Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  “You can!” Mordechai roared, startling both her and Ezra. “This is not a game we’re caught in, Miriam. We are talking about our lives. Now that’s the end of it.”

  She dropped back into the chair, sick at heart. “Rome?” She looked up, her face stricken. “For how long?”

  “Probably a year. Maybe longer. Pilate has troops out in the wilderness of Judea looking for Ya’abin. Until he’s caught, we can’t return.”

  She laughed, nearly hysterical. “The wilderness of Judea? It could take five years for the Romans to find anyone there, clumsy as they are.”

  Mordechai glared at her. Then he remembered something. There was a soft plop as a folded piece of parchment landed on the table in front of her. “Marcus asked that I give you this.”

  Completely taken aback, she picked it up. It was folded, but not sealed. She opened it, eyes widening in amazement as she read the neatly written Latin.

  From Tribune Marcus Quadratus Didius of Caesarea. To Miriam, daughter of Mordechai ben Uzziel of Jerusalem. Warmest salutations and respect.

  It is with pleasure that I inform you that just a few days previous, I received correspondence from the “slave hunter” that you and I discussed some weeks ago. He reports success in trying to locate the younger brother of your servant girl, Livia. Said brother, one Drusus Alexander Carlottus, was taken to Silicia four years ago and sold as a household slave. Since then, he seems to have been sold to one of the many patrician families who live in or around Rome. By now your father has told you of his plan for you to accompany him to Rome. The governor has graciously asked me to serve as your escort, which allows me to see my own family as well. It will give me the welcome opportunity to serve as your guide in my city—a pleasant turn of affairs in my eyes.

  While there, it would be possible for us to pursue the search for Livia’s brother more vigorously, something difficult to do from such a distance as this. I would consider it an honor if you would allow me to continue to assist you in this regard.

  At the bottom was a stamped seal with his name within it.

  More dazed than before, she looked up at her father. “Do you know what this says?”

  He nodded. A brief frown clouded his features. “I must say, Miriam, that I was disappointed that you would undertake such a query without my knowledge, but—”

  “I will do everything I can to help Livia find her brother again, Father. Please don’t try to stop me on that.”

  He reached across and took her hand. “I didn’t say I was going to try to stop you, only that I wish you had said something.” The corners of his mouth softened. “Actually, I think it is quite commendable. I have no objection.” He paused momentarily. “It gives you a reason to seriously consider Rome.”

  So that was why he had waited to give her the letter. She half-closed her eyes. She was nearly nineteen now. She was of age. He could not force her to go. Yet the power of the family in their religion was almost irresistible. “Honor your father and mother,” had thundered from Mount Sinai along with the nine other commandments. And with all of that, there was still the very real problem of Moshe Ya’abin and the Zealots. She wasn’t naive enough to believe she would be safe. Ya’abin had been stopped short of having his way with Miriam once before. She shuddered at the thought of what he might do this time.

  She cocked her head as a thought sprang into her mind. “Livia would go with us?”

  He nodded immediately. “Of course.”

  “As my sister?”

  He reared back, anger flashing in his eyes. “That is not up for discussion, Miriam. I told you that before. I have not objected to the fact that you no longer treat her as a servant, but no, there will be no adoption.”

  Her jaw set. “If I go to Rome, it will be with Livia as my adopted sister, Father.”

  “You would bargain with me like I was buying melons in the marketplace?” he roared. And yet, to her surprise, she saw a touch of admiration in his eyes. She knew that he liked her fire, her streak of independence.

  “I am not bargaining, Father,” she replied calmly. “If you wish me to go to Rome with you, then I will adopt Livia and go with her as my sister. You don’t have to do it. I’ll see to it that she has no claim on your means. I’ll pay for everything out of my own funds.” She folded her arms and calmly met his glare. “That is my condition, Father.”

  He rose and began to pace, stopping every three or four steps to mutter something at her. Finally, he nodded. “You show me that you’ll go to Rome and follow my counsel; then we’ll talk about it.”

  She felt a burst of exultation. It was more than she had hoped for. “All right, Papa.”

  “But you both will start packing immediately. Think in terms of what you’ll need for a year. Marcus will return for you and Livia at sunrise tomorrow.”

  She shook her head firmly. “No, Papa. I will go to Rome, but not Caesarea.” She rushed on as he spun around, his face darkening. “I can’t bear the thoughts of being there alone. I don’t know anyone. Their food is not in accordance with the Law.”

  He was astonished. “Since when did you get to be a Pharisee?”

  She went right on. “Making conversation with Pilate’s wife for all that time?” Her eyes locked with his, no compromise or surrender in them now. “I won’t, Papa. Lock me and Livia in the house if you must, but I won’t go to Caesarea until I go with you.”

  “You will do what I say!” His voice rocked her back. His cheeks were touched with spots of red and his eyes were flaming.

  “No, Papa,” she murmured. “Not in this. I will not.”

  Ezra got to his feet, stepping between the two before a greater eruption took place. “May I speak, Mordechai?”

  The older man half turned. “Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “What is it?”

  “I have another solution that perhaps both of you may find acceptable.”

  Miriam turned in surprise. Mordechai also gave him his full attention now. “Go on.”

  He swallowed quickly, clearly nervous about interfering. “For some time now, I have been talking about making a trip to Gaulanitis. As you know, the area of the Golan Heights, what the Romans now call Gaulanitis, is a center for much cattle. My supplier of leather goods, a man by the name of Simon the Tanner, has been unhappy with the quality of the hides he has been receiving from the merchants lately.” He held out his hands in a gesture of frustration. “I don’t need to tell you that a sandalmaker, such as myself, depends heavily on the quality of leather he can purchase.”

  Miriam turned, scarcely believing what she was hearing. Gaulanitis was the area directly northeast of the Sea of Galilee. He was suggesting that they go back to the Galilee!

  Mordechai was clearly intrigued as well. “Go on,” he said again.

  “Suppose I were to take Miriam and Livia back to Joppa with me early tomorrow morning, before it’s light. I can put a covering on my carriage. We could hide them until we are well out of the city. It will be night when we arrive in Joppa, so no one will know that Miriam and Livia have returned with me. The next morning, Lilly and I shall leave for Gaulanitis.”

  He smiled finally, gaining confidence even as he spoke. “It will take us about two weeks to do our business up north. And, of course, we would have to return by way of Caesarea. We could bring the two of them there to you on whatever day you specify.”

  Mordechai looked dubious, but Miriam practically leaped on Ezra’s proposal. “Oh, yes, Papa. That would answer your concern and get me away from Jerusalem until we leave.”

  “No one will know where they are,” Ezra emphasized.

  “Please, Papa! Don’t make me go to Caesarea. I will hate every minute of it.”

  To her amazed joy, her father pursed his lips. He was considering it. “You are sure no one in Joppa would know they are with you?” he asked Ezra

  “Who is to know?” Ezra said smoothly. “When I return, I will be ‘alone.’ When Lilly and I leave, we will be ‘alone.’ Send their baggage with this R
oman. Let people think Miriam has gone to Caesarea. That will give us even greater secrecy.”

  Miriam was holding her breath. Ezra’s boldness was breathtaking. It was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms around his neck and knocking him off his feet.

  For a long moment, a moment that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, her father stared out the window. One hand came up and he pulled at his lip, the tiredness now showing in every aspect of his demeanor. Then he turned at last to his daughter, his face stern. “If I let you go with Ezra, will you give me your word that you will do exactly what he and Lilly tell you to do? That you will stay with them at all times? You won’t be running off on your own? You have to promise me, Miriam.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. This man had used her for his own purposes and that had cut deeply, but he still loved her. He was greatly concerned about her safety. “Yes, Papa,” she whispered. “You have my word. I will be good.” She went to him and slipped her arms around him. “And you must promise me that you will be careful, too.”

  He nodded, trying not to show that he was touched as well. He turned to Ezra. “It shall be as you say. Thank you.”

  III

  Capernaum

  In the end, it was easier for Simeon to go with the family than to try to give them his reasons for not going. Ephraim had been true to his word and had not even hinted at what had happened at the warehouse between him and Simeon. But Simeon’s parents knew he was struggling to decide what to do about Yehuda. They knew he had gone to Damascus to work out some kind of solution. Since he had not volunteered any information, they had not pushed him for it. So their answer was to go to Jesus. They hoped he would say something that might help Simeon. None of that was expressed, of course, but it was clearly known to all.

  David closed the warehouses for the day—an indication of his silent concern for what was going on in Simeon’s life—and the whole family left together after breakfast. Jesus was back in Capernaum and had been seen near the house of Peter and Anna.

  They didn’t get very far in that direction. As they started up the street on which Peter lived, heavy throngs blocked their way. “Come,” David said, taking Deborah by the hand. “Let’s go around. Maybe we can get closer if we go in the back way.”

  Simeon was carrying Esther on his shoulders. As he turned to follow his father, she grabbed his head with both hands and turned it firmly back. “There’s Jesus,” she said.

  He smiled up at his niece. “Yes, Esther. Pampa is going to take us to him.”

  Satisfied, she settled back again. “Jesus likes me,” she said as they turned away and started down a narrow alley.

  “I know he does,” Simeon said, touched by the joy in her voice. “He knows what a special little girl you are.”

  “I’m not little,” she shot right back.

  Simeon nodded, fighting to keep his face sober. “You’re right, Esther. Sorry. I keep forgetting that you are four and a half years old now.” Seeing that she was satisfied with that, he added, “You are like Queen Esther. She was very beautiful and very brave. That’s why you like that story so much, isn’t it?”

  She made an emphatic bob with her head. Esther was a happy child, but quite sober in her demeanor. To win a smile from her took special effort, and even then her smiles were generally reserved only for those closest to her. But now, as Simeon looked up to see her reaction, a full smile lit up her face. “Yes,” she said contentedly. “My name is Esther, too.”

  They all laughed at that and Rachel reached up and touched her daughter’s cheek. “Yes, it is, Esther. You are our little queen.”

  There was a regal sniff. “I’m not little!”

  Simeon felt a tug on his tunic and looked down. Boaz was walking beside David, holding his grandfather’s hand. He had turned two years old in April. “I brave too,” he said. His hair was black, his eyes like two pieces of ebony.

  “Yes, you are,” Simeon said, smiling down at him. “Boaz is also a wonderful name. He was a handsome man who lived many years ago. He married a beautiful woman named Ruth.”

  “I handsome,” he said happily.

  Again all the family laughed. Rachel looked a little embarrassed. “My children don’t lack confidence, do they.”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Deborah said. “It’s not pride. They’re not old enough for that. They just know that they are loved, and that makes them feel they are of worth.” She reached out and touched Rachel’s sleeve. “It says a lot about what kind of parents you and Ephraim are.”

  His talk with Ephraim the night before had left Simeon filled with dejection and agonizing all over again. So this was like an elixir to him. He had always loved his family and been close to them, but it was like he was seeing them all with new eyes now. It felt good. Very good.

  They worked their way down the alley, took another route around the main square of Capernaum, then started back down another way. Simeon’s father had been right. The crowds were still thronging the streets, but the majority of them were coming from the other direction. As they approached, Simeon saw Jesus in the very thickest part of the crowd. The Twelve were standing back, listening but ready to move in if the people pressed in too tightly.

  John, the youngest member of the Twelve, saw David’s family coming. He waved and started towards them. The younger of Zebedee’s two sons, John was about Simeon’s age. Because of the partnership of James and John with Simeon’s father, John and Simeon had always been good friends. As John approached, Simeon let Esther down to stand beside her mother.

  “Shalom, David. Shalom, Deborah,” John said. “I thought you might come.” He spoke quickly to the others, bending down solemnly to shake the hands of Boaz and Esther. Then he turned and looked back toward the crowd. “Jesus is just answering questions at the moment. He hasn’t started formally teaching as yet.”

  Peter and Andrew and James had now seen the family too and also came over to join them. As they approached, John looked directly at Simeon. “And how is everything with you?”

  “All right.” This was not the place to raise his concerns.

  The other three apostles joined them before more could be said. They, too, shook hands all around. When he came to Simeon, Peter held his grip for several seconds. “Well?” he said, giving him a searching look.

  Simeon shrugged. “I’ve made some decisions.” He looked at Ephraim and then away again. “Whether they are the right ones or not, who can say?”

  The stocky fisherman gave him a quizzical look, but only nodded. Sensing that the apostles had come specifically to see how Simeon was doing, Deborah turned to the others. “Let’s go closer,” she said. She took Esther and Boaz by the hand and started away.

  Ephraim took the hint for what it was. He stepped up beside Rachel. “I’m coming too.”

  Leah was disappointed, obviously hoping to learn more about what Simeon was up to. Clearly she wanted to linger, but Ephraim took her arm and the six of them moved away. Only David stayed beside his son.

  “So?” Peter asked again. “What have you decided to do?”

  Simeon just shook his head. “I thought I had a solution, but Ephraim has put some doubts in my mind about it.”

  David wanted to ask more about that—obviously something had happened between his two sons when they went over to put the children to bed the night before—but he decided against it. He would let Simeon tell him what he wished, when he wished.

  “Why don’t you tell Jesus what you’ve decided and ask him if it is the right thing to do?” John queried.

  Simeon shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Actually, the more I think about it, the more foolish it sounds, even to me.”

  “And you wouldn’t want Jesus to think you are foolish, would you?” Peter’s eyes mocked him a little. Then, before Simeon could answer, Peter turned and looked toward the crowd. “Look there,” he said. “Since the feeding of the five thousand, the multitudes come in ever greater numbers. We worry about the Maste
r. He never has time to himself. There is always something or someone. And yet he won’t turn them away. He is always willing to stay a little longer, answer their questions, listen to their problems.” He peered intently at Simeon. “He answers all their questions, Simeon, whether they are foolish or not.”

  James was nodding. James was closer to Peter’s age, about twenty-four, and of a much more serious nature than his younger brother. Now his eyes were grave. “There isn’t a day goes by that one of us doesn’t say something foolish to the Lord. Sometimes he just smiles. Mostly he uses those opportunities to teach us.”

  “And that isn’t always a comfortable thing,” Andrew agreed. “Jesus has this remarkable ability to see beneath the surface of things, to point out something you’ve never thought of. It can be pretty humbling.”

  “Maybe he will tell you that you are wrong,” John said, prodding Simeon verbally now. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  Simeon thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. “Actually, that would be a relief. At least then I would know one way or the other.”

  “So, let’s go ask him,” Peter said, ever the one to want to keep things moving along.

  Simeon just shook his head. “Not today. I need more time to think about it.” He felt the discouragement wash over him again. “What I once thought was an idea born of inspiration is starting to look more and more like it came from desperation. And yet . . . ” He thought of Yehuda languishing in a cell in Caesarea. “I need more time to think about it.”

  Peter turned to his brother. “He is afraid of seeming the fool. Tell him, Andrew. Tell him what you were saying to the rest of us last night after Jesus went to bed.”

  Andrew was immediately pensive. “I was just thinking that sometimes being with Jesus is really discouraging.”

  Both David and Simeon were surprised by that, and Andrew went on quickly to explain. “Do you know why? Because being with him is like having someone hold up a lamp inside you so you can see what you really are. And that is not always a flattering thing.”

  “We often feel like children,” Peter said somberly. “Jesus is constantly teaching us. Correcting us. Expanding our perspective.” He gave a crooked little smile. “Holding up our humanity alongside his divinity. Like Andrew says, sometimes it can be pretty humbling.”