“Alas,” al-Fartusi said with genuine sadness when I informed him that I was going to Jordan.
“Why? Why are you going and leaving us?”
“I can’t do it anymore. I’m suffocating. I’m not cut out for this job. I wasn’t planning on doing it for two years. I can’t sleep at night. Nightmares are driving me insane.”
He patted me on the shoulder and said: “You think I’m any better? I’ve gotten diabetes and high blood pressure from everything I’ve seen all these years. And now these crooks want to fabricate charges against me.”
“What charges?”
“They want to implicate me in selling human organs. Can you believe that? There are gangs selling human organs. They have entire networks and there were stories about it in newspapers, but that’s all linked to the hospitals. We have nothing to do with that, because organs have to be harvested from the body within a few hours.”
“Why are they accusing you, then?”
“Someone somewhere wants to make some money, and they just want a bribe to stop harassing me.”
“I’m sorry. You of all people don’t deserve this. I hope it works out.”
“Whatever God wills will happen. This is my destiny and if you are destined to leave, then you will leave. I wish you the very best. But why don’t you pray? I bet you these nightmares will go away.”
“God has yet to guide me to the right path. Plus, my nightmares are really something else.”
He shook his head and laughed. I gave him the keys to the mghaysil and we agreed that he would send me the rent in Amman. As we hugged and kissed goodbye, I asked him to take care of Mahdi.
“I’ll treat him like a son,” he said.