Naomi 2

Next morning, Sgt/Maj Goldstein stops by the office to drop off a form. Cheeky grin, "see that ex of yours is in a potful of trouble again."
"He does have a talent for that."
"Just love your dry sense of humor. Now, set aside jokes, why is the Old Man doing this to you?"
"Doing what?"
"He is way outa line. I'd lodge a grievance if I were you. He is putting you in a job beneath your rank and dignity."
"Oh, that, truth is I am less than 100% healthy."
Goldstein vigorously jabs the air, as he makes his point, "there is a reason he gets away with crap like this. That's because people allow it to happen. He darn well had a duty to place you in a proper Sgt job or scrub you from the tour."
"Chill Ari, he's a harmless old gentleman. And no, he doesn't have time to read all the memos and such, same as you and me, just a Reservist. He was merely trying to find a compromise. Leave him alone."
He sighs, "well ok." Looks out the window, sees no one around. Still, lowers his voice, "time we talked for real, instead of just joking around."
I nod, lean forward, curious.
"Now you as a Sgt, I mean when you are in your proper job, have it easy. Any troublemakers, just pass on up."
I nod.
"With me, the buck stops. Yes I could send them to an officer, but why bother? Himself appears to be suffering from Alzheimer's. Lt Nachman, what does she ever do other than flutter around and gossip?"
We both laugh.
"So you think on that. Suppose I should vanish. Don't show next summer, permanent medical exemption. Where does that leave you?"
It starts to dawn.
"Look at all the Sgt's. Who else but you?"
"Why are you telling me this Ari?"
"We've been friends and enemies for years. Felt you deserved a warning."
I groan, "Ari, I find myself in better health than you. Any suggestions would be appreciated."
"If you hang around Naomi, it'll only get worse. Every year, more people manage to dodge the tour. Every year, capital assets get more dilapidated."
I nod.
"Switch to reforestation crew for the month each summer. Easy to do in the bureaucratic sense, just fill the form. Away in the hills, cooler. Time for a change."
"Thank you so much Ari."
As he leaves, I ponder. He's right.
Sgt Meyer drops by to pass in a form. Dark look, "is the Old Fart nuts or what?"
I raise an eyebrow.
"Puh-lease, how you gonna keep a straight face? Is it not true, every single year, HQ fobs off some ridiculous low class assignment on us?"
I nod.
"And is it not true, every single year, Old Fart buys their line verbatim, no matter how off the wall it is?"
Again I nod, pointless to deny the obvious.
"Only a few more years for that silly wimp Goldstein. When I make Sgt/Maj, we will get some dignity, I assure you. Push for a real assignment, West Bank or Gaza."
He leaves, whistling a merry tune. Either way, with him or me in charge, sounds like a lost cause. Rest of the morning I look up info on reforestation.
As Capt appears, I switch from photos of cool forests to the spreadsheet on manpower utilization. He looks, over my shoulder, "that bad huh? Another two, three years, nobody left. Maybe just you and me. They'll make us ushers in the Knesset."
We both laugh.
I gather my food on the tray, groan inwardly. Room left at the table with Lt Nachman. If I don't go, will be perceived as rude. Worse yet, gossiped about.
Cpl Zilber is regaling people with stories from the tabloid she reads. Seems our fearless Prime Minister, the superhawk, has an extramarital affair going with a dominatrix.
As I listen to all this, I realize my harsh judgment of the Jerusalem Post's journalism was unwarranted. They are shining paragons compared to the tabloids.
As I listen, it's obvious no one is asking, "just a min, maybe this is just a ploy to sell papers?"
I return to the office more depressed than ever.
Just as I exit the mess after supper, the sun is going down. Capt Herzog says cheerfully, "well, IJ didn't come today. Another 29 days, they'll be someone else's worry."
Lt Nachman natters on about committees in the kibbutz, who sleeps with whom.
I dream about IJ. The boyos appear, brandishing AK-47's. I feel it wisest to meekly hand over the key to the empty warehouse. After inspecting it, they depart laughing. One calls out, "not worth the powder to blow it to hell. Go get a real summer job."
It was one of those argument, just started from nowhere at breakfast. Soon Cpl Zilber and Lt Nachman have a bet going. Ten shekels that Zilber lacks nerve to dance topless on the table.
Zilber wins the bet than and there, to loud raucous applause.
As we file out, I ask Zilber how that got going.
Laugh, "I'm not exactly sure. But it never hurts to advertise."