The narrow track rose into the mountains, and we with it. I felt the sun rising to our right, light filtering through me, searching me for the imperfections of which I was full. I did not look at my companion, but merely felt the sun rising within him.

Stop, Abraham, he said at last. My brother, I said turning, why do you call me Abraham? For Abram I have been since my birth to this day. We stood, I saw at the edge of a precipice. He was very close to me, and he smiled. Abram you have been, he said, and I saw how the skin rippled along his arms, not an old man’s skin now, shining and golden, but Abraham you will be for you will father many nations.

The sweat trickled down my back. I smiled, my heart pounding in my throat, and said how can this be? For my wife and I are old and my heir is Eliezer, my house servant. He looked at me, and I felt a long tunnel opening before me. There are many things in this world, he said, and you have met but few. I felt my feet scraping backwards away from him, unbidden, hugging the edge of the perilous track.

It is a long way to Salem he said, as if musing to himself. I felt the weight of valley behind my back, which seemed now truly bottomless, and the heat of his presence in front of me. But we will get there at last, he said. Then he pushed me and I fell.