Читать книгу The Somber Side of a Scientific Mind - Christian Tyoder - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Challenging Preteen Years

The years following the Afghan independence from the British and recognition by the Soviet Union and other nations in March 1919, Afghanistan continued to experience social unrest and bloody confrontations between warlords. When fighting broke out in Bamyan and other large cities, Afghan men went into hiding in isolated mountainous hamlets with their family for weeks or even months. The Rasulov family made no exception. Then, barely nine years of age, Abdulai’s father took him, his mother, his fifteen-year-old adopted sister Omira, his ten-year-old brother Zekirullah, his eight-year-old brother Faiz, his six-year-old twin brothers Ali and Aamir, and his four-year-old baby sister Nabeela to a small and narrow, rocky unnamed strip of rugged land and with hidden caves in the southwestern part of the Hindu Kush Mountains. It took them about a day and a half from Bamyan, first on foot then by rowboat on the Helmand River’s upper stream, to get to this site. Animals were usually escorted on foot by young boys or old men to the hiding place. The Rasulovs were familiar with this hideout from similar trips they had made in the past several years. Being members of small Buddhist remnants from the Mauryans’ era still living in the Bamyan province and frequently persecuted by Sunni Muslims, the location of this secret hideout was passed on from one generation to another. The preparation for the evacuation was made precipitously the night before. At dawn on the next day, with already packed belongings, including warm clothing, rice, flour, light cooking utensils, and everything else they could carry on their backs, the whole family set out on foot in the early hours of a cold late winter morning. Abd’s father and two of his brothers carried fishing rods with them.

Once reaching the foothills, they still faintly heard the sounds of gunfire and explosions. As they ascended the narrow steep path, Abd looked back toward their corrugated-roofed, single-room house made of sundried mud bricks, wondering whether it would still be there, in the outskirt of Bamyan, upon their return or burned down after looting by armed bandits. By midday the whole family arrived at the river site where their twenty-foot-long partially covered boat was moored next to a half-sunken one. In addition, a couple more wooden rafts attached side by side to a pointed rock made up the improvised marina. Abd volunteered to continue on foot, escorting the three goats. He insisted on looking after the animals, whose milk was the only source of protein for the family, himself and continued his journey alone. He arrived to that decision after giving himself the following thoughts: His father, the sole bread and butter provider for the family, would risk being kidnapped by the bandits. Zekirullah had a bad left hip diagnosed last year as slipped capital femoral epiphysis by his uncle Faisal; he was still wearing a body brace and could not walk long distances. Mother and Omira, if not carefully hidden in the boat, could be gang-raped by roaming bandits. And the remaining male siblings were too young to handle three lively goats.

The rocky footpath ran very much parallel to the river. After a short rest and having something to eat, everybody stood up, ready to continue their journey. Abd’s mother, fearful for his defenselessness and safety, approached him, pulled him to her khaki burka-wrapped waist, held him tight for a few minutes, and softly murmured to his ear with tears running down her cheeks, “Stay alert and pay attention to human noises while walking. Don’t resist when someone tries to take away the animals. Let him have them. I love you.” Each member of the family took turns to hug Abd before getting in the boat. Abd’s mother and father wiped their eyes welling up with tears.

Abd started walking with the three goats on leash. He waved at his family, and they quietly waved back. The mountain’s echo could attract bandits, a risk the Rasulovs didn’t want to take. Abd had to make several stops along the walking path to let the animals graze the grass very much burned by the past summer’s heat. Frequently the goats had to descend the steep sloped riverbank to get to the stream. Likewise, Abd filled up several times his gourd with crystal clear Helmand River water. Intense midday heat could cause exhaustion. Once in a while well bundled up large Afghan families with several children, silently walking in the same direction, hurriedly overtook this lonely nine-year-old boy with his three goats. Abd wondered whether they also were on their way to a hiding place. Off and on, he was able to watch his family’s boat floating downstream from his roadside vantage points, as the footpath ran alongside the river. The rough current combined with multicolored ragged and dangerous rocks jutting out of the water slowed down the boat with Zekirullah at the helm.

Once the sun was behind the highest peak, Tirich Mir, Abd was still only a little more than halfway to the hiding place. Before a few first stars appeared to the east side horizon, Abd settled down for the night between two large boulders off the beaten path. The temperature dropped to almost the freezing point. Crouching on his side, the boy was encircled by the three goats. He covered himself with a sheepskin and kept himself warm by the body heat of the animals. On the next morning, the young shepherd resumed his journey at the first sunrays of dawn. The family boat was at some distance downstream but still clearly visible. By noon, the whole family arrived at the hideout. Ali and Aamir took over and guarded the goats while Zekirullah, Abd, and their father inspected, then cleaned up the two nearby caves to be used as family dwellings. Abd’s mother, in the meantime, rekindled a leftover dead fire by adding a few dried twigs, and then used an aluminum pan to cook the first away-from-home meal.

During the two and half weeks spent at the site, the Rasulovs subsisted on fish caught from Helmand River and flour they brought with them. Occasionally Abd’s father walked to a few neighbor refugee campgrounds to get news of Bamyan City from latecomers. Finally, the words reached the dislodged people that fighting between various rebel groups had moved to Maymana province and calm had returned to the city now occupied by Afghan government troops friendly to the Russians. The Rasulov family was waiting for the confirmation of the good news from people who came to these camps to bring their loved ones home.

On that sunny morning in late March, the whole family left the hideout, heading home. Abd volunteered once again to accompany the animals on foot. The rest of the family returned home by boat. They had to move the vessel upstream, in countercurrent, with long wooden poles. Abd’s parents instructed him to be as often in sight as possible. They feared of bandits still possibly roaming around in the area. Quietness reigned on all fronts except for the flapping noise of water waves against the boat’s hull.

Suddenly, on the left riverbank and at some distance appeared, in front of Abd and approaching him, three fast-walking men carrying rifles and bandoliers. Abd’s father recognized immediately that these men were bandits. He and Zekirullah, with all their arm strength, quickly moved the boat to shore. He jumped off the boat, ran toward Abd and the accompanied animals, hoping to deal in person with the bandits. Trying to prevent his son from further beating, he squeezed himself between the attackers and Abd still lying on the ground bleeding. Unfortunately, the bandits had already inflicted a great deal of damage to Abd before his father could get to the scene, and the robbers had already seized all three on-leash goats. The boy had a deep gash on his left temple and an oozing cut on his vertex. He was groaning in pain. Abd’s father saw traces of fresh blood on one of the attacker’s rifle butt, and his face cringed. At the very moment appeared another much taller man dressed in some sort of green-tan uniform, wearing also cartridge-loaded bandoliers, but with a headgear similar to sea captain hat instead of white Islamic turban.

This newly arrived man stepped forward, facing Abd’s father, who was fearfully trembling and having a staccato voice in his mother tongue Dari. “We are poor and displaced refugees.” The man kept looking at Abd’s father, failed to reply, and showed no change in his facial expression. Realizing that his interlocutor did not understand what he had said, Abd’s father then tried to speak in Pashto, the other main Afghan language.

The tall man smiled and then replied in Pashto, “Sorry for your boy’s injuries. These rascals shouldn’t have done that to a little child. Can you speak more than these two languages?”

“I can speak five more Afghan dialects.”

The tall man appeared to have the three robbers as subordinates, for he abruptly yanked the three animals’ leashes off the hand of one of them and then handed them over to Abd’s father. At the same time, he reached into his pocket for a card with a mailing address. “If you are looking for a well-paying job, we can use your service. You are free to go, and you can have the animals back.”

At that time, Afghan warlords were recruiting educated individuals they could trust to be used as middlemen for liaisons between friendly tribal groups. Turning around, the tall man sternly looked at the robbers and loudly talked to them while pointing his finger to the direction where they came from. All four men walked away in a hurry while Abd’s father pulled him up from the ground, cleaned his wounds with water from his gourd, and then put pressure on the injured areas to stop the bleeding. Still very frightened by the attack, Abd clung to his father, sobbing and groaning from burning pain. Both stayed in the same place for a while until there was no more bleeding. Abd’s father offered to release him from the goats-escorting task, but Abd declined, insisting that his visible injuries would spare him from further attacks by bandits from here on. Father and son continued their way home separately.

A few hours later, Abd’s father moored the boat once again to its marina and the whole family was back on foot before dusk. From the hilltop, they rejoiced on seeing their home still standing and illuminated by the last sunrays of the day. The double-dosed aspirin Abd’s father gave him right after the incident had minimized the burning pain, and his uncle Faisal, who happened to make his weekly house call in town on that day, stitched the wounds on that same evening.

During the next five months, routine activities returned to members of the Rasulov family. Bamyan schools were reopened. The head of the household resumed his daily out-of-town school inspection trips by bike, and the children went back to half-day school sessions. Omira tended the three goats with the help of her brothers after school. Abd’s mother made her routine twice-a-week pilgrimage to the local Buddhist shrines and her daily firewood gathering and additional house chores. Life went on without being affected by still ongoing wars between warlords’ soldiers in the neighbor provinces.

It was mid-August. The scorching heat was already felt by nine in the morning. After the boys left for school and after washing and clothing Nabeela, Omira went to the back of their house to get the goats. She then escorted them to the public land for grazing. The soil was sandy and dry, barely supporting the growth of scarce sagebrush. Hay was nonexistent, yet the Rasulovs had to keep the goats alive and well enough to provide milk, which was the only source of animal protein necessary to nourish the entire family. The three goats had been grazing for over three hours under the watching eyes of Omira.

The burning sun was over her head. She fell into a deep sleep with her back leaning against a large standing, erect, flat boulder a few yards from the walking path. Suddenly an unusual commotion with increasing intensity was heard coming from the south side. Omira stooped low down behind the rock for fear of being seen by fighting rebels or bandits. She saw two bearded men coming in her direction. Both carried cartridge-loaded bandoliers and grenades. Trembling, she held her breath and lay flat on the ground when the two men walked past the rock. They didn’t see her. She got up a few minutes later when the men’s footsteps were no longer heard. With her fearful eyes, she looked for the dispersed goats. Frantically, she ran in all directions looking for them, but they were nowhere to be found. The sun was about to disappear behind the clouds covering the mountain peaks.

Omira was supposed to be back by this time. Mrs. Rasulov started to worry about Omira’s whereabouts. She sent Abd to the scene to find out what was going on and to look for them. He saw the animals scattered in the gulley on the other side of the walking path, at some distance. He knew right away that none of them was watched for quite a while. He ran fast, dashing through bushes toward the frightened animals that kept wailing instead of grazing. Finally, brother and sister managed to keep the three goats again on leash. But neither could stand up. They were exhausted from running. Omira lay down first on a patch of dry grass. Abd sat down a few feet away, facing Omira, who looked pale. While still trembling, she directed her weeping eyes to Abd: “Thanks for saving me from being harmed by these uncontrollable dangerous bandits who roam around looking for women. The idea that you might be shot at by these criminals, every moment they see some sort of movement in tall grass, frightened me. Thanks God, the danger is finally over.”

All of a sudden, with his eyebrows raised, his eyes and mouth wide-open, Abd worrisomely directed his regard toward the right side of Omira’s dust-stained cloak where a two-inch broken thorn lay horizontally at the center of a wet-looking area. “Are you having pain somewhere?”

“On my side,” replied Omira, who lifted up the right half of her apparel to show her brother where she was experiencing pain. The white blouse she wore under the cloak showed a large wet bloody area. Immediately she turned her lying body away from Abd and pulled up and freed the right flap of her garment tightly tucked to her skirt.

“A deep cut with oozing blood. It is burning and very painful.”

“Where exactly?”

“Above the nipple.”

Without hesitation, Abd took his dirt-spotted plaid shirt off, shook it vigorously, and then handed it to Omira. “Lay the inside of it over the wound, and then place your left palm firmly over it.”

Omira did exactly what her brother had instructed her while keeping her back facing him. As Omira turned to her left side and flipped back the headpiece attached to her cloak, Abd spotted another horizontal cut, approximately one and a half inches, on the right side and at the root of her neck. Fresh blood was oozing out of this second wound. Omira worrisomely looked at her brother. “It stings there.”

“Where?”

“Between my right ear and my shoulder.”

Abd knew right away that she was referring to the same place he was looking at. He moved close to her, grabbed another section of the shirt, placed it over the nuchal wound, and then firmly applied pressure over the area with his left palm. This was the first time this eleven-year-old boy saw wounds and fresh blood. He got scared but could remember what he had recently learned in school on how to handle bleeding in case of emergency. He also remembered that his teacher taught the students the danger of having a deep cut on the sides of the neck. While sister and brother continued to apply pressure over Omira’s wounds, Abd kept the three animals on leash in order to prevent them from wandering away again. Calmed down from the initial fright, they recounted to each other the whole event, and both realized that Omira’s wounds were inflicted by nasty thorny bushes when she ran aimlessly looking for the scattered goats. Abd freed the gourd off Omira’s neck and gave her some water to quench her thirst. They stayed on the ground, exposed to the scorching early-afternoon heat. Afraid of being scolded by their parents for leaving the goats unattended, Omira asked Abd not to say anything to them about her falling-asleep incident while she was supposed to tend to the animals. She didn’t want to lose her parents’ confidence in her, being the oldest child who assumed a large part of many in-house responsibilities. But most importantly, she didn’t want her status of an elder sister caring for younger siblings to be questioned. Abd agreed to her request. In order to hide the whole story, she sent Abd home, instructing him to look for a clean garment and return to the site with it without letting Mother Elaha or anybody else see what he did. He did exactly what his sister had figured out and brought back a clean cloak, which was soaked in a pile of dry dirt before she put it over the blood-tainted dress.

Abd had the animals on leash and walked behind Omira, who slowly strolled back to the goats’ open stall. That evening, Dr. Faisal made a trip on camel’s back to take care of Omira’s wounds. Before saying goodbye to the Rasulovs, he left ten tablets of penicillin for the girl to take every day for the next five days. Fortunately, the wounds healed uneventfully.

During the next two years, life was going on as usual with the Rasulov family. Zekirullah turned thirteen. He needed to find an evening job and hoped to go to high school during the day.

Uncle Faisal’s medical practice was getting too busy, even though he already had five full-time employees. He was thinking of hiring someone to assume the office’s cleaning job at the end of the working day. He thought about the oldest Rasulov boy, who had the hip disease three years ago and was now fully recovered. The week after, he came to talk with Abd’s father and offered the job to Zekirullah, who was delighted with the prospect of being able to continue his schooling in Kabul area while earning a small wage. Abd’s parents saw this arrangement as the very first opening for their children to be potentially educated and exposed to employment opportunities beyond the suburb of Bamyan. They counted on the traditional Afghan custom that the oldest sibling would help the younger ones to be successful in their education and career.

Within a couple of weeks, Zekirullah left home. He went to stay with the Faisal family. Five days a week, he had to get up before 5:00 a.m. and bike to the high school in Tuti Koshteh, a town located approximately twenty kilometers east to Bamyan. After five in the afternoon, he returned to work at Dr. Faisal’s office in Tupchi, another small village ten kilometers west to Tuti Koshteh. He was allowed to have two weeks off per year when Dr. Faisal’s medical practice was closed for vacation. At the end of the first year, Zekirullah’s report card was “excellent” in all subjects. His parents were very pleased. But the uneventful life in the Rasulov family was short-lived.

In the fall of that year, the Rasulov family was struck by a calamity. When the weather turned cold, Abd’s mother started to cough and seemed to have a persistent low-grade fever. She had no appetite and felt tired all day long. At first, she and her husband didn’t make much out of it. They thought they were dealing with a common cold that she couldn’t shake off. A couple of weeks passed. Her symptoms got worse. Dr. Faisal finally was asked to check her out. After carefully examining her, he concluded that she had some sort of lung disease that needed to be investigated further. He wrote a note on his prescription pad to the radiology department of Kabul City Hospital requesting a chest x-ray as soon as possible. Not able to walk, Abd’s mother had to be transported on the back of a donkey borrowed from their neighbor. Husband and wife left for Kabul on the next day. They went directly to the hospital, handed Dr. Faisal’s note to the receptionist, got registered, and then waited in a small room packed with coughing and sneezing patients for her turn to be called. Abd’s parents returned the same night to Bamyan. They anxiously waited for the x-ray report. Five days later Dr. Faisal came to their house with bad news. The radiologist’s note to him read: “There appear to be some parenchymal shadows with possible cavitation on the lower half of the left lung, suggesting mycobacterial infection. Gastric aspiration for culture is strongly recommended to rule out active tuberculosis.” In the meantime, Abd’s mother’s symptoms got worse and the skin test on her left forearm, done three days earlier by Dr. Faisal, showed a circular redness with central induration. This finding together with the radiological abnormal reading was in those days considered a solid proof of acute TB infection. That meant she had to be isolated from direct contacts pending a long stay in a sanatorium for treatment. Dr. Faisal performed skin tests for TB on all members of the Rasulov family. He came back three days later to do the reading which was “negative” on every member of the household. Within a few more days, Abd’s mother was admitted to the sanatorium in Charikar. The children were told that her disease was very contagious; therefore, they were not allowed to visit her in the hospital until three weekly repeated test cultures of her stomach juice became “negative.” Since the TB germ grows very slowly in artificial lab culture medium, the waiting period for results could be as long as three to four months. It could take even longer for the final lab report, because occasionally the culture had to be sent to London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, UK, or Pasteur Institute in Paris, France, for further examination and confirmation. The sanatorium chief medical doctor anticipated an average stay in isolation and away from home of at least one and a half years if Abd’s mother responded well to treatment with anti-TB medication.

The separation of Abd’s mother from her family was heartbreaking. Zekirullah got permission to come home to give his father a hand in bringing his mother to Charikar Sanatorium. In the early hours of that Wednesday, the pony-drawn wooden cart was parked in front of the Rasulovs’ house. The animal was fed and given drinking water by Zekirullah. Two thick blankets were placed at the bottom of the cart, barely long enough for his mother to lie down on her back.

Abd’s father was inside of the dwelling trying to explain to the children that Mother had to be hospitalized for a “catching” disease that takes several months to recover and that they needed to be protected from acquiring it. He elucidated why they wouldn’t be allowed to see her while she would be on strict isolation at the hospital. The children were asked to say a prayer for their mother several times a day. Bursts of cries were heard by Zekirullah, who was checking one of the carriage’s two wooden wheels. He stopped for a second, wiping off the tear running down his cheeks.

Abd’s father helped his wife to get up from the kitchen table to go to the cart, when suddenly Nabeela cried out loud while pulling on her mother’s khaki burka. “No, no, I want my mother. Don’t take her away from me.”

This was her first separation from her mother. All other siblings joined in, crying for their mother’s leaving home. Walking to the cart, they all sobbed loudly behind their mother, who was leaning on her husband’s right arm. They cried louder when Abd’s father, Zekirullah, and Omira were lifting the sick lady up and placing her recumbent in the wooden box. After the children were told to say goodbye to their mother, the pony, led by Zekirullah on foot, was on its way.

Abd’s father followed behind, having his eyes constantly watching his wife. The crying children kept waving at their departing mother until the pony and its passenger disappeared behind the village’s largest boulder. After a while the children calmed down, except Nabeela, who was still clinging to her sister’s cloak, weeping. She kept crying all day long, refused to eat and to drink, despite Omira’s intense effort to console her. The calamity showed no letup at this stage.

Instead, it continued to intensify. At the dinner table, the nightly prayer often was followed by one of the twin’s sobs. The children were unusually quiet. They all grieved the absence of their mother, who left an empty chair at the south end of the table. Abd’s father’s somber face at the end of a long workday didn’t seem to give the children much reassurance. Every evening, the same questions came up: “When can we see Mom?” or “When is Mom coming home?” and the answer was always the same: “I don’t know, but we can ask Uncle Faisal next week when he is to give us reports on her condition.”

Abd had trouble concentrating in class. He kept thinking that his mother might never return. At night, he tossed and turned in bed. His midyear report card went from “good” to “failed” within a few months. The twin brothers argued incessantly with each other, requiring Omira’s frequent intervention. Nabeela gradually showed developmental regression. Irritable and whiny, this youngest child’s appetite dwindled drastically over the next several months. Bedwetting occurred practically every night. Having to assume all her mother’s functions since she left, Omira was burdened with extra house chores in addition to the care for the three goats during the day. Fortunately, the milking of the animals was done every evening by Abd, the oldest son still at home. Omira’s overwork made her overtired, and this gave her insomnia. Every member of the Rasulov family was profoundly affected by their mother’s stay in Charikar Sanatorium. The most worrisome matter was Nabeela’s weight loss and regression despite Father’s necessary but unconfirmed verbal reassurance that Mother would recover soon. Like his son, Mr. Rasulov had often the grim thought that he might be a widower in a short time.

Once admitted to the sanatorium, Abd’s mother was confined to a six-by-eight-foot room at the end of the corridor. The majority of the patients had acute tuberculosis, and all of them were in “isolation” mode. Patients’ coughs were heard from one end to the other of the hallway of this three-floored old building. In those days, positive air pressure in the corridor was unheard of, let alone hourly air exchange or air recirculation through HEPA filtration to keep the saliva droplets within the patient’s room or escaped through the ducting system. One could imagine how heavily the indoor air of the building would be contaminated with the germ Mycobacterium tuberculosis. Gowning and masking were the only means of minimizing the spread of the disease through caregivers. Children’s visits were inarguably prohibited. Spousal visit was limited to only fifteen minutes once a month, and the contact between spouses was made through speakers installed at the room entrance next to a small glass window. Uncle Faisal, through personal contact with the sanatorium authority, managed to introduce only one item into Abd’s mother’s room: the black-and-white photograph of her family. Sadness continued to reign in the Rasulov family over the next several months.

One Saturday of that fall, Omira revealed to Father that Nabeela, just turned six the week before, had not been eating enough “to sustain the life of a cat” and had been having a low-grade temperature for the last two days. Abd’s father realized that his youngest child indeed had lost quite a bit of weight since his wife left. He became very concerned and decided to get urgently in touch with his cousin Faisal through the mailman, another relative of his. The next day came Dr. Faisal. He checked Nabeela out, examined her urine with his naked eyes, and determined that she had a urinary tract infection.5 Before leaving, he left twenty tablets of sulfa drug for her treatment. While Dr. Faisal was at his home, Abd’s father asked him if he could suggest a way to let his children have a quick look at their mother at the sanatorium. On his next house call to Bamyan, this compassionate man introduced a workable solution that he had worked out with the director of the sanatorium a couple of days earlier. As a matter of fact, Dr. Faisal had gone to see the latter in person and had presented the dire situation going on with the Rasulov family. Moved by the doctor’s plea, the director had agreed to make an exception to the standard isolation procedure. Mrs. Rasulov would be properly gowned and masked and then wheeled to a utility room on the first floor where members of her whole family, also gowned and masked, could see her while being kept a minimum of ten feet from her. To minimize the risk of being exposed to her germs, the visit was limited to a short duration of five minutes. A caretaker would be at the meeting site to be certain that rules governing isolation procedures would not be inadvertently violated.

At the dinner table and on the same day, Abd’s father made the announcement of the prearranged first visit with their mother after eleven months by the day. One should see the sudden joy expressed on the children’s faces. Omira didn’t have to insist on Nabeela’s amount of food intake anymore. The little girl started again to eat and drink adequately.

The day of visit to their mother came. Abd’s father managed to borrow from his second cousin, the mailman, a large pony-drawn cart that could accommodate all children except him.

Zekirullah joined them from Tupchi. The Rasulov family arrived at the sanatorium around midday. Mrs. Rasulov was sitting in a wheelchair, against the back wall of the utility room, waiting to see her family. As the door opened, Nabeela quickly ran toward her mother, crying. The caretaker instantaneously stopped her; otherwise, the visit went well. The children sobbed when they had to leave the room. But they were somewhat relieved when a friendly guard at the gate said to them, “We’ll see you in three months.”

The mighty God seemed to have pity and a special love for the Rasulovs. After the visit, calm and hope seemed to have overcome grief and distress. The boys were doing better in school, and Nabeela had regained her normal weight. Still longing for her mother, she cried off and on. But overall, she became more manageable to Omira, who gave her the best maternal care one could imagine. By now Mrs. Rasulov had been in confinement for just over a year.

On one evening of that hot and humid summer, Dr. Faisal sorted out his mail as usual after a long working day. He was astonished to receive a letter from the office of the medical director of Kabul City Hospital. He read the letter twice to be sure that he understood correctly its content. The sender’s note informed him that all the three initial cultures of gastric lavages taken from Mrs. Rasulov over a year ago, first kept incubated in the hospital lab, then subsequently sent to London for confirmation, as well as repeated cultures after the nine-month treatment period remained “negative for Mycobacterium tuberculosis” and that the case was under review. Dr. Faisal was invited to attend a conference convened a week later at the hospital to discuss the case of Mrs. Rasulov. The participants included the hospital administrator, a young radiologist trained at the University College London, Whittington Hospital, United Kingdom, the hospital-based internist, the hospital chief of lab, and the medical director of Charikar Sanatorium. In those days, the diagnosis of tuberculosis was strongly suspected if the patient had a chronic cough, night sweats, blood-tinged sputum, and weight loss. To minimize the risk of spreading this lethal disease, the patient must be isolated as soon as possible in a sanatorium, pending the results of initial cultures. Often the radiologist was relying too much on the appearance of the x-ray films to report as “suggestive” of TB if the patient didn’t have all the above elements of symptomatology. The meeting was held in the hospital radiology department. The internist was asked as usual to quickly go over the patient’s medical record, starting with present illness, going through past history, physical and lab findings, etc., to end up with the family socioeconomic status. He pointed out that Mrs. Rasulov had only a chronic cough, some sweating, and a mild weight loss but no other cardinal symptoms. The radiologist, replacing the one who initially read her x-ray films and recently retired, placed all these films chronologically and side by side on the view box; he then took the hand-held magnifying glass out of his white coat pocket and then meticulously went over each of these negatives.

He turned around, looking straight at the internist’s eyes and then at the hospital administrator. “Very interesting case indeed. I have seen no more than three cases like this when I was still in training in London.”

“What is it?” the administrator anxiously asked.

“We are dealing with a case of mycoplasma pulmonary infection mimicking tuberculosis on x-ray.” Pointing his finger to the semicircular shadow on the initial film that was read as “possible cavitation,” and then to the one taken three weeks ago, he continued, “Now you can see. That round shadow was not there anymore on the most recent film which appears almost normal except for a few small white streaks near the left hilum.” Then within the same breath, he added, “TB leaves a permanent scarring, which can be readily seen on x-ray and fairly characteristic in appearance. Mycoplasma pneumonia infection also results in scars of the parenchymal tissue, but these clear up usually within six to twelve months if prompt treatment was instituted.”

The internist interjected, “This germ is still very sensitive to tetracycline, and we currently use this drug to treat community-acquired walking pneumonia, which is predominantly caused by mycoplasma species.” In the meantime, he scrutinized the patient’s chart once again and read the following sentence from the Charikar Sanatorium nurse’s note: “Mrs. Rasulov has been here barely two weeks and she already recovered her appetite, gained two and a half kilograms, and seems to have more energy.” Abruptly his facial expression changed, and then he added, “In my opinion, this nurse’s observation note supports your contention that we are dealing with an unusual case of walking pneumonia. This patient couldn’t get better so fast if she had overt TB, but one question remains to be answered. Why is Mrs. Rasulov still not infected with TB after staying over a year at the sanatorium? It is possible that the three-drug regimen used for her therapy has prevented her from getting infected with TB. The reading of Mrs. Rasulov’s TB skin test last year as reactive or positive could be explained as a false positive or a cross-reactivity with other nonhuman mycobacteria species, and it should not be taken into account. Repeated negative cultures are the real proof that she did not have human tuberculosis.”

While listening attentively to the discussion, the sanatorium director, quiet until now, asked, “I surmise that the two doctors have come to the conclusion that Mrs. Rasulov has no TB after all. So, could she be discharged tomorrow?”

Almost simultaneously the internist and the radiologist responded, “Yes.”

The hospital administrator looked at the two practicing physicians, saying, “Without your expertise, we wouldn’t be able to come up with such a clear-cut diagnosis. Thank you very much.” He then turned to Dr. Faisal. “Did you hear that, Doctor?”

The conference was adjourned around 3:00 p.m. The next evening Uncle Faisal arrived to Bamyan to announce the good news. The day after, around noon, Abd’s father, on pony back, came to Charikar Sanatorium with a mule to bring his wife home. One could imagine the children’s joy upon their mother’s return. Abd said a thanksgiving prayer to God then said to himself, “The mighty God is looking after my family and always miraculously transforms suffering into a happy ending, simply because he loves all of us so much.”

Abd’s life also took a new turn. He became happier and more relaxed. Visits after school to neighbors became almost a routine for Abd and his twin brothers, Ali and Aamir. Even though he hadn’t grown much in height, Abd’s interest in the opposite sex was noted by his parents and his sister Omira. After all, he turned twelve three months earlier, and a sparse fuzz, precursor of sideburns, was visible at a close look. One late spring Sunday afternoon, Omira was looking for Abd to help her milking the goats. She went to all three neighbors’ sheds trying to find him. One of the ladies among them was Mrs. Rasulov’s aunt, who told Omira that Abd was having a conversation with her daughter, Elaha, a few minutes earlier in her shed’s living room. But neither of the two was anywhere to be found when Omira stopped in, looking for him. She went outside, circled the mouth with her two palms, and then called loudly, “Abdulai! Abdulai!” There was no human response, only mountain echoes to her call. Omira proceeded to walk in the direction of denser bushes interspersed between tall rocks. The whole surrounding was tranquil and peaceful. Suddenly she heard noise of dried leaves generated by a tiny crawling lizard in front of a large red rock to which she directed her attention. “Here you are. We were searching for you the last hour or so.”

Abd was standing with his back against the rock while holding the little girl Elaha with his arms and hands encircling her waist. The young couple was shivering at the mountain breeze. Omira scrutinized them from head to toes then uttered, “You two should go home now. It’s getting late, and the goats are waiting for your daily visit, Abd.”

All three left the isolated site, heading toward the conglomerated dwellings down in the valley. Elaha was brought back to her mother’s home. The lady was told that the two children were found in an intensive discussion while walking in the direction of the elementary school. Before getting into their shed, Abd said to Omira, “Please don’t tell Dad and Mom that you saw Elaha and me together. Otherwise, I will reveal to them the incident of dispersing goats that happened almost two years ago. Is it a deal between us?”

“You are a clever guy. I will keep both incidents as our own secrets for life.” It was customary to the Afghan Buddhist society that physical contacts between boys and girls were not permitted until they reached the age of fifteen. Afghan parents considered the violation of this rule shameful to the whole family.

During the next several months, Omira frequently reminded Abd that he must never violate the agreement between them. Probably she wanted to be assured that Abd’s parents would never know anything about the runaway goats’ incident, for she hoped that the trust and confidence the senior Rasulovs had in her remained unaltered. In Afghanistan, it was customary for an adopted female child to grow up with barely an elementary education, if lucky, while assuming all the routine household chores, no matter how hard or numerous these were. As a result of this devotion to her adoptive parents, Omira had no time to socialize. Consequently, she had no opportunity to be alone with a person of the opposite sex during her entire life and therefore her natural human instinct had never been gratified. She was completely illiterate at her early adulthood when her biological parents delivered her to the Rasulov family. Subsequently, Abd’s mother taught her how to read and write, just enough to correspond by letter with the junior Rasulovs studying or living abroad.