“Equally,” Fernando agreed gravely. “Salud, Pilar.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the upper post to relieve Primitivo.”
“Where the hell are you going?” Agustín asked the grave little man as he came up.
“To my duty,” Fernando said with dignity.
“Thy duty,” said Agustín mockingly. “I besmirch the milk of thy duty.” Then turning to the woman, “Where the un-nameable is this vileness that I am to guard?”
“In the cave,” Pilar said. “In two sacks. And I am tired of thy obscenity.”
“I obscenity in the milk of thy tiredness,” Agustín said.
“Then go and befoul thyself,” Pilar said to him without heat.
“Thy mother,” Agustín replied.
“Thou never had one,” Pilar told him, the insults having reached the ultimate formalism in Spanish in which the acts are never stated but only implied.
“What are they doing in there?” Agustín now asked confidentially.
“Nothing,” Pilar told him. “Nada. We are, after all, in the spring, animal.”
“Animal,” said Agustín, relishing the word. “Animal. And thou. Daughter of the great whore of whores. I befoul myself in the milk of the springtime.”
Pilar slapped him on the shoulder.
“You,” she said, and laughed that booming laugh. “You lack variety in your cursing. But you have force. Did you see the planes?”
“I un-name in the milk of their motors,” Agustín said, nodding his head and biting his lower lip.
“That’s something,” Pilar said. “That is really something. But really difficult of execution.”
“At that altitude, yes,” Agustín grinned. “Desde luego. But it is better to joke.”
“Yes,” the woman of Pablo said. “It is much better to joke, and you are a good man and you joke with force.”
“Listen, Pilar,” Agustín said seriously. “Something is preparing. It is not true?”
“How does it seem to you?”
“Of a foulness that cannot be worse. Those were many planes, woman. Many planes.”
“And thou hast caught fear from them like all the others?”
“Qué va,” said Agustín. “What do you think they are preparing?”
“Look,” Pilar said. “From this boy coming for the bridges obviously the Republic is preparing an offensive. From these planes obviously the Fascists are preparing to meet it. But why show the planes?”
“In this war are many foolish things,” Agustín said. “In this war there is an idiocy without bounds.”
“Clearly,” said Pilar. “Otherwise we could not be here.”
“Yes,” said Agustín. “We swim within the idiocy for a year now. But Pablo is a man of much understanding. Pablo is very wily.”
“Why do you say this?”
“I say it.”
“But you must understand,” Pilar explained. “It is now too late to be saved by wiliness and he has lost the other.”
“I understand,” said Agustín. “I know we must go. And since we must win to survive ultimately, it is necessary that the bridges must be blown. But Pablo, for the coward that he now is, is very smart.”
“I, too, am smart.”
“No, Pilar,” Agustín said. “You are not smart. You are brave. You are loyal. You have decision. You have intuition. Much decision and much heart. But you are not smart.”
“You believe that?” the woman asked thoughtfully.
“Yes, Pilar.”
“The boy is smart,” the woman said. “Smart and cold. Very cold in the head.”
“Yes,” Agustín said. “He must know his business or they would not have him doing this. But I do not know that he is smart. Pablo I know is smart.”
“But rendered useless by his fear and his disinclination to action.”
“But still smart.”
“And what do you say?”
“Nothing. I try to consider it intelligently. In this moment we need to act with intelligence. After the bridge we must leave at once. All must be prepared. We must know for where we are leaving and how.”
“Naturally.”
“For this–Pablo. It must be done smartly.”
“I have no confidence in Pablo.”
“In this, yes.”
“No. You do not know how far he is ruined.”
“Pero es muy vivo. He is very smart. And if we do not do this smartly we are obscenitied.”
“I will think about it,” Pilar said. “I have the day to think about it.”
“For the bridges; the boy,” Agustín said. “This he must know. Look at the fine manner in which the other organized the train.”