Elijah

by William H. Stephens

  Outside, he climbed the stairs to the flat roof and made his way quickly to his loft. His own face was strained as he laid the boy on the bed.

  He knelt beside the still body and looked up. He began to pray. “Oh, Yahweh Elohim, my God,” he began, “have you brought even more grief to add to this woman’s burdens, this woman who gave me, your prophet, a place to stay? Are you taking her son? Is this your will?”

  Elijah felt a moving in his body, as though a wind blew deep in his bowels. He looked at the still body before him. The color in the boy’s lips was darkening, the limp body becoming colder. With careful precision, he stretched the boy’s arms straight out and up from his shoulders, then spread the boy’s legs.

  The prophet spread himself on top of the boy, his legs on the boy’s legs, his arms on the boy’s arms. His stomach and chest pressed against those of the boy, and he placed his mouth over the boy’s mouth. He began to force his breath into the boy, breathing rhythmically, slowly and deeply, his chest and stomach forcing the movement of the boy’s chest and stomach in sequence to his breathing.

  After a few moments he moved away from the boy. The color in his face looked better, but the boy still did not breathe. “Oh, Yahweh Elohim, my God,” Elijah called out loud, “let this boy’s breathing soul come into him again.”

  The prophet placed himself again on the boy as before. Again he forced breath into the boy’s lungs. Silently, he prayed that life would pass from his own organs to those of the boy, from his heart to the boy’s heart, from his lungs to the boy’s lungs.

  Again he rose to look at the boy. Still he did not breathe. Elijah repeated his prayer aloud and again spread himself on the boy. This time he did not rise to measure his progress. He breathed long, carefully, deeply, forcing air into the boy, praying silently to Yahweh, willing with all his mind that his own life forces would pass from his body into the boy’s.

  He felt a movement under him, and quickly he rolled to the floor. The boy gasped, and his chest arched ever so slightly as wind moved into his throat. As Elijah watched, the breathing became less labored. The boy opened his eyes. They held a look of surprise, as though the boy awoke from a nightmare. He looked at Elijah with apparent difficulty.

  “We almost lost you,” the prophet said.

  The boy smiled feebly. Elijah picked him up and carried him to the roof. Bosheth did not speak, but he raised one arm weakly to place it around the prophet’s neck.

  The woman was lying on the pads when Elijah entered. She did not look up. He walked to her. “Bosheth is alive,” he said. “Look and see.”

  The woman turned slowly, unbelieving, and looked up. “Bosheth?” she whispered cautiously.

  The boy’s voice was weak, but the mother heard him clearly. She whirled to a sitting position and held out her arms. Elijah laid her son against her bosom. She kissed his forehead and clutched him tightly.

  “The boy needs fresh air. This summer heat will not aid his recovery. I will take him to my loft and leave the door open to catch the breeze from the sea.” Elijah took the boy again from the woman.

  The mother followed him as he climbed to the roof and laid the boy on the bed. She looked long at her son, whose skin fast was regaining its color, then turned to Elijah. “There is no doubt in my mind at all now. Bosheth’s recovery can only mean that you are a man of God, and that the word of the God, Yahweh, is spoken by you.”

  Elijah turned to leave the woman and her son alone. He had not wept in a long time, but he had to clench his teeth hard to fight back the tears. Is it possible, he thought, that if a Gentile woman will believe in Yahweh, Israel also might believe again?

  The summer months passed hot even on the coast of the Great Sea. Elijah and the boy slept on the flat roof and left the upper chamber to the woman, so all three could feel the breeze, however slight, from the sea.

  As severe as was the famine in Phoenicia, it was not so hard as in Israel. The Tyrian cloth, dyed from the Murex shellfish in shades of crimson and purple and delicate blue, provided a means of trade. The seagoing nation was able to buy its food from Africa and Asia Minor. Indeed, Tyre even resold food to those in Israel who could pay the price.

  It was because of the commerce that Elijah heard news from Israel. No rain had fallen since his pronouncement to Ahab almost a year and a half ago. Nor had the heavy dew come, the dew carried into Israel on the wings of the Great Sea to touch the chill shoulder of Mount Hermon and fall heavy to cover the land, the dew that rises with the morning sun in a mist as heavy as a fog.

  But the people were not turning to Yahweh. Even more, they prayed and sacrificed and copulated and paid levies to Baal. Even so, Elijah thought again and again, if a Gentile woman will believe in Yahweh, is it possible that Israel might again believe?

  They talked a lot, Elijah, the woman, and Bosheth. The woman was mystified that Israel would serve any other God but Yahweh, and the more so as she heard from Elijah the stories of Israel. He told her of Moses and the plagues that struck the Egyptian taskmasters. He told her of the crossing of the Red Sea, of the manna that fell from the sky to feed the wandering people of the wilderness, of the thundering voice of Yahweh from a smoking Mount Sinai, of the conquering of the land.

  Was it not time, she asked the prophet, for Yahweh to send another sign, another miracle to prove his strength?

  Yes, it was time. Elijah was convinced of that. But what was the sign to be? He prayed about it. When the coolness of the winter came and the woman and son moved back to the lower room, the prophet spent long periods in the upper chamber thinking, praying, about the end of the drought and the sign of Yahweh.

  It was a chance remark by Bosheth, a reminiscence, that gave the answer. The boy mentioned Mount Carmel to his mother. Had she not gone there to thank Baal for a boychild? The woman was embarrassed, but, yes, she had gone, before she knew of Yahweh.

  Mount Carmel. The ancient mountain that jutted out into the Great Sea like an aggressive guard that dared test the deep mystery of the waters, the god of the land in battle against the god of the waters. A sentinel home of the rival gods since long before Israel’s conquest of Canaan, that mountain always had antagonized the prophet of Yahweh. Even now, Elijah thought, Yahweh’s shrine lies broken while Israelites worship at the squared-stone shrines of Melkart and Asherah.

  What better battleground of the Gods? Looking over the Great Sea, at its right hand the fertile Valley of Jezreel, at its left the fertile Plain of Sharon, its spine pointing to the fertile Jordan, it was a fit place for Yahweh Elohim, the God of Israel, to put to flight the false Gods of Power and Fertility. But it must be a decisive battle. No doubt must remain among the people as to which God is real.

  The winter passed slowly with its dry cold. The people talked in the marketplace of the strangeness of Lebanon whose brown ribs showed hard where usually they glistened white against the winter sun. They talked, too, in the marketplace of Israel, the land mysteriously cursed by Asherah, more angry at that nation of Yahweh than at them. The caravans of food merchants no longer went into that drier land without contingents of armed soldiers, for the growing numbers of bandits ambushed every caravan and stole every unprotected morsel.

  There was no gleaning any more for the poor in Israel, and the famine was so long that the wealthy men no longer could accept slaves, hardpressed as they were to provide for those they already owned. The returning caravaneers talked of beggars by the way, who sometimes threw themselves into their paths in desperation. But the caravans dared not stop, and the soldiers drove their horses through the plaintive cries. Both poor and wealthy foraged or sent slaves to forage the land for food. Every cache of honey was sought out, every carob tree was stripped of its pods, locusts were caught and placed in jars, fowl were hunted by those who could hunt, and wild boar were chased dangerously into the wild marshes and tangled bush.

  Yet the people prayed and sacrificed and copulated and paid levies all the more feverishly to Asherah. And the drought did not end.

/>   Dew fell late in the winter on the narrow plain of Phoenicia and on the western slopes of Lebanon. Her people managed to break the earth and plant their crops, a gamble of precious seed that paid, but meagerly, with two light rains as the sparse crop neared its ripening. Yet no dew settled and no rain fell in Israel.

  That summer, the third of the drought, was the hottest. Elijah and Bosheth moved to the open roof again, and the woman slept again in the upper chamber. Elijah prayed every day, his face toward Jerusalem, for a word from Yahweh. Yahweh had been silent for many months, save with that constant provision of the oil and meal. It was that constant replenishing that reinforced the prophet’s faith during those months of silence.

  And the marketplace continued to be a source of news. Elijah never went there himself, since every merchant and caravaneer, every soldier, every king’s man was on the alert for the prophet, for Ahab had threatened reprisals against any nation that harbored the man of God. Bosheth, or at times the woman, brought the stories home. The priests and prophets of Baal reigned in Israel, they said. The desperate people paid their levies of precious food for incantations to Asherah, and the priests spilled the blood of now-scrawny lambs and goats, burned a few portions of the meat, and ate the rest. Smiling through jowls made fleshy by the sacrificial meals, they encouraged the people to sacrifice the more to elicit Baal’s blessings. The people’s eyes stared back at them from gaunt faces to gamble on a word of faint hope.

  It was in early winter, two weeks after the early rains should have come, that Yahweh spoke.

  Elijah awoke one morning at dawn and knelt in the crisp air on the open roof. As he faced Jerusalem to watch the sun break its way over the mountains, he felt a feeling grow in the pit of his stomach. The feeling burned as though his blood rushed through his veins with quickened speed, to spread throughout his body. The time had come. He could feel it, as though time itself had entered his blood.

  He went downstairs to eat his last breakfast with Bosheth and the woman. The oil and meal, he told them, would continue until the earth blossomed in the spring.

  The prophet adjusted his leather girdle about his waist, gathered his provisions, and bade good-bye. A few minutes later he passed through the gates of Zarephath and turned south.

  “Obadiah is here, my king.”

  “Good. Show him in.” Ahab sat on the smaller throne he preferred to use to conduct the business of the day. He watched his tall governor enter, this immaculately-groomed man who tenaciously but silently clung to his belief that Yahweh was the strongest of the gods. The king was glad Obadiah had done well during the crisis, for Jezebel detested the man. He would be one of Yahweh’s martyrs, Ahab knew, were his services not so clearly valuable. “Good day, Obadiah,” the king greeted.

  Obadiah knelt on one knee briefly, and spoke as his knee touched the highly polished floor. “I trust all is well with you, my king.”

  “I can answer that better when I hear your report.”

  “It is not good, King Ahab. That is why I requested an audience.”

  “Then let me hear the worst. Come, sit beside me.”

  Obadiah stepped up onto the dais and took a lower-backed chair next to the king. He drew a scroll from a fold in his tunic. “I have the records here of the levies from each administrative city since the drought began. Also, I have talked with each district collector of levies. I am prepared to give you as much detail as you wish.”

  “The details can wait. What is your assessment?”

  “I do not believe we should exact any more produce for the royal table, or any more feed for the royal stock. My lord, the people are impoverished for food. Only the priests eat well.”

  “The priests,” Ahab spoke contemptuously. “Asherah protects her own.”

  “The people are ripe for rebellion. They are not angry with you, but they are desperate. Another levy may well turn their anger toward the royal house.”

  “Yes. My advisors of state have the same opinion.”

  “My lord, the stock will die if we do not feed them. Another week and all provisions will be gone. Quite frankly, I do not know what we should do.”

  “We shall forage, Obadiah, as the people do.”

  “The land is well foraged already, my king.”

  “Yes. I have no doubt. But some grain may have grown again in the low places and by the water sources. We can do no other than try. We will organize two parties. I shall command one and forage to the south and in the Jordan Valley. You shall command the other and forage to the north. Go through the Jezreel Valley and then up to Dan. Return by the way of Jezreel and the Great Sea. Be sure to check the springs around Megiddo. Perhaps we can find enough feed for the stock to keep alive until the rains come.”

  Ahab caught the look of discouragement in Obadiah’s eyes. “The rains will come, my governor. Yahweh will not let his people perish from the earth.”

  Obadiah looked quizzically at the king. “You said Yahweh.”

  “Yes,” Ahab answered. “I said Yahweh. I do not know the ways of the gods, but still I am an Israelite.”

  Obadiah nodded.

  “Now go. Organize the parties. We shall leave in the morning.”

  Each party consisted of a chariot—a royal one for Ahab, a smaller one for the governor—and fifty horsemen. Each horse was fitted with twin baskets strapped together, one to hang on each flank. Each rider pulled a donkey fitted with similar but larger baskets. By morning, the two contingents were ready to depart.

  The white Ladder of Tyre glared fiercely under the strong sun. Elijah squinted his eyes, shielding them with his hand until his arm grew tired. When night fell, he continued his journey, thankful even with the chill that he had to face the glare no longer.

  It was well past midnight when the prophet slept under a tamarisk tree, covering himself with his heavy mantle. The next noon he crossed into Israel at the base of Carmel, to follow the road that ran along its northern shoulder. Even Carmel—this mount of perpetual growth—was brown except for a few scattered evergreens.

  Now walking at a brisk pace, now jogging, Elijah passed Megiddo late in the afternoon, then left the road to cross the spine of Carmel’s tail, where the mountain dissipates into a broader range of hills to cut southeast toward Samaria. He traveled late into the night, slept fitfully in the cold, and resumed his journey before sunrise. By dawn he gained the road just north of the city. The white limestone walls shone white, catching the early morning sun before the brown earth did, as though Samaria itself rose early to capture the first light.

  A column of riders led by a chariot rounded the northwest corner of the city wall, and soon the company stretched along the north wall. Elijah watched the procession, visible over the top of the Baal temple Jezebel had erected. Reaching the road, the column turned north, moving toward the prophet.

  Within minutes, Elijah recognized the man in the leading chariot. It was Obadiah. The prophet stood to the side of the road and watched the company approach. As it neared, he raised his arm. “My friend, Obadiah,” he called loudly.

  The governor pulled his reins hard. The two horses stopped quickly, snorting in protest at the interruption. Obadiah’s tunic was pulled up from his legs, and its folds were tucked into his jeweled linen girdle. “Elijah,” he called, “Elijah, is that you?”

  “Yes, my friend.”

  Obadiah dropped the reins across the front rail of the chariot and stepped to the ground. He knelt in front of the prophet and touched his forehead to the earth, his tunic dragging on the ground. “My lord Elijah,” he said.

  Elijah made no effort to call the governor to his feet. His voice was deep, with a powerful resonance that rose from some inner part to emerge as though it belonged to the wind. “Go to Ahab,” he commanded. “Tell your lord that I am here, waiting to see him.”

  The governor remained on his knees and kept his head slightly bowed. His hands were on his thighs. He did not look at Elijah, nor did he answer.

  “What is it, my friend?” Elij
ah asked, surprised at the silence.

  The governor raised his eyes then. He spoke accusingly. “You ask me to do a thing that may bring about my death.” He stood up to face the prophet. Looking down at the shorter man, his clipped beard jerked as he spoke in a tone that bordered on anger. “I am glad to see you, Elijah. We have searched for you, at the king’s command, with great effort. Now you want me to tell King Ahab that you have appeared and wait for him beside this dusty road. Why must you be so demanding? Why do you not allow me to take you to the king?”

  Elijah’s eyes flashed angrily. He spoke with sternness. “Because Ahab must show that he has some respect, however slight, for Yahweh, the God of Israel.”

  “And suppose you are not here when I return with the king? You will be nowhere to be found.”

  “I will be here,” Elijah answered.

  “What sin against Yahweh have I committed that would cause you to send me to my execution at the hand of my King Ahab? What have I done?”

  Elijah shook his head in exasperation, surprised at the feverish response of his old friend. “You have not sinned against Yahweh,” he answered. “Why do you talk like this?”

  “I swear,” Obadiah answered, “as Yahweh your God lives, that there is not a nation or kingdom on earth to which Ahab has not sent a delegation to inquire of you. Even after the kings reported that you were not to be found in their domains, Ahab demanded their oaths. You cannot imagine, hidden away in some place by the hand of Yahweh, how thoroughly Ahab has searched for you and how furious he has been that he has not found you. Now you tell me to go and announce that you are here. Suppose I do. And suppose that when I leave you behind, the spirit of Yahweh comes over you and drives you in your divine inspiration to some place I could not even guess. Ahab will search this countryside for you, and then he will kill me on the spot for not apprehending you when I had the chance.”