modern Israeli literature. Somehow there is nothing there to interest young people. If the writers lived with us in the fighting units, then they would notice how empty and overdone their works are.
"Come for a shit!" says Jamus.
"I don’t feel like it," I reply. The loneliness is wonderful. In the army you are never alone. Eating, sleeping, showering, loving - everything is done in company. To be alone - two men in a vineyard, warming the half-naked body in the sun, and not lifting a finger - that is heaven. The greatest pleasure in our lives.
"Very strange," Jamus thinks aloud.
"What’s that?"
"Two weeks ago we kicked up a hell of a fuss, just to come here..."
Two weeks ago? Since then we have done just about nothing - keeping watch, guard duty, digging trenches. And still we are sick of it all. The front, the whole war. Nor do we feel like going back to the course. Continuing with drill, becoming a squad leader. What for? Life has only one real purpose - lying in the sun, relaxing. The world is a pile of shit. No, the world is OK. It is people who are the shit. They should all be wiped out and a new start made. Beginning with the monkeys...
"Look what is going on over there," Jamus remarks without great interest.
On the Egyptian-controlled road, about two kilometers in front of us, a long column of vehicles is moving southwards.
"They must be heading for Gaza," says Jamus.
"How can they be? I thought they were surrounded."
"They must have found some way. Maybe across the beach?"
I languidly raise the telescope. No doubt about it. They are leaving. That is heavy equipment - artillery, large caliber mortars.
"We’ll have to inform HQ ..."
"What for?"
"Maybe we can block their retreat."
"It doesn’t matter to me if they withdraw. Isn’t that the best solution to the whole business? And anyway, HQ can surely see them too?"
Actually he is right. That is the best solution. What’s the point in fighting? In killing? If they decide to withdraw - they have our silent