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Chapter 33

           Thebedsmeltstaleandsweat-driedandsickly-sweetthewayanIndian’sbeddoesasRobertJordankneltonitandshonethetorchonthetwosacks.Therewasalongslitfromtoptobottomineachone.Holdingthetorchinhislefthand,RobertJordanfeltinthefirstsackwithhisrighthand.Thiswastheonethathecarriedhisrobeinanditshouldnotbeveryfull.Itwasnotveryfull.Therewassomewireinitstillbutthesquarewoodenboxoftheexploderwasgone.Sowasthecigarboxwiththecarefullywrappedandpackeddetonators.Sowasthescrew-toptinwiththefuseandthecaps.

           RobertJordanfeltintheothersack.Itwasstillfullofexplosive.Theremightbeonepacketmissing.

           Hestoodupandturnedtothewoman.Thereisahollowemptyfeelingthatamancanhavewhenheiswakedtooearlyinthemorningthatisalmostlikethefeelingofdisasterandhehadthismultipliedathousandtimes.

           "Andthisiswhatyoucallguardingone’smaterials,"hesaid.

           "Isleptwithmyheadagainstthemandonearmtouchingthem,"Pilartoldhim.

           "Yousleptwell."

           "Listen,"thewomansaid."HegotupinthenightandIsaid,‘Wheredoyougo,Pablo?’‘Tourinate,woman,’hetoldmeandIsleptagain.WhenIwokeagainIdidnotknowwhattimehadpassedbutIthought,whenhewasnotthere,thathehadgonedowntolookatthehorsesaswashiscustom.Then,"shefinishedmiserably,"whenhedidnotcomeIworriedandwhenIworriedIfeltofthesackstobesureallwaswellandthereweretheslitplacesandIcametothee."

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