23
Palestine 1947
Ten days later, Avi led us out of the hills where we continued our woeful impersonation of cowboys in Montana. We stopped off at the cabin where I’d been originally introduced to the mysterious David and Irit. We left the horses there with some handlers and proceeded by lorry to a kibbutz named Beit Sharon. We traveled at night to avoid British army patrols, sticking to the back trails that, normally, only accommodated donkeys or camels. A hairy journey characterized by no headlamps, and I wondered if the drivers had a sixth sense and x-ray vision to enable them to follow these tracks without rolling over. They didn’t miss the plentiful ruts and crevices in the makeshift road. Almost as bad as riding an open top halftrack up and down the Steppes.
I regretted saying goo
