“Hava! That’s not something I can just go and do on my own. You know that as well as I.”

“Oh, I do, do I?”

“There would have to be a meeting. Of the steering committee. To discuss it. We’re talking about a human being.”

“Sure. A human being! As if you knew what those words meant. As if you ever did. A human life? Human filth, you mean.”

“Excuse me, Hava. You’re so upset you’re contradicting yourself without even realizing it. Think about it. It’s been thirty years, but to this day you’ve never forgiven me for throwing that comedian of yours out of here when he tried killing half the kibbutz, including you and me.”

“Shut up, you murderer! At least you’ve finally admitted it was you who made him go.”

“I didn’t say that, Hava. Far from it. You surely can’t have forgotten with what patience and tolerance, with what forbearance I tried to get him the social and psychological help he needed before he went berserk. And even after. And you know as well as anyone that it was he who ran off as fast as he could right after his shooting spree, and it was I who had to use all the influence I had and pull every string I could to keep the British police out of it, to avoid an internal Haganah trial for criminal misuse of underground arms. And it was also I who spared him the humiliation of having to face a general meeting of the kibbutz, which would undoubtedly have booted him out in disgrace and perhaps even handed him over to the authorities or some mental institution. On top of which, it was I who managed to spirit him out of the country.”

“You?”