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Tor, A Street Boy of Jerusalem

<h1>CHAPTER XII BY GENNESARET WATER</h1> To Peter, broken in spirit, bowed down with the shame of his thrice-repeated denials, sleepless with torturing memories of his dead Master, came Mary of Magdala at dawn of the first day of the week. “They have taken away the Lord out of the tomb,” she sobbed, “and I know not where they have laid him.” Peter arose at that word and girded his garments about him that he might run swiftly to the spot. He had no thought of what he should do, but a blind anguish of desire to serve the Master he had scorned drove him forth like a scourge. He scarce noticed that John, the beloved disciple, was with him, running evenly at his side. Then some murmured word of that other disciple brought a faint memory of words spoken and straightway forgotten, words of painful prophecy, of unearthly hope, which he himself had rejected with scorn and impatience. The Galilean faltered, lagged behind. And so it came to pass that John was first to reach the open tomb. The rosy light of the new day shone softly into the shadowy sepulchre, revealing the rough-hewn walls, the shallow niche wherein the body had lain, the folded cere-cloths, the scattered spices. The place was fragrant, bright, mysteriously empty. Peter stared in at the small, still, empty place, those half-awakened memories stirring strangely within him. “When I have arisen from the dead,” he murmured half unconsciously. Had the Master indeed uttered those strange words, or was his brain touched with some sweet madness? He turned to John. The eyes of the beloved disciple were fastened upon the empty niche, his lips moved as in prayer. With sudden, hard-won resolution Peter entered the tomb, stooping to look more closely at the chill, empty bed with its array of fair linen and odorous spicery. He noticed with an awed tightening of the throat that the fine linen napkin which had been wound about the dead man’s head was not lying with the other cerements, but was folded carefully apart, as if the wearer, sitting upon the edge of his couch, had placed it there with a tender thought of the giver. His bewildered, grief-stricken eyes met the look of dawning hope in the eyes of the other. “He is not here,” murmured John, “he is risen!” And on a sudden his face became radiant with angelic beauty. Then the two went away in wondering silence to their own house, and as they went they met other women of their company who told them of angels waiting within the tomb with that question which still sounds in ears grief-sealed against the truth of Omnipresent Life: “Why seek ye the living among the dead? Go, tell his disciples and Peter, He goeth before you into Galilee: there shall ye see him, as he said unto you.” To Galilee, therefore, after certain days of growing hope and marvelous vision, the disciples journeyed in great numbers, and with them went a certain small lad, of a joyous and shining face, no longer a homeless beggar of Jerusalem, but a brother beloved because he had looked upon the King in the beauty of his resurrection body. It was one of the women, called Salome, who first came upon the child as he walked slowly toward Jerusalem in the dawning day. The little lad was chanting softly to himself the words he had learned on the day of his healing: “Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest! Blessed—blessed is he that cometh in the name of the King!” “Why dost thou sing, child?” asked the woman querulously. She was still bearing the burden of spicery which she had fetched to the empty tomb, and her eyes were red with weeping and anxiety. [pg 180] “I sing,” answered Tor, “because my Master, the King, is alive. He opened my eyes, which were blind as night, and with these eyes have I seen him—alive! Therefore, I sing.” The woman shook her head sorrowfully, for the thing was yet too wonderful for her understanding. “I have seen the empty tomb,” she said. “Also I beheld a young man clad in white garments, who declared to us that he was alive; but I know not what to think. How can it be that he is alive when he was dead—crucified—pierced with a spear?” And again she wept bitterly. “I saw him,” said Tor simply,—“the man who opened my eyes. He is alive. I am going to Galilee to see him.” And once more the child cried, “Hosanna!” with a clear, jubilant voice. “Whose child art thou, little one?” said the woman, marveling at the brightness of his eyes, which, indeed, shone like the eyes of the angel at the empty tomb. “And where dost thou live?” “I have a Father in heaven,” said Tor, “and once I had a master who was blind and a beggar; but him I serve no longer, since I serve only the King who gave me my eyes.” And when, by dint of questioning the lad, the woman found that he was without kindred and alone in the world, she took him to her own house. And so it happened that Tor traveled with that great concourse of disciples who went to Galilee to keep the tryst with their risen Lord. Again Tor met Peter, the Galilean. It was on this wise: the child, enchanted with the beauty of the lake, wandered upon the shore at evening, his eyes wistfully following the fishermen as they put out one after another upon the radiant water. “I should like to sail away in a boat,” murmured Tor to himself. He looked up to find the eyes of Peter fixed upon him. “How camest thou hither, small one?” asked the fisherman. “I came from Jerusalem with the woman who is called Salome,” answered Tor. “I am come to see my Master, who was dead and is alive again. Already I have seen him. And I shall again see him. Perhaps,” he added timidly, “he is there.” The child’s small finger pointed to the lake, which glowed like a sea of lambent fire in the dying light. “Once he came to us walking upon the water,” said the fisherman thoughtfully. After a little his eyes wandered to his boats, drawn high and empty upon the shore. There were others of his old comrades near at hand, and to these Peter presently called out with something of his old energy: “I go a fishing,” he said. They answered, “We also go with thee.” And so the boat was made ready, with nets and lanterns, and rough fisher’s gear for possible wild weather in the night watches. Tor watched the preparations with shining eyes. When all was at length finished he bowed himself before Peter after his old mendicant’s fashion. “I pray thee, honorable Galilean, that I also may go fishing,” he said timidly. Peter stared down at him in some perplexity. “What is it that brings thee ever athwart my path, small one?” he asked, not unkindly. “In Jerusalem thou wast verily like my shadow—and now, thou wilt fish.” “I want to see my Master, the King,” answered Tor. “He is there.” Again the small finger pointed to the darkening lake and the solemn blue mountains beyond. “It is so beautiful he will be there,” he repeated softly. “Come, then,” said Peter, and, catching up the little lad, he stowed him snugly in the bow of the great clumsy fishing-craft amid a pile of nets. Through stretches of moonlit water, where the breeze rippled keenly, in the dark lee of swelling hills, now anchored, now drifting slowly under the winking stars, the fishermen bent to their work. And through the long hours Tor lay quite still in the place where he was bid, speaking to no one, but wrapped in a dream of perfect delight, which the men busied with their fruitless fishing could scarce have understood. When, now, the darkest hour, that comes before dawn, was already past, and the white mist that shrouded sea and shore and drifted light as thistle-down upon the glassy surface of the nearer water began to glow with rose and amber tints of dawn, Tor wriggled his lithe little body from its nest of coats and stood upright in the bow. His great bright eyes were fixed upon the wavering curtains of the mist. “Listen!” he cried suddenly, in his clear, shrill voice. A long, level ray from the rising sun burst through the vanishing clouds and rested full upon the land not many furlongs distant. “Look!” cried the child again, and pointed with his finger. [pg 186] Some one—a man—was standing upon the pebbly shore looking out over the water. The fishermen rubbed their tired eyes and stared. “Children, have ye aught to eat?” A clear, human voice brought the little cheerful question across the narrowing space. “No,” shouted the fishermen, satisfied that the friendly voice belonged to some wayfarer, curious as ever to know the luck of an all-night fishing expedition. “Cast the net on the right side of the boat and ye shall find,” came the answer. “Perchance he sees the ripple of a shoal,” muttered Peter, and heaved the great net for another cast. And now the net sank with its weight of struggling fish. Two of the men leaped hastily into the small boat to secure the catch, but Peter and John were gazing past the heaving net at that solitary figure upon the shore. “It is the Lord,” whispered John. And Peter, with a smothered cry of love and longing, girt his fisher’s coat about him and flung himself into the water. Upon the shore burned a fire of coals, and upon it sputtered a great fish, giving forth appetizing odors to the cool morning air. Beside the fire were piled loaves such as the common people were wont to use with this broiled fish. It was all quite homely and natural, yet the hands that busied themselves with that simple, satisfying meal bore the mark of the nails. The fishermen stood with bowed heads, no one daring to ask the question which trembled on every lip. “Come and break your fast,” said their mysterious host, smiling upon their awe-stricken silence. And he took the bread and the fish and gave them to eat. So when they had broken their fast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, lovest thou me more than these?” Peter answered in a half whisper, “Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee.” Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.” He said to him a second time, “Simon, son of John, lovest thou me?” Again Peter answered with an anguished glance of entreaty, “Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee.” Again came the command, “Feed my sheep.” He said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, lovest thou me?” Then Peter burst into a great passion [pg 189]of weeping, and wept as on the night he had denied his Master. “Lord,” he cried out, “thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee!” Jesus said, “Feed my sheep.” Other words spake he also which they that heard forgot no more either in time or in eternity. Thus did Peter, the Galilean, who was also called Simon, son of John, answer his Master three times by Gennesaret water; and thus was the bitter memory of his three denials purged from his soul. Verily he loved much, and was therefore forgiven much. And to the end of his days he remembered right well both to cherish the lambs committed to his care by the Upper Shepherd, and to tend and feed the sheep both in fold and in pasture. So it was that he no more spoke care[pg 190]lessly or slightingly to the little lad, Tor, but, counting him as a special charge from his risen Lord, he became to him even as a father. And Tor, growing into manhood, learned many things both strange and beautiful from the world’s page; but he found nothing there to blot out the memory of the Man who had opened his eyes. To the end he followed the King, his Master, and Jesus, long since received into the visible heavens over Galilee, yet remained with him, a sweet and satisfying presence. The End. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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