He spoke reluctantly; his anger against God made his face flush. He said, half to himself, “I have a quarrel with God, whose existence I cannot deny. I begin to understand that you believe that somewhere in the world there exists a man who can lift the curse of man against the sons of Ham and turn their hatred from them. Do you think only the sons of Ham are afflicted by the rage and hate of men? No. We are all afflicted by each other.” He spoke with some impatience. “And how is it possible for me, who am angered against God, to lead you to anyone who can help you and your people?”
Ramus did not answer. After a little he rose with dignity, took Lucanus’ hand and pressed it to his forehead. He sat again and studied the Greek piercingly, and a smooth gleam of contentment lay about his large, thick lips, and a tenderness shone in his eyes. Lucanus rose, found his physician’s pouch, and said, “Let me examine your throat to see if there is a physical reason for your muteness.”
Ramus shook his head, but obediently opened his mouth. Lucanus turned his face to the sun and pressed down his tongue with a silver blade. The throat was remarkably clean and healthy; the larynx showed no injury; the sound box was in perfect order and the cords clear. Lucanus sat down and leaned his chin on his palm. “You can speak,” he said, “if you wish. Is it that you do not want to speak?”
Ramus denied this with a vehement motion of his head.
“Have you ever spoken?” Ramus indicated this was so. He lifted ten fingers to indicate years. “What struck you dumb then?”
Ramus reached for the tablet and the stylus, and filled it with tiny, close writing.
“Master, I am king of a small secret nation in Africa, a land which you do not know. It is near one of the ancient mines and treasuries of Solomon, which we have hidden from all men because of their avarice. When I was a youth, my father sent me to Cairo, where I learned the various tongues of mankind, for my father wished to bring his people out of darkness into light. He was a just and noble man. Like my father’s, my heart was afflicted by the sufferings of all the dark sons of Ham, who suffered without knowing why they suffered at the hands of others who enslaved and killed them. It was in Cairo that I learned of the curse of Noah. But one night, when I was king only a year, I had a dream, or vision, of a man with a face like light, clothed with light, and with great white wings. He bade me go forth into all the world, seeking him who will deliver us and cause men to despise and enslave us no longer. So I set forth alone, with sufficient gold coins taken from Solomon’s treasury, and sought the stranger.”
Ramus reached for an empty tablet and continued writing. “And all through the world, where I have wandered, seeking, I have seen only terror and despair and hatred and death and oppression among all men. I have seen every man’s hand turned against his brother; I have heard not blessings, but curses. And this afflicted me. When I was drained of tears, but not of sorrow, I discovered I could speak no more. But when I find him whom I seek, not only will the curse against my people be lifted, I shall speak once more in rejoicing.”
Lucanus sat for a long time, reading the tablets over and over. He was sick with his compassion. How hopeless is the quest of this poor man! he commented inwardly. He thought of Sara’s letter. He hesitated. Then he shrugged, went to a cheap wooden coffer where he kept his letters, and brought out a roll. At least Sara’s letter might comfort Ramus, who was superstitious and deluded. As a physician Lucanus understood that faith could frequently help where medicine could not. He put the scroll beside Ramus’ hand, and said in a hard and emotionless voice, “This was written to me by a woman I love. She is a Jewess. If it comforts you, then I shall not be sorry I violated her confidence.”
Ramus unrolled the scroll and began to read. All at once tears burst from his eyes; he smiled radiantly; he was like one who has received a reprieve from death, and he nodded over and over, his breast heaving with delight. When he had finished reading he pressed his hands over his face and rocked slowly in his chair.
Lucanus said, dryly, “You must understand that this was written by a young woman steeped in her faith, with the promise of a Messias always ringing in her ears. But this I do not believe. I am a doctor and a scientist, and am confronted each day by raw life and death, and there is no meaning in either of them for men. ‘What is the son of man, that God should visit him, or man, that God should be mindful of him?’ I have studied astronomy also, and there are galaxies and constellations of such magnitude that the mind reels in mere contemplation of them. What is this tiny world to any God? My only quarrel, and it is an insect one, is that His hand should have slipped and made us at all and given us only suffering and death.”
He half turned from Ramus, and his face was pale and stern. “The only hope we can have is to make our way alone, to diminish man’s oppression of man, to alleviate his pain. If you think that in the Land of Israel there actually lives one who can help you, go in peace.”
Ramus showed him his face, gleaming with tears and joy. He wrote on the tablet, “You will take me to him.”
“No,” said Lucanus. “I shall never go to Israel, for many reasons. You may leave tomorrow. I will give you money.”
Ramus wrote, “No. Where you go I shall go. Do not ask me to leave you. My heart tells me that I must remain with you, and that all will be well.”
Lucanus was touched in spite of his severity. He said, “I have long been lonely. So, if you wish, remain with me and be my friend.”
He found, in the following days, a great and mysterious consolation in the presence of Ramus, who tended his gardens and cooked his simple meals, and who assisted him in the care of the streams of the miserable who came to his door for healing. It was a strange peace to him, in the evening, when he could sit with Ramus over a humble dinner and tell the mute man of himself, his family, and his friends. “I am not very wise,” he said, at one time. “The wisest man I ever knew was my old teacher, Keptah, who is now dead. He had an eloquent tongue; if he were still alive I should send you to him, for I have no real comfort to give you, and no real hope.”
He was deeply interested to discover that Ramus could brew herbs in strange ways, and he was grateful for Ramus’ understanding of the ill who came to his house, and his deft and gentle ways with them. Though he had known the dark man for only ten days now, it was as if he had been with him always, and he wondered how he had lived without this august and silent presence. They would sit together at sunset, watching the changing hills, listening to the birds, and seeing the long wing of night slowly settling over the earth. They read Lucanus’ books together, and Lucanus commented on them and Ramus wrote his own comments on tablets. They sat in contentment, Ramus clothed in the cheap gowns Lucanus had purchased for him, the ring glittering in his nose.
When Lucanus closed his house and left for his ship, Ramus accompanied him. In keeping with his promise, when the ship docked at Antioch, Lucanus took Ramus to the Roman praetor and freed him, and thereafter paid him a fee.
A year went by, and then another, and Lucanus was over thirty before they returned to the house in the suburbs of Athens, where they would remain for a few months. It was as if they had left but a few days before; the caretaker, a local farmer, had done his work well, and all was clean and in order, the trees bearing fruit and the flowers blooming. The only change was in themselves. The suffering and pain and death which they had encountered weighed heavier on Lucanus than ever. But Ramus had grown in serenity and peace and in skill, and about him there was an air of waiting.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lucanus told Ramus of his search for the boy, Arieh, who, if he was alive, would be twelve years old. “I never see a boy of that age with out looking at his little finger,” he said, “whether on the street, in the Agora of Athens, in the temples, among my patients, or in every alley and byway of the world I know. But surely he is dead; who stole him was full of wickedness and malice against Elazar ben Solomon, who never harmed a man and who made his fortune justly.” He pondered. “Why should man hate other
men, out of envy or spite or because they are not of his race or color? That question was asked eons ago; it grows stale and dull with the asking. But it is the tragedy of man.”
He talked to Ramus as he had never talked with another man, not even Keptah or Cusa or Joseph ben Gamliel. The first had taught and admonished him, and he had felt rebellion; the second had taught him and, with love, had considered him somewhat a fool; the last had tried to lead him passionately to God when his heart was most bitter. But Ramus smiled at him and folded his hands.
He explained to Ramus that he would not treat the wealthy and the men of position, for they could afford other physicians and could pay them large fees. But time had taught him some shrewdness; he found that quite frequently some prosperous peasants, not wishing to pay fees, came to him for charity. Lucanus said, “When I discover who they are, and I have developed an occult sense which serves me well at times in this discovery, I charge them a fee, though it is small. Why should they take from me my time when they can afford a physician and others need my help? I treat the affluent only when they come to me in despair, having been consigned to hopelessness by their own physicians.”
Ramus, when Lucanus had said this, reached for a tablet, and wrote: “But all men suffer, and it is good to help them.” Lucanus looked at him with somber marveling; here was one who had endured torments from men, and he was compassionate.
One day, as the time drew nearer for Lucanus to board a ship again, a magnificent litter borne by six handsome black slaves stopped at his gate, and the leader, who spoke eloquent Greek, begged him to visit his master, who was at the point of death and had been abandoned by his physicians. Lucanus wished to refuse; he was very weary these days; the streams of the unfortunate began to form before his house at dawn, and then again at sunset.
He said, “If your master’s physicians have given him up, I, who treat the harsher diseases on shipboard and in the cities, could not help him.” Then his physician’s curiosity sharpened in him, and he asked, “What ails your master?”
“He is dying in all his parts, Master. His sons are distracted, and they have heard of you, and they are willing to pay an enormous fee for your help.”
Lucanus considered. He had used much of the bequest from Diodorus in charity; he had very little money at this time. He began to shake his head. At least a score of suffering men and women and children were waiting in his garden, some lying on the ground, some fallen on the bench, some prostrate on his doorstep. But Ramus touched his arm, and nodded, smiling beseechingly. Lucanus glanced at his patients; many were ill of chronic diseases; Ramus, who had grown in knowledge and who had a mysterious healing power of his own, and who had learned well from Lucanus, could examine and treat some of these piteous wretches.
“If it will not take more than an hour then,” said Lucanus, reluctantly, and got into the litter and was borne away. But still his curiosity was aroused. The litter glided rapidly through the light-filled streets of Athens, then moved away from the crowded section to an area filled with pleasant villas and gardens and white walls spilling with rosy and purple flowers. It stopped at a particularly fine wrought-iron gate, which depicted Apollo and his enigmas, and a slave opened it and admitted Lucanus to the garden, and he saw a lovely house in the near distance.
Lucanus looked at the house admiringly, for it was a veritable miniature of a villa, reduced in scale from magnificence to exquisite small form. The mosaics of the courtyard were rosy, and each tiny flower bed had been outlined in blue tile, like an azure halo. There was only one fountain, a low marble bowl filled with sparkling water and pink lilies, and its central figure was a dolphin standing on its tail; from its open mouth issued an iridescent stream. The house itself shone whitely in the sun, with small but perfect columns in the Ionian fashion.
So impressed was Lucanus with this delightful vision that he did not at first notice three middle-aged men resting together on a curved marble bench on the other side of the fountain, sheltered by a clump of myrtle trees. They were dressed formally in white togas to which they offered a sharp contrast, for, though tall, they had no aristocracy of demeanor, and their features were blunt. His physician’s eye noted the large, work-twisted hands, the small eyes, the pock-marked and oily dark skins, the rough and graying hair. He also observed that all wore rings of considerable value and that their sandals were of the best possible leather. They were like dull freedmen who had taken on the garments of their master. Their resemblance to each other was remarkable, and he understood at once that they were brothers.
The first one, who was obviously the oldest, said, “Greetings.” He added quickly, and in the monotonous and uncertain voice of the lowborn, “Welcome to this house of my father, Phlegon. My name is Turbo, and these are my brothers, Sergius and Meles.” Lucanus returned the bows of the three men with a courteous murmur, showing no sign that to him Turbo’s voice had none of the elegant accent of the cultured Athenian.
Sergius and Meles were quite content to allow their brother to speak for them. Their passivity was the passivity of those accustomed to obey. Yet, as Turbo went on, Lucanus discerned that all these men had a quality of strength and a crude defensive pride. He began to feel gentle towards them. Turbo said, “It is our father Phlegon who is sick. He has been in his bed for almost a month, and we have had the best physicians. But,” and he paused, “he drives them away, declaring them to be fools and rascals.”
Lucanus looked about the garden with admiration, and seeing this, the three brothers made themselves taller, and bashful smiles appeared on their somewhat grim faces. “One can see that nothing has been spared. What are your father’s symptoms?”
The younger brothers looked to Turbo, who said, “He declares he is very weak, and my father has always been a man to speak the truth and not exaggerate. He aches in all his parts. His spine is stiff. There is not a night, he swears, that he sleeps without pain, and he cannot eat.”
The symptoms suggested arthritis, Lucanus offered. But Turbo shook his head. “No. All the physicians have told us that there is no arthritis, no swelling or deformity of any joints, no crippling.” His small eyes became smaller, as if in bafflement. “One cannot, certainly, believe the words of slaves, and there are five slaves in this house. I have questioned them sternly. They swear that my father eats like a young man, with secret gusto. He will not dine in their presence; they must retire. He says he feeds the food to his large dog, who never leaves him, and that he himself drinks but a little wine for his health’s sake. Shall a man believe his old and honored father, or shall he believe the words of slaves?”
Lucanus was silent, but he inclined his head tactfully. He then asked the age of Phlegon, and was told it was seventy-three. “A good age,” he commented. “We must remember that the old are often fanciful.”
Turbo was offended. “My father’s mind is as vigorous as a youth’s, Lucanus, and as vital as a young tree. Until a month ago he strode like a man in his early age, and his voice could be heard everywhere, and his hand was heavy.” He glanced sideways at his brothers.
“And now,” said Lucanus, “his flesh has suddenly withered, he cannot walk without aid, his color has become ashen, and his voice is tremulous and faint.”
Turbo scratched his ear and looked down at his feet, and the brothers imitated him so exactly that Lucanus had to struggle to suppress a smile. In the little silence he could hear the singing of the fountain. Finally Turbo, not looking at him directly, said, “No, it is not like that. His color is excellent, his voice louder than ever, and his flesh is full. It is only that he complains and declares he suffers agonizingly. He was always a man of dominance and — ”
“And?” said Lucanus, when Turbo paused.
“He is still dominant, which cheers us.” The coarse voice had changed, become bewildered. “He lies in his bed, and does not walk, and his temper — ”
Lucanus waited, but Turbo was not inclined to discuss his father’s temper. “We are afraid he is about to die,” he said
, simply. “We have consulted the priests in our despair. He calls the priests imbeciles, and ourselves superstitious fools.”
A portrait of a potent and irascible old man was beginning to emerge in Lucanus’ mind. He was curious to see his patient, and indicated so. Turbo bent his finger and summoned the slave at the gate. “I wish to see your father alone,” said Lucanus.
The slave led him into the house, which was as exquisitely beautiful inside as the exterior, and had been built, designed, and furnished by a master. Here were luxury and beauty again on a smaller scale. Lucanus reflected that this might have been the toy villa of some Roman or Pompeian gentleman, and he remembered the grossness of the three brothers and conjectured that it was possible that their mother had been baseborn, wife to a gentleman of Athens. The physician shook his head and looked at the little light-filled halls, the murals on the walls, the whiteness of the ceilings, the fine marble of the pillars, the colors of the floors, the excellence of the furniture.
Dear and Glorious Physician Page 48
