The Fisher of Menby Nathaniel FitzGerald

Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, there you are.

Psalm 139:7-8

Theres a bronze plate that hangs against the wall of my cabin. Its not much for a mirror, but it will do. It sways this way and that with the waves on the single nail lazily keeping it in place as I ignore my long-tangled-haired, scraggly-bearded reflection in the corner of my eye as I wake from my cot and walk out the door onto the deck. A wet, salty breeze hits my face with the sound of waves and voices of my crewmen.

Good morning, Captain, they say to me.

Good morning, I mutter back.

And they tie the ropes to the mast or scrape the brush against the wood or lower the sails, each singing his own song to his own god. Among my crew are all sorts of menCanaanites, Egyptians, Assyrians, Chaldeans, Cushitesmen of pagan nations all; men of unclean lips and mouths, making unclean sacrifices to their unclean idols and eating the unclean flesh, all under my pious, disapproving eye. Not that I'm any better, but at least I'm a Hebrew

I turn up the stairs to my Edomite helmsman. Good morning, Captain, he says.

I greet him under my breath with less derision than the rest of the crew. How far are we from Joppa, Baruch?

He smiles as his dark eyes stayed fixed to the horizon. Should be by afternoon, sir, that is, if this western wind keeps up.

There is something about land that unsettles me. I lie. Very good, Baruch. These five months have taken a toll on everyone. Well dock for three days and then take back to the sea. Even three days seems too much for me to handle. I feel so much more at peace at sea than on land, even with the tempests and leviathansat least I know I can outrun and outmaneuver them. On landI just feel as if the entire world is chasing me, and I have nowhere to go. The sea is my only escape. And trust me; Ive been escaping successfully as long as long as I can remember.

Joppa appears on the edge of the world and grows until its harbor surrounds my ship, The Herald. The pagan crewmen lower the anchor and go ashore, their lusts and appetites raging. I stay on board, guarding myself against my land-bound pursuers.