An Oriental Deems That He Has The Right To Your
Surplus.
"Daily bread is divided" (by heaven), he asserts, and eating
yours, he considers it his own.
Thus it is with other things. He is
thankful to Allah for the gifts of the Creator, but he has a claim to
the good offices of a fellow-creature. In rendering him a service you
have but done your duty, and he would not pay you so poor a compliment
as to praise you for the act. He leaves you, his benefactor, with a
short prayer for the length of your days. "Thank you," being expressed
by "Allah increase thy weal!" or the selfish wish that your shadow
(with which you protect him and his fellows) may never be less. And
this is probably the last you hear of him.
There is a discomfort in such proceedings, a reasonable,
[p.52]a metaphysical coldness, uglily contrasting in theory with the
genial warmth which a little more heart would infuse into them. In
theory, I say, not in practice. Human nature feels kindness is
displayed to return it in kind. But Easterns do not carry out the idea
of such obligations as we do. What can be more troublesome than, when
you have obliged a man, to run the gauntlet of his and his family's
thanksgivings, to find yourself become a master from being a friend, a
great man when you were an equal; not to be contradicted, where shortly
before every one gave his opinion freely? You must be unamiable if
these considerations deter you from benefiting your friend; yet, I
humbly opine, you still may fear his gratefulness.
To resume. When the mob has raised you to fame, patients of a better
class will slowly appear on the scene. After some coquetting about
"etiquette," whether you are to visit them, or they are to call upon
you, they make up their minds to see you, and to judge with their eyes
whether you are to be trusted or not; whilst you, on your side, set out
with the determination that they shall at once cross the Rubicon,-in
less classical phrase, swallow your drug. If you visit the house, you
insist upon the patient's servants attending you; he must also provide
and pay an ass for your conveyance, no matter if it be only to the
other side of the street. Your confidential man accompanies you, primed
for replies to the "fifty searching questions" of the "servants' hall."
You are lifted off the saddle tenderly, as nurses dismount their
charges, when you arrive at the gate; and you waddle upstairs with
dignity. Arrived at the sick room, you salute those present with a
general "Peace be upon you!" to which they respond, "And upon thee be
the peace and the mercy of Allah, and his blessing!" To the invalid you
say, "There is nothing the matter, please Allah, except the health;" to
which the proper answer-for here every
[p.53]sign of ceremony has its countersign[FN#10]-is, "May Allah give
thee health!" Then you sit down, and acknowledge the presence of the
company by raising your right hand to your lips and forehead, bowing
the while circularly; each individual returns the civility by a similar
gesture. Then inquiry about the state of your health ensues. Then you
are asked what refreshment you will take: you studiously mention
something not likely to be in the house, but at last you rough it with
a pipe and a cup of coffee. Then you proceed to the patient, who
extends his wrist, and asks you what his complaint is. Then you examine
his tongue, you feel his pulse, you look learned, and-he is talking all
the time-after hearing a detailed list of all his ailments, you gravely
discover them, taking for the same as much praise to yourself as does
the practising phrenologist for a similar simple exercise of the
reasoning faculties. The disease, to be respectable, must invariably be
connected with one of the four temperaments, or the four elements, or
the "humours of Hippocrates." Cure is easy, but it will take time, and
you, the doctor, require attention; any little rudeness it is in your
power to punish by an alteration in the pill, or the powder, and, so
unknown is professional honour, that none will brave your displeasure.
If you would pass for a native practitioner, you must finally proceed
to the most uncomfortable part of your visit, bargaining for fees.
Nothing more effectually arouses suspicion than disinterestedness in a
doctor. I once cured a rich Hazramaut merchant of rheumatism, and
neglected to make him pay for treatment; he carried off one of my
coffee cups, and was unceasingly wondering where I came from. So I made
him produce five piastres, a shilling, which he threw upon the carpet,
cursing Indian avarice. "You will bring on
[p.54]another illness," said my friend, the Haji, when he heard of it.
Properly speaking, the fee for a visit to a respectable man is 20
piastres, but with the rich patient you begin by making a bargain. He
complains, for instance, of dysentery and sciatica. You demand L10 for
the dysentery, and L20 for the sciatica. But you will rarely get it.
The Eastern pays a doctor's bill as an Oirishman does his "rint,"
making a grievance of it. Your patient will show indisputable signs of
convalescence: he will laugh and jest half the day; but the moment you
appear, groans and a lengthened visage, and pretended complaints,
welcome you. Then your way is to throw out some such hint as
"The world is a carcass, and they who seek it are dogs."
And you refuse to treat the second disorder, which conduct may bring
the refractory one to his senses. "Dat Galenus opes," however, is a
Western apothegm: the utmost "Jalinus" can do for you here is to
provide you with the necessaries and comforts of life.
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