“Nothing is urgent at this time of night,” said the secretary. “A consul is not a doctor,” he added.
Edmond pushed his way into the rotunda and sat down in a chair that was clearly too delicate for his large frame. “We are not leaving until you tell us where we can find the consul.”
“Really?” said the secretary. “Who do you think you are?”
Just then the wife of the consul appeared in the hall. “I assume,” she said to Nocard, “this visit has nothing to do with my cat. Let them come in.” She waved the secretary away. “These are very important scientists,” she said to his stiff and retreating back. The men followed her up the stairs and into the drawing room. Madame Cecile offered them coffee, but they refused. Nocard told her the entire reason for their visit. The Malinas were in trouble. The door to their house was closed by Egyptian police and British soldiers. Something terrible had happened, and it had to do with the British authorities.
“He’s my doctor and my friend,” said Madame Cecile. “How terrible.”
Roux explained that his young colleague was about to ask Dr. Malina for his daughter’s hand in marriage, but had not been permitted in the house.
Madame Cecile pointed out that perhaps under the circumstances Dr. Malina would not wish to consider such a proposal. “Young man,” she said, “the timing does not seem right.”
Her words, perfectly sensible as they were, made Louis miserable. “What can I do? What can I do?”
His obvious grief, his young face looking at her as if she held the key to his future, determined her next words. “I’ll go to the house and find out myself what’s going on. The consul is dining in an unknown place in the manner of men of this world, and we cannot disturb him this evening. But I will go with you and we’ll see what is happening in that house.”
The wife of the consul was not intimidated by the Egyptian police or the British soldier at the door of the Malina house. She demanded entrance, and the British officer was afraid both to let her in and not to let her in. In the end he admitted her. What harm, after all, could she do? The French scientists he kept waiting outside. Lydia Malina apologized for the chaos everywhere, and Este apologized for their personal disarray. In a tumble of words the situation was explained, or at least that part of it which Lydia and Este understood. Dr. Malina was being kept under tight supervision in the back of the British barracks. They were all to leave for Trieste the day after next. The first thing in the morning they would board the ship and the family would be reunited. The consul’s wife said nothing about Louis waiting below. She had developed a professional sense of discretion. She said that she had heard of their difficulty from the three French scientists who had tried to visit them but were stopped. Este’s eyes shone at these words, but she asked no questions. Perhaps, said the consul’s wife, when my husband returns we can see if our country can be of service to your family. Lydia thanked her. Este got up and offered to go to the door with her. The policeman did not want to stop the young lady from going down the stairs in front of the consul’s wife. Once out in the hall, Este said, “Could you send a message to Louis Thuillier?”
“I’ll deliver your words in person,” said the consul’s wife.
“Tell him what has happened,” said Este. “Tell him that I will expect him on the deck of the
Romulus,
the Italian Line, the morning after next. Tell him we are going to Freiburg.”
“I’m sure, my dear,” said the wife of the consul, “that he will come to the ship.” The two women clasped hands and the consul’s wife went out the door, which the policeman shut with a loud slam behind her. She explained everything to the Frenchmen.
“This makes no sense. They are crazy, these British,” said Nocard.
“It’s political,” the consul’s wife said. “In politics there is no room for reason.”
When the consul did arrive at his own residence in the early hours of the morning, his wife was waiting for him in his bedroom. She told him the entire story. He was eager to lie down in his own bed. He had consumed many glasses of wine and smoked several pipes about whose contents he never inquired. He had enjoyed himself enormously, and his body was now ready for its rest. He had little interest in the tale she told.
“Nothing,” he said, “nothing we can do about it. This is a matter for the British. They can do as they please. We can’t help your scientists. We are not here to solve everyone’s little difficulty.”
“This is not a little difficulty,” his wife said.
“We will find you another doctor, perhaps from the French community,” he said. “These Jews are always traveling from one country to another. They can’t seem to set down roots. Those scientists,” he added, “what use have they been? They’ve brought no honor to France despite all the fine letters recommending them to my good graces. I hear they’re going to leave Alexandria soon.” With that he put on his nightshirt and rolled over in bed, his back to his wife.
LOUIS KNEW THAT he would not be able to see Este the next day. There was no point in trying. He would come to the Malina family on the deck of the
Romulus
the following morning. He planned to speak to Dr. Malina right there in the harbor, before the ship departed. This was not the best moment to convince the father of the suitor’s worthiness, the consul’s wife was correct, but it would be his last chance for a long while. He couldn’t wait months. He couldn’t stand the uncertainty. He was sure that now that the doctor was beginning his own life again, he would want whatever security he, Louis Thuillier, assistant to Pasteur, could offer to his daughter. His own passage was booked to Marseille. As soon as the mission returned to France, he would take a train to Germany. He would be there soon after she arrived. The French mission was scheduled to leave in eight days. His disappointment over their inability to identify the cholera microbe saddened him, but he consoled himself that the trip that would not bring him honor had instead brought him something of far more worth, the woman with whom he would spend the rest of his days, in a life of complete joy.
In the laboratory, Edmond and Emile were looking at slides of cow blood that they had collected from the slaughterhouse. They were hoping to find something of importance for Pasteur’s investigations in Paris on bovine plague. Emile was preoccupied now, ready to go home to his family. Nocard was bored. Louis paced up and down. He could talk only of his plans to go to Germany. He demanded reassurance over and over again from his friends that Dr. Malina would indeed accept him as a son-in-law. When Edmond said that the Malinas were Jews and that might give Dr. Malina pause, Louis insisted that all these distinctions between human beings would soon be viewed as mere superstitions and disappear in the light of human cooperation and understanding. Nocard did not believe this, but he didn’t want to dampen his young colleague’s hopes. Emile didn’t believe it either. But it seemed the wrong time, at the edge of a young man’s hopeful engagement, to insist on the perfidy of human society. All he said was “We were thrown out of Eden. I doubt if we’re going back so soon.” Louis ignored him.
They were accomplishing nothing in the laboratory and decided to leave the work and go for a swim in the ocean. The three went down to the sea, rented a cabana, changed into bathing attire, and went for a swim. Of the three, Louis was the strongest swimmer. The waves were not wild. The sun was strong. The men swam back and forth, exercising their limbs, giving their brains a chance to rest. Louis lost himself in the rhythmic rise and fall of his arms, the splash of his kick, the sounds of the birds above their heads. Back on the beach he pulled the long blue-and-white-striped towel he had rented around his shoulders and dried himself. The muscles in his arms baked in the sun. He was a young man who didn’t think about standing and running and lifting, but moved easily, effortlessly, unself-consciously. He went for a walk along the shore. He walked too fast for Nocard, who turned back. He walked too far for Roux, who had enough after a quarter of a mile.
In the evening they were about to go out for dinner when Marcus appeared at the apartment door. They were not entirely delighted to see him. They waited for an explanation of his absence. “Come,” he said to them. “I will take you for a ride about town in a carriage.”
“You will pay for the carriage?” asked Emile, with a sarcasm that was rather unkind.
“Yes, I will,” said Marcus. “I am in business now, the business of treasures, and I can afford a carriage.” He told them all about his plans to buy and sell antiquities with Eric Fortman.
“An Englishman,” snorted Nocard. “He’ll probably cheat you.”
“Not me, he won’t,” said Marcus.
The men climbed into the carriage. It sped off quickly down the rue Sultan, around the Râs el Tin. Marcus shouted in his loudest Arabic at a man who was crossing the street. He called in Greek to a man who was selling dates from a basket at his feet. He waved at some Arab girls walking along with their heads covered. They collapsed in giggles.
Louis was thinking about riding in a carriage with Este down the Champs Élysées. He imagined himself at her side. Nocard was leaning out of the carriage.
I may never return here,
he said to himself. It had been an adventure, after all, even if the journey had not ended in the hoped-for triumph. Marcus told the driver when to turn and where to go. He enjoyed giving directions. He enjoyed taking his former employers out for a spin around the city. He liked his own generosity. His mood was infectious. Before the end of the ride, all the occupants in the carriage felt a lifting of spirits, a hope for the future that was strong, even though it was based on nothing in particular.
“I prefer Alexandria to Paris,” Marcus said. “Here a man is whatever he can make of himself. In Paris I am just the boy in Pasteur’s lab, good for cleaning the glasses and feeding the animals. Here I am Apollo himself.”
Roux smiled. “You have grown up these past months, but I’m not so sure you are Apollo.”
“We’ll see,” said Marcus. “Soon I will be worth far more than the master himself.”
Roux said, “Good for you.”
“Where did you get the money to go into business?” asked Louis.
Marcus gave his former employer a wink. “Here and there,” he said. “Odd jobs.” He said nothing more.
“Here I stay,” said Marcus as the carriage came to a final stop.
“I am never going back to Paris. Tell the master adieu from me.”
The three friends went out for dinner. Louis was in particularly good spirits. He kept the Ganesh in his pocket and caressed its head with his forefinger. He tapped his pipe with his hand. With his fingers he removed a spot of tobacco that had fallen on his lip. He ate a good dinner, but did not have the raw fruit that was presented to the table on a platter because they had all agreed to keep the precautions in place until they had returned to Paris.
At ten-thirty that night, as Lydia lay sleepless in her bed and Este was staring at the stars, saying silent good-byes to her childhood, Louis fell easily asleep in his bed. He knew he would wake with the first light. He would be at the dock before the Malinas arrived. But at three in the morning he woke up. He had a terrible pain in his stomach. He was cold and shivering. He was afraid, but the pain was greater than the fear and filled his mind with its presence. He made his way out of his room. He stumbled toward Emile’s room. He opened the door and then said calmly, “Roux, I’m feeling really sick.”
Emile woke up and saw Louis at the foot of his bed. Nocard woke up just as Louis collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain. His face was pale and sweaty and his hands were as cold as that of someone who had suffered a heart attack. His bowels had exploded and its contents were running down his legs.
Roux said to Nocard, “I think it’s food poisoning.”
They had all consumed the same meal, but it was possible that the portion that Louis had received had been spoiled. Emile and Nocard carried Louis back to his bed and put a blanket under his body to keep him warm.
Louis smiled at them. He seemed to feel a bit better. Roux prepared an opiate solution for him. Louis thanked him, drank it, and fell back to sleep. Emile fell asleep in Louis’s bedroom on a chair.
At five in the morning, as the call to prayer floated over the city and the birds on the roof prepared to fly toward the lake, Louis woke up, and there was a terrible diarrhea over the blanket and the side of the bed. He was embarrassed and tried to hide the mess from Emile. He was white, and his face had taken on a skeletal look. This frightened Emile, who woke Nocard. The two of them stood beside his bed. Nocard rushed for a pan as Louis vomited up the entire meal of the previous evening. He then seemed to feel a little better. Emile gave him another opiate solution. He fell back asleep. Emile thought about calling for a doctor. Damn Marcus, if he’d been there he could have gone for help. Nocard offered to go, but Emile said, “Let’s wait till morning. Perhaps he will be better in the morning.”
Emile and Nocard did not name the thing they feared. They just stared at each other. Emile washed his hands again and again. Nocard heated water for them so they could boil the sheets and the blanket. At 7:00 a.m., Louis woke again. He was cold. He complained to Emile, “Please, please, let’s make the room warm. My legs are so cold.” He was shivering. “Please, Roux,” he said, “help me, I’m so cold.” He tried to stand up to go to the chamber pot, but he couldn’t stand by himself. Nocard and Emile supported him. He had another episode of diarrhea. “I need to get to the quay, to the
Romulus,”
he said to Roux.
“Not now,” said Roux soothingly. “Later, maybe. They will not leave the port until evening. They will have to wait for the tide.”
Louis tried to stand up. He fell back. He did not have the strength. His legs were shaking.
AT ABOUT THE same time, Este stood for the last time in the doorway of her house. Her mother had already been helped into the carriage. The sun was barely visible, a pale pink in a gray sky. The sound of gulls welcomed the morning. The store owners were opening their curtains, setting out their wares on sidewalks. A child woke in his bed with an earache. A man turned his mistress over and took her again before rising to wash. Este looked at her street for the last time. She felt little sorrow and certainly no fear. She expected Louis to be at the boat, waiting for her. They would have a last conversation until they met again at Freiburg. She had written her cousin’s address on a piece of paper she intended to give him so he could easily find her. As she entered the carriage, she felt her past slip away effortlessly, making space for her future. She held her mother’s hand in the carriage. It was harder for the older woman to leave her coffee cups, her spoons, her drawers, her linens used for years and years, familiar, unremarked on, but hers. It would be difficult to leave the relatives and friends of a lifetime. Would she write to them? Would they care, or would she become a stranger, unimportant to those who she had once amused, dined, loved?