Into a world of turmoil...
A world burdened with suffering, injustice, persecution, death...
A world where people kill in the name of their religion, their deity; where the pressures of mass-scale conflict and human impact on earth are building...
In a world where, at times, it can feel like darkness reigns and all is lost...
Into this world comes JONAH and dares us to hope... dares us to ask ourselves, what if...
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Jonah Michelakis, a man in his late fifties, is asleep in bed. Those black Achilles curls of his youth are now mostly greyed by the cares and stresses of life. His lips, still expressive and with a manly beauty to them, purse slightly at each exhalation as a small gentle puff escapes them in a regular rhythm. He's always been a heavy sleeper. Thankfully. It has kept him sane.
The draped 'material' again; arched over him.
Is it a trick of the light? No. It's quite clear now. The protectively arching feature – so indefinable and puzzling before – is the large and very beautiful feathered wing of an angel. Soft, sculpted feathers, but – inexplicably – eyes as well: a beautiful eye in the center of each feather. The angel is tall; taller, stronger than any man could be.
Now the angel bends down – face close to Jonah's face – and gently, imperceptibly, kisses Jonah on his forehead. The angel face – larger than a human one – is not distinguishable as either male or female, and the beautifully smooth skin glows gently gold, or is it silver, in the first weak rays of sunshine? In this genus of angel the face is human in form, and a look of deepest, purest love is in the eyes that behold Jonah's face.
*************
Jonah begins to waken, blinks sleepily in the sunlight coming in through the window. Then, he reaches over to pick up the alarm clock on the nightstand, holds it closer to see the time, presses the cancel button deliberately, triumphantly – Ha! – having preempted the annoying alarm buzzer.
He gets up, slips his feet into the waiting slippers – tidily arranged there last night – and goes downstairs to the kitchen.
Still in sleepy lack of coordination, he knocks the coffee scoop, spilling a generous helping of fine black grains on the counter and the clean floor...
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Chinese
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Already translated.
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Makoto Yamamoto
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Author review: Thank you for your WONDERFUL translation, fully capturing the meaning and intention of the author. Second time I have worked with Makoto Yamamoto. Highly recommend this translator! |
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Francisca Bittner Godoy
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