The Big Fisherman (20 page)

John hung his head, not as if he resented their disbelief, but regretful that he had consented to tell the story. Suddenly the murmurs ceased as Simon held up a hand for silence.

'Well, Johnny, you may as well go on with it,' he said roughly. 'You can see that you've nothing to lose. Nobody believes you—but we'd better have the rest of it, if there is any more. Did this fortunate fellow, with the healed arm, thank the Carpenter—and maybe hand him a shekel?'

'The people were stunned!' muttered John, without looking up. 'A woman standing next to the man fainted and crumpled up on the ground. The man himself was panting hard, making queer little squeaks in his throat. You couldn't tell whether he was trying to laugh or cry. Everybody was quiet—and pale. I felt a little sick in my stomach, the way you feel at the sight of a bleeding wound—only—I think—the shock of seeing a deformed arm suddenly made well is worse than seeing a bad accident. . . . While we were all standing there, gaping at the arm, the Carpenter said, "Now, my friend, you can bear burdens. See toit that you do—or a worse thing might come upon you."' John's voice was unsteady as he finished his story. After an interval of silence, he rose slowly and faced the company with sober eyes. 'I know that you do not believe what I have told you,' he declared—'but may God strike me dead if it is not the truth!'

'Blasphemy!' yelled old Zebedee.

'I'm not saying you lied, Johnny,' said Simon, 'but I do think you have been seeing things—like the strange animals you find in the clouds. It's no harm to imagine things in the sky—but this is different! I only hope you aren't losing your mind! Tell us truly now: were you out there at all? Did you really see this Carpenter? I think you dreamed it—all of it—while you were asleep under a tree.'

This brought on nervous laughter.

'Run along, Johnny,' said Simon, as if to a mere toddler. 'You've done enough for one day. Go somewhere and rest your dizzy head.'

Flushed with humiliation, John moved slowly across the net and walked with uncertain steps toward the bow. James watched him with troubled eyes.

'I think I shall go too,' he said.

'Maybe you'd better ask permission,' advised his father.

'You may go, James,' growled Simon. 'Talk your flighty brother out of this nonsense and bring him back when he's cured of it.'

'My brother may not want to come back,' said James, 'after the shameful treatment he has had!'

'He may do as he likes about that,' snapped Simon hotly. 'The fleet can get along without him. . . . And you needn't come back, either, if you're so easily offended.'

'Hear that?' shouted Zebedee. 'You'll be losing your job if you aren't careful!'

James made no reply, but followed his brother. A moment later the silent sailors heard the clatter of oars in a dory's rowlocks. Craning their necks, they saw the little boat making toward the beach. Simon stood to watch it, frowning darkly. He turned about and faced Andrew.

'I'll not go out today,' he said. 'Finish with the net, and take the fleet over to the south shore where we fished yesterday.'

Andrew followed him as he stalked forward, overtaking him amidships.

'What do you want done with this young tramp?' he inquired.

Simon gave a wry smile and stroked his jaw. Now that Johnny had turned out to be an ungrateful fool, he would teach him a lesson by giving his flouted friendship to this ragged waif. Johnny would come creeping back tomorrow to find that he had lost his place as the skipper's pet. He beckoned to Joe, who came promptly to his side.

'Come with me, son,' he said, kindly. 'You shall have a clean bed to sleep in tonight.'

Old Zebedee had wriggled forward and stood by, rubbing his wrinkled hands.

'I'm sorry my boys acted that way,' he whimpered.

'You'd do well to mind your own business,' growled Simon.

* * * * * *

There had been almost no conversation between them as they trudged along on the well-beaten highway to suburban Bethsaida. The sun was high now—and hot. A few steps in advance of his young companion, the Big Fisherman marched steadily with long strides, moodily preoccupied and quite oblivious of the sandal-patter behind him. These shorter footsteps were erratic, for the camel-boy frequently turned about to survey the huge marble palace of the Tetrarch, sometimes walking backwards for a dozen steps and shading his eyes for better vision.

They were entering the residential district now where well-kept houses sat back from the dusty street, partly hidden by tall acacias, cypress, and olive trees. A corner was turned to the left. At the next corner Simon slowed, encouraging the camel-boy to come abreast of him. Opening a small wicket-gate, he led the way toward a commodious grey-brick cottage. The door yard was shady. A pleasant-faced woman of middle age was raking leaves.

'What brings you home so early, Simon?' she inquired, with a side glance at the dishevelled stranger. 'Anything the matter?'

'You sit down here on the stoop, son,' said Simon. 'I want a word with you, Hannah.'

The Idumean tramp was gratified by this tentative hospitality, and sank down wearily on the step, legs aching from trying to keep up with the long steps of the Galilean giant. The woman had put down the rake and they had entered the house. The skipper would confer with this Hannah, who was probably his mother—though she seemed too young for that—and she would shake her head and say, 'No—please, Simon; not an Idumean! And he looks so terribly dirty! He's probably lousy too.'

After what seemed a very long time, they came out on the little porch where Joe sat. It was a relief to see a cordial smile on the woman's face.

'My mother-in-law, Hannah, has consented to let you rest here with us for a day or two, seeing how very tired you are,' said Simon. Turning to Hannah, he added, 'I may not be home for supper.'

'Perhaps you should have a bite to eat before you go.'

'I'm not hungry.' Without a farewell word Simon walked rapidly to the gate and down the street as if his errand might be of some urgency.

Hannah sat down on the step, a little way apart from her guest, caught up a wisp of greying hair that had fallen over her temple; and, after soberly searching the tired, long-lashed eyes, smiled a little.

'Your name is Joe,' she said pleasantly. 'And you are from away down in Idumea.'

Joe nodded, but offered no further facts about himself.

'We do not see many Idumeans up here,' said Hannah. 'In fact, I never saw one before.'

Joe sighed deeply, but had nothing to say about Idumea.

'You would probably enjoy a bath,' said Hannah.

'Ohhh!' breathed the dirty boy. 'Would I!'

'Then—come with me.' Hannah rose and led the way into the cool, well-furnished house. 'That bedroom straight ahead of you, Joe. I shall bring you a tub of water. You will find towels in the room.'

'Please let me do that!' insisted Joe. 'Show me where it is—and I will help myself.'

Hannah darted an inquiring glance into the waif's eyes. She had not expected any graciousness on the part of this young vagabond. Showing him the large wooden tub in the store-room off the kitchen, and pointing to the cistern, she returned to her leaf-raking. Presently she retraced her steps and tapped at the bedroom door.

'If you will hand me your soiled clothes, I will wash them, and hang them out in the sun to dry.'

The splashing ceased and there was quite an interval of silence. At length the boy made a flustered reply.

'Oh—but I didn't expect you to do that!'

'Surely you are not intending to put those dirty garments on again?' Hannah's voice rose in indignation. 'They have got to be cleaned—for our sake if not yours! Open that door now—a little way—and hand them to me!'

After some silence and delay, the door was reluctantly opened wide enough to accommodate a small, brown, wet hand holding a shabby jacket and a pair of coarse trousers, clothing worn only by the poorest of peasants. Hannah took them gingerly with her finger-tips and made a wry face.

'Didn't you have anything on under these dreadful rags?' she inquired.

'Y-yes,' stammered Joe; 'but, please, I can wash them myself.'

'Don't be foolish!' snapped Hannah. 'I won't have those filthy things in my house—not another minute! Let me have them!' And when there was no immediate response, she called sternly, 'I'm waiting!'

Again the door opened slightly, grudgingly, and the damp hand delivered two badly rumpled under-garments which Hannah grabbed impatiently. Averting her face, she carried them to the back door and pitched them out on the grass. She was more than disgusted with the task she had set for herself. She had been foolish to take this dirty tramp into her house. Simon had no right to ask her to do it.

Then something attracted her attention. She stepped out on the ground and inspected the under-garments with wide-eyed curiosity. They were dainty and exquisitely made of the finest, sheerest linen she had ever seen. Unquestionably they were a woman's clothing. This Joe was a thief then!

She might have known it.

She sat down on the grass and fingered the gauzy material. Where could this tramp have come upon such articles? What opportunity would he have had to steal clothing of this value? And—imagine a camel-boy wanting to wear a woman's clothes! Now an utterly preposterous idea arrived to confuse the problem. Could this Joe be a girl? Hannah recalled her wonderment at the extraordinarily long, curling lashes when she had looked into the boy's weary eyes. And the small, slim hand. But—even assuming that the youngster was masquerading, that didn't explain this expensive underwear.

She held up the shirt, woven of costly linen. On the left breast there was embroidered a peculiar device. Hannah studied it with mystification. The emblems in the blue oval meant something: she was sure of that. There was a new moon, done in gold thread, circling about a silver star; and crossing through the slim moon and the star, a white sword and a shepherd's crook.

Suddenly Hannah resolved to make an experiment that might solve the mystery. She returned to the bedroom door and listened. It was very quiet in there now.

'Joe,' she called.

'Yes.' The voice was sleepy—or was it frightened?

'I've found out something about you.'

There was no reply.

'Joe—you're a girl!'

'Y-yes,' weakly, wearily; 'I know.'

'Well'—Hannah's voice was unsteady—'after you've rested, look in the closet for some clothing.' Her tone had softened. 'In the chest you will find under-garments—not nearly so fine as yours, but serviceable. They belonged to my daughter—who died.' And when there was no reply, she added, 'Or would you prefer to go on pretending you're a boy?'

The answer was muffled and inaudible.

'Perhaps you might enjoy being a girl again,' persisted Hannah gently—'just for a day or two while you are here. . . . I wouldn't tell on you.'

'Yes—please,' murmured the girl brokenly. She was crying. . . . And so was Hannah.

After she had washed the clothes—and it had taken more time than such a task should have called for in any other circumstance—Hannah hung them out to dry. It had gratified her to find that while the rough outer garments were badly soiled, the dainty underwear, though wrinkled, was fairly clean. Apparently these garments had been recently washed, perhaps in some forest brook.

Although consumed by curiosity to learn the girl's story, Hannah had no thought of disturbing her now: she was utterly spent and would probably sleep for hours. There was still much leaf-raking to be done, and it seemed that the leaves which needed immediate attention were close to the north fence. Incidentally, David would be strolling by before long, as was his custom. David was learned and widely travelled. He would be almost sure to know what these strange symbols meant. Should she ask him?

More than an hour had passed, with Hannah becoming very warm and weary, before the eminent Sadducee appeared, sedately marching down the hill. He paused, laid a hand on the fence, and offered the usual greeting. The conversation did not flow freely. Yes, Hannah agreed, it was indeed a warm day for this time of the year. But she had enjoyed the exercise—and the leaves must be gathered up before it rained. No, Simon wasn't there and might not be home until late.

When it appeared that nothing remained to be said, David bowed soberly and was taking his leave. Hannah advanced a step and halted him with a diffident query. She had come upon a bit of linen, she said, that bore some strange tokens. It was blue and oval in shape, and in the centre there was the figure of a new moon and a star.

David, smiling condescendingly, broke in with surprise that she did not recognize the well-known star and crescent of Arabia.

'But that wasn't quite all,' continued Hannah. 'Crossing through this moon and star there was a sword and a shepherd's crook.'

'Impossible!' muttered David. 'Where did you find this?'

Hannah was visibly embarrassed and her heart raced. She had not reckoned on a question that would demand fuller explanation and her expression showed that she now regretted having introduced the subject. Her confusion spurred the lawyer's curiosity. He stepped closer and soberly searched her eyes.

'This morning a hungry and ragged camel-boy appeared on one of Simon's ships,' began Hannah nervously, 'and Simon—you know, sir, how big-hearted he is—took pity on the young fellow and brought him home—to rest and be properly fed for a day or two. I made him take a bath; and, while he was doing that, I washed his clothing. These strange figures were embroidered on one of his garments.'

'I should like to see it,' said David.

'It's still wet, sir—from the washing,' said Hannah.

David impatiently assured her that it wouldn't matter at all if the garment was wet. He wanted to see it, and he wanted to see it now! So Hannah brought it and handed it over.

'This is a woman's raiment!' said David.

Hannah dropped her eyes—and nodded.

'You will keep it a secret, sir, won't you?' she entreated. 'I gave her my word I wouldn't tell.'

'I should have no motive for betraying you, Hannah.' He handed back the garment. 'It is better that no one be told—about this insignia.'