The Journey Begun (25 page)

Twenty-seven

imon’s not himself, you noticed?”

“Sure have. Ever since he got back yesterday.”

Gali threw a glance over his shoulder at the lone figure occupying a corner table. “He said anything to you?”

“Nothin’. Pretty much been stayin’ to himself.” Lev hunched over the table and cradled his cup of wine in both hands.

“Isn’t he supposed to be on that long run to Tarshish?”

“Supposed to. The ship put back in yesterday lookin’ like she’d been through three typhoons. Sail gone, mast down. None of her cargo was left—the crew threw it all overboard.” The wine sloshed over the lip of the cup and Lev slurped at the drops beading on his wrist. “I ran into four of ’em down by the quay this mornin’. They all acted funny. Nobody wanted to talk.”

Gali tore another piece of bread from the loaf in the middle of the table and dipped it in his wine. “Typhoon, eh? I haven’t heard about any bad weather in days, you?”

“Not me.” Lev peered around his comrade at Simon, who slouched and stared at nothing in particular. “Think we oughta ask him about it?”

Gali shook his head. “I dunno. This is the second run he’s made that hit a killer storm, ya know. Same ship, too.”

It was true. The
Ba’al Hayam
was back in port looking as forlorn as a ship could look. A palpable aura of despair clouded the wreck, leaving her quarantined at the southernmost edge of the harbor. Violated and humiliated, she, like her crew, remained aloof from the other ships in the harbor, who in turn feigned a respectful disinterest, as though embarrassed for her. The crew dispersed as soon as the ship appeared in port. No one had seen Shem since landfall, and Uri, who normally supervised the repair work aboard, was likewise nowhere to be found. There was only silence from Omer’s villa on the crest of Joppa’s hill. No orders came for the
Ba’al’s
restoration, so no supply boats plied the waves from the quay to the ship ferrying materials. It was as though the ship ceased to exist in anyone’s mind. Only a dark hulk sulking atilt against the skyline, bereft of mast and sail and forsaken by man, remained of the once proud vessel. So she sat derelict at anchor. Alone.

Gali and Lev picked up their cups and bread plate and edged over to join Simon. After a greeting stilted in its lightheartedness, Lev blurted out the questions burning in both their minds. They sat stock-still, rapt at Simon’s tale.

Gali still couldn’t understand the part about the storm. The
Ba’al
had been under sail only two days when a gale unlike any she had seen since her maiden voyage crashed in on her. Simon described a sky black from horizon to horizon, the fiercest of winds screaming at him from every direction, the ship tossed about like a scrap of driftwood. Yet neither Joppa nor any of the ships in the vicinity noticed any irregular weather. Philistia’s coast had enjoyed sunny skies for the past fortnight. The usual stream of ships working the coastal routes to the north and the south completed their routes unmolested.

“It was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.” Simon’s eyes were hollow and his hand shook as he raised his cup. “It was a monster, like it had a mind of its own.”

“How so?” Lev leaned forward against the edge of the table.

Simon looked at Lev, and then Gali. “You’re going to think I’m crazy if I tell you what happened.”

“Naw, we won’t. The sea’s full o’ surprises. We seen our share, too.” Gali propped his head on his fists. “Go on.”

Simon studied his friends’ faces for a moment. “All right.” He shifted in his seat. “We were getting pounded. I was in the hold, but my apprentice later told me the sail tore half loose from one side of the cross beam at the first blast of wind from astern. Shem ordered it furled, but before the crew could move, lightning shattered the mast and the sail exploded in flames. There was nothing left of it at all.” Simon took a long draw from his wine cup. “The rudder was useless. We were tossing like a shred of seaweed on high surf.”

“What about the sea anchors?” Gali cocked his head.

“No good. The gale came at us from all directions. There was no prevailing wind to work with. Water came crashing from everywhere. We stopped moving in any direction, but just sat there and the sea beat up on us from everywhere.”

Gali glanced over at Lev. This was strange. Simon was too experienced a helmsman to have that much trouble reading a storm.

“So, how did ya get out of it?”

Simon went silent and stared at the tabletop.

Lev creased his brow and glanced at Gali. “Eh?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“What?” The two sailors chorused their disappointment.

“We all vowed not to talk about it.”

“Why would ya do that?” Lev frowned. He hated secrets, except, of course, the ones involving him.

Gali took another tack. “Simon, you really look like you need to get it off your chest.” He refilled the troubled sailor’s cup. “Some things aren’t meant to stay secret. Lev and I will keep it to ourselves, you know that. We hate seeing you eaten up like this, though.”

Lev nodded. “Right. We hate it.”

Simon shook his head. “I don’t know...”

“Well, you don’t have to tell us. I just thought we might be able to help you sort some of it out. You never know.” Gali studied Simon’s face.

Simon sighed. “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

“’Course not.” Lev leaned forward.

Simon creased his brow. “Well, we began to throw cargo overboard to lighten the ship, as you’d expect.”

His comrades nodded.

“We were frantic. Everyone grabbed anything they could get their hands on to get it over the side. Everyone, that is, except one person.” Simon grew quiet. “Uri was down—you know Uri, right? The
Ba’al
’s carpenter?”

Lev and Gali nodded and frowned their impatience. Of course they knew Uri—and it didn’t matter if they didn’t know him. The tale was proceeding far too slowly.

“Well, Uri went down to the hold to see what else could be tossed, and he found our only passenger asleep. Can you imagine someone sleeping through a gale like that?”

“Who was he?” Gali asked.

“His name was Jonah. He was from somewhere up north. We picked him up here in Joppa. He said he didn’t have anywhere in particular he wanted to go, jut that he wanted to sail. He’d never been to sea before. We told him this was a long haul to Tarshish and that it would take maybe a year, with all the ports of call we were supposed to make and winter coming on. We told him he’d be better off waiting for a coastal run to Acco, or maybe Sidon, if he just wanted to try sailing.”

“Good advice.” Lev shrugged.

“He wouldn’t hear of it, though. Couldn’t wait. Said he had to leave now. We figured he was running from someone and that it must’ve been someone big for him to want to go all the way to the far side of the Great Sea to get away from him.”

“No soldiers have been to the city, so it must not involve any king or magistrates.” Gali tapped his chin as he searched the possibilities. “Maybe he was messin’ around with some landowner’s wife, ya think?” He flashed a sly grin, warming up to the mystery.

Simon shook his head. “Bigger than both of those put together.”

Gali’s grin disappeared.

Simon went on. “The storm kept getting worse, if that was possible. The captain came up with the idea that we must have angered some god—which was a first for Shem—although we had no idea how or which one. It was a mixed crew, so everyone who had a god wondered if it was his god who was angry. We kept throwing cargo overboard, but nothing helped. That’s when we decided to see who was responsible for killing us. We were that sure we were lost.”

“What did you do?” Gali gawked at Simon.

“We called everyone together and cast lots. We hoped whichever god was angry would point us to the one who was to blame.” He took a swig of wine and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“And...?” Lev leaned forward.

“It was our sleeper. We asked him where he came from and why his god was angry. He didn’t deny being the guilty one. He said he was a prophet of the great God
Adonai
who created the land and the sea. He said it was
Adonai
he was running from.”

Lev stared in awe. “I know of
Adonai
, the God of Abraham, the great patriarch of the Israelites. They are my people.”

Gali frowned. “A prophet running from a god? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Simon nodded and continued. “We thought the same thing. A few of our crewmembers were Hebrew, so they also knew of this
Adonai
. We asked him if there was anything we could do to save ourselves. It was his answer that almost finished us.”

“What?” Lev raised an eyebrow.

“He told us to throw him overboard, that it was the only way to satisfy his god.”

“No!” Lev pushed back from the table. “I’m no priest, but I know
Adonai
never demands human sacrifice. That’s detestable to Him. It’s written—somewhere, I know it!”

“That’s what the other Hebrew crewmembers said. None of us wanted to throw the prophet into the sea, so we kept fighting the storm. We even locked whatever oars had not already been swept overboard and tried rowing, just to get some kind of headway…it didn’t matter which direction. The waves were so high that when we were riding the crest our oars didn’t even touch the water. Nothing worked. Things just kept getting worse.”

Lev’s voice was quiet. “So, what then?”

“We had no choice.” Simon met Gali’s stare. “We did what he told us to.”

Gali dropped his gaze to the table and Lev’s face reddened.

“I know, I know. Remember, though, you weren’t there.” Simon was defensive. “We did pray to this
Adonai
not to hold us responsible for His prophet’s death, because we were acting on his own words.”

Gali looked up. “So—?”

“I was at the helm, but Uri told me the prophet sank as soon as he hit the water. He didn’t even flail his arms or try to swim. He just went under.” Simon’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Lev just crossed his arms and shook his head.

Simon frowned at him. “Lev, I hated it, too. I stayed at the tiller, because I didn’t want any part of it. But…it turned out to be the right thing to do.”