Time ceased to exist.
Inside the creature's womb there was no dawn or dusk, no sun or stars to mark
the passage of time. Only darkness. A darkness so thick it seemed to have weight,
as if it could crush him if he wasn't careful.
Jonah didn't know how long he'd been there. It could have been minutes, it could have
been hours. Each beat of that gigantic heart seemed to mark an eternal second, slow,
inescapable.
Lying down was inevitable.His strength was almost gone. His body ached as if it had been repeatedly struck
against stone. The salt water had burned his throat and lungs, and the air he
breathed now was heavy, laden with a stench that made his stomach churn.
He tried to get up, but the slippery floor wouldn't allow it. He fell sideways and lay
there, breathing with difficulty.
—So this is where I end up… —he thought—. In the dark, far from everything.
But he did not die.
That was what disturbed him the most.
If that was his grave, why was he still alive? If it was punishment, why was there enough
air to breathe? If it was judgment, why wasn't it immediate?
The silence became unbearable.
It wasn't an empty silence, but one that forced him to listen to his own thoughts.
Jonah had spent his life speaking in God's name, proclaiming words to others. He
had never had to listen to himself so clearly.
And he didn't like what he heard.
He heard his anger.
He heard his pride.
He heard the contempt that had been hidden behind the word "justice".
"I didn't want to obey," he admitted silently. "I wanted the world to be punished according to
my wounds."
A spasm ran through the creature's belly, and Jonah was violently shaken. He clung as
best he could to a soft lump, gasping for breath. The movement reminded him how
small he was, how fragile.
"I'm not in control of anything," he thought. "I never have been."
The air seemed to thin by the minute. Each breath required more effort than the last.
The fear returned, but it was no longer the fear of the storm. It was a deeper fear: the
fear of facing himself without distractions, without escape routes.
Jonah closed his eyes.
In the darkness, the images returned.He saw the sailors. He remembered how they had tried to save him, how they had refused to
throw him overboard until there was no other option. He remembered their prayers,
addressed to gods they did not know, but born of a genuine desire to live.
—They had more compassion than I did—he thought, with a bitterness that burned in his chest
—. I, who claim to serve you.
A deep sound resonated through his belly, like a profound wail. The creature was descending.
Jonah felt the pressure increase, his ears ringing. The world seemed to close in even more.
That's when despair transformed into something different.
It wasn't immediate hope. It was surrender.
"I can't get out of here," he admitted. "Not by force. Not by reason. Not by pride."
Her lips moved slowly. This time she didn't think about the words; she said them.
— From the depths of my soul I cry out to you…
Her voice sounded weak, almost ridiculous, swallowed by the darkness. But she continued.
— When my soul was failing, I remembered you.
It was not a rehearsed prayer. It was not the prayer of a prophet certain of his role. It was
the plea of a man reduced to nothing.
Jonah rested his forehead against the warm ground. Hot tears mingled with the dampness
around him. He wasn't crying out of fear of dying, but out of a belated understanding.
He had used God to justify his hatred. He had
called his resentment faithfulness. He had
confused obedience with comfort.
"I preferred to see you as a judge rather than as mercy," he whispered. "Because that way I
didn't have to change."
His stomach shuddered again. An acidic liquid began to seep through the floor, burning
his skin. Jonah moved away as best he could, the pain making him groan.
—Don't let me die here— he said. Not like this.But even in her plea, something had changed. She no longer demanded. She no longer claimed rights. She no longer
negotiated.
It was offered.
"If you still want to use me..." he continued. "If you still call me... I'll come."
The words surprised him.
"I will go."
He didn't say "if you save me".
He didn't say, "If you destroy my enemies." He said,
"I will go."
The silence became different.
It didn't disappear, but it ceased to be oppressive. The creature's heartbeat seemed
slower, deeper. The movement was no longer a constant fall, but a controlled float.
Jonah remained there, breathing with difficulty, but breathing nonetheless. Each
breath was a gift. Each second, an undeserved mercy.
"Those who follow vain idols," he murmured, "forsake the grace that is meant for them."
He realized that he wasn't just talking about Nineveh.
He was talking about himself.
She had worshipped her pain. She had
served her pride. She had made an altar
of her wound.
The belly of the abyss was not just the inside of a gigantic creature.
It was the place where God had taken him to show him his own heart.
There, without witnesses, without an audience, without prestige, Jonah ceased to be a prophet
and simply became a man.
A broken man.
A man sustained by a grace he did not deserve.
She didn't know how much longer she would be there. She didn't know if she would get out alive. But for the first
time since she heard the voice, she no longer wanted to run away.In absolute darkness, Jonah understood a truth that would change everything
that followed:
God had not caught him to punish him.
He had caught him to transform him.
And that transformation was just beginning.