I am relieved that my dear Camilla has been spared from having to witness all of this suffering. For her, the loss of decency and humanity would have been even more troubling than the ubiquitous death.

At times, in moments of weakness to be sure, I think I would welcome a quick end to this life for the chance to be reunited with Camilla, if only in the ground. However, I know it to be the coward’s path. I am beholden to duty and obligation. My services are more sought-after than ever before.

Among the many people who came seeking my care today, the most unexpected was my old colleague Jacob ben Moses. His youngest daughter, Gabriella, brought him to my surgery. Jacob could not have made the trip on his own. He could barely stand. At first glance, I thought he had contracted the plague. However, I soon saw that both of his eyes were blackened. The right one was swollen shut. I noticed that he was cradling his left arm against his chest. I looked closer and saw the deformity at his elbow, where the forearm was bent at an unnatural angle. The bones were clearly out of the joint. With his daughter’s assistance, I positioned him on a stool and supported his arm with mine. He did not utter so much as a moan as I applied force until a loud clunk indicated that the bones had slid back into place.

Jacob laughed in relief. He bent and extended his arm to prove to himself that he once again could. As often as I have seen my own patients suffer, he said, one can never appreciate another’s pain until one has endured it himself.

Who did this to you? I asked.

What is done is done, he said. And you have reversed the damage. Thank you, Rafael.

I turned to his daughter and repeated the question. I had only met Gabriella once before, prior to her husband’s death the previous winter. I knew her to be the youngest, by several years, of Jacob’s three living offspring. His unexpected blessing, as he had once described her. She possessed a kind face that was striking in its contrast with hair as dark as nightfall but eyes as pale as the summer sky. There was sadness in those eyes, but also resolve.

Our neighbors beat my father, Gabriella said. The very same Christians who rush to see him in the middle of the night if their wives or children take ill, even though their own Church forbids them to.

Enough, daughter, Jacob said.

It is true, Father. They will borrow our money, bargain for our wares, and take whatever else they need from us. But as soon as ill fortune befalls them, they always blame us.

We are fortunate, daughter. Other kingdoms have forced Jews to live in ghettos. Or banished them altogether. The gentiles treat us well here in Genova.

Your face would suggest otherwise, I said.

They blame us when the crops fail or if their livestock are not thriving or if the weather is too hot or too cold, Gabriella said. The worst is when they return home drunk from the tavern with heavy gambling losses. That is somehow always the fault of the Jew.