"No one spoke about these planes last night?"
"In La Gnanja? Nobody. But they will talk about them tonight certainly. They talked about the broadcast of Quiepo de Llano. Nothing more. Oh, yes. It seems that the Republic is preparing an offensive."
"That what?"
"That the Republic is preparing an offensive."
"Where?"
"It is not certain. Perhaps here. Perhaps for another pant of the Sierra. Hast thou heard of it?"
"They say this in La Granja?"
"Yes, hombre. I had forgotten it. But there is a!ways much talk of offensives."
"Where does this talk come from?"
"Where? Why from different people. The officers speak in the cafes in Segovia and Avila and the waiters note it. The rumors come running. Since some time they speak of an offensive by the Republic in these parts."
"By the Republic or by the Fascists?"
"By the Republic. If it were by the Fascists all would know of it. No, this is an offensive of quite some size. Some say there are two. One here and the other over the Alto del Leon near the Escorial. Have you heard aught of this?"
"What else did you hear?"
"Nada, hombre. Nothing. Oh, yes. There was some talk that the Republicans would try to blow up the bridges, if there was to be an offensive. But the bridges are guarded."
"Art thou joking?" Robert Jordan said, sipping his coffee.
"No, hombre," said Fernando.
"This one doesn't joke," the woman said. "Bad luck that he doesn't."
"Then," said Robert Jordan. "Thank you for all the news. Did you hear nothing more?"
"No. They talk, as always, of troops to be sent to clear out these mountains. There is some talk that they are on the way. That they Rave been sent already from Valladolid. But they always talk in that Way. It is not to give any importance to."
"And thou," the woman of Pablo said to Pablo almost viciously. "With thy talk of safety."
Pablo looked at her reflectively and scratched his chin. "Thou," he said. "And thy bridges."
"What bridges?" asked Fernando cheerfully.
"Stupid," the woman said to him. "Thick head. Tonto. Take another cup of coffee and try to remember more news."
"Don't be angry, Pilar," Fernando said calmly and cheerfully. "Neither should one become alarmed at rumors. I have told thee and this comrade all that I remember."
"You don't remember anything more?" Robert Jordan asked.
"No," Fernando said with dignity. "And I am fortunate to remember this because, since it was but rumors, I paid no attention to any of it."
"Then there may have been more?"
"Yes. It is possible. But I paid no attention. For a year I have heard nothing but rumors."
Robert Jordan heard a quick, control-breaking sniff of laughter from the girl, Maria, who was standing behind him.
"Tell us one more rumor, Fernandito," she said and then her shoulders shook again.
"If I could remember, I would not," Fernando said. "It is beneath a man's dignity to listen and give importance to rumors."
"And with this we will save the Republic," the woman said.
"No. You will save it by blowing bridges," Pablo told her.
"Go," said Robert Jordan to Anselmo and Rafael. "If you have eaten."
"We go now," the old man said and the two of them stood up. Robert Jordan felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Maria. "Thou shouldst eat," she said and let her hand rest there. "Eat well so that thy stomach can support more rumors."
"The rumors have taken the place of the appetite."
"No. It should not be so. Eat this now before more rumors come." She put the bowl before him.
"Do not make a joke of me," Fernando said to her. "I am thy good friend, Maria."
"I do not joke at thee, Fernando. I only joke with him and he should eat or he will be hungry."
"We should all eat," Fernando said. "Pilar, what passes that we are not served?"
"Nothing, man," the woman of Pablo said and filled his bowl with the meat stew. "Eat. Yes, that's what you can do. Eat now."
"It is very good, Pilar," Fernando said, all dignity intact.
"Thank you," said the woman. "Thank you and thank you again."
"Are you angry at me?" Fernando asked.
"No. Eat. Go ahead and eat."
"I will," said Fernando. "Thank you."
Robert Jordan looked at Maria and her shoulders started shaking again and she looked away. Fernando ate steadily, a proud and dignified expression on his face, the dignity of which could not be affected even by the huge spoon that he was using or the slight dripping of juice from the stew which ran from the corners of his mouth.
"Do you like the food?" the woman of Pablo asked him.
"Yes, Pilar," he said with his mouth full. "It is the same as usual."
Robert Jordan felt Maria's hand on his arm and felt her fingers tighten with delight.
"It is for that that you like it?" the woman asked Fernando.
"Yes," she said. "I see. The stew; as usual. Como siempre. Things are bad in the north; as usual. An offensive here; as usual. That troops come to hunt us out; as usual. You could serve as a monument to as usual."
"But the last two are only rumors, Pilar."
"Spain," the woman of Pablo said bitterly. Then turned to Robert Jordan. "Do they have people such as this in other countries?"
"There are no other countries like Spain," Robert Jordan said politely.
"You are right," Fernando said. "There is no other country in the world like Spain."
"Hast thou ever seen any other country?" the woman asked him.
"Nay," said Fernando. "Nor do I wish to."
"You see?" the woman of Pablo said to Robert Jordan.
"Fernandito," Maria said to him. "Tell us of the time thee went to Valencia"
"I did not like Valencia."
"Why?" Maria asked and pressed Robert Jordan's arm again. "Why did thee not like it?"
"The people had no manners and I could not understand them. All they did was shout che at one another."
"Could they understand thee?" Maria asked.
"They pretended not to," Fernando said.
"And what did thee there?"
"I left without even seeing the sea," Fernando said. "I did not like the people."
"Oh, get out of here, you old maid," the woman of Pablo said. "Get out of here before you make me sick. In Valencia I had the best time of my life. Vamos! Valencia. Don't talk to me of Valencia."
"What did thee there?" Maria asked. The woman of Pablo sat down at the table with a bowl of coffee, a piece of bread and a bowl of the stew.
"Que? what did we there. I was there when Finito had a contract for three fights at the Feria. Never have I seen so many people. Never have I seen cafes so crowded. For hours it would be impossible to get a seat and it was impossible to board the tram cars. In Valencia there was movement all day and all night."
"But what did you do?" Maria asked.
"All things," the woman said. "We went to the beach and lay in the water and boats with sails were hauled up out of the sea by oxen. The oxen driven to the water until they must swim; then harnessed to the boats, and, when they found their feet, staggering up the sand. Ten yokes of oxen dragging a boat with sails out of the sea in the morning with the line of the small waves breaking on the beach. That is Valencia."
"But what did thee besides watch oxen?"
"We ate in pavilions on the sand. Pastries made of cooked and shredded fish and red and green peppers and small nuts like grains of rice. Pastries delicate and flaky and the fish of a richness that was incredible. Prawns fresh from the sea sprinkled with lime juice. They were pink and sweet and there were four bites to a prawn. Of those we ate many. Then we ate paella with fresh sea food, clams in their shells, mussels, crayfish, and small eels. Then we ate even smaller eels alone cooked in oil and as tiny as bean sprouts and curled in all directions and so tender they disappeared in the mouth without chewing. All the time drinking a white wine, cold, light and good at thirty centimos the bottle. And for an end, melon. That is the home of the melon."