56
Palestine 1948
The lorry pitched and rolled in the early morning darkness. The engine cranked heavily as we wound our way upward through the rugged terrain. I thought back eight years to the last time I saw Miryam. 1939. I had just turned 18 and enlisted. War had been declared barely two months earlier. Excitement pulsated everywhere. We’d been lying on the couch together in the living room of the house my father rented before he welshed on the payments. Eli was just a young kid and a pest of epic proportions. Miryam’s family kept a tight rein on her, being ultra-orthodox. We’d never been alone together until then. That one time. A rare moment of physical intimacy. We kissed for the first time. Then Miryam sat up breathing heavily, her face flushed, her head scarf partly unraveled.
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