Читать книгу Peace on Earth - Gordon Stevens - Страница 7

PROLOGUE

The boys were nine, almost ten.

They sat on the rock, the man beside them, watching the sun rise over the valley of the Jordan, the sweep of light spreading from the east and the shadows of the night disappearing.

‘When will you tell us the story?’ they asked.

‘What story?’ replied the man.

He remembered the morning he had sat on the rock and waited, the morning he had sat on the rock and wished he had never been born, the morning he had sat on the rock and wished they had never set him free.

‘The story that began with a verse from a poem.’

‘The story that began with a dream.’

‘The story that began with the family from the far-off land.’

They knew that he was playing the game with them, that he always played the game with them, and wondered why he would not tell them. The sun was growing warmer.

‘When will you tell us the story?’ they asked again.

‘What story?’

One day, he knew, he would no longer be able to hide the truth from them. One day he would tell them.

‘The story about the little boy.’

‘The story about the little boy who was born in Bethlehem.’

He knew what they were going to say.

‘The story about the little boy who died to save us all.’

He thought about the boy, about what the boy had done when he had grown to manhood, what the boy had done when he had been their age. The shadows had gone from the land. He knew that they were old enough to know, that they were too old not to know.

‘Today,’ he said at last. ‘I will tell you the story.’