Mary acquiesced and Joseph released his grip. At the water's edge, the goat and boy continued to study one another. The goat was scarred and wounded all over. Its head was particularly bloody. Apparently the goat had been struggling to escape from the bush that had seized its horns and the thorns had repeatedly stabbed its head. It trembled visibly as the boy took a tentative step forward. The goat tried again to pull itself free and failed. Jesus took another slow step. And another.

Once more the goat struggled to escape. And then, strength spent, the animal collapsed to its knees. The boy knelt beside it and gently touched the bloody hide. He patted the goat as he peered at the running wounds and the bald patches. Then he reached both little hands into the thorn bush and began untangling the twisted branches. He worked silently and intently. His arms were short and he had to lean into the bush until the briers scratched at his own face. But he kept on working.

Finally, with one hand on each blood-streaked horn, he carefully steered the wounded head out of the thorn bush. Some of the wildness had left the goat's eyes now and he nuzzled his rescuer momentarily before laying his head on the ground to rest. Jesus looked at the goat uncertainly and then tottered to the pool of water. He dipped into it and brought back a few drops of water in cupped hands which the goat lapped at eagerly. Twice more the boy brought water by hand before the goat climbed painfully to its hooves and followed the delighted child back to the pool.

There the goat drank deeply. The boy dipped into the pool again and began to lave water over the goat's wounded bloody hide. The goat snorted once as the water ran into the open sores and swung its horned head to glare at the boy. Then it relaxed, rubbed its nose gently against the boy's arm and returned to its drinking.

When the boy was finished he tugged the scarlet cord from the goat's neck. For a long moment the boy and the goat looked at each other. The boy threw his arms around the goat's neck in a joyful hug. When he let go, the goat stepped from the water and shook its proud horns at the stars, as if some crushing burden had been lifted from its head. With one last glance at the boy, the goat bounded away through the oasis vegetation. Mary watched it caper into the desert. Just before the goat disappeared over the crest of a dune, some trick of the moonlight made the animal seem whole and without blemish.

Then the goat was gone and Mary was racing down the patch to sweep her son into her arms. "Oh, Joseph," she cried, "he's been hurt!" The thorns had pierced his hands as he freed the goat and drawn droplets of blood on his forehead. As Joseph examined his son's hands he thought of the escaped goat running free and the cost of such freedom. Unexpectedly, the words of the prophet echoed through his thoughts. "Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. He was wounded for our transgressions. He was bruised for our iniquities. The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all."

But Mary had no time for pondering. She pressed Jesus against her chest and hurried back to camp to salve her son's wounds. After one final look at the still water, Joseph followed silently in her wake.