The Journey Begun (9 page)

Seven

ate afternoon stuffiness pried Simon’s eyes open to a slit. He yawned and rubbed his forehead, exaggerating
an
[B9]
 
exhale through puffed cheeks. Arriving at the inn early that morning, he forewent breakfast in favor of a nap. It took him a moment to adjust to a bed not swaying in cadence with the waves, but when he did, sleep came and it felt good. One or two dreams attempted feeble disruptions to his slumber, but his subconscious snubbed them and they slinked away.

The faint aroma of fresh bread summoned a rumble to his stomach, reminding him he’d not eaten since the previous day. He grunted to a sitting position, his face contorting into another massive yawn. He shook his head to dislodge the shreds of sleep still clinging to his brain, and scratched his stomach more from habit than necessity. His waking ritual thus completed, the groggy seaman staggered to his feet and toed them into his sandals. Not bothering to lace up, he creaked open the door and shuffled into the main room of the inn, the sandals’ leather thongs trailing behind him.

Settling at the nearest table, Simon squinted from sunlight pouring through an open window. He propped a leg across his knee and began working the laces around his ankle.

“
Hoi!
Simon!” Gali raised a cup of wine in greeting from a table in the far corner. Gali, an old friend and occasional fellow crewmember, shared the table with two other men. Simon recognized one as Lev, a casual acquaintance from his stops in Joppa, but the other man was a stranger. He smiled and nodded.

Gali pointed to an empty chair at their table. Taking the cue, Simon finished tying his sandal and pulled the second one off his foot before rising and hobbling over to the trio. He plopped down and nodded at Lev and the stranger.

“You remember Lev. This is Isaac ben Solomon. Works the cargo ferries. Moved from Bethel last year.” They exchanged pleasantries while Gali signaled the innkeeper’s wife to bring another round of wine, bread, and honey syrup, as well as a cup for Simon.

“How long you been in port?” Simon looked up at Gali as he worked the thongs of his other sandal.

“Lev and I put in from Ashkelon three days ago. We’re waiting for an outbound to Dor, or maybe Sidon or Tyre.”

“You still working the coast, then?”

“Sure do. Not interested in the long hauls. They run into too much trouble on the open sea for my taste. Take the
Ba’al
Hayam
. She just came in all banged up in a bad one near Cyprus, word has it.”

Lev nodded, gnawing on an oversized wad of bread and dabbing at a wayward bead of honey syrup that sewed a silky thread into his scruffy beard.

“I know. I was on her.” Simon finished tying his thongs and leaned back as the inn’s mistress set the food, wine, and his cup on the table.

“You took the storm? I hear it was bad.” Lev swallowed noisily and fixed an expectant gaze on Simon.

“It was bad.” He offered no more but instead tore off a chunk of steaming bread and stuffed it into his mouth.

Lev wasn’t one to give up easily, though. He primed Simon’s cup with wine and pressed him for more. “How bad?”

“Bad enough.” Simon mouthed around his bread. “We were supposed to put into Acco, but the storm blew us too far off course. Did so much damage to the ship that we came straight back to Joppa. Omer will be plenty upset when he hears about all the cargo we tossed.” Simon emptied half his cup in a swallow. He coughed as the alcohol burnt his throat, raw from the sea.

“Heard he already has.” Gali sputtered crumbs as he garbled through a mouthful bread. “Think Shem got called up this afternoon to account.”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “Probably so. There wasn’t much left aboard when the storm cleared.”

“That’s true.” Isaac spoke up for the first time. “I took two trips on the supply boats to unload what was left. Just about everything in the first load was ruined and the second trip wasn’t worth making at all.” He leaned forward with both arms on the table. “Her mast was split. They’re banding it with iron, but it needs replacing. The gunwale rails were cracked or smashed in several places where the crew threw cargo too heavy to clear it.”

“Or hit by cargo tossing on the deck.” Simon muttered. “Surprising how much damage a loose amphora can do.”

Isaac nodded. “The sail was frayed bad where it tore loose from the crossbeam. The cross belts kept it from shredding, but it’s still in bad shape. No repairing that one. It’ll need to be replaced.”

“Anybody hurt?” Lev stared unblinking, his mouth ajar.

“Not bad. One broken leg and the usual cuts and bruises. Could’ve been worse.”

“Lucky.”

“Right. Lucky.” Simon’s raw back throbbed at the memory, and he stifled a wave of nausea as the helplessness he felt at being nearly washed overboard refilled his mind. He recalled overwhelming fear freezing him when the first monstrous wave crashed over the prow. Soon the fear lapsed into resignation that he would not survive, that it would only be a matter of time. Resignation then gave way to anger at the callousness of fate and his own stupidity for being at sea in the first place. He threw himself into his work, doing everything he could to fight back at the storm not because he felt it would save him, but because—well, just because. He shook his head. If there was any luck involved, it was all bad luck.

Gali interrupted his thoughts. “When’s your next run?”

Simon glanced up. “I don’t know. It’s too late to go back for the consignment at Acco. I heard rumor the
Ba’al
was due for a long haul, though. Malta, maybe farther. It’ll be weeks before she’s ready to go anywhere.”

“Longer than that,” Lev muttered as he refilled his cup. “No matter how long, though; don’t know that I’d be anxious to board her anytime soon.”

Simon stretched back and yawned. “Need the money. Gotta eat. Guess I’ll go when it’s time. Don’t know yet.”

Lev frowned. “Sure, still...”

Many times had Lev voiced his reasons for avoiding the big ships. Simon couldn’t argue his points. Greedy owners overloaded them to squeeze every piece of silver out of a shipment they could, and it was too easy for a storm to swamp an overladen ship. In the middle of the open sea, there was no swimming back to shore. No, Lev preferred the smaller vessels, those that stayed in sight of the coastline. Even if the ship came apart beneath his feet, there would always be a chance to make it to land.

“Well, I’m off.” Isaac drained his cup and pushed back from the table. “There’s one more shuttle to the
Ba’al
this evening to take repair supplies out, and I’m on the crew. Pleasure to meet you.” He nodded again to Simon and slapped Gali and Lev on the shoulders. “I’ll see you.”

When Isaac left, Gali glanced over at Simon. “You know, there’s word going around that Shem might have a hard time finding a crew for the
Ba’al
next time out.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, it seems she’s seen more than her share of storms at sea. This last one beat her up pretty bad.” Gali paused, but Simon only shrugged.

“Storms happen.”

“Sure, but then there’s her name.”

Simon wrinkled his brow. “Her name?”

Gali raised his eyebrows. “You know.
Ba’al Hayam
, ‘Master of the Sea.’ Well, feelings are that there is no master of the sea—and the thrashing she took could be the sea’s way of showing her that. Word is that the sea has it in for her.”

Simon snorted and waved off the notion. He refilled his cup from the wine carafe and lifted it to his lips.

Gali persisted. “And then there’s Ba’al.”

Simon started, sloshing a few drops of wine onto his chin. “What about Ba’al?”

“C’mon. You’re from Sidon. Every Phoenician knows Ba’al is the storm god—the god of lightning and thunder.”

Simon stared at Gali, and then sputtered a laugh. “Nonsense. You’re getting superstitious in your old age!”

“I don’t know…” Gali just shrugged and sat back.

Simon smiled and shook his head. Keeping his hand steady the next time he raised his wine cup seemed a little more difficult, though.

Eight

ho’s that?” Hadassah looked up from the grapevine cuttings she was soaking in preparation for planting. Benjamin already had his eyes fixed on a stooped figure trudging up the narrow road through the rows of vine stands that led into the heart of the Ben Barak vineyards.

“I don’t know.” He squinted into the midday glare of the sun’s silver outline nudging through the haze leftover from the previous night’s storm.

Benjamin laid his auger on the ground beside his wife and patted her shoulder, signaling her to stay where she was. Wiping the mud from his hands onto his apron, he slipped a pruning fork into his work pouch and ambled toward the road four rows away. He stepped onto the path as the stranger came into view around a vine row.

“Jonah! Is that you?”

The traveler raised his eyes, but his head and shoulders remained bowed.

“What happened? Are you all right?” The vintner creased his brow and stepped forward to meet their old friend.

Benjamin had never seen Jonah—or anyone, for that matter—look worse. His clothes and sandals were soaked and caked with mud. His hair, looking thinner than ever, splayed in gray-white wisps against his forehead like starving tendrils snaking out to re-root themselves. His rucksack, worn through along the seam, bumped and scraped behind him as it buffed a smooth trail in the mud.

The vintner took Jonah’s arm and they both trudged up the path. When they reached the house, he offered to relieve his exhausted friend of his load, but Jonah jerked it away, offering no explanation. Frowning, Benjamin called to his wife.

Lll

An hour later Jonah reclined on a straw mat and stared at the ceiling. He was washed, and his belly stretched with bread, figs, and goat’s milk. An oversized sleep shirt from Benjamin’s shelf engulfed his frail torso, and he was clean and dry for the first time since he’d left Gath-hepher. He still had not uttered a single word to his hosts.

Benjamin took one more look at the prone figure and closed the door behind him.

“What do you suppose this is all about?” Hadassah emptied the basket of Jonah’s filthy garments into a trough filled with rainwater.

“I have no idea. He’s certainly not very talkative, is he?” Benjamin picked up a flat stone and began scraping the half-dried mud from the bottom of one of Jonah’s sandals.

“Hah! Talkative? He’s being rude, and there’s no other word for it.” She poked at the sodden folds of cloth with a stick to dislodge the encrusted grime.

Benjamin dropped his voice and glanced at the door. “Well, remember, we don’t have any idea what’s happened to him. He’s not himself, but there might be a good reason for that.”

“Hmmph. Still, there are simple courtesies you don’t ignore unless you’re unconscious—or dead.” She set the stick aside and leaned over to scrub the cloth against the sides of the trough. “And, in spite of how he looks, he’s neither of those.”

“Let’s give him some time. He’ll come around.” Benjamin perked at the sound of horse hooves pounding the rocky path from the main road. “
Hoi!
Is that Eli?” He paused as a tall figure astride a dappled stallion appeared above the vine stands. The rider rounded the end of the row and turned into the yard through an open gate. “It is!”

“Eli! Brother,
shalom
and welcome home!” Hadassah dropped the laundry into the muddy water and hurried across the yard, wiping her hands on her work dress.

“
Hoi
and
shalom!
Sister! Ben! How are you?” The soldier dismounted with ease. Hadassah smiled through their embrace, but then pulled back and held him at arm’s length. Frowning, she inspected him. She shook her head as his bright eyes met hers,
as if
[B10]
 
awaiting her appraisal.

Benjamin just smiled. Elihu never looked more alive.
It seemed
[B11]
 
the reunion with his old comrades had sparked new life into the old warrior. He stood taller and strode with more purpose than he had in years.

Elihu winked at his sister as he released her and grasped Benjamin’s wrist. “How’s your father doing, Ben?”

“Recovering well, thanks. His leg can almost support his weight again. It was a pretty nasty break.”

“I remember. I’m glad he’s doing well. So, what’s the news around here? The last two months have gone by fast, but I did have time to miss you two.” Elihu flipped the reins over his mount’s head and whipped them around the leg of a washstand. A mischievous grin stretched his face as he raised his finger for Hadassah to tarry a moment. He pulled a bundle from behind the saddle and, with an expectant smile and a flourish, presented it to her. Her brow creased
[B12]
 
as she accepted the thick bolt of colorful fabric.

“Embroidered cloth from Damascus. It’s called damask. We took the city two weeks ago. Israel’s alive again!” The old veteran’s grin grew wider.

“Why, thank you, Eli, it’s beautiful.” She smoothed a trace across the nap with her hand
[B13]
 
. “We’ve missed you, too. You look well—no more holes in you, I trust.” She scanned her brother once more.

“No. The Arameans are poor archers.”

“Good. All you need is another scar.”

Benjamin glanced at his wife. “Eli, we have a guest.”

“Really? Who?”

“Jonah. I’m afraid he doesn’t look very good, though.”

Elihu twitched an eyebrow and peered over Benjamin’s shoulder toward the house. “What do you mean?”

“He arrived not too long before you rode up. He looked half dead. Must’ve been caught in the storm last night.”

Hadassah sniffed as she tucked the damask under her arm. “We don’t really know if he’s lucid or not. He hasn’t said anything.”

“The storm almost caught me, too. I was halfway down the valley, but managed to find a shallow cave just before it hit. It was pretty intense.” He looked around the yard. “Where’s Sheba?”

Benjamin pursed his lips. “Not here. He was on foot.”

Elihu frowned. This was odd. Jonah rarely went anywhere on foot. For him to be this far from Gath-hepher without his cart was most unusual.

“He’s resting inside now. We gave him some of Benjamin’s clothes to wear. This is his.” Hadassah jerked her head toward the soggy brown mass half submerged in the trough.

“I’ll check on him.” The elder Ben Barak clapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder, took the two stairs in front of the house in one step, and pushed through the front door. Benjamin followed him as far as the doorway and peered into the dusky room.

Jonah’s eyes were closed
[B14]
 
and he appeared to be asleep. Elihu strode to the mat and stood over his lifelong friend. He lingered for a moment, then shook his head and turned away. He slipped back out the front door, and Benjamin eased it closed behind him.

“Looks like he’s asleep.” Elihu lowered himself onto a wooden bench across from the water trough while Hadassah continued scrubbing Jonah’s cloak.

“I’m not surprised. He looked asleep on his feet when he stumbled up the path.” She wrung out the cloth and hung it over the washstand.

Benjamin leaned against the wall of the house as he toyed with an olive twig between his fingers. “Except when I offered to carry his rucksack. He had enough energy left to yank it out of my hand. You’d think he had the treasury of Solomon in there.”

Elihu knit his brow. “This is strange. I’ve never heard of him acting like this before. He didn’t say where he was going or why he came here?”

“
No
[B15]
 
.” Hadassah sloshed Jonah’s sandals in the water and set them beside the cloak.

Benjamin flicked the twig into a mud puddle. “Hadassah’s right. He didn’t say anything at all.”

Elihu shrugged. “Well, I guess we wait until he wakes up.”

“You can wait.” Benjamin pushed away from the wall. “I’ve got holes to dig. We’re putting in two more rows down by the wadi. You should take a look.” He glanced over his shoulder at Hadassah. “We’ll be ready to plant those cuttings in about an hour. They’ve soaked long enough. I only have six more holes to go.”

His wife nodded. “I’ll be along shortly.”

“I’ll go with you.” Elihu stood up. “I’d like to walk the vineyard and see what’s changed. It seems like ages since I’ve helped with the pruning.”

His sister flashed him a teasing smile. “Seems like ages to us, too.”

Lll

Jonah opened his eyes at the click of the door closing behind Elihu. He had decided to feign sleep to avoid what he knew would be a difficult conversation. Not with Eli. Not now. He just wasn’t up to it. The murmur of voices filtered through the wall, but it was too muffled to catch the conversation. He rolled onto his back and massaged his eyes to repel a dull throb assaulting his forehead. The numbness that thwarted any attempts at coherent thought proved no match for the ache pulsing in his head. There was no point in lying there any longer. Sleep would not come.

The voices in the yard faded and the air went still. Dust motes floated through the subdued sunlight streaming through gaps in the wall around the door and window frames as the atmosphere dried and the sun burned away the outside haze. Jonah pushed himself up and settled his back against the wall, dizzying as the blood drained from his head. He dropped his hand to his side, where it fell against his crumpled rucksack.

Pulling the soiled bag onto his lap, he inspected the damage. Melded with the mud and water stains were snags and tears, the worst damage showing on one corner where the stitching had unraveled, leaving a gaping hole. The toe of a spare sandal protruded from the gap, along with the tip of a sheathed skinning knife.

Jonah upended the bag and spilled its contents across the sleep mat. He poked through his belongings. The articles aroused long-forgotten memories that nudged his headache into the background.

He picked up the small knife, the first one his father gave him when he was eight years old. Loosening the retaining thong, he slipped it from its sheath and tested the edge across his thumb. The bronze blade was dull, its patina mottled with age and neglect. Amittai’s face loomed into his mind’s eye.
“Take good care of this, son, and it will take care of you.”

Jonah’s throat constricted. He had taken care of neither his knife nor himself.
I’ve even let Father down.