“And is thy father still active in the Republic?” Pilar asked.
“No. He is dead.”
“Can one ask how he died?”
“He shot himself.”
“To avoid being tortured?” the woman asked.
“Yes,” Robert Jordan said. “To avoid being tortured.”
Maria looked at him with tears in her eyes. “My father,” she said, “could not obtain a weapon. Oh, I am very glad that your father had the good fortune to obtain a weapon.”
“Yes. It was pretty lucky,” Robert Jordan said. “Should we talk about something else?”
“Then you and me we are the same,” Maria said. She put her hand on his arm and looked in his face. He looked at her brown face and at the eyes that, since he had seen them, had never been as young as the rest of her face but that now were suddenly hungry and young and wanting.
“You could be brother and sister by the look,” the woman said. “But I believe it is fortunate that you are not.”
“Now I know why I have felt as I have,” Maria said. “Now it is clear.”
“Qué va,” Robert Jordan said and reaching over, he ran his hand over the top of her head. He had been wanting to do that all day and now he did it, he could feel his throat swelling. She moved her head under his hand and smiled up at him and he felt the thick but silky roughness of the cropped head rippling between his fingers. Then his hand was on her neck and then he dropped it.
“Do it again,” she said. “I wanted you to do that all day.”
“Later,” Robert Jordan said and his voice was thick.
“And me,” the woman of Pablo said in her booming voice. “I am expected to watch all this? I am expected not to be moved? One cannot. For fault of anything better; that Pablo should come back.”
Maria took no notice of her now, nor of the others playing cards at the table by the candlelight.
“Do you want another cup of wine, Roberto?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Why not?”
“You’re going to have a drunkard like I have,” the woman of Pablo said. “With that rare thing he drank in the cup and all. Listen to me, Inglés.”
“Not Inglés. American.”
“Listen, then, American. Where do you plan to sleep?”
“Outside. I have a sleeping robe.”
“Good,” she said. “The night is clear?”
“And will be cold.”
“Outside then,” she said. “Sleep thee outside. And thy materials can sleep with me.”
“Good,” said Robert Jordan.
“Leave us for a moment,” Robert Jordan said to the girl and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Why?”
“I wish to speak to Pilar.”
“Must I go?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?” the woman of Pablo said when the girl had gone over to the mouth of the cave where she stood by the big wineskin, watching the card players.
“The gypsy said I should have–” he began.
“No,” the woman interrupted. “He is mistaken.”
“If it is necessary that I–” Robert Jordan said quietly but with difficulty.
“Thee would have done it, I believe,” the woman said. “Nay, it is not necessary. I was watching thee. But thy judgment was good.”
“But if it is needful–”
“No,” the woman said. “I tell you it is not needful. The mind of the gypsy is corrupt.”
“But in weakness a man can be a great danger.”
“No. Thou dost not understand. Out of this one has passed all capacity for danger.”
“I do not understand.”
“Thou art very young still,” she said. “You will understand.” Then, to the girl, “Come, Maria. We are not talking more.”
The girl came over and Robert Jordan reached his hand out and patted her head. She stroked under his hand like a kitten. Then he thought that she was going to cry. But her lips drew up again and she looked at him and smiled.
“Thee would do well to go to bed now,” the woman said to Robert Jordan. “Thou hast had a long journey.”
“Good,” said Robert Jordan. “I will get my things.”
7
He was asleep in the robe and he had been asleep, he thought, for a long time. The robe was spread on the forest floor in the lee of the rocks beyond the cave mouth and as he slept, he turned, and turning rolled on his pistol which was fastened by a lanyard to one wrist and had been by his side under the cover when he went to sleep, shoulder and back weary, leg-tired, his muscles pulled with tiredness so that the ground was soft, and simply stretching in the robe against the flannel lining was voluptuous with fatigue. Waking, he wondered where he was, knew, and then shifted the pistol from under his side and settled happily to stretch back into sleep, his hand on the pillow of his clothing that was bundled neatly around his rope-soled shoes. He had one arm around the pillow.