by B. B. Oak
“She must have thought you too young to understand the consequences,” I said.
“Well, I should like to hear them now.”
“You mean you still don’t know, Julia?”
“Know what?”
“The Walker family history.”
“Papa never talked of Mama’s family to me, except to say they had not approved of him. So it is up to you to tell me of our heredity, Adam. Pray do so here and now.”
And so I reluctantly did. “In the past, when Walker cousins married, the offspring that resulted were too unfit to survive.”
Julia’s expression became most grave. “That is indeed a dire family curse.”
“I do not think it so much a curse as a medical disorder. And it is not particular to our lineage. Recent studies indicate children born of first cousins are often physically or mentally unsound. In fact, there is now a movement here in Massachusetts, led by none other than Noah Webster, to make first-cousin marriages illegal.”
“And have you joined this movement, Adam?”
“No, no. I do not believe in passing laws that forbid any individual from marrying another. Surely the freedom to chose one’s mate is among our unalienable rights.”
“And no matter what the law or the consequence,” Julia said, “there is no preventing people from falling in love, is there?”
My eyes met hers, but my reply remained mute in my heart. After a long moment she broke our gaze and said she would go see how our grandfather was faring. As soon as she was out of my sight I missed her.
Our conversation has made me recall, once again, what she recounted during her regression. I had hoped to put it out of mind but instead feel a compelling need to record it word for word.
“I am standing in the warm sun, and the scent of lilies fills the air,” she began and went on to describe a private garden overlooking the Tiber and an amphitheater on a hill beyond. “Family and friends surround me,” she continued.“We all wear fine woolen tunics, the women’s much longer than the men’s, draped with swathes of colorful fabric. A woman bearing a bundle smiles at me and then walks toward a young man standing by the pool. He is my husband, and when he looks at me I recognize in the depths of his eyes that he is you, Adam. The woman lays the bundle at your feet and unwraps the swaddling to display a naked boy baby. He is our baby, and he is perfect in every way. You bend down, swoop him up, and hold him over your head toward the sun. With this gesture you formally acknowledge that he is your child and your legal heir, to share your nomen and cognomen. You then declared that his praenomen would be Agrippa.”
After Julia repeated, in Latin, a string of blessings that those around her were voicing, she went back to speaking to me directly, describing the simple ceremony that followed.
“You hand me our child, and as I cradle him in my arms our naming-party guests come forth to fasten around his plump neck dainty necklaces decorated with bells and gold objects. You bestow the last necklace, which bears a gold locket containing charms against evil spirits. It is the bulla you wore as a boy, and you beseech the gods to shine as much fortune on our son as they have on you. At that very moment a roar from the amphitheater fills the air. We all laugh and call it a sign of great luck. You smile at me tenderly, and as I look into your eyes and feel the weight of our baby in my arms I am filled with exultation.”
Tears of joy streamed down her lovely face as she declared this, and it was then that I clapped my hands and awakened her from her reverie. If such happiness as that is not to be ours in this lifetime, I do not want to hear her fantasies about a past life together. And I am sure she would be most disconcerted if I repeated her unconscious longings to her. Hence I shall continue to withhold them.
ADAM’S JOURNAL
Monday evening, August 10th
Completed my afternoon patient calls and drove out to Capt. Peck’s. Noticed right off that he has spoilt a perfectly fine old farmhouse, the inheritance of which brought him to Plumford in the first place, by embellishing it as tastelessly as some women ornament their bonnets. The old chestnut siding has been ripped off and replaced with board-and-batten strips, and the simple squares of clear glass in the windows are now diamond-shaped and many-hued. The hipped roof has been dressed up with superfluous gables, and there is enough Gothic fretwork all around to make your head spin. White pilasters run up the two stories of the front, and the rest is painted a yellow bright as dandelion blossoms. All this needless renovation must be very costly, but I am told that spending money is one of the captain’s favorite pastimes, along with gambling at the tavern and making himself agreeable to the ladies.
Prepared myself for another encounter with Rufus Badger as I rapped the polished knocker composed of enough brass to forge a small cannon. It rather reminded me of Badger’s hard head. But it was not Peck’s brutish minion who answered the door. Instead it was the captain himself, his smooth face wreathed in a welcoming smile.
“Why, it is Dr. Walker come to call,” said he, sounding as if there could be nothing more delightful than my unexpected presence at his doorstep. “Do come in, sir! No, better yet, let us walk out to the belvedere that I have had built across the field yonder. It commands a fine view of the river, and we can converse in privacy. My housekeeper is a quite a busybody. Come.”
As he spoke I observed how pale his complexion was in contrast to his thick black hair. Usually his hair was meticulously brushed and pomaded, with its dashing streak of white artfully arranged along his brow, but today it was dull and disheveled. I noted a small bare patch at the back of the crown, the appearance of which must have brought this vain man some distress. As we began walking through the meadow I became aware that he was having trouble keeping up and slowed to a snail’s pace to accommodate him.
“I heard you stopped up a hole the size of a Spanish gold piece in the head of a heathen the other day, Doctor,” he said.
“Why do you assume he is a heathen, Captain?”
“Because your hired girl told me he’s an Indian.”
“You know Molly Munger?”
“Slightly,” Peck said. “My housekeeper had the girl here to help with the spring cleaning. Come to think of it, I am not even sure she was the one who told me. There is much talk everywhere in town about him. People are always so curious about Indians, are they not? They are of little interest to me, however. I had my fill of them eight years ago when I took part in the Cherokee removal.”
“Down in Georgia?” I said.
“That’s right.” Peck gave me a sidelong look. “Some think relocating them was unjust.”
“And I am one of them,” I said. “But I have not come to discuss the illegality of the U.S. Army’s removal of peaceful Indian tribes from their southern homelands.”
“Good, for such discussions with Northerners weary me mightily, doctor. So why have you come?”
“I wish to make a most serious complaint against Rufus Badger.”
“What has that devil been up to now?” Posing the question, Peck seemed ready to be amused.
“He has terrified the young ward of my grandmother with violent and unwanted attention earlier today. I shall have him arrested and charged with assault should he ever come near her again.”
“Now doctor, calm yourself. Did Rufus do her harm?”
“Mental harm most certainly. He near frightened the life out of her. And if I had not arrived in time to put a stop to it, he would have harmed her physically too.”
“Are you sure of it? Rufus may be a bit rough in his courting ways, but many a female prefers that.” He winked. “We all know how a girl will act up a bit if she wants to heighten our ardor to a fever pitch.”
Barely containing an impulse to strike him, I stared at the man, thinking him mad or perverted to the core. “This girl is innocent and not yet fifteen, Captain. She was clearly terrified and just as clearly found Badger’s attentions repugnant.”
“And you say you put a stop to his amorous pursuit?”
I desc
ribed how Badger came at me and how I had to bring a piece of cordwood down on his head to cool him off.
Peck looked me up and down. “So you got the better of him, did you? Well, I can only say congratulations, for not many men can make such a boast in regard to Sergeant Badger. He went out on a weekend blow, and I wager he was still drunk as a skunk this morning.”
“That does not excuse his behavior.”
“No, but it gives reason for his being humbled at your hands.”
He seemed to utterly fail to grasp the gravity of the situation. I told him he was missing the point. Badger had been caught in the midst of attacking the girl with the intention of brutally raping her.
“Well, the last part is pure conjecture on your behalf,” he said, “since you stopped him well short of that.You know, we go way back, Sergeant Badger and I. He served most loyally and ably under me in the Army, and he serves me most loyally still. I allow he is not entirely trustworthy when he has been drinking. Why, just last week he let me down considerably because of this weakness. It was a far more serious matter than his recent tomfoolery, I assure you. But I forgave him for it.” He smiled. “Let bygones be bygones, right, Doctor?”
“Try to hear me, Captain Peck,” I said. “I consider what Badger did a most grave offence. And if that brute does not steer clear of Tuttle Farm and my grandmother’s ward, I will see to it he ends up in prison. In addition, I take your questioning of the girl’s virtue as an insult to her and to me.”
Peck stopped in his tracks and gave me a wary look, his smarmy smirk fading away. “Yes, yes, now I understand. You have persuaded me that Sergeant Badger behaved abominably, Doctor. I apologize for his actions and will speak to him directly, although I doubt he will even remember the incident if he was drunk. Even so, you may assure the girl of her future safety from his attention.”
This was as good as I could expect from him, and when he offered his hand to seal his promise, I shook it and bade him Good Day.
“Please don’t go yet,” he said. “There is another matter I would like to discuss with you of a medical nature. Let us continue to the belvedere.”
I agreed, and we did not converse again until we reached the octagonal, open-sided wooden structure he referred to as a belvedere. It was located in a secluded spot well hidden from the house by trees, but he still looked about him before speaking. He kept his voice low.
“Your visit today was providential, Doctor Walker. It made me realize that the time has come for me to seek help concerning a growing infirmity. If you can cure me, I will pay any price you ask and follow any treatment you suggest.”
I told him to relate his symptoms and that we would proceed from there. I have observed that expressing a long-held fear brings great relief to a person suspecting some dread illness in himself. Often as not, the fear is groundless, and the patient is as pleased with you as though you had just snatched him from the very jaws of death.
“Doctor,” he began, “my bones ache, and every night I am awakened by shooting pains in my limbs, like someone is stabbing needles into me. I moan out loud in pain.”
I told him I had noticed his limp at the ball game.
“It has gotten worse since, and I fear I am losing control over my legs.” He pressed his fingertips to his eyes. “And another thing. I see double sometimes.”
I inquired after his digestion and eating habits.
“I eat the same as always, after which I vomit up the most awful bile. I have become disgusting to myself.”
I sat him down beside me on a bench inside the belvedere and observed that the pupils of his eyes were small and fixed. I used my knuckles to sharply tap below his kneecap. No reaction. That his reflex system was not normal did not surprise me, for by this time I had surmised what was wrong.
“Do you have difficulty passing water?” I asked him.
His face contorted as though he was about to sob, but he controlled himself. “These last few nights, when I arise to piss, I can barely stay upright. When I finally manage to arrange myself before my chamber pot, I have to wait and wait, and when at last I do piss, there is such pain I cry out. I tell you, my life is a horror. What is happening to me?”
I stood up and motioned for him to rise. “Let me examine your body.”
He complied at the cost of some effort in removing his clothes. As I expected, there were telltale lesions clustered on the backs of his legs, along with an ulcer on his left arm.
“When did these lesions appear?” I said.
“Some time ago. But I paid them no mind for they were not like those I had before.”
“Describe to me what you had before.”
“Well, I had the pox once—a round sore on my manhood and some time later a rash on the bottom of my feet. All went away.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Ten years, at least. I underwent the mercury cure. I was out in the field on patrol, hence the treatment was erratic, but the rash and sore went away anyway. So I was healed, was I not?” He looked at me with a pleading expression.
“Mercury is an uncertain treatment for syphilis,” I said. “And it is generally agreed that for it to be most effective it must be continued for life.”
He groaned. “It was vile to swallow down for even a short time. I sweated profusely, my heart raced, and I could not sleep a wink. My tongue swelled, my saliva was thick and stringy, and my breath stank. I knew a man who lost all his teeth after being treated with mercury, yet if that is the only way for me to be cured, I will faithfully undergo this harsh treatment for the rest of my days. By Beelzebub, I swear I will!” For a moment the fear in his eyes receded and was replaced by hope.
I was obligated to dash that hope with the truth. “There are three stages to this disease, Captain, and you are in the last one. The second stage was quiescence, when your symptoms went away. Some never experience symptoms again, and others, like you, have them reappear years later.”
“Will they not just disappear again?” he asked, his voice wavering.
“No. The disease has returned in strength and is destroying your nervous system and organs with apparent speed. That is why your motor skills are deteriorating and every body function is deleteriously affected. You are far beyond the help of mercury now.”
Peck sat down in a slump, naked as God made him, and stared dully ahead. “What will happen next? Do not spare me, Doctor.”
I told him there would be a continued deterioration until he was completely incapacitated, without control of any body function, and blindness, total paralysis, and insanity might occur.
“How long will this torture go on?”
“That cannot be predicted with any accuracy.”
“Come, Doctor. Tell me your prognosis. How long before I die?”
He had a right to know the worst and seemed man enough to hear it. “Six or eight weeks, perhaps less. The symptoms could temporarily fade and give you some days of normal existence, but the disease will return with greater strength after each respite. I would venture you have but a good month before you are incapacitated. After that you will require complete and constant care until death.”
“Let death come quickly if I am to be bereft of all dignity and peace of mind.”
“If you desire peace of mind,” I told him, “you should inform every person you have had sexual congress with since your symptoms returned.”
Peck shook his head. “If the women I have lain with have caught the pox from me, what good would it do to torment them now? They are as doomed as I am.”
“They are not doomed if they receive treatment early enough. They must be alerted, Captain, so they can be more attentive to symptoms that may appear and avoid infecting others. Knowing you have done the right thing will surely make the remainder of your life more peaceful.”
“But the remainder of my life is so short. And hell is everlasting ! God will surely send me there for all my sins.” He burst into tears. After a moment, he swiped his hand across his face and
regained a modicum of composure. “I was raised to fear eternal damnation, Doctor. But I was also taught that God forgives those who are repentant of their sins. How can I show God that I am repentant?” He looked at me as if I would know the answer to that.
And I believe I did. “Confess to those women you might have infected.”
“Will that save me from burning in hell?”
“It very well might,” I replied without a qualm. Be there a hell or not, I know for sure it is the only right thing for him to do.
He began to shiver. I helped him dress and walked him back to his house. Before taking my leave I urged him once again to inform his past lovers. He assured me he would do so forthwith.
JULIA’S NOTEBOOK
Tuesday, 11 August
This forenoon the Indian’s eyes suddenly opened. His dark irises appeared to be flecked with fire as he gazed at me most fiercely. Although I had been waiting for this moment for three days, I could only stare back at him, dumbfounded. I am grateful Henry Thoreau was present.
“You are among friends,” he told the Indian in a soothing voice. “You have been injured. Take care not to move too quickly.”
If the Indian understood English, he gave no sign of it. His black eyes darted about the room like frantic flies looking for escape. He attempted to lift his bandaged head from the pillow but groaned from the effort and lay back again. He closed his eyes, and I confess I felt relieved that the wildness I had seen in them was once again shielded from view.
Leaving Henry to deal with our Lazarus, I ran off to fetch Adam at the schoolhouse. There are signs of an epidemic commencing in Massachusetts, and he had gone there to inoculate the children against small pox. That duty done, he was thrumming his guitar for the youngsters as a reward for enduring the needle pricks. Everyone was singing “Turkey in the Straw.” I alerted Adam that his patient had awakened, and he immediately took his leave. The students looked most disappointed (as did the young schoolmistress).