The bush burned with fire and was not consumed, not burnt . . . God called from the bush . . . Here I am.
Safara torches the house overlooking the sea.
In bedclothes, neighbors watch the blaze. Safara,
silent, unsmiling, is escorted to a nearby cloister.
No one suspects her of arson, of burning down
the house.
(Projector whirring. Film begins.) Close-upof bush spontaneously bursting into flames. They lick Safara's face. The bush reassembles; twice more the sequence recurs. The flamesdissolve into charred embers and black plumes of smoke. Her face is smeared with soot. Black over brown. (Film ends.)