11
Palestine 1947
I dozed off in a chair. Someone had thrown a blanket over me. But the blanket was threadbare and the air cold. Since the War, I slept tentatively. I heard someone move around the room. A shadow in the gloom. I guessed the sun would rise at some point but not yet. I dropped the blanket and stood up quietly watching the shadow move.
“You’re a light sleeper,” Irit said.
“Old habit,” I replied.
“That’s good. You wouldn’t want an Arab to creep up and slit your throat while you slept.”
“I’m very attached to my throat and I’d like to keep it,” I replied. “Is there anything that looks like breakfast?”
“Soon,” she said. “When the others arrive.”
“Where’s David?”
“Gone,” she said. “He left hours ago.”
I hadn’t heard that. “What others?”
“You’ll see.” I couldn’t make out
