The Music Trilogy Read Online Free PDF

the raw strength. The nurse came in behind them. The doctor placed the child on an examining table. He pulled out a monophonic wooden stethoscope out of his smock pocket and listened to the boy’s chest. He then gently pushed certain areas of the child’s body. Up until now the boy hadn’t uttered a sound, but suddenly he howled.
    “What is your name, little man?” The doctor asked, putting his hand on the boy’s forehead.
    “Ali,” the boy whispered, trying vehemently not to scream or cry.
    “He has a fever,” the big man said to the air around him. “Have you eaten anything?”
    “No, Doctor,” Jamil said, “he has no appetite and he keeps vomiting.”
    “And his tummy is swollen even though he hasn’t eaten.”
    “Yes, Doctor,” Jamil answered, getting more and more worried.
    The doctor gently pushed Ali’s stomach. Ali grit his teeth, frantically holding back the urge to scream, but when Simeon pushed a little lower the tears uncontrollably cascaded out of his young eyes.
    Ah!” The doctor said and smiled. Jamil wondered why the doctor seemed so pleased. “Prepare the operating room immediately,” he said to the nurse. “ Skolikoiditis!” Simeon shouted, almost gleefully.
    “Doctor, what is happening? Please tell me.” The doctor looked so pleased that Jamil thought that the big man had at least discovered the treasures of Babylon. This, too, now worried him.
    “What is your name?”
    “Jamil.” Why, in the name of Allah, would this be important right now? He thought.
    “Listen, Jamil, we must operate on your son immediately.” The doctor looked at the father who now appeared completely panic stricken. “There are no guarantees in medicine, but I assure you that if we do not operate he will die in the next few days, or less. With the operation he has a chance to live a long and healthy life.”
    “You will do this right now?”
    “Yes. We cannot wait any longer.”
    “But, Doctor, there is a problem.”
    “What kind of problem?”
    “I am but a poor fisherman; I do not have much money to pay you.”
    “We’ll take care of that later. Now, let us through, we must get to the operating room. Your son’s appendix has burst.” The doctor picked up the boy and headed out. The father held the doctor’s arm long enough to kiss his son.
    As they were leaving Jamil started shaking, fearing perhaps this would be the last time he would see his Ali. There were tears in his eyes as he whispered: “Allah be with you.”
    “I’m sure he is,” Simeon said overhearing Jamil, “as well as Mohammed, Jesus and even Quan Yin.”
    And then they were gone. Jamil just stared after them. Could the Yunani, the Greek, really save Ali? What had he said exploded in little Ali’s body? And how would he pay the doctor? He sighed. No matter what the outcome the Egyptian would pay, even if it took him the rest of his life. And who was this Quan Yin?
     
    The doctor walked out of the operating room rubbing his beard. His face was expressionless. Jamil ran up to the big man shaking, prepared to hear the worst. “My… my son? Is he…”
    “Ali is going to be just fine. He …”
    Jamil fell to his knees, took the doctor’s hand and kissed it. “Allah be praised!”
    “Now, Jamil, get up and listen.” Simeon said, easily lifting him up. Jamil couldn’t stop thinking about his strength—those arms!—they reminded him of palm tree trunks.
    “Yes, Doctor.”
    “Ali will be in the hospital for several days. We will give him medicine and then he will be fine. I don’t want him doing any kind of work, especially any lifting. He needs time to heal from the operation. Is that understood?”
    “Yes, Doctor, anything you say. Now, please, I must pay you.”
    “You said you were a fisherman.”
    “Yes.”
    “A noble profession.”
    “You think so?”
    “Of course. You feed people. You feed me. If you did not bring this food how could I operate?” Jamil smiled, nodding. “So, you are worried about your