How Diseases Spread Across the World

Once upon a time, there were no diseases in the world. People died either from old age, from an enemy's scimitar, or due to some unfortunate accident: say, horses would get spooked, overturn a cart into a deep ditch, or a village bull would gore someone with its horns.

At that time, in a certain town, there lived two old maids. They had never married because they were very poor. And they had become poor due to their laziness and gluttony. One fine day, fearing death by starvation, one sister said to the other:

"Let's turn ourselves into fevers, sister. We'll go and make people ill, and then we'll eat well and to our heart's content again. After all, when someone falls ill and takes to their bed, their loved ones prepare the best dishes for them, bring them all sorts of drinks and sweets—anything to make them feel better."

"Good idea!" agreed the other. "But tell me, what kinds of fevers are there? I don't even know."

"When a tired person drinks cold water, eats unripe plums or other green fruits, or consumes a piece of spoiled meat, we'll crawl right into their heart and start shaking them: in the most unbearable heat, we'll blow such cold on them that their teeth will chatter, and in the fiercest frost, we'll throw them into such a fever that they'll break out in a sweat as if in a bathhouse. They'll suffer from the fever, while we'll live like kings. Now, follow me! As soon as we step outside, we'll pounce on the first people we meet."

No sooner said than done! They sat on a bench by the gate and waited. After a while, two men appeared on the street: one was a wealthy merchant, the other a poor miller. The lazy sisters sneaked up to them and quietly slipped into their hearts: the first into the merchant, the second into the miller. They began to shake them. Clack-clack! went the merchant's teeth. Clack, clack-clack! echoed the miller. Chattering their teeth and coughing, they barely made it home.

At once, the rich man's household sprang into action, bustling about. They laid out a soft mattress, clean sheets, and a down pillow for him, covered him with a silk blanket, and began asking what he wanted to drink to warm up.

The merchant's relatives and friends learned of his illness and came to visit. One brought him a flask of strong plum brandy, another a three-year-old red wine, a third some homemade pork sausage, a fourth a pie made from flour sifted through a silk sieve, and a fifth some jam, golden apples, and all sorts of sweets. Each brought the best they had—no one wanted to be outdone. And the merchant had many relatives and friends who respected him for his wealth. Seeing the poor man shivering and his teeth chattering, they all felt sorry for him—none of them had ever seen a fever shake someone like this. During his illness, his loved ones brought him so many treats that he could have opened a grocery store.

Meanwhile, the fever looked at the delicious treats and licked its lips. It would shake the sick man, then give him a brief respite. As soon as the chills stopped, the man felt relief and became so ravenous that everyone marveled at how much food and drink he could consume. But it was the fever inside him that was eating and drinking everything. Whatever it desired, it was brought. The cursed fever ate, drank, and slept, while the rich man's belly swelled so much that he could barely get up. The lazy fever was now even lazier than before, when it wasn't a fever, because back then it didn't get to eat and drink so well, nor did it dream of such soft mattresses.

Meanwhile, the wife kept nudging her sick husband and saying:

"Wake up, dear, wake up! I've brought you some water to wash your face. Get up, take a little walk in the yard, breathe some fresh air—maybe you'll feel better! You've been lying here for almost three years now. You sleep day and night, eat more than all of us, yet nothing does you any good. Your belly is swollen like a barrel, and your neck is stretched like a pole."

"Oh, my dear wife," the sick man barely managed to say, "even a blind man would want to see! I would like to get up and walk, but this cursed illness has me in its grip—it keeps pulling me toward sleep. And as soon as I fall asleep, the cursed thing grabs me by the collar and shakes me like a dog with a rag. When it tires of that and leaves me alone, I feel such hunger, as if a ravenous snake has taken up residence inside me, and I eat and eat, but the more I eat, the heavier I feel. Drowsiness overcomes me, and I forget who I am and where I am. That's why, dear wife, I can't get out of bed."

"What should we do, dear? How can we get you back on your feet? We've called three hundred doctors, but none have helped. Let me find a wise fortune-teller—maybe she can help you."

"Go ahead, wife! Gather all the fortune-tellers, witches, healers, dervishes, and priests! Call them all, just cure me."

The woman set out and went to a poor old woman, a famous healer. She told her about her husband's suffering and brought her home. The old woman examined the sick man, asked what ailed him, what he ate and drank, and then said:

"I'll help you, but only if you obey me and do everything I say. And most importantly—you must endure!"

"Oh, grandmother," groaned the sick man, "I'll endure anything, I'll obey and do everything you say, just relieve me of this suffering."

"Don't worry, my son! If you obey me, I'll have you back on your feet in three days," said the old woman and left.

Returning home, the old woman plucked a bunch of wormwood from the fence, brewed a decoction, and brought it to the sick man. She made him drink a full glass of the brew on an empty stomach. The bitter potion nearly made his eyes pop out of his head.

"Oh, dear grandmother!" he moaned. "What kind of potion is this?"

"Don't be afraid, my son, endure it!" replied the old woman. "This fever that has taken hold of your heart won't let go as long as you eat only sweet and tasty things. You must eat bitter and unpleasant things to drive it away. And enough lounging in a soft bed—lie on a bare mat instead, put a stone under your head, and for two days, don't put anything in your mouth except my decoction. Then you'll see how this cursed fever flees from you."

The sick man obeyed her: for three days, he ate nothing and only drank the wormwood water. On the fourth day, the old woman came to check on him. The sick man was lying on a mat in the yard, in the full heat of the sun, fast asleep.

The old woman approached him so quietly that he didn't even wake up. She took a bucket of water that was nearby and poured it over him. The merchant jumped to his feet, as lively as in his younger days.

"Oh, grandmother!" he cried. "Why did you scare me like that, pouring cold water on me?"
But the fever became even more frightened of the merchant, leaped out of him, and climbed into the old woman.

"Just you wait, you old hag," thought the fever, "I'll shake you up for robbing me of my peace and comfort. Until now, I lived like a queen. Was it the devil himself who put it into your head to keep me hungry for three days and make me drink that bitter stuff that has soured me for life, and then pour cold water over me?"

The wealthy merchant immediately recovered and cheered up.

"I wish you a long life, granny!" he said and generously rewarded her.

The old woman hid the money and went home, but on the way, she suddenly felt a chill coming over her. She barely managed to drag her old bones home. She lay down on the earthen floor by the hearth, curled up, shivered from the cold, clicked her two remaining front teeth, struggled to her feet, and drank a large cup of wormwood water. She caught her breath for a moment and drank another cup.

The fever realized that the old woman would keep pouring cup after cup of that bitterness and wouldn’t lie down in a soft bed. Furious, it ran off to look for some rich person.

But now, as soon as the fever attached itself to someone, the old healer, famous throughout the town, was immediately called. She would make the sick person drink wormwood water and drive the illness away. The fever could no longer live like royalty, as it had for three years straight in the sick merchant.

Realizing that the old woman wouldn’t leave it alone, the fever decided to move to another place where people didn’t yet know how to get rid of it. The fever gathered its things and set off. It left the town and saw its sister—the second fever—walking ahead. She, too, had decided to flee from these parts.

"Good day, sister!" called the fever.

"Wait for me, let’s go together!" They greeted each other, hugged, and began telling each other about their lives.

The first fever told how comfortably it had lived with the wealthy merchant, about all the troubles and misfortunes the healer had brought upon it, and then asked her sister how she had fared with the miller and in other places.

"Don’t even ask, sister!" the second fever complained. "I’ve had no luck. I started fevering the miller, and he went to the mill, took a wooden mortar, crushed garlic in it, poured vinegar over it, and drank the whole disgusting concoction in one gulp. He nearly poisoned me, curse him! And when I threw him into a fever, he stripped off and plunged into an icy pond. I nearly froze to death—I barely escaped. I left him and went to a wealthy woman. I fevered her for three years, eating and drinking to my heart’s content. But there’s no life for us in this town anymore: out of nowhere, that cursed healer appeared, always on my heels. As soon as I settle in somewhere comfortably, they call her. Instead of tasty treats, she makes them drink bitter potions that have ruined my life. I couldn’t take it anymore and decided to flee the town."

"I’m running from that cursed old woman too, sister. I’ll go wherever my eyes take me, to a place where such witches don’t exist."

"You know what, sister? Since we’ve both decided to flee the town, we shouldn’t part ways. Let’s catch someone and fever them together. But let’s pick someone rich so we can live in comfort until we get bored."

"You’re right, sister," agreed the first lazybones. "It’s no good living with a poor man: you freeze him, and he grabs an axe—chips fly everywhere, and he just keeps chopping tirelessly until he breaks into a sweat, and then I’m really in trouble."

"And when you throw a poor man into a fever," interrupted the second, "he’ll plunge into icy water like my miller, and you’ll freeze to death."

"Oh, sister, I wanted to tell you something else..."

"Tell me, tell me, what has your clever little head come up with?"

"Let’s live for a while as we’ve been living," proposed the first wise one, "and then let’s get married, have children, and teach them our craft. They’ll have a good life, and let the people suffer."

"That’s a good idea, sister! May God grant you health and joy. But may the Lord protect us from bitter wormwood and icy water."

With these thoughts, the two rascals set off for another town where people didn’t yet know about fever. By the time they learned how to drive it away, quite some time had passed, and the sisters had a good feast. Then they found two fools and married them. The sisters had a bunch of children—both girls and boys—and from them, all sorts of illnesses spread across the land. These illnesses were as varied as people themselves: some made you shiver with cold, others burned you with fever; some fevered you every day, others every other day or every two days; some gave people jaundice, others made them cough. And they brought many, many other sufferings to people. Male illnesses—like rabies, scurvy, and heart disease—would either quickly send someone to the grave or leave them just as fast, because men are very impatient. But female illnesses killed people slowly and infrequently, because a woman couldn’t overpower a man. Yet once such an illness took hold, it kept its victim in its grip for a long time, and the poor soul lived for years, neither healthy nor sick.

And so illnesses spread among people and torment them to this day.

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How Diseases Spread Across the World

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