Chapter 13

David had never been quite so confused. There were plenty of mysteries in life which nobody tried to understand, mysteries which everybody took for granted. But this one cried out for an explanation.

Previous rumours of the Carpenter’s miracles had not bothered him too much. It was conceivable that a clever magician could talk a crowd of simple-minded, credulous people into a foolish interest in his charlatanry. Had he not seen it happen again and again on the streets of Athens? Even the Nazarene’s alleged works of healing were understandable. It was a matter of record that bed-ridden paralytics, finding their house on fire and no one to help them, had risen and run to safety. Long-time lunatics had been briefly shocked into sanity. Doubtless the Carpenter’s feats of healing could all be accounted for if anyone would go to the trouble of examining them.

But this thing that had obviously happened to Hannah seemed different. The behaviour of the neighbours was puzzling. They were not all fools and the spontaneity of their amazement made it incredible that they had connived with the Nazarene to create the impression that a miracle had been performed.

For some time David remained standing outside the fence, watching the people in the door-yard as they moved about with strained faces in which there was something of bewildered gratification combined with forthright terror, most of them mumbling questions which nobody tried to answer, groups of them falling apart and re-forming again, some crowding into the congested doorway, some struggling to get out, shaking their heads when queried. The thing that had happened in there might have a reasonable explanation, but the people didn’t think so.

David felt at a disadvantage standing there, waiting. It certainly did not comport with his dignity to exhibit so much curiosity. He surveyed the crowd for a familiar face, someone he might beckon to him, but nobody glanced his way…Now came the Big Fisherman, around from the rear of the house, walking hurriedly toward the gate, looking neither to right nor left. David hoped to attract his attention but Simon’s errand was urgent and he gave no heed. It was evident that he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Rabbi Elimelech now appeared, the crowd on the stoop making way for him, and cautiously tottered down the two steps, leaning heavily on his cane. He glanced about at the staring faces, his own wearing a laboured smile that he intended to be amiable and paternal, but an inner stress showed through. He laid a long, lean hand on his beard, perhaps to compose his chin, which was trembling. David walked round the corner and waited for him at the gate.

‘All—David! I am glad to see you. I hope you are well.’ The Rabbi was trying to be casual.

‘Well?’ David was brusque; he wasn’t going to be put off with trivial amenities. ‘Not at all well! I’m quite upset! What has been going on here, Rabbi?’

‘Walk with me, David,’ murmured the old man. ‘I cannot stand long. My legs, you know. I must go home. Take my arm, my friend.’