By the time they reached the camp it was snowing and the flakes1 were dropping diagonally through the pines. They slanted2 through the trees, sparse3 at first and circling as they fell, and then, as the cold wind came driving down the mountain, they came whirling and thick and Robert Jordan stood in front of the cave in a rage and watched them.
"We will have much snow," Pablo said. His voice was thick and his eyes were red and bleary.
"Has the gypsy come in?" Robert Jordan asked him.
"No," Pablo said. "Neither him nor the old man."
"Will you come with me to the upper post on the road?"
"No," Pablo said. "I will take no part in this."
"I will find it myself."
"In this storm you might miss it," Pablo said. "I would not go now."
"It's just downhill to the road and then follow it up."
"You could find it. But thy two sentries4 will be coming up now with the snow and you would miss them on the way."
"The old man is waiting for me."
"Nay. He will come in now with the snow.
Pablo looked at the snow that was blowing fast now past the mouth of the cave and said, "You do not like the snow, _Ingl廥?_"
Robert Jordan swore and Pablo looked at him through his bleary eyes and laughed.
"With this thy offensive goes, _Ingl廥_," he said. "Come into the cave and thy people will be in directly."
Inside the cave Maria was busy at the fire and Pilar at the kitchen table. The fire was smoking but, as the girl worked with it, poking5 in a stick of wood and then fanning it with a folded paper, there was a puff6 and then a flare7 and the wood was burning, drawing brightly as the wind sucked a draft out of the hole in the roof.
"And this snow," Robert Jordan said. "You think there will be much?"
"Much," Pablo said contentedly8. Then called to Pilar, "You don't like it, woman, either? Now that you command you do not like this snow?"
"_A mi qu?_" Pilar said, over her shoulder. "If it snows it snows."
"Drink some wine, _Ingl廥_," Pablo said. "I have been drinking all day waiting for the snow."
"Give me a cup," Robert Jordan said.
"To the snow," Pablo said and touched cups with him. Robert Jordan looked him in the eyes and clinked his cup. You bleary-eyed murderous sod, he thought. I'd like to clink this cup against your teeth. _Take it easy_, he told himself, _take it easy_.
"It is very beautiful the snow," Pablo said. "You won't want to sleep outside with the snow falling."
So _that's_ on your mind too is it? Robert Jordan thought. You've a lot of troubles, haven't you, Pablo?
"No?" he said, politely.
"No. Very cold," Pablo said. "Very wet."
You don't know why those old eiderdowns cost sixty-five dollars, Robert Jordan thought. I'd like to have a dollar for every time I've slept in that thing in the snow.
"Then I should sleep in here?" he asked politely.
"Yes."
"Thanks," Robert Jordan said. "I'll be sleeping outside."
"In the snow?"
"Yes" (damn your bloody9, red pig-eyes and your swine-bristly swines-end of a face). "In the snow." (In the utterly10 damned, ruinous, unexpected, slutting, defeat-conniving, bastard-cessery of the snow.)
He went over to where Maria had just put another piece of pine on the fire.
"Very beautiful, the snow," he said to the girl.
"But it is bad for the work, isn't it?" she asked him. "Aren't you worried?"
"_Qu?va_," he said. "Worrying is no good. When will supper be ready?"
"I thought you would have an appetite," Pilar said. "Do you want a cut of cheese now?"
"Thanks," he said and she cut him a slice, reaching up to unhook the big cheese that hung in a net from the ceiling, drawing a knife across the open end and handing him the heavy slice. He stood, eating it. It was just a little too goaty to be enjoyable.
"Maria," Pablo said from the table where he was sitting.
"What?" the girl asked.
"Wipe the table clean, Maria," Pablo said and grinned at Robert Jordan.
"Wipe thine own spillings," Pilar said to him. "Wipe first thy chin and thy shirt and then the table."
"Maria," Pablo called.
"Pay no heed12 to him. He is drunk," Pilar said.
"Maria," Pablo called. "It is still snowing and the snow is beautiful."
He doesn't know about that robe, Robert Jordan thought. Good old pig-eyes doesn't know why I paid the Woods boys sixty-five dollars for that robe. I wish the gypsy would come in though. As soon as the gypsy comes I'll go after the old man. I should go now but it is very possible that I would miss them. I don't know where he is posted.
"Want to make snowballs?" he said to Pablo. "Want to have a snowball fight?"
"What?" Pablo asked. "What do you propose?"
"Nothing," Robert Jordan said. "Got your saddles covered up good?"
"Yes."
Then in English Robert Jordan said, "Going to grain those horses or peg13 them out and let them dig for it?"
"What?"
"Nothing. It's your problem, old pal14. I'm going out of here on my feet."
"Why do you speak in English?" Pablo asked.
"I don't know," Robert Jordan said. "When I get very tired sometimes I speak English. Or when I get very disgusted. Or baffled, say. When I get highly baffled I just talk English to hear the sound of it. It's a reassuring15 noise. You ought to try it sometime."
"What do you say, _Ingl廥?_" Pilar said. "It sounds very interesting but I do not understand."
"Nothing," Robert Jordan said. "I said, 'nothing' in English."
"Well then, talk Spanish," Pilar said. "It's shorter and simpler in Spanish."
"Surely," Robert Jordan said. But oh boy, he thought, oh Pablo, oh Pilar, oh Maria, oh you two brothers in the corner whose names I've forgotten and must remember, but I get tired of it sometimes. Of it and of you and of me and of the war and why in all why did it have to snow now? That's too bloody much. No, it's not. Nothing is too bloody much. You just have to take it and fight out of it and now stop prima-donnaing and accept the fact that it is snowing as you did a moment ago and the next thing is to check with your gypsy and pick up your old man. But to snow! Now in this month. Cut it out, he said to himself. Cut it out and take it. It's that cup, you know. How did it go about that cup? He'd either have to improve his memory or else never think of quotations16 because when you missed one it hung in your mind like a name you had forgotten and you could not get rid of it. How did it go about that cup?
"Let me have a cup of wine, please," he said in Spanish. Then, "Lots of snow? Eh?" he said to Pablo. "_Mucha nieve_."
The drunken man looked up at him and grinned. He nodded his head and grinned again.
"No offensive. No _aviones_. No bridge. Just snow," Pablo said.
"You expect it to last a long time?" Robert Jordan sat down by him. "You think we're going to be snowed in all summer, Pablo, old boy?"
"All summer, no," Pablo said. "Tonight and tomorrow, yes."
"What makes you think so?"
"There are two kinds of storms," Pablo said, heavily and judiciously17. "One comes from the Pyrenees. With this one there is great cold. It is too late for this one."
"Good," Robert Jordan said. "That's something."
"This storm comes from the Cantabrico," Pablo said. "It comes from the sea. With the wind in this direction there will be a great storm and much snow."
"Where did you learn all this, old timer?" Robert Jordan asked.
Now that his rage was gone he was excited by this storm as he was always by all storms. In a blizzard18, a gale19, a sudden line squall, a tropical storm, or a summer thunder shower in the mountains there was an excitement that came to him from no other thing. It was like the excitement of battle except that it was clean. There is a wind that blows through battle but that was a hot wind; hot and dry as your mouth; and it blew heavily; hot and dirtily; and it rose and died away with the fortunes of the day. He knew that wind well.
But a snowstorm was the opposite of all of that. In the snowstorm you came close to wild animals and they were not afraid. They travelled across country not knowing where they were and the deer stood sometimes in the lee of the cabin. In a snowstorm you rode up to a moose and he mistook your horse for another moose and trotted20 forward to meet you. In a snowstorm it always seemed, for a time, as though there were no enemies. In a snowstorm the wind could blow a gale; but it blew a white cleanness and the air was full of a driving whiteness and all things were changed and when the wind stopped there would be the stillness. This was a big storm and he might as well enjoy it. It was ruining everything, but you might as well enjoy it.
"I was an _arroyero_ for many years," Pablo said. "We trucked freight across the mountains with the big carts before the camions came into use. In that business we learned the weather."
"And how did you get into the movement?"
"I was always of the left," Pablo said. "We had many contacts with the people of Asturias where they are much developed politically. I have always been for the Republic."
"But what were you doing before the movement?"
"I worked then for a horse contractor21 of Zaragoza. He furnished horses for the bull rings as well as remounts for the army. It was then that I met Pilar who was, as she told you, with the matador22 Finito de Palencia."
He said this with considerable pride.
"He wasn't much of a matador," one of the brothers at the table said looking at Pilar's back where she stood in front of the stove.
"No?" Pilar said, turning around and looking at the man. "He wasn't much of a matador?"
Standing23 there now in the cave by the cooking fire she could see him, short and brown and sober-faced, with the sad eyes, the cheeks sunken and the black hair curled wet on his forehead where the tightfitting matador's hat had made a red line that no one else noticed. She saw him stand, now, facing the five-year-old bull, facing the horns that had lifted the horses high, the great neck thrusting the horse up, up, as that rider poked24 into that neck with the spiked25 pole, thrusting up and up until the horse went over with a crash and the rider fell against the wooden fence and, with the bull's legs thrusting him forward, the big neck swung the horns that searched the horse for the life that was in him. She saw him, Finito, the not-so-good matador, now standing in front of the bull and turning sideways toward him. She saw him now clearly as he furled the heavy flannel26 cloth around the stick; the flannel hanging blood-heavy from the passes where it had swept over the bull's head and shoulders and the wet streaming shine of his withers27 and on down and over his back as the bull raised into the air and the banderillas clattered28. She saw Finito stand five paces from the bull's head, profiled, the bull standing still and heavy, and draw the sword slowly up until it was level with his shoulder and then sight along the dipping blade at a point he could not yet see because the bull's head was higher than his eyes. He would bring that head down with the sweep his left arm would make with the wet, heavy cloth; but now he rocked back a little on his heels and sighted along the blade, profiled in front of the splintered horn; the bull's chest heaving and his eyes watching the cloth.
She saw him very clearly now and she heard his thin, clear voice as he turned his head and looked toward the people in the first row of the ring above the red fence and said, "Let's see if we can kill him like this!"
She could hear the voice and then see the first bend of the knee as he started forward and watch his voyage in onto the horn that lowered now magically as the bull's muzzle29 followed the low swept cloth, the thin, brown wrist controlled, sweeping30 the horns down and past, as the sword entered the dusty height of the withers.
She saw its brightness going in slowly and steadily31 as though the bull's rush plucked it into himself and out from the man's hand and she watched it move in until the brown knuckles32 rested against the taut33 hide and the short, brown man whose eyes had never left the entry place of the sword now swung his sucked-in belly34 clear of the horn and rocked clear from the animal, to stand holding the cloth on the stick in his left hand, raising his right hand to watch the bull die.
She saw him standing, his eyes watching the bull trying to hold the ground, watching the bull sway like a tree before it falls, watching the bull fight to hold his feet to the earth, the short man's hand raised in a formal gesture of triumph. She saw him standing there in the sweated, hollow relief of it being over, feeling the relief that the bull was dying, feeling the relief that there had been no shock, no blow of the horn as he came clear from it and then, as he stood, the bull could hold to the earth no longer and crashed over, rolling dead with all four feet in the air, and she could see the short, brown man walking tired and unsmiling to the fence.
She knew he could not run across the ring if his life depended on it and she watched him walk slowly to the fence and wipe his mouth on a towel and look up at her and shake his head and then wipe his face on the towel and start his triumphant35 circling of the ring.
She saw him moving slowly, dragging around the ring, smiling, bowing, smiling, his assistants walking behind him, stooping, picking up cigars, tossing back hats; he circling the ring sad-eyed and smiling, to end the circle before her. Then she looked over and saw him sitting now on the step of the wooden fence, his mouth in a towel.
Pilar saw all this as she stood there over the fire and she said, "So he wasn't a good matador? With what class of people is my life passed now!"
"He was a good matador," Pablo said. "He was handicapped by his short stature36."
"And clearly he was tubercular," Primitivo said.
"Tubercular?" Pilar said. "Who wouldn't be tubercular from the punishment he received? In this country where no poor man can ever hope to make money unless he is a criminal like Juan March, or a bullfighter, or a tenor37 in the opera? Why wouldn't he be tubercular? In a country where the bourgeoisie over-eat so that their stomachs are all ruined and they cannot live without bicarbonate of soda38 and the poor are hungry from their birth till the day they die, why wouldn't he be tubercular? If you travelled under the seats in third-class carriages to ride free when you were following the fairs learning to fight as a boy, down there in the dust and dirt with the fresh spit and the dry spit, wouldn't you be tubercular if your chest was beaten out by horns?"
"Clearly," Primitivo said. "I only said he was tubercular."
"Of course he was tubercular," Pilar said, standing there with the big wooden stirring spoon in her hand. "He was short of stature and he had a thin voice and much fear of bulls. Never have I seen a man with more fear before the bullfight and never have I seen a man with less fear in the ring. "You," she said to Pablo. "You are afraid to die now. You think that is something of importance. But Finito was afraid all the time and in the ring he was like a lion."
"He had the fame of being very valiant," the second brother said.
"Never have I known a man with so much fear," Pilar said. "He would not even have a bull's head in the house. One time at the feria of Valladolid he killed a bull of Pablo Romero very well--"
"I remember," the first brother said. "I was at the ring. It was a soap-colored one with a curly forehead and with very high horns. It was a bull of over thirty arrobas. It was the last bull he killed in Valladolid."
"Exactly," Pilar said. "And afterwards the club of enthusiasts39 who met in the Caf?Colon40 and had taken his name for their club had the head of the bull mounted and presented it to him at a small banquet at the Caf?Colon. During the meal they had the head on the wall, but it was covered with a cloth. I was at the table and others were there, Pastora, who is uglier than I am, and the Nina de los Peines, and other gypsies and whores of great category. It was a banquet, small but of great intensity41 and almost of a violence due to a dispute between Pastora and one of the most significant whores over a question of propriety42. I, myself, was feeling more than happy and I was sitting by Finito and I noticed he would not look up at the bull's head, which was shrouded43 in a purple cloth as the images of the saints are covered in church duing the week of the passion of our former Lord.
"Finito did not eat much because he had received a _palotaxo_, a blow from the flat of the horn when he had gone in to kill in his last corrida of the year at Zaragoza, and it had rendered him unconscious for some time and even now he could not hold food on his stomach and he would put his handkerchief to his mouth and deposit a quantity of blood in it at intervals45 throughout the banquet. What was I going to tell you?"
"The bull's head," Primitivo said. "The stuffed head of the bull."
"Yes," Pilar said. "Yes. But I must tell certain details so that you will see it. Finito was never very merry, you know. He was essentially46 solemn and I had never known him when we were alone to laugh at anything. Not even at things which were very comic. He took everything with great seriousness. He was almost as serious as Fernando. But this was a banquet given him by a club of _aficionados_ banded together into the _Club Finito_ and it was necessary for him to give an appearance of gaiety and friendliness47 and merriment. So all during the meal he smiled and made friendly remarks and it was only I who noticed what he was doing with the handkerchief. He had three handkerchiefs with him and he filled the three of them and then he said to me in a very low voice, 'Pilar, I can support this no further. I think I must leave.'
"'Let us leave then,' I said. For I saw he was suffering much. There was great hilarity48 by this time at the banquet and the noise was tremendous.
"'No. I cannot leave,' Finito said to me. 'After all it is a club flamed for me and I have an obligation.'
"'If thou art ill let us go,' I said.
"'Nay,' he said. 'I will stay. Give me some of that manzanilla.'
"I did not think it was wise of him to drink, since he had eaten nothing, and since he had such a condition of the stomach; but he was evidently unable to support the merriment and the hilarity and the noise longer without taking something. So I watched him drink, very rapidly, almost a bottle of the manzanilla. Having exhausted49 his handkerchiefs he was now employing his napkin for the use he had previously50 made of his handkerchiefs.
"Now indeed the banquet had reached a stage of great enthusiasm and some of the least heavy of the whores were being paraded around the table on the shoulders of various of the club members. Pastora was prevailed upon to sing and El Ni隳 Ricardo played the guitar and it was very moving and an occasion of true joy and drunken friendship of the highest order. Never have I seen a banquet at which a higher pitch of real _flamenco_ enthusiasm was reached and yet we had not arrived at the unveiling of the bull's head which was, after all, the reason for the celebration of the banquet.
"I was enjoying myself to such an extent and I was so busy clapping my hands to the playing of Ricardo and aiding to make up a team to clap for the singing of the Nina de los Peines that I did not notice that Finito had filled his own napkin by now, and that he had taken mine. He was drinking more manzanilla now and his eyes were very bright, and he was nodding very happily to every one. He could not speak much because at any time, while speaking, he might have to resort to his napkin; but he was giving an appearance of great gayety and enjoyment51 which, after all, was what he was there for.
"So the banquet proceeded and the man who sat next to me had been the former manager of Rafael el Gallo and he was telling me a story, and the end of it was, 'So Rafael came to me and said, "You are the best friend I have in the world and the noblest. I love you like a brother and I wish to make you a present." So then he gave me a beautiful diamond stick pin and kissed me on both cheeks and we were both very moved. Then Rafael el Gallo, having given me the diamond stick pin, walked out of the caf?and I said to Retana who was sitting at the table, "That dirty gypsy had just signed a contract with another manager."'
"'"What do you mean?" Retana asked.'
"'I've managed him for ten years and he has never given me a present before,' the manager of El Gallo had said. 'That's the only thing it can mean.' And sure enough it was true and that was how El Gallo left him.
"But at this point, Pastora intervened in the conversation, not perhaps as much to defend the good name of Rafael, since no one had ever spoken harder against him than she had herself, but because the manager had spoken against the gypsies by employing the phrase, 'Dirty gypsy.' She intervened so forcibly and in such terms that the manager was reduced to silence. I intervened to quiet Pastora and another _Gitana_ intervened to quiet me and the din11 was such that no one could distinguish any words which passed except the one great word 'whore' which roared out above all other words until quiet was restored and the three of us who had intervened sat looking down into our glasses and then I noticed that Finito was staring at the bull's head, still draped in the purple cloth, with a look of horror on his face.
"At this moment the president of the Club commenced the speech which was to precede the unveiling of the head and all through the speech which was applauded with shouts of '_Ole!_' and poundings on the table I was watching Finito who was making use of his, no, my, napkin and sinking further back in his chair and staring with horror and fascination52 at the shrouded bull's head on the wall opposite him.
"Toward the end of the speech, Finito began to shake his head and he got further back in the chair all the time.
"'How are you, little one?' I said to him but when he looked at me he did not recognize me and he only shook his head and said, 'No. No. No.'
"So the president of the Club reached the end of the speech and then, with everybody cheering him, he stood on a chair and reached up and untied53 the cord that bound the purple shroud44 over the head and slowly pulled it clear of the head and it stuck on one of the horns and he lifted it clear and pulled it off the sharp polished horns and there was that great yellow bull with black horns that swung Way out and pointed54 forward, their white tips sharp as porcupine55 quills56, and the head of the bull was as though he were alive; his forehead was curly as in life and his nostrils57 were open and his eyes were bright and he was there looking straight at Finito.
"Every one shouted and applauded and Finito sunk further back in the chair and then every one was quiet and looking at him and he said, 'No. No,' and looked at the bull and pulled further back and then he said, 'No!' very loudly and a big blob of blood came out and he didn't even put up the napkin and it slid down his chin and he was still looking at the bull and he said, 'All season, yes. To make money, yes. To eat, yes. But I can't eat. Hear me? My stomach's bad. But now with the season finished! No! No! No!' He looked around at the table and then he looked at the bull's head and said, 'No,' once more and then he put his head down and he put his napkin up to his mouth and then he just sat there like that and said nothing and the banquet, which had started so well, and promised to mark an epoch58 in hilarity and good fellowship was not a success."
"Then how long after that did he die?" Primitivo asked.
"That winter," Pilar said. "He never recovered from that last blow with the flat of the horn in Zaragoza. They are worse than a goring59, for the injury is internal and it does not heal. He received one almost every time he went in to kill and it was for this reason he was not more successful. It was difficult for him to get out from over the horn because of his short stature. Nearly always the side of the horn struck him. But of course many were only glancing blows."
"If he was so short he should not have tried to be a matador," Primitivo said.
Pilar looked at Robert Jordan and shook her head. Then she bent60 over the big iron pot, still shaking her head.
What a people they are, she thought. What a people are the Spaniards, "and if he was so short he should not have tried to be a matador." And I hear it and say nothing. I have no rage for that and having made an explanation I am silent. How simple it is when one knows nothing. _Qu?sencillo!_ Knowing nothing one says, "He was not much of a matador." Knowing nothing another says, "He was tubercular." And another says, after one, knowing, has explained, "If he was so short he should not have tried to be a matador."
Now, bending over the fire, she saw on the bed again the naked brown body with the gnarled scars in both thighs61, the deep, seared whorl below the ribs62 on the right side of the chest and the long white welt along the side that ended in the armpit. She saw the eyes closed and the solemn brown face and the curly black hair pushed back now from the forehead and she was sitting by him on the bed rubbing the legs, chafing63 the taut muscles of the calves64, kneading them, loosening them, and then tapping them lightly with her folded hands, loosening the cramped65 muscles.
"How is it?" she said to him. "How are the legs, little one?"
"Very well, Pilar," he would say without opening his eyes.
"Do you want me to rub the chest?"
"Nay, Pilar. Please do not touch it."
"And the upper legs?"
"No. They hurt too badly."
"But if I rub them and put liniment on, it will warm them and they will be better."
"Nay, Pilar. Thank thee. I would rather they were not touched."
"I will wash thee with alcohol."
"Yes. Do it very lightly."
"You were enormous in the last bull," she would say to him and he would say, "Yes, I killed him very well."
Then, having washed him and covered him with a sheet, she would lie by him in the bed and he would put a brown hand out and touch her and say, "Thou art much woman, Pilar." It was the nearest to a joke he ever made and then, usually, after the fight, he would go to sleep and she would lie there, holding his hand in her two hands and listening to him breathe.
He was often frightened in his sleep and she would feel his hand grip tightly and see the sweat bead66 on his forehead and if he woke, she said, "It's nothing," and he slept again. She was with him thus five years and never was unfaithful to him, that is almost never, and then after the funeral, she took up with Pablo who led picador horses in the ring and was like all the bulls that Finito had spent his life killing67. But neither bull force nor bull courage lasted, she knew now, and what did last? I last, she thought. Yes, I have lasted. But for what?
"Maria," she said. "Pay some attention to what you are doing. That is a fire to cook with. Not to burn down a city."
Just then the gypsy came in the door. He was covered with snow and he stood there holding his carbine and stamping the snow from his feet.
Robert Jordan stood up and went over to the door, "Well?" he said to the gypsy.
"Six-hour watches, two men at a time on the big bridge," the gypsy said. "There are eight men and a corporal at the roadmender's hut. Here is thy chronometer68."
"What about the sawmill post?"
"The old man is there. He can watch that and the road both."
"And the road?" Robert Jordan asked.
"The same movement as always," the gypsy said. "Nothing out of the usual. Several motor cars."
The gypsy looked cold, his dark face was drawn69 with the cold and his hands were red. Standing in the mouth of the cave he took off his jacket and shook it.
"I stayed until they changed the watch," he said. "It was changed at noon and at six. That is a long watch. I am glad I am not in their army."
"Let us go for the old man," Robert Jordan said, putting on his leather coat.
"Not me," the gypsy said. "I go now for the fire and the hot soup. I will tell one of these where he is and he can guide you. Hey, loafers," he called to the men who sat at the table. "Who wants to guide the _Ingl廥_ to where the old man is watching the road?"
"I will go," Fernando rose. "Tell me where it is."
"Listen," the gypsy said. "It is here--" and he told him where the old man, Anselmo, was posted.
他们到达营地的时候，巳经在下雪了。雪片在松树之间打着斜飘下来,起先稀疏地斜穿过树林,打着转飘落下来,接着,寒风从山上刮卞来，雪片稠密地盘旋而下，这时，罗伯特，乔丹恼怒地站在山洞口凝望着风雪，
“我们要遇到大雪了。”巴勃罗说。他矂音沙哑,眼睛昏红。“吉普赛人回来了没有?”罗伯特 乔丹问他。“没有，”巴勃罗说。“他没回来,老头子也没回来。”“你陪我到公路上段的哨所去好吗?”“不，”巴勃穸说。“这事我不插手，““我自己去找。”
“这样大的风雪你会找岔的。”巴勃罗说。“换了我，现在可不去。”
“只要下坡到了公路边,然后顺路走去就是了，““你能找到的。不过，下了雪，你那两个侦察员多半正在回来的路上，你可能会和他们错过。”“老头子正在等我。”“不。现在下了雪,他会回来的。”巴勃罗望着飞扫过洞口的风雪说，“你不喜欢下雪吧，英国
人?”
罗伯特 乔丹咒骂了一声，巴勃罗用他那迷糊的眼睛望着他笑。
“这场风雪叫你的进攻吹啦，英国人,他说。“进洞来吧，你的侦察员就要回来了。”
山洞里，玛丽亚在炉灶前忙着，比拉尔在收拾饭桌。炉火正在冒烟，姑娘在烧火,塞进一根木头，随即用“张折好的纸扇着，扑的一声，火苗一亮，柴火旺了，风从山洞顶上一个小口子里灌进来,火就熊熊地燃烧起来。
“这场雪。”罗伯特‘乔丹说，“你看会下大吗?”
“大，”巴勃罗心满意足地说，然后对比拉尔喊道,“你也不喜欢下雪吧，太太？现在是你当家，你不喜欢这场雪吧？”
“跟我有什么关系,比拉尔转过头来说。“要下就下呗。”“喝点酒吧，英国人，”巴勃罗说。“我喝了一整天就等着下雪。”
“给我来一杯。”罗伯特 乔丹说。“为雪干杯，”巴勃罗说，和他碰杯。罗伯特 乔丹盯着他的眼睛,，“的一声碰了杯，他想。”你这个醉眼朦胧的挨刀的,我巴不得用这杯子磕你的牙齿。，考等，他对自己说，巧等警。“雪真美，”巴勃罗说。“圣雀宁雪，你不想亭在 了吧。”罗伯特，乔丹想。”原来你也在想这个问题。巴勃罗，你操心的事也不少啊，对不对？
“不睡在外面？”他客气地说。“不睡在外面。很冷。”巴勃罗说。“很潮湿。”罗伯特，乔丹想。”你才不知道那只鸭绒睡袋为什么值六十五块钱哪。我在下雪天在那睡袋里过夜已不知有多少次，如果每次人家给我一块钱，那才美呢。
“那么我该睡在这儿山洞里啦?”他客气地问。“不错。”
“谢谢，”罗伯特 乔丹说。“我还是睡在外面，““睡在雪地里?”
“不错。”(他心里说,你那双通红的猪眼睛，你那张长满猪鬃的猪屁股似的脸,都见鬼去吧。〉“睡在雪地里。、就睡在这场该死透顶、害人不浅、意料不到、别有用心、叫人失败、臭婊子养的雪里。〉
他走到玛丽亚身边，她刚才在炉灶里又添了一根松柴。
“这场雪多美哬。”他对姑娘说。“不过对工作可不利，对吧？”她问他。“你不愁？“什么话1”他说。“愁也没用。晚饭什么时候能做好?”“我早知道你今晚胄口一定好的，”比拉尔说。“要不要现在吃一片干酪?”
“谢谢，”他说。她伸手把挂在洞顶的一只放着一大块干酪的网袋取下来，拿刀在切过的那头切下厚厚一大片，递给他。他站着吃。膻味重了一点，不然倒是很好吃的。“玛丽亚，”坐在桌子边的巴勃罗说，“什么事？”姑娘问。
“把桌子抹抹干净，玛丽亚。”巴勃罗说，对罗伯特 乔丹露齿笑笑。
“把你自己泼洒在桌上的东西抹掉吧。”比拉尔对他说，“先抹你自己的下巴，抹你的衬衫,再抹桌子。““玛丽亚,巴勃罗喊着。“别理他，他醉了，”比拉尔说。“玛丽亚，”巴勃罗喊着。“雪还在下,真美呀。”罗伯特 乔丹想。”他哪里知道那只睡袋的价值，这个猪眼老家伙不知道我干吗花六十五块钱向伍兹家的兄弟们买下这只睡袋。可是，我真希望吉普赛人就回来啊。他一回来我就去找老头儿。我应该现在就走，不过很可能跟他们在路上错过。我不知道他在哪儿放哨。
“想做雪球吗？”他对巴勃罗说。“想玩雪战吗“什么?”巴勃罗问。“你打算干什么?”“没什么。”罗伯特“乔丹说。“你的马鞍都盖好了吗?”
罗伯特 乔丹然后用英语说,“打算去喂马吗？还是把它们拴在外面让它们自已扒掉了雪啃草吃?”“你说什么?”
“没什么。那是该你来操心的事，老朋友。我要到外面去走走啦。”
“你干吗说英国话?”巴勃罗问。
“我不知道。”罗伯特，乔丹说。“我非常疲乏的时候往往讲英语，或者在十分厌烦的时候。要不,譬如说，在举棋不定的时候。我在走投无路的时侯就说英国话,为了听听这种话的调子。这种调子叫人心里踏实。今后你也该试试。”
“你说什么,英国人?”比拉尔问。“这种话听起来很有趣，可我听不懂。”
“没说什么，”罗伯特 乔丹说。”我讲的英国话的意思是‘没什么、”
“那还是用西班牙话讲吧，”比拉尔说。“西班牙话来得简
短。”
“当然啦，”罗伯特 乔丹说。他想 可是老兄啊，巴勃罗啊，比拉尔啊，玛丽亚啊，坐在角落里的两兄弟啊，我该记住你们俩的名字,却忘了、这些事有时使我讨厌。讨厌这些事，讨厌你们，讨厌我自己，讨厌战争，唉，到底为什么现在非下雪不可呢？这真他妈使人鼕不了。不，不是这样。哪有什么使人受不了的事啊。你只有接受现实，并在现实中杀出一条路来。现在别情绪波动啦，应当象刚才那样接受正在下雪这个现实，而下一步要做的事，就是向吉普赛人打听情况,找到老头儿。可是下雪啦！这个月份竟然下雪。他对自己说，别想啦。别想啦，接受现实吧。这就是苦杯,你知道。关于这苦杯是怎么说的？他要就必须提髙自己的记忆力，荽就永远别去想什么引语①，因为当你想不起来的时候，就象忘了一个人名似的，老在心里挂着，抹不掉也推不开。关于苦杯是怎么说的呢？
“请给我来一杯酒，”他用西班牙话说。接着对巴勃罗说。”雪下得不小，呃？”
那醉汉抬起头来看他，露齿笑笑。他点点头，又露齿笑笑。“进攻吹啦。飞机不来啦。桥炸不成啦。只有雪啦，”巴勃罗说，
“你巴望下很久吗？”罗伯特 乔丹在他旁边坐下。“巴勃罗，你看整个夏天我们都会被雪困住吗，老兄?”
“整个夏天，不会。”巴勃罗说。“今天晚上和明天，那错不了。”“你凭什么这样看?”
“风雪有两种，”巴勃罗一本正经而宵有见识地说。“―种是从比利牛斯山②刮来的。来了这种风雪，天就要大冷。”现在已过了时候,所以不是这一种。”
“不错，”罗伯特‘乔丹说。“有道理。”“现在这场风雪是从坎塔布里科③刮来的，”巴勃罗说。“是从海上来的，风朝这个方向刮,会有大风大雪，“
①耶稣最后一次上耶路撤冷时，对十二门徒说，他将被交给祭司长和文士，被定死罪，钉在十字架上。后来在客西马尼花园里，他向上帝祷吿。”是否可以让他不要喝这一杯苦酒。。圣经 路加福音1第二十二章第四十一节至四十四节:“……跪下祷告，说，父啊，你若愿惫，就把这杯撤去，然而不要成妹我的意思,只要成就你的意思。有~位夭使，从天上显现，加添他的力里。耶稣极其伤痛，祷告更加恳切,汗珠如大血点，滴在地上。”最后来捉拿他时，门徒彼得拔刀砍掸一个来人的右耳，但耶稣对彼得说“收刀入鞘吧。我父所给我的那杯,我岜可不喝呢。\《圣经，约翰福音1第十八章第十一节）
②在西班牙东北部，是西班牙和法国之间的天然甭界。
③桷贯西班牙北部一大山脉,滨大西洋的比斯开湾春
“你这些是从哪里学来的,老师傅？”罗伯特 乔丹问，他的怒气消失了,这场风雪象以往任何风雪一样使他激动。暴风雪、飓风、突然的风暴、热带暴风雨或者夏天山区的雷阵雨都会使他激动，这是其他事物做不到的。就象战斗中产生的激动一样，不过比战争中的来得纯洁。在战斗中会刮起一阵风,那是一阵热风，又热又干，就象你嘴里的感觉那样 它刮得劲头十足，又热又脏，随着一天中战局的变化而起风或停息。他很了解这种风。
伹是暴风雪和这种风完全不同。在暴风雪中你走近野兽的时候，它们并不感到害怕。它们在旷野里乱跑,不知道自己在什么地方，有时候，一只鹿会躲到小屋的背风处去站着。在暴风雪中，你骑马碰到一头廉鹿，它会把你的马误认为另一头糜鹿， 路小跑着向你迎来。在暴风雪中，你总有种感觉，似乎一时什么仇敌都没有了。在暴风雪中，风可能大极了 但是天地“片沽白，满天白雪飞舞，一切都变了样，等风停息下来，四下万籁俱寂 现在一场大风雪来临了，他还是喜欢它吧。这场风雪打乱了一切，可是你还是喜欢它吧。
“我赶过好多年牲口。”巴勃罗说。”‘我们在山里用大车运货。那时还没用卡车。我们干了这一行才学会了识天时。”“你是怎么参加革命的？”
“我一向是左派。”巴勃罗说。“我们和阿斯图里亚斯①那里的人接触很多，他们在政治上很进步。我一向拥护共和国。““那么你革命前在干什么?”
“那时我替萨拉戈萨②的一个马贩子干活。他向军队和斗牛场提供马匹。我就是在那时遇见比拉尔的，就象她自己跟你讲的，她那时正和帕伦西亚①的斗牛士菲尼托作伴。”他说这句话的时侯显得相当得意。
①阿斯图里亚斯 西班牙西北部一地区，滨比斯开湾。
②萨拉戈萨〔〉。”西班牙东北部萨拉戈萨省省会，
“他这个斗牛士没什么了不起，”桌边两兄弟中的一个望着站在炉灶前的比拉尔的后背说。
“没什么了不起?”比拉尔转身冲着他说。“他没什么了不起?”
她这时站在山洞里的炉灶前，想象中看到了他，身材矮小，皮肤棕揭，神情安详，眼睛忧郁，双颊深陷，汗湿的黑鬈发贴在前额上，紧箍在头上的斗牛帽在前额上勒出了一条别人不会注意到的红痕。这时她看见他站着,面对着那头五岁的公牛,面对着那两只曾把好几匹马挑得老高的牛角。骑着马的斗牛士用尖利的标枪剌进了牛脖子，而那粗壮的牛脖子把那匹马越顶越髙,越项越髙，.直到啪哒一声把马掀翻，骑手摔在木栅栏上，公牛把腿扎使劲抵着地面，身子朝前冲，粗脖子朝上一挥，一对角扎进那西奄奄一息的马儿，要结果它的性命。她看到菲尼托这个没什么了不起的斗牛士这时站在牛的面前，侧身对着它。她这时清鸡埤看到他把那块带杆的厚实的法兰绒卷起来！公牛腾空跃起，肩头扎着的那几根铒镡枪嗒嗒地碰击着、同时那块法兰绒在交锋中掠过牛头，牛肩以及淌着鲜血、弄得湿漉漉、亮闪闪的牛肩隆,一直掠过牛的背部，弄得沾满了鲜血,重甸甸的。她看到菲尼托侧身轱在离牛五步远的地方，那头牛笨重地站着不动；他悝悝地把剑举到齐肩高，目光顺着朝下倾斜的剑锋瞄准他这时还看不见的要害,因为牛的头挡住了他的视线。他要用左臂挥动那块又湿艾重的绒布，引牛低下头去；但他这时把脚跟抵在地上，身体向后微微一仰，侧身站在那只碎裂了角的牛面前，用剑锋瞄着牛的脑后；牛的胸脯一起一伏，两只眼睛盯着那块绒布。
①帕伦西亚:西班牙北郎帕伦西亚省省会參2找
她这时很清楚地看到了他的模样，听到了他那尖细而清晰的声音，只见他扭头望着斗牛场红色栅栏上方的第一排观众，并且说,“咱们来试试能不能就这样杀死它 ”
她能听到他的话声,还能看到他膝头一弯，走上前去，看清他一直朝牛角走去，这时候牛角奇怪地低下来了，因为牛嘴跟着那块在低处摆动的绒布下垂了;他用瘦细的棕色手腕操纵着，使牛角低低地从身边擦过，同时把利剑刺进沾着尘土的牛肩隆 她看到雪亮的剑慢慢地、平稳地刺进去,仿佛是牛的冲刺把斗牛士手中的剑顶进了身体，她看到那把剑一直插进去，直到那棕褐色的手指节抵住了绷紧的牛皮1这个棕揭色的矮小的斗牛士，眼光从没离开过剑刺进去的地方,这时从牛角前转过收缩的肚子，利索地摆脱了那头畜生，左手拿了那幅带杆的绒布，举起右手，望着那牛死去。
她看到他站着，眼睛盯住那头想站稳身子的牛,看它摇摇晃晃,象一棵即将倒下的树，看它拚命想在地上站稳，而这个矮小的斗牛士桉照常规,举起一手,打着表示胜利的手势。她看到他站在那里满头大汗,为这场斗牛的结束而感到空虚的宽慰，眼看那头牛即将死去而感到松了一口气，因为他身子在牛角边擦过的时候没挨到冲撞、挑刺而感到松了一口气。跟着那头牛没法再站稳了,啪哒一声栽倒在地，四脚朝天地死去了；她看到这个矮小的棕褐色的斗牛士疲惫而一无笑意地朝场边的櫥栏走去。
她知道即使拚出性命他也没法跑着穿过斗牛场 她望着他慢吞吞地走到栅栏边，拿一块毛巾抹抹嘴，抬头望望她，.还摇摇头，用毛巾抹抹脸,然后开始胜利地绕场走一圈。
她看到他悝吞吞地拖着脚步绕斗牛场走着，微笑，鞠躬，微笑 助手们跟在他后面,俯身把观众扔下来的雪茄烟拾起来，把帽子扔因去；他眼色忧郁、面带笑容地绕场一周，最后来到她面前结束巡礼。她从上面看去，只见他坐在木栅栏的台阶上，拿毛巾捂着嘴，
比拉尔站在炉灶边看到了这一切，她说，“难道他是个没什么了不起的斗牛士，“现在跟我一起过日子的倒是些什么角色呢。”
“他是个斗牛好手。”巴勃罗说。“他吃亏的是身材矮小。”“而且他明摆着害着肺病,”普里米蒂伏说。“肺病?”比拉尔说。“象他那样吃过苦的人，谁能不得肺病？在这个国家里，要不做胡安 马契那样的恶棍，要不当斗牛士，要不做耿剧院的男高音，哪个穷人能盼着挣到钱俩？他怎么能不得肺病？在这个国家里，资产阶级吃得胀破了肚子，不吃小苏打就不能活命，而穷人从出娘胎到进棺材都吃不饱，他怎么能不得肺病？你躲在三等车厢的座位底下，为了可以不买车票,到外地各市集去看斗牛,想从小学点本领；待在座位底下和尘土、垃圾、刚吐的痰和干了的痰打交道，假使你胸部又被牛角抵过，你能不得肺病?〃
”一点也不假。”普里米蒂伏说。“我只是说他得了肺病。”“他当然得了肺病。”比拉尔站在那儿说,手拿一把摁拌用的大木汤匙。“他个子矮小,嗓子尖细，见牛非常害怕。我从没见过在斗牛前比他更胆小的，也从没见过在斗牛场里比他更勇敢的人.你呀,地对巴勃罗说。”你现在就是怕死，你以为死是不得了的事 靡尼托可是一直胆小的,到了斗牛场里却象头狮子。”
“他的勇敢是出过名的，”两兄弟中的另一个说。“我从没见到过这样胆小的人，”比拉尔说。“他把牛头放在家里都不敢。有次节日里，他在瓦利阿多里德把巴勃罗 罗梅罗的一头牛宰了，干得真漂亮一”
“我记得，”那第一个兄弟说。“我那时在斗牛场上。那条牛是皂色的，前额上有鬈毛，一对角很长很大。这头公牛有七苜六十多磅①重。这是他在瓦利阿多里德宰掉的最后一头牛。”
“说得一点也不错，”比拉尔说。“后来，捧场的人在哥伦布饭店聚会，用他的名字给他们的俱乐部命名，还把那只牛头剥制成标本，在哥伦布饭店的一个小型宴会上送给他。他们吃饭的时候，把牛头挂在墙上，不过用布蒙了起来。当时在座的有我和一些别的人,还有帕斯托拉，她比我长得还要丑 还有贝纳家的妞儿和别的吉普赛姑娘，以及几个髙级婊子。这次宴会规模不大，可是热闹得很，因为帕斯托拉和一个最红的婊子争论一个礼貌问题，差不多闹翻了天。我自己也是开心得不能再开心了 我坐在菲尼托身边，发现他不肯抬起头来望那牛头；牛头上蒙上了—块紫布，就象我们过去信奉的主耶稣受难周教堂里圣徒傢上蒙的那种布一样。
“菲尼托吃得不多，因为那年在萨拉戈萨参加的最后一场斗牛中,他正要动手剌杀那条公牛时，被牛角横扫了一下，弄得他昏过去了好些时候，因此即使参加这次宴会时,他的胃口还是不奸、他会不时拿手帕捂在嘴上，往里面吐血。我刚才讲到哪儿啦？”
“牛头，”普里米蒂伏说。“那只剥制的牛头。”―〃对，”比拉尔说。“对了。不过有些细节我必须讲一讲，好让你们明白是什么回事。你们知道，菲尼托是一向兴致不大高的。他是天生严肃的,我跟他单独在一起的时候,从没见他为，“什么事情大笑过。哪怕是很滑稽的事，他也是不笑的。他遇事都是一本正经。差不多象费尔南多一般一本正经，不过，那次宴会是由一群斗牛爱好者组成的菲尼托俱乐部为他举办的，所以他必须显得高高兴兴、和和气气、喜气洋洋。所以宴会时他始终笑嘻喀的，说着亲热的话儿；只有我一个人注意到他在拿手帕干什么亊。他随身带了三条手帕，结果三条手帕都吐满了血。接着他声音放得很低地对我说，‘比拉尔,我再也支持不住啦。我看只有走了。”
〃那我们就走吧。”我说。因为我看他很难受。宴会到了这个时侯热闹极了,吵闹声大得不得了，
〃不。我不能走。”菲尼托对我说。‘说到头,这个俱乐部用的是我的名字，义不容辞哪。“
“‘你既然不舒服,我们还是走吧，’我说。“不能。”他说。‘我不走。给我些岛葡萄酒。”“我觉得他不该喝酒，因为他一点东西也没吃，而胃叉不好；不过,要是不吃点喝点的话，他是明摆着再也应付不了这种唷喀哈哈、吵吵闹闹的场面的。就那样，我看他很快地喝了差不多一瓶白葡萄酒。他把手帕都弄脏了以后，这时把餐巾来当手粕用了。
“这时宴会可真到了最热火的时候，有些骨头最轻的婊子跨在几个俱乐部成员的肩膀上大出洋相。应大家的邀请，帕斯托拉喝起敢来,小里卡多弹起了吉他，场面非常动人，真叫人开心。大家醉醺醎地亲热到了极点。我从来也没见过鄺次宴会能达到这样的真疋的安达卢西亚式的热情，不过，我们还没到替牛头揭幕的时候，归根到底，举行这次宴会就是为了这一个。
“我开心极了，不停地伴着里卡多的琴声拍手，跟一些人一起给贝纳家的妞儿的歌声打拍子，竟然没留心到菲尼托把他自己那块餐巾吐满了血，已经把我的那块也拿去了。他那时又喝了些白葡萄酒，眼睛变得亮亮的,髙髙兴兴地对每个人点头。他不能多讲话，因为一开口就随时得使用那块餐巾，可是他装得喜气洋洋，非常髙兴，这次要他来出席毕竟是为了让他享受享受乐趣啊。
“宴会继续进行下去，坐在我旁边的是‘公鸡’拉斐尔的前经理,他正在给我讲故事，故事的结尾是。‘所以拉斐尔走到我身边说，“您是我在世界上的最髙尚的莫逆之交。我对您的爱象兄弟一般，我要送您一件礼物。”因此他就送了我一只漂亮的钻石钡针，还吻了我的双颊。我们俩都很感动。“公鸡”拉斐尔送了我那只钻石领针之后，就走出了咖啡馆，我对坐在桌边的雷塔娜说,“这个下流的吉普赛人刚和另一位经理签了一个合同。”’“‘“你这话是什么意思？”雷塔娜问道。’“‘我替他当了十年经理，以前从没送过我礼物，’‘公鸡'的前经理说。‘这回送礼无非说明了这一点。’果然不错，‘公鸡’就这样和他吹了。
“可是，正在这时帕斯托拉插嘴了，也许不是为了替拉斐尔辩护,因为谁也比不上她自己那样诋毁拉斐尔，只是因为这位经理提到吉普赛人的时候，说了句‘下淹的吉普赛人’。她插身进来,讲得声色俱历，使得经理哑口无言。我就插进去要帕斯托拉别吵,而另一个吉普赛女人插进来要我别吵，因此闹成一片，谁也没法听清我们之间所讲的话,只有一个词儿，‘臭婊子、最蕺响亮。最后重新安静下来了，我们三个插嘴的人都坐下来，低头望着自己的酒杯，这时，我才留惫到菲尼托脸上餺出惊骇的神气，正瞪着那只仍然蒙在紫色布里的牛头。〃这时，俱乐部主席开始演说了，等他讲完了就要给牛头揭去蒙着的布。滇说时从头到尾只听到人们喝彩叫好,拍桌拍凳，赛呢,望着菲尼托正在朝他的,不，朝我的餐巾里吐血，身体在椅子里往下瘫，一面惊骇而迷惘地瞪着他对面墙上蒙着布的牛头。“演说快结束时，菲尼托开始摇头，身体在椅予里越来越往下瘫了。
“‘你怎么啦，小不点儿?’我对他说，但他望着我时的神气却好象不认得我了,他只管摇着头说，‘别。别。别。’
“俱乐部主席的演说到此结束，在大家的一片喝彩声中，他站在椅子上伸手解开缚在牛头上的紫布的带子，悝慢地把布揭开，布被一只牛角勾住了，他把布提起来，从那尖锐而光滑的牛角上拉掉,露出那只黄色大牛头和那对挑出在两旁、角尖朝前的黑牛角，那白色的牛角尖象豪猪身上的粳刺般锐利，牛头挺精神，好象活的一样，前额象活着的肘候一样长着鬆毛，舁孔是张幵的,眼睹乌亮,正直瞪瞪地望着菲尼托。
“每个人都欢呼、拍手，菲尼托却更往椅子里瘫下去;大家顿时静下来望着他，他呢,一边说着‘别。别，’一边望着牛头，身子更向下瘫了,接着他大喊一声‘别“吐出“大口血，他顾不上拿起餐巾，血就顺着他下巴淌下来，他仍旧望着那只牛头，说，'斗牛季节，好。挣钱，好〃吃，好。可是我不能吃啦。昕到了吗？我的胃坏了。可现在我的季节也过去了 别！别1别 ’他望望桌予四周的人,望望那只牛头，又说了一声‘别，’接着低下头去，拿起22。
餐巾捂在嘴上，就那样坐在那里,一句话也不说了，那次宴会开头很好，眼看在寻欢作乐和交流情谊方面会得到划时代的成功，结果却失败了。”
“那之后他过了多久死去的呢？”普里米蒂伏问。“那年冬天。”比拉尔说。“他在萨拉戈萨被牛角横扫一下之后一直没有复元。这比被牛角挑伤还厉害，因为这是内伤，治不好的。他每次最后剌牛的时候差不多都要挨这么一下，他不是最出名，就是这个道理。他个子矮小,想要把上半身躲开牛角不容易。差不多每次都要挨一下横扫。不过当然，好多次仅仅是擦一下罢了。”
“既然他个子矮小，就不该去当斗牛士，”普里米蒂伏说。比拉尔望望罗伯特 乔丹，对他摇摇头。她然后弯身望着那只大铁锅,还在摇头。
她想，这是什么样的人民哪。西班牙人是什么样的人民哪。“既然他个子矮小，就不该去当斗牛士。”我听着，无话可说。我现在已不恼恨这种话了。我刚才跟他们解释过，现在无话可说了。不知道底细，那说说多容易舸。不知道底细，有个人就说,〃他是个没什么了不起的斗牛士。”不知道底细，另外一个人说，“他得了肺病。”等我这知情人讲明了之后,又有人说了。”既然他个子矮小,就不该去当斗牛士。”
她这时俯身凝望着炉火，眼前又浮现出那赤裸的棕色身体躺在床上,两条大腿上都是瘫痕，右胸助骨下面有个深深的岡伤疤,身子“侧有一长条一直延伸到胳胺窝的白色疤痕。她看到那双闭拢的眼瞎，严肃的棕揭色的脸，前额上的黑色鬆发那时被掠到了脑后。她挨着他坐在床上,揉着他的两条腿,揉着小腿肚上绷紧的肌肉，揉着肌肉，使它松舒，然后用她握紧的双手轻轻插打，松舒抽筋的肌肉。
“怎么样?”她对他说。“小不点儿，腿上好些吗,“很好，比拉尔，”他闭着眼睹说。“要我揉揉胸膛吗？”“别，比拉尔。请你别碰脚膛。，“大腿呢?”
“别。腿上痛得太厉害啦。”
“不过，要是让我揉一探,搽点药奔，就会使肌肉发热，舒服―点儿的。”
“别，比拉尔。谢谢你。还是别去碰它。”“我来用酒精给你擦擦。”“好的。要很轻很轻。”
“你最后一次斗牛真了不起。”她对他说，而他回答道，“正是，那头牛我宰得真不赖，“
她给他擦洗之后,盖上一条被子，然后上床躺在他身边；他伸出棕揭色的手来摸摸她，说，“你真是个好女人，比拉尔。”这就算是他说的笑话了。他通常在斗牛之后就睡熟了，她就躺在那儿，把他的手握在自己的两只手里，听他呼吸。
他在睡梦中常常会受惊，她就会觉得他的手紧紧握住了她的手，还见到他前额上冒出汗珠 要是他醒过来，她就说，“没事。”于是他又睡去。她就这样跟了他五年，从来没有对他不贞过，那是说几乎从来没有。葬礼之后，她就和在斗牛场给斗牛士牵马的巴勃罗相好了，他就象菲尼托消磨一生所宰的牛那样壮实。但是她现在知道，牛的劲头，牛的勇气都不能持久，那么什么能持久呢？她想,我是持久的。是呀,我是持久的。可是，为了什么呢？
“玛丽亚，”她说。“注意些你在干什么。这炉火是用来煮吃的。可不是用来烧掉城市的。“
正在这时,吉普赛人走进门来 他满身是雪，握着卡宾枪站住了，跺着脚把雪抖掉。
罗伯特 乔丹站起身来向门边走去。”情况怎么样?”他对吉普赛人说，
“大桥上每岗两个人，六小时换一次。”吉普赛人说。“养路工小屋那边有八个人和一个班长，这是你的手表“锯木厂边的哨所的情况怎么样？”“老头子在那儿，他可以同时监督哨所和公路。”“那么公路上呢?”罗伯特 乔丹问 “老样子。”吉普赛人说。“没什么特别情況。有几辆汽车。”吉普赛人浑身透露出寒意，黑黑的脸冻得皮肤都绷紧了，两手发红。他站在洞口，臊下外衣抖雪。
“我一直待到他们换岗的时侯。”他说，“换岗的时间是中午十二点钟和下午六点。这一岗可不頰 幸亏我不在他们部队里当兵。”
“我们去找老头子，”罗伯特 乔丹穿上皮外农说。〃我不干了吉普赛人说。“我现在要烤火、暍碗热汤了。我把他守望的地方告诉这里的 个人,他会给你带路的。嗨,你们这帮二流子，”他对坐在桌边的那些人大声说 “猓个肯带英国人去老头子守望公路的地方?”
“我去。”费尔南多站起身来。“把地点告诉我。”“听着，”吉普赛人说。“那是在一”他告诉他老头儿安塞尔萇放哨的地方
收听单词发音 |
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flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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contractor
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| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
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matador
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| n.斗牛士 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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spiked
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| adj.有穗的；成锥形的；有尖顶的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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colon
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| n.冒号，结肠，直肠 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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porcupine
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| n.豪猪， 箭猪 | |
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quills
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| n.（刺猬或豪猪的）刺( quill的名词复数 )；羽毛管；翮；纡管 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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goring
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| v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破( gore的现在分词 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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chronometer
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| n.精密的计时器 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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