Dear and Glorious Physician

by Taylor Caldwell

  “The beer is from Egypt,” said the host, standing at Lucanus’ elbow. “They make the best beer in the world; the Romans are poor imitators.” He coughed apologetically.

  “I am not a Roman,” said Lucanus, smiling. “Would you join me in a goblet of beer? It has an excellent head.”

  The host said, with alacrity, putting a finger alongside his nose, “Ah, I have much better even than that!” He winked like a conspirator. “I have some fine whiskey!”

  Lucanus gave a dubious thought to the mixture of beer and whiskey. But he was tired; he was also filled with a strange feeling of elation. “If you will join me,” he said, politely.

  The host was delighted, but, being an honest man and noting Lucanus’ simple robe, hesitated. “The price of the whiskey is very high. Perhaps you cannot afford it, good sir. It is three shekels a bottle. That is because of the high tax the Romans put upon it; they, with their infernal taxes! A man cannot live, I tell you! If we export, the Customs is there with outstretched hand and many sheets of papyrus; if we import, and we are a poor people and must import much, there the Customs is again, with more bureaucratic paper and a hand out, and their stamps.”

  “Bureaucrats are with us always,” said Lucanus, with a sympathetic sigh. “But let us have some whiskey and forget governments and their taxes and their officials who devour the substance of the people.”

  The host reverently brought out a dusty bottle of whiskey. “We must import it from Syria,” he said, “for our people do not look kindly on strong drink. But you would be amazed how much is imported, and drunk! Look you at the seal and the stampings upon it. It is a veritable whiskey, and not illicit, made by furtive men in the hills.” Lucanus courteously examined the seal and nodded. The host brought two small goblets, and Lucanus filled them, and the host kept shaking his head at the amount but did not utter a word of rebuke or protest. He sat beside Lucanus, and his old eyes gleamed. He said, “Whiskey is the blood of old age, and I am an old man and need warmth, even in this climate. As we are near Syria, much nearer than Jerusalem — ” He coughed again.

  Lucanus smiled. “I have told you I am not a Roman. I am a Greek, and, as a Greek, I admire smugglers.”

  “To cheat an oppressive government is not to cheat at all,” said the host, with a wise look. “How can a man live otherwise? Besides, who makes what money we make: the government or ourselves? One should remind governments of one of the great Commandments: Thou shalt not steal! But was there ever anything but a thieving government, in all the history of the world?”

  “Never,” agreed Lucanus. “Governments, by their natures, are robbers.”

  He cautiously sipped the whiskey. It was not the best produce, and it had a raw smart and a burning in the stomach. The host drank with pleasure, and said, “Ah!” But he and Lucanus hastily drank a good draught of beer. The old man had a cast in his eye; it gave him a very keen appearance. He said, “If there were no taxes there would be no money for soldiers, and if there were no soldiers there would be no wars and no conquests, and if there were no wars and no conquests men could then learn to live together in peace. But that is not what governments want! They make wars out of greed and in the desire for profits.”

  He had prudently produced another plate, and helped himself to Lucanus’ meal, which the physician did not find particularly appetizing. The old man continued to inveigh against governments and remarked that Samuel had warned the people never to put a king over themselves, for in that way disaster came. The host was not only old, but poor; nevertheless, he had a fine mind, and Lucanus listened with interest. The simple, he thought, are often a source of wisdom, and the delicate intellectuals in the cities could listen with profit.

  “My name is Isaac,” said the host, expanding, and his withered cheeks flushing. “I am also a widower. It is not often I have guests, and sometimes I weary them.” He adjusted the black cotton cap on his head.

  “You do not weary me,” said Lucanus. He drank some more whiskey. This time it did not appear to be so atrocious. His belly warmed; the few lamps in the room seemed brighter. They both quaffed more beer. Lucanus decided that a piece of the fowl, one cake, some olives, and a bunch of dates were enough. After a taste of the fowl he concentrated on the cakes, stuffed with poppy seeds and raisins, the olives, and the fruit. He was beginning to feel quite relaxed. The whiskey, now, had a truly intriguing taste. Lucanus believed no longer that it came from Syria; it had been distilled near Nazareth.

  Isaac ate the mutton with relish. “You have a delicate stomach, sir?” he inquired.

  “Very delicate,” replied Lucanus, gravely. “Mutton does not agree with me.”

  They drank with pleasure. Isaac told a Jewish joke or two, wry and salty, and Lucanus laughed. The physician found himself studying, with fascination, two long cracks in the plaster on the walls. They appeared like winding rivers; blotches on each side took on the aspect of teeming villages. Lucanus abruptly put down his goblet of whiskey. Isaac had become quite garrulous. His jokes now bordered on the obscene, as is the way with old men. “Ah,” he said, in apology, “when a man is no longer potent he must amuse himself with naughty words. This deceives the listener that here is a lusty man, indeed. David procured a young wife to keep him warm; I prefer whiskey.”

  “A goat is very potent,” said Lucanus. “But does a goat have a mind in his old age? No, he goes into the pot or on the spit.”

  Isaac began to love Lucanus. His eyes grew misty, and he put his gnarled hand on Lucanus’ arm. “How you understand!” he exclaimed.

  Lucanus drank some beer. He leaned his elbows on the rough and splintered table. “I am doing some research,” he remarked, idly. “I am interested in one Jesus, who was the Son of Mary, and Joseph, the carpenter. Can you tell me of them?”

  Instantly Isaac’s face became closed and watchful. He stared at Lucanus, suspiciously. Then he said, indifferently, “Oh, Mary and Joseph. And Jesus.”

  “I am no spy,” said Lucanus. “I am no Roman.”

  Isaac was not as exhilarated as Lucanus had hoped; neither had his tongue become loose enough. He narrowed his eyes at Lucanus, and said in an astonished tone, “Who spoke of spies? Why should spies come to this small obscure town, and on what errand? A humble Jewish family, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Of what concern would they be to the world? The father and son — they were carpenters, simple, honest people like all in Nazareth.” He rubbed his beard and stared more acutely at Lucanus. He added, “You said Mary sent you to this inn? I must thank her when I see her, for she is a very distant cousin and wishes me well.”

  He suddenly struck the table hard with his hand, and a handsome dark youth came in at once and said, “Yes, Grandfather?”

  Isaac spoke in such perfect and cultured Hebrew that Lucanus was surprised. He understood that he was not to understand, he, a traveling Greek physician who could not possibly know the learned language. Isaac said, “Ezekiel, go at once to our cousin Mary and ask her if in truth she sent this stranger to us, this Greek, and if he is to be trusted, and what she wishes us to tell him. He may be lying. Look upon him closely, so you can describe him to her. His name, he declares, is Lucanus, and he is a physician. He is also in possession of a fine Arabian steed, and appears not to be in want of money. We must be very careful; one must remember Pilate and Herod.”

  Ezekiel studied Lucanus acutely, memorizing his features, and Lucanus drank more beer and ate a handful of grapes, pretending not to comprehend Hebrew. The youth said, “He wears beautiful rings; he has a civilized manner.”

  Lucanus smiled to himself. The youth left the room, and Isaac said, disarmingly, “As I have said, we are a simple people. I spoke to my grandson in one of our dialects, suggesting, as the nights are cool, that he find another blanket for you.”

  “You are very kind,” said Lucanus. “Is my horse bedded down?”

  “Ah, yes, Master. I also admonished Ezekiel to take him fresh water.”

  They drank their beer in a comfortable silence
. Isaac abstractedly finished the plate of mutton. Then he said, “I have a room where I sleep and live. I should like to show it to you, Master.”

  He stood up, his stately garments trailing like a king’s robes, for all their poor quality. He led Lucanus into a small room behind the dining quarters, and lighted the lantern on the wall. The room was furnished with simple chairs, a large table, a narrow bed, a chest, and all was shining. Isaac said, “You will observe this furniture. It is not carved nor gilded nor especially fine. But it is excellently worked, smooth, and polished. Joseph and Jesus made these things for me; there were no better carpenters in all Galilee. Joseph, alas, is dead, and so is Jesus, unfortunately. Now we must buy furniture done by lesser craftsmen.”

  Lucanus put his hands on it, and thought, And so He made this, He the Lord of all! He did not disdain to be a carpenter, He who created the galaxies and the constellations and the suns which blaze through eternity. He planed this wood so it gleams like silk; He fashioned this bed, this table. And, no doubt, He took as much pride in it as He did in the creation of the Pleiades!

  The physician wished to lay not only his hands but his lips on this calm and simple furniture, which had known the hands of God. His eyes moistened. He sat on a chair. Isaac watched him. He saw Lucanus’ emotion. He frowned, baffled.

  “There were other men from this place,” said Lucanus. “I have talked with James and John; I will soon see Peter.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Isaac, carelessly. “I knew them well.” He too sat down. In a few moments Ezekiel returned, his eyes bright with excitement, and he said, “Grandfather, Mary declares you may speak to this man freely, for he loved Our Lord, and is writing of Him, and has come a long way to hear of Him!”

  “Mary can never be deceived,” said Isaac, sighing with relief, and dismissed his grandson. He turned to Lucanus and said earnestly, “Ask me what you will of Jesus. Mary is a distant cousin of mine, and I have loved her since she was a child. Such a lovely babe, such a lovely girl! She has an eternal innocence and an unworldly wisdom. To know her is to be filled with sweetness, as with honey. Did I not say to my wife when Mary was born, ‘She was conceived and born without sin’? One had only to look upon her face to know.”

  He put his twisted old hands on his knees and dropped his bearded head on his breast. “Mary and Joseph were of the house of David. The prophecies we know of the Messias spoke of that; they also declared that the Redeemer of Israel would be born in Bethlehem, that He would die as He died, in Jerusalem. This was known for centuries. Yet when the prophecies were fulfilled the people refused to accept them, except for the very humble and hopeless.”

  Isaac talked for a long time. Much that he told, Lucanus also knew, but there was much he did not know. The lamp flickered on the wall; insects, with shrill voices, blew into the room and blew out again. There was the song of crickets outside, and sometimes the voice of a night bird. Isaac told Lucanus of the time of Mary’s purification after the birth of her Son, according to the Law of Moses, and how she had taken Him to Jerusalem to present Him to God. Joseph was a poor and gentle man, and he had little money for the customary sacrifice, and all he could afford was a pair of turtledoves which he carried to Jerusalem in a cage. “He could not pay the prices of those in the Temple,” said Isaac, with some bitterness. “How is it possible that men can be so greedy that they will make their money in a matter of holiness?”

  He spoke of old Simeon, who had been very devout, and who, when in the Temple at the time of presentation, looked upon the infant Redeemer and was instantly filled with the power of the Holy Spirit. It had been revealed to him that he would not die until he had seen the Christ of the Lord. He had taken the Babe into his arms, weeping and praying, and had cried, “Now You, O God, may dismiss Your servant, according to Your word, in peace, because my eyes have seen Your salvation, which You have prepared before the face of all peoples, a Light of revelation to the Gentiles and a glory for Your people, Israel!”

  Simeon had then blessed Mary and Joseph, and he had then said to the young girl, “Behold, this Child is destined for the fall and for the rise of many in Israel, and for a sign that shall be contradicted. And your own soul, Mary, a sword shall pierce, that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

  “I was there,” said Isaac, spreading out his hands. “I heard those words with my own ears. Was Mary amazed or frightened? No. She appeared to know everything, though her young face became sorrowful at the words of Simeon.”

  “And when the three returned from Jerusalem?” asked Lucanus, gently.

  “They became what the people understood. A good mother and housekeeper. That was Mary. A conscientious carpenter; that was Joseph. And a quiet and handsome boy; that was Jesus. They were one with their neighbors. You have heard of our Zealots? Yes. They wished only to deliver their sacred land from the hand of the Roman. There was much secret talk of insurrection, and of driving the Roman from our country, the Roman with his arrogance and his taxes. Galilee was particularly enthusiastic about these matters, for to the simple all is simple. The Galileans did not seem aware that Rome was the mistress of the world, that she had a hundred legions armed and mighty. To the Galileans, who saw few Romans, it was an uncomplicated matter to dream of chasing the legions into the sea and delivering the holy land. One needed only a few sharp knives, stones, and a will. The Jews had been delivered from Babylon and Egypt. They could, with the power of God, be delivered from Rome.

  “All our Zealots were young men. They attempted to bring Jesus, that young carpenter, into their fold. But He was not interested. His eyes looked dreamily into the distance. This vexed the patriots. How could a young man not be concerned with driving the heathen from His country and purifying the sacred places? Jesus became unpopular. Some there were who said sneeringly that Mary, who had this only Son, had ambitions for Him. She had sent Him to the School of Shammai. Once He had said to the vehement ones who came to see Him in the house of Mary and his foster father, Joseph, ‘My Kingdom is not of this world’. That was incomprehensible. A kingdom for a Galilean? The youth was mad! The Zealots were derisive; the old men shook their heads. Mary was educating this youth beyond His deserts and destiny. He was very strange; He would wander over the countryside and smile at the flowers and the beasts and the birds. Sometimes He would sit on a boulder, and meditate, under the sun. I tell you, Lucanus, that no man is more abhorred than a man who is different from his neighbors. They feel violated and threatened if one dares to be as they are not. When he is with his community, then he must conform to its ideas and customs. Otherwise he is a pariah dog who has mortally offended the accepted. He must comb his hair and his beard in the usual manner; he must speak as others speak. Indifferent to the accepted, he is an enemy. People are very stupid, are they not, Master?”

  “More crimes have been wrought through stupidity than through armies,” said Lucanus. “One could pity the stupid if they were not so invincible, so vociferous, so positive. But they are terrible in their universal might.”

  “But one may pity them, Master?”

  Lucanus reflected, then he shook his head. “Unless a man is born with a defect of the mind, then he cannot be pardoned for being a fool, or faceless, or as completely like his neighbor as possible.”

  Isaac wagged his beard. “It was not that Jesus violated any of the Levitical ceremonial laws, or annoyed His teachers with heretical questions, or expressed doubt over the regulations of the Pharisees. Nevertheless, even to the dullest eye He was not as others; hence the vexation of many of the neighbors. He recited the prayers and the Psalms in the synagogue with fervor and devotion, and with tears on His cheeks. Joseph taught Him of His tribe and His house. He taught Him to be a carpenter, for the old-fashioned Jews believe it is not enough to cultivate the mind. One must learn to use his hands also, for it is a goodly thing to know a trade as well as books. In all these Jesus meticulously observed custom. Perhaps it was the far look of His eyes, or His manner, His silences, His smiles, the wa
y in which He walked. As a child He played as a child, and was strong and hearty and had clear boyish laughter. And yet He was not as the others.

  “We very few who understood the prophecies, and how He had been born, and for what He was destined, did not find Him strange. But the neighbors were offended by Him. Was He handsomer than young men His own age? That is hard to answer. I only know that to look upon Him was to feel the heart lurch, even among those who did not know who He was. He was disturbing to all who observed Him, and men do not like to be disturbed.”

  The yellow moon looked into the chamber, and some carapaced creature scraped on the stones of the courtyard. Isaac told of the appearance of John the Baptist in the Jordan valley, who cried, “I, indeed, baptize you with water! But one mightier than I is coming, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to loose. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.” John was a man of furious temperament. Jesus knew he was His kinsman. John wore no robe such as the Pharisees wear, purple gowns with long white fringes, nor was his head covered with the pointed cap of the Levites. He was a wild man from the desert, with a beard of bronze, a dark face, a strong and fear-inspiring voice. Sometimes he roared like a bull, when he was angered, and he was frequently angered. He was dressed in the skins of animals. But he spoke with authority, and the people listened, even the Romans he encountered. His fervor was as compelling as the sun. He spoke constantly of the Redeemer, who was at hand. The people became excited. The day of the Roman was done! The Christ would hurl every Roman into the sea and would deliver His people, Israel, and seat Himself on a golden throne, and the world would gaze at Him and say, “How mighty is the King, and how mighty is Israel!” Sinai would thunder and blaze again, and the Law would again be proclaimed to all the earth, and archangels would stand in the sky above the Temple in Jerusalem. The hearts of the people fluttered with hope and joy when they listened to John, though he said nothing of what they expected. They believed it in their spirits, for how else would they recognize the Holy One? They forgot the prophecies.