It had been a long, hot day, and the tanner had worked nonstop to finish all the orders he had received. As sunset approached, he felt more exhausted than usual; all he wanted was to go home, get a bite to eat, then lie down for an extended sleep. He locked up the tannery and began his long walk home, but as he was utterly drained, he uncharacteristically took a wrong turn and ended up in the perfume section of the bazaar.
As soon as he smelled the fragrant scents lingering in the air, his head went into a spin, and he passed out lifelessly on the floor. Passersby quickly gathered around, trying to help in any way they could. One rubbed his stomach gently while another sprinkled rose water on his face so that he would breathe in the heavenly scent. Someone else caressed his hands, while yet another rubbed his temples gently. A thoughtful shopkeeper quickly made him an infusion of various medicinal herbs, and his assistant helped remove the man's several layers of clothing. A concerned man took his pulse, while another smelled his breath for any sign of wine or hashish. Others stood around wondering how he could remain alive while looking so completely inanimate!
Eventually they discovered who he was and sent for his relatives. He had an astute brother who lived not far from the bazaar, and once he heard what had happened, he wasted no time getting to the scene. On the way, he quietly gathered a small heap of dog feces in the handkerchief that he always carried in his pocket. Arriving at the bazaar, he pushed folks away and managed to get to his brother's side while quietly reminding himself, “When one knows the illness, it's simple to find the cure! From dawn to dusk my brother labors in the tannery, surrounded by foul smells. When one falls ill, his only cure is that to which he's addicted. He's become sick because he's been exposed to the unfamiliar. His cure is dog shit not rose water!”
Unwilling to let the crowd discover what the actual cure was, the brother gently scattered the onlookers away from the supine tanner while expertly drawing the handkerchief out of his sleeve and shoving it toward his brother's nose. As he bent over him, pretending to be whispering in his ear, he let him breath in the foul odor for a few minutes. Slowly, the tanner opened his eyes and began to move his limbs. People gasped in awe, thinking that the brother had used magic to bring the tanner back from the dead. Little did they know that the magic was nothing more than what the tanner was already quite used to—a foul stench!