Chapter 11

The dinner was a dull and difficult affair. Valiantly but vainly did Jairus endeavour to dispel the constraint of his taciturn guests. At first he had breezily introduced conversational topics which, he thought, might induce them to show some interest for sheer courtesy’s sake, but they gave him no aid. They ate in silence.

Turning to Nathan, the High Priest’s representative, Jairus inquired how Pilate was getting on these days with the Sanhedrin. After a lengthy interval, Nathan had stiffly replied, with his eyes on his plate, ‘As usual.’ It was implicit in Nathan’s icy rejoinder that whatever might be the present relation of the Roman Procurator and the Jewish Court it was certainly none of Jairus’ business. The forthright rebuff nettled him, but he kept his temper.

Addressing Obadiah, the eldest of the scribes, at his left, Jairus asked whether the improvements to the Galilean Embassy had been completed. The old man shook his head. After a pause he elaborated on his response by mumbling that he did not know. He did not bother to add that he didn’t care, but it was plain enough that Jairus was talking too much. He felt lonely and out of place. Perhaps he had been impudent in seating himself with these distinguished men. He had done better, he felt, to have donned an apron and helped serve the table. A few times he lifted his eyes hopefully in the direction of Rabbi Ben-Sholem, but the old man moodily munched his mutton without glancing up.

Now it occurred to Jairus that Ben-Sholem, who had had time for a private word with the Jerusalem party before dinner, might have whispered that their host was not sympathetic with the inquisition to be held in his home. That was it! They were deliberately snubbing him! After that, Jairus—in the role of a mere innkeeper—saw to it that their plates and cups were replenished, addressing himself only to the serving-maids… Another helping of chicken, Rachael, he murmured behind his hand, for his Grace the High Priest’s Emissary…And bring more wine… And open the windows. It is close in here…And light the lamps.

Perhaps that was part of the trouble. The air had become oppressive and the room was growing dark. Jairus turned about toward the windows and faced a blackened sky. There was going to be a severe storm. Presently the very house shook under a crash of thunder. Vivid tongues of flame stabbed at the close horizon. Detached gusts of wind flung their weight at the awnings and thrust their shoulders against the straining doors.

Spurts of rain splashed noisily on the tessellated pavement of the loggia, as if pitched from enormous buckets.

Jairus rose hastily and made for the high-domed atrium, now enveloped in gloom. That precariously supported ceiling had always worried him on stormy days, despite the architect’s assurance that it was strong. He entered the huge room and looked up anxiously into the dome as another blast of thunder roared overhead.

Calmly seated, quite within the range of a catastrophe, were four men. Apparently Joseph, the butler, having admitted them, had been too busy fastening doors and windows to announce their presence. They rose. A gigantic, bearded man, whom Jairus instantly recognized as the Big Fisherman, stepped forward, bowed, and deferentially tipped his head toward the evident leader of their party.