A. Yehoshua - Friendly Fire - A Duet

Still, he watches her every move from the train window: a middle-aged woman who despite her years has a nice figure and good legs, like her sister, although the candy she consumes freely has thickened her a bit. There she stands, eagerly picking out one treat and then another, like the young girl in her school uniform with her book bag on her back who would dawdle on the way home at the kiosk near their apartment block.

And indeed, as she returns all excited to the compartment and sets before her companions bags of chocolates and toffees imported from the Asian continent beyond this shared ocean, her brother-in-law reminds her of the kiosk of her youth, where she would take sweets without paying.

"Don't exaggerate, it was all written down."

"In an open account, which your mother would pay off on the first of every month."

"Something like that…"

"I don't get it, was there a system like that for other children in your class?"

"I don't think so."

"That's what always amazed me, that your father and mother, who were modest and almost ascetic, agreed to give a girl an open account. In your home, after all, there were almost no sweets."

"Which is why they didn't care that I hung around the kiosk."

"They weren't afraid of spoiling you?"

She smiles.

"You've known me more than forty years. Do I seem spoiled to you? Money was never important to me. When I earned money from babysitting or as a camp counselor, I would give it all to my mother and didn't care about it. No, Yirmi, my mother and father didn't lose anything from my open account at the kiosk; they only gained smiles and a good mood."

"And your suitors?" he teases her. "They also benefited from that open account?"

"Who do you mean?"

"The boys who would walk you home after school."

"They weren't looking for candy."

"Of that I am sure." Yirmi chuckles, as if the visit to the clinic has lightened his mood. While the train toots and flexes for the journey with a little lurch forward and then back, he derives enjoyment from his sister-in-law's youth, taking the opportunity to ask why, with so many suitors, it was Amotz she had picked.

"Why not?"

"Because you had boyfriends who were more successful. At least that was what Shuli used to say."

"Successful?" Her eyes flash, as the train sets off with a screech. "Successful in what way?"

Yirmiyahu, suddenly anxious, shrugs and doesn't answer.

SINCE THESE ARE raw recruits — lust ten days earlier they were civilians — they are not aware that one may violate a military order out of misunderstanding, but not out of compassion, and so they open the gate for the bereaved father bringing warm clothes to his remaining son. But as for the location of the reservists' command, they do not know it.

No problem, he will find it himself. All he asks now of the guards, who have displayed such genuine humanity, is that they keep an eye on his car. Then he sets out briskly through the wintry dusk on the paths of the big military base. Above him the wind rustles softly in the eucalyptus trees, which grew to great heights after the fetid swamps were drained back in the early Zionist era. He asks no one the way, but finds it for himself among sheds and tents, walking quietly past the evening formation of a platoon of recruits in full gear, who listen to a lecture on morality from their arrogant sergeant. Ya'ari wanders, possibly in circles, mud accumulating on his shoes as in the blackening sky two or three wayward stars appear. Just as the fast-falling darkness might have begun to undermine his confidence, he notices two civilian cars and a dusty army Land Rover parked by a shed thumping with dance music.

In the belief that the darkness will conceal his face, he creeps up to the building and peeks into window after window, verifying by the equipment and uniforms and beds that reservists are quartered here. One room is only a darkened office, but the next one is lighted, with two unmade army cots, and there on a blanket spread out on the floor beside a small heater sits Moran dressed in a civilian shirt, playing backgammon with a diminutive major sporting a mane of wild red hair. Ya'ari is in no hurry, he stands close to the pane and continues to watch his son. Suddenly Moran looks up, but he does not seem surprised to see his father's face in the window and doesn't get up or stop the game. With a friendly wave he invites his father inside, and says to his companion, don't say I didn't warn you that my father would try to rescue me from here. And the short red-haired officer looks at Ya'ari affectionately and says, welcome, Abba of Moran, just give us another minute to finish the game, so I can chalk up another victory.

"By all means, beat him as much as you want; he deserves it," Ya'ari replies facetiously. "Just so you know, I did not come here as a father, but as an employer."

Moran smiles and groans, "Sure, an employer," and vigorously throws the dice.

Within a minute or two the game is over, and the two slowly stand up and stretch. Now Moran hugs his father warmly and without embarrassment presents his cheek for a kiss, as the major introduces himself to the visitor with a cordial handshake: Hezi, maybe you remember me, I was with Moran in officers' training school.

"And you're also locked up here? I see that the two of you are having a good time in confinement."

"No, Abba, Hezi is not a prisoner, he's on the side of the jailers. Hezi is the adjutant of the battalion. He had nobody to play backgammon with, so he decided to attach me to himself for ten days."

Ya'ari is amused.

"So you're the adjutant? You should know that I kept warning your friend here to request a release from duty in the proper formal manner and not to count on people just forgetting about him."

"And he was right not to," says the adjutant. "He knew very well that he wouldn't get any release from me."

"Even if he's in the midst of an important project for the Ministry of Defense?"

"I have soldiers whose wives are eight and nine months pregnant, I have soldiers with a father or mother in the hospital, I have soldiers for whom every day of reserve duty hurts their business; why should I care about the Ministry of Defense? From his standpoint Moran was right to decide to just ignore us and hope that we'd forget about him."

"But…"

"But unfortunately it's not so easy to forget someone like Moran, so I sent a military policeman to go get him, and believe me, Abba of Moran, it was purely out of mercy that we didn't send him to jail and instead kept him here attached to the adjutancy — also so I would have someone to play backgammon with, although he is a mediocre player without much luck."

Moran laughs. "Don't believe him; he's just ragging on me."

"But…"

"But what?"

"But…" Ya'ari says, hesitating, "why didn't you send him to serve with the rest of them?"

"There they don't really need him. We assigned another officer to his platoon. And I have an iron law: an extra soldier is a vulnerable soldier. Overall, too many reservists showed up this time — there are many unemployed workers in Israel."

"So why not let him off?"

"Why let him off? He damaged the solidarity and thumbed his nose at the camaraderie, so he'll sit here confined to base till the end of his reserve duty and take stock of himself, and in the meantime improve his backgammon."

Moran laughs, and it seems he also enjoys his friend's rebuke. But his father studies the officer to determine if he's being serious.

"How did you get to be a major and Moran stayed only a lieutenant?"

"Because I don't have a rich father like Moran, so I stayed on a few more years as a career officer to save money for my studies."

"And what did you study?"