Ben Zvi came up to the main square, his machine gun slung on his back, and sat on the grass before the firepit. Judith joined him. Ben Zvi stared off into space. “She was staring at me,” he said to himself. “Who?” Judith asked. “The mukhtar’s wife. The one who’d served us tea that time. She was lying there, in a corner of the house, staring right at me as if she could see me.” He swallowed. “She’d been dead awhile.” Judith winced. She remembered the woman well, her dark robe. “They shot her, the people from the Palmach just shot her.” Judith stared at him, her eyes wide. “And the mukhtar? What
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