Part 4

He paused to take a long drink of wine. Several farmers who worked in the fields from dawn until dark applauded his remarks. It was easy to see that they respected his opinions, and that they did not know what he was talking about.

“Just imagine,” said Bildad, “there is a man outside who wishes to give our God away to the gentiles.”

“He is an ignoramus,” said Ahab. He continued,

“Every one will agree with me that a good horse is the most beautiful thing in the world. Next to a horse, the best thing in the world is to be active, and to take a lot of exercise.”

Uncle David nodded his head vigorously. “Exactly,” he said; “those are my opinions, almost word for word. A good active life is what I say.”

The Prince turned upon Uncle David a face flushed with wine. “What,” he exclaimed, “here is an honest man.” And he embraced Uncle David, who said proudly to those standing near by,

“We agree with each other. After all, he is a noble fellow.”

Then he quietly asked Bildad to point out to him the old man who wished to give God away. When he found him, he went up to him and said,

“Go away; please get out of this, as we do not want an ignoramus here.”

Returning to the kitchen, he looked around him with an important air, and after blowing his nose, exclaimed,

“Unhealthy people.”

Prince Ahab was still talking. Clutching his beard, stained with grape, he concluded morosely,

“Nobody rides any more.”

It was time to divide the roasted ox among the guests. But first it was necessary to find Jonah, who was expected to perform the sacrifice to the god, in the absence of a priest. So Uncle David went to look for him; but he did not find him at once. For Jonah was in a corner of the garden with Judith, Ahab’s niece.

The moonlight fell down upon them through the leaves like a shower of milky petals and blossoms without weight and without fragrance. The faint cheep of frogs, the shrill screech of the cicada, rose from the ground and answered from the branches through the air laden with sweetness. A single bird, cheated by the moon, sang far away; his song tumbled through the air like water falling.

They leaned against the trunk of a tree, shadows making pools of darkness over their eyes, moonlight in their hair and on their hands. And their hearts, cheated, too, by the night, sang in confusion a song of joy which seemed to them like pain.

They had little to say to each other. They discussed the weather.

“What a beautiful night,” said Jonah. “It is like the nights on the desert, so still, so calm, and yet it makes me sad.”

“It makes me sad, too,” whispered Judith. “Why does it make me sad, Jonah?”

He shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “Beauty often makes people sad. It is something they would like in their hearts, and their sadness is their longing.”

She looked at him in the darkness. “Yes,” she said, “that’s it; that is what I feel sometimes when I look in my little mirror.”

Jonah did not answer. The fragrance, the rapture of the night, moved through his heart. It seemed to flow from the young girl at his side and return to her again, lovely, obscure, a sweet sorrow, a longing filled with grief. He raised his head to the little dapple of moonlight among the leaves.

“I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he thought. “It is like having God speak to me.

“How beautiful she is. And she would like to be poor, like me. Of course, that is nonsense. Still....”

He thought that she swayed a little closer to him. Intoxicated by an imperceptible warmth, he touched her hand. “Judith,” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“No--nothing. How lovely it is out here.” He trembled; his hand, twined with hers, was moist and warm, but he shivered as though with cold.

She stood beside him, breathless, drowsy with sweetness, waiting.... “This is love,” she thought. “He loves me, and I love him. How exciting it is.

“I am a young girl, and already I am in love with a prophet.”

She gave his hand a faint squeeze. Jonah sighed deeply. Was there anything else so lovely in the whole world, he thought.

Judith raised her head. “Listen,” she said, “there’s a bird singing. Just think, in the moonlight; isn’t it sweet, Jonah? This is beauty, isn’t it? I could stay here forever.”

No--there was nothing else in the whole world....

From the garden arose the sound of voices; shadows moved among the trees. Aaron went by with a village girl, his hands stuffed with cakes. He offered them to her to nibble at, and kissed her mouth full of crumbs. She accepted his caresses with pleasure, but without passion. “What a thing you are,” she cried. “There’s your brother; he behaves himself, at least.”

“He is a noodle,” said Aaron; “most of him is still in the desert. Who is that with him? My goodness....”

They ran away, linked in laughter. Jonah looked after them, but he did not see them. The desert was in his heart, wide, starry, still; all the beauty in the world trembled at the moment’s edge. If it made itself known ... would the heart break with it?

“This is too beautiful,” he wanted to cry; “wait, you are hurting me.”

In another part of the garden Deborah said to Sarah, Judith’s nurse,

“How charming your Judith is. She is not spoilt like so many of the young girls to-day. And when you consider her wealth, that makes it all the more remarkable.”

“Yes,” said Sarah with satisfaction, “she knows nothing of life. She is a pure lily.”

She added, “I have brought her up myself.”

Deborah nodded her head. “Children cannot be brought up too strictly,” she said. “That is what is responsible for the success of my son Jonah.”

And she moved away, smiling at her guests. Sarah gazed after her with pursed lips. “Indeed,” she said to herself. “Well, that is one thing to call it, of course.”

Jonah was not thinking about being a prophet. His heart beat heavily; he felt as though he were all eyes, staring blindly into the night. The sweet, heavy scent of lilies struck him like a wind. He felt terrified of what he was about to say, of what he felt obliged to ask. But there was no help for it; the very shadows would begin to murmur if he were silent longer.

“Judith, do you love me?”

“Yes, Jonah.”

Astonished, they gazed at each other without speaking.

Then, slowly, their dark heads bent together.

At that moment Uncle David, hurrying through the garden, caught sight of them under the tree. “Well,” he cried briskly, “there you are. Come, my son; the ox is about to be divided.”

Jonah had only time to whisper, “Wait here for me, Judith.” Then he went, in a daze, to make the sacrifice. He heard but little of what was going on around him, the gay shouts, the pious wailing, but the sudden hush as he consigned the holy portions to the flames broke on him like a light.

“Wait,” he said to himself; “something has happened.”

And suddenly he began to feel very gay.

“Why,” he thought, looking around at the familiar faces, “what are all these people so happy about? They do not know what has happened. They have no reason to be happy, as I have.

“I ought at least to be happier than they are.”

Seizing a cup of wine, he threw the contents on the blazing altar. “For You, too, God,” he cried recklessly; “enjoy Yourself.”

At once murmurs of protest arose. The old man who had caused the philosopher to be sent home expressed the opinion that such an act was not customary. “What does he mean, ‘Enjoy yourself,’” he exclaimed. “Is that a way to speak to God? Or does he think that the Eternal One and he are such good friends already?”

Prince Ahab shrugged his shoulders. “What do you expect of young people to-day?” he inquired. “It only surprises me that he did not call God something even more irreverent.”

Uncle David went anxiously about among the guests with apologies. “He is a little wild,” he said to several people; “you must excuse it ... the life he leads, in the sun....” He tapped his head significantly. “He is not all there.”

Deborah, on the other hand, did not seem at all disturbed. In a calm manner she explained that very likely there were different ways of making a sacrifice. “After all,” she said, “my son is a prophet, and therefore closer to God than any of us here. Did you see the feather he brought home, actually from an angel? Besides, if you ask me, why shouldn’t God enjoy Himself, if He likes?”

But she gave Jonah a look, when no one was watching, which said plainly, “What a trouble you always make for yourself and for me.”

When the sacrifice was over, Jonah hurried back to the tree where he had left Judith. But she was gone; Sarah had come to take her home.

As if in a dream he wandered off in the moonlight, down the road and through the fields. Behind him the lights and the hum of the feast faded out; he was alone, in the silence of night. About him the pastures, bathed in dew, shone like silver under the moon which covered the earth with delicate mist. Everything was peaceful, everything breathed a quiet and resigned joy. Only in the heart of the man, filled with bliss, there was no peace.

He spread out his arms, “I am happy,” he cried, “I am happy.”

He thought of the Deity to whom he had so often prayed. “Thank You,” he whispered.

And he gazed with love at the heavens, pale, and shining with stars.

He began to imagine the future. “What does it matter if we are poor?” he thought. “One cannot buy beauty. We will live in a little house, and I will do great things, like Nathan, or Elisha.”

But that mood did not suit his spirit for long. “No,” he exclaimed, “I will never allow her to be poor. I will make a large fortune, to keep her comfortably.”

But how? He did not trouble to find out. Already he was living in his palaces, surrounded by slaves.

All night he walked through the fields soaked with dew, through the woods, silent and dark. The moon floated on to the west, and went down over seas and lands unknown, undreamed. The world slept; even the frogs were still. But there was no sleep for Jonah that night; his joy kept him awake. Accustomed to sorrow and indignation, he could not bear his own happiness.

“Judith,” he cried over and over, in a sort of amazement. “Judith.”

Dawn broke in the east, and hunger turned him homeward. On the road near the village he passed a golden litter, also bound for Gath-Hepher, on whose curtains were woven in silver the little doves of Eryx. The litter was followed by several donkeys, laden with merchandise, and a number of servants in the livery of the Phœnicians. “There goes a rich man,” thought Jonah, “but I am happier than he. I will buy his litter and give it to Judith, because of the little silver doves on the curtains.”

It was Hiram, a merchant of Tyre, on his way to visit Prince Ahab, with dyed silks from Sidon, sandalwood, and cloves. Jonah had no forebodings. Cold, wet, weary, but overborne by happiness, he went on home to his mother’s house for breakfast.

VIII

That morning Jonah said to his mother, “Mother, I am going to be married.”

Deborah did not stop singing to herself as she sat mixing curds. But she looked at Jonah as though to say, “Are you preparing some new trouble for us both?”

At last, since Jonah did not offer any further information, she remarked quietly:

“What of your career?”

“What of it?” replied Jonah. “I have been alone a long while; now I am going to take a wife.”

Deborah went on stirring her curds. But she stopped singing. Presently she put down her wooden spoon and sat still, staring at her son.

“You know,” she said gravely, “that I want you to be happy. But what are you doing? Your father also had a great deal of talent. He might have been a priest, but he preferred to marry me; and he died by being gored by a bull. Marriage is a serious thing, and nothing for a prophet.”

“Do you think prophets are made of wood or stone?” cried Jonah irritably. “They also have feelings, like any one else.”

Deborah nodded her head. “I suppose so,” she said. “Still, how much better it would be if you could find something else to do with those feelings.”

“Well, I can’t,” said Jonah. And he relapsed into gloomy silence.

His mother began to stir her curds again. “If that is the case,” she said at last, “you had better tell me all about it, and we will see what can be done.”

Since Jonah did not reply, she added, “I suppose it is some woman of Bethel, or perhaps a girl from the desert.”

“It is Judith,” said Jonah simply, “Ahab’s niece.”

The spoon fell with a clatter into the bowl. “Ak,” cried Deborah. And she gazed at her son in consternation.

“Have you gone out of your mind?” she exclaimed at last. “Do you imagine for a single moment such a thing would be allowed? Who are you, Jonah, the grandson of King David? Or are you perhaps a nephew of King Hiram of Tyre? You must be mad, my son.”

And she added, shaking her head, “It is always something difficult or impossible with you.”

Jonah raised his eyes, burning with enthusiasm, to his mother. “After all,” he said with dignity, “it was I who led the Jews against Aram. Is that nothing? Is it nothing that I have spoken with God? Or is a noble a greater person in Israel than the God of the Jews? Let him order the angels, then.”

“What does a noble know about God?” cried Deborah. “I am poor, and your mother; I know what it means to be a prophet. But a noble--no, my son, you have taken leave of your senses. All he knows is what he can buy, which is nearly everything.”

“Can he buy love?” asked Jonah scornfully.

Deborah thought to herself, “Yes, love, too”; but she did not say so. Putting aside her bowl, she asked more gently,

“Do you love her so much?”

“Yes, mother.”

“And does she love you, my son?”

When Jonah nodded his head, she arose and, coming over to him, put her hand a moment on his hair.

“Poor Jonah,” she whispered.

“Well,” she said, after a silence, sighing, “well ... I will see what I can do.”

Taking down her best shawl, she went to find Uncle David, to discuss the matter.

At first Uncle David was frightened. “He is crazy,” he exclaimed. But after a while, when he had listened to Deborah, he began to take a more hopeful point of view. “Who knows,” he said, “perhaps God is with him.”

He thought: “It is not as though our family were just a common one.”

And he began to feel that he was already connected with nobility. But he had no scented oil for his hair, and he wished to make a good impression when he went to call. Therefore, as there was a little oil of olives left over from the feast, he put this on his hair, and, taking also his me’il, or over-garment, which he kept for special occasions, he exclaimed hopefully to his sister,

“Now, leave all this to me, because I know Prince Ahab very well, and we understand each other, he and I.”

And he began to rehearse what he would say to the Prince. “Of course,” he declared, with a wave of his hand, “the difference in wealth.... But you are a man of the world. You know that a prophet is not born every day.”

“And such a good son,” said Deborah.

“And such a good son,” added Uncle David.

“Also, I say to you as one father to another, or, at least, an uncle, what is there in the world like youth? Can we old ones tell the young how to behave?”

“Come,” said Deborah; “you are only wasting time.”

Gravely, with slow steps and thoughtful expressions, they went up through the village to the palace. Uncle David helped Deborah over the rough places, and she leaned upon his arm.

Prince Ahab came to meet them in his hall in which a single fountain sang. There a peacock led his long tail across the floor set in triangles of marble and ebony. Rich silks adorned the walls, which exhaled an odor of musk and cedar.

After greeting them cordially, the Prince offered his guests cakes in which cinnamon, spices, and poppy-seeds were happily mingled. Then he said in a hearty voice,

“What a splendid feast you gave us last night. I wish to thank you in the name of my household, all of whom enjoyed themselves.”

“Thank you,” said Deborah shyly. She was timid and ill at ease, yet she managed to appear calm and smiling. “It was nothing, or at least for such an occasion, nothing....”

And she gave Uncle David a nudge with her elbow. But now that Uncle David found himself called upon to say something, confusion rendered him speechless. “Yes,” he said feebly, “an occasion....”

Prince Ahab broke in, with a smile: “A feast in honor to a prophet. Do you think I have forgotten what is due your son for his help against Aram? A feast like that is not too good for him.”

Warmed by his tone, Deborah said eagerly: “If you only knew him; such kindness, with all that talent besides. He has made a great success, and he is still a very young man.”

“I do not doubt it,” replied Prince Ahab.

“He speaks to angels,” continued Deborah proudly, “but he is like a lamb with his own mother.”

“Say something,” she whispered to Uncle David; “make an effort.”

“Yes,” said Uncle David.

“I congratulate you upon your son,” said Prince Ahab heartily; “there are too few in Israel like him. I am proud to have him in my village. I was saying as much the other day to my niece, the Lady Judith.”

And he added hopefully, “Does he speak of another war?”

“No,” said Deborah, “he is not thinking of wars just now.” She hung her head, and gazed at the floor. Presently she lifted her head again, and looked, full of blushes, at the Prince. “He has something else on his mind,” she said.

“Are you dumb?” she whispered in Uncle David’s ear.

Uncle David gave a start. “As a matter of fact,” he said huskily, “it is this way: Jonah is thinking of settling down.”

“Ah,” said Prince Ahab, and curled his beard idly in his fingers. “Well, that would be too bad. Such men as he have work to do in the world. We cannot afford to lose such optimistic voices. To whom is Israel to look for her glory if not to such prophets as your son, my good Deborah? No, no, I hope he will not settle down.”

“He has made up his mind,” said Deborah; “I cannot argue with him.” And she added in a voice too low for Ahab’s ears, “He is like a goat.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Uncle David suddenly, “he has made up his mind to marry.”

“To marry?” exclaimed Prince Ahab. “What?” And he stood frowning with disappointment.

“Then there will be no more wars,” he declared gloomily.

But Deborah replied with conviction: “One can marry and still be a prophet. And my son is particularly suited to be a husband. He is gentle and pure.”

“That must please you,” said Ahab, “although I do not know if it is the best thing in a husband.

“Well,” he said, with a sigh, “I dare say there is no help for it. So tell me what I can do for you, my good Deborah.”

And he gazed amiably at the two who stood before him shifting on their feet with embarrassment.

It was Deborah at last who spoke.

“My brother should by rights speak for me,” she said, looking indignantly at Uncle David, “but as he is so dumb, I shall have to speak for myself.”

She took a deep breath. “Prince Ahab,” she said, “my son Jonah, the prophet, wishes to marry your niece, the Lady Judith.”

“That’s it,” said Uncle David; “that’s what we came to say.”

The smile died upon Prince Ahab’s face, and he stared at them in amazement. “What?” he exclaimed; “did I hear you aright?”

Deborah repeated in a firmer tone what she had said; then, raising her eyes to his, looked at him with a candid and satisfied expression. Now that the declaration was out, she felt entirely different.

But Prince Ahab began to laugh.

“My good woman,” he cried, “are you mad? Such a thing is impossible.”

“Why is it impossible?” asked Deborah calmly. “I do not see anything impossible about it. Do you, David?”

“No,” said David hurriedly, “no. Of course it seems impossible; I said at once that it looked absurd. Still ... there you are.

“Ha ha.”

And he also essayed a laugh like a croak.

Prince Ahab controlled himself with an effort. “Madam,” he said, “what does this extraordinary son of yours offer as price for my niece, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”

Deborah at least had the grace to blush. “Nothing,” she said in a low tone. “But he thought, being a prophet ... and what is wealth to you, who have so much?”

Prince Ahab let out a sudden roar of anger. The joke no longer amused him. “Nothing,” he cried.

“He wishes to give me nothing for the Lady Judith.

“What impudence.”

“What did I tell you?” said David, trembling, turning to his sister. “He has insulted her. O my God.”

Prince Ahab spread his legs apart, and clutched his beard with both hands. “Woman,” he cried in thunderous tones, “let me tell you that my sister’s daughter will not marry a pauper, prophet or no prophet. A fig for your prophets. They are dirty, unhealthy, meddlesome creatures. Tell your son to go back to the desert where he belongs. And as for my niece, she has been given too much liberty. I shall see that she is properly guarded hereafter.

“What ideas. I tell you there is no respect in this unhappy country.”

Summoning his slaves, he bade them hustle Deborah from his sight. Then he went off in a violent mood to find his niece. Fortunately for Judith she was not in the garden; instead he came upon Hiram, the Phœnician, strolling among the flowers. Prince Ahab took the wealthy merchant by the arm. “Come,” he said, “I am in a rage. Let me show you my horses. I have some things to talk over with you. I have had a shock this morning, and I do not know what the world is coming to. What ideas. What impudence. Let us go riding for a while; it will do me good.”

And he hurried to the stables.