Authors: Unknown
'It is time we moved on, sir,' he declared, 'if we expect to reach
Sychar by sunset. The town does not possess a good inn. We will make camp this
side, near Jacob's well. Ever hear of Jacob, sir?' He grinned, good-humouredly.
'I believe not, Justus,' confessed Marcellus. 'Is it such a good well?'
'No better than plenty of other wells, but a landmark; fifteen centuries
old.'
They were on the highway again. The lout with the browsing donkeys had
dragged his stubborn caravan out of the weeds. Justus turned about; and,
shielding his eyes with his cupped hands, gazed intently down the road over
which they had come. Marcellus's curiosity was rekindled. It was not the first
time that Justus had stopped to look backwards. And whenever they had come to a
crossing, he had paused to look carefully in all directions. He did not seem to
be apprehensive of danger. It was rather as if he had made an appointment to
meet someone up here. Marcellus was on the point of asking if that were true,
but discreetly decided it was none of his business.
For more than three hours they plodded along the dusty highway, not
meeting many travellers, nor making much conversation. It was late afternoon. A
half-mile ahead, a cluster of sycamores was sighted and a few scattered
dwellings.
'There are the outskirts of Sychar,' said Justus, lengthening his
stride.
In a little while they reached the little suburb, a sleepy, shabby
community of whitewashed, flat-roofed houses. In its centre, by the roadside,
was the historic well. Two women were walking away with water-jars on their
shoulders. A third was arriving. Justus's steps lagged to give her time to draw
up the huge bucket and fill her jar. She glanced apathetically in their
direction, put down her jar, stared; and then proceeded vigorously with her
task. Hurriedly filling the jar, and spilling much water about her feet, she
shouldered her burden and made off toward one of the small houses.
'Have we alarmed her?' asked Marcellus, grinning. 'I had not thought we
looked so fierce.'
'She is not frightened,' said Justus soberly.
It was a large well. The ancient stonework around it was of the height
of a sheep, and broad enough to be sat upon comfortably. Justus, who had
suddenly become preoccupied, sank wearily on to the ledge with his back toward
the small group of dwellings. After standing about for some moments, wondering
how long they were to linger here, Marcellus sat down on the opposite side to
wait until Justus was ready to move on. His eyes idly followed the rapidly
retreating figure of the woman until she entered one of the houses.
Almost immediately she reappeared without her water-jar and ran across
the highway to a neighbour; entered, and came out in a moment accompanied by
another younger and more attractive woman. They stood for a while looking
toward the well; then advanced slowly, stopping frequently to parley, their
faces full of perplexity.
'That woman is coming back, Justus, and bringing another along, and they
are not coming for water,' observed Marcellus.
Justus roused with a little jerk and turned his head. Then he rose and
walked toward the women, who came quickly to meet him. They held a brief,
low-voiced conversation, Justus solemnly shaking his head. The younger woman,
her eyes--very pretty eyes, too--wide with curiosity, continued to press her
questions, and Justus shook his head, as if saying, No--no--no. Finally he
tipped his head slightly in Marcellus's direction, and the women's eyes
instantaneously followed the gesture. Justus was cautioning them not to pursue
the matter, whatever it was.
Then the older woman left them and began slowly retracing her steps
toward her house; and Justus, frowning heavily and nodding what seemed to be a
reluctant consent, turned back toward the well. Yes, he would try to talk with
her again, his manner plainly said. He would talk with her again, as soon as he
could do so without arousing the curiosity of this Roman.
After Justus had unpacked their camping equipment and put up the
sleeping-tent under some sycamores, he had mumbled something about having to go
back to the village for bread, though Marcellus knew they had enough for their
supper and suspected that his more urgent errand was to talk with that woman
again; for his manner had made it plain that he wished to go alone.
Wearied by the long day's tramp and annoyed by his guide's
secretiveness, he flung himself down on the rug that Justus had spread in front
of the tent and moodily watched the sun going down over the tree-tops and
house-roofs of the village.
Why did Justus want to have a private interview with this woman? What
did they have to talk about? Something quite serious, apparently. Perhaps they
would discuss this mystery. But why should there be a mystery? The Galilean was
dead. Who was going to persecute these people for what the carpenter had said
or done; or for their tender remembrance of him?
Marcellus was offended. Surely Justus had no reason to think that he had
come up into this poverty-stricken land to harass the simple-hearted
country-folk. There was no occasion for this fellow to treat him as if he were
an ordinary eavesdropper!
Well, if Justus did not trust him, it was conceivable that he might
secretly go through his belongings, looking for some evidence. If he did so--he
would get a stunning surprise! There was one article of Galilean homespun, at
the bottom of his gunny-bag, that Justus must not see!
It was well on toward sunset when they sighted Cana, after a fatiguing
tramp from the village of Nain where Justus's insistence on observing the
Sabbath had kept them off the road for a day--one of the most tedious and
profitless days that Marcellus had ever experienced.
Justus had gone to the little synagogue in the morning. Had he been
invited, Marcellus would have accompanied him, so hard up was he for diversion
in an unkempt town where there was nothing of interest to see or do. But Justus
had set off alone, after assuring Marcellus that there were ample provisions
for his noonday meal.
About the middle of what threatened to be an interminable afternoon,
Marcellus, lounging on the ground in front of the tent, observed Justus
returning in the company of an elderly woman and a tall sober-faced young man.
They walked slowly, preoccupied with serious conversation. When within a
stadium of the camp, they came to a stop and continued their earnest talk for a
long time. Then the woman and the young man who, Marcellus surmised, might have
been her son, reluctantly turned back toward the village, arm in arm, while
Justus came on wearing a studious frown.
Marcellus knew it was childish to feel any resentment over the quite
obvious disinclination of Justus to acquaint him with his local friends. When
there was trading in prospect, Justus was promptly polite with his
introductions, but he was making it plain that their relationship was strictly
on a business basis.
It wasn't that Marcellus had any considerable interest in meeting this
grey-haired woman, or the thoughtful young man on whose arm she leaned
affectionately; but he couldn't help feeling a bit chagrined over the snubbing.
Of course, in all fairness to Justus, he reflected, the fellow had contracted
only to take him into households where homespun might be purchased. He had not
promised to introduce the young Roman merchant as his friend. Nor could Justus
be expected to know--nor might he be permitted to suspect--that his patron had
no interest whatsoever in this merchandising, but wanted only to meet and talk
with persons who had known Jesus.
Returning to the tent, with an absent nod toward his idle client, Justus
had sat silently staring at the distant hills. Occasionally Marcellus stole a
glance in his direction, but he was completely oblivious. It could not be
divined whether this retreat into silence was of a piece with Sabbath
observance or whether some new reason accounted for his taciturnity.
Early the next morning, Justus had been suddenly animated with a desire
to be on the highway. Breakfast was dispatched at top speed. The pack-asses and
their socially inferior custodian were advised that there would be no nonsense
on this day's journey. The sun was hot, but the determined guide led the little
caravan with long, swinging strides. Marcellus was mightily relieved when, at
high noon, Justus turned off the road and pointed to a near-by clump of olives.
'Shall we rest now, and eat?' he inquired.
'By all means!' panted Marcellus, mopping his brow. 'Is this Cana such
an interesting city, then, that we must walk our legs off to get there to-day?'
'I am sorry to have pressed you,' said Justus. 'I did not explain,
because I wanted to give you a pleasant surprise at the end of the day. There
is a young woman in Cana who sings every evening in the park.'
'Indeed!' muttered Marcellus, wearily. 'Well--she'd better be good!'
'She is good.' Justus began unpacking their lunch. 'The people of Cana
have their supper early; and afterwards a great many of them--both young and
old--assemble about the fountain where this crippled girl sings the songs that
our people love. Her family and the neighbours carry her there on her cot, and
the people sit down and listen until dark.'
'Extraordinary!' commented Marcellus, rubbing his lame muscles. 'You say
she's a cripple? I shall want to meet her. At the rate we're travelling, by the
end of the day she and I may have a common cause.'
Justus acknowledged the raillery with a grin, broke a wheaten loaf, gave
half of it to Marcellus, and seated himself on the grass.
'Miriam is a beautiful young woman,' he went on, munching his bread
hungrily. 'She is about twenty-two now. Some seven years ago she was suddenly
stricken with paralysis. That would have been a great misfortune in any case,
but for Miriam it was a calamity. She had been very active in games, and a
leader in the children's sports. Now she was unable to walk. Moreover, she
added to her unhappiness by resenting her affliction, spending her days in such
pitiful lamentations that her parents were beside themselves with grief, and
their house was in mourning.'
'I take it that you knew them well,' contributed Marcellus, mildly
interested.
'Not at that time,' admitted Justus, 'but the day came when that part of
Miriam's story was quite widely discussed. For three years she lay on her bed,
inconsolable, peevish, so embittered by her trouble that she rejected all the
kindly efforts made to divert her mind. As time passed, she refused to admit
her friends into her room; and sat alone, sullen and smouldering with
rebellion.'
'And now she sings? What happened?'
'Now she sings,' nodded Justus; adding, after a meditative moment, 'I do
not know the particulars, sir. I am not sure that anyone does. Miriam refuses
to discuss it. Her parents profess not to know. When people have inquired of
them, they have replied, "Ask Miriam."'
'Perhaps they are telling the truth when they say they do not know.'
Marcellus was becoming concerned. 'Surely they could have no motive for
refusing to explain the improvement in their daughter's disposition.'
Justus had nodded, without comment.
'Maybe Miriam herself doesn't know,' speculated Marcellus, hopeful that
the story had not come to an end. 'Maybe Miriam found that she had finally
exhausted her resentment, and might as well make the best of it.' He paused to
give Justus a chance to contradict this inexpert opinion; and, meeting no
rejoinder, ventured another guess. 'Maybe she woke up one morning and said to
herself, "I've been making everybody miserable. I'm going to pretend that
I'm happy. I'll be cheerful--and sing!" Maybe she just reached that
decision, after proving that the other course was futile.'
'Maybe,' murmured Justus, remotely.
'But you don't think so,' declared Marcellus, after a long interval of
silence.
'I don't know.' Justus shook his head decisively. 'One of her girl
friends, whom she hadn't seen for a couple of years, was to be married. They
had urgently pleaded with Miriam to attend the wedding, but she would not go;
and all that day she wept bitterly. But, that evening, when her parents
returned from the wedding-feast, she met them with gladness, and sang!'
'Amazing!' exclaimed Marcellus. 'And she has a voice--really?'
'You may decide that for yourself, sir, when you hear her,' said Justus.
'And you may meet her in her home tomorrow. Naomi, her mother, does beautiful
weaving. I shall take you there. She may have some things that might interest
you. If you are rested now, sir, shall we be on our way?'
They pitched their tent at the edge of little Cana, ate their supper
quickly, and walked to the centre of the village, overtaking many people going
in the same direction. Already fifty or more were seated on the ground in
semi-circular rows facing a natural fountain that gently welled up into the
huge brick basin.
'I suppose this is Cana's drinking water,' said Marcellus, as they moved
toward an unoccupied spot on the lawn.
'It is warm water,' said Justus. 'Hot springs abound in this region.'
They seated themselves cross-legged on the ground.
'Is it thought to be a healing water?' asked Marcellus.
'Yes, but not by the people of Galilee. Travellers come from afar to
bathe in the water from these springs.'
'Oh? Then Cana sees many strangers.'
'Not so many in Cana. They go mostly to Tiberias, on the Lake
Gennesaret. It is a more important city, and possesses much wealth. It is only
the rich who come to bathe in medicinal waters.'
'And why is that?' inquired Marcellus. 'Do not the poor believe in the
virtue of these hot springs?'
Justus laughed. It was a deep, spontaneous laugh that he seemed to
enjoy; an infectious laugh that evoked companionable chuckles in their
vicinity, where many men and women had recognized the big gentle-voiced
neighbour from Sepphoris. Marcellus was discovering something new and
interesting about Justus. He was naturally full of fun. You wouldn't have
suspected it. He had been so serious; so weighted.