bears.
âOf course they will, eat up!â He tosses a piece of licorice into the air and catches it between his teeth.
On my way down the stairs I have to lean against the wall for support. When we cross the courtyard, I throw up in different colours. When my dad gets home, Iâm lying on my bed, clutching my stomach. I turn my back to the door and pretend to be asleep.
T hereâs a poster on the wall of a teddy bear holding a big toothbrush between its paws; other posters show teeth eaten up by cola. Weâre sitting in the dentistâs waiting room. There are building blocks on a small table and a pile of comics. Goldfish swim around in an aquarium, nibbling fish food that floats in the water.
My dad holds my hand; Iâm trying not to cry. A toothache kept me awake last night. I told my dad about the boy in the courtyard, about the games, about Squeeze the Rabbit and Bear with No Eyes. I told him about all the sweets weâd eaten. My dad smiled and said that you donât get cavities that quickly, that itâs good that Iâve made a friend. Even a bad friend. Often theyâre the ones who teach you the most. And yet it feels like a punishment. I vow never to see the boy again. Never ever. He can wait for me in the courtyard all he wants; Iâm not going down there.
I pick up a Donald Duck comic from the table, but I canât read the words. Iâve got tears in my eyes and I donât care if Uncle Scrooge loses all his money.
âThe dentist will have a look at it,â my dad says. âIâm sure itâll be all right.â
I want to believe him, but we havenât spoken to anyone since we arrived. We just sat down on the last empty chairs in the corner. I donât understand how the dentist will know when itâs our turn.
My dad takes my hand and says: â Virtute et armis .â
I reply: âWith bravery and weapons.â
He says: â Iacta est alea .â
âThe die is cast.â
âAnd who said that?â
âCaesar.â
âAnd he was?â
Slowly the waiting room empties while we go through the Ads, such as Ad infinitum , ad libitum , ad notam .
Weâve reached Ad vitam aeternam . I say: âTowards eternal life.â
Weâre now the only two people left. My dad gets up and takes my hand; I follow him past the door to the secretary and into the surgery. We stop in the doorway; we see the dentist, busy putting out tools on a metal table. He looks my dadâs age, possibly a little younger. He has dark hair and high temples. A cigarette is smoking itself in an ashtray on the windowsill; he glances up at us.
âYou need to make an appointment with my secretary. Weâre closed for today.â
My dad crosses the threshold, and says: âIâd like you to examine my boy.â
His voice is almost pleading.
The dentist looks up again, rather surprised that weâre still there. He takes a drag of his cigarette and stubs it out in the ashtray.
âI canât help you if you havenât got an appointment.â
âMy boyâs in pain.â
âIâm sorry . . .â
We enter the room, my dad at the front, me right behind him.
âYou can see that heâs in pain.â
âIâm sorry, but . . .â
âI donât have a health insurance card and I havenât got any money so I canât pay you. But I know that youâll want to help us.â
The tone of my dadâs voice has changed; itâs now a friendly demand. The dentist is about to say something, but my dad starts speaking again. âAll those years of study just so that you can tick boxes and live in a nice house . . . ?â
The dentist looks a little confused; he opens his mouth, but he doesnât say anything. My dad holds his hand a few centimetres from his arm, so close that he can almost touch the white fabric of the dentistâs coat.
âYou want to help us.â
My