Speaker 1: The earth was still young, and even so death was
Speaker 1: already walking among men as a silent sentence. It all
Speaker 1: started with the first innocent blood touching the ground. After that,
Speaker 1: generations were born and vanished like dust in the wind.
Speaker 1: The more humanity learned to build, the more it learned
Speaker 1: to destroy. The more it grew on the outside, the
Speaker 1: more it rotted on the inside. But it was exactly
Speaker 1: in this scenario that God raised a sign impossible to ignore,
Speaker 1: a man who had lived nine hundred and sixty nine years, Methuselah.
Speaker 1: Everything started one morning when everything changed in Oke's sun
Speaker 1: was born. The first cry broke the silence of the cabin.
Speaker 1: The baby was delicate, but opened its dark and deep
Speaker 1: eyes like mirrors of the night. Enoch felt a fear
Speaker 1: that was not just ordinary fear. Enoch's wife, still breathless,
Speaker 1: held the child to her chest and asked, almost in
Speaker 1: a whisper, what will the name be? Enoch paused, as
Speaker 1: if you were listening to something beyond the crackling fire.
Speaker 1: Your name will be Methuselah. The next day, the sun
Speaker 1: rose red behind a thin mist. The village woke up
Speaker 1: to hammers, stones being dragged, voices arguing about fences Inoke
Speaker 1: walked with the baby in his arms and saw men
Speaker 1: arguing angrily in the distance. The glint of a makeshift
Speaker 1: blade cut through the light. The violence was still small,
Speaker 1: but it was growing like a weed. At night, Enoch dreamed,
Speaker 1: water without boundaries rose and covered everything. Houses disappeared, voices
Speaker 1: were swallowed, and the whole world seemed to return to chaos.
Speaker 1: Enoch woke up breathless. The sky was too clear. He
Speaker 1: went outside, heard the trees creaking in the gentle wind,
Speaker 1: and spoke as if wanting to be heard, not by men,
Speaker 1: but by God. If you're still near, guide my steps.
Speaker 1: There was no thunder, there was no light. There was
Speaker 1: a sudden, steady peace, like an invisible hand over the heart.
Speaker 1: Enoch returned, knowing that his life would not continue as before.
Speaker 1: After that night, he remained the same on the outside,
Speaker 1: clay in his hands, fire before dawn, but inside a
Speaker 1: new journey began. He started going out at dawn and
Speaker 1: climbing the hill where the wind blew freely. There, far
Speaker 1: from the voices, the silence seemed greater than the night.
Speaker 1: Enoch talked to the unseen, as if talking to someone present.
Speaker 1: There was no show, there was direction, and over time
Speaker 1: everyone realized he walked with God. This made him different.
Speaker 1: While the village was growing in pensions, disputes, over land
Speaker 1: and boundaries, Enoch sought righteousness. He didn't shout, he pointed.
Speaker 1: He spoke of the Creator, not as a rumor, but
Speaker 1: as a presence. Some laughed, others looked away, and some
Speaker 1: approached in secret. Tired of guilt and afraid of the future,
Speaker 1: Jared warned him, the world doesn't like those who live
Speaker 1: like this. I just want to be real. Time, however,
Speaker 1: moved on like a wide river, impossible to stop. Methusla
Speaker 1: grew up, became a man, then an elder, and finally
Speaker 1: something the village could no longer name. People were born
Speaker 1: and died under the same sky, and it remained not
Speaker 1: as a king or warrior, but as a witness. And
Speaker 1: time went by around him. Houses and roads grew, and
Speaker 1: ambitions grew too. Violence stopped being an exception and became
Speaker 1: a method injustice became a habit. The strong took what
Speaker 1: they wanted, The cunning called deceit cleverness. The weak learned
Speaker 1: to hide. Desire started to guide choices, and empty phrases
Speaker 1: repeated I take what I want, I deserve it I can.
Speaker 1: Enoch watched everything as if seeing a flood forming in
Speaker 1: the distance. His firmness was as bothersome as light to
Speaker 1: eyes used to the dark. One morning, Enoch called his
Speaker 1: son to climb the hill. There stones lined up marked
Speaker 1: the time worn down by the wind. I need to
Speaker 1: remember this. Every moment God gives us is valuable, and
Speaker 1: time can run out. Methuselah looked down, saw smoke rising
Speaker 1: from dozens of fires. He heard laughter and disputes, and
Speaker 1: felt the weight of centuries beginning to dwell in him dead.
Speaker 1: How long does God endure? As long as necessary, but
Speaker 1: not forever. That night, Methuselah heard a distant argument end
Speaker 1: abruptly in silence. He remembered his father's dream, waters without borders,
Speaker 1: and for the first time he understood that his longevity
Speaker 1: was not a reward but a warning. Before dawn, he
Speaker 1: left faced the darkness and whispered, hoping to be heard
Speaker 1: from above. If there's still time, use it. So he
Speaker 1: made another mark on the stone, recording that the sky
Speaker 1: clock keeps ticking. The wind changed direction, and with him
Speaker 1: the sound of the world changed. The village was no
Speaker 1: longer just a cluster of huts. It was a tangle
Speaker 1: of lives, interests, and disputes. Where there was once silence,
Speaker 1: now there was noise, hammers, shouts, laughter, too loud music.
Speaker 1: Trying to drown out the guilt. Methuselah walked among the houses,
Speaker 1: as if crossing a memory that no longer belongs to him.
Speaker 1: He was still strong, but time on his shoulders was
Speaker 1: not the weight of age. It was the weight of witness.
Speaker 1: The stones on the hill remained there. He would return
Speaker 1: from time to time to align others, as if he
Speaker 1: could mark God's patience with his own hands. Each brand
Speaker 1: was a warning. It was during one of those returns
Speaker 1: that he found out his wife was pregnant. The news
Speaker 1: should have brought only joy, and it did, but it
Speaker 1: also brought a fear, like the reminder that each birth
Speaker 1: was a new thread, tying the world to a future
Speaker 1: that could be terrible. Methuselah held her belly gently, as
Speaker 1: if he were protecting more than just a child, as
Speaker 1: if protecting a chance. When the boy was born, his
Speaker 1: cry echoed through the house and for a moment drowned
Speaker 1: out everything else. Methuselah took him in his arms. The
Speaker 1: skin still smelled of blood and milk, and the tiny
Speaker 1: fingers closed in the air, searching for something to hold onto.
Speaker 1: The father looked into the newly opened eyes and felt
Speaker 1: a strange sensation. It wasn't just tenderness. It was the
Speaker 1: certainty that that boy would see things that no one
Speaker 1: should see. Le Mech grew up in a time of abundance.
Speaker 1: There was more food, more instruments, more parties, more promises,
Speaker 1: and there was more exploitation, more envy, more brutality. Methusela
Speaker 1: saw young people taking pride in conquering, as if conquering
Speaker 1: were a sacred rite. I saw men deciding people's worth
Speaker 1: as if they were setting the price of an animal.
Speaker 1: And I saw women crying silently, because crying out loud
Speaker 1: was already dangerous. He tried to teach his son what
Speaker 1: Enoch taught to walk straight when the world twists. But
Speaker 1: teaching was like planting seeds on hard ground. Sometimes they sprouted,
Speaker 1: sometimes they didn't. One afternoon, when Lamech was still a teenager,
Speaker 1: he came home with a marked face and dirty clothes.
Speaker 1: Methuselah pulled him close to the firelight. What happened. Lamech hesitated,
Speaker 1: as if he were choosing each word. A man wanted
Speaker 1: to take what was not his. I I stopped him.
Speaker 1: Methuselah saw his son's hands trembling, not out of fear,
Speaker 1: but from contained anger. He took a deep breath. Anger
Speaker 1: is easy, Justice is harder. And what does God do
Speaker 1: when no one wants justice? Lamech asked, with his voice breaking.
Speaker 1: Methuselah remained silent. Inside the same ancient vision stirred waters,
Speaker 1: rising voices swallowed. God waits for a while. La Mek
Speaker 1: lowered his head in that gesture. There was a struggle.
Speaker 1: It was not only against bad men, but against the
Speaker 1: temptation to give up being good. The years passed, Jared died,
Speaker 1: many died, others were born, and Methuselah continued. Some treated
Speaker 1: him as a legend, others avoided him like an omen.
Speaker 1: Children pointed at him and whispered. Old people looked at
Speaker 1: him with respect, as if his existence were a living question.
Speaker 1: Why does God still allow it? Enoch, in turn, seemed
Speaker 1: less and less belonging to earth. He walked as if
Speaker 1: treading lightly, as if the ground no longer had authority
Speaker 1: over him. Sometimes he disappeared for days, returning with wet
Speaker 1: eyes and a glow that was not of this world.
Speaker 1: When he spoke, he spoke in a simple way, but
Speaker 1: with a sense of destiny. Do not trust what your
Speaker 1: eyes desire, trust what God says. Few listened, many laughed,
Speaker 1: some got irritated, and Methuselah realized that the distance between
Speaker 1: heaven and humans was not a lack of God, it
Speaker 1: was human refusal. The seasons passed quickly, and people no
Speaker 1: longer spoke of the future with fear. They spoke with eagerness.
Speaker 1: The village grew, the paths filled up, and the night
Speaker 1: was taken over by parties that ended in fights and
Speaker 1: broken promises. Methuselah watched everything with the weary patience of
Speaker 1: someone who saw the beginning and perceives the end. Approaching Enoch, however,
Speaker 1: remained different. As the world became noisier, he became quieter.
Speaker 1: There were moments when he stopped, as if listening to
Speaker 1: footsteps that no one else heard. One morning, before the
Speaker 1: sun fully rose, Enoch called Methuselah. It wasn't a loud call,
Speaker 1: just a firm look at the door and the certainty
Speaker 1: that that conversation needed to happen. Come with me. They
Speaker 1: walked to the stone hill. The wind was cold, the
Speaker 1: sky gray, and Methuselah felt his father lighter, as if
Speaker 1: the earth had lost some of its hold on him.
Speaker 1: Inoke put his hand on his son's shoulder. I don't
Speaker 1: have much time left. Keep walking even when no one
Speaker 1: else wants. To teach your child not to sell their
Speaker 1: soul for a piece of land, and remind everyone that
Speaker 1: time is given, not taken. When they returned, the village
Speaker 1: was already awake. People were passing by with baskets, discussing
Speaker 1: prices and laughing loudly. No one noticed the weight of
Speaker 1: that morning. No one noticed that the sky seemed closer.
Speaker 1: In the days that followed, Inoke started walking alone more often.
Speaker 1: He used to leave early, come back late, and sometimes
Speaker 1: not at all. Methusela watched him, unable to stop him.
Speaker 1: It was like trying to hold the wind. So came
Speaker 1: the afternoon when Enoch left and did not turn. The
Speaker 1: sun went down, the shadows lengthened, and the cold crept
Speaker 1: in through the cracks. Enoch's wife asked about him, once,
Speaker 1: then twice, and Methuselah responded with feigned calm. They are
Speaker 1: already coming, but inside the restlessness was growing. When night fell,
Speaker 1: Methuselah took a torch and climbed the hill. Then he
Speaker 1: descended into the valley, calling for his father in a
Speaker 1: low voice, as if he feared the world would mock him.
Speaker 1: Other men joined, first out of curiosity, then out of discomfort.
Speaker 1: Some laughed, saying that the righteous had finally lost their way.
Speaker 1: Others remained silent because the absence didn't seem like death.
Speaker 1: Methuselah searched until the early morning. He scoured trails, stones, shrubs.
Speaker 1: Didn't find a body, didn't find blood, didn't find any
Speaker 1: sign of a fight, just footprints that ended where they
Speaker 1: shouldn't have, as if the path had been cut off
Speaker 1: by an invisible door. At dawn, exhausted, he returned. People
Speaker 1: wanted a simple explanation, a story that fit in a
Speaker 1: human mouth. Methuselah could only tell the truth. It was
Speaker 1: a statue. Some one replied, did he die then? Now?
Speaker 1: If he had died, I would have found him. The
Speaker 1: rumor spread. Some called it madness, others called it a fable,
Speaker 1: But deep down everyone felt an ancient fear as if
Speaker 1: God had come too close to be ignored. Lamech came
Speaker 1: to him before noon with a tense face, as if
Speaker 1: afraid to say out loud what everyone already suspected. Around
Speaker 1: some men made the sign to ward off bad luck.
Speaker 1: Others looked away. The news was not just a loss,
Speaker 1: It was a warning. If God could take a man
Speaker 1: for himself, he could also take the world for judgment.
Speaker 1: That night, Methuselah stood alone before the stones on the hill.
Speaker 1: The wind passed through them like a whisper of farewell.
Speaker 1: He knelt, touched the ground and realized it was trembling,
Speaker 1: not from cold, but from reverence. If enough had not
Speaker 1: been found, so life could end without death, and that
Speaker 1: was possible, it was also possible that the judgment was real.
Speaker 1: Methuselah stood up slowly and looked at the sky. What
Speaker 1: do you want from us? There was no reply in words,
Speaker 1: but there was one certainty. Time was passing more quickly,
Speaker 1: and somewhere the future was already preparing the name of
Speaker 1: a boy who would be born as a promise of rest.
Speaker 1: The void left by Enoch did not close. It hovered
Speaker 1: over the village like an open door that no one
Speaker 1: dared to cross. Some pretended that nothing had happened, and
Speaker 1: they returned to the parties, the deals, the land disputes.
Speaker 1: Others began to speak in whispers because the absence of
Speaker 1: the righteous reminded that the sky was still watching. Methuselah
Speaker 1: continued living, but now he lived with a wound. It
Speaker 1: was not just longing, It was a constant foreboding. If
Speaker 1: God could take a man without leaving a trace, then
Speaker 1: God could also end an entire era, And the error
Speaker 1: seemed to decay with each generation. Lamech became an adult
Speaker 1: in a world of excesses. He saw men calling violence
Speaker 1: aright and greed a victory. He saw alliances sealed in lies,
Speaker 1: families broken by pride, and innocence being treated as weakness.
Speaker 1: Even so, Lemek carried an internal struggle. He wanted to
Speaker 1: remain whole, where everything around was falling apart. Methuselah watched him,
Speaker 1: and sometimes he saw a glimmer of resistance in his son,
Speaker 1: small but real. So, when Lammek had already lived enough
Speaker 1: years to have seen wickedness repeat itself like a cycle,
Speaker 1: his wife became pregnant. The news spread through the house
Speaker 1: like fire. For the first time in a long time,
Speaker 1: Methuselah felt something akin to hope, not naive hope, but
Speaker 1: desperate hope, like finding water in the desert. On the
Speaker 1: night of the birth, the sky was heavy and the
Speaker 1: wind was warm, bringing dust. Lamek's wife was yelling, and
Speaker 1: each scream seemed to challenge the world itself. When the
Speaker 1: baby's cry finally filled the room, the sound was like
Speaker 1: a rupture, a start in the middle of the end.
Speaker 1: Lamech held his son with trembling hands. The boy was small,
Speaker 1: but there was a quiet strength in him. His eyes opened,
Speaker 1: reflecting the fire of the lamp, and for a moment
Speaker 1: Lamex stood still, as if remembering everything he had lost
Speaker 1: and all that could still be lost. Methuselah approached. He
Speaker 1: had already seen many births, but that one seemed different,
Speaker 1: not by a visible miracle, but by context. The world
Speaker 1: was too sick for birth to be just routine. Lemech
Speaker 1: took a deep breath and spoke, as if declaring a
Speaker 1: war against despair. He will be called Noah. The house
Speaker 1: became silent. The name seemed too short to carry so
Speaker 1: much weight. Lamech held his son to his chest and
Speaker 1: looking up at the dark ceiling. He spoke words that
Speaker 1: came from an ancient hope, as if the ground itself
Speaker 1: was crying out for relief, that the boy would bring
Speaker 1: comfort from the hard work and pain that the cursed
Speaker 1: land poured onto human hands. Methuselah heard and felt his
Speaker 1: eyes burn, not because he believed that a baby would
Speaker 1: erase centuries of corruption, but because he knew God was
Speaker 1: still planting signs. In the days that followed, Noah grew
Speaker 1: up under mixed gazes. Some laughed at the name, saying
Speaker 1: that comfort didn't exist and that the world belonged to
Speaker 1: the strong. Others tired, just wished it were true. Lemeg
Speaker 1: taught his son to work, to listen, not to bow
Speaker 1: to brutality, and Methuselah, already centuries old, watched the boy
Speaker 1: with an attention that was not human, like someone watching
Speaker 1: a flame in the middle of a field of dry straw.
Speaker 1: But the land around continued to descend. With each season,
Speaker 1: the evil seemed to take on new forms. It wasn't
Speaker 1: just blood, it was a deformation of the heart. Men
Speaker 1: took women as if they were taking objects. The given
Speaker 1: word didn't mean anything. Shame was considered backwardness, and even worse,
Speaker 1: many called it freedom. Methuselah walked through the streets and
Speaker 1: saw empty eyes. He saw children learning to lie too early.
Speaker 1: He saw hardened old men and arrogant young people, and
Speaker 1: no fear. Sometimes he thought about Enoch and the glow
Speaker 1: his father had when talking about God. Now the village's
Speaker 1: brilliance came from polished metal and unbridled desires. One afternoon,
Speaker 1: Methuselah found Lammek sitting outside the house looking at the ground,
Speaker 1: with Noah playing nearby. Gathering small stones. Noah lifted a
Speaker 1: stone and placed it on another, forming a small tower.
Speaker 1: The gesture was simple, childlike. Even so, Methuselah felt as
Speaker 1: if he were seeing an omen, someone building patiently amidst
Speaker 1: the chaos. That night, when everyone was sleeping, Methuselah returned
Speaker 1: to the hill and touched the old stones. He added
Speaker 1: one more, slowly, as if giving a final warning. And
Speaker 1: staring at the sky, he felt the same certainty that
Speaker 1: had haunted him since Enoch's disappearance. Time still existed, but
Speaker 1: it was out in the distance. Thunder without rain loomed.
Speaker 1: Methuselah closed his eyes and understood God was calling a man,
Speaker 1: and it would be Noah in silence. Wickedness didn't arrive
Speaker 1: all at once. She spread like smoke, entering through the cracks,
Speaker 1: getting used to the eyes. What used to cause shock
Speaker 1: became common. What used to be shame turned into a joke.
Speaker 1: And when the night fell, it wasn't just the sky
Speaker 1: that darkened, it was the intentions. Methusla crossed the streets
Speaker 1: and saw the same scene repeated, with new masks, strong
Speaker 1: men deciding fates, drunken voices calling cruelty, aright families trading
Speaker 1: their own honor for security. The lamb seemed fertile, but
Speaker 1: the heart of humanity was. It was then that the
Speaker 1: sky in silence weighed upon creation. At that time, Noah
Speaker 1: was already a grown man. He was not perfect in
Speaker 1: the eyes of others, but there was something rare about him,
Speaker 1: a boundary. When everyone chased excess, he stepped back. When
Speaker 1: everyone laughed at fear, he kept the fear, and that
Speaker 1: isolated him. On a quiet morning, as the wind blew
Speaker 1: dust over the fields, Noah paused, not from fatigue, but
Speaker 1: from the impact. It was as if a presence took
Speaker 1: his breath away. He didn't see a form, nor hear
Speaker 1: a human voice. But he understood that God was speaking,
Speaker 1: and this understanding came with a weight that bent his knees.
Speaker 1: The message was not comfort, It was truth. God saw,
Speaker 1: God measured, God was not distant, and what he saw
Speaker 1: was corruption to the core, violence as language thoughts inclined
Speaker 1: to evil. The ancient world had become a place where
Speaker 1: life was cheap and pride was an altar. Noah went
Speaker 1: home with a pale face. The wife noticed that something
Speaker 1: had changed, but he couldn't explain it right away. How
Speaker 1: to put into words the sound of a sentence, How
Speaker 1: to tell that the time of patience had a date?
Speaker 1: That night, Methuselah sought him out. The old man carried
Speaker 1: centuries in his gaze and recognized in Noah's expression the
Speaker 1: same premonition that once burned Enoch. Methuslah closed his eyes
Speaker 1: for a moment. Part of him wanted to deny it.
Speaker 1: Another part knew that denial would be an insult. He
Speaker 1: opened his eyes and simply asked what God commanded. Noah
Speaker 1: took a deep breath, as if each word had to
Speaker 1: pass through stone a chest. The word sounded strange, like
Speaker 1: something from another world, But at the same time, it
Speaker 1: was simple, a place of refuge, a form of salvation
Speaker 1: in the midst of judgment. God was not just ending,
Speaker 1: he was offering away. Noah described the plan as if
Speaker 1: reciting something recorded inside a large wooden structure made with measurements, compartments,
Speaker 1: covering door and an opening for light. Nothing there was
Speaker 1: done on a whim. Everything was order, and with order
Speaker 1: came a somber promise. The waters would come, the world
Speaker 1: would be forcibly washed, the violence sown by men would
Speaker 1: return like a flood. Mattheuselem felt the ground disappear for
Speaker 1: a moment. He saw the old vision, now without fog,
Speaker 1: submerged houses, swallowed screams, absolute silence, and in the middle
Speaker 1: a distant flame, the same flame that Enoch dreamed of,
Speaker 1: now it had a name Ark. God also spoke of
Speaker 1: a covenant, not as a pact made with crowds, but
Speaker 1: with a man willing to obey when the whole world
Speaker 1: preferred to laugh, and he commanded that Noah should not
Speaker 1: build for himself alone, but for his household, his wife,
Speaker 1: his children, and their wives. Salvation in that plan would
Speaker 1: be familiar and heavy, like carrying hope on one's back.
Speaker 1: Then came the detail that no one would believe if
Speaker 1: it wasn't recorded in Noah's consciousness. Creatures would be preserved,
Speaker 1: Animals of all kinds would enter, guided by a logic
Speaker 1: that was not common instinct but decree. The ark would
Speaker 1: not only be a shelter, it would be testimony that
Speaker 1: God could start anew without losing what he created. Noah
Speaker 1: listened and accepted, and the acceptance hurt because it meant
Speaker 1: farewell to the old world. Even before the waters. The
Speaker 1: next morning, Noah started not with spectacle, but with obedience.
Speaker 1: He chose wood, marked the land, measured the space, and
Speaker 1: raised the first beams. Each tool stroke was an announcement.
Speaker 1: The neighbors came to see, first curious, then mocking. They
Speaker 1: called Noah crazy, cowardly, a man stuck on ancient stories.
Speaker 1: Some laughed out loud to avoid hearing their own heart.
Speaker 1: Noah didn't argue. He continued, and Methuselah, watching from Afar,
Speaker 1: understood with sorrow. The greatest division would not be between
Speaker 1: rich and poor, strong and weak. It would be between
Speaker 1: those who treat the word of God as noise and
Speaker 1: those who treat it as life. On the Hill of Stones,
Speaker 1: that afternoon, Methuselah added another mark. His hand was shaking,
Speaker 1: not out of weakness, but out of awareness. Time was
Speaker 1: running out, and for the first time, he didn't ask
Speaker 1: himself why he had lived so long. He understood he
Speaker 1: lived to see the plan come to life. The ark
Speaker 1: seemed small to the people, but enormous over time. In
Speaker 1: the beginning, it seemed like just a man building something
Speaker 1: extravagant in the middle of the dry land. Then the
Speaker 1: beams grew, the sides rose, and the structure began to
Speaker 1: cast a shadow where previously there was only dust and sun.
Speaker 1: Each day added weight to what Noah was doing and
Speaker 1: peeled away a new layer of scorn from those who watched.
Speaker 1: The first to approach were the curious ones. They passed by,
Speaker 1: slowly assessing the measurements, trying to understand the logic. Some
Speaker 1: people asked, with false innocence, Noah, what are you building
Speaker 1: a house for? Giant? He replied, without theatrics, A refuge,
Speaker 1: refuge from what. Noah paused for a moment, as if
Speaker 1: weighing the value of honesty against mockery, and said of
Speaker 1: the judgment. The word was enough to spark laughter, loud laughter,
Speaker 1: cruel laughter, nervous laughter, the kind of laugh that tries
Speaker 1: to push fear inside. The arc became a topic of conversation.
Speaker 1: Where they once discussed harvests, they now talked about the
Speaker 1: crazy wood guy. Where they used to talk business, now
Speaker 1: they made up stories to ridicule Noah. Some said he
Speaker 1: wanted to be king of a ship. Others said he
Speaker 1: had heard voices. Others claimed it was a trick to
Speaker 1: get more workers. And in the midst of everything, Noah
Speaker 1: kept going hammer, rope, cut, fit obedience. Methuselah watched in silence.
Speaker 1: He had already seen humanity create all sorts of tools, fences, weapons,
Speaker 1: but he had never seen someone build with the conviction
Speaker 1: of one who answers to the heavens. The mockery over
Speaker 1: time it turned into persecution. Some started to disrupt the work.
Speaker 1: They stole tools, untied ropes, knocked down piles of wood.
Speaker 1: Noah gathered everything and started again. It wasn't passivity, it
Speaker 1: was persistence. It was as if each attack proved that
Speaker 1: the world couldn't stand the memory of God. Once a
Speaker 1: group of drunk men appeared at dusk, laughing, pushing each other,
Speaker 1: throwing small stones at the structure. One of them shouted, Noah,
Speaker 1: when that water comes, call me, I'll swim in. The
Speaker 1: others laughed. Noah stood still, looking at them for a moment.
Speaker 1: His silence was heavier than any speech, so he just said,
Speaker 1: I won't be able to call later. The laughter decreased,
Speaker 1: but it did not turn into regret. It became irritation.
Speaker 1: One of the men spat on the ground and left.
Speaker 1: As the ark grew, something strange started to happen. Some
Speaker 1: who mocked began to avoid passing by, not out of
Speaker 1: respect but out of discomfort. Noah also changed. He became
Speaker 1: more sober, spoke less, and slept little. There was in
Speaker 1: him a weariness that did not come from the body,
Speaker 1: but from the weight of obeying alone in front of
Speaker 1: an entire world. His family helped, but the spiritual loneliness
Speaker 1: was his, and even so he kept going. Methuselah, in
Speaker 1: his long life, had seen men die for small wars
Speaker 1: and great pride. Now there was a man living for
Speaker 1: an order, and this was rarer than any longevity. The
Speaker 1: Ark was the opposite of the world. While the world
Speaker 1: was building to dominate, Noah was building to escape the
Speaker 1: dominion of evil. And then came. The sounds, not sounds
Speaker 1: from the sky, but sounds from the earth. Sounds of
Speaker 1: animals that didn't come close to houses before, sounds of
Speaker 1: light footsteps in the forest, wings flapping at dusk, distant roars.
Speaker 1: Nobody understood. At first. They thought it was a coincidence.
Speaker 1: They thought it was an exaggeration, but the signs kept repeating.
Speaker 1: Methuslah was one of the first to notice creation was
Speaker 1: being driven by an order that humans did not command.
Speaker 1: The whole world seemed to be a lining for an
Speaker 1: event that only God knew. One afternoon, he climbed the
Speaker 1: stone hill and gazed at the horizon. The smoke from
Speaker 1: the houses rose, People lived, laughed, bartered, as if time
Speaker 1: were infinite. He felt a deep tightness, like botting someone
Speaker 1: walk towards a cliff without realizing it. When he came down,
Speaker 1: he passed near the ark and saw Noah working silently,
Speaker 1: his face hardened by responsibility. Methusla approached and, for the
Speaker 1: first time in a long time, spoke, as if confessing
Speaker 1: something that no one would understand. I have lived too
Speaker 1: long to see this, and yet it seems little Noah stopped,
Speaker 1: looked at him and replied time always seems plentiful until
Speaker 1: the day it runs out a twilight. The sky turned
Speaker 1: a strange color, like burnt bronze. The wind brought a
Speaker 1: damp smell that did not match the land, and in
Speaker 1: the distance, a thunder rumbled, not as a theatrical threat,
Speaker 1: but like a door being slowly closed. The Ark was
Speaker 1: almost ready, and the mockery, although still alive, began to
Speaker 1: sound weaker, not because the people believed, but because the
Speaker 1: very air was changing, and in the silence between each strike,
Speaker 1: Noah was building more than just wood, building the last
Speaker 1: chance of a world that refused to admit that God's
Speaker 1: patience had a limit. The world didn't stop to witness
Speaker 1: its own downfall. It continued living, as if time were
Speaker 1: an uninterrupted rite. The parties were still happening, the deals
Speaker 1: were still being made, the disputes were still blowing up
Speaker 1: over small reasons. The arc, however, was no longer just
Speaker 1: a structure. It was a presence, too tall to be ignored,
Speaker 1: too silent to be forgotten, and even so most preferred
Speaker 1: to pretend it was just wood. Noah finished the final
Speaker 1: details with injured hands. The surface of the ark bore
Speaker 1: marks of work like scars. Each joint had been made
Speaker 1: with precision. Each compartment existed for a reason. The door
Speaker 1: solid seemed too heavy for just an entrance. It was
Speaker 1: a line between two destinations. In those days, the wind
Speaker 1: came differently. Sometimes it blew moist, like a promise of rain.
Speaker 1: Sometimes it blew dry and hot, like the last breath
Speaker 1: of a world still trying to be normal. There were
Speaker 1: nights when the sky seemed lower, there were early mornings
Speaker 1: when the silence seemed to hold its breath. And then
Speaker 1: they started to arrive, not all at once, nor with spectacle,
Speaker 1: but with inevitability. Animals appeared on the trails, crossed fields,
Speaker 1: and passed by men who watched them without understanding. Some
Speaker 1: were small and fast, others were large and slow. There
Speaker 1: were couples walking together, as if they were obeying a
Speaker 1: call that did not come from instinct, but from a decree.
Speaker 1: The people gathered, initially out of curiosity, then out of unease.
Speaker 1: Some laughed, saying that Noah had now become a shepherd
Speaker 1: of animals. Others, however, remained silent, because there was no
Speaker 1: human explanation that could fit that Methuselah watched a herd
Speaker 1: cross the dust without swerving, heading straight for the ark.
Speaker 1: The old man's gaze was fixed. He felt something he
Speaker 1: hadn't felt in a long time. Pure fear. No fear
Speaker 1: of death, but fear of God. It was like seeing
Speaker 1: the invisible touch the visible. Le Mek was already weak.
Speaker 1: Age finally was catching up with him. He was watching
Speaker 1: from afar and seemed to be chewing on a question
Speaker 1: he didn't dare say out loud, What if it's true?
Speaker 1: He had lived close enough to Enuch to know that
Speaker 1: God was not a rumor, but he had lived far
Speaker 1: enough from fear to get used to the noise of
Speaker 1: the world. Now the noise was fading. Noah gathered his family.
Speaker 1: The moment had no human ceremony. It was simple, almost dry,
Speaker 1: as if the words were not enough and the steps
Speaker 1: were more important. Come in. The wife looked at him
Speaker 1: with tear filled eyes, not just out of fear, but
Speaker 1: out of burden. Entering men leaving behind everything that was familiar, neighbours, paths, landscapes, memories,
Speaker 1: and it meant admitting that the world was irreversible. Noah's
Speaker 1: sons and their wives entered quietly. There was no triumph
Speaker 1: on their faces. There was duty It was like walking
Speaker 1: through a door knowing you won't come back outside. The
Speaker 1: people watched, Some still mocked, but it was fragile mockery,
Speaker 1: like the laughter of someone who does not even believe
Speaker 1: in themselves. Fathers stood motionless, speechless, and there were those
Speaker 1: who wanted to come closer, but did not have the
Speaker 1: courage to abandon their own lives. The ark began to
Speaker 1: fill up animals, food, utensils. The order was strange, but
Speaker 1: it was the order, as if God were organizing chaos
Speaker 1: before destroying it. Methusela walked up to the structure and
Speaker 1: stopped the wind, moved his robe. He looked at the
Speaker 1: door and felt the significance of that moment span his centuries,
Speaker 1: all his life so long, seemed like a road leading there,
Speaker 1: not for human glory, but to a limit, the final
Speaker 1: line of patience. He did not enter. The World's text
Speaker 1: does not record his steps inside. The world only records
Speaker 1: that he lived nine hundred and sixty nine years. But
Speaker 1: at that moment he was more than a number. He
Speaker 1: was the very symbol of the time granted. Methoosla looked
Speaker 1: at the ark, then at the village horizon. Life went on,
Speaker 1: smoke rose, voices argued, children ran, and that was what
Speaker 1: made it all the more terrible. The world was about
Speaker 1: to be interrupted, and yet it seemed calm. Noah stayed inside,
Speaker 1: and the door remained open for a while, as if
Speaker 1: Heaven was still offering one last chance. The days passed
Speaker 1: like a stretched thread, one, two, three. The arks stood still,
Speaker 1: people getting tired of watching, some returning to their routines.
Speaker 1: Some are asleep, not imagining that their last sleep might
Speaker 1: be approaching. And then on the seventh day, something changed.
Speaker 1: The air became heavy, not like before, really heavy, as
Speaker 1: if the atmosphere was getting ready to fall. Clouds appeared
Speaker 1: and did not dissipate. They gathered, thickened, darkened. The wind
Speaker 1: brought the smell of ancient water deep, as if it
Speaker 1: came from the bowels of the earth. The men looked up,
Speaker 1: some laughed, relieved, but the relief was short lived because
Speaker 1: the cloud didn't seem ordinary. She seemed alive, full of determination.
Speaker 1: Methuselah climbed the Hill of Stones for the last time.
Speaker 1: His steps were slow but steady. He looked down and
Speaker 1: saw the ark as a huge shath. Saw the people
Speaker 1: like agitated ants, saw the sky like a roof about
Speaker 1: to break. He touched a stone and with an almost
Speaker 1: inaudible voice, whispered, everything, God, Postpond has arrived in the distance.
Speaker 1: Thunder erupted not as a warning but as a beginning,
Speaker 1: and the ancient world, without knowing, entered its last minute
Speaker 1: of normalcy. The day broke without color. The sky did
Speaker 1: not clear up, It only changed shades from the black
Speaker 1: of night to a thick gray, like ashes spilled over creation.
Speaker 1: The clouds were pressing against each other, low, heavy, without haste,
Speaker 1: and without mercy. The wind blew, damp and cold, carrying
Speaker 1: a scent of ancient water that did not belong to
Speaker 1: that dry land. It was as if the world was
Speaker 1: breathing before diving. In. The arc remained still, but now
Speaker 1: it seemed different, not because it had changed, but because
Speaker 1: the air around it had changed. It was no longer
Speaker 1: just wood. It was a boundary. It was both judgment
Speaker 1: and mercy in the same volume. Outside, the people still
Speaker 1: tried to live. Some lit fireworks, others debated prices. Others
Speaker 1: gathered to laugh at Noah once again, as if laughter
Speaker 1: could stop the sky from doing what it was about
Speaker 1: to do. But even the laughter faltered. The human voice
Speaker 1: itself sounded weak in the heavy atmosphere. Then came the sound.
Speaker 1: It wasn't the gentle sound of falling drops. It was
Speaker 1: a deep rumble, as if the earth had cracked from
Speaker 1: within a distance and growing underground, roar, shaking the ground
Speaker 1: beneath my feet. People stopped and looked at each other.
Speaker 1: Some tried to pretend it was normal, but no one succeeded.
Speaker 1: Thunder irrupted so loudly at the top that the air
Speaker 1: seemed to shatter. A lightning bolt streaked across the sky
Speaker 1: and for an instant lit up the world with a
Speaker 1: white and harsh light. The houses, the faces, the ark,
Speaker 1: the empty hands, the confused eyes. And then the water started. First,
Speaker 1: the rain, thick, cold, heavy, as if the sky was
Speaker 1: pouring liquid stones. In seconds, the ground turned into mud.
Speaker 1: Within minutes, the paths turned into small rivers. The village
Speaker 1: rushed for shelter, but the rain wasn't going to pass quickly.
Speaker 1: She had intention, and along with her came what no
Speaker 1: one expected. Waters rising from below. The ground groaned, wells overflowed,
Speaker 1: and cracks opened. The land that for centuries absorbed blood, sweat,
Speaker 1: and violence now returned water as judgment. It was as
Speaker 1: if the whole world was falling apart. Shouts arose, not
Speaker 1: war cries, but cries of surprise, and soon after there
Speaker 1: were screams of fear. Those who mocked Noah ran to
Speaker 1: the ark. They ran, slipping, stumbling with wide eyes. The
Speaker 1: same man who one day laughed saying he would swim
Speaker 1: in now was banging on the wood with bleeding hands. Noah,
Speaker 1: Oh pennet, Oh beennet. Others joined, begged, and promised. The
Speaker 1: same mouth that had called God a rumor was now
Speaker 1: trying to negotiate with Heaven. But the door did not
Speaker 1: move inside Noah heard the sound of the knocking was
Speaker 1: like a hammer on the heart. He clenched his fists,
Speaker 1: and his family surrounded him in silence, crying without a sound.
Speaker 1: They did not celebrate. There was no triumph. There was weight,
Speaker 1: There was pain. Salvation was not a party. It was
Speaker 1: a refuge. Within a sentence, and then, without human hands,
Speaker 1: the moment closed, the door was sealed. The outside world
Speaker 1: remained outside. The water rose. He went up the streets,
Speaker 1: invaded houses, tore out furniture, knocked down mud walls. The
Speaker 1: current carried common objects as if they were nothing. Pots, fabrics, tools, toys.
Speaker 1: The entire life of the ancient world turned into floating rubble.
Speaker 1: People tried to climb onto roofs, trees, high rocks. They
Speaker 1: tried to hold on to each other, but the force
Speaker 1: of the water kept them apart. The rain didn't stop,
Speaker 1: it seemed to speed up. The sky poured without mercy,
Speaker 1: and the earth returned without compassion. On the hill of Stones,
Speaker 1: Methuselah stood, The wind pushed him. The rain hid his
Speaker 1: face like a whip. He watched the village being swallowed
Speaker 1: and felt something beyond words. It was not just sadness,
Speaker 1: It was understanding. He remembered the father who walked with God,
Speaker 1: remembered the silence, remembered the marked stones, and realized that
Speaker 1: his life had always been an interval. Nine hundred and
Speaker 1: sixty nine years of interval, a time given for humanity
Speaker 1: to repent, a time extended, being beyond what seemed possible,
Speaker 1: a time that many wasted by calling patients weakness. The
Speaker 1: water was already touching the base of the hill. Methusla
Speaker 1: closed his eyes for a moment. There is no record
Speaker 1: of his last words, nor of his fall. The document
Speaker 1: mentions him with the simplicity of a number, and simplicity
Speaker 1: is brutal. He lived and died. The movie, however, understands
Speaker 1: the symbol without inventing what was not said. He does
Speaker 1: not need a final speech. His silence before the court
Speaker 1: is the message itself. In the distance, the arc began
Speaker 1: to move, Light floating, lifted from the ground as if
Speaker 1: it were just another creature. Obeying the decree. She rows
Speaker 1: above the waters while the world around was sinking. Days
Speaker 1: went by without sun. The water covered fields, covered paths,
Speaker 1: covered hills, covered memories, covered pride, covered names, and the sky,
Speaker 1: once distant, now seemed as close as one's own breath.
Speaker 1: Not because God had changed, but because man had finally
Speaker 1: lost everything he used to distract himself. The ark went
Speaker 1: on outside a storm, inside silence, breathing, life preserved. The
Speaker 1: creation that had been dragged into corruption was now guarded
Speaker 1: by wood and faith. And when the ancient world disappeared
Speaker 1: under water, one truth stayed above the flood, like a
Speaker 1: final echo. God did not delay because he was weak.
Speaker 1: He was late because he was patient. Methuselah, the man
Speaker 1: who lived nine hundred and sixty nine years, was not
Speaker 1: just a human record. He was the living proof that
Speaker 1: Heaven waited, and the flood was the final proof that
Speaker 1: when Heaven decides, it follows through. The waters continued, and
Speaker 1: the time of the ancient world ended not with applause,
Speaker 1: not with explanations, but with absolute silence. Above this silence,
Speaker 1: a floating arc was saying without words that God could
Speaker 1: still start over.