The Big Fisherman (47 page)

In all this work of transforming the old house into a place of business, Simon had not participated. He had remained at home. Hannah was ill, had been ill for days; nor was she showing any signs of improvement; growing worse, if anything.

The testy old physician, Gershon, had been attentive, but his medicines were ineffective. Rabbi Elimelech had called and was astonished by Hannah's haggard appearance. The relentless fever had taken a heavy toll of her, as if she were gradually melting in its fire. Esther was doing her utmost to make the patient comfortable, but every hour increased her anxiety about Hannah, who lay half-conscious, unresponsive, rousing only to accept a spoonful of cold water on a parched tongue. Simon clumsily tried to help Esther with the housework. Most of the time he wandered about from room to room, rubbing his bearded chin and trying to make Esther say that Hannah was a little better.

Strangely enough, it had not occurred to the Big Fisherman that Jesus should be summoned. Somehow, Jesus' ministry of healing seemed to belong to great crowds of miserable people, strangers, the general public. Simon sincerely believed in the Master's power to heal diseases. Had he not seen it happen again and again? Indeed, he had become so accustomed to these breath-taking restorations that even while they were in progress he would calmly admonish the impatient cot-bearers, waiting their turn, to keep in line.

'No crowding, please!' Simon would say. 'The Master will attend to you.' Why—it was almost as if Simon owned the show and employed Jesus as an accomplished healer. Simon had enjoyed the sensation of seeing strangers tug their forelocks when they asked him, deferentially, if he would not speak to Jesus on their behalf.

And now, with such dire necessity for better help than old Gershon could offer, Simon had not called on Jesus. Looking back upon it afterwards he admitted to himself, with appropriate shame, that—without realizing the foolishness of his vanity—he had become a professional. Jesus could do, and had done, amazing things for the public; and Simon as partner in—if not manager of—this awe-inspiring enterprise had let his distinction go to his head. The public listened when Simon spoke—and obeyed him, too.

How long it might have taken him to become aware that he, Simon, desperately needed Jesus in the privacy of his own house!—now!—was left undetermined by Esther's appearance in the open doorway of the living-room where Simon sat holding his shaggy head in his hands.

'I'm afraid Hannah is growing weaker, sir,' she said.

He rose quickly, mumbling that he would go and notify Gershon. She laid a detaining hand on his huge, hairy forearm, and murmured: 'Had you thought of sending for Jesus?'

The girl's query resounded accusingly in his mind all the way to Capernaum. Having reached the highway his rapid strides had quickened to a run. He was too heavy for such exertion. His lungs hurt and his mouth was dry; and his soul cried out against him. Why hadn't he sent for Jesus? His mind was in tumult as he ran. What a weakling he was! . . . True—he had confessed to Jesus, that early morning on the lakeshore, that he was weak and sinful, and that Jesus had better not have anything to do with him. But he really hadn't meant that he was that bad. It had seemed the right thing to say at the time. Within an hour, he had begun to feel that his self-abasement had been somewhat extravagant. Jesus had invited him to come and help him: Jesus knew what he was about; Jesus would not have asked him had Simon been as weak and wicked as he said. . . . Well, now we knew how weak and wicked we were!

Through the early part of the forenoon, Jesus had been diligently at work on Ebenezer's old lathe. It had rained all night, but had ceased now, and Andrew had been out in the door-yard bracing up some fallen vines. Passing the window, he observed that the Master had discontinued his labours and was sitting bolt upright on the battered tool-chest, staring straight ahead of him with troubled eyes. It worried Andrew; and after a while he decided to go in and inquire. Entering, he was relieved to find Jesus busily at work again, his tension apparently eased. Presently the Master walked to the door and stood looking down the street expectantly.

Simon was ready to drop when he arrived. Too breathless and exhausted to speak, he flung himself into a chair, panting.

'Whatever is the matter with you?' demanded Andrew, stooping over him. Jesus was slipping his arms into the sleeves of his robe.

'Come quickly, Andrew,' he said quietly. 'Simon will follow us when he is rested.'

* * * * * *

There had been need of haste. Neighbour women filled the house and their men stood about, in low-voiced groups, under the dripping trees. Everybody made way for Jesus as he entered.

Gershon was ostentatiously packing his bag. He glanced up and frowned darkly when the Nazarene, whom he had often reviled as a conscienceless fraud, appeared in the doorway.

'And what might you be doing here?' he demanded savagely.

Rabbi Elimelech moved forward, looking as if he wanted to intervene.

'I say the woman is dying!' Gershon faced the Rabbi indignantly. 'Is she to be tormented by this—this Carpenter?' He glared scornfully at Jesus, who made no reply.

'But—if Hannah is dying, friend Gershon,' ventured Elimelech, 'she is beyond any harm. I beg you to let this young man see her.'

'Very well!' rasped Gershon, making off with his kit. 'You are all fools!' he shouted, as he elbowed roughly through the silent neighbours who had congregated in the hallway. 'Fools!' he yelled back angrily from the open door. 'All of you! Fools!'

'We must make allowances for Gershon, sir,' explained the Rabbi gently. 'He is getting old—and he isn't very well.'

Jesus affectionately laid a hand on the Rabbi's thin shoulder and smiled into the old man's eyes.

'That,' he said, softly, 'is the right spirit. You are a blessing to these people, Rabboni!'

Elimelech's eyes filled as he turned away. The women stared into his contorted face as he passed. He seemed exalted! Something—they knew not what—had happened to their good old Rabbi!

Jesus now quickly and confidently assumed charge of the situation. Motioning the women to withdraw, he was closing the bedroom door. As Esther followed them out, he detained her.

'You will remain, daughter,' he said.

For a time he stood gazing down into Hannah's waxen face, with sorrow and anxiety in his eyes. Then he drew up a chair close beside the bed and sat down. Glancing up at Esther he signed for her to kneel at the bedside; and, after some little hesitation—for she wasn't sure what was expected of her—she obeyed, resting her elbows on the edge of the bed and taking Hannah's hand in both of her own.

'It's so cold, sir,' she said, in a half-whisper.

Jesus took Hannah's other hand in his and for a long moment there was complete silence.

'Do you know how to pray, Fara?' he asked softly.

Startled, she looked up, wide-eyed, into his face; then put her head down on Hannah's arm.

'No, sir,' she murmured in a shaken voice.

'Do they not pray—in Arabia?' he asked.

'Some do, I think,' she said. 'We never did—in my home—except Ione.' She did not explain Ione, implying that Jesus would know. 'Ione prayed often. She had many Gods.'

'There is only one God, Fara. Ione prayed for His many benefits thinking that there were as many Gods. . . . Shall I teach you how to pray?'

She nodded her head, without replying.

'Say, "Our Father."'

'"Our Father,"' she mumbled, in a voice that was full of tears.

'Now, tell Him—in secret—that you love Hannah and want her to recover.'

Fara was crying now. Shaking her head despairingly, she looked up through blinding tears and said thickly: 'It would do no good, Master; not from me. I am unworthy.'

'Then—perhaps you had better ask Him, first, to cleanse your heart of evil. You are carrying a great weight, Fara. You too need to be healed.'

Again she looked up into his compassionate eyes.

'You—you know about it, Master?'

Jesus drew a deep sigh. 'Ask our Father to set you free, Fara. Then ask Him to help Hannah.'

She buried her face in Hannah's arm, her body trembling with convulsive sobs. Gradually her weeping ceased. At length Jesus spoke, not in a tone of entreaty but command!

'Hannah!' he called. Rising to his feet, and grasping both her hands, he called again: 'Hannah! Come! Awake!'

With a long, shuddering sigh, Hannah opened her eyes, looked up dazedly into Jesus' face, smiled, and drifted off to sleep. Fara sat up, staring in open-mouthed amazement.

'Prepare some porridge for her,' said Jesus. 'She will waken again, presently.' The sweat was dripping from his face and his hands were trembling. As Fara reached the door, he spoke sternly. 'If you have made a new promise today, see that you keep it! God is not mocked!'

* * * * * *

Having been house-bound for several days by the rains, David had decided to stretch his legs. It was still wet underfoot and dark overhead; not a pleasant day for a walk, but he couldn't stay cooped up any longer.

Slogging along through the mud he wondered why, when he didn't really have to, he remained in Galilee through the tedious and depressing weeks of the winter season. Of course there was his sister to consider. Deborah couldn't be budged from home and David disliked the thought of leaving her alone with the servants.

Approaching the corner where Hannah lived, he was surprised to see the number of people who had gathered about the house. It was apparent from their attitude that something serious had happened. He paused and was about to beckon to one of the solemn-faced men when he saw the Big Fisherman toiling wearily up from the highway.

Sighting his eminent neighbour, Simon moved toward him and explained what the trouble was. Hannah was grievously ill; beyond recovery, maybe. David shook his head and murmured his sympathy.

'She may have taken a turn for the worse,' added Simon, anxiously surveying the silent assembly of neighbours. 'I have been gone for an hour. I went to summon Jesus.'

'Ah? The Carpenter?' David was astonished. 'I am surprised that you have any faith in the fellow.' And when Simon made no reply, he went on dryly, 'And perhaps you haven't. . . . Any port in a storm; eh?'

Simon gnawed at his underlip, as if contemplating a response, but remained silent. It was evident that the cynical old Sadducee had not heard of his public association with Jesus. David had no reason to think that the Big Fisherman would take the slightest interest in this wandering preacher.

'Is the Carpenter in there now?' asked the lawyer.

'I suppose so,' said Simon almost indifferently. 'If you will excuse me, sir'—turning away—'I will go in—and see how she is.' He walked rapidly round the corner and was unlatching the gate when the crowd on the stoop was ploughed apart by old Gershon, who, noisy with indignation, tottered down the path. Simon stood in his way.

'What is it, Gershon?' he demanded.

'Fools!' shrilled the old man.

'How is Hannah?' Simon clutched at Gershon's sleeve.

'Dying! Let go of me! You are all fools!' Gershon nearly upset himself by his angry tug to be free. At the gate he came face to face with David, who had rounded the corner and stood waiting. Instantly the old physician's manner changed. Bowing deeply, he rubbed a shaky hand across his forehead and tried to steady his voice as he explained his rage.

David listened impassively until Gershon had finished.

'How do you know he can't!' he inquired. 'Apparently, all you know is—you can't! Perhaps you had better wait and verify your opinion.'

'But'—spluttered Gershon—'the fellow is not a physician! He is a carpenter!' He was moving sullenly away, disappointed over this interview with the most influential man in Bethsaida, when the sound of many voices came from the cottage—excited, astonished, happy voices! Amazing news circulated through the crowd that massed about the steps. Simon, his heart pounding hard, pushed his way into the house and down the hall toward Hannah's bedroom. Andrew was emerging with wet eyes and a queer little whimper that seemed oddly out of keeping with his radiant smile. It was true then! It had happened! . . . Hannah was sitting up. Esther, kneeling beside the bed, was feeding her from a bowl of broth. Simon stood there silently, his eyes overflowing.

'Hannah!' he murmured.

'It was Jesus!' she said, hardly above a whisper.

'Where is he?' asked Simon.

Esther glanced up to say that he must be somewhere in the house; that he was here only a moment ago. Simon withdrew to inquire. He met Andrew, and asked him.

'The Master has gone,' replied Andrew.

'Did he say where he was going?'

'No. He may have gone back to Capernaum.'

'You didn't see him leave?'

Andrew shook his head.

'He . . . the Master didn't inquire for me, did he?' asked Simon, after some hesitation.

Andrew shook his head.

'Did he have anything to eat?' asked Simon.

'Probably didn't want anything,' said Andrew. 'He was very tired.'

'I shall try to overtake him—on the road,' said Simon, moving away.

Walking rapidly to the highway, he shaded his eyes for better vision and searched the thoroughfare, as far as he could see; but without sighting Jesus.

Troubled, lonely, ashamed, and sick at heart, he trudged slowly toward Capernaum. As he neared the old home, his steps lagged. The door was open. Jesus was at work on the old lathe. Simon went in and sat down on the tool-chest. He waited for Jesus to speak.

After a long silence, Jesus put down Ebenezer's broken contraption and said, with a sigh: 'Simon, Satan has been beating you on his threshing-floor.'

There was nothing that the remorseful Simon could say. He hung his head and tugged at his lip.

Leaning forward with a sigh, Jesus again took up the broken lathe and resumed his work. Presently he turned toward Simon with a compassionate smile and said gently, as to a chastised child: 'But I am still praying for you.'

* * * * * *

David had never been quite so confused. There were plenty of mysteries in life which nobody tried to understand, mysteries which everybody took for granted. But this one cried out for an explanation.