Why should he lie?"
"It's a lie," Joaquin said.
"She would not do such a thing as keep a son hidden in Russia out of the war."
"I wish I were in Russia," another of Sordo's men said.
"Will not thy Pasionaria send me now from here to Russia, Communist?"
"If thou believest so much in thy Pasionaria, get her to get us off this hill," one of the men who had a bandaged thigh said.
"The fascists will do that," the man with his chin in the dirt said.
"Do not speak thus," Joaquin said to him.
"Wipe the pap of your mother's breasts off thy lips and give me a hatful of that dirt," the man with his chin on the ground said.
"No one of us will see the sun go down this night."
El Sordo was thinking: It is shaped like a chancre.
Or the breast of a young girl with no nipple.
Or the top cone of a volcano.
You have never seen a volcano, he thought.
Nor will you ever see one.
And this hill is like a chancre.
Let the volcanos alone.
It's late now for the volcanos.
He looked very carefully around the withers of the dead horse and there was a quick hammering of firing from behind a boulder well down the slope and he heard the bullets from the submachine gun thud into the horse.
He crawled along behind the horse and looked out of the angle between the horse's hindquarters and the rock.
There were three bodies on the slope just below him where they had fallen when the fascists had rushed the crest under cover of the automatic rifle and submachine gunfire and he and the others had broken down the attack by throwing and rolling down hand grenades.
There were other bodies that he could not see on the other sides of the hill crest.
There was no dead ground by which attackers could approach the summit and Sordo knew that as long as his ammunition and grenades held out and he had as many as four men they could not get him out of there unless they brought up a trench mortar.
He did not know whether they had sent to La Granja for a trench mortar.
Perhaps they had not, because surely, soon, the planes would come. It had been four hours since the observation plane had flown over them.
This hill is truly like a chancre, Sordo thought, and we are the very pus of it.
But we killed many when they made that stupidness.
How could they think that they would take us thus?
They have such modern armament that they lose all their sense with overconfidence.
He had killed the young officer who had led the assault with a grenade that had gone bouncing and rolling down the slope as they came up it, running, bent half over.
In the yellow flash and gray roar of smoke he had seen the officer dive forward to where he lay now like a heavy, broken bundle of old clothing marking the farthest point that the assault had reached.
Sordo looked at this body and then, down the hill, at the others.
They are brave but stupid people, he thought.
But they have sense enough now not to attack us again until the planes come.
Unless, of course, they have a mortar coming.
It would be easy with a mortar.
The mortar was the normal thing and he knew that they would die as soon as a mortar came up, but when he thought of the planes coming up he felt as naked on that hilltop as though all of his clothing and even his skin had been removed.
There is no nakeder thing than I feel, he thought.
A flayed rabbit is as well covered as a bear in comparison.
But why should they bring planes?
They could get us out of here with a trench mortar easily.
They are proud of their planes, though, and they will probably bring them.
Just as they were so proud of their automatic weapons that they made that stupidness.
But undoubtedly they must have sent for a mortar too.
One of the men fired.
Then jerked the bolt and fired again, quickly.
"Save thy cartridges," Sordo said.
"One of the sons of the great whore tried to reach that boulder," the man pointed.
"Did you hit him?" Sordo asked, turning his head with difficulty.
"Nay," the man said.