Log Cabin Chronicles
At the field hospital
ELISHA PORAT
Those who were born, like me, in that fateful year spend their lives looking for their fellow travelers: A baby transported on the floor of an armored bus, and a young mother shielding it with her body; a traveler who has traversed his life but left his heart behind quivering at the bus depot. Let me remind you of something: we were but a year old then when the fate of the world was decided in a bloodbath: Bathe, Scream, Bleed. Cryptic words, evil, inscribed on an ancient amulet.
Translated from the Hebrew by Cindy Eisner.
Elisha Porat writes on a kibbutz in Israel.
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