In the week that followed, Buck was at loose ends. It was too early to expect responses from any of his letters, yet he had no place to go, nothing to do. His former favorite leisure diversion of target shooting had lost its appeal. He indulged in reading, something he’d had scant opportunity to do over the previous four years, but even the thrilling tales of Edgar Alan Poe failed to hold his attention for very long.
His mind kept drifting back to his visit with Asa and the conversation with the rabbi. Recalling the open invitation to call again at his leisure, he penned a note asking if he would be at home on Thursday at two o’clock. Buck was surprised when the messenger brought back an immediate reply heartily welcoming him.
That was on Tuesday. For the next two days he kept trying to imagine what he and the rabbi would talk about. Nevertheless he used the interval to purchase new, better quality and better-fitting clothes and the services of a barber.
His outward appearance had improved but inwardly he was still deeply troubled. The rabbi and now Asa seemed to possess the serenity he so much desired. Although he was attracted to Sarah, the first woman in his life for some time, he felt as awkward as a schoolboy. How does one proceed with a courtship involving customs that were foreign to him? The medical profession wasn’t welcoming him with open arms as he had expected, and a lucrative practice wasn’t assured.
Perhaps Rabbi Cohen would have some answers for him.
Mrs. Cohen stood inside the door when a servant opened it to Buck. She stepped forward, both hands extended, palms down, and smiled almost radiantly up at him.
“Shalom, doctor. I wish you peace.”
He wasn’t familiar with the foreign word but was surprised that the very sentiment he was seeking was being offered.
“Peace to you also,” he said.
She smiled, as if she understood his hesitation.
“How is your husband today?”
“He keeps improving—” she grinned mischievously “—and when he doesn’t, we say he does. When things are not as you like, like them the way they are.”
“You have a wonderful way of regarding life. I envy you.”
“Life is a dream, but please, don’t wake me.”
He laughed and wondered why it was so easy to be with these people.
The rabbi was in the same place and posture as he’d been on Buck’s first visit. In his lap was an open book. Buck recognized the writing now as Hebrew.
“What are you reading, rabbi?”
“It’s a commentary on the Talmud, which is a commentary on the Torah, what you would call the Pentateuch.”
“It doesn’t sound like light reading.”
“Acquiring wisdom is rarely easy, and taking it easy is rarely wise.”
“I must remember that.” Buck looked around. “Is Asa not here?”
The rabbi gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m competing with Rebecca. She always seems to find things for our friend to do, and he always seems to find time to do them.”
“Who’s Rebecca?”
“Ah, Rebecca. A joy for the eyes. A young woman but sadly already a widow. We learned of her plight two years ago from a friend of a friend. Her husband was killed at the battle of Chattanooga in November of ‘63. She gave birth to their daughter a month later. We took her in as a house maid right after she’d weaned the baby. Our friend is quite taken with both of them.”
Asa with a woman . . . and a child. Buck was both surprised and envious. Where had Asa learned or discovered such resilience. Less than a month ago he was bereft of all hope of a normal life.
“You’ve performed a miracle, rabbi, in what you’ve done for Asa.”
“By our tradition, it is Elijah who performs miracles. Are you not Elijah?”
“It would indeed be a miracle if I could attain a portion of your serenity and wisdom.”
The old man studied him, a slight grin on his lips. “Young man, tell me what it is you’re seeking, what you want to do with the rest of your life?”
Buck moved a fiddle-back chair closer to the invalid and sat in it, remaining silent for a long minute before he answered.
“I want to practice medicine. It’s been my goal all my life. But I don’t want to cut off limbs, maim and mutilate people anymore. Somehow I want to make them mentally and physically whole. “
The old man nodded. “You have already learned how to treat diseases of the body. How do you plan to treat diseases of the mind?”
Buck shook his head despondently. “I don’t know. How can I do for my patients what you’ve been able to accomplish with Asa? What’s the secret?”
The rabbi smiled beneath his long white beard. “The first lesson is one I’m sure you’ve heard. Physician, heal thyself.”
Buck put his head in his hands, then looked up directly into the rabbi’s faded blue eyes. “How do I heal myself when I don’t even know what the ailment is?”
“Ah, my young scholar. You’ve already taken the first step. You’ve acknowledged that you have a problem. Now you must determine what was right and what was wrong, then forgive yourself for the mistakes you’ve made.” He raised his good left hand, the forefinger extended. “The second lesson is more difficult. As a patient you talk. As a doctor, you listen. Our God gave us two ears and one mouth for a reason. So you should listen twice as much as you speak. Now, you talk and I will listen.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know what’s important, but you do. So why don’t you start at the beginning.”
For several minutes, Buck floundered, not sure what to say or how to say it, but as he rambled, what started out sounding like nonsense began to assume coherence. Childhood memories began to surface.
He talked about his mother. How she schooled him. How she nurtured his interest in healing injured animals. How he cried when she died. How lost he felt afterward. How his father called him a sissy for being so sentimental. How much Emma meant to him in his grief, and how angry his father would get when he found out Buck had been spending time with a slave in her cabin. And finally how he started to do things his father disapproved of as the most effective way he knew to rebel against Poppa’s authority. How glad he was to go away to school and college, away from his father’s growing wrath against his disrespect and ingratitude.
Buck paused, seemingly lost in thought. Several minutes went by before the rabbi finally spoke.
“God forgives the stumbles of our youth. He weighs a grown man’s works. And when a man grows old, God waits for his repentance.”
Buck stared at him, not sure he understood what had been said. The elderly teacher gazed back as if he saw into Buck’s mind. Another minute went by.
“Who’s Emma?” the rabbi asked.
“A house slave. My mother’s personal servant. My salvation. I could always go to Emma, the way I used to go to my mother, when things got ugly.”
“And you loved her like you loved your mother.”
Buck cringed at the notion, but more reflection brought him to the conclusion that it was true.
“Tell me about the war,” the rabbi prompted when Buck fell silent for an extended period.
“I loved being a doctor. I still do . . . I think.” He spoke as if in a dream. “But I hated what I had to do. I cut off men’s arms and legs. Day and night. I cut through living flesh. I sawed through the bones of men and boys. I cut off broken, shattered limbs while they screamed in agony. Sometimes they lived. Sometimes they died. I wonder if the ones who died weren’t the lucky ones—after what I’d done to them. They died cursing me, while those that lived will hate me till the end of their days.”
Buck sat motionless as tears rolled down his cheeks. He was crying in front of another man, yet felt no shame, for the elderly teacher observing him elicited none. Time seemed to stand still and in his anguish Buck felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.