The Bronze Bow - Elizabeth George Speare [58]
It was harder to explain to himself why he sometimes was drawn to Bethsaida at night, when he could not expect to meet Joel, and when he could only sit in the little garden of Simon's house and listen to the words of Jesus. He did not always understand the words, and often he walked home puzzled and impatient, but a few nights later, almost against his will, he would go again. He was still not sure what Jesus intended to do, but day after day the hope and promise in Jesus' words drew him back.
At mealtimes he told Leah the stories he had heard. Sometimes he thought that if the long walks to Capernaum and the hours away from his work had accomplished nothing else, they had at least given him something to talk to Leah about.
"Was Andrew there?" she would ask. "Did he have a lot of fish in his net? Did the rich women come and bring food for the poor people?"
She would sit with her own food untouched, wanting only to listen. Often when he returned late at night she would bounce up on her mat, her eyes shining with wakefulness, and hug her knees with her arms. Even when he was too tired to think he would manage some bit of news before he climbed to his bed on the rooftop, or the disappointment in her face would nag at him.
It puzzled him that this timid creature who had never dared to venture beyond their tiny garden patch should now be so curious about the busy life of the city. How could he possibly make her see it, when she had never even glimpsed the little crossroads and the well and the small flat synagogue that made up the center of their own village?
"I like to go in the morning best," he told her. "When the fishermen are just coming in with their night's catch. Some of the families have been bringing their boats in at the same spot for years, so that everyone takes it for granted that certain places belong to certain men. That's why no one really dares to interfere when Jesus sits and talks, because everyone knows that that spot belongs by right to Simon and Andrew.
"Why should they want to interfere?"
"The overseers think he keeps the men from starting their work. Not the fishermen. They have been out all night and their work is done. It's the men loading the trading boats who stop and listen when they should be working. And people like me with work waiting to be done at home."
There was so much he could never find words to make her see. The lake, gray and still at sunrise, the hills beyond like huddled sheep, the first lines of camels and donkeys coming sleepily to the water's edge. The crowing of a cock somewhere in the town, and the first busy chirping of sparrows, and, abruptly, the swifts, coming from nowhere, filling the air, darting over the water. And then suddenly the sun, leaping over the hills, warm and yellow, so that the mists melted and the lake shone blue and sparkling. The boats coming in, dragging the nets with their heaving burdens of fish. The smoke of little fires quickly lighted and the fragrance of roasting fish Worth getting up in the dark, even when his tired muscles pleaded for a little more rest; worth the long walk to the city and the waiting. But how could he put it into words?
And how could he tell of the people? The women who came down to help their men spread the wet nets on the shore. The almost-naked men, their shoulders glistening, dragging the heavy baskets up from the boats, spreading the fish on flat stones to be salted and dried. The never-ending lines of men with sacks of grain and baskets of fruits and vegetables.
"Jesus stands on the shore and talks to them all," he told Leah. "His friends to start with, and people like me. And then there are the beggars and cripples. Heaven knows where they sleep, but every morning they drag themselves down to the shore, partly to hear Jesus and partly because Simon and Andrew and the women always give them some fish. Then there are curious people who come because they see a crowd. It drives the overseers crazy when their men stop to listen. Sooner or later they break in and drive the men away.