The Girl Who Stole My Holocaust by Noam Chayut

Author:Noam Chayut
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Verso Books
Published: 2013-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

From Shoqet Junction I headed north towards the trail that follows the “green line” to the foothills of Mount Sansana, and from there I followed the orange-blue-white markings along the winding way amid pine groves and tended wheat fields. I was bound for Kibbutz Lahav. On the rolling hills, I saw an interesting purple plant that carpeted the ground near the trail. I’d never seen the plant before. I strayed off the trail towards the colorful stain of impressive purple thorns. Another hill rolled on from there in fresh green splendor and almond trees. I kept veering away from the trail, and as I approached the almond grove I noticed a small flock of goats, and eventually a goatherd who approached me and waved his hands towards the dirt track, as if to show me that I was lost. In fact, he wanted to get me off his land.

“Salaam ‘aleik,” I said. “My name is Naim.”

He returned my greeting but kept pointing to the road below, saying “hai tarikak”—“There’s your road.”

I tried to explain that I was only taking a closer look at the plants and that I would soon be off, and that I meant well.

I don’t know how much he understood from all of this, but it was obvious that I came in peace. I hid my pistol as soon as I noticed him so as not to scare him. Sitting down under one of the trees, I invited him to join me for a bit. He did not sit down but kept running back and forth, picking up an occasional stone and throwing it at one of the goats who insisted on nibbling on an almond tree instead of eating the fresh grass. I took out a campers’ gas stove and coffee pot, even though I had drunk some only a little earlier, and asked, “What will you have, tea or coffee?” He waved off my invitation and continued to pace around. “Tea or coffee?” I insisted.

“Tea,” he said.

I gestured again for him to take a seat on the rock I’d left vacant, then I sat on the ground beside him and prepared “tea”—an infusion of sage, mint and two or three thyme sprigs for their bitter flavor. This was one of the tips I’d gotten from some tank-crew members who had served with us on the northern border. I liked the combined flavor and hoped my guest-host, too, would take to it. I handed him a glass. He was impressed with how fast water boiled on my brand new camper gas coil-stove.

There had been days when I sent my subordinates to look for explosive charges along the fence that surrounds the industrial plant in the Etzyon settlement block where these very stoves are produced. Oh, Tuviah, dear Tuviah, my childhood hero, if you only knew what we do to the Arabs of Gush Etzyon, the area you failed to reach with the medication and food you had carried on your back. If you only knew

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