The Cobweb

“The Cobweb”

I was happy that day. So happy that even turning up of that familiar sign did not disturb my thoughts. Deep in my mind, I was making a review of the events before. For a long time, I was unemployed. Unemployed, with a good university degree that did not seem to fit any place better than my bedroom’s wall. Seeking a job, I knocked at every door, peeped into every workplace, and surfed among a thousand different sorts of jobs. Hours, days, and months I ransacked the advertisements published in every newspaper, stuck at any supermarket window, anywhere I could give a faint chance of offering a job. Even twice or more, I went in for a job and started to work. But it does not take long for you to find out that you are not made for that job.

Given up, I was satisfied. Even with temporary jobs that all evidences proved not to suit me at all. Then, I saw that advertisement. My eyes just fell upon it in a newspaper and I could not believe! Excellent conditions, pretty fair salary, and most of all in full accordance with my university degree. What I had studied four years in the university for. I could say that I was made for that job, or even, that job was made for me. There was just a petty problem there; Very petty indeed. It was a bit far from where I lived; in fact, a bit too far from it.

Hesitantly, I picked up the phone and dialed the number. A polite lady replied. It was a brief conversation. She asked my conditions and said that she will contact me in future.

My heart started beating so hard, I could feel it in my palm. One day, two days, three days, on the fourth day, the polite lady called:

“Please don’t forget date and time of your interview. It is not a hard one though, especially for a person in the level of your qualifications. I would just like to notify that you make sure you will be present here on time for interview. Punctuality is our priority.”

Being punctual? No doubt I would make my best effort:

“But I am really not sure I would be able to be there right on time, you know the situations here.”

“Oh...well...” she said with a hesitant voice:”Ah...maybe I could keep a place for you till noon...till 12 o’clock, ok? But that will be just until twelve. If you fail to appear till then, I’m afraid I cannot help you in any ways.”

Till 12...it seemed a long time till then. But I did not want to risk any chance. Moreover, I wanted to impress them in interview, I intended to be there just on time; punctuality was priority!

I looked through my appearance. Dressing relatively formal, I was wearing my black suit and a white, tender, short-sleeved shirt; without tie. I had better put on a tie maybe? It was a formal meeting anyhow. But who could tolerate putting on a tie on a hot day like this?! And I had left my coat buttons open too! But that would raise fewer eyebrows than my backpack would: “no fool ever carries a backpack on a suit!” my brother ridiculed me this morning. Well, no fool ever thought about it before? But there is always a fooler among the fools. And I preferred to be the fooler than to carry on a suitcase; without my backpack, I feel I’m blind!

STOP!

Stop?!

Oh!

Yeah...of course!

A big word in capital letters engraved in sharp red colour on a cement block. Lost in my thoughts, I did not notice when I arrived to the checkpoint; to cement blocks, people waiting in queue, and to the soldiers.

“Nothing bad is in due I hope” anxiously I thought as I stood at the end of the line. It was terribly hot today, and I felt it doubled in my black suit. But there was nothing I felt especially worried about. That is just the nature of standing in those lines.

I cast an eye on the long row of cement blocks extending along the queue. Some meters forward, beside a horizontal iron bar, a black soldier was leaning against one the blocks, in no hurry checking the papers of the person standing in front of him. On the other side of the bar, another soldier was bending in front of an army jeep’s wing mirror, idly making his dark long hair- that reached his shoulders- into styles. A big shadow spreading out on the ground, suggested a soldier standing behind the jeep. But between its wheels, the car only revealed his brown army boots and the top of his gun barrel. The last soldier was guarding at a distance from the checkpoint, near the isolated cement blocks facing the hilly fields.

A respectable man in his forties was standing ahead of me in the line. He shook his head as he looked at the black soldier and half-loudly said: “See where we ended up!” I looked at the black soldier who was checking the papers. A tiny thin lad, his short height seemed even shorter as he leant to the cement block. He had carefully placed his hat on his head, and did not seem to be at any hurry checking the papers.

For countless times, I took my papers out of my pocket and looked through them. I could not help myself; just wanted to be sure there was no problem.

The respectable man ahead of me showed his papers and passed the post. I felt quite relieved. Smiling hopefully, I stepped forward and stretched my papers to the black soldier.

Still leaning casually at the cement block, the black soldier took my papers and opened my ID card. With some difficulty, he read out my name and I nodded in approval. He looked at my photo, and then raised his big eyes and gazed at my face. His look irritated me. I turned my eyes and gazed at a distance point. He gave another look at my photo and closed my ID card.

I took a deep breath, and poked the soil under my feet with my shoe toe as I looked at the black soldier who was now examining my passing permission papers. How long would it take? 20 seconds? 30 seconds? One minute at the maximum and it was over. How nice would it be then! I would put my papers back in my pocket, and think about nothing but the interview.

The black soldier was still busy with the permission paper. I was getting restless. This guy was really dull! Why was he spinning it out?
Finally, he raised his head and uttered some words.

Huh?

He uttered some words; that much I was sure of. But what did he say?

I just stood there blinking at the black soldier.

He took another look at the paper, and repeated his question a second time. This time, I pricked up my ears; not a word!

Trying to keep smiling, I shook my head: “I...I don’t understand. I don’t understand what you say?”

The black soldier peered at me as if he was trying to get what I said. Then, he tapped at the paper and said his question, this time aloud.

I was no deaf, and I could hear him very well, in fact too well. But what did he want me to do? To answer him when I did not get him and he did not get me?!

I pointed at the paper and tried to explain its content; maybe he could get it better this way. The tiny black soldier listened to me, but I bet he did not get a word! After a momentous pause, he started over with his question.

What, was he, saying?

I was beginning to lose my patience. I shook my head, and shrugged: “I don’t understand!” I almost shouted.

Wonderful!

This one really worked! The black soldier closed my papers, handed them back to me, and made a gesture with his hand: “Go Back!”

At first, I refused to believe. That, I go back, as easy as he said it? What happens to my interview then? And I go back to do what?

No.

No!
I approached the black soldier and tried to explain. But he was not listening anymore. He merely shook his head and gestured: “Go Back!”

I could not go back. No, not today! Why ever did I have to go back?? My papers were complete; there was no problem! And I said it to the black soldier and the black soldier went on with his bizarre language.

Our argument was getting tough. Suddenly, an enormous figure loomed up at his back:

“What the heck are you making all this fuss about?” he cried in Arabic.

The black soldier handed him over my papers and quietly withdrew.

My goodness gracious! Who was this giant!? He must be the soldier who was standing at the back of the jeep. Such a huge body; he looked like a mountain! True, I am small and rather short; but this bloke was really twice bigger than I! Having a tanned skin, he had rolled the sleeves of his military uniform up to his strong arms and shaved his head, or maybe he was by nature bald. He had placed his hat in the small badge sewed oh his shoulder, and wore a pair of sunglasses which its silver chain passed back his thick neck. Worst of all, he knew Arabic very well!

The bald soldier took a look at me and said:

“What, Why did you turn dumb?!”

“Me? Me...No!” I said:”No, I...I just want to pass.”

“Where are you going?” promptly he asked.

I told him my destination.

“To do what?” again he asked quickly.

I hesitated for a moment. If he would just bother himself a little as to give a short look at my paper, he could easily find it out. But the bald soldier was apparently too busy for such trivial matters.

I hesitated for a moment:
“I’m going to...to work, I mean...”

The bald soldier did not wait to listen to rest of my words. Instantly, he folded my papers, gave them back to me and said: “Go Back!”

I knew. I knew it would end up this way. For one who says he is going for work there is no answer beside “NO!”. But it was different. I had a special permission. I had drudged to obtain it. He would not lose anything by giving it a look.

I re-opened my papers and stretched them toward him:

“I, I have a special permission. It’s official.”

He did not pay any attention.

“It’s thoroughly official. Here is the date, here is the signature, and here...this is my name, see...”

I knew he heard me. But he had turned his back at me, standing still, as if there was nobody present over there. I went forward and placed myself in front of him. Then, I stretched my papers again:

“At least give it a look!”

“Go Back!” the bald soldier said in a threatening tune.

A last chance to return. Nobody could say what would happen if I insisted more. I turned my head and looked around. The checkpoint was empty, except of the soldiers indeed. I was the solo man still standing at that place. Maybe, I should return. Maybe I should really return. But what was waiting for me at my returning? There was a single thought going round and round in my mind: “To pass. To go to interview...”

I decided to risk my chance a last time:

“Look!” I told the bald soldier: “just a look, just have a short look at my paper. If there was a problem, I go back at the very instant!”

The bald soldier removed his dark sunglasses and stared at my eyes.
“Now he slaps me at face” I told myself, “or a heavy boxing in ear.”

The bald soldier raised his hand and swiftly took my papers out of my hand. With an unexpected patience, he looked into my permission paper. Then he tapped over the signature at its end: “Not enough”

I looked at him puzzled.

“It must be signed by the head of X department.” He finished up.

“Head of X department??” I slackened like cake dough. Where the heck that X department was? I had not even heard that name before. It must be one of those departments set up the day before. Or maybe the soldier was fabricating the whole idea?

How could I ever find out? The mere thing I could clearly find out was the single meaning of “head of x department” for me:

“OVER!”

That was it. For me, it was over. I would take back my papers, put them in my pocket, go back home, and as I was comfortably lying in my sofa, I would look at the clock hands gently moving forward, reaching the time of my interview, and pass it without a pause; gently moving forward, coming to 12 O’clock, and gently pass it, without a pause. And me, as I was comfortably resting on my sofa at home, I would lose my best chance for a best job.

Then? Then there was no point on leaving the sofa anymore! I would keep resting there, and follow the gentle clock hands gracefully taking part in a race that would not ever end, nor would they ever retire. I would follow them round and round, till I fell into sleep. The next day, I would get up, put on my light t-shirt and grey jeans, sling my backpack on my shoulder, and instead of waiting in a checkpoint queue, I would stand in front of a news stand, leafing through the papers in quest for a job. As easy I say it now, and even more.

I felt a lump in my throat. Were I not still used to these? I blinked back my tears and looked at the bald soldier, who indifferently handed me my permission paper. Coldly, I glanced at that paper; special permission! Such a funny joke! Of what single use could it be for me now?

Angrily, I folded the paper, and pushed it in my pocket.

“What are you waiting for here?” the bald soldier said, as he was playing with my ID card in his hand.

Was he kidding me? No one can go back without his ID card. I pointed to them with my hand. As though he has just noticed them, the bald soldier shook my ID card:” Ah!” and stretched them toward me. I stretched my hand forward but, before I could reach my ID card, the bald soldier took back his hand.

“You know...”he said, “There’s a problem here.”

A problem? A problem bigger than a permission paper without Mr. X signature which could not let me pass?

“Your papers are not complete. I cannot let you pass.”

“I know” I said in a low voice, “I am going to go back.”

The bald soldier looked at me in contempt, paused for a moment, and went on in a polite manner:

“Well, the problem lies right here, you know...I am really afraid but, I cannot let you go back. Your papers are not complete.”

God! Was it a new game? Irritatingly, I looked at the bald soldier:

“What shall I do then?”

He was waiting for my question. Smiling still in contempt, he said:

“How about staying here for one hour? Um? ...No! One hour is too short for a respectable young man in black suit. How about staying for 2 or 3 hours? Let me see...”

He glanced at his watch, “If you stay here for 4 hours, you will be back home right on time for lunch...what do you say?”
What could I say? I stared at his eyes and kept silence.

“Come on! Don’t tell me you can overlook your mom’s lunch? It is worth waiting 4 hours, isn’t it?”

I bit my lips and did not reply.

The bald soldier was not pleased. He came forward, put his hand on my shoulder, bent his head down to my ear and whispered:

“Tell me; is it worth staying here for 4 hours? Is she worth it?”

I kept staring at his eyes, without a blink.

“So it is” the bald soldier nodded with a contempt smile “good!”

Then he called the black soldier who quickly stepped forward: “Arrest him!”

Why did he do so? Numbly I tried to find out as the tiny black soldier took me toward the isolated cement blocks laying at a distance from the checkpoint, and had me sit on the ground at a corner, and left.

No place to lean at, no shade, no water. I had to sit on the hot ground and tolerate the direct sunshine. In front of me, the vast hilly fields were spreading as far as the eye could see, and at my back, there were soldiers, army jeep, cement blocks, and now and then a few people waiting in the line.

I pressed my fingertips in my palm. Why did he treat me so? What did he want? Was it not enough for him to hinder my way and make me back? What could he gain by having me sit under burning sun for four continues hours? Did he enjoy it? Nasty, poor mentally ill creature, giant shit!

In my mind, I listed every sort of curse I could find for the bald soldier. But of what use? He did not hear them, and nor did he care. He was not even looking at me anymore. As if I was left there for myself.


I glanced at my watch. I had still 30 minutes to arrive right on time for interview. “Punctuality is our priority.” Shit! Shit! Reminding interview refuelled my wrath. What for? Why? For what reason did I have to sit at this bloody checkpoint and lose my best chance for a job? What unforgivable wrong had I done? What wrong except that I did not have the signature of head of X department – which I was not sure if it existed at all- on my permission paper? What wrong except that a bald snobbish soldier fancied making a joke on me?

Damn you, damn you all! You dirty bullshits!

I could hardly stop my tears to fall. Shit! Shit! I punched heavily at the ground. Dirty, dirty shits; I told in my mind as I kept punching, over and over, harder and even harder. I wanted to punch the soils so hard that they turn into rocks. But the soils slipped down, and escaped my fist. The only product of my angry fist was a small hole that deepened at every shock; deep and further deep...

I felt the gravity of one’s look around myself. I raised my head and saw a soldier watching me from nearby. He was one of the four soldiers at the checkpoint, the one who was guarding near the isolated blocks. Young and rather tall, he had a pretty fair complexion and very short brown hair. He looked to be at my own age, so I guessed.

The tall soldier cast an eye on me, my fist, and the hole under my hand. Then, without saying a word, he stepped forward, and leant in front of me at a cement block.

“His turn to have fun” I thought with myself.

The tall soldier looked me up and down for a moment. Then, he cunningly smiled:

“Bumped into a little bad luck, yeah?” he said in fine English.

Bad luck? That was an amazing interpretation! I was deadly angry and apparently was to sit there for a long long time. So I did not care to start up a quarrel.

“You could say it that way too!” I said as I shrugged my shoulders.

The tall soldier, as if speaking about an ordinary event, said:

“It’s your own fault, you know?”

Yeap! It was always our own fault.

“Why do you insist when he says go back?”

Now that was too amazing!

“Me?” I said, “I was just going to go back; he forced me to stay!”

The tall soldier shook his head in disapproval:

“You did insist.”

“One time only or two...”

“Four times!” he interrupted me “Or even more!” He must have counted in my argument with the tiny black soldier.

“Now...” he went on “Dror treated you in a too kindly manner. If it was me, I would arrest you the very second time you made me repeat my words!”

“I was lucky then!” I said.

“Look” the tall soldier bent his head a little down, as if he is trying to explain a very important and complicated subject,

“When you keep insisting, you walk on person’s nerves...So to rid himself of you, he will have to arrest you, you see?”

No! I did not see. That was the fact. I did not speak. He did not speak too. I could not see why he was sitting there and spoke to me. He must have been bored, or maybe he wanted to justify his friend’s attitude, or perhaps he had another reason for himself. Whatever the reason was, it was not anything I could clearly see or realize.

“Why ever did you want to pass?” the tall soldier asked after a pause.

“To work” I replied.

“To work?” the tall soldier uttered in a surprised voice; as if he did not expect this answer.

“What? Don’t I have the right to work?” I protested.

Not answering my question, he said: “are you sure you were going for work?”

I wondered at his question: “of course I am!”

“Don’t you have an appointment with doctor?”

“No?”

“Have you not been called for office affairs?”

“No...Why?”

“Your sister gave birth to a sweet little baby yesterday, didn’t she?”

“What?”

“No, it was your brother. He came back from abroad last night. Or maybe your grandfather who had a severe heart attack and is now in hospital?...”

I well got what he meant. He was lining up for me all sort of cheatings Palestinians used to persuade soldiers let them pass the checkpoint.

“Oh...I’m sorry. So he died?”

The tall soldier playfully said.

“You will never let one pass if he says he is going to work.” I said as I pointed to myself “You are seeing by yourself.”

“Perhaps” he nodded “but you would not lose anything if you tried one of them. Not all the soldiers know all the cheatings.”

I looked at him puzzled. What was he trying to say? Did he want to show me how to fool his friends and pass the checkpoint? Or perhaps he wanted to draw some words out of my mouth and this was his trick? I decided to watch out what I say.

The tall soldier looked around for a moment:

“I know a little Arabic.”

“Yeah?” I said half-interestedly.

“Like...ahlan wa sahlan, samah el-kheir”

Impossible that they learn something properly; “sabah el-kheir” I corrected him.

“Yeah, that’s it. Um, what else? Dayyeb, shukran, khalas...”

He paused for a moment. Then his eyes flashed as if he remembered something new:

“But my favourite phrase is the one old women say when they bless us.”

“Bless you?” I wondered.

“Yep...they say; veled el-haram, may your mother mourns your death.”

This guy was a lizard! I gave him a sarcastic smile: “better than soldier’s curse anyway.”

“Really?”

“Yep...they say: freeze! And it catches you at the instant!”

The tall soldier burst out laughing: “You’re a sly!”

I shrugged and glanced at my watch. 5 minutes past the interview time. I should have been at that room now. By now, I had just introduced myself. And maybe they would offer me a cool drink before going to the main part.

I looked at the tiny black soldier who was now checking the papers of a young beautiful girl.

It was all because of him...if he would just get me when I explained...if he would just let me pass...

The tall soldier saw me looking at the tiny black soldier:

“You first went to him, yeah?”

I nodded.

“And I bet you did not get a word of what he said!”

“Right!” I said angrily.

The tall soldier laughed:

“The first time I saw him, I thought he knows nothing except Tigrinya, and he kept on talking for 30 minutes. Then I just realized he is speaking English!”

Fantastic!

Unbelievably I shook my head. So the tiny black soldier knew English. So that was why he kept repeating his question over and over. I was trying to explain in English, and he supposed his question to be in the same way!

How absurd...I shook my head in dismay. Half-aloud, but rather addressing myself I said: “like Sunday night’s report!”

“Sunday night’s report?” the tall soldier peeped at me with his keen eyes.

“Yeah...a reporter goes among London citizens and in an Indian tribe’s language asks their idea about America’s attack on Iraq...”

“Cool! So what happens?”

“Well, obviously nobody knows the Indian tribe’s language, but none of them let their face betray it. They all gesture in a polite manner and say: “yeah, lovely! It certainly won’t rain today!”

The tall soldier smiled: “how clever!” and then absent-mindedly he went on “Like the idea of voices...”
“The idea of voices?” I asked.

“Yeah, it was” he looked at me and hesitantly paused, “it was just an idea once came to my mind.”

“Really?” I said.

Some voices broke into our talk.

I turned my head back, toward the voices. The tiny black soldier was quarrelling with a young man who wanted to pass. “A new trouble” I thought with myself as I looked at the young man. He was a jolly slim lad with black hair, a white marked t-shirt and jean trousers. He carried a leather-made backpack and wore sport shoes. I smiled at his sight. He was Iyad, our neighbour’s son. What was he doing here at this hour of the day? He must have been idly wandering around as usual and it just came to his mind to go to car sales looking for the BMW Series A. silly boy! How come he had not put on his funny four-sided hat! And how proud of it he was!

His quarrel with the black soldier was getting tough.
I told myself: “now the bald soldier will meddle in and start a new trouble...” But this time, the stylish soldier – the one who was making his hair into styles in front of jeep’s mirror – stepped forward.

“You are lucky boy!” I murmured.

Maybe it was too early to judge. The tall soldier stirred agitatedly and murmured: “that’s bad.”

It did not take long for me to get what he meant. The stylish soldier came forward and said something to Iyad. But before letting any answer, he slapped him at the face. Iyad was astounded. He lifted his hand and tried to say something, but the stylish soldier gave him another slap and fiercely pushed him to the ground.

The tiny black soldier drew himself back and looked on in silence. You could never read anything in his big eyes. Was he pleased? Displeased? Intended to involve?

Finding Iyad helplessly on the ground, the stylish soldier started kicking. Iyad drew his legs into his belly and hid his head between his thin arms. Though clearly in pain, he closed up his mouth, and did not utter a sound. I knew Iyad well enough to know that he would scuffle with the soldier if he wanted. Even though the stylish soldier outsized him, but Iyad would. But he was a soldier, and he had a gun. The stylish soldier kept kicking Iyad and swore. The bald soldier approached them. I thought he did not want to lose this chance.

Spontaneously, I half-rose. I was so upset that I did not know what I wanted to do. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to help Iyad. I wanted to stop soldiers; whatsoever it meant. Other people standing in queue, had all drew back looking on in silence. But anger was raging in their faces.

The tall soldier noticed me as I half-rose.

“Sit back!” he warned.

I did not pay attention.

He pointed his gun toward me and yelled: “Sit back I tell you!”

His voice, tense yet trembling anxiously, compelled me to sit. The tall soldier turned toward the checkpoint. But after a few hesitant steps, he stood; looked at them for a moment, returned. He passed me without giving me a look, turned his back at soldiers, Iyad, and people in the line, took a cigarette out of his front pocket, lit it, and nervously puffed it to the sky.

I looked at the other side. Iyad was still on the ground. Now the soldiers had left him by himself. A few seconds passed in silence. Then, two men cautiously approached Iyad and drew him to a corner. The passage process was stopped. Nobody wanted to face the frenzied soldiers. But this lasted only a few moments. After that, an old man stepped forward, and showed his papers to the black soldier. Without saying a word, the tiny black soldier gave them a look, and let the old man through. The passage process started a new; as easy as it had stopped. As if nothing had ever disturbed the stillness of this spot.

I was happy that Iyad did not notice me. How embarrassed would he feel! I saw him that stood up, dusted himself down, and dragging his backpack behind, took a quiet way and silently returned.

The tall soldier crushed his cigarette butt under his boot and turned back toward me. Nervously shaking his head, he made some steps back and forth, and then leant at the cement block in front of me.

Our eyes fixed at each other for a moment. I wanted to say something, but I refrained. The tall soldier bit his lips a few times and finally said:

“You enjoy making trouble, don’t you?”

I was too stunned at his question to answer.

The tall soldier went on: “You cannot pass without quarrel, you cannot go back without quarrel; you can just always make a sheer quarrel to take in what you are told?!”

“What we are told?” I angrily said, “Do you ever tell us anything that we are supposed to take in? Do you at all know any language beside beating and swearing?”

“Huh! Do you get any other language!?”

“No! We are fools! We are all a bunch of fools and naives! We are so naive that everyday we eagerly pack up to this spot to share in your daily funs!”

“Daily fun?” he nervously laughed, “Fun? Do you think it’s fun to stand under burning sun on a scanty piece of ground like a senseless stick everyday and wrangle with a thousand sort of different people?”

“No! But the difference is that you can say NO for one thousand times to those one thousand sorts of people and nothing will ever happen to you. But when you tell me NO and for no reason force me to stay here for four hours, I will go home with shattered nerves and walk my room like crazy people all the night and curse myself; because I lost a job I drudged to find out as easy as falling off a log!”

“Yeah! You go home with shattered nerves and walk, but all that night I’ll stand here and patrol, and the very moment I’m so exhausted that my eyelids begin to fall, a bullet comes and sits right on my forehead!”

Then he left the cement block he was leaning at and said:” That is the difference!”

We had attracted everybody’s attention. All persons, from soldiers to people standing in line, had turned back and were watching us.

The bald soldier moved toward us.

“What’s the matter?” he asked the tall soldier.

The tall soldier did not reply. He merely shook his head, and started to walk away.

The bald soldier angrily twisted toward me:

“It’s all this son of bitch, yeah?”

The tall soldier told him something in a low voice. The bald soldier shot a kick at me that sat on my lap and cried:

“What did you tell him, you ass****?”

The tall soldier suddenly turned back and shouted:

“Told you leave him alone!”

The bald soldier was shocked. He cast a perplexed look at me and then at the tall soldier, and unwillingly left me alone.

The tall soldier silently walked away. The bald soldier followed him and tried to talk him; but when he found all his efforts in vain, he tapped him at shoulder, and twisted toward the checkpoint.

I turned back my eyes and gazed at the hilly fields spreading in front. It was absurd. Everything was only too absurd. Just a few minutes ago, the only thing I longed for was to get rid of this bloody point. But now, I just liked to sit there and behold the hills; the hills that rose, fell, and never took a shape. The hills that stretched themselves carefree under the bright sunshine, and extended as far as the eyes could follow; as if, they knew no limit, no boundary, no checkpoint...The only thing I liked was to sit there, and to behold the hills; and to think about nothing, absolutely nothing at all. Maybe, only for an instant, I would take my eyes, and behold the tall soldier who was leaning at an isolated cement block, like me beholding the hilly fields...