For Whom the Bell Tolls - Ernest Hemingway [73]
Maria said nothing but lay there, trying to make her head rest lightly.
“Listen, guapa,” said Pilar and ran her finger now absently but tracingly over the contours of her cheeks. “Listen, guapa, I love thee and he can have thee, I am no tortillera but a woman made for men. That is true. But now it gives me pleasure to say thus, in the daytime, that I care for thee.”
“I love thee, too.”
“Qué va. Do not talk nonsense. Thou dost not know even of what I speak.”
“I know.”
“Qué va, that you know. You are for the Inglés. That is seen and as it should be. That I would have. Anything else I would not have. I do not make perversions. I only tell you something true. Few people will ever talk to thee truly and no women. I am jealous and say it and it is there. And I say it.”
“Do not say it,” Maria said. “Do not say it, Pilar.”
“Por qué, do not say it,” the woman said, still not looking at either of them. “I will say it until it no longer pleases me to say it. And,” she looked down at the girl now, “that time has come already. I do not say it more, you understand?”
“Pilar,” Maria said. “Do not talk thus.”
“Thou art a very pleasant little rabbit,” Pilar said. “And lift thy head now because this silliness is over.”
“It was not silly,” said Maria. “And my head is well where it is.”
“Nay. Lift it,” Pilar told her and put her big hands under the girl’s head and raised it. “And thou, Inglés?” she said, still holding the girl’s head as she looked across at the mountains. “What cat has eaten thy tongue?”
“No cat,” Robert Jordan said.
“What animal then?” She laid the girl’s head down on the ground.
“No animal,” Robert Jordan told her.
“You swallowed it yourself, eh?”
“I guess so,” Robert Jordan said.
“And did you like the taste?” Pilar turned now and grinned at him.
“Not much.”
“I thought not,” Pilar said. “I thought not. But I give you back our rabbit. Nor ever did I try to take your rabbit. That’s a good name for her. I heard you call her that this morning.”
Robert Jordan felt his face redden.
“You are a very hard woman,” he told her.
“No,” Pilar said. “But so simple I am very complicated. Are you very complicated, Inglés?”
“No. Nor not so simple.”
“You please me, Inglés,” Pilar said. Then she smiled and leaned forward and smiled and shook her head. “Now if I could take the rabbit from thee and take thee from the rabbit.”
“You could not.”
“I know it,” Pilar said and smiled again. “Nor would I wish to. But when I was young I could have.”
“I believe it.”
“You believe it?”
“Surely,” Robert Jordan said. “But such talk is nonsense.”
“It is not like thee,” Maria said.
“I am not much like myself today,” Pilar said. “Very little like myself. Thy bridge has given me a headache, Inglés.”
“We can tell it the Headache Bridge,” Robert Jordan said. “But I will drop it in that gorge like a broken bird cage.”
“Good,” said Pilar. “Keep on talking like that.”
“I’ll drop it as you break a banana from which you have removed the skin.”
“I could eat a banana now,” said Pilar. “Go on, Inglés. Keep on talking largely.”
“There is no need,” Robert Jordan said. “Let us get to camp.”
“Thy duty,” Pilar said. “It will come quickly enough. I said that I would leave the two of you.”
“No. I have much to do.”
“That is much too and does not take long.”
“Shut thy mouth, Pilar,” Maria said. “You speak grossly.”
“I am gross,” Pilar said. “But I am also very delicate. Soy muy delicada. I will leave the two of you. And the talk of jealousness is nonsense. I was angry at Joaquín because I saw from his look how ugly I am. I am only jealous that you are nineteen. It is not a jealousy which lasts. You will not be nineteen always. Now I go.”
She stood up and with a hand on one hip looked at Robert Jordan, who was also standing. Maria sat on the ground under the tree, her head dropped forward.
“Let us all go to camp together,” Robert Jordan said. “It is better and there is much to do.”
Pilar nodded with her head toward Maria, who sat there, her head turned