"I will teach you.
You make a trap.
It is not too difficult."
"You and me?"
"Sure," said Robert Jordan.
"Why not?"
"Hey," the gypsy said to Anselmo.
"Move those two sacks to where they will be safe, will you?
They're valuable."
Anselmo grunted.
"I am going for wine," he told Robert Jordan.
Robert Jordan got up and lifted the sacks away from the cave entrance and leaned them, one on each side of a tree trunk.
He knew what was in them and he never liked to see them close together.
"Bring a cup for me," the gypsy told him.
"Is there wine?" Robert Jordan asked, sitting down again by the gypsy.
"Wine?
Why not?
A whole skinful.
Half a skinful, anyway."
"And what to eat?"
"Everything, man," the gypsy said.
"We eat like generals."
"And what do gypsies do in the war?" Robert Jordan asked him.
"They keep on being gypsies."
"That's a good job."
"The best," the gypsy said.
"How do they call thee?"
"Roberto.
And thee?"
"Rafael.
And this of the tank is serious?"
"Surely.
Why not?"
Anselmo came out of the mouth of the cave with a deep stone basin full of red wine and with his fingers through the handles of three cups.
"Look," he said.
"They have cups and all."
Pablo came out behind them.
"There is food soon," he said.
"Do you have tobacco?"
Robert Jordan went over to the packs and opening one, felt inside an inner pocket and brought out one of the flat boxes of Russian cigarettes he had gotten at Golz's headquarters.
He ran his thumbnail around the edge of the box and, opening the lid, handed them to Pablo who took half a dozen.
Pablo, holding them in one of his huge hands, picked one up and looked at it against the light.
They were long narrow cigarettes with pasteboard cylinders for mouthpieces.
"Much air and little tobacco," he said.
"I know these.
The other with the rare name had them."
"Kashkin," Robert Jordan said and offered the cigarettes to the gypsy and Anselmo, who each took one.
"Take more," he said and they each took another.
He gave them each four more, they making a double nod with the hand holding the cigarettes so that the cigarette dipped its end as a man salutes with a sword, to thank him.
"Yes," Pablo said.