It was like the work of those demons, of whom
his mother had told him, who entered into people and lived inside
of them, like worms eating away a fruit.
Only these people of whom he was thinking did not seem to have a
demon that took hold of them and drove them mad and made them foam
at the mouth and cut themselves with stones, like a man he once
saw in Galilee. This was something larger and more mysterious-like
the hot wind that sometimes blew from the south and made people
gloomy and angry--like the rank weeds that grew in certain fields,
and if the sheep fed there they dropped and died.
The Boy felt that he hated this unknown, wicked, unhappy thing more
than anything else in the world. He would like to save people from
it. He wanted to fight against it, to drive it away. It seemed as
if there were a spirit in his heart saying to him, "This is what
you must do, you must fight against this evil, you must drive out
the darkness, you must be a light, you must save the people--this
is your Father's work for you to do."
But how? He did not know.
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