‘It’s too early to cry,’ he whispered gently. ‘The baby is not even born yet. And at least we know that he will grow up to be a man. Besides, all people die. The acorn has to die for an oak to be born. Your dream must be very significant, but we are powerless to change the currents of the Universe.’

She clung to him desperately and couldn’t stop crying.

‘I know. I feel that this dream foretells our son a great future. But I’m his mother. I don’t want my baby to die…’

Part 2. Fourteen years later

‘Sit, son.’ Father motions to the stool in front of me.

I sit down at the big family table.

Father looks at me silently, stroking his well-groomed beard.

I know what’s coming. I know what he wants to talk about. And I know what will come out of it.

Nothing.

Not because I am stubborn, but because I do what I think is right.

‘Yeshua, you were teaching those boys again, weren’t you?’ he asks, tapping his fingers on the smooth tabletop. His fingers are rather short and chubby, and you’d never believe how delicate a work they can do. Since I was a little boy, I have watched him work with wood, and I know that those chubby fingers are incredibly skillful. Appearances can be deceptive.

‘I was and I will,’ I say after a short pause.

Father sighs.

‘Why are you doing this? They are aliens and slaves at that.’

‘Why?’ This question seems stupid to me. And I hate the words ‘aliens’ and ‘slaves’. ‘I teach them to read and to write because everybody should be able to do it. We must share our knowledge instead of keeping it to ourselves. Sharing knowledge is like sowing seeds, it brings a rich harvest. Keeping it hidden will make it rot.’

For a few moments father looks at me with sad eyes.

‘Yeshua, you must realise that they’re incapable of understanding the higher truths. You know very well by now that people are different.’