The next morning I took a rifle from the armory and went off to the forest, looking for the mound that marked the grave between the trees. My heart toyed with the vain hope that the events of the previous night had been nothing but a deception. But I didn’t really believe this myself. The wooden pole stuck in the ground rose up like the upright of a gallows. I swallowed my spit and walked forward as bravely as I could. The pole leaned to one side. The two soldiers had done a hurried job. The end of the pole was wet with morning dew. For a moment my eyes strayed stealthily to the mound itself. The dampness of the fresh, porous soil sent a cold shudder through my spine. I couldn’t take my eyes off the pole.
I began walking away, sad and depressed. Was it sorrow for the enemy soldier who had died—or for myself? A shot fired close by severed the thread of my thoughts. I turned my head toward the snipers’ hills and sprinted toward the positions on the slope, instinctively. Weak shouts: “Orderly! Orderly! I’ve been hit!” I rushed madly toward the place where I thought the wounded man might be, bumping into a group of soldiers bending over him. Where had they sprung from? I was pleased by their promptness.
“It’s Shmuel,” one of them remarked. The wounded man’s hand was stained with bright blood.
“Take him to the first-aid station,” I called out in an excited voice, gazing at his closed eyes.
“Don’t tell my folks about it,” he groaned. “Don’t let them know.” He opened his eyes for a moment, giving us a pleading look.
“Don’t worry, we won’t tell them.”
The soldiers dragged him up the slope, moaning with pain. I crawled to the foxhole in front of the fence, and from there I peered out at the hill in front of us. I couldn’t see any movement around the building. I concentrated on finding a way to eliminate the snipers. The sound of stones sliding down the slopes made me turn around. Sasson jumped inside, breathing heavily.
“They’ve taken him to the first-aid station,” he panted. In that moment an idea flashed into my mind.
“I’ve got it!” I cried out happily, slapping him on the shoulder.
“Got what?”
“I think I know how to polish off these bastards.” I stopped, trying to work out the plan in my mind. A glint of light from the stone on the hill caught my eye. Silver strips, glistening, breaking up into thousands of fragile slivers of lightning. Almost like sweat pouring from the naked forehead of the rocks. The shining drops of morning dew trickled over the rocky slopes.
“Well, what’s the plan?” he asked again.
“We’ll give our sniper pals a little surprise tonight. Have you noticed that they only operate in the daytime?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, tonight we’ll go to their place and stick a few mines up their backsides. When they go back there tomorrow, they’ll be finished. What d’you think?”
“Terrific. Why didn’t I think of it?”
“We’ll need three men. You, me, and we’ll take someone else,” I added, seeing in my mind’s eye the thin wires of steel that we would stretch in front of the ruined building.
“Prepare hand grenades and steel wires. We’ll set booby traps of half-open grenades. Get an electric pocket lamp also. We’ll really let them have it this time.” I hummed to myself happily, rubbing my belly with excitement.
Sasson left the forest, on his way to the armory. I went back, but this time I kept far away from the mound that covered the grave. I stopped in the shade of one of the pines and stretched myself out on the ground, under the tree. Through the branches, glistening islands of blue heaven floated backward and forward in the dark green sea. I felt a slight dizziness turning my head, and I shut my eyes. Through my closed lids filtered a dark patch pitted with heavy red spots. A drowsy fatigue seized me: a sort of daydream. The red stains crystallized and took on the shape of a dead body, with purple skin. Black cracks made clefts in the twisted, distorted body. I was not repelled in any way by what I saw. Joy filled my heart; a sweet, weary pleasure crept over me.
I began constructing in my mind the defeat of this body . . . A man covered by a khaki cloak and carrying a large rifle marched to the door of the ruined building. His heavy, hobnailed boots struck against the stones with a monotonous sound. The door was opened, and the boot, crossing the threshold, pulled the thin thread of steel. A flash. Large black eyes opened wide with horror and surprise. A pillar of flame filled the room. The four strong walls were shaken by a deafening explosion. The air blast hurled the rifle forcibly against the wall. I couldn’t see what was happening because of the dense smoke. All I could see was a big, clumsy rifle smashed to smithereens, and splinters of wood from the butt scattered around the floor.
I jumped up from my place. Trunks of pine trees all around me. A smell of resin, coming from under the bark, gave me a pleasant shudder. What had happened? Was I dreaming, or had it really taken place? Were my eyes seeing things before they actually happened? Could I have discovered in myself a new sense, which had come to me because of the war? Hadn’t I seen dark, ominous stains on Eldad’s face the last time we met—the time he went off on a convoy from which he never returned? Yes, of course there had been spots on his face, and I was almost certain I had seen those faint spots on Ilan’s face as well. I was positive I had noticed a stain on Yosef’s face—Yosef who was killed at Sha’ar Hagai. Was I able to foresee people’s death in battle? A cold feeling gripped me. The ground was damp, and I shuddered. I jumped up in a panic. I ached to get hold of a mirror and look in it. Maybe there were spots on my face as well? I ran toward my room, so eager to get to a mirror that I wasn’t as careful as usual about the snipers. A bullet whistled not far from me. I fell to the ground, and went on crawling until I reached the door of my room.
My panting, puffing face, covered with dust, looked back at me in the mirror that shook in my hand. Were there spots on my face? I examined myself closely. I don’t see any spots . . . None at all? Are you sure?
A dark cloud gathered in the corner of my forehead, stamping on it dark, almost invisible freckles hidden just beneath the skin. No. It’s impossible. I must be imagining things. I put the mirror down on the bed and collapsed onto it, completely exhausted. I fell asleep.
A loud knock at the door. “Come in!” I shouted, annoyed at being woken up so suddenly. I saw Sasson’s worried face.
Still caught up in sleep, I saw at first only his moving lips. “What are you talking about?” I asked, sitting up and rubbing my eyes with my fists.
“That guy Shimon. You remember, the one who gave us that trouble last night. Seems to have gone crazy.”
“Who has?” I began waking up.
“Half an hour ago he grabbed a chopper from the storeroom and burst outside. He shouted that he’s going to kill you. We tried to catch him, but he ran away to the wood.”
“To kill me?” I exclaimed in amazement. Then I dismissed it with a laugh: “If he really wanted to kill me, he’d have taken a gun and not a chopper.”
“That’s the kind of thing you or I would do,” Sasson insisted. “But not for him. He’s crackers. He’s nuts, I’m telling you.”
“He’s no crazier than anyone else,” I replied angrily. “He’s just a bluffer.”
“No, he’s not. You should have seen the way he foamed at the mouth . . .”
“Where is he now?”
“Hiding in the wood.”
“OK, let’s go and fetch him.” I lifted myself up from my bed and took the submachine gun.
“Maybe we should take another few soldiers with us?” Sasson suggested diffidently.
“Not necessary. He only has a chopper, after all.”
We went off toward the copse and began walking up the slope. The bare trunks of pine trees moved in front of us with giddy speed. I felt vomit rising from my belly. “Let’s slow down a little,” I suggested to Sasson. His steps slowed down. But a moment later we both stopped dead. A faint flicker of light flashed between the dense branches of the trees. Our gaze was drawn to the top of the hill. Shimon’s shadow. He stood between the trees, the sun shining on his back. His face was in semi-darkness, so that his figure appeared like a black spot standing out against the background of the sky. He spotted us. But to our surprise he remained standing where he was, screaming at us as loudly as he could and waving the ax angrily above his head. We ran toward him. “I’ll finish the two of you!” he yelled hoarsely, in a mighty voice. “I’ll finish you off!”
We stopped about ten paces from him. He went on screaming madly, his mouth wide open, and only his lower jaw rising and falling as it uttered his oaths. His limbs contracted, compressed together, ready to dash forward. I lifted the submachine gun to my shoulder and aimed it straight at his eyes.
“Shimon,” I said quietly, “put the ax on the ground. Otherwise you’ll get a bullet right in your head.”
He stopped shouting for a moment, giving me an astonished look.
“You,” he panted furiously, “you!” His face puffed up with anger, and a nervous shudder passed through his fleshy cheeks. The hand holding the ax lifted with a menacing gesture.
“Throw the chopper on the ground!” I repeated my warning. “Or else you’ve had it. Hurry up. Throw it down!”
The hand that held the ax began to sink slowly, until it was completely down. But the ax was still not released.
“Shimon,” I called, “listen to me. If you don’t put that bloody chopper down right away, I’ll pump you full of bullets. Get it?”
An astonished expression showed on his quivering face. His eyes grew damp, and the shudder grew and spread to his forehead.
“What do you want of my life?” he wept, in a hoarse voice. I started thinking that maybe he really was out of his mind.
“Put the chopper down and come here.”
“And you won’t do anything to me?” he asked in a naive tone.
“No, I won’t do a thing.” His eyes examined me, and I felt them drop until they confronted the muzzle of the gun aimed at him.
“Promise?” he asked in an even hoarser voice, giving a nervous giggle that exposed his front teeth. Foaming spittle trickled from the narrow hollows that separated the teeth from one another. His eyes flashed with a peculiar light. A crazy sort of look.
“Yes, I promise,” I said, lowering the submachine gun to the ground. The tension disappeared from his face, and the hand holding the ax relaxed its grip, until his fingers opened and it fell to the ground with a clang.
“You won’t do anything to me?” he repeated his question, still frightened.
“You can go back to your room,” I answered gently. He continued looking at me with staring, wide-open eyes. “Go back to base,” I repeated patiently. “Sasson will go with you.”
He began walking carefully, rocking on his feet, toward me, as if he was afraid I was going to break my promise. When he and Sasson walked away from me, Shimon’s steps broke into a panic-stricken run. I stood where I was, leaning against a pine tree, waiting until they disappeared. By this time I was quite certain he was out of his mind. I returned to my room, depressed and tired. But before I’d had a chance to sit down, there was a knock on the door and Sasson entered. “I took him to my room,” he said sadly. “He fell asleep.”
“We’ll have to take him to the clinic. His nerves have gone. He’s going to be pretty useless, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, I think he needs a doctor. Maybe even a hospital,” Sasson sighed bitterly. He added ruefully: “We’ve already taken one of our men to the clinic today, and now we’ll take another one. He won’t return to the front in a hurry. If we go on losing men at this rate, there’ll soon be no one left.”
“A lousy situation,” I agreed. My voice was gruff, and I felt an irritating itching on my scalp.
“And they still call this a quiet part of the front,” Sasson scoffed. “God help us where it’s busy!”
“I suppose we’d better call the orderly,” I said reluctantly.
Sasson was silent for a while. Then he said: “I don’t know if it’s a job for Yosef. He’s still a kid, you know. Only sixteen. He faked his papers and got called up earlier than he was due.” He stopped for a moment, giving me a pleading look. “Do you know what he did yesterday?” he asked.
“Well, what?”
“Took a catapult and went off to hunt pigeons. Nearly went into one of the mined areas in the forest. I’m telling you, he’s just a kid.”
“You’re really exaggerating.” I stood firm. “I’m not asking you to transfer a load of dynamite.”
“If you want me to, I’ll call Yosef. But I could really take Shimon there myself. What do you care?”
“No,” I said firmly. “Call Yosef. That’s his job.” Sasson nodded sulkily and went out.
In several minutes he came back, with Yosef following in the rear. I surveyed him closely, hoping to find out something about him from the expression on the face and his movements. He stood carelessly. His face was pale and creamy, and his short body was somewhat slumped. A cigarette was stuck awkwardly behind his ear. His shirt was stained with the blood of his last patient. The stains had clotted and become dark brown.
“Why’s the cigarette behind your ear?” I cross-examined him.
“Because I’m going to smoke it!” he smiled. I laughed.
“And why don’t you change your shirt?” I asked in a friendly way.
“Oh, nonsense,” he replied, dismissing my remark with a gesture.
“I want you to take Shimon to the first-aid station.”
“Right.” Yosef smiled back.w
“He’s suffering from shock.”
“You mean he’s a bit mixed up,” Yosef corrected me.
“He was always a rather nervous fellow,” Sasson intervened. “Always got excited about bugs, lizards, and rats, things like that.” He stopped for a moment and laughed to himself. “How were we supposed to know that something like this would happen to him?”
“I saw him when he ran away with the chopper,” Yosef said good-humoredly. “I’ll take him to the first-aid station. Where is he now?”
“In Sasson’s room.” Yosef bade us farewell with a careless, unconcerned gesture, as if he was saying: “Don’t worry. Leave it all to me. It’ll be alright.” He went off.
“What’s the time?” I asked Sasson. He glanced at his wristwatch.
“Five to one.”
“Well, let’s go to the dining room and see what things look like over there.”
We went off toward the slope, reaching the protective wall with leaps and hops. We went inside and stopped next to the small radio set that stood behind the wall. It was tuned to an enemy radio station. Several soldiers clustered around it. Despite the earsplitting static, the Arab announcer’s muffled voice could be heard quite clearly. A hoarse male voice speaking stumbling, guttural Hebrew. “Citizens of Jerusalem,” the voice called in a wheedling tone, “why do you want to die of hunger? Your city is besieged. The Arab forces are about to conquer it any day. Surrender! Surrender to us . . .” Sasson put his hand out and switched the set off.
“You should go off to deepen the foxholes,” he tongue-lashed the soldiers.
“Go and dig now?” one of the men called out bitterly. “That’s just what the snipers want, that we should show ourselves in the open.”
“That’s exactly why you have to deepen the foxholes,” Sasson rebuked him. The soldiers stumbled out complaining and mumbling to one another.
Sasson was in a bad mood. “It’s better for them to do some digging than to sit around listening to enemy broadcasts,” he snapped angrily. “You know,” he added, “stupid as those broadcasts are, they eventually take effect and get into one’s head. Yes, it’s really better for them to dig foxholes.” He lowered his voice: “At least that’ll do some good.”
“Excuse me.” One of the soldiers came up to us. “I would like to talk to you,” he said.
“Alright. What’s the trouble?”
“Trouble . . . You know what I mean.”
“Well, what do you mean?”
“They . . . my parents and my three small brothers, they’re giving me trouble.” He stopped for a moment, swallowing his spittle in his emotion. “They told me that they didn’t get the payment. You know, the family allowance . . .”
“Yes, yes, I know.” I looked at his swarthy face. Two dark, alert eyes. A strong expression. About seventeen, I guessed.
“You see . . .” he began again, as I said nothing.
“Your parents didn’t receive the money,” I repeated.
“No, they didn’t,” he repeated sadly. “I’m the oldest son in the family,” he went on. His words sucked me into my own memories, which had been subdued by the fighting. Since leaving home I had been cut off from my parents as if a magic wand had divided the thread that bound us. A strange process of forgetfulness tore me away from the experiences of the past, from memories of childhood, of my parents. All these had disintegrated and sunk into a hidden corner of my consciousness. Now everything was aroused again. When I thought about my parents now, a shock went through me, as if I’d suddenly discovered their existence for the first time. Were they alright? Worry pinched my heart.
“I’ll check with the company office,” I told the soldier. I tried desperately to prevent recalling the slumbering memories. But I couldn’t suppress them. Now I felt deeply miserable.
“But it’s my duty,” the soldier persisted. “I’ve got to bring something home. They need food.” Food! The word hammered against my temples like a heavy ramrod shattering what remained of my peace of mind. I was grateful—grateful to this seventeen-year-old boy who had reminded me of my duty toward my parents. The image of my father and mother appeared before me, so sharply that I could make out every detail of their faces. I suppressed a pain every time I saw the tiny creases move in the corners of their sad eyes. I realized why I was so filled with fear and concern.
The wrinkles around their eyes were symbols of starvation and poverty. A feeling of inner tension and unrest spread through me.
Sasson, who stood to one side, chimed in. “Maybe we should give him a few tins of canned meat?” he suggested.
“What are you talking about?” I tore myself away from my private thoughts. “You know we’re on strict rations. If we give him some tins, we may have to do the same for others. In the end we won’t have any food left at all.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Sasson agreed sadly.
“But what’s going to happen to my parents?” the soldier insisted. “What am I going to do?” His voice became more aggressive, demanding almost, as if he sensed how confused and helpless we were. I didn’t know what to say to him. My heart felt heavy.
“It’ll be alright,” Sasson reassured him. “You’ll see, it’ll all be OK. Now go and deepen the foxholes, Eliezer. We’ll talk to you later!”
Eliezer lowered his shoulders and passed his arm through the leather straps of his gun. When he straightened up, the gun was hanging carelessly on his back. His small body seemed as if it was about to buckle under the weight of the heavy gun. But the boy never stumbled. He strode off with heavy, long strides toward his foxhole.
“Do you know him from before?” I asked, when Eliezer had gone.
“Yes, we live in the same suburb of town. Near the Mahane Yehuda market.”
“Oh.” A short silence.
“You know what?” Sasson renewed the discussion. “You’ve already been out with us on night patrols . . .”
“Well?” I asked curiously.
“The enemy village opposite us isn’t short of food. They’ve got chickens, sheep—you know.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Well, why don’t we go out tonight on a patrol and ‘confiscate’ a lot of food. I’ll take along Eliezer and another soldier.” Sasson gave me an expectant look.
“Do you know the area well?” I asked hesitantly.
“Like the back of my hand.” He looked excited.
His parents were also in difficulties, it occurred to me.
“Well,” Sasson pressured me, “what do you say?”
“Were you born here?” I ignored his question.
“Yes, I was born in Jerusalem,” he confirmed. An impatient expression spread over his face. He pressed his lips together, as if restraining himself, until two deep clefts of flesh were etched at the point of his chin.
“And what do your parents do?” I asked.
His face went softer. “They are poor people,” he mumbled apologetically. “I haven’t had an easy time,” he went on sadly. “It really wasn’t easy. When I was a small boy, I was forced to earn money for food.”
“Yes, I also know what it’s like,” I broke into his flood of words. He gave me an understanding look.
“What jobs didn’t I do in order to get a bit of money!” Sasson’s face took on a self-satisfied expression. He was obviously proud of the things he’d done when he was a boy. “Once I sold papers on the street. Another time I delivered flowers for a shop. You know, for weddings or to girls. And when this work stopped, do you know what I did?” He gave me a questioning look.
“Well?”
“I picked sabras—prickly pears.”
“Sabras?” I asked in surprise.
“Yes. From the wild hedges around Jerusalem. My brother and I were a team. In the beginning we used to get into fights with the Arab kids who lived around there. But in the end we got along alright. Then we went back to Jerusalem and sold the sabras in the streets. I had a good voice, a sort of high-pitched soprano. And I made up a little tune: “Sabras, sabras!”
“Don’t think you’re the only one who had a good voice.” I smiled. “When I was a boy I sang like a nightingale. I sang in a choir. In the synagogue next door. I even dreamed of becoming a famous cantor one day. But, as you see, I never realized my ambition.”
“But I bet you never sold sabras,” he claimed, goading me.
“No, that’s true,” I agreed. “But I bought plenty. I like them. Even today.”
“I reckon you’re right. I used to eat a lot of them myself—when business was bad.” We both laughed.
“I see you’re quite used to finding food out in the fields.”
“Yes, that’s true. So why shouldn’t I do the same now?”
“Wait until tonight,” I said.
He pulled a sour face.
“I want to see what I can arrange with company HQ.”
Sasson smiled tolerantly.
“Do you really think that they have a store of food that they hand out to anyone who needs it?” When he saw how embarrassed I was, he added: “You also won’t find a bank there. No one in the army is handing out any money. They’re a bunch of skinflints.”
“We’ll see,” I muttered absentmindedly, surprised at how soon I had forgotten the thoughts aroused in me by Eliezer’s words. Friends, fellow soldiers whom I had just met became faint shadows in my mind’s eye. They seemed to have disappeared in a mist of forgetfulness. The only thing I could remember was the expression on my parents’ faces—and even this seemed very far away. A certain change had taken place in me. The cells of my brain must have changed into filters that held back and expelled everything I didn’t need, so that I could stay at the front without qualms.
Sasson interpreted my meditations as pangs of doubt for having agreed to his suggestion. But the truth was that I didn’t have any misgivings about his plan for raiding the enemy village. On the contrary, when I remembered the food convoy at Sha’ar Hagai, a flash of pleasure took ahold of my heart. The abandoned food trucks had been looted and sacked by the enemy: there was no question about that.
Nevertheless, there still remained in me a spark of resistance to the idea. Some sensation that had not yet been filtered out of my brain. But I rejected my own doubts, at the same time affirming that I wouldn’t tolerate stealing in easier and quieter times.
I strolled off to company HQ, deep in thought. “Watch out for snipers,” Sasson reminded me, noticing my absentmindedness. I waved goodbye to him with the gun I held.
I made my way carefully, keeping my head well down. The smooth rocks and bushes in the fields served as landmarks. A blurring emptiness closed in within my head, shattering my thoughts and making me tired and drowsy. My brain was blank. I walked along mechanically, hardly conscious of what I was doing.
I found the company commander in his room. His face looked even more weary than usual—and I felt sorry for having to bother him.
“There’s some trouble!” I shouted.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’ve probably heard about the two wounded men,” I said quickly, pleased with myself for having dignified Shimon with the designation of “wounded.”
“Yes,” he confirmed sadly.
“In addition, there’s a complaint about the non-payment of maintenance grants to the family of another man.”
“What’s his name?” he asked quietly. “I’ll check it in Jerusalem.” His words had an indifferent tone, as if he didn’t care about the whole business and in fact was annoyed I’d brought it up.
“He has parents and three brothers,” I added, raising my voice. “It’s urgent!”
“Listen,” he reprimanded me, “all I can do is find out. But don’t expect miracles. I’m only a company commander, not the director of a bank.”
“Yes, I realize that.” I remembered what Sasson had said.
“I’ll let you have the reply in two or three days,” the commander summed up. I left the room, disappointed and bitter.
I returned to the outpost fully reconciled to the idea of raiding the village. It seemed to me quite justified. After all, the Arabs were stealing our food, so why shouldn’t we steal theirs? In war there is no hesitation about taking the enemy’s life. So why should I have any scruples about taking their food?
I ran through the area so plagued by snipers, and dashed behind the defensive wall next to the dining room. Sasson was waiting there.
“Any news?” he asked, wetting his lips with his tongue.
“It’s OK,” I snapped. My eyes wandered over the empty tables in the dining room. “Take only two soldiers with you,” I added, as if remembering something that had slipped my memory. “I think that should be enough.”
“Easily,” Sasson agreed, his face lighting up.
“And listen,” I said suddenly, feeling I had to warn him, “your job is to mine the snipers’ building. When you finish this, you can take a slight detour on the way home. Get it?”
“Sure, of course,” Sasson confirmed. For a moment it seemed to me that I caught a hint of resentment in his face.
“It would be stupid to send out two patrols on such a dark night,” I added apologetically. “They could easily run into one another.”
“That’s alright,” Sasson reassured me. “We’ll do the job. Don’t worry.”
“Be at the southern fence at exactly ten o’clock,” I summed up, feeling once more a burning, nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew this wasn’t stomach upset, not even a sudden attack of fright. Perhaps it was just weakness, I thought to myself, one hand passing over my overall and pressing my stomach. A dull, discordant rumble came from inside, and I felt even more strongly than before a pinching sensation that contracted my intestines to a single hard mass. I’ll go to the clinic tomorrow, I decided solemnly, knowing in my heart of hearts that I wouldn’t.
At exactly ten, Sasson and his two men met next to the fence. “I’m taking Eliezer and Eli,” Sasson said, lowering his voice.
“Bad visibility tonight,” I pointed out. He didn’t reply. I glanced at their shadows, which were jumping up and down because the soldiers were stamping about trying to keep warm.
“Cold . . . cold,” one of them said, teeth chattering. I looked up at the sky. It was dark, with many stars. A cold night. There might be frost.
“Well, are we going out?”
“Have you got hand grenades and steel wires?”
“Yes.” Sasson bent over and picked up the kit bag lying at his feet. He lifted it gingerly, placing it on his shoulder with great care.
“Do a good job,” I tried to encourage him. “We’ve got to finish them off. Else they’ll finish us.”
They nodded in agreement.
“It’ll be OK,” Sasson assured me.
My eyes, which had become accustomed to the dark, examined the shadow cast by Sasson’s sturdy body. He rubbed his hands together in front of his face, and breathed warm air into his clasped palms. “Brrr!” he exclaimed. The dark cap that covered his forehead, head, and ears emphasized the light in his glistening eyes.
“Go ahead,” I said to him, putting my foot on the wire of the fence in front of us so that they could pass through the gap. “Come back in about two hours,” I whispered. Sasson bent under the low fence, and the others followed in his footsteps. Their receding figures soon became dark shadows, which melted into the darkness. For a moment I could still hear their boots scraping on the smooth stones scattered over the ground.
Then this sound was also swallowed. Night. Silence.