“I was born and raised in Providence, yes. But I’ve been here since 1834.”
“Three years isn’t very long.”
“I believe Dr. Turner has earlier and deeper roots in this city,” one of the other aldermen said. “Is that not so, sir?”
So he had at least one friend at court, perhaps two. He was intensely conscious of the man sitting behind him and of Carolina in the shadows at the rear. “It is indeed so. My family came to New York when it was New Amsterdam.”
“We don’t put one class ahead of another here, Dr. Turner.” The chairman spoke. “Don’t matter if you’re one of the old families as call themselves Knickerbockers. This here’s a republic. Every man is equal.”
Nick felt a tug on his sleeve. “Tell them about Christopher and Andrew.”
“The Turners have never been wealthy, gentlemen, and while I believe the Knickerbockers claim Dutch descent, we Turners do not. Lucas Turner was a barber surgeon, an Englishman, though he arrived by way of Rotterdam. His grandson Christopher Turner was a celebrated surgeon as well and in charge of the Almshouse Hospital under the British. My grandfather was Andrew Turner, a hero of the Revolution, a remarkable surgeon, also head of the Almshouse Hospital in his day and a member of this council.”
“Very well, Dr. Turner. We take your point.” The chairman was leaning on his elbow, looking a bit bored. “You’ve established your bona fides, as they say. Now state your business.”
Nicholas took a deep breath. “A great injustice has been done in the name of this honorable council, gentlemen. It is being repeated every night and every day.”
“You mean because you got the sack, do you?” The alderman who’d first brought up Providence.
“No, sir. Not that. At least not only that.” If he was going to produce the letter, this was the time. I will file papers seeking a divorce from Carolina and name you as corespondent. The man with whom my wife has committed adultery. Nick gripped the back of the chair in front of him. “I have been aware of conditions at the almshouse since I arrived in 1834, long before I was dismissed from my post.”
“And you’ve waited three years to tell us anything about them? That’s hard to believe, Dr. Turner.”
“It is nonetheless the truth. It has been my hope that by remaining in my post I might mitigate—”
There was flurry of activity behind him: Sweet Jesus Christ, Monty Chance was walking down the aisle.
“I can tell the council why things are as they are at Bellevue,” Chance said, pointing an accusatory finger at Nick. “Dr. Turner has mad notions about what’s important. Always on about us washing our hands when we’ve barely enough time to treat the sick. And upstairs in his private apartment he—”
A loud ahem cut him off. Grant was on his feet. Of course. The old bastard didn’t want any mention of the laboratory or the dissections. Flagrant breaches of the law at Bellevue Hospital would ultimately be his responsibility. “Thank you, Dr. Chance. I’m sure the council take your meaning.”
Monty Chance made his way to sit beside Grant and Potter and Clement. Nick started to speak, but the chairman held up a forestalling hand. “You were saying, Dr. Turner.”
“That the situation at the entire almshouse is a disgrace. The taxpayers’ money is being wasted while—”
“Dr. Turner,”—the alderman who was clearly gunning for him—“is that true? You have folks wasting their time on hand-washing nonsense when you’re supposed to be curing folks as is sick so they can go back to working for their keep?”
“Indeed I do. Because of germs. They can’t be seen by the naked eye, but I believe them to be the cause of much illness.”
Nick caught sight of Manon moving toward the front of the room to confront the aldermen. “I can attest to what Dr. Turner says. I frequently visit Bellevue to nurse the poor and—”
“We are not accustomed to hearing from ladies in this chamber, madam. Please take your seat.”
“But I have important evidence to offer.”
“Take your seat, madam.”
“But—”
The chairman banged his gavel. “Sit down or I’ll end this meeting right now. Ladies speaking in this chamber without being called. Ain’t never heard of such a thing. Sit down!” Then, turning to Nick, “Seems to me, Dr. Turner, all this talk of invisible stuff that makes folks sick is a diversion. You’re here for the very reason my colleague stated originally. You’ve come to complain because the man who hired you, believing you would be a trustworthy and competent Senior Medical Attendant for Bellevue Hospital, found you to be wasting the taxpayers’ money on pie in the sky nonsense such as hand-washing and surgery that causes no pain. And as was his duty, he fired you. So you’ve come to complain. Isn’t that true, Dr. Turner?”
“No, it is not.”
“I say it is.”
A number of the others were nodding and murmuring assent. The one alderman Nick thought to be on his side leaned forward. “Suppose my colleagues and I all keep quiet for a bit”—glaring down the table as he spoke—“and you tell us exactly why you’re here, Dr. Turner.”
“Thank you, sir. Gentlemen, a terrible injustice is being committed. The taxpayers’ money is indeed being wasted, but not by me. It’s being siphoned off for his own use by that man there.” Nick swung round and pointed a finger at Tobias Grant, then turned back to face the aldermen. “The conditions at the almshouse are a disgrace, gentlemen. A travesty of any kind of human decency. There are not enough beds for the sick in the hospital, medicine is compounded not to cure disease but to enrich the chief apothecary, who incidentally sits over there as well. And tiny children are flogged almost to their death in that appalling institution that calls itself an orphan asylum when it is no asylum at all but quite simply an antechamber of hell.”
The passion of his accusations stunned his audience into silence. Then Tobias Grant was on his feet, along with Potter, Clement, and even Monty Chance. “Gentlemen, I have been blamed for heinous crimes. I insist on being heard.” Grant’s voice was the one that carried, though Potter and Clement were also clamoring for recognition.
The chairman banged his gavel. “Your turn, Dr. Grant. What do you have to say?”
“I hired Dr. Turner precisely because of the distinguished lineage he mentioned. Naturally it was my hope that he would bring honor to our city and our venerable charitable institution. Instead he brought disgrace. I believe some of you witnessed the fraud he perpetrated last week. And if you did not, you were able to read about it in the newspaper. Painless surgery indeed. Those who were there heard the patient’s screams of agony when they had been promised a dignified—”
“Hey!” Patrick Shaughnessey had broken free of the restraining hand of the porter who brought him and was on his feet. “It’s me what was doin’ all the screamin’, and thanks be to Almighty God I was. Dr. Turner here worked a miracle. Ask anyone who seen me before about the bloody great lump on me shoulder what wouldn’t let me hold my head straight. Ain’t got it now, has I? Just this here bandage on me neck, and that’ll be comin’ off soon. All thanks to Dr. Turner.”
“That man is a prisoner! He has no business being here,” Potter shouted. It was Tobias Grant, Nick noted, who pulled him down to his seat. As he’d expected, the director didn’t want the porous nature of the almshouse custodianship brought to the attention of the council.
“Dr. Turner.” The man behind Nick took advantage of the commotion to again offer advice. “Ask Shaughnessey if he was asleep during the early part of the surgery.”
This time Nick didn’t hesitate. “Patrick Shaughnessey.” He bellowed the man’s name and Shaughnessey jumped to his feet. “Tell these honorable gentlemen if you felt any pain when the surgery began.”
“Absolutely none whatever. So help me God.” Shaughnessey was obviously delighted to be called on. “Slept like a baby I did. At least at first.”
“Then what happened?” one of the aldermen who had not yet spoken asked.
“The
n I woke up.”
“And suffered the terrible agony of the surgeon’s knife. Is that not correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“So calling it painless surgery is a lie of the basest sort.”
“No!” Nick shouted. “It’s a simple enough procedure now that we know what went wrong. We just didn’t have enough of the sulfuric ether for our needs. Next time we will.”
The alderman leaned forward, peering across the table at Nick. “Next time,” he repeated. “Perhaps, Dr. Turner, perhaps. Now I would like to ask another question. Are you a papist, sir?”
“A papist? What has that got to do with anything?”
“I’m told, sir, that you have introduced Jews into the management of the hospital. That’s perhaps unwise given as how they need watching or they’ll steal you blind, but it is not so dreadful a thing as popery. Popery, Dr. Turner, is a religion founded on lies. It seems to me therefore relevant to this discussion. Are you a papist, Dr. Turner?”
“I am not a Catholic, no.”
“Then how is it that you spend so much time at St. Patrick’s Orphan Asylum? Perhaps the charms of the ladies who run the place are the reason. I’m sure we’ve all heard of Maria Monk.”
“The Sisters at St. Patrick’s are fine and admirable women. And that book is a pack of lies.” Nick broke off because it was clear the aldermen were no longer listening. “Gentlemen, please!” Nick tried again.
“Don’t waste your breath,” Nick’s anonymous advisor murmured quietly. “They’ve got the excuse they’ve all been looking for. You’re known to consort with Jews and papists, therefore nothing you say can be trusted.”
“But—”
“No buts. Look.”
Nick turned his attention to the platform. The chairman raised his gavel and brought it down with a decisive smack. “There is nothing to say except that Tobias Grant has acted exactly as he should and has the complete trust of this council. The meeting is declared closed.”
Chapter Twenty-one
THE MAN HAD obviously been waiting; he approached Nick as soon as he left City Hall. “Dr. Turner? My name is Samson Simson. I’m an attorney. Here’s my carriage. Please join me.”
Nick saw a silver-haired man who carried a walking stick and wore an old-fashioned cloak that swirled about his shoulders as he moved. “You were the gentleman seated behind me, weren’t you?”
“I couldn’t represent you in any public way. Whispered advice was the best I could offer.”
“It was good advice. I’m in your debt.”
“Hardly. Nothing I said had the least effect on the outcome.”
“I fear that was decided before I ever came here to City Hall.”
“Precisely so. Now, if you will, Dr. Turner.” Simson pointed his walking stick at the waiting rig.
“That’s very kind of you, but there were two ladies…”
“So there may have been, but there are no ladies here now.”
True enough. There had been no sign of either Manon or Carolina in the auditorium when the hearing ended, and they were nowhere on the street now.
“Dr. Turner,” Simson urged, once more pointing to the carriage. Nick took a last look around, then swung himself up. Simson entered behind him, leaned forward, and tapped on the window that separated him from the driver. It slid open instantly. “Take us to the Astor. That will do, won’t it, Turner? You look as if you could use a bit of supper.”
“I’m not very hungry, I’m afraid.”
“Nonsense. A young man like you should always be hungry. Now I propose we postpone our discussion until we are in more salubrious surroundings.”
Twenty minutes later they were seated in the dining room of the Astor House, sipping a quite decent claret and waiting for oysters and cold pheasant pie. Simson’s choice, since he apparently followed the homely custom of having a main meal at four and a light supper later. “Now, young Dr. Turner, I imagine you are curious as to why I turned up in your hour of need, as it were.”
“Frankly, I’m still a bit too bewildered to have thought about it. Those men represent the governing body of this great city, and they had their minds made up before I ever opened my mouth. It’s beyond belief.”
“My dear boy, it is no such thing. Not if belief is tempered with wisdom. Ah, here’s the food. Tuck in.”
Nick slurped down a couple of oysters, then took a forkful of the pie. He looked up to say how good everything was and found Simson observing him over the rim of his wine glass. The plate in front of him was untouched. “I thought you were hungry, Mr. Simson. It’s really quite good.”
“No doubt. But I am a Jew, Dr. Turner. I am forbidden to eat oysters under any circumstances. And since the pie will not have been prepared under our dietary laws, I must forego that as well.”
“I don’t understand. Why are we here, and why have you ordered all this if you cannot eat it?”
“To make a point, Dr. Turner, about Jews in general and myself in particular. We refrain from oysters because in the holy book of Deuteronomy it says, ‘You may eat all that have fins and scales. And whatever does not have fins and scales you shall not eat; it shall be unclean for you.’ We are not, you will note, trying to make oysters forbidden food throughout the world.”
“‘Unclean for you.’ I suppose you take that to mean for the Chosen People only, yourselves.”
Simson smiled. “So the rabbis tell us. Frankly, considering our history, being chosen sometimes seems a dubious honor. My point, however, is that our laws apply only to us, Dr. Turner. We are capable of cooperating with those who are not enjoined to follow them. You and I can sit as equals in this fine dining room, and you can take a nourishing supper while I sip a glass of wine and we discuss our common interests. Our differing religions do not enter into the matter.”
“Look here, Mr. Simson, that’s a fine republican way of thinking, but what’s this all about?”
“The future, Dr. Turner. The past, as you learned this evening, is not something that can be changed.”
“I’m not sure what my future is to be. Though I do feel damned bad about Ben Klein. He’s a fine young man and on his way to being an excellent doctor. Now, thanks to me—”
“Thanks to you, and I may say Dr. Tobias Grant, however much in spite of himself, Ben Klein will grow to be a man with an excellent position in society. His prospects are enormously improved now that he has been freed from his misplaced loyalty to the Almshouse Hospital.”
Nick put down his fork. It seemed he had little appetite after all. “His loyalty was to me, and I let him down. Ben wanted to be involved in research. I promised him he would be.”
Simson waved away a hovering waiter and poured more claret for himself and his guest. “Let me tell you something else about my religion, Dr. Turner. We prize scholarship and study. Of the holy and divine word first and foremost, but of all things in creation as well. In that I believe we are quite different from most Christians. It does not seem to us to be a violation of the divine law to try to understand more precisely what it is. Particularly when such study leads to the good of mankind.”
Nick sat back and took another sip of his wine. “Just where is all this theology taking us, Mr. Simson?”
“Forgive me, I’ve been rambling. I have an offer to make, Dr. Turner. I wish you to set up in private practice with young Dr. Klein. The cost of establishing that practice, a quite decent office and a serviceable laboratory, will be arranged. A loan to be paid back on just and mutually acceptable terms. I can assure you that a number of the most respected and respectable members of the community are waiting to consult you both.”
“Do you refer to the Jewish community?”
“Yes. I have no doubt you will soon enough have Christian patients as well, but our people will start coming to you immediately, providing a firm base on which to build. So to speak.”
“Why involve me at all? Dr. Klein is now fully qualified.”
“He is. But he is also very young. Your e
xperience will temper his youth, for one thing. For another, I’ve no doubt the pair of you will continue to spend some time in this research to which you are equally devoted.”
“You don’t think we’ll spend time in the laboratory rather than see patients?”
“I doubt that. There will be the matter of the repayment of the debt to keep you on the strait and narrow path. You are an honorable man, Dr. Turner. I have no doubt you will be sufficiently attentive to business to see that your monthly obligations can be met. Further…”
“Yes?”
“While I think this matter of painless surgery must perhaps be forsworn, since the fiasco of last week was so publically aired, if you and Ben Klein were to make other useful discoveries, Dr. Turner, it is very much in the interest of the Jews of this nation that those beneficial advances redound to our credit. If Dr. Klein is working with you and can make an honest claim, that will happen.”
“Ben has a lively and inquiring mind. Given the opportunity, he may do grand things in research with or without me.”
“Fair enough. I am, however, offering the opportunity to you both. A practice with Dr. Klein, Dr. Turner, yourself to be the senior partner as befits your age and experience. Are you interested?”
“Do you have Ben’s agreement in all this? More important, do you have his father’s agreement?”
Simson smiled. “How, Dr. Turner, do you imagine I knew about this evening’s council meeting?”
“So, Mrs. Joyful, for some time I have wished you would come to see me.”
“Have you, Mr. Astor?”
“Ja, I have. Because the last time it was not so good a meeting. Always I have felt bad about that.”
Manon wanted to say that it was a thoroughly awful meeting. Because John Jacob Astor insisted on making money by smuggling opium into Canton, which her dead husband would have protested with every fiber of his being, as did she on his behalf. No point in saying any of that nineteen years later. “Let us then begin anew, Mr. Astor. I believe you and Mr. Simson would now like to have returned what you entrusted to my husband before his death.”
City of God Page 29
