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A novel by Eric Melma |
Page 25 |
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“Also, give your brother fresh fruit and vegetables
every day,” the doctor advised as he was leaving,
“as soon as he is a bit stronger, I will be back.”
At city hall they were furious when they heard about
this “illegal practice.” They instructed the police
to pick up the charlatan, but he showed them his
papers which proved that he was an acknowledged
physician and that he had every right to treat any
patient in France. The city council members were
still going berserk and were claiming that there was
room for only one chirurgeon in Saint Rémy, but
Nostradamus held his ground and there was nothing
they could do about it. Within a week, Mr. Delblonde
began to regain his strength and the controversial
physician told him he should now start to take short
walks. The patient did as he was told and walked
around the town for the first time in months. His
health continued to improve by leaps and bounds and
everyone in town witnessed his surprising cure. The
city chirurgeon as well as the council members
looked like fools and Michel’s name as physician was
established. Within a few days, sick people started
to knock on the De Nostredame’s door and the miracle
doctor treated all of them with good results. After
Villain, in the course of time, had made a few big
blunders, Michel was appointed as the official new
physician of Saint Rémy. The swearing-in ceremony
had barely taken place when there was a sudden
massive outbreak of the plague in the Camargue. The
District Council reported that there were thousands
of victims in the area and the brand new chirurgeon
was now facing a huge challenge. The pestilence was
extremely contagious and if you had a family member
who had the disease, the same fate, as a rule, was
awaiting you. Within two to six days, you could be
dead and buried. Dogs, cats, chickens and even
horses were also its victims. But the young
physician was resilient and thought he was immune.
Fortunately, Saint Rémy had not been hit with an
outbreak of the plague as yet. But the nearby
village of Sainte Doffe had been and public life had
come to a grinding halt there. Dead bodies were
rotting in the streets or tossed into hastily dug
graves by shattered loved ones. The unbearable
stench of rotting flesh hung in the air and people
were burning fragrant pieces of wood in an effort to
dissipate it. Many villagers had kicked their family
members out of their homes to try to save their own
lives. Others had fled elsewhere. Michel visited his
first plague patient in this plagued village and was
brought to a deathly ill child in a little clay hut.
The little boy was spitting up blood, had big black
spots and lumps as large as eggs all over his body.
His mother was sprinkling the floor with vinegar to
freshen the air. The brave doctor examined the child,
but truth be told, there was really nothing he could
do. No remedy had yet been found for this disease.
At the university they were advising to perform
bloodletting, but Michel wanted nothing to do with
such backward practices. Just to give the family
some hope he placed a piece of devil’s dung around
the child’s neck; an herb that was used in exorcism.
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