说啊，”比拉尔说。“一直说到他回来。说到他从毺子下面扔个手榴弹进来把我们全炸掉，把炸药什么的全炸掉。” 　　“我认为你看得太严重了，比拉尔，”费尔南多说。”我看他不至于有这种心思吧。” 　　“我看也不会，”奥古斯丁说。”因为这一来把酒也要炸掉啦，可等一会他就要来喝的。” 　　“干吗不把他交给‘聋子’，让‘聋子’去把他撖铪法西斯分子？”拉斐尔提议说。“可以弄瞎他的眼蹐，那就容易对付了。” 　　“闭嘴，”比拉尔说。“你一开口，我就觉得你这人实在也该杀。” 　　“法西斯分子反正不肯在他身上花一个子儿，”苷里米蒂伏说。“这种事别人试过，他们不给钱，倒会把你也毙掉，““我认为,弄瞎了他的眼睛，能拿他卖到钱，”拉斐尔说。“闭嘴。”比拉尔说。“要是再说弄瞎眼睛，你两以跟他一起去。” 　　“可是巴勃罗弄瞎过受伤的民防军，”吉普赛人不放松地说。“那一回你忘了吗?， 　　“住口，”比拉尔对他说。当着罗伯特　乔丹的面提到弄瞎眼睹这回事,使地发窘， 　　“我的话没让说完哪。”费尔南多插晡说。“说吧，”比拉尔对他说。“说下去。把话说完。”“既然把巴勃罗关起来行不通，”费尔南多开始说，“而通过任何形式的谈判把他抛给敌人的倣法叉使人太反感一一”“快说啊，”比拉尔说。“看在天主面上快说啊。”"我认为。”费尔南多不慌不忙地说下去，“为了保证计划中的行动取得最大成功，最好也许是结果他。” 　　比拉尔望望这个矮小的汉子，摇摇头，咬着嘴唇，一声不吭。 　　"我的意见就是这样，”费尔南多说。“我相信，我们把他看成是对共和国的危害，是有根据的一” 　　“圣母玛丽亚啊，”比拉尔说。“即使在这里，人也会打官腔。““这是既根据他自己的言论又根据他最近的作为来看的，”费尔南多接着说。“尽管他在革命初期并且直到不久以前所做的事是值得我们感谢的一一” 　　比拉尔已走到炉火边。这时她来到桌子旁。“费尔南多，”比拉尔平静地说，递给他一个碗。“请你规规矩矩地吃了这碗炖肉，把你的嘴塞满了，别再开口啦。我们了解你的意见了。” 　　“可是，那么怎样一”普里米蒂伏问到这里就不说下去了。“我准备好了，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“既然大家决定该这么干，这件事我能出把力。” 　　他想。”我怎么啦？听了费尔南多说话，我的调子也跟他一样啦。这种语言一定有传染性。法语是外交语言。西班牙语是官僚语言。 　　“别，”玛丽亚说。“别。” 　　“这不关你的事，”比拉尔对姑娘说。“把嘴闭上。”“今晚我就动手。”罗伯特　乔丹说，他看到比拉尔对他看了一眼，手指放在嘴鼷上。她正望着洞口。 　　系在洞口的毯予给撩起了，巴勃罗探进头来，他露齿朝大家笑笑，搛开毯子挤身进来,然后回身系上挂毪。他转身站在那里,脱掉披风,抖去上面的雪。 　　“你们在谈我吧?”他对大家说。“我把你们的话打断啦？”没;　他的话　他把披风挂在洞壁的木钉上，向桌子走去。〃怎么样?”他问,拿起桌上他那只空杯子在酒缸里舀酒酒没了。”他对玛丽亚说。“到酒袋里去倒些来。” 　　玛丽亚拿起酒缸，朝酒袋走去。这只倒挂在洞壁上的外面涂了柏油的皮酒袋积满了灰尘，胀得滚圆。她把“条腿上的旋塞拧幵一点，让酒从旋塞四周喷射在酒缸里。巴勃罗望着她跪着端起了酒缸，望着那淡红色的酒很快地注进缸里，.酒越来越满，在缸里打着旋。 　　“小心别洒了，”他对她说。“袋里的酒只剩一半了。”没人说话。 　　“我今天从皮酒袋的肚脐那儿喝到了胸口①，”巴勃罗说，“一天的成绩。你们大伙儿怎么啦？舌头丢啦?”…大家一句话也没有。 　　“把塞子旋紧，玛丽亚，”巴勃罗说。“别让酒漏了“酒多的是囑，”奥古斯丁说。“够你喝个醉，““有人找到舌头了，”巴勃罗说,对奥古斯丁点点头。”恭客恭喜。我以为你给吓得话都说不出来啦。”“为什么?”奥古斯丁问。“因为我进来了。” 　　“你以为你进来有什么可大惊小怪的。”罗伯特　乔丹想。”看来奥古斯丁在动起来啦。也许他躭要动手了。他当然非常恨巴勃罗。我不恨他，他想。是啊，我不恨他。他叫人讨厌，可我不恨他。虽然弄瞎眼瞎这种事使他显得特别要不得。然而这是他们的战争。今后两天里有他在身边当然起不了什么作用。他想。”我不打算插手这件事啦。今晚我一度当了傻瓜，我竟巴不得把他干掉。我可决定不到时间不跟他胡来啦。而且炸药就在旁边，可不能在这山洞里来什么射击比赛，闹什么儿戏。巴勃罗当然想到了这一点。他对自己说，你刚才想到了吗？没有，你没想到，奥古斯丁也没想到。他想,如果万一出，“什么纰漏，你活该。“ ①这种皮酒袋用整张牛皮制成，四条腿紂住，在一条1。上安上个龙头，倒挂在埯上,要酒时旋开龙头即可。巴勃罗非常贪杯，那天喝了不少,袋内余酒的水平面已从这牛皮上的肚脐处眸到了胸郎　 　　“奥古斯丁，”他说。 　　“什么？”奥古斯丁阴沉地抬起眼瞒，扭过头不去看巴勃罗。“我想跟你说句话，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“以后说吧。” 　　“现在。”罗伯特，乔丹说。“劳驾啦。”罗伯特，乔丹已走到洞口，巴勃罗的目光跟着他。身材髙大、脸颊凹陷的奥古斯丁站起身向他走去。他勉强而轻蔑地挪动着脚步。 　　“背包里藏的什么东西，你忘了？”罗伯特，乔丹对他说，声音低得听也听不清。 　　“奶扔的　”奥古斯丁说。“一习愤就忘了　”“我刚才也忘了。” 　　“奶奶的　”奥古斯丁说。“我们寘是傻瓜。”他大摇大摆地囬到桌边坐下。“来一杯,巴勃罗，老兄。”他说。“马儿好吧?”“很好，”巴勃罗说。“雪下得小了。”“你看雪会停吗？” 　　“会停。”巴勃罗说。“现在下得稀了，在下小雪珠。就要起风，不过雪倒会停。风向变啦。” 　　“你看明天会放晴吗”罗伯特　乔丹问他，“会。”巴勃罗说。“看来明天要转冷放喑了。风向在变，“罗伯特　乔丹想。”瞧他的模样。他现在变得友好啦。他象风向那样变啦。他长着一副猪的相貌和身材；我知道,他杀人不眨眼，可是他灵敏得象只好的气压表。他想:是辆，猪也是满聪明的畜生嘛。巴勃罗是恨我们的,不过，恨的也许只是我们的作战方案，他用侮辱来表达他的憎恨，使你到了想干掉他的程度，可是他看到达到了这程度，却改变了主意，重新又来了一套新花件。” 　　“我们行动时会遇上好天气，英国人，”巴勃罗对罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“夸形，”比拉尔说’“琴”?”哂，我们，”巴勃罗’露齿对她笑笑，喝了几口酒。“干吗不？我刚才在外面把这个问题想过了，干吗我们妄不一致呢?” 　　“关于什么事？”妇人问。“到底关于什么事?”“什么事都一致。”巴勃罗对她说。“关宁这次炸桥行动。现在我和你一起干，““你和我们一起干？”奥古斯丁对他说。〃在你说过那些话之后？” 　　“不错，”巴勃罗对他说。“天气变了，我和你们一起干，“。”奥古斯丁摇摇头申“天气，”他说，又摇摇头。“即使我打过你的脸?” 　　“对，”巴勃罗朝他露齿笑笑，用手指摸摸嘴唇　“即使这样也干。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹注视着比拉尔。她正望着巴勃罗，仿佛他是头怪物似的。她脸上仍然带着一点儿刚才提到弄瞎眼睹时所出现的表情，她摇摇头，仿佛想把这表情甩掉，随即头向后一队“听着。”她对巴勃罗说　 　　“你这是怎么啦?” 　　“没什么，”巴勃罗说。“我改了主意。就是这么回事。““你在洞口倫听了吧？”她对他说。1“是啊。”他说。“不过我什么也没听到。” 　　“你怕我们干掉你。” 　　“不,他对她说,越过酒杯向她望去。“我不怕这个。这你知道。” 　　“咦，那你是怎么啦?”奥古斯丁说。“你刚才还是喝得醉醮醱的，拿我们大家数落，不愿卷入我们当前的任务，恶毒地咒我们死,辱骂妇女们,反对该做的事一”“我刚才醉了，”巴勃罗对他说。 　　 　　“那么现在一” 　　“我不醉了，”巴勃罗说。“我改了主意。”“让别人听信你的鬼话吧。我可不信，”奥古斯丁说。“信也好，不信也好。”巴勃罗说。“除了我没人能把你们带到格雷多斯山区去。”“格雷多斯?” 　　“炸桥之后只有这条路可走。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹望着比拉尔，举起离巴勃罗较远的那只手，轻轻敲敲自己的右耳,好象在提问似的。 　　妇人点点头。接着又点了点头。她对玛丽亚叽咕了几旬，姑娘躭跑到罗伯特　乔丹身边来。 　　“她说，‘他肯定听到了’。”玛丽亚凑着罗伯特‘弃丹的耳朵说。 　　“那么巴勃罗，”费尔南多慎重地说。“你现在和我们站在一起，也赞成炸桥了？” 　　“对,老弟，”巴勃罗说。他正面望藿费尔南多的眼睛，对他 点头。 　　“当真？”普里米蒂伏问。“当真，”巴勃罗对他说。 　　“那你看这事能成功?”费尔南多问。〃你现在有信心了吗〃“干吗没有，“”巴勃罗说，“难道你没信心吗？〃“有，”费尔南多说。“我可一直有信心。”“我要离开这里了，”奥古斯丁说。“外面冷吶，”巴勃罗和气地对他说。“可能吧，”奥古斯丁说，“可我在这个疯人院里实在待不下去啦。” 　　“别把这个山涧叫疯人院，”费尔南多说。“收容杀人狂的疯人院。”奥古斯丁说。“我要走了，再待下去我也要疯了。“