Five

John was, in general, considerably calmer after this, but every now and again--usually with no warning--there would be a spasm of agony and self-hatred, and he had to say to himself, "It was an accident!" and try to shut off the futile argument that inevitably ensued. He found he could not put it behind him; what was behind him, he began to realize, was destined to remain with him as part of the self he was making for himself, and his task, apparently, was to act like an oyster and somehow build a pearl around the irritating grain of sand, so that it no longer cut into him, and even might somehow become an ornament.

But it was a superhuman task, and he asked the Master's help--or rather, asked the Master to do it for him, and to give him the strength to cooperate with whatever the Master had in mind in building the pearl.

When he got to this stage, he would scoff at himself, making metaphors out of horrors, and the event itself would come back into his consciousness, until he could find something to do to forget it. "You are putting too many burdens on the Master's back," he told himself. "He has greater things to do than bother with an insect like you." But, he reflected, Mary had said that he was an insect that, for some unaccountable reason, the Master loved; and perhaps he could bring sense out of the mess that his life seemed to be turning into.

But, of course, since he was to go to Jerusalem for at least a week, and, who knew? perhaps for good, he had preparations to make. There was the task of writing the letter that his father--very slowly--dictated, reading it over and correcting the mistakes with his teacher, and having his father sign it with his mark, and folding up the parchment and stowing it carefully with his things to be taken. His father had suggested in the letter that if Annas approved, John should stay in the school for a week to see whether it suited him and whether he was suitable for it; and then he was to return home and ponder the whole situation for a month or so before making up his mind.

John chafed at this, though he said nothing, because he was convinced that a few hours would be sufficient for him to decide whether to devote his life to being a rabbi, in which case why waste a week and then another month as a fisherman again? But Mary's advice came to mind, that he was too prone to leap to decisions, and would have to give thought to the consequences of what he did--and "after all," he said to himself, "it is my whole life that I will be deciding. I cannot do that without much thought. My father is wise. Perhaps I will need even more than a month. I will have to ask her."

But the journey to Jerusalem, at least, was settled. "And perhaps Annas will not want to keep me even for a week," he thought, not really believing this; he seemed to be able to make friends easily with older people. But in any case, there were the few clothes he would bring, and the discussions with Simon--well, with Andrew--where the three of them would stay.

They had apparently some complicated legal matters about how the business would belong to both families, and they wanted to consult those they knew in Jerusalem. "And you know how lawyers are," they said--John did not--"and 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. Why not? If his whole life was to change, he might as well make the hinge-time as pleasant as possible.

In one of these 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.

"Do you think that there is anything to this?" asked John, "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. "It would be foolish simply to dismiss it."

"And he does say that we must change the way we think."

"And you say he bathes people?"

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

John was silent. This had a meaning for him that Andrew did not realize. He wondered if it would be possible for him to change the way he felt about men, and also to have his role in Samuel's death somehow washed away--at least from his way of thinking--and he could begin life again somehow.

"So I think," said Andrew, 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 enjoyed those punches much more than he ought. He returned this one for the pleasure of feeling his fist hit Andrew's shoulder. Andrew smiled.

They then resumed discussing more of the practical details of their trip, which was as much of an exciting adventure for Andrew and Simon as it was for John. They very rarely left Galilee except to go to Jerusalem for the great feasts such as Passover, when, it seemed, the whole country emptied itself out into the Temple environs as it recalled the wonderful event of the escape from slavery to the Egyptians and the passage on dry land through the Red Sea. And at those times, there were such crowds that strangers like them were overwhelmed, and wanted nothing more than to get back to the comparative sanity of Galilee, where people were not treading on each others' heels, and elbowing each other out of the way, and especially did not speak with strange accents hard to understand. Some even spoke Greek, not Aramaic.

But something was bothering John, and he knew not what to do about it. He had heard nothing whatever about Thomas, and seen nothing of him either. He had seen his father in the boat with the hired hands, going through the motions of fishing because one must eat, but not being very successful, it seemed, with the catch. Thomas was not there helping him.

Where could Thomas be? And in what condition? Was he, John, responsible, in his rashness, not only for the death of Samuel, but for the destruction of Thomas? He had to do something, but what? And how?

He could not bear the thought of it, and one afternoon shortly before they left, he made the trek up the hill to Nazareth, and knocked on Joseph's door. Mary answered. "John!" she said in almost a whisper. "Excuse me, please, but Joseph is not well, and is sleeping and I do not wish to disturb him. Could we talk outside? Would you mind?"

"Not at all, my lady," John whispered, as she closed the door. "Fear not," she said in a normal voice, "he cannot hear us out here. Now what is it that brings you up here with that worried look upon your face?"

"My lady, no one has seen any sign of Thomas since the--since the accident--and I am very concerned that something may have happened to him! If he too dies, I do not think that I can bear it!"

"I would Jesus were here. But you are going soon to Jerusalem, is it not?"

"Yes, my lady, in two days. But--"

She let the pause hang in the air for a few moments. "I think," she said, "that you will meet Jesus when you are down there. He should be near where a man named John is preaching."

"I have heard of him. We plan to see him after I have spent my week at the school of Annas."

She pondered. "I think that all will turn out well." She pondered silently again. "Yes, I am sure that--I will see what I can do; but I am confident that no disaster will come out of this, though there may be difficulties to be got through." She closed her eyes, and spend another short time in thoughr, or in prayer. "Yes. I think something can be managed."

"But how will you get word to Jesus? Will you go there yourself?"

She smiled, as one who knew something she could not reveal. "Fear not. You go to Jerusalem as you arranged, and afterwards go to see John; he will be at the Jordan River somewhere nearby. Jesus will find you, or you will find him."

John was totally bewildered by this. "I hope you are right, my lady. And you think he will be able to help me?"

She smiled, considerably more broadly this time. "Of that I am certain. You will see. Fear nothing. Now, you must have many things to do to prepare. Go, and have trust."

What could he do? It was all very mysterious, but she sounded very convincing, and so he kept telling himself that there must be something to it, and he would have to trust her.

But what did Jesus have to do with it? The carpenter. But then he remembered how he felt when Jesus was building the boat for him as a little boy, how there seemed to be a kind of bond between them, and how even Jesus's father seemed to look up to him, young as he was at the time. There was something about him, he remembered.

But what?

But the last-minute preparations and the prospect of a whole new life crowded out the worries John had, and soon the day of departure was soon upon them, and they began their journey, each carrying his own few items in his own backpack. John had been selecting things, but when Andrew came to help him, he kept saying, "Do you really think you will need this?" and John would ponder and think, "Perhaps not," and leave it behind. His mother fussed that he should not discard so much, which determined him to do so, saying that Andrew did not think he would need it.

"But you can certainly use it there!" she would exclaim, and he would say, "But I do not need it there, and if I do not, why burden my donkey (referring to his own back)?"

His mother expostulated, but Andrew had told him that this was one of the differences between men and women on their travels. Women wanted to bring everything they could use, and men wanted to bring only what they could not do without. And since John was a man, he of course went along with what Andrew advised.

And during the first day of the trip, he was glad he did. Granted, it was not as hot as it would be in the summer, but it was warm enough; the Passover was a month behind them, and everything was wearing its late-spring darker green now, and getting ready for the sultry days ahead. It was not a time to be overburdened.

They decided that they could make better time if they went straight through Samaria rather than following the Jordan River valley through the "Arabah," as they called the green strip that divided the mountains of nothing but dirt on either side. It would be hotter, and they would have to climb the mountains from Jericho to Jerusalem at the end. "And there will not be much danger," said Simon, "if we go through Samaria, because there are three of us, and we present a rather formidable aspect." Certainly Andrew and to a lesser extent John did. The Samaritans, descendants of the Philistines and other hostile tribes, had no love for Judeans, even those semi-Judeans who were Galileans, and the feeling in general was returned with interest by the descendants of Jacob.

"Besides," added Andrew, "we should reach Sychar by nightfall, and there they let us drink from Jacob's well, and are even willing to sell us food. That was why we did not pack so much."

And so they trudged along at a rather brisk pace; they were all in good physical condition, even Simon, who did not do much rowing. John was a little worried that his legs were not exercised as much as his arms, but found that in rowing one did use one's legs more than one thought, and he had no trouble keeping up, even with Andrew's long strides.

As they expected, no one bothered them--in fact, they saw few people, since most were busy on the farms--and they were able to refresh themselves at the well and sleep after buying provisions in Sychar. No one even expressed curiosity about them; the Samaritans knew who they were, and wanted to have as little to do with them as possible once they had taken their money. They slept out in the open, not even having bothered to bring a tent, and fortunately it did not rain.

As they reached Jerusalem, they went up into the Temple to pay their respects to the Master, and then agreed that they would meet there a week later and established a corner where they could be found. John then left the other two and, with some trepidation, found his way to the High Priest's palace, where Annas was dwelling.

He stated his mission to the slave girl at the gate, and gave her the letter from his father. She led him into an anteroom, which to John was huge and sumptuous, though he later found that it was vastly eclipsed by the actual dwelling of the priest that he was led to. As he went, he looked about himself in awe.

An awe which increased as he was ushered in to the chamber of the High Priest himself, who did not rise from his elaborate chair, but beckoned John over, held up his hand and said "Peace."

John, knowing nothing of protocol, went down on one knee as he said, "Peace" in return, and Annas placed his hand on his head. "Rise," he said, and John stood before him rather sheepish.

"But you have just come from traveling, have you not?"

"Yes, Master," said John.

"I think, before I take you to meet the other students, that it would be a good idea if you took a bath, and perhaps gave your clothes to Hannah to wash. You see, you advertise a bit too strongly that you are a fisherman." John, who had, of course, no idea that he stank of fish, suddenly reddened and could find nothing to say. "Think nothing of it," said Annas kindly, and rang a small silver bell on a table at his side. A young woman came in, and Annas told her, "Would you conduct him to the bath, please, and take his garments and also give them a bath." Turning to John, he said, "Where is your luggage?"

"Here," said John, taking off his backpack. Annas laughed. "Aha! A seasoned traveler, then."

"No, Master, but one I came with is."

"I see he must be. You can stay a week in what you have there?"

"That is what he told me."

"Well, we shall see. But while your clothes are being cleansed," he turned back to the woman, "Hannah, whose tunic do you think would fit him best?"

She looked at him. "He is larger than he first appears, with that chest and those arms. Perhaps that of Daniel."

"Then while he is bathing, would you be so good as to ask Daniel if he could lend one of his extra tunics to a weary traveler for a day or so? I am sure he will not mind."

"Yes, Master," she said. "This way." Annas called after them as they left, "Use soap. Use much soap." and she nodded, with a grin. John wanted to sink through the floor. She certainly smelled wonderful, he noticed, and, now that he thought of it, so did Annas. It added to the magic of the moment.

"In there," she said, opening the door to a room with no windows and a small pool. A lamp off in the corner near a fireplace provided sufficient light. "You will find the soap on the shelf over there. I will close the door and be waiting here. When you are ready to bathe, hand me your clothes and your pack--keep whatever you wish to retain, for I will be going through it to see what must be washed."

"There is nothing," said John, and then thought. "Well, a pouch for my money, I suppose."

"You can leave that on the shelf over there while you bathe. When I have found a tunic for you, I will knock thus," and she rapped three times on the door, "and hang it on this peg here. Do you have a comb for your hair?"

"Yes, I have a small pouch with those things also."

"Keep that as well. There is a glass there in the corner by the lamp. One cannot see perfectly, but it is enough to make oneself presentable. Peace."

Next