The Journey Begun by Judisch Bruce

Author:Judisch, Bruce [Judisch, Bruce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: OakTara
Published: 2009-07-29T06:00:00+00:00

Twenty-one

S

imon propped his back against the smooth curve of a limestone boulder and stretched his legs out at a lazy angle. A half-empty wineskin straddled his lap, and all that remained of his dried figs and cheese was a pleasant memory. He closed his eyes and basked in the warmth of the midafternoon sun. A breeze swirled the lingering aroma of an ancient cedar stump that roiled to life distant memories of boyhood days spent in the Lebanese hills.

He discovered a tiny inlet of mossy rocks and loamy soil amid the trees bordering the coastal road that passed by Joppa. The ancient trade route wound along the ridgeline above the marshy Plain of Sharon, the plain too soft to traverse. The lowlands captured Simon’s imagination as he hiked up the gentle incline from the port city to the inland passageway. What could be done with such verdant land if the myriad of rivulets draining the hills could be bridged and the rich bogs of the plain tamed by the blade of the plow? He envisioned an endless carpet of vineyards draping the slopes that led down to thriving fields of grain and orderly rows of olive and fig orchards adorning the threshold to the sea. His musings brought the sailor up short and piqued a curious thought. He wondered whether he had missed his calling behind a team of oxen plowing the land rather than at the stern of a ship plowing the waves. Well, perhaps there was still time.

His vantage point on a gentle slope above the beaten path gave Simon a clear view in both directions. A full stomach and a warm sun sedated his interest in anything but a nice nap, though, and he soon slipped into a light slumber. The corners of his mouth, upturned by the serenity of a gentle afternoon, began to twitch. Then they fell.

Dark clouds raced across the sky, obscuring the perfect day he had just left behind. He was once again behind the helm, struggling to keep his balance on a deck that tossed and pitched with increasing vehemence at the mercy of an irate sea. The ship—was it the Ba’al? he couldn’t tell—slid into a trough between waves towering above the tip of the mast. When it seemed the sea would swallow the vessel whole, it launched the craft toward the summit of the next billow like a twig of driftwood. A sudden jerk wrenched the tiller free of the helmsman’s grasp. The rudder flailed out of the water, the tiller bar slicing wildly through the air. A blast of wind bent the mast and whipped the sail into shreds. The deck tipped sharply to port, and Simon teetered into the path of the steering bar. It slammed into his chest and lifted him off his feet. He braced himself against the impact with the deck. The impact never came.

He found himself suspended in air, looking up at the ship as it disappeared over the crest of a monstrous wave.

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