Be patient, O woman, Arseny whispered to her, and she again fell into unconsciousness.
He pierced blood vessels in various parts of her body and she moaned each time but no longer opened her eyes. Arseny covered her with a blanket when he finished.
And now: sleep a long sleep and gather your strength. And awaken not for death but for life. Your prognosis is favorable.
With those words, Arseny left the house. By the end of the day, he had been in several other houses, had dealings with the dead and the living, and seen the living transform into the dead. In one of the houses, he discovered the rag had fallen from his face. There was no time to search for a new one and so he prayed to his Guardian Angel, who was on his right shoulder, warding off the scourge of pestilence with his wings. Arseny felt an angelic waft of air from time to time and that calmed him. Now he could fully concentrate on treating the ill.
Arseny held the wrists of the ill and took heed of the movement of their blood. Sometimes he drew his hand along their chests or along the top of the head. This revealed to him the most likely journey preordained for the ill person. If recovery awaited the patient, Arseny smiled and kissed the person’s forehead. If death was predestined for him, Arseny noiselessly wept. Sometimes no preordination was presented and then Arseny fervidly prayed for the ailing person’s recovery. He would transfer vitalizing strength to the patient as he held the lying patient’s hand. He would let go the hand only when he sensed that the struggle between life and death was resolving itself in favor of life.
This sapped much of his strength that day because never had so many people required his help all at once. In the last of the homes he visited, Arseny fell asleep alongside the patient. He slept and dreamt of his Guardian Angel, who was warding off the scourge of pestilence for him. He did not furl his wings, even at night. Arseny was surprised at the Angel’s indefatigability and asked how he did not tire.
Angels do not tire, said the Angel, because they do not scrimp on their strength. If you are not thinking about the finiteness of your strength, you will not tire, either. Know, O Arseny, that only he who does not fear drowning is capable of walking on water.
In the morning, Arseny and the patient awoke at the exact same time. And the patient knew that he was well.
Arseny stayed in Velikoe Selo for two weeks. He treated and washed the sick. He gave them food and drink, first and foremost drink. And he taught those who recovered how to care for the sick.
You are not under the power of the pestilence now, Arseny told those who had recovered. It can no longer touch those who have broken free of its clutches.
Not everyone believed him. Some, fearing the ailment would return, quietly left the village, going where there was no pestilence. They soon realized this was a mistake. Their bodies, weakened by illness, could not ward off the adversities of the journey, so the slush and cold fog of the road completed what the plague had lacked the power to accomplish. Those who stayed (they were the majority) believed in Arseny as they believed in themselves. He was their savior and his healing confirmed in their eyes the rightness of his words. They entered the plague houses together with Arseny but no harm came to any of them.
When Arseny had enough helpers to care for the living, he devoted himself to the dead: they could not wait, either. Even the dead who had been brought outside were decomposing, unrestrained. The embarrassed grimaces of the deceased clearly showed they were not to blame; they required immediate help. A cart was found and loaded with bodies. They were taken off to the nearest potter’s field, three versts away, and there they stayed, to await Semik. Those who took care of the deceased did not cry. In those days nobody really cried, for tears cannot soften the grief of so much death. Beyond that, there were simply no more tears.
When he was certain life was returning to normal in Velikoe Selo, Arseny decided to leave. He said goodbye to its residents on a fine January morning, not allowing anyone to escort him beyond the outskirts. But Arseny’s great renown—the source of which may be found in Velikoe Selo—could not confine itself to that one locality.
Arseny’s renown spread, independent of his will, through burgs and hamlets, overcoming dank dampness and roadlessness. Arseny moved on to the village of Lukinskaya, but his renown greeted him right at the first house. It stood in the form of an old peasant woman leaning against a carved doorframe and holding a ceremonial loaf of bread.
Art thou Arseny? asked the woman.
I am, answered Arseny.
The woman thrust the bread at him and he mechanically pinched some off. The bread was hard because (as Arseny gathered) it had been baked long ago.
Do helpe us, O Arseny, for we are dying the death.
If it so please God, I will help, Arseny muttered, not looking at the woman.
He did not understand where she had learned about him; he silently followed her around the village. Mud squished underfoot, and large, wet snowflakes floated down on them through awkwardly angled birch branches. The snowflakes were invisible against the backdrop of the white tree trunks but their faces keenly sensed them. The snow melted instantly on their cheeks but lingered on their eyelashes, hanging for a short time.
How does she know me? Arseny asked Ustina, but Ustina remained silent.
Arseny paused and then said, I’m afraid she takes me for someone else. And that her expectations are too high.
Sometimes he got ahead of the old woman and looked her in the eyes. They reflected a gray sky with no ray of light. He took the woman by the shoulder and abruptly stopped her. She turned her head but looked beyond him.
You know full well your grandson died so why are you taking me to him? said Arseny.
And why, one must ask, am I alive? said the woman, indifferent.
Arseny did not know how to respond, and it had not been a question anyway. At least not a question for him. He silently watched the woman disappear beyond the snowflakes. Once she was no longer visible, he headed toward the nearest house. Work already awaited him there.
Arseny spent more time in Lukinskaya than in Velikoe Selo. There were more patients here. There were also more dead. Apathy reigned in Lukinskaya and it turned out to be much more complicated to get people to help each other. But Arseny dealt with that, too.
He worked to convince the peasants that their recovery depended in large part on they, themselves. With the wish of awakening the vitalizing force within them, Arseny proved to them that God’s help often comes in the form of hard workers. The peasants nodded because they took Arseny to be one of those hard workers. But they did not want to become hard workers. Or perhaps could not. Hope awakened within them when a few of the sick they had already mourned recovered.
And so the recovered began to help the sick and gather up the deceased. They brought bread to orphaned children, washed houses and burned incense for purification, and cleared out yards and streets that had suffered from neglect during the time of the pestilence. Arseny left the village of Lukinskaya and moved on after seeing this.
The village of Gory was the next spot Arseny came to on his journey. After spending some time in Gory, he went around Lake Kishemskoye, ending up in the village of Shortino after walking ten versts. From there his route took him to Kuligi, from Kuligi to Dobrilovo and from there to Zagorye. People already awaited Arseny everywhere and the local residents were already aware of how they should help him, the doctor. His words, like his renown, preceded him and everyone now knew what Arseny would say to them upon arrival, meaning he could speak ever less. This became a significant relief for Arseny: of all his work, it was the uttering of words that took the most effort.