Yashar had expected to miss the vineyard terribly but, from his first moment at Shunem, he had not. Nurit and Sara cried out for joy the morning he arrived at their gate, greeting him as a brother and a son. They ran to him, laughing at first, then held him so closely he could smell nothing but their clean hair and bitter tears.
Yashar shed tears too.
Nurit’s sons, chubby boys with wild curls by then, hugged his legs then followed Juttah from place to place in the garden, pulling his tail and poking his ears.
Bidkar visited Shunem every afternoon. He helped Yashar settle in the first day, moving tools and seed from the mud hut to clear a space for sleep. After years of what clearly had become a courtship, Sara still hesitated to refer to Bidkar by name. “Without our captain’s help this season,” she told Yashar, “I do not know how we could have survived.”
Yashar felt shame for not coming to help Zach’s family sooner but no one seemed to blame him. One pattern soon replaced another. Though the property in Shunem lay exposed to sun and wind, evenings around the fire in the flats were as bright and cheery as ever. All was well but for the burden of Zach’s poor health. No one knew what do for him. He had been laid up for over a year with a high temperature, aching limbs and fatigue. Nurit left her work often each day to rub his withering arms and legs with oil and see that he stayed warm.
While Zach shivered with what seemed like unending fever, Yashar sat with him every evening. Most often they discussed grapes and wine but, one night, Zach discovered that Yashar had never learned to read or write. “I recognize several characters,” Yashar told him, embarrassed. “I’ve mastered eastern counting and have no trouble deciphering signs.”
That was not enough. Both Zach and the captain were skilled at writing. Sara and Nurit could compose notes, make lists and read notices. At Zach’s insistence, Nurit questioned Yashar and found he knew even less than he had suggested. So, as an unfair condition of Zach’s continued sharing, Yashar was forced to study the southern alphabet, numbering, nouns and verbs. He worked daily with Nurit and was soon able to write short lists and read simple sentences.
One evening, after talk of both grapes and grammar, Bidkar brought news from Samaria concerning King Ahaziah, who had fallen through a lattice, severely broken his leg and was thought to be near death. “That’s the official story,” the captain said, “but a tale spreads that Jezebel, with evil powers, injured him.”
Zach sat up and announced in a powerful voice, “The prophet has been silent too long.”
Nurit and Sara had been bedding the boys. “Are you well, sir?” Nurit asked.
Zach nodded and remained upright.
“Who has been silent?”
“Elijah.”
“Son, are you saying Elijah will appear?” Sara asked.
“He will,” Zach said, “and soon.”
Yashar checked Zach’s forehead. “His fever is no worse,” he said. “He is strong for the moment and seems truly inspired by God.” Yashar stepped to the cottage door and looked outside. There was nothing to see. “So, Elijah lives,” he sighed. “It’s been five years.”
When Nurit and Sara seemed concerned, Yashar knew their thoughts. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Elijah has said more than once that I do not need him. I agree. If and when I see my precious friend again I will be fine.”
They sat in silence, remembering Elijah’s last visit after Naboth’s stoning.
“Surely the prophet is a lonely man,” Nurit sighed. “What does he do between the rare episodes when God calls upon him?”
Zach answered, still caught up in the Spirit, “He does all that God wills, and joyfully.”
Yashar and Nurit’s eyes met. Like her, Yashar could not imagine such strong character.
*
Later that evening, the captain rose to leave Shunem much earlier than usual. “I must meet Ahaziah early tomorrow in Samaria,” he said. “I’m the last man to have spoken to his father before he died. It may have to do with that.”
“Go, then,” Sara answered angrily, “kiss the ring of another king.”
Bidkar seemed pleased by her irritation. “Are you concerned for my safety, Sara?”
Sara denied it and, when the captain tried to take her hand, she left the campfire for the cottage.
“Give her time,” Nurit whispered. “She still misses poor Naboth, terribly.”
The captain seemed embarrassed.
“You are a fine and patient man, sir,” Zach said. “As my mother has admitted, we would not have survived the winter without your constant help. If my father could speak he would thank you for both your charity and kindness toward my mother.”
Sara refused to answer when Bidkar called out, goodbye, but, after he rode away, she rejoined her family and cried for quite a while.
*
When Bidkar arrived at Samaria, a servant led him to Ahaziah’s sick bed in the shadows of the palace foyer not far from the lattice through which the king had fallen. “Captain,” Ahaziah said, “you fought beside my father the day he died at Ramoth-gilead, not so?”
“It is well-known, O king,” Bidkar answered.
“Because of the prophet, Micaiah’s mouthings,” Ahaziah said, “Ahab feared for his life even before he crossed the Jordan. As you know, Captain, my father was never able to free himself from the old god. Heeding Micaiah’s warnings, clinging to superstition, he charged you to protect him during the battle, yet you failed.”
“I did, O king,” Bidkar said, “and I hoped to die for months afterward.”
Ahaziah managed a little smile.
“Whether you smile, O king, because you are pleased by my remorse or because you plan to take revenge, I do not know,” Bidkar said. “Intending no offense, sir, I also do not care. My shame is genuine. We agree that Ahab’s death is on me. Punish or pity me as you please.”
“I’ve not summoned you to do either,” Ahaziah said. He snapped his fingers, servants ran up and tried to rotate him into a more comfortable position while he cursed them, in extreme pain. “I am a pitiful sight,” he said when they had finished. “You were wise to look away.” He fell back upon a cushion and breathed heavily. “Tell me, Captain, is it yet common knowledge that my own mother, with her magic, did all this to me?”
“No, O king,” Bidkar lied.
“No matter, listen carefully,” Ahaziah said. “I dispatched messengers days ago with instructions to inquire of Beelzebub, god of Ekron, shall I recover of this calamity? Captain, do you know what happened to those men?”
“I do not.”
“A stranger stopped them. And this stranger somehow knew my business. He asked my men, and I quote, Is there no God in Israel that you must enquire of Beelzebub, the god of Ekron? Then the same man made an awful prediction.”
“He was surely a prophet,” Bidkar said.
“Of the old god, yes.”
“Micaiah is still in prison. Who might he be?”
“I know your leanings, Captain,” Ahaziah said. “Don’t play coy. My guess, you very well know who.” Bidkar said nothing. “More clues, then, Captain? My men ran home instead of doing as I charged and described an immensely hairy fellow girt about with a wide belt.”
“Elijah.”
“Yes, stinking Elijah,” Ahaziah said. “Who else but that constant plague upon this line?”
“Regarding that prophet, O king, surely your father told you that after Carmel…”
“Oh, yes, I know the cycle,” Ahaziah interrupted, “threats, drought, rain… I was a young man, marveling in Jezreel when my father approached the gates in that first storm, Elijah ahead of him. I also know about Elijah’s sniveling over that dead little vintner in Jezreel.”
“The sin of that murder, sir, brought your father to his knees.”
“I know that also. What is your point?”
“Why, Elijah’s every word come’s true.”
“Not every,” Ahaziah shouted. “He was utterly wrong about the most important matter. None of the threats he vomited against my mother has borne out.”
Bidkar paused to recall the prophet’s words then began, “The dogs…”
“… shall eat Jezebel by the wall of Jezreel,” Ahaziah finished for him. “You have no idea, soldier, how deeply, since my accident, I have wished that that had been true.”
“It’s been years,” Bidkar shrugged. “I don’t know why she has been spared.”
“Because your god and Elijah have met their match!” the king shouted. “Think, man, with an open mind. Does Elijah bend the very light about him? Can he read entrails and cast spells?” Ahaziah frowned at his fractured leg. “Could your prophet have done such awful violence to me by only wriggling a finger? No. I suspect that Baal himself is no more powerful than my mother.”
Bidkar looked nervously over his shoulder.
“Do not worry, Captain,” Ahaziah said. “We are safe. The witch of Samaria sits at her favorite window in the big house, yonder…” He stopped to point through a window toward the residence his father had built for the princess from Tyre. “…plotting other people’s misery, now that she’s finished me.”
“O king, I must confess to you,” Bidkar said. “I’ve grown tired of these shadows, your miserable wound and the evil aura of this place. Please, sir, tell me how I may serve you or send me back to my post in Jezreel.”
“Your reputation as a blunt man is well earned, Captain,” Ahaziah said. “To my point, then, I want him here today, standing at attention.”
“You mean, Elijah?”
“Have you been listening, Captain?” Ahaziah asked. “I know you have befriended the boy who served him. Certainly the lad, if not you, knows where he is hiding.”
Bidkar tried not to smile.
“You find this amusing?”
“You flatter me, O king,” Bidkar said. “I know nothing of Elijah’s whereabouts, likewise, my friend, Yashar. The prophet cannot be found unless God wishes it. And if God wished it, then even you, O king, would not be able to avoid facing him.”
“There are too many gods in Israel as it is,” Ahaziah said, “but I must enquire of Elijah.”
“I suggest,” Bidkar said, “that you send one lone man into the nearby hills, in any direction he chooses. If he is meant to, he will surely find Elijah.”
“No,” Ahaziah said, “I will send a captain and fifty in force.”
“An army or a child, as you please, sir,” Bidkar said, “the result will be no different.”
“Leave me,” Ahaziah muttered, “I grow weary of your faith.”
“Home, then, sir, to Jezreel?” Bidkar asked.
“Report to the garrison here and remain until I say otherwise,” Ahaziah said. “Visit your friend, Micaiah, if he’ll speak with you. It was you, I recall, who rushed him to Samaria to spit bile in Ahab’s face. He nearly ruined our alliance with Judah that day.”
Something moved Bidkar to speak boldly. “Had those kings only heeded the prophet, O king, Ahab would have lived.”
“Strong talk, Captain,” Ahaziah said. “I should punish you for your cheek but, in truth, I’ve lost interest in most every other matter now that I lie here, half-dead. But, mind you, Baal reigns in Israel. Spouting so about your prophets and your god could cost you your life. My allowing it to pass, this once, in no way grants you license to repeat your slanders. And may your god help you if my mother hears such stuff spew from your mouth.”
“I have not seen Micaiah in over two years,” the captain said.
“Visit him in his cell, then,” Ahaziah muttered, “and remember my warning.”