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They were those tiresome double passwords in which one word has to be answered by another. Usually they were of an elevating and revolutionary nature, such as Cultura—progreso, or Seremos—invencibles, and it was often impossible to get illiterate sentries to remember these highfalutin’ words. One night, I remember, the password was Cataluña—heroica, and a moon-faced peasant lad named Jaime Domenech approached me, greatly puzzled, and asked me to explain. ‘Heroica—what does heroica mean?’ I told him that it meant the same as valiente. A little while later he was stumbling up the trench in the darkness, and the sentry challenged him: ‘Alto! Cataluña!’ ‘Valiente!’ yelled Jaime, certain that he was saying the right thing. Bang! However, the sentry missed him. In this war everyone always did miss everyone else, when it was humanly possible.
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