Three

The day after he confronted this problem, however, a new complication emerged, when his father told him and James, "The hired hands of Simon and Andrew are sick, and they need help. I told them you could go out with them. Do you think you can manage? It will be serious work, you know."

"Of course we can," said James, and John echoed the sentiment, with a mixture of elation and trepidation. He was almost sixteen, and growing fast (and getting somewhat less awkward), at that age where one is convinced of one's own ability, and at the same time afraid to test it.

And they would be in the same boat with Simon and especially Andrew. Simon, the older brother, was considerably shorter than Andrew, who was positively huge, with an enormous chest and arms like a blacksmith. Neither had paid much attention to James, and especially to John, whom they both thought of as nothing but a boy, but Andrew seemed friendly enough, and John immediately took to him. Andrew looked down at him (John's head reached his chest, and said, "So you are the scholar."

"Well, I read a little."

"Zebedee tells me 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 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."

And John kept his silence, thinking that communications were probably going back and forth, and so the whole matter was doubtless still up in the air. But that day, it was doubly hard to concentrate on the fishing; the future kept getting mixed up with what he was doing, and he did not acquit himself particularly well.

Because there was another distraction, also. He was standing right behind Andrew as he rowed, making 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. As he straightened out the nets, he could not help but notice Andrew's immense back, with its rippling muscles, and there was a magic about it--a magic rather like that he felt when James used to come and hug him to keep him from breaking things in one of his tantrums. But this, especially with his recent discovery, was a magic that was not something to be cultivated, he was certain.

He felt no desire to do anything specific with Andrew, beyond, perhaps, hugging him; he had in fact no notion of what a man would do with a man; but he was convinced that if he gave in to the desire, he would discover things that he definitely did not want to find out. But the fact was that there was a kind of vague longing about the whole matter, and it was extremely strong; he had to fight himself to make everything seem perfectly natural.

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 managed to say. He found it difficult to breathe with Andrew holding him thus; it was a dangerous, possibly fatal, new magic that stirred him greatly.

But Andrew, fortunately, did not notice anything. 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; he could not help it; but the glow made him very nervous. But again Andrew did not see. He 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."

That night, John found it difficult to fall asleep. Not only did the prospect of going to Jerusalem to start a new life fill his mind, the feel of Andrew's arm across his shoulder and his grip upon his biceps kept intruding on his consciousness. It was as well he had worked so hard; his fatigue finally conquered the distractions. And, to his great relief, he found that he did not have one of his dreams that night.

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 number itself spoke volumes to John. He sighed, but such was life.

Once again afterwards, Andrew rested his enormous 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.

John was quite concerned about how he felt when touched by someone like Andrew. The men obviously made nothing of it but a gesture of friendship, but to John it was much more--but not something he could understand, and definitely something he was afraid of. He began to be convinced that there was something wrong with him, perhaps connected with how flowers and colors were magic, which did not seem to affect the other men the same way. It worried him greatly. But again, he felt he had to keep it to himself. Perhaps it would go away in time. Perhaps everyone went through a stage like this--though no one ever seemed to mention it. But that might be because they too were ashamed to speak of it. He might be normal after all. At least he did not mince about.

--But it turned out that he was not the only one who was worried. He saw Samuel in the market, clearly distressed; he barely answered when John greeted him.

"What is it, Samuel?"

"Oh--nothing."

"No, there is something very wrong. You can tell me; I am your friend. Perhaps I can help."

"I doubt if anyone can help."

"Try me."

"It is--no, I cannot."

"Is it something about Thomas?"

Samuel was silent. John had clearly hit too close to the mark. "Is he ill?"

"No. No, not ill, exactly. But--"

"But what? I will tell no one."

Samuel looked at him, his eyes full of tears. "It is just--John, I am so worried about him! He is--he is such a great man in so many ways; he reads every night, and reads well! And--and he knows so much, but--" and he broke down in sobs.

John did not know what to do. He stood there with an expression of extreme distress on his face as he watched Samuel try to recover his self-possession. When he had quieted down, he said, gently, "But what?"

"But he--but he--Oh, John, he drinks! At first it was nothing, or not much, but he--that Nathanael must be buying wine for him! He never has any money, though we earn much from our father, and he uses my clothes; he must be spending it all on wine--and he has been drinking more and more. I am sure of it; he thinks I do not see him even in the boat taking a drink out of a pouch he carries under his cloak. I row, because he used to be much better at casting the net than I, but now--and so I am facing the stern and he is in the bow, and so he does not think I can see him. But I do, often. And it is more and more often. And he is destroying himself! I can see it!

"A while ago, something happened, maybe one of his friends said something, because he no longer speaks clearly, and he--he--staggers when he moves sometimes. Even Abba notices it, and he never sees anything! But he will not admit that he is drunk, and says nothing to him. He caught him once drinking years ago when he was a little boy and whipped him, and thinks that that was enough, and that he had quit for good! He is blind!

"But anyway, I guess a friend said something, and he apparently stopped. But it was horrible! The least little thing made him furious, and--and I could see that he was trying and I put up with him as long as I could stand it--several days--and finally I told him that whatever he was doing, he had better stop before we all went mad.

"And it was better for a while. But he has gone back to it, and now he is even worse than he was before! I am just frantic! I know not what to do!"

John was shocked, not least by this long recital from someone who normally said little more than three consecutive words. It must indeed be terribly serious.

"How dare he!" he cried. "Does he not see what he is doing to you--and I am sure to the rest of your family?"

"He cannot see it, I am certain. John, he is a good man at heart; he has no idea what he is doing to himself! I am at a complete loss! I love him so much--he is my other self, after all!--I would give my life if I could save him!"

"Nonsense!"

"I mean it! I would die happily, if I knew that he would no longer be the slave of this demon he has inside him!"

"Have you told him he must stop? Have you told him you know?"

"I--I have not had the courage, John. He might go back to being what he was when he tried to stop before, and he was simply impossible! Or he might--I know not. He probably will deny that there is anything wrong! I am sure he does not see how terribly serious it is! His hands shake now so that he can hardly hold the net!"

"You must confront him! You must tell him that all this must stop, and tell him that you will do anything you can to help him do so! You cannot let him destroy himself and you also. I can see it! He is ruining your life!"

"I cannot do it! I cannot!"

"Nonsense! You must! Who else will do it?"

"No, really, John--"

"Listen to me, Samuel. Listen. The next time you go out in the boat--tomorrow--"

"John, I--"

"Tomorrow! You must! You know you must! Tomorrow, as you are about to start out, you ship the oars, and turn to him and tell him that this must stop, that he is wrecking his life and will kill himself and destroy you and your whole family. Make him see how serious this is. He is probably blinded by his drinking and cannot see it. But tell him that you will no longer be a party to it! If he does not stop, and now! you will denounce him to your father and tell your father to--to disown him, or something, to not let him work for him again, to let him go and beg for his own food!

"John, how could I do that? I love him! He is my brother! How could I stand to see him begging?"

I do not mean that you must actually do it, merely say it. He must see that this is a matter of life and death, for it is! His death, because if he goes on thus, he will kill himself. If not directly from drinking, he will cause some terrible accident, and you will both drown! But what you can do is grab that pouch of his that he has hidden in his cloak and fling it into the sea!"

"How could I do that?"

Simply do it! You know where he has it hidden. Reach over and take it! And throw it away! I will not have you both be lost because of him, and because you were afraid to do something!"

"But--" He paused.

"Samuel, you know that something must be done sometime! And every day that goes by will only make it worse! You must show him how serious you are! How serious the whole situation is!"

Samuel looked at him, and said softly. "You are right, I know. It is much worse now than the other time he tried to stop. Soon it will be impossible; I can see that."

"Then it must be done now! You can do it; I know you can!"

"I wish I believed that."

"You know you can. I know you can. Fear not. I will be praying for you."

"We are not very religious, but--but if I ever needed prayers, it is now!"

"Fear not. The Master loves us, and he will do what is best for everyone. You will see."

"I would I had your faith!" cried Samuel. John was rather surprised that he had it himself. But he did believe that somehow or other God brought good even out of evil.

"Now go. All will be well. You will see." He put his hand upon Samuel's back as he turned, and then Samuel, his head hung down, walked away without a word.

All the others had long since gone home, and John himself turned homeward, still full of fury against Thomas, who had caused such distress to his very good friend. He hoped that Samuel would have the courage to do what he had urged--and it never occurred to him that it might possibly not be the wisest or even the right course.

Not then.

That night he prayed very hard that Samuel would be given the strength and the wisdom to say what needed to be said, and especially to do what needed to be done: to destroy his supply of wine. He had heard of people who drove themselves mad with wine, and saw things and people who were not there. This must not be allowed to happen!

It took him a great while to go to sleep that night, and the next morning, he longed to go over to the place where he knew the twins moored their boat and see what happened, but he had to work. I turned out that it was another day--and, he was told, the last day--in the boat with Simon and Andrew, and he rowed once again, after Andrew had brought them to what he thought was a promising spot.

They did not catch quite so many fish that day, and John was glad that he was at the oars, so that the catch could not be his fault in any way. He was still learning, and needed practice the older men had; he was still just barely sixteen, and even James was younger than most of them, who were in their twenties--some, Simon, for instance, even thirty-one, he had heard. Andrew told him that he himself was twenty-five, almost ten years older than John; and John felt himself a child beside them.

But in any case, he was going to be a prophet, not a fisherman, and so if he were less than perfect at it, it would not matter in the long run.

All this took his mind off Samuel; there was too much to do. But when they reached the market, and Samuel was not there, John wondered what had happened.

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