The Son of Perdition
by Len du Randt
The man in Elijah’s seat said a prayer and, without saying anything else, he ate the food that Mary had prepared for Elijah. He then drank of the wine, and finally glanced at Mary with a look of satisfaction. He then looked at Malcolm and their eyes locked. Malcolm was certain that the man could see through his eyes and right into the very core of his soul. It could have been seconds, but to Malcolm it felt like hours had passed before the man finally spoke.
‘He is coming.’
The Messiah! ‘Who is?’ Malcolm asked as calmly as he could manage.
‘He is coming,’ the man repeated. ‘After a time of terrible sorrow, there shall be true peace at last.’
‘Who is—?’
A violent gust of wind suddenly flung open a window, and it banged so loudly against the wall that Mary jumped and let out a little shriek. The wind instantly snuffed the candles. Only the Menorah Lamp’s faint light kept burning. Malcolm picked up the lamp and transferred the flame to the candles. Mary had, in the meantime, managed to close the window again, and as the tiny flame of a candle lit up the room, Malcolm’s eyes searched frantically for his children to see that they were safe. They were. He then looked at Mary who was fixing her hair as she sat down again. Finally, Malcolm directed his attention at the chair that the man had been sitting in.
It was empty.
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