Stubbing out his cigarette, he picked up the colourful handkerchief once more and wiped the sweat from his brow, before mopping his neck, armpits and the grey hair on his chest. A bowl of water was what he wanted now; it might have been mentioned on television that water was good for your health. He stood up and went over to fetch a bowl of water, into which he’d melted an ice cube, then returned to sit at the kitchen table again. He pondered on how to proceed with his story: beyond the battle zone of Hill Zero everything was now destroyed, and his characters’ line of communication was broken; but now that they’d killed off one healthy captive and kept alive another who could speak a little Arabic, what would they do without water and food, given that no order had yet been received to fall back?
* Arabic, meaning ‘Thirst, thirst … I’m thirsty.’
† Arabic, meaning ‘Thirst … thirst … thirst! Ah … ah … a gulp …’
‡ Kufic and Naskh are two calligraphic forms of Arabic script. Kufic is older and more geometric, while Naskh is cursive.
2
‘WHEN WILL THIS NIGHT ever end?’
‘Are you whingeing again! Just look at the stars, why don’t you? For a moment I thought it was our young prisoner saying something …’
‘He can’t, though. He can only toss and turn. What should I do with him?’
‘Did you gag him with the handkerchief? Take it out now, or he’ll choke! I told you to tie it over his mouth, not shove it down his throat! Get it out!’
‘But I’ve only got one hand free … how can I tie a knot with just one hand?’
‘Don’t you have teeth? Have the mice eaten them all, or what?* Use your teeth and your hand. I can’t take my eyes off the front. Suppose they’ve gone crazy after that heavy bombing? Maybe they’ll tuck their tails between their legs and clear off before the morning. The area behind them is a wasteland, it was blitzed.’
‘Water, water … all this prisoner of ours says when he opens his mouth is “al-atash”. Come tomorrow we’ll all roast in the sun from thirst.’
‘There’s still a long time to go till tomorrow … what time is it?’
‘One in the morning.’
‘Good morning to you, then!’
‘And to you … let me untie my hand, sir, and go and check on the others in the other trenches.’
‘Wait until it’s light. As you can hear, nobody’s making a sound. Keep your ears to the ground.’
‘You’re right. I can’t hear a thing.’
‘Can you count how many of us are left?’
‘You’re not joking, are you? We were seven to start with, but now … we’re just one and a half!’
‘What’s the deal with the half-a-person?’
‘That’s me! I’m half-a-person, aren’t I, when one of my hands is bound … What are you thinking of? Please find a solution, or let me tie his hands and feet and throw him in a corner, or simply put him out of his misery … it’d only take one bullet. It’s not like they haven’t killed enough of our troops.’
‘No! No! No! I’ve been told not to kill prisoners. Ordered by someone who’d give up his life for each and every one of us. Maybe what he told me was a sentence from the will he never wrote. He never wrote anything, ever. Not even a letter to his wife. He said this to me before his first and last leave of absence. My only hope, now that I’m teetering on a knife edge between death and life, and the only thing that’s keeping me alive, is this short sentence that I heard during the brief time I was able to be at his side. A fleeting moment on a night like this very night. He had come to inspect us. I’d been told that was something he always did, without fail. He came quickly, he stayed briefly, and moved swiftly from trench to trench, inspecting everyone and everything, and I’m certain he didn’t sleep more than three hours in an entire day. Who was he and what was he? I only wish I could see him one more time and ask him “Who are you?” But it didn’t come to pass. I never had the chance again. Anyway, I suspect he wouldn’t respond to such a question. I could see he wasn’t one for talking much. His whole being was action. He expressed himself through deeds rather than words. Are you listening to me? He was a man of action, pure and simple. Prisoners must not be killed, he said! I’ll leave you to make of that what you will. I know what I understand by it. This is a war, I’m well aware of that. They don’t go round handing out cookies in war. They kill us and we kill them, sure. At least one enemy battalion was wiped out in our last counterattack and we chalked it up as revenge for their previous attacks. But a prisoner of war … you know, I thought a lot about that sentence. It’s partly because a captive is a defenceless and submissive creature, but as far as I’m concerned that’s just scratching the surface. Beneath it all there is another issue, that is, when a person is captured everything that makes up the way he appears to the world suddenly falls apart. His military honours, his uniform, his weapon and everything that he was carrying in his pockets or knapsack is taken away from him and suddenly you’re looking at an ordinary man who’s just the same as you, just like you were before you were called up. How can you fight a person who reminds you of yourself? What sort of argument can you have with him? He isn’t even armed! He’s not a soldier anymore …’
‘What am I supposed to do with him then? Untie my hand, will you! At least grant me the same rights as you do to an enemy prisoner!’
‘Okay, then, have it your way. Tie his hands together. But be careful, an enemy is an enemy no matter what.’
‘What about his mouth?’
‘Gag it so he can’t scream, and put him in that corner where we can see him!’
‘What did you say that commander’s name was?’
‘I didn’t mention his name, did I?’
‘No, actually, I don’t think you did.’
‘He wouldn’t want his name to be repeated. He was a flame that was extinguished. He wanted to become like the ones who’ve already passed on.’
‘Are you being poetic?’
‘It’s the absolute truth, I swear.’
‘So, did you ever stop to think how a man like that could order an assault when he was sure hundreds would be killed?’
‘No, I didn’t. But I’m sure he believed in our right to defend ourselves.’
‘It looks like this night will never end. Do you think we’re under siege?’
‘How long have you been in the army now?’
‘Six months and seven days.’
‘Let me give you a piece of advice. Maybe even a final parting word!’
‘What?’
‘Don’t count the days. Even if you think you’re in mortal danger, don’t count them. And don’t count them now. The night can’t last forever. It’s in its nature to be replaced by day. It can’t stay in one place. It must pass. But if you tie yourself up in knots counting the passage of moments, you’ll only make their passing slower and heavier. Just let night move at its own pace.’