Chapter 5

Again John nodded, slowly lifted cloudy eyes, entreatingly shook his head, and tapped his hand gently on the Big Fisherman’s knee, as if begging that his story might be deferred until he could tell it in private. But this signal for secrecy, now that the crew had become interested in the pantomime, nettled Simon.

‘And did you find this cracked Carpenter who has turned vintner—and makes wine out of water?’

The crews of the three ships were leaning forward now, wide-eyed with curiosity and frankly amused at the discomfiture of the skipper’s pet. And when John still remained silent, crestfallen, Simon went on with his ridicule.

‘I suppose the Carpenter urged all the poor farmers and shepherds to band together and storm the Roman fort with flails and pitchforks.’

This brought a laugh. Everybody had heard Simon’s savagely expressed opinions of the rumours afloat concerning the Carpenter from Nazareth, and it would be prudent to share his contempt. The Big Fisherman appreciated this loyal acceptance of his views and gave his men another occasion for a guffaw. Turning toward John, he said:

‘Perhaps you saw the Carpenter turn a field of rocks into a pasture full of fat sheep! Speak up, lad! You were bent on going out to see the Carpenter—and I gave you the day off. Tell us, now, what did you make of him?’

‘I—I don’t know,’ said John thickly. He compressed his lips and shook his bent head. Presently he straightened, faced Simon with an expression of utter bafflement, and repeated lamely, ‘I don’t know, sir. It’s all very strange.’

‘Hmm; so I gather,’ muttered Simon. ‘And what was so strange about it—the man or his talk or his tricks? Can’t you tell us? Or are we too stupid to understand?’

‘Please give me time, Simon.’ John seemed to be speaking from a distance. ‘The whole thing is mysterious. I can’t think straight today. Let me tell you about it—a little later.’ He lowered his tone until it was inaudible to any but Simon, and added, ‘But I won’t expect you to believe it.’

‘Humph!’ grunted Simon.

At this juncture the tension was eased. The emaciated camel-boy—in a tattered and grimy brown tunic and trousers, easily recognized as the garb of a caravan lackey, ambled slowly toward them. Uncertain what to do with himself, he halted and leaned against a capstan. Simon beckoned to him and the net was relaxed for his crossing. Obedient to the master’s invitation, he sat down on what was left of the tiller-seat. The crew looked him over without visible prejudice.

‘Did you have something to eat, son?’ The Big Fisherman’s voice was friendly.

The newcomer nodded gratefully, and said in a husky tone inaudible to any but the master and John, ‘You are very kind, sir.’