“Of course, Brother.” I corrected myself. “I did not mean to suggest that human knowledge is above the word of God, only that the way this is written speaks to me so . . . clearly.”
“And why is that?”
I thought about it. “Maybe because it is not composed of stories that must be explained by a priest.” I paused, searching for the right words. “Galen writes about what causes disease, which we always ask ourselves when we become sick but often cannot answer. For example, he explains that pestilence is spread by corrupt air, and I understand that because I once travelled with my father to Bingen to sell the salt from our mine, and we passed by a large swamp that smelled so foul we had to change our route to avoid taking ill from the vapors.”
“Miasmas are one of the six factors that tip the balance of humors toward disease.” Brother Wigbert took the opportunity to move the lesson along. “The other ones are inappropriate nourishment, excessive rest, lack of sleep, retention, and passions of the soul.”
“Only six?” I was surprised.
“Yes. Why?”
“Because the Bible mentions other causes too. It says that disease is God’s punishment for sin and only those who obey Him will be spared.” I searched my memory for the exact phrasing of one of Sister Jutta’s favorite psalms. “‘Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. He will save you from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked . . .’” I stopped for a breath. “If that is the case, why did Galen not include God’s punishment among the causes?”
The monk scratched his tonsure. “The Bible’s wisdom is immutable and thus not subject to scientific study. Galen based his writings and his practice on the works of Hippocrates, another Greek who had investigated natural phenomena, to draw his conclusions.”
“Of course!” I struck my forehead. “They were pagans, and therefore the word of God was not known to them.” Then I frowned. “So who do we believe?”
“The Greeks were keen observers of nature and wrote of causes that we have come to accept as self-evident. But as Christians, we see them as the tools with which God chastises his people.” It was an issue, I realized later, that he and his fellow students at Salerno must have pondered many times. And the answer he gave me must have been their way of reconciling their sources.
There was another contradiction that bothered me. “If God punishes the wicked with sickness, why do so many babes die still in their mothers’ arms when they have not yet committed a sin?”
“That, my child, is a great mystery of our faith,” Brother Wigbert replied in the same tone Jutta employed when I persisted in my inquiries, and I knew there was no point in arguing. Besides, my thoughts were already wandering. I had not been outside in days and wanted to go down to the riverbank.
As soon as the bell rang and the infirmarian left for the church, I changed into the shirt and trousers and went to the back of the garden, wondering if I would meet Volmar.
He had joined me on one outing three weeks earlier. I had just left my robe in the shrubbery when I saw him sitting under a nearby oak, chewing a blade of grass. He had extended a palm full of hulled walnuts and flashed his customary grin. “Finally! I have come here three days in a row and was beginning to think you’d given up.”
“Of course not!” I took a few nuts and we walked down the slope away from the abbey. “I have been busy, and I don’t have a set time for this anyway. I come out whenever I can.”
“You are lucky. Our days are so planned out that I can only do it during the hour of rest.”
I could not help but smile. Under my special arrangement, I had almost forgotten how structured the Benedictine life was. The Rule clearly laid out the eight daily services of the Divine Office; the remaining time was devoted to study and work, and the hour before vespers was dedicated to rest. It had once been my daily life, and it would be again, one day.
“You’d better not go too far, then,” I cautioned, noting the deepening shadows under the green canopy of the trees. “I have work to finish for Brother Wigbert, but I have enough time before nightfall for a walk.”
“Are you skipping the services now too?” Volmar’s voice assumed a tone of mock severity.
I flushed, but seeing his amusement, I laughed. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “The sisters think I am too busy in the infirmary and don’t ask questions.” I felt a little guilty, so I added, “God can hear me anywhere.”
“You are right,” he said in the same matter-of-fact tone I already knew and liked. “Unfortunately, Brother Philipp would not fail to notice my absence, and I would be in trouble.”
I had enjoyed that first walk together and found myself hoping it would become our regular habit, disciplinary risks notwithstanding. Now I scrambled through the breach, looked around, and sure enough, there he was. But instead of the bow and arrows, he carried a wax tablet and stylus. “I will show you the new Latin words we learned at school today,” he announced as we started down toward the river.
We sat on the grassy bank in the shade of a white
