The ship plunged into the sea with a long groan, as if complaining of the cargo it carried.
The sails billowed in the favorable wind, and Joppa was left behind, reduced to flickering
lights in the distance.
Jonah went down to the lower part of the ship.
He wasn't looking for company. The sailors' clamor, their harsh laughter, and their
salty voices were unbearable. He needed silence, or at least something resembling it.
He found a corner among barrels and coiled ropes, where the smell of damp wood
and tar was intense.
He sat down and leaned his back against the helmet."Tarsis..." he whispered.
It was a name shrouded in legend. Some said that the known world ended there, that
beyond lay only water and monsters. For Jonah, Tarshish meant something else: distance.
Oblivion. Freedom from the calling that burned in his chest.
The ship's constant rocking began to lull him to sleep. He closed his eyes, but rest did
not come immediately. Every time he tried to relax, the image of Nineveh returned,
insistent, accompanied by the voice he had heard that morning.
Rise up. Go. Proclaim.
He clenched his teeth.
—No—he murmured. Not anymore.
He tried to convince himself that God would understand. After all, it wasn't the first time a prophet
had doubted, nor the first time someone had run away from fear. Perhaps God would choose
someone else. Perhaps it would all just be a bad memory.
Up above, the sailors continued with their tasks. Jonah overheard snippets of
conversation: stories of distant ports, storms weathered, capricious gods who
demanded sacrifices. Each word reinforced a dangerous idea: the world was
full of deities, and not all of them were as demanding as his.
—Perhaps—he thought—my God will also tire of chasing me.
The ship sailed on for hours under a clear sky. The sea was calm, too calm. Its
surface stretched out like a dark mirror reflecting the stars. Jonah went up on
deck for a moment and looked up. The sky seemed endless.
"If you're there," he said in a low, almost defiant voice, "why don't you speak now?"
Silence answered.
During the night, Jonah fell into a deep, heavy sleep, as if his body were trying to
escape even his own thoughts. He dreamed of roads that forked again and again.
He dreamed of closed doors. He dreamed of a gigantic city whose walls seemed to
breathe.
When he woke up, he didn't know how much time had passed.
Something was different.The boat no longer moved smoothly. It lurched. A sharp jolt threw him against the
barrels and forced him to his feet. The air had changed. It no longer smelled only of
salt, but of something else: electricity, menace.
He went up on deck with his heart racing.
The sky was covered with dense, dark clouds that advanced with unsettling
speed. The wind had increased, whistling through the rigging. The sails flapped
violently.
"This wasn't planned," he heard one of the sailors say.
"The sea changes without warning," another replied, frowning.
Jonah gazed at the horizon. The waves were beginning to grow, crashing against the hull with a
force that made the ship creak. The sea no longer seemed like a promise, but a warning.
He felt a chill.
"It can't be," he thought. "Not now."
The wind roared even louder, drawing a curse from the captain's lips. The sailors
ran back and forth, adjusting ropes, securing the cargo. The calm of the night had
vanished completely.
Jonah stepped back, searching for stability. Every movement of the ship felt like
a jolt inside him. A thought began to form, unsettling, dangerous.
What if this was because of him?
He shook his head violently, as if he could expel the idea.
— Storms happen —he told himself—. That's just how the sea is.
But something deep in his spirit knew that this was no ordinary storm.
A clap of thunder crashed above them, so close the air trembled. Rain began to
pour down furiously, soaking the deck in seconds. Waves rose like liquid walls,
threatening to engulf the entire ship.
The sailors began shouting prayers, each invoking their own god. The fear was
palpable, dense, almost visible.
Jonah stood still.While everyone else cried out, he remained silent. Not out of faith, but out of shame. What could
he say? How could he pray to a God he was deliberately running from?
The ship listed dangerously to one side. A barrel rolled across the deck and fell into
the sea. The captain looked at Jonah in despair.
"Help us!" he cried. "Call on your god, whoever he may be!"
Jonah opened his mouth… and closed it.
Not a single word came out.
Inside, the voice she had tried to ignore began to awaken again, not with
commands, but with a silent and devastating question:
How far do you plan to run?
The sea responded for him, pounding harder.
Jonah took a step back, feeling fear begin to overcome his pride. For the first time since
leaving his homeland, he understood something he didn't want to accept:
He had paid for a ticket to escape from God, but
the journey had only just begun.
And the price had not yet been collected.