The Pure

right to live in peace. But the Arab countries around us are hungry for our blood. During the war they supported Hitler, and drew up plans to bring the Final Solution to Palestine. Then, the moment Israel was formed, they attacked us in overwhelming numbers. This was before our victories, before the settlements, before anybody here had even heard the word “occupation”. We had to beat them back in 1948, and 1967, and again in 1973, all completely unprovoked. We were faced with an enemy determined to put us all to the sword – men, women and children. Now we need to keep the lessons of the early wars alive. We need to achieve dominance and maintain that dominance. The Arab world is still baying for our blood. If we weaken, even for a moment, the hordes would come pouring through.’
    Adam nodded. He had heard this lecture many times before. But now, for the first time, despite his feeling of unease, it seemed to make sense.
    ‘In some ways things are more complicated now, but in other ways they are simpler,’ his father continued, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘The wars of my day demonstrated to your generation that we cannot talk our way to peace. Fuck what the rest of the world thinks. They are not the ones who would be wiped out if their concessions backfired. We can’t afford to let go of anything. We need the settlements as a buffer zone against Israel proper. We need the mountains of the Golan Heights, or the Syrians would overrun us in a matter of hours.’
    He opened the bottle of Arak again and filled their glasses to the brim. ‘To you, my son,’ he said, raising his glass a fraction, ‘and to all your future operations. Everything you do is protecting our people. It makes us all very proud.’

 
28
    Another night, and Uzi hadn’t slept. The money still hadn’t been deposited. His head had hit the pillow at half past four in the morning, and the darkness had haunted him, hazy figures emerging and disappearing before his eyes. The Kol had a lot to say, most of which he ignored. At eight he got up, red-eyed, and smoked a spliff. All around him he could hear the sounds of the club, the city, awakening. The clink of room service, the breakfast trays in the corridor. The sound of buses outside. Voices. Danger.
    The spliff mellowed him, and he tried again to sleep. By now, light was filtering through the curtains and he felt at odds with the world. His mind kept churning, churning; a strong electric current was coursing through him. The usual gallery of images arose, reconfigured, combined, gave way to each other like a tag team: the Office, Liberty, Cinnamon, the people he’d killed; Operation Regime Change, Avner, Gal. Nadim Sam Qaaqour, Ram Shalev. Then, further back, his son, Nehama, his parents. The sun rose in the sky and the sheets wound themselves around his body as he struggled to find release.
    And then it was lunchtime. Uzi hauled himself out of bed, ordered room service. Would today be the day? Would Liberty turn up and give him another job? He needed some action, anything to keep his mind off this self-defeating cycle. He ate his lunch while surfing Israeli news sites on his laptop, scratching the back of his neck. Today there was a report on a failed assassination attempt on an Iranian scientist three months before – a scientist who, the newspaper contended, was conducting research in the biological sciences, not the nuclear project. As Avner had said, the death of Ram Shalev was still in the news. There was more analysis of the suicide attack – even more – with animated maps of the Jerusalem hotel and amateur footage of the explosion. There were more tributes – even more – to Shalev. His picture, pictures of his funeral. The stage was set, but where was the money? Not long now, Avner kept saying, not long now. If we don’t have the money in a week, we’ll start being less polite.
    After lunch he turned on the television, toyed with the idea of phoning Gal, did not pick up the phone. Action, he really needed some action. He smoked another spliff and slept for an hour. Then he woke up. Two films on cable, back-to-back; a packet of cigarettes. Room service. By the time he had turned off the television, and the room had become silent in a way he had almost forgotten, it was growing dark outside. Days seemed to slip by while his life remained frozen. Too nervous to go out, too tired to sleep, he sat in his room while the days rolled past; one after the other, never stopping,