Howard Goldblatt (Editor) - Chairman Mao Would Not Be Amused – Fiction From Today

That first time I had trouble with my tooth, I had still believed in Western medicine as a science that would be the savior of my tooth. So infantile! Since then, times have changed, the years have chased one another down the aisle of history. As for myself, having passed through countless ups and downs, I have finally learned that science without philosophy or science plus philosophy but without the arm of backdoor connections will get me nowhere, cannot even save my tooth.

Department Chief Liu's letter, in his own calligraphy, read:

Dear Director Zhao:

How have you been? I have been terribly busy and thus remiss in paying my respects. Please excuse.

Regarding the affair entrusted to me, I have made arrangements. Please do not worry.

All these whispers about you-know-what, I think there must be some basis. Therefore please accept my early congratulations.

By the way, a friend-Professor Wang-has a toothache.

Thank you in advance for your attention to this little matter.

So this was the road to the salvation of my tooth!

There was a milling crowd at the Hospital of Chinese Medicine, not unlike Shanghai 's Temple Fair. There were even lines at the men's and women's rest rooms. People would exit still belting themselves up, such was the crush. I looked around in silent astonishment. Before liberation, Chinese medicine had been in such decline, but the scene in front of me now was bursting with activity. And to think that I alone had a letter for Director Zhao. This gave me a sense of superiority as I watched the crowd of patients rushing madly to and fro.

I said to a nurse, "I want Director Zhao. Show me the way to Director Zhao!"

She walked away, completely expressionless. Did she have an ear infection? I asked several other nurselike figures standing around in white jackets. No response either. Nobody seemed to have heard me.

"I have a letter from Department Chief Liu!" I shouted. But all to no effect.

I thought I had come to the wrong place and went out to check the sign at the gate. No mistake, it was the Hospital of Chinese Medicine. By the time I reentered the hospital grounds, I had lost my confidence and rushed about like the other patients. "I want Director Zhao. I have a personal letter from Department Chief Liu!" I insisted. But my demands gradually subsided into spineless whimpers.

While the hospital staff completely ignored me, the other patients turned on me with fury: "Go line up!" I looked around but could not find anyone in particular who had his eye on me. Just as I thought I was safe, again I heard the furious tones of patients shouting in one voice: "Go line up!"

In a sort of daze, I made my way to the registry office. Through the little window slot, I said to the nurse sitting on a raised seat, "I want Director Zhao!"

The window slot was tiny and situated very low. I had to bend and put my head down and then lift up my eyes to make out the (presumably) dazzling beauty of the nurse in charge. All I could make out was the fuzzy contours of someone high and mighty, looking down on the patients as so much trash. I shouted, "I want Director Zhao!" and waved my letter, which by now had become limp in my hands.

"Room seven," the unmoving, unmoved, and immovable figure behind the window slot mumbled. Was it one , or seven , or eleven ? My neck had become stiff, as I was trying to bend my shoulders and lift my head at the same time.

I didn't have a second chance, for the people behind shoved me aside. I rushed to the consulting rooms, fighting my way through the crowd. I was continually pushed by other patients. This infuriated me, and I myself began pushing right and left, only to be swung to and fro by the human tide. I made my way into room i. A woman was sitting behind the desk. A woman? That could not be Director Zhao, I said to myself. I fought my way out through the mass of people craning their necks at the door. A young man was sitting behind the desk. No, that could not be Director Zhao either. Again I pushed and was pushed on my way out. Like a bubble on a boiling sea, I rolled into room 11. An elderly person with venerable white locks-"Director Zhao!" I shouted gleefully and was immediately shoved aside. I found myself in room 8. The doctor in room 8 was in a loud altercation with a patient, who pointed a finger at the doctor's nose and said in disgust, "I've never seen the likes of you!" The doctor pointed his finger at the patient's nose and reciprocated: "I've never seen the likes of you either!" I was sure this was not Director Zhao. Director Zhao would never quarrel with patients, nor patients with Director Zhao. But I had learned something in a flash of inspiration. It seemed that have never seen is a term of extreme opprobrium. What has never been seen is decidedly bad. But I had never seen Director Zhao, so why should I look so hard for him?

By now I had floated willy-nilly into room 9, and found myself face to face with a young fellow with long hair. Unlike the other crowded consulting rooms, this one was quite deserted. Obviously, he was not trusted by patients. I sat down and said hesitatingly, "I'm looking for Director Zhao…"

"I am Director Zhao," he said in firm tones.

I had no reason to dispute this, though I felt in my bones that something was wrong. Toothache, however, overcame my scruples. Leaving aside the verification of his identity, I began to tell him the history of my woes.

In friendly tones, the young fellow asked me to open my mouth. He began poking at my teeth with a steel prod. When he knocked on my bad tooth, I howled in pain.

The alleged Director Zhao nodded in sympathy and wrote out a prescription with many flourishes of the pen. I tried to make out his calligraphy on my way to the pharmacy. Suddenly, I deciphered: "Pain reliever 2 x 3 x 7."

Which means that all I was getting for my pains was pain-reliever pills to be taken three times a day, two at a time, for one week! Then I looked at the signature; it was even more undecipherable. It looked like Liu or Zhou or Xu; but whatever it was, decidedly it was not Zhao.

I had been cheated!

My pent-up feelings of anger exploded, and I made a scene then and there. Four individuals, male and female, young and old, all of whom claimed to be Director Zhao, tried to handle the situation. They said that Chinese medicine is quite all right, especially for chronic complaints, but for toothaches it is no panacea. Sad but true. Of course, this is only one view, for internal reference only, not for dissemination to the general public. All in all, Chinese medicine is superb, acknowledged by Western practitioners. But pain relievers are quite potent in relieving pain, they conceded and suggested I take some and go to a dental clinic. We are touched by your faith in Chinese medicine, they assured me. In theory, they continued, one cannot say that Chinese medicine is helpless when it comes to toothache. The root of toothache is an attack of sinister heat. For this, you may take the powder of crushed rhino horn, deer antler, and mountain-goat's horn mixed with mint and other medicines with cooling properties. But please remember first that these medicines require at least a month to take effect. Considering the pain you're in, can you afford to wait even a week? Second, all these medicines act as laxatives. If taken in small quantities, they don't work; if in great quantities, you will suffer from diarrhea. Considering the state you're in with your toothache, can your constitution tolerate an attack of diarrhea? Third, the most important ingredient among the cooling medicines is the powder of crushed rhino horn. The Ministry of Health has issued a document-x year, x month, x day-stipulating that rhino-horn powder be taken off the national medical-care program and paid for privately. It's a damned nuisance, as this medicine is very expensive. Of course, that was the point of the new regulation.