Part 3

Jonah and Judith sat on a bank of ferns and moss beneath the shade of a giant sycamore tree. Already they were friends; they talked earnestly together, and twisted in their fingers the ferns with their tough stalks and cool leaves.

“Well, but tell me,” said Judith, “did you really see an angel? Just imagine, how exciting that must be. What was this angel like? Very beautiful, I suppose.” And she looked down with a frown.

“Such beauty,” said Jonah gravely, “I cannot describe to you. Because, actually, one does not see beauty, one feels it. One looks at something, and suddenly one feels a pain in one’s heart. Then one thinks ‘what a beautiful thing.’”

“Yes,” said Judith. “Well, tell me, did this angel have dark hair too, like mine?”

“I do not know,” replied Jonah candidly. “I did not exactly see any hair. But I remember the wide, white, folded wings, and the glow which entered my heart at the sight of that serene face.”

Judith pouted. “Didn’t you notice anything at all?” she enquired. “For instance, what did she wear. And was she young or old? What a strange fellow you are; you saw almost nothing, or at any rate, nothing of any consequence.”

“Why do you speak always of ‘her’?” asked Jonah. “This angel was not a woman. At least, I did not think so.”

“Then he was a man,” cried Judith.

“No,” said Jonah slowly, “he was not a man, either.”

“You see,” said Judith, “I was right; she was a woman. And besides, if she was so beautiful, naturally she was a woman.”

“I confess,” admitted Jonah, “that had not occurred to me.”

“Of course not,” said Judith. “But it occurred to me, because I am a woman.”

And she added with a smile,

“Even if I am not as beautiful as an angel.”

“You are very pretty,” said Jonah shyly. “But it is not the same thing.” And he dug in the moss with his staff.

“Do you really think I am pretty?” asked Judith. “Sarah, my nurse, says that to be pretty is nothing, because any one can be pretty. She would rather I were virtuous, because virtue is woman’s richest jewel. Of course I mean to be virtuous, and to do what is expected of me.”

She began to weave some ferns into a chaplet. “Sometimes,” she said in a low voice, “I look at myself in my mirror, and I give myself a little kiss. Do you think it is wrong? Nobody sees me.”

Jonah moved uncomfortably in the moss. “God...?” he said.

“Oh,” said Judith. “Well, God ... old God.

“Anyway,” she added, “I don’t think He sees me.”

She looked at the garden from which an overpowering fragrance arose, at the flowers languidly lifting their bright-colored faces to the sun, drinking in the warmth and the light. “I have a little dove,” she said, “made all of silver. It is a copy of the doves of Eryx, and it is sacred to Astarte. My uncle brought it to me from Tyre. It is pretty, because it is of silver, with eyes of rubies. I put it on the window-sill of my room. It brought the birds; they came and sang on my window-sill.

“My little dove sees me kiss myself in my mirror.

“Is it wrong, Jonah?”

When Jonah did not reply, she said, “Tell me what it is like in the desert. Just imagine, to live all alone in a little hut or a cave, how exciting that is.”

Jonah began to tell her of his life in the desert. Seated in the shade on the moss, while the bees hummed outside in the sun, he described the way in which the prophets came together for study and meditation. “I have a little cell,” he said, “in Golan, near a tiny stream which rises in the hills. It is clear and cold, and many prophets live beside its banks among the rushes. In the morning, after we have prayed, we gather in the shade to listen to some learned man, or eminent saint. Our midday meal is simple, a few dates, some maize, a little oil or wine, perhaps a fish from the deep waters of Cinnereth across the hills. And in the afternoon we meditate upon the Law, and the history of our people.

“Evening comes suddenly in the wilderness. The shadows lengthen, and night approaches across the desert. The wind of night blows upon the east, which turns dark and blue with cold. In the west the sun goes down into the sea; the sky turns yellow, then green, and shines like a lamp. The stars appear, the dews descend, and the wings of angels begin to sweep through the skies. It is cold, and the desert is silent, save for the prayers of the hermits, which rise in a soft sigh from the earth. As it grows darker the voices of animals begin to mingle with our psalms, and we hear, far off, the roaring of lions on their way to drink. Then our fires are lighted, to guide the Hosts of Heaven to our homes.

“The animals are our friends. The little divinities of the rocks and streams know and reverence us. They bring us food, and they tell us of the approach of demons in the form of ostriches and jackals. Against such beings as these our holiness is sufficient protection while we are on God’s land.

“Well, that is all, really. It is a simple life, but it has its beauty. In the quiet of the desert our hearts expand like flowers in warm weather, and in our minds blossom lovely and tranquil thoughts.”

Moved by a sweet emotion, Judith replied, “How delightful it must be to live in the desert.”

She continued in a low tone, “When you speak of God, I seem to feel Him in my heart. It is such a strange feeling, so peaceful and yet a little painful.”

And she looked at him with surprised and shining eyes.

Suddenly she looked down; the dark lashes rested softly against her cheeks warm as sunny roses. “I must go home now,” she murmured. “Good-by.”

She got swiftly to her feet. “I will not look in my mirror any more,” she said, “if you think it is wrong.”

And she ran away without once looking behind her. When she got home she hid her mirror in a box of ivory and sandalwood. Then she went to put her silver dove away also. But all at once, instead of hiding it, she gave it a kiss on its ruby eyes.

“Little dove,” she said, “tell me what love is.”

Going to her box, she took out her mirror again, and gazed for a long time, and with a smile, at her own reflection.

Jonah went thoughtfully home. There he found his Uncle David, who had stopped in for a moment to see if anything was being cooked. Deborah was filling the lamps for the Sabbath. When she saw Jonah she straightened her bent back, and remarked anxiously, “Where have you been all morning?”

“I have been out walking,” replied Jonah evasively. And he sat gloomily down in a corner of the room, as far as possible from his uncle. Then all at once he burst out laughing. When his mother asked him what he was laughing at, he answered,

“I was thinking of a green beetle.”

“You see,” said Uncle David, nodding his head, “he is not all there.”

Deborah arose, and went to fetch more oil for the lamps. As she passed her son, she touched his forehead with her hand. “What is there so peculiar about that?” she demanded of her brother. “Or perhaps you have never seen a green beetle? Well, I have been amused by them myself.”

“Sit still for a little,” she said anxiously to Jonah; “after walking so much in the sun.”

Uncle David settled himself comfortably in his seat. “To-day,” he said, “who should I meet but Bildad, the water carrier. He said to me, ‘This is fine news about your nephew, Jonah. I suppose that we shall hear from you soon,’ and with that he gave me a look full of meaning.

“I did not reply; naturally, because I had nothing to say. Could I tell him the truth? We should be the laughing-stock of the entire village. I simply wrinkled my forehead and looked as grave as possible. At any rate, my expression struck him as peculiar, because he said as he went away, ‘Excuse me for intruding in your affairs.’”

“I have been thinking of something,” said Deborah. “It has occurred to me that if we do not give a feast, people might begin to think that we wished to give ourselves airs.”

“There you are,” said David; “that is the way I feel about it, word for word. Speak up, and people believe you. Otherwise what is the good of all this?”

Jonah stirred uneasily in his corner. “Mother,” he said, “do you really insist upon giving a feast for me? I think it is foolish. Still, if it would give you pleasure ... but who would come? The whole village, I suppose. Would you actually ask the prince, and his niece?”

“What?” cried David; “what? I shall ask him myself, because I am acquainted with him in a humble way.”

“Well,” said Jonah, hesitating.... “But what would you wear, Mother?” he asked with sudden anxiety. “These old rags.... And who would pay for it? No, it is impossible.”

“Do not worry about what I would wear,” returned Deborah sharply. “You will not be ashamed of me. As for who is to pay for it ... you need not worry about that, either, because it will not be you, at all events.”

Jonah sat for a long time without speaking. At last he sighed. “Very well,” he said, “if you like....

“I will stay a few days longer.”

VI

So Jonah did not at once return to the desert. Instead, he said shyly to his mother the next morning: “My cloak is torn almost in two. Is there nothing else for me to wear?”

“There is an old coat which belonged to your father,” said Deborah. “But it is brightly colored, and it is too heavy for this mild weather.”

“It cannot be helped,” replied Jonah; “if people are going to notice me.”

When it was brought to him, he regarded it with a timid expression. Nevertheless, he put it on, giving Deborah his old coat to mend.

“You will be overheated,” said Deborah. She added, “Must you go out on such a hot day? You will come home all wet, like a river.”

“Mother,” said Jonah earnestly, “I am not a child any longer.”

“Was I interfering in your affairs?” cried Deborah. “I simply said it was such a hot day.”

Clasping her hands anxiously, she asked, “Shall I put some oil upon your hair before you go out?”

For she thought, “Then his head will be cool, at all events.”

Without waiting for an answer, she ran to get the oil. Then she combed her son’s beard and poured oil upon his hair. “There,” she said, stepping back to admire him, “now you look like somebody.”

As Jonah stalked gloomily out of the house, she called after him tenderly, “Keep out of the sun.”

In the village Jonah met Bildad, the water carrier. Balancing his heavy gourds upon his shoulder by means of a wooden yoke and some leather thongs, the old man was going slowly from house to house with his wares. When he saw Jonah, he stopped and said with surprise,

“I see that you have a new coat.”

“Yes,” said Jonah.

Bildad scratched his head. “I am glad to see that you are doing so well in your profession,” he said.

And he passed by, carrying his water gourds.

Walking hastily through the village, Jonah climbed the hill toward Ahab’s house. The moment he entered the garden he saw Judith. She was seated in the same spot as the day before, and she was twining a wreath of flowers in her hair.

“What a surprise,” she exclaimed, “to see you again.”

“Yes,” said Jonah. “I was passing by; it occurred to me to stop ... that is, I thought you might be interested to hear that I am going back to the desert again.”

Judith’s face remained drowsy and content. “Are you going soon?” she asked, and held up her wreath to admire it. The wide golden sleeves of her robe fell back from her round brown arms; and she smiled dreamily at nothing.

Jonah replied that he had decided to wait a few days in order to satisfy his mother, who wished to give a feast in his honor. “Just imagine,” he said, with a laugh. “Nevertheless, her heart is set on it.”

Judith sighed. “I wish I were a man,” she said, “and could go to feasts.”

Jonah told her that the whole village was to be asked. “Your uncle, the great prince,” he said, “has also been invited. He might even,” he added timidly, “bring his family.”

“Oh, how exciting that would be,” she cried.

And they looked at each other with happy smiles.

“Why are you going back to the desert?” she asked at length. “But I suppose it is necessary for a prophet. Well, I hope you will be a great man.”

Something suddenly occurred to her, for she added, “My goodness, you are really a great man already, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no,” he said; “it was nothing; God simply wished to speak to me.”

“You are modest,” said Judith; “that is nice.”

Smiling, she looked at the flowers in her hand. Suddenly she frowned, and said seriously,

“One finds so few modest people nowadays. All the prophets have so much to say, but I do not like what they say; they talk about such gloomy things. Jonah, tell me--what is there to be so sad about in Israel?”

Jonah replied gravely, “We are sad because life is not simple, the way it used to be. We imitate other nations and so we are not certain about ourselves any more. We are not even sure of God; we begin to wonder if He is not a bull, or a dove, and if He is not also the god of Aram and Babylon. That is why we are unhappy. When the things we believe in are questioned, it makes us restless and sad. Patriots are the only happy people, for they believe in themselves; and if other people disagree with them, they do not forgive them for it.”

Judith gazed at the young prophet with admiration. His black eyes glowed, his head was lifted, and he continued bitterly:

“However, that is not all, by any means. One expects a certain amount of ignorance among the poor. But the rich ought to be an example to the rest of the people. Well, the rich have only one desire, to forget that they are Jews. With their beards curled like Assyrians, they vex and oppress the poor, who cry out to the gods of other lands for deliverance.”

“That is not true,” cried Judith angrily. “And I will not let you speak of my uncle like that.”

“Your uncle,” stammered Jonah; “yes ... well ....”

He sat staring at the grass, with burning cheeks. Presently Judith remarked timidly,

“Forgive me.”

“You see,” said Jonah in a low voice, “you do not know what it is to be poor.”

“I am sorry,” said Judith sweetly. And she added, “What is the good of talking about it?”

“Do you think that I mind being poor?” cried Jonah. “I do not wish to be anything else. Since I am poor, I am free, my heart is at peace. Remember that I live in the desert, where all your uncle’s wealth would not do him the least good. It is you, not I, for whom you ought to reserve your sympathy. I do not need anything; I am happy, my heart is full of beauty, like the wilderness, quiet, fragrant, and bare.”

Judith bowed her head, “My heart is bare, too,” she thought. But something moved in it, and she sighed.

“No,” she told herself, “my heart is quite bare.”

Jonah continued: “You have never seen the dawn come up across the desert. The night rolls away into the west like the last clouds of a storm, dark and terrifying. The east grows brighter and brighter, shining like a lamp, so clear and quiet; and the sky seems to be full of angels going out into the world. There is no sound, for the birds do not sing yet. All is peace, all is holiness and beauty. No, you do not know anything about such things.”

Judith sat silent, her hands clasped in her lap, her brown eyes cloudy. At last she murmured sighing,

“I should like to be poor, like you.”

And they sat dreaming, hearing their thoughts knock like echoes on the walls of their hearts.

At noon Jonah returned home through the field where his brother Aaron was grazing the village cattle. Bright-colored insects buzzed and hummed about him as he walked; lazy lizards sunned themselves on stones; in the noonday heat earth spoke with faint but audible voices. The trees drank in the light; the wild bees hurried to and fro among the flowers which opened their petals with voluptuous joy to the south wind.

The prophet found his brother asleep beneath a locust tree. “So,” he said, rousing him with his staff, “that is the way you make a success, by going to sleep. I could do that too, without any trouble.”

Aaron sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I have my hands full,” he said. “Remember that I am up at daybreak. And then there are all these cows. If I doze now and then, it is what any one would do in my place.”

Seeing Jonah’s coat, he cried out angrily, “That is the coat mother promised me.”

Jonah paid no attention to this outburst. “Tell me,” he said seriously, “how does one make a living? I am interested, and should like to know a few things.”

An appeal of this nature made Aaron feel pleased. “To make a living,” he said thoughtfully, “is, to begin with, a very difficult thing. Then there are other questions to consider: such as, what sort of a living do you wish to make? Any one can live. Look at Uncle David.”

“No,” said Jonah; “by a living I mean a family and children.”

But Aaron shook his head. “There again,” he replied, “it depends on what kind of wife will do. Must she be expensive? Then you need a good living, naturally. But what could you do, Jonah? Could you sell cloth, or gold? Or perhaps you might build roads.”

And he burst out laughing.

“Ha, ha, ha.”

“There is always the cattle business,” he said finally, pointing to the cows.

“I am not joking, Aaron,” cried Jonah impatiently.

His tone caused his younger brother to sit up, and to regard him with a curious expression. “Are you in earnest, Jonah?” he asked. “Do you really mean to settle down? I thought you would never leave the desert. Are you going to be married? Good Heavens....”

Jonah replied carefully, with his eyes on the ground, “No ... what an idea. I may leave the desert for a while, but only to be with our mother. As for marriage ... well, to tell the truth, I had heard it said of you....”

“Of me?” cried Aaron with wide-open eyes. “You are dreaming, Jonah, the heat has touched you. A wife, for me? Why, I could only afford a poor girl from the village. No, when I marry I mean to take a wife from town. But that will cost a good deal. One pays for a wife in Israel; perhaps you have forgotten that.”

“You are right,” said Jonah; “I had forgotten it.” And he turned home again. His thoughts were grave, and he walked slowly, with a serious air. At the entrance to the village he passed the statue of a winged bull, before which lay the remains of a sacrifice of cereal, which was being enjoyed by some birds. Jonah looked for a long time at the idol which seemed to gaze back at him with an ironic expression.

“Perhaps,” he said sadly at last, “it is I, not you, who am a stranger here in Israel.”

And he felt a coldness lay itself upon his heart.

VII

Moonlight covered the earth, the trees showered down their perfume of blossom and cedar, the fragrance of lilies rose through the night. Voices sang softly in the shadows, teased, laughed, whispered in the moonlight; lamps shone, light fell upon trees. In Deborah’s kitchen Uncle David passed around cakes, fruits, and bitter almonds, and helped the guests to wine, milk, and honey. He was a genial host; his eyes shone, he urged every one to enjoy himself.

Deborah moved among her friends, anxious and happy. She kept one eye on Uncle David, and had something to say to everybody.

“Well, this is like old times. This is what peace does for a country.”

“What a lovely night.”

“We should have such a war every year.”

“A son to be proud of.”

Under a tree in the garden two old men were discussing religion. They pulled at their long beards and gazed at each other with indignation. “God belongs to Israel,” said one; “do not lend Him around.”

The other replied: “Does the earth belong to the tree? Does the air belong to the wind? Can I lend the sky? How many gods are there, then?”

First old man: “Maybe a hundred, maybe two hundred. There is nothing in the Laws of Moses which says how many. Do you wish to dispute with the Holy One Himself?”

Second old man: “As for that, I am not the disputer. I simply say of God, ‘He is everywhere, and He does not look like anything.’ But you say, ‘No. He is here, and He looks like a Jew.’”

First old man: “All the gods look like something. There is a tribe in the south whose god is only two feet high, and entirely covered with short black hair. His people are naturally pygmies. What have you to say to that? or would you like me to believe that our God is also the father of pygmies?”

Second old man: “Pygmies are not human beings, but monsters. It does not surprise me to find monsters in the world. I say it does not surprise me because I can see a little beyond the front of my face. On the other hand you cannot see anything but what is right under your nose. You are not a philosopher; you are a patriot. You would like to keep God all to yourself.”

First old man: “Exactly, I am a patriot. And what are you? I hesitate even to say it.”

The two old men glared angrily at each other.

“Look,” said the first old man to Bildad, the water carrier, who was passing by, “he wishes to give God away to the Gentiles.”

Bildad shook his head. “No,” he said accusingly: “Oh, my.” And he hurried away to join a group of villagers about Prince Ahab, who was standing by the side of a table on which was set out a large bowl of wine.

The prince was in the best of humor. “My friends,” he exclaimed, “what we need is more exercise. That is what makes a nation healthy. Talk is all very well, but there is too much of it.”