Chapter 5

‘Because,’ muttered Justus, ‘if this village Carpenter can change the laws of nature, nothing will ever be the same again; not for any of us! Do you realise that, Simon? Nothing you ever thought—about anything—will be true; not any more—ever!’

Having no ready rejoinder to this surprising speech, Simon said he supposed it would affect one’s views somewhat. They bade each other farewell; and Justus, shifting his burden to his other arm, made off down the road, where he was promptly joined by many people who had tarried to wait his coming.

He was a peculiar fellow, thought Simon, as he walked away toward the other rim of the plateau; evidently had given a bit of careful thought to this business of miracles; not only was inclined to be sceptical about it, but wasn’t sure he wanted to believe it. If it was true, nothing would ever be the same again; not for anybody! If a man could go about straightening crooked feet and restoring paralysed arms, everything would be topsy-turvy.

On his way down the hill the Big Fisherman’s long legs and urgent thoughts overtook and passed everybody. He recognized no one, but as he moved aside to pass one group that had slowed to discuss whether they had seen a miracle or not, the voices were abruptly hushed and he heard his name spoken in a half-whisper. It annoyed him more than a little. He had as good a right to be out here as anyone. What business was it of theirs? But—let them gabble! He didn’t care. To hell with them! Simon was angry now—angry at himself; out here on this fool’s errand! Miracles? Rubbish! He had seen quite enough of this Carpenter: it was high time to put all this nonsense out of his head.

Careless of his footing he stumbled along through the pale moonlight, finally reaching the valley. His legs were lame and his feet were hot and sore. He was exhausted in body and mind. It was to be hoped that Hannah had retired. Simon was in no mood for talking. Hannah, if awake, would be anxious to know where he had been. She wouldn’t ask a direct question, but she would probably have it out of him somehow.

Bethsaida—at last! He sat down wearily on the stoop and took off his dusty sandals. Tiptoeing softly through the silent house and out through the kitchen door, he found a basin by the cistern and washed his blistered feet. Hannah appeared and handed him a towel, for which he thanked her briefly. In a tone of finality he bade her good-night and retraced his steps down the hall to his own room.

‘I’ll have a surprise for you—at breakfast,’ whispered Hannah.

‘Honey cakes, I suppose,’ muttered Simon apathetically… Anything to detain him—and make him talk—he thought.

‘Want to guess again?’ pestered Hannah sweetly.

‘No—not tonight, Hannah. I am very tired.’ And because he didn’t care to risk any further conversation with her, he closed his door—not noisily enough to give offence, he hoped, but with sufficient emphasis to accent his desire to be let alone.