Fifth Mountain

"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 childre

n, 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.