Part 8

All day the sails sang in the wind, under the sun. Jonah slept; his dreams swept out like homing birds over the calm waters; and in his sleep he wept.

But in the afternoon the wind died away; an ominous haze enveloped the sky; and the sea grew oily. The sails were hastily drawn in; and the oars were made ready. Huddled together on the deck, the seamen spoke in low, anxious voices. All eyes were turned toward the east, which grew darker and darker. All was still; the air did not stir. Moved by fear, the men trembled; and as though herself frightened, the ship started to creak in all her timbers. All at once the sky uttered a moan; high above them the air began to sing; and the sea rolled in slow, unwilling swells. And then it seemed as if the sky fell down upon the sea, for the water rose like the hills, and the dark came down upon it. Unable to move, the ship trembled from bow to stern, lifted dizzily upon the waves, tilted in the wind, and dropped like a stone into the trough. The gulls were flattened to the sea, and the air was filled with the shout of the gale, and the crash of water falling upon itself. It was God’s storm, but Satan also was enjoying it.

Pale with fear, the sailors rushed to lighten the ship by throwing the cargo overboard. Then, as the tiny vessel dashed about in the water like a cork, they fell upon their knees and prayed to their gods, to Ramman, the thunderer, to Dagon, to Enlil, the old god of storms.

Seeing that Jonah still slept, sheltered by the deck which curved above him, the captain ran to awaken him. “Here,” he said, “this is a storm. Well, see for yourself. You should be more anxious, my friend. Have you a god? Then pray to him, for we need all the help we can get.”

Dazed by the tumult, still half asleep, Jonah gazed in confusion at the heaving waters. The wind lashed him to the deck; he stared in dismay at the mighty waves rising above him on every side like mountains. “I will not pray,” he said. And the captain shrank back at the sight of his face.

But the seamen, clinging to the deck, looked anxiously at Jonah, and at the great seas which broke over them without ceasing. “This is no common storm,” they told each other; “some great god is angry.”

They were good and simple men. Had one of them sinned, to draw down upon them all such wrath? No, it was Jonah, the stranger whose face was like a demon’s, dark as the storm itself. They looked at him with terror.

And Jonah looked back at them as frightened as they were. His mind reeled; had he not got away from God after all? Had God come after him--out there on the sea? Was there no way to flee from God?

Why had he tried to run away? What a fool.... God would never forgive him for it.

And then, in the crash of wind and water, a feeling of disdain came over Jonah, a bitter strength, a final pride. Well, here was the storm ... here was God still. God had taken everything away from him. What was his life worth to him now? Oh, be done with it, once and for all. “Look ... if You want it, God ... it is of no value to me any more....”

“It is my fault,” he said to the sailors proudly. “I alone am to blame. I am a Jew who has denied his God. It is my life that is wanted. Throw me overboard.”

But the sailors were frightened, and they would not touch him. “No,” they said, “we will row back to Joppa again. Then your god can do as he likes. If we throw you overboard, you will drown. Then we shall have blood upon our hands.”

They tried with all their strength to row against the storm. But the black sea, breaking, splintered their oars, and the wind pressed them backwards.

Then they said humbly, in fear, “This sea belongs to Iaveh, the god of the Jews. We cannot prevail against him any longer.”

And seizing Jonah, they cast him overboard, with a prayer. “Do not lay innocent blood upon us,” they said, “O god of the Jews. This is your doing, not ours.”

So saying they waited, trembling.

At once the sea grew calm, the wind died away, and the sun sank tranquilly down in the clear west. The peace of evening brooded again upon the water. And the ship, with all her sails set for Joppa, fled to the east.

Jonah sank through the waters without complaint. It was the end, and he had no desire to live. But as his breath failed, so his mind brought back to him the blue and shining sky, the sweet odors of the desert, the happy dreams of his youth, of glory, of peace. He began to struggle; his body fought against the sea, his mind shouted against death. “No,” he cried to himself, “no, I must live; I must live.”

With a groan Leviathan hurled himself through the waves and took the prophet into his mouth.

XVIII

In the darkness the whale spoke to Jonah. “What a lot of trouble you have made for yourself,” he said. And he told Jonah how God had made arrangements.

Jonah was not unhappy. In the whale’s mouth he was uncomfortable, but he had a great deal to think about. His mind was filled with wonder.

So it turned out that God was at home everywhere; that He commanded the fish of the sea, as well as the hosts of the air, and the creatures of the land. That was an extraordinary thing.

What an upset to theology.

Jonah asked the whale many questions. And the whale, who had often thought about such things as he rested among the weeds at the bottom of the sea, answered him as best he could.

“Do you deny,” said Jonah, “that God created man in His own image?”

“No,” replied the whale, “but on the other hand, do you suppose God has only one image? And then it depends, besides, on who is looking; because people do not see things all alike. Well, do you suppose a whale does not also look like God?”

“A whale does not look like God at all,” replied Jonah firmly.

“Still,” said the whale thoughtfully, “the most beautiful sight in the world, in my opinion, is a female whale. And you must admit I have seen as much of God as you have. So you see what difficulties you make for yourself.”

But Jonah would not believe that God looked like a whale. And they discussed other aspects of theology.

The whale swam through the waters green with daylight, or black with night, rising to the surface now and then to breathe. Out of respect for the sanctity of the prophet, he did not attempt to eat any of the small fish which fled in terror from his path. “We will fast together,” he said kindly to Jonah.

In his warm, black prison, Jonah slept, and woke, and thought about God. His spirit lifted; he felt peaceful, resigned, and almost happy. Gone was the bitter sense of defeat, the shame of betrayal. What if his heart ached still? he had God again. And what a God, now that he saw Him: the thunder of sea-surges, the holy calm of the desert, all peace, all beauty, were His ... one need not seek it, it was there, it was everywhere. Jerusalem was His--Tarshish and Tyre....

“I am your God, Jonah, and where you go, there you will find Me.”

Tyre was His, too. The Master strode through the streets of the city with thunder on His brow, with love and sorrow in His hands. And His prophet walked beside Him, wrapped in glory, like a king.

When they came to Judith’s house it was Jonah who blessed it with gently outstretched arms.

“My sister,” he said; “my poor, faithless love.”

The whale asked Jonah what he was doing. “I was dreaming,” said Jonah.

“I think you had better pray,” said the whale. So Jonah prayed.

“Lord, I have sinned,” he said humbly. “I was unhappy; and I ran away. And for that reason You cast me into the sea; the waves passed over me.

“The waves passed over my soul, Lord.

“I went down to the bottom of the hills; the bars of the earth were about me. But I did not perish. You heard my cry, and You remembered me. I thank You, Lord.

“Look, I am not vain any longer; I do not wish anything for myself. Let me do Your bidding again, with a quiet heart.”

And he added with a cry, “Give me peace, Lord.”

The whale swam on, past schools of appetizing fish, down through the dim flower-branches of the sea’s deep bed, up through sunny foam. Hungry, weary, but hopeful, the great fish waited patiently for God to speak.

On the third day, God spoke. And the whale, lashing the waters with his tail, sped like an eager minnow to the shore, and vomited Jonah forth upon the sand.

XIX

Jonah was let out of the whale in the North, near Arvad, and not far from Kadesh as a crow might fly, which is to say, over the coastal hills and then in a straight line across the jungles and the desert. This was the route he took as being the shortest way to Nineveh. He was in a hurry; he was impatient to begin his mission. He was filled with enthusiasm.

How different from his flight to sea, this vigorous return across the land dry with the sun of midsummer. Now he marched with a firm and hurried step, his face darkly radiant with divine purpose, with pious anger. Yes, he would speak; Nineveh would hear him. Let them stone him if they liked, God would amply repay them for it. What glory.

And this was all his, not hers, not for her sake; let her be proud of him if she liked; what did it matter any more? She would hear enough of it in Tyre; Jonah here, and Jonah there....

Yes, they would speak of it in Tyre.

As he passed the wayside altars of the baalim with their pillars surmounted by horns of sacrifices, he smiled at them in derision.

“You,” he said scornfully, “you ... what are you gods of, anyway?”

At Kadesh he saw statues of the river deities, Chrysonhoa and Pegai. He spat in the dust before them; fortunately, no one was looking. In the sun of late afternoon their shadows pointed like great spears toward Nineveh.

“Israel will hear my name again,” he thought proudly.

The evergreen oaks of the hills gave way to the tamarisks of the Syrian jungles, and the palms and scrub of the desert. He slept the first night in the wilderness between Kadesh and Rehoboth. The jackals were silent, awed by the presence of lions among the rocks. Padding to and fro, the great beasts watched Jonah from afar, with eyes like flames. And Jonah dreamed of Deborah; when he awoke, he remembered her gentle smile.

In the fresh light of early morning a mother goat divided her milk between the prophet and her ewe. “These are stirring times, Jonah,” she said; “angels are abroad in great numbers.” Recognizing a minor deity, Jonah blessed her and resumed his journey.

At the end of the second day he began to pass the boundary stones of Assyria, set up to warn trespassers upon private property. Thinking them altars, Jonah cursed each one as he went by. The next day he passed kilns in which colored bricks were being baked. As far as he could see, the blue, green, and yellow bricks stood in rows on the red earth.

That night he slept outside the gates of Nineveh. The city rose above him in the dark; he heard the sentries challenge on the walls.

In the morning he entered the city with some farmers on their way to the markets. The sun was rising, gleaming upon the great winged bulls before the temples, the green and yellow lions upon the walls. Under the clear upland sky the city shone with color like a fair. The markets opened; the streets filled with men and women in their colored shawls and clashing ornaments. And Jonah, looking and looking, was astonished. “Why,” he thought, “this is strange; there is something bright and bold about all this. This is fine, after all.” And he felt a gayety of heart take hold of him. How vigorous these mountain people looked with their insolent faces and their swaggering air. There was nothing old or sad in Nineveh. He forgot why he had come; he was excited, and happy. It was not at all what he had expected; and he forgot himself.

But not for long. As the hours passed, he grew weary; and as the brightness wore off, and he began to think of his own life again, he began to hate Nineveh, to hate the bold colors all around him, the youth that carried itself so proudly and carelessly in the streets. “Yes,” he thought, “that is all very well for you; but you know nothing about life.” And, lifting his arms, he cried aloud with gloomy satisfaction, “Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown.”

The success of this remark astonished him. Without waiting to find out any more about it, the Assyrians hurried home and put ashes on their heads. Nineveh repented like a child of its sins; in an orgy of humility the city gave up its business, and dressed itself in sackcloth. The king, even, left his throne, and sat down in some ashes.

Jonah was vexed. This, also, was not what he had expected. He had looked for a wind of fury, for stones, and curses, and a final effect of glory. And when he learned that because of its repentance Nineveh was to be spared, his courage gave way in a flood of disappointment.

“I knew it,” he said bitterly to God; “I knew You’d never do it.”

And with an angry countenance he retired to an open field on the east side of the city, to see what would happen. His heart was very sore.

“Where is my glory now?” he thought.

Then God, who was anxiously watching, spoke to Jonah from the sky. “Why are you angry?” said the Holy One. “Have I done you a wrong?”

Jonah replied, sighing, “Who will ever believe me now, Lord?”

And for the rest of the day he maintained a silence, full of reproach.

Then because the sun was very hot, and because where Jonah was sitting there was no shade of any sort, God made a vine grow up, overnight, to shelter Jonah.

“There,” said God, “there is a vine for you. Rest awhile and see.”

That day Jonah sat in comfort beneath his shelter. The wind was in the west, full of agreeable odors; at noon a farmer brought him meal, salt, and oil; he ate, was refreshed, and dozed beneath his vine. The sun went down over the desert; and the evening star grew brighter in the sky, which shone with a peaceful light. The dews descended; and Jonah, wrapped in his cloak, dreamed of home.

But in the morning worms had eaten the leaves of the vine; gorged and comfortable, they regarded Jonah from the ground with pious looks. As the day progressed, the sun beat down upon him without pity, a strong wind blew up from the east, out of the desert, and the prophet grew faint with misery. Too hot even to sweat, he nevertheless refused to move.

“No,” he said, “I shall sit here.”

An obstinate rage kept him out in the sun, although he half expected to die of it. “Well,” he said to himself, “what if I do?”

It seemed to him that he had nothing more to live for.

Then God said to Jonah, “Do you do well to be angry, My son?”

Jonah did not wish to reply. But he was sure of one thing: that he had every right to be angry. “Why did You wither my vine, Lord?” he asked bitterly. “Was that also necessary?”

God, looking down on His prophet, smiled sadly. “What is a vine?” He said gently. “Was it your vine, Jonah? You neither planted it nor cared for it. It came up in a night, and it perished in a night. And now you think I should have spared the vine for your sake. Yes ... but what of Nineveh, that great city, where there are so many people who cannot discern between their right hand and their left hand? Shall I not spare them, too, for My sake, Jonah?”

Jonah rose wearily to his feet. “Well,” he said, “I may as well go home again.”

And with bowed head he passed through the city, and out of the western gate. In the streets the citizens made way for him with pious murmurs and anxious looks, but Jonah did not notice them. All his courage was gone, his pride, his hope of glory, all gone down in the dust of God’s mercy to others, to all but him. To him alone God had been merciless and exacting. One by one the warm hopes of the youth, the ardors of the man, had been denied him; peace, love, pride, everything had been taken from him. What was there left? Only the desert, stony as life itself ... only the empty heart, the deliberate mind, the bare and patient spirit. Well, Jonah ... what a fool to think of anything else. Glory ... yes, but the glory is God’s, not yours.

But he had not learned even that. He was not a good prophet. The flowers of his hope, the bitter blossoms of his grief, sprang up everywhere, where there should have been only waste brown earth. No, he was not a prophet; he was a man, like anybody else, whose love had been false, whose God had been unkind....

And as he trudged dejectedly along, his heart, bare now of pride, filled with loneliness and longing. He thought of Judith, of the happiness that would never be his; and he wept.

High among the clouds, God turned sadly to Moses. “You Jews,” He said wearily, “you do not understand beauty. With you it is either glory or despair.”

And with a sigh He looked westward to the blue Ægean. Warm and gold the sunlight lay over Greece.

THE END

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.