Jonah
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.”
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