leaking into the bedroom.
Yitzhak Maslina leaned a ladder against the wall of his house and climbed up, and when he placed his right foot on the fourth rung, he thought he heard screams near the fence of his yard. He glanced in that direction and saw nothing, got down from the ladder, and approached with caution, lifting his storm lantern upward and to the right so he could see what was going on.
The lantern did not light up the darkness, but when Yitzhak reached the fence a mighty diagonal bolt of lightning slashed the sky from east to west, and by its light he could see two men standing in the field, facing each other, as two bluish silhouettes. The smaller of the two cried out twice “No!” and when he noticed the figure of Maslina, also bluish, he shouted, “Help, he’s going to kill me!”
Maslina immediately recognized the voice, the voice of his bachelor neighbor, Nahum Natan, and even called to him, “Nahum, Nahum…,” but the only reply he heard was a terrible roar. The bigger of the two men roared and punched the smaller one with his fist, first in the left temple, and as the man fell, he added a blow to the chest. Nahum Natan collapsed and lay on the ground, and the lightning illuminated the man who punched him, bending over and holding a long object. Maslina supposed this was a stick and that the man intended to beat Nahum with it, but when the shot was fired he understood it was a rifle, and he too shouted a great shout and lay facedown in the mud. He feared that the shooter—presumably a bandit, for the truth did not occur to him—had noticed the light of the lantern he carried and would now shoot him too.
And the shooter indeed saw him. At first as a silhouette in the open doorway, then as a quivering light, moving forward and stopping, and now the silhouette dropping to the ground and the light going out. He removed the boot from the right foot of the dead man and called out: “Come here, Yitzhak, come here now!”
Maslina recognized that voice too and was shocked. It was the voice of Ze’ev Tavori, his other neighbor. He rose and opened the gate and approached, his steps growing smaller as he drew closer, and because his eyes did not want to meet Ze’ev’s eyes he averted them downward.
Lightning bolts flashed, one after another. Yitzhak saw the corpse and was terrified. The bullet had shattered the dead man’s skull, and what was left intact was covered with blood and rainwater, brain and mud, almost beyond recognition. But his boots were the uniquely excellent boots of Nahum Natan, famous throughout the moshava.
Ze’ev Tavori asked him what he was doing outdoors at such a late hour on a stormy night.
Yitzhak Maslina spoke the truth, that rainwater had leaked into his house and he had gone out to clear a blocked gutter.
“And why did you come over here?”
“I heard shouting,” said Maslina, “and I wanted to see what was going on.”
“And what did you see?”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“You are mistaken,” said Ze’ev Tavori, “you saw a great deal. And if you don’t remember what you saw, I’ll remind you. You saw a suicide. You saw our unfortunate neighbor Nahum Natan shoot himself in the mouth.”
“But where did he get the rifle? Whose rifle is that?” asked Maslina.
“It’s my Mauser. The rifle that my brother Dov brought me from the Galilee in the same wagon as the cow and the tree and Ruth.”
Ze’ev Tavori spoke all this in remarkable detail with complete calm, adding, “Nahum stole it from my house, and I woke up and ran after him, and you saw me running after him and also heard me shouting for him to stop, but I was too late. Straightaway he put the rifle in his mouth and shot himself. Now do you remember what you saw?”
Maslina did not answer, and Tavori bent down and positioned the dead man’s big toe against the trigger of the rifle.
“Here,” he said, “like this. Look and learn, maybe one day you too will want to kill
Yitzhak Maslina leaned a ladder against the wall of his house and climbed up, and when he placed his right foot on the fourth rung, he thought he heard screams near the fence of his yard. He glanced in that direction and saw nothing, got down from the ladder, and approached with caution, lifting his storm lantern upward and to the right so he could see what was going on.
The lantern did not light up the darkness, but when Yitzhak reached the fence a mighty diagonal bolt of lightning slashed the sky from east to west, and by its light he could see two men standing in the field, facing each other, as two bluish silhouettes. The smaller of the two cried out twice “No!” and when he noticed the figure of Maslina, also bluish, he shouted, “Help, he’s going to kill me!”
Maslina immediately recognized the voice, the voice of his bachelor neighbor, Nahum Natan, and even called to him, “Nahum, Nahum…,” but the only reply he heard was a terrible roar. The bigger of the two men roared and punched the smaller one with his fist, first in the left temple, and as the man fell, he added a blow to the chest. Nahum Natan collapsed and lay on the ground, and the lightning illuminated the man who punched him, bending over and holding a long object. Maslina supposed this was a stick and that the man intended to beat Nahum with it, but when the shot was fired he understood it was a rifle, and he too shouted a great shout and lay facedown in the mud. He feared that the shooter—presumably a bandit, for the truth did not occur to him—had noticed the light of the lantern he carried and would now shoot him too.
And the shooter indeed saw him. At first as a silhouette in the open doorway, then as a quivering light, moving forward and stopping, and now the silhouette dropping to the ground and the light going out. He removed the boot from the right foot of the dead man and called out: “Come here, Yitzhak, come here now!”
Maslina recognized that voice too and was shocked. It was the voice of Ze’ev Tavori, his other neighbor. He rose and opened the gate and approached, his steps growing smaller as he drew closer, and because his eyes did not want to meet Ze’ev’s eyes he averted them downward.
Lightning bolts flashed, one after another. Yitzhak saw the corpse and was terrified. The bullet had shattered the dead man’s skull, and what was left intact was covered with blood and rainwater, brain and mud, almost beyond recognition. But his boots were the uniquely excellent boots of Nahum Natan, famous throughout the moshava.
Ze’ev Tavori asked him what he was doing outdoors at such a late hour on a stormy night.
Yitzhak Maslina spoke the truth, that rainwater had leaked into his house and he had gone out to clear a blocked gutter.
“And why did you come over here?”
“I heard shouting,” said Maslina, “and I wanted to see what was going on.”
“And what did you see?”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“You are mistaken,” said Ze’ev Tavori, “you saw a great deal. And if you don’t remember what you saw, I’ll remind you. You saw a suicide. You saw our unfortunate neighbor Nahum Natan shoot himself in the mouth.”
“But where did he get the rifle? Whose rifle is that?” asked Maslina.
“It’s my Mauser. The rifle that my brother Dov brought me from the Galilee in the same wagon as the cow and the tree and Ruth.”
Ze’ev Tavori spoke all this in remarkable detail with complete calm, adding, “Nahum stole it from my house, and I woke up and ran after him, and you saw me running after him and also heard me shouting for him to stop, but I was too late. Straightaway he put the rifle in his mouth and shot himself. Now do you remember what you saw?”
Maslina did not answer, and Tavori bent down and positioned the dead man’s big toe against the trigger of the rifle.
“Here,” he said, “like this. Look and learn, maybe one day you too will want to kill
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