Jonah
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.