(The dreamlike saga of this new short story, magic-realism in the Holy Land, continues when the battle on the big dining room comes to an end, and the one for the soul of the kibbutz begins.)
When David saw that, he rushed down to the equipment-shed, which stood adjacent to the old Community Shower—now serving the women as a beauty salon—and got hold of the longest water hose there. He hooked it to a faucet and turned on the water, and began fighting the fire. Other kibbutz members joined him in this fight, using water hoses and buckets of water, which they moved quickly from hand to hand. Some resourceful women brought towels and blankest from their beauty salon, and began beating the bushes, which by now caught fire as well. Everybody was at it, as one body, in a supreme, desperate effort to save the trees and, by and large, the kibbutz.
When at last fire engines from Afula, the capital city of the Jesreel Valley had arrived, together with police and ambulances, there wasn’t much that could be saved. The fire had been contained, to a degree, but the dining room was consumed down to its concrete base. The adjoining large kitchen, the bakery and small warehouse, were also lost to the fire. The thick belt of trees and bushes enveloping the dining room had survived, however thin, due to the persistent, heroic effort of the kibbutz members.
There were casualties, of course, injured and dead. But at that hour of fatigue and grief, when David and Gideon were slowly walking up toward the mountain, dripping of sweat and water, it was unknown yet who and how many.