Other than that, nothing seems to change in his harsh life.
At the port of Capernaum, in this small inland lake, merchant ships will never arrive from distant lands, through which Simon—who has never been able to leave the surrounding areas—would like to travel.
Perhaps the army . . . The Romans continue recruiting soldiers for expeditions of conquest in remote regions. Who knows if thanks to Rome he could achieve a bit of glory, and his name would remain immortalized forever in the history of the world. But now that he is married, that sounds too unreal, and those chimeras soon vanish from his mind, erased like footprints in the sand, washed away by the incessant breaking of the waves at his feet.
His chest, weathered by the water and the sun, slowly rises in a nostalgic sigh and slowly sinks back down, defeated and helpless, such torrent of contained energy, that he does not find—and fears never finding—a channel whereby it would be worthwhile overflowing.
Sitting on the sand, Simon continues repairing the nets, while the sun slides over his tanned skin and sketches elusive shapes upon the rhythmic movement of his robust arms. His thoughts wander without rhyme or reason, crashing against the invisible prison walls of his reality: doomed to be a fisherman his entire life, depending everyday on a basket of fish. His future is discerned at the same time so predictable and uncertain like the waves upon which he risks his life every night to take his measly sustenance from the sea.3
But that is how the few inhabitants of that fishing town live: He, his brother, his parents, Zebedee and his children, his friends . . . Simon sometimes speaks to them about the sharp sting of his discontent and of his mad desire for improvement. His friends support him, but the burden of work itself keeps them from supporting his dreams, and they allow themselves to be led by the routine without thinking about anything other than daily sustenance, which they must at any cost go out in search of over the waves of this modest lake.
That same night the boats were already fishing when the moon appeared, in an exiguous crescent that hardly made it possible to view the silhouettes of the ships on the waves. Simon had waited for the right moment to cast the net. Upon the agreed sign, in silence, he went about as usual: releasing the mooring and slowly lowering, without noise, the weights from the side of the ship concealed by the shadows.
From the other boats arrived the stifled murmur of the same maneuver, as every night. Then came the more sensitive work of quickly hoisting the netting before the fish could escape. The catch depended in large part on the speed and skill of such maneuver. Simon was a skillful fisherman who knew his trade better than did most.
When he sensed the sign of apparent tugs, he raised the net in one sudden stroke. But it was empty. He had to try again, once again lowering the netting over the side of the boat. Having failed, the fisherman repeated this fruitless operation several times throughout the night.
Simon was exhausted. The joints in his arms were hurting, and that backache was striking again. The bitter taste of defeat burned his parched lips.
The cool wind of daybreak made his perspiring body quiver, exposing tiredness and the anger of failure. In a last attempt, he pulled from the rigs. This time, they offered resistance. His boggling eyes opened even wider to see the silvery reflections of the desired catch emerging to the surface. But a muted scrape breached the net, and it turned up empty and torn, perhaps ripped apart by the mast of an old sunken ship.
The catch, until now fruitless, had now become impossible.
The exiguous moon had disappeared. Shrouded by darkness, Simon dropped himself onto the wet nets, and could not hold back his tears of anger. He swore to himself that, if he could, he would leave the fishing.
It was beginning to get light and at the glare of dawn, the fishermen returned, silent and glum, to the dock.
Along with his brother and his friends, he had stayed to repair the nets, attempting to delay the terrible moment of returning home with empty baskets, without fish and with no enthusiasm whatsoever.
And it was then when the Teacher arrived.
Strangers usually did not arrive too early to that beach, but Andrew and John recognized Him on the spot and ran to meet Him. Simon, inhibited, kept looking at that unique rabbi who, some days ago, had dared to kid him about his name . . .
Wow, you’re name is Simon Bar Jonah —He had told him. That of being an “obedient son of the dove” sounds good or that of “faithful follower of Jesus.” I hope that you are less of a pessimist that the old prophet . . . I see you as tough rather than meek. It would suit you better to be named Kepa,4 let’s say, Peter: What do you think about Beach Pebble?
The fisherman, disconcerted, did not know what to respond. Because in reality that is how he saw himself, like a beach pebble, worn by routine, unable to move from the shore on his own. His brother later explained to him that the new Teacher felt emboldened to change names because He was determined to transform lives.5
Intrigued by the charm of the mysterious rabbi, He could not resist when the rabbi asked to borrow his boat that same morning.
What does that man have that makes Him so irresistible, so convincing? His demeanor, His resolve, that air of knowing what He wants, an I don’t know what in the glance . . . That is how he would like to be. Yes, he wanted to be like Him, with that moving personality.
And while pondering it, he notices that his heart beats stronger. That Teacher who had already transformed the life of his brother was now starting to disrupt him as well.
The Teacher has finally finished speaking with the people, and proceeds with resolve along the shore. Andrew and his friends accompany Him. In the glorious joy of the morning, His white tunic flutters in the wind, like the sail of a ship without mooring.
With a wandering gaze, as if scanning the horizon, the Teacher abruptly stops, and advances toward Simon. The latter, embarrassed about having left his work to catch a glimpse of the visitor, lowers his head and picks up the net in an astonished manner, acting like trying to repair it.
A strange emotion overwhelms him to the point of not feeling completely in control of his actions. He can’t understand why the arrival of the Teacher has managed to confound him to this point. From the first time he saw Jesus, his image does not stop recurring in his dreams, and each one of His phrases penetrates his heart and makes it beat. As His words seem to have a life of their own6 and to fuel his dreams.
Determined, the Teacher approaches the fisherman.
“There you have your boat, Peter (The Teacher insists on calling him by that name). I appreciate your having lent it to me.”
And immediately afterward, he seeks to make eye contact and tells him with a smile, involving his partners in the plan:
“I see that fishing turned out bad. Why don’t you gather the nets and go back out to deep sea? Try and cast them again, but from the right side.”7
In other circumstances, Simon would have said that trying to fish at such an odd hour was madness, but he refrains this time, and replies, shyly:
“Teacher, after toiling all night we have not caught anything. But if you say so, I will cast the net in your name.”
Simon warily looks around, hoping that none of his fellow fishermen see him, and he feels somewhat ridiculous going back to fish in broad daylight. But his brother and his friends enthusiastically lead the way. Perhaps the unconscious desire to escape the magnetism of the Nazarene compels him to rig out the boat and start rowing against all logic.
As he sets out from the shore, Simon can’t help to turn around and, out of the corner of his eye, look at the strange Teacher, who is still standing on the sand, directing the operation, all the while displaying His splendid white teeth, as if he could see beyond what could be seen in plain view.