The Journey Begun by Bruce Judisch Page B

for him to go but home? If he’s not there, maybe his family will have some idea where he was headed. Elihu urged his horse to a trot up the road toward Gath-hepher.
     
    Jonah watched from the cover of the tamarisk tree thirty paces from where Elihu circled his horse. He waited until the warrior disappeared around a bend before stepping onto the road. Adjusting the treasure belt under his cloak, the delinquent prophet turned south and began his trek to anywhere but Nineveh.

 
     
     
     
    Eleven
     
     
    S
    imon strolled the rocky beach that stretched up the coast from Joppa. He glanced back toward the city’s mount protruding from the coastal plain. The cityscape looked like a miniature diorama sculpted by a giant hand, where it smashed a ball of clay on the beach and sprinkled alabaster cubes across it. Simon smiled at the notion. He enjoyed Joppa as much, maybe more, than any other port, and he pondered over adopting it as his home. But Sidon still beckoned from somewhere in the recesses of his mind, in spite of his long absence. He mused what his family must be like, so many years now past since he bade them farewell. The youngest will have seen, what, fourteen summers now? He shook his head at how quickly time passed.
    The sailor paused to study the Ba’al Hayam sitting at anchor halfway across the harbor. A crewman balancing on the mast’s crossbeam teetered against the backdrop of an engorged evening sun that had already dipped into its palette and begun to paint its departure upon the scrim of the western sky. Simon stood in awe as the great luminary splayed broad swaths of gleaming yellow graduating to golden orange. The satin backdrop framed feathery clouds that stretched to tickle the underbelly of the radiant heavens. The sun worked without haste, finessing hues into a blend of ginger tones that ripened into deep crimson and finally violet before slipping under a blanket of star-pricked cobalt encroaching from the east.
    Simon dropped his gaze to the bay. The surface of the water, undisturbed by even a breath of air in the perfect calm between the day’s sea breeze and the evening’s shore breeze, reflected the glory of its canopy’s panorama. The only piece of the picture that seemed out of place was the Ba’al. The ship’s craggy silhouette jutted into the western sky, its slanted mast seemingly poised to pierce the canvas and spoil the visage of a pristine sunset.
    Simon frowned as he surveyed the hulking ship. The Ba’al tipped to starboard like a drunken sailor. Divers failed to determine the cause of the list, but Simon knew the repair crew continued preparations for lading anyway. Omer would have her sail regardless of her seaworthiness. He pursed his lips. Should I give her another chance? He heard the next voyage was an ambitious venture to the far side of the Great Sea. She would not see home port again for another complete turn of the seasons. He wasn’t sure how they could be ready before the next favorable tide, but word had it she would sail on schedule. If Simon did sail with her, he could return with enough silver in his pocket to rest the next season. Then maybe he would pay a visit to Sidon and make good the promise of support he made to his family. Or maybe not. Who knew?
    The sun, now an engorged orange ball, alit on the horizon’s razor edge. Simon stared mesmerized as he measured the orb’s visible descent into the water. The dying sun flashed a final flicker of light as it disappeared into the depths, shaking sense back into Simon’s head. He decided he’d better head back to the city before he lost the light. The beach, rocky and uneven, was not hospitable to nighttime strolls, and a translucent sliver of moon hanging overhead had already coaxed the tide over the footprints he left coming up the beach. He shifted his path inland against the curving hillside of the coastal fringe of Sharon’s Plain. Flickering torch lights sparked one by one around the city, beckoning him