Plenty

The fleet moved into formation behind the flagship and set sail for Kition. As on the other ships, the passengers on the Phoenix claimed places to settle down on deck. Amaal sat in an out-of-the-way spot and looked at the various faces, curious to see if there was anyone aboard whom she recognized. Most she did not, but the old Nursemaid had somehow made it on board, and she was being attended by a nearby passenger. Otherwise, Amaal knew no one. She watched a man approach the captain and ask if there was any food on board. The captain looked around at the passengers cuddling their sacks and satchels.

“Open those bundles. I bet you’ll find some food.”

 Amaal watched the man approach the passengers one-by-one, and one-by-one, they shook their heads and looked away. When he came to her, Amaal showed him that she had nothing in her possession except for the flute case resting in her lap. A grinding hunger made her wish it were a big bowl of Manu’s lentil stew. The man returned to the captain. “The passengers are unwilling,” he said.

“Very well, then,” the captain said plainly. “They’ll stay hungry.”

Finally, a tall, thin man stepped forward. He wore a simple woven sun hat and held a burlap sack like a baby in his arms. He laid the sack gently down on the deck, cleared his throat, and said, “These walnuts come from my family’s orchard. For generations, we supplied the royal house of Tyre with the very best walnuts. But because of a silly misunderstanding with the palace, I was forced to leave. I feared for my life.”

He said nothing more about it. He didn’t have to. They all saw the tear trailing down his cheek and understood what it meant to be on the bad side of a tyrant king, whatever the reason, or for no reason at all. The walnut farmer set his hand on the sack and invoked, “a blessing for my ancestors and for the land that I will almost certainly never see again.”

The passengers gave thanks and blessings. Amaal looked at the bag of walnuts and tried to guess how many were inside. By her estimation, there might have been enough to distribute one walnut to each passenger on the Phoenix. Still, they were a generous offer. More importantly, the walnut farmer’s example awoke a spirit of giving in others, including a man who landed a good-sized hunk of cold, cooked lamb wrapped in palm leaves on the deck with a thump and bellowed a prayer, “That we should never know hunger!”

Seeing that two had made donations, others finally admitted that well, yes, now that you mention it, they might have grabbed a morsel on the way out the door. Food appeared along with prayers. Dried sultanas and apricots, “to a future without regret.” A string of dried sardines, “that my grandfather be well cared for as I cannot be there to look after him myself.” Grapes, first one cluster then two, three, six, with prayers for vineyards in the new homeland. A man came forward with a dish of falafel pucks, a fistful of kebab skewers wrapped in grape leaves, and tall stack of flat bread. “Left over from the royal wedding,” he said sadly. His donation released a further wave of leftovers, for who would want to eat all that flat bread without olives, tabbouleh and baba ghanoush? Finally, a woman set down the last of the offerings: a satchel of oranges, enough to go around so long as no one took a whole one for himself.

The passengers stood back. Here they had thought they’d be nibbling on a few pieces of dried fruit just to get by, when, judging by the banquet spread before them, there would be plenty left over. Someone made a sacrificial offering and libation, and then, at the captain’s signal, everyone dug in. It was a meal they would never forget. Some, like Amaal, had contributed nothing, but everyone insisted all should eat, so they joined in the feast. Only the old Nursemaid refused to partake. She sat in her nest of blankets and bales. A sailor knelt next to her and offered her a piece of bread dipped in labneh, saying, “Grandmother, you must eat something,” but the old crone just made a sour face and turned away.             The captain accepted a small chunk of lamb which he tucked into his cheek and sucked slowly as a way to count the hours to Kition and the distance traveled from Tyre.

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