Four
The discussions were for practical purposes finished (which apparently meant that they had at least one day more to wrap things up), and so was the week. They went into the agreed-on corner of the Temple, and Andrew wondered whether John would even be there, or whether he had become so engrossed in what he was doing that he forgot all about it. But no--he would come that afternoon, since he had promised, and was not a person to forget a promise. And it was possible that he did not like the life--Andrew hoped. He could not believe that Annas would find him wanting, but what did he know? He was just a fisherman. His experience with the lawyers made pellucid what "just a fisherman" meant, though they did have a certain grudging, if condescending, respect for Simon. Andrew tried to feel happy about that. Justice, after all.
In any case, when they arrived at the meeting place, Andrew found that his heart was beating rather faster than usual, as he began looking out for John. "Behold him!" said Simon, pointing to a lad who had broken into a run. He was almost upon them when Andrew looked up, and opened his arms, into which John flew, and they embraced. It was good to feel him there, and especially good that he felt glad to be there. "It is a joy to see you, youngster!" exclaimed Andrew and Simon together, and John answered, "You have no idea how happy I am to behold both of you!" and all laughed from sheer joy, Simon embracing him also and then holding him at arm's length, and looking into his face.
"So the scholar has not forgotten his old friends," said Andrew. "You smell of--what?"
John laughed. "Soap. They had me bathe and wash my clothes as soon as I entered the house." Andrew wondered for a moment whether he and Simon still smelt of fish. "But how could I forget you?" John was saying. Andrew speculated that it would be quite simple, once he had accustomed himself to the High Priest's palace and all the luxury that was doubtless inside.
"Oh, I suspect it will be quite easy as the years go on," he said. "I saw the palace. But you will at least be spending a month with us, is it not?"
"Probably a good deal more than that."
"Oh? You found the life not to your liking? You miss not living in a palace, and rowing a boat and smelling of fish?"
John became serious. "Make no jokes about it, Andrew. It is a good life, and one which in many respects I love dearly. And when I met you, I realized I actually like the smell of fish." So they did still smell of fish. Andrew began to be a bit self-conscious about it, and then said to himself, "Well, what of it? I am a fisherman, after all!"
They all laughed, in a slightly embarrassed way. "No, but," said Simon, "you do not think you were intended to be a rabbi? Or was it--" He realized that it would be indelicate to suggest that the school did not consider him qualified.
John caught what he was driving at, and laughed again. "Oh, they would--probably--accept me if I decided to return. At least, provisionally, for a year or two; but if I did decide to return, I think I could make it permanent; it is not all that difficult."
"But you rather think," said Andrew, hopefully, "that you will not do so."
"At the moment at least," answered John. "There is much there to like, but there is something--" he did not know how to finish the sentence.
"Something not what you expected," said Andrew, doing it for him.
"Let us leave it at that. I must think about it. There is also the fact that it will cost my father a good deal of money."
"Indeed?" said both of them in surprise.
"Oh, yes. When one thinks of it, of course it is expensive to keep and educate a person; it simply did not occur to me, and I was--I almost knew not what to say--when Annas mentioned it to me as a matter of course. It is not inexpensive."
"Do you think your father can afford it? I realize, he is doing well, but we are but fishermen, after all."
"I looked at the fee, and I think he could manage it rather easily. I know not, but I think so. Still, it is a consideration. If it is really the life for me, then it is probably worth it, and I can pay him back when I finish; I gather that students of Annas do rather well after they graduate. Some of the ones in their last year have mentioned their prospects, in order to tempt me to stay, I think. But if it is merely something I can do, then it seems to me that the remuneration should not be something I should take into account. Why make my father pay for a career that I find not really--not really mine, if you know what I am saying."
"Then you prefer fishing to rabbizing?" asked Andrew.
"I know not. I think that fishing is perhaps not my life either; but the problem is that I know not what is. But if I am going to do something that does not completely suit me, then at the moment at least, my inclination is to go back to fishing rather than to 'rabbize,' as you say."
"Well, we will certainly welcome you, whether or not your whole heart is in it," said Simon, and Andrew nodded enthusiastic assent, "especially now that we are definitely a team with Zebedee."
"Oh, then whatever it was you were doing was successful?"
"As far as one can call anything that lawyers do 'successful,' said Andrew sardonically. "Thank God for Simon! Many a time I was ready to smash the table with my fist, but he simply went calmly on, asking them to explain themselves, after which they turned sentences into tighter and tighter knots, more tangled than a net that had caught a shark." John looked at him, a bit surprised, perhaps that he would be praising Simon. Was he that obvious? He looked away, not to show his reddening face. And anyhow, justice was justice.
"They knew--or at least" said Simon, "they thought--that they could out-talk us, and at first made a game of it. But I decided that I was not going to let them make us frantic, and I simply went on and on until they condescended to spell out what they meant in Aramaic that meant something, and I would not let them go until they got it clear. I mean, the whole thing was simple enough, really; but they wanted to make it a maze of whereases and therefores and so on, and I--who was it that the Greeks said gave somebody a thread to carry into a maze so he could get out?"
Neither John nor Andrew had any idea what he was talking about.
"It matters not. I made them spell out in simple terms what they were saying--and it was amusing to see the difficulty they had in doing so--"
"Amusing! It was infuriating!" said Andrew.
"That was because you let them have the upper hand," remarked Simon. "I knew that we were the ones finally in control. We knew what we wanted, and we knew we could do it without any legal agreement if we chose, and so, in spite of the fact that they kept telling us we could not, when all was said and done, we had them put the whole thing into legal language that we could understand. Zebedee will have no problem."
"And all was said and done," said Andrew, "only yesterday! But we are free of them! We have the documents! Zebedee needs only to make his mark upon them."
"Well, I am glad that you were successful." said John.
"But let us pay our respects to the Master," said Simon, "and then we can return to where we are staying." They suited the action to the words, after which Simon said, "There is room for you, of course, if you do not mind sleeping on a mat on the floor."
"Of course not."
"No doubt it will seem primitive," said Andrew, "after the luxury you experienced in the High Priest's palace. I saw the outside of it, as I said, three days ago, when I could not tolerate another moment of those discussions."
"A good deal of the palace is quite luxurious, to be sure," answered John, "but not my room." He laughed. "Not by any means! Students are even lower there than servants." The others raised their eyebrows, and John went on, "Not that we were abused; but our comfort was not uppermost in the minds of the establishment. I have no complaint, really."
Andrew noticed that John was surprised at the crowds in the street even in an ordinary day, just as he had been. How it must be to live in a city like this, and be always frantic, rushing from one place to the next! But the wonderful thing to Andrew was how happy John seemed to be to see them--and especially him. He loved him like a brother--and thinking of Simon, he felt it was more like a son. He put his arm on his shoulder as he had been used to do after fishing, and noticed that John seemed to warm to it. It was good to have friends!
They lapsed for a time into contented silence as they walked along, and finally arrived at the modest accommodations the two had selected. Andrew hoped that John would not be too disappointed; it was distinctly a barren room, now that he looked at it with fresh eyes. Well, they were not rich, and in a visit such as this, it was wise to save all the money they could. Andrew noticed John take in a breath that was almost a sigh; he was having a bit of trouble adjusting to reality, it seemed.
They went out and sat outside a shop that had what Andrew called, "fairly decent food" and ate the evening meal and drank the rather sour wine, which John mixed with a good deal more water than usual. Andrew watched with amusement. The students had probably been eating well, he speculated.
"We could leave on the morrow," said Andrew as they were eating, "but I thought I would like to see this John we spoke of, as long as we are down here. Do you remember?" As if he would forget!
"Of course I remember! How could I forget a prophet named John?"
"Of a certainty! He would be a rival, I suspect. So we are to have two prophets named John, then."
At this, John reddened, and Andrew exclaimed, "Oho! Now we know why you went to that school! But you found they were not a training-ground for prophets!" and he gave John a playful punch in the shoulder.
John was silent. He had hit a nerve, it seemed. John a prophet! Well, why not? David, after all, was but a shepherd. Finally, John said, "But seriously, I would like to hear what he has to say myself." He looked thoughtful, as though remembering something. But since he did not see fit to explain himself, Andrew let it drop, and they went back to the room to bed.
The next day, they journeyed to the place by the Jordan where it was said that John was bathing the people. And as they neared it, it was hard to miss where it was, because quite a crowd was around him, and his booming voice, aided by the water of the river, carried far.
He was clearly a hermit, dressed in skins, with his hair long, like a Nazirite. He was rather remarkably clean for a hermit, however, presumably because periodically he would go down into the water (he preached on a beach at the shore) with a number of people, each of whom he would immerse in the water, telling them he was washing off their sins and killing their past life; and they would wade back and let the sun dry them off.
Andrew was a bit startled, if not intimidated, by how outspoken he was. He took one look, for instance, at the wide fringes adorning the squarish mantles of some of the audience (a common practice among Pharisees, a very strict sect), pointed to them and shouted, "You vipers' spawn! Who told you you could escape from the retribution coming upon you? Show results that demonstrate a change of heart, and do not start telling yourselves, 'We have Abraham for our father.' I tell you that God can make these stones bear children to Abraham! No, an axe is now at the roots of the tree, and every tree that does not bear good fruit is going to be chopped down and thrown into the fire to burn!"
"He definitely does not mince words!" whispered Andrew to John. "And If even they are being condemned, what chance have the rest of us?" But John was voicing--granted in a overstated way--something that appeared to have occurred to John also, based on his reaction. His look indicated that a discovery of some sort he had made had just been confirmed. Andrew wondered what it was, exactly.
Nothing particular happened at that time. Andrew was half expecting there would be a confrontation, with the Pharisees denouncing him in turn, but they just turned away--at least for this particular encounter. Perhaps they had expected to be praised for being there and asked to second what John had been saying, and were too taken aback by his fulminations against them. At any rate, nothing happened.
Then some people with worried looks came up to John and asked him, "Rabbi, what are we to do?"
"If you have two tunics, give one to someone who has none; if you have extra food, do the same."
A tax-collector came up to be bathed and said, "And what should I do?" and John answered, "Do not demand more than you were told to collect." The man looked at him, astonished, and said, "Then I should starve?" and walked away.
There were even some soldiers who had misgivings about their conduct and approached John to be bathed. When they asked him what to do, he said, "Do not bully people or arrest them on false charges--and be satisfied with your salary." One or two thought this something of a hard saying, but decided to be bathed anyway. When they emerged, they seemed relieved.
Andrew wondered whether he would have to reveal his faults and sins, and doubted whether he could do so. He knew it was really wrong of him to resent Simon as he did, but he could not help it. But how could he explain himself (justify himself?) publicly to this John, in the presence of Simon and John, so that he could go and have the sin, if there was one, washed away? He began to think he did not dare.
And then he looked over at John as he stood beside him, and realized that he was not alone. John had an extremely worried look also; he glanced back at Andrew and saw him looking at him, and turned away, his face scarlet with embarrassment. What was that all about?
So evidently both of them had secrets, and both just stood there, irresolute. Simon did not look all that eager to be bathed either.
As they were hesitating, some of the of the Pharisees returned, and apparently decided to confront John to his face. "Are you claiming to be the Prince?" they asked. "The Messiah who was prophesied, the descendant of David?"
"I?" said John. "No. But there is someone coming after me--who is ahead of me, because he was in existence before me. And we have all received something of what in him is complete. We have been blessed with gifts that are his by right. The law may have been given by Moses, but God's blessings and truth have come into being through him. No one has ever seen God, but the God God fathered, who is in the father's bosom, has made him known. I? Who am I?"
"Who are you? Are you Elijah? You sound as if that is the one you claim to be."
"I am not."
"Are you the Prophet who was prophesied?"
"No."
"Then who are you? We have to give some answer to those who sent us. Just who do you claim to be?"
"I," said John, looking at them and addressing not only them but all the assembled people, "am a voice crying in the desert, 'Smooth out the path for the Master,' as the prophet Isaiah said."
"But then why are you bathing people, if you are not the Prince or Elijah or the prophet?"
"I am bathing you in water," said John. "But there is someone standing among you--someone you do not recognize; someone whose sandal-straps I am not good enough to untie! He will bathe you in the Holy Spirit--and in fire!"
At this point, the delegation gave up and turned away in disgust. And John called after them, "And he has his winnowing-fan in his hand to thresh out the grain off the granary floor, and he will store the wheat in his barn and burn the chaff in fire that will never go out!" But what he said was lost on them; they soon were out of earshot.
Some other people then came up to be bathed, and Andrew noticed that they did not have to confess their sins publicly. He looked over at John, who evidently saw the same thing, and made as if to go forward.
But at that moment, a lone man came up, with his back to them, so that they could not see him clearly. For some reason, there suddenly was no one around him. John (the Bather) seemed to know who he was. He looked at him, and almost whispered, "I should be being bathed by you, and you are coming to me?"
"Allow it for now," said the man softly--he turned slightly, and Andrew saw that it was someone John recognized with astonishment. "This is what must be done," the man went on, to the Bather, "not to leave out anything proper." So the Bather, with some reluctance, went into the Jordan with him, put his hand on his head, and immersed him in the water, and drew back.
Suddenly, something happened in the sky above; it was as if it opened up, somehow, as a cloud sometimes breaks up, but there was no cloud there. It was as if the sky itself was a cloud, and one could see a brightness behind it. A bird--a dove--came out and lighted on the man as he emerged from the water, and an enormous thunderclap seemed to say, "This is my beloved Son; I am pleased with him." Andrew's hair stood on his head.
"Did you hear that?" he said.
"What?" said Simon.
"Those were words, were they not?"
"I heard thunder," he answered.
"No, they were words. I heard them." He looked over at John.
"I did also," said John. "Or something like words."
"What did they say?" asked Simon.
"Something like, "This is my son, the one I love; I am pleased with him."
"That was what I thought I heard also," said Andrew. "Or, if not exactly that, words to that effect."
"I did notice that the thunder was--meaningful, somehow," said Simon. "Whatever that means."
"I think we should leave," said John. "I must think about this." He was obviously shaken to his core not only by the thunder and its words, but by whoever it was who had been bathed. He did look a bit familiar to Andrew, and, come to think of it, he seemed to sound like a Galilean also. Was it someone John knew well?
He looked at this person, who was strong, as if he worked with his hands, and quite good-looking (the dove, of course, had flown away) and then saw an extremely handsome man, with fringes to his mantle that made him look like a Pharisee, come up to this person and speak briefly. (The bather had drifted away.) The drying man greeted him and answered whatever question he had, and evidently dismissed him; then the two walked away in different directions.
John now was clearly restless, nervously anxious to go somewhere by himself where he could digest what had happened; and so they went home in silence, until Andrew said, "You know, I thought I recognized him from somewhere."
"Who?" said Simon.
"The one the bird lighted on," he answered. "I could swear I have seen him before."
"It was Jesus of Nazareth, the carpenter," said John.
"You are right!"
"He built my boat, the little one, when I was but a boy. You remember; the one now beside our house."
"Of course!" said Andrew. "How could I have forgotten?"
"But then what does all this mean?" said Simon.
"I know not," answered John. "But it is something vitally important, I am certain. I must think!"
Andrew now wanted his own solitude to ponder this. It looked very much as if this Jesus--a carpenter, of all people, and from Nazareth, of all places!--was the one John, the Bather, was referring to as the one who was to come after him, and whose sandals he was not fit to untie! A carpenter! But there was no question that the thunder was referring to him, and the bird seemed to be a sign that it was he and he alone.