Seven
The classes were dismissed shortly after this, and it seemed everyone gathered around John, firing questions at him from all sides. When a few of them heard that he was a fisherman, they subtly showed varying degrees of scorn, but made no open remarks, because they once or twice saw him making a fist, and no one (or two or three, for that matter) looked to be a match for him. John, for his part, was ready to defend his occupation--his "profession," as he thought it--against all comers, and if they did not like it, they would pay for their attitude with a bloody nose or black eye. But fortunately, Mary's advice was in the background of his mind, and he stopped himself before doing anything more than showing his displeasure. He was amazed at how easy it was to intimidate them.
There were, however, two or three who, like Daniel, were the very opposite of being intimidated, and who stared at him a bit too greedily for his taste. He began to think that he was perhaps normal after all, because he found their attention so repulsive.
If they had looked like Andrew or Samuel, or if they had been a bit more subtle at it, it might have been a different story, but they were the kind of people his companions in Galilee laughed at scornfully and ostracized; and John had eagerly joined in, partly, he supposed now, to cover up for how he himself felt. But he now saw that his attitude was genuine enough, and he had to make an effort to be friendly, if distant, with them. It would not do to make enemies on every side, and they perhaps could no more help what they felt than he could help his feelings about Andrew.
As he was talking to them, he thought of Andrew, comparing his reactions. But really, what he felt toward Andrew, it seemed, was mainly admiration. He did not really want to do anything to Andrew--not that he knew what it was he would do--or have him do anything to him, except perhaps hug him, so much as he wanted to be what he saw Andrew to be. And in fact, he was making advances in that direction, by doing pushups and situps every other morning.
But the whole matter, he realized, was more complex than that. But he had to put any pondering of it out of his mind, because he was becoming distracted from the conversations he was having.
Most of the students, of course, were either friendly in a normal, casual kind of way, or simply greeted him and wished him well and went about their own concerns with each other. They were all, he had to admit, polite, even those who seemed to despise him (they did not dare to be otherwise), and so as he talked, he saw that he might be able to manage with them--at least, he hoped so.
It was well. He was not very good in social situations, to say the least; and fortunately, at the moment at any rate, he did not have to say much, simply answer questions that they asked, and let them talk. But, knowing his deficiency here, he resolved to study how they behaved, and learn to imitate them.
He began to see, as some of the more popular ones mentioned their own experiences that were somewhat similar to something he alluded to in one of his rather laconic answers, that the trick in conversation seemed to be to chime in with an event in one's own experience that matched to some extent what the other person was saying; it established a solidarity with him, and induced him to go on--except when, as John discovered once or twice in trying this out, one's remark gave the impression of his being superior in some sense to that of the other person; he could see someone flinch occasionally when he said, "Oh, yes, I once did . . ." and sounded as if he were saying, "Yes, I did that also, and it was far more interesting, because . . ."
After a few attempts in this direction, and especially once when he began a lengthy monologue on details of casting the net properly and saw the other person start looking around for an escape--something that he experienced at home when he launched into one of his special interests--he felt that it was far better to let them talk, at least until he learned a bit more about how to walk through this swamp without falling into quicksand. He envied those who seemed to be able to do it by instinct.
But one had, he began to see, to make an assumption first: that others were interested in one, and expected him also to be interested in them. In that way, one's experiences would matter to some extent to them, and be a springboard for them to point out things in their own lives that might be of interest. The people who found their own lives fascinating but cared nothing for others, he saw, were the ones people shunned. This was a serious matter to John, since, apart from his interest in Andrew and Samuel, which had overtones he wished to avoid, he had not thought much about others.
He began to see that he had to try to cultivate a genuine desire--or at least to appear to have a genuine desire--to find out what mattered to the one he was talking to. Telling of one's own experiences seemed to be, in the skilled hands of the popular conversationalists, a kind of prod to elicit something from the other person.
But since John was so full of what intrigued him, he realized that socializing well was going to be a formidable task. Perhaps he might have to give up the idea of being the bright light of a conversation, and retreat into keeping himself mainly to himself.
He was studying all this while he was talking, or rather listening, to the people, and he found it all bewildering, and even overwhelming. He had many times had the same feeling earlier in his life, when, especially in groups, his head seemed to become full to bursting and made him want to scream. On those occasions, he would usually run off by himself and do some of his exercises--anything to let his mind empty out.
It was not possible for him to do this here, of course, and he began to be afraid he would explode. But mercifully, a bell rang after a short time, and everything quieted down. "We are going to eat now," he was told, and they all silently went first to the large, wait-high water-jars that were standing there, to wash for the evening meal. John, of course, was clean from his bath, but he washed like the rest, and then they went and lay on dining-couches around a U-shaped low table, with Annas in the middle and the favored few in front and behind him.
There was silence at the beginning of the meal--for which John was grateful--until, as it turned out, the prayer was said. Everyone lay down on the couch on his left side, head supported by the left hand, the elbow of that arm resting on the cushion, and his feet protruding a bit over the outside edge of the couch. In some places (not here) slaves went around the outside and washed the feet of the diners, wiping them with a towel they had around their waist.
The food was served from the center opening of the table. Diners ate by dipping their right hands into the dish, using the thumb and first two fingers, occasionally using a knife to cut meat into bite-size pieces if it was not already prepared that way, and occasionally taking bread or the meat and dipping it into a small dish of sauce before bringing it to the mouth. All this was familiar to John; it was the way people normally ate. One licked the fingers afterwards, and wiped them on a small cloth.
To his surprise, John found that he was not at the foot of the table, as he expected to be (in fact, he had gone there, but Annas himself came and said that he thought he would be more comfortable up higher), but about halfway down one of the legs. Annas then returned to his place at the head of the table, and led the prayer, after which they were allowed to talk--but quietly, only with the person in front of or behind one. Apparently, John discovered as he looked around, the hierarchical order was one of chronological age, not experience in studies--which made sense. It would be silly for a someone with twenty years to have to converse with one half his age.
As it happened, Daniel was lying in front of him, and every now and then during dinner, he leaned back against John's chest to make some remark. John had a bit of difficulty ignoring any overtures that might be a bit more than friendly. It was clear that he would have to do something to keep Daniel at a distance, but he did not want actually to antagonize him. Fortunately, Daniel in general was a likeable sort, and also something of a chatterbox, and so John could get by with a sentence, or even a word or two--and sometimes just a grunt--which Daniel took as sufficient. And what he was saying was useful, since he was explaining what all of them did every day, something that John would have to learn somehow.
He began to think that Annas's--or rather Hannah's--selection of Daniel as the one to lend the tunic had more to it than simply his size (he saw that there were others whose tunics would have fit just as well), but that if John wanted to find out how things were in this school, Daniel would probably be the most efficient source; and Hannah, at least, would be shrewd enough to see that doing a favor for a new lad would predispose a person to be friendly and open with him. Whether she also saw what was pellucid to John, that John's appearance would be an added incentive to Daniel's friendliness, was not clear to John.
Well, what would be would be. He felt sure that he could fend off untoward advances, and probably prevent any serious ones from being made; though he was a bit curious as to what would actually happen if he let Daniel do what Daniel seemed to want to do. It was interesting that, though he wondered what it would be, more or less in the abstract, he had no desire to find out--at least from Daniel. Life was complicated; but on the whole, he felt a bit more comfortable with himself than he had previously.
They walked outside after the meal for a while, in groups of two or three; Daniel, of course, seeking out John. "Do not feel that you must be a kind of nursemaid to me," said John; "I can manage by myself."
"Oh, I have no doubt," said Daniel, "but it is perhaps well not to feel completely alone at the beginning, and it is no trouble at all for me." The smile.
"Well, I give you thanks for your concern," said John, not smiling. He looked around. "This courtyard is beautiful, with the palm trees." It had its own magic for John; a kind of restful peace as the twilight began to darken the sky. He felt as if he was in the palace of a king.
"They are temperamental things, the trees," said Daniel. "When there is a drought, they look wretched: gray and ragged. But this Spring has been good to them."
"Do you do this every evening after the meal?" asked John.
"Yes. They say that a calm walk after dinner is good for the constitution. Though I think whatever you have been doing for yours is far better than anything we have devised." The smile.
John quickly fought for something to say to change the topic. "And what do we do next?"
"Well, most of us go to our own rooms, and prepare for the morrow's lessons. I saw that you were interested in what Adam and his two companions were doing."
"Well, I had been reading Malachi--"
"In truth? A fisherman actually reading Malachi?"
John reddened. "Well, my tutor gave it to me a couple of months ago, and I was making what I could of it."
"I am astounded. You are indeed a remarkable person! Adam!" he called. "Did you know that John here has actually read Malachi already?"
One of the older lads, who had quite a good beard, came over; John had sat beside him as they were discussing the text. "In truth? I thought he was simply trying to look intelligent."
"Well," said John, "that is pretty much what I was trying to do. I did not want to disturb you, and it took me quite a while to puzzle out where you were. I think I finally discovered it."
"Of course, it is quite a short book."
"I know. That is why my tutor gave it to me. I had just spent a long time with Daniel, and he thought I should have something where I could see that the end was not far away."
Adam laughed, and so did Daniel, who added, "I know nothing whatever about it. It is a couple of years before I undertake it."
"Well, for all its lack of length, it requires considerable study," replied Adam.
"Do not they all?" said Daniel.
"You are about to come to something that really puzzled me as I read it earlier," remarked John. "It will be interesting to see what you have to say about it."
"Well, we will see you tomorrow, then. Feel free to make any remark, and do not think you will sound stupid. We all sound incredibly stupid at times." John was not so sure of this; but of course, there was certainly no reason why he would not sound stupid if he said anything. What did he know? He could barely decipher the words themselves.
He resolved that if something occurred to him, he would--perhaps--bring it up, to see what happened. Probably he would make a fool of himself, but one did not learn unless one started somewhere. On the other hand, it would not do to begin on the wrong foot.
As he entered his room that night (Daniel wishing him fondly that he would sleep well), he found that it was difficult to get to sleep, in spite of the rather long journey he had made earlier that day. All the events of the afternoon crowded in on each other's heels, and he wondered if he would be able to tolerate this existence.
On he whole, he decided that he did not find it intriguing, as he had expected. It looked, in fact, quite boring. Whatever he wanted out of Scripture (and he was anything but sure what that was) seemed buried, somehow, in the way it seemed they were treating it. He was not being fair, he knew, and was probably simply projecting his fears onto his recollection of the day; but there was something already nagging at him that this was not the way to become a prophet, and fishing was probably a far better alternative for him in the long run. He, a prophet! He laughed inwardly--but still, who could tell?
And, when one considered it, fishing looked less attractive, especially when one realized that one stank afterward. But of course, he thought to himself, when one was around fishermen all the time, who noticed? And it was a useful occu--profession. But it was purely physical, and his mind cried out for something more. There was--he knew not--there was something people needed to know, that perhaps he could proclaim to them. The whole world was waiting for something, for rescue of some sort--and not simply rescue from Rome, rescue from the mess each person made of his own life--
And this reminded him of Samuel and Thomas. Poor Samuel! His life was a shambles that could not be unshambled now; one could apologize for a cruel remark, or even a blow (something John had to do too often), and make up for it to some extent, but when one was dead, it was like trying to unslaughter a sheep.
And Thomas! Was there anything he could do to undo what had been done to him? True, Thomas had done it to himself, but Samuel had told John that he had tried to stop once, and could not--any more than John could rid himself of the feelings he wished he did not have toward Andrew and toward poor Samuel.
Thanks be to God, he had not let them go as far as apparently Thomas had with his drinking! He was certain that there was an abyss waiting to swallow him, one fully as disastrous as the one Thomas found himself in. He would have to be very careful, especially here, with others apparently wanting to lead him down into the pit.
Not that he had any desire to follow them--now. But who knew? Daniel was not bad-looking, when it came to that, once one made certain allowances.
But that was absurd! The whole thing was disgusting!
But the problem was that the very disgust had its attractive aspect.
"Please, Master! Help me! Keep me safe!" he said aloud into his pillow as he lay there, tossing and turning. If there was anyone who needed rescue, it was he.
And then he thought of John, bathing people for a change in their way of thinking. Could a bath in the Jordan or anywhere else actually effect this? Remember Naaman the Syrian, bathing in the Jordan when he gave up the idea that other rivers in Syria were just as good. And was the Messiah, the one anointed to be the Prince, the successor of David, actually going to come, or was this a metaphor for some grand spiritual renewal that had nothing to do with an actual person?
It sounded as if John, at least, believed that it was a real person, and that he was already among them, and would soon reveal himself to be the actual Prince. And perhaps the world would take a new direction, and there actually could be rescue from their sins! And perhaps John could be his prophet! There would be two Johns, the bather and himself!
And did Jesus, of all people, have anything to do with this? And if so, what? Did he know who it was? Could he bring John to him, and then they would go to Thomas and cure him?