Mankillers

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 begi

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.

When the rabbi spoke again it was softly and with compassion. “You ca

“I don’t know what else to say.”

“You will. Another time. We’ll talk again. Need I remind you a medicine rarely cures with one dose?”

“I don’t understand what’s happening, but already I feel better. You’ve been very kind and patient.”

“See how simple? You talk, I listen.”

Buck shook his head in wonder. “I’ve talked about things I’ve never said to anyone in my life, things I’ve never thought of before.”

The rabbi arched an eyebrow. “Do you have any questions?”

Buck smiled, a little embarrassed. “Only one. When can we talk again?”

“You are always welcome, and I am always here. Now we drink tea.”

Buck rose, rubbed his wet cheeks with the back of is hand, went to the side of the fireplace and pulled the cord. A moment later there was a knock on the door. The rabbi called out and the maid entered the room, followed closely behind by Molly.

“Sophie,” she ordered, before her husband could get a word in, “We need tea. And bring the fresh kugel, and some of the strawberry preserves.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The servant had turned back to the door when Asa came bounding in.

“Buck, I just found out you’re here again.”

The two embraced in a spontaneous show of affection.

Molly was still making room on the round table under the chandelier when the maid reappeared pushing a tea cart. Clearly it had been prepared in advance. While Molly played mother, the rabbi looked on affectionately. He smiled at Buck. “Talking and listening make a man thirsty.”

Asa glanced at Buck and gri

#

“There is no way I’ll allow the Drexels to get one pe

“Calm down, my dear,” Simon Weinberg told her. “They don’t have a legal leg to stand on. It’s simply a matter of time and all of this will be settled in your favor. Leave it to me.”

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Your father was one of my closest friends. Remember, God punishes, but men take revenge. I have never liked the Drexels and will take great pleasure in trouncing them in court.”

“How long will this vengeance take?” Sarah asked.

“I would say within a month.”

“Don’t take too long, Simon. I’m tired of wearing black.”

#

Buck continued to feel at loose ends. He felt calmer and less inclined to losses of temper as he idly walked the busy streets, perplexed about what direction his life should take. He wanted desperately to stop by Sarah’s home, but knew doing so would not be wise. He obeyed his conscience in action, but his thoughts were less disciplined. The world he’d taken so for granted had changed immeasurably. South Carolina had lost its sovereignty and become occupied territory. Soldiers on the street wore Union blue, not Confederate gray. More than once he’d been forced into the street so a Yankee could stroll the sidewalk. It was difficult for him to adjust to the sight of former slaves walking unaccompanied by a white overseer. They were still no better clothed than they had previously been, nor did they seem any better nourished. In fact they appeared lost in their new-found freedom.

Yet there was music in the air. As he passed by the many saloons that had sprung up during his absence, he saw and heard Negroes singing and playing instruments for the entertainment of raucous and drunken Yankee soldiers. More mortifying was the sight of young Southern women in the arms of those occupying troops.

The following Tuesday, as prearranged, Buck once more called at the home of Rabbi Cohen and his wife Molly. This time Asa greeted him at the door. Before ushering him into the drawing room, Asa commented, “You look like a new man, Buck. Charleston seems to agree with you.”