סיפור זה נכתב באנגלית, ואני מאמין מאוד בשמירת דברים בשפת המקור. לכל האוכלוסיה המונולינגוויסטית – תנחומי:

Joe was, well… just that. A regular joe. When asked, he would say that he loves his country and that he joined the army just because of that. He was really a model soldier: neat, punctual, knowing when to speak and when not to. Not that speaking was an activity he indulged in much. He was just a grunt, one out of tens of thousands sent to Iraq during the latest crisis. Joe was on guard duty that day, he wasn't really paying attention. He's been doing this about 60 hours a week for a year now, and his mind seemed to be wandering off.

About three hours into his shift, some officers came by. He saluted them. They walked up to him, in formal wear, buttoned to the teeth. He felt ashamed that he couldn't look as good as that, as his commanders, those brave men whom he would follow into battle in a heartbeat. He knew America was in danger. He knew that even though his duty was boring and monotonous – he was protecting his country and helping to build a better, democratic Iraq. One of the officers approacehd Joe. “How are you today?” he asked. Joe didn't hesitate – “Very well, sir! What can I do for you , sir?” he answered while raising his chin, stiffening his back and doing all those things he's done a hundred times before. “We have a slight problem, soldier”, said the officer. “We've been warned that a red car, carrying three passengers, all male, are going to try and infiltrate our base. We want you to see to that none such car comes through here”. Joe thought about it. Actually – he didn't. “Whatever it takes, sir” he answered, “fucking towelheads, all they understand is force”. “Good man”, said the officer and walked back to his car.

About 30 minutes after the officer left, Joe noticed a suspicious vehichle. It was red, as they said, and it had three young arab males in it. He approacehd the car with caution. His gun pointing forward. The car stopped. A few more soldiers from the back of the roadblock started to look alert. Joe was 30 feet away from the car when the window opened. “#$%#$^%^#%^!” said a man said in an oriental accent, or at least that what Joe heard. “I can't understand you!” Joe answered, again without thinking. “@#$#5*@#$$$?” said the car-voice. “I CAN'T UNDERSTANT YOU!!” yelled Joe, and suddenly he could.

It was as if Joe suddenly found himself in a foreign place. He heard someone yelling “@$%@$%@!” from a few feet away. He was sitting in a car. He was looking though the front window. He saw a very strange sight.

About thirty feet away from the car, holding an M-16 rifle, was a man who looked, to Joe, extremely familiar. It was him. But it couldn't be. The body he was in looked to his right, his friend was speaking. “Well, what are you waiting for?”, asked the man seated next to Joe-in-the-arabs-body. “HAMID! DRIVE!”, the man yelled. Hamid drove. Both Hamid and Joe, inside Hamid, knew exactly in what situation the were. Joe felt like he could know everything about Hamid, and he did. He saw Hamid as a young boy. How his father used to play with him in the back yard. He remembered school ceremonies, singing the national anthem, saluting to the flag. That beautiful red, white and black. He remembered how proud his father was when he joined the Revolutionary Guard. “You'll make us proud!” Hamid's father said. He remembered how he had that nice uniform, and how all the girls would look at him when he walked through the streets of Basra, his hometown. How he loved his uniform and his rifle. It made him feel safe. He knew that if anything ever happens to his beloved Iraq, that he would help defend it against it's enemies.

“Hamid! What are you dreaming about?! Take out your gun and lets go! We have to protect our country, we have to keep out those damn Americans. They'll hurt our families, they'll hurt our nation!”.

Hamid /Joe pulled out the MAC-10 submachine-gun hidden under his seat. He knew exactly what to do. He was protecting his country, he was doing his duty. “Those fucking Americans” he thought as he started firing, “all they understand is force”.

פרוזה