So Jonah did not at once return to the desert. Instead, he said shyly to his mother the next morning: “My cloak is torn almost in two. Is there nothing else for me to wear?”
“There is an old coat which belonged to your father,” said Deborah. “But it is brightly colored, and it is too heavy for this mild weather.”
“It cannot be helped,” replied Jonah; “if people are going to notice me.”
When it was brought to him, he regarded it with a timid expression. Nevertheless, he put it on, giving Deborah his old coat to mend.
“You will be overheated,” said Deborah. She added, “Must you go out on such a hot day? You will come home all wet, like a river.”
“Mother,” said Jonah earnestly, “I am not a child any longer.”
“Was I interfering in your affairs?” cried Deborah. “I simply said it was such a hot day.”
Clasping her hands anxiously, she asked, “Shall I put some oil upon your hair before you go out?”
For she thought, “Then his head will be cool, at all events.”
Without waiting for an answer, she ran to get the oil. Then she combed her son’s beard and poured oil upon his hair. “There,” she said, stepping back to admire him, “now you look like somebody.”
As Jonah stalked gloomily out of the house, she called after him tenderly, “Keep out of the sun.”
In the village Jonah met Bildad, the water carrier. Balancing his heavy gourds upon his shoulder by means of a wooden yoke and some leather thongs, the old man was going slowly from house to house with his wares. When he saw Jonah, he stopped and said with surprise,
“I see that you have a new coat.”
“Yes,” said Jonah.
Bildad scratched his head. “I am glad to see that you are doing so well in your profession,” he said.
And he passed by, carrying his water gourds.
Walking hastily through the village, Jonah climbed the hill toward Ahab’s house. The moment he entered the garden he saw Judith. She was seated in the same spot as the day before, and she was twining a wreath of flowers in her hair.
“What a surprise,” she exclaimed, “to see you again.”
“Yes,” said Jonah. “I was passing by; it occurred to me to stop ... that is, I thought you might be interested to hear that I am going back to the desert again.”
Judith’s face remained drowsy and content. “Are you going soon?” she asked, and held up her wreath to admire it. The wide golden sleeves of her robe fell back from her round brown arms; and she smiled dreamily at nothing.
Jonah replied that he had decided to wait a few days in order to satisfy his mother, who wished to give a feast in his honor. “Just imagine,” he said, with a laugh. “Nevertheless, her heart is set on it.”
Judith sighed. “I wish I were a man,” she said, “and could go to feasts.”
Jonah told her that the whole village was to be asked. “Your uncle, the great prince,” he said, “has also been invited. He might even,” he added timidly, “bring his family.”
“Oh, how exciting that would be,” she cried.
And they looked at each other with happy smiles.
“Why are you going back to the desert?” she asked at length. “But I suppose it is necessary for a prophet. Well, I hope you will be a great man.”
Something suddenly occurred to her, for she added, “My goodness, you are really a great man already, aren’t you?”
“Oh, no,” he said; “it was nothing; God simply wished to speak to me.”
“You are modest,” said Judith; “that is nice.”
Smiling, she looked at the flowers in her hand. Suddenly she frowned, and said seriously,
“One finds so few modest people nowadays. All the prophets have so much to say, but I do not like what they say; they talk about such gloomy things. Jonah, tell me--what is there to be so sad about in Israel?”
Jonah replied gravely, “We are sad because life is not simple, the way it used to be. We imitate other nations and so we are not certain about ourselves any more. We are not even sure of God; we begin to wonder if He is not a bull, or a dove, and if He is not also the god of Aram and Babylon. That is why we are unhappy. When the things we believe in are questioned, it makes us restless and sad. Patriots are the only happy people, for they believe in themselves; and if other people disagree with them, they do not forgive them for it.”
Judith gazed at the young prophet with admiration. His black eyes glowed, his head was lifted, and he continued bitterly:
“However, that is not all, by any means. One expects a certain amount of ignorance among the poor. But the rich ought to be an example to the rest of the people. Well, the rich have only one desire, to forget that they are Jews. With their beards curled like Assyrians, they vex and oppress the poor, who cry out to the gods of other lands for deliverance.”
“That is not true,” cried Judith angrily. “And I will not let you speak of my uncle like that.”
“Your uncle,” stammered Jonah; “yes ... well ....”
He sat staring at the grass, with burning cheeks. Presently Judith remarked timidly,
“Forgive me.”
“You see,” said Jonah in a low voice, “you do not know what it is to be poor.”
“I am sorry,” said Judith sweetly. And she added, “What is the good of talking about it?”
“Do you think that I mind being poor?” cried Jonah. “I do not wish to be anything else. Since I am poor, I am free, my heart is at peace. Remember that I live in the desert, where all your uncle’s wealth would not do him the least good. It is you, not I, for whom you ought to reserve your sympathy. I do not need anything; I am happy, my heart is full of beauty, like the wilderness, quiet, fragrant, and bare.”
Judith bowed her head, “My heart is bare, too,” she thought. But something moved in it, and she sighed.
“No,” she told herself, “my heart is quite bare.”
Jonah continued: “You have never seen the dawn come up across the desert. The night rolls away into the west like the last clouds of a storm, dark and terrifying. The east grows brighter and brighter, shining like a lamp, so clear and quiet; and the sky seems to be full of angels going out into the world. There is no sound, for the birds do not sing yet. All is peace, all is holiness and beauty. No, you do not know anything about such things.”
Judith sat silent, her hands clasped in her lap, her brown eyes cloudy. At last she murmured sighing,
“I should like to be poor, like you.”
And they sat dreaming, hearing their thoughts knock like echoes on the walls of their hearts.
At noon Jonah returned home through the field where his brother Aaron was grazing the village cattle. Bright-colored insects buzzed and hummed about him as he walked; lazy lizards sunned themselves on stones; in the noonday heat earth spoke with faint but audible voices. The trees drank in the light; the wild bees hurried to and fro among the flowers which opened their petals with voluptuous joy to the south wind.
The prophet found his brother asleep beneath a locust tree. “So,” he said, rousing him with his staff, “that is the way you make a success, by going to sleep. I could do that too, without any trouble.”
Aaron sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I have my hands full,” he said. “Remember that I am up at daybreak. And then there are all these cows. If I doze now and then, it is what any one would do in my place.”
Seeing Jonah’s coat, he cried out angrily, “That is the coat mother promised me.”
Jonah paid no attention to this outburst. “Tell me,” he said seriously, “how does one make a living? I am interested, and should like to know a few things.”
An appeal of this nature made Aaron feel pleased. “To make a living,” he said thoughtfully, “is, to begin with, a very difficult thing. Then there are other questions to consider: such as, what sort of a living do you wish to make? Any one can live. Look at Uncle David.”
“No,” said Jonah; “by a living I mean a family and children.”
But Aaron shook his head. “There again,” he replied, “it depends on what kind of wife will do. Must she be expensive? Then you need a good living, naturally. But what could you do, Jonah? Could you sell cloth, or gold? Or perhaps you might build roads.”
And he burst out laughing.
“Ha, ha, ha.”
“There is always the cattle business,” he said finally, pointing to the cows.
“I am not joking, Aaron,” cried Jonah impatiently.
His tone caused his younger brother to sit up, and to regard him with a curious expression. “Are you in earnest, Jonah?” he asked. “Do you really mean to settle down? I thought you would never leave the desert. Are you going to be married? Good Heavens....”
Jonah replied carefully, with his eyes on the ground, “No ... what an idea. I may leave the desert for a while, but only to be with our mother. As for marriage ... well, to tell the truth, I had heard it said of you....”
“Of me?” cried Aaron with wide-open eyes. “You are dreaming, Jonah, the heat has touched you. A wife, for me? Why, I could only afford a poor girl from the village. No, when I marry I mean to take a wife from town. But that will cost a good deal. One pays for a wife in Israel; perhaps you have forgotten that.”
“You are right,” said Jonah; “I had forgotten it.” And he turned home again. His thoughts were grave, and he walked slowly, with a serious air. At the entrance to the village he passed the statue of a winged bull, before which lay the remains of a sacrifice of cereal, which was being enjoyed by some birds. Jonah looked for a long time at the idol which seemed to gaze back at him with an ironic expression.
“Perhaps,” he said sadly at last, “it is I, not you, who am a stranger here in Israel.”
