"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."

"The melon of Castile is better," Fernando said.

"Que va," said the woman of Pablo. "The melon of Castile is for self abuse. The melon of Valencia for eating. When I think of those melons long as one's arm, green like the sea and crisp and juicy to cut and sweeter than the early morning in summer. Aye, when I think of those smallest eels, tiny, delicate and in mounds on the plate. Also the beer in pitchers all through the afternoon, the beer sweating in its coldness in pitchers the size of water jugs."

"And what did thee when not eating nor drinking?"

"We made love in the room with the strip wood blinds hanging over the balcony and a breeze through the opening of the top of the door which turned on hinges. We made love there, the room dark in the day time from the hanging blinds, and from the streets there was the scent of the flower market and the smell of burned powder from the firecrackers of the traca that ran though the streets exploding each noon during the Feria. It was a line of fireworks that ran through all the city, the firecrackers linked together and the explosions running along on poles and wires of the tramways, exploding with great noise and a jumping from pole to pole with a sharpness and a cracking of explosion you could not believe.

"We made love and then sent for another pitcher of beer with the drops of its coldness on the glass and when the girl brought it, I took it from the door and I placed the coldness of the pitcher against the back of Finito as he lay, now, asleep, not having wakened when the beer was brought, and he said, 'No, Pilar. No, woman, let me sleep. And I said, 'No, wake up and drink this to see how cold, and he drank without opening his eyes and went to sleep again and I lay with my back against a pillow at the foot of the bed and watched him sleep, brown and dark-haired and young and quiet in his sleep, and drank the whole pitcher, listening now to the music of a band that was passing. You," she said to Pablo. "Do you know aught of such things?"

"We have done things together," Pablo said.

"Yes," the woman said. "Why not? And thou wert more man than Finito in your time. But never did we go to Valencia. Never did we lie in bed together and hear a band pass in Valencia."

"It was impossible," Pablo told her. "We have had no opportunity to go to Valencia. Thou knowest that if thou wilt be reasonable. But, with Finito, neither did thee blow up any train."

"No," said the woman. "That is what is left to us. The train. Yes. Always the train. No one can speak against that. That remains of all the laziness, sloth and failure. That remains of the cowardice of this moment. There were many other things before too. I do not want to be unjust. But no one can speak against Valencia either. You hear me?"