A novel inspired by the book of Jonah
PROLOGUE
The voice that no one wants to hear
There are voices that caress and there are voices that tear at the
heart. The voice of God belongs to both.
It doesn't always come as comfort. Sometimes it bursts forth like an open wound, like an order that
cannot be questioned without losing something in the attempt. Whoever hears it is never the same
again, even if they decide to flee.
Jonah was not a wicked man. Nor was he weak. He had grown up surrounded by sacred
words, ancient promises, and tales of deliverance. He knew the Law, he knew God, he
knew the weight of being called a prophet. But knowing is not the same as accepting.
Nineveh was not just a city. It
was a scar.
For Jonah, its name conjured up smoke, screams, and the spilled blood of his people. It was the
capital of the empire he had humiliated, conquered, and mercilessly destroyed. The thought of their
salvation turned his soul. Preaching there wasn't obedience: it was treason.
Therefore, when the voice spoke, Jonah immediately understood what was being asked of him… and
decided not to do it.
This is not just the story of a prophet swallowed by a fish.
It is the story of a man who tried to escape mercy. And he discovered that
running away from God is, in reality, running away from oneself.
CHAPTER 1
The day God spoke
The day began like any other.The sun rose over the hills of Galilee with its usual calm, painting the fields a soft
gold. The wind stirred the olive leaves, and the murmur of the awakening village
filled the air. Nothing foreshadowed that this would be the day that would split
Jonah's life in two.
Jonah, son of Amittai, was alone.
He had risen before dawn and was walking barefoot on the cold earth. He liked this
time of day, when the world seemed to hold its breath and God, he thought, listened
better. Or at least that's what he had believed for years.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
— Speak, Lord —he murmured. —Your servant is listening.
I didn't expect an immediate answer. I never did. God wasn't an echo that could be
summoned at will. But that morning, the answer came without warning, without
gentleness, without preparation.
— Get up.
Jonah opened his eyes suddenly.
It wasn't a voice like any other. It wasn't a thought or a confused whisper. It was a clear,
firm order, impossible to ignore. He felt it in his chest before he heard it in his ears, like
a sharp blow against his heart.
"Here I am..." he replied cautiously.
— Go to Nineveh, the great city, and proclaim against it, for its wickedness has come up
to me.
The air seemed to disappear.
Nineveh.
The name fell upon Jonah like a tombstone. His mind was flooded with images
he hadn't seen, yet knew all too well: towering walls, merciless armies, cities
reduced to ashes. Stories told by elders with broken voices. Tales of children
taken captive. Of executed parents. Of false gods celebrating cruelty.
Jonah took a step back, as if the word itself could hurt him.
"No…" she whispered, unaware that she was speaking out loud.— Get up —the voice repeated— and go.
The prophet clenched his fists. His breathing became rapid and ragged. This couldn't
be right. God was just. God punished the wicked. God defended his people. Why send a
message to a city that deserved to be destroyed?
"Nineveh?" he said, his voice now breaking. "Them?"
There was no immediate response. Only silence. But it wasn't an empty silence; it was a
silence that observed, that waited.
Jonah felt the weight of the calling on his shoulders. He knew what it meant. If he went, God might
forgive. If he spoke out, Nineveh might live. And that possibility filled him with an anger he
refused to acknowledge.
"I can't," she finally said. "I don't want to."
He turned abruptly, as if by doing so he could leave the voice behind. He walked back
to the village, his steps quick, almost furious. Each step was a denial. Each heartbeat,
an excuse.
That same morning, while others were preparing to work and pray, Jonah made a decision
that would change his destiny.
I wouldn't go to Nineveh.
If God wanted to send him to the east, he would flee to the west. If God called him to the largest
city in the empire, he would get lost at the ends of the known world.
Tarsis.
The name came to him like a promise of distance. A faraway place, at the other end of the sea,
where perhaps his voice could not reach him.
Jonah didn't know it yet, but at that moment his descent had just begun