Dear and Glorious Physician (46 page)

The little house, painted a pale blue, and with a rosy roof, sat within a small walled court. A pool floating with pink water lilies and broad green leaves, and filled with tiny golden fish, stood in the center of the garden. A large fig tree provided cool dark shade over a stone bench, and a few fruit trees, citrus and apple, and a big date palm, scattered themselves around the walls. Lucanus, besides cultivating his herb patches, also grew some roses, which reminded him of Rubria; jasmine surrounded his austere house. He could see, from his garden, the silvery hills of Greece, spotted, here and there, with the darkness of pointed cypresses and the darker silver of olive trees, and the pure blue of the skies.

The interior of the house, which contained only three rooms, had been plastered white, against which the meager furniture cast sharp black shadows in the blaze of morning sun. Here the curtains at the windows were of some thick heavy blue stuff, and the same cheap material hung over the doorways. The red tiled floor was bare. Lucanus led his new purchase into his house, and Ramus looked about him mutely and indifferently. And always his shimmering eyes returned to Lucanus’ face with eagerness and seeking.

Lucanus went to his spring in the garden — the source of the pool — and brought in a large pitcher of goat’s milk. He put this, foaming and cool, on the bare wooden table, sliced some dark bread, placed this with inexpensive cheese on the table, and added a wooden bowl of fruit and a dish of honeycomb. Ramus watched him in utter silence, standing in the center of the room. Then Lucanus said, gently, “This is our meal. Sit with me and eat.”

Ramus gazed at him dumbly. Lucanus, watching him, repeated his words in Latin, then in some of the Mediterranean dialects. There was no response. Lucanus tried Egyptian, then finally a mixture of Babylonian, Hebrew, Aramaic, and African. It finally came to Lucanus that Ramus had understood all these various tongues, and that some terror in him kept him from acknowledging this. So Lucanus shrugged, and said in Greek, “There is some reason why you refuse to admit that you understand me, and if I knew that reason I would comprehend. Until you trust me you may keep your own counsel.” He looked at Ramus earnestly, and continued, “In the Greek language the word meaning ‘slave’ also means ‘thing’. To me you are a man, therefore neither a slave nor a thing.”

Ramus’ majestic Negroid face did not change, but a single tear slipped around his eyelid, and his lips trembled. Lucanus looked away an instant, then returned his regard to the colored man. He said, very softly, “I see you hear me. You are not deaf also?”

For a long moment or two Ramus did not respond, then, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. Lucanus smiled, and motioned him to one of the two benches at the table. But Ramus raised his hands above his head, pressed the palms together, dropped them so to his breast, then fell on his knees and touched the floor with his forehead in silent prayer. Lucanus’ face darkened sadly, but he waited with politeness. Ramus rose and seated himself at the table; Lucanus’ mantle flowed about his shoulders, and the big golden ring in his nose glittered in the sun. Lucanus broke the bread and gave Ramus half. They began to eat. The light filled the small stark room and lay like a yellow halo about Lucanus’ head. And always Ramus watched him as he ate and drank.

“I could take you to the praetor tomorrow and have you given your freedom,” said Lucanus, quietly. “But that would do you no service. The authorities would seize you, throw you into prison, and deliver you up to the slavemasters once more. In two weeks’ time we leave Greece for a while, for I am a physician, a ship’s doctor, with a few homes here and there where I rest. At the first port I will seek out a Roman praetor, and you shall have your freedom, and then you may leave for your own country.”

He looked at Ramus. Then, to his astonishment, Ramus smiled radiantly and shook his head. He lifted his large dark hand, pointed to himself, then to Lucanus, and bowed.

“I keep no slaves,” said Lucanus, sternly. “The owner of slaves is more degraded in my sight than the slaves themselves.” He studied the other man. “Ah, I see. You are indicating that where I go you wish to go also?”

Ramus nodded, his smile brighter. “Why?” asked Lucanus.

Ramus made the motions of writing, and Lucanus rose, brought him a tablet and a stylus. Ramus began to write, slowly and carefully, in Greek, then gave the tablet to Lucanus. “Call me Ramus, Master, for such is the name the Greeks have given me, and my own name will mean nothing to you. Let me be your servant, whether you free me or not, for my heart told me, on seeing you this morning, that where you go I should go, for you shall lead me to him.”

Ramus had written precisely in Greek, but it was a scholar’s Greek, stilted and pompous. Lucanus lifted his fair eyebrows and tapped the stylus against his lips. “I do not understand,” he said. “Who is he to whom I shall lead you?” Ramus smiled brilliantly. He reached for the stylus and tablet, and wrote, “He is he who will deliver my people from the curse laid on Ham, my ancient father, and him I seek, and through you I shall find him, and only through you, whom he has touched.”

Lucanus looked at the tablet for a long while. Finally he shook his head. “I understand the Jewish religion. It was Noah who upbraided his sons for finding him in his drunken nakedness. He particularly laid the curse on his son, Ham, of the black countenance. It is true that the black man has been truly cursed, but not by any deity, but only by man. If there is God, and I know there is God, He has not cursed any of His children. Nor to any man has He given the commandment to curse other men, but only to do good to them.”

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.