Of Love and Evil (The Songs of the Seraphim 2)

A loud crashing noise sounded somewhere and this brought our little party to a halt.

The old servant uttered some prayers in Latin, and crossed himself, which surprised me, but the young man with me appeared fearless and defiant.

“I won’t be driven out by it,” he said. “I will find out what it is that it wants. And as for Niccolò, I will find a way to cure him. I am not cursed and I am no poisoner.”

“That’s what they’re accusing you of? Of poisoning your patient?”

“It’s because of the ghost. If it weren’t for the ghost, I would be under no suspicion whatsoever. And because of the ghost I can’t attend to Niccolò, which is what I should be doing now. I put the word out for you to play the lute for Niccolò.”

“Then let’s go to him, and I’ll play the lute just as you’ve asked me.”

He stared at me, indecisive, and then rattled again by a fierce crash that came from what might have been the cellar.

“Do you believe this is a dybbuk here?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Come into my study.” he said. “Let’s talk just for a few minutes together before we go to Niccolò.”

There were sounds now coming from everywhere, creaking doorways, and the sound of someone on a lower floor stomping his feet.

At last we opened the double doors of the study, and the servant quickly lighted several more candles for us as the shutters were drawn. The place was stacked with books and papers, and I could see glass cabinets of peeling leather volumes. It was plain some of these books were printed, and some were not. On the various small tables there were handwritten codices open, and on others papers filled with what looked like scribbling, and in the center of the room was the man’s desk.

He gestured for me to take the Roman chair beside it. And then he flopped down, put his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands.

“I didn’t think you would come,” he said. “I didn’t know who in Rome would play a lute for my patient now that I am in such disgrace. Only the father of my patient, my good friend Signore Antonio, believes that any measure I take might be helpful.”

“I’ll do whatever it is you need for me to do,” I said. “I wonder if a lute might calm this troublesome spirit.”

“Oh, what an interesting thought,” he conceded, “but in this day and age of the Holy Inquisition, do you think one of us can dare to try to charm a demon? We’d be branded witches or sorcerers if we did this. Besides I need you badly at the bedside of my patient.”

“Think of me as the answer to your prayers. I’ll play for your patient and do whatever it is I can possibly do to help you with this spirit, also.”

He looked at me for a long thoughtful moment, and then he said, “I can trust you. I know that I can.”

“Good. Let me be of service to you.”

“First listen to my story. It’s brief and we have to be on our way, but let me tell you how it unfolded.”

“Yes, tell me everything.”

“Signore Antonio brought me here from Padua, along with his son Niccolò, who has become the closest friend I’ve ever had in the world, though I’m a Jew and these men are Gentiles. I was trained as a physician at Montpellier and that’s where I first met father and son, and immediately began copying medical texts from Hebrew into Latin for Signore Antonio, who has a library five times the size of this which means everything to him. Niccolò and I were drinking companions as well as fellow students, and we went on, all of us, to Padua together and then finally home to Rome, where Signore Antonio set me up in this house to prepare it for Niccolò. It’s for Niccolò and his bride, this house, but then the ghost appeared the very first night I knelt down and said my prayers here.”

There came another loud crash from above and the distinct sound of someone walking, though it seemed to me, in a house like this, one could not have heard the sound of an ordinary person walking.

The servant was still with us, crouched by the door, holding his candle. His head was bald and pink in the light with only a few wisps of dark hair, and he stared uneasily at the pair of us.

“Go on, Pico, get out of here,” said Vitale. “Run to Signore Antonio and tell him I’m coming directly.” Gratefully the man ran out. Vitale looked at me. “I’d offer you food and drink, but there’s nothing here. The servants have run away. Everyone but Pico has run away. Pico would die for me. Perhaps he thinks that’s what’s about to happen.”

“The ghost,” I reminded him. “You said that he came the night you prayed. This meant something to you.”

He fixed me seriously for a moment. “You know, I feel I’ve known you all my life,” he said. “I feel I can tell you my most spiritual secrets.”

“You can,” I said. “But if we should see Niccolò soon, you’ll have to speak quickly.”

He sat still gazing at me, and his dark eyes had a low fire in them that I found rather fascinating. His face was filled with animation, as if he couldn’t disguise any emotion, even if he wanted to, and he seemed at any moment about to burst into some wild exclamation but instead he grew quiet and began to talk in a low running voice.

“The ghost was always here, that’s my fear. He was here and he will be here after we’re forced out. The house has been shut up for twenty years. Signore Antonio told me that long ago he had let it to one of his earlier Hebrew scholars. He will say nothing else about the man except that he once lived here. Now, he wants the house for Niccolò and Niccolò’s bride, and I’m to stay on, to be Niccolò’s secretary, and physician when needed, and possibly the tutor to his sons when they’re born. It was all such a happy scheme, this.”

“And Niccolò was not ill yet.”

“Oh, no, far from it. Niccolò was fine. Niccolò was looking forward to his wedding to Leticia. Niccolò and Lodovico his brother were making all kinds of plans. No, nothing bad had happened to Niccolò.”

“And then you prayed that first night and the ghost began to trouble you.”

“Yes. You see, I found the room upstairs which had been the synagogue. I found the Ark and in it the old scrolls of the Torah. These had belonged to that scholar whom long ago Antonio had let live here. I knelt down and I prayed, and I fear I prayed for things I had no right to pray for.”