reflected, is a penance to the ruler. But he reminded himself that the father was trustworthy and honourable, and in time the son’s sharpness might turn into nothing worse than industry, which is harmless.
Every day Alecco asked himself: have I gone one step forward, or one backward? What have I learned that I didn’t know yesterday? Books are teachers to those who have none, but the doctor’s library reposed behind the wooden shutters of the cupboards fitted into the walls of his consulting-room. His student Materia Medica werethere, along with herbals in Arabic and the Gulistan , or Rose Garden of Medicines. Lately he had acquired a brand-new book, Gray’s Anatomy in a French translation. Alecco had seen him turning it over heavily, during the late afternoon. But it was put away with the others, and there was no chance to look at it, still less to copy the illustrations.
The dispensary, also, was kept locked and bolted. But that year the month of Ramazan fell in the hot weather, and both the doctor and old Yousuf, being obliged to fast all day until sunset, went out through the hours of darkness to take refreshment, Mehmet Bey at the homes of his friends, Yousuf at the tea-house. Security was less strict, and the house itself, windowless against the street, seemed to relax at the end of its tedious day. During the second week of the fast, Alecco found the door of the dispensary unfastened.
Just before dawn began to lift, Mehmet Bey returned and saw that a single candle lamp was burning in his dispensary. The Greek boy was standing at the bench, copying out prescriptions. He had also taken down a measuring-glass, a pestle and a number of bottles and jars.
Bath-boy, tellak , son of a whore, the doctor thought. The hurt pierced deep. His friends had warned him, his wife had told him he was a fool. But in the end he had made a burden for his own back.
Alecco was so deeply absorbed that his keen sense of danger failed him. He did not move until Mehmet Bey towered close behind him. Then he turned, not droppingthe pen and ink which he had stolen but gripping them closely to him, and stared up with the leaden eyes of a woken sleepwalker at his master.
‘I see that you are studying my prescriptions,’ said Mehmet Bey. ‘I know from experience that you learn quickly.’
He picked up the empty glass. ‘Now: make up a medicine for yourself.’
Sweating and trembling, Alecco shook in a measure of this and a measure of that, always keeping his eyes on his master. He could not have said what he was doing. Mehmet Bey, however, saw a dose of aphrodisiac go into the glass, and then the dried flowers of agnus castus , which inhibits sex, opium, lavender, ecballium elaterium , the most violent of all purgatives, datura , either 14 grams, inducing insanity, or 22½ grams (death) and finally mustard and cinnamon. Silently he pointed to the fuller’s earth, which prevents the patient from vomiting. Alecco added a handful.
‘Drink!’
The doctor’s voice, raised to a pitch of sacred rage, woke up Azizié Hanoum, and standing terrified in her old wrapper at the door of the women’s quarters she saw her husband seize the Greek boy by the nose, from which water poured out, and force his head backwards to dislocation point while something black as pitch ran from the measuring-glass down his throat.
In the morning Alecco, who had been crammed into his room unconscious, appeared smiling with the doctor’s cleaned boots in his hands. Mehmet Bey made a sign to avert evil.
‘You’re well? You’re alive?’
‘My prescription did me a world of good.’
The doctor called his servants and had him turned out of the house. Picking himself up, Alecco walked away with fourteen-year-old jauntiness along the new horse tramway until he was out of sight. Not until he reached the foot of the Galata Bridge did his will-power give way and he collapsed groaning like vermin on a dung-hill.
Preparing slowly for his rounds, Mehmet Bey at first
Every day Alecco asked himself: have I gone one step forward, or one backward? What have I learned that I didn’t know yesterday? Books are teachers to those who have none, but the doctor’s library reposed behind the wooden shutters of the cupboards fitted into the walls of his consulting-room. His student Materia Medica werethere, along with herbals in Arabic and the Gulistan , or Rose Garden of Medicines. Lately he had acquired a brand-new book, Gray’s Anatomy in a French translation. Alecco had seen him turning it over heavily, during the late afternoon. But it was put away with the others, and there was no chance to look at it, still less to copy the illustrations.
The dispensary, also, was kept locked and bolted. But that year the month of Ramazan fell in the hot weather, and both the doctor and old Yousuf, being obliged to fast all day until sunset, went out through the hours of darkness to take refreshment, Mehmet Bey at the homes of his friends, Yousuf at the tea-house. Security was less strict, and the house itself, windowless against the street, seemed to relax at the end of its tedious day. During the second week of the fast, Alecco found the door of the dispensary unfastened.
Just before dawn began to lift, Mehmet Bey returned and saw that a single candle lamp was burning in his dispensary. The Greek boy was standing at the bench, copying out prescriptions. He had also taken down a measuring-glass, a pestle and a number of bottles and jars.
Bath-boy, tellak , son of a whore, the doctor thought. The hurt pierced deep. His friends had warned him, his wife had told him he was a fool. But in the end he had made a burden for his own back.
Alecco was so deeply absorbed that his keen sense of danger failed him. He did not move until Mehmet Bey towered close behind him. Then he turned, not droppingthe pen and ink which he had stolen but gripping them closely to him, and stared up with the leaden eyes of a woken sleepwalker at his master.
‘I see that you are studying my prescriptions,’ said Mehmet Bey. ‘I know from experience that you learn quickly.’
He picked up the empty glass. ‘Now: make up a medicine for yourself.’
Sweating and trembling, Alecco shook in a measure of this and a measure of that, always keeping his eyes on his master. He could not have said what he was doing. Mehmet Bey, however, saw a dose of aphrodisiac go into the glass, and then the dried flowers of agnus castus , which inhibits sex, opium, lavender, ecballium elaterium , the most violent of all purgatives, datura , either 14 grams, inducing insanity, or 22½ grams (death) and finally mustard and cinnamon. Silently he pointed to the fuller’s earth, which prevents the patient from vomiting. Alecco added a handful.
‘Drink!’
The doctor’s voice, raised to a pitch of sacred rage, woke up Azizié Hanoum, and standing terrified in her old wrapper at the door of the women’s quarters she saw her husband seize the Greek boy by the nose, from which water poured out, and force his head backwards to dislocation point while something black as pitch ran from the measuring-glass down his throat.
In the morning Alecco, who had been crammed into his room unconscious, appeared smiling with the doctor’s cleaned boots in his hands. Mehmet Bey made a sign to avert evil.
‘You’re well? You’re alive?’
‘My prescription did me a world of good.’
The doctor called his servants and had him turned out of the house. Picking himself up, Alecco walked away with fourteen-year-old jauntiness along the new horse tramway until he was out of sight. Not until he reached the foot of the Galata Bridge did his will-power give way and he collapsed groaning like vermin on a dung-hill.
Preparing slowly for his rounds, Mehmet Bey at first
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