The shoulders of the prophet were narrow, they trembled in the setting sun. His face was damp, the face of the prophet on the mountain. At the foot of Mount Carmel camels waited with long, thirsty throats. At the foot of the mountain, the people waited with empty cups and empty eyes. And the king? The king, his eyes shut, yearned for the sound of the rain. and soon, there was a cloud in the sky, large and dark, like the prophet Elijah. There was thunder, and lightning! The rain poured, clamored, squalled! With the wet king on their shoulders, the people ran off in a pack, singing. On the mountain the prophet stood alone, with an open heart and an open mouth. The sun set.
And when a mist rose
Translated by Jeffrey Shandler
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