Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [36]
Nemo had not moved or spoken. “You had better eat something,” I said.
“I am well enough as I am.”
I would have continued the discussion, but a hand gripped me and drew me back into the house. It was Emerson, fully dressed and alert; in his other hand he held a piece of scorched bread, which he was chewing.
“Leave him alone,” he said, after swallowing the nasty morsel and making a face. “He is obviously regretting his bargain and struggling with the desire to succumb to the temptation of the drug. He must fight it out by himself.”
“If that is the case, Emerson, his need for nourishment is all the greater. The use of opium and hashish when carried to excess—”
“He has not carried it to excess.” Emerson handed me the toasting fork. I took the hint, and the fork; as I busied myself with the preparation of a fresh slice of bread, Emerson went on, “In fact, I am certain he is not physically addicted to either opium or hashish. He indulges as some men drink to excess, in order to forget his troubles, and because drugs seem to the young and foolish a romantic form of escape from reality. His physical condition makes it clear that he has not indulged long or often. Those who do so exhibit a characteristic leaden pallor and skeletal thinness, along with lethargy and disinclination towards exertion. All varieties of exertion,” he added, with one of those masculine grins.
“Humph,” I said. “Well, I wouldn’t know about that, Emerson, but he certainly exerted himself on the night he rescued Ramses.”
“He was probably under the influence of opium at that time,” Emerson said coolly. “Used moderately, it acts as a stimulant.”
“You seem to know a great deal about it.” I glanced around the room and was relieved to see that Ramses had taken himself off. “Emerson—have you ever . . .”
“Oh yes. Only as an experiment,” Emerson added. “I don’t enjoy the sensation or the side effects. When used in moderation, however, opium appears to be no more harmful than tobacco or alcohol.”
“I believe I have heard that that is the case; also that addiction happens chiefly in individuals of weak will-power who would just as easily become the victims of intoxicating drinks and who are practically moral imbeciles, often addicted to other forms of depravity.”
Emerson had devoured the toast as rapidly as I produced it. Now he drained his third cup of tea and sprang up from his chair. “I don’t mean to criticize, Peabody, but you are taking a confounded long time over breakfast. We have work to do, you know.”
At Emerson’s request, Abdullah had already hired the necessary number of workers. Emerson hates this task, as he abhors all duties that keep him from the actual digging. When we opened the gates we found a sizable group waiting for us, squatting patiently on the ground. Some were men who had worked for us at Mazghunah the year before; their somber indigo robes and turbans, the mark of the Copts, or Christian Egyptians, stood out in sharp contrast to the paler, washed-out blue and white stripes of the Moslem garb. Around the outskirts of the mass of adults, the children ran back and forth with the splendid energy of youth, playing games and crying out in shrill high voices.
While Emerson greeted and inspected the men Abdullah had selected, I set out my medical supplies on a folding table and attended to the sufferers who awaited my coming, dispensing sulphate of copper for the ever-present ophthalmia, and ipecacuanha for bowel complaints. Emerson concluded his business first and stamped up and down until I finished, without, however, complaining of the delay; for beneath his gruff exterior Emerson has the kindest heart in the world and is never unmoved by the suffering of the less fortunate. The moment the last patient was dismissed, however,