A palm with fingers sticking out in different directions—like the needles of a cactus—was stuck to the windshield of my silly, thickheaded but pretty “Volkswagen,” and then it slowly slid to the side, leaving yellow-red streaks on the slightly dusty surface. It was blood from a person suffering from anemia: the hemoglobin level, apparently, was no more than a hundred units—or even less. Clearly, that was not enough for the health of a young man.