“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.
36
Andrés 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. Andrés had flattened at the click, the top of his head hard against the ground.
“Don’t shoot, Comrades,” Andrés 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?”
“Andrés 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,” Andrés 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,” Andrés 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,” Andrés 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,” Andrés 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,” Andrés 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.”
Andrés 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 máquina,” the voice called.
Andrés 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,” Andrés 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,” Andrés 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.”