The Inbetween People Read Online Free

that, he said. Yes, of course it worked. You didn’t know my grandmother.
    So I can’t drive? I’m stuck here on this beach.
    Yes, he said, I’m cooking fish now if you want some. He began to move around the fire again, and presently the smell of fish came through the air. A mosquito landed on my arm, and I slapped at it so hard I stung my flesh.

    I T IS autumn now, or what passes for autumn here, and the evening air gets slightly cooler once the sun sinks in the sky. David is beside me.
    That didn’t go well, he said. You probably heard.
    Sorry, I say, I wasn’t listening.
    My wife, he says, it’s breaking her heart that I’m in here. She wants me to carry out my service. She told her family I’m here and they’re upset about it.
    We turn to look at Zaki, who is pacing up and down, talking on his mobile phone.
    That girl, David says. Is she the reason you’re in here?
    I glance at him. He has ideals, believes in what he is doing, someone like my father would have been at that age. No, she’s not, I say.
    His hands are in his pockets, and he’s groping for leaflets, pulling them out, thrusting them at me. They are full of statistics. There are lots of soldiers like us, he says. Conscientious objectors.
    Is that what I am? I say.
    He turns to regard Zaki, who is striding away from us, each stride an exact measure, the same as the last one. David thrusts a cigarette towards me. You know what you are, he says. And though you keep yourself to yourself and don’t talk much, we appreciate you being here, we appreciate what you’re doing. His lighter is in his hands and he lights my cigarette.
    I look at him, a stocky man of average height, a strong jawline and striking blue eyes that hit me with the force of their integrity every time he looks at me.
    We know it’s not easy, he says. Almost one month, that’s the sum of your time here. The time you should be in the Reserves. He reaches out and puts his hand on my arm. Why not make things easier on yourself. If you need to talk, you talk. I need to talk all the time, he says. My wife, he says, she cries about this, she finds it hard to understand. You should serve where you’re told to serve, she says to me. She’s never been to Gaza. He laughs. But we’re a growing movement, he says. People are beginning to listen. He has another leaflet in his hand. This boy he says, this boy was eleven when he was shot. In Ramallah. Eleven. He points his cigarette at the picture.
    I stare at the picture, I hold it in my hands.
    Kids throw stones, he says, eleven-year-old boys throw stones. The greatest sign of strength an army can display is to show mercy, he says.
    It’s windy, I hear the cypress trees whisper outside the window.
    Avi, he says, it’s good to talk. We have meetings you know. We support each other, we’re all in this together. We all appreciate it’s not easy, and we know that everyone arrives at this point for different reasons. If you want to be part of things you talk to me; it doesn’t matter if your ideals or reasons are not the same as mine. We are all here to help each other. We know that you are here because of her.
    Zaki is coming towards us, he pushes his hands against our backs.
    Time to go back, he says. You, he nods at David. You were four minutes on the phone. That’s one minute off your next call. We notice these things, he says, don’t think we don’t notice.
    When I am back in my cell, David calls out to me. Avi Goldberg, he says. Conscientious objector, he shouts.
    The light has dimmed and suddenly night has descended. I lie on my bed for a time—I like the evenings in the desert, the bright light disappearing from the sky, the fingers of light that remain growing dimmer, darker, until night is upon me. The sun sets abruptly in the desert. For some minutes before it is swallowed by the night, it turns into a flaming fire, then it is gone. Night descends quickly, with little fanfare. I believe it is different elsewhere. Father told me