Whispers from the Beyond

Najat stood stunned, watching what was happening, while her children stood by, clearly enjoying the spectacle of this circus unfolding before them...

On the wooden bed, my brother Reza lay sprawled, oblivious to everything happening to him, while my colleagues—medical experts—examined every millimeter of his strong body...

Dr. Adel Shelby, professor of internal medicine, checked his temperature and blood pressure, placed a stethoscope on his chest and abdomen, then shook his head, gathered his tools, and stood up...

Dr. Mahmoud Al-Asyuti, professor of neurology, pricked him with a pin several times, tapped him repeatedly with his hammer, checked the muscles of his jaw, then made way for Dr. Mohamed Ibrahim, professor of psychiatry, who eyed him suspiciously and began asking Najat frantic questions, not waiting for her answers, about my brother... Was he prone to solitude? What was the relationship between my mother and father? And... and...

Then it was my turn. I extended my hand with a giant syringe, drew ten centimeters of blood from his arm, placed it in a test tube with an anticoagulant, and handed it to my student, Dr....

(Alaa), along with a long list of tests to be conducted once he returned to his lab in Cairo...

Then I stepped outside with them into the courtyard and seated them haphazardly around cups of black tea prepared by my brother's wife... I said awkwardly:

"I thank you for the trouble of traveling and all the time you've spent on my behalf..."

Dr. Mahmoud, sipping his tea, said:

"No formalities among colleagues, my friend... no formalities..."

Dr. Adel added:

"This is our professional duty... Sugar, please!"

I handed him the sugar box and spoon, then cleared my throat and said:

"And now\... have you formed any opinion?"

Silence lingered for a moment... then Dr. Adel said tactfully:

"From my perspective, there's no issue... He's perfectly healthy... His nervous system is intact... and these aren't psychological symptoms with a name!"

But... this means... if these colleagues claim there's no problem, I'll make sure they experience a real problem...!

"But... there must be something wrong."

Dr. Mohamed Ibrahim said as he lit his pipe:

"Of course... and this something has a name..."

"Of course... and it somewhat resembles the symptoms of depression or hysterical mutism... but what is it really? No one can say for sure..."

"Then who can?"

He said, puffing on his foul-smelling pipe, creating thick clouds of smoke:

"The problem is that we know nothing about what preceded this condition... the circumstances that led to it... We have no story except his wife's fabricated tale, which lacks scientific evidence..."

Then he gestured with his pipe and added:

"For example, would this woman tell you about any emotional shock she caused him on that fateful night?! Does she have any idea about his financial crises, disputes, or defeats?!"

Dr. Adel chimed in:

"Do you know—and this is the most important—if he's been taking any drugs?!"

I said in frustration:

"Do you find any signs of addiction to a known drug... a drug that doesn't affect the pupils, the nervous system, or vital signs?"

"And are you familiar with every type of drug?"

"At least I know the ones likely to be found in a village like this... Besides, I know my brother well... He doesn't indulge in drugs, not even aspirin, and he's too cautious for someone to slip something into his food."

"Then the real solution lies with his wife..."

Dr. Mahmoud cleared his throat, signaling his desire to speak...

"If you want my opinion... can I speak frankly?"

"Of course..."

He said, trying to avoid our skeptical gazes:

"I'm not comfortable with this harsh, domineering woman... I think she's playing some psychological game with your brother that has led to his breakdown like this..."

I said, reaching for my teacup:

"But you didn't know my brother... He was the man of the house in every sense of the word. The only thing is that he loved her and tried to please her as much as he could..."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't control him..."

"Besides, she's now in an unenviable position... It's not in her interest at all for her husband to lose his mind, especially these days..."

Dr. Adel said as he placed his cup back on the tray, muttering a word of thanks:

"Anyway... it's just a theory... Now we must leave... It's time for my clinic... and we have a tough journey back ahead of us..."

"But we'll have lunch together..."

"No... let's save that for another time, God willing..."

And so—in silence—I drove them back in my car, and we began the arduous journey back to Cairo. I was embarrassed by them and didn't dare tell them that their examination of my brother and their opinions had only made things worse... and that what they provided me wasn't worth the price of the gasoline I spent on this dreadful trip...

I had placed my problem in the hands of three pillars of medicine in Egypt, and they returned it to me, saying it was my problem... What a terrifying feeling... So, I'm alone... completely alone...

At the entrance to his clinic in Bab al-Louq, Dr. Mohamed Ibrahim got out of the car amidst a sea of my thank-yous and headed for the door... Then he remembered something, came back, and leaned over the car window, whispering to me:

"Do you know what?"

"What?"

"If I were in your place, I'd think more seriously about the legend of the \Nadaha\... Has it ever occurred to you that your brother might have actually been called by the \Nadaha\?"

I returned to the village with my mind wandering, and night had fallen with a darkness I was unaccustomed to in Cairo... a heavy, sticky darkness that choked the breath... and the beams of my car's headlights did little to dispel it...

I arrived at my brother's house and knocked on the door... Najat let me in, her face pale, and she asked eagerly:

"Well... what did they say?"

I shrugged in despair... then said absently:

"Nothing... just a psychological condition, nothing more."

"Didn't they recommend anything?"

"Things that only concern doctors... but why do you ask?"

She said with meaningful urgency:

"I feel like tonight is the night... the night of departure..."

"Listen, Najat... we're not going back to this again..."

"I won't say anything... come inside and see for yourself."

I followed her warily as she carried the kerosene lamp, her shadow falling long and ominous behind her... With her, I entered the bedroom and found Reza not in bed...

"So, where is he?"

She pointed a trembling finger toward the window\... the window overlooking the dark northern field... There he stood, staring into the darkness, motionless, his back to us, completely unaware of our presence...

I approached him slowly and placed my hand on his shoulder, but he didn't flinch or show any reaction... His eyes were fixed and silent, and there was a tremble in his lips as if he were contemplating something...

"Do you see... ever since the wise men left, he's been like this..."

I said in frustration:

"And what's the problem...? He's just sick, nothing more..."

She pursed her lips stubbornly and said:

"It's the same thing that happens to all of them... He's waiting for the second call..."

"Najat... there's no need for superstition..."

Then I got up and went to my bag, which I had forgotten in his room. I took out a syringe (in those happy days before the invention of AIDS and viral hepatitis, we used to boil glass syringes), then broke an ampoule of phenobarbital, took his arm, and emptied the contents of the ampoule into his vein... He didn't resist me, as if the needle were piercing someone else's veins...

After a while, his eyelids began to droop, and his body relaxed. Then I looked at her with relief and said:

"There you go... he'll sleep peacefully until morning..."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course... not even your \Nadaha\ could wake him now\..."

We worked together to lay him down on the bed, then I gathered my things and prepared to leave. She didn't try to ask me to stay with him, and I wouldn't have agreed if she had.

Outside, the pitch darkness loomed, and the sound of field insects rose in a monotonous rhythm... I closed the car door and started the engine... Is this strange sound coming from the engine or what?! No... it's not the engine...

This sound is coming from afar... from the northern field... a deep, delicate sound, like a woman in pain... slowly, with emphasis on the syllables of the call...

"Raaaaah... Raaaaah..."

No... that's not what she's saying... I turned off the engine to hear more clearly... Yes... I could almost swear that this sound, coming from the darkness... from the distant fields where no human dares to walk at night, no matter how many lamps they carry... this sound is repeating with frantic insistence:

"Rezaaaaah... Rezaaaaah!"