Authors: Unknown
'Vanished?' Marcellus sat up.
'I don't know. It was getting dark in there. He might have gone out
through the door. But nobody heard it open or close.'
'Had he come in through the door?'
'I don't know. I didn't hear it. The first I knew, he was standing there
beside Thomas. And then--when the lamp was lighted--he wasn't there.'
'What do you suppose became of him?'
'I don't know.' Justus shook his head.
There was a long silence.
'Ever see him again?' asked Marcellus.
Justus nodded.
'Once more,' he said, 'about a month afterwards. But in the meantime, he
was seen up here in Galilee. A very unfortunate thing happened on the night
Jesus was tried. When they had him before old Annas, Simon was waiting in the
courtyard where the legionaries had built a fire. A servant-girl said to Simon,
"Aren't you a friend of this Galilean?" And Simon said, "No, I
don't know him."'
'But I thought Simon was leader among the disciples,' remarked
Marcellus.
'That's what made it so bad,' sighed Justus. 'Ordinarily, Simon is a
bold fellow, with plenty of courage. But he certainly did himself no credit
that night. He followed along, at a distance, when they took Jesus to the
Insula, and waited, across the street, while the trial was held. I don't know
where he went after the procession started out toward the place of execution,
or where he spent the night and the next day. I heard him confess it all. He
was sick with remorse, and hurried back home.'
'So Simon wasn't present on that first occasion when the disciples
thought they saw Jesus.'
'No, but Jesus told them to be sure and tell Simon.'
'Did Jesus know that Simon had denied his friendship?'
'Oh, yes, he knew. You see that's why he was so anxious to have Simon
know that everything was all right again. Well, the next morning, the Zebedee
brothers and Thomas decided to take old Bartholomew home. He had been sick.
They put him on a donkey and set out for Galilee, where they found Peter,
restless and heartsore, and told him what had happened. He was for rushing back
to Jerusalem, but they counselled him to wait; for the news of Jesus' return
was being noised about, and the priests were asking questions. And Benyosef's
shop was being watched. So that night, they all went fishing. In the early
morning, at sunrise, they left off and sailed toward the east shore.
Bartholomew said that when they were within about two hundred cubits of the
beach, chilled and drowsy from their long night on the water, they were
suddenly roused by a loud shout and a splash. Simon had jumped overboard and
was swimming. They all leaped up to see what had come over Simon. And they saw
Jesus standing at the water's edge, waiting. It was a very tender meeting, he
said, for Simon had been quite broken-hearted.'
'And then'--Marcellus's voice was impatient--'did he vanish, as before?'
'Not at once. They broiled fish for breakfast on the beach. He sat and
talked with them for about an hour, showing special attention to Simon.'
'What did he talk about?'
'Their future duties,' replied Justus, 'to remember and tell the things
he had taught. He would come back, he said, though he could not tell them the
day or the hour. They were to be on the alert for his coming. After they had
eaten, someone suggested that they return to Capernaum. They had beached the
boat, and all hands--except Jesus--fell to work, pushing off into the water.
Bartholomew was up in the bow, rigging a sail. The others scrambled over the
side and shipped the oars. When they looked about for Jesus, he was nowhere to
be seen.'
'But he appeared again--another time?'
'The last time he was seen,' said Justus, 'I was present. It was on a
hill top in Judea, a few miles north of Jerusalem. Perhaps I should tell you
that the disciples and other friends of Jesus were closely watched, through
those days. Such meetings as we had were late in the night and held in obscure
places. In Jerusalem, the Temple people had the legionaries of the Insula
patrolling the streets in search of us. Up here in Galilee, Herod Antipas and
Julian the Legate had threatened death to anyone who so much as spoke Jesus'
name.'
'They too believed that he had returned to life?'
'Perhaps not. I don't know. But they knew they had failed to dispose of
him. They thought the people would soon forget and settle down to their old
ways; but it soon appeared that Jesus had set some forces in motion--'
'I don't understand,' broke in Marcellus. 'What forces?'
'Well, for one thing, the Temple revenues were falling off. Hundreds of
people, accustomed to paying tithes, stayed away from the synagogues whose
priests had persecuted Jesus. There was no violence; but in the marketplaces
throughout all Judea, Samaria, and Galilee, merchants who had thought to win
favour with the authorities by denouncing Jesus found that their business was
failing. The Christians were patronizing one another. It was apparent that they
were in collusion and had a secret understanding. An edict was published
prohibiting any assembly of Jesus' adherents. We agreed among ourselves to hold
no more meetings until such time as it might be more prudent.'
'How many Christians were there in Jerusalem, at that time?' asked
Marcellus. 'A score, perhaps?'
'About five hundred that had declared themselves. One afternoon, about
five weeks after the crucifixion, Alphaeus came to my house saying that Simon
had called a meeting. A week hence, we were to assemble shortly after sunrise
on a hill, quite off the highway, where we had often spent a day of rest when
Jesus was with us. Knowing it was dangerous to be seen on the roads in company
with others of our belief, we journeyed singly. It was a beautiful morning. As
I came to the well-remembered footpath that led across the fields toward the
hills, I saw, in the early dawn-light, several men preceding me; though I could
identify none but Simon, who is a tall man. As the slope grew steeper, I
overtook old Bartholomew leaning on his staff, already tired and labouring for
breath.'
'He had walked all that way from Capernaum?' asked Marcellus.
'And had spent the whole week at it,' said Justus. 'But it seemed that
the hill would be too much for him. I counselled him not to try; that his heart
might fail him; but he wouldn't listen. So I gave him an arm and we trudged
along slowly up the winding path that became more difficult with every turn.
Occasionally we had glimpses of the others, widely separated, as they climbed
the rugged hill. We were about halfway up when Bartholomew stopped, pointed
with his staff, and hoarsely shouted, "Look you! On the rock!" I
looked up--and there he was! He was wearing a white robe. The sunshine made it
appear dazzling. He was standing on the big white rock--at the
summit--waiting.'
'Were you amazed?'
'No, not amazed; but eager to press on. Bartholomew urged me to leave
him. He would manage alone, he said. But the good old man was half-dead with
weariness, so I supported him the rest of the way. When at last we came out on
the little plateau in a shady grove, we saw Jesus. He was standing, with both
arms outstretched in a gesture of blessing. The disciples were kneeling about
his feet. Simon, with his great hands covering his face, had bowed over until
his head nearly touched the ground. Poor old Bartholomew, much moved and
thoroughly spent, couldn't take another step. He fell to his knees. So did I,
though we were at least a hundred cubits from the others. We bowed our heads.'
Justus's voice broke, and for a moment he was overcome with emotion.
Marcellus waited silently for him to regain his self-control.
'After a while,' continued Justus, thickly, 'we heard the murmuring of
voices. We raised our eyes. He was gone.'
'Where, Justus? Where do you think he went?' asked Marcellus, huskily.
'I don't know, my friend. I only know that he is alive--and I am always
expecting to see him. Sometimes I feel aware of him, as if he were close by.'
Justus smiled faintly, his eyes wet with tears. 'It keeps you honest,' he went
on. 'You have no temptation to cheat anyone, or lie to anyone, or hurt
anyone--when, for all you know, Jesus is standing beside you.'
'I'm afraid I should feel very uncomfortable,' remarked Marcellus,
'being perpetually watched by some invisible presence.'
'Not if that presence helped you defend yourself against yourself,
Marcellus. It is a great satisfaction to have someone standing by--to keep you
up to your best.' Justus suddenly rose to his feet, and went to the door of the
tent. A lantern was bobbing through the trees.
'Someone coming?' inquired Marcellus, sitting up.
'A legionary,' muttered Justus.
'News of Demetrius, perhaps.' Marcellus joined Justus at the tent-door.
A tall legionary stood before them.
'I bear a message,' he announced, 'from Legate Paulus to Tribune
Marcellus Lucan Gallio.'
'Tribune!'
murmured Justus, in an agitated voice.
'The Legate presents his compliments,' continued the legionary, in
formal tones, 'and desires his excellent friend, Tribune Marcellus, to be his
guest tonight at the fort. If it is your wish, you may accompany me, sir, and
I shall light your way.'
'Very good,' said Marcellus. 'I shall be ready in a moment. Tarry for me
at the gate.'
The legionary raised his spear in a salute and marched away.
'Apparently Demetrius is safe!' exclaimed Marcellus, brightly.
'And I have betrayed my people!' moaned Justus, sinking down on his cot.
'I have delivered my friends into the hands of their enemies!'
'No, Justus, no!' Marcellus laid a hand on his shoulder. 'All this may
seem disquieting to you, but I assure you I am not a spy! It is possible I may
befriend you and your people. Wait for me here. I shall return by midday
tomorrow.'
Justus made no response; he sat dejectedly, with his face in his hands,
until Marcellus's footsteps faded away. It was a long night of agony and
remorse. When the first pale blue light appeared, the heavy-hearted Galilean
gathered up his few belongings; made his way to the silent street, and trudged
along, past the old fort, to the plaza. For a long time, he sat on the marble
steps of the synagogue, and when the sun had risen he proceeded to the little house
where he had left Jonathan.
Thomas's mother was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.
'You are early,' she said. 'I was not expecting you so soon. I hope all
is well with you,' she added, searching his troubled face.
'I wish to be on the road as soon as may be,' he replied.
'But where is your young Roman, and your little pack-train?'
'They are remaining here,' said Justus. 'Jonathan and I are going home.'
Paulus had been in command of the fort at Capernaum only a week, but he
already knew he wasn't going to like the place.
For a dozen years he had been hoping to get out of Minoa. It was a
disgrace to be stationed there, and the Empire meant you to realize that an
appointment to this fort was a degradation.
The buildings were ugly and shabby, the equipment bad, the climate
abominable. No provision had ever been made for an adequate water-supply. On
the sun-blistered grounds there wasn't a tree, a flower, or a blade of grass;
not even a weed. The air was always foul with yellow, abrasive dust. You
couldn't keep clean if you wanted to, and after a few months at Minoa you
didn't care.
The garrison was lazy, surly, dirty, and tough. With little to do,
except occasional brief and savage raids on the Bedouins, discipline was loose
and erratic. There were no decent diversions; no entertainment. When you
couldn't bear the boredom and discomfort another minute, you went down to Gaza
and got drunk, and were lucky if you didn't get into a bloody brawl.
As for that vicious old city, was not Gaza known throughout the world
for the squalor of its stinking kennels, where the elderly riff-raff of a
half-dozen quarrelsome races screamed imprecations, and the young scum swapped
unpleasant maladies, and the hapless stranger was stripped and robbed in broad daylight?
Gaza had her little imperfections; there was no doubt about that. But she had
docks and wharves and a spacious harbour. Little coastal ships tied up to her
piers; bigger ships lay at anchor in her bay. You strolled down to watch them
come and go, and felt you were still in contact with the outside world.
Sometimes ships' officers would come out to the fort for a roistering evening;
sometimes military men you had known in Rome would visit you while their vessel
took on cargo.
Paulus's unexpected appointment to Capernaum had been received with
hilarious joy. He had never been there, but he had heard something about its
quiet charm. Old Julian had been envied his post.
For one thing, the fort was within a half-hour's ride of Tiberias, that
ostentatious seat of the enormously wealthy sycophant, Herod Antipas. Paulus
had no reason for thinking he was going to like him: he had nothing but
contempt for these provincial lickspittles who would sell their own sisters for
a smile from some influential Roman; but Herod frequently entertained
interesting guests who, though they might despise him, must make a show of
honouring his position as Tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea.
And Capernaum, everyone said, was beautiful; ringed by green hills, with
snow-capped mountains in the distance. There was a lovely inland sea. The
people were docile. They were reputed to be melancholy over the execution of
their Jesus, but they were not violently resentful. Doubtless that problem
would solve itself if you gave it time. Old Julian's tactics--listening at the
keyholes of cottages for revolutionary talk, the posting of harsh edicts,
floggings and imprisonments--what did they accomplish but to band these simple,
harmless people together for mutual sympathy? Of course, if the foolhardy
fishermen persisted in making a nuisance of their cult, you would have to
punish them, or get yourself into trouble with Herod. That's what you would be
there for--to keep the peace.