"El Sordo was here," Pilar said to Robert Jordan. They had come in out of the storm to the smoky warmth of the cave and the woman had motioned Robert Jordan over to her with a nod of her head. "He's gone to look for horses."
 "Good. Did he leave any word for me?"
 "Only that he had gone for horses."
 "And we?"
 "_No s嶱," she said. "Look at him."
 Robert Jordan had seen Pablo when he came in and Pablo had grinned at him. Now he looked over at him sitting at the board table and grinned and waved his hand.
 "_Ingl廥_," Pablo called. "It's still falling, _Ingl廥_."
 Robert Jordan nodded at him.
 "Let me take thy shoes and dry them," Maria said. "I will hang them here in the smoke of the fire."
 "Watch out you don't burn them," Robert Jordan told her. "I don't want to go around here barefoot. What's the matter?" he turned to Pilar. "Is this a meeting? Haven't you any sentries out?"
 "In this storm? _Qu?va_."
 There were six men sitting at the table and leaning back against the wall. Anselmo and Fernando were still shaking the snow from their jackets, beating their trousers and rapping their feet against the wall by the entrance.
 "Let me take thy jacket," Maria said. "Do not let the snow melt on it."
 Robert Jordan slipped out of his jacket, beat the snow from his trousers, and untied his shoes.
 "You will get everything wet here," Pilar said.
 "It was thee who called me."
 "Still there is no impediment to returning to the door for thy brushing."
 "Excuse me," Robert Jordan said, standing in his bare feet on the dirt floor. "Hunt me a pair of socks, Maria."
 "The Lord and Master," Pilar said and poked a piece of wood into the fire.
 "_Hay que aprovechar el tiempo_," Robert Jordan told her. "You have to take advantage of what time there is."
 "It is locked," Maria said.
 "Here is the key," and he tossed it over.
 "It does not fit this sack."
 "It is the other sack. They are on top and at the side."
 The girl found the pair of socks, closed the sack, locked it and brought them over with the key.
 "Sit down and put them on and rub thy feet well," she said. Robert Jordan grinned at her.
 "Thou canst not dry them with thy hair?" he said for Pilar to hear.
 "What a swine," she said. "First he is the Lord of the Manor. Now he is our ex-Lord Himself. Hit him with a chunk of wood, Maria."
 "Nay," Robert Jordan said to her. "I am joking because I am happy."
 "You are happy?"
 "Yes," he said. "I think everything goes very well."
 "Roberto," Maria said. "Go sit down and dry thy feet and let me bring thee something to drink to warm thee."
 "You would think that man had never dampened foot before," Pilar said. "Nor that a flake of snow had ever fallen."
 Maria brought him a sheepskin and put it on the dirt floor of the cave.
 "There," she said. "Keep that under thee until thy shoes are dry."
 The sheepskin was fresh dried and not tanned and as Robert Jordan rested his stocking feet on it he could feel it crackle like parchment.
 The fire was smoking and Pilar called to Maria, "Blow up the fire, worthless one. This is no smokehouse."
 "Blow it thyself," Maria said. "I am searching for the bottle that El Sordo left."
 "It is behind his packs," Pilar told her. "Must you care for him as a sucking child?"
 "No," Maria said. "As a man who is cold and wet. And a man who has just come to his house. Here it is." She brought the bottle to where Robert Jordan sat. "It is the bottle of this noon. With this bottle one could make a beautiful lamp. When we have electricity again, what a lamp we can make of this bottle." She looked at the pinch-bottle admiringly. "How do you take this, Roberto?"
 "I thought I was _Ingl廥_," Robert Jordan said to her.
 "I call thee Roberto before the others," she said in a low voice and blushed. "How do you want it, Roberto?"
 "Roberto," Pablo said thickly and nodded his head at Robert Jordan. "How do you want it, Don Roberto?"
 "Do you want some?" Robert Jordan asked him.
 Pablo shook his head. "I am making myself drunk with wine," he said with dignity.
 "Go with Bacchus," Robert Jordan said in Spanish.
 "Who is Bacchus?" Pablo asked.
 "A comrade of thine," Robert Jordan said.
 "Never have I heard of him," Pablo said heavily. "Never in these mountains."
 "Give a cup to Anselmo," Robert Jordan said to Maria. "It is he who is cold." He was putting on the dry pair of socks and the whiskey and water in the cup tasted clean and thinly warming. But it does not curl around inside of you the way the absinthe does, he thought. There is nothing like absinthe.
 Who would imagine they would have whiskey up here, he thought. But La Granja was the most likely place in Spain to find it when you thought it over. Imagine Sordo getting a bottle for the visiting dynamiter and then remembering to bring it down and leave it. It wasn't just manners that they had. Manners would have been producing the bottle and having a formal drink. That was what the French would have done and then they would have saved what was left for another occasion. No, the true thoughtfulness of thinking the visitor would like it and then bringing it down for him to enjoy when you yourself were engaged in something where there was every reason to think of no one else but yourself and of nothing but the matter in hand--that was Spanish. One kind of Spanish, he thought. Remembering to bring the whiskey was one of the reasons you loved these people. Don't go romanticizing them, he thought. There are as many sorts of Spanish as there are Americans. But still, bringing the whiskey was very handsome.
 "How do you like it?" he asked Anselmo.
 The old man was sitting by the fire with a smile on his face, his big hands holding the cup. He shook his head.
 "No?" Robert Jordan asked him.
 "The child put water in it," Anselmo said.
 "Exactly as Roberto takes it," Maria said. "Art thou something special?"
 "No," Anselmo told her. "Nothing special at all. But I like to feel it burn as it goes down."
 "Give me that," Robert Jordan told the girl, "and pour him some of that which burns."
 He tipped the contents of the cup into his own and handed it back empty to the girl, who poured carefully into it from the bottle.
 "Ah," Anselmo took the cup, put his head back and let it run down his throat. He looked at Maria standing holding the bottle and winked at her, tears coming from both eyes. "That," he said. "That." Then he licked his lips. "That is what kills the worm that haunts us."
 "Roberto," Maria said and came over to him, still holding the bottle. "Are you ready to eat?"
 "Is it ready?"
 "It is ready when you wish it."
 "Have the others eaten?"
 "All except you, Anselmo and Fernando."
 "Let us eat then," he told her. "And thou?"
 "Afterwards with Pilar."
 "Eat now with us."
 "No. It would not be well."
 "Come on and eat. In my country a man does not eat before his woman."
 "That is thy country. Here it is better to eat after."
 "Eat with him," Pablo said, looking up from the table. "Eat with him. Drink with him. Sleep with him. Die with him. Follow the customs of his country."
 "Are you drunk?" Robert Jordan said, standing in front of Pablo. The dirty, stubble-faced man looked at him happily.
 "Yes," Pablo said. "Where is thy country, _Ingl廥_, where the women eat with the men?"
 "In _Estados Unidos_ in the state of Montana."
 "Is it there that the men wear skirts as do the women?"
 "No. That is in Scotland."
 "But listen," Pablo said. "When you wear skirts like that, _Ingl廥_--"
 "I don't wear them," Robert Jordan said.
 "When you are wearing those skirts," Pablo went on, "what do you wear under them?"
 "I don't know what the Scotch wear," Robert Jordan said. "I've wondered myself."
 "Not the _Escoceses_," Pablo said. "Who cares about the _Escoceses?_ Who cares about anything with a name as rare as that? Not me. I don't care. You, I say, _Ingl廥_. You. What do you wear under your skirts in your country?"
 "Twice I have told you that we do not wear skirts," Robert Jordan said. "Neither drunk nor in joke."
 "But under your skirts," Pablo insisted. "Since it is well known that you wear skirts. Even the soldiers. I have seen photographs and also I have seen them in the Circus of Price. What do you wear under your skirts, _Ingl廥?_"
 "_Los cojones_," Robert Jordan said.
 Anselmo laughed and so did the others who were listening; all except Fernando. The sound of the word, of the gross word spoken before the women, was offensive to him.
 "Well, that is normal," Pablo said. "But it seems to me that with enough _cojones_ you would not wear skirts."
 "Don't let him get started again, _Ingl廥_," the flat-faced man with the broken nose who was called Primitivo said. "He is drunk. Tell me, what do they raise in your country?"
 "Cattle and sheep," Robert Jordan said. "Much grain also and beans. And also much beets for sugar."
 The three were at the table now and the others sat close by except Pablo, who sat by himself in front of a bowl of the wine. It was the same stew as the night before and Robert Jordan ate it hungrily.
 "In your country there are mountains? With that name surely there are mountains," Primitivo asked politely to make conversation. He was embarrassed at the drunkenness of Pablo.
 "Many mountains and very high."
 "And are there good pastures?"
 "Excellent; high pasture in the summer in forests controlled by the government. Then in the fall the cattle are brought down to the lower ranges."
 "Is the land there owned by the peasants?"
 "Most land is owned by those who farm it. Originally the land was owned by the state and by living on it and declaring the intent~on of improving it, a man could obtain a title to a hundred and fifty hectares."
 "Tell me how this is done," Agust璯 asked. "That is an agrarian reform which means something."
 Robert Jordan explained the process of homesteading. He had never thought of it before as an agrarian reform.
 "That is magnificent," Primitivo said. "Then you have a communism in your country?"
 "No. That is done under the Republic."
 "For me," Agust璯 said, "everything can be done under the Republic. I see no need for other form of government."
 "Do you have no big proprietors?" Andr廥 asked.
 "Many."
 "Then there must be abuses."
 "Certainly. There are many abuses."
 "But you will do away with them?"
 "We try to more and more. But there are many abuses still."
 "But there are not great estates that must be broken up?"
 "Yes. But there are those who believe that taxes will break them up."
 "How?"
 Robert Jordan, wiping out the stew bowl with bread, explained how the income tax and inheritance tax worked. "But the big estates remain. Also there are taxes on the land," he said.
 "But surely the big proprietors and the rich will make a revolution against such taxes. Such taxes appear to me to be revolutionary. They will revolt against the government when they see that they are threatened, exactly as the fascists have done here," Primitivo said.
 "It is possible."
 "Then you will have to fight in your country as we fight here."
 "Yes, we will have to fight."
 "But are there not many fascists in your country?"
 "There are many who do not know they are fascists but will find it out when the time comes."
 "But you cannot destroy them until they rebel?"
 "No," Robert Jordan said. "We cannot destroy them. But we can educate the people so that they will fear fascism and recognize it as it appears and combat it."
 "Do you know where there are no fascists?" Andr廥 asked.
 "Where?"
 "In the town of Pablo," Andr廥 said and grinned.
 "You know what was done in that village?" Primitivo asked Robert Jordan.
 "Yes. I have heard the story."
 "From Pilar?"
 "Yes."
 "You could not hear all of it from the woman," Pablo said heavily. "Because she did not see the end of it because she fell from a chair outside of the window."
 "You tell him what happened then," Pilar said. "Since I know not the story, let you tell it."
 "Nay," Pablo said. "I have never told it."
 "No," Pilar said. "And you will not tell it. And now you wish it had not happened."
 "No," Pablo said. "That is not true. And if all had killed the fascists as I did we would not have this war. But I would not have had it happen as it happened."
 "Why do you say that?" Primitivo asked him. "Are you changing your politics?"
 "No. But it was barbarous," Pablo said. "In those days I was very barbarous."
 "And now you are drunk," Pilar said.
 "Yes," Pablo said. "With your permission."
 "I liked you better when you were barbarous," the woman said. "Of all men the drunkard is the foulest. The thief when he is not stealing is like another. The extortioner does not practise in the home. The murderer when he is at home can wash his hands. But the drunkard stinks and vomits in his own bed and dissolves his organs in alcohol."
 "You are a woman and you do not understand," Pablo said equably. "I am drunk on wine and I would be happy except for those people I have killed. All of them fill me with sorrow." He shook his head lugubriously.
 "Give him some of that which Sordo brought," Pilar said. "Give him something to animate him. He is becoming too sad to bear."
 "If I could restore them to life, I would," Pablo said.
 "Go and obscenity thyself," Agust璯 said to him. "What sort of place is this?"
 "I would bring them all back to life," Pablo said sadly. "Every one."
 "Thy mother," Agust璯 sho............