The Journey Begun (27 page)

The stricken prophet’s eyes flickered involuntarily at his companion’s hand.

Simon eased back the sleeve of his shirt to reveal an ugly groove cut into his left arm just below the elbow. The limb was bound tightly with four strips of cloth, the skin around the wound swelling red
[B42]
 
.

Jonah recoiled at the brutal violation of human flesh as an act of devotion. His mind flashed back to the story his father told him of Elijah’s contest with the prophets of Ba’al on Mt. Carmel. The idolatrous priests petitioned their god with zeal, working themselves into a frenzy as the day wore on. Out of desperation, they resorted to slashing their bodies with swords and spears until their own blood flowed freely onto the ground. It was not until Elijah intervened and prayed fire from heaven down upon his sacrifice that the frenetic self mutilation ceased.

As he stared at Simon’s arm, he was sickened by the thought that the same heathen ritualistic mutilation had been performed as an appeal to
Adonai
. What sickened him more, though, was the realization that he was the cause of it. His disobedience misled an entire ship’s company concerning the nature of the true God, lowering Him to the level of a bloodthirsty pagan deity who demanded self-mutilation and human sacrifice.

The angel’s words flooded back into his mind:
“The actions—both good and bad—of those the Lord calls always affect others around them, never them alone.”

At first Jonah despaired, believing he had multiplied his sin through the actions of others who acted only out of ignorance. But the angel’s words continued coursing through his mind:
“The point at which you left
Adonai’s
will is the point at which you will reenter it. There are wrongs to right that are now added to your journey.”

Wrongs to right.
God was giving Jonah a chance to atone for his misdeeds, and Simon himself had opened the door to the first act of obedience by asking to hear more of this God. Jonah smiled for the first time in days. It was a comfortless smile. But it was, nonetheless, a smile.

Twenty-nine

he day was glorious. A gentle sea breeze swirled the aroma of the surf as it wafted through the open windows of Omer’s office. Sea gulls swooped and cawed beneath feathery clouds adorning a pale blue sky morning sky. Ordinarily, it was an inspiring sight that stoked his ambition to be the region’s premier sea merchant.

Not today.

Omer slouched with his elbows propped on the arms of his chair, his stiffened fingers digging clefts into the soft flesh under his chin. His eyes, puffy and red from a sleepless night, were locked in a blank stare on a square of parchment at the edge of the table. Three similar squares lay to the side. Once neat and precise with double columns of orderly notations filling the surface of the smooth skins, the transaction records now resembled a child’s doodle. Black smears of gummed ink obliterated the entries and a crushed reed stylus jabbed through the topmost parchment pinned the cargo manifest for the
Ba’al Hayam
to those lying beneath it. The ship’s business records now appeared much like the ship itself—a wreck.

He tipped his head back toward the ceiling and rubbed his eyes. He was not completely ruined, but his plans for a wealthy retirement were. The run to Tarshish was to have been the ship’s final voyage under his ownership. The proceeds from the ship’s sale, prearranged with an expectant buyer upon her return, would augment the profit from the cargo and complete his nest egg. One look at the sorry spectacle that was now the
Ba’al
and the buyer vanished like an autumn’s morning mist over the harbor. Most of his other ships were already sold. All that remained was the
Ba’al
and one older coastal vessel in which he was also unwilling to invest the money to refurbish.

Omer’s eyes dropped again to the accounting parchment. No, the figures hadn’t improved since he studied them a few moments ago. Or the time before that. He sighed.

“Omer?” His wife’s thin voice floated up the stairs.

He tried to push out a response, but it stuck in his throat.

“There’s…someone here to see you.”

Omer closed his eyes. His creditors began lining up at the door as soon as the broken
Ba’al
reappeared in the harbor. At first they were content to wait for payment on their consignment goods until the ship’s return, or at least allow him to settle the accounts in smaller payments over time. The first condition was now no longer feasible and, with the financial load they knew the aborted trip would place on him, the second one made them nervous. So they did the expedient thing and called in all debts associated with the shipment.

“Sorry, my friend. Perhaps next time…”

“Unfortunately, something unexpected has come up and I need the payment in full.”

Others were less diplomatic in their approach.

“Better you than me, Omer. Where’s my talent of silver?”

He thought the books were cleared. Who could this be now?

A cough brought him back to the present and he opened his eyes. He glanced up to see a slender white-haired man standing in the middle of the room. The man stood silently, apparently awaiting the merchant’s acknowledgement. His visitor looked familiar—oh yes, the persistent traveler who booked a voyage on the
Ba’al
. Omer sniffed and involuntarily rubbed his nose at a faint odor vying with the sea air in the small room.

“I suppose you want your passage fee back.” The merchant’s tone was flat. “Well, I don’t have it.”

“No, that’s not why I’m here.” Jonah’s voice faltered.

“Why
are
you here?” Omer’s tone belied any interest in the answer.

Jonah grew quiet. “It…well, it’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault?” The ship owner sighed.

“The ship. The wreck.” Jonah shrugged. “The storm.”

Omer creased his brow and turned to face his unwanted visitor. “What are you talking about?”

“The last time I was here, you asked me if I was in trouble, if I was running from something.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. Well, I was in trouble and I was running.” The prophet frowned and looked down. “From
Adonai
.”

Omer started in his seat. Although he was too pragmatic a businessman to entertain superstition, his Judean background lent weight to the name of the God of Abraham. Who was this man, and what did he mean?

Jonah continued, “I am a prophet of the Lord God of my forefathers,
Elohim
Adonai
, who gave me a message I could not preach and a journey I could not take. And so I ran.”

Omer shook his head. He didn’t understand religion or gods or prophets, but even to his worldly mind this made no sense. “How do you not obey a god? How do you run, and where do you go?”

Jonah sighed. “You don’t and nowhere. What you do is hurt a lot of people and ruin a lot of things.” He looked up at his host. “In this case the people I hurt were you and your crew, and the thing I ruined was the ship.
Adonai
caught up with me in the open sea. He stopped me there. And your crew and ship were unfortunate enough to be there for the meeting.”

The merchant leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. He didn’t know whether the stranger was crazy or telling the truth. Actually, it didn’t matter. The damage was done, and fault-finding would restore neither his ship nor his wealth.

“Is there anything I can do to atone for this?” Jonah was still looking at him.

Omer barked a mirthless laugh. “Not unless you have a large pile of silver you’re willing to part with, and I doubt that.” Although Jonah had surprised him at their last meeting with enough shekels to pay the inflated fare for passage, he doubted the surprise would be repeated.

The merchant suddenly hardened his face and folded his hands on the chart table. “This was my last run, did you know that? I was quitting the shipping business when the
Ba’al
returned from Tarshish. In fact, I’ve already sold most of my holdings.” He stopped and shook his head, wondering why he was even bothering to explain to the smelly vagrant cluttering up his office. He heaved another heavy sigh. “All right. You’ve apologized. You can go. I’ve got work to do.”

A call from the foot of the stairs interrupted the discussion. “Omer, another visitor!”

The merchant’s shoulders sagged, and he pushed himself up from the table. “You’ll have to let yourself out.” He plodded past Jonah and clumped to the door, his voice fading down the stairs. “Who is it
now
?”

Jonah paused in thought and then reached under his cloak. He tugged at the fastening on his treasure belt and drew it out from under his garment. He had no idea how much he had left, but the pouches still bulged. Stepping to the table, he worked the bindings loose from both ends of the belt. He upended it and a stream of silver clattered onto the table. He was surprised at the height of the pile as the last shekel rolled to a stop against a stack of parchment. Emptied of silver, he draped the belt over his shoulder and retrieved the few discs that rolled off the table and onto the floor. He tucked them beside the pile and stood back to assess the offering. It wasn’t a sea merchant’s life savings, but it was all he had. It was the best he could do.

He let himself out.

Jonah wound through the streets from the summit of Joppa’s hill to the road leading inland. The route took him through a small bustling marketplace near the entrance to the city. He thought to stop and buy some food for the journey, but it occurred to him that he neglected to retain any of his silver to provide for his own needs on the return trip. A flush of panic pricked his brow as he pondered how he would survive the trek home. The few trinkets he had left in the depleted treasure belt would bring nothing in the market, and parting with the gold medallion was out of the question. He closed his eyes and voiced a prayer that
Adonai Jireh
would indeed provide. It was all he could think to do.

“
Hoi!
Jonah!”

Simon stood a short distance away near a fresh fruit booth, his sea bag dangling carelessly over one shoulder and a boyish smile stretching his face.

“
Shalom
, Simon.” Jonah managed a weak nod in return.

The seaman tucked a handful of figs he had just purchased into a small cloth sack looped through the belt of his cloak and sauntered over to the troubled prophet. “Beautiful morning, eh?”

“I suppose.”

Simon frowned. “Something wrong?”

“No. Well, I guess so.” He looked down. “I was going to buy some food for my trip home, but I have no silver left.”

“Where’s home?”

“Gath-hepher. It’s beyond Megiddo and the Jezreel Valley. Probably a four-day walk, if all goes well.” He pursed his lips. “So far it hasn’t.”

“Oh, so you’re taking the coastal road north, too?” Simon shifted the load over his shoulder.

“Yes, at least I was going to—what do you mean ‘too’?”

Simon smiled again. “I’ve decided to go home to Sidon. That last voyage on the
Ba’al
finished me. I’m quitting the sea and going back to find my family. This will be the first time I’ve been back in over twelve years, I guess.”

“You’re walking? You could always take a—”

Simon curtailed the question with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, right.” Jonah rubbed the back of his neck.

“Why don’t we travel together? You can share my food. I have plenty.” His cheeks reddened. “And I think I still have the six shekels you, er, gave me the day I ‘introduced’ you to Omer. I’ve been meaning to give those back.”

Jonah perked. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. It will be safer and more pleasant to walk with someone anyway. Come on, you’ll be doing me a favor.”

Jonah laughed. “Right. A favor.” He glanced at the clear morning sky and sent a tacit prayer of thanks skyward to
Adonai
for a need so quickly filled. Omer was right. Why would you run from a God like this?

The former sailor slapped his new traveling companion on the back. “Let’s go.” He unconsciously sniffed at the air. “But promise me you’ll stay downwind.”