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settled back down to work. What had he meant by her true beauty ? If even the ugliest of the street-walkers possessed it, did Geertje possess it? Did I possess it? The invisible , a lovely word, so full of promise.
    I went down to the kitchen and started peeling apples. The redness of the peel, the wormholes, the frayed edges where my knife had cut – all of it exquisite. Instead of placing all the pieces in the pot to be conserved for the winter, I started devouring them immediately.
    After about an hour or so I heard the pupils leave. I couldn’t eat any more apples, so some were at last finding their way into the bowl. Samuel came in and sat down at the table, helping himself to a few chunks. He had replaced his tabard with a white shirt with a simple collar and a black jacket which was almost threadbare at the elbows.
    â€˜Are you feeling a little more at home yet? I know it’s only been a few days.’
    â€˜Yes,’ I said, ‘thank you.’ Awkwardness was creeping up on me. What if he liked me? He was probably just passing the time of day.
    â€˜How long have you been with the master?’ I asked.
    â€˜For a few years,’ he replied.
    â€˜Will you stay on until your training is complete?’
    â€˜I’m more of an assistant now.’
    â€˜Oh, of course,’ I said, mortified by the mere possibility of offence. I sought safety in further questions. ‘What were you doing on the day that I arrived?’
    He looked confused.
    â€˜You know the table, the broken bread, like theatre,’ I said.
    â€˜Oh, the Supper at Emmaus.’
    â€˜Yes,’ I said. ‘When I walked in, you were all like statues.’
    I thought he’d smile but he looked at the wall the way people did when they did not want to talk about something. Then he picked up a long strand of apple peel, leaned back in his chair and started arranging it with his hands as if he wanted to turn it into a whole apple again.
    â€˜At times he likes us to take on parts like actors so we come to the Bible in our own way rather than copy the ideas of others.’
    I nodded, relieved he was talking.
    â€˜Usually,’ he added, ‘acting is the last thing I want to be doing. I’m hopeless, but something good for my work usually comes from it.’
    â€˜I thought you were very convincing,’ I lied, without quite knowing why.
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Maybe I am getting better,’ he said, pushing his chair back from the table so he could stretch out his legs. ‘You know when he wanted me as Jesus I could not believe it. I mean Johann Ulrich really has the art to do it – and the hair.’
    â€˜Yes,’ I said, ‘but I can’t imagine him as Jesus. Far too vain.’
    Samuel looked pleased at this, and we both fell silent as I tried to think how to ask what had passed between them as I’d entered the room. ‘I heard Rembrandt say that you had to choose a significant moment to depict. I was wondering what happened just before I walked in?’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Samuel, ‘well, he told us the story of the Supper at Emmaus. You know, when the risen Christ runs into his disciples on the road to Emmaus, but they don’t recognize him. It’s only in the tavern that they finally see him for who he is. Rembrandt said that I had to get them to recognize me as the risen Christ. Ha, can you imagine?’
    â€˜Why?’ I said.
    â€˜How do I know what Christ was like, let alone how to be like Christ? Besides, he’s been tortured to death, woken up in a tomb, and then somehow come back to life smelling of roses.’
    I could not help laughing. ‘And what about the looking ?’
    â€˜What looking ?’
    â€˜You and Rembrandt.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Samuel, contemplating his apple peel as if he wasbeginning to realize that it would never rise again, despite his best efforts. ‘Don’t you want to know