Mankillers

“I’m happy for you,” Buck said, with more envy than he was willing to admit.

Chapter TWENTY

At the hotel Buck was handed a sealed envelope by the clerk at the front desk. He didn’t recognize the writing, but the lavender color of the stationery indicated it was from a woman. He knew only one in the area. It took monumental strength for him not to tear it open on the spot. At the table in the dining room, however, while a waiter was pouring him coffee, he used the butter knife to open the correspondence.

Sarah had sent a list of physicians. He was disappointed to find no personal note with it, but a moment’s consideration told him it would have been unwise of her to do so in case the letter went astray. Nevertheless he found himself studying her writing, something personal of hers.

He reviewed the names. Six doctors. He was surprised he wasn’t familiar with any of them, but he hadn’t lived here in five years and a lot had happened during that time.

He’d also compiled a list of his own and wondered how many of these former colleagues were still in Charleston, How many had served in the war? How many were not yet home? And how many might never return?

For the next two days he rode Gypsy from the Ashley to the Cooper Rivers and up and down the peninsula, covering all of the port city. He was able to find two of the dozen names on his list and four of the names Sarah had given him. In every office he was greeted hospitably and given a polite hearing, but the result in each case was essentially the same.

“You have a great deal of valuable experience in surgery, doctor, and we can certainly use that. With so many wounded men coming home, there’s an unlimited need for good surgeons and I’ll be pleased to use you in that capacity. I must tell you though that I’m not presently able to offer you a permanent position, because I’m waiting for my nephew—” or my brother or my son or my uncle or my best friend “—to return from the war, and of course my first obligation is to offer him a place here. If you’d like to fill in until their return, or if you’d like to wait a few months and contact me again . . .”

But Buck wasn’t interested in a temporary position. He wanted to put down roots and establish some semblance of a normal life.

He visited the medical college where he’d received his training and was cordially greeted by the dean, but it soon became apparent he was primarily interested in putting Buck on the staff to teach surgery, especially amputations.

Buck thanked him, promised to consider the opportunity and left with no intention of ever coming back. He’d seen enough severed limbs.

Disappointed and disheartened by his lack of professional prospects, he compiled another list of physicians and wrote a series of letters, posting them to the last addresses he was aware of, uncertain if they’d ever be delivered or if he’d hear back from them. On an impulse, he also sent a letter to his old family friend, Dr. Thaddeus Meyer, inquiring about possible opportunities in Columbia, in spite of his resolution never to return there.

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 pe

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 gri

“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. “