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 Agustín 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.”