answers to questions that came at him from all sides. He didn’t notice me. I came up to the table and shouted in a loud voice: “Hullo!” He looked up at me in surprise.
“Well?” he muttered, as if annoyed at being disturbed.
“I’m here!” I proclaimed triumphantly, expecting him to share my joy. But he looked at me as if he didn’t understand what was going on. “I’m reporting for duty,” I added, lowering my voice, embarrassed.
“Oh . . . you’re reporting for duty,” he mumbled, looking through the papers scattered on the table. Suddenly he raised his head as if he had remembered something. “Yes, of course, you’re being transferred to Jerusalem. You’ll talk to the company commander in a moment.” He dashed into the commander’s office with rapid steps, as if he was doing a dance. When he came out a minute later, he announced: “You can go in now.”
I entered the room, my heart beating with excitement. The commander welcomed me with a charming smile. He inspected me with his peaceful blue eyes like a good-hearted school teacher looking at his favorite pupil. “Sit down, please,” he said calmly. He picked up a packet of cigarettes from the desk and held it out to me.
“No thanks,” I said. “I don’t smoke.”
The OC took a cigarette, lit it slowly, and drew smoke into his lungs. He breathed the smoke in with enjoyment, as if freeing himself of a heavy pressure that squeezed his lungs. “I’m sending you to Jerusalem.” He stopped, to test my reaction, and then went on: “It won’t be a picnic up there.” A slight smile spread across the corners of his mouth. “But I’m sure you’ll do a good job there with your platoon.”
A wave of joy swept over me. I felt like a schoolboy whose teacher had just taken him out in front of the class and said: “Excellent! Full marks!”
“Your first headache will be how to get to Jerusalem,” he went on. “The road is blocked, but occasionally convoys get through. Try to get onto one of those tomorrow. When you get there, contact Erez, the commander of the platoon, in the Building of the Pillars. That’s on the main street, you know. Take some leave right away so that you can say goodbye to your folks, and don’t forget to take warm clothes with you. It’s cold up in the mountains, very cold.” I nodded. “OK then. Tomorrow morning at six.” He rose and shook hands with me warmly. “Goodbye.”
When I went out, the adjutant gave me a travel pass.
“So long,” I said to him happily as I left.
“We might still meet again” he said, with a rather mysterious tone in his voice. That evening I said goodbye to my parents. “I’m being transferred to Jerusalem,” I remarked casually, adding immediately afterward, in a reassuring voice: “Nothing to worry about.”
They looked at me sadly. “Do you have to go?”
“Yes, of course,” I made light of the whole matter. “But it’s really nothing dangerous.”
“Look after yourself, my boy,” my father said, patting my back encouragingly. “War isn’t a game, you know.”
“And don’t forget to pray every day,” my mother added in a pleading voice.
“You know I don’t pray as often as you do.” I wanted to show her that my new job wasn’t risky.
But she gave me a sad look, and when she saw I was still stubborn, she said: “Alright, then I’ll pray for you. I’ll pray every day.” She added, “Take warm clothes . . . I’ll get a few things ready for you,” doing her best to stop herself from bursting into tears.
“It’s not necessary. Really not,” I tried to calm her. “I’m not going to the end of the world. Don’t worry. Please.”
“At least take the coat,” my mother said in a voice choked by tears, holding it out to me. I couldn’t refuse. I took it protestingly and kissed her on her forehead. They both hugged me warmly.
As I left the house, they waved to me until I turned the corner.
Chapter 3
The Convoy
The next day I set off for Jerusalem with the convoy taking supplies to the besieged city. Trucks waited in line on the road. Great clumsy iron cranes protruded from them like masts. Soldiers wearing knitted woolen caps leaned against the armored car at the head of the queue. They gave me a casual glance and went back to their talk.
“Our armored cars aren’t worth a damn,” one of them complained. “The bullets cut through them like butter.” To me the gray armor plating of the waiting cars looked strong and powerful. But the soldier obviously didn’t think so.
“You’re wrong,” another soldier said. “Only really big shells can get through them.”
They gave me a questioning look. “Are you coming with us?” one of them asked. I nodded.
“You know,” another man said, with a wink at the others, “by the time we get to Jerusalem we’ll all be spitting blood.” They all laughed heartily. I forced a smile.
“Right, let’s move,” someone said. We all climbed aboard the truck.
The convoy set off. I felt uncomfortable. Above my head there was an opening. I stretched my hand out to it and let some cool air in. The winter wind eased the close feeling that made it so hard to breathe. I smiled at the five other fellows in the truck. They noted the expression on my face with sardonic interest.
“New?” asked the baggy-clothed soldier who sat next to me.
“More or less,” I answered.
“When you come to Sha’ar Hagai you’ll have a chance to learn something.”
“Yes, we’ll get a hot reception,” his mate added. Again, I forced a smile to my lips, taking a long, deep breath. The expression of peace and unconcern on their faces made me wonder if they weren’t trying to pull my leg.
I felt as if I was being held in a deep, dark, narrow cellar. The steel walls pressed against me. It was stifling. I could almost feel the air with my hand. Was that how the others had also felt when they traveled in an armored car for the first time?
I looked at my watch. Eight o’clock. I peered out through the open roof covering. The convoy was roaring after us: iron shapes groaning along and letting off streams of smoke behind. I turned my face the other way. A row of high mountains stretching as far as the eye could see, forming a gray, heavy mass. A continent of mountains towering up to the skies. Enemy territory. Breezy morning mists blew lightly over the peaks of the mountains, as if they wanted to hide what was happening there.
The cool wind burned my lips. I wrapped myself in my coat, but the cold still came through. For a moment it occurred to me that my mother was right when she insisted I take the coat. I wondered whether the sudden cold spell meant we were in for some rain. I glanced upward. Rough-edged clouds floated across the heavens. As they moved, their shapes changed. For a moment I tried to find some resemblance between the shapes of the clouds and the shapes of animals and objects: the face of a lion, a frog, a dragon. The brush of a malicious artist splashed its drops across the canvas of the skies.
“We’re
