Chapter 19

‘Surely you don’t believe that!’ said Esther.

‘Me? Of course not! But plenty of sick people do; and they lie here all day on the flagging, waiting for this angel. It’s quite pitiful! What an angel! Swooping in here once in a while, to help just one person, and letting the rest suffer!’

They paused on the well-worn steps that led into the cavernous old structure, Esther remarking that apparently the institution wasn’t operating today.

‘It’s usually crowded,’ said Myra. ‘I suppose they’re all up around the Temple, begging…I see one man over there.’

Suddenly Esther clutched Myra’s arm and uttered a little cry of surprise. A small group of men sauntered into the building through an opposite entrance.

‘Look, Myra!’ she whispered excitedly. ‘There is Jesus! It seems so strange to see him without a great crowd following.’

‘It’s not strange at all,’ said Myra, ‘if he’s in trouble. People aren’t going to risk being seen with him.’

‘Come!’ said Esther. ‘I must speak to him!’ She took Myra by the hand and tugged her forward. Jesus, somewhat in advance of his little company, was strolling beside the pool, gazing down into the water. He halted now before an emaciated invalid, lying motionless on a mat, and engaged him in conversation. The disciples had gathered around to listen. Esther and Myra, unnoticed, crept in close behind them.

‘The trouble is, sir,’ the sick man was saying feebly, ‘whenever the angel comes, those who have very little ailing them, and are more nimble, leap into the pool…My people have been bringing me here, sir, day after day for many years, to be healed of the palsy; but always another reaches the water before me.’

‘Come, friend,’ said Jesus gently. ‘You have waited long enough. You may get up now—and go home.’

Myra suddenly tightened her grasp on Esther’s hand and drew a quick, audible breath like a child’s sob. The paralytic was slowly rising to his feet! He was weeping, and incoherently mumbling his thanks.

Peter, turning aside with wet eyes, recognized Esther and came to greet her.

‘This is Myra,’ she said. ‘I came to Jerusalem with her family. Her father is Gideon, of Capernaum.’

‘I used to know him well,’ said Peter. ‘Your father is an upright man…And your grandfather is Asher,’ he went on, a little frown creasing his forehead. ‘Did he come with you?’ And when Myra had nodded, rather diffidently, he said, ‘You have just witnessed a miracle, Myra. Is that not true?’

‘Yes, sir!’ declared Myra. ‘That is true!’

‘Your grandfather, Asher, is hostile to our Master,’ said Peter. ‘Will you tell him what you have seen here today?’

‘He would not believe me,’ said Myra.

‘But you will tell him?’ entreated Peter.

‘I—I don’t know, sir,’ stammered Myra. ‘It would only make him angry with me.’

While this colloquy was in progress, Jesus had sauntered on through the pavilion and was descending into the street, his company following at a little distance.

‘I’m sorry we weren’t able to speak to him,’ said Esther, as they moved out into the sunshine. Myra made no reply.

At the corner of the street, they came face to face with him. He smiled and extended his hands to them, saying, ‘Peace to you, my daughters.’ Esther warmly clasped one of his outstretched hands and murmured, ‘Master!’

Myra, visibly perturbed and with eyes averted, nervously toyed with the fringes of her cape. Then, tentatively, her eyes ventured to meet his. They widened and swam with tears. Impulsively she reached for his hand with both of hers, and whispered brokenly, ‘Will you be my Master, too?’