And the most curious thing, perhaps the most painful, the terrible thing, would come at that moment when I asked the dentist what I should do to replace each of the pieces that had been removed.
HAVANA.- When a tooth is gone, an empty space is left that can only be filled by the arrival of another tooth. I remember very well that time when my paternal grandmother, one of the most conceited women I have ever known, broke one of her teeth, one of those that occupy one of the most central spaces, in the gum, among the most visible, and that misfortune would happen one day before taking a trip to New Jersey to meet her sister whom she had not seen for some years.
I still remember my grandmother’s confusion, her suffering, that led her to a great complaint, even to decide that she would not get on the plane, that she would not make the trip with such a visible absence. My grandmother said she wouldn’t make the trip if she didn’t get a small prosthesis before climbing the stairs of the plane. Her sister kept calling, and neither did her brother-in-law, her niece, her many friends who lived in New Jersey.
And my grandmother Ángela became a dentist overnight. My grandmother grabbed a white bean and ground it with a nail file to then stick it to a piece of gum that fit around her gum, to that space that had been left so rudely empty. My grandmother smiled in front of the mirror. Grandma moved in front of the mirror, looked at herself, smiled, and even spoke. And my grandmother arrived very early at the airport, smiling, without anyone noticing the real absence of that beloved piece that matched every detail of my grandmother’s face, and above all without anyone discovering that absence in my grandmother’s mouth.
And if I remember now that trip of my grandmother and her skills as a prosthetist, it is because two days ago I was sitting in one of those chairs that dentists use. And there were great and innumerable adventures that I had to do to be able to sit for a while in the armchair, which I also had to pay for or give the little gift that is masterfully suggested, which is just a hint.
And the most curious thing, perhaps the most painful, the terrible thing, would come at that moment when I asked the dentist what I should do to replace each of the pieces that had been removed. And that was the thorniest, saddest moment of all, much more so than what I had seen on previous visits. The dentist let out a sly smile. She let out a smile, asked me if I had faith and I shrugged, and she insisted. She insisted, she said that if I asked the family abroad for all the necessary supplies and gave her a small gift, everything would be resolved, and I let her know that I had no faith.
I told him that I had no relatives who would cover those expenses, that I did not know the prices of those materials abroad, and I also assumed that they must be expensive, rather very expensive, and that all I could do was resign myself and continue being a very toothless man, a sad old man who did not dare to smile, for fear of showing the damage that my mouth hid. And the worst of all was that for a long, long time I had not seen a white bean, nor a piece of gum, to gather them and stick them in the empty spaces, in those where there are no longer teeth, where it seems that only a sad, painful void will remain.
