For Whom The Bell Tolls

Yes. Just suppose, he said to himself. I'll settle for La Granja, he told himself. But you are going to have to blow that bridge, he suddenly knew absolutely. There won't be any calling off. Because the way you have just been supposing there for a minute is how the possibilities of that attack look to those who have ordered it. Yes, you will have to blow the bridge, he knew truly. Whatever happens to Andres doesn't matter.

Coming down the trail there in the dark, alone with the good feeling that everything that had to be done was over for the next four hours, and with the confidence that had come from thinking back to concrete things, the knowledge that he would surely have to blow the bridge came to him almost with comfort.

The uncertainty, the enlargement of the feeling of being uncertain, as when, through a misunderstanding of possible dates, one does not know whether the guests are really coming to a party, that had been with him ever since he had dispatched Andres with the report to Golz, had all dropped from him now. He was sure now that the festival would not be cancelled. It's much better to be sure, he thought. It's always much better to be sure.

31

So now they were in the robe again together and it was late in the last night. Maria lay close against him and he felt the long smoothness of her thighs against his and her breasts like two small hills that rise out of the long plain where there is a well, and the far country beyond the hills was the valley of her throat where his lips were. He lay very quiet and did not think and she stroked his head with her hand.

"Roberto," Maria said very softly and kissed him. "I am ashamed. I do not wish to disappoint thee but there is a great soreness and much pain. I do not think I would be any good to thee."

"There is always a great soreness and much pain," he said. "Nay, rabbit. That is nothing. We will do nothing that makes pain."

"It is not that. It is that I am not good to receive thee as I wish to."

"That is of no importance. That is a passing thing. We are together when we lie together."

"Yes, but I am ashamed. I think it was from when things were done to me that it comes. Not from thee and me."

"Let us not talk of that."

"Nor do I wish to. I meant I could not bear to fail thee now on this night and so I sought to excuse myself."

"Listen, rabbit," he said. "All such things pass and then there is no problem." But he thought; it was not good luck for the last night.

Then he was ashamed and said, "Lie close against me, rabbit. I love thee as much feeling thee against me in here in the dark as I love thee making love."

"I am deeply ashamed because I thought it might be again tonight as it was in the high country when we came down from El Sordo's."

"Que va," he said to her. "That is not for every day. I like it thus as well as the other." He lied, putting aside disappointment. "We will be here together quietly and we will sleep. Let us talk together. I know thee very little from talking."

"Should we speak of tomorrow and of thy work? I would like to be intelligent about thy work."

"No," he said and relaxed completely into the length of the robe and lay now quietly with his cheek against her shoulder, his left arm under her head. "The most intelligent is not to talk about tomorrow nor what happened today. In this we do not discuss the losses and what we must do tomorrow we will do. Thou art not afraid?"

"Que va," she said. "I am always afraid. But now I am afraid for thee so much I do not think of me."

"Thou must not, rabbit. I have been in many things. And worse than this," he lied.

Then suddenly surrendering to something, to the luxury of going into unreality, he said, "Let us talk of Madrid and of us in Madrid."

"Good," she said. Then, "Oh, Roberto, I am sorry I have failed thee. Is there not some other thing that I can do for thee?"

He stroked her head and kissed her and then lay close and relaxed beside her, listening to the quiet of the night.

"Thou canst talk with me of Madrid," he said and thought: I'll keep any oversupply of that for tomorrow. I'll need all of that there is tomorrow. There are no pine needles that need that now as I will need it tomorrow. Who was it cast his seed upon the ground in the Bible? Onan. How did Onan turn out? he thought. I don't remember ever hearing any more about Onan. He smiled in the dark.

Then he surrendered again and let himself slip into it, feeling a voluptuousness of surrender into unreality that was like a sexual acceptance of something that could come in the night when there was no understanding, only the delight of acceptance.

"My beloved," he said, and kissed her. "Listen. The other night I was thinking about Madrid and I thought how I would get there and leave thee at the hotel while I went up to see people at the hotel of the Russians. But that was false. I would not leave thee at any hotel."

"Why not?"