The Fisherman's Wife

It is midmorning when Peter comes home. Mother, Leah, and I are putting away clothes that had dried quickly in the sun. Peter drops his fishing gear inside the door.

“Welcome home, Peter,” I say. He saunters over to me and plants a kiss on my cheek. He smells of sun and fresh air tinged with sweat. Taking me by the hand, he says earnestly, “I need to talk to you, Miriam-bird. Come walk with me.” Leaving Mother and Leah to finish folding the laundry, I go outside with Peter, wondering what is so important that it can’t wait.

“Let’s sit under those palm trees,” Peter suggests. As we near them, he says, “Jesus is back in town. He’s visiting Tobiah right now.”

“Oh, I don’t mind if he stays with us, Peter. What’s one more mouth to feed?”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that. Jesus will be with us for dinner today. It seems he had a terrible experience in his hometown.”

“That’s not surprising. Nazareth doesn’t have a good reputation. What happened?”

We settle ourselves on the soft grass in the shade of the palm trees, frightening off a crested hoopoe that was sunning himself with his wings outspread.

“Yesterday two men from Cana passing through Capernaum told Tobiah the story. They had been visiting in Nazareth. As Jesus has been doing in other towns, in Nazareth he taught in the synagogue. After he read from Isaiah, he spoke so eloquently that everyone was amazed. His relatives and neighbors couldn’t fathom how this man they knew as Joseph’s son, the carpenter, could have such a golden tongue. But then Jesus did something that wasn’t very smart. He remarked that the townspeople probably wanted him to perform cures the way he has done here in Capernaum. He so much as said that he wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, but openly stating that was like throwing a stone into a bees’ nest. It enraged the Nazarenes. You’d think that Jesus had cursed God. As one body, the people stood, rushed at him, and drove him out of the synagogue. Yelling, the mob chased him to a cliff and intended to throw him off, but right when he was precariously near the brink, he slipped away.”

“How could he vanish when everyone was focused on him?”

“I don’t know how he did it, but nothing Jesus does surprises me anymore. The bewildered Nazarenes couldn’t understand how their prey had foiled them either. They looked at one another utterly stupefied. Unfortunately Mary, the mother of Jesus, was there and observed the whole fiasco.”

“Oh, my! She must have been frightened to death. From now on how can she stand to live side by side with people who tried to kill her son? Imagine what it will be like for her to meet the other women at the well or in the market and to go to celebrations in town, if she’s even invited. She should move here to Capernaum. And Peter, as far as I’m concerned, Jesus can stay with us as long as he wants. You didn’t have to call me away from my work to tell me this.”

Peter doesn’t say anything for a while. A little black ant zigzags its way up the sleeve of his robe. Peter flicks it off with his forefinger and thumb.

“There’s something else,” Peter says slowly. He clears his throat and shifts his position so that he is facing me and looking into my eyes. Suddenly I’m filled with apprehension. “As Andrew and I were casting our net into the sea this morning, we heard our names. We looked up and there was Jesus standing on the shore. Beckoning to us, he called out, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think he wants us to become his disciples and catch other people and bring them to him. Andrew and I pulled up our net, rowed to shore, dropped anchor, and jumped into the water. Then we started walking along the beach with Jesus, his arm around my shoulder. Shortly we came to James and John, who were sitting in their boat with Zebedee and the hired men, mending the tears in the strands of their nets. Jesus also called the brothers to follow him. After a few words to Zebedee, James and John joined us, and we walked back here to Capernaum. “I’ve heard Jesus and have seen him in action enough to know that he is indeed greater than John the Baptist. There’s something about him that draws me to him powerfully. I’m certain that I will not be happy unless I follow him.” “Follow him? Do you mean live by what he teaches or literally to go where he goes?” “Both.” This alarming news leaves me totally stunned. I can only stare at Peter in silence for a while. I’m sure my face is as puckered as if I were sucking a lemon. Then I ask tightly, “For how long do you plan to journey with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“And what about me? While you’re gallivanting all over the country with the prophet, I’m here taking care of Mother and our children by myself! Is that fair?” I say acidly and hear my voice rising. “I might as well be a widow.”

“Now dear, I love you more than anything and will miss you every day, but I must do this. Please try to understand,” Peter pleads. Apparently his mind is made up. He runs his hand up and down my arm to soothe me. I shake him off.

“It’s a funny kind of love that chooses to leave a wife and family and go live with a stranger.”

“James and John will be with me.”

“That’s just fine, “I retort bitterly. “So Joanna will be deserted too, and with a new baby. The hot sun must have made you four men crazy.”

I jump up and stomp off in the direction of my old familiar tree, my refuge, tears stinging my eyes. Peter is casting me off as casually as he dispatched the ant.

“Miriam-bird,” Peter calls after me hoarsely, “I’m sorry.” But he doesn’t follow me.

After a while, when I am composed, I return to the house and start preparing the evening meal. Thankfully neither Mother nor Leah comments on my red nose or the vigorous way I attack the vegetables and clatter the pots and plates.