Zuzik with what looks almost like pity. We laugh. Zuzik is angry and fires a second, third, fourth, fifth bullet into the donkey’s head. The donkey does not react.

"Get away from there!" Kebab shouts, raising his rifle. The others are also gripped with blood lust. Two automatic weapons and five rifles fill the animal with lead. For a moment the donkey stands there. Then, without any further reaction, it collapses.

* * *

The smugglers are presumably well beyond the second hill. We drive after them.

Behind the hill a camel is standing.

"Wait! Let me!" Nachshe calls and aims his rifle. He claims to be a marksman. The second bullet hits the camel in the neck. A long stream of blood spurts like a fountain. The blood streams and streams. The camel gazes at us with very sad eyes. Then its front legs slowly fold, followed by the back legs. It all happens very slowly, like a slow dance.

There is nothing sadder in the world than a dying animal. It looks at you, as if it wanted to understand what you have done. But it can’t understand. Do we understand ourselves?

* * *

We search the wheat field. We know that the Arabs must be hiding somewhere round here. If they have any chance at all, then only by keeping quiet and staying still. There! Something white is moving. We rush over. Two Arabs!

"Get up, you dogs!" Kebab screams. He searches their pockets. One of them is carrying a beautiful dagger. Kebab pockets it. Another souvenir. They are both between fifty and sixty. They are standing, but their knees are trembling. Sweat is running down their faces. They try to smile, but only achieve a grimace.

Idiot! Why did they wear white keffiyehs which make them so con-spicuous?

Jamus asks them the routine questions. They come from Daba and ran away to Beit Jibrin. They have nothing to eat. They have wives and children. They came back to harvest some grain.

While they are stumbling over their explanation, Kebab is loading his rifle. Now they have completely lost their wits. They are babbling incoherently. Their eyes are staring with fear.

330