The Journey Begun (13 page)

Twelve

onah gazed up from the valley floor to the gates of Megiddo. The route to the city was so familiar that he plodded along from the Ben Barak vineyard to the main road, across the bridge and to this spot, rarely needing to lift his downcast eyes. The problem he faced now was that the city was as familiar with him as he was with it. Years of doing business in Megiddo—countless trade contacts and even more transactions—made Jonah’s face a fixture in the marketplace. The last thing he wanted right now was to be recognized. There would be too many questions.

Hoi,
Jonah! How’s business?

Is the family well? Where’s Sheba?

Do you have any extra skins this trip?

He would not be able to carry off many “Fine, thank you” replies before the cracks began to show.

Jonah searched his numbed mind for a plan. What he couldn’t do was much clearer than what he could do. Perhaps if he waited until the last moment, when the dusk would cover his entrance into the city, he could cloak his face to avoid familiar eyes. He knew accommodations at Hosea’s inn were out of the question. So, rather than continuing through the main plaza, he would avoid the open spaces, skirt the fringe road along Solomon’s stables, and head to the far corner of the city. He heard rumors of a small tavern in a district where no one would know him. True, it was dirty and frequented by the seedier elements of Megiddo’s populace, but it would have to do.

He glanced at the sky. The sun hung poised to slip behind the southwestern mountain ridge. It couldn’t promise him much more daylight. He would have to move, as the city gates would close with twilight. He studied the last yellow band of stale sunlight inching toward the top of the wall, where it poised to disappear over the edge of the parapet.

The thought of spending the night in the open valley shook him from his reverie, and Jonah began a brisk climb to the city.

The climb never seemed so steep. Jonah trudged along the inside edge of the road that hugged the city wall, imagining it offered more protection from being noticed. He skirted the hillside and averted his eyes from the people hurrying to slip through the portal before the gates closed. The fugitive prophet avoided thinking about the irony of his plight. He found himself slinking through the gates of a city that always held arms open wide to him. At all costs he must avoid the very friends who made previous trips such a pleasure. Instead, he sought refuge in the squalor of back streets where he never before considered setting foot. Secrecy became paramount, anonymity essential. But there was no choice. Was there?

Jonah reached the innermost gate just as the watchman’s final call went out to stragglers. Bowing his hooded head, he fell in behind the last traveler pushing into the city. His furtiveness gave pause to a city guard putting his shoulder to the massive gate. Or was that his imagination? Did the guard eye him with suspicion, or did Jonah’s guilt exaggerate his own sense of vulnerability? Half expecting to hear a challenge, he slipped into a group of Danites who were new to the city and trying to decide which direction to go. He worked his way through the small crowd mulling about the broad road toward the row of ancient stables lining the city wall.

As the group came abreast the stable complex, Jonah slipped away and disappeared into the shadows between the buildings. He pressed against a wall, not daring to release a full breath until he was sure he’d not been detected. Several moments passed before he could relax. Trembling, Jonah peered out from the darkness. He jumped at a resounding thud from the locking beam of the inmost gate as it jarred into its iron cradle. No one looked his way; there came no challenge. He finally exhaled.

The Danites wandered toward the torchlight corona marking the city center, leaving Jonah in the shadows. He decided he would wait here until full darkness to consider his next move. Sidling deeper into the shadows, Jonah settled his stiff body onto a tuft of discarded straw and leaned his back against the rough limestone wall. He drew his knees up against his chest and stared into the blackness. Living and acting for the moment, he had no idea where to go. Uncertainty was a foreign feeling, and it stripped him of the gumption to plan any farther ahead than his next hiding place. Oddly, the fear of the unknown now drew him rather than repelled him. It struck him that his life was little more than a mixture of paradoxes—going where he would never have considered going before, avoiding the very people who bonded his love with this city. The alternative was worse, though. The alternative led to Nineveh. Besides, it was too late for that now. He had already burned the bridges back to his home, his family and his best friend.

“Go!”
Ehud’s shout reverberated through his skull.

“Our guest won’t be staying.”
Eli’s glare bore holes through him.

Worst of all, he threw his anointing back into the face of
Adonai
. What was the call that came so many years ago?
“Prepare yourself.”
Those first words of divine exhortation seared themselves into his mind anew with the permanence God’s finger had gouged the Law onto Moses’ stone tablets.

“Prepare yourself?” For what? For Assyria?

Jonah winced at the pain that arced through his brain. He shook his head, but couldn’t shake the logic of the question. So
that’s
what the angel meant! No wonder so much time had elapsed between the command to prepare and his first call to prophesy. The message he delivered to Jeroboam six years ago was nothing. Nothing! It was merely a rehearsal, a practice run to prepare him—to
‘prepare himself’
—for this!

What cosmic cruelty was this, that the God of Israel should commission him to preach repentance to a nation that, according to the Law, thrived on everything
Adonai
Himself detested? That
Jonah
detested. What about
him?
Oh, it would take more than thirty years of preparation to ready him for Assyria! That was certain! God had picked the wrong man. It was as simple as that. If
Adonai
wanted to make Assyria His problem, so be it! Let Him be the one to deal with it—and let Him do it without Jonah!

Then a worse thought wormed into Jonah’s mind as the stark truth of his words to Elihu hit him. If God sent a message of repentance, it meant there was a chance for repentance. Elihu’s confidence in the impossibility of Nineveh’s penitence was misplaced. There was an even chance that Elihu and Israel’s army would not march to Nineveh and beyond—or, may the Lord forbid it, they would march and be massacred! Salvation for accursed Assyria and defeat for beloved Israel—and all brought about by the words of Jonah! His family, Elihu, indeed the whole nation of Israel would never welcome back an instrument of salvation for Assyria and destruction of their own army. He would be a stranger in a foreign land and a pariah in his own. There were no happy endings for this story.

“It’s unfair! No one should be asked to do this.”

Cold sweat beaded Jonah’s forehead. He grimaced as the silky voice rose again above the clamor of his own thoughts. He clasped his head and pressed them against the throbbing in his temples.

“Is this the way a god treats his prophet? Does he force him to go against conscience and family, turn his back on his own people? And for what—for the sake of an enemy?”

Pain shot through his head like arrows—Israelite arrows. He clenched his teeth as the voice grew stronger. He gasped for air, but the voice banded his chest and denied his tortured lungs.

“Go! You can’t turn back. You will not survive, cannot survive.”

Jonah fell to his side and curled into a ball, his head buried in his arms.

“Go! Don’t stop!”

But Jonah could not go. His strength deserted him. He went limp and his arms fell from his head. The air escaped his lungs in a weak stream, pushing a puff of dust and straw bits from his nostrils. It was a mercy when everything went dark.

Thirteen

id you find him?” Hadassah hurried out the front door when she heard Elihu’s horse.

He dismounted and shook his head. “No.”

“Well, how far did you go?”

“I rode all the way to the upgrade to Gath-hepher, although there is no way he could’ve gone that far unless he walked all night.” He grunted as he shook the dust from his cloak and plopped onto the step to remove his sandals.

Hadassah sniffed. “That’s all? It’s nearly sundown. I thought you’d have covered half the valley by this time.”

Elihu glanced at his sister. “It takes time to track a man, Hadassah. I dismounted several times to search for fresh footprints anywhere there was a patch of loose soil large enough to show them. The valley road is just too rocky to leave much trace. I even searched down several of the bypaths, just in case he veered off.” He sighed. “Although I don’t know why he would. I don’t know…” Elihu slapped his cloak against his thigh again, but more out of frustration than to shake off dust.

Hadassah squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you’re doing the best you can. Maybe he went the opposite direction.”

“I thought of that. He could have set out for Megiddo, or for any number of other towns or villages, for that matter. Jezreel, Yokneam, Taanach. He has friends all over the valley.”

She smiled. “I was worried he was less one friend after yesterday. I’m glad to see he’s not.”

Elihu gave his sister a weak smile and patted her hand. “He’s doing the wrong thing. He knows that. But it’s no reason to abandon him. I was too hard.”

She stooped down and kissed his cheek. “Well, you’ve never been much of a softy. I guess army life does that to you, eh? I don’t think you’re ever as hard on anyone as you are on yourself, though.” She tousled her brother’s hair. “Get cleaned up. Dinner is about ready.”

Hadassah rose and stepped back through the doorway, while Elihu pondered his next move. The only direction to try tomorrow would be south. He would stop at Megiddo first, and then work down the valley toward Jezreel.
I better find him soon, though. My furlough doesn’t last forever.
The old soldier hefted himself up. He propped his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes down the path to the valley and beyond.

Lll

“No luck, then?” Benjamin hung his tool apron on a peg by the door and joined his brother-in-law at the table.

“Not yet.” Elihu shook his head.

Hadassah carried an earthenware pot of steaming mutton stew to the table. As she set it down, Benjamin wrapped his arm around her waist and squeezed her close.

His wife tried to subdue a grin and slapped his arm. “Ben, not now. We have company.”

“Eli’s not company. He’s family.” He burrowed his nose into her rib cage and wiggled his head.

Hadassah nearly upended the pot. “Stop it! That tickles!” She couldn’t suppress the giggles as she pushed at her husband’s head—but not too hard.

“Shall I leave you two alone?” Elihu smiled in spite of his thoughts of Jonah.

“No, we’re just—
Benjamin!”

Elihu grinned. He never worried about his sister’s marriage. Indeed, he considered it a blessing she married at all. After their mother passed away, Hadassah assumed the responsibility of managing both the Ben Barak household and the family’s winery business when Elihu answered Israel’s call to arms. Social contact was rare, and as time went on, her marriageable age ebbed away until he feared she might be destined to live out her life alone. He suspected that, secretly, Hadassah feared the same thing.

As time went on, she immersed herself in running the vineyard, lacking contact with the outside world. Her brother also knew that Hadassah fancied herself quite plain and unlikely to turn the head of a man, even if given the chance. And that impression was not farfetched. The heritage that lent Elihu his dashing masculine visage was less adept at sculpting the face of a developing young girl. The nose was maybe a little too large, cheekbones perhaps a little too pronounced. Rounding out the effect were years of working the vines, running the household and lacking the motivation to primp for society, which rendered his sister’s features unremarkable.

Elihu once considered arranging a union for her. There were plenty of eligible young men he knew through his business contacts and among his army brethren. He made the mistake of sharing this idea with Amaziah one evening, unaware Hadassah was within earshot. She was on her feet and on him almost before Elihu could finish his second sentence. Nothing the veteran had experienced to this point of his military career prepared him for the salvo his sister unleashed for the next ten minutes. Summary: Her personal life was absolutely none of his business, this was the stupidest idea he’d ever had—which was saying something—and it better never, ever come up again! For the first time since the battle at Ramoth-gilead, Elihu feared for his safety. He imagined to this day he could still see the bruises from his sister’s finger jabbing his chest—and he knew for certain he could still feel them. Amaziah was wise enough to make a quick exit while Elihu bore the brunt of Hadassah’s verbal assault.

Amaziah himself was a valued friend and confidant. He had served as the chief steward of the Ben Barak vineyards for as long as Elihu could remember. An able manager, he carried his patron’s family through the worst of times after Elihu’s father’s death, until the business stabilized and they could reassume charge of their own affairs. Elihu’s gratitude prompted him to bequeath a sizeable tract of land to Amaziah for his own. The Ben Barak clientele was more than large enough to accommodate both businesses, and the families remained close.

Had it not been for Amaziah’s son, Benjamin, Hadassah would likely have lived out her years alone. It surprised everyone but Amaziah’s wife, Ruth, when her son made a shy inquiry concerning Hadassah’s availability. Elihu was elated, Haddasah was shocked—pleasantly, but nonetheless shocked—Amaziah shrugged and shook his head, and Ruth just smiled. Elihu conferred with Amaziah and agreed that, now being landed, any social restraints inhibiting marriage between the two families dissolved. The two men grasped wrists and polished off a small vat of wine to seal the agreement.

And so it was. Benjamin took his new bride to a small house he built on the northwest corner of the Ben Barak land, near the convergence of the Jezreel Valley and the basin that led past Gath-hepher to the Sea of Chinnereth. The co-opting businesses prospered and their landholdings increased. Sadly, though, Benjamin and Hadassah’s family did not.

It was not obvious to anyone who observed the couple that there was anything but contentment in their lives. Benjamin doted on his wife, and she blossomed in the glow of his love and protection. Her plainness matured into a classic beauty that not even Elihu suspected in his sister. Hadassah hid the disappointment she felt at her inability to provide Benjamin with a son, but it was there. It was a blessing they lived in a remote part of the valley, for it spared them the thoughtless probing of a village
yenta
as to when on earth they were going to start a family.

Benjamin never betrayed discontent over his childless household. Did he want children? Of course. However, the first time he noticed Hadassah’s eyes moisten at the first signs of yet another month’s reminder of her womanhood, he took her by the hand and sat her down. Kneeling before her and taking her face in his hands, he forced her eyes toward his.

“Hear this, loved one. You are the wife of my youth and the treasure of my life. On this earth, in you and in you only do I rejoice, and at the end of the day only in you do I discover meaning as a man. If
Adonai Elohim
blesses this house with ten children, I will delight in his favor and I will elevate his name. If He withholds His touch to your womb, still will I delight in His favor and will I elevate His name. For in either circumstance, you are the gift He has given me that is above all other gifts. You are my wife, my blessing of blessings, my joy of joys. I can only pray that someday I may be truly worthy of such a gift, such a blessing and such a
joy
[B21]
 
.”

A tear had escaped the brim of Hadassah’s brown eyes and she squeezed them shut to stem the flood that both knew would come. Benjamin kissed the tear from her cheek and eased her head to his chest. She clutched her husband’s arms and shuddered silent sobs into the folds of his shirt.

They never spoke of it again. True to his word, Benjamin loved more than anything to demonstrate to his wife, no matter where they were or who might see, that she was indeed the prize of his life. And, although this was sometimes embarrassing, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Hadassah’s face flushed in the midst of a giggle and she tugged a fistful of her husband’s hair. “Stop it, you! Behave yourself!”

He pulled back with a grin. “You love it and you know it.”

Elihu could no longer stifle a laugh.

“Men!” Hadassah feigned annoyance, and did it poorly. She brushed a wayward strand of hair from her forehead. “Wash up for dinner, both of you.”

After two bowls of stew and a loaf of barley bread had passed into the history of another evening, the two men lingered at the table over a second carafe of wine while Hadassah tidied up.

“Where do you suppose he’s gone, if not back home?” Benjamin topped off his brother-in-law’s cup.

Elihu studied a dent on the edge of the wooden table. “South into the valley, I suppose. Which town, I’m not sure.” He rubbed the nick with a calloused thumb.

“What’s the plan, then? Are you going to keep looking?”

“Yes. For as long as I can.” Elihu sat back in his chair and stretched. “King Jeroboam has given me until after the Sabbath before I rejoin him in Samaria. I only have a couple of days to search for him.”

“Not much time.”

“No.”

Benjamin was thoughtful. “You know, he might expect you to come looking for him.”

Elihu glanced up. “You think so? We parted on pretty rough terms. He may think I’ve given up on him.” He frowned. “I almost did.”

Hadassah arched a hopeful eyebrow as she wiped the table. “Surely, he knows you better than that.”

“I hope so. There’s no telling what he may think or do, given the state he’s in.” Elihu’s frown returned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a look in his eyes quite like the one I saw last night.”

His sister cast a worried glance at her husband. “Ben, you can help Eli search, can’t you?”

Benjamin nodded. “Of course. Whatever I can do.”

“Thanks.” Elihu smiled at them. “But I need to do this alone. I pushed him out the door. I need to bring him back. A second pair of eyes traveling the road may not be as valuable as two pairs of ears planted in one place listening for word—travelers’ gossip, anything that might give us a clue as to where he’s gone. That would sure help.”