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.
Deborah walked home with her head in the air, the color bright on her
face. In the village she stopped to speak a few words to the gossips,
who greeted her with curiosity and interest.
“Well,” she said, “Jonah is going back to the desert soon. God will
need him again shortly.
“Such excitement last night; I couldn’t sleep after it. So I still have
on my shawl, taking some air in the morning.”
She passed on, humming a little tune to herself.
Uncle David hurried home before her. Dripping with perspiration, and
with a white face, he burst into the house, and sank dejectedly upon a
bench.
“All is lost,” he cried.
“Woe is me.”
He could say no more. Deborah, when she came home, told Jonah the story.