“Meat in a can?” Number 7 looks like she is about to faint. “Do you know how many preservatives there are in this? We eat only organically grown foods at home.”
“Army rations,” says the girl whose tears have dried to blackened streaks. “Get used to it.”
“It looks like it's passed the âbest before' date,” says Amber, squinting to read the fine print. “What year is it from?”
“Eat it or pass it here,” says Lily.
“Do you want my peas instead?” I offer the vegetarian girl, holding out my can.
She shakes her head. “Thanks. But I need the protein to keep going. It's not like I'll get sick, right?” No one answers.
I spread a layer of the canned meat on a slice of white bread, sprinkle corn kernels on top, and bite in.
Revolting, but I force it down. I know I need this to give me strength.
We're about done eating when suddenly the girl with the pigtails gasps.
“What's up?” asks Lily.
“Ohmigod,” she whispers. “I think I just got my period.”
“Oh geez,” says Argentina. “Talk about bad timing. Does anybody have anything on them?”
“I brought,” says North Carolina. She digs her hand into one of her pockets.
Pigtails groans again.
“Now what?” asks Lily.
“I need a bathroom. I need privacy.” Her voice trembles. “What am I going to do?”
“We won't look,” says one of the girls.
“I can't. It's too exposed.”
I feel so bad for her. She'd carried her sand without even a grunt, not a single whine or curse.
“It's not fair,” she cries.
She's right.
Lily points her sandwich at me. “Hey you,” she says. “Grab your sandbag and put it here on mine.”
I hesitate for only a second. “Good idea. We'll build her a wall.”
“I'm not lifting sandbags on my break,” says the girl with red fingernails.
“Yes, you are,” says Lily.
And there is something in Lily's tone that makes everyone respond. In a few moments, Pigtails has a small wall to hide behind.
“I think we should all stretch out our muscles,” says North Carolina. “I've taught aerobics at the Y. Seriously. I know about this stuff. We need to keep our lactic acids from building up and giving us cramps.”
North Carolina takes a deep breath and stretches her arms up and over her head. Exhaling, she rolls down and hangs like a rag doll. “The trick is to inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth.” Her words come out garbled.
“You Americans are so conscientious,” says Argentina. “Well, how about this.” She pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “Inhale to the lungs.” She lights up. “And exhale through the mouth.”
“Get real,” says North Carolina. “How are you going to run with lungs full of smoke?”
“I'm with the American on this one,” says Lily. She plops herself on the ground, stretches, groans, yawns, and covers her face with her cap. “Am I stretching out all right?” she asks.
We all laugh.
North Carolina glances over at the commander. She lunges forward into some yoga contortion that Lily probably couldn't do on a normal day.
I know North Carolina is right and she's probably scoring way too many extra points. I lie down next to Lily. “Hey, thanks for pulling me up back there. Sorry I was so snarky.”
“Forget it.”
I close my eyes and hear the rest of the girls filling in the space around me, worn, torn, and tired. All of us wondering: what in the world were we thinking when we volunteered for this? And are we going to make it through?
“Five more minutes,” the commander
warns us.
“I'm picking up a very strong aura off of you,” Number 7 says to me as she sits up.
I risk a discreet sniff of my underarms. The smell almost knocks me out.
“You're a Taurus, right?” she asks.
“Yes.” My voice sounds tentative and suspicious.
“Taurus is ruled by Venus.” She smiles. “That's the planet Noga, the one I'm named after. It represents love and desire.” She gazes off into the distance. “Taurus are known to be stubborn.” She nods her head. “If this”â she turns both palms upward and spreads them in front of herâ“is what you want, you'll find the power inside you to overcome all obstacles. Taurus are survivors.”
“And I'm sure right now I look like death.”
Noga tilts her head to the sky. “Yes, but isn't it great not to have to care how we look? We're out here in the sun with nature and at one with the land.” Noga's smooth light skin is dotted with dust freckles. She could be a poster girl for wholesome living if I hadn't just watched her polish off a can of meat.
“You sound like you're enjoying this.”
“I could do without the sandbags.” She pauses. “And I'd prefer being barefoot than wearing these clunky things.” She struggles to lift her booted foot off the ground.
The commander whistles impatiently. “Lunch break is over. Number Six. Collect the garbage in that bag and put it by that pole.”
“Why me?” she asks. “I brought the food. Someone else can collect the remains. It's not fair. I'm just as tired as they are. Why don't you make one of them do it?”
I'll do it for Number Six,” says Amber.
“My name's Sonya. And thanks.”
“No you won't,” says the commander. “You'll run up that hill and back, seeing as you've got all this extra energy.”
“That's harsh,” Lily mumbles.
We wait, wondering what Sonya will do. She looks at us, and the realization dawns that whatever she chooses will affect us.
Less than a second passes before Sonya picks up the garbage bag and begins to collect the trash.
I exhale.
“You five over there!” shouts the commander, pointing also at me.
Pigtails, North Carolina, Argentina, Amber, and I are given a stretcher. Doesn't look like a very sturdy thing: two long poles with a flimsy canvas in the middle. Still, I'm hoping that they'll volunteer me to lie on it, since I'm probably the lightest. And I could use the rest.
“Your sacks of sand. On the stretcher. Now!”
We heave our sacks on the stretcher. I can tell the other girls, like me, are feeling hopeful. Maybe we've finished this part of the exercise and it's time to pack in the sandbags and move on to something else. Anything would be better.
We slap the dust off our hands and grin at one another. The other girls stand beside their sandbags, looking disgruntled and jealous.
“You girls want to go into the field?”
“
Ken
, Commander.”
“Then you've got to be able to carry each other out. When we're under enemy fire and you've got a man down, you'll do everything in your power to take him home. This is the army, but now”âshe pauses and looks at each of usâ“it's also your family. We never leave a soldier behind. You got that? Never. Now, lift it up!”
“Lift that?” says Argentina, pointing to the stretcher loaded with the sandbags. “But nobody weighs that much.”
“Not even Lily,” says Sonya.
“Hike the poles onto your shoulders. You four will hold it, and you,” she says, pointing at Amber, “will run behind ready to switch off. The rest of you girls will carry the spare water canteens in those packs. Get moving. Keep it sturdy. Dropping an injured soldier could mean a life.”
We each grab a side of the stretcher and heave it onto our shoulders. It seems to weigh more than everything I have ever carried in my whole life put together.
“Don't drop it,” the commander warns. “It could be you up there one day.”
I've cursed these sandbags and wished I could throw them into the sea. Now I'll do anything to keep the stretcher balanced on my shoulder. I don't want to be the one who drops it.
“My shoulder's killing me,” says Carolina. “I can't do this much longer. Can someone switch me?”
“Who's on the stretcher, Private!” the commander shouts, running up to her.
No one answers.
We trudge on a bit faster, maybe thinking we can get away from her. I don't know what she wants. We don't have anyone up there, just our sandbags. Heavy, shoulder-crushing loads I'd like to toss over the next ridge.
“Who's on the stretcher, Private?” She waits another second. “The people who care about you the most, and who you worry about, are sometimes the heaviest ones to bear. The ones we'd like to rid ourselves of are the ones who give us strength. Who's on the stretcher, Private?”
“My ma,” says North Carolina.
“Your mother?”
“Yes, Commander. My ma's been on my back for eighteen years.”
No one speaks.
Her accent gets thicker. “Shouldn't you be studying, Hadas?” She pants and struggles for breath. “Shouldn't you be reading something more intellectual?” Her breath comes in short bursts. “Isn't that boy a bad influence on you? I've seen bathing suits with more material than that shirt you're wearing. ”
The commander motions to Amber to switch off with her.
“Tough stuff,” mutters Argentina.
“Who's on your stretcher, Private!” the commander shouts at Argentina.
She staggers but catches herself. “My brother, Commander. My brother the Navy SEAL. My brother the genius. My brother the serious, successful one.”
She switches off with Sonya.
We shuffle on.
I'm hoping she won't ask me. But she reads my mind.
“Who's on the stretcher, Private!” she hollers at me.
I don't know. My mind is blank. I can't think. Everything I've always wished for? Everything I've always wanted to be though I'm not even sure what it is. My head is reeling. The stretcher tears at my skin. My knees can no longer support me.
“Who's on the stretcher, Private! I can't hear you.”
I trip on a stone, stumble, and the stretcher almost tumbles. Lily rushes forward and slides in, taking my spot.
“Good,” she says to Lily. “That's how it should be done. Who's up there?”
The crunching of our boots, our labored breaths, and pathetic whimpers are the only sounds to break the silence.
“All one hundred sixty-five pounds of me, Commanderâand that's before eating the calorie grenade we got for lunch.”
Argentina laughs huskily. “We're lucky we've just got to carry the sandbags and not you.”
The rest of us grit our teeth and keep moving. I can't help thinking that it takes a lot of guts to admit out loud that the thing that weighs you down the most is yourself.
We march on.
Twilight creeps in.
The commander whistles. We halt.
“Your duffel bags, tent, and sleeping equipment are waiting for you at the top of the next hill!” she shouts. “That's where you'll camp for the night.”
“Up there?” whispers Amber.
“At the top of the hill?” says Pigtails.
We start the climb. My limbs don't feel like they belong to me anymore. Like used parts of some old machine that have been tossed together, they don't work in unison. My knees wobble. My boots slip on the gravelly dirt. My ankles quiver.
I'm walking behind Lily, putting my feet down in the spots where she put hers.
She starts to slip.
The top of the hill is in sight. Lily groans.
No! She's going to go down. I can't let that happen.
“Come on, Lily!” With a last burst of strength that comes from someplace inside, I bend my head, put both hands on her big round butt, and shove. I shove her as if she were a stalled car at the entrance to Jerusalem. Like all those cars that come so far and conk out so close to the top.
“Not after all you've done!” I shout at her. “We're almost at the top of our Jerusalem.”
“Come on, Lily!” we shout in unison.
We reach the top of the hill.
The sandbags fall to the ground with the stretcher.
“Good riddance,” says Argentina. “If I never have to lift one of those again, I will be eternally grateful.” She massages her neck.
“Amen,” says Noga. She groans and sighs. “Look, a quarter moon. But no stars yet.”
We glance up. The moon's glow begins to illuminate the distant hills. The heat, which had toasted us during the day, has burnt off. In this light the desert looks mysterious with the odd rock formations that curve in curious shapes.
“It's getting cold,” says Amber. “What I wouldn't do for a hot shower.”
Sonya groans. “A bubble bath,” she says. “With lots of scented bubbles to soak my feet.”
The chill reminds me of the stuff I brought from home, the shower that I won't have but at least a clean T-shirt and a toothbrush.
“My teeth feel glued with grime,” says Lily. Rinsing off her finger, she rubs it across her teeth.
I follow her lead, glancing over at the commander, who is talking with her scribes. We wait to find out what they have planned for us next.
Lily slaps me on the back. “You know, you did great today. How come you're so fit?”
“Jerusalem hills,” I say, not sure if I've been complimented or insulted.
“There's got to be more. You're holding out on us.”
I try and laugh it off but feel that the other girls are waiting to hear as well. I'm afraid they'll tease me, though there's no way to wheedle out of it now. “I dance.”
Lily swivels her hips. “You don't look like the mambo type.”
I roll my eyes. “Mambo? Me? No. Modern dance, some jazz, ballet.”
“Now, that I can see. You're one of those Sugarpear Fairies.”
Carolina giggles. “Sugarplum Fairy,” she says. “I danced in
The Nutcracker
when I was in grade six. One of the toy soldiers.” She does a few steps.
“And from the way you're still going, I'd say they left the windup mechanism inside you,” says Argentina through a cloud of cigarette smoke.