Foxtrot Page #3

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or think about anything else.

He jerked off all day like a junkie,

fantasizing about his centerfold.

Miss January 1970, who he saw

for one second on Allenby St. in Tel Aviv.

Next morning,

he waited for his mom to leave the house.

He stood in front of her German china

cabinet and pulled out the Hebrew Bible.

He knew he was doing something terrible,

but couldn't help himself.

He felt himself being dragged like

a zombie to Allenby St., to the store.

He saw himself hand over the Bible

and heard himself ask

to trade it for the magazine.

And just as quickly

as he had fallen in love with the pinup,

the owner said:

"Take your magazine and beat it."

He took the magazine

and shared it with all his friends.

Of course,

he was king of the school that day.

But when he got it back,

the pages were stuck together.

It was beyond repair.

Now get this:

My dad hands me that same magazine

from 1970,

an original he ordered

on the Internet and says,

"Son, give it to your son

when he becomes a soldier.

And never, ever...

squirt on the pages when you jerk off."

I think he was high.

My parents... smoke joints now and then.

What did your grandma do

when she found out?

I never asked.

Why not?

It was my dad's last bedtime story.

I didn't want to spoil it.

If that's how he wants the story to end...

then that's how it ends.

Seven seconds.

One second less than yesterday.

We're sinking.

What are we fighting for here?

What's the purpose?

I didn't notice you fighting, AMIKAM.

Fighting a psychological war, sir.

Fighting the unknown.

And who's this "unknown" you're fighting?

If I knew who it was, sir,

I wouldn't call it unknown.

They are everywhere.

Even here, now.

Watching us.

Following us.

You and me, for instance.

We're being filmed right now.

That's right.

You heard me.

They are filming us.

And recording us.

If you don't know that by now,

you'd better wake up.

Because everything you see here,

the mud, the roadblock...

It's all an illusion.

You're also an illusion.

Couldn't you have been some hot blonde...

like Pamela Anderson?

Or Jessica Rabbit?

I bet Roger had one hell of a tool.

Why else would a super-babe

go for a rabbit?

Jonathan, wake up! Jonathan!

Driver, get out slowly.

Now the lady.

Out of the car.

Go help her.

Empty your purse.

We'll end up sinking completely.

It'll happen all of a sudden.

I won't even have the chance to say,

I told you so.

So I'll say it now.

Her dress is caught in the door.

Grenade!

Foxtrot to Cornelia:

We blocked the sector route.

The road is sterile.

Repeat:
The road is sterile. Over.

Cornelia to Foxtrot:

Rhino enters the puddle.

Confirm.

Rhino enters the puddle. Foxtrot here.

I repeat:
Rhino is in the puddle.

The way I see it,

you acted according to orders.

War is war.

We're at war here, let there be no doubt.

In war, sh*t happens.

What happened, happened.

I don't want to dig too deeply.

If I did, you'd all pay.

As I see it...

this case was closed

before it ever opened.

If anyone has a problem with that,

let him speak up now.

Hey, Eitan. What's up?

I see.

Which one of you is Jonathan Feldman?

Get in the supply truck.

You're going home.

Do you know why

they suddenly decided to send me home?

I'm just the driver, brother.

ONE LAST BEDTIME STORY

Michael did a terrible thing.

He gave his mother a nervous breakdown.

She was committed.

Despite Michael's unusual appearance,

he was popular among his classmates.

He became a combat officer.

He was a straight-A student.

He impressed a philosophy student.

He fell in love.

They got married.

Michael became a successful architect.

He raised a family.

In the mirror, he saw a handsome man.

He saw a strong man.

He gave himself a hard-on.

He thought nobody could see his X.

Only late at night,

when he was fast asleep,

little Michael would come along

and help him shed a tear.

Did you find what you wanted?

No.

I asked you not to come here

without calling first.

Can you go now?

I thought maybe today...

I don't want to see you,

especially not today.

I beg you, just go. Please.

Take the notebook, take whatever you want.

Just leave now.

What?

I'm leaving now, DAPHNA.

I'm sorry.

Just tell me you're okay in there.

I thought today...

You know, we'd do something...

together.

I'm sorry I threw away the stuff

in Jonathan's room.

I couldn't stand

how things lose my child's scent.

Are you smoking again?

What? No.

Well, then give me a cigarette.

Of all our apartments, my favorite

was the little rooftop rental by the sea.

You could taste the salt in the air.

I remember thinking

I was going to be happy.

That it was the beginning.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

I didn't want it.

I didn't.

Sometimes I'm sorry

I didn't get the abortion.

The joy of having a child

is something you take for granted.

You aren't on a constant high from it.

But the pain of not having him

never goes away.

It's unbearable.

Damn thoughts!

I loved him more than Alma.

That's a horrible thing to say.

I'm haunted by horrific thoughts.

Shrinks would be all over me, right?

Why couldn't he be dead

when they first told us?

Normally, legitimately.

Why did it have to be a punishment?

Or like revenge?

God is getting even with us.

With you, I mean. Sorry.

I didn't mean to take your credit.

You were the one who insisted

on bringing him home at once.

Knowing you didn't mean

to kill your son doesn't help.

It doesn't make me able

to sleep with you...

to live with you.

I could live with your wounds,

pretending not to see,

so I wouldn't embarrass you.

I leaned on you to make you feel strong,

so you wouldn't see I knew.

That you're weak, that you have a secret.

That you're ashamed of yourself.

That your whole life:

your office, us, the fancy car,

and that "count on me" impression

you try hard to display...

It's all there just to hide your secret,

your weakness.

You're weak, Michael.

I see it. Alma sees it.

Jonathan saw it, too.

And Max?

Max feels it between his ribs.

He has internal bleeding from your kicks.

Did you know that?

I found that among his things.

You remember how to roll?

I tore that drawing out of his notebook.

It was the last one.

I think you're the bulldozer

and I'm the car.

You're such a pro.

Some things you never forget.

Like the sea-scent

of our rooftop apartment.

Like the birthday of my child.

I think it's the other way around:

You're the bulldozer and I'm the car.

Remember what the rabbi said

at the funeral?

A fallen soldier turns into an angel.

That means Jonathan is an angel...

a sweet angel that fairies fight over.

He's probably partying right now,

having a spiritual multi-orgasm.

Which reminds me: We're invited

to a ceremony at the Ministry of Defense.

They've engraved his name on some wall

with the other fallen soldiers.

Yes, that's what they call them.

So, you want to hear?

"You're hereby invited to the unveiling

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