LIJAH, THE WOMAN, AND THE BOY WENT IN A WESTERLY direction, toward Israel; they did not need to pass near the Assyrian encampment because it was located to the south. The full moon made the walk easier but also cast strange shadows and sinister forms on the rocks and stones of the valley.

In the midst of the darkness, the angel of the Lord appeared. He bore a sword of fire in his right hand.

“Whither goest thou?” he asked.

“To Israel,” Elijah answered.

“Hath the Lord summoned thee?”

“I know the miracle that God expects me to perform. And now I know where I am to execute it.”

“Hath the Lord summoned thee?” repeated the angel.

Elijah remained silent.

“Hath the Lord summoned thee?” asked the angel for the third time.

“No.”

“Then return to the place whence thou comest, for thou hast yet to fulfill thy destiny. The Lord hath still to summon thee.”

“If nothing else, permit them to leave, for they have no reason to remain,” implored Elijah.

But the angel was no longer there. Elijah dropped the bag he was carrying, sat in the middle of the road, and wept bitterly.

“What happened?” asked the woman and the boy, who had seen nothing.

“We’re going back,” he said. “Such is the Lord’s desire.”

HE WAS NOT ABLE to sleep well. He awoke in the night and sensed the tension in the air around him; an evil wind blew through the streets, sowing fear and distrust.

“In the love of a woman, I have discovered the love for all creatures,” he prayed silently. “I need her. I know that the Lord will not forget that I am one of His instruments, perhaps the weakest of those He has chosen. Help me, O Lord, because I must repose calmly amidst the battles.”

He recalled the governor’s comment about the uselessness of fear. Despite that, sleep eluded him. “I need energy and tranquillity; give me rest while it is still possible.”

He thought of summoning his angel and talking with him for a while, but knowing he might be told things he had no wish to hear, he changed his mind. To relax, he went downstairs; the bags that the woman had prepared for their flight had not been undone.

He considered returning to his room. He remembered what the Lord had told Moses: “And what man is there that hath betrothed a wife, and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.”

They had not yet known each other. But it had been a wearying night, and this was not the moment to do so.

He decided to unpack the bags and return everything to its place. He discovered that, besides the few clothes she possessed, she was carrying the instruments for drawing the characters of Byblos.

He picked up a stylus, moistened a small clay tablet, and began to sketch a few letters; he had learned to write by watching the woman as she worked.

“What a simple and ingenious thing,” he thought, in an effort to turn his mind to other concerns. Often, on his way to the well for water, he had heard the women commenting, “The Greeks stole our most important invention,” but Elijah knew it was not that way: the adaptation they had made by including vowels had transformed the alphabet into something that the peoples of all nations could use. Furthermore, they called their collections of parchments biblia, in honor of the city where the invention had occurred.

The Greek biblia were written on animal hides. Elijah felt this was a very fragile way of storing words; hides were less resistant than clay tablets and could be easily stolen. Papyrus came apart after some handling and was destroyed by water. “Biblia and papyrus will not last; only clay tablets are destined to remain forever,” he reflected.

If Akbar survived for a time longer, he would recommend that the governor order his country’s entire history written on clay tablets and stored in a special room, so that generations yet to come might consult them. In this way, if one day the priests of Phoenicia, who kept in their memory the history of their people, were decimated, the feats of warriors and poets would not be forgotten.

He amused himself for some time by writing the same letters but by ordering them differently, forming several words. He was enchanted with the result. The task relaxed him, and he returned to his bed.

HE AWOKE some time later at the sound of the door to his room crashing to the floor.

“It’s not a dream. It’s not the armies of the Lord in combat.”

Shadows came from all sides, screaming like madmen in a language he did not understand.

“The Assyrians.”

Other doors fell, walls were leveled by powerful hammer blows, the shouts of the invaders mixed with cries for help rising from the square. He attempted to stand, but one of the shadows knocked him to the ground. A muffled sound shook the floor below.

“Fire,” Elijah thought. “They’ve set the house on fire.”

“It’s you,” he heard someone saying in Phoenician. “You’re the leader. Hiding like a coward in a woman’s house.”

He looked at the face of the person who had just spoken; flames lit the room, and he could see a man with a long beard, in a military uniform. Yes, the Assyrians had come.

“You invaded at night?” he asked, disoriented.

The man did not respond. Elijah saw the flash of swords drawn from their scabbards, and one of the warriors slashed his right arm.

Elijah closed his eyes; the scenes of an entire lifetime passed before him in a fraction of a second. He was once again playing in the street of the city of his birth, traveling to Jerusalem for the first time, smelling the odor of cut wood in the carpenter’s shop, marveling at the vastness of the sea and at the garments people wore in the great cities of the coast. He saw himself walking the valleys and mountains of the Promised Land, remembered when he first saw Jezebel, who seemed like a young girl and charmed all who came near. He witnessed a second time the massacre of the prophets, heard anew the voice of the Lord ordering him into the desert. He saw again the eyes of the woman who awaited him at the gates of Zarephath, which its inhabitants called Akbar, and understood that he had loved her from the first moment. Once more he climbed the Fifth Mountain, brought a child back to life, and was welcomed by the people as a sage and a judge. He looked at the heavens, where the constellations were rapidly changing position, was dazzled by the moon that displayed its four phases in a single instant, felt heat, cold, fall and spring, experienced the rain and the lightning’s flash. Clouds swept past in millions of different shapes, and the water of rivers again ran in their beds. He relived the day that he had seen the first Assyrian tent being erected, then the second, then several, many, the angels that came and went, the fiery sword on the road to Israel, sleepless nights, drawings on clay tablets, and—

He was back in the present. He thought about what was happening on the floor below; he had to save the widow and her son at any cost.

“Fire!” he told one of the enemy soldiers. “The house is on fire!”

He was not afraid; his only concern was for the widow and her child. Someone pushed his head against the floor, and he felt the taste of earth in his mouth. He kissed it, told it how much he loved it, and explained that he had done everything possible to avoid what was happening. He tried to wrest free of his captors, but someone had his foot on his chest.

“She must have fled,” he thought. “They wouldn’t harm a defenseless woman.”

A deep calm took hold of his heart. Perhaps the Lord had come to realize that he was the wrong man and had found another prophet to rescue Israel from sin. Death had finally come, in the way he had hoped, through martyrdom. He accepted his fate and waited for the fatal blow.

Seconds went by; the voices were still shouting, blood still ran from his wound, but the fatal blow had not come.

“Ask them to kill me at once!” he shouted, knowing that at least one of them spoke his language.

No one heeded his words. They were arguing heatedly, as if something had gone wrong. Some of the soldiers began kicking him, and for the first time Elijah noticed the instinct for survival reasserting itself. This created in him a sensation of panic.

“I can’t wish for life any longer,” he thought desperately. “Because I’m not leaving this room alive.”

But nothing happened. The world seemed to be suspended endlessly in that confusion of shouts, noises, and dust. Perhaps the Lord had done as He had with Joshua and time had stood still amid the combat.

That was when he heard the woman’s screams from below. With an effort surpassing human strength, Elijah pushed aside two of the guards and struggled to his feet, but he was quickly struck down; a soldier kicked him in the head, and he fainted.

 

A FEW MINUTES LATER he recovered consciousness. The Assyrians had dragged him into the street.

Still dizzy, he raised his head; every house in the neighborhood was in flames.

“An innocent, helpless woman is caught in there! Save her!”

Cries, people running in every direction, confusion everywhere. He tried to rise but was struck down again.

“Lord, Thou canst do with me as Thou wilt, for I have dedicated my life and my death to Thy cause,” Elijah prayed. “But save the woman who took me in!”

Someone raised him by his arms.

“Come and see,” said the Assyrian officer who knew his language. “You deserve it.”

Two guards seized him and pushed him toward the door. The house was rapidly being devoured by flames, and the light from the fire illuminated everything around it. He heard cries coming from all sides: children sobbing, old men begging for forgiveness, desperate women searching for their children. But he had ears only for the pleas for help of the woman who had afforded him shelter.

“What is happening? A woman and child are inside! Why have you done this to them?”

“Because she tried to hide the governor of Akbar.”

“I’m not the governor! You’re making a terrible mistake!”

The Assyrian officer pushed him toward the door. The ceiling had collapsed in the fire, and the woman was half-buried in the debris. Elijah could see only her arm, moving desperately from side to side. She was asking for help, begging them not to let her be burned alive.

“Why spare me,” he implored, “and do this to her?”

“We’re not going to spare you, but we want you to suffer as much as possible. Our general died without honor, stoned to death, in front of the city walls. He came in search of life and was condemned to death. Now you will have the same fate.”

Elijah struggled desperately to free himself, but the guards carried him away. They passed through the streets of Akbar, in infernal heat; the soldiers were sweating heavily, and some of them appeared shocked at the scene they had just witnessed. Elijah thrashed about, clamoring against the heavens, but the Assyrians were as silent as the Lord Himself.

They arrived at the square. Most of the buildings in the city were ablaze, and the sound of flames mingled with the cries of Akbar’s inhabitants.

“How good that death still exists.”

Since that day in the stable, how often Elijah had thought this!

The corpses of Akbar’s warriors, most of them without uniforms, were spread out on the ground. He saw people running in every direction, not knowing where they were going, not knowing what they sought, guided by nothing more than the necessity of pretending they were doing something, fighting against death and destruction.

“Why do they do that?” he thought. “Don’t they see the city is in the hands of the enemy and there is nowhere to flee?” Everything had happened very quickly. The Assyrians had taken advantage of their large superiority in numbers and had been able to spare their warriors from combat. Akbar’s soldiers had been exterminated almost without a struggle.

They stopped in the middle of the square. Elijah was made to kneel on the ground and his hands were tied. He no longer heard the woman’s screams; perhaps she had died quickly, without going through the slow torture of being burned alive. The Lord had her in His hands. And she was carrying her son at her bosom.

Another group of Assyrian soldiers brought a prisoner whose face was disfigured by numerous blows. Even so, Elijah recognized the commander.

“Long live Akbar!” he shouted. “Long life to Phoenicia and its warriors, who engage the enemy by day! Death to the cowards who attack in darkness!”

He barely had time to finish the phrase. An Assyrian general’s sword descended, and the commander’s head rolled along the ground.

“Now it is my turn,” Elijah told himself. “I’ll meet her again in paradise, where we shall stroll hand in hand.”

At that moment, a man approached and began to argue with the officers. He was an inhabitant of Akbar who was wont to attend the meetings in the square. Elijah recalled having helped him resolve a serious dispute with a neighbor.

The Assyrians were arguing among themselves, their words growing louder and louder, and pointing at him. The man kneeled, kissed the feet of one of them, extended his hand toward the Fifth Mountain, and wept like a child. The invaders’ fury appeared to subside.

The discussion seemed to go on endlessly. The man implored and wept the entire time, pointing to Elijah and to the house where the governor lived. The soldiers appeared dissatisfied with the conversation.

Finally, the officer who spoke his language approached.

“Our spy,” he said, indicating the man, “says that we are mistaken. It was he who gave us the plans to the city, and we have confidence in what he says. It’s not you we wish to kill.”

He pushed him with his foot. Elijah fell to the ground.

“He says you would go to Israel and remove the princess who usurped the throne. Is that true?”

Elijah did not answer.

“Tell me if it’s true,” the officer insisted. “And you can leave here and return to your dwelling in time to save that woman and her son.”

“Yes, it’s true,” he said. Perhaps the Lord had listened to him and would help him to save them.

“We could take you captive to Sidon and Tyre,” the officer continued. “But we still have many battles before us, and you’d be a weight on our backs. We could demand a ransom for you, but from whom? You’re a foreigner even in your own country.”

The officer put his foot on Elijah’s face.

“You’re useless. You’re no good to the enemy and no good to friends. Just like your city; it’s not worth leaving part of our army here, to keep it under our rule. After we conquer the coastal cities Akbar will be ours in any case.”

“I have one question,” Elijah said. “Just one question.”

The officer looked at him warily.

“Why did you attack at night? Don’t you know that wars are fought by day?”

“We did not break the law; there is no custom that forbids it,” answered the officer. “And we had a long time to become familiar with the terrain. All of you were so preoccupied with custom that you forgot that times change.”

Without a further word, the group left him. The spy approached and untied his hands.

“I promised myself that I would one day repay your generosity; I have kept my word. When the Assyrians entered the palace, one of the servants told them that the man they were looking for had taken refuge in the widow’s house. While they went there, the real governor was able to flee.”

Elijah was not listening. Fire crackled everywhere, and the screams continued.

In the midst of the confusion, it was evident that one group still maintained discipline; obeying an invisible order, the Assyrians were silently withdrawing.

The battle of Akbar was over.

 

“SHE’S DEAD,” he told himself. “I don’t want to go there, for she is dead. Or she was saved by a miracle and will come looking for me.”

His heart nevertheless bade him rise to his feet and go to the house where they lived. Elijah struggled with himself; at that moment, more than a woman’s love was at stake—his entire life, his faith in the Lord’s designs, the departure from the city of his birth, the idea that he had a mission and was capable of completing it.

He looked about him, searching for a sword with which to take his own life, but with the Assyrians had gone every weapon in Akbar. He thought of throwing himself onto the flames of the burning houses, but he feared the pain.

For some moments he stood paralyzed. Little by little, he began recovering his awareness of the situation in which he found himself. The woman and her child must have already left this world, but he must bury them in accord with custom. At that moment the Lord’s work—whether or not He existed—was his only succor. After finishing his religious duty, he would yield to pain and doubt.

Moreover, there was a possibility that they still lived. He could not remain there, doing nothing.

“I don’t want to see their burned faces, the skin falling from their flesh. Their souls are already running free in heaven.”

NEVERTHELESS, HE BEGAN walking toward the house, choking and blinded by the smoke that prevented his finding his way. He gradually began to comprehend the situation in the city. Although the enemy had withdrawn, panic was mounting in an alarming manner. People continued to wander aimlessly, weeping, petitioning the gods on behalf of their dead.

He looked for someone to help him. A lone man was in sight, in a total state of shock; his mind seemed distant.

“It’s best to go straightway and not ask for help.” He knew Akbar as if it were his native city and was able to orient himself, even without recognizing many of the places that he was accustomed to passing. In the street the cries he heard were now more coherent. The people were beginning to understand that a tragedy had taken place and that it was necessary to react.

“There’s a wounded man here!” said one.

“We need more water! We’re not going to be able to control the fire!” said another.

“Help me! My husband is trapped!”

He came to the place where, many months before, he had been received and given lodging as a friend. An old woman was sitting in the middle of the street, almost in front of the house, completely naked. Elijah tried to help her but was pushed away.

“She’s dying!” the old woman cried. “Do something! Take that wall off her!”

And she began screaming hysterically. Elijah took her by the arms and shoved her aside, for the noise she was making prevented his hearing the widow’s moans. Everything around him was total destruction—the roof and walls had collapsed, and it was difficult to recognize where he had last seen her. The flames had died down but the heat was still unbearable; he stepped over the rubble covering the floor and went toward the place where the woman’s bedroom had been.

Despite the confusion outside, he was able to make out a moan. It was her voice.

He instinctively shook the dust from his garments, as if trying to improve his appearance. He remained silent, trying to concentrate. He heard the crackling of the fire, the cries for help from people buried in the neighboring houses, and felt the urge to tell them to be silent because he must discover where the woman and her son were. After a long time, he heard the sound again; someone was scratching on the wood beneath his feet.

He fell to his knees and began digging like one possessed. He removed the dirt, stones, and wood. Finally, his hand touched something warm: it was blood.

“Please, don’t die,” he said.

“Leave the rubble over me,” he heard her voice say. “I don’t want you to see my face. Go and help my son.”

He continued to dig, and she repeated, “Go and find the body of my son. Please, do as I ask.”

Elijah’s head fell against his chest, and he began weeping softly.

“I don’t know where he’s buried,” he said. “Please, don’t go; how I long to have you remain with me. I need you to teach me how to love; my heart is ready now.”

“Before you arrived, for so many years I called out to death. It must have heard and come looking for me.”

She moaned. Elijah bit his lips but said nothing. Someone touched his shoulder.

Startled, he turned and saw the boy. He was covered with dust and soot but appeared unhurt.

“Where is my mother?” he asked.

“I’m here, my son,” answered the voice from beneath the ruins. “Are you injured?”

The boy began to cry. Elijah took him in his arms.

“You’re crying, my son,” said the voice, ever weaker. “Don’t do that. Your mother took a long time to learn that life has meaning; I hope I have been able to teach it to you. In what condition is the city where you were born?”

Elijah and the boy remained silent, each clinging to the other.

“It’s fine,” Elijah lied. “A few warriors died, but the Assyrians have withdrawn. They were after the governor, to avenge the death of one of their generals.”

Again, silence. And again her voice, still weaker than before.

“Tell me that my city is safe.”

He knew that she would be gone at any moment.

“The city is whole. And your son is well.”

“What about you?”

“I have survived.”

He knew that with these words he was liberating her soul and allowing her to die in peace.

“Ask my son to kneel,” the woman said after a time. “And I want you to swear to me, in the name of the Lord thy God.”

“Whatever you want. Anything that you want.”

“You once told me that the Lord is everywhere, and I believed you. You said that souls don’t go to the top of the Fifth Mountain, and I also believed what you said. But you didn’t explain where they go.

“This is the oath: you two will not weep for me, and each will take care of the other until the Lord allows each of you to follow his path. From this moment on, my soul will become one with all I have known on this earth: I am the valley, the mountains that surround it, the city, the people walking in its streets. I am its wounded and its beggars, its soldiers, its priests, its merchants, its nobles. I am the ground that they tread, and the well that slakes each one’s thirst.

“Don’t weep for me, for there is no reason to be sad. From this moment on, I am Akbar, and the city is beautiful.”

The silence of death descended, and the wind ceased to blow. Elijah no longer heard the cries outside or the flames crackling in neighboring houses; he heard only the silence and could almost touch it in its intensity.

Then Elijah led the boy away, rent his own garments, turned to the heavens, and bellowed with all the strength of his lungs, “O Lord my God! For Thy cause have I felt Israel and cannot offer Thee my blood as did the prophets who remained there. I have been called a coward by my friends and a traitor by my enemies.

“For Thy cause have I eaten only what crows brought me and have crossed the desert to Zarephath, which its inhabitants call Akbar. Guided by Thy hand, I met a woman; guided by Thee, my heart learned to love her. But at no time did I forget my true mission; during all the days I spent here I was always ready to depart.

“Beautiful Akbar is in ruins, and the woman who trusted me lies beneath them. Where have I sinned, O Lord? At what moment have I strayed from what Thou desirest of me? If Thou art discontent with me, why hast Thou not taken me from this world? Instead, Thou hast afflicted yet again those who succored me and loved me.

“I do not understand Thy designs. I see no justice in Thy acts. In bearing the suffering Thou hast imposed on me, I am sorely wanting. Remove Thyself from my life, for I too am reduced to ruins, fire, and dust.”

Amidst the fire and desolation, the light appeared to Elijah. And the angel of the Lord was before him.

“Why are you here?” asked Elijah. “Don’t you see that it is too late?”

“I have come to say that once again the Lord hath heard thy prayer and thy petition will be granted thee. No more shalt thou hear thy angel, nor shall I meet again with thee till thou hast undergone thy days of trial.”

Elijah took the boy by the hand and they began to walk aimlessly. The smoke, till then dispersed by the winds, was now concentrated in the streets, making the air impossible to breathe. “Perhaps it’s a dream,” he thought. “Perhaps it’s a nightmare.”

“You lied to my mother,” the boy said. “The city is destroyed.”

“What does that matter? If she did not see what was happening around her, why not allow her to die in peace?”

“Because she trusted you, and said that she was Akbar.”

Elijah cut his foot on one of the broken pieces of glass and pottery strewn on the ground. The pain proved to him that he was not dreaming; everything around him was terribly real. They arrived at the square where—how long ago?—he had met with the people and helped them to resolve their disputes; the sky was gilded by flames from the fires.

“I don’t want my mother to be this that I’m looking at,” the boy insisted. “You lied to her.”

The boy was managing to keep his oath; Elijah had not seen a single tear on his face. “What can I do?” he thought. His foot was bleeding, and he decided to concentrate on the pain, to ward off despair.

He looked at the sword cut the Assyrian had made in his body; it was not as deep as he had imagined. He sat down with the boy at the same spot where he had been bound by his enemies, and saved by a traitor. He noticed that people were no longer running; they were walking slowly from place to place, amidst the smoky, dusty ruins, as if they were the living dead. They seemed like souls abandoned by the heavens and condemned to walk the earth eternally. Nothing made sense.

Some of the people reacted; they still heeded the women’s voices and the confused orders from the soldiers who had survived the massacre. But they were few and were not achieving any result.

The high priest had once said that the world was the collective dream of the gods. What if, fundamentally, he was right? Could he now help the gods to awaken from this nightmare and then make them sleep again to dream a gentler dream? When Elijah had nocturnal visions, he always awoke and then slept anew; why should the same not occur with the creators of the Universe?

He stumbled over the dead. None of them was now concerned with having to pay taxes, Assyrian encampments in the valley, religious rituals, or the existence of a wandering prophet who perhaps one day had spoken to them.

“I can’t remain here permanently. The legacy that she left me is this boy, and I shall be worthy of it, even if it be the last thing I do on the face of the earth.”

With a great effort, he rose, took the boy by the hand, and they began to walk. Some of the people were sacking the shops and tents that had been smashed. For the first time, he attempted to react to what had happened, by asking them not to do that.

But the people pushed him aside, saying, “We’re eating the remains of what the governor devoured by himself. Get out of the way.”

Elijah did not have the strength to argue; he led the boy out of the city, where they began to walk through the valley. The angels, with their swords of fire, would come no more.

“A full moon.”

Far from the dust and smoke, he could see the night illuminated by moonlight. Hours before, when he was attempting to leave the city for Jerusalem, he had been able to find his way without difficulty; the Assyrians had had the same advantage.

The boy stumbled over a body and screamed. It was the high priest; his arms and legs had been cut off, but he was still alive. His eyes were fixed on the heights of the Fifth Mountain.

“As you see,” he said in a labored but calm voice, “the Phoenician gods have won the celestial battle.” Blood was spurting from his mouth.

“Let me end your suffering,” Elijah replied.

“Pain means nothing, compared to the joy of having done my duty.”

“Your duty was to destroy a city of righteous men?”

“A city does not die, only its inhabitants and the ideas they bore within themselves. One day, others will come to Akbar, drink its water, and the stone that its founder left behind will be polished and cared for by new priests. Leave me now; my pain will soon be over, while your despair will endure for the rest of your life.”

The mutilated body was breathing with difficulty, and Elijah left him. At that moment, a group of people—men, women, and children—came running toward him and encircled him.

“It was you!” they shouted. “You dishonored your homeland and brought a curse upon our city!”

“May the gods bear witness to this! May they know who is to blame!”

The men pushed him and shook him by the shoulders. The boy pulled loose from his hands and disappeared. The others struck him in the face, the chest, the back, but his only thoughts were for the boy; he had not even been able to keep him at his side.

The beating did not last long; perhaps his assailants were themselves weary of so much violence. Elijah fell to the ground.

“Leave this place!” someone said. “You have repaid our love with your hatred!”

The group withdrew. Elijah did not have the strength to rise to his feet. When he recovered from the shame, he had ceased to be the same man. He desired neither to die nor to go on living. He desired nothing: he possessed no love, no hate, no faith.

HE AWOKE to someone touching his face. It was still night, but the moon was no longer in the sky.

“I promised my mother that I’d take care of you,” the boy said. “But I don’t know what to do.”

“Go back to the city. The people there are good, and someone will take you in.”

“You’re hurt. I need to attend to your arm. Maybe an angel will come and tell me what to do.”

“You’re ignorant, you know nothing about what’s happening!” Elijah shouted. “The angels will come no more because we’re common folk, and everyone is weak when faced with suffering. When tragedy occurs, let people fend for themselves!”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself; there was no point in arguing further.

“How did you find your way here?”

“I never left.”

“Then you saw my shame. You saw that there is nothing left for me to do in Akbar.”

“You told me that all life’s battles teach us something, even those we lose.”

He remembered the walk to the well the morning before. But it seemed as if years had passed since then, and he felt the urge to tell him that those beautiful words meant nothing when one faces suffering; but he decided not to upset the boy.

“How did you escape the fire?”

The boy lowered his head. “I hadn’t gone to sleep. I decided to spend the night awake, to see if you and my mother were going to meet in her room. I saw the first soldiers come in.”

Elijah rose and began to walk. He was looking for the stone in front of the Fifth Mountain where one afternoon he had watched the sunset with the woman.

“I mustn’t go,” he thought. “I’ll become even more desperate.”

But some force drew him in that direction. When he arrived there, he wept bitterly; like the city of Akbar, the spot was marked by a stone, but he alone in that entire valley understood its significance; it would neither be praised by new inhabitants, nor polished by couples discovering the meaning of love.

He took the boy in his arms and once again slept.

 

“I’M HUNGRY AND THIRSTY,” THE BOY TOLD ELIJAH AS soon as he awoke.

“We can go to the home of one of the shepherds who live nearby. It’s likely nothing happened to them because they didn’t live in Akbar.”

“We need to repair the city. My mother said that she was Akbar.”

What city? No longer was there a palace, a market, or walls. The city’s good people had turned into robbers, and its young soldiers had been massacred. Nor would the angels return, though this was the least among his problems.

“Do you think that last night’s destruction, suffering, and deaths have a meaning? Do you think that it’s necessary to destroy thousands of lives to teach someone something?”

The boy looked at him in alarm.

“Put from your mind what I just said,” Elijah told him. “We’re going to look for the shepherd.”

“And we’re going to rebuild the city,” the boy insisted.

Elijah did not reply. He knew he would no longer be able to use his authority with the people, who accused him of having brought misfortune. The governor had taken flight, the commander was dead; soon Sidon and Tyre might fall under foreign domination. Perhaps the woman was right: the gods were always changing, and this time it was the Lord who had gone away.

“When will we go back there?” the boy asked again.

Elijah took him by the shoulders and began shaking him forcefully.

“Look behind you! You’re not some blind angel but a boy who intended to spy on his mother’s acts. What do you see? Have you noticed the columns of rising smoke? Do you know what that means?”

“You’re hurting me! I want to leave here, I want to go away!”

Elijah stopped, disconcerted at himself: he had never acted in such a way. The boy broke loose and began running toward the city. Elijah overtook him and kneeled at his feet.

“Forgive me. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The boy sobbed, but not a single tear ran down his cheeks. Elijah sat beside him, waiting for him to regain his calm.

“Don’t leave,” he asked. “When your mother went away, I promised her I’d stay with you until you could follow your own path.”

“You also promised that the city was whole. And she said—”

“There’s no need to repeat it. I’m confused, lost in my own guilt. Give me time to find myself. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The boy embraced him. But his eyes shed no tears.

THEY CAME TO THE HOUSE in the middle of the valley; a woman was at the door, and two children were playing in front. The flock was in the enclosure, which meant that the shepherd had not yet left for the mountains that morning.

Startled, the woman looked at the man and boy walking toward her. Her instinct was to send them away at once, but custom—and the gods—demanded that she honor the universal law of hospitality. If she did not receive them now, her own children might in the future suffer the same fate.

“I have no money,” she said. “But I can give you a little water and something to eat.”

They sat on a small porch with a straw roof, and she brought dried fruit and a jar of water. They ate in silence, experiencing, for the first time since the events of the night before, something of the normal routine that marked their every day. The children, frightened by the newcomers’ appearance, had taken refuge inside the house.

When they finished their meal, Elijah asked about the shepherd.

“He’ll be here soon,” she said. “We heard a lot of noise, and somebody came by this morning saying that Akbar had been destroyed. He went to see what happened.”

The children called her, and she went inside.

“It will avail me nothing to try to convince the boy,” Elijah thought. “He’ll not leave me in peace until I do what he asks. I must show him that it is impossible; only then will he be persuaded.”

The food and water achieved a miracle: he again felt himself a part of the world.

His thoughts flowed with incredible speed, seeking solutions rather than answers.

SOME TIME LATER, the aged shepherd arrived. He looked at the man and boy with fear, concerned for the safety of his family. But he quickly understood what was happening.

“You must be refugees from Akbar,” he said. “I’ve just returned from there.”

“And what’s happening?” asked the boy.

“The city was destroyed, and the governor ran away. The gods have disorganized the world.”

“We lost everything we had,” said Elijah. “We ask that you receive us.”

“I think my wife has already received you, and fed you. Now you must leave and face the unavoidable.”

“I don’t know what to do with the boy. I’m in need of help.”

“Of course you know. He’s young, he seems intelligent, and he has energy. And you have the experience of someone who’s known many victories and defeats in life. The combination is perfect, because it can help you to find wisdom.”

The man looked at the wound on Elijah’s arm. He said it was not serious; he entered the house and returned with some herbs and a piece of cloth. The boy helped him apply the poultice. When the shepherd said that he could do it alone, the boy told him that he had promised his mother to take care of this man.

The shepherd laughed.

“Your son is a man of his word.”

“I’m not his son. And he’s a man of his word too. He’ll rebuild the city because he has to bring my mother back, the way he did with me.”

Suddenly, Elijah understood the boy’s concern, but before he could do anything, the shepherd shouted to his wife, who was coming out of the house at that moment. “It’s better to start rebuilding life right away,” he said. “It will take a long time for everything to return to what it was.”

“It will never return.”

“You look like a wise young man, and you can understand many things that I cannot. But nature has taught me something that I shall never forget: a man who depends on the weather and the seasons, as only a shepherd does, manages to survive the unavoidable. He cares for his flock, treats each animal as if it were the only one, tries to help the mothers with their young, is never too far from a place where the animals can drink. Still, now and again one of the lambs to which he gave so much of himself dies in an accident. It might be a snake, some wild animal, or even a fall over a cliff. But the unavoidable always happens.”

Elijah looked in the direction of Akbar and recalled his conversation with the angel. The unavoidable always happens.

“You need discipline and patience to overcome it,” the shepherd said.

“And hope. When that no longer exists, one can’t waste his energy fighting against the impossible.”

“It’s not a question of hope in the future. It’s a question of re-creating your own past.”

The shepherd was no longer in a hurry; his heart was filled with pity for the refugees who stood facing him. As he and his family had been spared the tragedy, it cost nothing to help them, and thus to thank the gods. Moreover, he had heard talk of the Israelite prophet who had climbed the Fifth Mountain without being slain by the fire from heaven; everything indicated that it was the man before him.

“You can stay another day if you wish.”

“I didn’t understand what you said before,” commented Elijah. “About re-creating your own past.”

“I have long seen people passing through here on their way to Sidon and Tyre. Some of them complained that they had not achieved anything in Akbar and were setting out for a new destiny.

“One day these people would return. They had not found what they were seeking, for they carried with them, along with their bags, the weight of their earlier failure. A few returned with a government position, or with the joy of having given their children a better life, but nothing more. Their past in Akbar had left them fearful, and they lacked the confidence in themselves to take risks.

“On the other hand, there also passed my door people full of ardor. They had profited from every moment of life in Akbar and through great effort had accumulated the money for their journey. To these people, life was a constant triumph and would go on being one.

“These people also returned, but with wonderful tales to tell. They had achieved everything they desired because they were not limited by the frustrations of the past.”

THE SHEPHERD’S WORDS touched Elijah’s heart.

“It is not difficult to rebuild a life, just as it is not impossible to raise Akbar from its ruins,” the shepherd continued. “It is enough to be aware that we go on with the same strength that we had before. And to use that in our favor.”

The man gazed into Elijah’s eyes.

“If you have a past that dissatisfies you, forget it now,” he went on. “Imagine a new story of your life, and believe in it. Concentrate only on those moments in which you achieved what you desired, and this strength will help you to accomplish what you want.”

“There was a moment when I desired to be a carpenter, and later I wanted to be a prophet sent to save Israel,” Elijah thought. “Angels descended from the heavens, the Lord spoke to me. Until I understood that He is not just and that His motives are always beyond my understanding.”

The shepherd called to his wife, saying that he was not leaving; he had already been to Akbar on foot, and he was too weary to walk farther.

“Thank you for receiving us,” Elijah said.

“It is no burden to shelter you for one night.”

The boy interrupted the conversation. “We want to go back to Akbar.”

“Wait till morning. The city is being sacked by its own inhabitants, and there is nowhere to sleep.”

The boy looked at the ground, bit his lip, and once again held back tears. The shepherd led them into the house, calmed his wife and children, and, to distract them, spent the rest of the day talking about the weather.

THE NEXT DAY THEY AWOKE EARLY, ATE THE MEAL PREPARED by the shepherd’s wife, and went to the door of the house.

“May your life be long and your flock grow ever larger,” said Elijah. “I have eaten what my body had need of, and my soul has learned what it did not know. May God never forget what you did for us, and may your sons not be strangers in a strange land.”

“I don’t know to which God you refer; there are many who dwell on the Fifth Mountain,” the shepherd said brusquely, then quickly changed his tone. “Remember the good things you have done. They will give you courage.”

“I have done very few such things, and none of them was because of my abilities.”

“Then it’s time to do more.”

“Perhaps I could have prevented the invasion.”

The shepherd laughed.

“Even if you were governor of Akbar, you would not be able to stop the unavoidable.”

“Perhaps the governor of Akbar should have attacked the Assyrians when they first arrived in the valley with few troops. Or negotiated peace, before war broke out.”

“Everything that could have happened but did not is carried away with the wind and leaves no trace,” said the shepherd. “Life is made of our attitudes. And there are certain things that the gods oblige us to live through. Their reason for this does not matter, and there is no action we can take to make them pass us by.”

“Why?”

“Ask a certain Israelite prophet who lived in Akbar. He seems to have the answer to everything.”

The man went to the fence. “I must take my flock to pasture,” he said. “Yesterday they didn’t go out, and they’re impatient.”

He took his leave with a wave of his hand, departing with his sheep.

THE BOY AND THE MAN WALKED THROUGH THE VALLEY.

“You’re walking slowly,” the boy said. “You’re afraid of what might happen to you.”

“I’m afraid only of myself,” Elijah replied. “They can do me no harm because my heart has ceased to be.”

“The God that brought me back from death is alive. He can bring back my mother, if you do the same thing to the city.”

“Forget that God. He’s far away and no longer does the miracles we hope for from Him.”

The old shepherd was right. From this moment on, it was necessary to reconstruct his own past, forget that he had once thought himself to be a prophet who would free Israel but had failed in his mission of saving even one city.

The thought gave him a strange sense of euphoria. For the first time in his life he felt free, ready to do whatever he desired whenever he wished. True, he would hear no more angels, but as compensation he was free to return to Israel, to go back to work as a carpenter, to travel to Greece to learn the thoughts of wise men, or to journey with Phoenician navigators to the lands across the sea.

First, however, he must avenge himself. He had dedicated the best years of his youth to an unheeding God who was constantly giving commands and always did things in His own fashion. Elijah had learned to accept His decisions and to respect His designs.

But his loyalty had been rewarded by abandonment, his dedication had been ignored, his efforts to comply with the Supreme Being’s will had led to the death of the only woman he had ever loved.

“Thou hast the strength of the world and the stars,” said Elijah in his native tongue, so that the boy beside him would not understand the words. “Thou canst destroy a city, a country, as we destroy insects. Send, then, Thy fire from heaven and end my life, for if Thou dost not, I shall go against Thy handiwork.”

Akbar loomed in the distance. He took the boy’s hand and grasped it tightly.

“From this moment until we go through the city gates, I am going to walk with my eyes closed, and you must guide me,” he told the boy. “If I die on the way, do what you have asked me to do: rebuild Akbar, even if to do so you must first grow to manhood and learn to cut wood or work stone.”

The boy did not reply. Elijah closed his eyes and allowed himself to be led. He heard the blowing of the wind and the sound of his own steps in the sand.

He remembered Moses, who, after liberating the Chosen People and leading them through the desert, surmounting enormous difficulties, had been forbidden by God to enter Canaan. At the time, Moses had said:

“I pray Thee, let me go over, and see the good land that is beyond Jordan.”

The Lord, however, had been offended by his entreaty. And He had answered, “Let it suffice thee; speak no more unto Me of this matter. Lift up thine eyes westward, and northward, and southward, and eastward, and behold it with thine eyes; for thou shalt not go over this Jordan.”

Thus had the Lord rewarded the long and arduous task of Moses: He had not permitted him to set foot in the Promised Land. What would have happened if he had disobeyed?

Elijah again turned his thoughts to the heavens.

“O Lord, this battle was not between Assyrians and Phoenicians but between Thee and me. Thou didst not foretell to me our singular war, and as ever, Thou hast triumphed and seen Thy will made manifest. Thou hast destroyed the woman I loved and the city that took me in when I was far from my homeland.”

The sound of the wind was louder in his ears. Elijah was afraid, but he continued.

“I cannot bring the woman back, but I can change the fate of Thy work of destruction. Moses accepted Thy will and did not cross the river. But I shall go forward: slay me now, because if Thou allowest me to arrive at the gates of the city, I shall rebuild that which Thou wouldst sweep from the face of the earth. And I shall go against Thy judgment.”

He fell silent. He emptied his mind and waited for death. For a long time he concentrated on nothing beyond the sound of his footsteps in the sand; he did not want to hear the voices of angels or threats from heaven. His heart was free, and no longer did he fear what might befall him. Yet in the depths of his soul was the beginning of disquiet, as if he had forgotten a thing of importance.

After much time had passed, the boy stopped, then tugged on Elijah’s arm.

“We’ve arrived,” he said.

Elijah opened his eyes. The fire from heaven had not descended on him, and before him were the ruined walls of Akbar.

HE LOOKED AT THE BOY, WHO NOW CLUTCHED ELIJAH’S hand as if fearing that he might escape. Did he love him? He had no idea. But such reflections could wait till later; for now, he had a task to carry out—the first in many years not imposed upon him by God.

From where they stood, he could smell the odor of burning. Scavenger birds circled overhead, awaiting the right moment to devour the corpses of the sentinels that lay rotting in the sun. Elijah approached one of the fallen soldiers and took the sword from his belt. In the confusion of the previous night, the Assyrians had forgotten to gather up the weapons outside the city walls.

“Why do you want that?” the boy asked.

“To defend myself.”

“The Assyrians aren’t here anymore.”

“Even so, it’s good to have it with me. We have to be prepared.”

His voice shook. It was impossible to know what might happen from the moment they crossed the half-destroyed wall, but he was ready to kill whoever tried to humiliate him.

“Like this city, I too was destroyed,” he told the boy. “But also like this city, I have not yet completed my mission.”

The boy smiled.

“You’re talking the way you used to,” he said.

“Don’t be fooled by words. Before, I had the objective of removing Jezebel from the throne and turning Israel back to the Lord; now that He has forgotten us, we must forget Him. My mission is to do what you have asked of me.”

The boy looked at him warily.

“Without God, my mother will not come back from the dead.”

Elijah ran his hand over the boy’s hair.

“Only your mother’s body has gone away. She is still among us, and as she told us, she is Akbar. We must help her recover her beauty.”

THE CITY was almost deserted. Old people, women, and children were walking aimlessly through its streets, in a repetition of the scene he had witnessed the night of the invasion. They seemed uncertain of what to do next.

Each time Elijah’s path crossed that of someone else, the boy saw him grip the handle of his sword. But the people displayed indifference; most recognized the prophet from Israel, some nodded at him, but none directed a single word to him, not even one of hatred.

“They’ve lost even the sense of rage,” he thought, looking toward the top of the Fifth Mountain, the summit of which was covered as always by its eternal clouds. Then he recalled the Lord’s words:

“I will cast your carcasses upon the carcasses of your idols, and my soul shall abhor you. And I will make your cities waste, and bring the land into desolation.

“And upon them that are left alive of you I will send a faintness into their hearts; and the sound of a shaken leaf shall chase them; and they shall fall when none pursueth.”

 

“BEHOLD, O LORD, WHAT THOU HAST WROUGHT: THOU hast kept Thy promise, and the living dead still walk the earth. And Akbar is the city chosen to shelter them.”

Elijah and the boy continued to the main square, where they sat and rested on pieces of rubble while they surveyed their surroundings. The destruction seemed more severe and unrelenting than he had thought; the roofs of most of the houses had collapsed; filth and insects had taken over everything.

“The dead must be removed,” he said. “Or plague will enter the city through the main gate.”

The boy kept his eyes downward.

“Raise your head,” Elijah said. “We have much work to do, so your mother can be content.”

But the boy did not obey; he was beginning to understand: somewhere among the ruins was the body that had brought him into life, and that body was in a condition similar to all the others scattered on every side.

Elijah did not insist. He rose, lifted a corpse to his shoulders, and carried it to the middle of the square. He could not remember the Lord’s recommendations about burying the dead; what he must do was prevent the coming of plague, and the only solution was to burn them.

He worked the entire morning. The boy did not stir from his place, nor did he raise his eyes for an instant, but he kept his promise to his mother: no tear dropped to Akbar’s soil.

A woman stopped and stood for a time observing Elijah’s efforts.

“The man who solved the problems of the living now puts in order the bodies of the dead,” she commented.

“Where are the men of Akbar?” Elijah asked.

“They left, and they took with them the little that remained. There is nothing left worth staying for. The only ones who haven’t deserted the city are those incapable of leaving: the old, widows, and orphans.”

“But they were here for generations. They can’t give up so easily.”

“Try to explain that to someone who has lost everything.”

“Help me,” said Elijah, taking another corpse onto his shoulders and placing it on the pile. “We’re going to burn them, so that the plague god will not come to visit us. He is horrified by the smell of burning flesh.”

“Let the plague god come,” said the woman. “And may he take us all, as soon as possible.”

Elijah went on with his task. The woman sat down beside the boy and watched what he was doing. After a time, she approached him again.

“Why do you want to save this wretched city?”

“If I stop to reflect on it, I’ll conclude I’m incapable of accomplishing what I desire,” he answered.

The old shepherd was right: the only solution was to forget a past of uncertainty and create a new history for oneself. The former prophet had died together with a woman in the flames of her house; now he was a man without faith in God and beset by doubts. But he was still alive, even after challenging divine retribution. If he wished to continue on this path, he must do what he had proposed.

The woman chose one of the lighter bodies and dragged it by the heels, taking it to the pile that Elijah had started.

“It’s not from fear of the plague god,” she said. “Or for Akbar, since the Assyrians will soon return. It’s for that boy sitting there with his head hanging; he has to learn that he still has his life ahead of him.”

“Thank you,” said Elijah.

“Don’t thank me. Somewhere in these ruins we’ll find the body of my son. He was about the same age as the boy.”

She lifted her hand to her face and wept copiously. Elijah took her gently by the arm.

“The pain you and I feel will never go away, but work will help us to bear it. Suffering has no strength to wound a weary body.”

They spent the entire day at the macabre task of collecting and piling up the dead; most of them were youths, whom the Assyrians had identified as part of Akbar’s army. More than once he recognized friends, and wept—but he did not interrupt his task.

AT THE END of the afternoon, they were exhausted. Even so, the work done was far from sufficient, and no other inhabitant of Akbar had assisted.

The pair approached the boy, who lifted his head for the first time.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

“I’m going to go look for something,” the woman answered. “There’s plenty of food hidden in the various houses in Akbar; people were preparing for a long siege.”

“Bring food for me and for yourself, for we are ministering to the city with the sweat of our brows,” said Elijah. “But if the boy wants to eat, he will have to take care of himself.”

The woman understood; she would have done the same with her son. She went to the place where her house had stood; almost everything had been ransacked by looters in search of objects of value, and her collection of vases, created by the great master glassmakers of Akbar, lay in pieces on the floor. But she found the dried fruits and grain that she had cached.

She returned to the square, where she divided part of the food with Elijah. The boy said nothing.

An old man approached them.

“I saw that you spent all day gathering the bodies,” he said. “You’re wasting your time; don’t you know the Assyrians will be back, after they conquer Sidon and Tyre? Let the plague god come here and destroy them.”

“We’re not doing this for them, or for ourselves,” Elijah answered. “She is working to teach a child that there is still a future. And I am working to show him there is no longer a past.”

“So the prophet is no more a threat to the great princess of Sidon: what a surprise! Jezebel will rule Israel till the end of her days, and we shall always have a refuge if the Assyrians are not generous to the conquered.”

Elijah did not reply. The name that had once awakened in him such hatred now sounded strangely distant.

“Akbar will be rebuilt, in any case,” the old man insisted. “The gods choose where cities are erected, and they will not abandon it; but we can leave that labor for the generations to come.”

“We can, but we will not.”

Elijah turned his back on the old man, ending the conversation.

The three of them slept in the open air. The woman embraced the boy, noting that his stomach was growling from hunger. She considered giving him food but quickly dismissed the idea: fatigue truly did diminish pain, and the boy, who seemed to be suffering greatly, needed to busy himself with something. Perhaps hunger would persuade him to work.