Osprey - 6-21-2007 at 07:52 AM
Crystal Summer
Part Three
Ernesto
Seems like I was the only guy in the village who didn’t know we had our own dentist. Patty and I had a lot of dental work done just before we came
down here because some of it was paid by our insurance companies. We were lazy and without the insurance, without knowing anything about dentistry in
this part of Mexico, we just kind of let our usual checkups slide. Then she left and my teeth started giving me all kinds of problems. I dreaded
going all the way to Cabo or La Paz just to have dental work done and I was overjoyed at the news we had our own dentist just a few blocks from my
house.
Right behind a small tortilla factory on the only paved street in town in a one-room house Ernesto set up shop. He had put up some partitions to
gain some privacy for himself and to accommodate his many clients. The house, his office, was Spartan to say the least; like many homes in the
village this one was not quite finished. The door was wide open to catch a breeze and he heard my car pull up, came out to greet me. Ernesto must
have been the shortest guy in his university class; well under 5 feet, a chunky little man in jeans and T-shirt he was sporting one of the most
cordial smiles I ever saw.
Although he spoke no English at all he made me feel comfortable with his smile, his friendly and professional demeanor. He ushered me into a plain
room with a single piece of furniture, an old couch. Since he didn’t have a customer that particular mid-morning he led me around a little partition
and asked me to take my place in the big recliner dentist’s chair. We had little need for conversation – he inspected my teeth, found the one that
was causing me pain and got right to work.
After a painless shot in the gums he prepared his equipment while waiting for me to numb out. I took the time to eyeball his little cubicle. I
thought his framed copy of his dentist’s license/designation, right dead-center in your face on the wall facing the big chair was a nice touch. Also
the framed eight by ten glossy photo of his university graduating class just above his license effectively instilled a modicum of confidence in those
with curious or suspicious nature. He saw my hand fanning as a signal that the bobos were bothering me so he found a floor fan somewhere and got rid
of the pesky little devils, cleared the stifle out of the muggy place.
I didn’t expect his whole operation to be modern and high-tech but I was a little surprised when he went outside to turn on a small compressor to run
the drill motor. The noisy little machine was sitting just outside the window in the high weeds, screeching and huffing away when he turned on the
drill. The hoses and wires snaking their way out the small window did not foul or knot during the drilling part. He had a spit-sink of sorts next to
the chair. No water service in that area of the room so he just placed some paper cups and bottled water nearby. Without the convenience of a
spit-suction device he was forced to swab up the saliva, grit and blood with clean (I hoped) cotton swabs.
This first tooth had a large cavity and his work was slow but painless. I was in the chair for about 45 minutes. Before I left I made another
appointment for work on other teeth and a cleaning, thanked him and paid the bill – 200 pesos, just under 20 bucks.
I had a lot of fun with Ernesto before he broke camp to join a dental clinic in San Jose. Not many people can say “I had a lot of fun with my
dentist.” Don’t remember exactly how the thing began but the first time set the tone and it became second nature after that to pull his very short
leg.
As the summer heat became unbearable Ernesto made a deal with Ruffino, our local doctor, to set up his dental practice in the doc’s air-conditioned
office complex – maybe complex is too grand a term: attached to the doc’s small house were 3 small rooms; office cubicle, storeroom and a very small
unstaffed pharmacy. This time I was in the chair for almost two hours getting fitted for a crown. Just as we were finishing up, a Mexican family,
mom, pop and a boy about age five, came in for some dental work. They all sat quietly in white plastic chairs; the boy’s body language and eyes told
the story – he was the one with the bad tooth. I don’t know what got into me but when Ernesto turned his back to get an instrument I began to howl
like a banshee, holding my jaw in both hands. When I saw the terror in the boy’s eyes I stopped and apologized to all. The little dentist first
grimaced then grinned his famous friendly, funny face.
The very next week on a trip to San Dionysious I found the huge, ancient tooth of a horse as I walked the rugged hills. I popped it into my pocket
much the same as I had collected shiny rocks and arrowhead chips while walking the woods of southern Florida as a boy. As I left the house for my next
dentist’s visit I pocketed some pesos, my car keys, sunglasses and, oh yeah, the tooth. On this visit I found Ernesto back at his old place, in the
operating cubicle with a patient, a very old man dressed in cowboy garb. On a whim I popped into the room, excused my rude interruption by holding up
the tooth and explaining in Spanish that I wanted my money back, the dentist’s work, the false tooth, had fallen out.
Crowns. Crowns are tough. One crown job he did for me went south. We both kept a good humor about the thing but that didn’t come easy for either
of us. Somehow he got the molds to San Jose, got em’ back a couple of weeks later in more or less the shape and color he hoped for. Four times he
and I fought to fit the newly arrived crown but with crowns close is not enough and we had to make new molds, reorder. I got the feeling the lab cut
him no slack whatever and that he got no credit for those he returned. I also knew he didn’t have money to reorder each time so I ponied up the price
each time he failed. This stubborn tooth crown took almost three months to complete and we were both wearing pretty thin. Finally, after almost two
hours in the chair he made the newest one fit. It was loosely in place, ready for the all important cement and while he was mixing it I feigned
taking a drink of water to rinse, leaned over the spit-sink and pretended to spit the crown into the foul bilge of the sink device; I let out some
Spanish curse words as I pulled the trick off. The look on his face was priceless as I smiled and held up the offending piece of ceramic.
That was my last visit. He tried San Jose for a few weeks but finally went back to his home in Quernavaca; he was a city boy and even though he said
he loved this little village there was nothing here to hold him. I somehow knew he wouldn’t stay long in San Jose either; the big city lights and his
friends and girlfriends back home were calling him. I think of him often and wonder if he remembers me and my good-natured pranks. I sure miss his
infectious smile, his $20 fillings, $30 extractions and $60 crowns. He must not have been offended by my practical joking because a time or two, when
I was short on cash, he let me trade dorado or sierra filets for his work, then I would pay him properly (with a nice propina) when my payday came
around. It was often my pleasure to bring him fresh croakers or sierra when I caught some just because I had way more than I could eat.
That very same summer we got slammed by two killer hurricanes, I lost a patio palapa and suffered major damage to my boat but the summer still stands
out as a people time. Funny, I don’t think of myself as a “people person” but this can be a lonely little place if you keep to yourself. I guess you
can get the lonelies at a rock concert if you don’t have all your sh*t in one bag.
woody with a view - 6-21-2007 at 09:04 AM
damn, i wish i could put my life into words the way you do Osprey. i love reading, but i fear if we all could wordsmith like you there would be no
time to read.
vandenberg - 6-21-2007 at 09:36 AM
Fishhawk,
Another A-1 tale.
The dentist, however, not too far removed from the one here in Loreto. Maybe not that short, but the same demeanor and accomodations.
Cypress - 6-21-2007 at 10:41 AM
Anybody that pranks around when getting dental work done is alright in my book.
Keep the stories coming.
Thanks.
amir - 6-21-2007 at 04:40 PM
What's the dentist's address in Quernavaca? Your story makes him sound real.
I'm sure you're planning your next prank already.
And trilogies may be too short of a literary format for you, Osprey...
--Amir
George
Baja Bernie - 6-21-2007 at 10:06 PM
I try to record a bit of history but you create it and most convincingly too!
Like I said, 'Listen very closely!'
CaboRon - 6-22-2007 at 06:41 AM
Osprey, Another great story.... Thank you, CaboRon
Bedman - 6-22-2007 at 07:31 PM
As always, you paint the picture masterfully.
Many thanks my friend,
Bedman