“You can run, you can run far, far away, but always you will be returned to where you belong. You cannot escape”
From the shadows, Bilhah watches Eliyahu bend over Yannai. The cavern is slightly damp, and every sound echoes, so that a drip, drip of water seeping through the roof becomes insistent and carries fear in its vibration. A whisper becomes the rush of wind. A footstep is a drumbeat.
In the flickering darkness Bilhah sees a tear fall from Eliyahu’s eyes. It drops onto Yannai’s cheek. The old man raises his hand to his face and lifts the teardrop onto his fingertip. He holds it to his forehead in the place of his tefillin.
Bilhah stands and watches, pushing down fear. The air echoes with the sound of falling stone. She should have woken Elvira and brought her along. Not that she is safer here than anywhere else. The whole city, it seems, is being overturned.
Perhaps Elvira was wise: stay in bed, pull your blanket around you tightly, and lock the doors. Close your eyes firmly and pretend that you are not here at all, that you are floating on a cloud in the sky, toward a mountain covered in fruit trees, so you can reach down and scoop up a perfectly ripe peach and hold it in your hands, not even tasting it, just basking in the promise of a pleasure yet to come.
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