The Gospel of Ariel: Volume II

XXIX

And she said to him,

"But, son of Zeus, I am not-"

"You are worthy, Phoebe. And it's Sabba to you, now and always. I'm told I remind you of your mother's father, who was dear to you."

"Indeed, very much so. His name was Agapeon, for he was loving. He fell ill when I was but an infant, and it spread. Apollo, either in cruelty or mercy, granted him seven years with us this way. Even when the illness began to claim his mind, he still remembered me. When he died, I was- never the same, nor was my mother. Then, when I was nine, my mother fell ill, stricken with the same symptoms. Desperate, my father and I gathered what money we could and traveled to Athens, where we sought out a man named Galen, the kindly physician under whom my husband studied, though I didn't know it at the time. Galen was a simple man. He dressed simply, ate simply, lived simply, believed simply, and loved simply. He subscribed to many a philosopher, and in this way, was wise, believing, at the heart, that neither man nor beast should come to harm at the hands of another, except insofar as nature demanded, and that we must relieve suffering in any way we are able. And so he became a physician, establishing a school in Athens that young men would learn under him..

When we arrived, he would not accept payment, saying to me,

"Dear child, I cannot accept this, for I'll not put a price on your mother's life, nor anyone's, for that matter, as I'm sure you would not. You've come to the right place. Do not now be troubled. Rest assured, we will restore your mother to you. Rest here while I tend to her, and for a time after, as she'll not be fit to travel for a while yet. By your speech, I gather you hail from Corinth?

And I answered him,

"Yes."

He did restore my mother to me, though she was barren afterwards. Then, after five years, my father fell ill, and we sought out Galen once more. As Fate would have it, he fell ill the same year I came to Athens. We remained there eleven years. As time passed, Galen removed what he could, gave him nourishment and rest, as he gave to all of us. As it ravaged him further,, he told my mother,

"M'am, I must speak plainly-"

And, she, in her way, said to him,

"A'coarse ye must. Would you speak in tongues?"

Unfazed, the kindly doctor said to her,

"Helen, please. Rest assured, we are doing all we can. though that may be, this disease, the same one that plagued you, is virulent. After each time, it spreads, spreading far to quickly, more quickly than we can remove it, and we may not be able to remove everything. I'm afraid we're running out of time. I'm sorry, truly. I wish I'd better news."

And my mother asked,

"How long?"

And he answered her,

"That I cannot say. But take heart, for he is strong, so you may have him for more years yet. How will you tell your daughter?"

I could hear my mother begin to weep as she said,

"She's 'er father's daughter, through and through. I'm sure I don't know."

And he said to her,

"And you, my dear woman, will you be alright? This is never and easy thing to bear."

And she answered him,

"I will be, dear friend. We can never-"

"Helen, my poor woman, please. I do not seek repayment, indeed I never ask for payment in the first. Your peace is payment enough."