The Journey Begun (24 page)

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PART TWO

And the word of the Lord came

unto Jonah the second time, saying,

“Arise, go unto Nineveh, that great city,

and preach unto it

the preaching that I bid thee.”

J
onah
3:1-2

Twenty-six

he first sensation his mind recognized as it fought the blackness was cold. An aching iciness that cramped taut muscles, paralyzed twisted joints, and burned raw skin. His muted consciousness could only stand by and watch as his body’s desire to escape the pain argued with his instinct to survive. He laid bare, helpless, and alone in a stark universe that hosted no sun, no moon, no stars—nothing warm, nothing alive. Nothing except Jonah. So the universe pounced and sucked at what little warmth his body had left. But his will to live, battered as it was, would not surrender quietly. So he fought the cold, the pain, the universe.

As lethargy relaxed its grip, a new awareness of rippling water massaging his legs begged his attention. The gentle swells lapped a rhythm against his lower body and nudged his prostrate form against grit.

The castaway’s lungs ventured a breath, but the air collided with a blockage in his throat and he heaved a foul sludge of rancid bile, seawater and mucus. His muscles ground against their paralysis and he curled into a fetal position. A sickening stench of briny foam, fishy residue, and his own vomit assailed his nose and he gagged again, spitting the dregs between swollen lips and gasping for air.

Jonah clutched his knees to his chest and shivered. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids were sealed by a crusty coat of dried matter. He rolled onto his stomach and clawed with numb fingers at the slippery rocks. His arms burned as he pulled himself forward from the water. Finally, the sand turned dry and soft in his grasp. The early morning chill provided little relief, but the dry sand felt good and he burrowed into it.

Exhausted, Jonah fell still and bent his meager energy to clearing the cobwebs from his brain. He struggled to piece together what he could remember since he was last conscious. A canopy of dark clouds etched by lightning rumbled through his soggy mind, followed by the sting of cold water after being hurled into the sea at the hands of the
Ba’al Hayam’s
crew. From that point, there was little solid to grasp. He thought he remembered looking up at the ship as a wave engulfed him, but when the current thrust him back to the surface, the
Ba’al
had disappeared. The next billow didn’t release him.

The final memory was not really a memory at all, but rather the loss of memory. Something hit the back of his head; everything went black. After that a jumble of disjointed thoughts floated through his mind. Fragments of prayers. Scripture verses memorized during childhood. And Jerusalem, the Temple gleaming in the afternoon light. His family was there. Then the fragments pulled together into a prayer of praise—a psalm of salvation by the hand of the Lord, this even in the midst of sure death. He heard stories of a three-day journey to reach Sheol. Did even a condemned man sing of salvation to
Adonai
in the midst of his condemnation, when all hope of salvation was spent? And then there was Sheol itself. Was this it? Was it wet, cold…sandy? Did it smell like fish and brine? He never heard stories of that, but this didn’t seem right. No, he knew these smells, these feelings, and they were not—could not be—of the dead. These were too familiar. He was alive and he was here—wherever “here” was.

“Jonah ben Amittai.”

Oh, no.

“Hear the word of the Lord, Jonah Ben Amittai.”

Jonah dragged himself to his elbows and rubbed with slimy knuckles at the solidified ooze cementing his eyelids closed. His left eyelid gave way first, allowing an invasion of sand and sterile white light into an eye that had been dormant for who knew how long. He snapped it shut, wincing at the salty grit now trapped inside. Ceasing his efforts on the other eye, Jonah sighed.

“Yes?” The simple word gurgled a jagged path through the sour residue in his raw throat. He stifled another gag.

“You are to go to the great city Nineveh and preach to the people repentance of their sins.”

Jonah expected a reprimand, but the voice went silent. He hung his head. “I know.”

“You have chosen a difficult road, Jonah.”

Jonah rankled in spite of his contrition and he hacked a retort through the phlegm. “I didn’t…’choose’ to be thrown into the sea.”

“Ah, but you did, Jonah ben Amittai. You put the lives of a ship’s company in jeopardy through your rebellion. The actions—both good and bad—of those the Lord calls always affect others around them, never them alone. They were innocent of your sin, and Adonai spared their lives by delivering you to the sea. He spared your life by delivering you to dry land in the fish.”

Jonah craned his neck. “He…delivered me to—fish? Did you say ‘fish’?”

“You have been in the belly of a great fish for three days. It is time now for you to resume your journey to Nineveh.”

It took several moments for the idea of being swallowed by a fish to sort itself out in any acceptable fashion in Jonah’s mind. The despoiled prophet involuntarily opened his eye again, then snapped it shut in pain. “Three days? In…a
fish?
Why a fish? And why so long?” He shuddered at the thought of touching the entrails of a fish for even a moment, let alone living in them for three days. It certainly would account for the stench, though.

“The fullness of three days marks the rescue of a man. That lesson is for you. But there is rescue in this for all men, as well. That is a lesson yet to come.”

“I…don’t understand.”

“It is not for you to understand—yet. It is for you now to gather yourself and complete the work Adonai set you apart to do.”

“I see, I think.” Jonah cupped his offended eye with his hand and fought another spasm of nausea. “Where am I?”

“You lie on the shore outside Joppa.”

“Joppa? I…sailed from Joppa. Am I no closer…to Assyria than here?” Jonah struggled to a sitting position and wobbled in search of his balance.

“The point at which you left Adonai’s will is the point at which you will reenter it. There are wrongs to right that are added to your journey.”

He rasped a sigh. “There is…penance then. What must I…do to regain
Adonai’s
favor?”

“There is nothing you can do to gain the favor of Elohim Adonai, Jonah—or to lose it. He chose you, prophet, and he has never left you. You have struggled against his will, but you have not thwarted it. Although you have not realized it, your journey has always been toward Nineveh. In coming to Joppa you have merely lengthened it. Elohim Adonai’s forebearance has brought you to this point. His mercy will uphold you.”

“But…the ‘wrongs to right’…what does that…mean, then, if not penance?” The messenger’s words hung tangled in the cobwebs that cluttered Jonah’s head and he struggled to understand.

“It means there are those who have suffered from your disobedience and those to whom you owe recompense. This is not to earn Adonai’s favor. It is simply to do what is well and right in the sight of God and of man. Nothing more.”

“What do I do from here?”

“Return by the way you came. there is work to do on the road to Nineveh as well as in Nineveh itself.”
The angel paused, then softly added
. “And Jonah, do not bypass Gath-hepher. You are needed there.”

Jonah stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Silence.

“What do you
mean?”

There was no reply.

A surge of fear and resolve pushed Jonah to his feet. He stumbled to the water’s edge and splashed his face to rinse away the grit. Blinking against the cold air and the burning salt water, he turned and squinted toward the rough depression in the sand that marked the place he had just conversed with the angel. As he suspected, there was no sign of his ethereal mentor.

Mercifully, the eastern sky was only beginning to lighten, and there was no brightness to assail Jonah’s tender eyes. He plopped onto the pebbly strand and studied the sand in the predawn gray. The splotch of oily residue from where the fish disgorged its human cargo was visible as the outgoing tide washed it into the sand. He recoiled and returned his thoughts to his present situation.

What now?

Wash, he decided, as he surveyed his clothing. The sodden remains of his travel cloak were saturated with the same fetid scum as the splotch on the sand. He prodded his chest with his fingers, and a rush of panic grabbed him at the notion the sea may have robbed him of his precious treasure belt. He slipped his hand beneath the soaked cloth and sighed with relief at the familiar bulge clinging to his torso. He yanked the restraining cords loose and the belt slid off his shoulder, the rough cloth grating reassuringly against his tender skin. It flopped into a heap on his lap and he bent to inspect it in the dim light of the waxing dawn. The pockets in which he secreted his silver were still intact. He hefted the cloth and heard the dull clink of metal discs rattling together. He joggled it in his hands, testing the weight.

Small wonder I sank so fast.
The irony of the thought suddenly struck him and he shook his head
. It was supposed to take me to the far reaches of the sea. Instead, it nearly took me to the bottom
.

He laid the treasure belt on the sand and pushed to his feet. Still teetering in search of his balance, Jonah returned to the surf and waded out until the cold waves lapped at his thighs. He removed his soiled garments and rinsed them as best he could. He did the same with his hair and the rest of his body, scrubbing his raw skin with handfuls of coarse wet sand. It was not a complete job, but it would have to do. Now the challenge was to make it to an inn in Joppa without attracting too much attention. He sighed in anticipation of bathing, and perhaps even sending someone out for a new cloak and sandals. Then he would get something to eat. His stomach lurched at the thought of food, although he’d gone three days without eating.
Maybe breakfast can wait.

In the light of a dawn bulging behind the eastern hills, Jonah’s eyes traced a narrow path across the rock-strewn beach toward the city. The jagged outline of Joppa perched on the brow of its hill loomed with promise against the bluing sky. At any moment the sun would crest the ridge and spark life into the city. Jonah decided it would be best to be as close to town as possible when that happened.

With a grunt, he retrieved his belt, stretched his newly revived limbs, and tottered off toward his first layover on the road to Nineveh.