Elijah in Jerusalem: A Novel by O'Brien Michael

Author:O'Brien, Michael [O'Brien, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Novels
ISBN: 9781681496818
Publisher: Ignatius Press
Published: 2015-10-05T04:00:00+00:00

6

Cities of the Plain

In his sleep that night, he had a recurring dream, the one he had dreamt before his departure from Ephesus to Jordan. Rather, it was two dreams.

In the first there was a violent storm. Like a shepherd, he was guiding a flock of children through a gloomy wasteland of sterile soil. He was disheartened by the enormity of his task.

Look up, said a voice.

He looked up and saw a distant city in the sky. It had twelve gates, and upon its walls millions of people were cheering, urging him to enter. He was some distance from the main gate, moving toward it at a creeping pace, for the children were crying, confused, and frightened, and he was delayed again and again when they scattered into the dark and he was forced to gather them together. He would not let the smallest of them lag behind and be lost. The storm was quickening in fury with howling wind and flashing lightning in the boiling clouds and in it the eyes of a serpent sought the children to devour them. The slowness of their flight toward sanctuary was at first a torment, but an angel came out of the gates and flew around the little flock with a golden cord, girding them and guiding them onward.

Then the dream melted into another. A skinny boy staggered through the rubble heaps of bombed ruins. He was naked, save for a tallith with which he wrapped his loins. He was sobbing for all that was lost in the world. “Everything is gone,” he cried, “everything.” He passed men and women who stopped and laughed at him.

“Repent!” he shouted at them.

“Repent? Repent of what?” they mocked.

“The fire is coming,” he said.

“Fire?” they answered. “Look around. Everything is fine. There will be no fire.”

“All is not fine,” the boy sobbed. “Peace,” they shouted. “Peace!”

“There is no peace!” the boy cried out with great strength.

Then they threw stones at him, and he ran away. He fell and got up, fell again and crawled, cutting himself on broken glass. Through the ruins he went on hands and knees until he came to the edge of a bomb crater. In the bottom of the crater, lit by stubs of candles, was a priest saying Mass. His altar was a cardboard box, his chalice a tin cup, and his paten a cracked plate. The priest was the Pope, assisted by three bishops. Thirty or forty people knelt around the altar, dressed in rags. They were worshipping the Host the Pope lifted up. Its light was dazzling, and it pushed back the darkness for the space of two hours, and another hour, and a half hour. The people worshipped, but they were frightened. The Pope prayed, but his face streamed with tears.

Look up, said a voice.

Elijah was abruptly woken by the sound of rapping on the apartment door. When he opened it, he found a ten-year-old boy standing in the hallway. The child immediately began chattering in rapid-fire Arabic. Elijah had a fair grasp of the language, but the child’s diction was impeded by a cleft palate.

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