“Is 4cm grouping considered good?” he asked.

“That’s not the issue,” I growled. “I can’t believe you said—”

“So it’s not good,” he said, lowering his gaze.

“It just has nothing to do with it. And 4cm is great for your first target practice. But listen, what you told them doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“No, seriously, for your first try it’s great. Really.”

“Hear that, Buzaglo? My grandson here was in Golani, and he says it’s a great score! Ain’t that something?”

I gave up. I realized I wasn’t going to get through to him.

“Neuerman, stop being such a newbie,” Shapiro said, standing by the door. “And quit wearing your weapon like that, strapped across your chest. No one does that.”

Grandpa got upset and announced there was no such thing as too cautious when it came to safety, at which Shapiro smiled and said he was just gung-ho because he was dying to be admitted to the squad commanders’ course.

Afterward, Grandpa quietly asked me what “gung-ho” meant and whether it was good or bad.

I lied and said it depended on how you looked at it.

Grandpa stared at a photo of Grandma Miriam that lay on his bedside table. It had been taken during their trip to Niagara Falls six years earlier. Grandma was cocooned in a red raincoat, her face barely visible. The white sheets on Grandpa’s bed boasted the logo of the Association for the Elderly, and hanging on the wall above it was a frayed poster of Barbra Streisand.

“Buzaglo heard I like her so he set me up with the poster.”

I told him it looked like a real warrior’s bed, and he gave a satisfied smile. He glanced at Grandma’s photo again. “If she could only see me now,” he said. “She would never have believed it.”

He suggested I stay a bit longer and join them for lunch in the dining hall, announcing proudly that it was goulash day, but I told him I had to get going. He thanked me for coming and hugged me so tightly that for a moment I felt bad for rushing to leave. Grandpa went back to his backgammon game and tossed the dice.

“Oooh, a triple win! You bastard,” Shapiro said. Grandpa had no idea what a triple win meant, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

13.

[email protected]

August 8, 2009, 01:31:24

Subject: Re: Hi Yuli