“Then he was ashamed and was quiet and I went to sleep but, man, he’s a ruin.”
Robert Jordan said nothing.
“All my life I have had this sadness at intervals,” the woman said. “But it is not like the sadness of Pablo. It does not affect my resolution.”
“I believe that.”
“It may be it is like the times of a woman,” she said. “It may be it is nothing,” she paused, then went on. “I put great illusion in the Republic. I believe firmly in the Republic and I have faith. I believe in it with fervor as those who have religious faith believe in the mysteries.”
“I believe you.”
“And you have this same faith?”
“In the Republic?”
“Yes.”
“Yes,” he said, hoping it was true.
“I am happy,” the woman said. “And you have no fear?”
“Not to die,” he said truly.
“But other fears?”
“Only of not doing my duty as I should.”
“Not of capture, as the other had?”
“No,” he said truly. “Fearing that, one would be so preoccupied as to be useless.”
“You are a very cold boy.”
“No,” he said. “I do not think so.”
“No. In the head you are very cold.”
“It is that I am very preoccupied with my work.”
“But you do not like the things of life?”
“Yes. Very much. But not to interfere with my work.”
“You like to drink, I know. I have seen.”
“Yes. Very much. But not to interfere with my work.”
“And women?”
“I like them very much, but I have not given them much importance.”
“You do not care for them?”
“Yes. But I have not found one that moved me as they say they should move you.”
“I think you lie.”
“Maybe a little.”
“But you care for Maria.”
“Yes. Suddenly and very much.”
“I, too. I care for her very much. Yes. Much.”
“I, too,” said Robert Jordan, and could feel his voice thickening. “I, too. Yes.” It gave him pleasure to say it and he said it quite formally in Spanish. “I care for her very much.”
“I will leave you alone with her after we have seen El Sordo.”
Robert Jordan said nothing. Then he said, “That is not necessary.”
“Yes, man. It is necessary. There is not much time.”
“Did you see that in the hand?” he asked.
“No. Do not remember that nonsense of the hand.”
She had put that away with all the other things that might do ill to the Republic.
Robert Jordan said nothing. He was looking at Maria putting away the dishes inside the cave. She wiped her hands and turned and smiled at him. She could not hear what Pilar was saying, but as she smiled at Robert Jordan she blushed dark under the tawny skin and then smiled at him again.
“There is the day also,” the woman said. “You have the night, but there is the day, too. Clearly, there is no such luxury as in Valencia in my time. But you could pick a few wild strawberries or something.” She laughed.
Robert Jordan put his arm on her big shoulder. “I care for thee, too,” he said. “I care for thee very much.”
“Thou art a regular Don Juan Tenorio,” the woman said, embarrassed now with affection. “There is a commencement of caring for every one. Here comes Agustín.”
Robert Jordan went into the cave and up to where Maria was standing. She watched him come toward her, her eyes bright, the blush again on her cheeks and throat.
“Hello, little rabbit,” he said and kissed her on the mouth. She held him tight to her and looked in his face and said, “Hello. Oh, hello. Hello.”
Fernando, still sitting at the table smoking a cigarette, stood up, shook his head and walked out, picking up his carbine from where it leaned against the wall.
“It is very unformal,” he said to Pilar. “And I do not like it. You should take care of the girl.”
“I am,” said Pilar. “That comrade is her novio.”
“Oh,” said Fernando. “In that case, since they are engaged, I encounter it to be perfectly normal.”
“I am pleased,” the woman said.