It wasn’t long before, instead of just asking her about their dead ones, they began asking her about the final Redemption

The mattress, stuffed with straw and covered with sheep’s wool, should be the most comfortable thing in the world, but throughout the night, Eliyahu keeps jerking awake. Each time, he slaps his palms on the mattress, reminding himself of where he is, but it does not settle him. He closes his eyes, and imagines a carpet of mossy earth, but instead feels like he’s sinking into a patch of mud.

At dawn, he wakes and knows that this is the end of his night, he will not attempt sleep but see the day through. There is noise, but it is not the thrush or the woodpigeon, it is not the bleat of his small flock, nor the splash of water on rocks as the stream travels down the mountain.

No. These are the sounds of people. He lies there, trying to identify what he hears. Heavy things, being dragged over cobblestones. A voice. A yell: “Watch out, be more careful next time, you oaf.”

He pulls the blanket taut around his shoulders. Something in him feels jangled, shaken, unsettled. His home in the mountains: he must return there. He must leave here now, today, and return to the peace of his cave.

The sound of the door, opening and closing. What was it that the woman said last night? That this was a soup kitchen. And he had not been able to place her yesterday, but now he can — this is the woman on the horse. The woman who summoned help. Whose servants had returned them to Tzfat.

Strange.