Days of Lead. Moshe Rashkes

floor like a faithful watchdog, sitting with its feet stretched out in front of it. “I’ll close it when we get to the hills.”

      The hills came closer, and the pounding of my heart made them jump in front of my eyes. Then I calmed down a little, and the hills stopped shaking.

      “Here’s Sha’ar Hagai,” my neighbor called out. He pointed to the place with his finger. I stared at the ridges of the hills, which seemed to merge into one another. A café built of yellowish stone stood on the crossroads leading from Jerusalem to Beit Guvrin. The shutters of the café were closed, and there was nobody about. On both sides of the winding road were steep, rocky slopes covered with pine trees. The densely-packed trees were inclined inward, as if they wanted to fall onto the road. A cry of warning echoed in my ears: “No entry!”

      The roof covering had to be closed. For the last time, I looked back, at the coastal plain strewn with squares of green and patches of yellow sand, vanishing from sight behind the hills. I had a powerful urge to go back. If only I could go back to the training camp. But it was too late for that. I had to carry on. My worried eyes fixed on the road ahead once more. The narrow mountain pass we were now entering looked like a dark tunnel, long and closed.

      I slammed the roof opening shut. It closed with a heavy metallic bang. It was pitch dark inside the car. I stretched out my hand to the shutter next to me and opened it wide. Through it I could see the white stones at the side of the road. They moved toward me. The speed of the armored car increased their blinding glare, as if the lights of thousands of small projectors were sending their rays toward me. My gaze strayed to the side of the road. Almost vertical slopes, strewn with stones, ran down to the edge like breakwaters.

      The engine of the armored car groaned heavily, struggling to climb the road, which wound up the steep slope. Its incessant groan grated on my ears like the whine of a drill driving through my skull. I pressed myself against the opening. At that moment it seemed like the only avenue to light and sun and the green young life outside. Inside the car, the heavy iron plates pressed on me, radiating a stifling heat. The choking fumes of the engine seeped inside. I drew them into my nose and throat, coughing and swallowing my spit with difficulty.

      The car sped past the water pumping station that stood on the rib of a rocky hill, next to the road. At the entrance to the station was an armored half-track, in front of which stood three British soldiers in black berets. They signaled to the passing trucks, pointing toward the hills.

      “They’re telling us there’s an ambush over there,” the driver shouted.

      “Don’t believe them,” the radio operator shouted back. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they put a few bullets into us themselves—” He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, before he was propelled into the air. I, too, was lifted into the air, floating. The sound of a heavy explosion hit me. A blinding streak of lightning covered my eyes. Murky darkness. A blow on my skull. My limbs were squashed.

      —

      I came to, stiff all over. My eyes squinted in the darkness. With every flicker of my eyelids, my head ached with pain. A bitter, burning taste, like foul sawdust, filled my mouth with sticky liquid. A crushing pain stabbed through me, clinging obstinately to my head, piercing through my skull. I heard a cracking, long ring in my ears, like banging on a thin tin plate. If only I could go back to the dim half-light, the dazed state from which I had just emerged. But everything was getting clearer.

      I could move my arm now, but the movement sent a shudder of pain through my body. I put my hand to my head hesitantly. But I felt nothing, apart from a slight bump, a burning, stinging lump. I went on feeling for broken bones, but found none. Stretching forward, my hands came across a heap of ammunition boxes. My breathing was cut short by a direct stab of pain, which hit me like a blow to the abdomen. Closing my eyes, I doubled up. When I opened my eyes again I saw pale spots of light on the ceiling, vague, blurred openings in the wall of the armored car. The ceiling lay in front of me, on its side. I closed my eyes and opened them again. But the side wall was still above me. The car had turned over.

      Fear. A wave of hot blood rushed to my head. A mad thumping in my heart. Fright. The chatter of a machine gun joined the ringing in my ears, banging away with a distant rattle, like faint voices. The shots came nearer. Their anger gathered like thunder. Machine guns snarling in staccato coughs. Guns barking somewhere, their thin sound almost swallowed in the salvoes of shots from other weapons. Another, lighter sound hovered in the air. Submachine guns. The convoy had run into an ambush. What about the other cars? I thought suddenly, panicking.

      I lifted myself on an elbow, with great effort. Dizziness. Every-thing moved and shook. I felt I had to lie down on the floor, to hide. But I fought this oppressive feeling. Thin white smoke floated in a long trail over the pile of objects and boxes of ammunition in front of me. Choked groans and the sound of a man whispering. My heart leaped with joy to hear voices. Signs of life. I turned to one side, trying to get to my knees despite the pain. But I stumbled. I tried once more, and this time I made it.

      My eyes fell on a figure lying next to me, a blurred, shadowy figure moving in the wind. I made out his face: a pale face struck by shock. Clenched lips moved, but I heard nothing. A hand came out and touched my shoulders. His face came closer. I heard some muffled words, slowly, like the sound of an echo among deep valleys. “What’s . . . hap . . . pened . . . to . . . you?”

      I didn’t know what to say. I was confused. Stunned. Panic-stricken. Once more I felt my body and shook my head. “Nothing, I don’t think anything’s . . .” Talking made the ringing in my ears sound louder, like the whistle of a train slowing down. Tears of pain rolled down my cheeks. Crying made me feel more relaxed.

      “What about the others?” I stammered in a choked voice.

      “Two of them have been hurt. I thought you were too.” Now I recognized his wild forelock of straw-colored hair and peaceful blue eyes. It was the soldier who had grumbled about the poor aerial observations.

      “They got us, huh?” He nodded his head, pinching his narrow lips in concern.

      The bundle next to me moved, and out crawled the radio operator. “The set’s smashed,” he moaned.

      “The accompanying armored cars will reach us soon,” the soldier next to me said. “They saw us turn over.” I picked myself up and looked through the open window. The shots thundering outside pressed against my ears and my forehead. From time to time the bullets hammered against the wall, which shook as if the steel was going to split. I had never imagined the sound of a shell could be so deafening. My hand, which rested on the wall, sweated, and shook with the vibration of the steel plates. Would I have the strength to lift myself another little bit in order to see what was happening outside?

      Slowly I placed my cheek next to the steel wall. Its heat burned the skin on my face. A shell struck the wall near the shutter, and the shock of it threw me back. But I put my face next to the shutter again. Through it I could see a strip of road. At first, I could only make out the thick tires of the trucks. But I lifted myself up until I could see the trucks themselves. They weren’t moving, but their engines were still running. It looked as if the drivers still intended to continue the journey. On the other side of the trucks were the wild rocky slopes and the pine trees. Their closeness was frightening. They were so near, and yet I couldn’t see a human form anywhere in the area.

      Where was the enemy? Where were the shots coming from?

      I couldn’t detect any movement. But the shots became heavier. I had a growing feeling that trouble was on the way. We were facing a disaster. I had to get out of there! My eyes wandered around anxiously over the steep slope facing us. The treetops of the pines looked like a heavy cloud. My eyes penetrated it, noticing the small dark spots of the cones. Sunbeams filtered through the branches, winking at one another and changing shadows constantly, like a traffic light at a dangerous corner: “Danger, danger,” they said. I looked down at the trunks of the trees. A dark, sinister shadow, like a black and terrifying lake.