Brother Gregory: Gene One Read online

  Accompanied by the Secretary, the small group of men moved a little closer to the radiant heat, but none of them took off their outer garments. Makytta got his first look at Mendel in many years and what he saw came as a bit of a shock. His old pupil was now a man of middle age and medium height with broad-shoulders and a stocky build. At 43 the monk was already becoming a little corpulent, but his large head and high forehead bespoke of a ready intelligence. Around his blue eyes Mendel wore thin, gold rimmed glasses and his mouth frequently broke into warm smiles. A friendly expression was never far from Mendel's face.

  Brother Matthew saw Makytta's surprise and quickly guessed it's source.

  "You expected a monk, did you not?" he said with a grin.

  "Ahh, well, yes," the schoolteacher could not help admitting and shook his head. What he saw did not fit his expectations in the least. Unlike Brother Matthew and the Abbot, Brother Gregory was not wearing traditional priests' clerical robes, but a well worn frock-coat at least one size too big for him. Under the coat he had short trousers tucked into scuffed top-boots, making him look more like a shopkeeper than a member of a religious order.

  "Thanks to Emperor Josef II," explained Brother Matthew, "our monks are obliged to serve the state as well as God. Since the great closings in 1782, when most of the monasteries were abolished, we have been required to help in parishes, hospitals and schools. Our Augustinian monastery was not dissolved, but it was moved to its present location, and, in 1807 Emperor Franz I, required us to teach mathematics and biblical studies in the Philosophy Institute and Brno theology college."

  He saw that the schoolteacher was not following his reasoning, so he hurried on, "It's a long story, but, simply put, Brother Gregory is one of those that teaches classes here at the Realschule. When he is engaged in his non-religious duties he is allowed to wear civilian clothing."

  "Ah," smiled Makytta, then to cover his embarrassment, "who is that standing beside him?"

  Brother Matthew needed no prompting to impart more information and gossip. "That's our Abbot," he said affectionately, "a noble and true friend to God and science, to say nothing of his love of the monastery and his monks." He coughed. "If it was not for this man, I would not still be in the monastery. Such a soul. He will go straight to heaven."

  Makytta peered at the subject of this veneration. What he saw was a round monk, somewhat shorter than Mendel, but well dressed in plain robes with a bright sash around his middle. A simple silver cross hung around his neck. But it was the face that Makytta told the whole story. Here was a man who had used his broad knowledge of the world to good effect. A practical man with considerable organizational skills who had accepted with considerable enthusiasm the imperial directive for his monks to teach. Although forbidden to enter a classroom himself, he had recruited monks with ability, helped train and further their education, and then used all his influence to place them in the best schools and better locations.

  "So good of you to come out on a night like this," continued the Secretary, his voice raising to almost a squeak, "we are all looking forward to your talk, Brother Gregory. About beans, isn't it?"

  Brother Gregory coughed. “Peas, [see footnote]“ he said quietly.

  "Oh yes, of course, peas," replied the Secretary, twisting his hands and avoiding looking into his guest's face. "Yes, peas.”

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  Chapter Three

  Old Friends

  "Herr Doktor Schwippel," interjected Abbot Napp smoothly. "It is good to see you again. These meetings are always a simulating environment for philosophical exchange. But may I introduce you to Brother Timothy. He has only recently rejoined us in the monastery, but already he is proving very valuable."

  Secretary Dr. Schwippel did not like what he saw. Brother Timothy was an exceedingly tall, spare man, of indeterminate age, but probably older than Mendel. Locks of dark, lank, wavy hair fell backwards down his long neck and overlapped his collar. But on top of his head nature had thinned out the hair to faint wisps that only served to emphasize a boney forehead. An aquiline, pointed nose separated deep-set, dark eyes that held no warmth. Thin lips constantly rubbed together and never turned upwards in pleasure or a smile. Brother Timothy was not the sort of man with whom Secretary Schwippel liked to do business. Soft hearted himself, Schwippel recognized, in an instinctive, animalistic way the latent danger lurking behind the smooth faced monk. It would be dangerous to have Brother Timothy as an enemy, and behind you. The timid natural history teacher gave an internal shiver and nervously glanced around the room, looking for an excuse to escape.

  "Excuse me, Brother Gregory, Abbot Napp, but I must greet our members and their guests," he said, backing away. "But after your presentation, perhaps we could talk? We need to resolve some matters about the new honorary members of our Society." At its founding, the Natural Science Society had voted to propose twenty-four honorary members, including Abbot Napp. Now there was a movement to increase that number.

  "Of course, Herr Schwippel," said Abbot Napp. He had noticed the snubbing of Brother Timothy. "We are at your service." He too looked around the room, and spotted an important member by the window. "Brother Gregory, we will leave you to prepare. Come Brother Timothy." He strode off with as much dignity as his round frame afforded, his boots clicking on the tiled floor. With a slight bow to Secretary Schwippel, for he too had noticed the discourtesy, Brother Timothy moved after his superior. But his feet made no sound on the tiles.

  "Come," Schwippel said to Brother Gregory with some visible relief, "your guest has arrived." He plucked at the monk's sleeve, and turned him in the direction of Makytta and Brother Matthew, who had stayed back during the previous exchange.

  "Johann!," said Makytta opening his arms and moving forward to hug his former pupil. Then he hurriedly corrected himself, "Er, Brother Gregory, it is good to see you again after all these years." Mendel's face broke into one of its famous smiles and his eyes lit up behind the gold rimmed glasses.

  "Herr Makytta," he exclaimed with delight, "is that really you, let me hold you". The two men clasped each other warmly and drew together.

  "You are cold, come closer to the stove. When did you arrive?" beamed Mendel, glad to see his old mentor after almost 20 years.

  "My train arrived only a couple of hours ago," replied the school teacher, "Brother Matthew met me and we came straight here." Gratefully he moved into the small circle of warmth and peered at his former pupil.

  "Ever since I saw the announcement of your talk to the Society I wanted to see you again. It was good of you to invite me." He grasped Mendel's arms in his hands and pulled him close. "They still remember you in the village, and Theresa constantly reminds everyone how well you are doing." Mendel's round cheeks blushed with pride and embarrassment. He was not normally a demonstrative person, and he flushed easily at compliments.

  "That is very kind," he stammered, "Theresa is a wonderful sister, but what could possibly interest you in my humble work?"

  Thomas Makytta laughed, "Don't you remember, how you used to help Father Schreiber with his fruit trees? Those thousands of seeds he and you collected and planted that summer. If I remember correctly, wasn't it Schreiber who became a founding member of the Pomological Association?"

  "It was," agreed Mendel, "you and he taught me much that I value. I still use some of the classroom techniques I learnt in your school."

  "So you still teach?" replied Makytta, it being his turn to blush at the complement.

  "Yes," replied the monk, "here at the local high school. I find it very rewarding. But," he grinned, "I never make my pupils clean out the chicken coup." At this the two men laughed. It was a long standing tradition at the village school, where funds were always short and classes always large, that older pupils helped pay for their tuition by assisting the school teacher in unauthodox ways.

  They laughed. "So how long will you be a
ble to stay in Brno?"

  "I retired several years ago, and I now clean out my own chicken coup," replied Makytta, drying his eyes. "I can stay as long as I like."

  "Good, good," said Mendel. Then he turned to Brother Matthew, "We can have him as our guest at the monastery."

  "Of course," agreed Brother Matthew, "I'll take care of him. But shouldn't you be preparing for your talk? There will be plenty of time to catch up on old memories later."

  Guiltily, Mendel nodded. "You are right, I must give a good talk and I would welcome the opportunity to go over my data again. But come, let me find you some seats.”

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  Chapter Four

  A Fine Cigar

  Mendel saw his friends seated, looked round the room and moved away from the growing group of visitors. He was, at heart, a shy man and did not like social small talk. Picking up his cheap leather bag, he extracted a sheet of notes that he was going to use that evening.

  Sighing, he turned some of the pages. There was much to say, and even though he had been over the data a hundred times since agreeing to give this presentation, he still wanted to go over them again. Squinting slightly, for his eyes were not strong, he studied the neat columns of numbers written in brown ink on cheap paper. His monastery was not rich, and Abbot Napp took pains to save a coin wherever he could.

  Quickly he was immersed in the data. Each left-hand column listed dates, plantings and when the samples were counted. Next to them were the raw numbers that represented pea plants analyzed, and in the final columns, the ratios. It was these ratios that were important. All of the rest of the data were, in themselves, unintelligible. No two numbers were the same, and almost all of them listed totals in the hundreds. After each cluster of values, he had performed a simple mathematical calculation; the larger number had been divided by the smaller number to give a ratio. A simple enough calculation, but one that brought the jumble of data into crisp clarity. From all the hundreds of pea plants analyzed, one ratio stood out over and over again; 3:1. Out of every four plants checked that fall, three showed one clear characteristic and the fourth showed a different characteristic. He sighed again; how could he make his colleagues in the Society understand the significance of these ratios.

  "Mendel," said a brisk voice behind him. Brother Gregory jumped. "What do you think?" Facing the monk was a tall, heavily built man of middle years. "Came in from the Americas just this morning." To emphasize his curious remark, the tall man waved a cigar under Mendel's nose. "Best quality. Got through the Union blockage three weeks ago."

  "Ah," said Mendel, "the cigar." Like the industrialist who stood before him, Mendel loved cigars. It was his vice. Every day, Mendel smoked at least twenty cigars, but ones of good quality had become very expensive during the American civil war [see footnote], and the Union blockage of the southern states. "Indeed, it burns well," he continued, sniffing the smoke enviously.

  "Finest leaf," agreed the German, "Connecticut grown from Havana Seeds. Absolutely the best." In the early 1800's the finest Havana tobacco seeds had been introduced into the United States. Wrapper leaves were grown in Florida and Connecticut, but the best came from the Northern States of the Union. Cigar wrappers were the most difficult and costly to grow and these shade grown leaves had come from the Connecticut Valley, where the plants had been raised totally under cheese cloth. The filler tobacco, however, was grown in Georgia and Florida, states that the German considered rebels. Getting the two types of leaves together in time of war was not easy, and the supply of fine American cigars had fallen off dramatically.

  A resident of Brno, the cigar fancier, was a second generation German industrialist who had made several fortunes manufacturing textiles and selling cloth to the Prussian army. He had a weaving plant and textile factory in Namest, a small town to the north-west of Brno, where an industrial base had been developing rapidly since 1766. Over twenty modern cloth factories now earned Brno the nickname 'rakousky Manchestr' (Austrian Manchester), after the famous English town that had pioneered the use of machines to weave cheap cloth.

  He could afford the best. But when he wasn't supplying Bismark's military machine with woven wool, the industrialist Grunewald was also a keen physicist and mathematician.

  "The supplier had interesting news of the Americas," he went on contentedly. "The war is almost over. Jefferson Davis has appointed Lee the Commander-in-Chief of all the Confederate forces, but Richmond is doomed. The North is ravaging the Confederacy from top to bottom. My supplier, a British merchant, said that Sherman has inflicted such damage on the south it will take generations to recover."

  "Ah," said Mendel again. He had only understood one word in three of Grunewald's news, not being a person who kept himself current with overseas events.

  "I hope you have something interesting to tell us tonight," Grunewald went on, ignoring Mendel's discomfiture. "Brother Timothy tells me you have been digging away in your garden like a badger." Unlike Secretary Schwippel, the industrialist rather liked Brother Timothy.

  "Indeed," coughed Mendel, "my work does require a lot of digging. But its significance lies in the mathematical treatment of the data."

  "Excellent," beamed the industrialist, "numbers, data, facts, Mendel; remember that. Keep to the facts. Avoid all that mushy plant stuff. No one wants to hear about bugs and beetles. Keep to the facts." He puffed out his remarks in a cloud of aromatic smoke.

  "I'll try," Mendel responded as best he could. As one of the richer founding members of their society, Grunewald felt he could dictate policy to the rest of the seminar committee. His opinions weighed heavily in the choice of topics for their meetings.

  "Good, good." The German stamped his feet, not in anger but at the cold striking up through the tiled floor of the Realschule. "I'll bring you a box or two." He waved the cigar again, and switched the subject of his conversation once more. "I have a couple of business friends staying with me at the moment. I told them of your talk, but they had other plans for today, however they want to meet you. I'll bring them by the Monastery tomorrow and I'll bring you some cigars."

  Colleagues often had a hard time keeping up with the rapid changes that accompanied talks with Herr Grunewald.

  "I would be glad to meet your friends, and very grateful for the cigars," said Mendel sincerely, his needs were modest, but his weakness for cigars was well known among his science friends, inside and outside of the Monastery.

  "Oh, Romer came with me, he wants to hear your talk and tell you more about his hybrids," Grunewald went on, ignoring Mendel's response. C. Romer was a clerk in Grunewald's factory, and an enthusiastic collector of plants and plant hybrids from around the Brno area.

  "Herr Romer's work is always interesting," said Mendel politely. "I would be glad to discuss his current findings."

  "Can't stand his twitterings myself," said Grunewald, bluntly. "Also, he never does anything with his collections, just labels them and puts them away in drawers. What good it that I ask you?" He did not expect a reply and did not wait for one. "Remember when Theimer bored us to tears with his 'hybrid forms' in '62?" Mendel nodded, remembering quite well Carl Theimer's very interesting talk. It had been given shortly after the breakaway Society had begun its own meetings. But it was no good trying to change Grunewald's impression. Any type of science without numbers in it did not interest the industrialist weaver.

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  Chapter Five

  Let Us Begin

  "Gentlemen," called out Vice President Carl Theimer from across the cold tiles, "should we begin." It was not a question, and obediently, all those assembled politely terminated their conversations and moved to the front of the room where hard wooden chairs had been placed in precise rows. Mendel and Grunewald went with them.

  "Tonight we have a great honor," the Vice President told the forty citizens of
Brno, after they had taken their seats. "Yes, a great honor. It is not often that Brother Gregory agrees to tell us something of his work, but tonight he has relented." He paused for effect, and looked over his glasses at the men before him. Each was in early middle age or older; each was soberly dressed in dark colors. The only hint of frivolity was the occasional fur collar around the neck of the greatcoats, which had not yet been removed. Casting his eye over the group, the Chairman saw that Mendel had attracted a very small crowd. A few naturalists, like himself, who had been intrigued by remarks the monk had made the previous year about plant grafting. A scattering of astronomers, were supplemented by chemists and physicists, like Grunewald. All of them were solid Brno citizens who had braved a very cold night to hear Mendel speak. Although he was popular enough, Brother Gregory was not an inspiring speaker and tended to belabor his points ad nauseam.

  There was a scattering of applause, and much shuffling of seats. It was cold and most in the room just wanted to get to the talk.

  But the Vice President was not to be put off, he presided over the meetings of the society and enjoyed his time in the limelight. "As you know," he went on, "Brother Gregory's garden has been the subject of much interest these last few years. I myself have often seen him digging away as soon as the frost has ended each spring." In this the Vice President exaggerated somewhat; he had never actually seen the monk digging, but it was the kind of remark he was fond of making.

  "And tonight we will get to hear all the results he has dug up." If he had expected a polite laugh at his small attempt at humor, the Vice President was doomed to disappointment. All he got was more scraping as chairs were adjusted across the floor.

  "Hummmp," he cleared his throat and hurried on, "but what am I saying. Brother Gregory can speak for himself. Gentlemen, please join me in giving a warm welcome to one of our own founding members, who tonight will enlighten us on the subject of ...". He floundered and looked desperately at the monk.