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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.
