Jessie Graham Flower - "Grace Harlowe's Problem"

Various - "Up To Date Business"

Mrs. Charles Bryce - "The Ashiel mystery"

Edward Doyle - "Freedom, Truth and Beauty"

Editorial
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Coming of the King

B >> Bernie Babcock >> The Coming of the King



THE COMING OF THE KING


BY

BERNIE BABCOCK




AUTHOR OF

THE SOUL OF ANN RUTLEDGE, ETC.



GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS ---- NEW YORK


Made in the United States of America




COPYRIGHT 1921

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY




To

THOSE WHO UNDERSTAND




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE--THE CHILD


Part One
A. D. 32

CHAPTER

I IN THE NET
II AT TIBERIAS
III UNDER THE FOX'S NOSE
IV IN THE VALLEY OF LILIES
V HULDAH AND ELIZABETH
VI HARD SAYINGS
VII LOST--AN ANKLET
VIII STRANGE TALES ABE ABOUT
IX SWEET IS THE SCAR
X I WOULD SEE JESUS
XI ON WITH THE DANCE
XII ON THE ROOF
XIII ORANGE BRANCHES
XIV WITH WHAT EYES
XV THE DEATH OF LAZARUS
XVI HE CALLETH FOR THEE
XVII THINK ON THESE THINGS
XVIII THOU ART THE KING


Part Two
A. D. 33

XIX CATACOMBS COMRADES
XX THE LITTLE TALLITH
XXI ANOTHER PASSOVER
XXII BRIDAL CHAMBER TALK
XXIII YE GENERATION OF VIPERS
XXIV BY THIS WITNESS
XXV IN THE GARDEN
XXVI CLAUDIA AND PILATE
XXVII CAESAR'S FRIEND
XXVIII ROSES AND IRIS AND TEARS
XXIX SWIFT MESSENGERS
XXX CLAUDIA'S DREAM
XXXI KING OF THE JEWS
XXXII IN THIS SIGN
XXXIII I AM




THE COMING OF THE KING


PROLOGUE

THE CHILD

"The fangs of the she-wolf are whetted keen for Galilean flesh and else
the wrath of Jehovah palsy the arm of Rome, Galilean soil will run red
with blood from scourged backs ere the noon of a new day."

The speaker, a slender woman wearing the garb of a peasant, lowered a
water-jar from her shoulder and stood beside the bench of a workman,
who paused at his task to get news from the market place.

"The souls for the cross--are they many?" he asked.

"A score of hundred I hear whispered, but at market place and fountain
the spear of the soldier presseth hard against the ribs of those who
congregate to exchange a word."

The man, who was fashioning a heavy yoke, lifted his bearded face to
that of the woman. "A score of hundred!" he exclaimed. "To-morrow's
sun will climb over Tabor to the ring of axes cutting green timber for
twenty hundred crosses! The mercy of God on the victims!"

"Yea--and to-morrow's sun will set with the breeze of evening wafting
one great groan of agony over the hills and vales of Galilee--one great
sob of lamentation--one great curse on the barbarians of the city on
the Tiber. And this for no crime save that of poverty!"

"Insurrection," the man corrected. "The Gaulonite raised, not a
popular revolt, alas. It is but _insurrection_."

"Insurrection!--and why not insurrection? The Gaulonite may hang on a
cross until the black winged ravens pick his bones and wild dogs carry
them to desert places, but the Gaulonite speaks the voice of our
fathers for verily, verily, the soil of the earth belongs to God, not
men, and the toiler should eat of the increase of his labor! Doth not
our toil yield the barley harvest, yet are we not ofttimes hungry?
Doth not our toil make the vine hang heavy in the vineyard, yet do not
our bottles droop empty of wine? Doth not the substance of our bitter
toiling go to the tax-gatherer? Aye, Joseph, thou knowest I speak
truly. It is tax--tax--tax,--land tax, temple tax, poll tax, army tax,
court tax--always tax; and when there is to be a great orgy in the
banquet halls of Rome, or Herod is to give a mighty feast for that
brazen harlot, his brother's wife, are we not reduced to the bran and
vinegar fare of slaves to pay the cost? A curse on Rome! A curse on
Herod!"

"Hist, Mary, hist! Know'st thou not there may be ears listening even
now behind the pomegranate?"

The woman glanced nervously toward the door where a leather curtain
hung. She crossed the room, lifted the curtain and looked out into the
court. It was empty save for a group of children. She returned to the
room and from the wall took several small skin bottles which she placed
by the water-jar. Then she called, "Jesu! Jesu!"

In answer a lad of six or eight years appeared from the court.

"Fill the bottles and hang them under the vine where the night breeze
will cool them for the morrow."

When the child had done her bidding he stepped to the door. "Mother,"
he said, "hear thou? There is weeping in the home of Jael's father!
Listen! Hear thou--the children calling--calling?"

The woman went to the door. She listened a moment and as the wail of a
child sounded over the court she said, "Aye, sore weeping. Why, Jesu?"

"Jael's father went away yester morning and hath not come again. A man
saw him with many others driven in chains like cattle. A stain of
blood was on his face--and he will not come again. Why did the
soldiers take Jael's father?"

"Hist, child. Talk not of Jael's father. Run and play."

* * * * * *

The next morning before the rising sun had climbed above Mount Tabor,
little Jesu with his peasant mother left Nazareth, carrying between
them a new-made yoke. They had not yet reached the end of the footpath
around the slope of the hill to the highway, when they heard a
heart-sickening moan.

The child stopped suddenly saying, "Something doth suffer?"

The woman took a few steps forward and looked out into the roadway.
Then she too stopped, and with a sharp cry threw her hand across her
eyes. Having received no answer to his inquiry the child pushed past
her to the highroad. Then he too gave a cry, half fear, half pain,
saying, "It is the father of Jael--and, mother--_mother_--there is a
_dog_." And with a scream he dashed into the roadway. As he did so an
animal slunk across his path and disappeared behind a cactus thicket
hedging a barley field.

The moan gave way to a feeble call as the child appeared. "Jesu!
Jesu, I thirst!" were the words the parched lips uttered.

Helpless, the man hung crucified. The cross was not more than four
feet high, all in this wholesale crucifixion being purposely low that
wild dogs and jackals might tear the vitals, the bodies thus exposed
emphasizing the power and cruelty of Rome. Naked the crucified one
hung, his palms clotted with blood where spikes held them on the green
cross-beam, and the wood behind the body stained dark from thong-cuts
on the back. His legs lay on the ground. Flies swarmed wherever there
was blood and the gray face of the victim was yet grayer from dust cast
up by travelers on the roadway.

"Jesu! Jesu! Water for my burning tongue!" the man moaned.

"Give him to drink," the woman said in low tones to the child, who
stood before the cross, his large dark eyes fixed on the helpless one
in horror and in pity. "Give him water and I will watch that none spy
you at the deed. Hasten!"

The child opened his water-bottle and held it toward the lips of the
man. Pinioned hands, stiffened shoulders and weakened muscles made the
effort to drink difficult. Pulling his kerchief from his neck, the
child sopped it with water and held it to the dry lips.

In wavering tones the man, refreshed, said, "Since yester noon have I
hung here. With the morning came the dog; thrice came he sniffing.
Once, before weakness overcame me, with kicking and fierce screams I
frightened the brute. Again, a herdsman drove him far across the
field. And now you come, Jesu. Ah, that you might tarry until the
numbness creeping over my back where the flies swarm, and into my hands
that have burned, reached my brain, that you might stay until the
darkness of death hides from me the skulking form waiting to rend my
flesh."

"Woman," said the child, raising his dark eyes to his mother's face,
"dost fear to leave me?"

"Yea, my little one, lest seeing thee minister to a malefactor some spy
or guard might take thee."

"And would they take one young like me, who never did Rome harm?"

"All do Rome harm who cry beneath her heel."

"I fear not. I can hide in the bushes and keep the evil beast away.
And when the road is clear I can wet the dry lips of Jael's father."

The woman hesitated.

"Canst carry the burden alone, woman?" and there was concern in the
child's voice. "The way is long, the road rough and the yoke a heavy
one."

"The burden is naught save the burden of fear on my heart lest thou
meet harm, my beloved one--my little Jesu!"

"Be not afraid. Will not the God of our fathers save me from the
soldier's spear as once our father David was saved from the spear of
Saul? Find me but a stout club with which to keep the bristled dog
from Jael's father."

Throughout the day the child kept watch over the cross and its victim
by the dusty wayside. There were passers-by, most of them Galileans
muttering curses on the powers that had put him on the cross, but
offering no comfort to the malefactor. Twice the gaunt dog came nearer
but drew back before the raised club, and with blinking eye and
restless tongue, bided his time. As the sun dropped behind the trees,
the moaning from the cross grew almost too faint to be heard, and when,
after a long stillness, there came a sharp strange cry from the lips of
the crucified, the child gave a start and then hastened to offer the
wet kerchief. But before he reached the cross the head had fallen limp
over the bosom, and the feet lay quiet in the roadside dust.

The child spoke. There was no answer. He went back to his shelter in
the bushes. A strange hush seemed to have fallen over the earth. With
searching eyes he now watched the long road for a sight of his mother.
When he turned his gaze for a moment from the roadway to the cactus
hedge he noticed the watching dog had drawn closer and with fierce
eagerness eyed the limp body on the cross. Fear now took possession of
the child, and he moved nearer the highway and shuddered as he noticed
that the dog moved nearer also.

When at last his mother came he buried his face in her breast and
sobbed: "His head hangs like a flower broken at the stem. He can not
lift it, and he thirsts no more for water."

"Peace be to Jael's father," the mother replied, choking back a sob,
"and peace be to thee, my brave little Jesu."

"Nay, I am not brave. I was afraid--afraid!"

"Nay, nay. My little Jesu is not afraid of a dog."

"Nay, not a dog. But after the head of Jael's father fell low,
something seemed reaching out long dark arms to gather me in--in to
Jael's father--and I feared."

The mother pressed the hand of the child in hers. Reassured by the
warm strong clasp, he smiled as his mother said, "It were but childish
fear. There is nothing by the roadside reaching dark arms out to you."

"Nay, nothing--nothing, woman," replied the child, laughing at his own
fear, "nothing save the shadow of the cross."




PART ONE

A.D.32


CHAPTER I

IN THE NET

Through the open doorway and latticed window of a peasant's hut, the
sunset colors of a Palestine sky glowed red. The only occupant of the
room was an aged woman, thin haired and bent, who moved slowly about
preparing the evening meal. She stopped beside a dingy little oven on
one end of the bed platform, and bending stiffly to the floor gathered
up a few handsful of stubble which she thrust into the fire. As the
quick flames rose under her kettle she stirred her brew muttering: "Do
not two sparrows go for a farthing and yet have we no flavor for our
sop. It was not so in the days of our fathers."

Stirring and muttering she did not notice the approach of a young girl
who had entered the room, until an armful of chaff was dropped by the
oven. With a start she, turned about.

"Sara!" she cried, "thou comest like a thief in the night. Singing
doth better become thee."

"There is no song in me. Empty is my stomach, and look you," and she
pointed across the room to a pile of nets beside a wooden bench.
"There are three score rents to mend and the day is done." She turned
to the doorway and for a moment stood looking out, barefooted, meanly
clad and unkept, yet of comely form and with abundant dark hair falling
around an oval face of more than ordinary beauty. She sighed and
turned back into the room.

"Thou shalt eat," and the aged woman took bread from the oven and
placed it on a wooden table in the center of the room. "Sit thee down."

Sara sat down and glanced over the small table. "Bread and unseasoned
sop!" she exclaimed.

"And water," cheerfully added Grandmother Rachael, as she poured the
contents of a skin bottle into a pitcher.

After the washing of hands from a bowl on a stool at the table side,
the aged woman muttered thanks and the evening meal began.

"It goeth down hard," Sara complained.

"But it was not so in the days of our fathers," her companion reminded
her. "Then there was plenty and each man sat under his own vine and
fig tree, for by the law of Moses no man was allowed to collect usury,
so sayeth the Rabbi."

Hardly had the meal begun when, unnoticed by either of the women, a
fisherman entered. His muscular arms were uncovered; the short skirt
of his garment scarce reached his knees. His heavy dark hair was
pushed back from his forehead and the dying sunset falling over his
swarthy face and neck gave him the appearance of bronze. He stopped
behind Sara and spoke her name.

"It is the voice of Jael," she cried, looking back. "My Jael."

"And he hath brought a fish!" Grandmother Rachael exclaimed, laughing.
"The blessing of God on thee, my son Jael. Sit thee down and sup with
us."

"Thy hospitality exceedeth thy stores," he answered, "yet could I not
swallow food if thy table did groan with milk and honey."

"Thou art not sick?" Sara asked, concern in her voice.

"Nay, and yet have I a fever, the consuming fever of wrath, for again
hath the tax-gatherer been abroad. Robbed are our tables of fat, milk
and honey; lean are our bellies for food; stripped are our bodies of
covering. Yet doth the tax ever increase that Herod may add to his
vast stores. It is tax--tax--tax until at night the waves of the sea
beat against the shore calling 'Tax--tax,' and in the solitary places
the wild dogs bark 'Tax--tax,' and in the homes of the peasant the
children cry for bread while over their roofs the wind calls
'Tax--tax.'"

"It was not so in the days of our fathers," Grandmother Rachael
muttered, beating her palms slowly together.

"Her heart is not without Israel's hope of the coming of the King even
though her lips make much muttering," Sara said, as Jael turned to the
aged woman who again wailed:

"It was not so in the days of our fathers."

"Nay, nor will it ever be so in the days of our fathers' sons," he
answered her. "Was it for this that Israel was called to be God's
chosen people--this--that they should toil and starve and be spit upon
by heathen dogs? That they should till the soil and be robbed of the
increase that Herod might buy gold platters in which to serve good Jew
heads to dancing harlots? It hath been and ever will be among men
struggling for bread, as among dogs fighting over a carcass that the
strong shall overcome the weak. But our fathers every fifty years took
back the land from the strong and gave it again to the toiler that he
might have a new start. So shall it be."

While he had been speaking he had dropped the leather curtain hanging
at the door. Sara lit a lamp.

"And when shall come again the days of our fathers?" Grandmother
Rachael asked.

"When we rise up and wrest from the oppressor our stolen inheritance."

"Aye, but, my Jael, hast thou forgotten the Gaulonite?" Sara asked.
"Did he not with two thousand followers rise up to take back the land?
And were not his followers hanged on two thousand crosses until the
wild dogs of Palestine broke their fast on Jewish flesh?"

Jael had grown excited as Sara questioned him. He paced the floor.
"Yea," he answered, "yea, did wild dogs feast on Jewish flesh, even the
flesh of thy Jael's father! Forget not shall I until the stone of my
father's tomb be rolled against my bones, how he was hung where two
roads meet! Forget will I--nor forgive. And in the time of Israel's
revenge will my own hands spill blood to settle the debt."

"Sh- sh- sh-" warned Sara. "Methought I saw the curtain move. Fear
even now doth catch my heart in its pinching fingers."

"Fear not, my fair Sara," Jael said. "Could harm befall thee with
Jael, the fisherman, nigh? Look thou at the strength of my arm and the
keen edge of my tough fishing knife!" and he held forth his shining
blade.

"Not for myself do I feel fear, but for thee. Thy life would not be
worth a farthing were thy fierce words heard by the dogs of Rome. Thy
knife is long and keen, but the sword of the enemy is longer--and
methought the curtain moved again."

"Nay, but to stay thy fears I will look."

Jael turned toward the door but had taken only a step when the leather
was thrust aside and two soldiers sprang in.

"Jael! Thy strong arm! Thy knife!" Sara cried.

"Give me the knife, dog of a Jew," commanded one of the soldiers,
drawing his sword. "Give me, else will I strike thy head from thy body
and kick it like offal into the darkness of the night! Give me," and
he held out his hand.

"Get the knife," was Jael's reply as he flung it through the uncovered
door.

"By the gods! Now shalt thou come before the bar of justice to answer
the charge of sedition against the mighty Caesar and his king, thy
Herod."

"Nay, no king of mine is that Idumean fox whose brother's wife doth
defile his bed. Such for Rome, but not for Israel!"

"Dog of a Jew!"

"Swine of a Roman!"

For a moment the two measured glances. Then Jael was seized on each
side by one of the soldiers, the first spitting in his face with the
question, "Swine of a Roman am I?"

"Yea, verily--son of a she-swine," and Jael blew the contents of his
mouth in the face of the soldier, who struck him across the cheek with
his sword, exclaiming: "This for thy portion to-night, then the cross."

Grandmother Rachael had taken refuge on the oven step and was wringing
her hands and muttering prayers, while Sara was keeping as close as
possible to Jael.

"Have pity, sir," she begged of the soldier when the cross was
mentioned. "Have pity, he hath done thee no harm."

"Hold your tongue, woman," the soldier replied without looking at her,
"else the cross will be thy portion also."

"And to the cross I choose to go if there my Jael goeth," she replied.

Then the second soldier, casting admiring glances on Sara, said, "She
is a fair maiden; she shall be my spoil."

"Jove Almighty!" exclaimed the other, catching his sword-point in the
front of her bodice and laying it open. "A fair maiden indeed. Not
thine, but mine shall she be," and he motioned his fellow soldier to
stand back.

"The God of our fathers strike thee dead!" Jael shouted in wrath.

"The God of thy fathers! Ha! Ha! The God of thy fathers hath no more
power than yonder driveling granny. By Rome hath the God of thy
fathers been smitten. To Rome belongs the maiden."

"Of all the spoil," the soldier who had discovered the beauty of Sara
said to his companion, "of all the spoil that hath been taken between
us, you have the larger portion. I first saw the maiden. She shall be
mine!"

"Nay, mine--first mine. Then shall she be yours."

"Lord God Almighty!" Jael cried. "Is it the name of my Sara your
polluted lips pass back and forth? Is it the virgin innocence of my
betrothed you would trade between you? Nay!"

And with a tremendous effort he freed himself and attacked the soldiers
with his naked hands. In the thick of the conflict, Sara, who had
seized the lamp, went out with it to search for the knife. In the dark
the struggle continued, but when Sara returned with the knife she found
Jael on the floor with blood running from a wound in the head. She
screamed, but no attention was paid her until her lover had been
securely enmeshed in the pile of fish nets and thrown upon the wooden
bench. Then the first soldier, wiping his brow and regaining his
helmet, said, "Now shall I take my own?" and he moved toward Sara.

Turning the point of the fishing knife against her breast she
whispered, "If thou takest me, thou takest me dead."

"'Twas I who first saw her," the second soldier protested, stepping up.

"Hold thy tongue," his companion exclaimed angrily, "else will I tie
thee in the fish net with the Jew. Art thou ready to go with me?"
turning toward Sara.

"Touch me not!" she commanded, drawing back.

The soldier laughed. "Touch thee not, when thou hast set my blood
running like fire? Touch thee not?" and he snatched the knife from her
hand and flung it into the pile of nets, as he said, "Flame doth become
thy cheek and fire thine eye! Come, nay--thou comest not? Then will
Jael hang on a cross. Then will Jael's flayed back draw many stinging
flies. Then will Jael's moans for water to cool his veins drained dry
of blood, make sweet music. Then will the smell of Jael's flesh draw
dogs with whetted fangs. Then--"

"Stop! Stay!" cried Sara. "Wilt thou spare Jael?"

"When thou art mine, then Jael shall be spared."

Sara turned to the bench. "Jael--Jael--Jael," she called, drawing her
long hair across her face.

"Tangle not thy fair tresses. Soft must they lie across my cheek when
thou art mine. Come," and the soldier lay hands upon her, but she
shrank away and throwing herself down beside the bench cried:

"Oh, Jael--Jael--save me!"

"Come here," the first soldier called to the second, "thy sword. A
live Roman is better than a dead Jew. Why wait we for the cross?"

Turning on her knees before the soldier, Sara caught the upraised sword
saying, "Nay--nay--spare him."

"Wilt thou come with me?"

"Yea--God of my fathers--God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, I come! But
ere I leave my home forever, let me have the blessing of my mother
Rachael. Stand thou beyond the threshold lest thy presence pollute the
air."

"Thou wouldst be blessed?" and the soldier laughed. "I await beyond
the threshold," and pushing the other soldier in front of him, he
stepped outside and stood where he could watch the pile of fish nets,
from which came the sound of heavy breathing.

"My blessing," Sara whispered, "_the bitter hemlock_!"

With tears streaming down her withered cheeks while she muttered and
cursed, the aged woman fastened Sara's torn bodice, binding the deadly
herb within easy hand's reach.




CHAPTER II

AT TIBERIAS

A Tyrian merchant-ship manned by three galleys of oarsmen, turned its
high and proudly arched red and gold neck into the harbor of Tiberias.

After the manner of that master builder his father, Herod the Great, in
building Caesarea, Herod Antipas had built Tiberias as a home of luxury
for himself and a fitting tribute to the ruling Caesar. The great
semicircular harbor reared its colossal pillars in a mighty curve
flanked far out in the sea by massive towers of gray stone. On a hill
rising gradually from beyond the harbor stood the royal palace of
Antipas, its polished marble gleaming through the tops of palms and the
lace-like green of shittah trees. Against this background of pillared
stone and shining marble and living green was the shipping in the
harbor. Hugged against the dock near by was a load of silver from
Tarshish. Near it was a ship from Caprus bearing copper. A cargo of
wine from Damascus and a cargo of linen from Egypt rocked side by side;
and a low boat piled with shells of dye fish had just come into port
from the far Peloponnesus, while everywhere ships of different size and
kind from those centers of commercial activity, Tyre and Sidon, were
changing sails and dipping oars.

In the prow of the Tyrian merchant-ship stood Zador Ben Amon, by race
and faith a Jew; by political alignment a Sadducee; by occupation an
importer of precious stones, owner of a number of shops in Jerusalem
where cunning work was done in gold and ivory, and a money-changer in
the Temple. Zador Ben Amon was returning from a prosperous trip that
had taken him as far as Rome, and having business with Herod Antipas
had sent word of his visit to Tiberias. It was with a smile he stroked
his perfumed beard as he caught sight of an equipage making its way to
the water-front. A flock of goats and rams being driven by Arabs
across the wharf, scattered, and to both right and left sailors and
slaves made way for the driver of Herod's horses.

Black as ravens were the horses of Herod Antipas, and shiny as satin.
Their manes and tails hung in closely curled, glossy ringlets and their
heavy harness was thickly studded with polished gold buttons. The
glossy black hair of Antipas was also curled, and the crown-like
head-gear he wore was thickly studded with jewels, as was also the
richly gold embroidered border of his robe. In his ears he wore rings
which swung down against the upper edge of his curled and greased beard.

The greeting between Antipas and the money-changer was cordial; and
before they went to the palace, Zador Ben Amon was driven about the
city to see the stadium, the new theatre, the streets and the
underground watercourses. And he was taken to the famous hot baths a
mile down the seaside, considered by Romans one of the great
curiosities of the world. It was in the feast room Zador made known
his business, and yet, not until some discussion of other matters had
taken place, beginning with a description of a Roman banquet at which
the Jew had been a guest.

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