2 It had not stopped raining since they left Jerusalem. Ishmael shivered and pulled his cloak tighter. This shepherd boy was used to long days of peace and solitude with only his family and his animals for company. It was hard for him to bear the chatter and laughter of all these strangers traveling to their native villages for the census because Emperor Augustus had decided to count the whole population—every man in Israel had been ordered to go with his wife and children to be enrolled in the town of his ancestors. Ishmael felt grumpy. Even the frolicking of his dog, Kalil, so cute with his wet whiskers and boundless energy, could not make him smile. He did not want to go to Bethlehem. He had liked staying in Jerusalem in spite of the crowded, narrow streets of the Holy City. He had marveled at the beauty of the Temple, with its gold-studded façade of white marble that sparkled even in the chilly gloom of winter. Ishmael was not Jewish, but he was a son of Abraham. And, like everyone else, he too was awaiting the coming of the new Elijah, the Messiah, who would free them from the Romans.
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