After I returned to the office, I finally managed to get through to Yonatan’s army unit. No, there had not been a call-up last night. They knew nothing about it, and since when was such a thing a fit subject for a telephone conversation anyway? As a special favor, however, they were willing to promise me that Yonatan Lifshitz was not on the base. Of that the young female soldier at the other end of the line was “one-hundred-and-one-percent sure.” They were all one big family there, and she knew everyone who came and went. I thanked her but persisted: could I possibly talk with an officer called Chupka? (Rimona had recalled that this was the name of Yonatan’s C.O.) I was asked to hang on but was then cut off. I dialed again, battling all the gremlins at different exchanges along the way, until finally I got the same young clerk. Chupka, I was now told, had left the base that morning. To go where? Hang on for a second, will you? And again I was cut off. And again I fought back with the patience that I’ve learned from a lifetime of playing the flute. And again I got the same girl, who this time, in a fit of pique, demanded to know just who I thought I was and who had authorized me to ask such questions. Without batting an eyelash, I immediately fired off three lies. That I was Yonatan’s father. That my name was Yisra’el Lifshitz. And that said Yisra’el Lifshitz was still a member of the Knesset. Whether out of respect for Yisra’el or the Knesset, she finally consented to reveal the dark secret. Chupka was on his way, already in, or on his way back from, Acre, where he had gone to attend the circumcision of the son of one of his soldiers, whose name she gave me.

Right away I dialed Grossmann in Acre. (An old friend from my days in Leipzig, who works for the electric company.) An hour later he called back. Chupka was taking a nap, apparently at his sister’s home in Kibbutz Ein-Hamifratz.

Two-and-a-half hours had already passed in the Great Phone War. I would have missed lunch if Stutchnik’s wife, Rachel, hadn’t been considerate enough to bring me a covered plate from the dining hall. I ate the meat croquettes, squash, and rice without ever once putting down the receiver.

At a quarter-to-two, I managed to get through to the office at Ein-Hamifratz. It was not until about four o’clock, however, that I got hold of Chupka himself. He said he hadn’t a clue where Yonatan might be and promised that if “it turns out to be serious,” I could count on him and his men to find their missing friend even if he was “on the far side of Bab Allah.” I asked whether he thought Yonatan might do something rash.