“A philosopher!” crowed the old man with the glee of a mind-reader who has just had an astonishing prediction come true and is taking a bow before an audience of unseen admirers. “Your life is your own! Original! Profound! Whose did you think it was, mine? The Devil’s? Of course it’s your own, krasavits. Ay, mama, it’s a crime what those reprobates must have done to make you look the way you do. The bastards! Damn their souls! Well, go to hell then. Only take my advice. Don’t spend the night. Come back to Sasha. Steal across the border if you must and have a peek at Transjordan. No harm is likely to come of it. Just don’t go beyond their road. And then as soon as you reach it, turn around and come straight back. Lovely, eh? Molodets! And remember the name—Tlallim! Easy! Sasha! Come back to my royal palace tonight and stay for as long as you like, no questions asked—a day, a week, two years—whatever it takes for you to think the bastards have cried their hearts out long enough to have learned to treat you better. All the while I’ll be offering you olives, figs, and dates, a bed of royal purple, and plenty of booze to keep you warm. Mind you, I’m a vegetarian by conviction. A vegetarian cannibal, that is. I’ll even give you a face-lift. A brand-new kisser. You’re already growing a beard. No one will know who you are. You can team up with me if you’d like and be my deputy surveyor. We’ll ride the desert range, and you’ll be the king’s viceroy. Or if you’d rather not, no problem. You can spend all day long on your ass at my place and at night take your rod and make a beeline for the honeypot. No one in the whole world will know you’re staying with me. How about it?”

“Pull over right here,” said Yonatan. “This is where I get off.”

“Ay, mama!” groaned the old man. “I’ve been foiled by the Foul Fiend again.”

The jeep came to a stop, with an almost tender precision this time. Yonatan climbed into the back and threw his knapsack, blankets, windbreaker, jerrycan, and sleeping bag onto the sand beside the road. Then, clutching his rifle, he jumped down. The old man did not look up. He sat behind the wheel limp as an empty sack, chin down. Only when Yonatan began to disappear against a darkening embankment did he raise his magnificent head and say softly, “Take care, son.” All of a sudden, from the depths of his chest to the ends of the desert, he thundered, “Wretch!”

Yonatan felt a wave of affection wash over him. Biting his bottom lip he struggled to force it all back.