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.