The face of the fisherman turned livid with anger. His fingers twitched and his breath came hard as he drew from under his skirt a shining blade and held it aloft shouting until the rocks gave back the echo of his voice, "Look thee, Sara—once my betrothed! By the height of the sky above me; by the depths of the sea beneath me; by the distance that lieth between the East and the West and the hand that set the stars, do I swear to bury this blade in the heart of the beast that hath taken from me my Sara. May the God of my fathers lay me low in the fires of Gehenna if I do less!" A moment the fisherman stood with upraised arm. The rising sun fell on the gleaming steel like a fire along its edge.
A sob from the shore broke the silence. "Go! Go!" cried the half-naked creature by the water.
With a last look of pity and of horror, Jael seated himself, took up the oars and passed from sight around the ledge of rock. In a few moments, however, he returned, rowing swiftly. He pushed his boat up on the sand and went ashore. There was no living thing in sight. Whether Sara had fled to the rushes and willows or had cast herself into the sea, he knew not. As he stood he heard his name spoken. Looking around again, he saw no man, and yet again he heard a voice saying, "Jael."
"Whose is this voice?" he questioned. "A strange voice yet it seemeth
I have somewhere heard it."
"Thy heart is troubled, Jael," the voice said. "Come unto me and I will give thee help." From behind the rocks the words came. Hastening into his boat he rowed around the narrow point and came upon a man of about his own age who wore one of the garments of a Rabbi. "Dost thou remember me?" the stranger said to Jael.
With dripping oar poised on the boat's edge, the half-naked fisherman studied the face of the man on the rocks. Then he exclaimed with joy, "Thou art Jesus of Nazareth! Yea, well do I remember thee and the games of our childhood."
"Rest thy boat, Jael. I would talk with thee."
"The years have been many since we ran the streets of Nazareth," Jael said, his eyes studying the face of Jesus, "yet the struggle hath gone on."
"How hath thy struggle gone?"
"Wrest I my bread from the sea. In the nine cities on her border have
I sold to the markets. Yet never have I seen thee there."