Chapter 10The Leech and His Patient

Old Roger Chillingworth, throughout his life, was chill - kind, but not super affectionate. He was always a good, upright guy. He started looking into things like a judge, all about finding the truth. Like solving a math problem, not dealing with feelings or stuff he’s been through.

But as he went deeper, he got totally hooked. Like a fierce, but still calm, need took over and never let go until he’s done everything it asked. He was digging into the poor minister’s heart, like a miner looking for gold.

Or, maybe like someone digging in a grave, hoping to find a jewel buried with the guy - but probably just finding death and decay. Rough, right? Especially if that's what he was after. Sometimes, you could see a weird light flicker in the doctor’s eyes - blue and creepy, like a furnace glow.

Or, like one of those spooky fires Bunyan’s pilgrim saw coming from the hillside, flashing on his face. The ground where this dark miner was working probably showed some signs that got him excited.

"This guy," he mumbled to himself, "as pure as everyone thinks - as spiritual as he seems - got a strong, animal side from his dad or mom. Let's dig a little deeper into this!"

After a long search through the minister’s gloomy office, sifting through all sorts of stuff - big dreams for his people, genuine love, pure thoughts, natural goodness, all deepened by thinking and studying, and lit up by revelation - stuff that might have been totally worthless to the seeker - he’d turn back, feeling bummed, and start looking somewhere else.

He moved like a thief sneaking into a room where a guy was either half-asleep or totally awake, planning to steal something he was guarding like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Even though he was being super careful, the floor would sometimes creak, his clothes would rustle, and his presence would cast a shadow near the guy.

Basically, Mr. Dimmesdale, whose nerves were so sensitive it felt like he could sense things spiritually, would get a weird feeling that something bad was messing with his peace. But old Roger Chillingworth was also perceptive - almost like he could just know things.

And when the minister jumped and looked over, there was the doctor, his friendly, watchful, sympathetic, but never pushy friend. Still, Mr. Dimmesdale might have understood this person better if he wasn’t so suspicious of everyone, a feeling that comes easily to those with broken hearts.

Unable to trust anyone as a friend, he couldn’t spot his enemy, even when he was right there. So he kept seeing the doctor regularly, inviting him into his study every day, or visiting the lab, just to chill and watch him turn weeds into powerful medicines.

One day, leaning his forehead on his hand, elbow on the windowsill of the open window overlooking the graveyard, he was talking with Roger Chillingworth. The old man was checking out a bunch of gross plants. "Where’d you find those, my dude?" he asked, glancing at them.

Lately, the minister had a habit of not really looking people or things in the eye. Those herbs have such a dark, droopy leaf. Right here, in this graveyard, the doctor answered, still messing with the plants. I’ve never seen anything like them.

I found them growing on a grave - no tombstone, nothing marking the spot except these ugly weeds, like they’re trying to remember the guy for him. They grew out of his heart, you know? Maybe they show some seriously messed-up secret he took to the grave.

He probably would’ve been better off confessing it while he was still alive." "Maybe he really wanted to," Mr. Dimmesdale said. "And why not?" the doctor shot back. "Why couldn't he? Nature screams for confession, right?

"These black weeds popped up out of a buried heart to show a crime he never said a word about."

"Seriously, that's just your imagination," replied the minister. "If I’m reading the signs right, nothing short of divine grace can uncover the secrets locked away in a person’s heart - whether through words, symbols, or anything else."

A heart that's done something wrong has to hold onto those secrets until the day everything’s revealed. I’ve never read the scriptures to suggest that revealing those thoughts and actions is part of the punishment. That would be pretty shallow, wouldn’t it?

No; I think these revelations, unless I’m way off, are just meant to satisfy everyone’s curiosity - to let everyone see the big picture of life, finally. Knowing what’s in people’s hearts will be key to solving that puzzle.

And I believe that hearts holding secrets like the ones you’ve mentioned will just hand them over, on that last day, not with dread, but with pure, unbelievable joy. So, why not spill them now? asked Roger Chillingworth, glancing casually at the minister.

"Why not let the guilty get that relief sooner? "A lot of them do," said the clergyman, clutching his chest like he was having a serious pain. "So many poor souls have confided in me, not just on their deathbeds, but while they were still strong and well-respected."

And after they let it all out, oh, the relief I’ve seen in those sinners! Like someone finally breathing fresh air after being trapped by their own bad choices. How could it be any other way?

Why would a guilty person, say, someone who committed murder, want to keep the body buried in their heart instead of just letting it go? Still, some people bury their secrets deep, noted the calm physician.

"Yeah, there are guys like that," Mr. Dimmesdale said. "But, besides the obvious reasons, maybe they’re quiet because of who they are, deep down. Or - could it be? - even if they’ve done wrong, they still want to do good and help people."

"They just don’t want to show everyone how messed up they are, because then they can’t do anything to fix things. So, they suffer in silence, pretending to be all innocent while their hearts are totally wrecked with guilt they can’t shake."

"Those guys are just fooling themselves," Roger Chillingworth said, putting a little extra emphasis on his words and gesturing with his finger. "They’re scared to own up to what they deserve."

Their love for people, their desire to serve God - that might or might not exist alongside the bad stuff their guilt has let in. But, if they want to honor God, they shouldn't lift their dirty hands to the sky!

"If they want to help people, they should show everyone the power of conscience and make them feel truly sorry for what they've done! Seriously, do you think pretending is better - is it really more for God or people - than being honest? Trust me, those guys are lying to themselves."

"Maybe," the young clergyman said, kind of brushing it off, like he didn’t want to talk about it or thought it was the wrong time. He was really good at dodging anything that got under his skin and made him anxious.

"But, now, I was wondering if my doctor thinks I’ve gotten better thanks to his care for my body?"

Before Roger Chillingworth could answer, they heard a kid’s clear, wild laughter coming from the nearby graveyard. Looking out the open window - it was summer - the minister saw Hester Prynne and little Pearl walking along the path through the enclosure.

Pearl looked gorgeous, but she was in one of those weird, super-cheerful moods that made her seem totally disconnected. She was skipping from one grave to another until she got to a big, flat tombstone - maybe even Isaac Johnson’s - and started dancing on it.

When her mom told her to act right, Pearl stopped to pick prickly burrs from a tall burdock next to the tomb. She arranged them along the lines of the scarlet letter on her mom’s dress, and the burrs stuck tight. Hester didn’t pull them off.

Roger Chillingworth had reached the window and smiled grimly. There’s no law, no respect for anyone in charge, no care about what people think, good or bad, in that kid, he said, mostly to himself. I saw her the other day, splashing water on the Governor himself at the trough in Spring Lane.

"Seriously, what is she? Is she just pure chaos? Does she even have feelings? Is there anything real about her? "Just the freedom of a broken rule," Mr. Dimmesdale said quietly, like he’s been thinking about it for a while. "I don’t know if she’s capable of good."

The kid probably overheard them talking; she looked up at the window, a bright, mischievous grin on her face, and tossed a prickly burr at Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. The sensitive clergyman flinched, totally freaked out by the little thing. Pearl clapped her hands, totally stoked.

"Hester Prynne looked up too; and all four of them, young and old, just stared at each other in silence, until the kid burst out laughing and yelled, "Come on, Mom! Come on, or that old Black Man will get you! He’s got the minister already. Come on, Mom, or he’s gonna get you!

But he can’t get little Pearl!" She pulled her mom away, skipping, dancing, and goofing around among the graves, like she didn’t even belong there, like she was from a whole different world."

It was like she’d been made brand new, and she had to just live her own life, do her own thing, without getting in trouble for being weird.

"There goes a woman," said Roger Chillingworth after a beat, "who, no matter what she’s done wrong, doesn’t have that whole mysterious, hidden-sin thing you think is so bad. Do you think Hester Prynne is any less upset because of that scarlet letter on her chest?"

"I really think not," said the clergyman. "But I can’t speak for her. I saw a look of pain on her face that I wish I hadn’t. Still, it’s gotta be better for someone who’s hurting to show it, like poor Hester is, than to keep it all bottled up inside."

There was another pause, and the doctor started looking over the plants he’d collected. "You asked me a while back," he said finally, "what I thought about your health."

"I did," the clergyman replied, "and I’d totally learn it. Spill the tea, seriously, is it life or death? "Alright, then, straight up," said the physician, still fussing with his plants but keeping a close eye on Mr. Dimmesdale, "this sickness is kinda weird."

It's not a big deal on its own, or how it looks - at least, as far as I've seen. Honestly, seeing you every day, my dude, watching how you look, for months now, I'd think you’re really sick. But not so sick that a smart doctor couldn’t fix you.

But - I don’t even know - it’s like I know the sickness, but I don’t know it. "You’re speaking in circles, learned Sir," the pale minister said, looking away through the window. "Okay, let me put it another way," the physician continued, "and sorry, Sir, if this is awkward - but I gotta be straight.

"Let me ask you - as your friend - as someone who’s basically in charge of keeping you alive and healthy - did you tell me everything about this sickness? "Are you serious?!" the minister asked. "It’s basically insulting to call in a doctor and then hide the problem!"

"So, you’ve got it all figured out?" said Roger Chillingworth, his eyes fixed on the minister’s face, sharp and intense. "Right. But listen! Someone who only sees the physical stuff, the outward signs, often misses half the problem they’re trying to fix."

"A sickness we think is all there is might just be a symptom of something deeper, in the soul. Sorry again, good sir, if I’m being blunt. You, of all people I know, are so closely tied to your spirit - your body is basically its tool."

"Then I don’t need to ask any more questions," said the clergyman, quickly getting up from his chair. "You’re not a doctor for the soul, right?"

"So, a problem," continued Roger Chillingworth, his voice steady, ignoring the interruption, standing up and facing the pale, thin minister with his small, dark, twisted figure, "a sore spot, if you will, in your spirit - it shows up in your body. So, you want your doctor to fix the body?"

How can he, unless you show him what's hurting you inside? "No! - not to you! - not to an earthly doctor!" cried Mr. Dimmesdale, his eyes suddenly bright and fierce. "Not to you! But if it’s a sickness of the soul, then I’m putting myself in the hands of the one true healer!

"He can cure me, or he can end it all - whatever he decides is right. But who are you, messing with this? Daring to get between me and God?" With a wild move, he bolted out of the room.

"It’s a good thing I took that step," Roger Chillingworth said to himself, watching the minister walk away with a serious smile. "Nothing’s lost. We’ll be friends again soon. But look at how passion’s got a grip on this guy, and how it’s pushing him way over the edge! One passion leads to another!"

This pious Master Dimmesdale just did something totally wild, fueled by his heart! It wasn't hard to get back to being close again, like they used to be. The young clergyman, after a few hours alone, realized he's totally lost it and had an unnecessary outburst."

There was nothing in the doctor’s words to justify it. He was shocked at how harsh he was with the kind, old man, who was just offering advice - advice the minister himself had asked for. Feeling guilty, he quickly apologized and asked his friend to keep looking after him.

He knew that, even if it didn’t restore his health, it had probably kept him alive until now. Roger Chillingworth agreed and went back to taking care of the minister, genuinely trying to help, but always leaving with a weird, puzzled smile.

Mr. Dimmesdale didn’t see it, but the expression got really obvious as the physician stepped out. "This is a crazy case," he mumbled. "I gotta dig deeper. Such a strange connection between his mind and body! Just for the sake of science, I need to figure this out completely!"

Not long after what just happened, Reverend Dimmesdale dozed off, right in the middle of the day. He was sitting in his chair, a huge, old-fashioned book open on the table in front of him. It must’ve been seriously good at putting people to sleep.

The way deeply he slept was crazy, especially since he was usually a super light sleeper - like a little bird hopping on a branch, always jumpy. But right then, his mind had totally checked out. Old Roger Chillingworth walked right in without even trying to be sneaky.

The doctor went straight up to his patient, put his hand on his chest, and pulled back the clothing that had always covered it, even when doctors were around. Then, Dimmesdale gave a little shudder and moved slightly. After a short pause, the doctor stepped back. But the look on his face!

It was wild - a mix of wonder, joy, and pure terror. He had this creepy, intense happiness, like it was too big to just show in his eyes and face, so it exploded out of his whole body. He threw his arms up in the air and stamped his foot on the floor - it was totally over the top!

If you'd seen Roger Chillingworth then, you wouldn't have needed to ask how Satan acts when he snags a good soul and pulls them away from heaven. But what made Roger's reaction different from Satan's was the look of amazement on his face!