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Anarquista Ibérica; and then the other big trade union group (there are more cars in town), U.G.T.: Unión General de Trabajadores. 76 Those are the three great labor unions in Spain . . . Oh, and here’s a present,” he added, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Bisontes; they must be made by the Lucky people, they’re packed like Luckies; one peseta fifty, and the English are stocking up on them. You ought to see their providence and foresight,” he waved his hand, “bread, Vichy, candles—they’re setting up houseon the train. I don’t know what they think we’re in for; they’ve bought enough to last a week.”
    â€œWhat about guns?” Olive asked him.
    â€œI think the whole town’s armed,” he answered. “I didn’t see a man without a gun; and civilians are guarding the road up there, stopping every car that goes through. I heard the story about two regiments in Barcelona, and then someone said four—one thing’s certain, this is all over Spain. Somebody said the tracks were blown up; somebody else said there was a train stopped in every station all along the line.”
    â€œWhen do you suppose the train will move?”
    â€œCan’t say. But they’ll let us know. The town’s all right,” he said violently. “Know what they’re doing? Feeding the whole darn Olympic crowd, at their own expense!”
    He sat down and opened the pack of Bisontes.
    â€œI met some more people, too,” he said. “There’s a stunning South American woman with the English, who told me that about the food—that’s the mayor’s order; and your friend from New Jersey, Helen,” he told her, “She’s looking for you all over the platform.
    â€œNo, leave your bag here,” Peter went on, “You’ll be staying with us.” They looked at her, with their intent grave looks. She had come to rely on them already.
    â€œSee you in a few minutes,” she said.
    PEAPACK WAS HUDDLED in her corner still. “God,” she was muttering, “what have I let myself in for?” She sprang up when she saw Helen. “It’s war,” she cried, “but the Fascists are going to rescue us, I mean the Anarchists—oh, do you know what’s happening?”
    Helen sat down with her.
    â€œNo,” she said, “I won’t move, Helen, I won’t leave this compartment, I can’t bear it. Did you hear the Belgian woman rush down the train? She came in here and said that noise was guns. It did sound like backfire, didn’t it? Who’s that?”
    Toni was at the window, calling Helen. She leaned out. He was an old friend, his face was immensely, touchingly familiar, the purple lips darkening in the half-light, his gay dark eyes. He wanted her to come to dinner, she was with the Olympics, the town was standing them all dinner.
    â€œGo ahead, I’ll see you later,” she promised.
    Peapack was behind her, pulling her arm.
    She turned to the older woman, the whitened harassed face, sunken with fear.
    â€œDon’t leave me, Helen,” she demanded, “don’t leave me alone. It sounds like war, I can’t bear it, we’ll never get out of this, don’t go, only don’t go!”
    Evening was coming down. The radio was very loud.

               CHAPTER FOUR
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Finally, in times when the class struggle nears the decisive hour, the progress of dissolution going on within the ruling class, in fact, within the whole range of old society, assumes such a violent, glaring character, that a small section of the ruling class cuts itself adrift and joins the revolutionary class, the class that holds the future in its hands.
    â€”The Communist Manifesto 77
    T he crowds had drawn away; only a few small boys were left, concealed and