by Andrew Crown
“Do you not believe she has passed into Heaven?” Dismas responded.
“That’s where they tell me she went but I don’t know,” Leah mused. Dismas was surprised she would share her pessimism out loud.
Their conversation was interrupted by Asher’s imposing figure striding into the room with a large net slung over his shoulder. Leah hurriedly wiped away a tear before standing to get a cake for her father.
Asher took his seat and laid his net carefully on the floor. “Dismas, are you ready for an exciting and bountiful day on the water? Think of how many more fish two men can pull in as opposed to just one, eh?” He beamed at Dismas and his daughter.
Leah smiled back at her father as she set the cake in from of him and went to wrap several more in white cloth for the men to eat on the boat.
Asher devoured his cake with enthusiasm while Dismas picked at the last little crumbs of his own. When Asher stood, Dismas took it as his cue to do the same. The older man motioned for Dismas to grab the back end of the net and the sack of cakes from Leah. With the front of the net resting on his right shoulder, Asher looked over his left at Dismas.
“Let us fish!”
Chapter IV
The boat was like a child’s toy, small and insignificant upon the vast Sea of Galilee. At almost eighteen feet long and five feet wide across the middle, it was just spacious enough for two men and their nets. A single mast rose a little over ten feet from the hull.
“You get used to it,” was Asher’s only remark as Dismas recoiled slightly with each spray of water that lapped over the sides of the boat, drenching his robes.
Dismas had never been in a boat before and the gentle rocking initially unnerved him. Upon stepping into the vessel, he instinctively dropped to his knees to gain stability, which drew a roar of laughter from Asher. After a while, he got used to the rhythmic motion, feeling almost comfortable aside from his wet feet, and was able to enjoy their surroundings. The hills in the distance were desert brown with patches of green trees and shrubbery. The area immediately near the sea, however, was a verdant ring of life with bright plants lapping up the freshness of the water. They sailed to a spot where Asher estimated the depth to be the height of about half that of a man.
“Hand me that stone.” He motioned to a rock tethered to a rope lying at the bottom of the boat. Dismas lifted it with a heave. Asher then tossed the stone over the side and watched the rope unravel until it became almost taut.
“Perfect.”
Dismas watched Asher unfurl his net, about six feet in diameter. He balanced himself against the mast as he stared down into the water. He tossed it away from the boat, the small rocks at the edge of the net creating cascading ripples across the smooth surface of the water. In about five counts, the net rested on the sea floor.
“Now what?” Dismas asked. He craned his neck over the side of the hull but couldn’t tell if there were any fish caught in the net. His visibility was impaired by brown silt kicked up from the net hitting the bottom.
Asher tossed him the end of the rope affixed to the net. “Get in and pull,” he said.
Dimas looked at him incredulously, but Asher simply pointed over the side of the hull into the shallow water. After further prodding, Dismas reluctantly hopped in with a splash. The cool water came up to just above his navel, but he quickly adjusted to the temperature. Once acclimated, he pulled the rope hand over hand. Within seconds, he felt the burning sting of rope ripping at his skin. Once the net was within arms distance, he reached into the water and brought it back into the boat.
“It’s empty,” he said before massaging his reddened hands.
“Then try again,” Asher commanded.
Dismas threw the net back into the water, but without the grace of Asher’s toss. The net snarled into a ball that simply sank.
“Throw it up and out instead of downwards, otherwise it won’t have time to fan out,” Asher coached.
Dismas nodded and tried again. The net contorted into a slightly smaller ball.
“Better,” Asher said.
Once again, Dismas hauled the soaked net back in and called out, “What’s the point of using your boat if I am to simply jump over the side?”
Asher did not answer as both men became distracted by a small white mass entangled within the net. Dismas unfurled the net and grabbed the writhing fish, which fit comfortably in his hand. He held it out to Asher. “And you make your living doing this?”
“Your first catch should be celebrated,” Asher said as he handed him a flask of wine. Dismas climbed awkwardly back into the boat and took a long drink.
“Now back into the water,” Asher ordered as the flask was taken from Dismas’ hands.
“And what exactly are you going to do?” Dismas asked as Asher watched him throw the net back in.
“I’ll help haul in the net,” Asher said as he took a swig of wine. “As soon as you start catching more than one fish at a time.”
The sun gradually rose higher in the sky as Dismas continued to cast the net into the water over and over. Each cast yielded no more than a few fish although the form of his throws grew steadier and smoother with each iteration as Asher continued to correct his technique but eventually grew quieter, content with the outcome of his coaching. He piloted the boat to different spots up and down the coast, hoping for better luck. Each journey to a new spot gave Dismas a brief opportunity to partially dry off in the warmth of the sun.
“Straighten your back!” Asher said after a half-hearted throw from Dismas.
Dismas glared at the older man and down at the basket that held only seven small fish. Upon pulling up yet another empty net, he angrily threw it into the boat at Asher’s feet. “Why don’t you throw it if you’re so talented?”
He half expected an angry rebuke from the old man. Instead, Asher calmly picked up the net and looked out the opposite side of the boat from where Dismas had been throwing. He stood motionless for several moments, watching barely perceptible shadows race in and out of the rays of sunlight that pierced the bottom of the sea. Then with a surge of controlled strength, he cast the net into the water. When it rested on the bottom, the fisherman leapt into the water with the grace of a porpoise. After settling in, he gave a small tug at the rope and looked over at Dismas. “I think I’m going to need help with this haul.”
Dismas struggled to churn his submerged legs through the muddy sediment over to Asher’s side to grab the back end of the rope and the two men pulled. At first, Dismas thought the net was caught on a rock.
“Keep pulling,” Asher commanded. Slowly the net came within reach. Dismas hopped into the vessel and helped the old man pull the net over into the boat. This time it contained a nest of activity. Over three dozen large fish, each nearly a foot long, writhed in the trap.
Dismas stared, dumbfounded. “How did you do that?”
Asher shrugged nonchalantly. “Luck.” He looked amused at Dismas’ reaction. “And I’ve been doing this for a very long time, and I know what to look for. So next time, I suggest you do as I say.”
Dismas muttered an apology as he helped Asher untangle the fish from the net and put them into baskets.
Asher clasped him on the shoulder. “A fine first outing. Each day will get easier from here.” He paused thoughtfully. “Most days, at least.” He chuckled as he hauled himself back over the hull.
Once they finished untangling the fish, Asher ordered, “Here Dismas, help me with the sail. I think we can head home for the day.”
Dismas eagerly acquiesced and began to steer the boat home to Leah and a dinner of fish, bread, and figs.
*
As the days passed, Dismas’ fishing technique continued to improve. The long-arc of his throws allowed the net to fan out, covering maximum surface area. He also learned from Asher what to watch for—shadows, movement, and disturbances on the surface, signs that revealed where a large school of fish might be swimming by.
He also began to recognize the faces on other boat
s, men who called the same village home. “We all have our own spots,” Asher explained. “There are usually enough fish to go around, but I have been known to encroach on others’ spots and they on mine.”
“You are more experienced than most of these men. You should keep the best spots for yourself,” Dismas said. “Do you ever threaten them when they get too close?”
Asher shook his head. “It usually all works out in the end. There is no sense in needlessly making enemies. Plus, my spots turn up empty from time to time as you have seen.”
“But if you were to force them away,” Dismas pressed, “you could come up empty less often.”
“You sound like a Roman,” Asher said, bemused. “No, Dismas. I have seen many fishermen try that strategy. They either cooperate with the rest of us or leave the village. There are no rules on the water, but there are customs.”
“But say there was a shortage of fish and you and Leah were going hungry? Surely you would violate your custom then.”
Asher emphatically shook his head. “No. It has been this way for generations and a short-term hardship does not justify a desperate response. We must ride it out.”
“Clearly you do not know true hardship,” Dismas retorted, turning his eyes back to the water. It was only at the last moment that he saw the flutter of movement out of his peripheral vision but by then it was too late. An open-handed palm connected with his temple. Stunned by the blow, Dismas lurched backward, tumbling out of the boat. As he fell, he saw Asher’s fiery eyes and outstretched hand. In a split second, this vision was obscured by a swoosh of water going over his head.
The water here was too deep to stand, and Dismas stayed below the surface for a moment to process what had happened. The old man had actually hit him! He kicked upward, prepared to launch himself at Asher.
Once he broke the surface of the water, however, his ears caught the fisherman in mid-tirade. “…EVER BUILT A HOME AND SCRAPED A LIVING TOGETHER ON THE SHORE…”
Dismas grabbed the side of the boat to pull himself in and was met with a hard kick to his forehead which dropped him back into the water. “I’M NOT DONE! You’re not getting back into this boat until I say so.” Asher’s face was completely violet with veins bulging from his temples and his neck. Spit foamed at the corners of his mouth and was launched towards him with each new syllable. Dismas thought he looked like a demon.
“Calm down, Asher!” Dismas shouted as he treaded water. “My alleged slight was verbal while your response was physical. That’s not fair!” He angrily grabbed the sides of the boat and got his body halfway in before Asher stomped on his torso repeatedly. With a howl of pain, Dismas descended back into the sea.
Asher raged, “I have known famine and I have known feast. I have survived thieves and I continue to survive the Romans. I have endured the death of my wife and I mourn her every moment of every day. I do not want to EVER hear that I am ignorant of suffering—particularly from a landless vagabond such as you. Am I clear?”
“You did not need to hit…”
“AM I CLEAR?!”
Dismas glanced over at the distant shoreline and briefly considered swimming home. He quickly decided that he would never make it as his all of his energy was being expended keeping his head above water. He never learned how to properly swim. With a sigh, he turned back to Asher. “Yes.”
Moments passed in silence, punctuated only by the heavy breathing of Asher as he calmed, and the gurgling of the water displaced by Dismas’ treading motion. He felt his wet tunic and pants weighing heavily on him.
Asher finally extended his hand, an offer of peace. Dismas quickly grasped it and with a pull from Asher, he was soon lying on the wooden bottom of the boat.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Asher said simply. With a net full of fish and a gentle breeze at their back, the boat made the journey back home.
After a full dinner, Dismas lay again on his reed mat and massaged his head and torso where Asher’s kicks had created bruises. He put his mind on something other than the beating he sustained that day. He realized that overall, he enjoyed the thrill of catching fish and the company of Leah in the morning and the evening. She viewed him as a hired hand, he knew, but he thought he might be able to change that perception if given enough time.
As his eyes grew heavy and began to flutter closed, Dismas made the decision to stay on beyond the few days he originally promised. Jerusalem and his brother could wait. Something inside of him told him this was what he was meant to do. Once he resigned himself to this notion, he drifted off into a deep sleep.
Chapter V
As the weeks progressed, Dismas, Asher, and Leah developed a steady routine. While Asher and Dismas caught the fish, it was typically up to Leah to sell the ones they had caught the previous day in the village market. She usually had success selling to the non-fishing families in the village and travelers passing through, which was one of the benefits of being located along the long dusty road to Jerusalem. Occasionally, there was an excess of fish. In these situations, one of two things would happen: either the fish would spoil, or Leah would take the wares to the Roman castrum a few miles outside of the town. Hungry legionnaires would be happy to buy fish to supplement their dreary military rations.
Most villagers were not fond of the Romans and would rather dump their unsold fish back into the sea than willingly interact with Caesar’s army. Leah shared this line of thinking and had repeatedly begged her father not to send her to the Roman encampment.
“Father, I would rather lie on hot coals than walk among the Roman soldiers. They are dirty, lustful, and savage. Please allow me to serve you by doing another task.”
“My child, I understand your strong dislike of the Romans. Trust me, I share it too. But the realities of our household require that we pursue every economic opportunity that is available to us as long as it does not conflict with the Sabbath.” Seeing tears glisten in his daughter’s eyes, he consoled, “If we can make enough money, in the future I will hire a servant to go in your stead. But as of now, that is not possible.”
“Why can you not go yourself, Father?” Leah pleaded.
“I am needed on the boat. I cannot take the time to take the day-long journey to and from the castrum.”
Leah hated each visit to the wooden fortress more than the last. On her most recent visit, a hairy brute of a soldier had approached her at the tall table she had set her basket of fish upon. “How much, girly?” he said with a grin that revealed only stubs of what were formerly his teeth.
Leah averted her eyes from the ugly man as she gave him the price. “T-t-…two denarii for three.”
Suddenly, he lunged and grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him, so she fell across the table and her legs rammed against the hard wooden side.
“No, girly, how much?!” His hand found her chest and squeezed hard.
“Let go of me!” she shrieked as she tried to unclasp his firm grip from her arm.
This outburst was met with a roar of laughter, not just from her assailant but from other soldiers who had gathered to see the commotion.
“Soldier! Release her!” All eyes turned to see a Roman officer marching into their midst. The sun gleamed off his polished armor and his face, contorted in rage. “This is a fortification of Caesar, not a whorehouse!”
Leah was immediately released from the soldier’s clutches. She did not delay a moment in gathering up the money she earned, abandoning the remaining fish, and embarking on the several miles walk back to the village at a swift pace. She sobbed continuously on the lonely journey home, only stifling her tears long enough to pass the occasional stranger coming in the opposite direction so that she would not have to relive her terror with an explanation to someone she did not know. When the sound of their footsteps or hoofbeats died away, she involuntarily began to weep once again.
Once back within the safety of home, she had recounted her experience to her father, and he agreed that she would make no more trips to the castr
um. Filled with remorse, Asher had given a silent thanks to God for delivering his daughter from further harm.
The subject of the Roman fort was not broached again by either father or daughter until an evening meal several weeks after Dismas’ arrival.
Asher chewed thoughtfully as he tore more bread from the loaf. He spotted the basket of fish on the floor, a third full. “Bad day at the market?”
“Yes, Father,” Leah answered. “It was slow today. I sold what I could in the morning and then began to give some away to the poor and needy. Even then, I could not give all that I had.”
“Why did you give away fish when you could still try to sell?” Asher’s voice conveyed more weariness than anger. He had had this talk with his daughter countless times.
“There are other fish mongers, Father. I can only sell so much,” she sighed, “And I needed to purchase new cloth for you and Dismas. Your shirts are falling apart.”
At this, both men looked down simultaneously and saw that Leah told the truth; their shirts were filled with holes, torn open during hasty boarding and disembarking from the boat.
Asher did not respond immediately, and Leah returned to eating. Dismas did not even bother to look up from his food while this conversation was occurring. He considered himself separate from the domestic concerns of the household. As long as he received food and money, he was satisfied.
“Perhaps we should make another visit to the castrum if we cannot sell what we have,” Asher suggested, avoiding the eyes of his daughter.
Leah looked as if she had just been struck with a lightning bolt. “NO, Father!” she exclaimed loudly. “You may beat me if you must, but I will never enter that flea-invested den of oppressive and emboldened…conquerors again. How could you ask me to do such a thing?”
Dark thoughts began to cross her mind and her shoulders twitched as she shuddered. Dismas looked up absentmindedly. Not knowing the background of her visits to the castrum, he was partially bemused at Leah’s anxiety.
“Leah, my child, I will not knowingly put you into harm’s way again. You will have Dismas with you as a protector.”
