"D-d-d-do you r-r-r-r-emember the first c-c-c-company in Y-Y-Y-Y־Yavne?" he stutters between two peals of laughter.
"Ha-ha-ha. What a t-t-t-terrible operation," I laugh back.
Our first company had a loyal secretary who used to accompany the men to the base camp before each action. This time she gave the men, just before they went into action, a whole bucket of hot milk. It took two or three hours, till the time they were approaching the tar-get, before they discovered that the milk was spoiled. All the time during the operation, and on the way back, the men had continuous diarrhea. And we heard that even in the middle of the assault they had to squat periodically.
We laugh hysterically. A fit like that can last half an hour. When did that happen? Ten days ago?
"Do you remember the people you buried in the middle of the kibbutz?"
The laughter, which had just died down, starts again with added vigor. We were lying in a trench during the main assault. Suddenly a wild figure runs up to us and shouts: "Where is Jamus, that damned swine?"
"What do you want?" I ask, and raise my head while Jamus is try-ing to hide behind me.
"This asshole buried some bodies and left their legs sticking out!" We lay in the trench and laughed. We laughed and laughed until our eyes were running with tears. People crawled out of nearby positions to see what was going on. In the end even the wild kibbutznik was laughing too. We rolled on the ground with mirth, held onto each other, and wiped the tears from our eyes, while around us the bar-racks were collapsing and blocks of concrete were falling from the water tower.
"That was g-g-good, eh?" Jamus supports himself with his hands, to avoid falling into his own heap.
Over our laughter we suddenly hear a familiar noise. Three Spitfires are approaching. Our first instinct is to run and hide under the bushes. But you can’t run with your trousers down. There is also no point. The movement would betray us. We stay where we are.
"Ridiculous to die in this pose."
"You think it makes a difference?"