War Times Short.

Chapter 2

We were cooped up in the house. Then they asked us to come out and join the search. I heard someone say that the first night is the most critical. They have less than two hours to get them to the territories of the Palestinian authority. Someone said, how could they make twenty kids disappear, and someone else said, thirteen, they're thirteen. I grabbed the keys and went out. Standing on our front walk, I could see Alex heading towards the old lady's house. His army shirt was unbuttoned, he wore an undershirt underneath it, and his duffel bag was slung over his shoulder. He was looking at the police cars.
We took the car towards the southern part of the fence. They told us to contact the officer in charge of the area and he'd instruct us where to search. Alex sat down, lit a cigarette and asked, "Can you turn on the AC?" I drove the dark, circular road, perspiring. The air conditioned air crawled out of the vents and onto my skin. We could see flashing lights. Dogs were barking in the distance. My ears were ringing. Alex smoked. Dogs again. I thought to myself, Beth came out taller than her brother. And they're both dark, they look more like their mother. I thought I was speaking aloud, but Alex sat and smoked, and I drove silently.
An hour later, Alex and I were walking through a thorny field carrying large flashlights that the local security team had provided us with. I yelled, "Ben!" and Alex yelled, "Beth!" The only things we could see were the thorns just before us and an occasional porcupine fleeing the light and the noise. The air became heavier. The dust rising from the thorns burned the throat and eyes. My shirt and underwear stuck to my body. Alex's undershirt went transparent, dirty in the middle. His chest was smooth and shiny.
We could hear the police radio screeching in the distance. We heard a helicopter too, but it was only there by coincidence and continued flying north. I yelled, "Ben!" and Alex yelled, "Beth!" I couldn't remember the names of the other kids, maybe just Gilli, the one with the large braces and the retainer; I gave up because I thought I got the name wrong.

After four, just before sunrise, we returned to the car. I notified the officer that we didn't find anything. He notified me that they didn't either. I was tired and preferred not to find a damn thing. We headed home. I drove. I left the radio switched off. Alex stayed in his undershirt and had tied the army shirt to his belt. We reeked of sweat. I was embarrassed that my sweat was sharper than his. Alex took out his cigarettes and offered one to me. I took it and he lit them both for us. I said, I'm not going to cry now, speaking the language that my parents spoke, the language Alex couldn't understand. The cigarettes were strong and I coughed. I had to take a piss but kept driving. I thought that I was sensing some smell coming from the air conditioning, but it was just the army boots that smelled of diesel fuel and shoe polish.
"You got two kids?" he asked.
I felt a stinging sensation in my stomach. I Nodded.
"No more?" he asked, taking another drag.
I signaled right to turn into the neighborhood. The clicking of the signal broke the silence. Our windows were rolled down and we passed some jackass in flip flops and socks who was standing outside. He told us that they found a torn green scout kerchief. We ignored him and continued driving.
"What do you do? For a living."
"I'm a photographer. But I'm thinking of quitting. Leaving. Don't know. What kind of weapons do you guys have?"
"Short caliber M-16's. American military surplus."
I rearranged myself in the seat and my foot hit the gas pedal. We momentarily leaped forward.
"What do you photograph?"
"A sign saying 'Welcome to the Municipality of Hod Hasharon.' Dishes in a restaurant in Ra'anana. A piece-of-shit dump that belonged to the Turks that a subsidiary of the Ministry of Agriculture is holding on to. A few fashion models. There's plenty, more than enough."
Alex bounced his leg up and down. He took a drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke.
I realized that a smell of alcohol was coming from him. "It doesn't have to do with art?"
"No."
Alex chuckled. We heard helicopters above. This time they were intended for us. For the children.
I swallowed. The air was rough, with a combination of nicotine and dust.
Later, Alex told me that The Association for the Wellbeing of Israel's Soldiers had fixed him up with the old lady. She was looking to lend a hand, to help soldiers because they help us and so on, and he was on the lone soldier list so the two had been brought together.

Ten months with the woman," he said, lighting another cigarette. I had already gotten used to the smell of our sweat. "How long have you been neighbors?" Alex asked.
"Here? Four years." I looked at the reflective yellow light on the shoulder of the road.
The next morning the search continued, and when I got home, I felt that something had changed. I hurried inside with my keys, the car remote always gets tangled up in them, I nearly threw everything on the floor and kicked the pile of community newspapers, but the reporter who tried to interview me was there. The children's photographs were printed again and again. They called it "The Night of the 13," A Heinous Crime. She was waiting in the living room with Iris, who wouldn't agree to talk, but had made tea for them both. I told her that unless she wanted to go home on all fours and have her kids ‒ if she has any ‒ see their mom a cripple, she'd better get out fast.
At night I dreamt that the children came home. Ben just walked in, and I looked at him and said, "but you're dead," and he shrugged and went into the living room. He was all beaten up, but I couldn't tell which parts of his body were hurt. I asked him where Beth was, and when he turned to me I said, "Doesn't all of this have to do with your death?" Later we went out to the balcony so I could show Alex to him.

Hope you like this chapter as well I'm very proud and if you do think that I should get rid of this just tell me I hope you like it!!!

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