Then he stood there against the tree stamping his feet softly and he did not think any more about the bridge. The coming of the dark always made him feel lonely and tonight he felt so lonely that there was a hollowness in him as of hunger. In the old days he could help this loneliness by the saying of prayers and often coming home from hunting he would repeat a great number of the same prayer and it made him feel better. But he had not prayed once since the movement. He missed the prayers but he thought it would be unfair and hypocritical to say them and he did not wish to ask any favors or for any different treatment than all the men were receiving.
No, he thought, I am lonely. But so are all the soldiers and the Wives of all the soldiers and all those who have lost families or parents. I have no wife, but I am glad that she died before the movement. She would not have understood it. I have no children and I never will have any children. I am lonely in the day when I am not working but when the dark comes it is a time of great loneliness. But one thing I have that no man nor any God can take from me and that is that I have worked well for the Republic. I have worked hard for the good that we will all share later. I have worked my best from the first of the movement and I have done nothing that I am ashamed of.
All that I am sorry for is the killing. But surely there will be an opportunity to atone for that because for a sin of that sort that so many bear, certainly some just relief will be devised. I would like to talk with the ‘Inglés’ about it but, being young, it is possible that he might not understand. He mentioned the killing before. Or was it I that mentioned it? He must have killed much, but he shows no signs of liking it. In those who like it there is always a rottenness.
It must really be a great sin, he thought. Because certainly it is the one thing we have no right to do even though, as I know, it is necessary. But in Spain it is done too lightly and often without true necessity and there is much quick injustice which, afterward, can never be repaired. I wish I did not think about it so much, he thought. I wish there were a penance for it that one could commence now because it is the only thing that I have done in all my life that makes me feel badly when I am alone.
All the other things are forgiven or one had a chance to atone for them by kindness or in some decent way. But I think this of the killing must be a very great sin and I would like to fix it up. Later on there may be certain days that one can work for the state or something that one can do that will remove it. It will probably be something that one pays as in the days of the Church, he thought, and smiled. The Church was well organized for sin. That pleased him and he was smiling in the dark when Robert Jordan came up to him. He came silently and the old man did not see him until he was there.
“‘Hola, viejo’,” Robert Jordan whispered and clapped him on the back. “How’s the old one?”
“Very cold,” Anselmo said. Fernando was standing a little apart, his back turned against the driving snow.
“Come on,” Robert Jordan whispered. “Get on up to camp and get warm. It was a crime to leave you here so long.”
“That is their light,” Anselmo pointed.
“Where’s the sentry?”
“You do not see him from here. He is around the bend.”
“The hell with them,” Robert Jordan said. “You tell me at camp. Come on, let’s go.”
“Let me show you,” Anselmo said.
“I’m going to look at it in the morning,” Robert Jordan said. “Here, take a swallow of this.”
He handed the old man his flask. Anselmo tipped it up and swallowed.
“‘Ayee’,” he said and rubbed his mouth. “It is fire.”
“Come on,” Robert Jordan said in the dark. “Let us go.”
It was so dark now you could only see the flakes blowing past and the rigid dark of the pine trunks. Fernando was standing a little way up the hill. Look at that cigar store Indian, Robert Jordan thought. I suppose I have to offer him a drink.
“Hey, Fernando,” he said as he came up to him. “A swallow?”
“No,” said Fernando. “Thank you.”
Thank ‘you’, I mean, Robert Jordan thought. I’m glad cigar store Indians don’t drink. There isn’t too much of that left. Boy, I’m glad to see this old man, Robert Jordan thought. He looked at Anselmo and then clapped him on the back again as they started up the hill.
“I’m glad to see you, ‘viejo’,” he said to Anselmo. “If I ever get gloomy, when I see you it cheers me up. Come on, let’s get up there.”
They were going up the hill in the snow.
“Back to the palace of Pablo,” Robert Jordan said to Anselmo. It sounded wonderful in Spanish.
“‘El Palacio del Miedo’,” Anselmo said. “The Palace of Fear.”
“‘La cueva de los huevos perdidos’,” Robert Jordan capped the other happily. “The cave of the lost eggs.”
“What eggs?” Fernando asked.
“A joke,” Robert Jordan said. “Just a joke. Not eggs, you know. The others.”
“But why are they lost?” Fernando asked.
“I don’t know,” said Robert Jordan. “Take a book to tell you. Ask Pilar,” then he put his arm around Anselmo’s shoulder and held him tight as they walked and shook him. “Listen,” he said. “I’m glad to see you, hear? You don’t know what it means to find somebody in this country in the same place they were left.”
It showed what confidence and intimacy he had that he could say anything against the country.
“I am glad to see thee,” Anselmo said. “But I was just about to leave.”
“Like hell you would have,” Robert Jordan said happily. “You’d have frozen first.”
“How was it up above?” Anselmo asked.
“Fine,” said Robert Jordan. “Everything is fine.”
He was very happy with that sudden, rare happiness that can come to any one with a command in a revolutionary arm; the happiness of finding that even one of your flanks holds. If both flanks ever held I suppose it would be too much to take, he thought. I don’t know who is prepared to stand that. And if you extend along a flank, any flank, it eventually becomes one man. Yes, one man. This was not the axiom he wanted. But this was a good man. One good man. You are going to be the left flank when we have the battle, he thought. I better not tell you that yet. It’s going to be an awfully small battle, he thought. But it’s going to be an awfully good one. Well, I always wanted to fight one on my own. I always had an opinion on what was wrong with everybody else’s, from Agincourt down. I will have to make this a good one. It is going to be small but very select. If I have to do what I think I will have to do it will be very select indeed.
“Listen,” he said to Anselmo. “I’m awfully glad to see you.”
“And me to see thee,” the old man said.
As they went up the hill in the dark, the wind at their backs, the storm blowing past them as they climbed, Anselmo did not feel lonely. He had not been lonely since the ‘Inglés’ had clapped him on the shoulder. The ‘Inglés’ was pleased and happy and they joked together. The ‘Inglés’ said it all went well and he was not worried. The drink in his stomach warmed him and his feet were warming now climbing.
“Not much on the road,” he said to the ‘Inglés’.
“Good,” the ‘Inglés’ told him. “You will show me when we get there.”
Anselmo was happy now and he was very pleased that he had stayed there at the post of observation.
If he had come in to camp it would have been all right. It would have been the intelligent and correct thing to have done under the circumstances, Robert Jordan was thinking. But he stayed as he was told, Robert Jordan thought. That’s the rarest thing that can happen in Spain. To stay in a storm, in a way, corresponds to a lot of things. It’s not for nothing that the Germans call an attack a storm. I could certainly use a couple more who would stay. I most certainly could. I wonder if that Fernando would stay. It’s just possible. After all, he is the one who suggested coming out just now. Do you suppose he would stay? Wouldn’t that be good? He’s just about stubborn enough. I’ll have to make some inquiries. Wonder what the old cigar store Indian is thinking about now.
“What are you thinking about, Fernando?” Robert Jordan asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity,” Robert Jordan said. “I am a man of great curiosity.”
“I was thinking of supper,” Fernando said.
“Do you like to eat?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“How’s Pilar’s cooking?”
“Average,” Fernando answered.
He’s a second Coolidge, Robert Jordan thought. But, you know, I have just a hunch that he would stay.
The three of them plodded up
