Page Four
PERSPECTIVES
, _.
PEACE IN OUR TIME
0. .. Judith Laikini
A',MNON scuffed his bare feet along
the path, rousing angry puffs of dust
behind him. He had long ago learned
to hate the dust that made the settlers
work so hard to turn it into the good
soil that would finally grow live things.
The dust was heavy and gray, and
where it had not settled too thickly
one could see its brother the sand,
heavy also, but more yellow. He paused
by the irrigation ditch that followed
the path. He longed for a cool drink
fror it, for the sun had risen so high
as to swallow his whole shadow, and
even the shadow of the cedars lining
the top of the hill. But he well remem-
bered Sara his mother telling him that
the water in the canals is for the
thirsty fields, and that thirsty men
must be brave and drink as little as
possible. So he continued along the
straight path that was really not much
of a path at all, because except for the
one hill rising from the desert like a
mole on an unshaven face, all the land
was flat and one could wander any-
where over it and easily lose one's way.
Here the irrigation ditch turned abrupt-
ly away from the road in order to avoid
the place where Shmuel had been shot
and now lay buried. Amnon had still
ben a part of his mother when that
happened, Sara had explained, and that
was why he could not remember it.
In one fist the boy of seven held
clutched a small pot with damp earth
in which was a flowering plant that
Nurse had said he might take from be-
fore the Children's House. They were
the only flowers in the village, and
were fed on, some suspected, Nurse's
own drinking water, and so were to be
highly prized. This flower he was
bringing to plant by the slab of granite
that marked where Yichiel his father
lay.
The boy was panting by the time he
had climbed the hill. The sun was try-
ing to beat all life back into the earth,
and even the proud and sturdy cedars
withered under its attack. Amnon
sought what shade he could, and rested
to allow his breath to catch up with
him. From where he sat he could see
all the village and its surrounding
fields, with the sleek and gleaming can-
als stretched out like lazy serpents
warming themselves in the sun. How
alive those fields had been only a few
days ago with the growing and the
growers! The villagers had rejoiced
to see the land returning to the fertil-
ity it had known long ago, and Sara
had told her son that soon, soon, all the
land which had not yet been reclaimed
and so stood desolate and naked before
the angry winds and blistering sun
would be planted and fruitful as were
their own fields and orchards. And
.4mhon remembered how, two nights
before they were to begin the harvest
-the village's first real harvest, Yichiel
returned to his wife and son. He had
been three years gone, and all that
time been home only twice; and now
he was come back to stay. Amnon had
wondered what his father would say
when he found Sara grown round with
child, but Yichiel knew already about
Yochanan-that was to be his brother's
name-and had laughed his big laugh
when the boy confided the secret to
him.
"Yochanan he shall be," Yichiel
laughed to Sara. "And if he be a girl,
why, any name you please-save Ta-
mar," and Yichiel roared again, al-
though Sara had chided him, saying he
should not joke about such things. '
But that was when the fields were
green, and Yichiel had been in the vil-
lage, instead of up here on top of the
lonely hill with only old Yankel, and
Chana who had given her life to her
baby, for company. Now, since the
burning, Amnon could scarcely tell
where the fields ended and Midbar the
desert began. The only brightness to
be seen was the'white of the hospital
walls. And there he could not look,
because he knew that inside lay Sara,
her teeth biting her dust-colored mouth,
and her eyes tightly closed. No, he
would not think of that. He would not
think of how it would be if Sara were
taken from the village to lie also on
the hill, and perhaps Yochanan with
her.
He would think of . . . think of . . .
what else was there to think of but
what he had thought of too much al-
ready: the day of Yichiel's return, bare-
ly a week ago.
It was the day of the cutting of the
Omer, the first fruit of the fields. All
afternoon and on into the night the
settlers had danced their wild dances
and sung their triumphant songs over
the conquest of the desert and of the
long-slumbering fields. It would be
there they found a kind of cage of
wires set up, and in it were all the
people of the town. Some of the young-
er children began to wail, until Nurse
gave each of them into their parents'
care. Amnon too sought his mother and
father, but Sara and Yichiel seemed
to be the only ones not there. He
shivered, fearing what unknown thing
might have happened to them. But
he was the son of a chalutz, one of
the pioneers, and so he did not cry.
Amnon knew what had caused this
invasion. He had heard the adults
speaking of just such a thing after
the town meeting two nights ago. The
government had sent its troops to
search the village for recently-arrived
immigrants. The boy knew there were
none there. The soldiers would find
no one.
He huddled down into one corner
of the barbed-wire cage, as far away
his dark corner, saw two of the strange
soldiers smoking and talking to one
another with their English tongues
which he only imperfectly understood,
and he saw also how one threw his
match, as though carelessly, into the
open door of the barn. The boy scream-
ed, and the villagers took up the cry
when they saw what he pointed to.
It was not long before the jackal flames
had stripped and hollowed out the barn,
and, leaving the unpalatable skeleton,
were racing greedily across the heavy-
laden fields. And all the while the .sol-
diers stood with guns so none might
escape and quench the fire.
And then, in the midst of their misery
the people heard a single rifle shot.
And soon two soldiers appeared bearing
Sara between them.
When the soldiers had gone, Amnon
crept to his parents' home, where Yich-
iel still lay with the blood black and
hard on his bare chest. He knew by
then what had happened. His mother
was unable to leave her bed when the
command came, for the pain which
Yochanan gave her, and so Yichiel
stayed by her side. When the soldiers
had burst into their cottage, he began
to explain that his wife was too sick
to move. One man, striding over to
the bed, started to yank Sara from
under the covers. Yichiel leaped to-
ward him; one of the other soldiers
then raised his rifle and shot Yichiel
full in the chest.
The shadows of the cedars were
growing fuller toward the east, and
Amnon began to dig a place for his
father's flowers. As he dug the care-
fully guarded tears escaped from his
eyes, and rolling from his cheeks sank
into the still loose earth. Amnon re-
membered how all the night through
for a week he had sat on the bare floor
in his stocking feet near Sara's bed
in the hospital, while she read to him,
and between each psalm spoke to hm
with words which she begged him to
keep forever in his heart of hearts.
"They are not to blame, Amnon, my
little chalutz; remember it is not the
soldiers who are to blame, but their
leaders. Promise me you will'remem-
ber." And Amnon, frightened, had pro-
mised.
The flower was planted, and Amnon
once more looked toward the village. A
movement in the dust caught his eye.
Off in the distance a line of trucks
moved toward the city. The soldiers
were through searching this part of
the country and were leaving-for a
time. But they always came back. Al-
ways when the fields turned green and
the fences were straightened; when the
irrigation canals. were newly repaired
and the colonists dared hope again,
always the soldiers returned, leaving
behind their locust-like descent the
broken fences and the broken buildings
and the broken lives.
And here Yichiel lay dead, and there
lay the dead fields. Amnon clambered
atop the gleaming new granite, tinged
now with the blood of the dying sun.
He clenched his small fists and scream-
ed at the distant columns, "shaaim!
Murderers!"
And then, his voice smothered with
the hate of ages he had never-known:
"You have killed Yichiel my father and
perhaps my mother and brother as well,
and it is you who are to blame! When
I am grown and am a chalutz as was
my father, I shall take my gun and
shoot you as you did him! It is you
whom I hate, you men with no ears
to hear nor eyes to see what would
sear any hearts but yours. We shall see
who will be stronger when I am a
man!"
But the grinding trucks roared on
through the hostile dust, not heeding
a child who lay sobbing on a hilltop
in Galilee.
-Marion Carleton
but a few days more, and then they
would harvest their first crop in two
thousand years.
And so the shouts and the laughter
did not die down until half the night
was done. Only then did the darkness
and the desert regain their customary
silence, while the settlers slept the
deep sleep of those whose labor is with
happiness, and the guard atop the
water tower dozed over his rifle.
For two hours the village slept thus.
Then, with the suddenness of thunder
bringing rain from a clear summer's
sky, a voice which seemed to come
from nowhere and yet to fill every-
where roared out across the fields. In
clipped and flawless language the voice
commanded the colonists to leave their
beds and come to the barnyard at the
end of the village. Nurse had roused
the children, and hushing them gently,
hastened them out into the heavy night
and to the end of the street. She car-
ried Rachel, the youngest, in her arms,
and urged the rest to hurry. Once
as possible from the searching, prying
beam of the soldiers' huge beacon. He
felt he must not be noticed lest one of
them see him and ask where his parents
were. Amnon wondered what he would
say to these strangers should they ask
him "Where are Sara and Yichiel? Are
you not their son? Then tell us where
they are!" With his mind Amnon
knew that the blurred and unknown
shapes scattered outside the cage and
obscured by the night were men just
like the villagers. But with his heart
he wondered. Time and again the
teacher had told the children, "These
men who sometimes come to disturb
our peace and interrupt our lives are
merely soldiers, taking orders which
they must follow. Each one longs to
return to his own home, and is sad
because half a world lies between him
and all he loves. Do not hate these men
whom you see, but rather hate the
hatred which moves their leaders to
send the soldiers here to watch us."
But Amnon, squatting unnoticed in