The storm was no longer just noise and wind. It
was fury.
The sky seemed to have been torn to pieces, and each flash of lightning revealed a distorted sea,
whipped into waves that rose higher than the ship. The vessel creaked like a wounded animal,
groaning under the weight of the water and the force of the wind.
— Hoist the sails!
— Hold that rope!
— For the gods, don't let her go!Orders were lost amidst shouts and thunder. Water swept across the deck, soaking
everything in its path. The sailors struggled with a desperation born of experience: they
knew when a storm could be weathered… and when it couldn't.
Jonah clung to a post, trying to keep his balance. Fear was no longer a distant
idea; it was a living presence that squeezed his chest.
And yet, what weighed most heavily on him was not the sea.
It was silence.
God did not speak.
There was no rebuke, no voice, no command. Only the roar of the wind and the
crash of thunder. Jonah had waited—feared—for a word that would accuse him,
stop him, force him to return. But all he received was absence.
"Is that all?" he thought bitterly. "Now you'll be quiet?"
A sailor fell to his knees near him, his face soaked with water and tears.
"I don't want to die!" he cried, looking up at the sky. "Listen to me, whoever you are!"
Another man threw part of the cargo into the sea without waiting for orders. Sacks, pots, wood:
anything that could lighten the ship was tossed into the waves. Each object disappeared in seconds,
swallowed by the darkness.
Jonah watched without moving.
He felt something separating him from the others, as if he no longer belonged to that
world of struggle and survival. He wasn't fighting against the sea; he was facing
something much deeper.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" she murmured, her voice breaking. "Isn't this enough?"
The ship tilted sharply. Jonah lost his balance and fell to his knees. The impact took his
breath away. For a moment he thought this was the end, that the sea would
immediately claim its due.
But the ship held.
The captain appeared in front of him, his face contorted and his eyes blazing with
fear."What are you doing standing there?!" he shouted. "Everyone is crying out to their gods! Get up and cry
out to yours! Perhaps he will have mercy and we will not perish!"
The words pierced him.
Get up.
It was the same order. The very same one. The one with which it had all begun.
Jonah looked down. Water trickled down his face, mingling with sweat and rain. He
opened his mouth to pray… but couldn't. The words caught in his throat.
How could he cry out to a God from whom he had so resolutely fled?
The captain watched him for another second, waiting. Then he stepped back, frustrated, and resumed
shouting orders.
Jonah struggled to his feet and made his way to the hatch that led to the lower
deck. He couldn't bear the deck, the sky, or the terrified stares. He descended,
step by step, as the noise from outside faded.
Below, the darkness was almost total.
Water began to seep between the planks. The ship groaned with each crash of the
waves. Jonah slumped to the floor and closed his eyes.
—This is my fault—he thought for the first time, without making excuses.
The images returned with brutal clarity: the voice, the call, his refusal, the journey
to Joppa, the paid fare. Each decision formed a chain that had led him there.
"I brought this upon them," he whispered.
God's silence no longer seemed like indifference. It seemed like waiting.
Up above, the shouts turned into arguments. The sailors, desperate, were searching for
an explanation. They weren't ignorant men; they knew that some storms weren't
natural.
"Let's draw lots!" someone shouted. "Let the gods reveal who is to blame!"
Jonah felt his heart stop.
Good luck.An ancient practice. A last attempt to find meaning in the chaos. Jonah didn't go up
immediately. He sat there, listening to the approaching footsteps, the voices coming
down through the hatch.
He did not flee.
For the first time since God spoke, Jonah did not run away.
When the sailors found him, their faces reflected more than fear. There was
suspicion. There was anticipation.
The captain pointed him out.
— Come —he ordered—. The gods will decide.
Jonah stood up slowly. As he climbed back up to the deck, he realized something that
chilled him to the bone:
If God remained silent, the
sea would speak for Him.
And this time, there would be no escape.