October Hunt

OCTOBER HUNT

by BJ Spillberg

Copyright 2012 by Barry Jay Spillberg

Smashwords Edition 1.0

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CHAPTER I

On the Friday after the end of Sukkoth, the Festival of Tabernacles, a front came through from the northwest and ended the heat wave. Dumping heavy rain on the hills surrounding the Sea of Galilee, the Kineret, the hot desert winds ceased to blow and cold air raced in dropping the temperature from the mid-forties to the mid-teens. The members of Kibbutz Susita, their windows opened wide to catch any breeze, woke up in the early hours of the morning slamming windows and shutters and stumbling into closets looking for blankets put away months before at the end of winter. Finding blankets, beds were remade. Climbing beneath the covers, people shivered in relief.

Ben Asher was the first in his household to notice the change. His feet, which hung over the edge of the bed under the light sheet, were cold. A light sleeper after so many years in service in Vietnam, the clicks and clatters of closing shutters in the neighboring apartments woke him fully and he realized just how cold he was. Dafna, his wife of a year, was asleep, the sheet drawn up over her face. Ben looked at the clock on his nightstand, an old-fashioned wind-up with a large luminescent face. It was time for the three o’clock feeding. He sighed. Just as well, he thought. He would kill two birds with one stone; put a heavier blanket on the bed and feed and change the diapers of his two sons.

The care and feeding of the boys came first. He hopped out of bed, the sharp cold of the stone tile floor finished waking him. He checked the crib which sat opposite the bed against an inner wall. While the boys were big for their age at three months old – they held the record for birth length at the Tiberius Hospital – they were still small enough to sleep in one crib without interfering one with the other. In several more weeks the baby house would be established and the boys would be moved to their own individual cribs in a room shared by them and two other infants, most likely their two cousins, Chaim and Jessica.

Ben felt uncomfortable at the thought of his children not sleeping at home with their mother and father. His wife, born on this kibbutz, assured him that it was perfectly all right. She and her four brothers had grown to adulthood in this child care system. Despite that, or maybe because of that, Ben was still not comfortable with the concept but he consoled himself with the thought that this arrangement would not last forever. In six months, the family would be moving to Boston, and his sons would be sleeping at home once more.

The boys were still asleep but that would not last. Mark, the older one, would wake first and start to cry waking his younger brother Michael. Ben sought to keep ahead of the game by warming two bottles and then waking Mark, letting Michael sleep. When Mark finished, his diaper would be changed and would be put back to bed and then Ben would repeat the process with Michael. The feeding and the changing of the boys would be accomplished without chaos and without waking Dafna.

Ben put two bottles of pre-mixed formula in a pan of water on the hot plate by the sink and left them to warm. Dafna had tried to breast feed but her milk production had proved inadequate to the task and so she had stopped and bottle feeding had commenced. While the bottles were warming, Ben went out to the porch and unlocked the closet doors. On one side of the porch there was a floor to ceiling closet and the apartment’s bathroom was on the other side. Their apartment, the corner of a triplex, faced the back of the triplex in front of them. A light on the phone pole adjacent to the triplex cast a forlorn shadow. At this time of night, only the night guards and cats roamed the paths between the apartment blocks and Ben saw neither. He was alone in the semi-darkness.

He found two medium weight blankets and extracted them from a pile of heavier coverings and quilts. Spreading one blanket over the bed covering his sleeping wife, he tucked in the bottom corners in military style. The second blanket was folded across the bottom of the bed ready to be pulled up as needed. Dafna murmured something and turned over.

Ben retreated to the outer room to the small kitchen area, a sink, the hotplate, a small dorm-room sized refrigerator and a small electric oven. He picked up one bottle gingerly and sprayed a drop of formula against his inner wrist. He had spent hours in the days before the boys and their mother arrived home from the hospital in training by his mother-in-law in the proper cleaning and feeding of infants. Pnina had made him clean the apartment three times, not that the apartment was at all dirty, but to her mind was not clean enough for her precious grandsons. He had appealed to his own mother for relief but Helen Asher had just laughed and told him it was good for him. Besides, he was a former Air Force officer and should be used to keeping things spotless. He was now also a trained thermometer knowing exactly how warm a bottle should be before giving the contents to a hungry infant.

The bottles were at the proper warmth. The second bottle was left in the water but the hotplate was turned to a lower temperature. Ben took several cloth diapers from the clean pile and placed them on the rocking chair in the front room. He wrapped the bottle in a dish towel and placed it on the table by the chair. Returning to the inner room, Ben scooped Mark out of the crib. He double checked. The boys were identical even to their parents and the only differencing marks were the different colored bows tied on the babies’ wrists and the fact that Mark was placed with his head facing the left. Convinced that he held Mark, Ben brought the baby to the front room, and placing one folded diaper over his left shoulder and the other over his lap, he positioned the baby in a semi-sitting position and placed the bottle’s nipple at the side of the baby’s mouth. Mark, still mostly asleep, moved his mouth to the nipple and started to suck strongly.

Halfway through, Ben pulled the bottle away and bringing Mark against his shoulder, started to rub the baby’s back. He was beginning to fall asleep himself when he was rewarded a loud belch. Yophi, Ben said quietly and gave Mark the rest of the bottle and burped him again. Taking his son to the changing table, Ben changed Mark’s diaper. Diaper pins and paper diapers were virtually non-existent in Israel. Instead one used a series of knots to tie and keep a cloth diaper on the infant’s bottom. He was an old hand at this having spent many evenings at various children’s’ houses with his four older adopted children, changing baby and toddler underwear. His second oldest adopted son, Hillel, about two years old, was still in diapers and his diapers were far dirtier, more of a challenge than those of a three month old.

Mark was returned to his side of the crib and the process was repeated for Michael. The second son was a bit more fidgety than his older brother and it took longer to feed and burp him. But as time consuming as it was to feed his two little ones, he had no complaints. His niece, Jessica, two days older than the twins, the daughter of Dafna’s older brother Oren and Sarah, was a colicky baby, always crying and never happy when fed. Ben had spent a few evenings over at Sarah’s – Oren was a pilot for El Al and was invariably never home – and had tried to help Sarah with the little blonde bombshell. He had walked the floors with little Jessica pressed against his shoulder, pacing the stone floors whistling the theme from The Bridge over the River Kwai. He was back in ROTC drill walking off demerits and Jessica was his rifle. Chuckling to himself, whistling the theme under his breath, Ben returned Michael to the crib and climbed back into bed. He glanced at the alarm clock. He would have to get up for work in about two hours.

Dafna rolled over as he crawled under the blanket. Babies fed, burped and changed, he reported. In his mind’s eye he came to attention and saluted.

Is it my imagination or did it get colder? She asked while putting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her to keep her closer.

It did. It looks as though the heat wave broke and it rained. There was water on the front walk.

Good, she murmured. She nestled against him and was soon asleep. Ben smiled and closed his eyes. If he dreamed, he did not remember.

His eyes opened. It was 0530 hours, time to get up. He never needed an alarm clock, an old habit from his days in the field. He kissed the top of his wife’s head and disentangled himself from her arms. She rolled over with a sigh. Getting to his feet, the floor was even colder, Ben hurriedly pulled on his work clothes, a blue cotton shirt, blue cotton work pants and shin high work boots. In the outer room, he made himself a cup of tea and munched on a piece of his mother-in-law’s sponge cake. Checking on the boys, satisfying himself that they were still asleep, Ben bent over and kissed both of them on the cheek. After brushing his teeth in the bathroom, he went next door and knocked on the door.

Yeah, I’m coming, Yakobi Berg called from inside.

I’ve heard that before, Ben replied. Come on, Yakobi, move your ass.

The apartment door opened and Yakobi stumbled out. Dressed similarly, he placed a hand over his eyes and squinted. It’s too damned bright, he complained.

You look like shit, man, Ben commented.

I feel even worse.

What time did you get to bed last night?

I don’t remember. I guess I passed out after supper.

Ben scrunched his nose. Yeah, you smell like it. He put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. I know she’s gone and your heart is broken but this has to end. You’ve got to get yourself together. No woman is worth it.

Right and how would you act if Dafna went off to America and never came back with no word, no letter, no anything? Even her sister and father don’t know what happened to the girl. How would you be, Benya?

Ben sighed. He knew all too well how he would be, how he had been. I understand and I would be in pieces. It happened to me, too, a long time ago and it took me some time to pull it together, but I did and so will you.

Sophie Shlagerman, Yakobi’s girlfriend of more than six months, had returned to Los Angeles in August with the intention of getting her affairs in order making aliyah, immigrating to Israel, before the start of the Jewish New Year in September. September had come and gone and there was no Sophie. There was no explanation, no word. All they knew was that the girl was not dead and that no accident had befallen her. Yakobi had started drinking heavily on Tzom Gedalia, the third day of the New Year and had not stopped. He barely ate anything, nor did he wash or shave. It was a good thing he worked out in the vineyard and fields.

The two men walked through the kibbutz to the main parking area near the front gate meeting and greeting other members and volunteers.

Dan Rosenzweig, Ben’s brother-in-law, caught up to them. What do you bathe in, Yakobi, cow piss? Man, you reek!

Good morning to you too, Danny, Yakobi answered.

How’s the family? Ben asked.

Dan smiled. Mother and son are doing fine. The husband and father could use some sleep. The kid cries a lot. He doesn’t want to go to bed.

Have you tried a lullaby?

The way I sing, I don’t think so. I’d traumatize the poor kid. He slapped his brother-in-law on the back. Need to ask a favor, Boss?

Here it comes, Ben replied. How much is it going to cost me this time?

Not a lira. I just need some time off after breakfast. Have to have Chaim checked out by the visiting pediatrician.

Is there a problem? Ben grew alarmed.

Oh, no, there’s not a problem; it’s just routine. Tsippi is traveling today; she’s meeting up with her academic advisor at the Technion. I’m the back up.

What happened to Chaim’s grandmother? I thought she was watching him.

She is. The problem is that the visiting pediatrician is visiting the clinic at Kibbutz Ha’On down on the lake. My mother doesn’t drive. I’ve got a tender booked for after 9AM. It’s going to be a regular baby buggy. I’m taking nearly everyone: Sarah and little Jessica, Liora and Geula, my baby sister and your two giants and the Shoens.

Dafna didn’t tell me the boys were going off the kibbutz. This will be their first time.

And probably not the last. She probably didn’t want to bother you with something so trivial.

I suppose. Will you be back by lunch?

I should be with time to spare. Why?

After lunch, I’m going hunting with the odiferous one here, his father and Joe Rossi up the Golan. It’s the payoff for attempting to burn down my sukkah last year.

Yeah, I remember hearing about that. Are you sure you’re going with this one? He’ll scare the game off from ten kilometers away.

Very funny, Danny. I’m going to be the bait.

We’re going to stake him out in the middle of the forest and when the wild animals come by, curious about what smells so badly, we’ll bag them. It will work better than laying out honey for bears.

That will work, Dan agreed. They reached the parking lot. Ben and Dan climbed aboard the tractor and flatbed bound for the chicken coops and waited for the rest of the work crew. Yakobi jumped on his tractor and starting it, pulled out for the vineyards.

You actually really want to go hunting with Itzak Berg? Dan asked his brother-in-law.

Ben shook his head. Not particularly. I would rather stay home and play with the kids but he wants to take me hunting and you know him better than I do. He’s not a man you want to say no to, not if you want to stay healthy.

True enough. You’re going with Yakobi the way he smells.

If he doesn’t clean himself up before we leave, I’ll take him down to the refet and make him roll in the cow shit. That will cover the smell. They both laughed.

Itzak Berg was a wild man. He had spent his teenage years slipping out and into most of the concentration camps in Eastern Poland and Lithuania on missions with the Jewish Partisans. He had fought the Nazis at Warsaw and with Tzuckerman and Lubetkin, had slipped away into the night when that cause was lost to fight another day. Arriving in Israel in one of the illegal tramp ships after spending months in Poland looking for his deceased relatives, he had been recruited by the Irgun Tzvai Leumi and fought the Arabs and the British occupation. Wanted by both the British and Jewish authorities, Berg spent time in the British prison at Acre and had participated in the great escape.

During the War of Independence, Sergeant Berg served under Captain, later Major, Baruch Rosenzweig as a scout and sniper in actions against the Arab forces in the Galilee. One December night, at a Hanukah party, his commander’s wife introduced the unit’s savage, as he was commonly referred to by even his own men, to her best friend, Dafna Lieberman and magic happened. The two fell in love and were married. After the demobilization of the Haganah in 1949, the happy couple joined their friends in establishing a communal farming settlement next to Susita Gorge under the Golan Heights on the border with Syria. Nine months later tragedy struck when Dafna Berg died in labor. Itzak Berg was left alone with a baby son, Yakobi.

In his grief, Berg abandoned his son and kept only a tenuous relationship with the kibbutz. Yakobi lived in the communal children’s houses and was raised by everyone and no one. His father lived apart, in a shack on the other side of the gorge, working for the kibbutz first in establishing the vineyards and later the avocado groves. He interacted directly with people only rarely coming into the main kibbutz to draw supplies and food. He continued to serve in the Israeli Army as a scout along the Syrian and Lebanese Borders and stories were told, never officially confirmed, of Berg’s terrible and effective actions against terrorist camps across the border.

While Berg rarely interacted or intervened directly in kibbutz affairs, he made his preferences, likes and dislikes known in chilling ways. If someone proposed cutting back the budget for avocado production during a members’ meeting, that particular member would find his pet strangled and disemboweled on the steps of his apartment the next morning. Offensive remarks against Berg were rewarded with exploding hot plates and worse. Policies that Berg disagreed with were met with sabotage and the threat of worse. Only Baruch and Pnina Rosenzweig had any sway with him and Baruch, as kibbutz secretary, spent much of his effort trying to keep Berg from crossing the line that would force the authorities to go after him and cart him away. Berg would listen to Baruch primarily out of consideration of Baruch’s youngest child, Dafna, named after Berg’s dead wife. Berg was, in fact, her godfather.

Ben Asher, never having met Itzak Berg and not having ever heard of him, had angered Berg during the Feast of Tabernacles during the War by building a sukkah, the traditional hut, on the lawn in front of the apartment he and Dafna shared. Berg had first, in the middle of the night, knocked the hut down. Ben had it rebuilt by the kibbutz carpenter the next day only to have Berg try to burn it down the following evening. Ben’s anger was beyond limit. Afraid that her fiancé would take matters into his own hands, Dafna pleaded with her father to intervene. Baruch reluctantly agreed.

Baruch found Berg eating his midday meal at the shack by the avocado groves. The shack had no electricity, no running water nor indoor plumbing. The chickens in the coops live better than this, Baruch thought to himself as he knocked on the door and was invited to step inside.

Ah, it’s you, Itzak said between mouthfuls. Come, clean off that chair and sit down. You want something to eat? These olives are especially good. A piece of cheese, perhaps?

Baruch found space to put down the packages he had brought; Pnina had baked special things for this meeting, burnt offerings, as it were, for the gods. Itzak examined the cookies and cakes with pleasure.

Pnina has come through again as always, he said. Tell her I appreciate it.

You could come by some time and tell her yourself.

Right, like she really wants to see me. He sliced himself a piece of cheese. What brings you here bearing food and, ah, a nice bottle of liquor? This must be a serious talk. You brought the foreign stuff, not the Israeli swill. He stood up and rummaged around the counter that served as a pantry until he found two relatively clean, unchipped water glasses. Opening the bottle of scotch, he poured himself a four-finger drink and did the same for his old commander. I hope you like it neat, Bernard. Ice is at a premium around here.

Straight up is fine, Izzy, though I hope you won’t be offended if I don’t drain the glass. It’s a little too early in the day for me to suck down two doubles right off and I have to go back to the office after this.

Itzak shook his head and sighed. In the old days, we could kill a whole bottle of this at lunch and go out and work until sunset.

That was then; I’m afraid I can’t do that now.

Bernard, you’re getting soft.

Getting soft? Baruch patted his belly. I am soft and I’m getting softer. He raised his glass. Nu, l’chaim.

L’chaim. They touched glasses and while Baruch took a small sip, Itzak drained the glass. Smacking his lips, he poured himself another but did not drink it. He stared at his friend. All right, what do you want from me? All this largesse doesn’t come without a price.

Baruch looked Itzak straight in the eye. I want you to leave the boy alone. Stop harassing him.

What boy? What harassment? I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Stop trying to burn down the boy’s sukkah.

Oh, that. You know how I feel about religious coercion.

I do know and you’re way off base. First, do you know who the boy is?

I have no clue. Lives next to my kid. I presume a volunteer of some sort.

A guest; he’s Gary Asher’s younger brother. You remember Gary, don’t you? Itzak nodded. He’s here on an American Air Force assignment; he was supposed to be getting out but with the war on, they extended him until next summer.

What’s he doing here? There’s no air force base around here.

He’s not a pilot; he was in the commandos.

The air force has commandos?

The American Air Force has commandos. Ben tells me they even have a navy though I find that hard to believe. He’s a tough kid; spent almost three years in Vietnam during their war, and, my friend, the boy can shoot. He’s a better shot than even you are.

That I find hard to believe.

Believe it; I’ve seen him. He’s better than you are now and perhaps even better than you were in the old days.

Why are you telling me all this?

I am telling you about the boy because the boy will soon be the husband of your goddaughter. They are engaged to be married.

Itzak’s eyes opened wide. Nobody told me that. Why didn’t you tell me?

I don’t see you from one new moon to the next. You never come by and I’ve been a bit too busy lately to hike over here and drop in for a social visit. There is a war on, you know?

I know all about the war, Bernard. Bunch of pansy asses; got caught with their pants down. If it was the old days and you were in command, we would be in Damascus by now kicking the crap out of those damned bastards.

Eh, I don’t know, Izzy, maybe, maybe not, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to caution you to stay away from him. He thinks whoever is attacking his sukkah is committing an anti-Semitic act and if provoked any further, he’ll take action.

Right, like I should be afraid of some stupid American.

You have not been listening to me, Izzy. This is not some American tourist; this kid is the real deal and he is just as tough as you are. He has killed men with his bare hands. He can shoot the eyes off a snake at five hundred meters. If he finds out it was you who tried to burn down his sukkah, he will come after you and we won’t be able to stop him.

Let him come.

Baruch closed his eyes and waited for his anger to subside. Dafna, your god-daughter has asked me to talk to you. I wasn’t going to. I was going to let the chips fall as they may but she is my only daughter and this is the boy she has chosen. They will be going to America next summer, after they are married.

For good?

I hope not. The boy is enrolled at some fancy technical school in Boston and wants to finish an advanced degree in business management or something. He talks about coming back after that. He won’t come back if he feels he cannot practice his religious beliefs the way he wants to.

You know how I feel about religious coercion.

Oy, Izzy, this is not a matter of religious coercion. The boy is an American. American Jews have a different sense of what is Jewish than you or I do; they are more observant and less religious than we are. They observe some of the rules but do not observe others.

We observe none of the rules.

"But we live here. Observing the rules is not so important. We breathe Jewish; we drink Jewish; we fart Jewish. The Anglos live among the goyyim; they have to remind themselves that they are Jewish. They go to synagogue; they build sukkahs. They wave the lulav and esrog. It makes them feel good.

And quite frankly, my old friend, the sukkah has been a real godsend in these times. We’ve sat in it and have sung songs and had latkes with apple sauce and the whole bit, and for a little while we were able to forget this damned war. Baruch closed his eyes in anguish. The war and its consequences had come back to his thoughts. He took a gulp from his glass, and then another.

What has happened? Itzak stared at his friend. Wait, how are the boys?

David is fine. Avi was knocked out of the sky over the Canal and may lose a leg. The boy led a mission into Lebanon three days ago and rescued Oren who had been shot down over the Golan and held captive by the enemy.

That’s three, Itzak counted on his fingers. What about the fourth; what about Dan?

This was painful. Dan was shot down over the Canal and is missing, presumed dead.

I am truly sorry, Bernard. Yakobi is up in the Golan in the tanks. I don’t know if he is all right or not. How is Pnina taking all this?

Better now that Oren has been rescued but there is the sadness surrounding poor Danny. Baruch reached over and touched his friend’s arm. I cannot afford to lose another child; not to war and not to America. I want Dafna and her husband to come back here to live. You’re not helping me.

What is it you want me to do?

First, stop trying to tear down the sukkah. Sukkoth will be over with soon enough and the sukkah will come down. Second, you must make amends with the boy.

What, you want me to apologize? I won’t.

Oh yes you will and if that means kissing his shmuck, you’ll do that too. Don’t give me that look, Izzy. I mean it. He’s a good boy and you’ve gone too far this time. If you don’t apologize, he’ll think it is the kibbutz that condones this behavior. That will leave a sour taste in his mouth and when it comes time for him to decide to move back here, he won’t. He’ll stay in America with my daughter. I’ll not have that, Izzy, I will not. You will apologize. You owe me that much. It’s not too much to ask. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Pnina, do it for your goddaughter. She wants to come back but not alone. Baruch finished the whiskey.

She really is in love with this boy?

Oh, she most certainly is. Do you know what I had to do to get him over here for her to meet him? I had to use every bit of influence I had with the high command to get them to ask the Americans for the assistance of a specific commando officer. The boy was on his way back to Boston and I had to wheedle them to send him here. Of course, once the two of them met, face to face, it was all over, a mission success.

Wait! Are you telling me that Dafna had never met this kid before?

Baruch shook his head. Never. She knew him from the letters he wrote to Gary Asher’s widow from when he was in Vietnam. My Dafna reads and writes English like an American and she translated them and Batya’s responses. Gary’s parents were visiting last Pesach and showed my daughter a picture of the boy in uniform. She wailed to Pnina how she was so much in love and bemoaned the fact that they would never meet. I had to do something to restore domestic tranquility in my household. I had to make my little girl happy…

Our little girl.

Yes, our little girl. I moved heaven and earth and it worked, but so help me, Izzy, I’m not going to let you screw it up now. You will make good.

Itzak raised the bottle. You want another?

Baruch nodded. Yeah, hit me again, a double double. Screw the office. Baruch raised the glass and drained it. Let’s do it again. He wiggled his glass.

Itzak obliged. You should come by here with a bottle more often, old friend. We don’t drink like we used to.

We don’t do a lot of things like we used to. Baruch tapped his friend’s arm. Do me the favor and get it over with. The boy should be at his apartment tonight. Go and apologize and get it over with. It will make us all happy.

It won’t make me happy but for you I’ll do it.

Thank you. Here’s to your health and confound the enemy.

That evening, Itzak Berg appeared on Ben’s apartment doorstep and after a few minutes of silence sipping bourbon, admitted to his setting fire to the sukkah. Ben tried to explain that he had meant no offense and Berg offered as means of atonement to take Ben and Yakobi hunting. Ben surprised by the offer had accepted but it took some time for the hunting trip to be organized. First the war had to end and the troops demobilized. Then the Golan and the area around Mount Hermon, the scenes of horrendous tank assaults and counter assaults had to be pacified and cleaned up of unexploded ordinance, ad hoc minefields and other lethal treasures. Finally, peoples’ schedules had to mesh and that was more Ben’s problem than anyone else’s.

For eight months, January through August, Ben worked as a design engineer for the prosthetic business the kibbutz had gone into partnership with Dr. Shapiro, Susan Cooperman’s father. The kibbutz membership during the summer had declined to invest further in the partnership and did not allow the Army to expand its orthopedic clinic on Kibbutz-administered property. The Army promptly moved the clinic to Afula and the kibbutz sold its share of the prosthesis business to its manufacturing partner in Tel Aviv. Ben throughout the entire eight months had been on the road continuously shuttling back and forth between the Galilee and the coast and with the adoption of the four orphaned Selah children, and the arrival of the twins, had no weekends to spare to indulge in a hunting trip.

All that came to an end in September. As the Jewish New Year commenced, Ben found himself back at the chicken coops working with his brother-in-law, Dan, his friend Lenny Barkin’s father-in-law, Jake Shlagerman and his schedule still hectic as the new parent to six children under the age of nine, but there was now time for the hunting trip. Itzak Berg came by the apartment on the last day of Sukkoth and announced that the trip was on for the weekend. Ben was hard pressed to refuse. He did talk his friend, Joe Rossi, another new father, into going.

I’ve never been hunting, Joe said when Ben asked him to go.

Never?

Joe shrugged. It’s not something that comes naturally to a kid from South Perth Amboy. My dad used to take me fishing quite a bit but the first time I ever held a gun was on the rifle range at Camp LeJeune. And the only thing I’ve ever been trained to shoot at is people and the only time I’ve ever shot at anybody, I was with you.

Oh yes, that little trip to Lebanon. Yes, I remember it well…

Before you break into a chorus from Gigi, have you ever been hunting?

Actually, no. Nice Jewish boys from the South Shore of Boston rarely go hunting, and yes I’ve been fishing, and yes, the first time I ever held a gun was at ROTC boot camp, and yes, I was trained to shoot at people. The only thing I have that you don’t have is that I have shot at people a lot more often.

I thought you told me you went hunting in college? Dafna asked. The two couples sat on the lawn between their two apartments. The three older Rossi children and Ben’s four adopted children played together with friends. The twins were in their carriage asleep. Dafna held the six-week old Geula, a little olive-skinned almond eyed pixie in her arms. She was a peanut in comparison to Mark and Michael.

Oh, that. Ben rolled his eyes. I had a fraternity brother from Upstate New York who thought he was the last coming of the great white hunter. He talked a couple of us into coming with him one weekend to his parents’ cabin up in the Adirondacks to hunt for squirrels.

He took you squirrel hunting? You actually shot at poor defenseless squirrels? What were you, Jed Clampett?

He did all the shooting. It was one of those drunken weekend things. Everybody in the hunting party was bombed. I spent most of the time hiding behind a tree; never had been so scared in my entire life.

And did you catch anything?

Yeah, he got a parcel of squirrels. We hauled them back to the frat house and he skinned and cooked them up. Squirrels taste remarkably like chicken.

Wait a minute! Don’t squirrels belong to the rodent family? Aren’t they just rats with fur and long tails?

And long claws, yes, they are.

Which means, that for all practical purposes, you went rat hunting and ate cooked rats?

I suppose you could say that but it sounds much more romantic to say squirrel. We invited some young ladies from the sorority next door to share in the bounty.

You talked sorority girls into eating cooked rodent?

We didn’t tell them what it was until after they had eaten their fair share. If you didn’t know what you were eating, you would have thought you were eating small game hens or something.

And once they were told that it was squirrel?

There was bee line for the ladies room. Never saw girls turn green so fast in my life.

Benya, that whole story sounds unusually cruel.

Yes, dear, I suppose it was but the whole hunting trip became a success. Afterwards, to make amends to the girls, we took them down to the North End for pizza. Two guys met their future wives on that little jaunt so I guess it didn’t turn out that badly.

What are we going to hunt on this trip?

Yakobi says that there are deer and elk and rabbits plus, if we’re lucky, bear.

There are bears on the slopes of the Hermon?

That’s what he says. I wouldn’t know. I have never been there.

I don’t know if I could shoot a deer; it would be like killing Bambi’s mother or something.

"I understand. Shooting at people is far less aggravating but I don’t think they’ll let us do that if