Soon the watchman will wake Stutchnik for the night milking. How well I remember the gay blade of a pioneer’s face he once had. Now the years have given him the look of a weary old Jewish shopkeeper sitting behind a rickety counter, studying the Talmud between his all-too-infrequent customers. For all that, he still insists on milking his cows every night and has turned down my suggestion that he replace me as bookkeeper. The man has always been stubborn, but now I see something bewildered and tragic in his eyes.

I’m off. It’s early Monday morning. I’ll go out to see what’s new on Kibbutz Granot.

P.S. One a.m. The air outside was refreshingly brisk and heightened all my senses. The paths and benches were covered with a heavy dew, or perhaps a light rain. The whole village was asleep. I walked to the end, lighting my way with the little pocket flashlight I took this morning from Yolek’s desk. What’s that favorite expression of his? Mea culpa. I have expropriated a flashlight. No good will come of your Dostoyevskyizing, said Eshkol. Well, and what if it doesn’t?

As I was walking down the path, something sprang out of the darkness behind me, giving me quite a start. Is that you, Yonatan? But the something, which proceeded to trot in front of me, was only Tia, who decided to join me on my stroll. Here and there we paused to turn off a leaking faucet, pick up a scrap of paper and put it in a basket, or turn off an electric light burning on a deserted porch. Tia cooperated by bringing me a torn shoe from a bush.

Near the club I met Udi on his way back from the office. He had finally managed to get through to Chupka with the news of the missing maps. The Negev, of course, is a very large area, but it does give us a clue. And a man out to commit suicide, as Udi argued, is not likely to take a set of 1:20,000 maps with him. I told him I hoped and believed he was right and sent him off to bed.

I found Yolek sleeping soundly on his living-room couch, though his breathing was heavy and broken intermittently by snores. Rachel Stutchnik was sitting in the armchair by his side, embroidering. Just as I had instructed. She told me that the doctor had been by twice during the night, given Yolek an injection, and found him slightly improved. In spite of this I decided then and there that I would have him sent to the hospital in the morning whether he agreed or not. I’d had enough of his whims.

On the path outside, Etan R. was sound asleep at the wheel of the pickup truck, just where I had told him to be. No, I see no mistakes in the arrangements I made today.