21Interlude Two. The Mother’s Voice

The monologue was reconstructed from real events; names and details have been changed.

It started when my son was nineteen. He stopped sleeping. Would stand by the kitchen window at night and listen. I’d ask—what are you listening to? He’d say: Mom, do you really not hear it, or did you all agree to pretend?

I’ll tell you something I’m ashamed of, but that’s why you’re asking. My first thought wasn’t “he needs a doctor.” My first thought was—God, please don’t let anyone find out.

That’s how it is for us—if this happens in a house, that house is marked. His sister isn’t married. Who’ll take her if word gets around? My mother-in-law said: This isn’t illness, this is done to him. Malice. The evil eye—people are envious. And so we traveled.

First, to a mullah. He recited over him, blessed water, told us to tie a string around his wrist. Then—to a pir, two hours away; a woman there with a month-long waiting list. She said—a jinn, but a weak one, he’ll leave. We spent the night. My son didn’t sleep there either—no window to stand by, so he sat in the car and listened to his things.

Four months. I counted later—four months and eleven days we dragged him to holy places. He was wasting away. He barely ate—said the food was treated. And like a fool, I was glad: Maybe he’s fasting, purifying, maybe it’s leaving him.

We saw a doctor not because I got wiser. Because he ran barefoot onto the road—in January. A neighbor caught him. Then came the ambulance. Then came everything.

Know what the doctor told me? I expected shame. He said: You aren’t the first, not the hundredth—but every month you took from me, I’ll now have to reclaim from the illness in years. I remember his exact words. Reclaim in years.

My son’s twenty-four now. On medication, back in college. We can talk about that winter now. Recently he said—Mom, remember when you took me to drive out the jinn? And laughed. And I stood by that kitchen window where he used to listen and cried like I never did at the pirs.

My mother-in-law still says: See? It worked—we traveled, we prayed. I don’t argue. I just know now who contributed what. Prayer—let it stay. I still pray. But for something different: that the next mother’s first thought is the right one. Because four months—turns out, that costs so much. Only the bill comes later.