Authors: Unknown
'We have always gone to Jerusalem to attend the Passover at this
season,' she said, spreading out her wares across the back of a chair. 'This
year we shall not go. That is why I happen to have so many things on hand.'
Marcellus assumed his best business manner. Taking up a brown robe, he
examined it with professional interest.
'This,' he said, expertly, 'is typically Galilean. A seamless robe. And
excellent workmanship. Evidently you have had much practice in weaving this
garment.'
Naomi's gratified expression encouraged him to speak freely. He felt he
was making a good case for himself as a connoisseur of homespun, and could risk
an elaboration of his knowledge, particularly for Justus's information.
'A weaver of my acquaintance in Athens,' he went on, 'told me something
about this robe. He was formerly of Samaria, I believe, and was quite familiar
with Galilean products.' He glanced toward Justus, and met an inquisitive
stare, as if he were searching his memory for some related fact. Now his eyes
lighted a little.
'There was a young Greek working for Benyosef, a short time ago,'
remarked Justus. 'I heard him say he had been with a weaver in Athens named
Benjamin, from whom he had learned to speak Aramaic. Might this have been the
same weaver?'
'Why--yes!' Marcellus tried to enjoy the coincidence. 'Benjamin is well
respected in Athens. He is a good scholar, too.' He chuckled a little.
'Benjamin always insists on speaking Aramaic with anyone whom he suspects of
knowing the language.'
'He must have found you pleasant company, sir,' remarked Justus. 'I have
noticed that you use many terms which are colloquial with the Samaritans.'
'Indeed!' said Marcellus, taking up a shawl, and returning his attention
to Naomi. 'This is excellent wool,' he assured her. 'Is it grown here in
Galilee?'
'In our own madbra,' replied Reuben, proudly.
'Madbra!' repeated Marcellus. 'In the desert?'
Justus laughed.
'See, Reuben?' he exclaimed. 'When the Samaritans say
"madbra," they mean barren land.' He turned to Marcellus. 'When we
say "madbra," we mean pasture. "Bara" is our word for
desert.'
'Thanks, Justus,' said Marcellus. 'I'm learning something.' He dismissed
this small episode by concentrating on the shawl. 'It is beautifully dyed,' he
said.
'With our own mulberries,' boasted Naomi.
'Had I known you were acquainted with Benjamin,' persisted Justus, 'I
should have told you about this young Greek, Demetrius; a most thoughtful fellow.
He left suddenly, one day. He had been in some trouble--and was a fugitive.'
Marcellus politely raised his brows, but made it clear enough, by his
manner, that they had other things to talk about.
'I shall want the shawl,' he said, 'and this robe. Now--let us see what
else.' He began fumbling with the garments, hoping he had not seemed abrupt in
disregarding the comments about Demetrius.
Presently Justus sauntered away toward the vineyard, and Reuben followed
him.
'Why don't you show Marcellus Gallio those pretty head-bands, Mother?'
suggested Miriam.
'Oh, they're nothing,' said Naomi. 'He wouldn't bother with them.'
'May I see them?' asked Marcellus.
Naomi obligingly moved away, and Marcellus continued to inspect the
textiles with exaggerated concern.
'Marcellus.' Miriam's tone was confidential.
He glanced up and met her level eyes inquiringly.
'Why did you lie to Justus?' she insisted, just above a whisper.
'Lie to him?' parried Marcellus, flushing.
'About that Greek. You did not want to talk about him. Perhaps you know
him. Tell me, Marcellus. What are you? You're not a merchant. I know that. You
have no real interest in my mother's weaving.' Miriam waited for a reply, but
Marcellus had not recovered his self-possession. 'Tell me,' she coaxed, softly.
'What are you doing up here--in Galilee--if it isn't a secret?'
He met her challenging smile with an attempted casualness.
'It is a secret,' he said.
Justus was coolly polite to-day, but remote. He was beginning to be
sceptical about Marcellus. Yesterday at Reuben's house a few facts, unimportant
when considered singly, had taken on size once they were strung together.
Marcellus, whose Aramaic was distinctly of the Samaritan variety, had
recklessly volunteered that he knew old Benjamin, the weaver in Athens, who had
derived from Samaria.
Demetrius, the handsome young Greek who had recently been in Benyosef's
employ, also knew old Benjamin; had worked for him; and the Aramaic he spoke
was loaded with Samaritan provincialisms. Clearly there was some sort of
relation between Marcellus and this fugitive slave, though the Roman had
pretended not to have known him, and had shown no interest in the story of his
hasty flight from Benyosef's shop. Doubtless Marcellus knew about it, and had
reasons for wanting to evade any discussion of it. It all went to prove that
you couldn't trust a Roman.
At sunset yesterday, Justus had strolled down the street by himself,
making it clear that his Roman patron's company was not desired. For a little
while Marcellus had debated the propriety of going alone to the fountain. His
anxiety to hear Miriam sing again decided the matter.
The whole town was there and seated when he quietly joined the crowd at
its shaded outskirts. No notice was taken of him, for Miriam had at that moment
arrived and all eyes were occupied. Marcellus sat on the ground, a little way
apart, and experienced the same surge of emotion that had swept through him on
the previous evening. Now that he had talked with her, Miriam's songs meant
even more. He had been strangely drawn to this girl. And he knew that she had
been sincerely interested in him. It was not, in either case, a mere transient
infatuation. There had been nothing coyly provocative in Miriam's attitude. She
wanted only to be his friend, and had paid him the high compliment of assuming
that he was bright enough to understand the nature of her unreserved
cordiality.
As he sat there in the darkness, alternately stilled and stirred by her
deep, vibrant, confident tones, he found himself consenting to the reality of
her honest faith. His inherent, built-in scepticism yielded to a curious
wistfulness as she sang,
'In the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge.
. . . My heart is fixed. . . . Awake, my glory! Awake, my harp!'
Miriam
couldn't walk--but she could fly.
Justus had briefly announced that they would be leaving early in the
morning for his home town, Sepphoris, where he must attend to some errands.
'Will we be coming back through Cana?' Marcellus had asked.
'If it is your wish, yes,' Justus had replied, 'but we have seen
everyone here who has weaving for sale.'
There wasn't much to be said after that. Marcellus could think of no
reasonable excuse for a return to Cana. He couldn't say, 'I must have another
private talk with Miriam.' No--he would have to go, leaving her to wonder what
manner of rôle he had been playing. Given one more day, one more confidential
chat with Miriam, he might have told her why he was here in Galilee.
When the last song was ended, he waited in the shadows for the crowd to
disperse. Justus, he observed had moved forward to join Reuben's party as it
made its way to the street. It would be quite possible to overtake this
slow-moving group and say farewell to Miriam. Perhaps she might be glad if he
did. But on second thoughts that seemed inadvisable. It might prove
embarrassing to both of them. Perhaps Reuben and Naomi shared the obvious
suspicions of Justus that there was something irregular about this Roman's tour
of Galilee. After lingering indecisively until the little park was cleared,
Marcellus, deeply depressed and lonely, slowly retraced his way to the camp,
reproaching himself for having unnecessarily given them cause to distrust him.
He saw now that it would have been much more sensible if he had told Justus, at
the outset, why he wanted to visit Galilee. Of course Justus, in that event,
might have refused to conduct him; but the present situation was becoming
intolerable. Marcellus was very unhappy. He would have given much for a talk
with Demetrius tonight. Demetrius was resourceful. Had he been present, by this
time he would have found means for penetrating the reticence of these
Galileans.
It was nearing midday now. They had not exchanged a word for more than
an hour. Justus, who had been tramping on ahead, paused to wait for Marcellus
to come abreast of him. He pointed to a house on a near-by shady knoll.
'We will stop there,' he said, 'though it is likely that Amasiah and
Deborah have gone to Jerusalem. They weave excellent saddle-bags and sell them
to the bazaars when they attend the Passover.'
A stout, middle-aged woman came sauntering through the yard to meet them
as they turned in at the gate, her face suddenly beaming as she recognized
Justus. No, Amasiah was not at home. Yes, he had gone to Jerusalem.
'And why not you, Deborah?' asked Justus.
'Surely you know,' she sighed. 'I have no wish ever to see the Holy City
again. Nor would Amasiah have gone but to sell the saddle-bags.' She turned
inquiring eyes toward Marcellus, and Justus introduced him with cool formality,
explaining his mission. Deborah smiled briefly and murmured her regret that
they had nothing to sell. No, everything had gone with Amasiah.
'All but a little saddle-blanket I made for Jasper,' she added. 'I can
show it to you.' They moved toward the house, and Deborah brought out the
saddle-blanket, a thick, well-woven trifle of gay colours. 'Jasper can get
along without it, if you want it.' She nodded toward a diminutive, silver-grey
donkey, browsing in the shade.
'I suppose Jasper is a little pet,' surmised Marcellus, lightly.
'Jasper is a little pest,' grumbled Deborah. 'I am too heavy to ride him
any more, and Amasiah says he isn't worth his keep in a pack-train.'
'Would you like to sell him?' inquired Marcellus.
'You wouldn't have any use for him,' said Deborah, honestly.
'How much would you want?' persisted Marcellus.
'What's he worth, Justus?' asked Deborah, languidly.
Justus sauntered over to the donkey, pulled his shaggy head up out of
the grass, and looked into his mouth.
'Well--if he's worth anything at all, which is doubtful, except maybe
for a child to play with--he should bring twelve to fifteen shekels.'
'Has he any bad habits?' inquired Marcellus.
'Eating,' said Deborah, dryly.
'But he won't run away?'
'Oh, no; he won't run away. That would be too much of an effort.' They
all laughed but Jasper, who sighed deeply.
'I'll give you fifteen shekels for the donkey and the blanket,'
bargained Marcellus.
Deborah said that was fair enough, and added that there was quite a good
saddle, too, and a bridle that had been made specially for Jasper. She brought
them. It was a well-made saddle, and the bridle was gaily ornamented with a red
leather top-piece into which a little bell was set.
'How about twenty-five shekels for everything?' suggested Marcellus.
Deborah tossed the saddle across the donkey's back and began fastening
the girths. Marcellus opened his wallet. Justus, watching the pantomime,
chuckled. It relieved Marcellus to see him amused about something.
Jasper was reluctant to leave the grass-plot, but showed no distress
when it was time to part with Deborah, who had led him as far as the gate.
Marcellus took the reins and proceeded to the highway, Justus lingering for a
private word with Deborah.
Late in the afternoon they reached the frowsy fringe of little
Sepphoris, a typical Galilean village. Everybody waved a hand or called a
greeting to Justus as the big fellow trudged on with lengthening strides. Soon
they were nearing the inevitable public plaza. A small boy broke loose from a
group of children playing about the brick-walled well and came running toward
Justus with exultant shouts. He was a handsome lad with a sensitive face, a
tousle of curly black hair, and an agile body. Justus quickened his steps and
caught the little fellow up in his arms, hugging him hungrily. He stopped and
turned about, his eyes brightly proud.
'This is my Jonathan!' he announced, unnecessarily. The boy gave his
grandfather another strangling embrace and wriggled out of his arms. He had
sighted Jasper. 'Is this your donkey?' he cried.
'Perhaps you would like to ride him,' said Marcellus. Jonathan climbed
on, and Marcellus adjusted the stirrup-straps, a score of children gathering
about with high-keyed exclamations. Justus stood by, stroking his beard,
alternately smiling and frowning.
'What's his name?' asked Jonathan, as Marcellus put the reins in his
hands. His small voice was shrill with excitement.
'His name is Jasper,' said Marcellus. 'You may have him, Jonathan. He is
your donkey now.'
'Mine!' squeaked Jonathan. He gazed incredulously at his grandfather.
'This gentleman,' said Justus, 'is my friend, Marcellus Gallio. If he
says the donkey is yours, it must be so.' He turned to Marcellus, and said,
above the children's shouts of amazement at Jonathan's good fortune, 'That is
most generous of you, sir!'
'Is he one of us, Grandfather?' Jonathan pointed a finger at his
benefactor.
The two men exchanged quick glances, one frankly mystified, the other
somewhat embarrassed.
'You
are
one of us,' declared Jonathan, 'or you wouldn't give
your things away!'
Again Marcellus looked into Justus's eyes, but received no answer.
'Are you rich?' demanded Jonathan, with childish candour.
'No one has ever said "yes" to that question, Jonathan,'
laughed Marcellus, as Justus mumbled an unintelligible apology for his
grandson's impertinence.