Jesus.

Andrew couldn’t get that name out of his mind. Over and over it pushed its way to the top of his brain as he prepared to launch his newly finished boat on the waters of Kinneret. Again and again Stephen’s words replayed in his memory: “stories about happenings of that very sort” . . . “on the other side of the lake” . . . “cured of a fever” . . . “a man named Jesus” . . .

Nearby stood little Lyra with old Baal and his cart. She had two fingers in her mouth and a strand of brown hair across her nose. Her brown eyes were wide with wonder at the spectacle unfolding on the shore.

“They’re just pigs,” Andrew said with disgust, grunting as he untied the ropes and prepared to push the boat into the water.

Over the lake, small birds wheeled and chirped, their peaceful existence shattered for the moment by the squeals of the animals on the beach. Dogs barked. Boys shouted and waved sticks in an attempt to herd the pigs through the shallow water, up a plank, and onto a large boat anchored just offshore.

“Swine for Susita and Gergesa,” Andrew heard a high-pitched, nasal voice say. Glancing up, he saw Artemas standing a few feet away, broad and impressive in a black robe and white turban. He handed a papyrus scroll to the boat’s grizzled captain.

“Mmmph.” The captain unrolled the scroll and studied it. “Lucky for you that’s where I’m goin’.”

“I expect they’ll fetch a handsome price,” the pig farmer went on smilingly. “You’ll have your share, of course, when we settle accounts.”

“Nobody gets nothin’ unless those pigs get on the boat,” said the captain, spitting in the sand and eyeing the boys at their work.

“We will be needing a reliable agent on the northeast shore,” Artemas added with a wink. “There are lots more where these came from —all growing fat up on the plateau.” He jerked a thumb at the cliffs.

“Fat,” said the captain. “I can believe that.”

Suddenly Andrew felt himself being shoved from behind. He pitched forward and fell into the boat. Lyra squealed. The herding boys laughed.

“Nice boat, Bar Meshugga. Is it for your little sister?” Demas taunted.

Andrew scrambled to his feet. “Shut up, Demas!” he said.

Demas ignored him and said, “Too bad it’s not big enough to carry any of Uncle Artemas’s pigs up to the northeast shore. That’s where the real money is. But you poor people wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Andrew climbed out of the boat and turned away.

“How’s your old man these days?” Demas persisted with mock concern. “Finding his chains comfortable? Hmm?”

“Demas!” shouted Artemas. “Get back to work!”

“Yes, Uncle! See you later, Bar Meshugga —in a cave somewhere, probably, with crazy Jacob!” Demas and his companions moved off.

“Come on, Lyra,” said Andrew. “Let’s go help Mother.”

He took her by the hand and trudged up the beach to meet his mother and Stephen. They were headed down to the boat with armloads of yarn and cloth to sell on the other side of the lake. Andrew’s jaw tensed at the thought of Demas’s taunts. It was too much! His father —with iron shackles on his wrists, fetters on his ankles, chained to the bare rock. And all because of Artemas, he thought bitterly.

It was true. After Enkidu and Anath had run screaming into the village, babbling about the “madman on the cliff,” Artemas had lost no time bringing in the city authorities. Soldiers from Gadara had hunted Jacob down, bound him hand and foot, chained him to the cliffside, and left him to die.

“What was that all about?” asked Helena as she approached.

“Oh, just Demas,” said Andrew. “He thinks he’s so tough and smart! What he doesn’t know is that Father broke those stupid chains last night. And I sure won’t tell him.”

Stephen whistled. “Broke them again?”

Helena shook her head. Then she turned to Lyra. “Now you mind Stephen while Andrew and I are gone,” she said, laying her fabrics inside the boat and stooping to kiss the little girl’s head. “We’ll be spending the night with Aunt Hadassah and Uncle Yohanan in Capernaum.”

“Yes, Mother,” said Lyra. “I’ll make sure old Baal minds too.”

Stephen laughed. “You two had better be on your way,” he said.

Together Andrew and Stephen pushed the little boat into the shallows. Andrew watched as Stephen took his mother by the arm and helped her in. Then he, too, jumped aboard, grabbed the oars, and took his place on the rowing bench.

“I hope you sell every last bit of it,” said Stephen, touching Helena’s hand. Andrew didn’t like that. “May the gods —” The Greek hesitated and then winced, gingerly putting a finger to the scar above his eye. “May good luck go with you.”

“We could use it,” said Helena with a sigh. “There’s not much hope of selling anything on this side of the lake anymore.”

Stephen shoved them out into the deeper water. “Good-bye,” he called. “And Helena, think about what I’ve said.”

“I will,” answered Andrew’s mother.

Andrew stared back at Stephen, puzzling over the meaning of his words. Then he bent to the oars as Lyra waved from the beach.

The little craft bounced over the waves like a cork. Suddenly, in spite of everything —his father’s madness, his mother’s fears, the family’s growing burden of poverty —it was a glorious day. The sun shone like gold. The blue water sparkled. It was his boat’s maiden voyage! A dancing ship, he thought excitedly. She really does dance! And I built her myself! Father would be proud. But as he remembered the night in the cave, Andrew wasn’t sure what his father would have said about this trip. I’m not exactly alone, he thought. Mother is with me.

“Mother,” he wondered aloud as his oars beat the water and the waves slapped the sides of the boat, “why didn’t Father want me to go out alone in my boat?”

She regarded him gravely. “Did he tell you that?”

A dark cloud crossed Andrew’s face. “Yes. I never told you, but the first time I mentioned it . . . well, that was when he started to go crazy. So I’ve always kind of felt like this whole thing was my fault.”

Helena frowned. Her dark eyes grew a shade darker. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” she said.

“When your father was a boy in Magdala,” she continued in a moment, “he had a younger brother. Benjamin. They learned the craft of boatbuilding from their father. They were always together, working in the shop, fishing, sailing on the water. Jacob loved his brother. One day there came a storm. Benjamin was out on the lake alone in a small boat, like this one. He never came back.”

Andrew stared. Not once had he heard a word about this part of his father’s history.

“Your father cried out to his people’s God, to Yahweh,” his mother said. “He prayed that his life might be taken in exchange for Benjamin’s. But his brother didn’t return. So Jacob grew angry. And afraid. In time his fear and anger grew into bitterness. When he was old enough, he left his people and came to live on our side of the lake. When I met him, I grew to love him. He was quiet and gentle but strong, and he seemed to feel things very deeply. In time we were married. But I never understood why he felt so strongly about the gods and spirits. Or why he feared them so much and tried so hard to avoid angering them, until he told me about Benjamin.”

Jesus. The name whispered itself to Andrew once again. Was the God of Jesus the same as the God of the Jews? Stephen had heard such marvelous things about this man Jesus. And yet the God of the Jews had failed to answer his father’s prayers.

“Mother, what did Stephen say?” Andrew said again after he had been rowing in silence for what seemed a very long time.

“Stephen?” she said, looking up abruptly. Andrew thought he saw a hint of color in her cheeks.

“He asked you to think about something,” he reminded her.

She cast her eyes down. She seemed embarrassed to tell him. “Andrew,” she said, “Stephen is concerned about us. A woman alone with two children. He sees how we’re struggling.”

“So?”

“He has offered to marry me.”

“Marry you!”

“Yes.”

“But he can’t marry you!”

“Why not? You like Stephen, don’t you?”

“Of course I like Stephen! But he’s not my father! He can’t be!”

“Andrew . . .” she faltered. “It’s hard to live with so much shame. And what about the money? What about the bread? What about Lyra?”

Andrew scowled at her. “If you marry Stephen, what happens when Father gets well?”

She tried to smile but couldn’t. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Your father —” she began and then broke off. “I just don’t think —”

“But he will!” Andrew shouted. “He will get well!” It was the last word either of them spoke until they reached the other side of the lake.

Aunt Hadassah and Uncle Yohanan were waiting for them when they came to shore in Capernaum. Uncle Yohanan helped them unload the bolts of fabric and hanks of yarn and bring them to the marketplace. Aunt Hadassah arranged for Helena to spend the day selling her wares at the cloth merchants’ booth.

For an hour or two, Andrew worked with them, carrying the fabrics to the stand and spreading them out on the display racks. Then, when it seemed that his help was no longer needed, he quietly slipped away.

Stephen marry Mother? he thought as he ran through the marketplace. He couldn’t imagine such a thing. Andrew might as well let Lyra sail his boat!

He knew now what had to be done. He dashed past the covered merchants’ booths, dodging carts and donkeys, hopping over baskets of fruit and vegetables, avoiding collisions with buyers and sellers. He searched the face of every man, woman, and child he passed, looking for someone who might be able to answer the question that was burning in his heart and mind. At last he saw a group of fishermen coming up from the beach. Fishermen. From Capernaum. With a sudden burst of determination, he ran straight up to them.

“Please,” he said, grasping the sleeve of the first one, “do you know where I can find the man called Jesus?”

The big fisherman turned and looked down at Andrew. “Follow me,” he said and then strode off.