by Amos Kollek
Afterward they went slowly into the smoking trenches. There were a lot of corpses lying around. He walked at the head of a row of men, watching every burnt Egyptian body with great care, never moving his finger from the trigger. But none of the figures showed any sign of life.
He stopped when he reached the end of the trench. The soldiers were spread around, looking down as they walked. Ram turned and started moving again when his gaze fell on one of the corpses he had passed before. His mouth went dry. The Egyptian soldier was still lying in the same place and in the same position. Only now his eyes were open. The finger on the trigger was white, and the barrel of the Kalachnikov was pointed directly at Ram’s face.
Ram breathed slowly as he moved his right hand with the submachine gun for what seemed to him an infinite length of time. Then, there was a brisk, humming sound, somewhere behind him. The Egyptian’s face was suddenly covered with blood, and he loosened his grip on his weapon. It slid soundlessly into the sand.
Ram turned his head with an effort and looked back. On the slope near him, one of his soldiers was fitting a new magazine into his rifle.
“He was going to shoot you,” the soldier said excitedly.
“I know,” Ram said.
He wiped his cold face with his sleeve and breathed deeply. You almost managed, he thought to himself, almost.
He climbed slowly out of the trench, and slapped the soldier lightly on his arm.
“Thanks.”
He was surprised to see the sudden embarrassment on the soldier’s still excited face. He didn’t say a word.
Ram started walking slowly up the hill. He saw the tall, stout figure of the C.C. moving toward him from the other direction.
“How does it look to you?” the C.C. asked.
They stood on the hillside, looking around them. The wide area below had fallen into a deceptive silence. Far away there were dim sounds of explosions.
“I don’t know. We couldn’t have gotten all of them, but I don’t see anyone around now.”
The C.C. reached in his pocket and produced a clean, neatly folded handkerchief. Ram wondered vaguely where he had gotten that carefully ironed, delicate-looking, piece of white cloth. The company commander was not married. It must be his mother, Ram concluded, feeling a strange, absurd need to burst out laughing. Wonder what his mother looks like, he thought; he must have been an awfully large baby. The C.C. mopped his brow. He must be having a hard time, Ram thought. He had only been appointed to his new post a few weeks before. It couldn’t have been easy to become acquainted with your first company at a time like this. He felt great respect for the big, self-assured man.
“We have finished our part here,” the C.C. said. “We have to wait till we get the order to move. Meanwhile, you better let your men get some rest.”
Ram nodded. His eyes wandered to the slope above them and fell on two dark pits on the hillside, a few dozen yards from where they were standing.
“Anyone checked these holes?”
The C.C. shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll go and have a look,” Ram said, “I think that could have been their command post.” Then he checked his submachine gun, filled all the magazines with bullets, and started climbing up the hill.
It was past six o’clock, and the sun had begun to set. It colored the sky in the west with deep red, and Ram, walking up the hill, marveled at its beauty. He didn’t want to shift his eyes away from the flamboyant cheerful colors.
Turning his eyes back to the two caves, he became alert. He approached the opening soundlessly and stood by it for a few seconds, listening. He thought he heard a low rustle but it could easily have been the wind. He took his last grenade and threw it in. After waiting a few seconds, he followed it, shooting two bursts of fire as he entered. Nothing happened. It took his eyes some time to get used to the darkness inside but he couldn’t see anything suspicious.
He refilled the magazine of his gun and stepped out of the first cave. He approached the second one and sprayed it with bullets, then he pressed himself against the wall outside and waited. Again nothing happened. He stepped in and took a careful look around, but there was nothing of interest to be seen.
It must have served some purpose, he thought, hanging his submachine gun on his shoulder and starting down. There were unused cartridges and empty boxes in there, but that was all. That didn’t seem important. The sun had disappeared over the horizon, throwing a peculiar, unnatural light upon the houses and streets of the town. Closer to him, the soldiers were sprawled on the ground. The light breeze brought with it the dim sound of their voices.
Ram raised his hand and pushed back a curl of brown hair that fell in his eyes. He suddenly felt the burden of the whole day and a weariness that seemed to draw him to the ground. You’re growing old, Ram thought contemptuously, better go down and get some rest.
He heard a low, metallic sound behind him and started turning around. The roar of an automatic weapon drummed in his ears, and then he felt a sudden burning pain that spun him halfway back.
Ram sank slowly to his feet and then fell on his face and lay on the ground. With an effort he dug his fingers into the slippery sand and stopped himself from rolling down. He breathed hard. His submachine gun thrust against his ribs.
Can’t even move it away, he thought.
Can’t even have one lousy shot.
Where had he been hiding all that time?
You’ll probably never know, he thought, doesn’t matter now, anyway. Not any more.
Can’t get to my feet.
He let himself roll down a bit and turn on his back, careful not to lose his grip on the sand.
At least we can have a look at the sky.
He lay with his eyes open, looking up.
Well, that’s it, that’s the way it had to be.
Can’t really come as a surprise to you.
But it does, he thought.
As his fingers suddenly relaxed and straightened, his eyes shut and the crimson sky blurred and went away.
He started rolling down the hill.
I had been going through this over and over again, trying to imagine the scene in my mind. It was somehow painful to me, and yet I couldn’t resist it. It held a strange fascination. The picture of Ram lying motionless at the bottom of the hill kept coming back to my mind. It was always the same.
The only actual traces of the wound were the two small, pale scars. The doctor had said he used the luck of a lifetime, getting away with it as easily as that. But Ram was not happy about it. The war lasted six days, and he missed more than five of them. I assumed that that was one of the main reasons he decided to sign up for another year’s service. He thought he still owed the army something for not being with his platoon throughout the whole war.
It was peculiar for Ram to say all this, I thought, to talk about not wanting to die. It made me feel restless.
You had to live fast, I thought, as long as you could. A good-looking blonde would help a lot.
Saturday dragged on long and boring. I spent some of it playing chess with Ram. I won, but it still didn’t make the day shorter. Most of the soldiers sat in their rooms and played Shesh-Besh from morning till night, but I didn’t like that game. I went to bed early that evening on the assumption that sleep helps time pass more quickly, but I couldn’t fall asleep. It was too damn hot.
It was that night, lying awake in my bed, that I thought seriously for the first time of writing a book. The idea appealed to me. It could be a challenge. With a bit of luck it could get me started in a big way.
It seemed better than politics.
I racked my brain but couldn’t think of any satisfying plot. I welcomed sleep when I felt it taking hold of me. It prevented me from having to admit defeat.
The next morning, Ram took a group of soldiers on a long day’s reconnaissance. We walked the sandpath along the river. There had been some vague information of a possible penetration by one or two groups of Arabs the night before.
It didn’t have much credibility as the source was not considered reliable, but we walked cautiously, just the same. Ram and I walked in the lead, with him carrying the small wireless communication instrument and acknowledging our position every now and then. The bald wilderness of the Judean hills made an eyecatching view but I wasn’t interested in it any more. I had seen it before.
“You know,” I said to Ram, “this could be good scenery for making a movie, if you’re not so dumb as to use the usual heroic stuff for a plot. Some modern Israeli story, about young people, but with no heroes; that would really make a hit.”
“I thought you were going to write novels, or study political science, or something.”
“What’s the matter with movies?”
“Just thought one thing at a time might do.”
“I don’t know.”
We kept walking. The sun was climbing to the top of the sky, making our throats turn dry.
“Figure there’s any of them around?”
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Two more years,” a soldier behind me was saying to his friend. “I’ve got exactly two more years and I’m through, can you believe that?”
After the army, I thought, life is going to be like one big holiday.
“Yeah. Why come here and be killed,” I said. “It’s strange no one wants to die and yet everyone does. It is unnatural.”
“Why? End up like you started. Just complete a whole circle, what’s unnatural about it?”
“Then why be at all? Millions of years pass without your existence. Then all of a sudden you appear for a few years and vanish again. The whole process is unnecessary.”
“I don’t consider philosophy—just facts,” Ram said.
“Unless you deprive the idea of time of its meaning. Then there is only the existing and the nonexisting. That makes us belong to the winning side. We exist.”
Ram chuckled quietly. “Is that practical?”
“No, but then neither is our walking here. At least, not to me.”
“You’ll be court-martialed and shot at dawn, Sergeant. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“Actually,” I said, “I wouldn’t mind being on the seashore right now.”
“What the hell for?”
“Have ice cream and watch all the girls in their bikinis. One of them could fall for me by mistake. Everything’s possible. Just need statistics and good will on your side.”
He didn’t bother to comment.
I took my water flask out and had a gulp. Ram spoke into his communication instrument. He gave our position, said there was nothing to report, and hung it back on his shoulder.
“Not that I have anything against what we’re doing here,” I said, “being patriotic, and all that. I just wish to state that maybe we don’t have as much fun as some men our age have. If you care to look at it that way.”
“Maybe it’s still better than taking drugs and smoking grass,” he said, “Maybe it’s more meaningful.”
“Yeah, O.K.,” I said, “but those are not the only things you can do for a good time. The main thing is to be free to choose how to spend your time, so you don’t have the feeling someone else is to be blamed for messing it up for you.”
“You’d rather have yourself to blame, huh?”
“Sure, I’d rather.”
“Maybe it’s because you don’t have the feeling that you belong.”
“Yeah. Maybe it’s because I don’t have the feeling that I belong. What do I belong to? I am me, that’s all.”
“Well, don’t worry. You have a lifetime ahead of you, and knowing you, you will probably screw it up.
“Just because I am not crazy about sacrificing myself for the benefit of my country?”
He smiled thinly.
“Not at all. Just because you’re a spoiled crazy bastard.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I took my helmet off and shook my hair.
“I’m going to start growing my hair now. I hate it short.”
“Put the helmet on,” he said, “you are supposed to set an example, goddammit.”
So I put it back on.
“Yeah,” I said, “that’s freedom for you.”
There was a sudden burst of fire. It came from behind a line of tall, thick bushes, on the left side of the path. I threw myself automatically on the ground, feeling my heart beating faster, and at the same time hearing a remote, calm part of my brain remarking that this was a surprise, for a change. I glanced quickly back. All the soldiers were stretched on the ground, preparing to shoot. It didn’t look as if anyone had been hurt.
“Spread!” I yelled. “Get under cover and shoot!”
I opened fire and rolled on the sand until I got behind a big hillock on the side of the path. I kept shooting, telling myself to be careful not to hit Ram. I had a notion he might try a private assault on the invisible enemy. I didn’t see him.
At my side, the heavy machine gun started roaring, and then a bazooka shell exploded neatly on the bushes where the ambushers were hiding. It was a beautiful hit, and I heard a loud scream of agony, coming from that direction. Rotman did a good job there. Two small figures emerged from behind the bushes and started running away. The machine gun nailed them almost at once, and they fell lifeless to the sand. I studied the area intensely but didn’t see anything moving. The shooting stopped and silence again prevailed. I got slowly up, half-expecting to be shot at, but nothing happened. I walked toward the bushes. There were four men lying there, dressed in khaki clothes. They were all dead, except one whose face was covered with blood but who still moved. I put a bullet in his chest and he froze in a lifeless knot on the ground. I started walking back. The rest of the soldiers were gathered on the path, and one or two of them were kneeling down. For the first time since the shooting had started, my brain was beginning to function normally. Then my thoughts froze again. I walked slowly to where the soldiers were silently standing and I looked down.
Ram’s face had not changed in his death. It was calm and restful like a mask and his eyes were closed. He lay on his back, with the submachine gun still in his hand. On his shirt, near the center of his chest, a red stain was slowly growing larger.
The soldiers stood motionless around me and no one spoke. I stuck my hands in my pockets and breathed slowly and looked.
Chapter Five
ON the morning of the last day before I was going to be released, I was lying on my bed in my room, not doing anything. I had nothing to do. For all practical purposes, I was through with the company and with the army. After our farewell party, which had been planned for the coming evening, was canceled, the C.C. told me I was free to go home. There was nothing more for me to do in the camp. I was not anxious to go home. I was in no hurry. My room seemed quite comfortable now that there were no more duties forced upon me. It was pleasant to lie down on the bed without rushing or worrying about being bothered. It was as good as a holiday. There were the long days and long nights to think and make plans and drink up the cold Coke bottles. I was having a good time.
I lay down and looked at the ceiling. I was enjoying the clarity with which my mind was operating. It was like looking into the brain of someone else and seeing all his thoughts. It was like being in space and looking down at the people on the earth, observing all their movements without being seen by them. It was an uplifting feeling. Then three fat, small officers from the engineering corps walked into the void talking loudly, gesturing widely with their hands. The smallest and fattest of them was a major, and he had already seen his best days. The other two were lieutenants. Our camp was due to undergo some reconstruction. But still, I thought, they could have come a day later. I shifted my eyes back to the ceiling, and tried to catch up with my previous train of thought, but it was running away, leaving nothing behind it.
I was still uselessly racking my mind, feeling cold and hostile, when the three men stopped by my bed and looked down at me. The fluen
t bubbling of their voices fell off and died completely. I welcomed the silence.
“Sergeant.”
I moved my eyes unwillingly from the ceiling to him. The major was balding and ugly, his face was distorted. He was looking at me with animosity.
“What?”
His face turned velvet red. He swallowed his Adam’s apple, it disappeared behind the fat plaits under his chin.
“What?” he repeated after me.
I thought it was a stupid question and I lost interest. On the ceiling above me, a small green lizard was crawling toward the corner. I watched it curiously.
“Sergeant.”
The lizard slipped down and fell on the floor by my bed. He missed the major by inches. But then, he probably hadn’t expected such a high-pitched scream.
I looked back at the elderly, plump man.
“Stand up when I talk to you,” he ordered hoarsely.
“Oh that,” I said, with a sudden towering need to laugh. “Oh that,” I repeated, smiling at him. I was beginning to enjoy myself again. “Go to hell, why don’t you?”
The upshot of this was thirty-five days in military prison. It was a light penalty, considering the offense, but I had a few factors in my favor. After all, it was supposed to be my last day in the army and I had a clear record of three years of service behind me.
That hadn’t been the important thing, though. What had counted, I thought, walking to the guardroom with the embarrassed sentry, feeling almost sorry for his embarrassment, was that the officer who had acted as judge in my case had been the regiment commander. The regiment commander didn’t like the small fat major from the Engineering Corps. He didn’t like the Engineering Corps altogether. He also didn’t like fat, small officers. He was six feet three himself, and very slim. He could outrun most of his soldiers on the “white circle.” I stayed in the guardroom two days before they transferred me to the military prison. The sentry didn’t lock my cell after he put me in and he didn’t check to see if I really stayed there. He had been a soldier in my platoon for two months. He didn’t like having me as a prisoner.
