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 permanentl
y. 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."