The storm raged all night. The army patrols gave up their search and returned soaking wet to their bases. In the end the electricity failed. Azariah kept on playing in the dark.

“In the morning,” said Yonatan firmly, “we’ll let our turtle go free.”

That same night, at about one, having despaired of falling asleep and engulfed by dreary premonitions of death, Yolek rose, wrapped himself in a flannel bathrobe, and put on his slippers with a groan. He was furious with Hava for having turned out the night light in the bathroom, and his fury did not abate even when he realized that the power itself had failed. In Polish, he swore at himself and the drift of his life.

It took no small effort to find and light the kerosene lamp without waking his wife. He sat down at his desk, hating the sootiness of the wick as he adjusted it and the need to refrain from smoking lest it disturb Hava’s sleep. Finally he put on his glasses and, in the next two hours, passionately composed a letter to Levi Eshkol, Prime Minister and Minister of Defense.

7

My Dear Eshkol,

Just receiving this letter will no doubt astound you, to say nothing of what’s in it. You may even be angered with me. Well, I beg you not to be. In more than one debate between us, having run out of other arguments, I’ve heard you defend yourself with the old rabbinic saw “Judge not your friend until you have been in his place.” This time, with your permission, it is I who will resort to this argumentum in extremis against you. So please bear with me.

Writing these lines is a painful business for me. Yet I am confident that you, who have always had the time for a comrade in distress, will not be put off even if you are surprised. Only a few days ago, at our party meeting in Tel Aviv, you took advantage of an empty seat in the sixth or seventh row to sit down beside me and whisper more or less these words: “Listen here, Yolek, you old turncoat, I sure as hell do miss you right now.” To which I, incorrigible sinner that I am, answered something like “I’ll bet you do—like a hole in the head.” Followed in low tones by “Just between the two of us, Eshkol, if I were back in the saddle these days, the first thing I’d do would be to take a stick to those rednecks who are swarming all over you and making your life so miserable.” “Nu?” you asked jokingly. After which you sighed and added, more to yourself than to me, “Nu, nu.”