Chicago by Alaa Aswany (story books to read .TXT) 📕

in a serious tone of voice, “I’ve come to see you, Tariq. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, come with me then.”

CHAPTER 29

It was an elegant three-story building surrounded by a beautiful garden. Dr. Thabit crossed the entryway in a hurry. The office of the counselor was to the right. He knocked on the door and went in. Then he smiled and said, “My name is Ra’fat Thabit. Sorry for being late. I had a hard time finding parking.”

“Don’t worry about it. Please have a seat.”

The counselor looked like a kindhearted grandmother. Her short gray hair covered the sides of her small head. Her smiling face conveyed a sense of familiarity and kindness. By way of introduction she said, “My name is Catherine. I am here to help you.”

“Have you been working here a long time?”

“Actually I don’t work. I am a volunteer, helping addicts and their families.”

“I salute you for your noble sentiment.”

Ra’fat was trying to steer the conversation away from the subject for which he came, perhaps until he decided how he should begin.

“Thank you, but what made me volunteer was not exactly a noble sentiment. My only son, Teddy, died of addiction,” Catherine said calmly, her smile disappearing. “I felt I was primarily responsible for his death. After separating from his father, I gave myself over completely to my work for twenty years. I wanted to prove to myself that I was a successful person. I owned a detergent sales company, to which I gave all my time until it became one of the most important companies in Chicago. Then I woke up when it was too late to save my son.”

Ra’fat listened in silence. She took a sip of water from a glass in front of her and added, “I think you, as a father, can fully feel my shock at his death. I was in therapy for a full year after he died. The first thing I did after coming out of the hospital was to liquidate my company. I began to hate it, as if it were the reason he died. Right now I am living off my bank savings and I spend my time helping addicts and their families. Whenever I help an addict with their recovery, I feel I am doing something for Teddy.”

The room was plunged into profound silence. Ra’fat stared at the wall to escape the gloom. There were many certificates of appreciation for Catherine from various organizations and pictures of her with young men and women whom he supposed were addicts that she had helped. Catherine sighed and smiled gently, as if turning over that page of sorrow, and said, “I’m sorry. I’m here to listen to you, not to talk about myself. Please go ahead. Tell me the story. I’m all ears.”

Ra’fat told her everything about Sarah, as if he were making a confession behind a curtain to a benevolent priest. He told her what he had seen and how he felt then, exerting extraordinary effort to control his features, and finished the story with the words “My life has stopped completely. I can hardly work. I want to do something for her.”

The counselor held a pen between her fingers and began to examine it closely, as if weighing what to say.

“The way you describe it, your daughter is most likely doing cocaine. Treating this kind of addiction is not easy. Young people are enticed to try it because early on it increases the levels of dopamine in the brain, which produces a heightened feeling of delight and comfort.”

“Have you treated such addicts before?” The words addicts sounded strange to his ears.

“I don’t treat. I am a counselor. I’ve taken courses on helping addicts. When we start the treatment we will have psychiatrists on our team. But I have taken part in helping cocaine addicts before.”

“What’s the success rate?”

“Fifty-fifty, it depends.”

“That’s a low rate.”

“I consider it high because half the addicts are in recovery. Remember, treating addiction is not easy. We have to lower our expectations so as not to be disappointed.”

Ra’fat bowed his head in silence. Catherine added, “Now to work. Listen, from my experience, in the case of your daughter Sarah, the love team might be an effective way to begin.”

He looked at her quizzically. She went on, “The love team is a method to motivate the addict to accept treatment. We bring together a group of people they love: relatives, neighbors, and colleagues at work or school. They begin to visit him or her regularly and help him admit he’s an addict and in need of help. If the love team is successful, the addict will be ready to begin a twelve-step treatment program. Allow me to ask you a question I don’t like to ask but I have to.”

“Please go ahead.”

“Concerning the costs of the program?”

“The insurance company will take care of that. I have requested that addiction be added in the policy.”

“Well, then. Please take this form and fill it in, and before you leave, drop it at the receptionist’s office.”

Ra’fat took the form, and for a few moments he didn’t know what to do with it as he continued to look at her. She said, “Your task now is to convince two or three of Sarah’s friends to come with us to visit her. This brochure explains the role of the love team in treating addiction.”

Ra’fat left her office carrying many brochures and flyers about addiction and the work of the society. At home he carefully started to read. Turning the situation into tasks, procedures, and data helped him run away from the tragedy that began to present itself to him gradually as a huge mountain. Sarah has turned into an addict. It wasn’t fair to blame her. She assured him that what had happened to Sarah could happen to anyone: to try once, and then try once more to recapture the pleasure. Eventually that person could become an addict. How could