Faith, Love, Time and Dr.

Lazaro

'FROM THE upstairs verand;)J Dr. Lazaro had a view of stars, the coun-
, try darkness, the lights on the. distant highway at the e,dge of town.
The phonograph.in the sella played Chopin - like 2 vast sorrow con-
trolled, made familiar, he had heen wont to think. But as he sat there,
his lean fran~e in the habitual sh'lCk :eposehe took after Sllpper, and
stared at the plains cf night that had evoked gentle images and even a
kind of peace (in the end, sweet and invincible oblivion), Dr. Lazaro'
.remembered nothing, his mind :ay untouched by any conscious thought,
he was sC3rcely a"":2.re of the April heat; the patterns of music fell
around him and dissolved sw.:ftly, uncomprehended. It was as though
indifference were an ii1fcC'lion that had entered his biood; it was every-
where in his body. In the sClt1.er~d light from the sala his angular face
had a dusty, wasted quality; 0>111' his eyes contained life. He could have
remained there all evening, unrr.oving, and buried, as it were, in a strange
half-sleep, had his wife not come to tell him he was wanted on the
phone.
Gradually his mind stirred, focused; as he rose from the chair he
recognized the somber passage in the sonata that, curiously, made him
think of ancient monuments, Toeted stone walls, a greyness. The brain
filed away an image, an arrangement of sounds released it ... He
switched off the phonograph, suppressed an impatient quiver in his
 throat as he reached for the phone: everyone had a claim on his time.
He thought: why not the younger ones for a change? He had spent a
long day at the p,'-:Jvincial hospital.
The man was calling from a service station outside the town - the
station after the 3gricultural high school, and before the San Miguel bridge,
the man added r3ther needlessly, in a voice at once frantic yet oddly sub-
dued and courteous Dr. Lazaro had heard it countless times in the corri-
dors of the hospital, in ",raiLingrooms: the perpetual awkward misery. He
was Pedro Esteban, the brother of the doctor's tenant in Namb31an said
the voic~, trying to make itselfless sudden and remote. ' Baguio ... There's disease, suffering, death, because Adam ate the apple.
But the connection was Taulty, there was a hurnmi~g in the wiles,
as though darkness had Jaded to thi~ distance between the house in
the town and the station beyond the summer fields. Dr. Lazaro could
barely catch the severed p.hrases. The man's week-'old child had a high
fever, a bluish skin; 'its mouth would not op~n to sl,ckle. They could
not ta~e the baby to the. pobl(1cion', they would ~ot dare ~ove it; its
body turned rigid wher. touched. If the doctor would consel)t to come
. at so late an houl, Esteban would wait for him at the station. If the.
. doctor
. ';vould
_.. be so kind: ..
. Tet:lnus of the new-born: that was eler~entary, and most likely it
was also hopeless, a \\'aste of tllne. Dr. Lazaro said ves, he would be
there; he had committ,ed hir.1self to that answer, lo'ng ago; duty had
t::>kenthe place of an exhaustf'd cornpassio~l. The carel~ssness of the
poo" the infected blankets, the toxin moving toward the he<Jrt: they
- were casual scribbled items of a clinical report. B~t outside the grilled
"".:indows, the night-suddenly seemed a!jve and waiting. He hCld no
choice left now b~t action: it was the onlv certit~de - he sometimps
reminded hnnself - even if it should pro·ve futil'e, before the descer~t
into nothingness.
His wife looked up from her needles and twine, under the shaded
lamp of the bedroom; she had finished the pullover for the grandchild
in Baguio and h<ld begun work, he noted, on a'nother of those altar
vestments for the parish church. Religion and her grandchild certainly
kept her busy ... She looked at him, not so much to inquir~ 'as to be
spoken .,.....to: a luge and placid woman .
=
"I shouldn't have let the driver go home so early," Dr. Lazaro said.
"They had to wait till now to' call. .. The child's probabiy dead .. ."
"Ben can drive for you."
"[ hardly see that boy around the house. He seems to be on vaca-
tion both from home and school."
"He's downstairs," his wife said.
Dr. Lazaro put on a fresh shirt, buttoned it with tense abrupt mo-
tions. "I thought he'd gone out again ... Who's that girl he's been
. . ~ . .. It'·~ _." ,...•... a_--
seeIng; I1V,- \~
JU.;:l\.
; '. L_. V~ •• ,\...~.• l~'ve stayed on I'n
n 11, .•.•.. ~ lH ..H.. .LVU ,.H n.' _._
They must have an answer to everything .. -."He paused at the door, as
though for the echo-of his words.
Mrs. Lazare had resumed her knitting; in the circle of yellow light,
her head bowed, she seemed absorbed in sQme contemplative prayer.
But her silences had ceased to disturb him, like the plaster saints she
kept in the room, in their cases of glass, or that air she wore of con-
spiracy, when she left with Ben for Mass in the mornings. Dr. Lazaro
would ramble about miracle drugs, politics, music, the common sense
of his unbelief; unrelated things strung together in a monologue; he
posed questions, supplied his own answers; and she would merely nod,
with anocca5ionai "Y~s?" and "Is that so?:' and something like a shadow
of anxiety in her gaze.
He hurri'ed down the (urving stairs, under the votive lamps of the
S<::cred Heart. Ben lay sprawled or, the so.fa, in the front parlor, en-
grossed in a book, uoe le8 propped against the back .:::ushiop.s."Come
along, we're going somewhere," Dr. L37..arc said, and went into the
clinic for his medical bag. He anded a vial of
penstrep, an' -ampule of
caffeine to the satchel's contents; rechecked the bag before closing it;
the catgut would bst just one more ~atient. One can only cure, and·
know nothing heyond one's work ... There had been the man, today, in
the hvspit:l!: the cancer pain no longer helped by the doses of mor-
phine; the patient's eyes flickering their deipairin theC:f-oded face. Dr.
Lazaro brushed aside the stray vision as he strode out of the white-
washed room; he was back in his elemer,t, among syringes, steel in-
struments, quick decisiops, and it gave him a sort: of blunt energy.
 ..
\
''I'll drive, Pa?" Ben followed him through the kitc~en! where the
maids were ironing the week's wash, gossiping, and out to the yard,
the dimness of the single bulb under the eaves. The boy pushed back
the folding doors of the garage and slid behind the wheel.
"Somebody's waiting at the gas station near San M\iguel. You know
the place?"
"Sure," Ben said.
The engine sp:lttered briefly and stopped. "Battery's weak;" Dr.
Lazaro said. "Try it without the lights," and he sn}elled the gasoline.
overflow as the old Pontiac finally lurched arou!1d the house aQd through
the trellised gate, its front beams sweeping over'thedry dusty street.
BUT /-iE's ail right. Dr. Lazaro thought as they swung smoothl); ir,to
the ~nain avenue of the town, past the church and the plaza, the kiosko
bare ,for once in a season of fiestas, the lamp-posts shining on the quiet
square'" They did not speak; he could sense his son's concentration on
the road, and he noted, with a tentative amusement, the intense way
the boy sat behind the'wheel, his eagerness to be of help. They passed
the drab frame-houses behind the marketplace, and the capitol build·
in"gon its landscaped hill, the gears shifting easily as they went over the
, rail tracks that crossed the last asphalted sectiqn of the main street.
Then the read was pebbled and uneven, the car bucking slightly;
ar>.dthey were speedir.g between open fields, a succession or n,arrow
wooden bridges breaking th~ crunching drive of the wheeis. Dr. Lnaro
gazed at the wide darkne~s aro\1nd them, the shapes of trees and bnshes
hurling toward them and sliding 3way, and he saw the stars, nearer
now. they seemed, moving with the car. He thought of light years,
black space, infinite dIstances; in the unmeasured universe, man's life
flared briefly and was gone, traceless in the void. He turned away from
the emptiness. H~ said: "You seem to have had a lot of pract:ce, Ben."
"A lot of what, Pa?"
"The way you drive. Very professional."
In the glow of the dashboard lights, the boy's face relaxed, smiled.
"Tio Cesar let me use his car, in Manila. On special occasions."
~
p
"No reckless driving now;" Dr. Lazaro said. "Some fellows think
it's smart. Gives them a thrill. Don't be iike that."
"No, I won't, Pa. I just like to drive and go places, that's all."
Dr. Lazaro watched the young face intent on the road, a cowlick
over the forehead the small curve of the nose, his own face before he
left to study in a~other country, a young student full of illusions, a
liff'time ago; long befort" thp loss of faith, God turning abstract, un-
knowable, and everywhere, it seemed to him, those senseless acci-
dents cf pain. He felt a need to define unspok~n things, to come closer
somehow to the last of his sons; one of these days, before the boy's
vacation was over, they might go on a picnic together, a trip to the
farm; <: special day for the two of them - father and son, as well as
'friends. In the two years Ben had been away in college. they had writ-
ten a few brief, almost formal letters to each other: your money is on
'the way, these are the best y-ears, make the mo.st of them' ...
Time was moving toward them, was swirling around ar.d iushing
away, ::md it seemed Dr. Lazaro could almost hear its hollow receding
roar; and discovering his son 's profile against the flowing darkness, he ,had
a thirst to speak. He could not find what it was he had meant to say. ,
The agricultural school buildings came up in the heacllights and
glided back into blurred shapes behind a fenc~.
"\Vhat was that baok you 'Nere reading, Ben?"
"A biography," the boy sa:d,
"Statesman? S.cientist maybe?" ' . .
"It's about' a guy whO became a Trappist monk." ;:
"That your summer re::lding7" Dr. Lazaro asked with a small laugh,
half mockery, h:1lf affection, "You're getting to be a regular saint, like
your mother."
"It's an interesting book," Ben said.
"1 C<l!1' imagine ... " He dropped the bantering tone. "I suppose
you'll go on to medicine after your A,B.?"
"I don't know yet, Pa."

Tiny moths like blown bits of paper flew toward the windshield
and funneled away above them. "Yvu don't have to be a country doctor
like me, Ben. You could build up a good practice in the city. Specialize
in cancer, maybe, or neuro-surgery, and join a good hospital." It was
like trying to recall some rare happiness, in the car, in the shifting
darkness.
':I've been thinking about it," Ben said. "It's a vocation, a great one.
Being able to really help people, I mean." '
"You've done well in m<lth, haven't you?"
"Well enough, I guess, '! Ben said.' .
"Engineering,is a fine course too," Dr. Lazaro'said. "There'!! be lots
of room for engineers, Far too many lawyers and salesmen. Now if
your brother -" He.closed his eyes, erasing the slashed wrists, part of
:~e future dead in a boarding-house rooin, the landlady whimpering,
He W3S su,h a nice boy, Doctor, your son ... " Sorrow lay in ambush
among the years. '
"1 have all Summer to think about it," Ben said.
"There's no hurry," Dr. Lazaro said. What was it he, had wanted to
say? Something about knowing each other, about sharing; 'no, it was
not that at all. . . '
-THE STATrON appeared as they coasted down the incline of a low
hill, its fluor~scent lights the only bright.ne3s opothe plain bef();-e thp.m,
on the road that ied farther into deeper darkr.es3. A freight truck was
taking on a luad of gasoline as they drove up the conc'rete apron' and
stopped heside the station shed. " ,
A short barefoot man in a patchwork shirt shuffled forward to meet
them. "I 3m Esteban, Doctor," the man said, his voice f<lint and hoarse,
almost inaudible, and he bowed slightly with a careful politeness. He stood
blinking, looking up at the doctor, who had taken his bag and flashlight
from the car. In the windless space, Dr. Lazaro could hear Esteban's la-
bored breathing, the clank of the metal nozzle as the attendant replacC'd it
in the pump. The men in thE:truck stared at them curiously.
have to i~
Esteban said, pointing at the darkness beyond the road: "We will
those f;e1ds, D~:tor, then cross the river. " The a pol.
•• I
••
I
ogy for yet one more imposition was a wounded look in his eyes. He
added in his subdued voice: "It's not very far. .. " Ben had spoken to
I
the attendants and.was locking the car.
The truck rumbled and moved ponderously onto the road, its throb
strong and then fading into the warm night stillness.
"Lead the way," Dr. Lazaro said, handing Esteban the flashlight.
They crossed the road, to a cleft in the embankment that bordered
the fields. Dr. La~ro was sweating now in the dry, heat; following the
swinging ball of the flashlight beam, surrounded by the stifling night, he
felt he was being dragged, helplessly, toward some huge and complicated
error, a meaningless ceremony. Somewherp. to his left rose a flapping of
\•..
·ings, a bird cried among unset>n leaves; they walked SWiftly,and there
was only the sound of the silence, the constant whir of crickets, and the
'vhfsper of thei,r feet on the path between the stubble fields.
With the boy close behind him, Dr. Lazaro followed Esteban down
a day slope to the s1ap and ripple of wa.ter in the daTknes~. The flash-
light showed a banca drawn up at the river's edge; Esteban waded
waist-deep into the water, holding the boat stE:ady a.s Dr. Lazaro and
,Ben stepped on board. In the darkness, with the opposite bank like the
far rise of an island, Dr .. Lazaro had a moment's tremor of fear as the
beat slid out over the black waters; below prowled the de~diy cur-
rents; to drowp. here'in the depths of night ... But it took less than a
'minute to cross the river. "'We're here; Doctor," Esteban said, and they
padded up a stretch of sand to 8. ciu;np of trC'es; a dog started to bark.
the shadows of () kerOSelif' lamp ",.,,:r·/erea:\t J window.
Unsteady on 'fhe s-teep ladder, Dr. Lazaro entered the cave of
Esteban's hut. The single room contained the odors he often encoun·
tered but had remained alien to, stirring an imperso:1al disgust: the
sourish decay, the smelis of the unaired sick. An old man greeted him,
lisping incoherently; a woman, the grandmot!1er, sat crouched in a cor-
ner, beneath a frame.d print of the Mother of Perpetual Help; a boy,
about ten, slept on, sprawled on a mat. Esteban's wife, pale and thin,
lavon the floor with the sick child beside her. :Motionless, its tiny blue-
ti~ged face drawn away from its chest in a fixed wrinkled grimace, the
infant seemed to be straining to express some terrible ancient wisdom.
 r'-' ~u ~ ~I P4J iTiWil :'iiiis I i

THE DISTANCE TO ANDROMEDA AND OTHER STORIES -- -=.. - ~--

Faith, Love, Time and Dr. Lazaro
•••
, Dr. La~aro made a ,cursory ,check - skin dry, turn,ipg cold; breath- the child the coconut shell in ,his hands, as though wondering what
I .

m~ shall.ow, heartbeat tast and Irregular. And in that moment, only the
~hdd eXIsted before him; only the child and his Own mind probing now
like a hard gleaming instrument; how strange that it should still live
his mind said, as it considered the spark that persistedwithin the rigid
and tortured body. He was alone with the child, his whole being fo ..
cused on it, in those intense minutes shaped into a habit now by so
many similar inst8.nces: his physician's knowledge trying to keep the
heart be~ting, to revive an ebbing iife and somehow make it rise agai·n.
Dr. Lnar0 removed th~ blankets that bundled the child and in-
jected a whole ampule to check the tOIJic spasms; the needle oiercinr
n.eatly into the sparse flesh. He broke another ampule, with d'eft pre~
Clse mo\'eme.nt5, :lnd emptied the syringe, while the inFant l.ay stiff as
\~cod ben,eath his hands.He wijJed off the sweaUunning into his eyes,
tnen holding the rigid b~dy with one hand, he tried tci draw air into ~he
faltering lungs, pressing and ielcasing the c'hest; Gut even as he work'ed
to rescue the child, the bluish color of its f~ce began to turn grey.
Dr. Lazaro rose from his crouch on the floor, a cramped ac:he in his·
shoulders, his mouth dry. The hrr:plight glistened on his pale holIow face
~~he confronted the room again, the stale heat, the poverty. Esteba~ met
hiS gaze; all their eyes \-\'ere upon him, Bel'!nt the door, the old man, the
'.\loman in the corner, and Esteban's Wife, in the trembling shadows.
Esteban said: "Doctor ... "
He shvok his head, and replaced the syringe ose in his bag, slowly
I ~~}dde,llberately, and fastened the c,lasp. Ther~ was a murmuring be-
l nllld him, a rustle across the bamboo floor, and when he turned Ben
was kneeling beside the child. And he watched, with 2 tired deta'ched
surprise, the boy pour a trickle of water from a COconut shell on the
I infant's brow. He caught the words half-whi<:pered in the warm quiet-
' ness: ",., , in the name of the Father.
, , Son ... the l-,JolySpirit ... "
I . The shadows flapped On the walls, the lamplight quivering before
next to do with it, until he saw his father nod for them to go.
"Doctor, tell us-" Esteban clutched at his arm.
"1 did everything," Dr. Lazaro said. "It's too late -" He gestured
vagueiy, with a d~ll resentment; by some implicit relationship, he was
also responsible, for the misery in the room, the hopelessness. "There's
nothing more I can do, Esteban," he said. He thought with a flick of
anger: Soon the child wili be out of it, you ought tohe~grateful. Esteban's
wife began to cry, a weak smothered gasping, and the old woman was
comforting her - "It is the will of God, my daughter .. :" .
In the yard, Esteban pressed carefully folded bills into the doctor's
hand; the limp, tattered feel of the money was part of the futile jour-
ney. "r know this is nct enough, Doctor," Esteban said. "As you can see,
we are very poor .. , ! 5h;11)brir.g you fruit, chickens, someday ... "
A late moon h2.d risen, edging over the top~ of the trees. and in the
fai~t wash of its light, Esteban guided them back to the boat, A glim-
mering rippled on the surFace of the water as they paddled across; the
white moonlight spread in the sky, and a sudden wind sprang rain-like
and was lost ill the tr[~es massed on the riverbank.
"I cannot thank you encugh, Doctor," Esteban said, "You h~ve been
very kind to c;ome this far, a;' this hour."
They stood on the "day b~rlk, in the moon-shadows beside the gleam-
ing water. Dr. Laz;;ro said: "You better go back ;lOW, Esteban. We can
fir:.d the way back to the road, The trail is just over there, isn't it?" He
wanted to be rid of the man, to be away from the shy humble v,o!ce,
the prolonged wretchedness.
"I shall be gratefu11lways, Doctor," Esteban said. 't\nd to your son,
too. God go with you .." He was a faceless voice withdrawing in the shad-
ows, a cipher inthe sh2bby crowds tbt came to town on market days.
"Let's go, Ben," Dr. Lazaro said,
They took the pat.h b8Ck across the fieH; around them the moon-

lI-f:-
it settled into a slender flame. By the river dogs were barking, Dr.
Lazaro g~ced at his '\latch; it was close to midnight. Ben stood over
light had transformed the landscape, revealing a gentle, more familiar
dimension, a luminous haze upon the trees stilTing with a growing wind;
 ~
and the heat of the night had passed, a coolness was .falli~g from the
deep sky. Unhurried, his pace no more than a casual stroll, Dr. Lazaro
I
felt the oppression of the night begin to lift from him; an emotionless
calm returned to his mind. The sparrow does not fall without the
Father's leave, he mused at the sky, but it falls just th~ same. But to
what end are the sufferings of a child? The crickets chirped peacefullv
in the moon-pale darkness beneath the trees.'
,. "You baptized the child, didn't you, Ben?"
"Yes, Pa." The boy kept in step beside him.
, He ~s.ed t~ believe in it, too, the power of the Holy Spirit washing
away ongmal'slO, the purified soul made heir of heaven. He c~uld -still
remember fragments of his boyhood faith, as one olig,ht remember an
improbable and long-discarded dream.
"Lay baptism, isn't that the name for it?"
n , . ":~s,"
Ben said. "I asked the' father. The baby hadn't been bap-
tli:ed. He added as they came to the embankment that separated the
fields from the road: ,"They were waiting for it to get well."
A fine gesture; it proved the boy had presence Of mind convic-
tions, but what else? The wcrldwill teach him his greatest le~sons.
(it
tl THE S'IATION had dosed, with only the canopy Iightand the globed
tl neon sign left burning. A steady wind was blowing now across the fields,
the moonlit plains.
e; He saw Ben stifle a yawn. "I'll do the driving," Dr. La~aro said.
m His eyes were not what they used te be, ~ncl h~ diOve l~aning for-
s: ward, his hands. tight on the wheel. He began to sweat again, and the
!l1: . ~mpty road and the lateness and the memory of Esteban and of the'
t1 child dying before morning in the cramped lamplit room fused into a
)UI tired melancholy. He started to think of his other son, the one whom
he he had lost. .
1111 He said, seeking conversation, "If other people carried on like you,
I dl Ben, the priests would run out of business."
e s The boy sat beside him, his face averted, not answering.
th "New, you'i! have an angel praying for you in heaven," Dr. Lazaro
n ~ said, teasing, trxing to create an easy meod between them. "What if
vas: ~
. inl
you hadn't
then?"
- I
baptized the baby and it died? What would happen to it
"It won't see God," Ben said.
"But isn't that unfair?" It was like a riddle, trivial but diverting.
"Just because-"
"Maybe God has another remedy," Ben said. "I don't know. But
.
the Church says - "
He <.:ouldsense the boy groping for the tremendous answers. "The
Church teaches, the Church says .. :. God: Chnst: the communion of
saints: Dr. Lazar~ found himself wondering again at the world of nove-
nas and candles~ where bread and wine became the flesh and blood ot
the Lord, and 3 ",loman bathed in light appeared before children, and
mortal men spoke of eternal life, the vision of God, the body's resur-
rection at the end of time. It was like a country from which he was
barred; no matter - th", customs, the geography didn't appeal to him.
, But in the car suddenly, driving through the night, he was aware of an
obscure disappointment, a subtle pressure around his heart, as though
he had been deprived of a certain joy ...
A bus roared around J' hill toward them, its lights blinding him,
and he pulled to the side of the road, brakingin',oluntarily as ~ billow
of dust swept over the car. He had not closed the window on his side,
and the flung du::.t poured in, the thick brittle powder almost choking
him, making him cough, his eyes $marting, before he could shield his
face with his hands. In the headlights the dust :;jftcd down and when
the air was c1earagain, Dr. Lazaro, swaiiowing a taste of earth, of dark-
ness maneuvered-the
I _ car beck onto the :-oact;his arms numb and ex-
_ __
hausted. He drove the last h;\lf mile to town in silence·, his mind regis-
tering nothing but the grit of dust in his mouth and the empty road
unwinding swiftly before him.
They reached the sleeping town, the desolate streets, the plaza
empty in the moonlight, and the huddled ::.hapes of houses, the oid
houses that Dr. Lazaro had always known. How many nights had he
driven home like this through the quiet town, with a man's life ended
behind him, or a child crying newly risen from the womb; and a sense
 --I
of constant motion, of change, of the days moving sWiftly toward an
immense revelation touched him once more, briefly, and still he cOHld
not find the words. He turned the last corner, then steered the Cor
down the graveled driveway to the garage, while Ben closed the gate.
Dr. Lazaro sat there a moment, in the stillness, resting his eyes, con-
scious of the measured beating of his heart, and breathing a scent of
dust that tingered on his clothes, his skin, before he finally went around
the tower of the water-tank to the front yard where Ben stood waiting.
Vv'itn unaccustomed tenderness, he placed a hand on Ben's shoul-
der as they turned toward the cement-walled hou·se. They had gone on
a trip; they had ceme home safely together. He- felt closer to the boy
than he h2d- ever been in years.'
"Sorry for keeping you up this late," Dr. Lazaro said.
"It's all right: Pa."
"Some night, huh, Ben? What you did ba,k in that barrio -" there
was just the slightest patronage in his tone - "your mother will love to
he3t about it."
He shook the boy beside him gentiy. "Reverend Father Ben Lazaro."
The impulse of ~ncertain humor- it was part of the comradeship. He
chuckled drowsily: "Father Lazaro, :.vhat must I do to gain eternal life?'"
. As he slid the-door open on the vault of -darkness, the familiar
deptns (\f the house, it came to Dr. Lazaro faintly in the late night that
for ce!"t<l.inthings, like lo\'e, there was only so much time. But the
fa glimmer was lost instantiy, buried in the mist of indifference and sleep
'jo, rising now in his brain.
"'e.
'h.
}Ilt
lcJ.
C'1l
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