Friendly Fire by A. B. Yehoshua

Author:A. B. Yehoshua [Yehoshua, A. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

10.

"BELIEVE ME," YIRMIYAHU continues, "it wasn't easy to give up trying to identify the soldier who fired the fatal bullet. It was very important for me to meet him face to face. At first I tried to clarify it in a direct and open fashion, and found myself up against a stone wall among the members of the unit. Then I tried roundabout methods. But even though I was very clever and went so far as to visit the site and calculate possible lines of fire, I was left without a positive identification."

"Why?"

"Why? Because they were all terrified and did everything in their power to prevent it. They were afraid I was planning some sort of reprimand, an accusation, or a lawsuit. Or even that I would go outside the law, stalk the killer in some sick way. That happens sometimes, and it might have happened with me too. There was no way I could persuade them that I was actually acting out of concern for the shooter, who, although it was indisputably Eyali's own fault, might carry around a psychic wound that would infect his entire life. I wanted to be capable of calming the boy, telling him, habibi, I am the father, and I confirm your innocence. You are exonerated not only by your commanding officers but also by the parents of the boy you accidentally killed. For your good, we will keep in touch. If, in the course of your life, anxiety or guilt rise inside you over the friendly fire you aimed at a comrade who miscalculated the time of day, you can always come visit me, and I will help you ease the guilt and lighten the anxiety."

"Strange..."

"It is strange, but it's also the truth. I became obsessed with wanting to hold the finger that squeezed the trigger, as if it were the last finger that touched Eyali's soul. Yes, Daniela, in those first months I thought in terms of spirit and soul, until I abandoned all that foolishness."

On her plate remain pieces of the meat, of which she is suspicious. One of the cooks hums a cheerful African song to himself, accentuating its tempo by drumming briskly on a pot, now and then stealing a glance at the two white people. Both of them are tired, she for no apparent reason, maybe because she's so far from her husband, but Yirmiyahu definitely deserves a rest—a few hours after their return from Dar es Salaam, something justified an urgent nighttime ride out to the dig. But the rapt attention of his empathetic sister-in-law fuels his fevered confession.

"Theoretically, identifying the shooter should not have been difficult. Because this wasn't anonymous fire, coming from artillery or a helicopter, where all the sophisticated hardware can show for certain are the intended targets, not the actual hits. No, this is a simple story, almost a fable, of gunfire among friends, a small group of elite soldiers, eight all told, including the commander of the ambush: a likable officer named Micha, who because of what happened became almost like a member of our family.

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