During morning twilight, there are no cars. There aren't even any motorbikes. Just a fine layer of dust and soot that has settled since the residents swept it clean the night before. An occasional breeze stirs the trees that filter sunlight at the height of the day, disturbing the frangipani blossoms. Their jasmine scent is wafted down and settles into the calm air below. Women are beginning to fan charcoal fires started inside chunks of brick, getting ready to boil water for the breakfast rush to come. And then those heralds of the sun reach down and ruffle the feathers of the roosters.
Within minutes the alleys are alive, ringing and echoing with a chorus of roosters. "Wake up!" they tell everyone. "Get your lazy ass out of bed! Don't even try to cover your ears with a pillow because it won't work... we'll just crow louder. See!" And they show you.
Non stop for at least half an hour, they show you how loud they can crow. Like males of pretty much any species, once they get their feathers ruffled, good luck trying to calm them down again.
Surprisingly, I've gotten used to getting up between 6:00 and 6:30 every day. If I really want to sleep in I can always nod off again eventually, but most days I just go ahead and wake up when they tell me to and get a cool, early start on the day.
The alley at 8:00 am is a completely different world from the alley at 6:00 am. Now every shop door is open, people have gathered at one of half a dozen coms (rice stalls) or phos (noodle stalls) serving heaping bowls of rice with beef, chicken or pork, or steaming hot beef noodle soup. After eating, some start their day with a shave or a haircut, or even a hair wash since many people don't do that at home. Young men tap away at bicycle rims or mend holes in motorbike tires while the stranded owners wait, chatting patiently during the unexpected delay. Boys and girls in uniform pedal rusty bicycles to morning school. Those who attend the afternoon session help with the family business by fetching supplies or making deliveries. Those with nothing else to do read the paper, talk to neighbors, play badminton, or just hang out watching the world go by, like me. Horns blast, people call out to each other, dogs bark and a million other sounds drown out the crowing of the roosters, if any are still trying to dominate the soundscape.
But every once in a while, for reasons I don't at first understand, the roosters don't show up. They just don't show up. Dawn turns into morning and I sleep right on through... something wakes me up eventually and I look at the clock - 7:00 am! Where are my roosters? I open the window - nothing. It can't be that the entire neighborhood's roosters overslept. That just wouldn't happen. This confusing twist results in a late start once or twice and so I decide that, when it's important, I won't count on the roosters to be my alarm clock.
This morning, it is especially important that I get up on time because not only am I going to Thailand today, I also have an emergency appointment with the dentist. Yes, you read that right. I am unlucky enough to require dental work. Possibly something fairly major like a root canal. And oh, yes, can you get it done by ten o'clock, please... I have a plane to catch.
Sorry, Heejay, but I really hate going to the dentist. Drill-wielding stockpilers of some of the worst implements known to man... the sharp prongs, the scrapers, the needles jabbed into the nerves of your jaw sending electric vibrations through half your body - sorry, did I miss? Hahaha, just making sure you're still awake.
Then there's the suction tube hanging in your mouth pulling moisture out of you until your tongue is completely dessicated, feels like a clump of wool... and the stainless steel clamp that holds your mouth open - because you might actually want to swallow or something - until you're about to choke on a mix of your own spit and dental debris. Stainless steel? I wonder what they make their torture tools out of in Vietnam. Suddenly I'm feeling like a nice familiar stainless steel drill wouldn't be such a bad thing.
I should feel lucky, actually. I realize that. If my tooth was about to go, I am lucky that it happened here in Saigon rather than 24 hours later in Thailand. At least here I have Huong and Vong who know where to find a good dentist who they can recommend. In Thailand I would be on my own. My molar must have known that somehow because it made a point of falling apart during a completely innocuous dinner at Huong and Vong's place the night before I was due to leave for Thailand. We had a beef soup and plates of fish with rice - no bones, nothing even requiring heavy chewing. At first I thought I had just bitten on a piece of fish bone and that the pain in my tooth was just me wincing from having bitten into it. Good thing I didn't bite too hard, I thought... it would suck to crack a tooth right now. But when I spit out the "bone," I realized that it was, in fact, a chunk of tooth with part of an old silver filling attached to it.
Oh God, I looked at it in disbelief. Not now. "Excuse me," I said. "I think I broke my tooth," and got up to have a look. Sure enough, there was a ragged gaping hole where the front of my tooth had once been. I'd had a hairline crack in that one for years, at least five or six years in fact. It had not gotten any worse that entire time and I'd been planning on getting it repaired once I got back from my trip. I sat back down at the table quietly, trying to take in my misfortune. Ran my tongue along the rough edge and sheer wall that was left, trying to assess the likelihood that I could get away with simply ignoring it. "I think I can't leave it like this," I finally said.
"Does it hurt?" Huong asked.
"No, but it's going to crumble apart if I leave it like this."
"OK. After we eat we go to the dentist."
I looked at the clock. "Are they still open?"
"They should be." She looked at her younger daughter. "Chau, after dinner you get Patti a new toothbrush so she can clean her teeth. Then we go to the dentist." Chau did so, but reluctantly. The only new toothbrush in the house was the pretty pink one she had been saving for a special occasion. As I used it, I made a mental note to send her a brand new pink toothbrush from the US when I got back home. Maybe one with a My Little Pony on it or something.
Mouth freshly cleaned and reassured by the lack of pain in my tooth - at least it hadn't cracked to the nerve - I strapped on my helmet and hopped onto the back of Huong's motorbike and off we went into the night to find her dentist. I have to hand it to Huong. She never rushes, but she always gets everything done. She finished her dinner, chewing carefully, and had a piece of fruit for dessert, taking care to cut it just right. She washed her hands, smoothed out her blouse, took her stunning waist length hair down and rewrapped it into a neat low bun that wouldn't get in the way of her helmet, then turned to me with a smile and said, "OK, we go now."
"Wish Patti luck girls," she added as we pulled away. She knew I was afraid of the dentist.
The office was just closing for the day when we arrived, but the dentist's assistant was still there. She had a look at the damage. "Oh, big hole," she said with a frown. Vietnamese have very expressive faces. She and Huong have a thorough five-minute conversation about my tooth. Huong translates for me, "We come back tomorrow at 8:45." That's it? I wait for more detail. "It's a big one. Maybe they have to take an x-ray to make sure they don't touch the, the, the..."
"The nerve?" I ask.
"Yes, the nerve. If they touch the nerve it's a bigger problem."
I'll say. Touching the nerve is the main problem when it comes to teeth as far as I'm concerned. "Will we have enough time?" My flight to Thailand left at 11:30 a.m. I'd booked the ticket over a week ago and it was one of the last seats they had.
"Oh sure," she said. Such confidence. But then, it's not her nerve. "They see you first thing. It won't take long... maybe 30 minutes or an hour."
So back to my hotel I went and spent a restless night trying not to accidentally put pressure on the fragile wall enamel that was left of my tooth. "There isn't much left to fill," Huong had said. My best hope was that there was at least enough that they could put a big, ugly glob of silver in it that would last til I got back to California. Worst case was they put a cap on it and I walk around for the next six weeks hoping it doesn't fall off. Well, worst case really is that I need a crown or a root canal or something, but I'm not allowing myself to consider that a real possibility. The Vietnamese can fix anything... surely, they can find a way to stabilize my tooth for six weeks.
We arrive next morning and I find Vong there as well... turns out he's got a big hole in the same tooth and he's just as much of a chicken as I am when it comes to dentists. But since I was going, well, he figured he ought to get his taken care of as well. We share a double room. I slide into my side and Vong nervously settles into his. Huong hovers between us translating and supervising. I try not to look too critically at the facility, but I can't help noticing the World War II era voltage regulator that seems to be attached to the console of sharp implements next to my chair. Nor does the upside down 7-Up bottle escape my attention... a long hose sticks out of it and leads to the rinse-your-mouth cup on my armrest.
Never mind, the dentist introduces herself and peers into my mouth. Two of them had walked in at the same time and seemed to be practically flipping a coin over who got which patient. I never figured out whether the one who got me was the winner or the loser. Is it a good thing to work on the foreigner? Who knows...
Well, everything worked out just fine. They patched up my tooth with a good solid temporary filling and promised it would last at least one month (enough time for me to get a proper job done after Thailand) if not two (so I could get it done in California). It cost me $10... such a deal!
Huong drove me directly over to the airport on her motorbike and I ended up having time to spare. On our way I remembered to ask her about the roosters. "Why would they just stop crowing like that from one day to the next?" I ask her from the back seat.
"I don't know," she says, and thinks about it. "Maybe it's because of the bird flu." Of course... I'd forgotten about the bird flu. When one goes, they all go down together.
No comments:
Post a Comment