THE TRANSPARENT MAN
Out of the east there arose a dust cloud of such proportion that the lookouts confidently expected an enormous caravan, or perhaps even several great caravans merged into a single train.
Instead, an army approached the city.
When it reached the gates it was possible to identify the soldiers as Afghans from Ghazna. They stopped outside the walls and their commander, a young man wearing a dark blue robe and snowy turban, entered Ispahan accompanied by four officers. No one was there to stop him. Alā’s army having followed him to Hamadhān, the gates were guarded by a handful of aged troopers, old men who melted away at the foreign army’s approach, so that Sultan Masūd—for it was he—rode into the city unchallenged. At the Friday Mosque the Afghans dismounted and went inside, where reportedly they joined the congregation at Third Prayer and then sequestered themselves for several hours with the Imam Musa Ibn Abbas and his coterie of mullahs.
Most of the inhabitants of Ispahan didn’t see Masūd, but as the Sultan’s presence was made known, Rob and al-Juzjani were among those who went to the top of the wall and looked down upon the soldiers of Ghazna. They were tough-looking men in ragged trousers and long loose shirts. Some of them wore the ends of their turbans wrapped about their mouths and noses to keep out the dust and sand of travel, and quilted bed mats were rolled behind the small saddles of their shaggy ponies. They were in high spirits, fingering arrows and shifting their longbows as they looked upon the rich city with its unprotected women, the way wolves would look at a warren of hares, but they were disciplined and waited without violence while their leader was in the mosque. Rob wondered if among them was the Afghan who had run so well against Karim in the chatir.
“What can Masūd want with the mullahs?” he asked al-Juzjani.
“Doubtless his spies have told him of Alā’s troubles with them. I think he intends to rule here some day soon and bargains with the mosques for blessings and obedience.”
It may have been so, for soon Masūd and his aides returned to their troops and there was no pillaging. The Sultan was young, hardly more than a boy, but he and Alā could have been kinsmen: they had the same proud, cruel predator’s face. They watched him unwind the clean white turban, which was then carefully stowed away, and put on a filthy black turban before he resumed the march.
The Afghans rode to the north, following the route taken by Alā’s army.
“The Shah was wrong in thinking they would come by way of Hamadhān.”
“I think the main Ghazna force is in Hamadhān already,” al-Juzjani said slowly.
Rob realized he was right. The departing Afghans were far fewer in number than the Persian army and there were no war elephants among them; they had to have another force. “Then Masūd is springing a trap?”
Al-Juzjani nodded.
“We can ride to warn the Persians!”
“It is too late, or Masūd wouldn’t have left us alive. At any rate,” al-Juzjani said with irony, “it little matters whether Alā defeats Masūd or Masūd defeats Alā. If the Imam Qandrasseh truly has gone to lead the Seljuks to Ispahan, ultimately neither Masūd nor Alā will prevail. The Seljuks are fearsome, and they are as numerous as the sands of the sea.”
“If the Seljuks come, or if Masūd returns to take this city, what will become of the maristan?”
Al-Juzjani shrugged. “The hospital will close for a while and we’ll all scurry to hide from disaster. Then we’ll come out of our holes and life will be same as before. With our Master I have served half a dozen kings. Monarchs come and go, but the world continues to need physicians,” he said.
Rob asked Mary for the money for the book, and the Qanūn became his. It filled him with awe to hold it in his hand. Never had he owned a book before, but so great was his delight in proprietorship of this book that he vowed there would be others.
Yet he didn’t spend overly long reading it, for Qasim’s room drew him.
He dissected several nights a week and began to use his drawing materials, hungry to do more but unable because he required a minimum of sleep in order to function in the maristan during the day.
In one of the corpses he studied, that of a young man who had been knifed in a wineshop brawl, he found the little cecum appendage enlarged and with its surface reddened and rough, and he surmised he was looking at the earliest stage of the side sickness, when the patient would begin to get the first intermittent pangs. He now had a picture of the progress of the illness from onset to death, and he wrote in his casebook:
Perforating abdominal distemper has been witnessed in six patients, each of whom died.
The first decided symptom of the disease is sudden abdominal pain.
The pain is usually intense and rarely slight.
Occasionally it is accompanied by an ague and more often by nausea and vomiting.
The abdominal pain is followed by fever as the next constant symptom.
A circumscribed resistance is felt on palpation of the right lower belly, with the area often agonized by pressure and the abdominal muscles tense and rigid.
The condition comes to an appendage of the cecum which in appearance is not unlike a fat, pink earthworm of common variety. Should this organ become angry or infected it turns red and then black, fills with pus and finally bursts, its contents escaping into the general abdominal cavity.
In that event death follows rapidly, as a rule within half an hour to thirty-six hours of the onset of high fever.
He cut and studied only those parts of the body that would be covered by the burial shroud. This excluded the feet and the head, a frustration because he was no longer content with examining a pig’s brain. His respect for Ibn Sina remained unbounded, but he had become aware that in certain areas his mentor had himself been taught incorrectly about the skeleton and the musculature and had passed on the misinformation.
Rob worked patiently, uncovering and sketching muscles like wire and like strands of rope, some beginning in a cord and ending in a cord, some with flat attachment, some with round attachment, some with cord only at one end, and some that were compound muscles with two heads, their special value apparently being that if one head is injured the other will take over its function. He began in ignorance and gradually, in a constant state of fevered and dreamlike excitement, he learned. He made sketches of bone and joint structure, shape, and position, realizing that such drawings would be invaluable in teaching young doctors how to deal with sprains and fractures.
Always when he finished working he shrouded and returned the bodies and took his drawings away with him. He no longer felt that he peered into the pit of his own damnation, but he never lost the awareness of the terrible end that awaited him if he were discovered. Dissecting in the uneven, flickering lamplight of the airless little room, he started at every noise and froze in terror on the rare occasion when someone walked past the door.
He had good reason for his fear.
Early one morning he removed from the charnel house the body of an elderly woman who had died only a short time before. Outside the door he looked up to see a nurse coming toward him, carrying the body of a man. The woman’s head lolled and one arm swung as Rob stopped wordlessly and gazed at the nurse, who bent his head politely.
“Shall I help you with that one, Hakim?”
“She’s not heavy.”
Preceding the nurse, he went back inside and they laid the two bodies side by side and left the charnel house together.
The pig he had dissected had lasted only four days, rapidly reaching a state of ripeness that made disposal a necessity. Yet opening the human stomach and gut released odors far worse than the sickly-sweet stench of porcine rot. Despite soap and water, the smell permeated the place.
One morning he bought a new hog. That afternoon he walked past Qasim’s room to discover the hadji Davout Hosein rattling the locked door.
“Why is it locked? What is inside?”
“It’s a room in which I am dissecting a pig,” Rob said calmly.
The deputy governor of the school gazed at him in disgust. These days, Davout Hosein looked at everything with stern suspicion, for he had been delegated by the mullahs to police the maristan and the madrassa for infractions of Islamic law.
Several times that day, Rob observed him hovering watchfully.
That evening Rob went home early. Next morning when he came to the hospital he saw that the lock on the door of the little room had been forced and broken. Inside, things were as he had left them—but not quite. The pig lay covered on the table. His instruments had been disarranged but none was missing. They had found nothing to incriminate him, and he was safe for the moment. But the intrusion had chilling implications.
He knew sooner or later he would be discovered, but he was learning precious facts and seeing marvelous things and was not ready to stop.
He waited two days, in which the hadji left him alone. An old man died in the hospital while holding a quiet conversation with him. That night he opened the body to see what had accomplished so peaceful a death and found that the artery which had fed the heart and the lower members was parched and shrunken, a withered leaf.
In a child’s body he saw why cancer had received its name, noting how the hungry crablike growth had extended its claws in every direction. In another man’s body he found that the liver, instead of being soft and of a rich red-brown, had turned into a yellowish object of woody hardness.
The following week he dissected a woman several months pregnant and sketched the womb in the swollen belly like an inverted drinking glass cradling the life that had been forming in it. In the drawing he gave her the face of Despina, who would never give life to a child. He labeled it the Pregnant Woman.
And one night he sat by the dissection table and created a young man to whom he gave the features of Karim, an imperfect likeness but a recognizable one to anybody who had loved him. Rob drew the figure as if the skin were made of glass. What he couldn’t see for himself in the body on the table he drew as Galen had claimed it existed. He knew some of this unsubstantiated detail would be inaccurate, but still the drawing was remarkable even to him, showing organs and blood vessels as if the eye of God were peering through man’s solid flesh.
When it was completed he exultantly signed his name and the date and labeled the drawing the Transparent Man.