Even though he put little hope in its success, Udi intended to join the manhunt that was getting underway. If the man in the mosque had indeed been the escaped prisoner, he could easily have reached the main road long ago and hitched a ride to Haifa. On the other hand, if he was an Arab infiltrator, he had no doubt slipped back across the border. You could count on that nebbish of a Prime Minister, Eshkol, that nothing would happen to him there. He was probably sitting right now in his nigger hole and laughing his nigger laugh. Suddenly Udi’s thoughts turned to money matters. He spoke of the profits from last year’s cotton crop and of how the cowshed, always in the red, was only kept up because of old Stutchnik. Maybe Azariah had a Russian saying for such madness? No?

Instead, Azariah offered to amuse them with a spoon trick. Sticking the utensil deep into his throat, he proceeded to pull it out of the cuff of his gabardine slacks with a sheepish smile.

“But he does,” said Rimona.

“Does what?” asked Anat.

“Have a saying for it,” said Rimona. And without looking up she recited under her breath, “He who has never tasted defeat will never taste of triumph’s sweet.”

“That’s enough magic of Chad,” said Yonatan. “Let’s go take a nap. You can rest at our place, Azariah. On the couch. Rimona won’t mind. Let’s go.”

“All right,” said Rimona, “if that’s what you want to do.”

It wasn’t yet four o’clock when they left, but a dirty gray canopy of light already grazed the roofs of the small, white, symmetrically aligned houses. All the blinds had been drawn and the bedding hastily taken from the laundry lines. Not a soul was to be seen. A stealthy wind from the northwest blew in short, sharp gusts. A clap of thunder pealed far away like a piece of bad news, followed by a savage bolt of lightning that streaked across the whole firmament. The brief silence in its wake was shattered by an avalanche of thunder. Almost as soon as the first drops began to fall, the earth was lashed by ropelike whips of rain. Wet and out-of-breath, the three of them reached the house. Yonatan kicked the door open and slammed it behind them.

“I told you we wouldn’t beat the rain,” boasted Azariah. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’ve brought a present to cheer you up. Here, it’s yours.”

“Poor little turtle,” smiled Rimona, taking it into her hand. “Just don’t try climbing any walls.”

“Leave it alone, Tia!” shouted Yonatan. “Rimona, we’ll have to put it in that empty cardboard box on the porch. Come on, you two. It’s time to take our nap.”

“It’s pouring,” said Rimona.