"Nay," Pablo said. "I do nothing for thee. Thou art a thing of bad omen. All of this comes from thee. Sordo also. But after I had thrown away thy material I found myself too lonely."
"Thy mother--" Pilar said.
"So I rode for the others to make it possible for it to be successful. I have brought the best that I could get. I have left them at the top so I could speak to you, first. They think I am the leader."
"Thou art," Pilar said. "If thee wishes." Pablo looked at her and said nothing. Then he said simply and quietly, "I have thought much since the thing of Sordo. I believe if we must finish we must finish together. But thou, Ingles. I hate thee for bringing this to us."
"But Pablo--" Fernando, his pockets full of grenades, a bandolier of cartridges over his shoulder, he still wiping in his pan of stew with a piece of bread, began. "Do you not believe the operation can be successful? Night before last you said you were convinced it would be."
"Give him some more stew," Pilar said viciously to Maria. Then to Pablo, her eyes softening, "So you have come back, eh?"
"Yes, woman," Pablo said.
"Well, thou art welcome," Pilar said to him. "I did not think thou couldst be the ruin thou appeared to be."
"Having done such a thing there is a loneliness that cannot be borne," Pablo said to her quietly.
"That cannot be borne," she mocked him. "That cannot be borne by thee for fifteen minutes."
"Do not mock me, woman. I have come back."
"And thou art welcome," she said. "Didst not hear me the first time? Drink thy coffee and let us go. So much theatre tires me."
"Is that coffee?" Pablo asked.
"Certainly," Fernando said.
"Give me some, Maria," Pablo said. "How art thou?" He did not look at her.
"Well," Maria told him and brought him a bowl of coffee. "Do you want stew?" Pablo shook his head.
"No me gusta estar solo," Pablo went on explaining to Pilar as though the others were not there. "I do not like to be alone. Sabes? Yesterday all day alone working for the good of all I was not lonely. But last night. Hombre! Que mal lo pase!"
"Thy predecessor the famous Judas Iscariot hanged himself," Pilar said.
"Don't talk to me that way, woman," Pablo said. "Have you not seen? I am back. Don't talk of Judas nor nothing of that. I am back."
"How are these people thee brought?" Pilar asked him. "Hast brought anything worth bringing?"
"Son buenos," Pablo said. He took a chance and looked at Pilar squarely, then looked away.
"Buenos y bobos. Good ones and stupids. Ready to die and all. A tu gusto. According to thy taste. The way you like them."
Pablo looked Pilar in the eyes again and this time he did not look away. He kept on looking at her squarely with his small, red-rimmed pig eyes.
"Thou," she said and her husky voice was fond again. "Thou. I suppose if a man has something once, always something of it remains."
"Listo," Pablo said, looking at her squarely and flatly now. "I am ready for what the day brings."
"I believe thou art back," Pilar said to him. "I believe it. But, hombre, thou wert a long way gone."
"Lend me another swallow from thy bottle," Pablo said to Robert Jordan. "And then let us be going."
39
In the dark they came up the hill through the timber to the narrow pass at the top. They were all loaded heavily and they climbed slowly. The horses had loads too, packed over the saddles.
"We can cut them loose if it is necessary," Pilar had said. "But with that, if we can keep it, we can make another camp."
"And the rest of the ammunition?" Robert Jordan had asked as they lashed the packs.
"In those saddlebags."
Robert Jordan felt the weight of his heavy pack, the dragging on his neck from the pull of his jacket with its pockets full of grenades, the weight of his pistol against his thigh, and the bulging of his trouser pockets where the clips for the submachine gun were. In his mouth was the taste of the coffee, in his right hand he carried the submachine gun and with his left hand he reached and pulled up the collar of his jacket to ease the pull of the pack straps.
"Ingles," Pablo said to him, walking close beside him in the dark.
"What, man?"
"These I have brought think this is to be successful because I have brought them," Pablo said. "Do not say anything to disillusion them."
"Good," Robert Jordan said. "But let us make it successful."
"They have five horses, sabes?" Pablo said cautiously.
"Good," said Robert Jordan. "We will keep all the horses together."
"Good," said Pablo, and nothing more.
I didn't think you had experienced any complete conversion on the road to Tarsus, old Pablo, Robert Jordan thought. No. Your coming back was miracle enough. I don't think there will ever be any problem about canonizing you.
"With those five I will deal with the lower post as well as Sordo would have," Pablo said. "I will cut the wire and fall back upon the bridge as we convened."
We went over this all ten minutes ago, Robert Jordan thought. I wonder why this now--
"There is a possibility of making it to Gredos," Pablo said. "Truly, I have thought much of it."
I believe you've had another flash in the last few minutes, Robert Jordan said to himself. You have had another revelation. But you're not going to convince me that I am invited. No, Pablo. Do not ask me to believe too much.
Ever since Pablo had come into the cave and said he had five men Robert Jordan felt increasingly better. Seeing Pablo again had broken the pattern of tragedy into which the whole operation had seemed grooved ever since the snow, and since Pablo had been back he felt not that his luck had turned, since he did not believe in luck, but that the whole thing had turned for the better and that now it was possible. Instead of the surety of failure he felt confidence rising in him as a tire begins to fill with air from a slow pump. There was little difference at first, although there was a definite beginning, as when the pump starts and the rubber of the tube crawls a little, but it came now as steadily as a tide rising or the sap rising in a tree until he began to feel the first edge of that negation of apprehension that often turned into actual happiness before action.
This was the greatest gift that he had, the talent that fitted him for war; that ability not to ignore but to despise whatever bad ending there could be. This quality was destroyed by too much responsibility for others or the necessity of undertaking something ill planned or badly conceived. For in such things the bad ending, failure, could not be ignored. It was not simply a possibility of harm to one's self, which could be ignored. He knew he himself was nothing, and he knew death was nothing. He knew that truly, as truly as he knew anything. In the last few days he had learned that he himself, with another person, could be everything. But inside himself he knew that this was the exception. That we have had, he thought. In that I have been most fortunate. That was given to me, perhaps, because I never asked for it. That cannot be taken away nor lost. But that is over and done with now on this morning and what there is to do now is our work.
And you, he said to himself, I am glad to see you getting a little something back that was badly missing for a time. But you were pretty bad back there. I was ashamed enough of you, there for a while. Only I was you. There wasn't any me to judge you. We were all in bad shape. You and me and both of us. Come on now. Quit thinking like a schizophrenic. One at a time, now. You're all right again now. But listen, you must not think of the girl all day ever. You can do nothing now to protect her except to keep her out of it, and that you are doing. There are evidently going to be plenty of horses if you can believe the signs. The best thing you can do for her is to do the job well and fast and get out, and thinking of her will only handicap you in this. So do not think of her ever.
Having thought this out he waited until Maria came up walking with Pilar and Rafael and the horses.
"Hi, guapa," he said to her in the dark, "how are you?"
&
nbsp; "I am well, Roberto," she said.
"Don't worry about anything," he said to her and shifting the gun to his left hand he put a hand on her shoulder.
"I do not," she said.
"It is all very well organized," he told her. "Rafael will be with thee with the horses."
"I would rather be with thee."
"Nay. The horses is where thou art most useful."
"Good," she said. "There I will be."
Just then one of the horses whinnied and from the open place below the opening through the rocks a horse answered, the neigh rising into a shrill sharply broken quaver.
Robert Jordan saw the bulk of the new horses ahead in the dark. He pressed forward and came up to them with Pablo. The men were standing by their mounts.
"Salud," Robert Jordan said.
"Salud," they answered in the dark. He could not see their faces.
"This is the Ingles who comes with us," Pablo said. "The dynamiter."
No one said anything to that. Perhaps they nodded in the dark.
"Let us get going, Pablo," one man said. "Soon we will have the daylight on us."
"Did you bring any more grenades?" another asked.
"Plenty," said Pablo. "Supply yourselves when we leave the animals."
"Then let us go," another said. "We've been waiting here half the night."
"Hola, Pilar," another said as the woman came up.
"Que me maten, if it is not Pepe," Pilar said huskily. "How are you, shepherd?"
"Good," said the man. "Dentro de la gravedad."
"What are you riding?" Pilar asked him.
"The gray of Pablo," the man said. "It is much horse."
"Come on," another man said. "Let us go. There is no good in gossiping here."
"How art thou, Elicio?" Pilar said to him as he mounted.
"How would I be?" he said rudely. "Come on, woman, we have work to do."
Pablo mounted the big bay horse.
"Keep thy mouths shut and follow me," he said. "I will lead you to the place where we will leave the horses."
40
During the time that Robert Jordan had slept through, the time he had spent planning the destruction of the bridge and the time that he had been with Maria, Andres had made slow progress. Until he had reached the Republican lines he had travelled across country and through the fascist lines as fast as a countryman in good physical condition who knew the country well could travel in the dark. But once inside the Republican lines it went very slowly.
In theory he should only have had to show the safe-conduct given him by Robert Jordan stamped with the seal of the S. I. M. and the dispatch which bore the same seal and be passed along toward his destination with the greatest speed. But first he had encountered the company commander in the front line who had regarded the whole mission with owlishly grave suspicion.
He had followed this company commander to battalion headquarters where the battalion commander, who had been a barber before the movement, was filled with enthusiasm on hearing the account of his mission. This commander, who was named Gomez, cursed the company commander for his stupidity, patted Andres on the back, gave him a drink of bad brandy and told him that he himself, the ex-barber, had always wanted to be a guerrillero. He had then roused his adjutant, turned over the battalion to him, and sent his orderly to wake up and bring his motorcyclist. Instead of sending Andres back to brigade headquarters with the motorcyclist, Gomez had decided to take him there himself in order to expedite things and, with Andres holding tight onto the seat ahead of him, they roared, bumping down the shell-pocked mountain road between the double row of big trees, the headlight of the motorcycle showing their whitewashed bases and the places on the trunks where the whitewash and the bark had been chipped and torn by shell fragments and bullets during the fighting along this road in the first summer of the movement. They turned into the little smashed-roofed mountain-resort town where brigade headquarters was and Gomez had braked the motorcycle like a dirt-track racer and leaned it against the wall of the house where a sleepy sentry came to attention as Gomez pushed by him into the big room where the walls were covered with maps and a very sleepy officer with a green eyeshade sat at a desk with a reading lamp, two telephones and a copy of Mundo Obrero.
This officer looked up at Gomez and said, "What doest thou here? Have you never heard of the telephone?"
"I must see the Lieutenant-Colonel," Gomez said.
"He is asleep," the officer said. "I could see the lights of that bicycle of thine for a mile coming down the road. Dost wish to bring on a shelling?"
"Call the Lieutenant-Colonel," Gomez said. "This is a matter of the utmost gravity."
"He is asleep, I tell thee," the officer said. "What sort of a bandit is that with thee?" he nodded toward Andres.
"He is a guerrillero from the other side of the lines with a dispatch of the utmost importance for the General Golz who commands the attack that is to be made at dawn beyond Navacerrada," Gomez said excitedly and earnestly. "Rouse the Teniente-Coronel for the love of God."
The officer looked at him with his droopy eyes shaded by the green celluloid.
"All of you are crazy," he said. "I know of no General Golz nor of no attack. Take this sportsman and get back to your battalion."
"Rouse the Teniente-Coronel, I say," Gomez said and Andres saw his mouth tightening.
"Go obscenity yourself," the officer said to him lazily and turned away.
Gomez took his heavy 9 mm. Star pistol out of its holster and shoved it against the officer's shoulder.
"Rouse him, you fascist bastard," he said. "Rouse him or I'll kill you."
"Calm yourself," the officer said. "All you barbers are emotional."
Andres saw Gomez's face draw with hate in the light of the reading lamp. But all he said was, "Rouse him."
"Orderly," the officer called in a contemptuous voice.
A soldier came to the door and saluted and went out.
"His fiancee is with him," the officer said and went back to reading the paper. "It is certain he will be delighted to see you."
"It is those like thee who obstruct all effort to win this war," Gomez said to the staff officer.
The officer paid no attention to him. Then, as he read on, he remarked, as though to himself, "What a curious periodical this is!"
"Why don't you real El Debate then? That is your paper," Gomez said to him naming the leading Catholic-Conservative organ published in Madrid before the movement.
"Don't forget I am thy superior officer and that a report by me on thee carries weight," the officer said without looking up. "I never read El Debate. Do not make false accusations."
"No. You read A. B. C.," Gomez said. "The army is still rotten with such as thee. With professionals such as thee. But it will not always be. We are caught between the ignorant and the cynical. But we will educate the one and eliminate the other."
" 'Purge' is the word you want," the officer said, still not looking up. "Here it reports the purging of more of thy famous Russians. They are purging more than the epsom salts in this epoch."
"By any name," Gomez said passionately. "By any name so that such as thee are liquidated."
"Liquidated," the officer said insolently as though speaking to himself. "Another new word that has little of Castilian in it."
"Shot, then," Gomez said. "That is Castilian. Canst understand it?"
"Yes, man, but do not talk so loudly. There are others beside the Teniente-Coronel asleep in this Brigade Staff and thy emotion bores me. It was for that reason that I always shaved myself. I never liked the conversation."
Gomez looked at Andres and shook his head. His eyes were shining with the moistness that rage and hatred can bring. But he shook his head and said nothing as he stored it all away for some time in the future. He had stored much in the year and a half in which he had risen to the command of a battalion in the Sierra and now, as the Lieutenant-Colonel came into the room in his pajamas he drew himself stiff and saluted.
The Lieutenant-Colonel Miranda, who was a short, gray-faced man, who had been in the army all his life, who had lost the love of his wife in Madrid while he was losing his digestion in Morocco, and become a Republican when he found he could not divorce his wife (there was never any question of recovering his digestion), had entered the civil war as a Lieutenant-Colonel. He had only one ambition, to finish the war with the same rank. He had defended the Sierra well and he wanted to be left alone there to defend it whenever it was attacked. He felt much healthier in the war, probably due to the forced curtailment of the number of meat courses, he had an enormous stock of sodium-bicarbonate, he had his whiskey in the evening, his twenty-three-year-old mistress was having a baby, as were nearly all the other girls who had started out as milicianas in the July of the year before, and now he came into the room, nodded in answer to Gomez's salute and put out his hand.
"What brings thee, Gomez?" he asked and then, to the officer at the desk who was his chief of operation, "Give me a cigarette, please, Pepe."
Gomez showed him Andres's papers and the dispatch. The Lieutenant-Colonel looked at the Salvoconducto quickly, looked at Andres, nodded and smiled, and then looked at the dispatch hungrily. He felt of the seal, tested it with his forefinger, then handed both the safe-conduct and dispatch back to Andres.
"Is the life very hard there in the hills?" he asked.
"No, my Lieutenant-Colonel," Andres said.
"Did they tell thee where would be the closest point to find General Golz's headquarters?"
"Navacerrada, my Lieutenant-Colonel," Andres said. "The Ingles said it would be somewhere close to Navacerrada behind the lines to the right of there."
"What Ingles?" the Lieutenant-Colonel asked quietly.
"The Ingles who is with us as a dynamiter."
The Lieutenant-Colonel nodded. It was just another sudden unexplained rarity of this war. "The Ingles who is with us as a dynamiter."
"You had better take him, Gomez, on the motor," the Lieutenant-Colonel said. "Write them a very strong Salvoconducto to the Estado Mayor of General Golz for me to sign," he said to the officer in the green celluloid eyeshade. "Write it on the machine, Pepe. Here are the details," he motioned for Andres to hand over his safe-conduct, "and put on two seals." He turned to Gomez. "You will need something strong tonight. It is rightly so. People should be careful when an offensive is projected. I will give you something as strong as I can make it." Then to Andres, very kindly, he said, "Dost wish anything? To eat or to drink?"
For Whom the Bell Tolls Page 42
