Before each battle we dream about the spoils. Maybe the girls too, that we will find. That is a kind of primitive instinct within us. In quiet times it is hidden and doesn’t dare show itself. But in times of war or revolution, then it breaks out and takes us over. Just like our ancestors five thousand years ago.
History is packed with examples. All great commanders knew its use to motivate their armies. "Soldiers!" Napoleon told his hungry troops, "beyond these mountains are rich lands. Food, drink, cloth-ing, it will all belong to you when you arrive in the place I am taking you to."
Enough of that. I have nothing at all against you. Really I don’t. I wouldn’t have minded if you had remained here and we lived next door to each other. It would be fine with me if my son one day mar-ried your daughter. No, that wouldn’t work. Because your daughter would be much older than my son. He is not even born yet. But any-way: I wish you every success and that your daughter does not starve.
There is the bicycle. It is pleasant to ride around on two wheels. Damn the infantry. Long live wheels. Wheels, wheels, wheels ...
* * *
Wheels. Jeeps. Four jeeps during the first ceasefire. Patrol in Wadi Nisnas. A somewhat delicate task. The area we are driving around in is no-man’s-land. If we see UN observers we will have to disappear. The politicians are responsible for political complications. Why shouldn’t they too do something for the motherland? They will be able to think of an excuse. Their job is easier than ours. And less dangerous.
We are supposed to attack the three villages on the hills opposite. At maximum range. Our aim is double: to discover their positions and test their strength. And to make clear to the simple peasants the advantages of going elsewhere before the fighting starts up again. Almost a humanitarian task. Because if they stay, we will have to kill them as soon as we take their villages. And that will be pleasant nei-ther for them nor for their daughters. In their favor must be said that they quickly understand our unsubtle suggestion. Not many of them insist on staying after we have sprayed them with bullets.
The road is dusty. Nowhere else in the country is there such fine white dust as in this area. After five minutes’ drive you look as though you have been dipped in flour. The dust gets in your eyes, which then