Part 3

“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.”

VI

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.”

And he felt a coldness lay itself upon his heart.

VII

Moonlight covered the earth, the trees showered down their perfume of blossom and cedar, the fragrance of lilies rose through the night. Voices sang softly in the shadows, teased, laughed, whispered in the moonlight; lamps shone, light fell upon trees. In Deborah’s kitchen Uncle David passed around cakes, fruits, and bitter almonds, and helped the guests to wine, milk, and honey. He was a genial host; his eyes shone, he urged every one to enjoy himself.

Deborah moved among her friends, anxious and happy. She kept one eye on Uncle David, and had something to say to everybody.

“Well, this is like old times. This is what peace does for a country.”

“What a lovely night.”

“We should have such a war every year.”

“A son to be proud of.”

Under a tree in the garden two old men were discussing religion. They pulled at their long beards and gazed at each other with indignation. “God belongs to Israel,” said one; “do not lend Him around.”

The other replied: “Does the earth belong to the tree? Does the air belong to the wind? Can I lend the sky? How many gods are there, then?”

First old man: “Maybe a hundred, maybe two hundred. There is nothing in the Laws of Moses which says how many. Do you wish to dispute with the Holy One Himself?”

Second old man: “As for that, I am not the disputer. I simply say of God, ‘He is everywhere, and He does not look like anything.’ But you say, ‘No. He is here, and He looks like a Jew.’”

First old man: “All the gods look like something. There is a tribe in the south whose god is only two feet high, and entirely covered with short black hair. His people are naturally pygmies. What have you to say to that? or would you like me to believe that our God is also the father of pygmies?”

Second old man: “Pygmies are not human beings, but monsters. It does not surprise me to find monsters in the world. I say it does not surprise me because I can see a little beyond the front of my face. On the other hand you cannot see anything but what is right under your nose. You are not a philosopher; you are a patriot. You would like to keep God all to yourself.”

First old man: “Exactly, I am a patriot. And what are you? I hesitate even to say it.”

The two old men glared angrily at each other.

“Look,” said the first old man to Bildad, the water carrier, who was passing by, “he wishes to give God away to the Gentiles.”

Bildad shook his head. “No,” he said accusingly: “Oh, my.” And he hurried away to join a group of villagers about Prince Ahab, who was standing by the side of a table on which was set out a large bowl of wine.

The prince was in the best of humor. “My friends,” he exclaimed, “what we need is more exercise. That is what makes a nation healthy. Talk is all very well, but there is too much of it.”

He paused to take a long drink of wine. Several farmers who worked in the fields from dawn until dark applauded his remarks. It was easy to see that they respected his opinions, and that they did not know what he was talking about.

“Just imagine,” said Bildad, “there is a man outside who wishes to give our God away to the gentiles.”

“He is an ignoramus,” said Ahab. He continued,

“Every one will agree with me that a good horse is the most beautiful thing in the world. Next to a horse, the best thing in the world is to be active, and to take a lot of exercise.”

Uncle David nodded his head vigorously. “Exactly,” he said; “those are my opinions, almost word for word. A good active life is what I say.”

The Prince turned upon Uncle David a face flushed with wine. “What,” he exclaimed, “here is an honest man.” And he embraced Uncle David, who said proudly to those standing near by,

“We agree with each other. After all, he is a noble fellow.”

Then he quietly asked Bildad to point out to him the old man who wished to give God away. When he found him, he went up to him and said,

“Go away; please get out of this, as we do not want an ignoramus here.”

Returning to the kitchen, he looked around him with an important air, and after blowing his nose, exclaimed,

“Unhealthy people.”

Prince Ahab was still talking. Clutching his beard, stained with grape, he concluded morosely,

“Nobody rides any more.”

It was time to divide the roasted ox among the guests. But first it was necessary to find Jonah, who was expected to perform the sacrifice to the god, in the absence of a priest. So Uncle David went to look for him; but he did not find him at once. For Jonah was in a corner of the garden with Judith, Ahab’s niece.

The moonlight fell down upon them through the leaves like a shower of milky petals and blossoms without weight and without fragrance. The faint cheep of frogs, the shrill screech of the cicada, rose from the ground and answered from the branches through the air laden with sweetness. A single bird, cheated by the moon, sang far away; his song tumbled through the air like water falling.

They leaned against the trunk of a tree, shadows making pools of darkness over their eyes, moonlight in their hair and on their hands. And their hearts, cheated, too, by the night, sang in confusion a song of joy which seemed to them like pain.

They had little to say to each other. They discussed the weather.

“What a beautiful night,” said Jonah. “It is like the nights on the desert, so still, so calm, and yet it makes me sad.”

“It makes me sad, too,” whispered Judith. “Why does it make me sad, Jonah?”

He shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “Beauty often makes people sad. It is something they would like in their hearts, and their sadness is their longing.”

She looked at him in the darkness. “Yes,” she said, “that’s it; that is what I feel sometimes when I look in my little mirror.”

Jonah did not answer. The fragrance, the rapture of the night, moved through his heart. It seemed to flow from the young girl at his side and return to her again, lovely, obscure, a sweet sorrow, a longing filled with grief. He raised his head to the little dapple of moonlight among the leaves.

“I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he thought. “It is like having God speak to me.

“How beautiful she is. And she would like to be poor, like me. Of course, that is nonsense. Still....”

He thought that she swayed a little closer to him. Intoxicated by an imperceptible warmth, he touched her hand. “Judith,” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“No--nothing. How lovely it is out here.” He trembled; his hand, twined with hers, was moist and warm, but he shivered as though with cold.

She stood beside him, breathless, drowsy with sweetness, waiting.... “This is love,” she thought. “He loves me, and I love him. How exciting it is.

“I am a young girl, and already I am in love with a prophet.”

She gave his hand a faint squeeze. Jonah sighed deeply. Was there anything else so lovely in the whole world, he thought.

Judith raised her head. “Listen,” she said, “there’s a bird singing. Just think, in the moonlight; isn’t it sweet, Jonah? This is beauty, isn’t it? I could stay here forever.”

No--there was nothing else in the whole world....

From the garden arose the sound of voices; shadows moved among the trees. Aaron went by with a village girl, his hands stuffed with cakes. He offered them to her to nibble at, and kissed her mouth full of crumbs. She accepted his caresses with pleasure, but without passion. “What a thing you are,” she cried. “There’s your brother; he behaves himself, at least.”

“He is a noodle,” said Aaron; “most of him is still in the desert. Who is that with him? My goodness....”

They ran away, linked in laughter. Jonah looked after them, but he did not see them. The desert was in his heart, wide, starry, still; all the beauty in the world trembled at the moment’s edge. If it made itself known ... would the heart break with it?

“This is too beautiful,” he wanted to cry; “wait, you are hurting me.”

In another part of the garden Deborah said to Sarah, Judith’s nurse,

“How charming your Judith is. She is not spoilt like so many of the young girls to-day. And when you consider her wealth, that makes it all the more remarkable.”

“Yes,” said Sarah with satisfaction, “she knows nothing of life. She is a pure lily.”

She added, “I have brought her up myself.”

Deborah nodded her head. “Children cannot be brought up too strictly,” she said. “That is what is responsible for the success of my son Jonah.”

And she moved away, smiling at her guests. Sarah gazed after her with pursed lips. “Indeed,” she said to herself. “Well, that is one thing to call it, of course.”

Jonah was not thinking about being a prophet. His heart beat heavily; he felt as though he were all eyes, staring blindly into the night. The sweet, heavy scent of lilies struck him like a wind. He felt terrified of what he was about to say, of what he felt obliged to ask. But there was no help for it; the very shadows would begin to murmur if he were silent longer.

“Judith, do you love me?”

“Yes, Jonah.”

Astonished, they gazed at each other without speaking.

Then, slowly, their dark heads bent together.

At that moment Uncle David, hurrying through the garden, caught sight of them under the tree. “Well,” he cried briskly, “there you are. Come, my son; the ox is about to be divided.”

Jonah had only time to whisper, “Wait here for me, Judith.” Then he went, in a daze, to make the sacrifice. He heard but little of what was going on around him, the gay shouts, the pious wailing, but the sudden hush as he consigned the holy portions to the flames broke on him like a light.

“Wait,” he said to himself; “something has happened.”

And suddenly he began to feel very gay.

“Why,” he thought, looking around at the familiar faces, “what are all these people so happy about? They do not know what has happened. They have no reason to be happy, as I have.

“I ought at least to be happier than they are.”

Seizing a cup of wine, he threw the contents on the blazing altar. “For You, too, God,” he cried recklessly; “enjoy Yourself.”