5 - Dr. Asem

It was nearing seven in the evening when I headed to the health unit in my village. It was an old, crumbling building, its walls nearly eaten away by dampness—one of hundreds of similar T-shaped structures scattered across our kind countryside, offering very limited services to the farmers.

There were no workers or guards, so I climbed the broken stairs to the upper floor where the doctor lived and knocked politely on the door...

"Just a moment..."

I heard footsteps inside, then the sound of a metal bolt being drawn... The doctor's face appeared in the light of the kerosene lamp he was holding. He was a young man in his mid-thirties, but his hair was nearly gone... Thick glasses made his eyelids appear smaller and narrower than they were, and his chin was half-shaven.

"Yes?"

I introduced myself... He smiled warmly and invited me in, shouting:

"Now I know why I didn't see a single patient today!"

He led me to a clean room with a bed, some books and magazines, and a kerosene stove with a teapot boiling on it. A small lizard on the wall scurried away, disturbed by our voices. Clearly, the doctor had been lying in bed reading when I arrived...

Embarrassed, he moved part of the bedsheet to make room for me to sit on the bed, then added more tea to the pot. He took off his slippers and sat cross-legged beside me on the bed, cursing the health unit workers in a way I didn't fully understand. In short, his welcome was as warm as his circumstances allowed.

He said:

"I'm Dr. Asem Fathi... This is my third year in this village. I've heard a lot about you, Dr. Rifaat... A great deal."

I nodded humbly and said:

"I've come to consult you on a small matter."

He laughed with delight:

"The great professor seeks my advice... How lucky I am!"

I said seriously:

"This is no joking matter."

"What is it?"

I told him the story of the rabies patient and his family's reaction, then asked:

"What's the proper administrative action in a case like this?"

He got up to pour tea into two cups, the sound soothing... and said:

"How many sugars? Two? Good... I was saying the proper action is to report it to the central health office, have the patient transferred to the fever hospital, and file a report against his family... That's the correct solution... but..."

"But what?"

He gave me a sharp look and whispered:

"Do you expect any benefit from this? A rabies patient in the final stages of the disease..."

"What do you mean?"

"It means you'll cause endless trouble for his family... They've suffered enough."

"And you'd just let him die?"

"He's going to die anyway... You're—as they say—a son of the village, but you don't really know it."

He handed me the tea, sighed, and added:

"In the countryside, one must be flexible... This village has its own unwritten laws..."

I looked around the room, thinking... There was some logic in what this young man said, but my problem wasn't solved yet... I said as I sipped the tea:

"Have you heard of the Nadaha?"

He nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips...

I continued:

"Have you encountered similar cases?"

The smile widened... Then he got up and went to a small wooden stool by the bed, piled with books and papers. He picked up a small, tattered notebook and returned to the bed...

"I'll show you something no one has seen before..."

"What is it?"

"It's my diary..."

He began flipping through the notebook... Many pages of small, neat handwriting filled with nonsense... sketches of girls' faces, lines of poetry... and ramblings about his pain, suffering, and regrets over many things I didn't care to know. What a disaster... It was impossible to resist the temptation to read his writings, even for an exhausted old man like me. Fate had thrown him a captive listener at eight in the evening, and he wasn't about to let me go!

Luckily, he didn't read anything aloud... Instead, he flipped to a page in the middle and began reading, glancing at me occasionally:

"In October '61, Farahat El-Zoghby, a 36-year-old farmer, fell ill with a strange disease... Symptoms: complete detachment from reality... He doesn't eat, drink, or speak...

Examination: All vital signs normal... Neurological condition normal... No signs of narcotics...

Tests: Blood sugar, kidney function, and cerebrospinal fluid all normal...

Case history: The patient's family claims they heard a woman calling his name minutes before the symptoms appeared..."

"In November '61, the family went to sleep, and when they woke up, the patient was gone... Neither in the house nor anywhere else..."

He flipped to another page and sipped his tea.

"In February '62, the same story with Said Gaber... a 25-year-old construction worker... Same symptoms... Everything...

In March '62, a similar incident with Ibrahim El-Saqqa... a 13-year-old teenager...

In April '62... Rifaat Ismail, a 34-year-old farmer... He's in a coma now but hasn't disappeared yet...

In every case, the patient's family mentioned the Nadaha..."

"What is the Nadaha?"

"The Nadaha is one of the terrifying figures in folklore... As those who describe her agree, she's a ghoul disguised as a beautiful woman... She roams the dark fields at night, calling out to a specific young man by name repeatedly. As soon as the boy hears her, he rushes to follow her, despite his family's pleas. When he reaches her and falls into her embrace, she transforms into a monstrous ghoul and devours him, bones and all..."

[...] (content continues unchanged)

Before I could tell him about my brother, there was an urgent knock at the door...

He left me and went to open it, carrying the lamp. I stayed alone in the dark, listening to a whispered conversation between him and what seemed to be one of the health unit workers who had returned from his rounds outside... After a minute, he returned, the lamp casting terrifying shadows on his face... He said:

"This is Mustafa... the unit's guard. He apologizes for having to go down to the village because the villagers called him to help search for someone..."

"Another missing person?!"

"Indeed... and you know him well..."

"My brother Rifaat... Did this happen...?" But the doctor didn't know about my relationship to him... He hadn't made the connection between my name, Rifaat Ismail, and Rifaat Ismail... So who was this missing person I knew so well...?

"Do you remember the rabid boy you saw this afternoon?"

"Of course..."

"Good... He answered the Nadaha's