Solider in the house

I was sure I heard the door while I was still in the shower. I yelled to the children but as usual no one paid any attention. Through the frosted glass I saw a dark shadow open the door, too tall for a child – and there was my husband.

At first he was quiet, just pleased to see us all and surprised by the normality of life on the home front.

With no time to shave he’d grown a beard and the dust had relaxed the curl in his hair. His eyes were brown with fatigue but twinkled from a tanned face. He looked extremely attractive. Ahh men in uniform.

He emptied his bag on to the sitting room floor along with some straw and a good deal of the gritty local volcanic dirt. The constant pressure surges from the blasts had busted the zip on his bag. He’s had the bag since he went to basic training 17 years ago.

He returned the snacks I’d sent with him 10 days ago – they don’t have much time to eat but when they do the food is excellent. They have a hot meal at least once a day and in between they snack on army rations, which are a great improvement on the army rations from our service days.

I shoved his clothes in the machine while he enjoyed a long shower. Although the IDF provides field showers the soldiers only get time to utilise them every couple of days.

Once he was clean my husband lay on the sofa and switched the TV to the news. They have almost no opportunity to keep up with the news and except for information about the missions they are involved in have little idea of what is happening. (In the Gulf war our communications officer gave us a news briefing every few days in case we didn’t have time to keep updated)

He was starving so I rushed in to the kitchen to whip up some delicacy. Instead I was confronted by a lamentable state of supplies. My fridge held a few yoghurts, jam, several bottle of waters, a dozen eggs and four pears. The freezer wasn’t much better. There were the chicken pieces I was saving for Friday, a pack of cold cuts and some frozen sauces.
My cupboards are filled with rice and pasta from the municipalities boxes and a rapidly diminishing supply of sweet corn but not much in the way of protein and soon I will been lacking all fruit and vegetables apart from 3 cans of pineapple.
The logistics of a shopping trip are a bit complicated but I will manage however I do wonder what is happening to people whose food cupboards were barely filled even before the war and who can’t get to the few shops that are open.

Finally I dug out some sausages and rolls from the back of the freezer which my husband devoured with plenty of mustard. Supper involved large quantities of pasta.

After his meal my husband dozed for a while in front of the news.
When he awoke he regaled me stories from the army; how much they fired and when and the triumph when they carried out a mission to perfection. He expressed his pride in the fact that such ‘old’ men, almost 20 years out of the army, were able to perform their duties with such vigour garnering much admiration from the younger soldiers.

He said that during breaks they discussed the war and put the world to rights or made quick phone calls to loved ones before they were called back into action. Sometimes they worked through the night or guarded. If they were on ‘rest duty’ they might be able to sleep for 3 hours, ignoring the noise and the blast, which can physically lift you in the air so you hover above your mattress for half a second.

There were lots of reporters and photographers visiting the encampment. He talked to two photographers one from Reuters and one from AFP. He wasn’t impressed.

He also mentioned the kindness of so many people. The group before had been given massage and aromatherapy under the trees at their encampment while my husband’s group received packages from a lady in Alaska filled with sweets, shampoo and underwear. One man came from the centre of Israel and made them all malabi (also known as sahlab) with the addition of sesame and it was, according to my husband, delicious.

In the afternoon we headed for Naharia, as I needed to find an open pharmacy. No one was answering my calls not even the number I been given by the municipality but there is one pharmacy that has a reputation for always being open and I had even seen a notice on the Spanish-speakers list confirming this. While I popped into the pharmacy my husband phoned a friend who lived nearby but he was at work.

As we drove off towards home the sirens started. We didn’t hear any booms but as we came along the road we saw smoke rising from one of the fields round Shlomi.

In the morning I woke early and finished putting the laundry through the dryer. My husband complained that some of his army socks were not comfortable. They are wool and when I checked most of them were felted and stiff. I threw the out and instead he took his thick cotton sport socks. They’ll doubtless be ruined by the time he gets home but at least he’ll be comfortable.
He threaded his belt through his army trousers, buttoned up his shirt and tucked his trousers into the ‘gumiot’ over his army boots. Then he slung his rifle across his torso and he was ready to go.

He gave both the children a hug and then I accompanied him to the car. When I hugged him I really didn’t want to let go but I forced myself to kiss him and let him get in the car.

I waved and blew kisses as he pulled out of the parking space and watched as he bumped gently down the road.

ES