Casting About

We were casting our nets that day when he passed by and said, “Follow me.” Just like that. “Follow me.” There was no, “Hello, how’s it going?”, or “How’s business?”, or “Is the fishing good?”; just, “Follow me.” My brother looked at me and said, “Why not. The fishing’s lousy. We’re not making money here, and, if we aren’t going to make money, we might as well not make money doing something that may be interesting.” So, we pulled in the net—it was empty. We stretched it on the rack to dry, and then we followed.

********

It was one of those days when the sun was shining; the breeze was pleasant; the sound of the waves was comforting; and the net we were mending was getting stiff as we worked. “Wet the net,” my father scolded. “It gets too stiff if you don’t dampen it a little ever once in a while.”

“Dad, I know,” I replied resentfully. “How many years have I been doing this now? Fourteen years, if you will recall. You started me when I was four, saying, ‘You have good fingers. Come down to the boat, and help your old man.’” I reached into the water alongside the boat and splashed some water on the area I was mending.

“Not so much!” Zebedee cried. “We can’t roll the nets when they are wet; they’ll mold. With the rates we pay the emperor for our licenses, we can’t afford molding nets. The fish can smell that, and they won’t go near the nets then. Jimmy, you’ve got to be more careful.”

“I’ve got it under control, Dad,” I said with rising ire. “I have at least fifteen more minutes of work here. With the sun and the breeze, the net will be fine. Watch John or one of the others who depend on you.”

“Follow me,” he said. And all of a sudden, I thought, “The heck with the emperor and his licenses! The heck with the work, and the nagging, and the back-breaking lifting. The heck with the stink, and the cuts, and the knots that slip, and the burn of the sun, and the callouses and the gnarled fingers before my time, and the infections, and the torn nails.” “John, what do you say? He’s talking to both of us.”

He looked at us again and said, “These others have come. Follow me, and the work of netting fish will become the work of netting people. Follow me.”

Just then, a pigeon, or maybe a seagull, flew over and marked me. The splatter sprayed the net, and I looked up to see the offender. Shaking my fist at heaven, I said, “That’s it! Dad, I’m done. You’ve got these others. Let them depend on you. You’ve got the boat. You’ve got the licenses and the emperor’s favor. It’s all in your name. What have I got? What you are willing to give, and it’s not enough. I’m not a boy anymore to be chastened when you are frustrated with business. I’m out of here. John, let’s go.”

Zebedee looked at his boys as they left. “Such a temper that one has—like a tempest in a chowder pot—lots of steam and a voice like thunder. If he weren’t my boy, I’d fire him, but what can I do? Zebedee pauses. “He’ll be back when he calms down. In the meantime, boys, let’s finish the nets and go home.”