The Journey to Eternity · A Philosophical Novel by Nurit Rozenblat
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Prologue — The Crossing
The gate opened in a place where distance had no meaning.
No sound was heard, no earth trembled, and no wind heralded its appearance. First a thin line of light stretched within the darkness, then it slowly curved, until an opening formed through which another sky could be seen.
Beyond the opening lay an orchard.
The sun was about to set. Orange trees swayed in a light breeze, and a narrow dirt path wound between them. From a distance came the sounds of birds, and among the branches the long shadows of evening had already begun to appear.
From the other side of the gate emerged a small bird with silver feathers.
She was in no hurry to cross.
For a moment she hung in the air, watching the world beyond the opening. It held things that did not exist in the place she came from: leaves that had dried, fruit that had ripened, light that was fading.
She knew that within a few hours this world would sink into darkness, and that tomorrow the sun would rise in it again.
That knowledge felt strange to her, even though she had visited it before.
"Are you hesitating?" a voice sounded behind her.
The bird did not turn around.
"I am watching."
"You have seen this world before."
"I have seen it. But it has changed."
"That is its way."
She looked at an orange that had fallen from one of the trees and rolled onto the path.
"They do not know how little time they have," she said.
"Some of them know."
"And yet they waste it."
"Sometimes."
The bird was silent.
"Is she still asking?"
"More than ever."
"And is she ready?"
"I do not know."
The bird turned her head back.
"Then why now?"
"Because not everyone who is ready knows it. And not everyone who asks for an answer is ready to hear it."
"And if she refuses?"
"She will return to her home."
"And if she agrees?"
This time no answer came.
The bird waited, but the voice added nothing.
She knew these silences. They did not necessarily come from not knowing. Sometimes they were the only way to leave a choice truly free.
"She will not remember me," she said at last.
"No."
"Perhaps that is for the best."
"Perhaps."
The bird spread her wings and crossed the gate.
At once she felt the air carry her body. A gust of wind pushed her slightly off course, and she corrected her flight. Beneath her stretched long rows of fruit trees, and between them brown earth and narrow paths.
She landed on a high branch.
Behind her, the gate closed.
For a moment a silver shimmer remained in the air, and then it too was gone.
The bird looked around.
She knew where she was.
She also knew whom she had come to meet.
But one thing she did not know, and perhaps that is why she kept watching the path for so long.
She did not know whether this time the woman would choose to follow her.
End of the Prologue.
