“You know,” said Eshkol, “the boy may be right. Down in my gut the whole thing scares me, and I don’t want to win any war. Ah well! A fat lot of good we’ve done each other today. What did you say your name was, young man?”

“Gitlin. Gitlin, Azariah. And I pity us all.”

“You do? Perhaps you would be so good as to tell us why we’re all so deserving of your pity?” A mischievous glint flashed behind Eshkol’s thick lenses.