Chapter 22

All that afternoon, Thad followed Peter, making no effort to catch up with him, but keeping him in sight. It wasn’t like Peter to be running away. Perhaps his grief over the Master’s plight had gone to his head.

Well, whatever it was that ailed Peter, he needed someone to look after him. There was nothing more that could be done for Jesus.

Peter had walked fast, with long, lurching strides, until the Damascus Gate was reached. Then he began to run. It was not easy for Thad to keep up with him. Sometimes Peter would fling himself down by the roadside, with his head buried in his arms; then he would wearily drag himself to his feet and hurry on.

At the village of Lebonah, Thad bought half a dozen small wheaten loaves and a few smoked perch. Peter was out of sight when he took to the road again, and it was a mile further before he overtook him. It was mid-afternoon now. Peter was lying, face downward, under a cypress tree. Thad approached quietly and sat down on the ground a few feet away.

After a long time, the Big Fisherman sat up. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Thad silently opened his knapsack and offered the food he had brought. Peter shook his head.

‘You shouldn’t have followed me, Thad,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Don’t touch me! I am unclean!’

‘You mean—you’re—a—leper?’ mumbled Thad.

‘Oh, my boy—if that were all!’ moaned Peter.

‘What’s the trouble, sir?’ begged Thad.

Tears were streaming down Peter’s cheeks.

‘I denied my Master!’ he cried. ‘They asked me if I was his friend—and I said, No!…Go back, Thad! Join the others. I’m no fit company for you. Go back, I tell you!’ And, with that, Peter rose, and staggered on toward Galilee.

And Thad, bewildered, heartbroken, continued to follow him.

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