Jonah doesn't know what to make of me, nor does he understand this Christianity I keep telling him about, or its relevance to my womb, which is a thing I have despite wearing pants, and it's all very confusing.
Given the facility with which he flees from his home (in Gath-Hepher, as I have drawn it, or at the Temple in Jerusalem, or wherever) it's hard to imagine Jonah with a wife or children. And in a narrative sense, he is such a solitary figure, the one prophet sent to Nineveh, the one Hebrew on the ship -- the one Hebrew, in fact, in the entire story -- that it's hard to imagine him in a familial relationship with anyone. When one does, it's easiest to imagine that all his relatives are dead, making him the odd man out yet again -- and explaining, perhaps, his relentless death wish. Everywhere Jonah goes he's a weirdo; even at home he's a weirdo, because he's a prophet, and abroad he is this strange circumcised creature, a Hebrew; his most (perhaps only) intimate relationship is with God, but satisfying though that might be at times, God can hardly be called a pal. So maybe one of the reasons Jonah finds death so appealing is that in death he would finally be part of a group.