The Journey Begun (11 page)

“Eli—”

“That’s why you came here at the exact time I went on furlough! I was supposed to hear this to plan a campaign against Assyria. That must be it!”

“Eli—”

“Imagine bringing Assyria under the foot of Israel!
Hoi
, I can’t think of anything better than that!”

“I don’t think so, Eli.” Jonah’s eyes drilled into his friend.

Elihu drew himself up. “Why not?”

“If
Adonai
is sending a message of repentance to Nineveh—or to anyone, for that matter—it’s because there’s a chance they will repent. Maybe even a good chance they will. We don’t know.” Jonah’s tone hardened. “And if they do, He’ll be faithful to spare them. He may even bless them, Eli. Could you stand that?”

“Perhaps, but stop and think for a minute. What are the chances Nineveh is going to bow to a Hebrew deity and repent of just being who they are? If you were preaching in the name of Ishtar or Marduk, well, maybe they’d listen. But the God of Abraham?” Elihu dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand.

“But if they did?”

The warrior’s face set. “I don’t believe they will. But for the possibility of marching Israel’s troops against Assyria, and with God’s blessing, I’m willing to take the chance.”

“I’m not.”

Elihu jerked to his feet and stalked to the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. He paused and stared at the floor. Glowering, he turned and faced the defiant prophet. “You have no choice.
Adonai
has spoken. You have to go.” His voice was ominous.

Jonah’s voice was equally terse. “No, I don’t. And I’m not.”

Elihu scowled at him. “You would stand in the way of Israel and her destiny? You would defy her God?”

“I would. And you know why.”

Hadassah was quiet to this point, not daring to interrupt, but the men’s tones scared her now. She cleared her throat. “Dinner...is ready.” She looked from Jonah’s face to her brother’s, neither of which moved. “Eli?”

Her brother broke the silence with an icy voice. “That’s all right. Our guest will not be staying.”

“Eli—” Benjamin stepped forward, but Elihu warned him off with a raised finger.

Keeping his eyes on Jonah, he folded his arms across his chest. Hadassah could almost hear the barbed thoughts flying between the gaunt prophet and her brawny brother.

Jonah set his jaw. He reached for his travel cloak and draped it over his arm. Grabbing his spare sandals and the money belt, he pushed to his feet. Without another look, he strode to the door and shouldered it open.

“Jonah—” Hadassah moved toward the door, but Elihu’s look stopped her short.

She watched as Jonah stalked down the steps and across the muddy yard. Without a glance back, the bowed figure disappeared into darkness that had enveloped the land as completely as it had his heart.

Lll

Ehud slumped over the work table in the tanning shed, lost in a fog of doubt. Everything had happened so quickly, he still wasn’t sure what
had
happened. All he knew was that Jonah—his brother—was gone.
Gone
. Where? Who knew? He was suddenly without his brother, his best friend, and his business partner. He couldn’t count the number of times on the slopes checking the kids and the nannies that day that he turned on impulse to say something to Jonah, only to be caught up short by the realization he wasn’t there.

Jonah. Jonah was
always
there. Always reliable. Quick with a laugh, a joke, a witticism, a steady hand on a kidding nanny when things looked hopeless—and the nanny would pull through. Ehud’s eyes smarted. Half of his being had been ripped from him as painfully as an arm or a leg might be severed with a dull axe.

Ehud waited out the previous night, sure his brother would come to his senses, sure Jonah would walk back through the front door. All would be explained, all forgiven. But it was not to be. He sat alone by the cook fire’s warm ashes as the black of night give way to predawn gray. Sunrise caught him by surprise, the first faint glow of day piercing a gap between the shutter and the window ledge. When the birth of a new day burned away the remaining overcast, he stood and opened the shutter, soaking in the heat and light awakening the valley.
Heat and light
. Ehud knew Jonah to be capable of both—sometimes at the same time, like the sun. What had happened? What got into him?

Ehud’s work day dragged with each degree of the sun’s arc through the heavens. The sullen earth clawed at the day, as though intent on retarding its passing, perhaps even to stop it. Never had time passed so slowly. Even now as the great luminary began to slip behind the hills to the southwest, it lingered, suspended, dogged in its insistence to prolong the agony of the day. It was as if the heavens themselves discerned the affairs of man were not right and could not be left to the passing of another night.

Ehud sputtered a mirthless chuckle. Joshua had subjugated this mightiest of celestial mysteries for a brief time with his prayer. Jonah confused it for an entire day merely with his absence.

Ehud’s hasty words from the night before reared up and leveled him like a punch in the gut.
Get out! You don’t belong here anymore!
Who was he among mankind to judge his own brother? In what corner of the cosmos could his words—no, his heart—be justified in so quick a denunciation of his dearest blood kin, indeed his benefactor of a lifetime? Ehud squeezed his eyelids tighter at a stark realization. To him belonged the hatred of Cain, the arrogance of Esau, the jealousy of Joseph’s brothers. It cut Ehud to the depths of his heart and rent the fabric of his soul. He had cast his own brother out of his home and away from his family—the family that same brother had suppressed a lifetime of untold dreams and desires to support and to nurture. And why? That was the worst part. He didn’t even know why.

“Ehud?” The waning light silhouetted Sarah’s frame in the doorway, her hands on her hips and her head cocked as she studied her mind-weary husband. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”

The tanner rubbed his temples with the heels of his hands. “Umm, all right. Just a moment to close up here.”

She frowned. “Are you all right? You’ve hardly spoken two words all day.”

“Yes. I’m fine. Just…tired.”

She persisted. “Is this about Jonah?”

No answer.

Sarah folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. “We discussed this earlier. It’s best that he left. Your brother’s gone crazy. If he’d stayed a moment longer there’s no telling what kind of damage he’d have done to Mother. She still hasn’t recovered. I just hope—”

The palm of Ehud’s right hand slamming down on the table sliced her words in half. He did not raise his head, but canted his eyes up with an iciness she had never seen before. “Woman, you will speak no ill of my brother.” His words cut with an edge that his skinning knife at its sharpest could never hope to match.

She faltered a moment, then forced an attempt to regain control of the conversation. It was a mistake. “I’m only saying that—”

Ehud came out of his chair so quickly that Sarah nearly tripped backward over the threshold. She flinched at his glare.

“Hold your tongue and listen well, because I will say this only once.” He gripped the table with both hands
[B16]
 
. “Before you say another word, you will stop and you will think very carefully about the man you malign. This family owes Jonah more than you can ever hope to repay. He’s sacrificed everything—
everything
—that could have meant a personal life for himself to provide for those he loves, including you. And he’s asked nothing—
nothing
—in return. If there is something wrong with Jonah, it’s because something needs to be wrong, whether we know what causes it or not. So, no, you will speak no ill of my brother.” Ehud teetered slightly as he released the table and stood to full height. “Only speak now if you don’t understand what I just said.”

Sarah gaped at a man she didn’t know existed. She always had the last word. Ehud was not soft, but he always let her have her say. This was different. Very different. She opened her mouth again, but then clamped it shut at his final instruction. After an awkward moment, she dropped her eyes to the floor and slowly clasped her arms across her stomach.

Ehud’s quiet footsteps crossed the floor. When the movement ceased, she chanced a glance up. He was a single pace away and she once again saw the soft eyes of the husband she knew searching her face with compassion she always took for granted. He now betrayed something new behind the softness in those gray eyes, a light that did not waver, that bound the softness with strength. She couldn’t hold his gaze and her head tipped once more.

Ehud reached out with one hand. His fingertips traced her arm to her shoulder, and he slipped a calloused hand behind her neck, pressing his rough fingers against the soft skin beneath her hair. His hand drew her to him. Her eyes closed as her forehead came to rest against his chest. She lifted her hands and pressed her palms against his shirt.

Ehud rested his chin gently atop his beloved wife’s head. He held her tightly. A single tear from her cheek stained his collar.

Jonah. Where are you?

Nine

onah stopped when he reached the bend in the lane leading from the Ben Barak homestead. His mind was numb from the encounter with Elihu, never suspecting they would part on such ugly terms. The memory hit him hard. Elihu never shared exactly the same view as Jonah regarding God’s design for Israel, but their goals at least complemented each other. Indeed, if not for his warrior companion, the prophet would never have reached Samaria on his first mission. Or would he?
If it hadn’t been Eli, there would have been another
. Jonah nodded in bruised satisfaction. He didn’t need Eli. He didn’t need anyone.

Jonah looked up into the dark expanse spanning the Jezreel Valley. The night sky decked the landscape with a rich black mantel sprinkled with diamonds, some tinged blue, others red. A crescent moon sliced a thin cleft into the blackness, but the sliver of light held no power against the dark. But for the lack of a full moon, it prompted Jonah’s memory to another night years ago when he sensed at once the nearness and the remoteness of
Adonai
. Tonight he sensed only the remoteness.

His bare feet on the cold hard path snapped his mind to more practical matters. He leaned against the stump of an aged grapevine and groped for his spare sandals. After securing the leather bindings around his ankles, he straightened and draped the treasure belt over his shoulder. He adjusted the belt and slipped the travel cloak over his head. The lightweight fabric did little to stave off the cold night air, but it would have to do. His heavier cloak remained draped over the washstand beside his sandals, where Hadassah left them to dry. They would stay there. He had no intention of going back.

Jonah cast a forlorn look back at the house, visible now only by the warm yellow light leaking around the most recent door to be shut against him. He pulled his collar close and turned south. Just visible in the dim glow of the immature moon, the main road disappeared into the great valley. It would lead him to the bridge near
[B17]
 
Megiddo, and from there, well, who knew where?

Lll

The
Ba’al Hayam
listed to starboard in Joppa’s harbor. Recovery from her ordeal at sea was arduous, although her crew toiled long hours to return her to seaworthiness. There was another consignment of olive oil, dried figs, and other sundry cargo waiting to be loaded, and Omer was anxious to recoup his losses from the last voyage.

This would be the longest route for the
Ba’al
yet. Pushing due west from Joppa, she would forego her normal ports of call along the coast of Phoenicia, bypass Cyprus, and head to Crete. From there she would sail for Malta and beyond, even to the mouth of the Great Sea. Her final destination was Tarshish, where she would take on a shipment of raw silver before returning to Philistia via Utica and Carthage to take advantage of the prevailing summer winds. This was to be the last and most profitable shipment of Omer’s career. When the
Ba’al
reappeared in Joppa’s harbor next year, he would celebrate his retirement. He’d be set for life in financial security and ready to enjoy the fruits of his years of haggling with stubborn commodity dealers and negotiating consignment rates with greedy middle men who sought to suck the very life blood out of his business. His long-anticipated life of ease was overdue. Thirty-seven years he counted fighting the fickleness of the sea, gambling on the weather and defending his interests against murderous pirates and dishonest merchants—whom he despised more than the pirates. He couldn’t wait and, the gods willing, he wouldn’t have to much longer.

The
Ba’al Hayam
needed
to get underway for another more pragmatic reason. The end of the foul weather season was already two months behind him, and the
Ba’al
needed to depart if she was to make Tarshish in time for winter harbor. She would ride low in the water with her first load and that profile would not change much for the remaining legs of the journey.

“Why the delay? The
Ba’al
has been wasting away in harbor four days already!” Omer stood on tiptoes over Shem, apparently trying to intimidate him. The captain was not impressed. He sprawled on the low-backed wooden bench in Omer’s small office. He clasped his hands over his stomach and rolled a small wooden dowel pin between his teeth. Shem knew the habit never failed to annoy Omer, and the present circumstances only made it worse.

All the more reason to milk it.

“Did you see the damage she took during the last voyage?” Shem arched an eyebrow and flicked the dowel with his tongue, causing it to waggle. He knew the answer to the question before he asked it. Of course Omer hadn’t seen the damage.

Shem’s career put him in the employ of two types of merchants. There were those who insisted on accompanying every consignment, and who felt they had to manage every detail of the voyage. Then there were those who were afraid to leave solid ground—even to visit their own ships in the safety of a harbor. Omer was of the latter ilk. Although Shem had little respect for an owner who refused to set foot on his own vessel, both types had their drawbacks. The engaged owner tended to forget he had a captain and, instead, tried to captain the ship himself. Two captains confused the crew, and tact only went so far before Shem would pull the owner aside and instruct him on the finer points of nautical protocol. On the other hand, those like Omer tried to exert as much control, but from their merchant’s desk rather than from the deck of the ship. They were no less annoying, but a little easier to deal with.

“No, not up close. But I saw it from the levee.” Omer fidgeted,
then apparently
[B18]
 
gave up the intimidation tactic. He turned and ambled to the window, looking out at the harbor from his vantage point on the western slope of Joppa’s mount.

Shem grunted. “Hmm. Can’t see much from there. You ought to come out to the ship.”

“I would, but I get sick on boats.”

“Ship, not boat.”

“Yes, ship. I get sick on ships.”

“Then you’ll have to take my word on the progress we’re making.”

Omer turned again to face his captain. “I do, it’s just that we’re losing valuable time out of the sailing season. We need to put to sea as soon as possible if we’re to make Tarshish by winter.”

“Time of year doesn’t matter much if the ship won’t float.” Shem sucked the dowel pin into his mouth and tongued it sideways so it pushed lumps out on each cheek.

“Of course not, but—must you
do
that?” Omer rolled his eyes.

“Wha’?” Shem mouthed around the pin.

“Never mind.” Omer avoided staring at his captain’s distorted jaw. “How long until the
Ba’al
can get back underway?”

Shem paused, righting the dowel in his mouth so the tip once again protruded between his lips. His brow creased in thought, and he extracted the peg. He tapped it against his cheekbone. “Well, the new sail is about ready. After we finish belting it, the sealing resin along the seams needs to cure. Then we stretch and mount it—that’ll take three or four days, at least. Uri already replaced most of the damaged wood. We still need to treat it against the water. Two days more. We’re still listing to starboard, not sure why. May take a sea trial to sort that out. A day or two there, maybe. Some of the final touch-ups can be done the same time we’re mounting the sail. I suppose, if everything goes right, we should be ready to start taking on cargo in, oh, a week. Maybe.”

Omer turned and bent over the lunar tide chart on his map table. “A week. And then two more days to load all the cargo and provision the ship, if we work straight through.”

“
Maybe
a week.”

Omer looked up at his captain. “You have a week.”

Shem knew not to push any further. Omer was no seaman, but he did hold the purse strings. He also knew captains, even for the long haulers, were not all that difficult to find.

“Sure. A week.”

Omer dropped into his chair behind the map table. He tapped his finger on the tide chart. “I want the ship underway at the next spring tide. Eight days. Skip the sea trial if you have to. We can balance her by cheating the cargo to port, if necessary.”

“That’s cutting it pretty close.” Shem shot a serious glance at the merchant.

“No choice. She’ll be riding low with this next shipment of olive oil. You know better than I how shallow Joppa’s harbor is. If we don’t get out at the next spring tide when the water is the deepest, we won’t get out this season at all. And I’m not going to lose this consignment. Not for anything.” Omer swiveled in his chair and clasped both hands on the table.

The discussion was over.

The captain frowned and studied the dowel pin rolling between his fingers. He looked up. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Shem sighed and stood up. As he turned to go, he flicked the sodden pin onto a pile of parchment scraps lying in the corner. It stuck fast.

Omer flinched and regarded the dowel with disgust.

As Shem reached the door, Omer leaned back in his chair. “Take good care of my boat.”

“Ship.”

“Right.”