|
Start
Next
Chapter 3
No place like home
“There’s no place like home,” Jacques said, after
the umpteenth return of his son, but Michel didn’t
respond to his corny remark.
“You’ve changed, boy; you’re so quiet.”
“I’m getting older, father,” he replied tersely.
Michel had completely outgrown his parents, but he
didn’t want to hurt their feelings and didn’t say
anything else. There had been extra space in the
house for a while, and the physician decided to once
again move into the abandoned attic. Julien was now
studying law in Aix-en-Provence and Bertrand and his
wife were living in a house he had built himself at
the edge of town. Hector and Antoine were still
living at home and were hoping to hear new stories
from their worldly brother, but he didn’t seem to be
in the mood to talk. Michel had been through a lot
and his mind had become too heavy and too powerful
for wasting time. In fact, it had become so heavy
and forceful that it was getting cloudy. The
mystical veil protected his higher bodies in their
development and it made him inaccessible. And when
anyone pulled this blanket off him, his look could
burn you. The learned family member badly needed
rest and resigned himself to the character changes
in himself. Today the fearless physician went to
visit some patients in nearby Arles. After a
pleasant little trip through the sunny scenery, the
carriage stopped in front of a yellow house near the
town center. Nostradamus knocked and waited, but
there was no response. The shutters were open and he
glanced inside
“The doctor’s here,” he called out in a clear voice,
but there was still no sign of life. He decided to
try knocking loudly on the front door one more time
before climbing in through the window, when suddenly
he was approached from behind by a scrawny man with
reddish hair. The man, whose shoes were covered with
paint, carelessly pushed him aside and entered the
house.
“Whoa, wait a minute, I’m visiting a patient here,”
the doctor said, but the man, who was missing his
left ear, seemed deaf and mute and rudely slammed
the door shut in his face.
Well, that’s never happened to me before! Michel
thought, feeling somewhat humiliated. I’m being
treated like dirt here.
Still in a funk, the generally well-respected
physician walked through Arles, which possibly was
one of the most beautiful cities in France.
Nostradamus had some extra time because of the
strange incident, and ordered a cool drink at Place
du Forum, which was littered with cafés. Sitting on
a wicker chair, he observed what was going on in the
street while he quenched his thirst. The provincial
town was known for its cultural manifestations and
was visited by many wealthy Italians and Spaniards.
The foreigners were noticeable because of their
expensive clothing and different looks. It was an
enjoyable spectacle and drew a lot of attention.
Next
|
|
