Chapter 18 It is like a merry-go-round, Robert Jordan thought. Not a merry-goround that travels fast, and with a calliope for music, and the children ride on cows with gilded horns, and there are rings to catch with sticks, and there is the blue, gas-flare-lit early dark of the Avenue du Maine, with fried fish sold from the next stall, and a wheel of fortune turning with the leather flaps slapping against the posts of the numbered compartments, and the packages of lump sugar piled in pyramids for prizes. No, it is not that kind of a merrygo-round; although the people are waiting, like the men in caps and the women in knitted sweaters, their heads bare in the gaslight and their hair shining, who stand in front of the wheel of fortune as it spins. Yes, those are the people. But this is another wheel. This is like a wheel that goes up and around. It has been around twice now. It is a vast wheel, set at an angle, and each time it goes around and then is back to where it starts. One side is higher than the other and the sweep it makes lifts you back and down to where you started. There are no prizes either, he thought, and no one would choose to ride this wheel. You ride it each time and make the turn with no intention ever to have mounted. There is only one turn; one large, elliptical, rising and falling turn and you are back where you have started. We are back again now, he thought, and nothing is settled. It was warm in the cave and the wind had dropped outside. Now he was sitting at the table with his notebook in front of him figuring all the technical part of the bridge-blowing. He drew three sketches, figured his formulas, marked the method of blowing with two drawings as clearly as a kindergarten project so that Anselmo could complete it in case anything should happen to himself during the process of the demolition. He finished these sketches and studied them. Maria sat beside him and looked over his shoulder while he worked. He was conscious of Pablo across the table and of the others talking and playing cards and he smelled the odors of the cave which had changed now from those of the meal and the cooking to the fire smoke and man smell, the tobacco, red-wine and brassy, stale body smell, and when Maria, watching him finishing a drawing, put her hand on the table he picked it up with his left hand and lifted it to his face and smelled the coarse soap and water freshness from her washing of the dishes. He laid her hand down without looking at her and went on working and he could not see her blush. She let her hand lie there, close to his, but he did not lift it again. Now he had finished the demolition project and he took a new page of the notebook and commenced to write out the operation orders. He was thinking clearly and well on these and what he wrote pleased him. He wrote two pages in the notebook and read them over carefully. I think that is all, he said to himself. It is perfectly clear and I do not think there are any holes in it. The two posts will be destroyed and the bridge will be blown according to Golz's orders and that is all of my responsibility. All of this business of Pablo is something with which I should never have been saddled and it will be solved one way or another. There will be Pablo or there will be no Pablo. I care nothing about it either way. But I am not going to get on that wheel again. Twice I have been on that wheel and twice it has gone around and come back to where it started and I am taking no more rides on it. He shut the notebook and looked up at Maria. "_Hola, guapa_," he said to her. "Did you make anything out of all that?" "No, Roberto," the girl said and put her hand on his hand that still held the pencil. "Have you finished?" "Yes. Now it is all written out and ordered." "What have you been doing, _Ingl?_" Pablo asked from across the table. His eyes were bleary again. Robert Jordan looked at him closely. Stay off that wheel, he said to himself. Don't step on that wheel. I think it is going to start to swing again. "Working on the problem of the bridge," he said civilly. "How is it?" asked Pablo. "Very good," Robert Jordan said. "All very good." "I have been working on the problem of the retreat," Pablo said and Robert Jordan looked at his drunken pig eyes and at the wine bowl. The wine bowl was nearly empty. Keep off the wheel, he told himself. He is drinking again. Sure. But don't you get on that wheel now. Wasn't Grant supposed to be drunk a good part of the time during the Civil War? Certainly he was. I'll bet Grant would be furious at the comparison if he could see Pablo. Grant was a cigar smoker, too. Well, he would have to see about getting Pablo a cigar. That was what that face really needed to complete it; a half chewed cigar. Where could he get Pablo a cigar? "How does it go?" Robert Jordan asked politely. "Very well," Pablo said and nodded his head heavily and judiciously. "_Muy bien_." "You've thought up something?" Agust asked from where they were playing cards. "Yes," Pablo said. "Various things." "Where did you find them? In that bowl?" Agust demanded. "Perhaps," Pablo said. "Who knows? Maria, fill the bowl, will you, please?" "In the wineskin itself there should be some fine ideas," Agust turned back to the card game. "Why don't you crawl in and look for them inside the skin?" "Nay," said Pablo equably. "I search for them in the bowl." He is not getting on the wheel either, Robert Jordan thought. It must be revolving by itself. I suppose you cannot ride that wheel too long. That is probably quite a deadly wheel. I'm glad we are off of it. It was making me dizzy there a couple of times. But it is the thing that drunkards and those who are truly mean or cruel ride until they die. It goes around and up and the swing is never quite the same and then it comes around down. Let it swing, he thought. They will not get me onto it again. No sir, General Grant, I am off that wheel. Pilar was sitting by the fire, her chair turned so that she could see over the shoulders of the two card players who had their backs to her. She was watching the game. Here it is the shift from deadliness to normal family life that is the strangest, Robert Jordan thought. It is when the damned wheel comes down that it gets you. But I am off that wheel, he thought. And nobody is going to get me onto it again. Two days ago I never knew that Pilar, Pablo nor the rest existed, he thought. There was no such thing as Maria in the world. It was certainly a much simpler world. I had instructions from Golz that were perfectly clear and seemed perfectly possible to carry out although they presented certain difficulties and involved certain consequences. After we blew the bridge I expected either to get back to the lines or not get back and if we got back I was going to ask for some time in Madrid. No one has any leave in this war but I am sure I could get two or three days in Madrid. In Madrid I wanted to buy some books, to go to the Florida Hotel and get a room and to have a hot bath, he thought. I was going to send Luis the porter out for a bottle of absinthe if he could locate one at the MantequerIas Leonesas or at any of the places off the Gran Via and I was going to lie in bed and read after the bath and drink a couple of absinthes and then I was going to call up Gaylord's and see if I could come up there and eat. He did not want to eat at the Gran Via because the food was no good really and you had to get there on time or whatever there was of it would be gone. Also there were too many newspaper men there he knew and he did not want to have to keep his mouth shut. He wanted to drink the absinthes and to feel like talking and then go up to Gaylord's and eat with Karkov, where they had good food and real beer, and find out what was going on in the war. He had not liked Gaylord's, the hotel in Madrid the Russians had taken over when he first went there because it seemed too luxurious and the food was too good for a besieged city and the talk too cynical for a war. But I corrupted very easily, he thought. Why should you not have as good food as could be organized when you came back from something like this? And the talk that he had thought of as cynicism when he had first heard it had turned out to be much too true. This will be something to tell at Gaylord's, he thought, when this is over. Yes, when this is over. Could you take Maria to Gaylord's? No. You couldn't. But you could leave her in the hotel and she could take a hot bath and be there when you came back from Gaylord's. Yes, you could do that and after you had told Karkov about her, you could bring her later because they would be curious about her and want to see her. Maybe you wouldn't go to Gaylord's at all. You could eat early at the Gran Via and hurry back to the Florida. But you knew you would go to Gaylord's because you wanted to see all that again; you wanted to eat that food again and you wanted to see all the comfort of it and the luxury of it after this. Then you would come back to the Florida and there Maria would be. Sure, she would be there after this was over. After this was over. Yes, after this was over. If he did this well he would rate a meal at Gaylord's. Gaylord's was the place where you met famous peasant and worker Spanish commanders who had sprung to arms from the people at the start of the war without any previous military training and found that many of them spoke Russian. That had been the first big disillusion to him a few months back and he had started to be cynical to himself about it. But when he realized how it happened it was all right. They _were_ peasants and workers. They had been active in the 1934 revolution and had to flee the country when it failed and in Russia they had sent them to the military academy and to the Lenin Institute the Comintern maintained so they would be ready to fight the next time and have the necessary military education to command. The Comintern had educated them there. In a revolution you could not admit to outsiders who helped you nor that any one knew more than he was supposed to know. He had learned that. If a thing was right fundamentally the lying was not supposed to matter. There was a lot of lying though. He did not care for the lying at first. He hated it. Then later he had come to like it. It was part of being an insider but it was a very corrupting business. It was at Gaylord's that you learned that Valentin Gonzalez, called El Campesino or The Peasant, had never been a peasant but was an ex-sergeant in the Spanish Foreign Legion who had deserted and fought with Abd el Krim. That was all right, too. Why shouldn't he be? You had to have these peasant leaders quickly in this sort of war and a real peasant leader might be a little too much like Pablo. You couldn't wait for the real Peasant Leader to arrive and he might have too many peasant characteristics when he did. So you had to manufacture one. At that, from what he had seen of Campesino, with his black beard, his thick negroid lips, and his feverish, staring eyes, he thought he might give almost as much trouble as a real peasant leader. The last time he had seen him he seemed to have gotten to believe his own publicity and think he was a peasant. He was a brave, tough man; no braver in the world. But God, how he talked too much. And when he was excited he would say anything no matter what the consequences of his indiscretion. And those consequences had been many already. He was a wonderful Brigade Commander though in a situation where it looked as though everything was lost. He never knew when everything was lost and if it was, he would fight out of it. At Gaylord's, too, you met the simple stonemason, Enrique Lister from Galicia, who now commanded a division and who talked Russian, too. And you met the cabinet worker, Juan Modesto from AndalucIa who had just been given an Army Corps. He never learned his Russian in Puerto de Santa Maria although he might have if they had a Berlitz School there that the cabinet makers went to. He was the most trusted of the young soldiers by the Russians because he was a true party man, "a hundred per cent" they said, proud to use the Americanism. He was much more intelligent than Lister or El Campesino. Sure, Gaylord's was the place you needed to complete your education. It was there you learned how it was all really done instead of how it was supposed to be done. He had only started his education, he thought. He wondered whether he would continue with it long. Gaylord's was good and sound and what he needed. At the start when he had still believed all the nonsense it had come as a shock to him. But now he knew enough to accept the necessity for all the deception and what he learned at Gaylord's only strengthened him in his belief in the things that he did hold to be true. He liked to know how it really was; not how it was supposed to be. There was always lying in a war. But the truth of Lister, Modesto, and El Campesino was much better than the lies and legends. Well, some day they would tell the truth to every one and meantime he was glad there was a Gaylord's for his own learning of it. Yes, that was where he would go in Madrid after he had bought the books and after he had lain in the hot bath and had a couple of drinks and had read awhile. But that was before Maria had come into all this that he had that plan. All right. They would have two rooms and she could do what she liked while he went up there and he'd come back from Gaylord's to her. She had waited up in the hills all this time. She could wait a little while at the Hotel Florida. They would have three days in Madrid. Three days could be a long time. He'd take her to see the Marx Brothers at the Opera. That had been running for three months now and would certainly be good for three months more. She'd like the Marx Brothers at the Opera, he thought. She'd like that very much. It was a long way from Gaylord's to this cave though. No, that was not the long way. The long way was going to be from this cave to Gaylord's. Kashkin had taken him there first and he had not liked it. Kashkin had said he should meet Karkov because Karkov wanted to know Americans and because he was the greatest lover of Lope de Vega in the world and thought "Fuente Ovejuna" was the greatest play ever written. Maybe it was at that, but he, Robert Jordan, did not think so. He had liked Karkov but not the place. Karkov was the most intelligent man he had ever met. Wearing black riding boots, gray breeches, and a gray tunic, with tiny hands and feet, puffily fragile of face and body, with a spitting way of talking through his bad teeth, he looked comic when Robert Jordan first saw him. But he had more brains and more inner dignity and outer insolence and humor than any man that he had ever known. Gaylord's itself had seemed indecently luxurious and corrupt. But why shouldn't the representatives of a power that governed a sixth of the world have a few comforts? Well, they had them and Robert Jordan had at first been repelled by the whole business and then had accepted it and enjoyed it. Kashkin had made him out to be a hell of a fellow and Karkov had at first been insultingly polite and then, when Robert Jordan had not played at being a hero but had told a story that was really funny and obscenely discreditable to himself, Karkov had shifted from the politeness to a relieved rudeness and then to insolence and they had become friends. Kashkin had only been tolerated there. There was something wrong with Kashkin evidently and he was working it out in Spain. They would not tell him what it was but maybe they would now that he was dead. Anyway, he and Karkov had become friends and he had become friends too with the incredibly thin, drawn, dark, loving, nervous, deprived and unbitter woman with a lean, neglected body and dark, gray-streaked hair cut short who was Karkov's wife and who served as an interpreter with the tank corps. He was a friend too of Karkov's mistress, who had cat-eyes, reddish gold hair (sometimes more red; sometimes more gold, depending on the coiffeurs), a lazy sensual body (made to fit well against other bodies), a mouth made to fit other mouths, and a stupid, ambitious and utterly loyal mind. This mistress loved gossip and enjoyed a periodically controlled promiscuity which seemed only to amuse Karkov. Karkov was supposed to have another wife somewhere besides the tank-corps one, maybe two more, but nobody was very sure about that. Robert Jordan liked both the wife he knew and the mistress. He thought he would probably like the other wife, too, if he knew her, if there was one. Karkov had good taste in women. There were sentries with bayonets downstairs outside the _portecochere_ at Gaylord's and tonight it would be the pleasantest and most comfortable place in all of besieged Madrid. He would like to be there tonight instead of here. Though it was all right here, now they had stopped that wheel. And the snow was stopping too. He would like to show his Maria to Karkov but he could not take her there unless he asked first and he would have to see how he was received after this trip. Golz would be there after this attack was over and if he had done well they would all know it from Golz. Golz would make fun of him, too, about Maria. After what he'd said to him about no girls. He reached over to the bowl in front of Pablo and dipped up a cup of wine. "With your permission," he said. Pablo nodded. He is engaged in his military studies, I imagine, Robert Jordan thought. Not seeking the bubble reputation in the cannon's mouth but seeking the solution to the problem in yonder bowl. But you know the bastard must be fairly able to have run this band successfully for as long as he did. Looking at Pablo he wondered what sort of guerilla leader he would have been in the American Civil War. There were lots of them, he thought. But we know very little about them. Not the Quantrills, nor the Mosbys, nor his own grandfathei but the little ones, the bushwhackers. And about the drinking. Do you suppose Grant really was a drunk? His grandfather always claimed he was. That he was always a little drunk by four o'clock in the afternoon and that before Vicksburg sometimes during the siege he was very drunk for a couple of days. But grandfather claimed that he functioned perfectly normally no matter how much he drank except that sometimes it was very hard to wake him. But if you _could_ wake him he was normal. There wasn't any Grant, nor any Sherman nor any Stonewall Jackson on either side so far in this war. No. Nor any Jeb Stuart either. Nor any Sheridan. It was overrun with McClellans though. The fascists had plenty of McClellans and we had at least three of them. He had certainly not seen any military geniuses in this war. Not a one. Nor anything resembling one. Kleber, Lucasz, and Hans had done a fine job of their share in the defense of Madrid with the International Brigades and then the old bald, spectacled, conceited, stupid-as-an-owl, unintelligent-in-conversation, brave-- and-as-dumb-as-a-bull, propaganda-build-up defender of Madrid, Miaja, had been so jealous of the publicity Kleber received that he had forced the Russians to relieve Kieber of his command and send him to Valencia. Kieber was a good soldier; but limited and he _did_ talk too much for the job he had. Golz was a good general and a fine soldier but they always kept him in a subordinate position and never gave him a free hand. This attack was going to be his biggest show so far and Robert Jordan did not like too much what he had heard about the attack. Then there was Gall, the Hungarian, who ought to be shot if you could believe half you heard at Gaylord's. Make it if you can believe ten per cent of what you hear at Gaylord's, Robert Jordan thought. He wished that he had seen the fighting on the plateau beyond Guadalajara when they beat the Italians. But he had been down in Estremadura then. Hans had told him about it one night in Gaylord's two weeks ago and made him see it all. There was one moment when it was really lost when the Italians had broken the line near Trijueque and the Twelfth Brigade would have been cut off if the Torija-Brihuega road had been cut. "But knowing they were Italians," Hans had said, "we attempted to manoeuvre which would have been unjustifiable against other troops. And it was successful." Hans had shown it all to him on his maps of the battle. Hans carried them around with him in his map case all the time and still seemed marvelled and happy at the miracle of it. Hans was a fine soldier and a good companion. Lister's and Modesto's and Campesino's Spanish troops had all fought well in that battle, Hans had told him, and that was to be credited to their leaders and to the discipline they enforced. But Lister and Campesino and Modesto had been told many of the moves they should make by their Russian military advisers. They were like students flying a machine with dual controls which the pilot could take over whenever they made a mistake. Well, this year would show how much and how well they learned. After a while there would not be dual controls and then we would see how well they handled divisions and army corps alone. They were Communists and they were disciplinarians. The discipline that they would enforce would make good troops. Lister was murderous in discipline. He was a true fanatic and he had the complete Spanish lack of respect for life. In a few armies since the Tartar's first invasion of the West were men executed summarily for as little reason as they were under his command. But he knew how to forge a division into a fighting unit. It is one thing to hold positions. It is another to attack positions and take them and it is something very different to manoeuvre an army in the field, Robert Jordan thought as he sat there at the table. From what I have seen of him, I wonder how Lister will be at that once the dual controls are gone? But maybe they won't go, he thought. I wonder if they will go? Or whether they will strengthen? I wonder what the Russian stand is on the whole business? Gaylord's is the place, he thought. There is much that I need to know now that I can learn only at Gaylord's. At one time he had thought Gaylord's had been bad for him. It was the opposite of the puritanical, religious communism of Velazquez 63, the Madrid palace that had been turned into the International Brigade headquarters in the capital. At Velazquez 63 it was like being a member of a religious order--and Gaylord's was a long way away from the feeling you had at the headquarters of the Fifth Regiment before it had been broken up into the brigades of the new army. At either of those places you felt that you were taking part in a crusade. That was the only word for it although it was a word that had been so worn and abused that it no longer gave its true meaning. You felt, in spite of all bureaucracy and inefficiency and party strife, something that was like the feeling you expected to have and did not have when you made your first communion. It was a feeling of consecration to a duty toward all of the oppressed of the world which would be as difficult and embarrassing to speak about as religious experience and yet it was authentic as the feeling you had when you heard Bach, or stood in Chartres Cathedral or the Cathedral at Leon and saw the light coming through the great windows; or when you saw Mantegna and Greco and Brueghel in the Prado. It gave you a part in something that you could believe in wholly and completely and in which you felt an absolute brotherhood with the others who were engaged in it. It was something that you had never known before but that you had experienced now and you gave such importance to it and the reasons for it that your own death seemed of complete unimportance; only a thing to be avoided because it would interfere with the performance of your duty. But the best thing was that there was something you could do about this feeling and this necessity too. You could fight. So you fought, he thought. And in the fighting soon there was no purity of feeling for those who survived the fighting and were good at it. Not after the first six months. The defense of a position or of a city is a part of war in which you can feel that first sort of feeling. The fighting in the Sierras had been that way. They had fought there with the true comradeship of the revolution. Up there when there had been the first necessity for the enforcement of discipline he had approved and understood it. Under the shelling men had been cowards and had run. He had seen them shot and left to swell beside the road, nobody bothering to do more than strip them of their cartridges and their valuables. Taking their cartridges, their boots and their leather coats was right. Taking the valuables was only realistic. It only kept the anarchists from getting them. It had seemed just and right and necessary that the men who ran were shot. There was nothing wrong about it. Their running was a selfishness. The fascists had attacked and we had stopped them on that slope in the gray rocks, the scrub pines and the gorse of the Guadarrama hillsides. We had held along the road under the bombing from the planes and the shelling when they brought their artillery up and those who were left at the end of that day had counterattacked and driven them back. Later, when they had tried to come down on the left, sifting down between the rocks and through the trees, we had held out in the Sanitarium firing from the windows and the roof although they had passed it on both sides, and we lived through knowing what it was to be surrounded until the counterattack had cleared them back behind the road again. In all that, in the fear that dries your mouth and your throat, in the smashed plaster dust and the sudden panic of a wall falling, collapsing in the flash and roar of a shellburst, clearing the gun, dragging those away who had been serving it, lying face downward and covered with rubble, your head behind the shield working on a stoppage, getting the broken case out, straightening the belt again, you now lying straight behind the shield, the gun searching the roadside again; you did the thing there was to do and knew that you were right. You learned the dry-mouthed, fear-purged, purging ecstasy of battle and you fought that summer and that fall for all the poor in the world, against all tyranny, for all the things that you believed and for the new world you had been educated into. You learned that fall, he thought, how to endure and how to ignore suffering in the long time of cold and wetness, of mud and of digging and fortifying. And the feeling of the summer and the fall was buried deep under tiredness, sleepiness, and nervousness and discomfort. But it was still there and all that you went through only served to validate it. It was in those days, he thought, that you had a deep and sound and selfless pride--that would have made you a bloody bore at Gaylord's, he thought suddenly. No, you would not have been so good at Gaylord's then, he thought. You were too na鴳e. You were in a sort of state of grace. But Gaylord's might not have been the way it was now at that time, either. No, as a matter of fact, it was not that way, he told himself. It was not that way at all. There was not any Gaylord's then. Karkov had told him about those days. At that time what Russians there were had lived at the Palace Hotel. Robert Jordan had known none of them then. That was before the first _partizan_ groups had been formed; before he had met Kashkin or any of the others. Kashkin had been in the north at Irun, at San Sebastian and in the abortive fighting toward Vitoria. He had not arrived in Madrid until January and while Robert Jordan had fought at Carabanchel and at Usera in those three days when they stopped the right wing of the fascist attack on Madrid and drove the Moors and the _Tercio_ back from house to house to clear that battered suburb on the edge of the gray, sun-baked plateau and establish a line of defense along the heights that would protect that corner of the city, Karkov had been in Madrid. Karkov was not cynical about those times either when he talked. Those were the days they all shared when everything looked lost and each man retained now, better than any citation or decoration, the knowledge of just how he would act when everything looked lost. The government had abandoned the city, taking all the motor cars from the ministry of war in their flight and old Miaja had to ride down to inspect his defensive positions on a bicycle. Robert Jordan did not believe that one. He could not see Miaja on a bicycle even in his most patriotic imagination, but Karkov said it was true. But then he had written it for Russian papers so he probably wanted to believe it was true after writing it. But there was another story that Karkov had not written. He had three wounded Russians in the Palace Hotel for whom he was responsible. They were two tank drivers and a flyer who were too bad to be moved, and since, at that time, it was of the greatest importance that there should be no evidence of any Russian intervention to justify an open intervention by the fascists, it was Karkov's responsibility that these wounded should not fall into the hands of the fascists in case the city should be abandoned. In the event the city should be abandoned, Karkov was to poison them to destroy all evidence of their identity before leaving the Palace Hotel. No one could prove from the bodies of three wounded men, one with three bullet wounds in his abdomen, one with his jaw shot away and his vocal cords exposed, one with his femur smashed to bits by a bullet and his hands and face so badly burned that his face was just an eyelashless, eyebrowless, hairless blister that they were Russians. No one could tell from the bodies of these wounded men he would leave in beds at the Palace, that they were Russians. Nothing proved a naked dead man was a Russian. Your nationality and your politics did not show when you were dead. Robert Jordan had asked Karkov how he felt about the necessity of performing this act and Karkov had said that he had not looked forward to it. "How were you going to do it?" Robert Jordan had asked him and had added, "You know it isn't so simple just suddenly to poison people." And Karkov had said, "Oh, yes, it is when you carry it always for your own use." Then he had opened his cigarette case and showed Robert Jordan what he carried in one side of it. "But the first thing anybody would do if they took you prisoner would be to take your cigarette case," Robert Jordan had objected. "They would have your hands up." "But I have a little more here," Karkov had grinned and showed the lapel of his jacket. "You simply put the lapel in your mouth like this and bite it and swallow." "That's much better," Robert Jordan had said. "Tell me, does it smell like bitter almonds the way it always does in detective stories?" "I don't know," Karkov said delightedly. "I have never smelled it. Should we break a little tube and smell it?" "Better keep it." "Yes," Karkov said and put the cigarette case away. "I am not a defeatist, you understand, but it is always possible that such serious times might come again and you cannot get this anywhere. Have you seen the communiqu?from the C鏎doba front? It is very beautiful. It is now my favorite among all the communiqu." "What did it say?" Robert Jordan had come to Madrid from the C鏎doban Front and he had the sudden stiffening that comes when some one jokes about a thing which you yourself may joke about but which they may not. "Tell me?" "_Nuestra gloriosa tropa siga avanzando sin perder ni una sola palma de terreno_," Karkov said in his strange Spanish. "It didn't really say that," Robert Jordan doubted. "Our glorious troops continue to advance without losing a foot of ground," Karkov repeated in English. "It is in the communiqu? I will find it for you." You could remember the men you knew who died in the fighting around Pozoblanco; but it was a joke at Gaylord's. So that was the way it was at Gaylord's now. Still there had not always been Gaylord's and if the situation was now one which produced such a thing as Gaylord's out of the survivors of the early days, he was glad to see Gaylord's and to know about it. You are a long way from how you felt in the Sierra and at Carabanchel and at Usera, he thought. You corrupt very easily, he thought. But was it corruption or was it merely that you lost the na鴳et?that you started with? Would it not be the same in anything? Who else kept that first chastity of mind about their work that young doctors, young priests, and young soldiers usually started with? The priests certainly kept it, or they got out. I suppose the Nazis keep it, he thought, and the Communists who have a severe enough selfdiscipline. But look at Karkov. He never tired of considering the case of Karkov. The last time he had been at Gaylord's Karkov had been wonderful about a certain British economist who had spent much time in Spain. Robert Jordan had read this man's writing for years and he had always respected him without knowing anything about him. He had not cared very much for what this man had written about Spain. It was too clear and simple and too open and shut and many of the statistics he knew were faked by wishful thinking. But he thought you rarely cared for journalism written about a country you really knew about and he respected the man for his intentions. Then he had seen the man, finally, on the afternoon when they had attacked at Carabanchel.They were sitting in the lee of the bull ring and there was shooting down the two streets and every one was nervous waiting for the attack. A tank had been promised and it had not come up and Montero was sitting with his head in his hand saying, "The tank has not come. The tank has not come." It was a cold day and the yellow dust was blowing down the street and Montero had been hit in the left arm and the arm was stiffening. "We have to have a tank," he said. "We must wait for the tank, but we cannot wait." His wound was making him sound petulant. Robert Jordan had gone back to look for the tank which Montero said he thought might have stopped behind the apartment building on the corner of the tram-line. It was there all right. But it was not a tank. Spaniards called anything a tank in those days. It was an old armored car. The driver did not want to leave the angle of the apartment house and bring it up to the bull ring. He was standing behind it with his arms folded against the metal of the car and his head in the leather-padded helmet on his arms. He shook his head when Robert Jordan spoke to him and kept it pressed against his arms. Then he turned his head without looking at Robert Jordan. "I have no orders to go there," he said sullenly. Robert Jordan had taken his pistol out of the holster and pushed the muzzle of the pistol against the leather coat of the armored car driver. "Here are your orders," he had told him. The man shook his head with the big padded-leather helmet like a football player's on it and said, "There is no ammunition for the machine gun." "We have ammunition at the bull ring," Robert Jordan had told him. "Come on, let's go. We will fill the belts there. Come on." "There is no one to work the gun," the driver said. "Where is he? Where is your mate?" "Dead," the driver had said. "Inside there." "Get him out," Robert Jordan had said. "Get him out of there." "I do not like to touch him," the driver had said. "And he is bent over between the gun and the wheel and I cannot get past him." "Come on," Robert Jordan had said. "We will get him out together." He had banged his head as he climbed into the armored car and it had made a small cut over his eyebrow that bled down onto his face. The dead man was heavy and so stiff you could not bend him and he had to hammer at his head to get it out from where it had wedged, face down, between his seat and the wheel. Finally he got it up by pushing with his knee up under the dead man's head and then, pulling back on the man's waist now that the head was loose, he pulled the dead man out himself toward the door. "Give me a hand with him," he had said to the driver. "I do not want to touch him," the driver had said and Robert Jordan had seen that he was crying. The tears ran straight down on each side of his nose on the powder-grimed slope of his face and his nose was running, too. Standing beside the door he had swung the dead man out and the dead man fell onto the sidewalk beside the tram-line still in that hunched-over, doubled-up position. He lay there, his face waxy gray against the cement sidewalk, his hands bent under him as they had been in the car. "Get in, God damn it," Robert Jordan had said, motioning now with his pistol to the driver. "Get in there now." Just then he had seen this man who had come out from the lee of the apartment house building. He had on a long overcoat and he was bareheaded and his hair was gray, his cheekbones broad and his eyes were deep and set close together. He had a package of Chesterfields in his hand and he took one out and handed it toward Robert Jordan who was pushing the driver into the armored car with his pistol. "Just a minute, Comrade," he had said to Robert Jordan in Spanish. "Can you explain to me something about the fighting?" Robert Jordan took the cigarette and put it in the breast pocket of his blue mechanic jumper. He had recognized this comrade from his pictures. It was the British economist. "Go muck yourself," he said in English and then, in Spanish, to the armored car driver. "Down there. The bull ring. See?" And he had pulled the heavy side door to with a slam and locked it and they had started down that long slope in the car and the bullets had commenced to hit against the car, sounding like pebbles tossed against an iron boiler. Then when the machine gun opened on them, they were like sharp hammer tappings. They had pulled up behind the shelter of the bull ring with the last October posters still pasted up beside the ticket window and the ammunition boxes knocked open and the comrades with the rifles, the grenades on their belts and in their pockets, waiting there in the lee and Montero had said, "Good. Here is the tank. Now we can attack." Later that night when they had the last houses on the hill, he lay comfortable behind a brick wall with a hole knocked in the bricks for a loophole and looked across the beautiful level field of fire they had between them and the ridge the fascists had retired to and thought, with a comfort that was almost voluptuous, of the rise of the hill with the smashed villa that protected the left flank. He had lain in a pile of straw in his sweat-soaked clothes and wound a blanket around him while he dried. Lying there he thought of the economist and laughed, and then felt sorry he had been rude. But at the moment, when the man had handed him the cigarette, pushing it out almost like offering a tip for information, the combatant's hatred for the noncombatant had been too much for him. Now he remembered Gaylord's and Karkov speaking of this same man. "So it was there you met him," Karkov had said. "I did not get farther than the Puente de Toledo myself on that day. He was very far toward the front. That was the last day of his bravery I believe. He left Madrid the next day. Toledo was where he was the bravest, I believe. At Toledo he was enormous. He was one of the architects of our capture of the Alcazar. You should have seen him at Toledo. I believe it was largely through his efforts and his advice that our siege was successful. That was the silliest part of the war. It reached an ultimate in silliness but tell me, what is thought of him in America?" "In America," Robert Jordan said, "he is supposed to be very close to Moscow." "He is not," said Karkov. "But he has a wonderful face and his face and his manners are very successful. Now with my face I could do nothing. What little I have accomplished was all done in spite of my face which does not either inspire people nor move them to love me and to trust me. But this man Mitchell has a face he makes his fortune with. It is the face of a conspirator. All who have read of conspirators in books trust him instantly. Also he has the true manner of the conspirator. Any one seeing him enter a room knows that he is instantly in the presence of a conspirator of the first mark. All of your rich compatriots who wish sentimentally to aid the Soviet Union as they believe or to insure themselves a little against any eventual success of the party see instantly in the face of this man, and in his manner that he can be none other than a trusted agent of the Comintern." "Has he no connections in Moscow?" "None. Listen, Comrade Jordan. Do you know about the two kinds of fools?" "Plain and damn?" "No. The two kinds of fools we have in Russia," Karkov grinned and began. "First there is the winter fool. The winter fool comes to the door of your house and he knocks loudly. You go to the door and you see him there and you have never seen him before. He is an impressive sight. He is a very big man and he has on high boots and a fur coat and a fur hat and he is all covered with snow. First he stamps his boots and snow falls from them. Then he takes off his fur coat and shakes it and more snow falls. Then he takes off his fur hat and knocks it against the door. More snow falls from his fur hat. Then he stamps his boots again and advances into the room. Then you look at him and you see he is a fool. That is the winter fool. "Now in the summer you see a fool going down the street and he is waving his arms and jerking his head from side to side and everybody from two hundred yards away can tell he is a fool. That is a summer fool. This economist is a winter fool." "But why do people trust him here?" Robert Jordan asked. "His face," Karkov said. "His beautiful _gueule de conspirateur_. And his invaluable trick of just having come from somewhere else where he is very trusted and important. Of course," he smiled, "he must travel very much to keep the trick working. You know the Spanish are very strange," Karkov went on. "This government has had much money. Much gold. They will give nothing to their friends. You are a friend. All right. You will do it for nothing and should not be rewarded. But to people representing an important firm or a country which is not friendly but must be influenced--to such people they give much. It is very interesting when you follow it closely." "I do not like it. Also that money belongs to the Spanish workers." "You are not supposed to like things. Only to understand," Karkov had told him. "I teach you a little each time I see you and eventually you will acquire an education. It would be very interesting for a professor to be educated." "I don't know whether I'll be able to be a professor when I get back. They will probably run me out as a Red." "Well, perhaps you will be able to come to the Soviet Union and continue your studies there. That might be the best thing for you to do." "But Spanish is my field." "There are many countries where Spanish is spoken," Karkov had said. "They cannot all be as difficult to do anything with as Spain is. Then you must remember that you have not been a professor now for almost nine months. In nine months you may have learned a new trade. How much dialectics have you read?" "I have read the Handbook of Marxism that Emil Burns edited. That is all." "If you have read it all that is quite a little. There are fifteen hundred pages and you could spend some time on each page. But there are some other things you should read." "There is no time to read now." "I know," Karkov had said. "I mean eventually. There are many things to read which will make you understand some of these things that happen. But out of this will come a book which is very necessary; which will explain many things which it is necessary to know. Perhaps I will write it. I hope that it will be me who will write it." "I don't know who could write it better." "Do not flatter," Karkov had said. "I am a journalist. But like all journalists I wish to write literature. Just now, I am very busy on a study of Calvo Sotelo. He was a very good fascist; a true Spanish fascist. Franco and these other people are not. I have been studying all of Sotelo's writing and speeches. He was very intelligent and it was very intelligent that he was killed." "I thought that you did not believe in political assassination." "It is practised very extensively," Karkov said. "Very, very extensively." "But--" "We do not believe in acts of terrorism by individuals," Karkov had smiled. "Not of course by criminal terrorist and counterrevolutionary organizations. We detest with horror the duplicity and villainy of the murderous hyenas of Bukharinite wreckers and such dregs of humanity as Zinoviev, Kamenev, Rykov and their henchmen. We hate and loathe these veritable fiends," he smiled again. "But I still believe that political assassination can be said to be practised very extensively." "You mean--" "I mean nothing. But certainly we execute and destroy such veritable fiends and dregs of humanity and the treacherous dogs of generals and the revolting spectacle of admirals unfaithful to their trust. These are destroyed. They are not assassinated. You see the difference?" "I see," Robert Jordan had said. "And because I make jokes sometime: and you know how dangerous it is to make jokes even in joke? Good. Because I make jokes, do not think that the Spanish people will not live to regret that they have not shot certain generals that even now hold commands. I do not like the shootings, you understand." "I don't mind them," Robert Jordan said. "I do not like them but I do not mind them any more." "I know that," Karkov had said. "I have been told that." "Is it important?" Robert Jordan said. "I was only trying to be truthful about it." "It is regretful," Karkov had said. "But it is one of the things that makes people be treated as reliable who would ordinarily have to spend much more time before attaining that category." "Am I supposed to be reliable?" "In your work you are supposed to be very reliable. I must talk to you sometime to see how you are in your mind. It is regrettable that we never speak seriously." "My mind is in suspension until we win the war," Robert Jordan had said. "Then perhaps you will not need it for a long time. But you should be careful to exercise it a little." "I read _Mundo Obrero_," Robert Jordan had told him and Karkov had said, "All right. Good. I can take a joke too. But there are very intelligent things in _Mundo Obrero_. The only intelligent things written on this war." "Yes," Robert Jordan had said. "I agree with you. But to get a full picture of what is happening you cannot read only the party organ." "No," Karkov had said. "But you will not find any such picture if you read twenty papers and then, if you had it, I do not know what you would do with it. I have such a picture almost constantly and what I do is try to forget it." "You think it is that bad?" "It is better now than it was. We are getting rid of some of the worst. But it is very rotten. We are building a huge army now and some of the elements, those of Modesto, of El Campesino, of Lister and of Dur嫕, are reliable. They are more than reliable. They are magnificent. You will see that. Also we still have the Brigades although their role is changing. But an army that is made up of good and bad elements cannot win a war. All must be brought to a certain level of political development; all must know why they are fighting, and its importance. All must believe in the fight they are to make and all must accept discipline. We are making a huge conscript army without the time to implant the discipline that a conscript army must have, to behave properly under fire. We call it a people's army but it will not have the assets of a true people's army and it will not have the iron discipline that a conscript army needs. You will see. It is a very dangerous procedure." "You are not very cheerful today." "No," Karkov had said. "I have just come back from Valencia where I have seen many people. No one comes back very cheerful from Valencia. In Madrid you feel good and clean and with no possibility of anything but winning. Valencia is something else. The cowards who fled from Madrid still govern there. They have settled happily into the sloth and bureaucracy of governing. They have only contempt for those of Madrid. Their obsession now is the weakening of the commissariat for war. And Barcelona. You should see Barcelona." "How is it?" "It is all still comic opera. First it was the paradise of the crackpots and the romantic revolutionists. Now it is the paradise of the fake soldier. The soldiers who like to wear uniforms, who like to strut and swagger and wear red-and-black scarves. Who like everything about war except to fight. Valencia makes you sick and Barcelona makes you laugh." "What about the P.O.U.M. putsch?" "The P.O.U.M. was never serious. It was a heresy of crackpots and wild men and it was really just an infantilism. There were some honest misguided people. There was one fairly good brain and there was a little fascist money. Not much. The poor P.O.U.M. They were very silly people." "But were many killed in the putsch?" "Not so many as were shot afterwards or will be shot. The P.O.U.M. It is like the name. Not serious. They should have called it the M.U.M.P.S. or the M.E.A.S.L.E.S. But no. The Measles is much more dangerous. It can affect both sight and hearing. But they made one plot you know to kill me, to kill Walter, to kill Modesto and to kill Prieto. You see how badly mixed up they were? We are not at all alike. Poor P.O.U.M. They never did kill anybody. Not at the front nor anywhere else. A few in Barcelona, yes." "Were you there?" "Yes. I have sent a cable describing the wickedness of that infamous organization of Trotskyite murderers and their fascist machinations all beneath contempt but, between us, it is not very serious, the P.O.U.M. Nin was their only man. We had him but he escaped from our hands." "Where is he now?" "In Paris. We say he is in Paris. He was a very pleasant fellow but with bad political aberrations." "But they were in communication with the fascists, weren't they?" "Who is not?" "We are not." "Who knows? I hope we are not. You go often behind their lines," he grinned. "But the brother of one of the secretaries of the Republican Embassy at Paris made a trip to St. Jean de Luz last week to meet people from Burgos." "I like it better at the front," Robert Jordan had said. "The closer to the front the better the people." "How do you like it behind the fascist lines?" "Very much. We have fine people there." "Well, you see they must have their fine people behind our lines the same way. We find them and shoot them and they find ours and shoot them. When you are in their country you must always think of how many people they must send over to us." "I have thought about them." "Well," Karkov had said. "You have probably enough to think about for today, so drink that beer that is left in the pitcher and run along now because I have to go upstairs to see people. Upstairs people. Come again to see me soon." Yes, Robert Jordan thought. You learned a lot at Gaylord's. Karkov had read the one and only book he had published. The book had not been a success. It was only two hundred pages long and he doubted if two thousand people had ever read it. He had put in it what he had discovered about Spain in ten years of travelling in it, on foot, in third-class carriages, by bus, on horse- and mule-back and in trucks. He knew the Basque country, Navarre, Aragon, Galicia, the two Castiles and Estremadura well. There had been such good books written by Borrow and Ford and the rest that he had been able to add very little. But Karkov said it was a good book. "It is why I bother with you," he said. "I think you write absolutely truly and that is very rare. So I would like you to know some things." All right. He would write a book when he got through with this. But only about the things he knew, truly, and about what he knew. But I will have to be a much better writer than I am now to handle them, he thought. The things he had come to know in this war were not so simple. 　　罗伯特　乔丹想。”这真象游乐场里的旋转木马，“不是那种配上蒸气管风琴音乐、孩子们骑在两角漆成金色的牛身上、转得很快的旋转木马，那里有投套环游戏,曼恩大街上蓝色的煤气灯傍晚就点亮，旁边有卖炸鱼的摊子，象风车似的摸彩轮①在旋转，皮制阻力片啪嗒啪嗒地刮打着编号的小木格，一包包当奖品的块糖堆得象金字塔。不，不是那种旋转木马。尽管现在也有人们在等待，正象邵些戴便帽的男人和穿毛线衫的、没戴帽子、头发在煤气灯光下闪闪发亮的女人站在那旋转着的換彩轮前面等待着那样。是啊，人就是撖些，轮子却是另一种。一种时商时低、绕着圈儿转的轮子。 ①摸彩轮为一种睹具 　　现在它已转了两圉。这是座倾斜的大轮子，每转一睡,又回到原来的起点。—边比另一边高,它的回旋把你带到髙处,又送回到原来的起点，他想，而且没有奖品，因此谁也不愿跨上这座轮子。每次你都是莫名其妙地跨上去旋转的。只转一圉,顺着一个巨大的椭圆形的轨道，从低到髙、从髙到低地转上一圉，你就回到了原来的起点。他想。”我们现在又回来啦，一件事也没落实。山洞里很暖和，外面风已停息。他坐在桌边,面前摊着笔记本，考虑着炸桥的所有技术问题。他画了三张草图,描绘出他的行动方案,用两张图来说明燁破方法，清楚得象幼儿园的课本,这祥，万“在爆破过程中他自己遇到意外，好让安塞尔莫继续完成。他画好了这些草图,仔细端详着。 　　玛丽亚坐在他旁边，从肩后着他工作，他意识到巴勃罗就在桌子对面,其他人在聊夭、玩婢，他闻到山洞里的气味，这时已经不是饭菜和烹饪的气味，而是烟火味、人味、烟草味、红酒味和人的汗酸臭。玛丽亚看他画好了一张图，把手拥在桌上　他用左手拿起她的手,放在脸上，闻到她冼碗碟时用的劣质肥皂味和刚在水里冼过的皮肤的清香味儿。他没有对她看，就放下了她的手，继续工作，他没有看到她脸红了。她把手放在他手的近旁,但他并没把它再拿起来。 　　他完成了炸桥方案，。开笔记本另一页，开始写行动指令。他的思賂清晰而周密，写下的东西使他很偷快。他在笔记本里写了两页，仔细看了一遍。 　　他对自己说,我看就是这些了。写得明明白自，看来投有任何漏润。按照戈尔兹的命令,把那两个哨所拔掉,把桥炸掉，这，“是我的全部任务。只有有关巴勃罗的那回事是个我不应该背的包袱，不过这问题好歹总会解决的。有巴勃罗,还是没巴勃罗都行，我不在乎。但是我不打算再登上那个轮子了。我上去过两次，两次都转了个围，又回到原来的起点，所以我再也不上去了。 　　他合上笔记本，抬头望着玛丽亚。“喂，漂亮的姑娘，”他对她说。“你看出什么名堂来了吗” 　　“没有，罗伯托，”姑娘说，把手放在他那仍旧握着铅笔的手上。“你搞好了？” 　　“好了。现在已经全部写好，安排好了，““你在干什么，英国人?”巴勃罗隔着桌子问。他的眼睛又变得迷糊了。 　　罗伯特”乔丹定睛注视着他。他对自己说,离开这轮子。别登上这个轮子。我看，它又要开始转了。“研究炸桥的事，”他客气地说。“情况怎么样?”巴勃罗问。“很好，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“一切都很好，““我一直在研究撤走的事。”巴勃罗说。罗伯特　乔丹望望他那酔醺醮的猪眼,再望望那只酒缸。酒缸差不多空了。 　　他对自己说，离开那轮子吧。他又在暍酒啦。没错儿。可你现在别登上那轮子啦。格竺特①在内战期间不是据说常常喝得醉釅醣的吗？他确实是如此。我打赌，要是袼竺特能着到巴勃罗，他一定会对这样的对比感到恼怒。格兰特还爱好抽雪茄。啊，他得想法弄支雪茄给巴勃罗。这副相貌真需要添上一支雷茄才能算真正壳整　一支抽了“半的雪茄。他到哪里去弄支雷茄给巴勃罗呢？” ①辂兰特　美国第十八任总统,在南北战争(　　　!　)期间为军将须。一八六四年三月，拔任命为赌总司令書. 　　“研究的结果怎么样?”罗伯特　乔丹客气地问。 　　“很好，”巴勃罗说，煞有介事地点点头。 　　“你有主意了？”跟别人“起打牌的奥古斯丁抬头问道。 　　“对，”巴勃罗说。“很多主意。” 　　“你在哪里找到的？在酒缸里？”奥古斯丁追问。 　　“也许，”巴勃罗说。“谁知道？玛丽亚，请你把酒缸加满好吗？” 　　“这酒袋里该有些好主意吧，”奥古斯丁转身对着打牌的人说。“你干吗不钻到里面去找找。”’“不，”巴勃罗随和地说。“我在酒缸里找。”罗伯特　乔丹想　他也不想登上轮子啦。它肯定是独自在运转的。看来你不能在那轮子上待得太久。也许那是一座致人死命的轮子。我高兴的是我们下来了。有两次把我弄得晕头转向。然而那些酒鬼和真正卑鄙而残忍的家伙，却会在上面一直待到死。它先朝上面转，每次的转法总是有点不同，接着朝下转。让它转吧，他想。他们没法叫我再上去啦。不,先生，格兰特将军，我离开这轮子啦。 　　比拉尔正坐在炉火旁，她把椅子转了个向，瞞着背对她的两个打脾人的肩头可以看到打牌。地正看着。 　　罗伯特”乔丹想；再怪也没有了，敛拔弩张的气氛，―下子变成正常的家庭生活场景了。原来是因为这该死的轮子要往下转，这才便你难住啦。他想。”可是我离幵这轮子了，谁也别想叫我再上去啦. 　　他想,两天前，我根本不知道有比拉尔、巴勃罗以及他如其他那些人。世羿上根本也没有玛丽亚这样的姑娘,当时的世界确实是简单得多。我从戈尔兹那儿得到的指示十分明确，完全可能执行，尽管包含着某些困难和严重的后果。我们炸桥以后，我回不回前线都行，如果回去，我打算请几天假去马德里。这次战争中谁也没有休假,但是我肯定可以在马德里待两三天。 　　他想:到了马德里，我要买几本书，到佛罗里达旅馆去开一个房间，冼一个热水澡。我要打发茶房珞易斯去买一瓶艾酒，要是他能在莱昂内萨乳品店或者大马路附近的铺子里找到一瓶的话；冼澡之后，我要躺在床上着看书，喝两杯文酒,然后打电话到乐爵饭店，问问能不能去那里吃饭。 　　他不想到大马賂饭店去吃，因为那儿的饭莱实在差劲，并且还得早去，去晚了什么都吃不上。那里还有很多他认识的记者，他不打算叫自己守口如瓶。他要喝点艾酒，使自己健谈，然后到乐爵饭店去和卡可夫一起吃饭，那里有好菜和货真价实的啤酒，他要打听一下战局的实情。 　　他第一次去乐爵的时侯，并不喜欢这家由俄国人接管韵马德里大饭店，因为在一个被围困的城市里，它显得过于家华，莱肴太好，对战时来说,人们的谈吐也过于玩世不恭。不过我是很容易蜕化的，他想。你完成了这样的任务回来，既然可能吃到山珍海味，那何不饱饱口福呢？他当初第一次听到时认为是玩世不恭的言谈，结果倒是着实正确的。他想，等任务完成以后，这“点在乐爵饭店倒是个聊天的话题呢。对，等这任务完成以后。 　　你能带玛蹰亚到乐爵饭店去吗？不。你不能。但你可以把她留在旅馆里，让她洗个热水澡，在那儿等你回来。对，你可以这么办,可以先向卡可夫介绍她的情况，然后带绝去，因为他们会对她产生好竒心,想看看她这个人， 　　也许你根本不会到乐爵饭店去。你可以在大马路饭店吃了饭，匆匆赶回佛罗里达旅馆，可是你明知道自己是想到乐爵饭店去的，因为你想再看看那里的一切；你想在炸桥之后再吃吃那里的好莱，看看那里的舒适和豪华的环境。然后你回到佛罗里达旅馆，玛丽亚会在那儿等你。当然啦，炸了桥以后，她会在那的。炸桥结束以后。对,炸了桥以后。要是他干成了，他该有资格去乐爵饭店吃一顿。 你在乐爵饭店能遇到西班牙著名的工农出身的指挥官，战争一开始，这些来自人民的人事先没受过任何军事训练就拿起了武器。你还发现其中有不少人会讲俄语。几个月前，这使他第一次感到大为失望，他自己也开始由此愤世嫉俗了-但是等他知道了事情的真相，也就心情释然，“。他们考工人和农民嘛。他们积极参加了一九三四年的革命①，革命失！　后,他们被迫淹亡国外，到了俄国，他们被送进军事学院，被送进共产国际主办的列宁学院，受到必要的指挥作战的军事训练，准备下一次战斗。 　　共产国际在那些地方教育了他们。在革命中，你不能让局外人知道帮助你的是些什么样的人，也不能让他们知逭有的人了解的情況超过他该了解的范围。他懂得了这一点。 　　你就是在乐爵饭店了解到那个被叫做“农民”的伐伦廷‘冈萨雷斯从来没有当过农民，却当过西班牙外籍军团的中士，后来开了小差，跟阿布德，艾尔　克里姆“起作战。①那算不了什么。他千吗不可以呢？在这种战争中，你霱要很快就有这种农民领袖，而真正农民出身的领袖很可能太象巴勃罗反而使人不敢领教。你不能等待涌现出真正的农民领袖，而等他出现的时候,他的农民习气可能太多。所以你得制造一个。说到这一点，当初他看到“农民”冈萨雷斯时，只见他长着黑胡子和黑人般的厚嘴唇，瞪着眼睛，目光如火，他觉得这个人可能象真正的农民领抽那样惹出麻烦来。他上次见到闪萨雷斯的时候，发现他似乎相信了自己的名声，真以为自己是个农民了。他是个勇敢而坚籾的人，谁也比不上他勇敢。可是上帝明，他的话太多啦。他澉动时什么话都说得出，也不管自已的轻率会产生什么后果，而这种后果已经不少了。即使在似乎奄无指望的情況下，他仍旧是个了不起的旅指挥员。对他来说，毫无指望的情況是没有的，即使遇到那种情况,他也要扭转局面。 ①一九三三年秋,西班牙各右翼政党在选举中获胜，激进党领袖勒洛于十二月担任共和国总理，加强对人民的镇圧。一九三四年十月四日深夜，工人总罢工开始，全国近一百万人参加，在许多地方发展为武栽斗争。眄斯图里亚斯地区首要城市奥锥多被矿工占领，成立工人革命委员会和赤卫队，辈握了十五天政权，最后被政府优势兵力所镇压‘三万人被俘，被监禁,受严刑拷打,几百人被处死刑，　　阿布德〃艾尔　克里姆从一九二〇年起领导摩洛珥的柏柏尔人起义,曾思次挫歡西班牙殖民地部队九二六年帔法西取军战败，祓俘,被流放到法厲留尼汪岛。一九四七年，逃至开罗。庫洛哥独立后，国王棰罕默德五世于一九五八年给他民族英雄的称号。—九六二年，他宜称要回祖国，未果,于翌年去世。莫徧斯托和利斯特一样，也是共产党培养的优秀政府军指挥员。圣玛丽亚港在西班牙南端重要海港加的斯附近。笑国教有家査尔斯、贝里兹生于一九一三年，于三十年代创办贝里兹语言学校,遍设纽约、巴尔的摩、波士顿、芝加哥等地，并陆续编辑出版。贝里兹教学法”的各种外语课本、外语自诊课本、词典，发行语言教学用唱片及影片等争。 　　你在乐爵饭店还遇见过加利西亚人恩里克1利斯特，那个平凡的石匠,他现在指挥一个师,也会讲俄国话。你还遇见过那个细木工，安达卢西亚人胡安“莫镩斯托②，最近刚给他指挥一个军团。他在圣玛丽亚港③没学过俄语,然而,如果他们为细木工开设一所贝里兹语言学校④，他可能去学习的。他是个最得俄国人信任的青年军人，因为他是个道地的党员，“百分之百的、他们骄撖地用这美国的词儿说。他比利斯特或“农民”都聪明得多。 　　当然啦，你想受到全面的教育,乐爵饭店正是你所需要的场所，在那里，你能了解全部实情，而不是设想中的情况。他想，他还是刚刚幵始在受教育哪。他不知道自己要不要长期地学习下去。乐爵坂店很良好，正是他所霈要的。他在乐爵饭店的见闻只加强了他对他认为是正确的事物的信念。他想知道实在的情况，而不是设想中的情況。战争中历来有谎言。然而关于利斯特、莫德斯托和“农民”的真相要比谎言和传奇好得多。得了，总有一天他们会对大家讲明真相的，而眼前，他髙兴的是能借乐爵饭店来亲自了解真相　。 　　是啊,他在马德里买了书,躺在澡盆里洗了热水操，喝了两杯酒，读了一会儿书之后,就打算去乐爵饭店。不过那是玛丽亚进入他生活之前他愤常的计划。好吧。他们可以租两个房间，他去乐爵饭店的时候,她可以爱干什么就干什么，他呢，会从饭店回到她身边。她在山区待了那么许多日子，如今在佛罗里达旅馆再待一会儿等他也不妨。他们可以在马德里过三夭-三天可算是一段漫长的时间了。他要带她去看马克斯三兄弟演的《耿剧院“夜》①。这部影片已开映了三个月，看来再映三个月也准能卖座。他想，她会喜欢马克斯三兄弟的《耿剧睇一夜》的，她“定会非常軎欢。 从乐爵饭店到这个山洞的路途可不短啊，不，那段路还不算长。长的将是从这个山洞再回到乐爵饭店。第一次是卡希金带他去的，他那时不喜欢它。卡希金当时说，他应该见见卡可夫，因为卡可夫想了解美国人，因为他最最喜爱洛佩‘德维加，认为维加的《羊泉村》是世间最最伟大的剧作。也许是为了这个原因吧，但是他，罗伯特　乔丹，却不以为然。 　　他喜欢卡可夫，可不喜欢那地方。他通到过的人中间,最聪明的要算卡可夫了。罗伯特　乔丹第一次和他见面时，他的外形很滑稚，穿者黑马靴、灰马裤和灰上衣,手和脚都很小，脸和身体显得虚弱浮肿,牙齿不好，说话漏风。然而,在他认识的人中间，他比谁都更有头脑，更有自尊心，外表更傲慢,更富有幽跃感。 　　卡希金认为罗伯特“乔丹是个了不起的家伙，卡可夫起初可客气得使人难堪，可是罗伯特　乔丹并不以英雄自居，却讲了一则确实有趣、有损自己声誉的风流逸事,这时卡可夫如释重负地由客气转变为粗鲁，进而是傲悝。他们这才成了朋友。 　　人们在那儿对卡希金采取了宽容的态度。他显然犯过什么错误,到西班牙来将功赎罪。人家不肯告诉他是什么问娌，不过既然卡希金已经死了，说不定会告诉他了。总之，他和卡可夫做了朋友，而且还和卡可夫的妻子做了明友，她那时在坦克兵团当菊译。她瘦得出奇,表情呆板,皮肤黝黑,心堆善良，神经紧张，逆来顺受，‘着个癀削的、不加爱椎的身体，灰黑相杂的头发剪得短短的。他也跟卡可夫的情妇做了朋友。她长着两只猫样的眼晴，“头金红的头发(有时偏红,有时偏金，这取决于理发师〉，一个懒洋洋的肉感的身体(天生适合被人拥抱、一张天生适合给人亲吻的嘴和一顆愚蠹、狂妄而极度忠诚的心。这位情妇爱讲闲话，喜欢间发地有节制地跟其他人搞搞男女关系，这看来反而叫卡可夫感到高兴。除了这个在坦克兵团的寒子外，据说卡可夬在某处地方还有一个老婆，也许两个吧，伹是谁也没法肯定。罗伯特-乔丹对他认识的那个卡可夫的老婆和情妇都毐欢。如果还有一个老婆,而他也认识的话，他认为自己也会軎欢的。卡可夫对女人有良好的鉴赏力。 　　乐爵饭店楼下大门外有背着上了刺刀的熗的哨兵，在被围困的马德里全城，今晚要算它是最愉快、最舒服的地方了。他巴不得今晚自己不在这里,而在乐爵饭店。尽管他们已使那轮子停住不转了，这里也不错，而且雪也停了。一 　　他很想把他的玛丽亚带给卡可夫看看，不过他得先讲明了才能把她带去　他还得了解执行这次任务之后人们怎样接待他。发动这次攻势之后，戈尔兹也会到那儿去；要是他千得不错，大家都会从戈尔兹那儿知道这个消息。戈尔兹也会拿玛丽亚来跟他开玩笑，因为他曾经说过自己没空交女朋友。 　　他把杯子伸到巴勃罗面前的酒缸里，舀了一杯。“可以吗?”他说。 　　巴勃罗点点头。罗伯特‘乔丹想。”他大概在疼磨他的军事问题吧，不是在大炮口上寻求肥皂泡般脆弱的荣誉，而是在那边酒缸里寻求问题的答案。这个野杂种只要肯干，显然能成功地把这帮人带领好。他望着巴勃罗想，在美国内战时期，不知他会成为怎样的游击队长。他想5这种人很多，怛是我们不太了解他们。不是匡特里尔，也不是莫斯比①那种人，也不是他自己的祖父那种人，而是那种小头头，打游击的。至于喝酒，你以为格兰特真是个酒鬼？我祖父始终埤他是酒鬼，说他一到下午四点钟就总是有点酔意了,在围攻维克斯堡兵临城下的期间①，他有时一醉就是一两天。伹袓父声称，不管他喝多少，他工作完全正常，只是有时艮难把他叫薛。然而,如果你　叫醒他，他神志还是正常的。 　　在这次战争中，迄今双方都没有象格兰特、谢尔曼、“石堆”杰克逊②那样的人。没有。没有象杰布‘斯图尔特，也没有象谢里登③那样的人，然而却多的是象麦克莱伦④那样的人。法西斯那一方有很多这样的人，我们呢，至少有三个。 　　在这次战争中，他确实没见到过任何军事天才。—个也没有，连近于天才的人也没有。克莱伯、卢卡茨、汉斯在国际纵队 ①维克斯堡在美国南方密西西比州西部密西西比河滨，在南北战争中为战略重地。一八六二年十一月，31。”军将领格兰特拟攻占未遂,第二年中，通过精心規划的水陆联合作战，于七月四日拿下该城，从而切断了南军和密西西比河西部的给养地区的联系。 ②谢尔受！。”评！！珏，一边811拉！，“，“11，182。—18。1〉为北军将领，在南北战争中最大的功肋为一八六四年五月幵始的向佐治亚州的进军。他于九月初占领该州首府亚特兰大’一直軔太平洋海岸直插，于十二月二十“曰进入该州东端的萨凡纳港，从而把南军控制下的地区一切为两，加速了南方的最后崩癉。杰克逊(　1　　　3　，“　。”3。11，132。—1　。3)为南军将领,以精通战略战术著称。一八六一年七月，在第―次布尔论坷战役中，他坚守左異撇然不动，赢得“石墙”的外号。 ③斯囹尔特(叉五，8加，“忖，1833~1　。。〉为南军骑兵将领，为南方立下不少战功，一八六四年五月，在里士满附近和北军骑兵的遭遇战中埃重伤而死。谢里登（种山如11,1831—。”！鄉)为北细兵将领。一八六四年十月十九日拂哓，他的部队在弗吉尼亚州西北部谢南多亚河谷雪松溪边受到南军突袭，他在二十英里外闻讯飞骑赶回，收拾残部，重整阵容，当夭下午打了一场大胜仗。这是南北战争史中著名的一仗。 ④麦克莱抡㈦的！？钤1　。1。11妨，。”！　　。”！鄉）为北军将领,一八六一年十一月当上主帅，但由于在作战时过于审供,贻误战机，在第二年中被林肯总统两度撤下作战捎揮肉位‘。 　　保卫马德里的过程中都作出了自己的贡献，后来，那个老秃子,那个鼻架眼镜、自髙自大、蠢得象猫头鹰、言语无味、勇猛固执得象公牛、靠宣传吹捧起来的马德里保卫者米亚哈①，十分妒忌克莱伯的名声,竟迫使俄国人解除了克莱伯的指挥权,调他到瓦伦西亚去了。克莱伯是个好军人,但有局限性，对自己的工作，亭谈得太多。戈尔兹是个好将军和出色的军人，但是他们总是，“　放在从属的位置上，从不让他充分发挥才能。这次攻势将是到目前为止他指挥的最大的军事行动，但罗伯特“乔丹不太客欢自己所听到的有关这次攻势的情形。还有那个匈牙利人商尔,如果你在乐爵饭店听到的有关他的情况有一半属实，他就该熗毙。罗伯特　乔丹想，还不如说如果你在乐爵饭店听到的有百分之十属实的话,他就该熗毙。 　　但愿他亲眼见到他们在瓜达拉哈拉东面髙原上打败意大利人的战斗就好了。可是当时他在南方的绔斯特雷马杜拉。两星期前有天晚上，汉斯在乐爵饭店对他讲过那情形，使他知道了一切。有一个阶段看来大势已去，因为意大利人突玻了特里胡克附近的防线,如果托里哈到勃里胡加的公路被切断的话，第十二旅将被孤立。②“但是我们知道他们是意大利人“汉斯说，“我们就采取了一次跟别的部队作战时绝对不应采取的行动　结果是成功的。” 　　汉斯在作战地图上向他解释了那次战役的爿切情况。汉斯总是把地图放在文件包里随身带着，似乎依然为那次奇迹煅的胜利感到又惊又喜。他是个出色的军人，是个好伙伴。汉斯对他说过，在那次战役中，利斯特、莫德斯托和“农民”的西班牙部队都打得很漂亮，这得归功于他们的领导和他们执行的纪律。有些行动是俄国军事顾问叫他们采取的。他们象驾驶着带有复式操纵装置的飞机的实习飞行员，一出岔子就可以由飞行教练来接替。嗅,这一年将可以看出他们到底学到了多少，掌握得好不好。再过一个时期就用不着复式操纵装置了，那时我们可以肴出他们独立指挥师和军团的水平了。 ①米亚哈铽，幻…生于一八七八年，在内战爆发时为陆军准将　效忠于共和国政府;在马德里保卫战期间任城防司令。―九三七年三月，政府军在马德里东北的瓜达拉哈拉附近大败意大利派来的侵略军，打被了叛军切断马德里和东北地区的交通要道的企囹。国际纵队的第十二旅，又名加里波第旅，主要由反法西斯的意大利志想人士组成. 　　他们是共产党人，实施纪律的人。他们实施的纪律将造就优秀的军队。利斯特的纪律是凶残的，他是个真正的狂热分子，具有根本不尊重生命的西班牙作风。他常常为了微不足道的原因就地处决部下，自从鞑靼人首次入侵西方①以来,这种情况在别的部队已不多见了。但是他懂得怎样把一师人马锻炼成一支有战斗力的郁队。罗伯特，乔丹坐在桌边想，守卫阵地是“回事，攻占阵地是另一回事,在战场上如何调动一支部队更是截然不同的另一回事。根据我所看到的利斯特的情况,我不知道如果没有了复式操纵装置，他将怎样行动？他想,不过，也许不会没有。我不知道会不会没有。或者，会不会反而加强。我不清楚俄国人在整个这件事上的立场又是什么？乐爵饭店是个该去的地方,他想。”现在我需要了解很多情况，只有在乐费饭店才能了解到。 　　他一度认为乐爵饭店对他有害。它和马德里委拉斯开兹路六十三号所具有的共产主义的气氛完全相反，委拉斯开兹路六十三号原是座王宫，现已改为国际纵队在首都的司令部。在委拉斯开兹路六十三号，人们仿佛是一个团体的成员一至于在乐爵饭店的感觉，可跟你在分成新军各旅队以前的筹五团团部①的感觉大不相同。 ①西方人往往把擎古人泛称为鞑靼人，此处指成亩思汗于一二一九年第一次西征。 　　在这两个地方，你都会有参加一支十字军的感觉。唯有这个名称才真正合适，虽然它已变成陈词滥调，被反复滥用，不再具有它的真正的意义了。尽管有种种官僚主义、工作无能和党内斗争，你依然会感到你首次参加圣餐礼时所指望得到而没有得到的感情。那是一种为全世界被压迫的人们鞠躬尽瘁的感悄，这种感情象宗教悟彻一样难以言宣，但它是真诚的感情，正象你倾听巴赫的音乐，或站在夏尔特尔大教堂或莱昂大教堂里面见到大窗户外射进光亮时所产生的情绪，或者象当你在苷拉多国立博物馆见到曼坦那、格列柯和勃吕格尔的油画②时的感受一样。它使你感觉到你参预了一件你全心全意信仰的事业，和其他参预的人有一种高度的兄弟情谊。这种感情你以前从来没有过而现在体会到了，你对它那么重视，认为它是那么合理，以至自己的死亡似乎也无足轻重了,只因为死亡会妨碍你頹行职责,才要加以避免。但是最好的。点是你可以为了这种感情以及这种必要性而采取行动。你可以为之战斗。 ①内战壜发时，大动分正规部队都制向了叛军，在马德里保芏战期间，政府以原有的少数效忠的部队为基抽，幵始筹建一支，新军委拉期开兹路六十三号旧王宫原为第五团团部所在地，第五团袂分敢编。”V新军各旅后，该处才成为国际纵队的司令部。②.马德里的贅拉多国立博物馆是世界最著名的美术博物馆之一。璺坦那(立11办的挝奶坫—1。。。〉为意大利历史、宗教画画家淋列柯(拟。【。。。5。8？—1。1。沩西班牙宗教、离像画画家。勃吕格尔(朽。细131。”11沪扑。2旧35？—1卿〉为荷兰赛名风俗画家。 　　所以你参加了战斗,他想。在战斗中,你不久就对那些幸存的英勇善战的人失去了这种纯真的感情。过了最初的六个月就没有这种感情了。 　　在战争中保卫阵埤或保卫域市时，你会体会到这种纯真的感情。当初在山区作战时就是这样。他们怀着真正的革命同志情谊在那儿战斗。在那边第一次出现加强纪律的必要性时，他理解并赞赏它。在炮火下，有人吓坏了，拔腿就逃。他看到逃跑的人被熗舞，？“体扔在路边腐烂，人们奄不在乎，只从？“体上取下弹药和值钱的东西。拿他们的弹药、靴子和皮外套是对的。取下值钱的东西无非是实事求是的做法。这无非是不让无政府主义者得到这些东西罢了。 　　当时看来逃雎的人被熗毙是公正、正确和必要的。这没有什么对非议的。他们逃跑是自私的表现。法西斯分子发动了进攻，我们在瓜达拉马山区灰色岩石的山坡上的矮松林和荆棘丛中阻击他们。敢人飞机来轰炸,后来把大炮拉了上来，加上炮火的轰击，我们坚守着那条公路，等到那天傍晚，还活着的人员发动了、反攻，把敌人击退了。后来，当他们穿过岩石和树林，.企图从左痛迂回的时侯,我们坚守在一所疗养院里,从窗子里和屋顶上射击，尽管他们已经包抄了疗养院的两侧　我们尝到了被包围的滋味，直到那次反攻把他们赶回公路的对面 　　炮弹炸开时的闪光和轰响，使泥灰纷纷坠下,一堵墙突然塌倒，叫你惊愤失措，你把机熗刨出来，拖开脸朝下、埋在瓦砾堆里的机熗手，你把脑袋躲在机熗的遮护板后面，排除故哮，刨出被砸碎的弹药箱，重新整理好弹带，你然后俯卧在遮护板后面,把机袷再次向公路边扫射。在这整个过程中，在那使你嘴巴喉咙发干的恐惧中,你做了该做的事，并且知道自己是对的。你体会到战斗中那种使人嘴巴发干的、战胜了恐惧并排除其他杂念的狂赛。那年夏天和秋天,你为全世界的穷苦人，反对所有的暴政，为你所信仰的一切，为你理想的新世界而斗争。他想，那年秋天你学会了怎样长时间地在寒冷、潮湿、泥泞以及搌壕沟、筑工事的活动中坚持下去，不畏艰苦。你对夏天和秋天的感情被深深地埋葬在疲乏、渴睡、紧张和不舒服的感觉底下，“。但它一直存在着，而你所经历的一切只不过证实了它的存在。他想,正是在那些日子里，你怀着一种深刻、健全、无私的自柰一他突然想到，这将使你在乐爵饭店成为一个非常讨厌的人。 　　他想；是啊，你当时如果去乐爵饭店不见得会吃得开的。你太天真了，你当时仿佛正漀受着天恩。不过，当时的乐爵饭店可能和现在不同。他对自己说:是柯，事实上不是那样的，压根儿不是那样的。当时根本还没有乐爵饭店哪。 　 　　卡可夫跟他谈起过那些日子。当时所有的俄国人都住在皇宫旅馆。当时罗伯特“乔丹还没有跟他们中的任何人结识。涨是第一批游击队成立之前,他遇到卡希金和其他俄国人之前。卡希金当时在北方的伊伦和圣塞瓦斯蒂安，并参加了那次向维多利亚进攻伹没有成功的战斗①。他直到一月份才到达马德里。而罗伯特、乔丹在卡拉万切尔和乌塞拉作战的那三天里，他们阻击;了法西斯军队对马德里的攻势的右翼，把摩尔人和外籍兵团遂屋打回去，扫荡了那阳光直晒的灰色高原边缕上被打得稀巴烂的郊区，沿着髙地边缘筑起了一道昉线来保卫这个城角②。那时卡可夫在马德里。 ①圣塞瓦斯蒂安在伊伦西,为一著名的避箸胜地，维多利亚在丼西南，两地热。”　是西班牙北部巴斯克民族地区的重要城市。    　 ②乔丹随国际纵队到了西班牙，即，“入马德里保卫战。”这里提起祐是在‘甘命西南郊区击退叛军的一贸。等安然度过了这果苦战斗的冬天，政府军组成了第一批游击队，乔丹才幵始到瓜达拉马山区及西南部埃斯特雷马杜拉地…区去搞敌后爆政活动． 　　卡可夫谈起往事时也没对那些日子冷嘲热讽。那时一切都好象没有希望了,他们同舟共济，如今每个人都还记得在那种情况下应该如何行动，比受到的表扬和勋章记得更澝楚。当时政府放弃了这城市，撤退时带走了国防部所有的汽车；宠米亚哈只得骑自行车去视察他的防御阵地。罗伯特“乔丹不信这件事。即使他充满了爱国的想象,也没法想象米亚哈骑自行车的情景，但卡可夫说那是真的。不过话得说回来，他当时替俄国报纸写了这件事，所以很可能写了以后希望这是真的。 　　然而另一件事卡可夫可没有写，在皇宫旅馆有三个由他照管的俄国伤员，两个是坦克手,一个是飞行员，伤势很重,没法运走。那时最重要的是不能留下俄国人介入的证据以免法西斯分子为公开千涉作辩护，所以万一放弃这个城市的话,卡可夫有贷任不让这些伤员落入法西斯分子手中。如果有必要放弃这个城市，卡可夫应当在离开皇官旅馆之前消灭一切有关他扪身份的迹象。一个腹部有三处熗伤，一个下巴被熗弹打掉了，声带雄在外面，还有一个股骨被熗弹打碎，双手和脸部烧伤严重，一张脸变成了一个没有昧毛、眉毛和汗毛的大水疱,光凭这三个留在皇宫旅馆床上的伤员的？“体,谁也没法征明他们是俄国人。你无法证明一个不穿衣眼的死人是俄国人　人死了以后，国籍和政治态度都歷示不出． 　　罗伯特　乔丹曾问卡可夫，如果他不得不这样做,有什么感想！卡可夫说，他过去没有想到要这祥做。“那你打算怎么办?”罗伯特　乔丹筲问他,还加上“句,“你知道,突然要你把人弄死不是件简单的事啊。”卡可夫说，“是啊，如果你总是把它带在身边准备自己用，那就简单了，“他接着打开烟盒，给罗伯特　乔丹看藏在烟盒一边的东西。 　　“不过，如果人家俘虏了你，第“件事就会是拿走你的烟盒，”罗伯特、乔丹提出异议。“他们会叫你举起双手。“ 　　“可我在这里还有一点儿，”卡可夫露齿笑翁,拉起他上衣的翻领。“你只消这样把钃领往嘴里一塞,咬一下，咽下就成。” 　　“那要好得多，”罗伯特"乔丹说。“告诉我，它是不是象侦探小说里老爱描写的那样有苦杏仁的气味?” 　　“我不知道。”卡可夫髙兴地说。“我从来没闻到过。我们折断一小支闻闻好吗？”“还是留着吧。” 　　“好吧。”卡可夫说，收起烟盒。“我不是失败主义者，你知道,可是随时都可能再出现这种严重的局面，而这东西不是到处都能摘到的。你看到来自科尔多瓦前线的公拫吗？非常美。所有的公报中我现在最喜欢这个。” 　　“公报说些什么?”罗伯特‘乔丹是从科尔多瓦前线来到马德里的，所以他突然一楞，因为有些事情你自已可以取笑而别人却不能，别人取笑时就会出现这种心情。“给我说说好吧?” 　　“我们光荣的部队继续挺进，没有丧失一寸土地，”卡可夫用他那古怪的西班牙话说。 　　“恐怕不是这样说的吧，”罗伯特　乔丹将信将疑地说。“我们光荣的部队继续挺进，没有丧失一寸土地，”卡可夫用英语又说了一遍。“公报上是这样说的。我可以找给你看。〃 　　你还牢记着在波索布兰科外围战斗中牺牲的你所认识的人,而在乐爵饭店，这只是个幵玩笑的话题。 　　敢情乐爵饭店现在还是这个样子。然而乐爵饭店并不是―开始就有的。革命初期的那种情况在幸存下来的人们中产生了乐爵饭店那样的事物，如果现在还是这种情况,他倒很乐意再去看看，去了解了解。他想。”你的心情跟当初在瓜达拉马山区,在卡拉万切尔和乌塞拉时的大不一样啦。你很容易蜕变啊，他想。然而那是锐变呢，还只不过是你丧失了当初的天真?在其他方面不也是这么回事吗，“有谁能始终保持着青年医生、青年牧师和青年军人初出茅庐时所惯有的对自己事业的忠贞呢？牧师当然保持着,否则他们就不干了。他想，看来纳粹分子也保持着,还有极其自我克制的共产党人也保持者。 　　他想到卡可夫的情况就没个完。他上次在乐爵饭店的时候，卡可夫对一个在西班牙待了很久的英国经济学家推崇备至。多年来罗伯特，乔丹经常看这个人的著作，虽然对他的佾况一点不了解，但一直很尊敬他。他不怎么喜欢这个人写的有关西班牙的著作，认为写得太找显简单，太一目了然了，而且他知进有很多统计数字是主观捏造的。但是他想；你真正了解一个国家之后，躭不会重视有关那个国家的新闻报道了。’然而他还是尊敬这作者的意图。 　　他们进攻卡拉万切尔的那天下午,他终于见到了这个人。他们坐在斗牛场的背风处,两条街上有人在射击，大家都忐忑不安地等待着进攻开始。一辆约定的坦克没来，蒙特罗手托着头坐着,不断说。”坦克还没来。坦克还没来。“ 　　那天很冷，街上刮着黄色的尘土，蒙特罗的左臂中了弹，手臂发僅了。“我们非有坦克掩护不可，”他说。“我们必须等坦克来,可是等不及了。“他受的伤使他的口气显得暴躁。 　　蒙特罗说，他认为坦克可能停在公寓楼后面电车路的拐角上,罗伯特‘乔丹就返身去寻找。果然在那儿。然而不是坦克。在那些日子里，西班牙人把什么车于都称为坦克。那是一辆旧的装甲本。司机不愿离开公寓褛的拐角把车子开到斗牛场来。他.站在车后,靠在车身的铁板上,戴着有衬垫的皮头盔的头靠在抱着的双臂上。罗伯特　乔丹跟他说活时，他摇摇头，仍旧枕在取:臂上。接着他扭过头去,不看罗伯特　乔丹。“我没有接到去那儿的命令，”他阴沉地说。罗伯特　乔丹从熗套里拔出手熗，把熗口抵住装甲车司机的皮外衣。 　　“这就是给你的命令，”他对他说。司机摇摇头，那顶大皮头盔活象足球运动员头上的轘子,他说，“机关熗没弹药。” 　　“我们在斗牛场有弹药。”罗伯特‘乔丹对他说　“来，我们走吧。我们到那儿去上弹药。走吧。”“没人使机关熗，”司机说。“人呢？你的伙伴哪儿去了。”“死了，”司机说。“在车里。” 　　“把他拖出来。”罗伯特，乔丹说。“把他从车子里拖出来。”“我不愿碰死人，”司机说。“他身体倒在熗和方向盘之间，我没法跨过他的身体。” 　　“来吧，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我们一起把他拖出来。”他爬进装甲车的时候碰了头，眉毛上面撞玻了一道小口子，血从那儿流到脸上。？“体又重又硬，没法弯曲，他不得不用力敲？“体的头，把这卡在座位和方向盘之间的脸朝下的腧袋拖出来V他终于用膝盖抵在？“体的头下面，把它顶起来，然后等头一松动，就抓住？“体的腰往外拉，　个人把？“体拖向车门。“帮我拖“把。”他对司机说。 　　“我不愿碰他，”司机说,罗伯特‘乔丹看到他在哭。在他那沾满尘土的脸颊上,眼泪从鼻子两边直淌下来，他的鼻子也在淹鼻涕。 　　他站在车门旁把？“体摔了出去，？“体直倒在电车路旁的人行道上，仍旧保持着死去时那个弯腰曲背的姿势。他躺在那儿,灰黄色的脸贴在水泥人行道上,两手弯在身体下面,姿势象在车里一样。 　　“上车，他妈的，”罗伯特　乔丹用手熗指点着司机说。“上车去吧 　　正在这时，他看到从公寓楼后面走出一个人来。那人穿着长大衣，没戴帽子，头发花白，顴骨宽阔，两眼深陷而相距很近　他手里拿着一包切斯特菲尔锥牌香烟，抽出一支，递给正在用熗口把司机推上装甲车的罗伯特，乔丹。 　　“等一等，同志，”他用西班牙语对罗伯特　乔丹说，“你跟我谈谈战斗的情况好吗。” 　　罗伯特‘乔丹接过香烟，放进他那蓝色技工服的胸袋里，他从过去看到的照片上认出了这位同志。就是那位英国经济学家。“去你的，”他用英语说，然后用西班牙语对装甲车司机说,“开到那边去。斗牛场。懂吗？”他砰地一声拉上笨重的车门，上了锁，他们俩就顺着那长长的斜坡驱车直驶。熗弹随即射在车上，嗒嗒地响，好象小石子打在铁锅炉上的声音。接着机关熗向他们开火了,就象尖苈的锤打声。他们开到斗牛场后面停下　售粟窗口旁仍然张貼着去年十月份的海报;弹药箱己被播开,同志们端着步熗,腰带上和口袋里装着手榴弹，在背风处等待着。夔特罗说，“好。坦克来了。现在我们可以进攻了。” 　　那晚他们攻下了山上最后几植房屋后，他舒适地躺在一堵砖埔后面，墙上敲掉了几块砖当熗眼，他眺望着那片在他们和撤退到山粱上的法西斯分子之间的美丽平坦的田野，怡然自得地想着那掩护着左翼的上有“座被击毁的别墅的小山。他穿着汗湿的衣服,躺在一堆稻草里,身上裹着毯子等衣垠千。他躺在那儿想起了那位经济学家,不禁笑了,接着为自己的粗鲁觉得抱歉。然而那人伸手递香烟给他,就象要打听消息给小费似的，那时候,他这战斗员对非战斗员的反感使他失去了自制。 　　他如今想起了在乐爵饭店卡可夫谈起这个人的情形原来你是在那儿遇到他的，”卡可夫说。“那天我到了托莱多大桥①就没有上前去。他向前线走出很远。我相信，那是他表现勇敢的最后一天。第二天他就离开了马德里。我相信，他在托莱多表现得最勇敢。在托莱多他出足风头。我们攻下城堡时出谋划策的人中间有他-你看到他在托莱多的表现就好了。我相信多半是靠了他的努力和建议，我们的围攻才取得成功。那是战争中最蠢的一页。事情愚蠢到了极点，可你跟我谈谈，在美国，对他有什么看法?” 　　“在美国，”罗伯特　乔丹说，“人们认为他和莫斯科非常接 近， 　　“他才不呢卡可夫说。“可是他有“副奇妙的相貌，他的相貌和举止很讨人喜欢,凭我的相貌可什么事也干不成。我取得的一些微小的成绩跟我的脸不相干，我的脸既不打动人，也不会使人喜欢我、信任我。但是米切尔这个人有一张使他发财致富的脸。那是一张阴谋家的脸。凡是从书上见过阴谋家的人立即就会信任他。他还具有地道的阴谋家风度。任何人看他走进屋,马上会知道面前是一个第一流的阴谋家。你那些自以为出于感情而懕意帮助苏联的有钱同胞，或者是为了共产党万一有朝一日会得势而替自己多少留点后路的人，马上都能从这家伙的脸上和举止上看出他十足是个得到共产国际信任的代理人。”“难道他在莫斯科没有人事关系吗？”“没有。听着，乔丹同志。你知道有两种傻瓜吗?”“一般的傻瓜和该死的俊瓜吗?” ①马德里旧城区位于受萨纳雷斯河的东岸,托莱多大桥在城西南，为捵跨河面的主要桥梁之 　　“不。我是指我们俄国的两种傻瓜，”卡可夫霣齿笑笑接着说。“第一种是冬天的傻瓜。冬天的傻瓜来到你家门口大声敲门。你走到门口，发现他站在那儿，可你以前从没见过他。他的形象使人一见难忘。他是个庞然大物，穿着髙统靴,身披毛皮大衣，头戴毛皮帽子，浑身畢雪。他先躲跺脚，靴子上的雪落了下来，接着脱下毛皮大衣抖抖，又有一些雪落下来了，接着搛下毛皮帽子，在门上拍打,又有一些雪从帽子上落下来。接着他又跺跺脚，走进厘来。随后你对他望望,发现他是个傻瓜。那躭是冬天的傻瓜。 　　“而在夏天,你看到有个傻瓜在大街上走，他挥舞着双蕾，脑袋左右摇晃,在两百码之外的人都能断定他是个傻瓜。那就是夏天的儍瓜，这位经济学家是个冬天的傻瓜。” 　　“可是在这里人们为什么信任他呢？”罗伯特‘乔丹问。，“他的脸。”卡可夫说。“他那副漂亮的阴谋家的糠脸。他还有一个出了钱也买不到的花招,装得象是什么地方的要人,深受信任,刚从那地方来。当然，”他撖笑了，“要使这个花招奏效，他必须到处奔波。你知道，西班牙人十分古怪。”卡可夫接着说。“这个政府很有钱,有很多黄金。他们不肯给朋友一个子儿。你是朋友。很好。你肯不要钱为他们干，那就不用给你报酬。但是对于一个并不友好伹必须对之施加影响的重要公司或国家的代表　~对这种人,他们却慷慨解囊。你仔细观察的话,那是很有趣的。” 　　“我可不喜欢这种情况。再说,这些钱是厲于西班牙劳动人民的。” 　　“也不要求你軎欢。只消了解就行了。”卡可夫对他说。这我每次见到你，总要教给你一点道理，有朝一日你会完成你的敦育的。使一位教授再受教育该是多么有趣的事情啊。” 　　“我不知道回去以后能不能当上教授。说不定他们会把我当赤色分子撵走的。” 　　“噢,说不定你可以到苏联去继续学习。那也许是你最好的办法。” 　　“我的专业可是西班牙语。” 　　“讲西班牙语的国家很多，”卡可夫说。“别的国家不会全都象西班牙那样难对付。你还得记住你不当教授已经将近九个月了。在九个月里面你可以学会一门新的行业。你学了多少辩证法?， 　　“我读过埃米尔.伯恩斯编的《马克思主义手册》。如此而已, 　　“如果你已读完全书，也相当不错了。一共有—千五百页，每一页上都可以花相当时间。伹是你应该再读些别的书。” 　　〃现在可没时间读书。” 　　“我知道。”卡可夫说。“我是指以后。要读的书很多，这些书会使你明白现在的一些事情。从目前的情况中会产生一本必要的著作，这本书将解释很多应该明白的事情。也许我将写这本书。我希望这本书的作者是我。” 　　“我知道没人能比你写得更好了。” 　　“别恭维。”卡可夫说。“我是新闻记者，但是華所有的记者一样，我喜欢写文学作品。我现在正忙于研究卡尔伏　索特罗，他是个地道的法西斯分子，一个真正的西班牙法西斯分子。佛朗哥和别的那些人都算不上。我一直在研究索特罗的全部著作和讲话。他非常聪明，把他杀掉是非常聪明的办法①。”“我本来以为你是不赞成政治暗杀的。”“这种事是非常普遍的，”卡可夬说。“非常、非常普遍的 　　“但是一， 　　“我们不赞成个人的恐怖行动，”卡可夫微笑着说。“当然不赞成刑事恐怖分子和反革命组织描的那一套。我们非常佾恨布哈林那帮两面三刀、杀人破坏、干尽坏事的豺狼，以及象季诺维也夫、加米涅夫、李可夫和他们的走狗那样的人类渣滓　我们痛恨、厌恶这些不折不扣的魔鬼，”他又微笑宥。“但我仍然相信,政治暗杀可以说是非常普遍的。”“你的意思是~。” 　　“我没有什么意思。但是我们当然处决并消灭这种不折不扣的麋鬼、人类的渣滓、奸诈成性的将军们，不让出现海军将领不忠于自己职守的可恶现象。这些人被消灭了。这不叫暗杀。你明白这种差别吗?” 　　鼻明白,罗伯特，乔丹说。 　　“再说，因为我有时喜欢说笑话,你也知道，即使为了说笑话而说笑话有多么危险？好。因为我说笑话，可别以为西班牙人没有把某些现在还在发号施令的将军熗毙掉，今后会永远不后悔。我是不喜欢这些熗毙人的行为的,你知道。” ①卡尔伏‘索特罗；西班牙右派政客，一九三三年起,作为保鱼派的头子，反对人民阵线，并当上右派各政覺的统一组织。西班牙右翼自治派同盟”的领导人。一九三六年七月内战爆发前。“，共和派中的过激分子为了报复长熗党的政治暗杀暴行，把他逮住了加以杀害。 　　“我可不在乎，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我不喜欢熗毙人，可是我不再在乎了。” 　　“这我知道。”卡可夫说。“我听说过了。”“这事关紧要吧?”罗伯特，“乔丹说。“关于这件事，我不过想说老实话罢了。” 　　“这是令人遗憾的，”卡可夫说，“然而这是一个好办法，使人家觉得你是可以信赖的,否则，要迖到这种地步得花不少时间 命 　　“我算是可以信赖的，“” 　　你在工作上算是禪可以倌賴的。玫日我要和你谈谈，了解一下你心里在想些什么，遗憾的是我们从没认真谈过 　　“要等我们打赢了这场战争，我的思想才会有着落，”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　“那时候，可能你可以好一阵子用不着思想啦。伹是你应当好好把思想锻炼锻炼。” 　　“我看《工人世界报》。”罗伯特　乔丹对他说，卡可夫躭说，“行啊。好。人家开玩笑，我也受得了。不过,《工人世界报》上是有不少非常有见解的文章。关于这次战争的唯一有见解的文章，“ 　　“是的，”罗伯特“乔丹说。“我同意你。不过，要了解眼前发生的事的全貌你不能只读党的机关刊物。” 　　“对，”卡可夫说。“不过即使读了二十种报纸，你也得不到这种全貌的。再说，即使你得到了，我不知道你拿它有什么用　我差不多一直了解全貌，可我却想设法忘掉它。” 　　“你认为情况那样糟吗, 　　“现在比以前好些。我们正在清除一些最要不得的分子。伹是佾况十分精糕。我们正在建设一支庞大的军队，有些人是可靠的，象莫德斯托、‘农民’、利斯特和杜兰的部下。他们不仅仪可靠，还是挺了不起的人。你将会看到这一点。再说,我们依旧有国际纵队,虽然它们的作用要改变。但是，一支成分中好坏兼有的军队是无法打胜仗的。所有的人都必须达到一定的政治觉悟水平，所有的人都必须了解他们为什‘战斗和战争的重要性。所有的人都必须对未来的战斗抱有信心，都必须服从纪律。我们正在建设一支庞大的征募的军队，但没时间树立征募的军队所必须具备的、教他们在炮火下该如何行动的纪律，我们称它为人民军队,然而它缺乏真正的人民军队的优秀品质,又缺乏征募的军队所需要的铁的纪律。你将会知道，这做法是十分危险的, 　　“你今天不大愉快。” 　　“不错。”卡可夫说。“我刚从瓦伦西亚回来，在那儿我见到很多人。从瓦伦西亚回来的人心情都不大愉怏。在马德里，你感到舒坦，感到只会胜利，不可能失败。瓦伦西亚是另一码事。从马德里逃跑的慊夫们仍在那儿统治着。他们心满意足地安于懒歡的官僚统治。他们对马德里的人只有蔑视。现在使他们困扰的是国防人民委员会的削弱。还有巴塞罗那。你应该去看看巴塞罗那, 　　“巴塞罗那怎么样?” 　　“还是象在滇滑稽耿剧。最初是狂想家和浪漫革命家的乐园。现在是苜牌战士的天堂。那些喜欢穿军装、朞欢罐武扬威的戴着红黑领巾的士兵,这种人審欢战争的一切，就是不甚欢打仗。瓦伦西亚使你作呕,而巴塞罗那使你发笑。”“那么波姆叛乱①呢?” 　　“波姆根本是不严肃的。那是狂想家和过激分子的异端邪说的产物,实在不过是幼稚病而已。有些是误入歧途的老实人。有一个相当不错的智囊人物，还有一点法西斯分子那边弄来的钱。不多。可怜的波姆。他们是非常愚蠹的人，““在叛乱中很多人被杀了吗?” 　　“没有叛乱后被熗杀的、或今后将被熗杀的多。波姆，正象它的名称，是不严肃的　应该管它叫痄腮或麻疹②才对。可是不对。麻疹要危险得多。它会损害视力和听觉。可是你知道，他们摘了个阴谋来杀我、杀华尔特、杀莫锥斯托、杀普列托。你明白他们糊涂到什么地步了吗?我们毫无共同之处。可怜的波姆。他们从没杀过敌人。在前线或别的地方都没杀过　在巴塞罗那是杀过一些，不错。”“当时你在那儿吗, 　　“不错。我发了个电报，报道了那个托派杀人犯的奥名昭彰的组织的罪恶，和它部些卑鄙透顶的法西斯阴谋谵计，不过，我们说句体己话，波姆成不了大事。尼恩是他们中唯一的有头脑的人。我们逮住了他，可叉从我们手里溜掉了，““现在他在霽儿?” ①政姆（为马克思主义统…工人党的首字母缩略斑的奄译，为无政府一工团主义者的组织，于一九三七年五月三日至十日在巴塞罗那发动反共和政府的叛乱。 ③此处卡可夫有意把”痄腮"和‘麻疹-的英语名称念成！　听上去好象也是什么政治团体的首字母缩略 　　"在巴黎。我们说他在巴黎。他是个很令人偷快的人,但是在政治上糟糕地背离了正道？“ 　　“他们和法西斯分子有联系，对不？”“谁又没有联系呢?”“我们没有，“ 　　〃谁知道?但愿我们没有。你经常到他们阵线的后方去。”他鳟齿笑了。“但是共和国驻巴黎大使馆一个秘书的弟弟,上星期曾到圣让德吕兹去会见布尔戈斯方面来的人①。” 　　〃我更喜欢前线的情况。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“越靠近前线的人越好。” 　　〃你甚欢法西斯阵线的后方吗？”“很喜欢。我们在那儿的人是很不错的。”“噢,你知道，在我们阵线的后方，他们同样也一定派了很不错的人。我们逮住了他们就熗毙,他们逮住了我们的人也熗毙。你在他们的地区里，必须时刻想到他们一定派了好多人到我们这里来。” 　　“我想到过这些人。” 　　“好吧。”卡可夫说。“今天你应该思考的事也许已经够多了，所以把縑里剩下的啤酒喝了就走吧，因为我还得到楼上去找人　楼上的上层人士。早点再来看我吧。” 　　好，罗伯特‘乔丹想。我在乐爵饭店学到很多东西，卡可夫看过他出版的唯一的那本书。那本书并不成功。只有两百页，他不知道看过这本书的人数到不到两千。他在西班牙靠步行，坐 ①布尔戈斯为西班牙北部布尔戈斯省省会，在马德里正北约一百三十二英里处，内战爆发后，就成为佛朗哥叛军“政府，所在地。圣让德吕玆为法国西南埔一滨比斯开海的小城,离西班牙边塊城市伊伦极近‘ 　　火车三等车，公共汽车，骑骤马,搭卡车旅行了十年,把耳闻目见的事全写在这本书里了。他非常热悉巴斯克地区、纳瓦拉、阿拉贡、加利西亚、两个卡斯蒂尔和埃斯特雷马杜拉①。这一类作品中，博罗、福特②和其他一些人写得已经很出色了，他没什么新的内容可以增添。但卡可夫说那是本好书。 　　“我关心你的原因就在这里，”他说。“我认为你写得绝对真实,那是不可多得的。所以我想让你了解一些情况。” 　　行啊。等这次任务结束后，他要写一本书。但是只写他真正了解的事佾，他懂得的事情。他想，可我得成为一个比目前髙明得多的作家才能处理这种题材啊。他在这次战争中遂渐了解到的事情可不是那么简单。

Chapter 19 "What do you do sitting there?" Maria asked him. She was standing close beside him and he turned his head and smiled at her. "Nothing," he said. "I have been thinking." "What of? The bridge?" "No. The bridge is terminated. Of thee and of a hotel in Madrid where I know some Russians, and of a book I will write some time." "Are there many Russians in Madrid?" "No. Very few." "But in the fascist periodicals it says there are hundreds of thousands." "Those are lies. There are very few." "Do you like the Russians? The one who was here was a Russian." "Did you like him?" "Yes. I was sick then but I thought he was very beautiful and very brave." "What nonsense, beautiful," Pilar said. "His nose was flat as my hand and he had cheekbones as wide as a sheep's buttocks." "He was a good friend and comrade of mine," Robert Jordan said to Maria. "I cared for him very much." "Sure," Pilar said. "But you shot him." When she said this the card players looked up from the table and Pablo stared at Robert Jordan. Nobody said anything and then the gypsy, Rafael, asked, "Is it true, Roberto?" "Yes," Robert Jordan said. He wished Pilar had not brought this up and he wished he had not told it at El Sordo's. "At his request. He was badly wounded." "_Qu?cosa mas rara_," the gypsy said. "All the time he was with us he talked of such a possibility. I don't know how many times I have promised him to perform such an act. What a rare thing," he said again and shook his head. "He was a very rare man," Primitivo said. "Very singular." "Look," Andr, one of the brothers, said. "You who are Professor and all. Do you believe in the possibility of a man seeing ahead what is to happen to him?" "I believe he cannot see it," Robert Jordan said. Pablo was staring at him curiously and Pilar was watching him with no expression on her face. "In the case of this Russian comrade he was very nervous from being too much time at the front. He had fought at Irun which, you know, was bad. Very bad. He had fought later in the north. And since the first groups who did this work behind the lines were formed he had worked here, in Estremadura and in AndalucIa. I think he was very tired and nervous and he imagined ugly things." "He would undoubtedly have seen many evil things," Fernando said. "Like all the world," Andr said. "But listen to me, _Ingl_. Do you think there is such a thing as a man knowing in advance what will befall him?" "No," Robert Jordan said. "That is ignorance and superstition." "Go on," Pilar said. "Let us hear the viewpoint of the professor." She spoke as though she were talking to a precocious child. "I believe that fear produces evil visions," Robert Jordan said. "Seeing bad signs--" "Such as the airplanes today," Primitivo said. "Such as thy arrival," Pablo said softly and Robert Jordan looked across the table at him, saw it was not a provocation but only an expressed thought, then went on. "Seeing bad signs, one, with fear, imagines an end for himself and one thinks that imagining comes by divination," Robert Jordan concluded. "I believe there is nothing more to it than that. I do not believe in ogres, nor soothsayers, nor in the supernatural things." "But this one with the rare name saw his fate clearly," the gypsy said. "And that was how it happened." "He did not see it," Robert Jordan said. "He had a fear of such a possibility and it became an obsession. No one can tell me that he saw anything." "Not I?" Pilar asked him and picked some dust up from the fire and blew it off the palm of her hand. "I cannot tell thee either?" "No. With all wizardry, gypsy and all, thou canst not tell me either." "Because thou art a miracle of deafness," Pilar said, her big face harsh and broad in the candlelight. "It is not that thou art stupid. Thou art simply deaf. One who is deaf cannot hear music. Neither can he hear the radio. So he might say, never having heard them, that such things do not exist. _Qu?va, Ingl_. I saw the death of that one with the rare name in his face as though it were burned there with a branding iron." "You did not," Robert Jordan insisted. "You saw fear and apprehension. The fear was made by what he had been through. The apprehension was for the possibility of evil he imagined." "_Qu?va_," Pilar said. "I saw death there as plainly as though it were sitting on his shoulder. And what is more he smelt of death." "He smelt of death," Robert Jordan jeered. "Of fear maybe. There is a smell to fear." "_De la muerte_," Pilar said. "Listen. When Blanquet, who was the greatest _peon de brega_ who ever lived, worked under the orders of Granero he told me that on the day of Manolo Granero's death, when they stopped in the chapel on the way to the ring, the odor of death was so strong on Manolo that it almost made Blanquet sick. And he had been with Manolo when he had bathed and dressed at the hotel before setting out for the ring. The odor was not present in the motorcar when they had sat packed tight together riding to the bull ring. Nor was it distinguishable to any one else but Juan Luis de la Rosa in the chapel. Neither Marcial nor Chicuelo smelled it neither then nor when the four of them lined up for the paseo. But Juan Luis was dead white, Blanquet told me, and he, Blanquet, spoke to him saying, 'Thou also?' "'So that I cannot breathe,' Juan Luis said to him. 'And from thy matador.' "'_Pues nada_,' Blanquet said. 'There is nothing to do. Let us hope we are mistaken.' "'And the others?' Juan Luis asked Blanquet. "'_Nada_,' Blanquet said. 'Nothing. But this one stinks worse than Jos?at Talavera.' "And it was on that afternoon that the bull _Pocapena_ of the ranch of Veragua destroyed Manolo Granero against the planks of the barrier in front of _tendido_ two in the Plaza de Toros of Madrid. I was there with Finito and I saw it. The horn entirely destroyed the cranium, the head of Manolo being wedged under the _estribo_ at the base of the _barrera_ where the bull had tossed him." "But did you smell anything?" Fernando asked. "Nay," Pilar said. "I was too far away. We were in the seventh row of the _tendido_ three. It was thus, being at an angle, that I could see all that happened. But that same night Blanquet who had been under the orders of Joselito when he too was killed told Finito about it at Fornos, and Finito asked Juan Luis de la Rosa and he would say nothing. But he nodded his head that it was true. I was present when this happened. So, _Ingl_, it may be that thou art deaf to some things as Chicuelo and Marcial Lalanda and all of their _banderilleros_ and picadors and all of the _gente_ of Juan Luis and Manolo Granero were deaf to this thing on this day. But Juan Luis and Blanquet were not deaf. Nor am I deaf to such things." "Why do you say deaf when it is a thing of the nose?" Fernando asked. "_Leche!_" Pilar said. "Thou shouldst be the professor in place of the _Ingl_. But I could tell thee of other things, _Ingl_, and do not doubt what thou simply cannot see nor cannot hear. Thou canst not hear what a dog hears. Nor canst thou smell what a dog smells. But already thou hast experienced a little of what can happen to man." Maria put her hand on Robert Jordan's shoulder and let it rest there and he thought suddenly, let us finish all this nonsense and take advantage of what time we have. But it is too early yet. We have to kill this part of the evening. So he said to Pablo, "Thou, believest thou in this wizardry?" "I do not know," Pablo said. "I am more of thy opinion. No supernatural thing has ever happened to me. But feai yes certainly. Plenty. But I believe that the Pilar can divine events from the hand. If she does not lie perhaps it is true that she has smelt such a thing." "_Qu?va_ that I should lie," Pilar said. "This is not a thing of my invention. This man Blanquet was a man of extreme seriousness and furthermore very devout. He was no gypsy but a bourgeois from Valencia. Hast thou never seen him?" "Yes," Robert Jordan said. "I have seen him many times. He was small, gray-faced and no one handled a cape better. He was quick on his feet as a rabbit." "Exactly," Pilar said. "He had a gray face from heart trouble and gypsies said that he carried death with him but that he could flick it away with a cape as you might dust a table. Yet he, who was no gypsy, smelled death on Joselito when he fought at Talavera. Although I do not see how he could smell it above the smell of manzanilla. Blanquet spoke of this afterwards with much diffidence but those to whom he spoke said that it was a fantasy and that what he had smelled was the life that Jos?led at that time coming out in sweat from his armpits. But then, later, came this of Manolo Granero in which Juan Luis de la Rosa also participated. Clearly Juan Luis was a man of very little honor, but of much sensitiveness in his work and he was also a great layer of women. But Blanquet was serious and very quiet and completely incapable of telling an untruth. And I tell you that I smelled death on your colleague who was here." "I do not believe it," Robert Jordan said. "Also you said that Blanquet smelled this just before the paseo. Just before the bullfight started. Now this was a successful action here of you and Kashkin and the train. He was not killed in that. How could you smell it then?" "That has nothing to do with it," Pilar explained. "In the last season of Ignacio Sanchez Mejias he smelled so strongly of death that many refused to sit with him in the caf? All gypsies knew of this." "After the death such things are invented," Robert Jordan argued. "Every one knew that Sanchez Mejias was on the road to a _cornada_ because he had been too long out of training, because his style was heavy and dangerous, and because his strength and the agility in his legs were gone and his reflexes no longer as they had been." "Certainly," Pilar told him. "All of that is true. But all the gypsies knew also that he smelled of death and when he would come into the Villa Rosa you would see such people as Ricardo and Felipe Gonzalez leaving by the small door behind the bar." "They probably owed him money," Robert Jordan said. "It is possible," Pilar said. "Very possible. But they also smelled the thing and all knew of it." "What she says is true, _Ingl_," the gypsy, Rafael, said. "It is a well-known thing among us." "I believe nothing of it," Robert Jordan said. "Listen, _Ingl_," Anselmo began. "I am against all such wizardry. But this Pilar has the fame of being very advanced in such things." "But what does it smell like?" Fernando asked. "What odor has it? If there be an odor it must be a definite odor." "You want to know, Fernandito?" Pilar smiled at him. "You think that you could smell it?" "If it actually exists why should I not smell it as well as another?" "Why not?" Pilar was making fun of him, her big hands folded across her knees. "Hast thou ever been aboard a ship, Fernando?" "Nay. And I would not wish to." "Then thou might not recognize it. For part of it is the smell that comes when, on a ship, there is a storm and the portholes are closed up. Put your nose against the brass handle of a screwed-tight porthole on a rolling ship that is swaying under you so that you are faint and hollow in the stomach and you have a part of that smell." "It would be impossible for me to recognize because I will go on no ship," Fernando said. "I have been on ships several times," Pilar said. "Both to go to Mexico and to Venezuela." "What's the rest of it?" Robert Jordan asked. Pilar looked at him mockingly, remembering now, proudly, her voyages. "All right, _Ingl_. Learn. That's the thing. Learn. All right. After that of the ship you must go down the hill in Madrid to the Puente de Toledo early in the morning to the _matadero_ and stand there on the wet paving when there is a fog from the Manzanares and wait for the old women who go before daylight to drink the blood of the beasts that are slaughtered. When such an old woman comes out of the _matadero_, holding her shawl around hei with her face gray and her eyes hollow, and the whiskers of age on her chin, and on her cheeks, set in the waxen white of her face as the sprouts grow from the seed of the bean, not bristles, but pale sprouts in the death of her face; put your arms tight around her, _Ingl_, and hold her to you and kiss her on the mouth and you will know the second part that odor is made of." "That one has taken my appetite," the gypsy said. "That of the sprouts was too much." "Do you want to hear some more?" Pilar asked Robert Jordan. "Surely," he said. "If it is necessary for one to learn let us learn." "That of the sprouts in the face of the old women sickens me," the gypsy said. "Why should that occur in old women, Pilar? With us it is not so." "Nay," Pilar mocked at him. "With us the old woman, who was so slender in her youth, except of course for the perpetual bulge that is the mark of her husband's favor, that every gypsy pushes always before her--" "Do not speak thus," Rafael said. "It is ignoble." "So thou art hurt," Pilar said. "Hast thou ever seen a _Gitana_ who was not about to have, or just to have had, a child?" "Thou." "Leave it," Pilar said. "There is no one who cannot be hurt. What I was saying is that age brings its own form of ugliness to all. There is no need to detail it. But if the _Ingl_ must learn that odor that he covets to recognize he must go to the _matadero_ early in the morning." "I will go," Robert Jordan said. "But I will get the odor as they pass without kissing one. I fear the sprouts, too, as Rafael does." "Kiss one," Pilar said. "Kiss one, _Ingl_, for thy knowledge's sake and then, with this in thy nostrils, walk back up into the city and when thou seest a refuse pail with dead flowers in it plunge thy nose deep into it and inhale so that scent mixes with those thou hast already in thy nasal passages." "Now have I done it," Robert Jordan said. "What flowers were they?" "Chrysanthemums." "Continue," Robert Jordan said. "I smell them." "Then," Pilar went on, "it is important that the day be in autumn with rain, or at least some fog, or early winter even and now thou shouldst continue to walk through the city and down the Calle de Salud smelling what thou wilt smell where they are sweeping out the _casas de putas_ and emptying the siop jars into the drains and, with this odor of love's labor lost mixed sweetly with soapy water and cigarette butts only faintly reaching thy nostrils, thou shouldst go on to the JardIn Bot嫕ico where at night those girls who can no longer work in the houses do their work against the iron gates of the park and the iron picketed fences and upon the sidewalks. It is there in the shadow of the trees against the iron railings that they will perform all that a man wishes; from the simplest requests at a remuneration of ten centimos up to a peseta for that great act that we are born to and there, on a dead flower bed that has not yet been plucked out and replanted, and so serves to soften the earth that is so much softer than the sidewalk, thou wilt find an abandoned gunny sack with the odor of the wet earth, the dead flowers, and the doings of that night. In this sack will be contained the essence of it all, both the dead earth and the dead stalks of the flowers and their rotted blooms and the smell that is both the death and birth of man. Thou wilt wrap this sack around thy head and try to breathe through it." "No." "Yes," Pilar said. "Thou wilt wrap this sack around thy head and try to breathe and then, if thou hast not lost any of the previous odors, when thou inhalest deeply, thou wilt smell the odor of deathto-come as we know it." "All right," Robert Jordan said. "And you say Kashkin smelt like that when he was here?" "Yes." "Well," said Robert Jordan gravely. "If that is true it is a good thing that I shot him." "_Ol嶱," the gypsy said. The others laughed. "Very good," Primitivo approved. "That should hold her for a while." "But Pilar," Fernando said. "Surely you could not expect one of Don Roberto's education to do such vile things." "No," Pilar agreed. "All of that is of the utmost repugnance." "Yes," Pilar agreed. "You would not expect him actually to perform those degrading acts?" "No," Pilar said. "Go to bed, will you?" "But, Pilar--" Fernando went on. "Shut up, will you?" Pilar said to him suddenly and viciously. "Do not make a fool of thyself and I will try not to make a fool of myself talking with people who cannot understand what one speaks of." "I confess I do not understand," Fernando began. "Don't confess and don't try to understand," Pilar said. "Is it still snowing outside?" Robert Jordan went to the mouth of the cave, lifted the blanket and looked out. It was clear and cold in the night outside and no snow was falling. He looked through the tree trunks where the whiteness lay and up through the trees to where the sky was now clear. The air came into his lungs sharp and cold as he breathed. El Sordo will leave plenty of tracks if he has stolen horses tonight, he thought. He dropped the blanket and came back into the smoky cave. "It is clear," he said. "The storm is over." 　　“你坐在那儿做什么?”玛丽亚问他，她挨在他身边站着,他转过头去,朝她微笑。 　　“不做什么，”他说。“我在想。““想什么？想桥?” ①这些地名除纳瓦拉为北部比利牛斯山南的一省名外，其他都是历史上的古王。或地区的名字，沿用至今。阿拉贡地区在东北茚，老卡斯蒂尔地区在马德里西北，本书背景即在此地区，新卡斯蒂尔在其东南’占因班牙的中部,包括马德里在内。 ②乔治〃博罗…的，18。8—1881〉。”英国语言学家、'旅行者兼小说家，箸有多种关于西班牙风土人悄、吉普赛人及其方言的作品。理查德　英国旅行家兼作家，一八四五年发表的《西班牙旅游者手册,为一郎非常详清的诖作， 　　“不。桥已经想好了。想你，想马德里一家饭店，那边有我认识的几个俄国人,还想我以后要写的一本书。”“马德里有很多俄国人吗？”“不多。很少。” 　　“可是在法西斯分子的刊物上说有好几十万。”“那是胡扯，没有多少。”“你客欢俄国人吗？上次来这儿的是个俄国人。”“你甚欢他吗？” 　　“喜欢。那时我病着，可我觉得他很漂亮、很勇敢。”“漂亮！胡扯。”比拉尔说。“他的鼻子平得象我的手拿，颧骨阔得象羊屁股。” 　　“他是我的好朋友、好同志，”罗伯特　乔丹对玛丽亚说。“我很喜欢他。” 　　“当然啦，”比拉尔说。“可是你熗杀了他。”她讲到这里,牌桌上的人都抬起头来看，巴勃罗呢，呆瞪着罗伯特　乔丹。谁也不说话，最后吉普赛人拉斐尔发问了，“是真的吗，罗伯托?” 　　“真的，”罗伯特，乔丹说。他想。”比拉尔不提这个话題躭好了，他在“聋子”那儿不讲这件事就好了。“根据他的要求，他受了重伤。” 　　“真是件怪事，”吉普赛人说。“他跟我们在一起的时候，老是说起这种可能性。我答应他照他要求做，不知道有多少回了会真是件怪事，”他叉说了一遒，还摇摇头。 　　“他这个人非常古怪。”普里米蒂伏说。“非常特别。”“听着。”两兄弟中的一个，安德烈斯说,“你是教授，僅得多〃你相信人能预见自己的未来吗。” 　　“我认为无法预见，”罗伯特　乔丹说。巴勃罗好奇地瞅着他，比拉尔脸上毫无表情地看着他。“拿这位俄国同志来说，他在前方待得太久，变得神经质了。他在伊伦打过仗，你知道，那一次情况很糟，非常糟。后来他在北方打仗。自从第一批在敌后于这种工作的小组成立以来，他在这儿干过，在埃斯特雷马杜拉和安达卢西亚干过。我认为他非常疲劳而神经质，总是往最坏的地方想。” 　　“他肯定见过很多邪恶的事情“费尔南多说。“什么没见过1”安德烈斯说。“可是听我说，英国人，你认为“个人能事先就知道将来的遭遇吗。” 　　“不能，”罗伯特、乔丹说。“那是无知、迷信。”“说下去，”比拉尔说。“我们来听听教授的看法。“她那种样子就象正在对一个早熟的小孩子讲话一样。 　　“我以为恐惧会产生不祥的幻觉。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。"看到凶兆一” 　　“比如说今天的飞机，”普里米蒂伏说。“比如说你的来到。”巴勃罗低声说，罗伯特‘乔丹在桌对面望着他，看出他这句话不是挑衅，而只是他思想的流皤，便接下去说,“一个人怀着恐惧，看到了凶兆就会想象到自己的末日到了，就认为这种想象是预感。”罗伯特　乔丹最后说，“我看佾况不外乎就是这样。妖怪啦，算命先生啦，超自然的奇迹啦，我都不信。” 　　“可这个名字古怪的人却清清楚楚地看到了自己的命运，”吉普赛人说，“结果正是这样啊。” 　　“他没有预见到。”罗伯特“乔丹说。”他害怕会发生这种事,苘这种寄怕变成了他心头的一个疙瘩。别银我说什么他预见到了什么。” 　　“我也不能说吗？”比拉尔问他，从炉灶里抓起一把灰,摊在手掌上，吹掉。“我也没法说眼你吗?” 　　“对。即使你拿出巫术、吉普赛人的那一大套劳什子，也没法说服我。” 　　“因为你这个人聋得出奇“比拉尔说，一张大脸在烛光中显得严峻而宽阔。“倒不是因为你愚蠹。你只是耳朵聋罢了。耳朵聋的人是听不到音乐的，也没法听收音机，因为从来也没听到过，所以他会说，这种东西是不存在的。什么话，英国人1我在那个名字古怪的人的脸上看出了死相，就象用烙铁烫在脸上似的。” 　　“没的事，”罗伯特　乔丹坚持说。”你看到的是恐惧和忧虑。恐惧是他的经历造成的。优虑是因为他想象有可能遭到不測，““什么话，”比拉尔说。“我明明白白地看到死神好象躭坐在他的肩上。不但如此,他身上还发出了死的气味。” 　　“他身上发出了死的气味。”罗伯特　乔丹嘲笑道。“大概是恐惧的气味咆。恐惧的气味是有的。” 　　“是死的气味。”比拉尔说。“听着。那个当时替格兰纳罗帮场的布兰克特是当代最了不起的斗牛士助手,他对我讲过,马诺洛　格兰纳罗死的那天,他们去斗牛场的略上，在小教堂做了祷告，那时马诺洛身上的死味浓得差点叫布兰克特呕吐。动身去斗牛场之前，马诺洛在旅馆里洗澡、换衣服时，他就和马诺洛在—起。他们在汽车里紧挨在一起坐着,开往斗牛场时，还没有这股气味。当时在小教堂里除了胡安夸路易斯‘德拉罗萨之外，谁也辨不出什么气味。马西亚尔也好，奇昆洛也好，无论在那时，还是后来他们四个人锥了队在斗牛场绕场一周的时俟，都找有 　　闻到这股气味。布兰克特告诉我说，胡安罾路易斯脍色煞白，布兰克特就对他说，‘你也闻到了？’ 　　“‘浓得叫我透不过气来，’胡安、路易斯对他说。'是你那位斗牛士身上的。“ 　　“‘一点没办法。”布兰克特说。‘一点没办法。但愿我们弄错了。’ 　　“‘别人呢?’胡安，路易斯问布兰克特。“‘没有，’布兰克特说 　　。‘一点没有　不过这个人的气味比何塞在塔拉韦拉时还要浓。” 　　“正是在那天下午，维拉瓜牧场豢养的公牛波卡贝纳把马诺洛‘格兰纳罗撞死在马德里斗牛场两号看台前的木板围栏上。我和菲尼托在那儿，我亲眼看到的，公牛把马诺洛摔在围栏下,他的脑袋卡在栏杆底下，颅骨给牛角撞得粉碎。““你可闻到什么气味?”费尔南多问。“没有，”比拉尔说。“我离得太远。我们在三号看台的第七排。因为在角上，所以看到了整个情況。布兰克特从前替何塞帮过场，何塞也是被牛挑死的。那天晚上,布兰克特在福尔诺斯酒店对菲尼托讲到这件事，菲尼托就问胡安　路易斯　德拉罗萨，但他不肯说，只是点点买，表示是真的。这件事发生的时候我在场。所以英国人稱，看来你对这种事情耳朵是聋的,就象奇昆洛、马西亚尔　拉兰达以及他们所有的烜扎熗手和长矛手，象胡安‘路易斯和马诺洛　格兰纳罗手下的人在那天都是聋的一样，胡安，路易斯和布兰克特可不聋。我对这种事情也不聋, 　　“这是该用鼻子嗅的，你干吗说耳朵聋呢？”费尔南多问。“去你的　”比拉尔说，“英国人的教授位子该由你来坐啦。 　　不过我还可以给你讲些别的佾况,矣国人；所以你自己着不见、听不到的事情，你也不要怀疑。狗听得到的,你可能听不到。狗嗅到的，你也可能咦不到。不过你已经多少体会到人可能碰到什么命运了, 　　玛丽亚把手放在罗伯特，乔丹肩上，不就挪开，他不禁突然想到，让我们结束这一切废话，好好利用现有的时间吧。不过，现在还早着呢。我们不得不消磨傍晚的这段时间，所以他对巴勃罗说，“你，你相信这种巫术吗？” 　　“我不知道。”巴勃罗说。“我比较赞成你的看法。我从没遇到过超自然的奇迹。可是恐惧，当然是有的。很多。不过比拉尔能看手算命，我是相信的。如果她不是撖谟，那也许她真的能闻出这种昧儿来。” 　　“什么话，我干吗撒谎呀!”比拉尔说。“这种事不是我胡诌的。布兰克特这个人非常认真，而且非常虔诚。他可不是吉普赛人，而是瓦伦西亚的资产阶级。你从没见过他吗?” 　　“见过。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我见过他好多次。他个子矮小，脸色灰白，挥动披风的功夫谁也比不上他。他脚步灵活得象兔子 　　“一点也不错。”比拉尔说。“他脸色灰白是心脏病的缘故。吉普赛人都说，死神附在他身上，可是他象禅掉桌子上的灰似的，能用披风把死神掸掉。他不是吉普赛人,然而在塔拉韦拉斗牛的时候，闻到了何塞身上的死的气味。我可不明白他在弥镘着白葡萄酒气昧的气氛中怎么还能闻到死的气味。布兰克特后来讲到这件事的时候很祷躇，可是听他讲话的那些人说，那是瞎想出来的，他闻到的是何塞处于当时的生活方式中他胳肢窝里出的汗的气昧　可是后来呢,发生了马诺洛。格兰纳罗这件事， 　　胡安　路易斯’德拉罗萨也闻到的。胡安　路易斯名声当然不太好,但是做事利索，还是个跟女人睡觉的好手。布兰克特呢，很严肃，非常文雅，根本不会讲假话。我跟你说呀，你那个同事从前在这里的时候，我闻到了他身上的死的气味，“ 　　“我不信，”罗伯特、乔丹说。“你还说过，布兰克特在绕场时闻到了这股气味。就在斗牛开始之前-而你和卡希金在这里炸火车，干得很成功。炸火车时他没有死。那你怎么会闻到？”“这压根儿不相干，”比拉尔解释说。“伊格纳西奥　桑切斯，梅希亚斯在他最后一个斗牛季节里身上死的气味那么浓，在咖啡馆里很多人都不愿和他坐在一起。吉普赛人都知道这件事。“ 　　“人死了之后，人家就虚构出这种事来了。”罗伯特　乔丹争辩说。“人人都知道，喿切斯〃梅希亚斯很久不练功，他的斗牛架式笨而犯险，力气衰退了，腿儿不灵活了，反应也不象以前那么快了，所以早晚会挨上牛角的。” 　　“当然啦。”比拉尔对他说。“这一切都是事实。不过，吉普赛人个个都知道,他身上有死的气味。他一走进玫瑰酒店,里卡多、费利佩‘冈萨雷斯这些人,就从酒吧后面的小门溜走了。”“也许他们欠他偾吧。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“有可能。”比拉尔说，　很可能。不过他们也闻到了，人人都知道这回事。” 　　“她话不煆，英国人”吉普赛人拉斐尔说。“这件事是我们大家都知道的 　　“我一点也不信，”罗伯特‘乔丹说，“听着，英国人，”安塞尔莫开口说。“这些巫术我全不信。不过筚位比拉尔能未卜先知倒是有名的。“ 　　“那么这种气味象什么？”费尔南多问。“是怎么样的气味？要是有，那一定是种很具体的气味，“ 　　“你想知道吗，费尔南多？”比拉尔对他笑笑。“你以为你能闻到吗？” 　　“要是果真有这种气味，人家能闻到，我干吗不能?” 　　“干吗不能？”比拉尔取笑他，她拿两只大手抱着双膝，“你乘过船吗，费尔南多。” 　　“没有。我也不想乘。“ 　　“那么你恐怕辨不出来。这种气味有点几象暴风雨来时关上舷窗后船里的气味。船在你脚底下頮簸,你感到头昏眼花，胃里直翻，你把彝子贴在拧紧的舷窗的铜把抦上,就能闻到一点儿这种气味了。” 　　“我不打算乘船,所以这种气味我不可能辨出来，”费尔南多说。 　　“我乘过几回船。”比拉尔说。“去墨西哥和委内瑞拉，我都是乘船去的, 　　“还有呢？”罗伯特　乔丹问。比拉尔骄傲地想起了她的旅行，嘲弄地望着他。 　　“好吧，英国人,学学吧。这就对了,学学吧。好吧。你在船上闻到这气昧之后,该一淸早在马德里走卞山，到托莱多大桥边的屠宰场去，站在那潮湿的石板地上，那时候从曼萨纳食斯河面上飙来了胜矣，。”你等着那些天换亮就去喝被屠宰的牲口的血的老太婆。这种老太婆裹着围巾，脸色灰白，眼睛凹陷，下巴和脸颊上长着老年须，就象豆种上长出来的芽须，不是趣毛,而是她死人般蜡黄的脸上长出的灰白色的芽须；等这样一个老太婆从屠宰场里走出来，你伸出手去紧紧挨住她，英国人，把她紧貼在你身上，亲她的嘴，那你就知道这种气味还象些别的什么东西了。“ 　　“这种气味叫我倒胃口啦。”吉普赛人说。“这种芽须的气味叫人太受不了啦。” 　　“你还要听吗？”比拉尔问罗伯特‘乔丹。“当然，”他说。“如果有必要学学,就学学吧。”、“老太婆脸上芽须的气味叫我作呕，”吉普赛人说。“老太婆脸上为什么会长出这玩意儿来，比拉尔？我们可不这样？ 　　“是不这样，”比拉尔取笑他说。“我们老太婆啊，年轻时可苗条呢，当然啦，可惜老是腆着个大肚子，这说明了她丈夫给她的恩赐。每个吉普赛女人老是前面顶着个一”“别说这种话，”拉斐尔说。“太下流啦。”“旅来伤了你的感情了。”出拉尔说。“吉普赛女人不是快生孩子就是刚生孩子，你可见过有谁不是这样子吗？”“你。” 　　“别胡扯。”比拉尔说。“每个人都有伤感情的时候。我说这话的意思是，年纪给大家都带来一副丑相。不必细讲啦。不过，要是英国人一定要知道他巴不得辨别的那种气味，他必须大清早到屠宰场去。” 　　“我去。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“不过等她们路过的时候，我只想闻闻这种气味,不想跟她们亲嘴。我也和拉斐尔一样，怕这种芽须,” 　　"吻一个吧，”比拉尔说。“吻‘个吧，英国人，要知道，就得吻。然后鼻孔里带着这股气味,赶回城里，看到垃圾捅里有枯谢的花，就把鼻子深深地伸到桶里,吸它一口气，让鼻孔里已有的气味和桶里的气味混在一起，“ 　　“我这可差不离了。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“什么花呢?” 　　“菊花。” 　　“讲下去。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我闻到了，““然后。”比拉尔接着说，〃要紧的是要挑一个秋天下雨的曰子，或者至少荽有雾，或者甚至在初冬,你该在城里一股劲地走，颀着康乐大街走，等那些妓院里清扫出垃圾、往阴沟里倒便桶的时候，有什么气味你就阄什么。这种一夜风流的气味和肥皂水、香烟屁股的香味混在一起，淡淡地飘进你的鼻孔，你得继续向植物园走去,在那儿，夜色里，没法再在妓院里接客的姑娘们,靠在公园的铁门和铁栅栏上接客，就在人行道上接客。她们就是在树荫下靠在铁栏杆上让男人过瘾的，从一毛钱满足最简单的要求，到一块钱干一次我们天生会干的好事，那是在一个还未淸除死花、重新栽上的花坛上于的，这样把泥土搞得比人行道软得多。你将会发现一只被扔掉的麻袋,上面带着湿土、枯花和那夜所干的好事的气味　这麻袋上含有全部精华，既有死土、枯蒌的花梗和麻烂的花朵的气味，也有人的死亡和诞生的气味。你把这只麻袋套在自己头上,在里面呼吸。”“不要。”比拉尔说。“你把这只麻袋套在自己头上[在里面呼吸。你深呼吸的时侯,很如先前的那些气味还没有散失，那么，你躭会闻到我们所说的死亡临头的气味了，“ 　　“好吧，”罗伯特，乔丹说　“那你说卡希金在这里的时候，身上就有这种气味吗。” 　　"得。”罗伯特‘乔丹认真地说。“要是真有这种事，我把他熗杀掉倒是件好事啦。” 　　“说得妙。”吉普赛人说，其他人都笑了　 　　“好极啦，”普里米蒂伏赞许地说。“这下子可把她难住啦。” 　　“不过比拉尔啊，”费尔南多说。“堂　罗伯托是个知书识理的人,你当然不能指望他干出这种肮脏勾当。”“对。”比拉尔同意说。“这种亊全叫人恶心到极点。”“是铒。”比拉尔同意说。“你并不指望他真的干出这些有失身份的事?”“对，”比拉尔说。“你去睡觉吧，好不好?”“可是比拉尔一”费尔南多继续说。“你住口好不好?”比拉尔突然恶狠狠地对他说。“你别发傻了，我也不发傻了，不再跟这种根本听不懂我的话的人说话了。” 　　“说句心里话，我是听不僅。”费尔南多开口说。 　　“别说心里话了，别想听懂了，”比拉尔说。“外面还在下雪 吗？” 　　罗伯特　乔丹走到洞口，撩起门毯望望外面。洞外,夜空哺朗，天气寒冷，不下雪了。他目光穿过树干之间向雪地望去，再抬头透过树梢望望无云的夜空。他呼吸时觉得吸进肺部的空气冷得剌人。 　　“如果‘聋子’今晚去偷马，会留下很多脚迹，”他想，他放下门敌，返身进入烟雾弥渙的山洞。“天晴啦，”他说　“暴风雪过去了。”

Chapter 20 Now in the night he lay and waited for the girl to come to him. There was no wind now and the pines were still in the night. The trunks of the pines projected from the snow that covered all the ground, and he lay in the robe feeling the suppleness of the bed under him that he had made, his legs stretched long against the warmth of the robe, the air sharp and cold on his head and in his nostrils as he breathed. Under his head, as he lay on his side, was the bulge of the trousers and the coat that he had wrapped around his shoes to make a pillow and against his side was the cold metal of the big automatic pistol he had taken from the holster when he undressed and fastened by its lanyard to his right wrist. He pushed the pistol away and settled deeper into the robe as he watched, across the snow, the dark break in the rocks that was the entrance to the cave. The sky was clear and there was enough light reflected from the snow to see the trunks of the trees and the bulk of the rocks where the cave was. Earlier in the evening he had taken the ax and gone outside of the cave and walked through the new snow to the edge of the clearing and cut down a small spruce tree. In the dark he had dragged it, butt first, to the lee of the rock wall. There close to the rock, he had held the tree upright, holding the trunk firm with one hand, and, holding the ax-haft close to the head had lopped off all the boughs until he had a pile of them. Then, leaving the pile of boughs, he had laid the bare pole of the trunk down in the snow and gone into the cave to get a slab of wood he had seen against the wall. With this slab he scraped the ground clear of the snow along the rock wall and then picked up his boughs and shaking them clean of snow laid them in rows, like overlapping plumes, until he had a bed. He put the pole across the foot of the bough bed to hold the branches in place and pegged it firm with two pointed pieces of wood he split from the edge of the slab. Then he carried the slab and the ax back into the cave, ducking under the blanket as he came in, and leaned them both against the wall. "What do you do outside?" Pilar had asked. "I made a bed." "Don't cut pieces from my new shelf for thy bed." "I am sorry." "It has no importance," she said. "There are more slabs at the sawmill. What sort of bed hast thou made?" "As in my country." "Then sleep well on it," she had said and Robert Jordan had opened one of the packs and pulled the robe out and replaced those things wrapped in it back in the pack and carried the robe out, ducking under the blanket again, and spread it over the boughs so that the closed end of the robe was against the pole that was pegged cross-wise at the foot of the bed. The open head of the robe was protected by the rock wall of the cliff. Then he went back into the cave for his packs but Pilar said, "They can sleep with me as last night." "Will you not have sentries?" he asked. "The night is clear and the storm is over." "Fernando goes," Pilar said. Maria was in the back of the cave and Robert Jordan could not see her. "Good night to every one," he had said. "I am going to sleep." Of the others, who were laying out blankets and bedrolls on the floor in front of the cooking fire, pushing back the slab tables and the rawhide-covered stools to make sleeping space, Primitivo and Andr looked up and said, "_Buenas noches_." Anselmo was already asleep in a corner, rolled in his blanket and his cape, not even his nose showing. Pablo was asleep in his chair. "Do you want a sheep hide for thy bed?" Pilar asked Robert Jordan softly. "Nay," he said. "Thank thee. I do not need it." "Sleep well," she said. "I will respond for thy material." Fernando had gone out with him and stood a moment where Robert Jordan had spread the sleeping robe. "You have a curious idea to sleep in the open, Don Roberto," he said standing there in the dark, muffled in his blanket cape, his carbine slung over his shoulder. "I am accustomed to it. Good night." "Since you are accustomed to it." "When are you relieved?" "At four." "There is much cold between now and then." "I am accustomed to it," Fernando said. "Since, then, you are accustomed to it--" Robert Jordan said politely. "Yes," Fernando agreed. "Now I must get up there. Good night, Don Roberto." "Good night, Fernando." Then he had made a pillow of the things he took off and gotten into the robe and then lain and waited, feeling the spring of the boughs under the flannelly, feathered lightness of the robe warmth, watching the mouth of the cave across the snow; feeling his heart beat as he waited. The night was clear and his head felt as clear and cold as the air. He smelled the odor of the pine boughs under him, the piney smell of the crushed needles and the sharper odor of the resinous sap from the cut limbs. Pilar, he thought. Pilar and the smell of death. This is the smell I love. This and fresh-cut clover, the crushed sage as you ride after cattle, wood-smoke and the burning leaves of autumn. That must be the odor of nostalgia, the smell of the smoke from the piles of raked leaves burning in the streets in the fall in Missoula. Which would you rather smell? Sweet grass the Indians used in their baskets? Smoked leather? The odor of the ground in the spring after rain? The smell of the sea as you walk through the gorse on a headland in Galicia? Or the wind from the land as you come in toward Cuba in the dark? That was the odor of the cactus flowers, mimosa and the sea-grape shrubs. Or would you rather smell frying bacon in the morning when you are hungry? Or coffee in the morning? Or a Jonathan apple as you bit into it? Or a cider mill in the grinding, or bread fresh from the oven? You must be hungry, he thought, and he lay on his side and watched the entrance of the cave in the light that the stars reflected from the snow. Some one came out from under the blanket and he could see whoever it was standing by the break in the rock that made the entrance. Then he heard a slithering sound in the snow and then whoever it was ducked down and went back in. I suppose she won't come until they are all asleep, he thought. It is a waste of time. The night is half gone. Oh, Maria. Come now quickly, Maria, for there is little time. He heard the soft sound of snow falling from a branch onto the snow on the ground. A little wind was rising. He felt it on his face. Suddenly he felt a panic that she might not come. The wind rising now reminded him how soon it would be morning. More snow fell from the branches as he heard the wind now moving the pine tops. Come now, Maria. Please come here now quickly, he thought. Oh, come here now. Do not wait. There is no importance any more to your waiting until they are asleep. Then he saw her coming out from under the blanket that covered the cave mouth. She stood there a moment and he knew it was she but he could not see what she was doing. He whistled a low whistle and she was still at the cave mouth doing something in the darkness of the rock shadow. Then she came running, carrying something in her hands and he saw her running long-legged through the snow. Then she was kneeling by the robe, her head pushed hard against him, slapping snow from her feet. She kissed him and handed him her bundle. "Put it with thy pillow," she said. "I took these off there to save time." "You came barefoot through the snow?" "Yes," she said, "and wearing only my wedding shirt." He held her close and tight in his arms and she rubbed her head against his chin. "Avoid the feet," she said. "They are very cold, Roberto." "Put them here and warm them." "Nay," she said. "They will warm quickly. But say quickly now that you love me." "I love thee."   "Good. Good. Good." "I love thee, little rabbit." "Do you love my wedding shirt?" "It is the same one as always." "Yes. As last night. It is my wedding shirt." "Put thy feet here." "Nay, that would be abusive. They will warm of themselves. They are warm to me. It is only that the snow has made them cold toward thee. Say it again." "I love thee, my little rabbit." "I love thee, too, and I am thy wife." "Were they asleep?" "No," she said. "But I could support it no longer. And what importance has it?" "None," he said, and felt her against him, slim and long and warmly lovely. "No other thing has importance." "Put thy hand on my head," she said, "and then let me see if I can kiss thee. "Was it well?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "Take off thy wedding shirt." "You think I should?" "Yes, if thou wilt not be cold." "_Qu?va_, cold. I am on fire." "I, too. But afterwards thou wilt not be cold?" "No. Afterwards we will be as one animal of the forest and be so close that neither one can tell that one of us is one and not the other. Can you not feel my heart be your heart?" "Yes. There is no difference." "Now, feel. I am thee and thou art me and all of one is the other. And I love thee, oh, I love thee so. Are you not truly one? Canst thou not feel it?" "Yes," he said. "It is true." "And feel now. Thou hast no heart but mine." "Nor any other legs, nor feet, nor of the body." "But we are different," she said. "I would have us exactly the same." "You do not mean that." "Yes I do. I do. That is a thing I had to tell thee." "You do not mean that." "Perhaps I do not," she said speaking softly with her lips against his shoulder. "But I wished to say it. Since we are different I am glad that thou art Roberto and I Maria. But if thou should ever wish to change I would be glad to change. I would be thee because I love thee so." "I do not wish to change. It is better to be one and each one to be the one he is." "But we will be one now and there will never be a separate one." Then she said, "I will be thee when thou are not there. Oh, I love thee so and I must care well for thee." "Maria." "Yes." "Maria." "Yes." "Maria." "Oh, yes. Please." "Art thou not cold?" "Oh, no. Pull the robe over thy shoulders." "Maria." "I cannot speak." "Oh, Maria. Maria. Maria." Then afterwards, close, with the night cold outside, in the long warmth of the robe, her head touching his cheek, she lay quiet and happy against him and then said softly, "And thou?" "_Como tu_," he said. "Yes," she said. "But it was not as this afternoon." "No." "But I loved it more. One does not need to die." "_Ojala no_," he said. "I hope not." "I did not mean that." "I know. I know what thou meanest. We mean the same." "Then why did you say that instead of what I meant?" "With a man there is a difference." "Then I am glad that we are different." "And so am I," he said. "But I understood about the dying. I only spoke thus, as a man, from habit. I feel the same as thee." "However thou art and however thou speakest is how I would have thee be." "And I love thee and I love thy name, Maria." "It is a common name." "No," he said. "It is not common." "Now should we sleep?" she said. "I could sleep easily." "Let us sleep," he said, and he felt the long light body, warm against him, comforting against him, abolishing loneliness against him, magically, by a simple touching of flanks, of shoulders and of feet, making an alliance against death with him, and he said, "Sleep well, little long rabbit." She said, "I am asleep already." "I am going to sleep," he said. "Sleep well, beloved." Then he was asleep and happy as he slept. But in the night he woke and held her tight as though she were all of life and it was being taken from him. He held her feeling she was all of life there was and it was true. But she was sleeping well and soundly and she did not wake. So he rolled away onto his side and pulled the robe over her head and kissed her once on her neck under the robe and then pulled the pistol lanyard up and put the pistol by his side where he could reach it handily and then he lay there in the night thinking. 　　他如今躺在黑夜里，等着姑娘到他这儿来。这时风已停息，松树在夜色中悄然无声。松树千兀立在盖满雪的地上，他躺在睡袋里，感到身体底下他铺的东西软绵绵的,两腿直伸在暖和的睡袋里，脸上接触到的和吸进鼻子的空气冷得刺人。他侧身躺着，头下是他用裤子和外衣卷在鞋子外面做成的圆鼓鼓的枕头。他脱衣时从熗套里取出大自动手熗，把手熗带系在右手腌上，这时感到那冷冰冰的熗身贴在腰的一侧。他推开手熗，身体更往睡袋里缩下一些，同时望着雪地对面山岩上的黑色缺口，那就是山涧的洞口。天空晴韌，借着雪光的反射可以看清山洞两旁的树干和大块山岩。 　　临近黄昏的时候，他曾拿了一把斧头，走出山洞，踏过新下的雪，来到林间空地边缘，砍下一棵小云杉。他在黑暗中握着树的根端，把它拖到山崖的背风处。他挨近山崖，一手把稳树千，把树竖直，一手握住斧头柄靠近斧头的地方，砍下了所有的枝丫，聚成一堆。然后，他把光树干放在雪地里,离开那堆枝丫，走进山洞去拿一块他早先见到靠在洞壁上的厚木板。他用这木板沿着山崖把　块地上的雪全刮开，然后拣起树枝，抖掉上面的雪，一行行地排列在地面上，就象鸟身上迭盖着的羽毛那样,直到做成一张床铺。他把树干横在这些树枝做成的床铺的一头，免得树枝散开，并从那块木板边上劈下两个尖楔,打进地里,卡住树干。然后他把木板和斧头拿回山洞，撩起门毯，“着头进去，把这两件东西靠在润壁上。 　　“你在外面做啥，“”比拉尔向，“做了一张床。， 　　“你做床，可别拿我那新搁板劈呀。““请原谅。” 　　“没关系。”她说。“锯木厂里木板多着，你做的床是啥样 的?， 　　“就象我家乡的一样。” 　　“那就在铺上好好睡吧，”她说。罗伯特　乔丹打开个背包，从里面抽出睡袋，把包在里面的东西放回背包，然后拿着睡袋再撩开门毯，低头走出山洞，把睡袋铺在树枝上，让睡袋那封闭的一头抵在那根横钉在床脚的树干上。睡袋口有睃峭的石壁遮挡着。然后他再到山洞里去拿他的背包，但比拉尔说，“就象昨晚一样，背包跟我睡得啦，“ 　　“你不派人放哨？“他问。“今晚天晴,风雪又停了。”“费尔南多去，”比拉尔说。玛丽亚正在山洞深处，罗伯特　乔丹看不见她。“诸位晚安。”他说。“我去睡啦。”大家正在把扳桌和蒙着生皮的凳子推到一边，腾出睡觉的地方,把毯子和铺兼摊在炉火前的地上。这时,其中的膂里米蒂伏和安德烈斯抬起头来说,晚安。” 　　安塞尔莫在角落里，已经睡熟了,身体裹在他的毪子和披风里,连鼻子也看不到。巴勃罗坐在椅子里睡熟了。 　　“你铺上要张羊皮吗?”比拉尔低声问罗伯特　乔丹。’ 　　“不用。”他说。“谢谢你。我不需要。” 　　“好好睡吧。”地说。“你的东西我负贲，“ 　　费尔南多跟他一起来到洞外，在罗伯特　乔丹铺睡袋的地方站了一会儿。 　　“你这主意很古怪,睡在餺天。堂.罗伯托，”他站在黑暗中说，身上裹着毯子式的披风，卡宾熗挂在肩上。“我习惯了。晚安。”“你习愤了就行，““什么时候人家来换你的班?”“四点钟。” 　　“从现在到四点这一段时间很冷。”“我习惯了。”费尔南多说。“你习惯了那就行一〃罗伯特　乔丹客气地说。‘“对。”费尔南多附和说。“我现在得上山去放哨啦。晚安,堂　罗伯托。” 　　“晚安，费尔南多。” 　　然后他把脱下的衣眼做了个枕头，钻进睡袋，躺着等待，感到在这暖和的法兰绒衬里的羽绒睡袋底下，那些树枝富有弹性。他注视着雪地对面的山洞口，等待着，觉得心在眺。 　　夜色晴朗,他感到头脑和空气一样清激而寒冷。他闻到身体下面松枝的气味、压碎的松针的味儿和更强烈的树枝断口渗出的树脂香味。比拉尔，他想，比拉尔和她扯的死亡的气味。我爱闻的可是这一种气味。这一种和新割的首蓿的气味,还有你骑了马赶牛时踩碎的鼠尾草的气味，柴火的烟味和秋天烧树叶的气昧。那准是勾起乡愁的气味，秋天在故乡米苏拉的街上耙成堆的树叶燃烧时的烟火味。你情愿闻哪一种气味呢？印第安人编篮子用的香草的气味？熏皮张的气味？春雨后泥土的气味？你在加利西亚地岬上走在金雀花丛中闻到的海洋味儿？还是你在黑夜里驶近古巴的时候，从陆地上吹来的凤的气味，“那是仙人掌花、含羞草和马尾藻丛的气味。要不，你情愿闻闻在早晨饥饿时所吃的煎烕肉的香味？还是早熳的咖啡香？还是把一只晚秋苹果一口咬下去时闻到的香味?还是苹果酒作坊在碾碎苹果时的味儿,或者刚出炉的面包香味呢？他想　你一定饿了。他侧身躺着,借着照在雪上的星光望着那山洞口。 　　有人从毯子后钻出来。他看见那人站在山岩的缺口前，就是那山洞口，但看不清是谁。他接着听到在雪里移动的脚步声，接宥，这个人撩起毯子，低着头又进表了。 　　他想　着来她要等大家都睡热了才会前来。真是浪费时间锕。夜晚过去一半了。玛丽亚舸。快来吧，玛萠亚，因为时间不多啦。他听到树枝上一块雪轻柔地掉在雪地上的声苷。起了一阵微风，他脸上瘅到了。他忽然慌张起来，说不定她不会来了，这时起了风，使他想到早晨不久就要来临申他听到微风吹动树梢的声音，树枝上叉有些雪落下来了。 　　来吧,玛丽亚。他想　请你现在快到我身边来吧。啊,快到我身边来吧。别等啦。你等不等他们睡热,都没有关系了。 　　接着,他看到她从那蒙在山洞口的毯子下面钻出来了。蚀站了一会儿,他知道是她,但看不淸她在做什么。他低声吹了声口哨，但她还在洞。山岩的黑影里撖着什么。接着，她手里拿着什么东西奔过來了。他看到她两条长腿在雪地里奔跑,按着,她跪在睡袋旁边，拍掉脚上的雪，用头紧挨着他　她亲了他—下，把一包东西递给他。 。”　、 　　“把这个和你的枕头放在一起。”她说。“我在祸口脱掉了鞋,免得浪费时间。” ‘ 　　“你光着脚从雪地里来的?” ， 　　“是啊，”她说。“只穿一件结婿衬.衫，“ 　　他把她紧紧地搂在怀里，她把头磨蹭着他的下巴。 　　“别碰脚，”她说。“脚很冷，罗伯托。”“把脚伸到这儿来，暖和暖和。” 　　“不。”她说。“很快就会暖和起来的。现在快说,你爱我。” 　　“我爱你。” 　　“好，好。好。” 　　“我爱你，小兔子。。 　　“你爱我的结婚衬衫吗, 　　"永远是这一件。” 　　“对。就象昨晚一祥。这是我的结婚衬衫，““把脚伸到这儿来。” 　　〃不，那不象话。脚自已会暖和起来的。我不觉得脚冷。只因为踩过雪,你才觉得冷的。再说一遍。““我爱你，我的小兔子“我也爱你，我是你的妻子，““他们睡着了。” 　　〃没有，”她说。“可我再也忍不住了。那有什么关系?”“一点儿没关系，”他说，感到她貼在身上，苗条而頎长的身子温暖喜人　“什么都没有关系了。” 　　“把手放在我头上，”她说。“我来试试看能不能吻你，“、“这样好吗？〃她问办 　　“好。”他说。“把你的结婚衬衫脱了。”“你要我脱吗?”“要,不冷就脱。” 　　“鄺儿的话！我身上象着了火似的。”“我也是。可是过后你不会觉得冷吗” 　　“不会。过后我们会象森林里的野軎，紧紧地挨在“起，彼此都分不出哪个是你、哪个是我了。你不觉得我的心就是你的心吗?” 　　“觉得。分不出了。” 　　“现在你祺摸。我就是你,你就是我,你我成为一个人了。我爱你，啊，我多么爱你。我们不是真的成为一个人了？你不觉得吗，“” 　　“觉得，”他说。“的确如此。”“现在你摸摸。你除了我的心外可没别的心了。”“也没有别的鼷、别的脚或别的身体了。”“可我们是不一样的，”她说。“我希望我们完全一样。”“你不是这个意思。” 　　“是的，是这个意思。是这个意思。我非要对你这样说不可。” 　　“你不是这个意思。” 　　“也许不是，”她温柔地说，嘴唇贴在他肩上。“可是我巴不得这样说。既然我们不“样,叫我髙兴的是你是罗伯托,我是玛丽亚-不过，要是你想变，我也乐意变。我愿意变成你，因为我太爱你了。” 　　“我可不愿意变。还是你是你、我是我的好，“　可现在我们要变成一个人啦，再分不出你我了。”她接着讲，“即使你不在身边，我也是你　明,我真爱你，我一定要好好地宠爱你,“玛丽亚。”“嗯。”“玛丽亚。” 　　“嗯。，“玛丽亚。”“噢，嗳。说吧。”“你不冷吗?” 　　“噢，不。把睡袋拉拉好，遮住你的肩，““玛丽亚。”“我说不出话了，““啊，玛丽亚。玛丽亚。玛丽亚。”到后来，紧挨着躺在一起，外面是寒夜,睡袋里是绵绵暖意，她头貼在他脸颊上,静静地、愉快埤挨在他身旁，接着温柔地说，“你呢？” 　　“跟你“样，”他说。 　　“好。”她说。“不过跟今天下午不一样。”“是啊。” 　　“可我更喜欢这样。不一定要死过去的。” 　　“但愿不，”他说。“我希望不要死，“〃我不是这个意思。” 　　“我知道。我知道你的意思。我们是一个意思，“ 　　“那你干吗说这话而不照我的意思说?” 　　“对男人莱说是不一样的。“ ‘ 　　“那我髙兴我们是不一样的。” 　　“我也高兴，“他说，“不过我僅得这死过去的感觉，我这样说,只不过因为我是男人，出于习愤。我和你的感觉一样。”“不管你怎么样，不管你怎样说,都正合我的心意。”“我爱你,我还爱你的名字,玛丽亚，“〃那是个普通的名字，“ 　　“不，”他说。“不普通。” 　　“我们现在睡吧?”她说。“我很快就会睡熟的。”“我们睡吧，”他说。他感到那颀长而轻盈的身体温暖地挨着他,使人舒适地挨着他,排除孤独地挨着他；就凭腰部的接触，肩膀和脚的接触，奇妙地使他不再感到孤独，跟他结成一个对抗死亡的联盟，于是他说，“好好睡吧,长脚小兔子。”她说，“我已经睡熟了。” 　　“我就要睡着了，”他说。“好好睡吧，亲爱的。”然后他入睡了，快乐地熟睡着。 　　但是，夜半他酲来，把她紧紧搂着，仿佛她就是生命中的“切,正从他身边被夺走似的。他搂着她，觉得她是存在着的生命中的一切,而且事实正是如此。她呢，安详地熟睡着，没有醒过来。于是他翻了个身，侧卧在一边，拉起睡袋兼住她的头，在睡袋里凑着她的脖子吻了一下，然后拉起手熗上的绳子,把手熗放在随手拿得到的身旁，然后躺在夜色里思量。

Chapter 21 A warm wind came with daylight and he could hear the snow melting in the trees and the heavy sound of its falling. It was a late spring morning. He knew with the first breath he drew that the snow had been only a freak storm in the mountains and it would be gone by noon. Then he heard a horse coming, the hoofs balled with the wet snow thumping dully as the horseman trotted. He heard the noise of a carbine scabbard slapping loosely and the creak of leather. "Maria," he said, and shook the girl's shoulder to waken her. "Keep thyself under the robe," and he buttoned his shirt with one hand and held the automatic pistol in the othet loosening the safety catch with his thumb. He saw the girl's cropped head disappear with a jerk under the robe and then he saw the horseman coming through the trees. He crouched now in the robe and holding the pistol in both hands aimed it at the man as he rode toward him. He had never seen this man before. The horseman was almost opposite him now. He was riding a big gray gelding and he wore a khaki beret, a blanket cape like a poncho, and heavy black boots. From the scabbard on the right of his saddle projected the stock and the long oblong clip of a short automatic rifle. He had a young, hard face and at this moment he saw Robert Jordan. He reached his hand down toward the scabbard and as he swung low, turning and jerking at the scabbard, Robert Jordan saw the scarlet of the formalized device he wore on the left breast of his khaki blanket cape. Aiming at the center of his chest, a little lower than the device, Robert Jordan fired. The pistol roared in the snowy woods. The horse plunged as though he had been spurred and the young man, still tugging at the scabbard, slid over toward the ground, his right foot caught in the stirrup. The horse broke off through the trees dragging him, bumping, face downward, and Robert Jordan stood up holding the pistol now in one hand. The big gray horse was galloping through the pines. There was a broad swath in the snow where the man dragged with a scarlet streak along one side of it. People were coming out of the mouth of the cave. Robert Jordan reached down and unrolled his trousers from the pillow and began to put them on. "Get thee dressed," he said to Maria. Overhead he heard the noise of a plane flying very high. Through the trees he saw where the gray horse had stopped and was standing, his rider still hanging face down from the stirrup. "Go catch that horse," he called to Primitivo who had started over toward him. Then, "Who was on guard at the top?" "Rafael," Pilar said from the cave. She stood there, her hair still down her back in two braids. "There's cavalry out," Robert Jordan said. "Get your damned gun up there." He heard Pilar call, "Agust璯," into the cave. Then she went into the cave and then two men came running out, one with the automatic rifle with its tripod swung on his shoulder; the other with a sackful of the pans. "Get up there with them," Robert Jordan said to Anselmo. "You lie beside the gun and hold the legs still," he said. The three of them went up the trail through the woods at a run. The sun had not yet come up over the tops of the mountains and Robert Jordan stood straight buttoning his trousers and tightening his belt, the big pistol hanging from the lanyard on his wrist. He put the pistol in its holster on his belt and slipped the knot down on the lanyard and passed the ioop over his head. Somebody will choke you with that sometime, he thought. Well, this has done it. He took the pistol out of the holster, removed the clip, inserted one of the cartridges from the row alongside of the holster and shoved the clip back into the butt of the pistol. He looked through the trees to where Primitivo, holding the reins of the horse, was twisting the rider's foot out of the stirrup. The body lay face down in the snow and as he watched Primitivo was going through the pockets. "Come on," he called. "Bring the horse." As he knelt to put on his rope-soled shoes, Robert Jordan could feel Maria against his knees, dressing herself under the robe. She had no place in his life now. That cavalryman did not expect anything, he was thinking. He was not following horse tracks and he was not even properly alert, let alone alarmed. He was not even following the tracks up to the post. He must have been one of a patrol scattered out in these hills. But when the patrol misses him they will follow his tracks here. Unless the snow melts first, he thought. Unless something happens to the patrol. "You better get down below," he said to Pablo. They were all out of the cave now, standing there with the carbines and with grenades on their belts. Pilar held a leather bag of grenades toward Robert Jordan and he took three and put them in his pocket. He ducked into the cave, found his two packs, opened the one with the submachine gun in it and took out the barrel and stock, slipped the stock onto the forward assembly and put one clip into the gun and three in his pockets. He locked the pack and started for the door. I've got two pockets full of hardware, he thought. I hope the seams hold. He came out of the cave and said to Pablo, "I'm going up above. Can Agust璯 shoot that gun?" "Yes," Pablo said. He was watching Primitivo leading up the horse. "_Mira qu?caballo_," he said. "Look, what a horse." The big gray was sweating and shivering a little and Robert Jordan patted him on the withers. "I will put him with the others," Pablo said. "No," Robert Jordan said. "He has made tracks into here. He must make them out." "True," agreed Pablo. "I will ride him out and will hide him and bring him in when the snow is melted. Thou hast much head today, _Ingl廥_." "Send some one below," Robert Jordan said. "We've got to get up there." "It is not necessary," Pablo said. "Horsemen cannot come that way. But we can get out, by there and by two other places. It is better not to make tracks if there are planes coming. Give me the _bota_ with wine, Pilar." "To go off and get drunk," Pilar said. "Here, take these instead." He reached over and put two of the grenades in his pockets. "_Qu?va_, to get drunk," Pablo said. "There is gravity in the situation. But give me the _bota_. I do not like to do all this on water." He reached his arms up, took the reins and swung up into the saddle. He grinned and patted the nervous horse. Robert Jordan saw him rub his leg along the horse's flank affectionately. "_Qu?caballo m嫳 bonito_," he said and patted the big gray again. "_Qu?caballo m嫳 hermoso_. Come on. The faster this gets out of here the better." He reached down and pulled the light automatic rifle with its ventilated barrel, really a submachine gun built to take the 9 mm. pistol cartridge, from the scabbard, and looked at it. "Look how they are armed," he said. "Look at modern cavalry." "There's modern cavalry over there on his face," Robert Jordan said. "_Vamonos_." "Do you, Andr廥, saddle and hold the horses in readiness. If you hear firing bring them up to the woods behind the gap. Come with thy arms and leave the women to hold the horses. Fernando, see that my sacks are brought also. Above all, that my sacks are brought carefully. Thou to look after my sacks, too," he said to Pilar. "Thou to verify that they come with the horses. _Vamonos_," he said. "Let us go." "The Maria and I will prepare all for leaving," Pilar said. Then to Robert Jordan, "Look at him," nodding at Pablo on the gray horse, sitting him in the heavy-thighed herdsman manner, the horse's nostrils widening as Pablo replaced the clip in the automatic rifle. "See what a horse has done for him." "That I should have two horses," Robert Jordan said fervently. "Danger is thy horse." "Then give me a mule," Robert Jordan grinned. "Strip me that," he said to Pilar and jerked his head toward where the man lay face down in the snow. "And bring everything, all the letters and papers, and put them in the outside pocket of my sack. Everything, understand?" "Yes." "_Vamonos_," he said. Pablo rode ahead and the two men followed in a single file in order not to track up the snow. Robert Jordan carried the submachine gun muzzle down, carrying it by its forward hand grip. I wish it took the same ammunition that saddle gun takes, he thought. But it doesn't. This is a German gun. This was old Kashkin's gun. The sun was coming over the mountains now. A warm wind was blowing and the snow was melting. It was a lovely late spring morning. Robert Jordan looked back and saw Maria now standing with Pilar. Then she came running up the trail. He dropped behind Primitivo to speak to her. "Thou," she said. "Can I go with thee?" "No. Help Pilar." She was walking behind him and put her hand on his arm. "I'm coming." "Nay." She kept on walking close behind him. "I could hold the legs of the gun in the way thou told Anselmo." "Thou wilt hold no legs. Neither of guns nor of nothing." Walking beside him she reached forward and put her hand in his pocket. "No," he said. "But take good care of thy wedding shirt." "Kiss me," she said, "if thou goest." "Thou art shameless," he said. "Yes," she said. "Totally." "Get thee back now. There is much work to do. We may fight here if they follow these horse tracks." "Thou," she said. "Didst thee see what he wore on his chest?" "Yes. Why not?" "It was the Sacred Heart." "Yes. All the people of Navarre wear it." "And thou shot for that?" "No. Below it. Get thee back now." "Thou," she said. "I saw all." "Thou saw nothing. One man. One man from a horse. Vete. Get thee back." "Say that you love me." "No. Not now." "Not love me now?" "_D嶴amos_. Get thee back. One does not do that and love all at the same moment." "I want to go to hold the legs of the gun and while it speaks love thee all in the same moment." "Thou art crazy. Get thee back now." "I am crazy," she said. "I love thee." "Then get thee back." "Good. I go. And if thou dost not love me, I love thee enough for both." He looked at her and smiled through his thinking. "When you hear firing," he said, "come with the horses. Aid the Pilar with my sacks. It is possible there will be nothing. I hope so." "I go," she said. "Look what a horse Pablo rides." The big gray was moving ahead up the trail. "Yes. But go." "I go." Her fist, clenched tight in his pocket, beat hard against his thigh. He looked at her and saw there were tears in her eyes. She pulled her fist out of his pocket and put both arms tight around his neck and kissed him. "I go," she said. "_Me voy_. I go." He looked back and saw her standing there, the first morning sunlight on her brown face and the cropped, tawny, burned-gold hair. She lifted her fist at him and turned and walked back down the trail, her head down. Primitivo turned around and looked after her. "If she did not have her hair cut so short she would be a pretty girl," he said. "Yes," Robert Jordan said. He was thinking of something else. "How is she in the bed?" Primitivo asked. "What?" "In the bed." "Watch thy mouth." "One should not be offended when--" "Leave it," Robert Jordan said. He was looking at the position. 　　黎明带来了一阵和风，他听到树上的积雪溶化了，啪嗒啪嗒地掉在地上。那是一个暮春的早晨。他呼了“口气就知道，这场蘿风雪只不过是山区里的反常现象，雪到中午就会化掉的。他接着听到有匹马来近了,骑手策马小跑，马蹄带着湿雪，发出重浊的得得声。他听到卡宾熗套摇晃时的桕打声，和皮鞍的咯吱咯吱声。 　　“玛丽亚，”他说,摇摇姑娘的肩膀,要她鼷来，“躲在睡袋里“ 　　”别起来。”他一手扣衬衫钮扣，一手拿起自动手熗,用大拇指松弁保险。他看到姑娘剪短头发的脑袋猛的缩进睡袋，接着就看到那骑手从树林里过来了。他这会儿匍匐在睡袋里，两手握着熗，瞄准朝他骑来的人。他以前从没见过这个人。 　　这时，骑手几乎就在他对面了。他骑着一匹灰色大困马，头戴卡其贝雷帽，穿着毯子式的披风和笨重的黑靴，马鞍右面的熗套里撅出着一支短自动步熗的熗托和狭长的子弹夹。他长着一张年靑而冷酷的脸，这时他看到了罗伯特，乔丹。 　　他把手朝下伸向熗套，当他弯腰转身从熗套里急速拔熗的时候，罗伯特　乔丹看到他卡其披风的左胸前佩戴着大红色的统一标记①， 　　罗伯特、乔丹瞄准这标记稍下方，朝他当胸一熗。1熗声在积雪的树林中震响着。 　　马儿仿佛突然被马刺踢了一下,向前猛地一冲；那年轻人还在拉扯熗套，身子就朝地面溜下去，右脚被马镫勾住了。马儿撒开四腿拖着脸朝下的骑手颠簸碰撞，在林中奔驰而去。罗伯特。乔丹一手握熗，站起身来。 　　那匹大灰马在松林中狂奔。那人的身子在雪地上拖出了一条宽阔的痕迹，一边是一道深红色的血迹。大家从山洞里走出来。罗伯特　乔丹伸手把当枕头用的裤子摊幵,开始穿着，“你把衣服穿上,他对玛丽亚说， 　　他听到头顶上一架飞得很高的飞机的声音。他穿过树林看见那匹灰马站在那儿不跑了，那骑手仍旧脸朝下地挂在马镫上。 ①指天主教会内崇拜耶稣基督圣心的信徒们所佩的标记。该崇拜由法国修女玛格丽特，玛丽、阿拉科克于十七世纪倡议，在侑奉天主教的国家中传撟甚。”. 　　“去把那匹马拉住，”他朝向他走来的普里米蒂伏喊着。接着问，“山顶上谁在放哨？” 　　“拉斐尔，”比拉尔在山洞口说。她站在那儿,头发来不及梳，两股发辫披在背上。 　　“骑兵来了。”罗伯特，乔丹说。“把你那挺天杀的机熗架在山上。” 　　他听到比拉尔对山洞里叫奥古斯丁。接着她走进山洞，然后两个男人跑出来，一个拿着自动步熗，三脚架撂在肩上；“个拿着一袋子弹盘， 　　“跟他们一起上山，”罗伯特’乔丹对安塞尔莫说，“你伏在熗边,抓住熗架别动，”他说， 　　三个人贓着山路，穿过树林，跑上山去，太阳还没照上山顶，罗伯特“乔丹站直了身体，扣上裤子，收紧腰带，手腕上的绳子上挂着那支大手熗。他把手熗插在膝带上的熗套里,把活结移到下端，把绳圈套在自己脖子上， 　　他想,总有一天人家会用这个绳困把你纹死。得了，这次它可帮了个大忙。他从熗套里拔出手熗，抽出子弹夹，拿熗套外边那排子弹中的“颗塞进子弹夹，再把子弹夹推入熗柄。 　　他朝树林中苷里米蒂伏那儿望去，只见他抓住了马邇，正把那骑手的脚从马镫里拔出来。？“体的脸朝下，伏在雪地上；他望着普里米蒂伏正在搜他的衣袋。〃过来，”他喊道。“把马带来。” 　　罗伯特　乔丹跪着穿绳底鞋时，觉得玛丽亚靠在他膝旁，正在睡袋里穿衣服。她这时在他生活里没有地位了　 　　他在想　这骑兵没料到会出意外。他没有循着马蹄印走，竟没有理所当然地保持着费惕，更不用说心怀恐惧了。他甚至没顺着那通向岗哨的脚印走。他准是散开在这些山里的巡逻队中的一员。可是等巡逻队发现他失琮了，他们会循着他的马蹄印找到这里来的。他想。”除非雪先化掉，除非巡逻队遇到什么情况。 　　“你最好到下面去，”他对巴勃罗说。这时大家都走出了山洞，提着卡宾熗站在那儿，腰带里插着手榴弹。比拉尔把一皮袋手榷弹递给罗伯特　乔丹，他拿了三个，插在衣袋里。他低头钻进山洞，找到他那两个背包，打开里面有手提机熗的那只，取出熗管熗托，将熗托接好，在熗里推进一个子弹夹，衣袋里藏了三个。他锁上背包，随即走向山洞口。他想。”我两个口袋都装了硬货。但愿口袋的线缝别绽开。他走到山洞外，对巴勃罗说，“我要上山去。奥古斯丁会使那挺机熗吗?”“会，”巴勃罗说，他望着带马来的普里米蒂伏。“瞧，多好的马，”他说。 　　那匹大灰马渗着汗,微微战栗,罗伯特　乔丹拍拍马肩隆。“我把它和别的马放在一起，”巴勃罗说。“不行。”罗伯特　乔丹说。”它留下了来这里的蹄印，还得踩—条出去的印子。“ 　　“对，”巴勃罗同意。“我骑它出去，把它戴起来，等化了雪再带回来。你今天很有头脑，英国人。” 　　“派个人下山吧。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我们得上山了。”“不用了，”巴勃罗说。“骑兵不会从那条路来。不过我们倒可以从那条路以及别的两条路撤走。如果有飞机来，还是不要留下脚迹的好。给我皮酒袋，比拉尔。” 　　“想走开了喝个醉!”比拉尔说。“还是把这拿去吧，“他伸过手去，把两只手榴弹栽进衣袋。 　　“什么话，去喝个醉!”巴勃罗说。“情况严重哪。不过还是把酒袋给我。干这种事叫我喝水可不行。” 　　他抬起双臂，抓住缰绳，一翻身上了马鞍。他露齿笑笑，拍拍那心惊肉跳的马。罗伯特，乔丹看他亲切地用腿儿磨雎着马的傰腹。 　　“这匹马棒极了，”他说，又拍拍这匹大灰马，11这匹马美极了。走。它越早离开这里越好一 　　他伸手从熗套里拔出熗筒上有敢热孔的轻自动步熗，打量着它，实际上那是一支改装成可以用九毫米手熗子弹的手提机熗。“瞧他们的装备多好。”他说。“瞧这现代化的骑兵。” 　　“现代化的骑兵正脸朝下地躺在那儿哪,罗伯特，乔丹说。“咱们走吧。” 　　“安德烈斯，你把那些马儿备好鞍，作好准备。要是听到熗声，把它们带到山隘后的树林里去。带着你的武器前来接应，让妇女们看管马。费尔南多,注意把我的背包也带着。最要紧的,拿时要特别小心，你也得把我的背包看好。”他对比拉尔说。“你要保证它们跟马“起走。咱们走吧，”他说。 　　“撤走的事由玛丽亚和我来准备，”比拉尔说。接着对罗伯特　乔丹说，“瞧他那副德行。”一边朝巴勃罗点点头。巴勃罗象牧人那样骑在灰马背上，用两条肥腿夹住了马腹，给自动步熗换子弹夹，这时马儿张大了彝孔。“瞧,一匹马使他多精神啊，““但愿我有两匹马，“罗伯特　乔丹带劲地说。“你骑马可不稳当。“ 　　“那么给我一头骡子吧，”罗伯特‘乔丹露齿笑着说。“给我把那家伙的衣服剥下来，”他对比拉尔说，朝那脸面朝下、躺在雪里的骑兵点了点头。“信呀，证件呀，什么都傘来，戏在我背包的外口袋里。什么都别丢，懂吗。”“是。” 　　“咱们走吧，”他说。 　　巴勃罗一马当先，后面两个人单行相随,免得在雪里留下琮迹。罗伯特，乔丹提着手提机熗的前把手，熗口朝下。他想。”伹愿它用的子弹和这骑兵的马鞍熗①的一祥就好了。但是不一样。这是德国制造的。就是卡希金留下的那支。 　　这时，阳光盖满山岭，和风吹拂着，雪在溶化。真是一个可爱的暮春早晨。 　　罗伯特‘乔丹回过头来，看见玛丽亚和比拉尔一起站着。接着她从山路上跑来。他有意落在普里米蒂伏的后面，跟她说活。 　　“你，”她说。“我可以跟你去吗?”“不。帮比拉尔做事。”她跟着他走，一只手搭在他胳膊上。“我要去。”“不行。” 　　她还是紧跟他走着， 　　“我可以按住熗架,就象你吩咐安塞尔莫做的那样。”〃不要你按熗架。不管是熗架还是别的，什么也不要。”她走在他身边，把手插进他的口袋。“别，”他说。“只要好好保护你的结婚衬衫。” ①泛指骑兵插在马桉上的熗套里的熗支，此处为自动步熗，较一般的略短　 　　“如果你要走，”她说，“吻吻我。〃“你真不知害臊，”他说。“对。”她说。“一点也不。” 　　“你现在回去。要做的事很多。如果他们循着这些马蹄印来,我们说不定要在这里开火。” 　　“你，”她说。“你看到他胸前佩戴着什么?”“看到。怎么会不看到?”“那是圣心啊。” 　　“不错。所有的纳瓦拉人都佩戴圣心，““你就瞄着它幵熗？”“不。瞄在圣心下面。你现在回去吧“你。”她说。“我全看到了。” 　　“你什么也没看到。一个男人,一个从马背上覼下来的男人。你回去吧。” 　　“说你爱我。”“不。现在不行。”“现在不爱我了？” 　　“别说了。你回去吧。一个人不能一边幵熗一边谈恋爱啊。”“我要去按住熗架，一边听熗响，一边爱你。”“你疯了。你现在回去。”“我不疯。”她说。“我爱你。”“那么你回去。” 　　“好。我走。你要是不爱我，我对你的爱够我们俩消受的。”他望着她,想了一想，不禁微笑了。“你听到了熗声，”他说，“就跟那些马匹一起走。帮比拉尔背我的背包。说不定太平无事　但愿这样。” 　　“我走，”她说。“瞧，巴勃罗骑的马多棒。”大灰马在山路上一直跑在前面。“对。走吧。”“我走。” 　　她把手在他口袋里紧捏成拳头,狠狠地捶他的大瞄。他对她看看,看到她眼睛里噙着泪水。她从他口袋里抽出拳头,张开双臂紧紧搂着他的脖子，吻他。“我走，”她说。“我走。” 　　他回过头来,看到她站在那儿，黎明的曙光照着她那揭色的脸，和那一头金光闪闪的剪短的褐发。她向他举举拳头,垂下头去，在小路上转身往回走了。 　　普里米蒂伏转过身来，望着她的背影。 　　“要是头发不剪得这么短,她准是个漂亮的姑娘，”他说 　　“是啊，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。他正在想别的事。 　　“她在床上怎么样？”苷里米蒂伏问。 　　“什么？” 　　“在床上。” 　　"小心你的嘴。” 　　“不该为听了这话生气，因为一”“算了吧，”罗伯特　乔丹说。他在察看地形。

Chapter 22 "Cut me pine branches," Robert Jordan said to Primitivo, "and bring them quickly." "I do not like the gun there," he said to Agust璯. "Why?" "Place it over there," Robert Jordan pointed, "and later I will tell thee." "Here, thus. Let me help thee. Here," he said, then squatted down. He looked out across the narrow oblong, noting the height of the rocks on either side. "It must be farther," he said, "farther out. Good. Here. That will do until it can be done properly. There. Put the stones there. Here is one. Put another there at the side. Leave room for the muzzle to swing. The stone must be farther to this side. Anselmo. Get thee down to the cave and bring me an ax. Quickly." "Have you never had a proper emplacement for the gun?" he said to Agust璯. "We always placed it here." "Kashkin never said to put it there?" "No. The gun was brought after he left." "Did no one bring it who knew how to use it?" "No. It was brought by porters." "What a way to do things," Robert Jordan said. "It was just given to you without instruction?" "Yes, as a gift might be given. One for us and one for El Sordo. Four men brought them. Anselmo guided them." "It was a wonder they did not lose them with four men to cross the lines." "I thought so, too," Agust璯 said. "I thought those who sent them meant for them to be lost. But Anselmo brought them well." "You know how to handle it?" "Yes. I have experimented. I know. Pablo knows. Primitivo knows. So does Fernando. We have made a study of taking it apart and putting it together on the table in the cave. Once we had it apart and could not get it together for two days. Since then we have not had it apart." "Does it shoot now?" "Yes. But we do not let the gypsy nor others frig with it." "You see? From there it was useless," he said. "Look. Those rocks which should protect your flanks give cover to those who will attack you. With such a gun you must seek a flatness over which to fire. Also you must take them sideways. See? Look now. All that is dominated." "I see," said Agust璯. "But we have never fought in defense except when our town was taken. At the train there were soldiers with the _m嫭uina_." "Then we will all learn together," Robert Jordan said. "There are a few things to observe. Where is the gypsy who should be here?" "I do not know." "Where is it possible for him to be?" "I do not know." Pablo had ridden out through the pass and turned once and ridden in a circle across the level space at the top that was the field of fire for the automatic rifle. Now Robert Jordan watched him riding down the slope alongside the tracks the horse had left when he was ridden in. He disappeared in the trees turning to the left. I hope he doesn't run right into cavalry, Robert Jordan thought. I'm afraid we'd have him right here in our laps. Primitivo brought the pine branches and Robert Jordan stuck them through the snow into the unfrozen earth, arching them over the gun from either side. "Bring more," he said. "There must be cover for the two men who serve it. This is not good but it will serve until the ax comes. Listen," he said, "if you hear a plane lie flat wherever thou art in the shadows of the rocks. I am here with the gun." Now with the sun up and the warm wind blowing it was pleasant on the side of the rocks where the sun shone. Four horses, Robert Jordan thought. The two women and me, Anselmo, Primitivo, Fernando, Agust璯, what the hell is the name of the other brother? That's eight. Not counting the gypsy. Makes nine. Plus Pablo gone with one horse makes ten. Andr廥 is his name. The other brother. Plus the other, Eladio. Makes ten. That's not one-half a horse apiece. Three men can hold this and four can get away. Five with Pablo. That's two left over. Three with Eladio. Where the hell is he? God knows what will happen to Sordo today if they picked up the trail of those horses in the snow. That was tough; the snow stopping that way. But it melting today will even things up. But not for Sordo. I'm afraid it's too late to even it up for Sordo. If we can last through today and not have to fight we can swing the whole show tomorrow with what we have. I know we can. Not well, maybe. Not as it should be, to be foolproof, not as we would have done; but using everybody we can swing it. _If we don't have to fight today_. God help us if we have to fight today. I don't know any place better to lay up in the meantime than this. If we move now we only leave tracks. This is as good a place as any and if the worst gets to be the worst there are three ways out of this place. There is the dark then to come and from wherever we are in these hills, I can reach and do the bridge at daylight. I don't know why I worried about it before. It seems easy enough now. I hope they get the planes up on time for once. I certainly hope that. Tomorrow is going to be a day with dust on the road. Well, today will be very interesting or very dull. Thank God we've got that cavalry mount out and away from here. I don't think even if they ride right up here they will go in the way those tracks are now. They'll think he stopped and circled and they'll pick up Pablo's tracks. I wonder where the old swine will go. He'll probably leave tracks like an old bull elk spooking out of the country and work way up and then when the snow melts circle back below. That horse certainly did things for him. Of course he may have just mucked off with him too. Well, he should be able to take care of himself. He's been doing this a long time. I wouldn't trust him farther than you can throw Mount Everest, though. I suppose it's smarter to use these rocks and build a good blind for this gun than to make a proper emplacement for it. You'd be digging and get caught with your pants down if they come or if the planes come. She will hold this, the way she is, as long as it is any use to hold it, and anyway I can't stay to fight. I have to get out of here with that stuff and I'm going to take Anselmo with me. Who would stay to cover us while we got away if we have to fight here? Just then, while he was watching all of the country that was visible, he saw the gypsy coming through the rocks to the left. He was walking with a loose, high-hipped, sloppy swing, his carbine was slung on his back, his brown face was grinning and he carried two big hares, one in each hand. He carried them by the legs, heads swinging. "_Hola_, Roberto," he called cheerfully. Robert Jordan put his hand to his mouth, and the gypsy looked startled. He slid over behind the rocks to where Robert Jordan was crouched beside the brush-shielded automatic rifle. He crouched down and laid the hares in the snow. Robert Jordan looked up at him. "You _hijo de la gran puta!_" he said softly. "Where the obscenity have you been?" "I tracked them," the gypsy said. "I got them both. They had made love in the snow." "And thy post?" "It was not for long," the gypsy whispered. "What passes? Is there an alarm?" "There is cavalry out." "_Redi鏀!_" the gypsy said. "Hast thou seen them?" "There is one at the camp now," Robert Jordan said. "He came for breakfast." "I thought I heard a shot or something like one," the gypsy said. "I obscenity in the milk! Did he come through here?" "Here. Thy post." "_Ay, mi madre!_" the gypsy said. "I am a poor, unlucky man." "If thou wert not a gypsy, I would shoot thee." "No, Roberto. Don't say that. I am sorry. It was the hares. Before daylight I heard the male thumping in the snow. You cannot imagine what a debauch they were engaged in. I went toward the noise but they were gone. I followed the tracks in the snow and high up I found them together and slew them both. Feel the fatness of the two for this time of year. Think what the Pilar will do with those two. I am sorry, Roberto, as sorry as thee. Was the cavalryman killed?" "Yes." "By thee?" "Yes." "_Qu?tio!_" the gypsy said in open flattery. "Thou art a veritable phenomenon." "Thy mother!" Robert Jordan said. He could not help grinning at the gypsy. "Take thy hares to camp and bring us up some breakfast." He put a hand out and felt of the hares that lay limp, long, heavy, thick-furred, big-footed and long-eared in the snow, their round dark eyes open. "They _are_ fat," he said. "Fat!" the gypsy said. "There's a tub of lard on the ribs of each one. In my life have I never dreamed of such hares." "Go then," Robert Jordan said, "and come quickly with the breakfast and bring to me the documentation of that _requet嶱. Ask Pilar for it." "You are not angry with me, Roberto?" "Not angry. Disgusted that you should leave your post. Suppose it had been a troop of cavalry?" "_Redi鏀_," the gypsy said. "How reasonable you are." "Listen to me. You cannot leave a post again like that. Never. I do not speak of shooting lightly." "Of course not. And another thing. Never would such an opportunity as the two hares present itself again. Not in the life of one man." "_Anda!_" Robert Jordan said. "And hurry back." The gypsy picked up the two hares and slipped back through the rocks and Robert Jordan looked out across the flat opening and the slopes of the hill below. Two crows circled overhead and then lit in a pine tree below. Another crow joined them and Robert Jordan, watching them, thought: those are my sentinels. As long as those are quiet there is no one coming through the trees. The gypsy, he thought. He is truly worthless. He has no political development, nor any discipline, and you could not rely on him for anything. But I need him for tomorrow. I have a use for him tomorrow. It's odd to see a gypsy in a war. They should be exempted like conscientious objectors. Or as the physically and mentally unfit. They are worthless. But conscientious objectors weren't exempted in this war. No one was exempted. It came to one and all alike. Well, it had come here now to this lazy outfit. They had it now. Agust璯 and Primitivo came up with the brush and Robert Jordan built a good blind for the automatic rifle, a blind that would conceal the gun from the air and that would look natural from the forest. He showed them where to place a man high in the rocks to the right where he could see all the country below and to the right, and another where he could command the only stretch where the left wall might be climbed. "Do not fire if you see any one from there," Robert Jordan said. "Roll a rock down as a warning, a small rock, and signal to us with thy rifle, thus," he lifted the rifle and held it over his head as though guarding it. "Thus for numbers," he lifted the rifle up and down. "If they are dismounted point thy rifle muzzle at the ground. Thus. Do not fire from there until thou hearest the _m嫭uina_ fire. Shoot at a man's knees when you shoot from that height. If you hear me whistle twice on this whistle get down, keeping behind cover, and come to these rocks where the _m嫭uina_ is." Primitivo raised the rifle. "I understand," he said. "It is very simple." "Send first the small rock as a warning and indicate the direction and the number. See that you are not seen." "Yes," Primitivo said. "If I can throw a grenade?" "Not until the _m嫭uina_ has spoken. It may be that cavalry will come searching for their comrade and still not try to enter. They may follow the tracks of Pablo. We do not want combat if it can be avoided. Above all that we should avoid it. Now get up there." "_Me voy_," Primitivo said, and climbed up into the high rocks with his carbine. "Thou, Agust璯," Robert Jordan said. "What do you know of the gun?" Agust璯 squatted there, tall, black, stubbly joweled, with his sunken eyes and thin mouth and his big work-worn hands. "_Pues_, to load it. To aim it. To shoot it. Nothing more." "You must not fire until they are within fifty meters and only when you are sure they will be coming into the pass which leads to the cave," Robert Jordan said. "Yes. How far is that?" "That rock." "If there is an officer shoot him first. Then move the gun onto the others. Move very slowly. It takes little movement. I will teach Fernando to tap it. Hold it tight so that it does not jump and sight carefully and do not fire more than six shots at a time if you can help it. For the fire of the gun jumps upward. But each time fire at one man and then move from him to another. At a man on a horse, shoot at his belly." "Yes." "One man should hold the tripod still so that the gun does not jump. Thus. He will load the gun for thee." "And where will you be?" "I will be here on the left. Above, where I can see all and I will cover thy left with this small _m嫭uina_. Here. If they should come it would be possible to make a massacre. But you must not fire until they are that close." "I believe that we could make a massacre. _Menuda matanza!_" "But I hope they do not come." "If it were not for thy bridge we could make a massacre here and get out." "It would avail nothing. That would serve no purpose. The bridge is a part of a plan to win the war. This would be nothing. This would be an incident. A nothing." "_Qu?va_, nothing. Every fascist dead is a fascist less." "Yes. But with this of the bridge we can take Segovia. The Capital of a Province. Think of that. It will be the first one we will take." "Thou believest in this seriously? That we can take Segovia?" "Yes. It is possible with the bridge blown correctly." "I would like to have the massacre here and the bridge, too." "Thou hast much appetite," Robert Jordan told him. All this time he had been watching the crows. Now he saw one was watching something. The bird cawed and flew up. But the other crow still stayed in the tree. Robert Jordan looked up toward Primitivo's place high in the rocks. He saw him watching out over the country below but he made no signal. Robert Jordan leaned forward and worked the lock on the automatic rifle, saw the round in the chamber and let the lock down. The crow was still there in the tree. The other circled wide over the snow and then settled again. In the sun and the warm wind the snow was falling from the laden branches of the pines. "I have a massacre for thee for tomorrow morning," Robert Jordan said. "It is necessary to exterminate the post at the sawmill." "I am ready," Agust璯 said, "_Estoy listo_." "Also the post at the roadmender's hut below the bridge." "For the one or for the other," Agust璯 said. "Or for both." "Not for both. They will be done at the same time," Robert Jordan said. "Then for either one," Agust璯 said. "Now for a long time have I wished for action in this war. Pablo has rotted us here with inaction." Anselmo came up with the ax. "Do you wish more branches?" he asked. "To me it seems well hidden." "Not branches," Robert Jordan said. "Two small trees that we can plant here and there to make it look more natural. There are not enough trees here for it to be truly natural." "I will bring them." "Cut them well back, so the stumps cannot be seen." Robert Jordan heard the ax sounding in the woods behind him. He looked up at Primitivo above in the rocks and he looked down at the pines across the clearing. The one crow was still there. Then he heard the first high, throbbing murmur of a plane coming. He looked up and saw it high and tiny and silver in the sun, seeming hardly to move in the high sky. "They cannot see us," he said to Agust璯. "But it is well to keep down. That is the second observation plane today." "And those of yesterday?" Agust璯 asked. "They are like a bad dream now," Robert Jordan said. "They must be at Segovia. The bad dream waits there to become a reality." The plane was out of sight now over the mountains but the sound of its motors still persisted. As Robert Jordan looked, he saw the crow fly up. He flew straight away through the trees without cawing. 　　“给我砍些松枝，”罗伯特。乔丹对普里米蒂伏说快点拿。 　　“熗架在那儿不对头，”他对奥古斯丁说。 　　“为什么?” 　　 　　“把它挪到那边去吧，”罗伯特‘乔丹指点着。“我以后告诉 你。” 　　“架在这儿。我来帮你搬。这儿。”他说着就睇下来。他眺望着对面一块狭长地带，打量着两边岩石的髙度，“要放远些，”他说，“再远些。好。架在这儿。这祥放行了，以后再好好调整。行啦。把石块放在那儿。这儿放一块。边上再放一块。给熗口留些转动的地方。这石头还得朝这边挪过些。安塞尔莫，到下面山洞里给我拿把斧头。快。” 　　“难道你们从来没有给这挺熗找到一个恰当的位置吗?”他对奥古斯丁说。 　　“我们总是架在这儿的。”“卡希金从没说过应该把熗架在那儿吗？”“没有。这挺熗是他走后送来的。”“送熗来的人中间没有会使的人吗?”“没有。这梃熗是脚夫捎来的。” 　　“办事怎么能这样,罗伯特　乔丹说。“没有说明就把熗给你们了？” 　　“是锕，象送礼一，样。一挺给我们，　挺给‘塞子’。送熗来的人有四个，赞路的是安塞尔莫。” 　　“四个人越过火线没把抢丢了,倒是怪事。”“我那时也这么想，”奥古斯丁说。“我想打发他们来的人躭是打算丢掉的。但安塞尔莫好好儿把熗护送来了。”“你会使这熗?” 　　“会，我试过，我会。巴勃罗会。普里米蒂伏会。费尔南多也会。我们在山洞里研究过，在果子上把它拆开再装上。有次拆开后，装了两天才装好。我们从此再没拆过，““熗现在能发射吗？” 　　“能。但是我们不让吉普赛人和别人摆弄。”“你僅吗？把熗架在那儿毫无作用，”他说。“瞧。那些岩石原该用来掩护你的两侧，反而被向你进攻的敌人当掩护了。有了这种熗，你该找块开阔的平地来发挥火力。你还得斜着打。懂吗？你瞧。现在前面都在你火力控制之下啦。” 　　“我懂了，〃奥古斯丁说。“可是我们从没打过保卫战，除了我们老家那个小镇被占领的那回。炸火车的时候有正式当兵的使机关熗。” 　　“那我们一起来学吧。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。”有些情况要注意。吉普赛人没有来,哪儿去啦?”“不知道。”“他可能上哪儿?”“不知道。” 　　巴勃罗策马驰出山口，拐了一个弯,绕着山顶上那块平地转了个睡子，那里是自动步熗的火力范围。罗伯特　乔丹这时看见他顺着这匹马刚才踩出来的那道蹄印，驰下山坡。他向左貤去，消失在树林里。 　　“伹愿他别迎面碰上骑兵，”罗伯特　乔丹想。“就怕我们万一射击起来他也在我们火力范围内。” 　　普里米蒂伏拿来了松枝，罗伯特　乔丹把它们插在积雪下没冻结的泥土里，弯成拱形遮在熗上。 　　“再弄些来，”他说。“必须掩护那两个打熗的人。这不管什么用，不过在拿来斧子之前能凑合。听着，”他说,“如果你们听到飞机，要在岩石的阴影里就地卧倒。我在这里守住熗。“ 　　太阳这时已经升起,暖风吹拂，待在岩石有阳光照到的那一面很舒适。罗伯特　乔丹想。”有四匹马。两个女的和我，安塞尔莫,普里米蒂伏,费尔南多，奥古斯丁，两兄弟中的另一个到底叫什么来着？一共个人。吉普赛人还没算进去。一共是九个，加上骑了一匹马走的巴勃罗是十个。另外那个兄弟，他的名字叫安德烈斯。加上另外那一个埃拉迪奥。一共十个。每两个人也分不到一匹马。三个男的可以守在这里,四个坷以撤走。加上巴勃罗是五个。剩下两个。加上埃拉迪奥是三个。真见鬼，他上哪儿去啦，“ 　　假如他们在雪地里发现了那些马的蹄印，天知道“聋子”会碰上什么遭遇。真够呛，雪竟然停了。不过今天化了雪，佾况又会变得有利。对“聋子”来说可不是这样。对他来说,恐怕来不及了，不会变得有利了。 　　要是我们能拖过今天而不用开火，凭我们现有的力纛能唱好明天的那台戏。我知道我们能行。也许不大出色。不哆理想,不能做到万无一失，不能称我们的心来干，不过，把每个人都用上的话，我们是能干成功的。但愿今天不用开火就好啦。要是今天非打不可,那上帝来保佑我们吧。 　　我不知道眼前躲在什么地方比这里更安全。现在走，只会留下脚印，这里可算是最好的地方了，如果情况糟得不能再糟，这里有三条退路。接着等天黑下来，那时候不管我们在这一带山区的什么地方,我都能设法在黎明时把那座桥炸掉。我不知道先前我为什么发愁。现在看来相当容易。我希望这一次我们的飞机能准时起飞。我确实这样希望。明天公路上将会热闹起来。 　　唉，今天会十分有趣，或者十分乏味。感谢上帝，我们把骑兵的那匹马引开这里了。我看即使他们骑马到了这儿，也不见得会循着现在那些马蹄印走的。他们会以为他停了下来，转了一个圈子，他们会循着巴勃罗的马蹄印走。我不知道这个老杂种到什么地方去了。他也许会象头老公麇那样落荒而逃，一路向上爬，留下蹄印,然后等雪化了，兜一个圉子，抄山下的路回来。那匹马确实使他来了劲。当然啦，他也可能拿了这匹马反而把事情描糟。噢，他是应该能照厫自己的。他好久以来都这么着。不过我不信任他，就象我根本不信你能推倒埃弗勒斯峰① 　　我看，聪明一点的办法是利用这些岩石给这挺熗修一个隐蔽得很好的火力点，而不要筑一个正式的掩体。煆如来了敌人或来了飞机,而你正在挖攝，准会给弄得措手不及。只要在这里坚守下去有用，凭比拉尔的情况看是能坚守下去的。我反正不能留下作战，我得带了炸药离开这里，我要带安塞尔莫一起走。假使这里非打不可，那么我们撤离的时候，谁留下来掩护我们。 　　他眺望着视力所及的田野时，看到那吉普赛人穿过山岩从左边来了。他扭着屁股,镘不经心而大摇大摆地走来，卡宾熗挎在背上，褐色的脸上咧嘴笑着，双手各提着一只大兔子。他提着兔脚，两顆兔子脑袋摇晃着。 　　“哦，罗伯托，”他兴冲冲地喊道。 　　罗伯特‘乔丹把手按在嘴上，吉普赛人显然怔了一下扇一溜烟地躲到山岩后面，走到伏在树枝掩蔽着的自动步抢边的罗伯特　乔丹身边。他蹲下来,把兔子放在雪地上。罗伯特’乔丹抬头望着他。 ①即珠教朗玛峰 　　“你这个婊子养的!”他低声说。“你他妈的到哪儿去啦?”〃我在追兔子，”吉普赛人说。“我把两只都逮住了。它们在雪地里调情哪。” 　　“你不是在放哨吗？” 　　“捉兔子时间不长，”吉普赛人低声说。“出了什么事？有蕾报吗？” 　　“来骑兵了。〃 　　“老天爷!”吉普赛人说。“你看到他们了?”“有一个现在在营地，”罗伯特、乔丹说。“他来吃早饭的。”“我好象是听到了一声熗晌什么的，”吉普赛人说-“我入他奶奶的！是从这里过来的？” 　　“从这里来的。从　的岗哨上来的。”“我的妈呀1”吉普-人说。“我是个倒霉的可怜虫。”、“你不是吉普赛人的话，我就毙了你。”“别,罗伯托。别讲这种话。对不起。那是兔子的关系。天亮前我听到雪地里有只公兔在睃雄。你哪里想象得到它们在摘什么下淹的勾当。我朝声响走去，兔子溜掉啦。我沿着脚印在雪地里搜,发现两只都在山上，就把它们都宰了。你摸摸，在这个季节，这两只兔子多肥。想想看，比拉尔能拿来做什么好吃的。我很谀恼,罗伯托，和你一样懊恼　那个骑兵给宰了？”“宰了，““是你宰的。”“不错。” 　　“好样的　”吉普赛人毫不掩饰地拍马屁了，“你这人真了不起。” 　　“去你妈的1”罗伯特‘乔丹说。他禁不住对吉普赛人苦笑，“把兔子带回营去,给我们弄点早点来。” 　　他伸手摸摸躺在雪地上的兔子。兔子软绵绵的，身体又长又沉,毛厚，长脚长耳朵，踭着黑色的圃眼睛。“的确很肥，”他说。 　　“肥啊"吉普赛人说。“每个兔子的肋骨上都可刮下一桶油哪。我这辈子做梦也没见过这样的兔子。” 　　“那就走吧，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“快去拿早饭来，还把那保皇派骑兵①的证明文件也带给我。向比拉尔要。”“你不生我的气吧，罗伯托?” 　　〃不生气。恼恨的是你离开了自己的岗位。要是来的是一队骑兵怎么办？” 　　“老天爷。”吉普赛人说。“你这人真通情达理。”“听我说。你再不能象这样擅离职守了。绝对不许。我说熗毙不是说着玩的。” 　　“当然不。还有，决不会再有两只兔子自，“跑来的机会了。一个人一辈子也难碰上一次。” 　　“快走。”罗伯特，乔丹说。“快去快回。“ 　　吉普赛人提起两只兔子，返身穿过岩石走了。”罗伯特"乔丹眺望着前面那开阔的平地和下面的山坡。两只乌鸦在头顶上盘旋，接着停落在下面的一棵松树上。接着又飞来一只,三只在一起，罗伯特’乔丹望着乌鸦想。”这是我的哨兵。只要这些鸟不惊飞，就表示树林中没人来。 ①十九世纪中叶，关于西班牙王位的继承问理，出现了一批拥护食.卡洛斯及其后脔接位的王室正统论者，他们发动坂乱，挑起内珙，自后成为一肤政治势力。一九三一年推翮君主制后，这股势力拾头，站在教会、大地主、大资产阶级的一边，并有自己的武装组织，在意大利受训，妃合佛明哥手下的摩尔人部队及摩洛哥的雇佣兵组织外箱军团作为叛军的急先锋。本书中这支骑兵部队就是这种保皇派武装力量,思想极端保守，胸前都佩有圣心标记， 　　他想。”这个吉普赛人嗛,真是个废物。他没有政治觉悟,也不守纪律，你什么也不能信赖他。但我明天需要他。明天我用得着他。吉普赛人参加战争是少见的。他们应当象由于信仰的原因而拒脤兵役的人那样予以豁免，或者作为体力和智力上不适合的人予以除外　他们是废物。伹是在这场战争中，拒服兵役的人也不能豁免。谁也不能豁免。战争降临到每个人的头上。得了，它如今降临到这帮懒鬼的头上了。他们现在遇上啦。 　　奥古斯丁和普里米蒂伏带来了树枝。罗伯特。乔丹给自动步熗筑了个很好的掩体，从天上一点也看不出来，从树林那面望来显得没什么异样。他指给他们看，在右边山岩顶上布置一个人，能望到山下整个田野和右侧，另外再布置一个人可以控制住左边山崖唯一可以爬上来的要道。 　　“要是看到有人从那里来,别开熗，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“推一块石头，一块小石头下来告聱，用步熗,这样,给我们打信号。”他提起步熗，举过头，好象在保护自己的脑瓜似的。“敌人有几个躭举几次。”他上下举动熗支。"要是他们下马，把熗口朝地面。这样。要听到自动步熗响了，你才能在那儿开熗。从上面射击,要瞄准对方的膝盖。如果听到我用这只哨子吹两遢,你就下山,路上注意掩护自己,跑到架自动步熗的这儿岩石边来。“普里米蒂伏提起步熗。“我僅，“，”他说‘“这很简单。” 　　“先推下小石头告蕾，指明方向和人数　注意自己别被人发 现。” 　　“是。”普里米蒂伏说。“我可以扔个手楠弹吗?”“要等到自动步抢响了才行，也许骑兵队会来找他们的同伙,但还是不打算深入。他们可能会循着巴勃罗的蹄印走。能避免的话，我们就不打。最重要的是应该避免交火。现在上山到那边去吧。” 　　“我走了，”普里米蒂伏说，背起卡宾熗，爬上髙髙的山岩。“你，奥古斯丁，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你会使这挺熗吗?”奥古斯丁又髙又黑，下巴上满是胡子茬,长着一对凹陷的眼睛、簿薄的嘴展和两只干过粗活的大手。他蹲在那儿。“会啊，上子弹，瞄准，射击，没别的啦。”“你得等他们来到五十公尺以内才开熗，只有当你看准他们要走进通山涧的那个山口时才开熗。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“是。五十公尺是多远?” 　　“到那块岩石那儿。有军官来的话先向他射击。然后转过熗口去扫射别人。要转动得很慢。辐度要小。我要教费尔南多怎样打熗。要握紧熗，免得熗身跳动，要仔细瞄准，每次射击尽可能不超过六发子弹，因为连发的话射线会向上移动。每次只瞄准一个人打,然后再打别人　骑马的，要打他的腹部。” 　　“由一个人按稳三脚架，免得熗身弹跳。象这样。他可以给你上子弹。” 　　“那么你待在哪里?” 　　“我待在这儿左边。居高临下，我可以照蹊全局，用这支小手提机熗掩护你的左翼。在这儿。他们要来的话,很可能杀掉他们一批。但一定要等他们临近的时候，你才开熗。”“我相信能够杀掉他们一批。杀得他们人仰马翻。”“可是，但愿他们别来。” 　　“要不是为了你的桥，我们满可以在这儿杀掉他们一批再撤 走。” 　　“这一点儿没用。这样做没有目的性。炸桥是打蠃这场战争的计划的一部分。在这里干算不上什么。不过是个意外进遇罢了。算不上什么。” 　　“什么话，算不上什么！法西斯分子死一个少一个。”“对。但炸了这座挢，我们就能占领塞哥维亚。那是省会。要想到这一点。那将是我们攻占的第一个省会。”“你真以为是这样？我们能占领塞哥维亚吗？”“对。正确按计划炸桥就有可能。”“我愿意在这儿杀掉他们一批,还把桥也炸掉，““你的胃口真不小。”罗伯特　乔丹对他说。他始终在留神着乌鸦的动静。这时他看到有1只在张望着什么。它哇的一声飞走了。另一只仍待在树上。罗伯特‘乔丹抬头望望岩石高处的普里米蒂伏。只见普里米蒂伏　，“在了望山下的田野，但没有打信号。罗伯特。乔丹俯身向前，拉开自动步熗的熗机，看到弹膛里有一发子弹，就把熗机推上了，那只乌鸦仍在树上。另一只在雪地上空打了个大圚子，又降落下来。在阳光和暖风中，沉甸甸的雪从松枝上掉下来。　 　　“明天早晨我让你杀掉他们一批，”罗伯特”乔丹说。“必须端掉锯木厂边的哨所。” 　　“我准备好了，”奥古斯丁说。 　　“桥下养路工小屋那儿的哨所也得端掉。” 　　“端掉这个或那个都行，”奥古斯丁说。”两个都端掉也行。”"不是一个个干的。要同时端掉，”罗伯特‘乔丹说　“那么随便干哪个吧，”奥古斯丁说。“在这次战争中，我一直在等着干。巴勃罗老是按兵不动，把我们拖烂啦。”安塞尔莫拿着斧头来了。 　　“你还要树枝吗？”他问。“我看已经掩护得不错了，““不要树枝了。”罗伯特　乔丹说。“要两棵小树，这儿插一棵，那儿插一棵,使得看起来更自然些。要使这儿显得真正自然,树还不够。” 　　“我去砍来。” 　　“要齐根砍，别留下树桩给人家发现。”罗伯特‘乔丹听到身后树林里响起了斧头声。他抬头望望山岩上的普里米蒂伏，又低头望望山下空地对面的松林。那只乌鸦仍在那儿。接着,他听到髙空中传来一架飞机低镦的震响声。他抬头一望,只见阳光中飞机一点大，银光闪亮，在脔空中好象动也不动， 　　“飞机望不到我们，”他对奥古斯丁说。”不过还是卧倒好。这是今天的第二架侦察机了。” 　　“昨天的那些飞机呢。”奥古斯丁问。“现在想起来真象场恶梦，”罗伯特，乔丹说，“他们准是驻在塞哥维亚的。恶梦在那儿要变成事实啦。”飞机这时越出了视野，飞过了山岭,但马达声仍然在空中回响着。 　　罗伯特，乔丹望着，发现那只乌鸦飞了起来　它穿过树林,笔直地飞走了，但没有叫上一声。

Chapter 23 "Get thee down," Robert Jordan whispered to Agust, and he turned his head and flicked his hand _Down, Down_, to Anselmo who was coming through the gap with a pine tree, carrying it over his shoulder like a Christmas tree. He saw the old man drop his pine tree behind a rock and then he was out of sight in the rocks and Robert Jordan was looking ahead across the open space toward the timber. He saw nothing and heard nothing but he could feel his heart pounding and then he heard the clack of stone on stone and the leaping, dropping clicks of a small rock falling. He turned his head to the right and looking up saw Primitivo's rifle raised and lowered four times horizontally. Then there was nothing more to see but the white stretch in front of him with the circle of horse tracks and the timber beyond. "Cavalry," he said softly to Agust. Agust looked at him and his dark, sunken cheeks widened at their base as he grinned. Robert Jordan noticed he was sweating. He reached over and put his hand on his shoulder. His hand was still there as they saw the four horsemen ride out of the timber and he felt the muscles in Agust's back twitch under his hand. One horseman was ahead and three rode behind. The one ahead was following the horse tracks. He looked down as he rode. The other three came behind him, fanned out through the timber. They were all watching carefully. Robert Jordan felt his heart beating against the snowy ground as he lay, his elbows spread wide and watched them over the sights of the automatic rifle. The man who was leading rode along the trail to where Pablo had circled and stopped. The others rode up to him and they all stopped. Robert Jordan saw them clearly over the blued steel barrel of the automatic rifle. He saw the faces of the men, the sabers hanging, the sweat-darkened flanks of the horses, and the cone-like slope of the khaki capes, and the Navarrese slant of the khaki berets. The leader turned his horse directly toward the opening in the rocks where the gun was placed and Robert Jordan saw his young, sunand wind-darkened face, his close-set eyes, hawk nose and the overlong wedge-shaped chin. Sitting his horse there, the horse's chest toward Robert Jordan, the horse's head high, the butt of the light automatic rifle projecting forward from the scabbard at the right of the saddle, the leader pointed toward the opening where the gun was. Robert Jordan sunk his elbows into the ground and looked along the barrel at the four riders stopped there in the snow. Three of them had their automatic rifles out. Two carried them across the pommels of their saddles. The other sat his horse with the rifle swung out to the right, the butt resting against his hip. You hardly ever see them at such range, he thought. Not along the barrel of one of these do you see them like this. Usually the rear sight is raised and they seem miniatures of men and you have hell to make it carry up there; or they come running, flopping, running, and you beat a slope with fire or bar a certain street, or keep it on the windows; or far away you see them marching on a road. Only at the trains do you see them like this. Only then are they like now, and with four of these you can make them scatter. Over the gun sights, at this range, it makes them twice the size of men. Thou, he thought, looking at the wedge of the front sight placed now firm in the slot of the rear sight, the top of the wedge against the center of the leader's chest, a little to the right of the scarlet device that showed bright in the morning sun against the khaki cape. Though, he thought, thinking in Spanish now and pressing his fingers forward against the trigger guard to keep it away from where it would bring the quick, shocking, hurtling rush from the automatic rifle. Thou, he thought again, thou art dead now in thy youth. And thou, he thought, and thou, and thou. But let it not happen. Do not let it happen. He felt Agust beside him start to cough, felt him hold it, choke and swallow. Then as he looked along the oiled blue of the barrel out through the opening between the branches, his finger still pressed forward against the trigger guard, he saw the leader turn his horse and point into the timber where Pablo's trail led. The four of them trotted into the timber and Agust said softly, "_Cabrones!_" Robert Jordan looked behind him at the rocks where Anselmo had dropped the tree. The gypsy, Rafael, was coming toward them through the rocks, carrying a pair of cloth saddlebags, his rifle slung on his back. Robert Jordan waved him down and the gypsy ducked out of sight. "We could have killed all four," Agust said quietly. He was still wet with sweat. "Yes," Robert Jordan whispered. "But with the firing who knows what might have come?" Just then he heard the noise of another rock falling and he looked around quickly. But both the gypsy and Anselmo were out of sight. He looked at his wrist watch and then up to where Primitivo was raising and lowering his rifle in what seemed an infinity of short jerks. Pablo has forty-five minutes' start, Robert Jordan thought, and then he heard the noise of a body of cavalry coming. "_No te apures_," he whispered to Agust. "Do not worry. They will pass as the others." They came into sight trotting along the edge of the timber in column of twos, twenty mounted men, armed and uniformed as the others had been, their sabers swinging, their carbines in their holsters; and then they went down into the timber as the others had. "_Tu ves?_" Robert Jordan said to Agust. "Thou seest?" "There were many," Agust said. "These would we have had to deal with if we had destroyed the others," Robert Jordan said very softly. His heart had quieted now and his shirt felt wet on his chest from the melting snow. There was a hollow feeling in his chest. The sun was bright on the snow and it was melting fast. He could see it hollowing away from the tree trunks and just ahead of the gun, before his eyes, the snow surface was damp and lacily fragile as the heat of the sun melted the top and the warmth of the earth breathed warmly up at the snow that lay upon it. Robert Jordan looked up at Primitivo's post and saw him signal, "Nothing," crossing his two hands, palms down. Anselmo's head showed above a rock and Robert Jordan motioned him up. The old man slipped from rock to rock until he crept up and lay down flat beside the gun. "Many," he said. "Many!" "I do not need the trees," Robert Jordan said to him. "There is no need for further forestal improvement." Both Anselmo and Agust grinned. "This has stood scrutiny well and it would be dangerous to plant trees now because those people will return and perhaps they are not stupid." He felt the need to talk that, with him, was the sign that there had just been much danger. He could always tell how bad it had been by the strength of the desire to talk that came after. "It was a good blind, eh?" he said. "Good," said Agust. "To obscenity with all fascism good. We could have killed the four of them. Didst thou see?" he said to Anselmo. "I saw." "Thou," Robert Jordan said to Anselmo. "Thou must go to the post of yesterday or another good post of thy selection to watch the road and report on all movement as of yesterday. Already we are late in that. Stay until dark. Then come in and we will send another." "But the tracks that I will make?" "Go from below as soon as the snow is gone. The road will be muddied by the snow. Note if there has been much traffic of trucks or if there are tank tracks in the softness on the road. That is all we can tell until you are there to observe." "With your permission?" the old man asked. "Surely." "With your permission, would it not be better for me to go into La Granja and inquire there what passed last night and arrange for one to observe today thus in the manner you have taught me? Such a one could report tonight or, better, I could go again to La Granja for the report." "Have you no fear of encountering cavalry?" "Not when the snow is gone." "Is there some one in La Granja capable of this?" "Yes. Of this, yes. It would be a woman. There are various women of trust in La Granja." "I believe it," Agust said. "More, I know it, and several who serve for other purposes. You do not wish me to go?" "Let the old man go. You understand this gun and the day is not over." "I will go when the snow melts," Anselmo said. "And the snow is melting fast." "What think you of their chance of catching Pablo?" Robert Jordan asked Agust. "Pablo is smart," Agust said. "Do men catch a wise stag without hounds?" "Sometimes," Robert Jordan said. "Not Pablo," Agust said. "Clearly, he is only a garbage of what he once was. But it is not for nothing that he is alive and comfortable in these hills and able to drink himself to death while there are so many others that have died against a wall." "Is he as smart as they say?" "He is much smarter." "He has not seemed of great ability here." " no?_ If he were not of great ability he would have died last night. It seems to me you do not understand politics, nor guerilla warfare. In politics and this other the first thing is to continue to exist. Look how he continued to exist last night. And the quantity of dung he ate both from me and from thee." Now that Pablo was back in the movements of the unit, Robert Jordan did not wish to talk against him and as soon as he had uttered it he regretted saying the thing about his ability. He knew himself how smart Pablo was. It was Pablo who had seen instantly all that was wrong with the orders for the destruction of the bridge. He had made the remark only from dislike and he knew as he made it that it was wrong. It was part of the talking too much after a strain. So now he dropped the matter and said to Anselmo, "And to go into La Granja in daylight?" "It is not bad," the old man said. "I will not go with a military band." "Nor with a bell around his neck," Agust said. "Nor carrying a banner." "How will you go?" "Above and down through the forest." "But if they pick you up." "I have papers." "So have we all but thou must eat the wrong ones quickly." Anselmo shook his head and tapped the breast pocket of his smock. "How many times have I contemplated that," he said. "And never did I like to swallow paper." "I have thought we should carry a little mustard on them all," Robert Jordan said. "In my left breast pocket I carry our papers. In my right the fascist papers. Thus one does not make a mistake in an emergency." It must have been bad enough when the leader of the first patrol of cavalry had pointed toward the entry because they were all talking very much. Too much, Robert Jordan thought. "But look, Roberto," Agust said. "They say the government moves further to the right each day. That in the Republic they no longer say Comrade but and Se隳ra. Canst shift thy pockets?" "When it moves far enough to the right I will carry them in my hip pocket," Robert Jordan said, "and sew it in the center." "That they should stay in thy shirt," Agust said. "Are we to win this war and lose the revolution?" "Nay," Robert Jordan said. "But if we do not win this war there will be no revolution nor any Republic nor any thou nor any me nor anything but the most grand _carajo_." "So say I," Anselmo said. "That we should win the war." "And afterwards shoot the anarchists and the Communists and all this _canalla_ except the good Republicans," Agust said. "That we should win this war and shoot nobody," Anselmo said. "That we should govern justly and that all should participate in the benefits according as they have striven for them. And that those who have fought against us should be educated to see their error." "We will have to shoot many," Agust said. "Many, many, many." He thumped his closed right fist against the palm of his left hand. "That we should shoot none. Not even the leaders. That they should be reformed by work." "I know the work I'd put them at," Agust said, and he picked up some snow and put it in his mouth. "What, bad one?" Robert Jordan asked. "Two trades of the utmost brilliance." "They are?" Agust put some more snow in his mouth and looked across the clearing where the cavalry had ridden. Then he spat the melted snow out. "_Vaya_. What a breakfast," he said. "Where is the filthy gypsy?" "What trades?" Robert Jordan asked him. "Speak, bad mouth." "Jumping from planes without parachutes," Agust said, and his eyes shone. "That for those that we care for. And being nailed to the tops of fence posts to be pushed over backwards for the others." "That way of speaking is ignoble," Anselmo said. "Thus we will never have a Republic." "I would like to swim ten leagues in a strong soup made from the _cojones_ of all of them," Agust said. "And when I saw those four there and thought that we might kill them I was like a mare in the corral waiting for the stallion." "You know why we did not kill them, though?" Robert Jordan said quietly. "Yes," Agust said. "Yes. But the necessity was on me as it is on a mare in heat. You cannot know what it is if you have not felt it." "You sweated enough," Robert Jordan said. "I thought it was fear." "Fear, yes," Agust said. "Fear and the other. And in this life there is no stronger thing than the other." Yes, Robert Jordan thought. We do it coldly but they do not, nor ever have. It is their extra sacrament. Their old one that they had before the new religion came from the far end of the Mediterranean, the one they have never abandoned but only suppressed and hidden to bring it out again in wars and inquisitions. They are the people of the Auto de Fe; the act of faith. Killing is something one must do, but ours are different from theirs. And you, he thought, you have never been corrupted by it? You never had it in the Sierra? Nor at Usera? Nor through all the time in Estremadura? Nor at any time? Qu?va, he told himself. At every train. Stop making dubious literature about the Berbers and the old Iberians and admit that you have liked to kill as all who are soldiers by choice have enjoyed it at some time whether they lie about it or not. Anselmo does not like to because he is a hunter, not a soldier. Don't idealize him, either. Hunters kill animals and soldiers kill men. Don't lie to yourself, he thought. Nor make up literature about it. You have been tainted with it for a long time now. And do not think against Anselmo either. He is a Christian. Something very rare in Catholic countries. But with Agust I had thought it was fear, he thought. That natural fear before action. So it was the other, too. Of course, he may be bragging now. There was plenty of fear. I felt the fear under my hand. Well, it was time to stop talking. "See if the gypsy brought food," he said to Anselmo. "Do not let him come up. He is a fool. Bring it yourself. And however much he brought, send back for more. I am hungry." 　　“卧倒。”罗伯特　乔丹对奥古斯丁低声说，并转过头去，对安塞尔典急速地摆手，示意他卧倒，卧倒;安塞尔莫拿着一棵松树,象扛圣诞树似的扛在肩上，正从缺口处走来。他看到老头儿把松树撂在一块岩石后面，自己也躲在岩石背后不见了。罗伯特‘乔丹望着开阖空地对面的树林。他没看到也没听到什么,只觉得自已的心在怦怦地跳，接着听到石头和右头的碰揸声，那是一块小石头珧眺騸棚地滚下石壁时的嗒嗒声。他向右面抬起头，看见普里米蒂伏的步熗一上一下地平举了四次。接着,再也看不到什么了，只有他面前的一片白色土地，上面的那醱马蹿印，以及远处的松林。 　　“骑兵，”他低声对奥古斯丁说。 　　奥古斯丁望着他娥牙笑笑，黑黝黝的凹陷的双颊下部显得更阔了。罗伯特　乔丹发觉他在出汗，就伸手按在他的肩头上。他没有拿掉他的手，他们就看到树林里跑出四个骑兵来。他感到奥古斯丁肩背上的肌肉在他手下抽动着。 　　―个骑兵领先,后面跟着三个。领先的那个循着马蹄印走。他骑在马上低头察看着。其他三个跟在他后面，成廟形穿过树林。他们钵在仔细观察着。罗伯特‘乔丹匍匍着，觉得自己的心抵着雪地在怦评地搏动，他把胳脾肘分得很开，撑起上半身,通过自动步熗的瞄准装置注视宥他们。 　　带头的那个沿着蹄印骑到巴勃罗打阖子的地方,停下来了。其他三人向他靠拢,也都停下来了　 　　罗伯特‘乔丹顺着自动步熗蓝色的钢熗筒，清楚地看到了他们。他看到了他们的睑、身上挂着的马刀、被汗湿得黑黑的马腹、圆锥形的卡其披风和纳瓦拉人愤常歪戴着的卡其贝雷櫂。领先的那个拨转马头,正对着架熗的岩石缺口。罗伯特‘乔丹看清他那张饱经风霜的年青的黑脸、两只相距很近的眼睛、鹰钩鼻子和过长的楔形下巴。 　　这个领先的骑兵骑在马背上，马头髙昂，胸脯朝着罗伯特，乔丹，马鞍右侧的熗套里露出了轻自动步熗的熗托，他指着那架熗的缺口。 　　罗伯特，乔丹把胳膊肘紧贴在地上，顺着熗筒向那四个停留在雪地里的骑兵望去。其中三个拔出了自动步熗。两个把熗横搁在鞍头上。另一个骑在马背上,步熗斜在右側，熗托支在屁股上。 　　他想，你难得见到靠得这么近的敌人。伏在这种机熗后面望这样近的敌人，可从来没有过。通常是把表尺抬高，敌人的身形显得很小,你很难把子掸打中那么远的目标。要不，他们向你跑来，卧倒，再跑，你呢，用机抢火力扫射山坡，或者封锁一条街道，或者朝着窗户射击;要不，在远处望着他们在路上行军。只有在袭击火车时看到过这样近的敌人。只有在那时候才有现在这样的景象。这四个家伙啊，你能打得他们落花流水。距离这样近,通过熗的表尺和准星来看,这些人显得比他们本来的样子大两倍。 　　他望着稳定在表尺缺口内的楔形准星，准星顶褓对准着那领先的骑兵的胸膛中央，对准着那卡其披风上在裊曦中分外鲜明的大红标记右面一点儿的地方。他想,你啊。他这时用西班牙语在想，把手指朝前抵住扳机护困，免得这自动步熗一触即发,猛的啷嘟嘟一梭子打出去。这时他又想:你明,年纪青青就要拫销啦。他想:还有你，还有你，还有你。不过但愿这种事不要发生。不要发生吧，他发觉奥古斯丁在他身边要咳嗽了，接着忍在喉昽里,咽下一口口水，他顒着油亮的蓝色熗管，穿过树枝间隙望着前面的空地，手指仍然朝前抵住了扳机护面,这时他看到那领先的骑兵调转马身，指着巴勃罗在树林里走过的路线。于是四个骑兵策马向树林里骑去。奥古斯丁低声说。”王八蛋!” 　　罗伯特　乔丹回过头去望望安塞尔典刚才把松树撂下的地 方。 　　吉普赛人拉斐尔从岩石中间向他们走来，拿着两只布制的马褡裢，挎着步熗。罗伯特，乔丹挥手叫他卧倒，吉普赛人立即低下身子看不见了申　 　　“我们满可以把四个都干掉，”奥古斯丁悄悄地说,他仍然汗淋淋的。 　　“是晡，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“可是开了熗，谁知道会出现什么后果?” ’ 　　正在这时，他叉听到有“石头滚下来的声音，他立刻籾四周扫了“眼。吉普赛人和安塞尔莫两个人都不见踪彩。他看看手表,接着抬头聃苷里米蒂伏那儿望望,只见他正在急速壤上下举动步熗,举了无数次。罗伯特‘乔丹想。”巴勃罗已走了四十五分钟。他接着听到有一队骑兵行近的声音。 　　“你别着急，”他对奥古斯丁低声说。“他们会象刚才几个那样走过去的。” 　　树林边缘出现了二十个骑兵，两个一排，和。1才那四个人一样的武器和服装,马刀晃动着,熗套里插着卡宾熗。他们和先前 几个一样，一直朝树林中骑去了。 　　“你肴到了吗?”罗勃特‘乔丹对奥古斯丁说。“人数不少啊，”奥古斯丁说。 　　“要是我们干掉了先前几个，现在就不得不对付这些个了，”罗伯特、乔丹悄没声儿地说。现在他心情平静了，衬农前胸被融化的雪水弄得湿漉漉的。胸口慼到空洞洞的。 　　雪上阳光灿烂，雪在很快消溶。他看到树干上的雪在消失；眼前，就在熗的前面，湿雪的表层象稀稀拉拉的花边一碰就碎，阳光的热力融化着雪面，泥土的暖气向覆盖在上的残雪蒸腾。 　　罗伯特　乔丹抬头望着普里米蒂伏的岗哨，看到他交叉着双手，手掌向下,表示“平安无事”， 　　安塞尔莫的脑袋从一块岩石后探出来了，罗伯特　乔丹招手示意，要他过来。老头儿从一块岩石后面跑到另一块后面,最后爬过来,卧倒在自动步熗旁边。“人很多，”他说。“人很多哪!” 　　“我不要小树了，”罗伯特，乔丹对他说，“不窗要再改醬树枝的伪装了。” 　　安塞尔莫和奥古斯丁都咧嘴笑了〃。这里被仔细地査看过了，没有鳝馅儿,现在蟥树是危险的，因为这些入还要回来,再说,他们也许并不鑽。” 　　他觉得有必要讲话,因为对他来说，这表示刚经历了很大的危险。他老是能根据事后谈起先前发生的事的劲头来判断当初的佾况危险到什么地步〃 　　“这个掩护不错吧，呃?”他说。 　　“不错，”奥古斯丁说。“真他妈的不镥。我们原可以把四个—起干掉，你看到了吗?”他对安塞尔莫说〃 　　“我看到了。” 　　“你，”罗伯特。乔丹对安塞尔莫说。“你得再到昨天的岗哨上去,或者自己另找个好地方，去观察公路，跟昨天一样,报吿所有的动静。这件事我们做得已经迟了　要一直守到天黑，然后回来，我们换个人去。” 　　“那么我留下的脚印怎么办，“” 　　“等雪化掉了从下面走去。路上会被溶化的雪弃得一片泥泞的。留心烂泥路上有没有很多汽车或坦克开过的痕迹。我们眼前只能说这一些，要等你到那儿自己猓察了才知道究竟。”“我可以说句话吗?”老头儿问。“当然可以。” 　　“如果你同惫，我執拉格兰哈去打昕一下昨晚的情况，并且找个人照你教我的办法去守望公路，这样不是更好吗？那人可以今晚把情报送来，或者，更好的办法是，由我再到拉格兰哈去取 　　“你不怕碰到骑兵?”“雪化了,就不怕。”“拉格兰哈有人能于这事吗?” 　　“，有。有人能干　有个女的。拉格兰哈有好几个可氣的妇女, … 　　“这个我相信，”奥古斯丁说。“我还知道，有几个附带还干别的行当。作不打算叫我去呜?” 　　“让老头子去。你能使这挺熗，今天还没过去呢。”“雪化了我就走。”安塞尔莫说。“雪化得很快。”“你看他们有可能抓住巴勃罗吗？”罗伯特　乔丹问奥古斯 　　“巴勃罗很机灵。”奥古斯丁说。“没有猎狗，人能逮住灵敏的公鹿吗？。 　　"有时候能，”罗伯特”乔丹说。 　　“巴勃罗不会叫人逮住，”奥古斯丁说。“和原来相比，他现在明摆着是个废物。不过，有很多人在墙脚下给熗舞了，他却仍旧在这一带山里活得舒舒眼服,拼命喝酒,这不是没有道理的。”“他有人家说的那么机灵吗？”“比人家说的还要机灵。”“他在这儿看来并不很能干。” 　　“怎么不能干？他如果不能干,昨天晚上就送命了。依我看，你不僅政治，英国人，也不懂游击战。在政治上和在游击战中，首要问题是能存在下去。瞧他昨晚继续存在下去了。任我们两个怎么侮辱，他全忍住了，“ 　　巴勃罗现在，“回心转意跟大家一起干了，罗伯特　乔丹就不想说什么对他不利的话，所以他刚才脫口说了关于巴勃罗不能干的话，立刻就后悔了。巴勃罗有多机灵，他心里明白，炸桥的命令有什么不对头的地方，巴勃罗一眼桷看出来了。他刚才说这话只是出于厌恶，但他一出口就明知道是不应该说的　这多少是佾绪紧张之余，废话讲得太多才造成的。所以他现在撤开这个话题,对安塞尔莫说，“大白天到拉格兰哈去?” 　　“并不坏。”老头儿说。“我不是跟军乐队吹吹打打一起去的。”“脖子上也不挂铃裆，”奥古斯丁说　“也不扛大旗，““你怎么去，“” 　　“在森林里翻山越岭。” 　　“可是，如果他们抓住你呢？”　 　　“我有证件。” 　　“我们大家都有，可是你得赶快把露马脚的吞下去。”安塞尔莫摇摇头，拍了一下身穿的上农的前胸口袋，"这件事我想过好多回啦，”他说。“可我从来也不爱吞吃纸片。” 　　“看来我们得在证件上都洒些芥末才是，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“我把我方的证件藏在左胸口袋,右胸口袋放法西斯证件。这样，遇到紧急情况就不会搞错了。” 　　当第一个骑兵巡逻队的带队的指着缺口的时候，情况一定是够糟的，因为他们现在都讲了很多话。罗伯特，乔丹想,话讲得太多啦。 　　“可是你听着，罗伯托。”奥古斯丁说。”据说政府一天比一天右倾，还说什么在共和国大家不再称呼同志,而称呼先生和太太了。你那两只口袋也能变吗。” 　　“等到右倾得太苈害的时候，我就把证件藏在后裤袋里，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“在中间缝上一道。” 　　“但愿仍旧把它们藏在衬衫里，”奥古斯丁说。“难道我们会打蠃这场战争而革命却失败吗?” 　　“不会，”罗伯特’乔丹说。“不过，如果我们打不赢这场战争，就没有革命,没有什么共和国,也没有你、我，什么也没有，玩儿全完。” 　　“我也是这么说，”安塞尔莫说，“但愿我们打蠃这场战争。”“胜利以后，除了拥护共和国的好人之外，要把无政府主义者，共产党员，和所有的流氓混蛋，统统熗毙掉。”奥古斯丁说。 　　“但愿我们打蠃这场战争，‘个人也不熗毙。”安塞尔莫说。“但愿我们公正地治理国家，出一分力量的得一分好处，大家有福同享，让反对过我们的人受教育、认识错误。“ 　　“我们非得熗毙许多人不可。”奥古斯丁说。“许多许多。”他紧握右拳，捶打左手的手掌。 　　“伹愿我们一个也不熗毙。嗛怕是带头的。但愿让他们在劳动中得到改造？ 　　“我知遒我要叫他们干什么活，”奥古斯丁说着，捞了些雪，放在嘴里。 　　“什么活,苦活。”罗伯特，乔丹问。‘“两种最出色的活。”“哪两种呢” 　　奥古斯丁又放了些雪在嘴里，望着对面刚才骑兵经过的林间空地，接着把雪水吐出来。“瞧嫌。多好的早点。”他说。“那个臭吉普赛人嚷儿去了。” 　　“干什么活？”罗伯特　乔丹问他。“说啊，臭嘴，““不用降落伞，从飞机上跳下来。”奥古斯丁说,眼猜都亮了　“我们器重的人，受用这个。其余的人呢，钉在栅栏柱乎上,再把它向后推倒。” 　　“这话说得可耻。”安塞尔莫说。“这样一来，我们永远不会有共和国。” 　　“我巴不得在他们大家的鸡巴熬的浓汤里游几十里路，”奥古斯丁说？我看到那四个人，满以为能杀掉他们的时侯，我觉得真牙痒痒的象马栏里的雌马在等种马，“ 　　〃不过，你可知道我们干吗不杀他们吗?”罗伯特　乔丹冷静地说。 　　“知道。”奥古斯丁说。“知道。可我真牙痒痒得象匹发情的雌马。你没这感觉，哪会知道　”’ 　　“你那时浑身大汗。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我还以为是害怕呢。“ 　　"害怕，不错，”奥古斯丁说，“害怕，还有，就是想杀他们。我这“辈子再没有比想杀他们更强烈的愿望了。” 　　是萌，罗伯特‘乔丹想。我们冷漠地杀人，他们却不这样，从来也不这样。因为他们有额外的神圣的东西。从地中海另一头传来新教以前，他们早就有了古老的习性,他们始终没有拋弃它，仅仅把它压抑、深藏在心里，在战争和宗教审判中又暴鳝出来。他们是执行过宗教裁判和火刑①的民族。杀人是不可避免的事，但我们杀人的方式和他们的不同。他想:你呢，你从没受到杀人的诱惑吗？你在瓜达拉马山区从没杀过人吗？在乌塞拉从没杀过人？在埃斯特雷马杜拉整个时期中没杀过？从来没杀过，“他对自己说。”哪儿的话　每次炸火车都杀过。 　　别再模棱两可地拿柏柏尔人②和古伊比利亚人做文章啦，要承认自己赛欢杀人，就和所有那些自思当兵、噴杀成性的军人一样,不管他们是不是说假话来为自已辩护。安塞尔莫不審欢杀人，因为他是猎人，不是军人。也不必美化他嘛。军人杀人，猎人杀野兽。他想:你别自欺欺人，也别替杀人虚构一套辩护词啦。你被感染由来已久。可也别把安塞尔莫当坏人看待。他是基督徒，在天主轶国家里这是罕见的事。 ①西班牙人的祖先为伊比利亚人和飢尔特人，有着他们自己的联始文化和侑仰，随着罗马人的入丧，带来了在地中海东端新兴的基督教偯仰。十六世纪起，在中欧和西欧兴起了宗教改革运动，但西班牙始终倌奉以罗马教皇为主的罗马正教（我国通译为天主教、在中世纪，天主教会对异教徒备加迫害，西班牙的宗教法庭允其残酷。乔丹以为这是由于他们祖先遗传下来的原始蛮性所致。下文又否定了这种看法。 ③拍柏尔人为北非古老民族,后来受到从亚洲来的闲拉伯人的彩明，接受，“其文化、语言及伊斯兰教。世纪初从縻洛哥进入西班牙，其后裔称为摩尔人,今散唐于。”11。”非。郎分柏柏尔人至今仍保留原有语言及生活方式、仍称柏柏尔。 　　他想，然而我原以为奥古斯丁是害怕。就是在杀人前的本能的恐惧。原来他也巴不得杀人。当然，现在他可能是在吹牛。当时可恐惧得很。我的手掌感到了他的恐惧。噢，现在是停止谈话的时候了。 　　“去看看吉普赛人把吃的拿来了没有?”他对安塞尔莫说。“别让他到这里来了。他是个笨蛋。你把吃的拿来吧。不管他拿来多少，叫他再去多拿些来。我饿了。”

Chapter 24 Now the morning was late May, the sky was high and clear and the wind blew warm on Robert Jordan's shoulders. The snow was going fast and they were eating breakfast. There were two big sandwiches of meat and the goaty cheese apiece, and Robert Jordan had cut thick slices of onion with his clasp knife and put them on each side of the meat and cheese between the chunks of bread. "You will have a breath that will carry through the forest to the fascists," Agust said, his own mouth full. "Give me the wineskin and I will rinse the mouth," Robert Jordan said, his mouth full of meat, cheese, onion and chewed bread. He had never been hungrier and he filled his mouth with wine, faintly tarry-tasting from the leather bag, and swallowed. Then he took another big mouthful of wine, lifting the bag up to let the jet of wine spurt into the back of his mouth, the wineskin touching the needles of the blind of pine branches that covered the automatic rifle as he lifted his hand, his head leaning against the pine branches as he bent it back to let the wine run down. "Dost thou want this other sandwich?" Agust asked him, handing it toward him across the gun. "No. Thank you. Eat it." "I cannot. I am not accustomed to eat in the morning." "You do not want it, truly?" "Nay. Take it." Robert Jordan took it and laid it on his lap while he got the onion out of his side jacket pocket where the grenades were and opened his knife to slice it. He cut off a thin sliver of the surface that had dirtied in his pocket, then cut a thick slice. An outer segment fell and he picked it up and bent the circle together and put it into the sandwich. "Eatest thou always onions for breakfast?" Agust asked. "When there are any." "Do all in thy country do this?" "Nay," Robert Jordan said. "It is looked on badly there." "I am glad," Agust said. "I had always considered America a civilized country." "What hast thou against the onion?" "The odor. Nothing more. Otherwise it is like the rose." Robert Jordan grinned at him with his mouth full. "Like the rose," he said. "Mighty like the rose. A rose is a rose is an onion." "Thy onions are affecting thy brain," Agust said. "Take care." "An onion is an onion is an onion," Robert Jordan said cheerily and, he thought, a stone is a stein is a rock is a boulder is a pebble. "Rinse thy mouth with wine," Agust said. "Thou art very rare, _Ingl廥_. There is great difference between thee and the last dynamiter who worked with us." "There is one great difference." "Tell it to me." "I am alive and he is dead," Robert Jordan said. Then: what's the matter with you? he thought. Is that the way to talk? Does food make you that slap happy? What are you, drunk on onions? Is that all it means to you, now? It never meant much, he told himself truly. You tried to make it mean something, but it never did. There is no need to lie in the time that is left. "No," he said, seriously now. "That one was a man who had suffered greatly." "And thou? Hast thou not suffered?" "No," said Robert Jordan. "I am of those who suffer little." "Me also," Agust told him. "There are those who suffer and those who do not. I suffer very little." "Less bad," Robert Jordan tipped up the wineskin again. "And with this, less." "I suffer for others." "As all good men should." "But for myself very little." "Hast thou a wife?" "No." "Me neither." "But now you have the Maria." "Yes." "There is a rare thing," Agust said. "Since she came to us at the train the Pilar has kept her away from all as fiercely as though she were in a convent of Carmelites. You cannot imagine with what fierceness she guarded her. You come, and she gives her to thee as a present. How does that seem to thee?" "It was not thus." "How was it, then?" "She has put her in my care." "And thy care is to _joder_ with her all night?" "With luck." "What a manner to care for one." "You do not understand that one can take good care of one thus?" "Yes, but such care could have been furnished by any one of us." "Let us not talk of it any more," Robert Jordan said. "I care for her seriously." "Seriously?" "As there can be nothing more serious in this world." "And afterwards? After this of the bridge?" "She goes with me." "Then," Agust said. "That no one speaks of it further and that the two of you go with all luck." He lifted the leather wine bag and took a long pull, then handed it to Robert Jordan. "One thing more," he said. "Of course." "I have cared much for her, too." Robert Jordan put his hand on his shoulder. "Much," Agust said. "Much. More than one is able to imagine." "I can imagine." "She has made an impression on me that does not dissipate." "I can imagine." "Look. I say this to thee in all seriousness." "Say it." "I have never touched her nor had anything to do with her but I care for her greatly. do not treat her lightly. Because she sleeps with thee she is no whore." "I will care for her." "I believe thee. But more. You do not understand how such a girl would be if there had been no revolution. You have much responsibility. This one, truly, has suffered much. She is not as we are." "I will marry her." "Nay. Not that. There is no need for that under the revolution. But--" he nodded his head--"it would be better." "I will marry her," Robert Jordan said and could feel his throat swelling as he said it. "I care for her greatly." "Later," Agust said. "When it is convenient. The important thing is to have the intention." "I have it." "Listen," Agust said. "I am speaking too much of a matter in which I have no right to intervene, but hast thou known many girls of this country?" "A few." "Whores?" "Some who were not." "How many?" "Several." "And did you sleep with them?" "No." "You see?" "Yes." "What I mean is that this Maria does not do this lightly." "Nor I." "If I thought you did I would have shot you last night as you lay with her. For this we kill much here." "Listen, old one," Robert Jordan said. "It is because of the lack of time that there has been informality. What we do not have is time. Tomorrow we must fight. To me that is nothing. But for the Maria and me it means that we must live all of our life in this time." "And a day and a night is little time," Agust said. "Yes. But there has been yesterday and the night before and last night." "Look," Agust said. "If I can aid thee." "No. We are all right." "If I could do anything for thee or for the cropped head--" "No." "Truly, there is little one man can do for another." "No. There is much." "What?" "No matter what passes today and tomorrow in respect to combat, give me thy confidence and obey even though the orders may appear wrong." "You have my confidence. Since this of the cavalry and the sending away of the horse." "That was nothing. You see that we are working for one thing. To win the war. Unless we win, all other things are futile. Tomorrow we have a thing of great importance. Of true importance. Also we will have combat. In combat there must be discipline. For many things are not as they appear. Discipline must come from trust and confidence." Agust spat on the ground. "The Maria and all such things are apart," he said. "That you and the Maria should make use of what time there is as two human beings. If I can aid thee I am at thy orders. But for the thing of tomorrow I will obey thee blindly. If it is necessary that one should die for the thing of tomorrow one goes gladly and with the heart light." "Thus do I feel," Robert Jordan said. "But to hear it from thee brings pleasure." "And more," Agust said. "That one above," he pointed toward Primitivo, "is a dependable value. The Pilar is much, much more than thou canst imagine. The old man Anselmo, also. Andr廥 also. Eladio also. Very quiet, but a dependable element. And Fernando. I do not know how thou hast appreciated him. It is true he is heavier than mercury. He is fuller of boredom than a steer drawing a cart on the highroad. But to fight and to do as he is told. _Es muy hombre!_ Thou wilt see." "We are lucky." "No. We have two weak elements. The gypsy and Pablo. But the band of Sordo are as much better than we are as we are better than goat manure." "All is well then." "Yes," Agust said. "But I wish it was for today." "Me, too. To finish with it. But it is not." "Do you think it will be bad?" "It can be." "But thou are very cheerful now, _Ingl廥_." "Yes." "Me also. In spite of this of the Maria and all." "Do you know why?" "No." "Me neither. Perhaps it is the day. The day is good." "Who knows? Perhaps it is that we will have action." "I think it is that," Robert Jordan said. "But not today. Of all things; of all importance we must avoid it today." As he spoke he heard something. It was a noise far off that came above the sound of the warm wind in the trees. He could not be sure and he held his mouth open and listened, glancing up at Primitivo as he did so. He thought he heard it but then it was gone. The wind was blowing in the pines and now Robert Jordan strained all of himself to listen. Then he heard it faintly coming down the wind. "It is nothing tragic with me," he heard Agust say. "That I should never have the Maria is nothing. I will go with the whores as always." "Shut up," he said, not listening, and lying beside him, his head having been turned away. Agust looked over at him suddenly. "_Qu?pasa?_" he asked. Robert Jordan put his hand over his own mouth and went on listening. There it came again. It came faint, muted, dry and far away. But there was no mistaking it now. It was the precise, crackling, curling roll of automatic rifle fire. It sounded as though pack after pack of miniature firecrackers were going off at a distance that was almost out of hearing. Robert Jordan looked up at Primitivo who had his head up now, his face looking toward them, his hand cupped to his ear. As he looked Primitivo pointed up the mountain toward the highest country. "They are fighting at El Sordo's," Robert Jordan said. "Then let us go to aid them," Agust said. "Collect the people. _Vamonos_." "No," Robert Jordan said. "We stay here." 　　这是五月底的一个早晨，天高气爽，和风吹拂在罗伯特　乔丹的肩上,暖洋洋的。雪在迅速皤化，他们正在吃早饭。每人吃两大块夹肉面包，里头还有羊奶干酪。罗伯特　乔丹用折刀切了几厚片洋葱，跟肉和干酪一起夹在面包里。 　　“你嘴里的洋葱味要从树林里一直飙到法西斯分子那儿去了。”奥古斯丁说，自己的嘴里塞得满满的。 　　“把酒袋给我，让我漱漱口，”罗伯特”乔丹说，他满嘴是肉、干酪、洋葱和驪烂的面包。 　　他从没这样饿过。他喝了一大口咯带皮酒袋上的柏油味的酒，把嘴里的东西咽下去。他接着又喝了一大口，这次是举起酒袋，让喷出的酒悬空直灌进嗓子眼里,酒袋碰到了掩护自动步熗的松枝上的针叶，他昂起头来，让酒淌下咽喉，脑袋仰靠在松校上。 　　“这一块夹肉而包你要吗?”奥古斯丁问他，把它隔着熗身递给他。 　　“不。谢谢你。你吃吧，““我吃不下了。我早晨不习愤吃东西。”“真的不要了？”“不要。你吃。” 　　罗伯特，乔丹接过夹肉面包,放在膝上，从藏手檷弹的外套口袋里掏出一个洋葱，打开折刀切起片来。他把洋葱被口袋弄脏的那一边削去一薄片，然后切了一厚片，外边的圃掉了下来，他拣起来一折，塞在夹肉面包里。“你早饭常吃洋葱?”奥古斯丁问。“有,就吃。”“你们美国人都这样公 　　“不，”罗伯特，乔丹说。“在我的国家里，人们讨厌洋葱。”“这好，”奥古斯丁说。“我一直认为美国是个文明国家。”“你为什么讨厌洋葱？” 　　“臭味不好。没别的原因。要不然，洋葱就象玫瑰了。”罗伯特‘乔丹对他咧嘴笑了。 　　“象玫瑰。”他说。“真象玫瑰。一朵玫瑰就是一朵玫瑰就是―个洋葱。” 　　“洋葱把你的头脑弄糊涂了，”奥古斯丁说。“留心嗨。”个洋葱就是一个洋葱就是一个洋葱，”罗伯特　乔丹兴致勃勃地说，他还想　一块石头就是一块3紐如①就是一块岩石就是“块圓石就是一块卵石。 　　“用酒湫漱口吧，”奥古斯丁说。“你很怪，英国人，你和上次跟我们一起干的鑤破手大不相同。” 　　“有一点大不相同。”“跟我说说，什么不同。” 　　“我活着,他死了，”罗伯特，乔丹说。接着他想,你这个人怎么啦？可以这样说话吗？你吃得忘乎所以了？你算什么，被洋葱弄得醉醺醣了？难道你现在活着就是为了这一点？他老实对自己说，生活从来就役有多大意义　你想使它有点意义，但从来没有做到，在剩下的这点时间里，没必要说假话啦。“不。”他说,变得认真了。“他是个受过大苦的人。”“你呢？你没受过苦?” ‘ 　　“没有，”罗伯特~乔丹说。“我是那些没受过苦的人里面的 　　"我也没受过什么苦，”奥古斯丁对他说。“有人受过苦，有人没有。我没受过什么苦。” 　　“那倒不坏。”罗伯特　奍丹又把酒袋倾倒过来。”有了这个，更不坏。” 　　“我替别人难过。”“好人都应该如此。” 　　“我为自己倒很少难过, 　 　　“你有老婆吗?”“没有。” ①美国女作家格抟螌德’斯坦（仔对灶！　。8切1。，18样一1。。幻从一九三年起长期定居巴黎，二十年代中，主持一个文艺沙龙，美国作家食伍德〃安漶森、司科恃‘菲茨杰拉德及海明威本人都是其成员，在文风上部受到她的影响。她在写作中作了一系列的试验，摆脱传统的进句法，强调词句的眘调及节赛。海明威在此处拿她的名句“一朵玫瑰就是“朵玫瑰躭是一朵坟瑰就是一朵玫瑰”开玩笑，并引伸到石头，用了一连串同义词，其中这个　。111和她的姓同出德语，意为。石头 　　“我也没有, 　　“可你现在有了玛丽亚，” 　　“是啊。” ” 　　“有件事很怪，”奥古斯丁说。“自从炸火车后，她到了我们这几，比拉尔就恶狠狠地不准谁碰她,好象是在加尔默罗会的白衣修士的修道院里。你万万想象不出她怎样拼命保护玛丽亚。你来了，她却把玛丽亚当礼物般送给你了。你怎么看?”‘“情况并不是这样。”“那么是怎么回事?”“她把玛丽亚交给我照顾？ 　　“你的照顾却是整夜和她睡觉?” 　 　　“我很走运。” 　　“好“个照頋人家的办法。” 　　“你不懂得可以用这种方式给人好好照頑码?” 　　“懂，这样的照顾可我们每个人都能做到。” 　　“我们别谈这些了。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我真心爱她。” 　　“真心？” 　　“世界上再没有比这更真心的了，““以后呢？炸桥以后呢？”“她跟我走, 　　“要这样。”奥古斯丁说,“但愿谁也不再说什么闲话,并且祝你们两个一路烦风。” 　　他举起皮酒袋，喝了一大口，然后递给罗伯特‘乔丹　“还有一件事，英国人。”他说。 　　”私说吧。” 　　“我也非常爱她。” 　　罗伯特，乔丹伸手搁在他肩上， 　　“非常，”奥古斯丁说，“非常爱她，爱她爱到人们难以理觯的程度 　　“我能理解。” 　　“她给，“我一个深刻的印象，那是无法打消的。”“我能理解。〃 　　“听着。我对你说的话十分认真。”“说吧。” 　　“我从没碰过她，跟她也没有过任何关系，可我非常爱她。英国人，不要对她随随便便。即使她和你睡过觉，别以为她是婊子。” 　　“我会爱她的。” 　　“我相信你。不过还有，你不明白，如果没有革命，这样的姑娘会遭到怎样的结局。你的责任很重大，这个姑娘实在受过大苦。她和我们不一样。”“我要和她结婚。” 　　“不。不是这意思。在革命中没有这种必要。但是一”他点点头一“那样更好, 　　“我要和她结婚。”罗伯特　乔丹说，说着觉得喉咙哽塞起来。“我非常爱她。” 　　“以后铕婚吧，”夹古斯，“说，“等到方便的时候。要紧的是有这个打算。”“我有 　　“听着。”奥古斯丁说。“这件事我无权过问，我的话太多了，不过还想问一声,在这个国家里，你认识很多姑娘吗?”“有几个。” 　　“婊子吗？”“有的不是。”“有多少？“有几个。”“你和她们睡过吗?”"没有。”“你明白了?”“是的。” 　　“我的意思是，玛丽亚并不是轻易做这种事的。”“我也不, 　　“要是我把你当那号人，昨晚你和她睡的时候，我就把你熗杀了。为了这种事情，我们这里可不少杀人。” 　　“听着，老朋友，”罗伯特、乔丹说。“那是因为时间不够，所以不拘形式了。我们缺少的是时间。明天我们非打仗不可。对我一个人来说，没有什么。可是对玛丽亚和我两个人来说，就意味着我们在这段时间里必须尽量享受生活。” 　　“是的〃佴是已经过了昨天一天、前天一夜和昨天一夜，““听我说，”奥古斯丁说。“需要我帮忙吗?〃“不。我俩没什么问题, 　　“如果要我为你，或者为这个短头发的丫头出把力的话一” 　　“老实说，一个人能为另一个人帮忙的地方也不多。” 　　“不。很多。” 　　竊什么?” 　　“讲到打仗,不管今明两天发生什么情況，你得信任我，秭怕命令看来是错误的，也要服从。” 　　“自从骑兵队的事和把马引走的事发生以后，我服你了“那算不上什么。你知道，我们都为了同一个目标而奋斗　打赢这场战争。我们不胜利,一切都完蛋。明天的事极重要,真的非常重要。我们还会有战斗。战斗时没有纪律是不行的，因为很多事情跟表面现象不一样。必须有了信任和信心，才能有纪律，“ 　　奥古斯丁朝地上啐了一口。 　　“玛丽亚和这些事全不相干，”他说。〃但愿你和玛丽亚作为两个人好好利用现有的时间。只要我能帮忙，尽管吩咐。至于明天的事，我一定绝对服从。如果为了明天的事一定要牺牲性命，就高髙兴兴、心情轻松地去牺牲。” 　　“我也认为你会这样做。”罗伯特，乔丹说。“但听你亲口讲出来真叫人高兴。” 　　“还有，”奥古斯丁说,“上面那个人，”他指指普里米蒂伏，“是个可靠而有价值的人。比拉尔可靠得远远超出你的想象。安塞尔莫这老头子也一样。安德烈斯也一样。埃拉迪奥也一样。这人话不多，伹是个可靠的角色，还有费尔南多。我不知道你对他怎么看。不错，他比水银还沉。他比公路上拖车的小公牛还没趣。可是吩咐他打仗、办事，倒是条汉子　你自己会看到的。”“我们很走运。” 　　“不。我们有两个稀松的家伙,吉普赛人和巴勃罗，‘聋子’―伙可比我们强得多,我们只比羊屎强一点，““这么说问题不大。” 　　“是的，”奥古斯丁说。“可是我希望今天就打。” 　　“我也一样，于掉算了,但不行。”“你以为情况会很糟吗?”“有可能。” 　　“可你现在兴致很好，英国人。”“是柯。” 　　“我也是。尽管有玛丽亚这件事以及别的事。” 　　“你知道为什么，“” 　　“不。” 　　“我也不知道。也许是天气的关系。今天天气真好。““谁知道？也许是因为我们要采取行动的缘故。”“我看是吧，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“伹不是今天。不管发生什么情况，最要紧的是我们必须避　，“今天行动。” 　　他说话时听到了什么声音。这个通远的声响盖过了暧风吹过树林子的声音。他听不真切，张开了嘴倾听着,同时抬头向普里米蒂伏瞥了一眼。他自以为听到了这声音，但接着又消失了。松林里，风在吹,罗伯特　乔丹聚精会神地细听着。他听到了这随风飘来的傲弱的声响。 　　“我觉得没什么可伤心的。”他听到奥古斯丁说。“我永远也得不到玛丽亚，这没什么。我可以仍旧和以前一样去找婊子的。”“别作声，”他说,他伏在奥古斯丁身边，头转向别处，不在听他说话。奥古斯丁突然向他望着。“怎么回事?”奥古斯丁问。 　　罗伯特　乔丹把手放在嘴上，继续倾听。这声音又来了，低弱而模糊，遥远而单调。但这一回不会听错了。正是自动步熗射击时的一连串清脆的哒哒声，就象在远得几乎听不到的地方成串成串地在放小爆竹， 　　罗伯特’乔丹抬眼看着苷里米蒂伏。普里米蒂伏正伸长了脖子，脸朝着他们，用手拢着耳朵倾听。罗伯特“乔丹探望时，普里米蒂伏朝那边地形最髙的山峦指着。“‘聋子’那边开火了，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“那我们去支援他们吧，”奥古斯丁说。“把人集合起来。我们走吧。” 　　“不行。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“我们待在这儿。”

Chapter 25 Robert Jordan looked up at where Primitivo stood now in his lookout post, holding his rifle and pointing. He nodded his head but the man kept pointing, putting his hand to his ear and then pointing insistently and as though he could not possibly have been understood. "Do you stay with this gun and unless it is sure, sure, sure that they are coming in do not fire. And then not until they reach that shrub," Robert Jordan pointed. "Do you understand?" "Yes. But--" "No but. I will explain to thee later. I go to Primitivo." Anselmo was by him and he said to the old man: "_Viejo_, stay there with Agust with the gun." He spoke slowly and unhurriedly. "He must not fire unless cavalry is actually entering. If they merely present themselves he must let them alone as we did before. If he must fire, hold the legs of the tripod firm for him and hand him the pans when they are empty." "Good," the old man said. "And La Granja?" "Later." Robert Jordan climbed up, over and around the gray boulders that were wet now under his hands as he pulled himself up. The sun was melting the snow on them fast. The tops of the boulders were drying and as he climbed he looked across the country and saw the pine woods and the long open glade and the dip of the country before the high mountains beyond. Then he stood beside Primitivo in a hollow behind two boulders and the short, brownfaced man said to him, "They are attacking Sordo. What is it that we do?" "Nothing," Robert Jordan said. He heard the firing clearly here and as he looked across the country, he saw, far off, across the distant valley where the country rose steeply again, a troop of cavalry ride out of the timber and cross the snowy slope riding uphill in the direction of the firing. He saw the oblong double line of men and horses dark against the snow as they forced at an angle up the hill. He watched the double line top the ridge and go into the farther timber. "We have to aid them," Primitivo said. His voice was dry and flat. "It is impossible," Robert Jordan told him. "I have expected this all morning." "How?" "They went to steal horses last night. The snow stopped and they tracked them up there." "But we have to aid them," Primitivo said. "We cannot leave them alone to this. Those are our comrades." Robert Jordan put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "We can do nothing," he said. "If we could I would do it." "There is a way to reach there from above. We can take that way with the horses and the two guns. This one below and thine. We can aid them thus." "Listen--" Robert Jordan said. "_That_ is what I listen to," Primitivo said. The firing was rolling in overlapping waves. Then they heard the noise of hand grenades heavy and sodden in the dry rolling of the automatic rifle fire. "They are lost," Robert Jordan said. "They were lost when the snow stopped. If we go there we are lost, too. It is impossible to divide what force we have." There was a gray stubble of beard stippled over Primitivo's jaws, his lip and his neck. The rest of his face was flat brown with a broken, flattened nose and deep-set gray eyes, and watching him Robert Jordan saw the stubble twitching at the corners of his mouth and over the cord of his throat. "Listen to it," he said. "It is a massacre." "If they have surrounded the hollow it is that," Robert Jordan said. "Some may have gotten out." "Coming on them now we could take them from behind," Primitivo said. "Let four of us go with the horses." "And then what? What happens after you take them from behind?" "We join with Sordo." "To die there? Look at the sun. The day is long." The sky was high and cloudless and the sun was hot on their backs. There were big bare patches now on the southern slope of the open glade below them and the snow was all dropped from the pine trees. The boulders below them that had been wet as the snow melted were steaming faintly now in the hot sun. "You have to stand it," Robert Jordan said. "_Hay que aguantarse_. There are things like this in a war." "But there is nothing we can do? Truly?" Primitivo looked at him and Robert Jordan knew he trusted him. "Thou couldst not send me and another with the small machine gun?" "It would be useless," Robert Jordan said. He thought he saw something that he was looking for but it was a hawk that slid down into the wind and then rose above the line of the farthest pine woods. "It would be useless if we all went," he said. Just then the firing doubled in intensity and in it was the heavy bumping of the hand grenades. "Oh, obscenity them," Primitivo said with an absolute devoutness of blasphemy, tears in his eyes and his cheeks twitching. "Oh, God and the Virgin, obscenity them in the milk of their filth." "Calm thyself," Robert Jordan said. "You will be fighting them soon enough. Here comes the woman." Pilar was climbing up to them, making heavy going of it in the boulders. Primitivo kept saying. "Obscenity them. Oh, God and the Virgin, befoul them," each time for firing rolled down the wind, and Robert Jordan climbed down to help Pilar up. "_Qu?tal_, woman," he said, taking hold of both her wrists and hoisting as she climbed heavily over the last boulder. "Thy binoculars," she said and lifted their strap over her head. "So it has come to Sordo?" "Yes." "_Pobre_," she said in commiseration. "Poor Sordo." She was breathing heavily from the climb and she took hold of Robert Jordan's hand and gripped it tight in hers as she looked out over the country. "How does the combat seem?" "Bad. Very bad." "He's _jodido?_" "I believe so." "_Pobre_," she said. "Doubtless because of the horses?" "Probably." "_Pobre_," Pilar said. Then, "Rafael recounted me all of an entire novel of dung about cavalry. What came?" "A patrol and part of a squadron." "Up to what point?" Robert Jordan pointed out where the patrol had stopped and showed her where the gun was hidden. From where they stood they could just see one of Agust's boots protruding from the rear of the blind. "The gypsy said they rode to where the gun muzzle pressed against the chest of the horse of the leader," Pilar said. "What a race! Thy glasses were in the cave." "Have you packed?" "All that can be taken. Is there news of Pablo?" "He was forty minutes ahead of the cavalry. They took his trail." Pilar grinned at him. She still held his hand. Now she dropped it. "They'll never see him," she said. "Now for Sordo. Can we do anything?" "Nothing." "_Pobre_," she said. "I was fond of Sordo. Thou art sure, _sure_ that he is _jodido?_" "Yes. I have seen much cavalry." "More than were here?" "Another full troop on their way up there." "Listen to it," Pilar said. "_Pobre, pobre Sordo_." They listened to the firing. "Primitivo wanted to go up there," Robert Jordan said. "Art thou crazy?" Pilar said to the flat-faced man. "What kind of _locos_ are we producing here?" "I wish to aid them." "_Qu?va_," Pilar said. "Another romantic. Dost thou not believe thou wilt die quick enough here without useless voyages?" Robert Jordan looked at her, at the heavy brown face with the high Indian cheekbones, the wide-set dark eyes and the laughing mouth with the heavy, bitter upper lip. "Thou must act like a man," she said to Primitivo. "A grown man. You with your gray hairs and all." "Don't joke at me," Primitivo said sullenly. "If a man has a little heart and a little imagination--" "He should learn to control them," Pilar said. "Thou wilt die soon enough with us. There is no need to seek that with strangers. As for thy imagination. The gypsy has enough for all. What a novel he told me." "If thou hadst seen it thou wouldst not call it a novel," Primitivo said. "There was a moment of great gravity." "_Qu?va_," Pilar said. "Some cavalry rode here and they rode away. And you all make yourselves a heroism. It is to this we have come with so much inaction." "And this of Sordo is not grave?" Primitivo said contemptuously now. He suffered visibly each time the firing came down the wind and he wanted either to go to the combat or have Pilar go and leave him alone. "_Total, qu?_" Pilar said. "It has come so it has come. Don't lose thy _cojones_ for the misfortune of another." "Go defile thyself," Primitivo said. "There are women of a stupidity and brutality that is insupportable." "In order to support and aid those men poorly equipped for procreation," Pilar said, "if there is nothing to see I am going." Just then Robert Jordan heard the plane high overhead. He looked up and in the high sky it looked to be the same observation plane that he had seen earlier in the morning. Now it was returning from the direction of the lines and it was moving in the direction of the high country where El Sordo was being attacked. "There is the bad luck bird," Pilar said. "Will it see what goes on there?" "Surely," Robert Jordan said. "If they are not blind." They watched the plane moving high and silvery and steady in the sunlight. It was coming from the left and they could see the round disks of light the two propellers made. "Keep down," Robert Jordan said. Then the plane was overhead, its shadows passing over the open glade, the throbbing reaching its maximum of portent. Then it was past and headed toward the top of the valley. They watched it go steadily on its course until it was just out of sight and then they saw it coming back in a wide dipping circle, to circle twice over the high country and then disappear in the direction of Segovia. Robert Jordan looked at Pilar. There was perspiration on her forehead and she shook her head: She had been holding her lower lip between her teeth. "For each one there is something," she said. "For me it is those." "Thou hast not caught my fear?" Primitivo said sarcastically. "Nay," she put her hand on his shoulder. "Thou hast no fear to catch. I know that. I am sorry I joked too roughly with thee. We are all in the same caldron." Then she spoke to Robert Jordan. "I will send up food and wine. Dost need anything more?" "Not in this moment. Where are the others?" "Thy reserve is intact below with the horses," she grinned. "Everything is out of sight. Everything to go is ready. Maria is with thy material." "If by any chance we _should_ have aviation keep her in the cave." "Yes, my Lord" Pilar said. "_Thy_ gypsy (I give him to thee) I have sent to gather mushrooms to cook with the hares. There are many mushrooms now and it seemed to me we might as well eat the hares although they would be better tomorrow or the day after." "I think it is best to eat them," Robert Jordan said, and Pilar put her big hand on his shoulder where the strap of the submachine gun crossed his chest, then reached up and mussed his hair with her fingers. "What an" Pilar said. "I will send the Maria with the _puchero_ when they are cooked." The firing from far away and above had almost died out and now there was only an occasional shot. "You think it is over?" Pilar asked. "No," Robert Jordan said. "From the sound that we have heard they have attacked and been beaten off. Now I would say the attackers have them surrounded. They have taken cover and they wait for the planes." Pilar spoke to Primitivo, "Thou. Dost understand there was no intent to insult thee?" "_Ya lo s嶱," said Primitivo. "I have put up with worse than that from thee. Thou hast a vile tongue. But watch thy mouth, woman. Sordo was a good comrade of mine." "And not of mine?" Pilar asked him. "Listen, flat face. In war one cannot say what one feels. We have enough of our own without taking Sordo's." Primitivo was still sullen. "You should take a physic," Pilar told him. "Now I go to prepare the meal." "Did you bring the documentation of the _requet?_" Robert Jordan asked her. "How stupid I am," she said. "I forgot it. I will send the Maria." 　　罗伯特、乔丹仰望着这时坫在监视岗上握着步熗指点着的普里米蒂伏。他点点头，但普里米蒂伏仍旧指着，把手搁在耳朵后面，接着又一股劲地指着，好象没法叫人家明白他的意思似的。 “你守住这挺熗，在确确实实肯定敌人进来之前，千万别开熗。即使开熗，也要等他们到了那树丛的时候，”罗伯特　乔丹指着。“你明白吗？”“明白。伹是一” 　　“别但是。我待会再跟你讲。现在我到普里米蒂伏那儿去。” 　　安塞尔莫就在他身边，他对老头儿说。”〃老头子，跟奥古斯丁一起在这儿守住熗，”他慢镘地、不慌不忙地说，“等骑兵真的进来了，他才可以打熗。要是他们仅仅露鳝面，就别理睬他们，象我们刚才一样。要是他不得不开火的话,你帮他按住三脚架,弹药盘打完了，就递给他满的,352 　　“好，”老头儿说。“那么拉格兰哈呢?”“以后再说。” 　　罗伯特‘乔丹往山上爬去，绕过灰色的岩石，攀住岩石往上爬时发现岩石是潮的。阳光把上面的雪迅速地晒化了。岩石顶面开始干燥。他一边爬山，一边望望对面的田野，看到了松林、一长片空地和远方高山前的斜坡。他接着在两块岩石后的空地里，站在普里米蒂伏身边，这个褐脸的矮小汉子对他说，“他们在攻打‘聋子’。我们怎么办?〃“没办法。”罗伯特　乔丹说。 　　他在这里清楚地听到熗声,他向田野望去，只见遥远的山谷那边，地势又陡起的地方，有一队骑兵从树林里穿出来，在积雪的山坡上朝着熗昀处向上爬。他看到雪地里黑黝黝的两行人马，象一个长方形，斜着向山上强行攀登。他望着这两行人马登上山脊，穿进更远处的树林。 　　“我们一定要支援他们，”普里米蒂伏说，他的音调干巴而平板办 　　“不可能。”罗伯特　乔丹对他说。“打早晨起我就料郅这个了。” 　　“什么道理，“ 　　“他们昨夜去谕马-雪停了，人家跟着脚迹追琮到那里。”“我们可“定要支援他们，”普里米蒂伏说。“我们不餌眼看着他们不管。他们是我们的同志哪，“ 　　罗伯特　乔丹伸手放在这个汉子的肩上。“我们无能为力，”他说。“有办法的话，我会支援他们。”“上面有条山路通到那儿。我们可以带上两挺熗，骑马走那条路　就是下面那挺和你那挺。我们可以这样支援他灼。” 　　“你听一”罗伯特-乔丹说。“我在听的就是字个呢，”普里米蒂伏说。熗声一阵接一阵地传来。接着，他们听到自动步熗清臃的连发声中响起了竽榴弹沆闷的爆炸声， 　　“他们完了。”罗伯特。乔丹说。“雪不下，他们就完了。”我们去的话，也要完。我们现有的力量不能分散。” 　　普里米蒂伏的下巴、嘴的四周和脖子上全是灰色的胡子茬。脸的其余部分全是褐色的，长着断典梁的塌鼻子和深陷的灰眼睛。罗伯特　乔丹望着他，只见他那长濂胡子茬的嘴角和脖子上的筋在抽搐。 　　“你听这熗声。”他极。“在屠杀啦。”“如果他们把那凹地包围了，就会屠杀,罗伯特”乔丹说。“可能有人逃得出来。” 　　“我们可以绕到他们背后去向他们开火。”普里米蒂伏说。“我们四个醣马去。” 　　“去了又怎么样？等你从背后向他们开火之后，又能怎么 样?” 　　“我们跟‘聋子’并肩作战。”“到那儿去送命？瞧太阳，白天还长着呢。”长空无云，阳光照在背上很热。他们下面那片空地的南坡已露出大块大块的泥土,松树上雪已全化了,淌到了地上。他们下面被融雪沾湿的岩石,这时在炎热的阳光下微微冒着热气。“你必须忍住。”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“这类事情在战争中经常有。” 　　“我们难道一点办法也没有？真这样吗?”普里米蒂伏望着他。罗伯特　乔丹明白他信任自己　“你不能派我和另外一个人带这支小机熗去。” 　　“这是没用的，”罗伯特，乔丹说。 　　他自以为看到了他在寻觅的东西，但那不过是一只苍鹰迎风而下，接着，朝上飞到最远的那一排松树上空去了　“我们一起去也没用，”他说。 　　正在这时，熗声更加激烈了，熗声中夹杂着手榷弹的沆闷的爆炸声申 　　“哼，操他们的。”普里米蒂伏噙着眼泪,双颊抽动,十分真诚地辱骂着。“噢,天主和圣母舸’操他们奶奶的。” 　　“你平静一些，”罗伯特“乔丹说。“要不了多久，你也栗向他们开火啦。那女人来了。” 　　比拉尔踩着沉重的步子，从岩石间向他们爬上来。风传来阵阵熗声，普里米蒂伏不断地骂着。”搡他们的，天主和圣母啊搡他们的。”罗伯特‘乔丹爬下去扶比拉尔上来。 　　“怎么啦，大娘，”当她费力地登上最后一块岩石时，他搵住了她两只手腕，把她拉了上来，招呼她说。 　　“你的望远镜。”她说着把望远镜的带子从脖子上脱下来　“原来‘聋子’遇上啦, 、 　　“是啊。” 　　“真可怜，”她怜惜地说。“可怜的‘聋子’。“她一路爬得气喘吁吁，把罗伯特　乔丹的手握在自己手里，紧紧握住，眺望着田野的那边。"估计打得怎么样?”“糟。很糟。”“他遭殃啦？““我看是这样吧。” 　　“真可怜。”她说。“肯定是偷了马引起的？”“可能是吧。” 　　“真可怜。”比拉尔说，接着又说,“骑兵来的那糟糕事儿，拉斐尔当小说一样原原本本告诉了我。来的是些什么人?”“一支巡逻队和一个骑兵中队的一部分。”“他们到了什么地方?” 　　罗伯特，乔丹指指巡逻队停过的地方，还指给她看隐蔽熗的地方。从他们站着的地方望去，只能望到奥古斯丁的一只靴子露出在伪装的掩护后面。 　　“吉普赛人竟然说他们带队的马儿的身子差一点碰到了机熗口上。”比拉尔说。“这种人哪1你的望远镜给忘在山洞里了。”“东西全收拾好了?” 　　“能带的都收拾好了。有巴勃罗的消息吗?〃 　　“骑兵队来前四十分钟，他就走了。他们跟着他的踪迹去的。” 　　比拉尔朝他露齿笑了。她一直握着他的手，这时才放幵。“他们永远找不到他。”她说。“现在来谈‘聋子’的问娌。我们有什么办法吗？”“没办法。” 　　“真可怜。”她说。“我很喜欢‘聋子、你肯定，他遭殃了吗, ’ 　　“是啊。我看到很多骑兵。”“比这里的还多?”“还有一整队在上山。” 　　“听熗声，”比拉尔说。“真可怜，可怜的'聋子’，“他们倾听着熗声。 　　“普里米蒂伏要到那边去，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“你疯了吗？”比拉尔籾那个扁脸汉子说。“我们这儿竟然制造出这种疯子来了？”“我想支援他们。” 　　“什么话！”比拉尔说，“又是个不切实际的人。你去了也没用，即使不去，在这儿也快死了,你难道不信?” 　　罗伯特、乔丹望着她,望着她那深褐色的脸、印第安人般的高颧骨、分得很开的黑眼睛、嘲笑的嘴和带有怨意的厚上唇。 　　“你必须做得象个男子汉，”她对普里米蒂伏说。“象个成熟的男子汉。瞧你,一脸灰胡子什么的。” 　　“别取笑我，”普里米蒂伏阴沉地说。“一个人只要有一点心肠和一点头脑一” 　　“他就该僅得克制，”比拉尔说。“不一会儿，你就要跟我们一起死去啦。不要银外人　起去找死啦。说到你的头脑，吉普赛人的头脑可比谁都强軻。他跟我讲的事真象本小说。” 　　“你要是亲眼见了，就不会把它说成是小说了，”普里米蒂伏说。“刚才情况够严重的。” 　　“哪里的话！”比拉尔说。“无非是来了几个骑兵,又走了。你 们都自以为是英雄。我们闲的时间实在太长了，遇到一点小事就大惊小怪。” 　　“难道‘鸯子’目前的情况不严重?”普里米蒂伏轻蔑地说。每次风声里送来了熗声，他总显得十分难受,他希望要就去战斗，要就让比拉尔走幵,别打扰他。 　　“即使全饶上去叉怎么样?”比拉尔说。“发生的事倌已经发生了。人家碰到了不幸,你可不能把卵子都急坏了。” 　　“你自己去玩吧,普里米蒂伏说　“有些女人又蠹又狠，真叫人受不了。“ 　　“自己玩也是为了支援和帮助那些不够格的男人嘛，”比拉尔说。“要是没有什么可看的，我要走了。” 　　正在这时，罗伯特　乔丹听到头顶上髙空中的飞机声。他仰起了头，看见髙空中的那架飞机，似乎就是早上看到的那架侦察机。它这时正从前线飞回来，朝着“聋子”在那儿受到围攻的髙地飞去。 　　“带来卮运的凶鸟，”比拉尔说。“它看得到那边的情况吗？”“当然看得到，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“要是他们跟睛不瞎的话。” 　　他们注视着高空的飞机在阳光中银光闪闪，稳稳当当　它从左边飞来,两个蜒旋桨转成两面光亮的圆盘儿。‘“卧倒，”罗伯特，乔丹说。 　　飞机这时飞到了头顶上空,影子掠过林间空地,轰响声达到了最凶险可惊的程度。飞机一掠而过，朝山谷那头飞去。他们望着它不慌不忙地一直飞去，最后看不见了，伹接着马上打了个朝下的大圈子又飞回来，在髙地上空转了两圈，最后朝塞寄维亚方向飞去，看不见了， 　　罗伯特　乔丹望着比拉尔。她的前额渗着汗，她摇摇头。她一直用牙齿咬着下唇。 　　“每个人都有克星，”她说，“我就怕飞机。”“你没有被我的恐惧传染上吧？”普里米蒂伏讥嘲地说。“不。”她把手按在他肩上。“你没有恐惧可传染的。这我知道，原谅我跟你玩笑开得过分了。我们都是难兄难弟。”她接着对罗伯特‘乔丹说，“我把吃的和酒就送上山来。还要些什么吧?“ 　　“现在不要。其佘的人在嘛儿？” 　　“你的后备军原封不动地都在下面，和马匹在一起。”她霈齿笑着。“东西都收起来了，要带走的都已准备好。玛丽亚和你的器材在一起，“ 　　“万一飞机，来,叫她待在山洞里。”“是，我的英’国老爷，”比拉尔说。“我派的吉普赛人(我把他交给你了)去采蘑菇了,打算煮兔肉。现在　有很多蘑菇，我看还是把兔子就吃了，虽说最好还是明后天吃。” 　　“我看吃掉最好。”罗伯特’乔丹说。比拉尔把她的大手放在他挂着手提机熗皮带的肩膀上，接着举起手来，用手指弄乱他的头发。“好一个英国人。”比拉尔说。“等煮好了,我叫玛丽亚端来。” 　　远处离地上的熗声差不多消失了，只偶尔还有一两声，“你看结束了吗?”比拉尔问。 　　“没有，”罗伯特　乔丹说。“从我们听到的抢声来看，他们发动了进攻,被打退了。现在依我看，进攻的敌人已经把他们包围了。敌人隐蔽了起来，在等飞机，“ 　　比拉尔对普里米蒂伏说，“你呀，明白我不是有意奚落你了 　　“我巳经明白了。”普里米蒂伏说。“你讲过更难听的话，我都忍受了。你这张嘴太刻薄了，可要当心啊，大娘。‘聋子’是我的好同志。” 　　“难道不是我的好同志?”比拉尔问他。“听着，扁脸。打仗的-时候，别说什么难受高兴的啦。不算‘聋子’的烦恼，我们自己的已经够多啦。” 　　苷里米蒂伏仍然郁郁不乐， 　　“你得吃药了，”比拉尔对他说。“我现在去准备吃的。” 　　“你把那个保皇派骑兵的证明文件带来没有？”罗伯特　乔丹问她。 　　“我真蠹，”她说。“我忘了。我叫玛丽亚送来。”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[table=600,#ffffff,#000000,2][tr][td]
Chapter 32
On that same night in Madrid there were many people at the Hotel Gaylord. A car pulled up under the _porte-cochere_ of the hotel, its headlights painted over with blue calcimine and a little man in black riding boots, gray riding breeches and a short, gray high-buttoned jacket stepped out and returned the salute of the two sentries as he opened the door, nodded to the secret policeman who sat at the concierge's desk and stepped into the elevator. There were two sentries seated on chairs inside the door, one on each side of the marble entrance hall, and these only looked up as the little man passed them at the door of the elevator. It was their business to feel every one they did not know along the flanks, under the armpits, and over the hip pockets to see if the person entering carried a pistol and, if he did, have him check it with the concierge. But they knew the short man in riding boots very well and they hardly looked up as he passed.
The apartment where he lived in Gaylord's was crowded as he entered. People were sitting and standing about and talking together as in any drawing room and the men and the women were drinking vodka, whiskey and soda, and beer from small glasses filled from great pitchers. Four of the men were in uniform. The others wore windbreakers or leather jackets.and three of the four women were dressed in ordinary street dresses while the fourth, who was haggardly thin and dark, wore a sort of severely cut militiawoman's uniform with a skirt with high boots under it.
When he came into the room, Karkov went at once to the woman in the uniform and bowed to her and shook hands. She was his wife and he said something to her in Russian that no one could hear and for a moment the insolence that had been in his eyes as he entered the room was gone. Then it lighted again as he saw the mahoganycolored head and the love-lazy face of the well-constructed girl who was his mistress and he strode with short, precise steps over to her and bowed and shook her hand in such a way that no one could tell it was not a mimicry of his greeting to his wife. His wife had not looked after him as he walked across the room. She was standing with a tall, good-looking Spanish officer and they were talking Russian now.
"Your great love is getting a little fat," Karkov was saying to the girl. "All of our heroes are fattening now as we approach the second year." He did not look at the man he was speaking of.
"You are so ugly you would be jealous of a toad," the girl told him cheerfully. She spoke in German. "Can I go with thee to the offensive tomorrow?"
"No. Nor is there one."
"Every one knows about it," the girl said. "Don't be so mysterious. Dolores is going. I will go with her or Carmen. Many people are going."
"Go with whoever will take you," Karkov said. "I will not."
Then he turned to the girl and asked seriously, "Who told thee of it? Be exact."
"Richard," she said as seriously.
Karkov shrugged his shoulders and left her standing.
"Karkov," a man of middle height with a gray, heavy, sagging face, puffed eye pouches and a pendulous under-lip called to him in a dyspeptic voice. "Have you heard the good news?"
Karkov went over to him and the man said, "I only have it now. Not ten minutes ago. It is wonderful. All day the fascists have been fighting among themselves near Segovia. They have been forced to quell the mutinies with automatic rifle and machine-gun fire. In the afternoon they were bombing their own troops with planes."
"Yes?" asked Karkov.
"That is true," the puffy-eyed man said. "Dolores brought the news herself. She was here with the news and was in such a state of radiant exultation as I have never seen. The truth of the news shone from her face. That great face--" he said happily.
"That great face," Karkov said with no tone in his voice at all.
"If you could have heard her," the puffy-eyed man said. "The news itself shone from her with a light that was not of this world. In her voice you could tell the truth of what she said. I am putting it in an article for _Izvestia_. It was one of the greatest moments of the war to me when I heard the report in that great voice where pity, compassion and truth are blended. Goodness and truth shine from her as from a true saint of the people. Not for nothing is she called La Pasionaria."
"Not for nothing," Karkov said in a dull voice. "You better write it for _Izvestia_ now, before you forget that last beautiful lead."
"That is a woman that is not to joke about. Not even by a cynic like you," the puffy-eyed man said. "If you could have been here to hear her and to see her face."
"That great voice," Karkov said. "That great face. Write it," he said. "Don't tell it to me. Don't waste whole paragraphs on me. Go and write it now."
"Not just now."
"I think you'd better," Karkov said and looked at him, and then looked away. The puffy-eyed man stood there a couple of minutes more holding his glass of vodka, his eyes, puffy as they were, absorbed in the beauty of what he had seen and heard and then he left the room to write it.
Karkov went over to another man of about forty-eight, who was short, chunky, jovial-looking with pale blue eyes, thinning blond hair and a gay mouth under a bristly yellow moustache. This man was in uniform. He was a divisional commander and he was a Hungarian.
"Were you here when the Dolores was here?" Karkov asked the man.
"Yes."
"What was the stuff?"
"Something about the fascists fighting among themselves. Beautiful if true."
"You hear much talk of tomorrow."
"Scandalous. All the journalists should be shot as well as most of the people in this room and certainly the intriguing German unmentionable of a Richard. Whoever gave that Sunday _fuggler_ command of a brigade should be shot. Perhaps you and me should be shot too. It is possible," the General laughed. "Don't suggest it though."
"That is a thing I never like to talk about," Karkov said. "That American who comes here sometimes is over there. You know the one, Jordan, who is with the _partizan_ group. He is there where this business they spoke of is supposed to happen."
"Well, he should have a report through on it tonight then," the General said. "They don't like me down there or I'd go down and find out for you. He works with Golz on this, doesn't he? You'll see Golz tomorrow."
"Early tomorrow."
"Keep out of his way until it's going well," the General said. "He hates you bastards as much as I do. Though he has a much better temper."
"But about this--"
"It was probably the fascists having manoeuvres," the General grinned. "Well, we'll see if Golz can manceuvre them a little. Let Golz try his hand at it. We manoeuvred them at Guadalajara."
"I hear you are travelling too," Karkov said, showing his bad teeth as he smiled. The General was suddenly angry.
"And me too. Now is the mouth on me. And on all of us always. This filthy sewing circle of gossip. One man who could keep his mouth shut could save the country if he believed he could."
"Your friend Prieto can keep his mouth shut."
"But he doesn't believe he can win. How can you win without belief in the people?"
"You decide that," Karkov said. "I am going to get a little sleep."
He left the smoky, gossip-filled room and went into the back bedroom and sat down on the bed and pulled his boots off. He could still hear them talking so he shut the door and opened the window. He did not bother to undress because at two o'clock he would be starting for the drive by Colmenar, Cerceda, and Navacerrada up to the front where Golz would be attacking in the morning.
　　同一天晚上，马德里的乐爵饭店里有很多人。一辆汽车开到坂店的停车处，前灯上涂着蓝色墙粉;车里走出一个矮小的男人，穿着黑马靴、灰马裤和一件钮扣一直扣到领子的灰色上衣。他开门时给两个哨兵还礼，向坐在门蒈桌边的一个秘密警察点点头，然后跨进电梯。大理石门厅的大门里面两边各有一把椅子,坐着两个哨兵。小个子走过他们身边来到电梯门口时,他们只抬眼望望。他们的任务是检査陌生人，捩摸身体两拥、后裤袋，着有没有人夹带手熗进来，如有带熗的就交给门瞀加以盘问。但他们很熟悉这个矮小的穿马靴的人,他走过时他们简直头都没抬。
　　他走进他在乐爵饭店的房间时，里面挤满了人。大家坐的坐、站的站、交谈的交谈，就象在一般客厅里‘样,男男女女都在喝伏特加、威士忌苏打和啤酒，从大酒罐倒到小玻璃杯里。其中四个男人穿着制服。其他人有的穿防风外衣，有的穿皮外套，四个女人中三个是普通装束，另一个穿着剪裁简单的女民兵制服和裙子，脚上穿髙统靴,这个黑黑的女人骨瘦如柴，卡可夫一进房间，就向那穿制脤的女人走去，向她鞠躬，跟她握手。那是他妻子，他对她说了几句谁也听不清的俄国话，他进来时那种傲慢的眼神暂时消失了。然而当他看到一个身材匀称的姑娘，他情妇的时候,那种眼神又流餺出来了。她长着赤褐色的头发，表情懶洋洋的。他迈开短小、果断的步子走到她跟前,鞠躬，握手，那样子，谁都不会弄错是在摸仿他向自己妻子打招呼的方式，他在房里走过去时，他妻子并不目送着他。她跟一个髙髙的、漂亮的西班牙军官站在一起，正用俄国话交谈着。
　　“你那了不起的情人有些发胖了，”卡可夫对那姑娘说。“战争快进入第二个年头了，我们的英雄们全都发胖啦。”他并不对他提到的那个男人望望。
　　“你丑死了，连癩蛤蟆都要忌妒。”姑娘愉快地对他说。她说的是德国话。“明夭我可以跟你去参加进攻吗？”“不。再说,也没有这回事。”
　　“谁都知道了，”姑娘说。“别那么神秘啦。多洛雷斯①打算去。我要跟她，或者银卡门去。很多人都要去。”
　　“谁愿意带你去,就跟谁去，”卡可夫说。“我可不带，“接着他转身对着她，严肃地问，“是谁告诉你的？说得明确些。”
　　“理查德。”她同样严肃地说。
　　卡可夫耸耸肩膀走幵了，由她“个人站着。
　　“卡可夫，”一个中等身材的男人用一种没好气的声音招呼他说,此人一张灰脸肥胖松弛，眼脸浮肿，下嘴唇耷拉着。“你听到好消息了吗，“”

①即西班牙共产党领导人伊笆　　丽，多洛雷斯为她的名字

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

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

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

[table=600,#ffffff,#000000,2][tr][td]
Chapter 34
The fascists held the crests of the hills here. Then there was a valley that no one held except for a fascist post in a farmhouse with its outbuildings and its barn that they had fortified. , on his way to Golz with the message from Robert Jordan, made a wide circle around this post in the dark. He knew where there was a trip wire laid that fired a set-gun and he located it in the dark, stepped over it, and started along the small stream bordered with poplars whose leaves were moving with the night wind. A cock crowed at the farmhouse that was the fascist post and as he walked along the stream he looked back and saw, through the trunks of the poplars, a light showing at the lower edge of one of the windows of the farmhouse. The night was quiet and clear and  left the stream and struck across the meadow.
There were four haycocks in the meadow that had stood there ever since the fighting in July of the year before. No one had ever carried the hay away and the four seasons that had passed had flattened the cocks and made the hay worthless.
  thought what a waste it was as he stepped over a trip wire that ran between two of the haycocks. But the Republicans would have had to carry the hay up the steep Guadarrama slope that rose beyond the meadow and the fascists did not need it, I suppose, he thought.
They have all the hay they need and all the grain. They have much, he thought. But we will give them a blow tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning we will give them something for Sordo. What barbarians they are! But in the morning there will be dust on the road.
He wanted to get this message-taking over and be back for the attack on the posts in the morning. Did he really want to get back though or did he only pretend he wanted to be back? He knew the reprieved feeling he had felt when the had told him he was to go with the message. He had faced the prospect of the morning calmly. It was what was to be done. He had voted for it and would do it. The wiping out of Sordo had impressed him deeply. But, after all, that was Sordo. That was not them. What they had to do they would do.
But when thehad spoken to him of the message he had felt the way he used to feel when he was a boy and he had wakened in the morning of the festival of his village and heard it raining hard so that he knew that it would be too wet and that the bullbaiting in the square would be cancelled.
He loved the bullbaiting when he was a boy and he looked forward to it and to the moment when he would be in the square in the hot sun and the dust with the carts ranged all around to close the exits and to make a closed place into which the bull would come, sliding down out of his box, braking with all four feet, when they pulled the end-gate up. He looked forward with excitement, delight and sweating fear to the moment when, in the square, he would hear the clatter of the bull's horns knocking against the wood of his travelling box, and then the sight of him as he came, sliding, braking out into the square, his head up, his nostrils wide, his ears twitching, dust in the sheen of his black hide, dried crut splashed on his flanks, watching his eyes set wide apart, unblinking eyes under the widespread horns as smooth and solid as driftwood polished by the sand, the sharp tips uptilted so that to see them did something to your heart.
He looked forward all the year to that moment when the bull would come out into the square on that day when you watched his eyes while he made his choice of whom in the square he would attack in that sudden head-lowering, horn-reaching, quick catgallop that stopped your heart dead when it started. He had looked forward to that moment all the year when he was a boy; but the feeling when the gave the order about the message was the same as when you woke to hear the reprieve of the rain falling on the slate roof, against the stone wall and into the puddles on the dirt Street of the village.
He had always been very brave with the bull in those village _capeas_, as brave as any in the village or of the other near-by villages, and not for anything would he have missed it any year although he did not go to the _capeas_ of other villages. He was able to wait still when the bull charged and only jumped aside at the last moment. He waved a sack under his muzzle to draw him off when the bull had some one down and many times he had held and pulled on the horns when the bull had some one on the ground and pulled sideways on the horn, had slapped and kicked him in the face until he left the man to charge some one else.
He had held the bull's tail to pull him away from a fallen man, bracing hard and pulling and twisting. Once he had pulled the tail around with one hand until he could reach a horn with the other and when the bull had lifted his head to charge him he had run backwards, circling with the bull, holding the tail in one hand and the horn in the other until the crowd had swarmed onto the bull with their knives and stabbed him. In the dust and the heat, the shouting, the bull and man and wine smell, he had been in the first of the crowd that threw themselves onto the bull and he knew the feeling when the bull rocked and bucked under him and he lay across the withers with one arm locked around the base of the horn and his hand holding the other horn tight, his fingers locked as his body tossed and wrenched and his left arm felt as though it would tear from the socket while he lay on the hot, dusty, bristly, tossing slope of muscle, the ear clenched tight in his teeth, and drove his knife again and again and again into the swelling, tossing bulge of the neck that was now spouting hot on his fist as he let his weight hang on the high slope of the withers and banged and banged into the neck.
The first time he had bit the ear like that and held onto it, his neck and jaws stiffened against the tossing, they had all made fun of him afterwards. But though they joked him about it they had great respect for him. And every year after that he had to repeat it. They called him the bulldog of Villaconejos and joked about him eating cattle raw. But every one in the village looked forward to seeing him do it and every year he knew that first the bull would come out, then there would be the charges and the tossing, and then when they yelled for the rush for the killing he would place himself to rush through the other attackers and leap for his hold. Then, when it was over, and the bull settled and sunk dead finally under the weight of the killers, he would stand up and walk away ashamed of the ear part, but also as proud as a man could be. And he would go through the carts to wash his hands at the stone fountain and men would clap him on the back and hand him wineskins and say, "Hurray for you, Bulldog. Long life to your mother."
Or they would say, "That's what it is to have a pair of _cojones!_ Year after year!"
  would be ashamed, empty-feeling, proud and happy, and he would shake them all off and wash his hands and his right arm and wash his knife well and then take one of the wineskins and rinse the ear-taste out of his mouth for that year; spitting the wine on the stone flags of the plaza before he lifted the wineskin high and let the wine spurt into the back of his mouth.
Surely. He was the Bulldog of Villaconejos and not for anything would he have missed doing it each year in his village. But he knew there was no better feeling than that one the sound of the rain gave when he knew he would not have to do it.
But I must go back, he told himself. There is no question but that I must go back for the affair of the posts and the bridge. My brother Eladio is there, who is of my own bone and flesh. Anselmo, Primitivo, Fernando, Agust, Rafael, though clearly he is not serious, the two women, Pablo and the though the  does not count since he is a foreigner and under orders. They are all in for it. It is impossible that I should escape this proving through the accident of a message. I must deliver this message now quickly and well and then make all haste to return in time for the assault on the posts. It would be ignoble of me not to participate in this action because of the accident of this message. That could not be clearer. And besides, he told himself, as one who suddenly remembers that there will be pleasure too in an engagement only the onerous aspects of which he has been considering, and besides I will enjoy the killing of some fascists. It has been too long since we have destroyed any. Tomorrow can be a day of much valid action. Tomorrow can be a day of concrete acts. Tomorrow can be a day which is worth something. That tomorrow should come and that I should be there.
Just then, as knee deep in the gorse he climbed the steep slope that led to the Republican lines, a partridge flew up from under his feet, exploding in a whirr of wingbeats in the dark and he felt a sudden breath-stopping fright. It is the suddenness, he thought. How can they move their wings that fast? She must be nesting now. I probably trod close to the eggs. If there were not this war I would tie a handkerchief to the bush and come back in the daytime and search out the nest and I could take the eggs and put them under a setting hen and when they hatched we would have little partridges in the poultry yard and I would watch them grow and, when they were grown, I'd use them for callers. I wouldn't blind them because they would be tame. Or do you suppose they would fly off? Probably. Then I would have to blind them.
But I don't like to do that after I have raised them. I could clip the wings or tether them by one leg when I used them for calling. If there was no war I would go with Eladio to get crayfish from that stream back there by the fascist post. One time we got four dozen from that stream in a day. If we go to the Sierra de Gredos after this of the bridge there are fine streams there for trout and for crayfish also. I hope we go to Gredos, he thought. We could make a good life in Gredos in the summer time and in the fall but it would be terribly cold in winter. But by winter maybe we will have won the war.
If our father had not been a Republican both Eladio and I would be soldiers now with the fascists and if one were a soldier with them then there would be no problem. One would obey orders and one would live or die and in the end it would be however it would be. It was easier to live under a regime than to fight it.
But this irregular fighting was a thing of much responsibility. There was much worry if you were one to worry. Eladio thinks more than I do. Also he worries. I believe truly in the cause and I do not worry. But it is a life of much responsibility.
I think that we are born into a time of great difficulty, he thought. I think any other time was probably easier. One suffers little because all of us have been formed to resist suffering. They who suffer are unsuited to this climate. But it is a time of difficult decisions. The fascists attacked and made our decision for us. We fight to live. But I would like to have it so that I could tie a handkerchief to that bush back there and come in the daylight and take the eggs and put them under a hen and be able to see the chicks of the partridge in my own courtyard. I would like such small and regular things.
But you have no house and no courtyard in your no-house, he thought. You have no family but a brother who goes to battle tomorrow and you own nothing but the wind and the sun and an empty belly. The wind is small, he thought, and there is no sun. You have four grenades in your pocket but they are only good to throw away. You have a carbine on your back but it is only good to give away bullets. You have a message to give away. And you're full of crap that you can give to the earth, he grinned in the dark. You can anoint it also with urine. Everything you have is to give. Thou art a phenomenon of philosophy and an unfortunate man, he told himself and grinned again.
But for all his noble thinking a little while before there was in him that reprieved feeling that had always come with the sound of rain in the village on the morning of the fiesta. Ahead of him now at the top of the ridge was the government position where he knew he would be challenged.
　　法西斯分子占领着这里这些山头。还有个山谷没人防守，只有一家带外屋和牲口棚的农舍，法西斯分子筑了工事，当作哨所。安德烈斯带着罗伯特、乔丹的信件在黑夜中去找戈尔兹，他兜了个大闻子，绕过这个哨所。他知道什么地方有根绊索,踩上就会牵动上了膛的熗扳机，他在黑夜中辨认出来，跨了过去，沿着一条岸边栽有白杨树的小河走去　树叶随着夜风覼动。一只公鸡在法西斯分子当做哨所的农舍里啼叫；他一边沿河走,一边回头望望，从白杨树干间看见农舍有扇窗子的下半部鳝出了灯光。夜寂静而晴朗，安德烈斯离开小河,穿过草地走去。
　　草地上有四个尖顶草垛，上一年七月打仗以来就堆在那儿了。没人把草搬走，过去的四季风吹雨打，垛尖都坍下去了，草成了废料。
　　安德烈斯跨过拉在两堆草垛间的绊索时想，这真是糟蹋啊。他想:共和分子不得不把草背上草地那边陡峭的瓜达拉马山坡，法西斯分子呢，看来就不需要草料申
　　他想:他们不缺草料粮食,他们有的是。伹是明天早臊我们要干他们一下子。明天早晨我们要给“聋子”报一下仇。他们真是野蛮人早晨公路上可要热闹啦，
　　他要赶快把信送到,赶回去参加早晨对哨所袭击。然而,他真的想回去吗?还是只不过假装想回去？英国人通知他由他去送信时，他体会到一种危险暂时缓解的感觉。他平静地看待早晨将要发生的事情，该干的总得干嘛。他赞成并愿意干这件事。“聋子”的毁灭深深地敹�了他。然�

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

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