Death is a dreadful tragedy. Yet it isn’t convincing. Hadn’t I been talking to her just a few hours earlier? Hadn’t she been like a succulent rose just a day or two before? So how could I believe that she and the first person to have died millions of years before were now one and the same? Besides, she was still alive in my soul. I could see her with my own eyes, and hear her, and touch her, and smell her! She still filled my heart and soul. So was there no way to correct a simple mistake?
Just then there was a movement — I didn’t know whether it was coming from the outer parlor or from the chamber of sorrows. Be that as it may, it brought me back to my senses, and I began thinking about the doctor and what he was doing. It also brought me back to my turmoil, my anxiety, and my fears. What would I do if the doctor found nothing of significance? How would I face people later? How I hoped for God to punish the murderer! Even so, I remained in a state of such turmoil that I lost touch with myself and my reason. Time dragged on until I imagined that I’d grown old and decrepit and was dying. Then the door to the room opened and the doctor emerged with a blank expression that told me nothing. He advanced a few steps until he was in the middle of the parlor. I stood before him with my mouth open and my gaze fixed on him.
Running his fingers over his brow, he said plainly, “I’ve finished writing my report. I’ll submit it right away to the public prosecutor, and I believe it calls for an immediate investigation.”
63
I should have felt relieved and vindicated. But instead, my strength suddenly gave out on me and I collapsed onto the nearest chair, then sprawled my legs out and nearly fell asleep. The only thing that happened during the waiting period that followed the doctor’s departure was that Madame Nazli and Sabah went rushing to the deceased’s room and proceeded to weep and wail at the top of their lungs. I glanced over at the small parlor, where I saw Dr. Amin Rida pacing the floor with slow, heavy steps while the policeman sat on a chair at the reception room door.
At twelve-thirty the doorbell rang. The policeman got up and opened the door, and the district attorney came in followed by a clerk and another policeman. My heart pounding with fright at the sight of the government officials, I rose to my feet and walked up to the man, then raised my hand in greeting. He asked about the deceased’s room, then proceeded there right away followed by the clerk. Not having the courage to follow them there, I waited outside, and a few minutes later they were back. The man glanced around him, then went to the reception room with me close on his heels. He sat down on a sofa, while the clerk sat down on a nearby chair and spread his papers out on a table. After asking me my name, age, and job, he asked me to relate whatever information I had about what had happened. I complied with his request and the clerk recorded every word I said. Then he called for Dr. Amin Rida, who came in looking stony-faced and pallid. He allowed him to sit down in front of him, then addressed himself to me, saying, “You’re free to stay if you’d like.”
There was something in his tone of voice that sounded more like a command than an invitation. In any case, I was dying to be there for the interrogation. So, filled with dread and anticipation, I sat down on a chair next to the sofa the interrogator was sitting on. The man began by asking him general questions, such as his name, his age, and his occupation.
Then he said to him, “Can you tell me how you first became involved in this situation?”
Without hesitation, Dr. Amin said, “I was called upon to visit the patient at around nine this morning, and I found her in a great deal of pain. When I examined her, I found that the peritoneum was inflamed and needed immediate surgery. So I decided to perform the operation in order to save the patient’s life. I gave her mother my opinion and she agreed to allow me to proceed, so I performed the operation right away. However, it happened that the membrane was punctured in such a way that my efforts to save her were in vain, and she died.”
“Had you treated the patient at any previous time?”
“No.”
“Not even in connection with this final illness?”
“No. However, I learned that she’d been ill in bed for one night and that they thought she had a cold.”
“Has this family been in the habit of calling on you when one of its members falls ill?”
“This has never happened before. However, I’ve only been practicing medicine for a little over a year, and I don’t recall anyone in the family having fallen ill during this period of time.”
“Do you think that if any of them had fallen ill, they would have called on you?”
“The fact is that they did call on me the first time they were faced with this situation.”
“Don’t they know what your specialization is?”
“Yes, they do. However, the seriousness of the patient’s condition caused the mother to seek out my help due to the fact that my clinic is nearby, and because I’m her relative.”
“I don’t see anything in these circumstances that might influence one’s choice of physician. Besides, how could you yourself agree to treat a pathological condition that you knew to be outside your area of expertise? In such circumstances, don’t doctors generally recommend that the appropriate doctor be called upon?”
“I thought it most fitting to answer the call right away. Consequently, I went with the idea that it was a case of fainting, a severe stomachache, or something of that nature, and which wouldn’t be difficult for any doctor to treat. I believe this is what the people who called on me were thinking as well.”
“However, you found the situation to be more serious than you had expected. So what did you do?”
At this point the doctor refrained from answering. Instead, he lowered his head in embarrassment, as if he were pondering the matter.
“Why didn’t you recommend that a surgeon be called?” asked the interrogator.
“The operation needed to be performed without delay.”
“Had you done any surgeries prior to this?”
“In medical school, of course.”
“I mean, since then.”
“No.”
“I can hardly imagine your having undertaken to perform this dangerous operation!”
In a slightly altered, irritable tone of voice, Dr. Amin said, “I told you that the patient’s condition was critical, and that it required that the operation be performed without delay!”
“And how did you obtain the necessary medical instruments? Were they in your clinic?”
For the first time, the doctor hesitated before replying.
Then he said, “No.”
“How did you get them, then?”
“From a colleague of mine.”
“A surgeon?”
“Yes.”
“And why didn’t you bring the colleague himself?”
“He was scheduled to do other work at the same time.”