CHAPTER 20

Nowinthenighthelayandwaitedforthegirltocometohim.Therewasnowindnowandthepineswerestillinthenight.Thetrunksofthepinesprojectedfromthesnowthatcoveredalltheground,andhelayintherobefeelingthesupplenessofthebedunderhimthathehadmade,hislegsstretchedlongagainstthewarmthoftherobe,theairsharpandcoldonhisheadandinhisnostrilsashebreathed.Underhishead,ashelayonhisside,wasthebulgeofthetrousersandthecoatthathehadwrappedaroundhisshoestomakeapillowandagainsthissidewasthecoldmetalofthebigautomaticpistolhehadtakenfromtheholsterwhenheundressedandfastenedbyitslanyardtohisrightwrist.Hepushedthepistolawayandsettleddeeperintotherobeashewatched,acrossthesnow,thedarkbreakintherocksthatwastheentrancetothecave.Theskywasclearandtherewasenoughlightreflectedfromthesnowtoseethetrunksofthetreesandthebulkoftherockswherethecavewas.

Earlierintheeveninghehadtakentheaxandgoneoutsideofthecaveandwalkedthroughthenewsnowtotheedgeoftheclearingandcutdownasmallsprucetree.Inthedarkhehaddraggedit,buttfirst,totheleeoftherockwall.Thereclosetotherock,hehadheldthetreeupright,holdingthetrunkfirmwithonehand,and,holdingtheax-haftclosetotheheadhadloppedoffalltheboughsuntilhehadapileofthem.Then,leavingthepileofboughs,hehadlaidthebarepoleofthetrunkdowninthesnowandgoneintothecavetogetaslabofwoodhehadseenagainstthewall.Withthisslabhescrapedthegroundclearofthesnowalongtherockwallandthenpickeduphisboughsandshakingthemcleanofsnowlaidtheminrows,likeoverlappingplumes,untilhehadabed.Heputthepoleacrossthefootoftheboughbedtoholdthebranchesinplaceandpeggeditfirmwithtwopointedpiecesofwoodhesplitfromtheedgeoftheslab.

Thenhecarriedtheslabandtheaxbackintothecave,duckingundertheblanketashecamein,andleanedthembothagainstthewall.

“Whatdoyoudooutside?”Pilarhadasked.

“Imadeabed.”

“Don’tcutpiecesfrommynewshelfforthybed.”

“Iamsorry.”

“Ithasnoimportance,”shesaid.“Therearemoreslabsatthesawmill.Whatsortofbedhastthoumade?”

“Asinmycountry.”

“Thensleepwellonit,”shehadsaidandRobertJordanhadopenedoneofthepacksandpulledtherobeoutandreplacedthosethingswrappedinitbackinthepackandcarriedtherobeout,duckingundertheblanketagain,andspreaditovertheboughssothattheclosedendoftherobewasagainstthepolethatwaspeggedcross-wiseatthefootofthebed.Theopenheadoftherobewasprotectedbytherockwallofthecliff.ThenhewentbackintothecaveforhispacksbutPilarsaid,“Theycansleepwithmeaslastnight.”

“Willyounothavesentries?”heasked.“Thenightisclearandthestormisover.”

“Fernandogoes,”Pilarsaid.

MariawasinthebackofthecaveandRobertJordancouldnotseeher.

“Goodnighttoeveryone,”hehadsaid.“Iamgoingtosleep.”

Oftheothers,whowerelayingoutblanketsandbedrollsonthefloorinfrontofthecookingfire,pushingbacktheslabtablesandtherawhide-coveredstoolstomakesleepingspace,PrimitivoandAndréslookedupandsaid,“Buenasnoches.”

Anselmowasalreadyasleepinacorner,rolledinhisblanketandhiscape,notevenhisnoseshowing.Pablowasasleepinhischair.

“Doyouwantasheephideforthybed?”PilaraskedRobertJordansoftly.

“Nay,”hesaid.“Thankthee.Idonotneedit.”

“Sleepwell,”shesaid.“Iwillrespondforthymaterial.”

FernandohadgoneoutwithhimandstoodamomentwhereRobertJordanhadspreadthesleepingrobe.

“Youhaveacuriousideatosleepintheopen,DonRoberto,”hesaidstandingthereinthedark,muffledinhisblanketcape,hiscarbineslungoverhisshoulder.

“Iamaccustomedtoit.Goodnight.”

“Sinceyouareaccustomedtoit.”

“Whenareyourelieved?”

“Atfour.”

“Thereismuchcoldbetweennowandthen.”

“Iamaccustomedtoit,”Fernandosaid.

“Since,then,youareaccustomedtoit——”RobertJordansaidpolitely.

“Yes,”Fernandoagreed.“NowImustgetupthere.Goodnight,DonRoberto.”

“Goodnight,Fernando.”

Thenhehadmadeapillowofthethingshetookoffandgottenintotherobeandthenlainandwaited,feelingthespringoftheboughsundertheflannelly,featheredlightnessoftherobewarmth,watchingthemouthofthecaveacrossthesnow;feelinghisheartbeatashewaited.

Thenightwasclearandhisheadfeltasclearandcoldastheair.Hesmelledtheodorofthepineboughsunderhim,thepineysmellofthecrushedneedlesandthesharperodoroftheresinoussapfromthecutlimbs.Pilar,hethought.Pilarandthesmellofdeath.ThisisthesmellIlove.Thisandfresh-cutclover,thecrushedsageasyourideaftercattle,wood-smokeandtheburningleavesofautumn.Thatmustbetheodorofnostalgia,thesmellofthesmokefromthepilesofrakedleavesburninginthestreetsinthefallinMissoula.Whichwouldyourathersmell?SweetgrasstheIndiansusedintheirbaskets?Smokedleather?Theodorofthegroundinthespringafterrain?ThesmelloftheseaasyouwalkthroughthegorseonaheadlandinGalicia?OrthewindfromthelandasyoucomeintowardCubainthedark?Thatwastheodorofthecactusflowers,mimosaandthesea-grapeshrubs.Orwouldyourathersmellfryingbaconinthemorningwhenyouarehungry?Orcoffeeinthemorning?OraJonathanappleasyoubitintoit?Oracidermillinthegrinding,orbreadfreshfromtheoven?Youmustbehungry,hethought,andhelayonhissideandwatchedtheentranceofthecaveinthelightthatthestarsreflectedfromthesnow.

Someonecameoutfromundertheblanketandhecouldseewhoeveritwasstandingbythebreakintherockthatmadetheentrance.Thenheheardaslitheringsoundinthesnowandthenwhoeveritwasduckeddownandwentbackin.

Isupposeshewon’tcomeuntiltheyareallasleep,hethought.Itisawasteoftime.Thenightishalfgone.Oh,Maria.Comenowquickly,Maria,forthereislittletime.Heheardthesoftsoundofsnowfallingfromabranchontothesnowontheground.Alittlewindwasrising.Hefeltitonhisface.Suddenlyhefeltapanicthatshemightnotcome.Thewindrisingnowremindedhimhowsoonitwouldbemorning.Moresnowfellfromthebranchesasheheardthewindnowmovingthepinetops.

Comenow,Maria.Pleasecomeherenowquickly,hethought.Oh,comeherenow.Donotwait.Thereisnoimportanceanymoretoyourwaitinguntiltheyareasleep.

Thenhesawhercomingoutfromundertheblanketthatcoveredthecavemouth.Shestoodthereamomentandheknewitwasshebuthecouldnotseewhatshewasdoing.Hewhistledalowwhistleandshewasstillatthecavemouthdoingsomethinginthedarknessoftherockshadow.Thenshecamerunning,carryingsomethinginherhandsandhesawherrunninglong-leggedthroughthesnow.Thenshewaskneelingbytherobe,herheadpushedhardagainsthim,slappingsnowfromherfeet.Shekissedhimandhandedhimherbundle.

“Putitwiththypillow,”shesaid.“Itooktheseofftheretosavetime.”

“Youcamebarefootthroughthesnow?”

“Yes,”shesaid,“andwearingonlymyweddingshirt.”

Heheldhercloseandtightinhisarmsandsherubbedherheadagainsthischin.

“Avoidthefeet,”shesaid.“Theyareverycold,Roberto.”

“Putthemhereandwarmthem.”

“Nay,”shesaid.“Theywillwarmquickly.Butsayquicklynowthatyouloveme.”

“Ilovethee.”

“Good.Good.Good.”

“Ilovethee,littlerabbit.”

“Doyoulovemyweddingshirt?”

“Itisthesameoneasalways.”

“Yes.Aslastnight.Itismyweddingshirt.”

“Putthyfeethere.”

“Nay,thatwouldbeabusive.Theywillwarmofthemselves.Theyarewarmtome.Itisonlythatthesnowhasmadethemcoldtowardthee.Sayitagain.”

“Ilovethee,mylittlerabbit.”

“Ilovethee,too,andIamthywife.”

“Weretheyasleep?”

“No,”shesaid.“ButIcouldsupportitnolonger.Andwhatimportancehasit?”

“None,”hesaid,andfeltheragainsthim,slimandlongandwarmlylovely.“Nootherthinghasimportance.”

“Putthyhandonmyhead,”shesaid,“andthenletmeseeifIcankissthee.

“Wasitwell?”sheasked.

“Yes,”hesaid.“Takeoffthyweddingshirt.”

“YouthinkIshould?”

“Yes,ifthouwiltnotbecold.”

“Quéva,cold.Iamonfire.”

“I,too.Butafterwardsthouwiltnotbecold?”

“No.Afterwardswewillbeasoneanimaloftheforestandbesoclosethatneitheronecantellthatoneofusisoneandnottheother.Canyounotfeelmyheartbeyourheart?”

“Yes.Thereisnodifference.”

“Now,feel.Iamtheeandthouartmeandallofoneistheother.AndIlovethee,oh,Ilovetheeso.Areyounottrulyone?Canstthounotfeelit?”

“Yes,”hesaid.“Itistrue.”

“Andfeelnow.Thouhastnoheartbutmine.”

“Noranyotherlegs,norfeet,norofthebody.”

“Butwearedifferent,”shesaid.“Iwouldhaveusexactlythesame.”

“Youdonotmeanthat.”

“YesIdo.Ido.ThatisathingIhadtotellthee.”

“Youdonotmeanthat.”

“PerhapsIdonot,”shesaidspeakingsoftlywithherlipsagainsthisshoulder.“ButIwishedtosayit.SincewearedifferentIamgladthatthouartRobertoandIMaria.ButifthoushouldeverwishtochangeIwouldbegladtochange.IwouldbetheebecauseIlovetheeso.”

“Idonotwishtochange.Itisbettertobeoneandeachonetobetheoneheis.”

“Butwewillbeonenowandtherewillneverbeaseparateone.”Thenshesaid,“Iwillbetheewhenthouarenotthere.Oh,IlovetheesoandImustcarewellforthee.”

“Maria.”

“Yes.”

“Maria.”

“Yes.”

“Maria.”

“Oh,yes.Please.”

“Artthounotcold?”

“Oh,no.Pulltherobeoverthyshoulders.”

“Maria.”

“Icannotspeak.”

“Oh,Maria.Maria.Maria.”

Thenafterwards,close,withthenightcoldoutside,inthelongwarmthoftherobe,herheadtouchinghischeek,shelayquietandhappyagainsthimandthensaidsoftly,“Andthou?”

“Comotu,”hesaid.

“Yes,”shesaid.“Butitwasnotasthisafternoon.”

“No.”

“ButIloveditmore.Onedoesnotneedtodie.”

“Ojalano,”hesaid.“Ihopenot.”

“Ididnotmeanthat.”

“Iknow.Iknowwhatthoumeanest.Wemeanthesame.”

“ThenwhydidyousaythatinsteadofwhatImeant?”

“Withamanthereisadifference.”

“ThenIamgladthatwearedifferent.”

“AndsoamI,”hesaid.“ButIunderstoodaboutthedying.Ionlyspokethus,asaman,fromhabit.Ifeelthesameasthee.”

“HoweverthouartandhoweverthouspeakestishowIwouldhavetheebe.”

“AndIlovetheeandIlovethyname,Maria.”

“Itisacommonname.”

“No,”hesaid.“Itisnotcommon.”

“Nowshouldwesleep?”shesaid.“Icouldsleepeasily.”

“Letussleep,”hesaid,andhefeltthelonglightbody,warmagainsthim,comfortingagainsthim,abolishinglonelinessagainsthim,magically,byasimpletouchingofflanks,ofshouldersandoffeet,makinganallianceagainstdeathwithhim,andhesaid,“Sleepwell,littlelongrabbit.”

Shesaid,“Iamasleepalready.”

“Iamgoingtosleep,”hesaid.“Sleepwell,beloved.”Thenhewasasleepandhappyasheslept.

Butinthenighthewokeandheldhertightasthoughshewerealloflifeanditwasbeingtakenfromhim.Heheldherfeelingshewasalloflifetherewasanditwastrue.Butshewassleepingwellandsoundlyandshedidnotwake.Soherolledawayontohissideandpulledtherobeoverherheadandkissedheronceonherneckundertherobeandthenpulledthepistollanyardupandputthepistolbyhissidewherehecouldreachithandilyandthenhelaythereinthenightthinking.