Chapter 8

It was noon when she reached the cottage in Bethsaida. With a cry of happy surprise, Hannah ran to meet her at the gate. They embraced each other with tenderness.

‘You came home!’ exulted Hannah. ‘I hope they have not mistreated you.’

No—they had not mistreated her, and she would be going back to her work tomorrow. But now—she was on a special errand, the strangest of errands.

Over the dining-table—for Hannah had insisted on preparing their luncheon—Esther told the story of the hermit and his gruesome predictions; and his queries about the Carpenter.

‘Everyone seems to be excited about him,’ said Hannah. ‘Last night the neighbours were saying that he was leaving Hammath and heading this way.’

‘I wonder you have not gone out to hear him yourself, Hannah,’ said Esther.

Hannah seemed confused and did not at once reply.

‘I might have done so, dear. But—poor Simon, who for some reason has been living on his ship, might decide to come home, and I ought to be here. I should be much embarrassed—and I fear he would be very angry—if he came home to find that I had been away listening to this Carpenter. That would be very offensive to Simon.’

‘Let us go, this afternoon, Hannah,’ begged Esther. ‘We would be home before supper-time. Simon is not likely to return earlier.’

Presently they were in the stream of pedestrian traffic on the highway. All Bethsaida, it seemed, was on the march southward, the elderly stabbing their canes into the dusty road as they pegged along intent upon their singular quest, the younger men and women overtaking and passing them, sick people of all ages borne on litters, sightless people being led much too fast for their comfort.

There was very little talk. Apparently no words were suitable to this strange pilgrimage. The urge to hurry was contagious. Esther and Hannah immediately caught it and lengthened their steps. Hurry! The voiceless crowd said, ‘Hurry! Something is happening that never happened before and may never happen again! We must not miss this marvel! Hurry!’ Esther and Hannah glanced into the strained faces of their companions, and then briefly sought each other’s sober eyes, but exchanged no comments. Their throats were dry with the fast travel, the choking dust, the half-frightened anticipation… Yes, this Carpenter—whether he was John’s Carpenter or not—was bringing sleepy little Galilee to life, was turning stolid little Galilee upside down, was driving conservative little Galilee stark, staring mad!

No need to inquire the way! A mile south of Bethsaida a freshly made highway veered off sharply toward the west: traversed a grove, riddled a vineyard, toppled a stone fence, muddied a creek, and fanned out into an open pasture swarming with thousands of people.