Read Online Khirbet Khizeh by S. Yizhar - Free Book Online Page A

had happened down there, like a goose coming out of the water. We distributed the ration tins and the biscuits noisily, with various juicy words, sprawling out on the rotting fallen leaves of a bare fig tree, trying to find something we could laugh about, but underneath it all there was something vague, accumulating in the air, which, despite its brightness, without any connection to what was going on here, had meanwhile become pale and vaguely murky, and white tatters of thickening mists or shimmering water vapor were gathering in the stainless azure, and it was clear that tomorrow or the day after the rain would return.
    Shmulik, who was still grieving for his runaway colt, sought to engage Gaby in a very private, very friendly conversation, and said to him, turning his back to us, so as to mark out a separate circle for himself and his friend Gaby, and biting off some of the meat from the tin:
    â€œYou don’t fancy her?”
    â€œWho?” Gaby hissed dryly.
    â€œRivkele, you don’t think that she’s, how should I say, you know, kinda, well, let’s just say she’s not-like-other-girls.”
    â€œShe’s exactly like other girls,” said Gaby.
    â€œNo, it’s not like that,” said Shmulik. “She’s kinda proud, don’t you think?”
    â€œNot at all,” said Gaby. “Or maybe she is, what do I care?”
    â€œYou don’t care?” said Shmulik in amazement. “I sure would like to get to know her a bit better.”
    â€œJust watch out,” Aryeh interjected, “that you don’t end up the same way with her as you did with the horse.”
    So there we were all smiling, eating, filling our bellies and passing the time, and we started to relax. If my ears didn’t deceive me the word home was even mentioned here and there (and your heart within you leapt up then at such a wonderful possibility of a solution and a way out). And when we were peeling oranges and enjoying their flowing juice Gaby quizzed Moishe with his mouth full—what else do we have to do here, and he explained how much better it would be if we finished now and went back and left everything else for others to deal with, and so he added rolling his tongue and grinding his teeth—the gun also needs to be taken care of. But Moishe would have none of it. Moishe said to us as follows:
    â€œFirst of all, we still have to check all the Arabs assembled below and identify any suspect youths. Second, when the trucks come we’ll load them all on and leave the village empty. Third, we have to finish the burning and the demolition. After that we can go home.”
    My innards clenched for some reason and I was disgusted with the food. I could sense that I was feeling sorry for myself and what awaited me. I don’t know what others felt. Impatiently I waited for Gaby to go on grumbling and raisings objections as usual, so that I could get what I wanted as usual, and he didn’t waste any time. What, demanded Gaby straightaway, what have we done today and what have the others done today? How far have we walked and how far have they walked? How far have we dragged the machine gun and the ammunition chests and how much have they sat under the sycamore messing around? And he also said that it was about time that we got to go home first for once, people were always taking advantage of us, and so on and so forth—which expressed more and more my own hidden, bursting desire to get up and leave and get out of here quickly before it started to happen for real. Because if it had to be done let others do it. If someone had to get filthy, let others soil their hands. I couldn’t. Absolutely not. But immediately another voice started up inside me singing this song: bleeding heart, bleeding heart, bleeding heart. With increasing petulance and a psalm to the beautiful soul that left the dirty work to others, sanctimoniously shutting its eyes, averting them so as to save