If only I were the man I should have been and not just a spoiled turd of a Scyth or a Tatar, I’d have gone to my father tonight instead of taking off and said to him, I’m at your command, sir, send me wherever you like, sir. Say the tractor shed, and the tractor shed it is. Say the army, or a new kibbutz right smack in the middle of these salt flats, or a secret mission to Damascus to knock off the gynecologist and the ophthalmologist together, and it’s as good as done. But what I’m afraid I’ll have to do after that, sir, once I’ve given you my all, is to go tonight or tomorrow night to Petra and die there for the good of the cause. Just like that shitass son of King Saul in the Bible who wasn’t good enough to be king or good enough for anything except to get himself killed in a war so the torch could be passed to the better man who could be of service to his country and even make a distinguished contribution to the Bible. Hats off to you, Little John, slain upon the high places, and hats off to you, David, for writing such a terrific eulogy straight from the heart and being the Savior of Israel. And please excuse me, Professor Spinoza, for being a little slow to get what you meant when you so wisely said that everyone has a role in this life and that the only choice we have is to understand what our role is and to accept it gracefully. Why, the smell of this wind alone is enough to make you grow up to be a man, to honor the darkening sky, the towering wilderness, to honor thy father and thy mother, to be good at last, as Azariah says, as Spinoza says, as you wanted to be and were too embarrassed to be because of your longing. Because longing of any kind is a poison.

The last light was fading when they reached Ein-Husub. Yonatan thanked the two reservists and shouldered his gear. The lights of the perimeter fence were already lit. The place seemed to be half army camp, half tumbledown frontier settlement. Yonatan knew that a Druse unit belonging to the army or the border patrol used it as a base for its patrols. Visible as well were an odd smattering of reservists, miners traveling to and from the copper works in Timna, a few hikers and nature lovers, Bedouin working for the military, and a tall bushranger of a civilian with bright blue eyes, skin dark as an Arab’s, and a long Tolstoyan beard hanging down to the white hair of his naked chest. “I arranged to meet some pals of mine here” was going to be his alibi should anyone ask, but nobody did.