which we all hate for its complicated construction, the nice the Colt, which reminds us of forgotten cowboy movies, the out-dated Russian Nagan, and the Belgian "F.N." that gives you a sense of security. I study them all during evenings at home. The fact that, as a result, I am more familiar with their handling than the other members of the group, is naturally a great source of pride.
After cleaning them I release the safety catch of each weapon, lower it slowly to the horizontal, take aim, and squeeze the trigger. Someone is standing in the window opposite. If the gun had been loaded I would have hit them. A shudder runs down my spine.
* * *
The next evening I walk along Allenby Street carrying two large books under my arm, with a third book between them, wrapped in brown paper. Now and then I stop in front of a shop window and glance around idly. Every man who is walking behind me looks like a secret policeman. I bend down and tighten my shoelaces, until he has gone past.
That is the house. A girl and a boy are standing and talking. They look like all the other couples hanging around the houses at this time of the evening, smooching. But a secret button is mounted on the inside of the fence, on the same level as the boy’s hand. Joske, who is studying in a technical school, mounted it there as an alarm button.
I climb the stairs to the top. The meeting point is the washroom, in the feeble light of an oil lamp. A dozen members of the group are already there. Joram, our commander, a twenty-five-year-old post-man, explains to us the basics of aiming and firing. With a pencil he draws a little cross on the door. We support the weapon on the cush-ions, which serve as sandbags, and aim at the cross. Joram checks our accuracy.
Our movements are like those of a religious ritual. We close one eye, hold our breath, and aim. It is not easy to hold the weapon still on the cushion. The smallest movement throws off the aim. Joram closes one eye and and checks the position. "Excellent," he says, "exactly in the center."
My comrades, who don’t know how many times I have practiced this exercise at home, look on enviously. I am very proud. At this