The Screened Visitor!

His house was less than hundred meters from ours and in the same lane, that is to say, in the immediate neighborhood, and therefore, he could pass as one of our neighbours in the strictest sense. However, our relations with him hadn’t been as good neighbours, it was a doctor-patient relationship. Per our information he rented this flat for his practice while his family lived in the parental house in a nearby locality. Unless in an emergency, he went back to his family every night. At times, his wife and son came over to live with him. The flat is a one-bedroom affair: a small lobby greets you in from the main door and as you turn to your right to enter his little chamber you find straight ahead the kitchen slab which looks hardly ever used staring at you while the room on your left you’re sure is the bedroom; as you pass the door of the chamber you find a few chairs and a table propped up against the wall on your right and in front is the interior of the room containing the doctor’s paraphernalia including a longish bed for patients; and sitting on a chair you can easily notice the movements in the lobby and entry or exit from the curtained bedroom on your left as well the treatment process in front of you.

That evening I went there with my wife. Yes, she’s been the patient over the years, mainly for some therapy sessions while I’ve been the attendant cum bodyguard—my wife having little faith in male therapists. His wife happened to be living with him at that time, and in the lobby my wife chatted with her for a few minutes while the doctor readied the straps and the machine and I watched sitting in one of the chairs. Sideways, I also noticed the curtains of the bedroom completely closed as my wife entered the chamber.

After putting the straps in the right places and timing the machine the doctor occupied the revolving chair by my side. I heard sounds of some utensils from inside the bedroom and thought his wife must be busy. All of a sudden, the doctor rose from his chair, passed me and disappeared into the bedroom. Moments later, he emerged from behind the curtains with a small steel bowl and a spoon in his hands. He sat down quietly by my side and started to eat, taking spoonfuls of something into his mouth at quick intervals.

I felt ill at ease, because I don’t remember this kind of host-behavior in my insignificant lifetime. I’ve been used over the decades to the saying that if somebody eats alone in a group it’s always the eater who feels shy and hesitant. However, what was happening at that instant was its exact opposite—the host eating in absolute bliss while the others fidgeted. Well, it’s only me, I thought, and not my wife who looked completely absorbed welcoming the soothing waves sent into her body by the machine; perhaps she resorted to that oblivion in recognition of the unique spectacle unfolding.

The doctor finished eating and deposited the utensils inside, and resumed his seat. After a few minutes I thought I heard a soft moan-like sound the meaning of which I could not decipher—but obviously, it was coming out of his wife’s vocal chords—and the doctor responded immediately. He rose, passed me and disappeared behind the curtains. When he emerged again he was carrying another bowl with another spoon. He resumed his seat by my side and started to eat.

I tried my best to switch off my smelling device so as to deactivate my sniffing ability—a move extremely necessary under those special circumstances, for if you get the fragrance in, saliva starts accumulating in your mouth that you cannot gulp down without making a sound, howsoever subtle or suppressed. This happens to me, if not to others as well, on such occasions, irrespective of whether I’m hungry or not. I didn’t know what he was eating each time, and I never wished to know. I didn’t disturb him either, as he seemed to be enjoying the dishes immensely.

For the remainder of the time with the doctor that evening my mind went into an overdrive, perhaps more so since my other sensory organs were switched off. Why was he doing that blatant act in a land known for exemplary hospitality? I gathered a few possible reasons, but no definite conclusion.

Maybe he was very hungry and didn’t have enough time for the evening snacks, but before leaving home my wife informed him and he asked her to come in ten minutes. Maybe as a doctor he righteously differentiated between a normal visitor and a patient or attendant; that while all are visitors, some of them are guests who only get the privilege of being entertained. However, I visited doctors’ residences quite a few times and they always have a separate chamber for patients with a secretary sitting in the passage used as the waiting room, and they never ate there. Most importantly, why did the doctor eat there in front of us and not inside with his wife, for during that time the machine was taking care and he didn’t have a pressing need to be present? I had no answer to that. Anyway, why should we waste our time and energy over such inanities like that?