Read Online Don't Ask Me If I Love by Amos Kollek - Free Book Online Page A

university while you are stuck here guarding that stupid river.
    Gad claimed he was studying economics in order to be rich. He didn’t really care so much for money, he said, but there was nothing else to do except live well while you could. Anyway, nothing could possibly last long. With that stream of Russian arms and Chinese arms supporting the weaker side.
    I tried to brush my thoughts away. Gad held no charm for me. He had a good mind but it was always calculating and scheming and plotting. I didn’t like him.
    In three weeks, I said to myself, it will be all over. Ram and I were supposed to get a three-week leave before our discharge. It was a custom in the army. It was supposed to help the soldier find a job and get settled in civilian life. What’s three weeks against three years?
    I sat up in my seat and leaned on the window sill, looking at the bare landscape we were passing. The light brown color of the soil dominated the scene but there were also increasing amounts of green. From time to time, we passed groups of Arab villagers who stood by the road and followed us with their dark, sulky eyes. I was never sure if all of them really hated us. The young, half-naked brown children often cursed at us as we drove along, but sometimes they would wave and show their big white teeth in what could easily be taken for a friendly smile. But then, those were the smaller kids.
    â€œI wonder if the Russians are really going to move soldiers into this area,” Ram said from behind his newspaper. “If they do, we could be in a spot.”
    â€œCan’t expect the Arabs to fight the whole of Israel by themselves.” I said. “They’ve only got seven countries around here.”
    â€œOn the other hand, Russia is farther from here than from Czechoslovakia.”
    â€œIf we could be independent,” I said, “if we didn’t have to crawl to the Americans for every breath of air, they wouldn’t stand a chance, even if they could bring the whole Russian army.”
    â€œOh, they won’t beat us,” he said confidently, “they could just make life a lot harder.”
    â€œMake it a five years’ service. You’d love it.”
    â€œWouldn’t you?”
    â€œAnything you say, chief.”
    We arrived in the camp early and went to our residence. It was before ten. The soldiers were not due before eleven, and weren’t supposed to go on duty until after lunch.
    The camp was set on an old Jordanian base, about two miles west of the river. It consisted of a number of long asbestos huts, of the same color as the sand. They were usually teeming and swarming with flies and mosquitoes and always hot as long as the sun was out. Life fell into a routine that was only disturbed when one of our posts was attacked by guerrillas, or when we had to chase them through the hills to the caves. Gradually, that too became a routine. We would lose some soldiers but they lost many more. I often wondered to my self why they repeated the same mistakes over and over. They were always caught and killed in the same manner. They learned little from experience. That was lucky because there were always more of them than of us.
    I went to my room, stretched on my bed and waited for the time to pass. After a while, Ram appeared and sat on one of the beds. He stared quietly at the ceiling for a long time, while neither of us talked. Outside the big trucks unloaded the freshly returned soldiers. Their voices, discussing their girl friends of the previous night, filled the air and finally faded away as they strolled to their huts.
    Ram got up and shook himself back to life.
    â€œHave everyone in the yard by eleven-thirty, will you?” he said and walked out of the room.
    I turned on my small radio, and went to sleep.
    After lunch, the company was gathered outside the mess hall, and Yoav, the company commander, made his usual short speech. He outlined the scheduled activities for the