The Big Fisherman (49 page)

'Do you think then,' asked David respectfully, 'that the old laws should be repealed?'

'No, David!' exclaimed Jesus. 'Not repealed—but fulfilled!'

With that he rose and took leave of them, retiring to his bed-chamber. It was evident that he was very weary. After a moment of indecision, the Sadducee went to the front door to summon his servants. They had disappeared. He stood in the doorway, looking down the street; then impulsively beckoned to the men in the room, and set off with obvious agitation. They rose and followed quickly. Huge billows of black smoke puffed toward the sky in the vicinity of the Synagogue. Excited men were running down the middle of the road. Simon and the others soon overtook and passed David, all but old Nathaniel Bartholomew, who had a weak leg and poor wind. The fire angrily spat and crackled and roared as they neared the Synagogue plaza. Rounding the corner they saw what it was, the residence of Rabbi Ben-Sholem.

There Simon's steps slowed to a walk. He was quite out of breath from all the excitement and unusual exertion. He let everybody pass him and stood for a long moment panting hard. The acrid smoke stung his nostrils. Apparently there wasn't much to be done for the Rabbi's house. In any case, it was none of Simon's business. Rabbi Ben-Sholem had mistreated the Master. Perhaps the haughty old man was being punished for it. Maybe it was God's will that the Rabbi should lose his home. If so, who was Simon that he should have the impudence to interfere?

* * * * * *

Throughout those cheerless winter days the Big Fisherman learned that whilst it was highly exciting to be a friend and follower of Jesus when vast crowds of staring, sweating, importunate people trampled one another for better standing-ground to see and hear the Carpenter, it was very dull business when practised privately in the rain.

It seemed that every circumstance of Simon's experience during this bleak period was part of a diabolical conspiracy to break down his faith and fortitude.

To begin with, nobody could remember such a protracted siege of bad weather. It rained relentlessly, a cold, marrow-chilling rain that soaked the heaviest garments and leaked through into the soul. The oldsters, who were not required to go out into it very much, counselled patience. 'This abundance of rain,' they said, 'will bless our land next summer.' And so it would—and did; but it was tiresome while it lasted.

As for the fishing, it was utterly profitless. Of course no one ever expected much of a catch on a stormy day, but it at least provided subsistence and kept the men out of mischief. Ordinarily the dismal weather had but little effect upon the spirits of Simon's fleet. The fishermen joked about their discomforts. This season it was different. The fishing wasn't worth doing. The men were restless, sullen, and touchy.

Simon, who was never one to rush in ahead of everybody else to take the blame for something that had gone amiss, knew who was responsible for this unhappy state of affairs and knew that his men knew that he knew. . . . No—it wasn't the Big Fisherman's fault if it rained all day and all night every day and every night, nor could it be held against him that the perch wouldn't rise; but the sour and surly attitude of his dispirited crews was because of the skipper's indifference. He had lost all interest in his business. And if he didn't care, why should they?

Simon sat alone and had little to say. His heart was heavy. Ever since he had met Jesus he had been increasingly inattentive to his trade. It was perhaps inevitable that this should have happened. Once he had taken his place beside the Master as his foremost friend and assistant, calmly directing an excitable throng of awe-stricken people and competently keeping order among frantic suppliants, the old routines of mending nets and splicing ropes and sluicing the slimy decks of his fishing-smacks had lost their hold on his imagination; and no longer had he any pride in his fleet or any joy.

The worst thing about it was the quite apparent disaffection of the men and boys whose love and loyalty had meant so much to him. It was plain to see that their devotion to him was in serious disrepair. As the Big Fisherman, as the noisy, quick-tempered, profane, sacrilegious, hard-hitting Big Fisherman, they had idolized him. Now that he had been captivated by the soft-spoken Jesus, Simon was no longer their hero.

Nor was this the only cause of his dejection.

Nobody could have tortured this confession out of him, but Simon wished he were a little better satisfied with the Master's recent activities and attitudes. There was his carpentry, for example. Simon had thought it would be just the right thing for Jesus to engage in some gainful employment during the brief winter. The little carpenter-shop was indeed a happy thought. Maybe the influential Jairus would hear of it and approve. Jairus might even call, some day, and bring a chair to be mended; and remain to chat a while.

But it hadn't turned out very well. Who could foresee that Jesus would consent to work on the interior of old Ben-Sholem's house? Not only was he giving his full time to it every day, but he seemed infatuated with the job of installing the fine-grained olive-wood panelling on the walls and ceiling of the Rabbi's library, panelling so perfectly matched and mortised that its symmetrical pattern appeared to have been chiselled from one great tree.

Simon hadn't wanted him to do it at all. Surely Jesus was under no obligation to do a favour for the Rabbi. Moreover the wages were niggardly. The contractor had had the impudence to say that any man should consider it a privilege to work on 'a holy house,' even if he were paid nothing at all. That's the way it was with the synagogues: they had a bad habit of imposing on people in this manner, asking skilled craftsmen to donate their time. Why was the Rabbi a mendicant? He had his share of the tithes, hadn't he?

And that wasn't the whole cause of Simon's petulance. There was Ben-Sholem's contemptuous attitude toward Jesus, even while the Master was working for him! One afternoon Simon had dropped in to watch the progress of Jesus' labours. Presently the Rabbi brought Jairus in to show him what was going on. Sighting Simon, he testily inquired of the contractor, 'Is this man employed here?' And when the contractor shook his head, the Rabbi scowled and said, 'Then perhaps he should be on his way.'

Flushed with humiliation, Simon had left the house. It seemed to him that Jesus might have said something in defence of his friend. Had Simon been in Jesus' place he would have thrown down his tools and walked off the job. And then let the detestable old man try to find another carpenter capable of finishing that beautiful room!

Simon earnestly wished that Jesus were made of tougher stuff! With all that miraculous power at his disposal, why didn't he use some of it to defend himself and his cause; yes, and his friends, too, who were giving up everything for his sake?

He recalled what the servants at the palace had said about a strange, bug-eating hermit who had been jailed for predicting the advent of an Avenger. There was one coming who would put down the mighty from their seats and exalt men of low degree. He would carry an axe and a flail! The unjust would be cut down! Threshed! Abolished! It was clear enough now that Jesus had no such intentions. Perhaps there was another Anointed One coming.

That night Simon stealthily approached the unguarded prison by a circuitous route through the Tetrarch's vineyards; and, at the window-bars, talked long and seriously with the emaciated prisoner. It was true, as the servant-girls had reported: this John was confident that stern judgment was at hand for evil-doers in high places. The whole world would be shaken! Not only High Priests and Prefects would be punished: Caesar himself would feel the sting of that lash!

Next morning, the questing eyes of Jesus brought forth a full confession from Simon of the interview he had had with John in prison. To his surprise and relief, the Master listened complacently. After a long silence between them, Jesus said:

'You were talking with one of the most courageous men this world has ever produced. But John—for all his bravery—does not understand the workings of the Kingdom—my Kingdom. He would see all evil uprooted by the punishment of evil-doers. To set things right by violence has been tried again and again by earnest men, ever since the world began, but to no avail. My kingdom will overcome evil with good. It is not an easy way, my friend, but it is the only way!'

'This saying is difficult to understand, Master,' murmured Simon.

Jesus brightened, smiled reassuringly, and said: 'Go and talk with John again. Tell him what you yourself have seen; how the blind receive their sight, the deaf hear, cripples walk, and the poor are comforted with good news. . . . And tell him not to be disappointed in me.'

That afternoon the sun shone and the sky was blue. It seemed that the long season of the rains was ended. Jesus had completed his work at Ben-Sholem's house. At his suggestion, Andrew loaded the borrowed tools on to a cart and returned them to Ebenezer, the Master walking alongside. At the old carpenter's house, he tarried for a friendly word and gave Ebenezer half the wages he had received from the Rabbi.

On their way back to the cottage Andrew, who had been moved by Jesus' generosity and Ebenezer's tearful gratitude, found his voice and inquired:

'Will you soon be speaking again to the people, Master?'

'Tomorrow,' said Jesus. 'At Hammath. And then we are going on to Cana.'

As had been predicted during the long season of the rains, spring—as if to atone for tardiness—now came forward fast, fragrant, beautiful.

Nobody could remember such an abundance or variety of wild flowers along the roads and on the hillsides. Indeed gay blossoms bloomed in desert places and even the most arid areas on the Plains of Esdraelon offered pasturage.

Not much farm work had begun yet, for the fields were still too wet for ploughing, but everybody along the western shore of Lake Gennesaret, except the definitely bedridden, had come out-of-doors rejoicing; and of all who faced the spring with exultation there was no heart in Galilee more nearly ready to burst with happiness than Esther's.

So far she had not confided the nature of her ecstasy to anyone but David, who had pressed her for an explanation. She had wanted to tell Hannah, and promised herself that some day she would, but it involved a long, almost incredible story; and at the moment, Hannah's mind was wholly occupied with the mystery of her own miraculous recall from death. It was clear enough that Hannah wondered what had come over Esther: sometimes her soft, brown eyes, resting on the girl's radiant face, suddenly widened, narrowed, queried—and gave it up. Simon, too, meeting Esther's luminous eyes, would study them with a puzzled stare. Andrew suspected that her new radiance had something to do with Hannah's recovery, though he couldn't guess what the connection might be, and certainly had no intention of asking. If she wanted him to know her secret she would tell him. This much he was sure of: she had been an entirely different person ever since the day of Hannah's healing.

It had not immediately occurred to Esther that she no longer had any business detaining her in Galilee. Although her hazardous errand of vengeance had suddenly and conclusively arrived at an end, the new sensation of freedom had taken full possession of her mind. Nor had she any misgivings over her abandonment of the vow to which she had been so long in bondage. Jesus had commanded her to put down the intolerable weight she had borne, and Jesus was to be obeyed. Whatever he said was right.

But she was soon going to need some advice about the future. Obviously Jesus himself was the person she should confide in, but she must wait for a suitable opportunity. Meantime, she could be helpful to Hannah, who had not yet recovered her full strength.

On the first fair afternoon, when the rains had ended, Hannah insisted that Esther should take a walk in the sunshine. She gratefully complied, taking the road up the slope toward the Zadok mansion. It was not her intention to call; or, at least, that was what she told herself as she entered the grounds; but presently she found David sauntering along a garden path. He seemed very happy to see her, fell into step beside her, directed her to a rustic seat.

'I have been impatient to talk with you, my child,' he said. 'You were present, I think, when that strange thing happened to Hannah. I should be glad to hear your own opinion of it. The neighbours believe there was a miracle wrought. What say you, Esther?'

'Hannah was dying, sir,' she replied firmly. 'Everybody knew it. No one who saw her has doubted it.'

'And you think this Jesus, the Carpenter, healed her? Did you see that? What did he do? What did he say?'

'I am glad you asked me to tell you, sir!' Esther's throaty voice was vibrant with excitement. 'I saw it. I was the only one he asked to remain in the room when he healed her. And he healed me, too,' she added impulsively.

'You!' exclaimed David. 'And what ailed you?' Leaning forward, with knitted brows, he listened while Esther ventured upon her strange story. Presently he broke in to inquire, 'You say he called you Fara?'

She nodded slowly.

'He called me Fara, as if he had known me for a long time and was accustomed to addressing me so.'

'I suppose you think, then, that he knows all about you—and your errand in Galilee.'

Esther's reply was delayed, while David studied her eyes.

'I think, sir,' she murmured, 'that Jesus knows everything! Everything about me! Everything about everybody!'

'Proceed, please. I shall not interrupt any more.'

With that encouragement, Esther continued; and, when she had ended, she searched the old lawyer's narrowed eyes and disappointedly shook her head.

'I'm afraid you don't believe me,' she said, with a sigh.

'I'm afraid I do, daughter,' confessed David. 'My whole mind cries out against any credence in such things, but the evidence here is too strong. Whatever happened to Hannah, it is clear enough that something has happened to you! It is in your eyes, your voice, your smile! You are a new creature! Transformed!'

They had been speaking in Aramaic, Esther having wanted to quote the words of Jesus exactly as they were uttered. She now replied in Greek to David's unexpected comments on the change that had come over her. The old man watched her mobile lips with candid pleasure. It was not often, in these days, that he heard this musical language, and it not only delighted but amused him to note the new freedom and assurance in the girl's voice as she went on.