A Story From The Book Of Rumi:
A man had been losing his hearing for some time but was too proud to admit his debility and continued to pretend that nothing was wrong with him. One day, a friend bumped into him outside his home and told him that the old man next door had taken ill and that it would be kind to pay him a visit, as he had no relatives to drop in on him. The nearly deaf man somehow made out what his friend was telling him and promised to visit his neighbor that very same day.
How was he going to approach his sick neighbor, wondered the deaf man, especially now that he had become ill and weak and likely able to speak only in a whisper? But there was no way out of it; custom decreed that he pay the old man a visit and inquire after his health.
He decided that he’d decipher what the patient was saying by reading his lips and respond accordingly. Nevertheless, just to be on the safe side, he prearranged his questions in his mind and his neighbor’s probable answers accordingly. He decided that when he asked, “How are you feeling?” the sick neighbor would probably say, “Thanks be to Allah, I’m surviving.” Then he’d say to him, “That’s wonderful, thank goodness!” and continue: “What did you have to eat today?” The neighbor would probably reply, “I had a lovely vegetable soup, with a glass of cooling sherbet,” to which he would respond: “Bon appétit; how wonderful!” In addition, he would ask: “Which doctor has prescribed your medication?” and the patient would probably tell him the name of one of the local doctors, to which he’d confirm, “Fantastic, he’s the best in the trade.”
Thus, he was encouraged by his plan and immediately went next door to pay his visit. He sat next to the old man’s bedding, which was spread out on the floor, and kindly asked him: “How are you feeling, my dear neighbor?”
“I’m dying!” moaned the sick man.
“Thank God!” the deaf man said jovially, and continued with his next question, which he had duly prepared: “What did you eat last night?”
“Poison!” retorted the old man, already upset by the first answer.
“Bon appétit!” the deaf man responded obliviously.
The sick man, made even more upset by the last comment, bit his lips to stop himself from swearing at his annoying visitor. The deaf man, though, continued with his inquiries: “Which doctor is treating you?”
“Azrael, the Angel of Death!” snapped the sick man.
“May he be blessed. His presence is always good news; whomever he visits is cured of all his pains and aches forever!”
Unaware of the damage he had done to his sick neighbor’s state of mind, the deaf man took his hand and shook it firmly before taking his leave, believing that he had done his neighborly duty and brought the sick man much joy and relief.
Rumi. The Book of Rumi (P.21-22). Hampton Roads Publishing. Kindle-Version.
