With the rising of the sun, Miguel felt a renewed sense of hope and vigor. He stretched, drank the water from the dew collector he had built, and resolved in his heart to find some way to improve his situation.
“I know I must leave Cordoba”, he whispered to himself, “but where can I go?”
He decided to seek advice before choosing a destination, and unsure who else he could trust not to hurt him, he returned to the stall of the friendly produce vendor.
Sticking to the narrow back alleyways, it took Miguel until nearly midday to reach the vendor while also avoiding large crowds and any other potentially dangerous encounters.
Even after he reached the stall, he lurked out back for awhile until there were no customers around.
“Hey,” the vendor snapped when he saw Miguel approaching, “I thought I told you to stay away! What are you still doing around here?”
“I am sorry,” Miguel lowered his eyes, “I want to leave, but I do not know where to go. I have never been outside of Cordoba, and there is no one else I know that can help me. Will you please just talk to me and maybe give me some advice?”
The humility in Miguel’s demeanor touched the vendor’s heart. He still hesitated, but finally pulled Miguel into the back of the produce stall, under the canopy and out of view from the street.
“Look,” the vendor whispered quickly, “I know it is not your fault that you are a Jew, but you need to understand that everything has changed with the Reconquest. You are too young, but I remember when the Moors still ruled Cordoba. They had their faults, but at least they would let Christians and Jews live their lives. They might not help you, but they would not hurt you either.
“But now,” the vendor shook his head with sadness, “now that the Inquisition is in charge, nobody that it different is safe. Even a Christian can be called out, if he is not Christian in the right ways. Really, just angering the wrong person might be all it takes, and then…”
“Then what…?” Miguel’s dark eyes had grown wide.
The vendor drew his finger across his neck in an unmistakable sign.
Miguel swallowed hard and looked down.
“So you see,” the vendor continued, “no place in Spain is safe anymore, not for you at least.”
“Where can I go then?” Miguel wondered as he fought against the tears welling up behind his eyes, “Are there other lands without an Inquisition?”
The vendor scratched his head for a moment before suggesting, “I do not know if any other lands in Christendom would be different. Maybe you should try to go across the sea, you know, following the Moors back into Africa. Like I said, they might not help you, but they would probably let you live in peace. Who knows, you might even find other Jews living there.”
Miguel took a deep breath and nodded. “So, how do I get to Africa?” he asked.
“Do you know how to tell directions from the sun?” the vendor replied.
Miguel nodded again.
“Well,” the vendor rubbed his chin, “I know Africa is to the south. I suppose you just keep walking that direction until you get to the sea. Do you know how to swim?”
“Not really,” Miguel shook his head.
The vendor thought for a moment, “It is probably too far to swim anyway. But if you can earn a little money somehow, you will surely find a ship to take you over.”
“Thank you,” Miguel sighed. “Thank you so much for not turning me away.”
The vendor stared at Miguel for a short time before saying, “You seem like a good kid. Wait there a moment.”
He turned around and slid a flat stone on the ground off to the side, revealing a small hole. After pulling a few objects out of the hole, he wrapped them in a piece of cloth and handed it to Miguel.
“What is this?”
“It is not much,” the vendor replied, “just a few provisions to get you on your way.”
Miguel hesitated, but finally stepped forward, hugged the vendor and said, “I will not forget you!”
The vendor was wondering how to respond, when they both turned toward the commotion caused by a street gang heading their way. Miguel recognized some of them as the same crew that had chased him the night before.
“I need to go,” he said.
“Yes, go,” the vendor nodded, “those guys can be trouble. Slip out the back, and I will keep them busy.”
“I mean it,” Miguel said as he quickly backed away, “I will not forget you!”
“I believe you,” the vendor waved him away. “Now go! And I had better not see you again!”
Miguel slipped underneath the rear of the canopy and darted toward the nearest alley. He paused after turning the corner and peeked back to make sure he was not being followed. He smiled as he watched the vendor loudly haranguing the gang members to come over and buy vegetables.
Not until he was back on the rooftop did he open the vendor’s gift and discover more food than he had eaten in the last week.
*
Miguel spent the rest of that evening preparing to leave, deciding what to take and what to leave behind. In the end, he chose to travel light and bring along only the food, a cloak, and his bedroll.
After a deep and dreamless sleep that night, he awoke refreshed, but dark storm clouds halted his plans to depart. He stayed underneath the overhang all morning waiting for the rains to pass over.
A growing restlessness in his belly was not satisfied by some of the food. He realized eventually that, as lonely and precarious as his life on this rooftop was, it had been his home for years and the prospect of leaving made him sad.
As so often was the case, he longed to speak about his feelings with another person, but knew that was unlikely to happen. He knew that prayer was always an option, but whenever he tried it sounded so awkward and foolish in his ears.
As the rain continued into the afternoon, however, his need to express himself finally overcame his reluctance to speak out loud to his Creator.
He positioned himself on his knees and folded his hands together, as he had seen the Christians do so often.
“God?” he whispered in a barely audible and trembling voice. “If you can hear me… well… I suppose you can, but… I know I am so small compared to you. And I know there must be many other voices trying to reach you, so…”
With a sigh of exasperation, he stood up and began pacing back and forth.
“This is foolish…” he whispered as his face flushed red. “I am such a fool.”
He looked up at the dark clouds as if challenging God to disagree. The rain beat steadily down, but no flash of lightning or clap of thunder broke the monotony, as he had secretly hoped.
He banged against the stone wall with the side of his fist over and over until his hand throbbed. Dropping back to his knees, more from pain than penitence, he rubbed his hand and looked back up into the clouds as if to cynically say, There God – will that help? If my pain increases enough, then will you care?
The rain pounded on.
He thought about trying to sleep, but was not in the least bit tired.
After a few deep breaths he resolved with a perverse anger to just begin talking and keep talking.
If He truly does not care, Miguel reasoned silently, I have nothing to lose. But perhaps if I annoy Him sufficiently, then He will have to respond if only to silence me.
“God,” he said as he closed his eyes, “please do not hold my anger against me. You know what my life has been like. I do not want your pity for this, but since you have all power in your grasp, please just consider giving me a new beginning. If that is in Africa among the Moors, so be it. If it is with my own people, then please let it be.
“But God, even if you have some other plan for me, something I cannot even imagine, please let it come to pass soon. For my heart is breaking. This loneliness I cannot bear much longer. Why, God? Why have you left me all alone? How can this please you if you have even a glimmer of love in you?
“You took away my parents. Why? You drove away the peaceful Moors and let hateful men rule the land. Why? You let men chase me and torment me so that I can never feel safe, but instead I must always look over my shoulder and jump at every shadow and crawl and creep and hide just to cross the street? Why? What is wrong with you?
“Are you even there? Or is it me? What have I done to anger you so? Is it this? Is it that I do not pray to you, or that when I finally do I cannot contain my anger? If I had smooth and proper words like the Christian men, then would you favor me like you favor them?
“If I were kinder or more obedient, or if I learned to read better so I could study more about you, would I then be something worthy in your eyes? Or if I were big and strong, would you give me your attention? But you made me! You made me the way I am. Why? Why am I here? What do you want from me?
“Why will you not speak or make a single sound? Do you treat everyone who loves you this way? Yes. I love you. Do you believe it? Do you care? Is that why I am here? Is all of this, this darkness and hatred and evil that is all around; is it all to make me so desperate that I tell you that?
“Is that what you want to hear me say, so you can make me into a fool as you sit in silence? Or is there something else? What can I do to please you? What can I do to matter at all? Why will you not give me the slightest sign, anything, a breeze or some feeling inside me other than the pain in my hand?
“And no, I will not be silent. I will not stop this until you do something. If you have any desire for justice, you have to do something to help me! You have left me alone and hunted for so long, is it not only fair that you lift even a finger to help?
“Oh, my God, I feel sick. You have helped me! You showed me kindness yesterday through the gifts of food and advice that I received. I am sorry. I am so sorry. Please do not hold this against me. Please forgive my impatience. You have opened up a way ahead for me, and I do not know how or even if I shall arrive in another land, somewhere that I can be safe and with people that care, but you have at least held out that light of hope to me, and I am wrong and ashamed to question you so.
“Please just let it be. Please let it be, my God. Please guide me on the path ahead. Show me what I need to know. Help me find the way. Please forgive me, and do not turn me away because of my anger and impatience. Please let me find a home, God. If there is anyone in this world who will care for me, please help me find them! Please do not leave me alone any longer…
“Please, God… please… please…”
He continued repeating this last word over and over again until his tears and sobbing became so strong that he could not speak at all. He finally gave up his effort to provoke God with much speaking, and just rocked back and forth crying.
After a long while, even the flow of tears dried up. At the very moment they did, he suddenly felt a wonderful warmth rush over him.
He opened his eyes and realized that the rain had stopped, and the sun was shining on his face.
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