Authors: Unknown
'The poor do not have the diseases, sir, that these springs are supposed
to cure,' explained Justus. 'Only men accustomed to rich foods and an abundance
of fine wines seek these healing waters. The Galileans do not suffer of ills
arising from such causes.'
It was delicious irony, because so free of any bitterness. Marcellus
admired the tone of the appreciative laughter that came from their candidly
eavesdropping neighbours. His heart warmed toward them. He was going to feel at
home with them.
'That's a new thought, Justus,' he replied, 'and a sound one. I never
considered it before, but it is a fact that hot springs are intended for
gluttons and winebibbers. Now that you speak of it, I recall having heard
something about this city of Tiberias on Lake Gennesaret.'
'Often called the Sea of Galilee,' nodded Justus, 'but not by the
Galileans.' The crowd seated about them had grown attentive, tilting its head
at a favourable angle, frankly interested.
'Big lake?' wondered Marcellus.
'Big enough to be stormy. They have some rough gales.'
'Any fishing?'
Justus nodded indifferently, and a middle-aged man sitting in front of
them turned his head, plainly wanting to say something. Marcellus caught his
dancing eye, and raised his brows encouragingly.
'That's one of the diseases that poor people can afford, sir,' remarked
the man, 'fishing!' Everybody laughed merrily at that.
'Do they catch any fish?' inquired Marcellus.
'Yes,' admitted Justus, 'they have caught fish--all of them--a long time
ago.' This sally was good, too; and the friendly hilarity increased the circle
of listeners. Marcellus felt that they were showing quite an amiable attitude
toward him; perhaps because he was sponsored by Justus who, it seemed, everyone
knew; and, besides, Marcellus was doing fairly well with his Aramaic.
'But they still fish?' he inquired, artlessly.
A shrill childish voice unexpectedly broke in, from up the row a little
way.
'Once they caught a great lot of them!' shouted the lad.
'Sh-sh!' came a soft, concerted caution from his kin.
All eyes were now turning toward the fountain where a cot was being
borne in from the street. The girl seated on it was propped about with pillows.
In her bare, shapely arms she hugged a small harp.
The sculptor in Marcellus instantly responded. It was a finely modelled,
oval face, white with a pallor denoting much pain endured; but the wide-set,
long-lashed eyes had not been hurt. Her abundant hair, parted in the middle,
framed an intelligent brow. Her full lips were almost gay as she surveyed the
crowd.
Two men followed, carrying wooden trestles, and the cot was lifted up
until everyone could see. A deep hush fell upon the people. Marcellus was much
impressed by the unusual scene, and found himself wishing that the girl
wouldn't try to sing. The picture was perfect. It was imprudent to risk
spoiling it.
Miriam gently swept the strings of her harp with slim, white fingers.
Then her face seemed to be transfigured. Its momentary gaiety had faded, and
there had come an expression of deep yearning. It was clear that she had left
them now, and was putting out on an enchanted excursion. The luminous eyes
looked upward, wide with far vision. Again she lightly touched the
harp-strings.
The voice was a surprisingly deep, resonant contralto. That first tone,
barely audible at its beginning, swelled steadily until it began to take on the
pulsing vibration of a bell. Marcellus felt a quick tightening of his throat, a
sudden suffusion of emotion that burned and dimmed his eyes. Now the song took
wings!
'I waited patiently for the Lord--and He inclined unto me--and heard
my cry.'
All around Marcellus heads had bent to meet upraised hands; and stifled
sobs, with childish little catches of breath in them, were straining to be
quiet. As for himself, he sat staring at the entranced girl through
uncontrollable tears. He shook them out of his eyes, and stared!
'And he hath put a new song in my mouth!'
exulted Miriam.
Justus slowly turned his head towards Marcellus. His seamed face was
contorted and his eyes were swimming. Marcellus touched his sleeve and nodded
soberly. Their gaze returned to the enraptured girl.
'Then I said, "Lo--I come." In the volume of the Book it is
written of me, "I delight to do Thy will, O God--and Thy law is in my
heart!"'
The song was ended and the close-packed crowd uttered a deep sigh.
Neighbours slowly turned their faces toward their best beloved, smiled
wistfully with half-closed eyes, and shook their heads, lacking words to tell
how deeply they had been moved. After an interval Miriam found her wings again.
Marcellus was thrilled by the phrases of her triumphant song, which stirred in
his heart instinctive longings hitherto unrealized. The song was coming to an
end now, even as the last rays of sunset filled the sky.
'To give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of
death,'
sang Miriam,
'and to guide our feet in the way of peace.'
Twilight was falling. The men bore Miriam away. The crowd silently
scattered and took to the highway. It pleased Marcellus that Justus, trudging
by his side in the darkness, did not ask him if he liked Miriam's voice, or
whether he had not been impressed by the unusual occasion.
The home of Reuben and Naomi, at the northern extremity of the village,
was more commodious and occupied a larger parcel of ground than most of the
residences in Cana. The white-walled house, well back from the road, was shaded
by tall sycamores. In the spacious front yard were many fruit trees, now gay
and fragrant with blossoms; and on either side of this area there was an
apparently prosperous vineyard.
It was with some difficulty that Marcellus had curbed his impatience to
visit this home where he hoped to meet the crippled girl with the radiant face
and the golden voice. Justus had seemed wilfully tedious at the two places
where they had called on their way; and had it not been imprudent, Marcellus
would have dispatched these small transactions by purchasing whatever was
offered.
'Let us first speak to Miriam,' said Justus, unlatching the gate. 'I see
her sitting in the arbour.'
They crossed the neatly clipped grass-plot and sauntered toward the
shaded arbour where Miriam sat alone. She wore a white himation trimmed with
coral at the throat and flowing sleeves, but no jewellery except a slim silver
chain about her neck with a tiny pendant--a fish--carved from a seashell. On
the table beside her cot was the harp and a small case of scrolls. Her curly
head was bent attentively over the lace medallion she was knitting. As they
approached, she glanced up, recognizing Justus, and smiled a welcome.
'Oh--you needn't explain, Barsabas Justus,' she said when, after presenting
Marcellus, he had added that the young man was interested in Galilean fabrics.
'Everybody in Cana knows about it.' She smiled into Marcellus's eyes. 'We are
all excited, sir, over your visit, for it isn't often that anyone comes here to
trade.'
There was a peculiar tone-quality in her low voice that Marcellus could
not define, except that its warmth was entirely unself-conscious and sincere.
Frequently he had observed, upon being introduced to young women, that they had
a tendency to show a sudden liveliness, pitching their blithe remarks in a
shrill key as if from a considerable distance. Miriam's voice was as unaffected
and undefended as her smile.
'Naomi is at home?' asked Justus.
'In the house. Will you find her? I think she and Father are expecting
you.'
Justus turned away, and Marcellus was uncertain whether to follow.
Miriam helped him to a gratifying decision by pointing to a chair.
'I heard you sing,' he said. 'It was the most--' He paused to grope for
an appropriate word.
'How do you happen to speak Aramaic?' she interposed gently.
'I don't speak it very well,' said Marcellus. 'However,' he went on more
confidently, 'even your own countrymen might find it difficult to describe your
singing. I was deeply moved by it.'
'I am glad you wanted to tell me that.' Miriam pushed aside the pillow
on which the lace medallion had been pinned, and faced him with candid eyes. 'I
wondered a little what you might think. I saw you there with Justus. I had
never sung for a Roman. It would not have surprised me if you had been amused;
but it would have hurt me.'
'I'm afraid we have a bad reputation in these provinces,' sighed
Marcellus.
'Of course,' said Miriam. 'The only Romans we see in Cana are
legionaries, marching down the street, so haughtily, so defiantly'--she
straightened and swaggered her pretty shoulders, accenting her militant
pantomime with little jerks of her head--'as if they were saying--'
She paused and added, apologetically, 'But perhaps I should not tell
you.'
'Oh, I know what we always seem to say when we strut,' assisted
Marcellus. He protruded his lips with an exaggerated show of arrogance, and
carried on with Miriam's march:
'"Here--we come--your
lords--and--masters!"'
They both laughed a little, and Miriam resumed her needlework. Bending
over it attentively, she inquired:
'Are there many Romans like you, Marcellus Gallio?'
'Multitudes! I make no claim to any sort of uniqueness.'
'I never talked with a Roman before,' said Miriam. 'But I supposed they
were all alike. They look alike.'
'In their uniforms, yes; but under their spiked helmets and shields,
they are ordinary creatures with no relish for tramping the streets of foreign
cities. They would much prefer to be at home with their families, hoeing in
their gardens and tending their goats.'
'I am glad to know that,' said Miriam. 'It is so unpleasant to dislike
people--and so hard not to think badly of the Romans. Now I shall say that
great numbers of them wish they were at home with their gardens and goats; and
I shall hope,' she went on, with a slow smile, 'that their desire may be
fulfilled. Have you a garden, sir?'
'Yes, we have a garden.'
'But no goats, I think.'
'There is no room for them. We live in the city.'
'Have you horses?'
'Yes.'
'In Galilee,' said Miriam, 'horses require more room than goats. Would
you like to tell me about your home?'
'Gladly. Our family consists of our parents and my sister Lucia and
myself.'
'Does your father take care of the garden while you are abroad?'
'Well--not personally--no,' replied Marcellus, after a little
hesitation; and when she glanced up from under her long lashes with an
elder-sisterly grin, he asked, 'Are you having a good time?'
She nodded companionably.
'I might have known that you kept a gardener,' she said, 'and a
maidservant too, no doubt.'
'Yes,' assented Marcellus, casually.
'Are they--slaves?' asked Miriam, in a tone that hoped not to give
offence.
'Yes,' admitted Marcellus, uncomfortably, 'but I can assure you they are
not mistreated.'
'I believe that,' she said, softly. 'You couldn't be cruel to anyone.
How many slaves have you?'
'I never counted them. A dozen, perhaps. No--there must be more than
that. Twenty, maybe.'
'It must seem odd to own other human beings,' reflected Miriam. 'Do you
keep them locked up, when they are not working?'
'By no means!' Marcellus dismissed the query with a toss of his hand.
'They are free to go anywhere they please.'
'Indeed!' exclaimed Miriam. 'Don't they ever run away?'
'Not often. There's nowhere for them to go.'
'That's too bad,' Miriam sighed. 'They'd be better off in chains,
wouldn't they? Then maybe they could break loose. As it is, the whole world is
their prison.'
'I never thought about it before,' pondered Marcellus. 'But I suppose
the whole world is a prison for everyone. Is anybody entirely free? What
constitutes freedom?'
'The truth!' answered Miriam, quickly. 'The truth sets anyone free! If
it weren't so, I might feel quite fettered myself, Marcellus Gallio. My country
is owned by a foreign master. And, because of my lameness, I may seem to have
very little liberty; but my spirit is free!'
'You are fortunate,' said Marcellus. 'I should give a great deal to
experience a liberty independent of all physical conditions. Did you work out
that philosophy for yourself? Was it a product of your illness, perhaps?'
'No, no!' She shook her head decisively. 'My illness made a wretched
slave of me. I did not earn my freedom. It was a gift.'
Marcellus kept silent, when she paused. Perhaps she would explain.
Suddenly her face lighted, and she turned toward him with an altered mood.
'Please forgive me for being inquisitive about you,' she said. 'I sit
here all day with nothing new happening. It is refreshing to talk with someone
from the outside world. Tell me about your sister Lucia. Is she younger than
you?'
'Much.'
'Younger than I?'
'Six years younger,' ventured Marcellus, smiling into her suddenly
widened eyes.
'Who told you my age?'
'Justus.'
'How did he happen to do that?'
'He was telling me, before we arrived in Cana, about your singing. He
said that you never knew you could sing until, one day, you found that you had
a voice--and sang. Justus said it came all unexpectedly. How do you account for
it--if it isn't a secret?'
'It is a secret,' she said, softly.
They were coming around the corner of the house now--Naomi first, with
her arms full of robes and shawls, followed by Justus and Reuben. Marcellus
rose and was introduced. Reuben rather diffidently took the hand that Marcellus
offered him. Naomi, apparently pleased by their guest's attitude, smiled
cordially. It was easy to see the close resemblance of mother and daughter.
Naomi had the same dimples in her cheeks.