My friend at the infirmary

Illustration: Phan Nhan

1. He's tall and slender, but undeniably masculine. His long, naturally curly hair and eyes are like a mysterious little universe. His most striking feature is his eloquence and ability to steer conversations smoothly. Sometimes witty and wise, other times pensive and silent, he's hard to read. In short, he possesses all the "symptoms" of a man who could make a girl fall head over heels for him, even if she didn't intend to.

That day, we met for coffee again. He suggested breakfast, and I chose porridge. Knowing I didn't like porridge, he asked why, and I said I'd had a terrible toothache lately. He worried, "Why didn't you say so earlier?" Then he stared intently at my mouth, where the unsightly braces were clearly visible – making me blush. After a while, he told me to take out my dentures and open my mouth for him to see. Oh, what? I could do anything he wanted except let the man I admired look into my empty mouth. It was terrifying, like a toothless she-devil. But he said, "Take them off quickly!" He said it like an order, and I knew he wasn't joking, meaning I had no right to refuse.

I shyly opened my mouth. He unexpectedly pressed his finger down on my gums, and the pain brought tears to my eyes.

- Mai, you need to arrange to go to the dentist urgently!

No, I'm terrified of the smell of hospitals. I made an excuse: "You have a history of head trauma and once wanted to have some remaining tooth roots extracted, but the doctor said they couldn't touch them without a recommendation from a neurologist at Cho Ray Hospital. But it's been ten years now, medicine is advancing every day, let's go for a checkup again." I shook my head, tears welling up. He said, "Just decide this way, or we'll break up today." I obediently nodded after that warning.

2. He took me to Nha Trang, a fairly large private dental center. He said it was recommended by a close friend. The person who founded it is a talented doctor, a former soldier who, after liberation, graduated from medical school specializing in dentistry and later received further dental training in France.

After the ultrasound and examination, a young dentist—with a pensive expression—declared:

- Severe gum tissue infection, swelling and redness around the tooth roots, and the appearance of multiple pus pockets.

He immediately asked the dentist: Is there still time to save it?

"If not treated promptly, the alveolar bone will be damaged. If we don't do it now, in just one month, even a trillion dollars wouldn't be enough to save these teeth," the dentist lamented.

"But I have hemophilia… and…" I stammered, then whispered in his ear, "And I don't have enough money for such a big plan either." My boyfriend then subtly explained the situation, and the dentist asked them to wait a moment.

A little later, a man still wearing his white and blue uniform, but who looked to be of retirement age, came out to greet us. He carefully examined the patient's medical records, hesitated for a moment, and then said:

- To address this thoroughly, it will take time and money, but it must be done soon.

- But?

- Understood. Don't worry, if the patient doesn't have enough money right now, they can pay in installments.

"Oh, this is something so rare that I've ever heard of." As if afraid I wouldn't believe him, he said:

- Since we first opened, not just now, in "emergency" situations, if patients are in difficulty, we have had a support program.

Okay. One big worry is resolved.

I lay on the table while they ground, drilled, and chiseled away my stray teeth, my mouth agape, tears streaming down my face. Not because of the toothache, but because of the pain in my heart. It's been ten years since the fall, and now I still have to endure this suffering. When will this torment ever end? Thinking about it, I couldn't hold back the tears.

After three months of summer, I received my permanent porcelain veneers. Thank you to my lover for inspiring me to reinvent myself. Because of this, my love for him is filled with both reverence and gratitude. Furthermore, I want to express my heartfelt thanks to the virtuous dentist who provided thoughtful and dedicated advice, and who, in a show of loyalty, bought a fruit basket as a thank-you after I "inaugurated" my new chewing apparatus by gnawing on three ears of corn at once to get revenge for all the time I spent watching others eat while swallowing my saliva.

- The teacher is from Dong Hoa, which commune are you from?

- Yes, Hoa Tan.

- In Hoa Tan, I used to have a friend there, but after liberation, he went back to his hometown, and I continued my studies, and we lost contact.

Is there no way to contact you, sir?

- Maybe it's because I'm too work-obsessed. But in my mind, I still remember you, and there's something very unsettling about it. I've considered going to find you, but I keep putting it off. Sometimes I think pessimistically, wondering if we'll ever meet again in this lifetime. In life, how many people have such a beautiful friendship, and yet they fail to cherish it…

My uncle spoke, but he looked away towards the door, not at us. Then he fell silent. I'm not very sociable, so I didn't know how to break the awkward silence. Luckily, my boyfriend helped me out:

- We're from Canh Phuoc, but which village is your friend from, Uncle? Do you remember?

- I don't know which village it was, but back then he said his house was near Xom Market. Because the market's name sounded strange, I remembered it vividly.

Oh, what a lovely coincidence here. I asked the friend what his name was. The doctor said his name was Tan, Hai Tan. Oh, that's my dad, doctor, that's my dad...

3. The car stopped outside the gate, and my father was already waiting at the door. Without even going inside, the two men, whose hair was more than half gray, embraced each other, their arms making gestures as if they were arm wrestling in their youth. I understood it was their secret code of communication.

The old, round wooden table where my father usually sat for tea, today held a special guest. The table suddenly seemed more dignified, bearing witness to this reunion after so many years of hardship and uncertainty. I sat downstairs, but because of my keen hearing, I heard every word of the conversation between my two friends from the battlefield. The more I listened, the more I secretly admired them.

Back then, Uncle Thanh was a doctor on the battlefield. He was from the sunny and windy central region of Vietnam, but he had been transferred to the North. It's hard to believe that a young man who had just graduated from high school had temporarily stopped his studies to go to the battlefield in the South. The Central Highlands battlefield was harsh and brutal. The lack of salt for a long time caused the bodies of doctors and patients at the infirmary to swell up. My father stayed at the infirmary because he had a facial injury. Hunger, thirst, and pain, he only dreamed of eating a bowl of stale rice with my mother's chili-spiced fish sauce at night. It was terrible, because he only ate in his dreams, so when he woke up he felt even hungrier.

In the war zone, death was always looming, a hair's breadth away. Once, a bombing raid hit the infirmary. My father, a soldier who was ill, lay on top of the doctor treating his jaw, having been hit by a stray bullet. Struggling to their feet from the rubble, the two friends embraced like loved ones who had just returned from the brink of death. Another, even more dramatic event occurred when, upon hearing news of an impending raid on the infirmary's location by a helicopter-borne delegation, the chief doctor ordered the relocation. A silent victory. The infirmary had 16 people, officers and staff. Moving through the jungle was already difficult enough; now they had to carry a jumble of supplies, medicine, and food, traversing the forest under hail of bullets. After enduring so much hardship, they succeeded. When the bombings ceased, the infirmary was safely relocated to a new, secure place. The entire infirmary resolved to endure hunger, thirst, and pain, leaving no trace or clue whatsoever. During that relocation, my father, a soldier-patient, wholeheartedly helped the infirmary. It was also during that time that Doctor Thanh got lost on his way back to the new assembly point. A stretch of road was riddled with small potholes, their circumferences and spacing evenly distributed. Panicked, it turned out to be an elephant trail. The slender, scholarly-looking doctor stumbled, fell headfirst into a pothole by the roadside, and luckily landed on a bush by the stream. And once again, guided by the supernatural , my father found a new friend and finally brought the doctor back to the infirmary after several days struggling with his leg wound. The wild berries his friend picked that day tasted better than any delicacy in the world," Doctor Thanh recounted the story with a choked voice.

4. On April 30, 1975, the infirmary was still in the forest – when my father had returned to his battalion and was enthusiastically giving his all for the final battle.

Around 5 p.m., as Dr. Thanh was recounting the story, tears slowly rolled down his cheeks. Inside the infirmary, he had just heard the news on the radio that Saigon had been liberated since noon. The entire infirmary erupted in joyful cheers, even the forest seemed to rejoice, bursting with sacred happiness after so many days of anticipation.

Who would have thought that in such a short time, both their hair has turned completely white? It's strange to think that these two men, who fought side-by-side amidst fierce bombings in the past, are now in peacetime, finding it difficult to meet again… After Uncle Thanh finished speaking, the two friends, without prior arrangement, raised their teacups and clinked them together…

At this point, I couldn't just obediently listen anymore and had to "rudely" interrupt: "Even though we weren't side-by-side, the bond between you and my father, those who met in that brutal infirmary all those years ago, remains sacred and inviolable..." - the two teacups were lightly clinked together and brought to lips, two faces etched with wrinkles gazing at each other with utmost sincerity...

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