"Then there will be a real war," Nachshe explains. "But we’ll get that over with in no time."
"Do you think so?" asks Sancho doubtfully. "Don’t get too opti-mistic. It will be like in Latrun. Only far worse. Artillery, aircraft, and all that."
"What do you know about it?" Zuzik tries to look important. "We have everything that we need. American aircraft, British artillery, Russian katyushas, even parachutists. I have an uncle who is a high-up in the Haganah. He told me that the only reason we haven’t used these things yet is not to warn the Arabs. But now - you’ll see!"
"Rubbish!" Sancho makes an obscene sign with his hand. "Those are fairy tales. The leadership has prepared nothing at all. They didn’t even believe that there was going to be a war. They thought that everything would be presented to them on a silver platter."
"And so we heroes will have to save the motherland," Zuzik bitches, his tone completely altered.
"Do we have a choice? When the old people make a mess of things, the young become heroes and march off to death." Sancho has been playing the philosopher ever since he butchered the chickens.
"Do you think the war will last for long?" Zuzik gazes thoughtfully at Sancho, as though he were the supreme commander. The latter turns over the chicken and scratches his left ear. His expression becomes even more serious.
"Who knows? Perhaps we won’t be able to conquer Cairo and Baghdad, and I hope that they will also be unable to take Tel Aviv. Then the war will last a long time, until... until peace comes."
We all laugh. But I know what he means. Neither we nor the Arabs will be able to win a victory that destroys the other side. So this war will continue, with interruptions, until we die. Or until the Russians or the Americans take over the whole region.
"You are talking nonsense," Sancho declares. He is disappointed because we haven’t been taking him seriously. "Come and eat and shut up!" We sit in a circle in the filthy room and devour the chickens.
"You know what?" I think out loud. "We eat the chickens. Then the Arabs will kill us and bury us. Our corpses will fertilize the corn