The Big Fisherman (19 page)

Simon sniffed and shrugged. 'Several centuries ago,' he remarked crisply. 'Your people haven't been very good Jews—not for a long time.'

'King Herod came from Idumea, sir,' ventured the boy softly.

'Well,' drawled Simon, 'that doesn't improve Idumea's reputation very much.'

The sailors laughed a bit nervously. Old Zebedee cackled loudly.

'I always say,' he shrilled, 'it's cheaper to feed an Idumean and let him go on his way. Then—maybe—he won't steal from you.' The old man grimaced for his immediate neighbours, feeling that he had scored a point.

'I never stole anything in my life,' retorted the stranger, without turning to see where the insult had originated.

'I believe you, Joe!' declared John.

'Yaa!' railed his father, 'you'd believe anything, anybody! That's your trouble. You're too easily taken in.'

'I believe you too, my boy,' said Simon, so pointedly that old Zebedee suddenly busied himself with his awl. Then, turning to John, the Big Fisherman inquired in a low tone. 'Many people out there? Where was it?'

'Up on the hill—on the road to Cana.' John's voice was guarded. It was apparent that he had no intention of explaining to the whole company if he could avoid it. 'There were about a hundred people; perhaps more.' It had grown very quiet. All work had stopped. Everyone was candidly eavesdropping. Simon observed it—and grinned.

'May as well speak out, Johnny. They're all interested. . . . We're talking about the Carpenter, boys. Johnny went out to see him, yesterday. . . . Go ahead, Johnny. Tell us all about it.'

The men were pleased to be included in the conversation. They pocketed their awls. Some rested their elbows on their knees and cupped their chins in their hands. Even the weary young tramp showed a sudden interest at the mention of a carpenter whose doings had excited public curiosity. John was hesitant to begin; studied his slim, brown fingers as if he had never seen them before, and moistened his dry lips.

To fill in this awkward pause, Simon announced, 'I gave John leave yesterday to go out into the country and see what this hullabaloo amounted to. There have been all manner of wild tales, and it's high time somebody came forward with the truth.'

'Yaa!' yelled Zebedee. 'That yarn about his turning water into wine, over at Cana! You can't find anybody who will stand up and say he saw it himself. It's always the cousin of a brother-in-law who saw it—and he lives over in Samaria somewhere.'

Simon turned about and faced the old man with a scowl.

'If that is all you have to say for the present, Zebedee, we will give your son a chance to talk.'

There was now no way out for John, except to tell the story. He lifted his head and began his strange narrative.

'Learning that he had left Cana and was headed in this direction, I went out, hoping to meet him. On the hill I came upon quite a multitude of people gathered about him. Many of them had followed him from Cana, and apparently the others had joined the crowd along the way.'

'What did he look like?' broke in James.

'It was late afternoon when I arrived,' continued John, with a brief little gesture that postponed a reply to his brother's query. 'I tried to question a few on the edge of the crowd, but they gave no heed. They were all closely packed together, pushing in on him until he had hardly room to stand. I thought it was quite rude of them, though I soon found myself wanting to do the same thing.' He paused reminiscently, shook his head, and muttered, 'It was all very strange.'

Simon hitched about impatiently.

'Get on with it, Johnny! What was the fellow saying?'

'He wasn't what you'd call a big man,' continued John, with a glance toward his brother. 'Simon would overtop him by a good six inches.'

The Big Fisherman squared his shoulders and listened more complacently.

'But not meaning that he was frail,' amended John. 'His skin was much whiter than ours, though he wore nothing on his head and the sun was hot enough to burn him. He seemed very warm—and tired. His brown hair was curly and the sweat had coiled some tight little rings of it on his forehead, softening his face until it might have looked boyish if it hadn't been for his short beard. Even with the beard he looked much younger than he talked. His eyes . . .'

John broke off here and fumbled with the old net while his audience waited in silence. Presently he gave a deep sigh, shook his head—and went on, in a monotone of reminiscence.

'He didn't talk in a loud voice; not like a teacher or a preacher. You know what I mean: the way the scribes talk to people—as if they were reciting something to the woods or the moon; but not to anybody in particular. The Carpenter didn't seem to be speaking to the crowd as a crowd, but to each person, as if they were alone together, apart. . . . That was the first thing I noticed about his talk. I couldn't help feeling that he had singled me out and was speaking directly to me. Maybe that was why I wanted to get closer. I suppose that was why everyone crowded in, wanting to get closer.'

'Very well! Very well!' prodded Simon. 'You wanted to get closer. Now—what did he say?'

'That's what we're all waiting for, John,' shouted old Zebedee.

'He was talking about freedom—and happiness. Our country was never going to be free, he said. We should make up our minds to that. He said that if we were ever to have any happiness at all we must accept this bondage as something we couldn't alter, and plan to find our happiness within ourselves—seeing that our land would be subjugated, as long as we lived—and longer.'

'Wants us to be contented with our slavery, does he?' called Alphaeus from
The Sara.

'No—it isn't that he approves of our slavery,' John went on, unruffled by the interruption. 'He said that all men everywhere are governed by conditions that curb their freedom, and—'

'Doesn't believe in government, eh?' commented Andrew dryly. 'The Tetrarch will soon cure him of that.'

'What does he know about all men everywhere—this Carpenter from Nazareth?' scoffed Simon.

'He didn't say that he was against the government,' answered John, weary but patient. 'He said that every man could find freedom for himself, regardless of the laws. Freedom for his spirit. The richest gifts, he said, are beyond the control of any oppressor; property which nobody can carry away or withhold from us—'

'Such as what?' sniffed Simon, in a tone of raillery that made the sailors laugh.

'Dawn,' said John diffidently, knowing they would laugh again. 'Dawn—and the sunset—the mountains—the songs of birds—and'—his voice fell to an almost inaudible murmur as he queried their grinning faces—'and the warm rain—and morning dew on the grass—and wild poppies growing on the hill-slopes—'

'Wild poppies!' broke in Thaddeus from across the old net. 'Wild poppies! Songs of birds! Dew on the grass! Why didn't someone ask him how to make these things up into a porridge to feed the family?'

This was so good, and they all enjoyed it so much that Thad, embarrassed by his own wit, yawned widely to show that his sally didn't really amount to anything and he could be funnier than that if the occasion arose. It pleased him particularly to hear the Big Fisherman's roaring laugh. John accepted the general merriment with no sign of irritation. It was what he had expected.

'The Carpenter talked about that, Thad,' he said quietly, when the hilarity had subsided. 'He thinks that most people spend too much time making things up into porridge, fretting about porridge, thinking that nothing is any good unless it can be made up into porridge; spending their lives worrying for fear they might be short of food next winter—and in their old age. Worrying—until they have no happiness at all. . . . He said the birds did not worry—and yet they were fed.'

'Yaa!' yelled Zebedee—'but they've got to scratch for it!'

There was a gale of laughter. Old Zebedee was a pest, but this joke was excellent. The applause delighted him, and he repeated his witticism again and again for his nearest neighbours. 'Yes—they've got to scratch for it! . . . He! Ha! . . . Scratch for it!'

'That about the birds,' said Simon, 'sounds just like my old father. He never worried about where the next meal was coming from.'

The men chuckled discreetly. Zebedee, to show that he knew more than any of the younger ones about the pious improvidence of Jonas, laughed himself into a noisy fit of coughing. Andrew effectively shut off this racket by scowling at him, as if to say that if Simon wanted to jest a little about their righteous but unemployed father, that was his business; but there was no occasion for any comment from Zebedee, whose back always hurt him when there was anything to do.

Feeling now that his audience was neither sympathetic nor particularly interested in what he had been saying, John dug deep into his pocket, fetched up an awl, drew the edge of the old net across his knees and set to work.

'Aren't you going to tell us anything more?' asked Simon.

'Not at present,' said John remotely. 'I'd much rather not talk about it now. It's too serious. . . . It isn't at all a laughing matter.'

'But—please, Johnny!' entreated James. 'We will be quiet.' Glancing about the circle, with his sober eyes coming to rest on his father's smirk, he added, 'My brother has an important story to tell if we will let him. I, for one, would like to hear it.'

Slowly pocketing his awl and giving James a grateful smile, John continued with his strange narrative—and the men listened.

How to find happiness: that was the thing. Few of us would ever be wealthy, no matter how hard we tried; no matter how greedily we grabbed things out of other people's hands. And the possessions we got, whether by fair means or foul, would turn out to be encumbrances. We would always have to be on the lookout for thieves. We would be afraid to leave home, even if we left a watchman, for he might be dishonest. We would sleep with one eye open, and we would be suspicious of strangers. And it was not only the threat of theft that would keep us disquieted. Our possessions would be menaced by moths—and rust.

'Surely he didn't object to our having a bed and a couple of stools to sit on and a roof over our heads,' commented Alphaeus.

'First of all,' John went on, undiverted, 'we must stop fretting and complaining about our national servitude. Instead of flying into a rage when some gruff legionary imposes on us, we should quietly obey his orders, however unjust. If the soldier encounters one of us on the highway and hands us his pack to carry for a mile, let us take it and carry it for him—a mile—two miles.'

There was some subdued grumbling here, but nobody spoke up. Old Zebedee vigorously shook his grey head and made a sour grimace. Simon clenched a big fist and waggled it experimentally. The dirty camel-boy yawned.

'This led him to talk about the bearing of burdens,' pursued John. 'That was the best way to find happiness—bearing burdens for others, whether they were friends or foes. If enemies, they regard you more mercifully; if friends, they love you for it.'

'I don't believe that!' objected Thaddeus. 'Toadying to enemies doesn't make them a bit easier on you. They get the idea that you are afraid—and then they do lay it on!'

Many of the fishermen nodded their agreement. John did not pause to take note of this general disapproval.

'He said the way to find your happiness and peace is in helping other people carry their heavy packs—whatever they are.' Here John paused so long that they thought he was through. They shifted their position for better comfort, and a few of them made as if to resume their work on the net. Simon stretched, yawned prodigiously, and rubbed his eyes with his big knuckles.

'And that was all there was to it?' he queried. 'Nothing very exciting about such talk. You say the crowd listened?'

'Yes—we listened. We listened with our mouths open, so our breathing would not interfere with our hearing. As I told you—there is something peculiar about the Carpenter's voice. He doesn't talk as other men do. Nobody—ever—talked—like that!'

'But he didn't do anything—out of the ordinary?' James wanted to know.

'I had decided not to say anything about that; at least, not now,' faltered John. 'Because—I know you won't believe it.'

They all came promptly to attention and were very quiet.

'It was while he was talking about our finding happiness by bearing burdens. There was a man standing only a few feet away from me who had a paralysed arm—or something had ailed it so that it was much shorter and thinner than the other. But for this bad right arm, he was a pretty husky fellow. I had noticed him petting his short arm as if he was proud of it and wanted people to see it. All of a sudden, he broke into the Carpenter's speech, and held up this poor thing of an arm, hoisting it up by his good hand; and he shouted out, "How about me, sir? You can see that I cannot bear burdens!"'

Here John stopped, closed his eyes, and shook his head like an emerging diver.

'No—no—I cannot tell you!' he muttered thickly. 'You will not believe it! If any one of you were to tell me this, I'm sure I wouldn't believe a word of it!'

'Say on, Johnny!' commanded Simon. 'What happened?'

'The fellow's arm!' John's voice trembled. 'It was well, I tell you! It was sound! It was as long as the other!'

The fishermen stiffened their backs and stared at young John as if he were a stranger. Simon broke the silence.

'No, John, no!' he muttered. 'We can't have any of that, you know!'

Old Zebedee scrambled to his feet, pointed a shaky finger at his son, and shouted, 'That's the first time I ever heard you lie!'

James, habitually tolerant of his father's incessant airing of his views, now surprised them all by rising to face the noisy old man with a stern rebuke.

'My brother is not a liar, sir!' he exclaimed. 'Johnny may have misunderstood what he saw, but I will not sit here silently and hear him reviled as a liar—not even by his father!'

'It's a long, hard climb—up that hill,' put in Andrew, 'and yesterday was a hot day.'

'Aye,' nodded Alphaeus, to his immediate neighbours, 'the boy must have been a bit out of his head.'

'No, Johnny,' mumbled Simon, 'that's much too much! Such things don't happen.'