Brother Gregory: Gene Four

By John Hulme

At the dawn of the modern scientific era important discoveries were made in the strangest places. Pasteur found the invisible agents of infection and disease in rabid dogs, and in this story Brother Gregory finds answers in a barrel of sour wine. He also sees a miracle of a different sort.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Hulme
• Release date: Jul 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311506634

John Hulme

John Hulme is a retired Professor, now living and writing in Florida. He was educated in England - a long time ago - and arrived on the shores of New York carrying a single suitcase and lots of ideas. He has written several hardcover science books and was an early user of the fledgling internet as a teaching tool. Before retirement he wrote a set of fictional science stories about Gregor Mendel - the person who discovered genetics, which he is now converting into ebooks. Since retirement he has started on a long-cherished writing project of historical fiction - which you may be seeing soon.

Book preview

Brother Gregory: Gene Four

The Saint, the Sinner and the Scientist

Being the fictionalized story of Brother Gregor Mendel; monk, scientist and the discoverer of genetics.

How Mendel learns about wine, energy, gypsies and the bones of a Saint.

by

John Hulme

scholar

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 John Hulme

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Afterword

About the Author

Footnotes

Bonus Section - Life and Energy

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Chapter One

Arrival

As the train from Prague pulled into Brno's hlavni nadrazi, the station master noted the time and date in his official records; 16:14 on the first Monday after Quadragesima Sunday in the year of Our Lord, 1865. It was fourteen minutes late, but that did not seem to affect anyone but the station master, who hated inexactitude. Most of the passengers were simply relieved that their journey was over. They gathered their bags and belongings and hurried out into Nadrazni street and away to their homes and businesses. Three of the arrivals, however, lingered in the darker recesses of the boxcar until the train station emptied, then they slid quietly to the exit. When the ticket inspector had given his last look up and down the platform, fastened his chain across the exit and moved back into his warm office, the three men quickly and unobtrusively walked up to and under the chain and out into the sunshine without stopping. It was a practiced technique, and one that they had used many times.

At the bottom of Masarykova they paused to take their bearings. Passing pedestrians noted three men of average height, shabbily dressed and without heavy coats despite the fact that spring was only just beginning. Winter had been especially brutal and cold that year, with one major storm after another, but on Ash Wednesday, just six days earlier, winter had finally given up and, like a man who has tried too hard for too long, had collapsed and allowed the strengthening sun to warm the air and freshen the breezes with a tantalizing hint of the coming spring. Most of the pedestrians still wore their warm clothing, but they now stood up straight as they walked and greeted one another with increasing anticipation and enthusiasm. All of which the three men noted with interest.

Unhurriedly they walked along and up the main street leading to the central square of the town, Namesti Svobody, soaking up the last rays of the sun as it sank behind the Petrov hill to their left. Their leader walked confidently, picking his way politely between the shoppers and other citizens of Brno. He smiled generously whenever one of them caught his eye, and nodded his dark curly haired head in their direction. Any matron who smiled back was rewarded with a flash of deep, dark brown eyes set in an open, swarthy, face; a gesture that sent a reddening flush to the face of the recipient and illicit thoughts rushing through their minds.

Behind him, and somewhat to one side, his two companions created a very different impression. Each of them tried as best they could to be invisible. Their clothing was old, worn and threadbare. They never faced anyone directly, but their darting eyes missed nothing that went on around them. The older one crouched slightly and held his right hand deep in his pocket, firmly grasping a curved five centimeter knife whose blade was sharpened to such an incredible degree it would have sliced its way through the cloth of his pocket had it not been restrained. Which was exactly what it was intended to do, for this arrival was a professional pickpocket.

Reaching the corner of Janska street, at the point where the road entered the main square, they paused and separated from one another by a few meters. It was time for work. They had arrived in Brno somewhat embarrassed for funds, having left Prague in less than auspicious circumstances and only minutes before a potentially damaging interview with the local constabulary. In a one room boarding house, somewhere in Prague, was a bundle of clothes and all their worldly possessions, including their sumadji, a tiny hoard of silver coins, which they would never see again. Now it was time to begin anew and replenish their stocks.

Their leader looked at the people moving along the sidewalk, picking out a suitable mark. The knife-holding member of the trio stood to one side and facing him, while the third member stood behind him and ready to move in an instant. Without seeming to, the leader eyed critically the pedestrians looking for just the right combination of circumstances; modest wealth, older rather than younger, distracted and not paying attention to their surroundings, someone off guard. He did not have to wait long. Coming along Janska street, totally absorbed in his thoughts, was a portly, late middle aged male wearing a good quality great coat, short trousers tucked into decent leather boots, a soft hat on his head and gold rimmed glasses on the end of a snub nose. Perfect!

Nodding imperceptibly to his companions, the leader moved towards his mark. At just the right moment he would bump into the stranger, distracting him for a couple of vital seconds. During those seconds of disorientation the incredibly sharp knife would slice along the bottom of a bulging pocket of the great coat and its contents would instantly empty into waiting hands. In case the victim noted the loss, the wallet would be passed off to the third companion, who would walk slowly away from any developing trouble. It was a technique they had performed many times, and they were professionals.

Unaware of his role, the mark walked directly into his waiting fate, head down and clearly lost in deep thought. Another second and the transaction would have been initiated, but, almost as if warned of his danger, the Brno citizen looked up at the last moment, and stared directly into the face of the leader. His eyes opened wide behind the thin, gold glasses, and a warm smile spread across his face as recognition dawned

Well, if it isn't the Salamander! he exclaimed, bringing the leader of the group to a sudden and unpleasant halt. Being recognized was definitely not part of his plans. Recovering quickly, he peered closely at the stranger, who was still smiling openly, with no hostile intent.

Johann? he said after a moment, Johann Mendel of Heinzendorf?

Nodding vigorously, the mark held out his hand and grasped the startled leader. Not Johann any more, I've taken the cloth. They now call me Gregor, Brother Gregory.

Where to Stay

I suppose you are here for the Lenten Parade? Mendel asked the still shocked leader. It should be a good one this year. Are you performing?

Err, no, admitted the leader, I left the Salamanders about a year ago. We are just here as simple visitors.

At this Brother Gregory laughed. The day you, of all people, become a 'simple visitor' is the day it rains cats and dogs from heaven. At which the leader had the modesty to blush.

But what are you calling yourself these days? Mendel asked.

Err, Cesky Brezen, he replied without thinking.

Bohemian Birch, translated Mendel into German, as good a name as any for a rogue like you, and I'll bet not the last one you will have before you die. He said this without any hostility, for Mendel, unlike most other citizens of Brno, had no particular animosity towards the Romani, those Gypsy people [see footnote] who wandered the length and breadth of the Habsburg [see footnote] domains, plying their various trades. In this he was definitely in the minority since the Rom, as they called themselves, were universally hated by Czech and German alike and persecuted both officially and unofficially by all the God fearing people in care of Pope Pius IX, and the Emperor Franz Joseph I.

No, no, protested the one calling himself Cesky Brezen, "you do me wrong, Brother Gregory. I gave up my old profession and my old ways when I left the Salamanders. My kumpania, er, family, broke up two years ago. I now devote my life to curing the sick, and healing the afflicted." He could not help noticing the look of disbelief on Mendel's face, so he hurried on.

When we first met in Heinzendorf, it is true, I was under the influence of my father and my uncles, and, God rest their souls, they led me into wicked and unholy ways. Our horde moved constantly and they were always getting into trouble with the law. But I have long since repented of those sins and I now follow my mother's teachings. I have taken God into my life and use the knowledge given to me by my blessed mother to help those less fortunate than myself. As an act of contrition and repentance I now travel from town to town bringing the natural healing and cures that God provides. I help the sick, the poor and the destitute back to health using only botanical remedies and potions.

"You have become a herbalist [see footnote]?" Mendel asked, incredulously.

You might say that, Brezen admitted.

If that is so, Mendel told him, I congratulate you on your change of heart and change of profession. Although I will admit that I used to enjoy your act, and the visits of the Salamanders to Heinzendorf once a year. Then, with an impish grin, Does this mean I will not have to hold on so tightly to my wallet? He tapped his pocket and laughed at the Gypsy.

Brezen laughed also, but with a lot less sincerity.

I wonder if you could help me, he said, moving the conversation away from dangerous ground. This monk knew too much about his past, and could, if not deflected, hurt his future. For Cesky Brezen and his companions had indeed come to Brno for the period of Lent and especially for the purpose of practicing their various crafts and skills upon its unsuspecting citizens.

If I can, Mendel said generously, but with a touch of caution.

I am looking for somewhere to stay. Somewhere not expensive and where I will not be ... er ... bothered.

Mendel knew exactly what he meant. Few of the respectable hostelries in Brno would rent a room to a Gypsy. Normally, he knew, Gypsies traveled in related groups, the kumpania, and camped on the outskirts of towns like Brno. From these camps, which were eyed suspiciously by the police, the gypsy women would move into town, begging and telling fortunes while the men traded and sometimes stole livestock. It was unusual for a member of the Rom to stay in a Gaje, non-gypsy, house. He gave the matter a few moments thought, then told the leader of a cheap but not too selective establishment in a less fashionable part of Old Brno.

Thank you, Brezen replied, It was good to see you again Johann ... er ... Brother Gregory.

Good indeed, replied Mendel, but I must be going. As well as being a monk, I am now also a teacher. He waved generally in the direction of the Realschule. I have just finished classes for the day. I was on my way back to the Monastery to go over my notes before supper. I have a scientific talk to give in two days, and I must study.

You are also a scientist? Brezen asked, more out of politeness than interest.

Yes, Mendel told him, "Abbot Napp, of our Monastery, strongly encourages all of us to investigate natural phenomenon. I myself have performed breeding experiments using Pisum, and I have been invited to give a second presentation to the Brno Natural Science Society in two days. Then, honesty forced him to add, My first presentation was not well received, so I must work harder and get them to understand the significance of what I have discovered."

With this the monk shook Brezen's hand once more and with a wave strode off down Masarykova.

Behind him, Brezen's companions drew close wondering at what had just happened.

"What did the raya want?" asked the one called Balo, speaking in the Romani tongue and scornfully using Rom term for 'wealthy landowner'.

But his leader was in no mood to explain, he waved them back into position. There was still something left of the day, although the sun was rapidly falling into evening. He stretched to his full height and turned to catch the last rays. Yes, he thought to himself, he had been right to come to Brno. This was a good place to make some money before moving on, for men like Cesky Brezen were always on the road to somewhere else. It had been a mistake to stay in Prague as long as they had. The police in the regional capital were more vigilant and more suspicious. Here in Brno there were more opportunities and less danger.

With one hand he felt around his waist, and was reassured by the object he found there, nestled closely to his body. This was his fortune, and the one object he treasured above all else. No matter how great the danger, he would not have left Prague without it. With it, no matter the circumstances, he always had ability to earn a few guilders. Not that he had lied to Brother Gregory; he was indeed making a living these days as an itinerant mendicant, but before he could practice that trade, he needed capital. With luck, in the next few hours, he could gather enough guilders to finance a visit to the apothecary, glass works and the small shop he knew of down by the river. In these places he would get all the supplies he needed. Later he would make a variety of patient medicines, salves and potions most of which were harmless, a few that would do good and one in particular that would fill a need that had been present since time immemorial. When all was ready, he would find a cooperative wine bar, pivince or coffee house and set up for business. His companions would spread the word, patients would come and for a few coins, he would dispense his wisdom and his cures, mostly to those citizens of Brno too poor or too afraid to visit qualified physicians.

Then, when the supply of sick people ran low, the coffee shop owner became too greedy, or the police became too aware of his presence, he would perform one last service for the community. Using the object around his waist, he would revive part of the now abandoned Salamander routine that Mendel remembered so well. During the performance his trained companions would practice their particular specialty, and then the three of them would leave Brno as quickly as possible.

Yes, thought Cesky Brezen, Brno was a fine place, and just the right place to perform a miracle.

Sour Grapes

Not far from where Brother Gregory had just encountered someone from his past, Gustav Druer was undergoing a different kind of discovery, and one which was much less pleasant.

Test that one again, he ordered the master vintner, slapping his hand down violently on the offending wine barrel. With a shrug the man flicked the contents of the ladle onto the dusty floor of the cellar, and slid two fingers over the open bung hole on the barrel. Between his fingers he passed the end of the ladle down through the hole and deep into the wine below. This long handled ladle was made of steel, and had a narrow cylinder at one end, just wide enough to pass through the tiny hole. It took considerable skill to get the cylinder in through the hole, fill it with wine without disturbing the contents of the barrel, and then remove it through the narrow hole once more without spilling the contents. It was a skill the vintner performed automatically, as he had been doing for thirty years.

Herr Gustav Druer, wine merchant and important citizen of Brno, waited impatiently for the results. Withdrawing the ladle, the vintner, whose name was Hola Teplicka, poured the contents into a wine glass resting on the stool beside him. Unhurriedly, for wine cannot be hurried, he set down the ladle carefully across the barrel and picked up the beaker in his left hand. In his right hand he held up a candle, for it was dark in Gustav Druer's cellar, and peered through the wine at the flickering flame. What he saw was a cloudy red liquid, what Druer saw was his ruination.

Putting down the candle Hola Teplicka took up a small piece of expensive white chalk and dipped one end repeatedly into the wine sample, drying the sample each time over the candle flame. In this way he concentrated the wine residues into a small area. Then he took out a length of straw put it close to the flame and blew gently, agitating the flame to a higher heat. This he used to heat up the chalk and the wine deposits. Within minutes the end of the chalk was toasty brown. Grunting, he examined the brown chalk through a broken pair of glasses and passed the results over to his master, knowing quite well that Gustav Druer had no idea what it meant.

Well? the wine merchant asked him, ignoring the chalk.

Teplicka did not answer at once, but held up the beaker of partially fermented wine once more and applied a different test; he sipped it. The look on his face made Druer's hopes sink even faster.

Come on man, what is happening?

Teplicka replied by holding the wine under the merchant's nose and blowing across the surface. Even to an untrained olfactory organ, the sharp smell of what science would eventually call acetaldehyde was unmistakable. Not knowing the scientific name, Teplicka used the more common term.

Nutty, he said succinctly, for he was a man of few words.

With a groan, Druer put his hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes in frustration and anger. All or them? he asked, meaning all the barrels in the cellar.

At least a dozen, Teplicka told him. Then he added, This batch, the ones that should have been ready for Holy Saturday. At which Druer groaned again, this time more loudly. He did not need his vintner to tell him the meaning of this last remark.

It had been a bad winter for Gustav Druer. Wine was not popular in this corner of the Habsburg domains even under the best of circumstances, and in the past winter, storms, and the threat of war with Prussia had depressed sales even further. To make up for his losses, Druer had sunk a considerable portion of his wife's dwindling dowry into a must of grape juice that was produced locally in Moravia. This he had fermented himself (to save more money) and then racked off the partially fermented juice into some secondhand barrels he had obtained from a bankrupt winery in Melnik. Against the advice of his vintner, he had neglected the pre-treatment of the barrels with burning sticks of sulfur, and it looked as if he was now paying the price.

Spread across his cellar floor were two dozen wine barrels that should, by now, have held raw but increasingly palatable burcak wine of a type normally drunk in autumn after the harvest, but which Druer had intended to sell in large quantities on the streets of Brno during the upcoming Easter festivities. He had adapted the idea from a local custom in which large barrels of carp were set up in the streets of the town just before Christmas. In celebration of the holy days, the citizens of Brno bought and cooked the carp as part of their feast. Druer had hoped the idea of setting up barrels of newly fermented wine just at the time of Easter, when everyone was out of doors reveling in the rites of spring, would trigger the urge to revel a little more with a liter of two of his produce.

Now it looked as if he was about to go bankrupt. The barrels of wine on which he had placed so much faith, and on which he depended to revive his fortunes, were all starting to go sour. No one knew why, but occasionally some batches of fermenting wine turned bitter, lost their potency and flavor, and became worthless. This