THE ROBE (37 page)

It had never occurred to Marcellus that an occasion could arise when his
Roman citizenship might be an inconvenience. If you were a Roman and had plenty
of money, you could have what you wanted, anywhere in the world. Doors and
gates were swung open, bars and bridges were let down, tables were set up,
aliens climbed out of public vehicles to give you their seats, merchants made
everybody else stand aside while they attended to your caprices. If you arrived
late at the wharf, the boat waited. If there was only one commodious cabin, the
rich Jew surrendered it without debate. When you said Come, people came; when
you said Go, they went.

But if you had journeyed on foot into the impoverished little provinces
north of Jerusalem, ostensibly to purchase homespun, but actually to make
inquiries concerning a certain penniless carpenter who had moved about in that
region, your Roman citizenship was a nuisance and your money was of no aid.

The project, as Marcellus had originally conceived it, had presented no
problems. Barsabas Justus, full of zeal for his new cause, would be bubbling
with information about his hero. Perhaps he might even have designs on you as a
possible convert. He would be eager to introduce you to the country people who
had often met this strange Galilean face to face. You would be shown into their
homes to see the outgivings of their household looms and, before you had a
chance to sit down, they would be reciting stories of enchanted words and
baffling deeds.

Well, it hadn't turned out that way. True, the country people had
welcomed you at their little wayside inns, had greeted you respectfully on the
highway, had shown you their fabrics, had politely answered your random questions
about their handicrafts; but they had had nothing to say about this Jesus. They
were courteous, hospitable, friendly; but you, who had often been a stranger in
strange places, had never felt quite so lonesome before. They all shared a
secret; but not with you. Justus would present you to a household and tell them
why you had come and they would make haste to bring out the best specimens of
their weaving. And presently, the father of the family and Justus would
exchange a covert glance of mutual understanding and quietly drift out of the
room. After a while, your hostess would excuse herself, leaving you with auntie
and the children; and you knew that she had slipped away to join her husband
and Justus.

The very air of this country was full of mystery. For instance, there
was this fish-emblem; figure of a fish, freshly cut into the bark of a
sycamore, scrawled with a stick into the sand by the roadside, chalked on a
stone fence, scratched into a bare table at a village inn. Demetrius had said
it was the accepted token of the new movement to practise the teachings of
Jesus.

On the second day out, Marcellus, hoping to make Justus talk, had asked
casually:

'What's all this--about fish?'

And Justus had replied:

'That's what we live on--up here--fish.'

Marcellus had been a little put out by this evasion. He resolved to ask
no more questions.

Marcellus, lounging against the fig tree, studied the tanned face of old
Justus, and wondered what he was thinking about; wondered, too, how long he was
likely to lie there gazing wide-eyed at the sky. Justus gave no sign that he
was aware of his client's restlessness.

After a while, Marcellus rose slowly to his feet and sauntered over
toward the pack-asses which the cloddish young driver--sound asleep under a tree--had
staked out to graze.

Noticing with indignation that the lead-donkey's bridle was buckled so
short that the unhappy creature's mouth had been torn by the bit and was
bleeding, he tugged the torturing harness off over the long ears; and, sitting
down on the grass, proceeded to lengthen the straps by punching new holes with
the point of his dagger. It was not an easy task, for the leather was old and
stiff; and before he had put the bridle together again, the donkey-boy had
roused and was watching him with dull curiosity.

'Come here, stupid one!' barked Marcellus. 'I shall not tolerate any
cruelty to these beasts.' He reached into his wallet and drew out a copper
coin. 'Go you to that house--or the next--or the next--and get some ointment,
and don't come back here without it!'

After the dolt had set off, shambling down the road, Marcellus rose,
carelessly patted the old donkey on the nose, and returned to find Justus
sitting up, smilingly interested.

'You like animals,' he observed, cordially.

'Yes,' said Marcellus, 'some animals. I can't say that I am particularly
fond of donkeys; but it irritates me when I see them mistreated. We will have
to keep an eye on that dunce!'

Justus nodded approvingly. Marcellus sat down beside him, aware that his
guide was studying him with the air of having made a new acquaintance.

'Do you like flowers?' asked Justus, irrelevantly, after a lengthy,
candid, and somewhat embarrassing inspection.

'Of course. Why not?'

'This country is full of wild flowers. It's the season for them. Later,
it is very dry, and they wither. They are especially abundant this year.'
Justus made a slow, sweeping gesture that covered the sloping hillside. 'Look,
sir, what a wide variety.'

Marcellus followed the tanned finger as the gentle voice identified the
blossoms with what seemed like confident knowledge; pink mustard, yellow
mustard, blue borage, white sage, rayed umbel, plantain, bugle-weed, marigold,
and three species of poppies.

'You must be an ardent lover of nature, Justus,' commented Marcellus.

'Only in the last couple of years, sir. I used to pass the flowers by
without seeing them, as almost every man does. Of course I recognized the
useful plants; flax and wheat, oats and barley and clover; but I never thought
much about flowers until I made the close acquaintance of a man who knew all
about them.'

Justus had again stretched out on the grass, and his tone had become so
dreamily reminiscent that Marcellus, listening with suspended breath, wondered
if--at last--the soft-voiced Galilean might be about to speak of his lost
friend.

'He knew all about flowers,' reiterated Justus, with a little shake of
his head, as if the recollection were inexpressibly precious. Marcellus thought
of asking whether his friend had died or left the country, seeing that Justus's
reference to him sounded as if it belonged to the past; but decided not to be
too intrusive with his questions.

'You would have thought,' Justus was saying, half to himself, 'that the
flowers were friends of his, the way he talked about them. One day he bade some
of us, who were walking with him, to stop and observe a field of wild lilies.
"See how richly they are clad!" he said. "They do no work. They
do not spin. Yet even King Solomon did not have such raiment."'

'A lover of beauty,' commented Marcellus. 'But probably not a very
practical fellow. Did he not believe in labour?'

'Oh, yes, he believed that people should be industrious,' Justus had
been quick to declare, 'but he held that most of them spent too much time and
thought on their bodies; on clothing--and food--and hoarding--and bigger
barns--and the accumulation of things.'

'Sounds as if he wasn't very thrifty.' Marcellus grinned as he said it,
so it wouldn't seem a contemptuous criticism; but Justus, staring at the sky,
did not see the smile, and the comment brought a frown.

'He was not indolent,' said Justus, firmly. 'He could have had things,
if he'd wanted them. He was a carpenter by occupation--and a skilful one too.
It was a pleasure to see him handle keen-edged tools. When he mortised timbers
they looked as if they had grown that way. There was always a fair-sized crowd
about the shop, watching him work; children all over the place. He had a way
with children--and animals--and birds.' Justus laughed softly, and exhaled a
nostalgic sigh. 'Yes--he had a way with him. When he would leave the shop to go
home, there was always a lot of children with him--and dogs. Everything
belonged to him; but he never owned anything. He often said that he pitied
people who toiled and schemed and worried and cheated to possess a lot of
things; and then had to stand guard over them to see that they weren't stolen
or destroyed by moths and rust.'

'Must have been an eccentric person,' mused Marcellus, 'not to want
anything for his own.'

'But he never thought he was poor!' Justus raised up on one elbow,
suddenly animated. 'He had the spirit of truth. Not many people can afford
that, you know.'

'What an odd thing to say!' Marcellus had stared into Justus's eyes,
until the older man grinned a little.

'Not so odd, when you stop to think about it. A talent for truth is
worth having. If a man loves truth better than things, people are glad to have
him for a friend. Almost everybody wishes he could be honest, but you can't
have the spirit of truth when your heart is set on dickering for
things.
That's why people hung about this carpenter and listened to everything he said;
he had the spirit of truth. Nobody had to be on guard with him; didn't have to
pretend; didn't have to lie. It made them happy and free as little children.'

'Did everybody respond to him--that way?' asked Marcellus, seriously.

'Almost everybody,' nodded Justus. 'Oh--sometimes people who didn't know
him tried to deceive him about themselves, but'--he grinned broadly as if
remembering an occasion--'but, you see, sir, he was so perfected in the truth
that you couldn't lie to him, or pretend to be what you weren't. It simply
couldn't be done, sir; either by word, tone, or manner! And as soon as people
found that out, they dropped their weapons and defences, and began to speak the
truth, themselves! It was a new experience for some of them, and it gave them a
sensation of freedom. That's why they liked him, sir. They couldn't lie to him,
and so they told the truth--and--and the truth set them free!'

'That's a new thought!' declared Marcellus. 'Your friend must have been
a philosopher, Justus. Was he a student of the classics?'

Justus was briefly puzzled, and presently shook his head.

'I do not think so,' he replied. 'He just--
knew!'

'I don't suppose he had very many admirers among the well-to-do,'
ventured Marcellus, 'if he discouraged the accumulation of property.'

'You would have been surprised, sir!' declared Justus. 'Plenty of rich
men listened. I recall that once a wealthy young nobleman followed him about
for a whole afternoon; and before he left he came up closer and said, "How
can I get that--what you have?"'

Justus paused so long and the look in his eyes grew so remote that
Marcellus wondered whether he had drifted off to thinking about something else.

'And then--what did your carpenter say?'

'Told him he was too heavily weighted with
things,'
replied
Justus. '"Give your things away," he said, "and come along with
me."'

'Did he?'

'No, but he said he wished he could. He went away quite depressed, and we
were all sorry, for he was indeed a fine young fellow.' Justus shook his head,
and smiled pensively. 'I suppose that was the first time he had ever really
wanted something that he couldn't afford.'

'This carpenter must have been a very unusual man,' remarked Marcellus.
'He appears to have had the mind of a dreamer, a poet, an artist. Did he draw,
perhaps--or carve?'

'Jews do not draw--or carve.'

'Indeed? How then do they express themselves?'

'They sing,' replied Justus, 'and tell stories.'

'What manner of stories?'

'Oh, the legends of our people, mostly; the deeds of our great ones.
Even the little children can recite the traditions and the prophecies.' Justus
smiled benevolently, and seemed about to confide an incident. 'I have a
grandson, sir. His name is Jonathan. We called him Jonathan because he was born
with a crooked foot, like Jonathan of old--the son of King Saul. Our Jonathan
is seven. You should hear him tell the story of the Creation, and the Great
Flood, and the Exodus.'

'The Exodus?' Marcellus searched his memory.

'You do not know, sir?' Justus was tolerant but surprised.

'I know what the word means,' said Marcellus, defensively. 'Exodus is a
going-away, or a road out; but I do not recall a story about it.'

'I thought everyone knew the history of our people's escape from bondage
in Egypt,' said Justus.

'Oh--that!' recalled Marcellus. 'I didn't know that was an escape. Our
history teachers insist that the Jews were expelled from Egypt.'

'That,' declared Justus, indignantly, 'is a vicious untruth! The
Pharaohs tried to keep our fathers there--in slavery--to till their soil and
build their monuments.'

'Well, no matter,' said Marcellus. 'There's nothing we can do about it
now. I'll accept your version of the story, if you want to tell me.'

'Little Jonathan will recite it for you when we visit Sepphoris. He is a
bright boy.' Justus's sudden anger had cooled.

'It is easy to see you are fond of him, Justus.'

'Yes--little Jonathan is all we have. My wife entered into her rest many
years ago. My daughter Rebecca is a widow. Jonathan is a great comfort to us.
Perhaps you know how it is, sir, in a home where a child is sick or crippled.
He gets a little more care; a little more love, maybe, to make up for it.
Jonathan still gets it, though he is perfectly well now.'

'Well?' queried Marcellus. 'His foot, you mean?'

Justus nodded slowly, turning his face away.

'Is that not unusual?' persisted Marcellus.

The crow's-feet on Justus's temple deepened and his face was sober as he
nodded again without looking up. It was plain now that he did not wish to be
questioned further. Presently he tugged himself loose from his meditative mood,
returned with a smile, stretched his long, bronzed arms, and rose to his feet.