A flat gray field appeared in front of me. Avenues of yellowing trees defined its crescent-shaped borders. The tops of the trees fluttered in a hot, arid wind. Thousands of leaves, flying about in the strong breeze, blossomed in the air like a flock of birds frightened away by the hunters’ shots. Everything seemed to be moving around nervously. The trees rocked from side to side, bending backward and forward. Suddenly they seemed to forge ahead. They were coming toward me. Walking . . . Their trunks had sprouted legs. Not real legs, only roots. Swollen, twisted roots to which black soil had stuck like glue. The roots curled around, sliding forward like worms that had smelled food and were making for it feverishly.
I drew back. Fear rang in my ears like the screaming of thousands of sirens. I fled, I sprinted, I ran as fast as I could. Something I couldn’t see blocked my path: a cold barrier, something frozen, which threw me to the ground when I ran headlong into it. I raised my head to see what was happening. One of the trees stood above me. It stretched out its winding legs and pulled me to the ground. I gazed up at it in despair.
The tree had a wizened face—and eyes. This frightened me more than anything. Thousands of eyes hidden among the shadows of the trees, which rustled in dry voices. The tree bent over me with flexible movements and held out its arms. The dried-out, withered wood caressed me. I was lifted into the air and carried away, struggling and kicking to free myself. But in vain. I was caught, trapped.
“Where are you taking me to?” I cried out in despair. “Where . . . ?” But there was no reply.
Only the whistling of the wind.
“Leave me alone,” I screamed so loudly that the roof of my mouth was scorched. “I don’t want to leave here!” The tree went on its way, and I screamed louder.
I had no more strength left. My hands lost their grip and fell helplessly. Tears streamed from my eyes, large, heavy tears that dripped onto the field below me. The drops sank into the ground, making round, glistening pools. My head fell downward with fatigue, and when I looked behind me, my eyes met an endless row of these pools. The tree stopped moving. Beneath me a great abyss yawned, like a dark, waterless sea, a hollow sea without a bottom. The tree bent over the abyss and threw me into it with a vigorous motion. My body contracted in fear, and I put a hand out in front of me in an attempt to take hold of one of the branches. But it was too late. The abyss swallowed me up. I fell right into it, diving into its infinite depths, diving down, deep down.
Dizziness circled in front of my closed eyes. A black whirlpool raced and spun. My insides were torn out of me, as if they wanted to leave my body. Suddenly this stopped, and the feeling of nausea was removed as if by a magic hand. Was I imagining this feeling of relief?
I opened my eyes a little, as if I couldn’t believe what I’d experienced. But I couldn’t see anything. A pleasant shudder ran through my eyebrows and made them dance up and down. A languorous feeling swept through my body, like the delight of quenching a long thirst. A delightful smell wafted in the air breathed in by my lungs. The smell grew stronger. I breathed it in, drew as much of it into my lungs as I could. It was so ineffably sweet, as if I knew every breath was to be my last.
A scent of perfume. The perfume of flowers, of citrus and orange blossoms. The perfume of blossoms at the height of their scent. It fused with my blood, penetrated to every cell in my body, trickled into the marrow of my bones, swept into my head. Intoxication.
My limbs lost their weight and hovered like feathers in the wind, flying about gaily and frivolously in the air, being carried upward. I had no wings, but I was flying . . . flying . . . flying in the air. I was so light, and I felt so good, so happy.
My vision also came back to me. I blinked my eyes. Now I could see a colored mist, a mist made up of blue, yellow, and red clouds, which washed and melted into one another.
Like the brisk movements of a swimmer, my hands beat like oars on the surface of the misty waves. I swam in the mist. The touch of the waves was smooth and tender.
They gave off a melting warmth, which confused my senses until I didn’t know what I was doing, so relaxed and pleasant did I feel. A wind as soft as silk, warm and mild, blew in my face. My hair blew wildly over my forehead. I stretched my hand out in order to smooth it down, to straighten it, but it fled from the touch of my hand, ran away, escaped, went wild again, and flew about all over my forehead and to the sides. I tried again and again, but my hair wouldn’t stay in one place.
The colored mist beneath me thinned out a little, spun out, opened up. Through its narrow channels appeared a dark sky, the color of the sea, in which thousands of stars glittered. A fat, round star circled slowly in the host of other stars. It came close to me, its pale light giving off a sad glow. In a blurred fashion I realized its color was darker than I had first thought. When it came closer I discovered it wasn’t a star at all, but a gray, glistening ball of marble. Its closeness sent a shudder through me, a cool shiver of revulsion. I wanted to get away from it.
I tried even harder to fly away and escape from the place. A sharp sense of terror gripped me. My peace of mind was disturbed. All of a sudden I knew that this ball was the world. The world from which I’d just been expelled. Then why was I running away from it?
I turned my eyes skyward desperately, like a shipwrecked sailor whose raft is sinking.
Thousands of colored bows quivered in front of me, thousands of bows, each holding on to one another’s midriff, covered the face of the skies, forming the most beautiful rainbows.
Here’s the exit, I thought happily, swimming toward them. But it made no difference, because the bows also rose up. I couldn’t reach them, and I sighed sadly when I realized I was wasting my efforts.
Were these bows the gateway to heaven . . . ?
A soporific drowsiness spread through my body, draining the strength from my limbs and organs, making my head droop. Once more I smelled the perfume floating in the air. A sweetish, pleasant taste clung to my mouth, a taste that left a warmth in my mouth, a soft and tender warmth.
Exhausted as I was, I took a sleepy look at the marble ball floating under me. The colored clouds surrounded the ball with a curtained smokescreen, through which it could be seen moving about. A sweet slumber took hold of me.
I woke up some time later, feeling warm and relaxed in my joints. I didn’t know where I was. All I knew was that I was floating in the mist. But this time it looked different. Its colors had become faded, without any gloss.
A faint tone came to my ears, from afar, as if it had crossed endless magic plains that had made its notes purer, more refined. Where did they come from? I pricked up my ears and listened. It was a trumpet—a trumpet with a thin sound, almost weeping, lonely, sad, weak. It blared on and on as if it would never stop. I wanted to reach it, to hold the trumpet. But I couldn’t. Just to see it, to touch it . . .
A sad thought stole into my heart and upset me: There wasn’t a single living being around me, not a human shape. I looked around feverishly, desperately, hoping to discover someone, anyone. But all I saw were colored mists floating on the surface of the black, star-studded heavens. Loneliness. Terror. I shouted out: “Anyone here? Anyone here?”
“Ere . . . ere,” echoes came back to me. The syllables, which rained down from all sides, went on reverberating in the infinite space, until they died away slowly. In utter despair I screamed: “Is there nobody? Nobody?”
“Body . . . body . . .” the echoes said.
Everything became red. The mist was red, and so were the bows. And the skies were like the ripped-open belly of a giant beast.
“Save me! Save me!” I cried, at the point of tears, closing my eyes in dread. “Oh God! Oh God!”
“Oddd . . . oddd . . .” the echoes answered.
The sound of drums came to me. At first the sound was weak, but it grew stronger until it became the sound of measured beats. I opened my eyes cautiously. Heavy darkness. The colored clouds had lifted. The bows in the heavens were invisible. Only the drums went on beating, hammering. Went on hammering and hammering. The darkness began to retreat as the night gave its place up to the next day. The light grew stronger, until I realized that I stood in a wet field flooded with water, like a soggy swamp. A bubbling sound. I turned my head. A frog as large as a man was coming out of the swamp toward me. Its horny skin was dirtied by the mud, and its eyes burned like two coals of fire.
I stepped back in disgust and horror. The frog didn’t take its eyes off me. It raised itself on its hind legs, stretched its front legs out to me with a threatening movement, and opened its wet mouth, from which poured a yellow spit-like pus:
“Habia . . . habia . . . habia,” the frog croaked in rhythm every time it stretched its feet out toward me. Each time it did this I jumped back, trying to escape its sickening touch. Now thousands of other frogs came out of the swamp and joined the frog who was hunting me. They formed lines, standing firm on their hind legs and holding their front legs out toward me, calling out: “Habia . . . habia . . . habia.” It sounded like the groaning of a pump: “habia . . . habia . . . habia.” The sound grew louder, maddening, deafening.
Then I understood: I was in the land of the dead. I was dead . . .
The realization of my death didn’t come as a shock. I fully accepted it. It wasn’t as terrible as I had feared. And if I was really dead, why should I be afraid of the frogs? What could they do to me now?
“I’m not afraid of you,” I yelled at them. They stood stock-still on their hind legs. “I’m not afraid!” I screamed. The frogs retreated, and at every step they grew shorter. They went on retreating until they returned to their usual size. I stormed forward, treading them underfoot in a fury of revenge. Jets of blood spurted over my feet when I split their smooth bellies. A thin, weepy voice, like a little girl crying, stopped me. A little frog stood next to my feet: “Don’t kill me,” it pleaded. “Don’t kill . . .” The tone sounded familiar. A faint memory stirred to life in me. I took a step back.
“Can you speak?” I stammered excitedly. The little frog didn’t answer. It moved away cautiously, and when it was out of reach of my foot, it sank into the mud and disappeared. The other frogs did the same. Once again I was all alone . . .
The spots of blood on the mud made me feel sick. I wanted to lift my legs and go, but I found they were stuck in the mud, and were getting deeper and deeper. I tried with all my might to extricate myself, but I couldn’t. I was sinking, drowning. I held my hands out to the sides. I was unable to move my feet. The mud climbed up my body until it reached my chin and the edge of my lips. My hands, which were stretched upward, froze in place as if caked in the mud and muck that clung to them. Two eagles emerged suddenly out of the black skies. They swooped straight toward my face, letting out shrill cries. Their sharp beaks were aimed at my eyes—and I couldn’t move!
“My eyes!” I screamed in horror. “Not my eyes!” I tried to turn my head to one side, to evade the birds of prey that were about to pounce on me. Something hit me on the head.
My hands touched a cold floor. I opened my eyes wide. The shadow of a bed appeared next to me. I was lying on the floor. I must have had a nightmare. I turned my watery eyes to the window, through which came the moon’s silver light. Wearily, I lifted myself up from my place, toward the pale light that broke through the window. I could see a black strip of sky studded with stars. The shadow of the iron bars on the window outlined pale squares of light on the opposite wall.
My body was covered by cold, clammy sweat. I wiped my wet forehead with the palm of my hand. Then I picked up the blanket, which was lying on the edge of the bed, and wrapped it around me. I left the room and went outside. Clear skies, decorated with tinsel stars, hung above me like a painted blue canopy.
Dogs yelped in the Arab village. From time to time the wail of jackals cut through the sleepy night air. Occasionally a nervous sentry fired a stray shot. I went forward, to the barbed-wire fence.
“Who’s there?” the sentry challenged me.
“It’s me.” I was eager to hear another person’s voice. It was Eliahu.
“Oh . . .” There was a short silence. “Can’t you fall asleep?” he asked eventually.
“Yes. But I had a bad dream . . . Thoughts. You know . . .”
“I’m also worried,” he said. “Not about myself,” he added apologetically. “My brother is in a unit in the Negev. There’s fighting down there. I’m anxious about him. I don’t know why . . .”
“Let’s hope for the best.”
“I’m afraid something’s going to happen to him,” Eliahu went on in a gloomy voice. “We’re an unlucky family. My grandfather was killed in the First World War, my father was wounded in the Second World War . . . See what I mean?”
“But why are you so worried about your brother? Why aren’t you concerned about yourself?”
“Dunno. Just a sort of feeling, I suppose.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Divorced.”
“Well, that happens often enough.”
“Yes. But not everyone thinks that way. Look at me. I’m taking a girl out. Two years already, and it’s serious, but her folks are against it. ‘His parents were divorced,’ they keep telling her, ‘and he won’t appreciate you properly.’ As if divorce was a contagious disease . . .” He put his hand into his battle dress. “Here, I’ve got a picture of her. Too bad it’s dark now, or else I’d show it to you. She’s a lovely girl.”
“Show it to me tomorrow, OK?” I said politely. Another silence. “And what does she say?”
“We’re going to get married, despite her parents. As soon as I get back from this lousy war. We’ll build a house, have some kids . . . Maybe I want it so much because my folks didn’t succeed.”
“Maybe.”
“What about you?” he asked, almost affectionately. “Do you have a girl too?”
“Sure,” I lied, afraid of seeming immature. “But it isn’t very serious. I mean, I’m not thinking of getting married yet.”
“Oh, you still have plenty of time.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “I’m in no hurry.”
But in my heart I felt a burning feeling. When would I also have a girl, instead of having to make one up? And did I really have so much time?
Eliahu glanced at his watch, lifted his head, and said happily: “In another quarter of an hour Hayim will be here to relieve me.”
“I’ll stay until he comes.”
“I think he’s here already.”
The sound of approaching footsteps. A shadow. Hayim’s slouching shape showed itself. He came up to us and waved his hand in greeting.
“You’re early,” Eliahu chuckled.
“Couldn’t sleep. Was sort of restless.”
“He has insomnia, too,” Eliahu laughed, pointing at me.
“Not really insomnia,” I denied the charge. “Just found it hard to fall asleep. I’ll try again now.”
Eliahu waved goodbye to Hayim. I did the same, and we went off together to the huts.
“He’s a good fellow,” Eliahu said. “Hayim’s as punctual as a clock. Always in time for shift.” He slowed down his pace, giving a long yawn. By this time we’d already reached our rooms, and each of us went his own way.
I climbed into bed again, hoping that this time I’d sleep soundly. But snatches of thought, disconnected ideas, bothered me: What had that dream meant? The cries of the dying man in the hospital echoed in my ears: “I want to die!” . . . War . . . death . . . The cries of madness in the ruined building at Sha’ar Hagai: “Jews, you’re going to die . . .” Death everywhere . . . In a few hours I’d be going back. I might meet the same man again. A dull fear seized me. If only I didn’t have to go there. But I knew I’d go, although my whole being was against taking this step. These thoughts flashed through my head until the early hours of the morning, when I fell asleep.
But it didn’t last long. Sasson bent over me. “We’re moving,” he said.
I rubbed my burning eyes. A bitter taste in my mouth. “Yes . . . of course.” I felt blank, all clogged up. I passed my hand over my forehead. “I’ll soon be ready.” I got up and went outside, shivering with cold.
“Going to the war, boys?” The “old men”—aged forty or fifty—smiled, in a feeble attempt to encourage us. They’d been sent to replace us. Someone made a joke at their expense. We all climbed into the armored car.
“All inside?” Gershon asked.
We all shouted: “Yes.”
“Then let’s go,” he said excitedly, as if he wanted to wake up the men sitting half-asleep in their places. No one responded, and the armored car set off. The trip didn’t take long. We came to the Schneller camp.
“That’s it.” Gershon stopped the car next to a stone building. We leaped outside.
The company commander stood on the road, his eyes fixed on us. “Bring your things into the building,” he called out to us. Looking at me, he remarked: “Come to see me when you’re finished settling in.” We took our belongings and arms out of the armored car and made for the building.
A short time afterward I marched toward the headquarters, worried about the fighting that lay ahead of us.