hemingway, ernest - for whom the bell tolls-第36部分
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
〃And how did you get into the movement？〃
〃I was always of the left；〃 Pablo said。 〃We had many contacts with the people of Asturias where they are much developed politically。 I have always been for the Republic。〃
〃But what were you doing before the movement？〃
〃I worked then for a horse contractor of Zaragoza。 He furnished horses for the bull rings as well as remounts for the army。 It was then that I met Pilar who was； as she told you； with the matador Finito de Palencia。〃
He said this with considerable pride。
〃He wasn't much of a matador；〃 one of the brothers at the table said looking at Pilar's back where she stood in front of the stove。
〃No？〃 Pilar said； turning around and looking at the man。 〃He wasn't much of a matador？〃
Standing there now in the cave by the cooking fire she could see him； short and brown and sober…faced； with the sad eyes； the cheeks sunken and the black hair curled wet on his forehead where the tightfitting matador's hat had made a red line that no one else noticed。 She saw him stand； now； facing the five…year…old bull； facing the horns that had lifted the horses high； the great neck thrusting the horse up； up； as that rider poked into that neck with the spiked pole； thrusting up and up until the horse went over with a crash and the rider fell against the wooden fence and； with the bull's legs thrusting him forward； the big neck swung the horns that searched the horse for the life that was in him。 She saw him； Finito； the not…so…good matador； now standing in front of the bull and turning sideways toward him。 She saw him now clearly as he furled the heavy flannel cloth around the stick； the flannel hanging blood…heavy from the passes where it had swept over the bull's head and shoulders and the wet streaming shine of his withers and on down and over his back as the bull raised into the air and the banderillas clattered。 She saw Finito stand five paces from the bull's head； profiled； the bull standing still and heavy； and draw the sword slowly up until it was level with his shoulder and then sight along the dipping blade at a point he could not yet see because the bull's head was higher than his eyes。 He would bring that head down with the sweep his left arm would make with the wet； heavy cloth； but now he rocked back a little on his heels and sighted along the blade； profiled in front of the splintered horn； the bull's chest heaving and his eyes watching the cloth。
She saw him very clearly now and she heard his thin； clear voice as he turned his head and looked toward the people in the first row of the ring above the red fence and said； 〃Let's see if we can kill him like this！〃
She could hear the voice and then see the first bend of the knee as he started forward and watch his voyage in onto the horn that lowered now magically as the bull's muzzle followed the low swept cloth； the thin； brown wrist controlled； sweeping the horns down and past； as the sword entered the dusty height of the withers。
She saw its brightness going in slowly and steadily as though the bull's rush plucked it into himself and out from the man's hand and she watched it move in until the brown knuckles rested against the taut hide and the short； brown man whose eyes had never left the entry place of the sword now swung his sucked…in belly clear of the horn and rocked clear from the animal； to stand holding the cloth on the stick in his left hand； raising his right hand to watch the bull die。
She saw him standing； his eyes watching the bull trying to hold the ground； watching the bull sway like a tree before it falls； watching the bull fight to hold his feet to the earth； the short man's hand raised in a formal gesture of triumph。 She saw him standing there in the sweated； hollow relief of it being over； feeling the relief that the bull was dying； feeling the relief that there had been no shock； no blow of the horn as he came clear from it and then； as he stood； the bull could hold to the earth no longer and crashed over； rolling dead with all four feet in the air； and she could see the short； brown man walking tired and unsmiling to the fence。
She knew he could not run across the ring if his life depended on it and she watched him walk slowly to the fence and wipe his mouth on a towel and look up at her and shake his head and then wipe his face on the towel and start his triumphant circling of the ring。
She saw him moving slowly； dragging around the ring； smiling； bowing； smiling； his assistants walking behind him； stooping； picking up cigars； tossing back hats； he circling the ring sad…eyed and smiling； to end the circle before her。 Then she looked over and saw him sitting now on the step of the wooden fence； his mouth in a towel。
Pilar saw all this as she stood there over the fire and she said； 〃So he wasn't a good matador？ With what class of people is my life passed now！〃
〃He was a good matador；〃 Pablo said。 〃He was handicapped by his short stature。〃
〃And clearly he was tubercular；〃 Primitivo said。
〃Tubercular？〃 Pilar said。 〃Who wouldn't be tubercular from the punishment he received？ In this country where no poor man can ever hope to make money unless he is a criminal like Juan March； or a bullfighter； or a tenor in the opera？ Why wouldn't he be tubercular？ In a country where the bourgeoisie over…eat so that their stomachs are all ruined and they cannot live without bicarbonate of soda and the poor are hungry from their birth till the day they die； why wouldn't he be tubercular？ If you travelled under the seats in third…class carriages to ride free when you were following the fairs learning to fight as a boy； down there in the dust and dirt with the fresh spit and the dry spit； wouldn't you be tubercular if your chest was beaten out by horns？〃
〃Clearly；〃 Primitivo said。 〃I only said he was tubercular。〃
〃Of course he was tubercular；〃 Pilar said； standing there with the big wooden stirring spoon in her hand。 〃He was short of stature and he had a thin voice and much fear of bulls。 Never have I seen a man with more fear before the bullfight and never have I seen a man with less fear in the ring。 〃You；〃 she said to Pablo。 〃You are afraid to die now。 You think that is something of importance。 But Finito was afraid all the time and in the ring he was like a lion。〃
〃He had the fame of being very valiant；〃 the second brother said。
〃Never have I known a man with so much fear；〃 Pilar said。 〃He would not even have a bull's head in the house。 One time at the feria of Valladolid he killed a bull of Pablo Romero very well〃
〃I remember；〃 the first brother said。 〃I was at the ring。 It was a soap…colored one with a curly forehead and with very high horns。 It was a bull of over thirty arrobas。 It was the last bull he killed in Valladolid。〃
〃Exactly；〃 Pilar said。 〃And afterwards the club of enthusiasts who met in the Caf椤olon and had taken his name for their club had the head of the bull mounted and presented it to him at a small banquet at the Caf椤olon。 During the meal they had the head on the wall； but it was covered with a cloth。 I was at the table and others were there； Pastora； who is uglier than I am； and the Nina de los Peines； and other gypsies and whores of great category。 It was a banquet； small but of great intensity and almost of a violence due to a dispute between Pastora and one of the most significant whores over a question of propriety。 I； myself； was feeling more than happy and I was sitting by Finito and I noticed he would not look up at the bull's head； which was shrouded in a purple cloth as the images of the saints are covered in church duing the week of the passion of our former Lord。
〃Finito did not eat much because he had received a _palotaxo_； a blow from the flat of the horn when he had gone in to kill in his last corrida of the year at Zaragoza； and it had rendered him unconscious for some time and even now he could not hold food on his stomach and he would put his handkerchief to his mouth and deposit a quantity of blood in it at intervals throughout the banquet。 What was I going to tell you？〃
〃The bull's head；〃 Primitivo said。 〃The stuffed head of the bull。〃
〃Yes；〃 Pilar said。 〃Yes。 But I must tell certain details so that you will see it。 Finito was never very merry； you know。 He was essentially solemn and I had never known him when we were alone to laugh at anything。 Not even at things which were very comic。 He took everything with great seriousness。 He was almost as serious as Fernando。 But this was a banquet given him by a club of _aficionados_ banded together into the _Club Finito_ and it was necessary for him to give an appearance of gaiety and friendliness and merriment。 So all during the meal he smiled and made friendly remarks and it was only I who noticed what he was doing with the handkerchief。 He had three handkerchiefs with him and he filled the three of them and then he said to me in a very low voice； 'Pilar； I can support this no further。 I think I must leave。'
〃'Let us leave then；' I said。 For I saw he was suffering much。 There was great hilarity by this time at the banquet and the noise was tremendous。
〃'No。 I cannot leave；' Finito said to me。 'After all it is a club flamed for me and I have an obligation。'
〃'If thou art ill let us go；' I said。
〃'Nay；' he said。 'I will stay。 Give me some of that manzanilla。'
〃I did not think it was wise of him to drink； since he had eaten nothing； and since he had such a condition of the stomach； but he was evidently unable to support the merriment and the hilarity and the noise longer without taking something。 So I watched him drink； very rapidly； almost a bottle of the manzanilla。 Having exhausted his handkerchiefs he was now employing his napkin for the use he had previously made of his handkerchiefs。
〃Now indeed the banquet had reached a stage of great enthusiasm and some of the least heavy of the whores were being paraded around the table on the shoulders of various of the club members。 Pastora was prevailed upon to sing and El Ni駉 Ricardo played the guitar and it was very moving and an occasion of true joy and drunken friendship of the highest order。 Never have I seen a banquet at which a higher pitch of real _flamenco_ enthusiasm was reached and yet we had not arrived at the unveiling of the bull's head which was
