Two

The merger occurred, but it made very little difference to Andrew and Simon, who still had the same men in their boat. They went to new fishing-grounds every now and then, at Zebedee's suggestion (and Zebedee and his sons followed their own advice sometimes also); but more often than not, they separated, to take advantage of different parts of the "sea."

Andrew's father remarked one day that it seemed that young John might be going to a distant relative in Jerusalem to study to be a rabbi.

"In truth?" said Andrew. "I had no idea he had ambitions to become a scholar." He had, of course, spoken to him a few times as they gathered to go out to fish or came home with the catch, but it was mainly small talk.

"Oh yes," answered the father. "Zebedee told me that he already knows how to read, and spends much of his spare time at home with a scroll that--Isaac, I think it is, who is teaching him to read--lends him." Andrew was impressed. He had had friendly feelings with John because the boy seemed to look up to him, and here he was, someone who could read.

"And I have been thinking. Our two businesses are doing well enough so that we ought to formalize the merger between them, with agreements that will take care of what happens in case of accidents and so on."

"Do you really think we need a formal agreement? We are friends, are we not?"

"True, but when there is money involved, it is always better to be on the safe side. Zebedee agrees, and so does Simon. So we should take care of it." Andrew was unmoved by Simon's opinion, but Zebedee seemed to have some sense.

"So it might be good this summer some time to take a few days off and go to Jerusalem to get the legal situation taken care of. I will stay here with the hired hands, and you and Simon can go. And you can bring John with you. I gather he is to spend a week or so at the house of this Annas, to see if the life as a rabbi suits him, or whether he would be more content to stay a fisherman. From what he said, I think Zebedee would prefer to have him come back, but his wife--of course--is pushing in the other direction. But Zebedee wisely decided that rather than just send him, they would give him a week's trial, and then have him take a month back here to think things over and make up his mind--always supposing that he is talented enough for them to accept him. Zebedee is confident that they will, but then he would be so."

"Does Simon know all this?" said Andrew, in some surprise that he was not there.

"Oh, yes, I consulted him two or three times." And then came and told me, thought Andrew. Typical.

"It is not fixed as yet," he said, "but it looks as if Zebedee is going ahead with sending John, and that would be a good opportunity to get the legal matters settled."

And so they would be going to Jerusalem for some other reason than one of the feasts. Well, it would be a diversion. Apparently, it would be just Simon, Andrew, and John, which would make things pleasant--though it would be a pity to lose him. Still, perhaps he would not like the life of sitting inside by a lamp all day, poring over some scroll or other, and then preaching in the synagogue. Well, what would be would be.

One day shortly after that, the two hired hands in Andrew's boat got sick. They discussed trying to fish with just Andrew and Simon, but then Zebedee said, "Why do you not take in James and John, until they get better? It will only be for a few days, and I think we can do better with one boat less, rather than struggling with that huge boat and only the two of you."

The next day, they got together, and Andrew looked down at John, whose head reached his chest, and said, "So you are the scholar."

"Well, I read a little."

"Zebedee says you will not be with us much longer; you will be going to Jerusalem to study to be a rabbi."

John's eyes widened. His father had evidently told him nothing of this. "Indeed?" he managed to say finally.

"Oh, has he not told you? He knows that Simon and I are going to Jerusalem next month, and he asked us if we would mind taking you with us, so that you could be introduced to--someone named Annas, I think he said."

"My mother is some kind of relative of his."

"Who is this Annas?"

"I know not, for certain. I think he is a priest, and even in the Sanhedrin, and I think some kind of important person there. My mother thinks he might be able to help me, I believe."

"Well, if your father has not told you, do not mention that I spoke of it. It may come to nothing."

As they went out to fish, Andrew rowed, of course, and James and Simon took the nets. John made the nets ready for James and Simon to cast, being sure there were no tangles, so that the nets would fall into a neat trap for the fish. And, since it was a hot day, they had all stripped for comfort. Andrew felt rather than saw John behind him as he rowed, and he made his muscles ripple, to impress John, in case he was looking. At least he was strong, if he could not read. John was strong too, because he rowed with James, but he had but sixteen years or so, and so Andrew was showing him what he could develop into.

And after the day was over, Andrew, walking beside John, put his huge, sweaty arm on John's shoulder, with his hand grasping the top of his arm, and pulled him over to himself. "We make quite a team, do we not?" he said, with a smile.

"Well, I tried," John said hesitantly, as if he had some difficulty breathing. Andrew noticed it, but did not make anything out of it. He gripped his biceps, and said, "Perhaps you could spell me at the oars every now and then."

"I would--I would be happy to do so, if you think I could."

"Oh, I think you could manage very well. If you can row your own boat by yourself, you can, especially with that arm of yours, do all right with this one, unless a storm comes up."

John glowed, and Andrew gave him a little punch in the shoulder as he parted, and said, "We will see you tomorrow also, I think. The two you are replacing said they were getting better this morning, but they will need at least another day or two."

The next day, John also went out with Simon and Andrew, and this time did a bit of rowing in the calm waters after they had reached their destination. John knew, of course, how to ply the oars in such a way that there was minimal disturbance to the fish; and Andrew clearly knew how to arrange the nets so that they could easily be cast. He did not say that he was giving John the job of rowing so that he could take the job John had and expedite the number of fish caught, but the fact was, they were in business, and had to make a profit. John did not appear to notice; he was perhaps too busy with the oars.

And once again afterwards, Andrew rested his arm on John's shoulder and remarked at what a good team they made, saying that probably that was the last day they would be thus together, and that, though he hoped no one would become sick again, if ever anyone did, he knew whom to look to for help. James was also there, and received what he said with affectionate understanding, and they went on to the market to sell their catch.

As they parted, Andrew thought with pleasure how he liked young John, and how much John seemed to like him. He would miss him when they went back to their usual occupations.

That evening, a neighbor told them that Samuel and Thomas, two other fishers, twins, sons of Malachi, were missing, and Simon and Andrew left to join a search party before it grew too dark to see on the lake. But they had barely started when someone shouted from the shore that the search was over. "One of them is dead," the man shouted, "--I know not which, they are so the same. They were found on the shore."

"Is the other one safe?" John, who was almost to the shore, cried in anguish. Was John a friend of them?

"Malachi found them, and he is saying nothing. He wishes no assistance. He says that he will take care of it himself. We are to go home, he says. He is, of course, devastated."

So those who were in boats re-anchored them, and went back to their houses, wondering what had happened, and why Malachi did not want their help. At least one of his sons was dead, and the other must be injured or something. No one could understand it.

Andrew looked over at John, who was absolutely overwhelmed. He longed to go over and console him, but what could he say? In the end, since John had not even seen him, he turned and went home.

As the night wore on, rumors began to spread. It seemed that Samuel, dead, and Thomas were found on the shore near where they were accustomed to anchor their boat, and the boat, and even the oars, had drifted up beside them, the boat, some said, overturned, while others said it had been righted and beached.

Thomas, it was said, was naked, and was completely drunk, with an empty wine pouch of some sort over his privates. This was attested to by a companion of Malachi, who only caught a glimpse of the situation before Malachi bellowed for him to leave immediately, that he would see to everything himself and wanted no help, no help at all.

Before he was driven away, the man got the briefest of looks at Samuel's head, with a huge ugly gash on it; it seemed to him that he would have to have bled quickly to death.

There were some who had known or suspected that Thomas had a drinking problem, and understood and sympathized with Malachi, who they later, it was reported, watched from a considerable distance (out of sight of him) put a covering over Thomas and carry him, all but a corpse, the short distance to their house, after which he came back for the body of poor Samuel, and took him inside also. He then came back, and some said righted the boat and put the oars inside it, and wept over it as he beached it properly.

The following day, which happened to be a Sabbath, no one, of course, went out to fish; but they probably would not have gone in any case, in sympathy for the tragedy, which had stunned the whole fishing community. While at the synagogue, they heard that the funeral for Samuel was to take place on the morrow. Zebedee, of course, said that he and his family would attend, as did Simon and Andrew's father.

As they approached to offer condolences after the funeral, Andrew saw John, a complete wreck, who had clearly not slept that night, and was incapable of saying anything to Malachi and his wife, merely holding a hand of each and looking tearfully into each face, turning away before he broke down completely. The mother's face spoke volumes, but the father was like flint, and merely grunted whenever sound was called for. Andrew and everyone else did what had to be done, because it had to be done, but did no more, the parents because they were incapable of it, and everyone else not to cause any more distress than absolutely necessary.

There was something very catastrophic about all this to John. Andrew, who was concerned for him, but who did not want to approach him, lest John might think he considered him a crybaby, saw him go apart to a woman to speak to her.

"Who is that?" asked Andrew in a whisper to someone beside him.

"Her name is Mary, wife of Joseph the carpenter. They tell me that he built the boat that John used when he was a boy, and John became quite a friend of hers for some reason."

Andrew nodded. Clearly, John went to her for advice, and from the conversation, which Andrew watched from a distance, she seemed to comfort him somewhat. He wondered what it was all about; it was almost as if John felt responsible somehow. Or perhaps he and the dead twin had been good friends. At this, he felt a slight twinge of jealousy, which he immediately shook off. Why should John not have friends of his own age?

But it was nearing the time of preparation for the trip to Jerusalem, and Simon and Andrew took John aside during the evenings to discuss the journey, since John had no experience with such matters. It would work out well, they agreed. John was to have a week with a school in the High Priest's house--palace, it seemed--and during that time, Andrew and Simon would negotiate with the lawyers about how the business would belong to both families, and consult those they knew in Jerusalem.

"And you know how lawyers are," said Simon. "We will be lucky if we are through all the complications they can make in merely a week. So on our part, it will be no problem if you stay a week at this school of yours; you might even have to wait for us, though I hope not more than a day or two. And of course, we can see a few sights that we do not visit during the festivals, if you would like." John of course agreed. He seemed nervous, but who would not, if his whole life was to change direction?

As to what they were to bring with them, Andrew noticed one day at John's house that John, like all inexperienced travelers, was starting to load himself up with things that might be useful, but were anything but necessary. In this, he was abetted by his mother, who, of course, fretted that he might find himself in Jerusalem lacking some superfluity that he had at home. Andrew set him straight by saying when the mother was in a different room, "Women are not like men; they want to bring with them whatever they could possibly use, while men only want whatever they know they cannot do without. Why would you want more than one change of clothes? You wear one while the other is in the wash. Who cares if it is not the latest fashion? Those you meet will know you are on a trip, and will make allowances."

"That has reason," said John, eyeing the pile of clothes he and his mother had picked out.

"Remember, you are the donkey who is going to have all of this on his back the whole way, and it is a long walk. Now let us look through these and see what is essential and what is not." And they pawed through the pile, discarding this and that, with the result that John had remarkably little to burden himself with. When he later showed to his mother what he had decided to bring, she remonstrated, "But you can certainly use this there!" and he answered, "But I do not need it there, and if I do not, why burden my donkey?"

"And that actually silenced her!" he said gleefully to Andrew the next day. Andrew smiled. John was a perceptive lad, he thought.

In one of these preparatory sessions, Andrew happened to remark that he had heard that there was a hermit who had come from the desert and was preaching by the Jordan river near Jerusalem, and bathing people in the river "for them to change their way of thinking," because the one who was anointed to be the successor of David was apparently on his way to assume the throne of Israel, or some such thing. Andrew, when he had first heard it, had begun daydreaming, engaging in some far-fetched wishful thinking, that perhaps, if the prophesies were true, an era might come in which justice would flourish on the earth. And that Andrew, for one, might move from second place behind his brother, just because his brother had been born first. After all, look at Jacob and Esau. He had tried to squelch the idea as ridiculous; but there it was.

"But do you think that there is anything to this?" asked John, when he brought up the subject. "After so many years--centuries?"

"Who knows?" was the reply. "The Prince must come sometime. Why should it not be now?"

"Of course, why should it be now? Everyone has been saying this from time immemorial."

"But would it not be exciting if it were to happen in our time? What would we do? What would it be like?"

"True," said John, musing. "It would be foolish simply to dismiss it." Andrew himself had heard many tales of those who were predicting the advent of the Prince, all of which came to nothing; so he also was inclined to be skeptical. But still, one of these times had to be the right one, just as when men pooled their money for a wager, one of them did win, even though it never was Andrew. "And," he reflected, "he does say that we must change the way we think." As if that really made any difference, he thought to himself.

"And you say he bathes people?"

"So I was told. In the river. It is a symbolic way of washing our past off us, and making us ready for the future."

John was silent. Andrew saw his meditating face, and wondered if this had anything to do with his concern about Samuel and Thomas. Bah! It was all nonsense! Still . . .

So after a pause, Andrew added, "But I think," breaking into his reflection, "that we should at least go and see this John--"

"Is that his name? John?"

"So I heard."

"Then by all means we should go to see him."

"Oh naturally, if he is called John, then anything he does or says can only be wonderful!" And he punctuated this with a playful punch on John's shoulder. John returned this one, and Andrew smiled once again. They understood each other well, it seemed.

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