“From the minute I collared him by the cowshed the night he arrived,” said Etan, “I’ve had a bad feeling about that dwarf. And Rimona’s not quite all there either. The one I really feel sorry for is Yoni. Yoni was once a damn good fellow. Now he’s turning into another Chimpanoza and walks around all day long as if he’d been conked on the head. How about a little more arak? Anyhow, if only Eshkol had any balls and weren’t such an old yenta, he’d take advantage of the Egyptians being bogged down in Yemen and kick those Syrian sons-of-bitches’ asses in. That’d solve the Jordan water problem once and for all. For half an hour yesterday that Azariah may have chewed my ear off with his philosophy and proverbs about Eshkol and Khrushchev and Nasser, but basically the kid is right. In fact, he’d have a good head on his shoulders if only it hadn’t been screwed on wrong. A king with any brains always has a court jester, and Yolek—Stutchnik says he’s next in line for the throne—has his Azariah. What makes it so tragic is that Eshkol is his own court jester. Will you listen to what a god-awful night it is out there!”

One evening when Yolek was on the mend from his illness, Hava took it upon herself to let fly.