There was no leprosy, but there are fevers in all lands where human beings have lived, ancient or modern. Eleven months later, Ezequiel died of a typhoid fever, and was buried in the vicinity of Jerusalem, where his two university friends raised a tomb to him, with this inscription, taken from the Prophet Ezekiel, in Greek; “Thou wast perfect in thy ways.”* They sent me both texts, in Latin and Greek, a sketch of the gravestone, the bill for the expenses, and the remains of the money he was carrying; I would have paid three times as much never to see him again.
As I wanted to check the text, I consulted my Vulgate, and found that it was correct, but that it also had a continuation: “Thou wast perfect in thy ways, from the day that thou wast created.” I stopped and silently asked: “When would the day of Ezequiel’s creation have been?” Nobody replied. Here is a mystery to add to the many others in this world. In spite of everything, I dined well and went to the theater.