The landscape is quiet. In front of me is a field of red poppies. A remarkable contrast to the whistling bullets. I have no idea where the snipers are situated. From the noise of the shots I can estimate roughly, but I can’t see anything.
My turn to be replaced. The ladder is in view of the snipers. As I climb down two bullets whistle past me. We have all become indif-ferent. You can’t be bothered to keep your head down or to hide when you can’t see the enemy.
I find a pickax and begin to break open the locked doors of the houses. We heard that a large quantity of weapons was found in one part of the village. I enter the first room. An awful stink. A torn and fouled mattress, a broken jug, a rusty sickle, goat and donkey drop-pings. In an old tin I find photos of a man and a woman. They are attached to naturalization certificates. Her name is Fatima, very pretty, twenty-four years old. According to the certificate she has a three-year-old son. I remove the picture and put it in my pocket.
The dirt and the poverty revolt me. They probably worked four-teen hours a day and led a dog’s life. I feel sorry for them.
No time for philosophizing. I break open other rooms. The booty is disappointing: a few eggs, a tin of oil, a broken petrol stove, a pot, and a pan. At last I discover a cockerel. I go out to announce my finds. In the meantime the firing of the snipers at our area has increased. The bullets are coming from the south. An isolated house stands there on a hill. There is no doubt that this is the snipers’ hideout. Now and then they are treated to a few salvos from us. The shots keep coming.
* * *
I tell Shlomo that he should take the cockerel. "Are you crazy?" he exclaims. I put the cockerel in a bag and run to the room where the platoon is. With a triumphant cry I tip the cockerel out of the bag. The cockerel jumps up and escapes through the open door. My com-rades laugh. I am annoyed.
Meanwhile some eggs have been boiled. And the ever-present sar-dines are not absent. We eat quickly. From the house of the company commanders waffs the aroma of chicken soup. They offer me a bowl-ful and a chicken leg. There is also coffee. I sit down for a moment and hear the news. The snipers have killed one man so far and wounded several.