Chapter 11

As they neared the high-arched doorway, Jairus slowed to say, before they entered, ‘If our people want this sort of entertainment, I’ve no objection. The crops are all in. The men have nothing much to do. Listening to the Carpenter is certainly better than loitering around the wine-cellars down in Capernaum… Good morning, Rachael! We will make short work of our breakfast. You and the maids have a busy day before you, with the large party for dinner.’

‘Yes, sir,’ sniffed old Rachael, beckoning to her crew to proceed with their table-service. Then, with the bland impudence to which her seniority entitled her, she remarked, ‘And they will eat a lot!’

‘What makes you think so?’ inquired her master, anticipating some astringent drollery.

‘We’ve had their like before, sir—men who speak big words. They always eat big dinners.’

‘I had never noticed that, Rachael,’ chuckled Jairus; ‘but by Jove I believe you’re right! Well—make sure you have enough for them.’

Sharon now came up out of her half-drained milk-goblet, with a gasp, and solemnly remarked, ‘Nurse says “By-Jove” is a Roman swear-word, father.’

‘Perhaps, if we must swear,’ commented her mother, ‘it is better to take the names of the heathen gods in vain.’

‘Is this By-Jove a heathen?’ asked Sharon.

‘Drink your milk, little one,’ admonished her father gently. ‘We’ll all have our fill of theology before the day is over, without beginning it now.’

‘I’m not expected to attend this dinner, am I?’ asked Adiel.

‘No, dear,’ said Jairus. ‘Not if you don’t want to. It’s a business affair. You needn’t show up at all. It’s Rabbi Ben-Sholem’s party really. We’re just providing food and shelter.’

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