"What did she say?"
"She said that nothing is done to oneself that one does not accept and that if I loved some one it would take it all away.
I wished to die, you see."
"What she said is true."
"And now I am happy that I did not die.
I am so happy that I did not die.
And you can love me?"
"Yes.
I love you now."
"And I can be thy woman?"
"I cannot have a woman doing what I ao.
But thou art my woman now."
"If once I am, then I will keep on.
Am I thy woman now?"
"Yes, Maria.
Yes, my little rabbit."
She held herself tight to him and her lips looked for his and then found them and were against them and he felt her, fresh, new and smooth and young and lovely with the warm, scalding coolness and unbelievable to be there in the robe that was as familiar as his clothes, or his shoes, or his duty and then she said, frightenedly,
"And now let us do quickly what it is we do so that the other is all gone."
"You want?"
"Yes," she said almost fiercely.
"Yes.
Yes.
Yes."
8
It was cold in the night and Robert Jordan slept heavily.
Once he woke and, stretching, realized that the girl was there, curled far down in the robe, breathing lightly and regularly, and in the dark, bringing his head in from the cold, the sky hard and sharp with stars, the air cold in his nostrils, he put his head under the warmth of the robe and kissed her smooth shoulder.
She did not wake and he rolled onto his side away from her and with his head out of the robe in the cold again, lay awake a moment feeling the long, seeping luxury of his fatigue and then the smooth tactile happiness of their two bodies touching and then, as he pushed his legs out deep as they would go in the robe, he slipped down steeply into sleep.
He woke at first daylight and the girl was gone.
He knew it as he woke and, putting out his arm, he felt the robe warm where she had been.
He looked at the mouth of the cave where the blanket showed frost-rimmed and saw the thin gray smoke from the crack in the rocks that meant the kitchen fire was lighted.
A man came out of the timber, a blanket worn over his head like a poncho Robert Jordan saw it was Pablo and that he was smoking a cigarette.
He's been down corralling the horses, he thought.
Pablo pulled open the blanket and went into the cave without looking toward Robert Jordan.
Robert Jordan felt with his hand the light frost that lay on the worn, spotted green balloon silk outer covering of the five-year-old down robe, then settled into it again. _Bueno_, he said to himself, feeling the familiar caress of the flannel lining as he spread his legs wide, then drew them together and then turned on his side so that his head would be away from the direction where he knew the sun would come. _Que mas da_, I might as well sleep some more.
He slept until the sound of airplane motors woke him.
Lying on his back, he saw them, a fascist patrol of three Fiats, tiny, bright, fast-moving across the mountain sky, headed in the direction from which Anselmo and he had come yesterday.
The three passed and then came nine more, flying much higher in the minute, pointed formations of threes, threes and threes.
Pablo and the gypsy were standing at the cave mouth, in the shadow, watching the sky and as Robert Jordan lay still, the sky now full of the high hammering roar of motors, there was a new droning roar and three more planes came over at less than a thousand feet above the clearing.
These three were Heinkel one-elevens, twin-motor bombers.
Robert Jordan, his head in the shadow of the rocks, knew they would not see him, and that it did not matter if they did.
He knew they could possibly see the horses in the corral if they were looking for anything in these mountains.
If they were not looking for anything they might still see them but would naturally take them for some of their own cavalry mounts.
Then came a new and louder droning roar and three more Heinkel one-elevens showed coming steeply, stiffly, lower yet, crossing in rigid formation, their pounding roar approaching in crescendo to an absolute of noise and then receding as they passed the clearing.
Robert Jordan unrolled the bundle of clothing that made his pillow and pulled on his shirt.
It was over his head and he was pulling it down when he heard the next planes coming and he pulled his trousers on under the robe and lay still as three more of the Heinkel bimotor bombers came over.
Before they were gone over the shoulder of the mountain, he had buckled on his pistol, rolled the robe and placed it against the rocks and sat now, close against the rocks, tying his rope-soled shoes when the approaching droning turned to a greater clattering roar than ever before and nine more Heinkel light bombers came in echelons; hammering the sky apart as they went over.
Robert Jordan slipped along the rocks to the mouth of the cave where one of the brothers, Pablo, the gypsy, Anselmo, Agustin and the woman stood in the mouth looking out.
"Have there been planes like this before?" he asked.
"Never," said Pablo.
"Get in.