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

I was completely bowled over. I made haste to concur that the honest attitude is the scientific attitude and that without science there could be no oral hygiene. I conceded that this was the principle of two negatives negating each other but that however you negate, you can't do without science! The problem with me, I confided to my chairman, was not that I rejected science but that science had persisted in eluding me-in a word, I couldn't get registered in the clinic. With only one dental clinic in a city of over a million, those of us without back doors must begin lining up the night before to get a registration slip. But now that my wife and I were advanced in years, I said, we did not have the inspired energy to start lining up the night before, as I had done on my previous visit many years ago. Without that kind of inspired energy, one could not pull off a great performance; without the required kind of great performance, the registration slip could not be had; and without the registration slip, any kind of scientific treatment was beyond our grasp. On the other hand, I continued, those with back doors could sit at home comfortably without having to line up at all. All they needed to do was greet their elder maternal uncle or second paternal uncle or third paternal aunt at the hospital gate, and they could sail in and get the best treatment at the least expense… But why am I saying this?

Actually, I was not familiar with the registration policies of the dental clinic and had no more grudge against the clinic than anybody else. But being blamed for rejecting science, I got worked up in spite of myself and recited a litany of grievances, ending with a tragic flourish. It always boosts your self-esteem to blame others.

The chairman of my department then said that a new mayor had just been installed, a certain Mr. Zhu, who made much of intellectuals and had helped many scholars with particular grievances. He advised me to write a letter to this man. His word of support, my chairman argued, would materialize in action, and then getting into the hospital would be child's play. An example of "spirit converting itself into material results," he added.

I hesitated. But my colleagues were keen. They offered to write the letter for me, seeing that I was incapacitated by illness. The words flowed easily from their pen, and in no time at all the letter was read out to me. It described the pain of my toothache with passion and eloquence and exposed the pernicious backdoor practices with indignation. As I could not raise any objections to the contents I was asked to sign. Just as I was deliberating as to whether sending such a letter was advisable, my wife took out my seal and stamped it on the letter. So there it was, my own red seal staring back at me from the sheet of paper. My colleagues snatched up the letter and promised to put it into the yellow-capped fast-service mailbox with stamp and everything. Such comradeship! I felt funny around the tear glands.

The letter was sent, but I was still uneasy. Should I have disturbed the mayor over such a petty affair as my toothache? It seemed an inglorious, unconscionable thing to do. Just think, the city's population numbers one million, and every one of them has thirty-six teeth, making altogether thirty-six million teeth. Supposing all thirty-six million teeth were to go and bother the mayor- how could the man do his work? Perhaps this was a vestige of the Cultural Revolution, a resurgence of the rebel spirit. I felt ashamed.

The day after my letter was mailed, I received a missive from ex-president Shi Xueya. He told me he was safe and sound and that what had transpired was all a misunderstanding. I was welcome to look him up if I had trouble with my teeth. He also informed me that he was about to chair the governing board of the Society for the Treatment of Scabies and that they had received academic support in the form of fifteen thousand deutsche marks. He asked me whether I had trouble with hair loss or scalp itch and said that help would be available. I was so alarmed I kept putting up my hands to check my scalp several times a day.

The very next day, in confirmation of ex-president Shi's words, news of the founding of the Society for the Treatment of Scabies appeared on TV, showing a lot of local celebrities in attendance. Mr. Shi Xueya was the most active on the scene, beaming with recovered glory. It was said he was a real pioneering spirit.

The following day, I received an official letter from the dental clinic. The gist of it ran thus:

Your letter to Mayor Zhu has been relayed to us. Your criticism of backdoor practices in registration is correct in principle and basically grounded in facts. Considering that you fall within the category of intellectuals over fifty years of age who have made contributions to society and, having been approved by the mayor's office, it is now determined that you are eligible for Special Services and assigned to the care of Dr. Zi Wu-tong, physician-in-charge. Please be at the Hospital before eight o'clock on the 28th and proceed straight to Special Services, room 54. You need not register on arrival. You will be charged after the consultation. Hoping for our further co-operation, you are welcome to offer more criticism of our work. Our clinic is the Best Choice for toothache sufferers.

I was exhilarated. Such a good mayor, loving the people as his own children, as the saying goes. And such a good clinic! Such modesty! Such efficiency! Immediate results! Better than Tokyo! And such a good doctor assigned to me, even his name sounded reassuring: Zi-"high qualifications"-and Wutong-"no pain"! Such heaven-sent good tidings. I had neither killed nor had I coveted my neighbor's wife, and now all the virtues I'd stored up in a life well spent were being rewarded.

But I was also frightened. Now that I was really going to the dental clinic to deal with my tooth, I began to have doubts. Could I avoid having it pulled? Inspecting it in the mirror, I saw that it had nearly all rotted away. Things having come to this point, how could I still cling to the forlorn hope that the remains might still be preserved? Or even think of putting off the pulling? Or hope for pulling without pain? Dental clinic or heavenly haven, Dr. No Pain or Dr. Screaming Pain, how could you avoid injections of Novocain? How could you avoid pliers and pincers? Or blood? Or a big black hole? I had spent the energy of nine bulls and two tigers, as the saying goes, and for what if not to avoid the pain of tooth pulling? And then I had spent another round of energy of the same dimensions, and for what but to undergo the pain of the ultimate pulling? Now the case was closed. There could be no more procrastination. The best choice was already made. How could a tooth have led me to such absurdities?

I reckoned the time hour by hour until finally it was the night of the twenty-seventh. Then I reckoned the time minute by minute and didn't sleep a wink all night. My thoughts roamed over the sufferings that teeth bring into the life of man. Born without teeth, sprouting front teeth at eight months, a full mouth of baby teeth at two years of age, and then another set of teeth in early childhood- all his life, man's sufferings are linked to teeth. Keeping them is a trial, but losing them is worse. Sprouting them is a pain, but eliminating them is torture. Even after death, when one's remains are stuffed into the ash container, the poor injured and insulted teeth are often disturbed in their last rest. Why do humans have such sharp and durable teeth?

Time dragged on until morning arrived at long last. My wife fed me fried eggs. We looked at each other dejectedly. The wife said, "Fear not! Be firm and firmer still!"

The repetition of firmness nearly drew tears to my eyes. I said to my wife in the tragic tones of a last parting, "I am on my way. Take care of yourself!"