Jonah didn't sleep well that night.
The hard floor, the distant murmur of the city, and the persistent echo of his own
words kept him in a state of restless wakefulness. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw
faces: some mocking, some irritated, some… thoughtful. That last expression disturbed
him more than any insult.
At dawn, Nineveh looked the same.
The gates opened as usual. The merchants set up their stalls. The soldiers
changed guard. The pagan priests walked to their temples. Everything seemed to
be proceeding as normal, as if the previous day's message had left no trace.
Jonah watched from a corner, with a mixture of relief and disappointment that he refused to
acknowledge.
"Maybe nothing happened," he thought. "Maybe it was just noise."
But then he began to notice the details.
A group of men were talking quietly near a well. When Jonah passed by, they fell silent
and watched him. Elsewhere, a woman tugged on her husband's arm and whispered
something in his ear, discreetly pointing toward him. Further on, two young men were
arguing, their gestures tense, and they mentioned a word that Jonah recognized even
from afar:
— Forty days…
The message had not turned off.
He had turned something on.
Jonah walked toward the center of the city, repeating the proclamation with the same sobriety
as the day before. He didn't raise his voice more than necessary. He wasn't seeking attention.
He simply said the words, over and over, as if each repetition deepened an invisible chasm.
— Just forty more days… and Nineveh will be destroyed!This time, the reaction was different.
Some stopped. Others didn't laugh. The laughter had given way to uneasy
glances. A question began to circulate, though not fully voiced:
What if it were true?
An old man approached him.
"Destroyed by whom?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Jonah looked at him honestly.
— By the God who judges and saves —he replied.
The old man walked away without saying anything, but his steps were unsteady, as if every word
weighed heavily.
The fire was spreading slowly.
Not like an explosion, but like embers hidden beneath the surface. People who heard the
message and then repeated it in their homes. Parents who looked at their children with
unease. Shopkeepers who, for the first time in years, closed their stalls before nightfall to
discuss things with their families.
Jonah saw it… and became worried.
—Not like that—he thought—. Not this way.
I had imagined rejection, violence, indifference. I hadn't foreseen the heavy
silence that began to fall over the city, like a rain-laden cloud.
At midday, something visibly changed.
A group of men gathered in a small square. They weren't shouting. They weren't arguing.
They were listening. In the center, one of them spoke in a low but firm voice.
"If this is true," he said, "we must do something."
The wordsomethingIt resonated in Jonah like a blow.
"That's not my place to decide," he reminded himself. "Only to talk."
However, her heart was pounding. Her fear was no longer for her own safety, but for
what Nineveh's repentance would mean."What if God forgives them?" he thought again. "What if my message is not the end, but the
beginning?"
As evening fell, the rumor reached the upper echelons of the city. Not
directly, but in fragments, distorted by fear and curiosity.
— A foreigner announces destruction.
— He speaks of a different God.
— He says time is running out.
The wordtimeIt began to be repeated insistently.
Forty days.
It wasn't an immediate threat. It was a deadline. And that made it more unsettling.
It gave us time to think. To change. To fear.
That night, Jonah went off to a less crowded area. He sat down by a wall and
rested his head against the cold stone. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.
"I knew this would happen," she whispered. "I knew your word doesn't return empty."
The certainty hurt him.
He had obeyed, but he wasn't prepared to accept the consequences of that
obedience. The city wasn't hardening; it was softening. And that pitted him
against his own heart.
"I wanted justice," he admitted. "Not mercy."
A memory flashed through his mind: the dark womb, the desperate prayer, the
unexpected salvation. The mercy he had received was the same mercy that now seemed to
befall Nineveh.
"It's not fair," he thought. "They haven't been through what I went through."
The idea seemed childish to him as soon as it arose, but he persisted nonetheless. Justice, as he
understood it, demanded punishment. And yet, mercy seemed to operate according to a different logic.
The next morning, the city looked different.
Not completely transformed, but altered. Some markets remained closed. Several
people wore simple, dark clothing. The atmosphere was tense, restrained, as if
Nineveh were holding its breath.Jonah walked among them, proclaiming the same message. This time, no one mocked him.
Some lowered their gaze. Others
stepped back respectfully.
A few murmured prayers to gods that now seemed insufficient.
"It's happening," he thought. "And I don't know if I'm ready to see it."
The climax came when a messenger ran past one of the main streets,
announcing something Jonah couldn't quite hear. People began to gather,
moving with urgency.
"What's going on?" Jonah asked a man who was passing by.
The man stared at him with wide eyes.
"The king has heard," he said. "And he is uneasy."
Jonah's heart sank.
—No… —she whispered.
He knew what that meant. If the message reached the throne, nothing would ever be the same. The
city could no longer ignore it. The response, whatever it was, would be total.
Jonah walked away, looking for a place where he could be alone. He needed distance,
silence, space to understand what was happening inside him.
"Why does this hurt?" he wondered. "Isn't this the goal?"
The answer was awkward, but clear:
Because Nineveh's repentance threatened their idea of justice.
Because God's mercy did not ask their permission.
Because the forgiveness he had received was now being offered to others whom he did not want to
forgive.
The word had caught fire.
Not a fire that destroys immediately,
but one that purifies, that makes one uncomfortable, that forces one to decide.
Jonah understood, with a deep fear, that the real conflict was no longer in
Nineveh…
It was inside him.