The Horse Healer (28 page)

The monk took it from Diego's hands and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Aren't you the albéitar?”

Diego nodded his head.

“And you are Friar Tomás. …”

“The very same.”

Though that man had become his supplier of books, that was the first time they had spoken. The religious scholar never left the library except to go to the rectory to eat, to the temple to pray, or to his cell to sleep, and he was never seen speaking to anyone. That is what Marcos had told him a number of times.

“I hope you have a good reason to justify yourself. I didn't expect this of you.”

“Before I explain myself, I have to thank you for your help with all the magnificent books—”

“Yes, fine.” The monk cut him off. “But skip the formalities and get to the point.”

“Don't worry, I will. … Up to now, everything I have asked you for through Marcos I've gotten without any problem. Now then, with this one, I didn't dare.” He pointed to the one he was trying to take. “I imagined it in the list of prohibited readings and so I decided to take it without your mediation. I want to read it without compromising you. Do you understand? That is the truth.”

“Your sincerity makes me trust you. But tell me: What are you looking for in that book? If it's the truth you want, you won't find it there.”

Diego turned to look at the book and then at the friar.

“I only want to know how the great wise men of the past thought. I want to draw conclusions from them that will help me further my profession,” he answered, convinced.

“And what do you plan on doing by studying philosophy and the kabbalah?”

“In Toledo I met a wise translator, Gerardo de Cremona, who let me read a small fragment of this same book. He said that through reading it, it was possible to deepen your awareness of being, but not just that; it would also help to understand illness and, in an indirect way, to recommend remedies, though not from the classical point of view. He himself admitted that he had learned a great deal from the
Mekhor Chaim
, some of the great truths of human existence.”

“I see you met a man with an open mind, ready to learn from any discipline. I must admit this attitude pleases me, and you can't imagine how much.”

Friar Tomás set the lamp on the table and drew three small lines in the dust with his finger.

“What do you see here? Three marks or something more?”

“I don't understand.” Diego looked first at the drawing and then at him, rather disconcerted.

“Numbers rule more things than we think. Here you have three, the most perfect number of all. The number of days our Lord Jesus Christ was dead. The basic periods of any life: youth, maturity, and death. The three parts of the Trinity. Do you know anything about that?”

Diego shook his head and the friar went on talking.

“The poet Virgil said that divinity loved odd numbers. I don't think he was wrong, for being indivisible, there is greater immortality in them, unlike the even ones. But look as well, how even the names of our monastic prayers, like the prime, the terce, and the none, are numbers. That book you're trying to study also speaks of numbers, especially about their interpretation,” he explained to Diego, who was enchanted by his words.

“I never imagined that numbers were so important.”

“Let's make a deal. I won't say anything about your visit if you promise to keep the secret I am going to tell you.”

“You have my word.” Diego brought his hand to his heart as a sign of his surety. Friar Tomás sighed and decided to speak.

“I adore studying this type of ancient belief, the kabbalah, for example, but also what has come down to us from Egypt and Greece. I have to recognize that I learn something from all of them, and there's nothing worse than closing yourself up inside one single truth.”

“Even worse is to defend it with fanaticism.”

“You speak well, young man. He who defends his opinions with violence or tries to impose them on others does it because, at bottom, he is not sufficiently sure of them. Sadly, in this very monastery you can find brothers of mine who act this way. I hear that Friar Servando has treated you poorly, undoubtedly because he envies your talent, or because you've made him aware of his own limitations.”

“Friar Tomás, it comforts me to know that for you, intransigence is the fruit of ignorance.”

“It's true. I live in a monastery that is a treasure trove of knowledge, and yet, because it's something good, instead of spreading it to the four winds, we keep it hidden. We prohibit access to anyone who is not religious or a nobleman, maybe to avoid people from a lower station, commoners, as was your case, beginning to think more than they should.” He breathed in deeply and changed his tone of voice, becoming graver. “I am a person of deep religious convictions, and for that reason I wish for a faith more open to all, one that is taught and not forced. And besides, I believe that in every one of these books”—he stretched his hand out, as if trying to reach for them all—“there is God. I look for him inside them and I assure you that I find him there.”

Diego thought of the poverty of thought that accompanied the life of Friar Servando compared with Friar Tomás. If only he had been the one in charge of the stables and Diego's education. Everything would have been much easier for him.

“So can I read this book?” He pointed to
Las Fuentes de la Viva
.

“I encourage you to. It may open new pathways in your thought, and maybe it will help with your work, as you say.”

“Do you think I can apply it to one of my cures?”

“Don't dismiss its science until you know how numbers influence our lives and, why not, our illnesses as well. If you make of them your allies, you will see how they will point you toward certain solutions. Try to give three medicines instead of two, or have your treatments given three times a day, or for three days straight …”

“Forgive my commentary, it may seem stupid, but that seems more like magic than science.”

“The next book I will get to you through your friend will be Cato's. Look at it with other eyes. As an example of what I'm saying, you will find in it a potion recommended for oxen that has to be given for three days and to each ox three times. The recipe has twelve ingredients, a multiple of three. In reality, and this is the most mysterious fact of the matter, it is a philter, a remedy for the conjuring of pain. I know it by heart. It goes:

“‘If you fear illness, give your healthy animals three grains of salt, three leaves of laurel, three shoots of leek, three cloves of garlic, three grains of incense, three plants of Sabina, three leaves of rue, three of white bryony, three white beans, three burning coals, three pints of wine, and give this potion to each ox for three days.' What do you think?”

“I just remembered something similar in Columella,” Diego interrupted. “To expel the excess humors from an intestinal ailment, he proposed the use of three measures of a certain liquid for three days. And to avoid bleeding, he recommended three ounces of ground garlic with three cups of wine. And all this without letting the animal drink for three days.”

“See? Pay attention to me and don't forget to use numbers in your favor when you work as an albéitar. They can help you. …”

“For other things, too?” Diego thought of his worst enemy, Pedro de Mora, and his sisters, and last, of winning Mencía's love.

“What are you referring to?”

“I don't know, when I'm praying, for example.” Diego hid his true thoughts.

“Yes, my son. Also when you are praying to God.”

XIII.

D
iego read the strange treatise that conversed about philosophy and the kabbalah and then one by Cato called
De Re Rustica
.

At that time, he met with an unexpected circumstance that led him to deal with the most notorious of the monastery's inhabitants: the prior.

Everything happened one Monday in February, when his best horse began moving its head in a strange way. Instead of calling Friar Servando, as he would have normally, the prior wanted to see Diego.

Without knowing what the problem was, Diego showed up in the stables that very morning. From a first inspection, knowing the terrible prognosis of its particular disease, he decided he wouldn't be the one to administer the cure and recommended they let Friar Servando know. He didn't feel ready to suffer more late nights in that stinking muck heap just because his master felt put down once more.

When Friar Servando learned of this, he was so thankful that he asked him to be present during the observation of the animal.

The prior, present all the while, seemed very worried and was rightly concerned about the animal's awful appearance.

“Has he been very cold?” Friar Servando broke the tension ineptly.

“What kind of stupid question is that?” The prior's cheeks lit up with ire. “Are you not the one person responsible for the stables? Don't you even know what's happening right in front of your blessed nose?”

The man seemed truly upset.

“Forgive me, prior. I was thinking about a cause that, if confirmed, will mean a grave prognosis. Before saying anything to you, I wanted to be sure. …”

Diego understood that Friar Servando was right in his diagnosis by the commentary he had just made.

“He had a problem with his lung, maybe a year back.” Friar Servando remembered. “Maybe it was in those same days …”

“Yes, it's true. He suffered a high fever, but this is different.” The prior motioned to him bitterly, almost ready to lose his patience. “For days now he's been moving his head strangely and lots of liquid is coming out of his nose.”

“He has nasal catarrh,” Friar Servando explained. “It's a secondary illness related to what was wrong with him last year.”

The prior looked at Diego to see if he could find any hint of disagreement on his face. He saw none.

“I will treat him with a very effective remedy and you'll see that his sickness will clear up soon.”

Diego's expression became perplexed when he heard him say that, since the disease in question had no cure. He looked at the friar but preferred to say nothing, waiting to see him act.

Friar Servando ordered the stable boys to pass a rope around the animal's head and tie it to the rings in the wall. That way he would keep the horse from bucking its head. Then he opened a cabinet where he kept his cures and took out a box full of silkworm cocoons. He counted them and seemed satisfied.

The prior observed, confused when Friar Servando placed a little pile of them on the floor, just under the horse's head, but even more so when the monk began to burn them, so that, as he said, the horse would inhale the vapors.

“They will enter through his nostrils and go to his brain, where they will dissolve the bad humors that are concentrated there,” Friar Servando assured, very confident.

“I hope so!” the prior replied, covering his nose. “That smells like the bowels of hell.”

Diego watched Friar Servando and then the horse. He knew the uselessness of this remedy and stepped a bit away, fearful of what could happen.

Still not content with the effects of that pestilential odor, Friar Servando asked a stable boy with a thick stick and a linen cloth to roll it in the ashes. When he had, he took the stick into his hand and began to shove it in the animal's nose without mercy.

The horse opened its eyes wide and stomped at the floor.

“You're hurting him!” the prior complained, already angry.

“Don't think that; I'm just trying to push the humors out of their place, so that they will be better balanced and he'll recover.”

At that moment, the horse must have noticed a sharp pain and Diego sensed its reaction. He warned both of them, but there was no time. An impressive quantity of mucus exploded from his nostrils into the face of Friar Servando and onto the white habit of the prior. Diego and all those present couldn't help but break out in laughter.

Diego had known from the first that the horse wouldn't be cured that way, and he also guessed at the repercussions that would result from his laughter. But he still enjoyed himself like never before.

His punishment consisted of two weeks in his now-familiar and foul-scented latrines, though it was only four days in the end. For the first three, he couldn't stop laughing every time he remembered the scene, but on the fourth things changed. Once more, the person responsible was Friar Servando, and everything was the fault of his regrettable presence.

Diego was pushing a wheelbarrow full of human dung with the idea of scattering it in a field close to the monastery. When he crossed the central courtyard, he saw Friar Servando come out of the stables with a shattered expression. His head was low, he was grumbling, and he seemed absorbed in his thoughts. Soon he was close to the pestilence of the dung, and when he realized who was carting it, he walked up to Diego decisively.

“You knew that the cocoons weren't going to work and you didn't tell me, right?” His face was so close to Diego's that he could feel his breath.

“You are correct,” he replied unrestrained.

“I thought so. …” The nostrils of the man's nose flared, and his eyes reddened. “Because of it, I have suffered serious consequences. … Did you know? And it's your fault!”

“Permit me to disagree with your conclusion, though in reality I care very little about what happens to you from now on.”

Diego walked off again without paying attention, tired of the monk's constant bitter treatment.

“Stop!” Servando stood in front of him, blocking his way. “The prior just took away my responsibility for the stables and now he's sending me out to plant the fields, like I was just anyone.”

“Well, that sounds like excellent news. Finally you'll leave me in peace.”

Without another word, Friar Servando responded to his commentary in an unbelievable way. First he took the wheelbarrow from him and dumped it out in the courtyard with a furious attitude. But Diego was even more confused when he began to stomp on the manure like a madman, kicking and scattering it all around.

Diego looked for someone who might be witnessing his actions, but sadly, he saw no one. Once Friar Servando seemed to consider his work done, and there was no more matter to be spread around, he turned back to Diego, ordering him to clean it up.

“You do it! I refuse!” Diego answered.

The friar, mad with rage, smacked him with all his might and threw him to the ground.

“Insolent little …”

That was all he could say, for Diego, more tired than ever of that man, leapt at his stomach and pushed him as hard as he could. The friar's enormous strength was not enough to brake Diego's fury. To the monk's surprise, he found himself floored and on the receiving end of punches to his cheeks, forehead, and mouth. Diego, out of control, managed to break his nose and then began hitting him in the stomach until Friar Servando called for help.

Diego was astonished at himself. He thought he had broken several of the man's ribs as well as his nose, and yet he felt great. He wanted to keep working on the rest of his bones. It was the best relief for all his miseries that he'd ever experienced.

“Have mercy on me,” the friar pleaded, almost crying.

“Do you even know what that means? You're asking me for pity?” Diego looked at his fists. They were covered in blood, and he didn't even know which of them it belonged to. “Here's your pity!”

He grabbed Servando's head in both hands and began to beat it against the stones on the ground.

“Let him go, you're going to kill him!” Diego heard someone shouting in his ear. But he didn't want to stop.

It was Marcos and Friar Jesús. They were returning from the market in Corella, where Marcos had visited Bernarda. When they entered the courtyard of the monastery and saw that spectacle, they ran to stop the fight.

“Diego!” His friend grabbed with all his might to keep him from killing the friar. That shout awakened him from his madness and he stopped. He looked at Marcos, shocked, when he helped him to stand back up.

Friar Jesús, in the meanwhile, attended to Servando.

“This man is badly wounded,” he said, alarmed. “I'll go tell the prior and the others.” He threatened Diego with a raised finger. “And don't you leave until I'm back.”

Diego and Marcos immediately understood that their stay in the monastery had come to its end. They ran to the stables to get Sabba and Marcos's mule and galloped away.