Amos Oz - Elsewhere, Perhaps

The mountains stand in massive succession. Plotting evil deep in their frozen cascades of rock. The mountains are scored by ravines. The mountains are invisible in the darkness, but the stars declare their position. To the east the pattern of stars breaks to reveal a clearly defined pool of black. A massive screen blocks the stars. That is where the mountains are. That is where they are silently waiting to see what will happen. It won't be long now. The night is charged.

The decision had been taken some days earlier in the highest circles. Our kibbutz was to work a small field known as the Camel's Field, at the foot of the mountain, which had been the object of bloody disputes between the two warring states. From the legal point of view the land was ours, as the maps testified. But the reality was different. For years now the small plot had been worked by fellahin who came down the mountain under the protective cover of the enemy army. After careful consideration it had been decided that the time was ripe to make the facts correspond to the theory and to assert our legal right to the land. The army, of course, was to be responsible for our protection.

Tsvi Ramigolski, the secretary of the kibbutz, said:

"We must hope for the best but be prepared for the worst."

Nina Goldring said:

"Let's hope it all goes smoothly."

Reuven Harish said:

"The issue may be no more than symbolic. But only fools refuse to recognize that life is made up of symbols."

And Grisha Isarov, accompanied by a chorus of enthusiastic youngsters:

"At last!"

We were ordered to have an armor-plated tractor ready in the shed, to draw up a list of names, and to wait for the signal, which might come, we were told, at any moment between now and the winter. We had to wait twenty whole weeks for the signal to come. Things did not get under way till the autumn. Meanwhile, other events, of a personal character, took place.

Noga Harish goes into her room and turns the light on.

It's late. Ten o'clock. Where is Dafna? Dafna has gone to the basketball field to watch a game and admire Tomer's half-naked torso. The game is over by now. The voices have died away, the floodlighting is off. Dafna, as usual, has gone with the players to crown their victory with flattering remarks. A crowd of players and supporters has gathered in the dining hall to celebrate the team's achievements with bottles of fruit juice.

Noga's room is silent. Noga is stretched out on her bed, leafing through a book of verse by a young poetess. She is not reading. Her hands are turning the pages idly, while her eyes stare up at the ceiling.

Grandma Stella, Mother's mother, was a very stern woman. Uncle Isaac is Mother's cousin, and a match was arranged between them when they were children, as between kings and princesses in the Middle Ages. Then Daddy came and spoiled all the arrangements. The princess ran away with the minstrel. The kingdom was in a ferment. Uncle Isaac was a pianist. He still is. I remember when he came here, he lifted me onto his lap and he was fat and he tried to teach me to play the piano in the recreation hall. He kept kissing me. I remember his smell. It was a strong, rough smell, very hot and rather frightening. He was terribly polite. He brought me dolls and clothes for them and mechanical toys for Gai. Daddy wouldn't let us take them because we're kibbutz children and because they came from Germany, a land of murderers. What is a land of murderers? I'd like to go and see the land of murderers some day. Mother said that suffering had corrupted Uncle Isaac and that she was responsible for him and had to purify him. How do you purify a man? How does suffering corrupt? What does it corrupt? At the end of the story the princess came back to the crown prince as the fairy grandmother had decreed. A young peasant lad had snatched her away, but she went back to the palace and lived happily ever after. Now comes the question. Where am I? I'm not in the story. I must find an opening and get into the story. I'm the peasant's pretty daughter, and the princess… No. I'm the princess's daughter by… No. I'm the little daughter who stayed behind with Phalti, the son of Laish, when Michal went back to the palace to the old minstrel king David. I look like Grandma Stella. He walked behind her crying. He's got strong shoulders. They're hairy. They're bent, as if he's tired. Her mother's blood flows in her veins. In another hour or two he'll be back. Therefore shall a man leave everything and cleave to his wife and they shall be one flesh. I said to him, Ezra, it's just words. It can't be like that. One flesh is only in poetry. They're two people really. Where am I in the story? Little lunatic. Only a lunatic would throw stones into the pool at night to smash the moon's reflection to make the moon a white puddle trembling in a black puddle. One day, in a hundred years, in a thousand years' time, you'll take me in your truck, and we'll go somewhere else. Perhaps to your fishermen in Tiberias. They're your friends. You're a fisherman. I'll be a goldfish. Mother used to love water. Streams and rivers and lakes. I belong to the mountains. When I was little, Daddy used to teach us a poem at school about a vulture, and I was the vulture. You're not saying anything, my big bear. You never say anything. Only proverbs. Don't talk to me in proverbs; I've heard them all before. Come here, touch me. Your hands are always so warm. Feel mine. They're frozen, aren't they? Let's see if you can say a proverb about my hands — quickly without thinking. No. Don't. Let's go for a ride in your truck, dear bear. A long way away. Now listen to a pretty thought: if you were my father, I'd be your daughter. It's eleven o'clock already. Time won't pass, and you won't come and be my daddy. My grandmother's name was Stella, and Mother's new husband is her kind of fella. You think you know who I am. I'm Turquoise Hamburger. You don't know a thing. You're just a simple truck driver. I'm the queen's long-lost daughter. I'm a little girl whose big sister took her to the desert and left her there and went back to the palace without her. But I'm going. I'm going to the palace. The murderers won't hurt me. I know a secret password. I'll go to the palace, and she'll scream with terror. She'll fall at my feet, and I'll spare her. Perhaps. Then I shall have a case to try. One man stole another man's wife, and I shall punish them both severely. The one who stole the poor man's lamb has sinned before me, and the other one will be punished because he didn't cry out or resist. Why did you give in, dear bear? You're so strong. The queen knows you're strong. After all, the queen is really your daughter. That's a secret. So why didn't you say anything? You talk, but you don't say anything. My father isn't made of myrrh and frankincense, and you're not, but I am. How innocent they both are, my fathers.

You're heavy, Ezra. That's what I love about you: you're heavy. You're big but you're simple. I'm going to embroider you on a napkin, because I love you. Don't talk. A horse is a wonderful animal. It's a paradoxical animal. It can be obedient like a donkey, but it can also gallop across the plains. Don't talk proverbs. When a horse sweats, it smells of love. I get excited when I think of a horse's smell. No, don't talk. Let's travel. Let's go somewhere else. A gypsy girl and a bear. Don't talk. A galloping horse is the most wonderful animal in the world. It will gallop into the distance, and we'll hear its hoofbeats like a clapper like a heartbeat like a drumbeat in the king's palace when the gypsies come and it suddenly turns out that the girl with the dancing bear is the princess is the clapper in the bell.

Rami Rimon came home for the weekend on leave.