turn on me, but she remained looking to the front.
'Beasts,' she said. 'They treat their goats better than the women. The goats eat first, then the women.'
'Feminism!' exclaimed Dov turning to me for confirmation. 'Feminism, that's what it is called, correct?'
'Correct/ I laughed. 'And from Shoshana.'
Dov was laughing at her anger as he drove the jeep, now fast and kicking, along a straight stretch of the road.
'Nothing! That is nothing!' she shouted, then, unable to get enough meaning into her English, she attacked him in Hebrew. He still laughed, heaving the jeep around a bend in the road, almost scraping a hanging wall of rock, rising on one side and falling on the other. Shoshana returned to English and this time turned about to face me. Her eyes were magnificent. 'Because the women eat after the goats,' she shouted, 'when they come to bear children only half the children five.'
'It happens with all primitive people,' I said aloofly.
Shoshana let her annoyance escape, 'and,' she screamed, 'and, mister Hollings, the dyings of those children are used on the Israeli figures to the United Nations regarding infant mortality! These foul Bedouin are officially Israeli citizens!'
I faced her seriously. Dov was crouched over the wheel and watching a now straight road as though it were heavy of booby traps.
Shoshana reduced her voice but her back was hunched like a nasty-tempered cat. 'Arabs,' she grumbled. 'Israel is full of Arabs. Jaffa, Nazareth, all Arabs. Why do we have them? Do they have Jews in Jordan?'
Dov shrugged at her childishness. He joked: 'We will build a kibbutz right outside King Hussein's palace.'
She whispered: 'One day perhaps we will.'
The sky was like a deep plate with the rising desert brilliantly red against it. The sun was getting towards its noon height. I could feel it burning through my hair. There was a khaki cap on the floor of the jeep, one of those tureen-shaped Jewish caps, and I put it on my head. From behind us, from the sun, at that moment issued three jet fighters, searing noisily across the wide chest of the desert, flying their low shadows over our vehicle and then arching spectacularly into the sky with the surprised grace of birds shot in the belly. I had only time to squeeze my shoulders to my neck after the first sound and the planes were away and curving far off.
'Ours,' I laughed unconvincingly.
'Ours', confirmed Shoshana indicating with the same expression that she meant to add 'not yours'. She sniffed at the sky like a mongrel investigating a temporary smell. 'Mirages from the north,' she added. She turned to me, facing me with sudden enthusiasm. 'They are stronger and faster and have better pilots than any of the Arabs.'
'So there,' I joked. Her English was not adequate enough to appreciate it.
'Of course, the Arabs have more,' suggested Dov patiently. 'But we have what's good in little parcels, as you say.'
'It will seem like we have more,' asserted Shoshana.
Dov did not reply. He had turned the jeep off the choking road now and driven it, frisking like a goat, up a lesser track going towards the mountains that guarded Egypt and the Sinai. 'Did you see the stick the Bedouin boy carried?' he asked suddenly as though the goat-herd had just crossed the track and was not ten miles back. 'That is a hollow tube which he pushes down into the desert waterholes. The water of the Negev is so bitter with minerals that it is not possible for drinking. We had some soldiers in a camp here and all their hair fell out because they drank the water.'
Shoshana unexpectedly giggled. 'They are the oldest young men in Israel,' she said. Then quickly serious: 'But very good soldiers.'
'Of course!' I shouted.
Dov said: "The shepherd boy pushes the hollow stick far down into the waterhole, beyond the water heavy with minerals, and he sucks through it the sweet water that is below that.'
'An old Bedouin trick,' I suggested.
He agreed: 'Very old, Mister Hollings. It is the same magic
'Beasts,' she said. 'They treat their goats better than the women. The goats eat first, then the women.'
'Feminism!' exclaimed Dov turning to me for confirmation. 'Feminism, that's what it is called, correct?'
'Correct/ I laughed. 'And from Shoshana.'
Dov was laughing at her anger as he drove the jeep, now fast and kicking, along a straight stretch of the road.
'Nothing! That is nothing!' she shouted, then, unable to get enough meaning into her English, she attacked him in Hebrew. He still laughed, heaving the jeep around a bend in the road, almost scraping a hanging wall of rock, rising on one side and falling on the other. Shoshana returned to English and this time turned about to face me. Her eyes were magnificent. 'Because the women eat after the goats,' she shouted, 'when they come to bear children only half the children five.'
'It happens with all primitive people,' I said aloofly.
Shoshana let her annoyance escape, 'and,' she screamed, 'and, mister Hollings, the dyings of those children are used on the Israeli figures to the United Nations regarding infant mortality! These foul Bedouin are officially Israeli citizens!'
I faced her seriously. Dov was crouched over the wheel and watching a now straight road as though it were heavy of booby traps.
Shoshana reduced her voice but her back was hunched like a nasty-tempered cat. 'Arabs,' she grumbled. 'Israel is full of Arabs. Jaffa, Nazareth, all Arabs. Why do we have them? Do they have Jews in Jordan?'
Dov shrugged at her childishness. He joked: 'We will build a kibbutz right outside King Hussein's palace.'
She whispered: 'One day perhaps we will.'
The sky was like a deep plate with the rising desert brilliantly red against it. The sun was getting towards its noon height. I could feel it burning through my hair. There was a khaki cap on the floor of the jeep, one of those tureen-shaped Jewish caps, and I put it on my head. From behind us, from the sun, at that moment issued three jet fighters, searing noisily across the wide chest of the desert, flying their low shadows over our vehicle and then arching spectacularly into the sky with the surprised grace of birds shot in the belly. I had only time to squeeze my shoulders to my neck after the first sound and the planes were away and curving far off.
'Ours,' I laughed unconvincingly.
'Ours', confirmed Shoshana indicating with the same expression that she meant to add 'not yours'. She sniffed at the sky like a mongrel investigating a temporary smell. 'Mirages from the north,' she added. She turned to me, facing me with sudden enthusiasm. 'They are stronger and faster and have better pilots than any of the Arabs.'
'So there,' I joked. Her English was not adequate enough to appreciate it.
'Of course, the Arabs have more,' suggested Dov patiently. 'But we have what's good in little parcels, as you say.'
'It will seem like we have more,' asserted Shoshana.
Dov did not reply. He had turned the jeep off the choking road now and driven it, frisking like a goat, up a lesser track going towards the mountains that guarded Egypt and the Sinai. 'Did you see the stick the Bedouin boy carried?' he asked suddenly as though the goat-herd had just crossed the track and was not ten miles back. 'That is a hollow tube which he pushes down into the desert waterholes. The water of the Negev is so bitter with minerals that it is not possible for drinking. We had some soldiers in a camp here and all their hair fell out because they drank the water.'
Shoshana unexpectedly giggled. 'They are the oldest young men in Israel,' she said. Then quickly serious: 'But very good soldiers.'
'Of course!' I shouted.
Dov said: "The shepherd boy pushes the hollow stick far down into the waterhole, beyond the water heavy with minerals, and he sucks through it the sweet water that is below that.'
'An old Bedouin trick,' I suggested.
He agreed: 'Very old, Mister Hollings. It is the same magic
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