“I think a rat just climbed up my leg, Dad. And I also have fleas. “John, there’s all this Black Death and all you care about is a few fleas and a rat. He's my father. A typical peasant, he cares about everything except a few fleas and rats. My mother? She died of the plague a few weeks ago. I still remember the time when my mother was the most beautiful woman in my village. No one recognized her body when she was carried to a plague pit. My father was particularly devastated. I had to drag him to church, do all the household chores and grow food, otherwise we would starve. It went on like this, for months and months, and finally, one day, my father decided to open the door and I took a deep breath of fresh, no, uh, plague-filled air. Guess what? I was right about the look. A few days later, my father said he was very hot. Over the next few days, blackheads and boils began to appear all over my father's body. I knew he was going to die soon. As he lay on his deathbed, he said to me, “John, once I die, the officials are going to secure the house. I don't know...