the campfire
Each morning Jonathan met with the full board of priests to discuss the finer points of his mission. It was wisely agreed that they should not let out what he was up to or announce the ‘miracle’ until after the book was finished and presented in the territorial capitol. In this way they could see if it was well received and not be made a laughingstock of the world if it wasn’t, something all small places dreaded.
He had to constantly reassure the priests that all the danger and blame would be his own. But if his project met with success, they would be sure to share in the praise and also the profits. He presented his ideas in only the most modest and vague terms. But the practical-minded priests quickly seized on his hints and fell into the most mercenary talk about hundreds of pilgrims passing through their town. Jonathan would usually slip away at these times and leave his colleagues counting their imaginary prospects.
The morning of the departure arrived and a special service was held so that the whole town could send them off. It was a tedious procession. Jonathan led with his staff in hand, at the head of a string of six burros. Three of his devotees followed on each side, helping guide the beasts, along with the smaller animals in tow. Beast and man were loaded down and they reached the edge of town already tired, from so much waving farewell.
Even so, it had been obvious a few days earlier that they couldn’t carry all the supplies they’d need in one trip. So they decided to send back two of the young men with the pack animals some ten days hence. From these two loads they would have enough to build a cabin and start a farm and begin the shrine that was to be the talk of all the world.
They set out on the same north-east course that Jonathan had followed before. He kept the two lads he intended for the return trip close to his side and marked every few hundred yards of their course with three stones piled one on another, so that they couldn’t possibly get lost.
They seemed like pleasant lads as they chatted and walked. They were probably in their late teens. Jonathan remarked to himself with surprise how full he was of things to teach. Pretty soon he called his followers to his side and asked them what names they went by among their friends.
The tallest of the boys, a skinny lad, said that he went by the name of ‘Sprint’.
Then his shorter companion, who had a wrestler's build, reluctantly offered in that he was sometimes called ‘Nose’.
"What sorts of names are these?" asked Jonathan.
"All we have" said Nose.
"What are your parents' names," continued Jonathan, "the old ones, that also belong to you?"
Sprint said that he called his father, ‘father’ and knew of no other name. But Nose teasingly added that Sprint's father went by the name of ‘Gruff’ in his neighborhood.
"Well, we can fix this matter right now," said Jonathan. "My own name is Jonathan, and you may call me that at all times. You, Nose, shall from now on shall be called 'Paul,' and Sprint, you shall be 'Peter’. Remember it."
Then he called upon the rest of his group, and after hearing ‘Cherry’ and ‘Feather’ desisted in even asking.
He named his first-chosen girl ‘Mary’ and the other two ‘Sarah’ and ‘Eve’. To the remaining young man, the scribe, he gave the name ‘Simon’. They continued on their march.
Towards noon Jonathan called his troop to a halt, to eat lunch at the top of a hill. From this height they could see the land rolling away in all directions, out of sight of the sea. When Jonathan noticed his wards all gawking at the vistas around them, he realized that they’d never been two miles outside their own town limits before. Now the whole world was in view. When he sat down to eat they insisted on bringing him his food and drink and then seated themselves around him, like so many mute disciples, waiting for him to speak.
It would be hard for anyone not to be secretly pleased by such attention. But Jonathan was no friend to formality. The Church had too much of it. "From now on you must eat as I do," he said. "I will be your teacher, but in all else we must be equal."
Simon was about to speak but stopped himself. Jonathan felt a strong urge to change the subject.
"Consider this," he went on. "Someday this little path we tread through these hills might be a busy highway, crowded with pilgrims. If that happens you’ll remember that you were the first to travel it. Or you might, like me, go to the ends of the earth on some great mission to enlighten mankind. I’ll teach you all I know, if you’ll listen, and you’ll have no regrets that you followed me."
They proceeded the rest of that afternoon all silent, either full of thought or weary of the walk. That evening they reached a valley with a meager pasture for the animals. They pitched three tents while Jonathan built a fire. After the meal Jonathan reclined against a bundle of supplies and told them stories of his travels, while they sat and stared at the dancing flames.
After he sent them to bed he lay there awhile longer, thinking of the days to come and how he might employ these innocents. He knew he could keep them busy. A solid shelter would have to be constructed and a farm laid out. This would take time, so he decided he would arrange a schedule so that he had a few hours each morning to work on his book. And in order to do this without disturbance he resolved to keep his own cabin off limits to the others. It would take time to gain their trust and minds, and introduce them to his own real purposes and history.
The next morning they rose cheerfully and broke camp as quickly as Jonathan could have done it alone. Just as they were about to set out Simon asked Jonathan if he had forgotten the morning service. Jonathan excused himself for this slip and led them in one long prayer and a song.
"When we’re traveling," he said, "this is all we need to do. But each of you can pray along the way as much as you see fit. After we build our village and our shrine you can have a daily service. I’ll help you in this, but you must remember, good work is good prayer."
They started off again, marking the path and making good time. Jonathan knew the countryside from the time before and guessed that if they pushed on they could reach the place by nightfall. He wanted to arrive there in the dark so that he could park his troop in the valley and then sneak off to his cabin to clean up the exterior of the place enough to make it presentable to them the next day.
He’d already stacked most of his books back in the cellar before he left, to protect them from rain. But there were probably a few stray ones and other odd things lying right inside the door. He wanted to make sure his papers were out of sight, along with the other items on his desk. He could hide everything downstairs and then cover the hatch with a mat and put some cloth over his windows. This would insure his privacy when he wanted it.
All this came to pass just as he’d planned. They reached the hidden valley just after the sun had set and while they unloaded the animals and set up their camp, Jonathan took leave and found his home just as he’d left it. In a half-hour he was done cleaning up. As he was about to head back down the hill he decided to take two cans of beans with him, tearing off the faded red and yellow labels so as not to shock anyone. When he returned he set the shiny cans on a flat rock right next to the fire and then went about unpacking a few things. He was curious to see who’d be the first to question him about the strange objects.
When they sat down around the campfire to eat, Peter was the one to speak up, but not until after a minute of obvious staring.
"May I look at this," he asked.
Jonathan leaned forward and tossed him one of the cans. Then he took up his knife and began to cut open the other can, explaining, "this is a can of beans, which we’ll cook and eat." Then, after a thought, he added, "brown beans."
When they showed no signs of being shocked he realized that they didn’t know what he’d said. He passed the can around for all to see and opened the other and placed them near the flames. His followers still didn’t seem the least bit shocked, only curious, and Jonathan took this as a very good omen. Any Churchman who had lived the revolution would have condemned these beans to immediate perdition.
Only Simon, with his more formal education, dared to ask, "but are we not told that anything not completely white must never pass our lips?"
"There was a time," replied Jonathan, "when that law didn’t exist and these beans come from that era. But they are still good, as you shall see. To satisfy the law we’ll add a little white paint. It’ll help cool them. And remember, they were found at this holy place and may impart a holiness to us."
When the hot beans were superficially whitened and then dished up in equal portions, Jonathan helped himself to the first hearty spoonful with evident delight. After the first timid tastes his disciples all agreed that the strange food was very good, no doubt for its unfamiliar sweetness. Jonathan was pleased with this agreement, as if he’d just won a battle.
He had, indeed, made one important discovery. Up to now he had no idea of how the young were indoctrinated by the Church. He feared they might be strongly prejudiced against everything old. But it seemed that Church educators had opted for the far easier course of never mentioning the things outside their system, thinking that total ignorance of the old world was as good as it’s destruction. But here they made a gross miscalculation, he thought, as he watched these youths eagerly scooping the beans into their mouths.
"Those old fools could burn and bury an entire civilization and erase the map and paint it white and deny it was ever there. But give these kids a taste of sugar and we'll see who'll be burning things next, for a change."
These reflections put Jonathan into a cheerful and expansive mood. He watched Peter holding up one empty can to the firelight, admiring its ridges.
"These cans," Jonathan broke in, "used to be very common, as our forefathers knew the art of preserving foods for many years if need be."
"Why don't we practice such arts?" asked Peter.
"Because there’s no need," Jonathan replied. "Food is grown more wisely than it was before. There used to be many more people and the food had to be carried in large ships and vehicles from one end of the earth to the other."
"Yes," Mary chimed in, "and then the people sickened and the world began anew."
This, Jonathan surmised, was probably the full encyclopedia of the girl's historical knowledge. Then he added with a sigh, "Yes, they made mistakes and paid a heavy price for it in death. I’ll tell you their long story from time to time so that you and your own children don't fall into the same errors as they did."
These young people were happy to hear this. They’d been brought up in a strange limbo, and told how things were, but never told why. Even the simplest of them would sometimes ask a question that would anger the elders, only to receive the blunt reply that all such thoughts were unholy and dangerous. But they were secretly disturbed by such responses and made up many fantastic tales which they whispered into each other's ears about a mysterious era that had to exist.
Now they were amazed to find in front of them an old man, apparently ready and willing to answer every question, to bridge the gap that puzzled them. It was as if an island which they had long noticed in the distance was now accessible, the water between covered over one cold morning with a dazzling ice. It was, no doubt, a thing to approach carefully, to probe and to tempt many times before venturing on, but the bridge was there.
They made small talk for another hour or so, while Jonathan laid back and stared into space, devising plans for the following days. He sat up abruptly from this revery and told them they’d better get some rest, with much to do the next day. They joined in a brief prayer and then crept off to their tents, while Jonathan fell asleep where he was, by the fire, after the long day of walking.
