Agustín said nothing.
“Here thou wilt lie while we prepare the exploding and fire on anything that comes from above or below.”
“Where is that light?” Agustín asked.
“In the sentry box at this end,” Robert Jordan whispered.
“Who deals with the sentries?”
“The old man and I, as I told thee. But if we do not deal with them, thou must fire into the sentry boxes and at them if thou seest them.”
“Yes. You told me that.”
“After the explosion when the people of Pablo come around that corner, thou must fire over their heads if others come after them. Thou must fire high above them when they appear in any event that others must not come. Understandest thou?”
“Why not? It is as thou saidst last night.”
“Hast any questions?”
“Nay. I have two sacks. I can load them from above where it will not be seen and bring them here.”
“But do no digging here. Thou must be as well hid as we were at the top.”
“Nay. I will bring the dirt in them in the dark. You will see. They will not show as I will fix them.”
“Thou are very close. Sabes? In the daylight this clump shows clearly from below.”
“Do not worry, Inglés. Where goest thou?”
“I go close below with the small máquina of mine. The old man will cross the gorge now to be ready for the box of the other end. It faces in that direction.”
“Then nothing more,” said Agustín. “Salud, Inglés. Hast thou tobacco?”
“Thou canst not smoke. It is too close.”
“Nay. Just to hold in the mouth. To smoke later.”
Robert Jordan gave him his cigarette case and Agustín took three cigarettes and put them inside the front flap of his herdsman’s flat cap. He spread the legs of his tripod with the gun muzzle in the low pines and commenced unpacking his load by touch and laying the things where he wanted them.
“Nada mas,” he said. “Well, nothing more.”
Anselmo and Robert Jordan left him there and went back to where the packs were.
“Where had we best leave them?” Robert Jordan whispered.
“I think here. But canst thou be sure of the sentry with thy small máquina from here?”
“Is this exactly where we were on that day?”
“The same tree,” Anselmo said so low Jordan could barely hear him and he knew he was speaking without moving his lips as he had spoken that first day. “I marked it with my knife.”
Robert Jordan had the feeling again of it all having happened before, but this time it came from his own repetition of a query and Anselmo’s answer. It had been the same with Agustín, who had asked a question about the sentries although he knew the answer.
“It is close enough. Even too close,” he whispered. “But the light is behind us. We are all right here.”
“Then I will go now to cross the gorge and be in position at the other end,” Anselmo said. Then he said, “Pardon me, Inglés. So that there is no mistake. In case I am stupid.”
“What?” he breathed very softly.
“Only to repeat it so that I will do it exactly.”
“When I fire, thou wilt fire. When thy man is eliminated, cross the bridge to me. I will have the packs down there and thou wilt do as I tell thee in the placing of the charges. Everything I will tell thee. If aught happens to me do it thyself as I showed thee. Take thy time and do it well, wedging all securely with the wooden wedges and lashing the grenades firmly.”
“It is all clear to me,” Anselmo said. “I remember it all. Now I go. Keep thee well covered, Inglés, when daylight comes.”
“When thou firest,” Robert Jordan said, “take a rest and make very sure. Do not think of it as a man but as a target, de acuerdo? Do not shoot at the whole man but at a point. Shoot for the exact center of the belly – if he faces thee. At the middle of the back, if he is looking away. Listen, old one. When I fire if the man is sitting down he will stand up before he runs or crouches. Shoot then. If he is still sitting down shoot. Do not wait. But make sure. Get to within fifty yards. Thou art a hunter. Thou hast no problem.”
“I will do as thou orderest,” Anselmo said.
“Yes. I order it thus,” Robert Jordan said.
I’m glad I remembered to make it an order, he thought. That helps him out. That takes some of the curse off. I hope it does, anyway. Some of it. I had forgotten about what he told me that first day about the killing.
“It is thus I have ordered,” he said. “Now go.”
“Me voy,” said Anselmo. “Until soon, Inglés.”
“Until soon, old one,” Robert Jordan said.
He remembered his father in the railway station and the wetness of that farewell and he did not say Salud nor good-by nor good luck nor anything like that.
“Hast wiped the oil from the bore of thy gun, old one?” he whispered. “So it will not throw wild?”
“In the cave,” Anselmo said. “I cleaned them all with the pull through.”
“Then until soon,” Robert Jordan said and the old man went off, noiseless on his rope-soled shoes, swinging wide through the trees.
Robert Jordan lay on the pine-needle floor of the forest and listened to the first stirring in the branches of the pines of the wind that would come with daylight. He took the clip out of the submachine gun and worked the lock back and forth. Then he turned the gun, with the lock open and in the dark he put the muzzle to his lips and blew through the barrel, the metal tasting greasy and oily as his tongue touched the edge of the bore. He laid the gun across his forearm, the action up so that no pine needles or rubbish could get in it, and shucked all the cartridges out of the clip with his thumb and onto a handkerchief he had spread in front of him. Then, feeling each cartridge in the dark and turning it in his fingers, he pressed and slid them one at a time back into the clip. Now the clip was heavy again in his hand and he slid it back into the submachine gun and felt it click home. He lay on his belly behind the pine trunk, the gun across his left forearm and watched the point of light below him. Sometimes he could not see it and then he knew that the man in the sentry box had moved in front of the brazier. Robert Jordan lay there and waited for daylight.