What kind of a life will the country offer him? Will he receive any gratitude for his sacrifice? Is there any suitable way at all to show grat-itude for a sacrifice like that?
I thought of the books about World War II. About war invalids. How quickly they had been forgotten! And we? Would we forget too?
... back in the ward. A lively discussion is going on. What about? Who is happier - someone who has lost a leg, both legs, or just an arm? They were arranged in order - an arm was more important than two legs and so on. A horrifying calculation. And that question floated back into my head: will the state remember? Will the hundreds of thousands remember, the public? Will the citizens remember those who are responsible for their security, their freedom?
Five weeks after being wounded I was transferred to a convalescent home. There I ran into many of my old friends from the brigade. We were glad to see each other again. We knew that each of us had been very lucky to have been at the front for a year and have survived. In whatever form.
From the convalescent home I escaped for a few hours into town. The journey was not pleasant. My body was unused to the shaking around. It was painful. Worse still was something that happened. I wrote a short story to draw public attention to it.
An ill-mannered young man
He sat in the bus which serves the southern settlements. His mere presence was remarkable. What is a soldier doing in a "civilian" bus? His comrades preferred to hitch a lift. But he sat in the bus, behind the driver, by the aisle. Dark haired with a reddish, wild beard and blue eyes. He was leaning back, his eyes half closed.
* * *
The rest of the world did not seem to interest him. This lack of inter-est was rather arrogant, irritating. At the station in Gedera, next to the kiosk, the soldier opened his eyes and showed a little interest. For over a year it had become habitual for the soldiers, before setting out on an operation, to stop at this kiosk and drink a juice or eat an ice