Chapter 13

David of the Sadducean House of Zadok had been so stirred to curiosity about the Nazarene that he resolved to pocket his cynicism and pay the man a visit forthwith.

It was rumoured that the Carpenter had opened a shop in Capernaum and during the season of rough weather would be available for employment. Would the Messiah be likely to do that? None of the other candidates for Messiahship had worked with his hands. However, reflected David, it wasn’t important that Jesus should pattern his career in imitation of men who had failed. Perhaps he was showing wisdom in making common cause with toilers: perhaps calluses on a prophet’s hands were more to his credit than concealed callosities less comfortably achieved…David chuckled a little at the possibilities of a detestable epigram dealing with this matter.

The crowd in Hannah’s door-yard had thinned somewhat when he passed the house on his way home. He did not pause to ask questions. He walked more rapidly than usual, for he intended to visit the Carpenter this afternoon. In anticipation of the call it would be more seemly, he thought, to provide himself with a legitimate business errand. To do this he would first have to go home.

On his latest visit to Athens, six years ago, David had bought an exquisitely crafted curio-cabinet which, to his great disappointment, had been badly damaged in transportation. On various occasions he had invited experienced woodworkers to attempt repairs, but none of them wanted to undertake it. They hadn’t the tools for it, they said. Now he would take it to the Nazarene.

The servants dusted it with care, loaded it on a cart, and followed their master to Capernaum—slowly, for the elderly lawyer was prudent about overtaxing his tired heart. It was mid-afternoon when they arrived at the old home of Jonas, who, according to a local legend, had often prayed publicly for the Sadducees in a tone that poorly concealed his private lack of interest in their welfare.

The Big Fisherman opened the door and showed surprise—and some embarrassment too, from which he quickly recovered. Ranged around the walls, sitting on stools and benches, several men silently surveyed the visitor. They came to their feet as Simon presented them to the eminent David, each of them bowing respectfully as his name was spoken—one Nathaniel Bartholomew, a man of apparent intelligence in his sixties; a light-complexioned, slender man of forty, whose name was Philip—

‘A Greek?’ inquired David.

‘Quite a long time back, sir,’ Philip had replied. ‘My people fled from Macedonia a century ago.’

Then Simon pointed out the young brothers, James and John.

‘Are you carpenters?’ asked David, addressing John in particular.

‘Fishermen,’ said John, adding, ‘but not today.’

A chuckle went round the circle.