The Big Fisherman (74 page)

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But now a more acute problem than the foolishness of Prince Deran was monopolizing the mind and conversation of Arabia.

At widespread intervals, usually in midsummer, there had been many cases of a sudden, crippling paralysis, affecting children mostly, though occasionally striking down an adult, too. This season the mysterious affliction, for which there had been found no cure, was rapidly mounting to epidemic proportions. Alarmed mothers were keeping their children at home, but with no assurance of their safety. The dreaded disease struck at random and struck hard! Nor was it a respecter of persons, in testimony whereof the Thing laid its hand on Prince Deran. The news travelled fast, and the sorrow of Arabia was under excellent control. The sheiks and the shepherds did not risk saying, 'Serve him right!' But they scowled and lifted an indifferent shoulder, which came to the same thing—and couldn't be quoted.

Never had there been a fairer morning in Jerusalem than on this Day of Pentecost.

Since dawn, every road leading into the city had been filling with merry-makers on foot from the provinces, and within an hour the highways were crowded.

Frequently the country people scampered to the hedges, good-naturedly conceding the right of way to impressive caravans from distant lands, unannoyed by the haughty stares of the urbane strangers.

Once within the gaily decorated gates, the festive throng jostled toward the bazaars and food-markets, while the sober-faced men of consequence, indifferent to the city's gaiety, proceeded on through to the Sheep Gate and up the steepening Bethany boulevard to Levi's Inn, where, after a comforting bath and a change of linen, they would rest until it was time to attend the famous camel-auction in the early afternoon.

A short distance down the hill from Levi's stood a massive old stone structure which had long served as headquarters for the Coppersmiths' Guild. It was an undeniably ugly building, but no discredit to the street, for the organization that it housed was one of the most honourable institutions in Jerusalem. The Coppersmiths' Guild had been the first society to volunteer substantial aid to Nehemiah when he rebuilt the city's walls more than four centuries ago.

The high-ceilinged, rectangular second story of the Guildhall, accessible by an outside staircase, was used as an auditorium. It had seating for approximately two hundred and served not only the general conclaves of the Guild but was frequently rented to business conventions with a large non-resident membership.

The hall was open this morning and gradually filling with men of all sorts whose only observable relation to one another was their apparent uncertainty as to the nature of their errand. For the most part they came singly. The majority of them were of middle age, plainly dressed in country garb, and obviously from the provinces. They slowly mounted the stone staircase, diffidently entered the dingy old auditorium, and stood awkwardly for a long moment wondering what was expected of them, for there were no ushers, nor was there anyone in sight who had the appearance of being responsible for the mysterious meeting. After tarrying awhile at the door, the bewildered men from the country found seats and sat down to wait. A sprinkling of well-dressed men of affairs stalked in, one by one; but, for all their urbanity, they seemed quite as confused as the unsophisticated provincials.

Jairus turned to young Joel, as they lingered in the doorway to survey the half-filled room, and asked, 'Do you see anyone you ever saw before?' And Joel, craning about, shook his head; but immediately amended his reply to whisper, 'Over there is a man I recognize. His name is Micah. He was a labourer in the Tetrarch's vineyard.'

'I wonder what brings him here,' mumbled Jairus.

'His little girl was blind,' said Joel. 'Jesus opened her eyes. I saw Him do it, sir. Last summer. But I heard, a few days ago, that the child had just died. Of a fever. . . . Maybe that's what brings Him here, sir.'

'You mean—perhaps Micah thinks that Jesus, now that He is alive again, may give his little girl back to him?'

'I don't know, sir,' murmured Joel.

'Do you suppose that all these people knew Jesus?' wondered Jairus.

'It could be, sir.'

They found seats near the rear of the hall. Presently a distinguished-looking, smooth-shaven Roman with close-cropped grizzled hair came in, glanced about, and strode directly to the rear, seating himself at the end of the row but one vacant chair apart from Jairus. They gave each other a brief appraisal without speaking.

For a full quarter of an hour there had been no new arrivals. Apparently the company was complete. Now the heavy oaken door began to complain of its rusted hinges. All heads were turned in that direction and mystified eyes watched the massive door slowly close, though no one had touched it. Jairus darted an inquiring glance at the Roman at the same instant that Mencius arched an eyebrow toward Jairus; but neither spoke. The baffled audience again faced forward. The room grew strangely quiet.

Then a giant of a man, seated in the front row, rose and walked confidently to the rostrum. Only a few in the transfixed audience failed to recognize him; but even those who had seen him, again and again, as he stood at the Master's side, protecting him in the crush of great throngs, observed instantly that something had happened to the Big Fisherman.

They hadn't always liked his attitude on those eventful summer days. He had kept the great crowds in order, yes; and he had made the bearers of the sick ones take their turn. But sometimes his manner had annoyed them. It was almost as if he owned the show—and Jesus was his exhibit. Not infrequently some offended man, who had been unceremoniously pushed back into line, would grumble, 'Who does that big fellow think he is, anyhow?'

Now it appeared that some sort of miracle had been wrought upon Peter.

For one thing, he had a different face. The former face had been more than a bit bumptious, the darting eyes audacious, the lips inclined to purse protrudingly. The Big Fisherman's new face was refined. All the old deep-chiselled lines carved by habitual brashness and bluster were gone; ironed out as by fire. There were still plenty of lines, but they had not been engraved by self-pride: Peter had evidently suffered to earn his new countenance.

Maybe the changed colour of his hair had had something to do with the softening and refinement of his face. His heavy thatch, previously black as a raven's wing, had turned grey—in patches. It was sprinkled with grey throughout, but at his temples and where the hair grew low on the middle of his forehead, there were broad strips of white, snow-white. His formerly unkempt black beard had been shortened; it too glistened with white. Peter's face had lost its austerity and had taken on dignity. . . . Mencius, who once had had a fleeting glimpse of the gigantic man running down the street, recognized nothing about him but his extraordinary height, and told Captain Fulvius, when he rejoined
The Vestris,
that the massive Galilean, who directed the meeting on the Day of Pentecost, was the most august and majestic figure he had ever seen.

But perhaps the chief distinction of the transformed disciple was his arresting voice: deep, resonant, commanding. It had the tone of authority. When he began by saying that he was speaking on behalf of the Living Christ to a selected company of men reverently awaiting tidings of him, it was evident in the faces and postures of the audience that Peter's commission was, in their opinion, authentic.

It had been the hope of God from the beginning, he said, that His children would inherit the Kingdom. He had not compelled them to accept its benefits. He had endowed them with free will to claim or refuse their heritage.

But God had not left them in darkness concerning the results of their decisions. Every generation had had its inspired prophets who had entreated men to receive and enjoy their heavenly legacy. Only a few had heeded these messages. The lonely prophets had been imprisoned, flogged, and stoned by the forces of greed and the lust for power.

God had been patient with the evil-doers. Again and again, through the ages, humanity had reaped such appalling harvests of its own misdeeds that even the kings and warriors had stood aghast at the tragedies they had contrived. And always, in the midst of ruin and the fear that had chastened both the just and the unjust, the prophets had shouted, 'Now we shall begin anew! We shall rebuild the wastes! We shall repair the world's desolations!'

But when a brief day of peace had brought prosperity, new tyrants rose up and another era of rapine, slavery, and slaughter would bring distrust and terror to the children of men. The sceptre had passed from one bloody hand to another as the nations clamoured for power, and yet more power, over the lives of the helpless.

Here the Big Fisherman, after pausing for a moment, continued in an ominous tone that deepened the silence. He had done with his calm review of mankind's unfortunate history. It was time now for the world to be shaken wide awake. God had sent forth His Son with power to heal the sick, bind up broken hearts, open blind eyes, and proclaim a new era of good-will among men.

But the world would not receive him. He had been scorned, whipped, and put to a shameful death! But he had come alive again—and had been seen of many. Now he had returned to his Father's House.

'Think you, then,' demanded Peter 'that the will of God has been set at naught? Think you that His Spirit will no longer strive with men? I declare to you that our Christ is King! He has begun to reign! And he shall reign until all the kingdoms of this world shall have become his Kingdom!'

For a moment the one hundred and twenty men thought the Big Fisherman's speech had ended, for he stood silent with his head bowed as in prayer.

Then he faced them to say impressively: 'We, who confidently believe in Him, have been summoned here to receive unmistakable proofs that His Holy Spirit abides with us. And from this day forward we are commissioned to spread the good news of His conquering Kingdom!'

Suddenly Peter drew himself up to his full height and glanced upward as if he had been struck. His auditors straightened and stared. Immediately above the Big Fisherman's head, and touching it, was a shimmering crimson flame—in shape like the flame of a torch! All breathing in the spacious room was suspended.

Then the massive oaken door flew open and banged hard against the wall. There was the deafening roar of a mighty tempest that swept through the hall. The startled men held to their seats and clung to one another as the rushing wind lashed to and fro. It was as if the world had come to an end! Now tongues of flame stabbed through the storm, coming to rest—torch-like—upon the heads of all present! The glow of the fire possessed exhilarating properties. Some of the men shouted ecstatically. Some wept for joy. Strangers grasped the hands of strangers and gazed at one another in wonderment. Jairus put his arm round Joel, who was weeping. Mencius put both hands over his eyes and shook his head. Joseph of Arimathaea clutched Hassan's arm.

Now the torch-like flames departed and the tempest roared out as suddenly as it had come. Every man was on his feet, all talking at once, loudly, as if the tempest still raged. Mencius, not one to be easily discomposed, was so utterly stampeded that he turned to Jairus and shouted—in Greek: 'This is a most amazing thing, sir!' And Jairus, who didn't know a word of Greek, instantly replied, in that language, 'Surely the Lord has visited us!' Young Joel, listening intently, nodded his head; and when Jairus asked him if he had understood what they were saying he said he had, and added, in his own Aramaic, 'It is true, sir! God Himself has been in this place!'

But the pandemonium in the Coppersmiths' Guildhall was no secret. The roar of the storm had been heard throughout the city. The urbane guests at Levi's Inn had rushed out into the street to see what was happening. It was evident that the fury of the tempest was confined to the Guildhall. They ran up the stairway, arriving when the tornado had spent itself and all the men in the auditorium were shouting joyfully. Crowding into the room they stared at the strange scene.

A tall, haughty man from Crete remarked sourly to his bodyguard, in the outlandish dialect of that country, a curious composite of Greek and Egyptian, 'Bah! They're all drunk!'

Peter, striding toward the door, answered him in Crete's guttural patois, 'These men are not drunk! They are rejoicing because the Kingdom of God is at hand! The world shall have peace! The slaves shall be freed! The Lord has proclaimed a new day!'

'How do you happen to be speaking our language?' demanded the stranger. 'You are not a citizen of Crete!'

'I am a citizen of the Kingdom of God!' declared Peter. 'And from henceforth that Kingdom includes Crete!'

'You say—all the slaves are to be set free?'

'Yes—and their masters, too. No men can be free while other men are slaves!'

'You should be locked up!' growled the Cretan. 'You are speaking treason!'

The controversy was attracting attention. A dozen of the illumined men gathered close and joined in supporting Peter, all of them speaking the barbarous jargon of far-away Crete. The man from that country, with baffled eyes, raised his elbow as if to ward off a blow, and slowly backed toward the door, muttering, 'No! No!'

The Guildhall rapidly emptied. The street was packed with a huge crowd of bewildered people. The newly-commissioned men, radiant, confident, infiltrated the throng, shouting, 'The Kingdom of God has come for all who believe in Him!' They scattered through the city, spreading the news. They were unafraid. They stopped Roman legionaries on the street to announce the new Kingdom; and the legionaries, stunned by their audacity, did not detain them.

That day, three thousand men in Jerusalem said they believed it and would join the disciples in preparing for the reign of peace.

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Late in the evening, as the little company of Jesus' Galileans sat together at Ben-Josef's house, exhausted to the point of speechlessness by the amazing events of the day, Philip, who had spread the tidings to incredulous groups at the camel-auction, remarked, 'It is said that the Prince of Arabia has been smitten with paralysis.'