Free Where the Jackals Howl by Amos Oz Page A

the spectacle, a strong, almost cool breeze burst from the west, plowing through the hot air, playing with the spectators’ hair, and carrying slightly eastward the last of the parachutists.
7
    F AR AWAY in the big city, the massed crowds waiting for the military parade greeted the sudden sea breeze with a sigh of relief. Perhaps it marked the end of the heat wave. A cool, salty smell caressed the baking streets. The breeze freshened. It whistled fiercely in the treetops, bent the stiff spines of the cypresses, ruffled the hair of the pines, raised eddies of dust, and blurred the scene for the spectators at the parachute display. Regally, like a huge solitary bird, Gideon Shenhav was carried eastward toward the main road.
    The terrified shout that broke simultaneously from a hundred throats could not reach the boy. Singing aloud in an ecstatic trance, he continued to sway slowly toward the main electric cables, stretched between their enormous pylons. The watchers stared in horror at the suspended soldier and the powerlines that crossed the valley with unfaltering straightness from west to east. The five parallel cables, sagging with their own weight between the pylons, hummed softly in the gusty breeze.
    Gideon’s two parachutes tangled in the upper cable. A moment later his feet landed on the lower one. His body hung backward in a slanting pose. The straps held his waist and shoulders fast, preventing him from falling into the soft plowland. Had he not been insulated by the thick soles of his boots, the boy would have been struck dead at the moment of impact. As it was, the cable was already protesting its unwonted burden by scorching his soles. Tiny sparks flashed and crackled under Gideon’s feet. He held tight with both hands to the buckles on the straps. His eyes were open wide and his mouth was agape.
    Immediately a short officer, perspiring heavily, leapt out of the petrified crowd and shouted:
    â€œDon’t touch the cables, Gidi. Stretch your body backward and keep as clear as you can!”
    The whole tightly packed, panic-stricken crowd began to edge slowly in an easterly direction. There were shouts. There was a wail. Sheinbaum silenced them with his metallic voice and ordered everyone to keep calm. He broke into a fast run, his feet pounding on the soft earth, reached the spot, pushed aside the officers and curious bystanders, and instructed his son:
    â€œQuickly, Gideon, release the straps and drop. The ground is soft here. It’s perfectly safe. Jump.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œDon’t argue. Do as I tell you. Jump.”
    â€œI can’t, Dad, I can’t do it.”
    â€œNo such thing as can’t. Release the straps and jump before you electrocute yourself.”
    â€œI can’t, the straps are tangled. Tell them to switch off the current quickly, Dad, my boots are burning.”
    Some of the soldiers were trying to hold back the crowd, discourage well-meaning suggestions, and make more room under the powerlines. They kept repeating, as if it were an incantation, “Don’t panic please don’t panic.”
    The youngsters of the kibbutz were rushing all around, adding to the confusion. Reprimands and warnings had no effect. Two angry paratroopers managed to catch Zaki, who was idiotically climbing the nearest pylon, snorting and whistling and making faces to attract the attention of the crowd.
    The short officer suddenly shouted: “Your knife. You’ve got a knife in your belt. Get it out and cut the straps!”
    But Gideon either could not or would not hear. He began to sob aloud.
    â€œGet me down, Dad, I’ll be electrocuted, tell them to get me down from here, I can’t get down on my own.”
    â€œStop sniveling,” his father said curtly. “You’ve been told to use your knife to cut the straps. Now, do as you’ve been told. And stop sniveling.”
    The boy obeyed. He was still sobbing audibly, but he groped