*

The old man with a chubby red face has been lying in the internal medicine ward for a week. He is overweight but he has a beautiful, supple body. And he has high blood pressure, a weak heart. His rather tall, dark wife with a pockmarked face is looking after him. The patient gets on well with me and the nurses. The other night he had chest pains and I stayed by his side till morning not sleeping a wink, and he was very grateful. I know that his eyes light up when he sees me. He knows that I’m single so he’s become a matchmaker, choosing according to his own tastes the best looking nurse working the shift. As she comes and goes he tries to convince me. The nurses giggle whenever he gets talking. With a strange smile on her face, the man’s wife silently observes his childish behavior.

When the nurse called for me I was writing a letter to dad. I raced over. The old man has been vomiting excessively and he is disoriented. Is there hemorrhaging in his stomach? Trying to determine the source of the problem, I noticed a strong smell of garlic in the room and his wife who is reading the Koran as if nothing is wrong.

While I examine the patient I quietly pray for the internist to come quickly. Why would this suddenly happen to a patient we have under such close observation? Before I can ask the nurse says:

“Sir, I was going to tell you before but I didn’t have the chance. This morning I caught his relatives feeding him a handful of garlic. To bring his blood pressure down more quickly. I think they have been feeding him handful after handful of garlic for the last three or four days.”

Just then the old man stops breathing and his heart goes out. We are losing him. Quickly I begin heart resuscitation, trying to clear some space on the bed as I start the procedure. In the middle of all the commotion the man’s wife is the only one in the room who looks as if nothing is wrong. Struggling to bring the man back to life, I feel her slowly take my hand. For a moment we come eye to eye. I look at her and she says:

“Stop, my son. Don’t torment the man. His glass is full. His life is done. He wanted a drop and you can see it has fallen. So don’t try.”

We lost the old man. Not from high blood pressure or a weak heart, but from the bleeding in his stomach.

*

It was the day of a religious holiday. I got up early to kiss mom and dad’s hands before retreating to a corner. From the living estate garden came the sounds of bustling children. Dressed in jackets that are clearly part of special outfits for the holiday, residents of the estate pass by our window on their way to visit neighbors. Mom’s lips are fluttering in quick pursuit of who knows what prayer. Dad keeps saying that his medicine makes him itch.