Last Days in the Desert Page #2

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Nothing.

I agree with you.

Do you have a wife or children?

Do you plan to?

Well, you never know, right?

- Have you ever sailed on a boat?

- Yes, I have.

- Is it scary?

- It can be terrifying.

But mostly it's thrilling.

My father sailed on a boat once.

He said he got caught in a storm at sea.

He said it was a nightmare.

Everything outside of our world

is scary to him.

My father says once my mother

is buried here that we cannot leave.

He says a grave ties a man

to the land forever.

Do you think I'm selfish

because I don't want to live here?

No.

My father has lived here his whole life...

and he's lived it the way he wanted to.

But now it's my turn. Men take turns.

I am not a bad son.

I'm not.

I am not a bad son!

I am not a bad son!

I'm not a bad son!

I am not a bad son!

Rabbi?

Rabbi!

It hurts.

I want it to be over.

I'm not afraid of death.

I'm only scared of being alone

when I get there.

You will not be alone.

None of us is alone.

Find better words, Yeshua.

You must work at that.

Intention is good, but...

often the words are hollow and useless.

Or better still...

find an action.

Yes.

Action over words. Always.

Otherwise, silence.

You think you are his only child?

There are others.

No.

There is only me.

There is only me.

Look in on your mother.

Did the boy speak with you

when you went to the water?

A little.

I don't know how to talk to him.

The words get caught in my throat.

I fight to push them through

and they come out harsh.

I suppose he thinks I'm angry at him.

He doesn't know me...

and I don't know him.

Any words of advice, holy man?

Talk to him about something

that he's interested in.

What is he interested in?

Riddles.

He makes up a very good riddle.

I don't like riddles.

That shooting star last night.

You enjoyed that.

- It was a bore.

- Liar.

I am a liar. That is the truth.

I've seen every shooting star

since the first one.

Every flash of lightning.

I've heard the last gasp

of each thing that ever lived.

Nothing's interesting anymore.

Nothing surprises you? Not a thing?

The repetitiveness.

The obstinate, dull repetitiveness of your

father's plan is bewildering to me.

The same lives lived over

and over and over and over again.

Is there a plan?

It all has to turn into something, it has to

pour out into something, but into what?

And that's my weakness...

curiosity.

But I'll stay as long

as it takes, forever...

to witness the end.

The final sunset. If there is one.

Maybe on that day,

late in the afternoon, seconds away,

he'll want to start it all over again...

from the beginning.

He's done it before. Recreated

the whole thing, retold the whole thing.

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