Chapter 6

‘But’—argued Simon, undiverted by Murza’s comment—’if this Great One is down on the rich, maybe he will aid the poor: why don’t you ask the bug-eater about that, Anna?’

‘Ask him yourself if you’re so interested,’ snapped Anna, tiring of the Big Fisherman’s queries.

‘Interested!’ he retorted angrily. ‘And why should I be interested? Your prophet is a crazy dunce who deserves to be locked up! And as for the Carpenter, he will soon turn out to be a fraud! They’re both lunatics! Anybody who wants to believe in such nonsense is welcome to it!’ Simon’s voice was vibrant with indignation as he went on, ‘I don’t believe in any of this rubbish! All religion is rubbish! I don’t believe in any of it!…Not in any of it, I tell you!’

His puzzled audience gaped at him for a long moment as he stood glowering. At length Leah broke the silence by remarking in a disgusted drawl: ‘Well—who said you did?’

‘I’ll wager you do,’ yelled Claudia, ‘or you wouldn’t be so hot and cross about it!’

The taunt rekindled Simon’s anger and he muttered that all religious prattle should be prohibited—by law!—a suggestion that inspired Leah to remark, with a bitter, private smile, that he would probably go to hell when he died.

‘And he will not like that!’ laughed Claudia. ‘He detests big crowds: I heard him say so! No?’

‘You’re a fool, Claudia,’ said Anna, stifling a yawn.

‘Perhaps—but I am a happy fool! You Jewish fools are much too sober and sad. No? What you need, on your holiday, is good cheer! Laughter! Singing! You should have a cup of wine to warm your cold bellies!’ Claudia was whirling into a reckless dance. ‘I myself shall bring you wine!’ she trilled, as she made off, pleased to have had such a happy thought.

‘You needn’t bring any to me,’ called Leah.

‘Nor me,’ said Anna.

‘Then—I shall bring some to the Big Fisherman!’ shouted Claudia, gaily.

‘Go—and stop her, Murza,’ said Leah. ‘She will listen to you. And see that she doesn’t take any more herself. She’s had too much already. If she gets any worse, Lysias will whip her.’

‘No fear of that,’ sniffed Murza, without moving. ‘Lysias has been warming his cold belly, too.’

‘I must go,’ mumbled Simon. ‘I have work to do. If you’ll empty my basket—’