That None Be Lost

What a wretched rabble they was. The dregs of humanity, not to put too fine a point on it. The leftovers. Crowds of people with nothing happening on a Tuesday afternoon. They come from every corner of the countryside. Like rats sniffing cheese. Or bread.

I wasn’t one of ‘em, not really. More of a hanger-on like. I reckon myself a student of people. So when you sees crowds like that, traipsing over hill and dale, all day under the beating sun, for what? To listen to some teacher. Some miracle worker. I’ve had a lot of teachers in my day, but none I’d miss a meal for. So I tagged along.

I could hear it as the sun went down. The grumbles. First the tummies. Then the lips. Folk were hungry, and starting to let you know. “Why’s we out here in the middle of nowhere? Where we gonna get some grub?” And such like. I’d been thinking the same. And it looked like so was he—the Teacher.

Nothing much to look at, I thought. If you was trying to finger a guy for a job, you could line him up with the rest and need all ten fingers. He fit in, I mean to say. He didn’t glow. His mouth wasn’t golden. I heard one of his men said he come from God, like a gift from heaven, if you like, so that none be lost. I can’t say about all that. But I’ll say this. When he moved, he moved like an eagle to its mark, and when he looked at you, he looked like a mum at her babe.

I could see him chatting with his men. The grumbles was growing. A kid comes up to him with his arms full. Best I could tell he had a bunch of loaves and maybe a couple fish. Probably supper for the boy and his mates. Ain’t that sweet, I think. He’s feeding the Teacher. Doesn’t help me or the rest of us none, but it’s nice when you’re surrounded by trash to catch a whiff of a rose, if you follow.

But next thing we know his men are out telling us to sit down. Get comfortable, they says. He were to make us lie down in green pastures like a flock. So long as he puts down the provender where I can get it, I think.

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I look around at the crowd. Men, women, little ones—maybe ten thousand or more. Like a pack of hounds they seemed. What did they want? In the moment, I knew, it was a meal on their mind. But if it was just three squares they were after they’d been better served to stay in town, ply their trade, earn their scratch. But I could see it in their eyes, on their faces. It wasn’t just bread they was after; it was hope they hungered for.

Can hounds have hope? At the moment a couple scraps for the dogs would do. But it wasn’t scraps we got. I’m here to tell you, God’s honest truth, that we had more food than a king’s court on holiday. Fish to fill your nostrils. Bread that don’t run out. Best thing since...well, I dunno, how could bread be any better? I’m not too proud to say I might’ve had a second helping.

I wasn’t the only one. The crowd snatched up their fill like the sparrows after spring thaw. They couldn’t get enough, and still there was more. His men, they’re laughing and carrying on. They looked like a crew come home from sea after the catch—except they was the ones doling it out. Strange, that.

The sun was nearly down. The grumbles from the crowd weren’t no more. Instead I heard a sort of murmur. I don’t have the good words for it. Like a weaned one at it’s mum’s breast, you could say. Can ten thousand folk be quiet?

I tried to sneak up a little closer to the Teacher. I watched his eyes. He was scanning the crowd. He seemed to care that none was left out. Which I thought queer. With this many ragamuffins, let them get what they get and not throw a fit, that’s what I say. Not him. He seemed more like a man putting on a right gala, and wanting to see that all got in.

The crowd was breaking up now. I could hear the mumbles and the grumbles rolling back in like the tide. Folk getting short, stepping on each other’s toes. “When’s you gonna pay me my due, Jones?” says one. “Those kids of yours have all the manners of a pig in slop!” says another. As I say, a wretched rabble.

But it’s the last thing the Teacher says that sticks to me like a burr. The hillside still had meat on it yet, and not a little bit. Like it was a fount that don’t run dry, if you like. And the Teacher tells his men, “Gather in all the leftovers, aye? So that none be lost.”

That’s what he said. And when he said it, I watched his eyes following the crowds, traipsing over hill and dale, wending their crooked way toward home.