He worked hard in the tractor shed and ran it well. By the time the barley harvest was at hand, the combines were not only ready but freshly cleaned and painted till they gleamed. During the first week of May Azariah sent a brief letter to the Prime Minister, assuring Comrade Eshkol that, despite the ridicule and ugly jokes at his expense, many of the common people loved him. Eshkol responded immediately in his own hand on an ordinary postcard. “Thank you, young man,” it said. “You have bolstered my spirits greatly. Do not forget to pay my respects to Yolek and Hava. All the best.”

Srulik continued to play his flute whenever he had the time, which was only at night. Hava had long since moved out of his rooms and ceased being a burden, but all day long he was being buttonholed on the paths of the kibbutz, or dropped in on at his office, by people with problems or requests. Would he please use his influence to help get them into or out of this or that job? Would he please be so good as to take this or that stand on this or that economic or educational issue? He made himself a little notebook in which to jot down each petition, crossing them out one by one as they were dealt with. Not until night came was there ever any time for writing or music. Yet wonders did not cease. It was said that Paula Levin, one of the original founding members of the kibbutz and a kindergarten teacher of long standing who headed the tots committee, had received an album of Dürer reproductions from Srulik out of the blue. What could such a gift mean?

What a pity Yolek’s new hearing aid was gathering dust in a drawer along with his glasses. The man simply did not want to hear. Or to see. What a wreck his face had become. And the splendid spring had only made his hay fever worse. His breathing was loud and labored, and though he had stopped smoking altogether, his allergy often brought tears to his eyes. Few things could arouse in him anything more than a blank stare. Even when his young son Amos informed him that he planned to marry his girlfriend in the fall and had made up his mind to leave the kibbutz and join the professional army, Yolek’s only response was “Shoyn. Fine. Never mind.”