Jonah

JONAH and Judith sat on a bank of ferns and moss beneath the shade of a giant sycamore tree. Already they were friends; they talked earnestly together, and twisted in their fingers the ferns with their tough stalks and cool leaves.

“Well, but tell me,” said Judith, “did you really see an angel? Just imagine, how exciting that must be. What was this angel like? Very beautiful, I suppose.” And she looked down with a frown.

“Such beauty,” said Jonah gravely, “I cannot describe to you. Because, actually, one does not see beauty, one feels it. One looks at something, and suddenly one feels a pain in one’s heart. Then one thinks ‘what a beautiful thing.’”

“Yes,” said Judith. “Well, tell me, did this angel have dark hair too, like mine?”

“I do not know,” replied Jonah candidly. “I did not exactly see any hair. But I remember the wide, white, folded wings, and the glow which entered my heart at the sight of that serene face.”

Judith pouted. “Didn’t you notice anything at all?” she enquired. “For instance, what did she wear. And was she young or old? What a strange fellow you are; you saw almost nothing, or at any rate, nothing of any consequence.”

“Why do you speak always of ‘her’?” asked Jonah. “This angel was not a woman. At least, I did not think so.”

“Then he was a man,” cried Judith.

“No,” said Jonah slowly, “he was not a man, either.”

“You see,” said Judith, “I was right; she was a woman. And besides, if she was so beautiful, naturally she was a woman.”

“I confess,” admitted Jonah, “that had not occurred to me.”

“Of course not,” said Judith. “But it occurred to me, because I am a woman.”

And she added with a smile,

“Even if I am not as beautiful as an angel.”

“You are very pretty,” said Jonah shyly. “But it is not the same thing.” And he dug in the moss with his staff.

“Do you really think I am pretty?” asked Judith. “Sarah, my nurse, says that to be pretty is nothing, because any one can be pretty. She would rather I were virtuous, because virtue is woman’s richest jewel. Of course I mean to be virtuous, and to do what is expected of me.”

She began to weave some ferns into a chaplet. “Sometimes,” she said in a low voice, “I look at myself in my mirror, and I give myself a little kiss. Do you think it is wrong? Nobody sees me.”

Jonah moved uncomfortably in the moss. “God...?” he said.

“Oh,” said Judith. “Well, God ... old God.

“Anyway,” she added, “I don’t think He sees me.”

She looked at the garden from which an overpowering fragrance arose, at the flowers languidly lifting their bright-colored faces to the sun, drinking in the warmth and the light. “I have a little dove,” she said, “made all of silver. It is a copy of the doves of Eryx, and it is sacred to Astarte. My uncle brought it to me from Tyre. It is pretty, because it is of silver, with eyes of rubies. I put it on the window-sill of my room. It brought the birds; they came and sang on my window-sill.

“My little dove sees me kiss myself in my mirror.

“Is it wrong, Jonah?”

When Jonah did not reply, she said, “Tell me what it is like in the desert. Just imagine, to live all alone in a little hut or a cave, how exciting that is.”

Jonah began to tell her of his life in the desert. Seated in the shade on the moss, while the bees hummed outside in the sun, he described the way in which the prophets came together for study and meditation. “I have a little cell,” he said, “in Golan, near a tiny stream which rises in the hills. It is clear and cold, and many prophets live beside its banks among the rushes. In the morning, after we have prayed, we gather in the shade to listen to some learned man, or eminent saint. Our midday meal is simple, a few dates, some maize, a little oil or wine, perhaps a fish from the deep waters of Cinnereth across the hills. And in the afternoon we meditate upon the Law, and the history of our people.

“Evening comes suddenly in the wilderness. The shadows lengthen, and night approaches across the desert. The wind of night blows upon the east, which turns dark and blue with cold. In the west the sun goes down into the sea; the sky turns yellow, then green, and shines like a lamp. The stars appear, the dews descend, and the wings of angels begin to sweep through the skies. It is cold, and the desert is silent, save for the prayers of the hermits, which rise in a soft sigh from the earth. As it grows darker the voices of animals begin to mingle with our psalms, and we hear, far off, the roaring of lions on their way to drink. Then our fires are lighted, to guide the Hosts of Heaven to our homes.

“The animals are our friends. The little divinities of the rocks and streams know and reverence us. They bring us food, and they tell us of the approach of demons in the form of ostriches and jackals. Against such beings as these our holiness is sufficient protection while we are on God’s land.

“Well, that is all, really. It is a simple life, but it has its beauty. In the quiet of the desert our hearts expand like flowers in warm weather, and in our minds blossom lovely and tranquil thoughts.”

Moved by a sweet emotion, Judith replied, “How delightful it must be to live in the desert.”

She continued in a low tone, “When you speak of God, I seem to feel Him in my heart. It is such a strange feeling, so peaceful and yet a little painful.”

And she looked at him with surprised and shining eyes.

Suddenly she looked down; the dark lashes rested softly against her cheeks warm as sunny roses. “I must go home now,” she murmured. “Good-by.”

She got swiftly to her feet. “I will not look in my mirror any more,” she said, “if you think it is wrong.”

And she ran away without once looking behind her. When she got home she hid her mirror in a box of ivory and sandalwood. Then she went to put her silver dove away also. But all at once, instead of hiding it, she gave it a kiss on its ruby eyes.

“Little dove,” she said, “tell me what love is.”

Going to her box, she took out her mirror again, and gazed for a long time, and with a smile, at her own reflection.

Jonah went thoughtfully home. There he found his Uncle David, who had stopped in for a moment to see if anything was being cooked. Deborah was filling the lamps for the Sabbath. When she saw Jonah she straightened her bent back, and remarked anxiously, “Where have you been all morning?”

“I have been out walking,” replied Jonah evasively. And he sat gloomily down in a corner of the room, as far as possible from his uncle. Then all at once he burst out laughing. When his mother asked him what he was laughing at, he answered,

“I was thinking of a green beetle.”

“You see,” said Uncle David, nodding his head, “he is not all there.”

Deborah arose, and went to fetch more oil for the lamps. As she passed her son, she touched his forehead with her hand. “What is there so peculiar about that?” she demanded of her brother. “Or perhaps you have never seen a green beetle? Well, I have been amused by them myself.”

“Sit still for a little,” she said anxiously to Jonah; “after walking so much in the sun.”

Uncle David settled himself comfortably in his seat. “To-day,” he said, “who should I meet but Bildad, the water carrier. He said to me, ‘This is fine news about your nephew, Jonah. I suppose that we shall hear from you soon,’ and with that he gave me a look full of meaning.

“I did not reply; naturally, because I had nothing to say. Could I tell him the truth? We should be the laughing-stock of the entire village. I simply wrinkled my forehead and looked as grave as possible. At any rate, my expression struck him as peculiar, because he said as he went away, ‘Excuse me for intruding in your affairs.’”

“I have been thinking of something,” said Deborah. “It has occurred to me that if we do not give a feast, people might begin to think that we wished to give ourselves airs.”

“There you are,” said David; “that is the way I feel about it, word for word. Speak up, and people believe you. Otherwise what is the good of all this?”

Jonah stirred uneasily in his corner. “Mother,” he said, “do you really insist upon giving a feast for me? I think it is foolish. Still, if it would give you pleasure ... but who would come? The whole village, I suppose. Would you actually ask the prince, and his niece?”

“What?” cried David; “what? I shall ask him myself, because I am acquainted with him in a humble way.”

“Well,” said Jonah, hesitating.... “But what would you wear, Mother?” he asked with sudden anxiety. “These old rags.... And who would pay for it? No, it is impossible.”

“Do not worry about what I would wear,” returned Deborah sharply. “You will not be ashamed of me. As for who is to pay for it ... you need not worry about that, either, because it will not be you, at all events.”

Jonah sat for a long time without speaking. At last he sighed. “Very well,” he said, “if you like....

“I will stay a few days longer.”