Don't Ask Me If I Love (10 page)

Early next morning Ram's company went across the border and started advancing into the desert. He sat in the half-track, not nervous and not worried any more. He was almost happy. No more bullshit. This was finally it. Finally the war.

The word didn't seem to have meaning, in the beginning. They moved deeper and deeper into the sands without meeting any real resistance. From time to time there were single bursts of fire aimed at them, and far away they could see small, retreating figures. But none of it had any real meaning so far; maybe because none of the soldiers had been hurt.

The town of Han Yunis surrendered after offering only token resistance. As the long line of Israeli motorized forces passed through the main streets of the city, Ram found himself musing that maybe the whole war would be as easy as it had been so far. Through his thoughts he heard the menacing hammering of a machine gun and he jerked up and looked around. A bowed figure in khaki was standing in one of the courtyards, behind a low concrete wall. The figure silhouetted against a large white flat held its long, gleaming weapon and was operating it smoothly, aiming straight at them. Ram grabbed his machine gun and fired two short bursts of fire. The speed and efficiency of his own movement surprised him. The figure collapsed on the wall immediately, dropping the machine gun on the ground. Ram turned his gaze back to the track. Got to be more careful, he told himself somberly, white flags or not. One of the soldiers caught his eye. A very comfortable soldier, leaning luxuriously on the metal wall of the track, and dozing in perfect indifference.

An indifferent bastard.

Ram knelt toward him and shook him violently by the sleeve of his shirt.

“It's not bedtime yet!” he shouted over the screaming of the motor. The soldier moved from his position by the track's side and leaned heavily on Ram's arm, pouring on it a stream of red, hot fluid. All the soldiers watched him wordlessly. Then, hoisting him to his former position, Ram pulled back, wiping his hand on his shirt. He looked sideways again, digging his fingers into the deadly piece of metal in his hand. The white flags could be seen everywhere. Frightened faces peered out from behind them.

“Don't rest,” he told his men, feeling hot fury inside himself. “Shoot anything that moves.”

But at it turned out, they left the town without further interruptions and moved on.

All the way to Gaza they did not meet with any genuine fighting. They didn't see many enemy soldiers and those they saw were on the run. They couldn't possibly lose, the opponent was not up to fighting them. They had expected trouble on entering Gaza, and didn't meet with it. But they still had the posts on the surrounding hills to conquer. It was not an appealing task, but they did have the advantage of surprising the enemy. The Egyptians were entrenched with their backs facing Ram's company. When they realized the Israelis were behind them, it was already too late and they started running.

Ram stormed forward in front of his men, shooting nonstop and not looking back to see how they were advancing. It was simple. There was no need to think of anything. He hoped he hadn't left the others enough time to think, either.

When he reached the advance positions, he found them deserted. All the other positions were deserted too.

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.”