For Whom the Bell Tolls - Ernest Hemingway [221]
“Yes. Therefore go for a favor. Do it for me since it is what thou canst do.”
“But you don’t understand, Roberto. What about me? It is worse for me to go.”
“Surely,” he said. “It is harder for thee. But I am thee also now.”
She said nothing.
He looked at her and he was sweating heavily and he spoke now, trying harder to do something than he had ever tried in all his life.
“Now you will go for us both,” he said. “You must not be selfish, rabbit. You must do your duty now.”
She shook her head.
“You are me now,” he said. “Surely thou must feel it, rabbit.
“Rabbit, listen,” he said. “Truly thus I go too. I swear it to thee.”
She said nothing.
“Now you see it,” he said. “Now I see it is clear. Now thou wilt go. Good. Now you are going. Now you have said you will go.”
She had said nothing.
“Now I thank thee for it. Now you are going well and fast and far and we both go in thee. Now put thy hand here. Now put thy head down. Nay, put it down. That is right. Now I put my hand there. Good. Thou art so good. Now do not think more. Now art thou doing what thou should. Now thou art obeying. Not me but us both. The me in thee. Now you go for us both. Truly. We both go in thee now. This I have promised thee. Thou art very good to go and very kind.”
He jerked his head at Pablo, who was half-looking at him from the tree and Pablo started over. He motioned with his thumb to Pilar.
“We will go to Madrid another time, rabbit,” he said. “Truly. Now stand up and go and we both go. Stand up. See?”
“No,” she said and held him tight around the neck.
He spoke now still calmly and reasonably but with great authority.
“Stand up,” he said. “Thou art me too now. Thou art all there will be of me. Stand up.”
She stood up slowly, crying, and with her head down. Then she dropped quickly beside him and then stood up again, slowly and tiredly, as he said, “Stand up, guapa.”
Pilar was holding her by the arm and she was standing there.
“Vamonos,” Pilar said. “Dost lack anything, Inglés?” She looked at him and shook her head.
“No,” he said and went on talking to Maria.
“There is no good-by, guapa, because we are not apart. That it should be good in the Gredos. Go now. Go good. Nay,” he spoke now still calmly and reasonably as Pilar walked the girl along. “Do not turn around. Put thy foot in. Yes. Thy foot in. Help her up,” he said to Pilar. “Get her in the saddle. Swing up now.”
He turned his head, sweating, and looked down the slope, then back toward where the girl was in the saddle with Pilar by her and Pablo just behind. “Now go,” he said. “Go.”
She started to look around. “Don’t look around,” Robert Jordan said. “Go.” And Pablo hit the horse across the crupper with a hobbling strap and it looked as though Maria tried to slip from the saddle but Pilar and Pablo were riding close up against her and Pilar was holding her and the three horses were going up the draw.
“Roberto,” Maria turned and shouted. “Let me stay! Let me stay!”
“I am with thee,” Robert Jordan shouted. “I am with thee now. We are both there. Go!” Then they were out of sight around the corner of the draw and he was soaking wet with sweat and looking at nothing.
Agustín was standing by him.
“Do you want me to shoot thee, Inglés?” he asked, leaning down close. “Quieres? It is nothing.”
“No hace falta,” Robert Jordan said. “Get along. I am very well here.”
“Me cago en la leche que me han dado!” Agustín said. He was crying so he could not see Robert Jordan clearly. “Salud, Inglés.”
“Salud, old one,” Robert Jordan said. He was looking down the slope now. “Look well after the cropped head, wilt thou?”
“There is no problem,” Agustín said. “Thou has what thou needest?”
“There are very few shells for this máquina, so I will keep it,” Robert Jordan said. “Thou canst now get more. For that other and the one of Pablo, yes.”
“I cleaned out the barrel,” Agustín said. “Where thou plugged it in the dirt with the fall.”
“What became of the pack-horse?”
“The gypsy caught it.”
Agustín was on the horse now but he did not want to go. He