4 – Other patients...

And now you must admit that my nerves are unusually strong, and my faith in science is unshakable. Because—simply put—after hearing what I heard and seeing what I saw, I didn't flinch. I went back home to sleep...

I can't imagine the fool I was back then...

But early the next morning, I didn't forget to stop by my brother's house to ask his wife about his condition. Her face lit up as she said:

'Praise God!'

'He didn't wake up last night?'

'The Nadaha called him several times. He tossed and turned in bed, but he didn't get up!'

'Excellent!'

She said to me, her expression distant:

'Why don't you give him that treatment... the injection... every night?'

Not a bad idea... but it's no real solution. It's no victory for a man to spend his life under the influence of phenobarbital just to avoid hearing the Nadaha's call. Let alone the crime—the crime of pushing someone into addiction just to ease your own conscience... But what else can we do to stop him from fleeing?!

I smiled with pity, greeted her, and left...

As expected, news of my return to the village spread like wildfire... Immediately, the narrow courtyard of our house was crowded with villagers carrying their ailments on their shoulders—mothers with children suffering from diarrhea, teenage girls troubled by freckles on their cheeks...

The truth is, every creature in the village searched their body for some ailment that would justify their visit, and of course, I didn't complain or charge a single penny, for this was the unquestionable right of my village folk...

This reminded me of my early days as a rural clinic doctor.

In the room to the right of our house, I set up a small makeshift clinic and began practicing the sacred secrets of my profession, while my sister prepared tea for a select few visitors.

By the afternoon, the workload had eased... and I was done... I decided to head up to my room to rest before visiting my brother Reza at night...

The door opened, and three men entered, looking hesitant...

The eldest among them said:

"We need you for a house call, Doctor..."

I smiled and shook my head:

"Can this wait until evening? I'm..."

"Please."

He said it in a deep voice, almost commanding, and they exchanged suspicious glances among themselves... These men were hiding something strange, and—as usual in movies—one of them had been shot during a fight with the police... But we're not in a movie, so I tried to wiggle out of it again:

"You have the health unit, and..."

"Name your price..."

They were insistent... After all, the farmers of Sharqiya are peaceful and generous... There was no point in refusing to see their patient because they were as stubborn as death itself... And I don't like arguing—at least not with my village folk...

"Alright, let's go."

I grabbed my bag and went out with them...

"After you, sir..."

There was a woman hiding her face with a black veil, and a fair number of men sitting in gloomy silence, smoking and exchanging meaningful glances... Then there was the same layout of mud rooms like in our house... and ducks roaming freely... And there was a foul-smelling entrance leading to a side room covered with straw mats. On the ground lay a handsome young man in the prime of his life, staring at the ceiling with unblinking eyes... I asked them, looking at the young man:

"Is he the patient?"

No one answered, as if my question was foolish, so I decided to make it worse with an even sillier question:

"What's wrong with him?"

"As you see..."

"How long has he been like this?"

"A week..."

I bent over him but couldn't examine him properly. I had to kneel beside him and tried to rouse him, but I failed... The same cursed symptoms... Is this an epidemic sweeping the village? I reached for his wrist to check his pulse and found something horrifying—a rope made of palm fiber tied around his wrist, anchoring him to a wooden peg driven into the ground. They had tied this boy up like a wild beast so he wouldn't run... What an idea!

I looked up at the men standing around me and asked:

"Did... did the Nadaha call him?!"

They exchanged appreciative glances, then the eldest said, his face relaxing:

"His mother says so... She heard it..."

"Then why did you call me?"

"To prove it... or disprove it."

Prove it? How can I prove something I don't believe a word of? In which scientific book will I find a precise description of the symptoms of the Nadaha disease? I stared at the bound boy in awe... It's a terrifying legend, and the idea of this grotesque restraint only adds to the horror. I thought of Ulysses' journey when he had to pass by the sirens, whose enchanting song lured sailors to throw themselves into the sea and drown. Ulysses had to tie himself and his men to the ship's mast so they wouldn't answer the sirens' call... Human behavior in myths is similar, whether in Sharqiya or ancient Greece...

Anyway...

I continued examining the boy... I pulled his galabiya up to his stomach and found something... fang marks and torn flesh below his navel, but it had completely healed... And so I began to understand what was going on... I asked the men cautiously:

"Does he drink?"

"No... he refuses water entirely."

"Then bring me some water."

They rushed—with exaggerated enthusiasm—to fetch a jug of water... They handed it to me, skeptical and surprised that I wanted to drink in these circumstances...

I took the jug and brought it close to his face, then began pouring the water slowly in front of his terrified eyes... As I expected, his face contorted... a horrific look in his eyes... a silent scream on his lips... Then he sat up, howling and writhing like a wounded wolf...

I moved the jug away from him and began to calm him down...

I stood up, gathered my things in silence, then gestured for the eldest man to follow me outside. There, in front of everyone, I said:

"This isn't the call of the Nadaha, Hajj..."

"Then what is it?"

"He has rabies."

"Rabies?!"

"Yes... a rabid animal bit him in the stomach a few days ago!"

"That didn't happen..."

"It did, and perhaps he ignored it and didn't take the anti-rabies vaccine... Now he's in the final stages of the disease..."

"And the water thing?"

"This disease was once called 'hydrophobia' because the patient becomes agitated at the sight or sound of water and convulses in this horrific way... Air currents also cause severe throat spasms..."

I lit a cigarette, feeling proud of myself:

"And this stupor is a symptom of the brain inflammation associated with the disease..."

He didn't seem to understand a word I said, and it didn't matter to him to understand. All he wanted to know was: "What do we do?"

"He must be taken immediately to a fever hospital in Zagazig..."

"But..."

"Immediately... His chance of survival doesn't exceed half a percent, but we must try..."

"But..."

"Immediately... This boy's life is in your hands now..."

One of them said bluntly and defiantly:

"But his mother heard the Nadaha, Doctor..."

I turned to him angrily and shouted:

"If you believe in the Nadaha, that's your business, but this boy has rabies... Do you understand that? He won't live to see next Friday's prayer!"

"And work?"

"Good God... I told you, the fever hospital!"

A heated, foolish, and idiotic side discussion ensued... It was clear they weren't going to take him anywhere, and I would have to report to the authorities about them detaining a critically ill patient... But deep down, I wished I could find an explanation for my brother's condition as quickly and easily as this... I know no one has ever survived rabies in the history of medicine, but my desire to find a solution for my brother's predicament was overwhelming...

The discussion ended, and the eldest man stepped forward and shook my hand firmly:

"Thank you, Doctor... Now, how much do I owe you?"

I named an exorbitant fee because I felt it was my duty to punish these fools, but he paid it willingly and ordered one of them to accompany me home. Before I left, he said to me:

"I advise you to believe in the Nadaha... because she only calls those who don't believe in her existence!!"