It is late the next day when the news reaches them.
When the doorbell rings, Hannah admits the air force officer and distractedly calls out to Gadi, her husband, forgetting he is in the shower. She’s worried about the fish left frying on the stove which, when she last checked, appeared almost done. Then Hannah realises the officer is not alone: several figures, also in uniform, huddle in a blur behind him. At the same moment she recognises their visitor. He is the base commander of her eldest, Yonatan, a veteran helicopter pilot and a squadron commander. The officer’s face possesses a pale, sombre edginess. At that moment she recalls her unpleasant experience in the night, the unexplained blow to her head. Later, much later, she would calculate that it occurred precisely as Yonatan’s helicopter was hit by an enemy missile over Lebanon, news of which is now being brought to her by the unhappy-faced officer and his entourage.
Hannah glimpses movement, people hurtling toward her in slow motion. She must have screamed, because suddenly Gadi bursts into the room, the hairs on his chest still dripping from the shower, with only a towel round his considerable girth. Also alerted by the sound, her good friend and neighbour, Dorit Ofer, flies into their hall through the open door. She now stands weeping behind Hannah, gripping her waist, perhaps fearing Hannah might fall. But she does not fall. All she does is scream. She can’t stop screaming. Nor can she relinquish the arm...
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