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Leo was conscious of the wetness between his legs and the warm lumps there. He had shitted himself and this gave him comfort. It took him back to his childhood, to his mama, to a warm bed in a warm room full of warm smells and the comforting warmth of shit between his legs.
He began to relax, the sun on his back easing the tension of his muscles. He heard the bullets whip overhead, but now he listened easily to the sounds around him. He heard a machine gun firing from behind, and every so often Murray would fire a round and then he heard the pull and slam of the bolt. He thought he heard the spent cartridges fall into the stubble. He was so close to the ground, almost part of it; his muscles, nerves, brain all gone limp and washed into the bittersweet smell of earth. (pp. 46-7)
"Something's afoot," Rolfe announced. He nodded toward the open door of the bathroom. "Who's in there?"
"Eulalia, the gal who was with you and those other guys at Chicote the other night. It's all right. She can't hear and she doesn't understand a word - well, not quite - of English."
"Hemingway's girl. He let you walk away with her."
"He did?" Well, if he did, thank him for me; tell him it's the best thing he's done for La Causa as far as I'm concerned."
"I'll tell him," Eddie laughed. "But there's nothing else I can tell you except to get down to the Plaza de los Torres and grab a truck."
"How much time?"
"You're late now. Kiss her goodbye for me." As he was leaving, he called over his shoulder, "The rent's been taken care of." (p. 59)
"Comrade Rogin." He began slowly and calmly, but his tone sharpened and became more penetrating as he ticked off his points. "The penalty for desertion under fire is death. The penalty for dealing in the black market is death. The penalty for aiding and abetting in desertion is death. The penalty for buying and selling forged passports is death." He had reached the extreme range of intensity in his voice before he paused. He let it sink in.
Leo stared at him, at the handsome face with planes that went slightly flat under the cheekbones, flat lips under a strong nose that also tended to flatten out, the elongated brown eyes staring intently at him.
Leo was incredulous. "Death?"
"Firing squad," Serrota snapped.
Leo winced. "Oh, no. No, I'm a volunteer... a ... a Communist. That's ridiculous. No, you can't. You don't have to stare at me like that. I said I'm willing - What do you mean? What do you want?"
"We want you to realize the seriousness of your actions," the man in the middle said.
"I do. I said I did. What more -"
He stopped as one of the men got up and went to the door. The man opened it and beckoned, and in came Sebastian, smiling, between two guards. A well-dressed civilian followed behind.
"Hello, Sebastian," Leo forced a smile. "I'm in a little trouble -"
"I can see," Sebastian used the English he had picked up from his customers. "I can see. And you want me in it for company, no?" (pp. 135-6)
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"Hey Mitch! Hey, what happened?"
"Fuckin' mud!" Mitch bent to scan his face. "Leo! What the hell are you doing here? Let me in out of this fuckin' rain. When'd you get back? How the hell are you? This your hole?"
Mitch squirmed, fishing under his cape, and came out with a pipe which he stuffed from a Bull Durham sack and lit with a machero, sparks spraying in every direction.
"Goddamned dehydrated horseshit!" he cursed, pulling in sunken cheeks, the white of his teeth flashing as he drew his lips back with each puff.
Good Christ, the kid from Bensonhurst, Leo though, looks like a cadaver, a pirate, a roaring, fire-spouting dragon. But Leo was glad to see one of the men he had known from the bucolic days in Capestan here on this muddy plain somewhere near Huesca, wherever that was. He avoided Mitch's questions and repeated his own instead: "What happened to Lyons? I saw you put him in the ambulance -"
"He had an accident, but - Oh, hell, everyone will know by morning if they don't already. The stupid bastard was cleaning his pistol... a little bit of a thing... it went off... and powie! a neat little hole in his foot."
In the dark Leo thought he saw a smile on Mitch's face. "Powie!" Mitch repeated. "That sonofabitch has more bad luck than anyone I know."
"Bad luck, what bad luck?"
"Aaagh!" Mitch said. "He's been bucking for battalion commander ever since Tarazona. He finally gets it when Amlie chickens out at Belchite, and before he can take us into action, powie! Tough shit."
Crowded and huddled as they were, they warmed the space under the poncho. The stink of mud that Castle had brought in combined with the smell of wet wool and the sharp reek of burning tobacco. They were silent for a moment and then Mitch asked again, "When'd you get back?"
"As soon as I got out of the hospital." Leo wanted to bring the talk back to Lyons, away from himself. ...
"Just back, huh?" Mitch leaned back. Leo could feel the wetness coming through the poncho where his humped shoulders pushed against it. "You got a ride out of Bruneté, didn't you? That was in July. This is September or October, shit, I don't know which. So where've you been all this time? What in hell'd you come back for?"
"What d'you mean? I was in the hospital. I was sick. You're not spreading that rumor too?"
"No, I ain't spreading nothing. I just listen." Mitch twisted to a crouch in order to crawl out of the pup tent. "They sent me to a hospital too, only I didn't go until the shooting was over. I came back the next day." (pp. 104-5)
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