For Whom the Bell Tolls - Ernest Hemingway [190]
“That no one should make a move nor fire a shot nor throw a bomb until the noise of the bombardment comes,” Robert Jordan said softly.
“Do not molest me more,” Pilar whispered angrily. “I have understood this since we were at Sordo’s.”
Robert Jordan went to where Pablo was tying the horses. “I have only hobbled those which are liable to panic,” Pablo said. “These are tied so a pull of the rope will release them, see?”
“Good.”
“I will tell the girl and the gypsy how to handle them,” Pablo said. His new men were standing in a group by themselves leaning on their carbines.
“Dost understand all?” Robert Jordan asked.
“Why not?” Pablo said. “Destroy the post. Cut the wire. Fall back on the bridge. Cover the bridge until thou blowest.”
“And nothing to start until the commencement of the bombardment.”
“Thus it is.”
“Well then, much luck.”
Pablo grunted. Then he said, “Thou wilt cover us well with the máquina and with thy small máquina when we come back, eh, Inglés?”
“Dela primera,” Robert Jordan said. “Off the top of the basket.”
“Then,” Pablo said. “Nothing more. But in that moment thou must be very careful, Inglés. It will not be simple to do that unless thou art very careful.”
“I will handle the máquina myself,” Robert Jordan said to him.
“Hast thou much experience? For I am of no mind to be shot by Agustín with his belly full of good intentions.”
“I have much experience. Truly. And if Agustín uses either máquina I will see that he keeps it way above thee. Above, above and above.”
“Then nothing more,” Pablo said. Then he said softly and confidentially, “There is still a lack of horses.”
The son of a bitch, Robert Jordan thought. Or does he think I did not understand him the first time.
“I go on foot,” he said. “The horses are thy affair.”
“Nay, there will be a horse for thee, Inglés,” Pablo said softly. “There will be horses for all of us.”
“That is thy problem,” Robert Jordan said. “Thou dost not have to count me. Hast enough rounds for thy new máquina?”
“Yes,” Pablo said. “All that the cavalryman carried. I have fired only four to try it. I tried it yesterday in the high hills.”
“We go now,” Robert Jordan said. “We must be there early and well hidden.”
“We all go now,” Pablo said. “Suerte, Inglés.”
I wonder what the bastard is planning now, Robert Jordan said. But I am pretty sure I know. Well, that is his, not mine. Thank God I do not know these new men.
He put his hand out and said, “Suerte, Pablo,” and their two hands gripped in the dark.
Robert Jordan, when he put his hand out, expected that it would be like grasping something reptilian or touching a leper. He did not know what Pablo’s hand would feel like. But in the dark Pablo’s hand gripped his hard and pressed it frankly and he returned the grip. Pablo had a good hand in the dark and feeling it gave Robert Jordan the strangest feeling he had felt that morning. We must be allies now, he thought. There was always much handshaking with allies. Not to mention decorations and kissing on both cheeks, he thought. I’m glad we do not have to do that. I suppose all allies are like this. They always hate each other au fond. But this Pablo is a strange man.
“Suerte, Pablo,” he said and gripped the strange, firm, purposeful hand hard. “I will cover thee well. Do not worry.”
“I am sorry for having taken thy material,” Pablo said. “It was an equivocation.”
“But thou has brought what we needed.”
“I do not hold this of the bridge against thee, Inglés,” Pablo said. “I see a successful termination for it.”
“What are you two doing? Becoming maricones?” Pilar said suddenly beside them in the dark. “That is all thou hast lacked,” she said to Pablo. “Get along, Inglés, and cut thy good-bys short before this one steals the rest of thy explosive.”
“Thou dost not understand me, woman,” Pablo said. “The Inglés and I understand one another.”
“Nobody understands thee. Neither God nor thy mother,” Pilar said. “Nor I either. Get along, Inglés. Make thy good-bys with thy cropped head and go. Me cago en tu