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With him, every drive is a stand-up show. They’ve racked up hundreds of driving hours together, and she cannot recall his ever being this silent. They have been to his home in Abu Ghosh for family celebrations, they know his wife, Inaam, and they helped out with connections and money when his two older sons wanted to emigrate to Argentina. They are his main livelihood, his regular monthly income, and he, in return, is obliged to be at their service around the clock, whenever they need him.

Even if it’s Sami, who’s almost one of the family, who’s been driving everyone - the people who work for Ilan, her estranged husband, and the whole family - for more than twenty years. But when she’d called him she’d been in a state of complete frenzy, and it simply had not occurred to her - the unease slowly rises in her chest - that for this sort of drive, on a day like this, it was better not to call an Arab driver.Įven if he is an Arab from here, one of ours, Ilan prods at her brain as she tries to justify her own behavior. Had she told him, he might have asked her to let him off today, just this one time, or he might have sent one of the Jewish drivers who worked for him-“my Jewish sector,” he called them. Seven or eight hours were all that was left of the weeklong trip she’d planned for the two of them, and now she realizes she hadn’t even told Sami on the phone that Ofer was part of the ride. She wanted to spend these hours with Ofer, and although Ofer agreed, she could tell how much effort his concession took. Sami had asked when she wanted him, and she’d hesitated and then said, “Come at three.” “Ora,” he’d said, “maybe we should leave earlier, ’cause traffic will be a mess.” That was his only acknowledgment of the day’s madness, but even then she didn’t get it and just said there was no way she could leave before three.

Now she remembers that for some reason she hadn’t given him any details or explained the purpose of the trip, the way she usually did. At seven that morning she had called Sami and asked him to come pick her up for a long drive to the Gilboa region. Only then did she realize what she’d done.

For several long minutes he has looked neither at her nor at Ofer.Īs soon as Ofer sat down in the cab, he let out an angry breath and flashed a look that said: Not the smartest idea, Mom, asking this particular driver to come along on a trip like this. His hand rests on the Mercedes’s gear shift and his thick neck does not move. THE CONVOY twists along, a stammering band of civilian cars, jeeps, military ambulances, tanks, and huge bulldozers on the backs of transporters.

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