Jonah

WITH a heavy heart Jonah climbed the hill to the garden. He wore his old coat, and his face was weary and gloomy. He had come to say to Judith, “We cannot be married because I am poor, and cannot get anything to do.” But as he drew near the garden, he forgot what he had come to say, and thought only of seeing her again.

When he came to the tree under which he had sat with her, Hiram, who was walking with a satisfied air among the flowers, said to him,

“You, there, are you one of the servants?

“Well, just be so good as to bring me a bowl for these roses.”

“I am not a servant,” said Jonah proudly.

“No?” said Hiram. “Then what are you? Are you interested in horses?”

“I am a prophet,” said Jonah.

Hiram made a small bow. “Forgive me,” he said. “In my country the prophets are dressed a little differently, because they have priestly connections. However, it is interesting to meet other kinds of prophets. It is an interesting profession. Well ... what a pleasant day it is. Perhaps you would do me the favor to prophesy me something.”

Jonah stared at him angrily. “I have some business with the Lady Judith,” he declared.

“She is in the house,” said Hiram. And the two men stood looking at each other with surprise and alarm.

Hiram went to fetch her. She came slowly, with downcast eyes, and cheeks as white as her own lilies. “How do you do, Jonah,” she said.

At the sight of her, Jonah felt his heart beating through his body, and a strange sweet sorrow rose up in his eyes. He wanted to say to her, “This is like coming home. I have been so unhappy, but you will comfort me. Because you love me, you will feel my sorrow. How sweet it is to have such a secret together.”

“How do you do, Judith,” he said; “I have been away.”

“Yes,” she said. And they stood without speaking, and without looking at each other.

“Well, did you have a good time?” she asked finally.

It troubled Jonah that she would not look at him. “I did not go away to amuse myself,” he said simply. And he added in a lower voice,

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes, I suppose so. At least ... I have been so busy. What hot days these have been.”

“I went to Bethel,” said Jonah. He wondered how to go on; he was puzzled and depressed. This was not as he had thought it would be.

“Didn’t you know?”

“No.... Did you prophesy again? What is going to happen now? My goodness, you prophets, you are always going about.

“I suppose you will be going back to the desert soon.”

Jonah stared at her. She kept her head down, and her hands twisted together. He began to feel as he did sometimes before God spoke to him, still and empty inside, with a terrible stillness, waiting for something.

“Judith,” he half whispered.

“Yes, Jonah,” she said, looking up at him, for only a moment, and then looking away again.

“All the time I was gone, I thought of only one thing. I remembered only one thing.”

“Yes, Jonah?”—ever so faintly.

“That night in the garden, and the white moon in the trees like a bird in the branches....

“Do you remember?”

Judith looked away. “That seems like so long ago, doesn’t it?” she answered.

“‘Long ago’?” cried Jonah, and his heart sank. “Why, it is no more than seven days ... Judith, have you forgotten?”

“No,” murmured Judith unhappily; “but I do not exactly remember....”

“You said you loved me,” he cried, in a voice which sounded like a croak.

She put the backs of her hands to her two cheeks, and whispered with bent head, “What must you think of me?”

“But,” stammered Jonah. Words would not come; he stood staring at her, eyes wide with unbelief.

“Forgive me,” she said calmly. “You can understand ... I hardly knew what I was doing. Do not think too badly of me.”

Jonah did not move or speak. But within him there were voices enough, too many. “What? I do not believe it. It is impossible. No, it is not impossible. Well, it has happened. But such things cannot happen ... to you, Jonah, to you....”

He was still, waiting for the clamor to subside, for the voices to reduce themselves to one voice. He was afraid to move even; bewildered, horrified, he was like a man clinging with his finger-tips to the edge of a precipice. If he moved ... if even a little earth slid from under his fingers....

No, he must keep very still; not a word, not a motion ... then it would all turn out right again....

It was Judith who moved, and spoke. Coming forward a step, she laid her hand timidly on his arm. “You will forgive me,” she said. “You have work to do in the world. You must go on, you must be a great prophet for my sake. I am going to be married. I shall be so proud of you.”

And turning, she ran back to meet Sarah, who was hurrying out of the house after her.

Jonah went home. His feet led him back down the hill to his mother’s house, but he did not notice where he was going. He felt strangely light-headed, almost as if he had been drinking. His set face, with wide amazed eyes, was lifted to the sky. And he kept thinking:

“Something has happened, something has happened....”

But what was it? Could he tell? Something had happened out of all reason, as though a tree had moved, and stood upright on its head. How could one believe such a thing? But there it was—on its head.

What was God about? And what had he, Jonah, done to deserve such a thing?

He passed the field where Aaron kept his cows. And suddenly, as he saw his brother in the distance, his shoulders sagged, his face broke into creases, his body seemed to fall together; and he stood weakly wringing his hands, while a wave of physical sickness stormed through his body ... remembering, remembering....

Then he went on again, with clumsy steps, and bent head.

If only it were something he could understand. But how could he understand it; how could he ever understand? How could one love, he wondered, and then not love? Love did something to one’s whole being; it made one gentle, and tender....

How could she have hurt him so, if she loved him?

And where was God all this time? What did He think about such a thing? “You, up there—God—what have You to say?”

Nothing.

He came slowly into the house, and sat down with his hands clasped between his knees. One look at him was enough for Deborah; she knew. But then, she had expected it. And keeping her glance busily upon her sewing, she began to sing softly to herself.

But her eyes were full of pain.

“You are tired, my son.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“It has been hot. The poor always feel the extremes of weather most. If I had a daughter, I would never let her marry a poor man.”

And she glanced swiftly at her son, sunk in despair upon his stool.

“Everywhere I go,” she continued calmly, “they speak of you with such admiration. He is a real prophet, they say. Everybody expects great things of you. It makes me so happy.”

Still Jonah did not answer. And Deborah said, sighing,

“Is it time you were going back to the desert, Jonah?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Well, I suppose you are right. It will be a rest for you, after all this. We shall miss you. It will be peaceful in the desert.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“I will send Aaron to you soon, with news, and some little comforts for you. Even if you have to live with the foxes, you can at least be comfortable.”

Slowly, putting her sewing away, she rose, and came over to him. “Jonah,” she said gently, and laid her hand ever so lightly upon his hair, “my boy....

“People are not very kind to one another.”

“No ... Mother....”

She began to sing again, softly, taking his head in her hands, drawing him gently to her:

And Jonah wept, with his head against his mother’s breast.

“My son is at my knee.”