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fascist sons of bitches from entering Madrid.”
    “It’s not enough,” she said.
    “What do you mean it’s not enough? Don’t make things any harder for me . . .”
    “Fighting is easy. So is dying . . . Thousands of people do it . . . Your brother Pablo . . . But would you be willing to give up everything? And when I say everything, I mean everything. Any dreams of your own, any scruples, being yourself . . .”
    “I don’t understand, Caridad,” Ramón said, completely sincere as a sense of alarm grew in his chest. “Are you serious? Can’t you be any clearer? I can’t spend all night here, either,” and he pointed toward the mountain from which he had come.
    “I think I’m already speaking very clearly,” she said, and took out another cigarette. At the moment in which she lit the match, the sky wasilluminated by the flash of an explosion and the back door of the car opened. Young Luis, covered by a blanket, ran toward Ramón, slipping on the frozen ground, and they held each other in an embrace.
    “Wow, Luisito, you’ve become a man.”
    Luis sniveled without letting go of his brother.
    “And you’re so thin, man. I can feel your bones.”
    “It’s the fucking war.”
    “And is that your dog? What’s his name?”
    “It’s Churro . . . He’s not mine, but it’s as if he were. He showed up one day . . .” Luis whistled and the animal came to his feet. “He’s a quick learner and he’s so good . . . Do you want to take him?” Ramón caressed his younger brother’s messy hair and cleaned his eyes with his thumbs.
    Luis looked at his mother, undecided.
    “We can’t have dogs now,” she confirmed, smoking avidly. “Sometimes we don’t even have enough to eat ourselves.”
    “Churro eats anything, almost nothing,” Ramón said, and instinctively lifted his shoulders to protect himself when a cannon rumbled in the distance. “A whole family could eat with what you spend on tobacco.”
    “My cigarettes are not your problem . . . Luis, run along with the dog, I need to speak with Ramón,” Caridad ordered, and walked toward an oak tree whose leaves had managed to resist the aggressive winter in the sierra.
    Under the tree, Ramón smiled while he watched Luis frolicking with little Churro.
    “Are you going to tell me why you came? Who sent you?”
    “Kotov. He wants to make you an important proposition,” she said and again fixed him under the green glass of her gaze.
    “Kotov is in Barcelona?”
    “At the moment. He wants to know if you’re willing to work with him.”
    “In the army?”
    “No, on more important matters.”
    “More important than the war?”
    “Much more. This war can be won or it can be lost, but . . .”
    “What the hell are you saying? We can’t lose, Caridad. With what the Soviets are sending us and the people from the International Brigades, we’re going to fuck those fascists one by one . . .”
    “That would be great, but tell me . . . Do you think we can win a warwith the Trotskyists making signals to the fascists in the trenches next to them and with the anarchists taking combat orders to a vote? . . . Kotov wants you to work on truly important things.”
    “Important like what?”
    An explosion shook the mountain, too close to where the three of them were. Instinct pushed Ramón to protect Caridad with his own body and they rolled around on the frozen ground.
    “I’m going to go crazy. Don’t those bastards sleep?” he said, on his knees, as he shook the dust off one of the sleeves of Caridad’s cloak.
    She stopped his hand and leaned over to pick up the smoking cigarette. Ramón helped her to stand up.
    “Kotov thinks you’re a good Communist and that you could be useful in the rear guard.”
    “Every day there are more Communists in Spain. Ever since the Soviets and their weapons arrived, the people have a different opinion of us.”
    “Don’t believe that, Ramón. People are afraid of us; a lot of them don’t like us. This is a