The dentist Ivan’s sports doctor had recommended was a Romanian by the name of Mitu, according to the name stencilled on the office door. The office was rather low rent and shabby, with paint peeling off the walls and folding chairs in the waiting area. Dr Mitu’s receptionist was a pretty thin woman, with the dark eyes of a Romanian. She kept those eyes lowered as Mircea tried to charm her; he wondered if speaking Romanian to her would get her to smile at him. He didn’t get the chance to test this theory.
“Go in; he is expecting you,” she said brusquely in English to Mircea. As he headed for the door she had indicated, he heard the driver chat to her in a friendly voice, calling her Mrs.Mitu. Mircea glanced over his shoulder – so that was the dentist’s wife? He wondered if the dentist were the type of chauvinist who would hit his wife for being too friendly with men.
Dr Mitu was younger than Mircea had expected, but just as the kid said, he had a strong accent in English, which made him sound like an old horror movie vampire. “Please have a seat,” he said to Mircea – pliz hav seat. Mircea slid into the examination chair with a smile.
“I have a problem with my jawbone,” Mircea said in Romanian, not wanting Dr Mitu to continue in his fractured English.
Dr Mitu’s rather bushy eyebrows raised at the sound of Mircea’s voice. He glanced at Mircea’s outfit, which was wrinkled and smelly, but was still a good suit. Dr Mitu nodded slightly to himself, and Mircea bristled. He knew what that half-nod meant.
“I am Romanian,” Mircea told him, wondering if he should produce his passport to prove it. Dr Mitu seemed surprised by this.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a Moldovan say that before,” he commented dryly. “Usually you are too happy to insist that you are a completely different country, with a separate and distinct language.”
His accent was faintly Transylvanian. Mircea was tempted to allude to this, calling him a Hungarian or German, but he needed treatment for his jaw. Best to be sweet, then! He smiled brightly at the dentist. “My dear mother was Moldovan…and it is a separate country, with its own language.”
Dr Mitu made a show that he wasn’t impressed by this, looking at his instruments rather than Mircea. “But you are Romanian?”
“Thanks to my dear Papa.” Whoever he was.
Dr Mitu shrugged. “We are not here to discuss history or politics,” he said in his accented English. “I believe you have a problem with your temporomandibular joint?” He was showing off, saying the proper name.
“Yes, and I’ve been told I need orthotics to correct the misalignment.” It was Mircea’s turn to show off his English, which was better than the dentist’s.
“We’ll see,” Dr Mitu said, touching the sides of Mircea’s face, where his jawbone connected into his skull. He did the usual examination, opening and shutting Mircea’s mouth. He also did the usual inspection of Mircea’s teeth, seeing what dental work he had previously done. He asked him in English if he has any pain in his neck, or heard odd sounds, just as other dentists had done. When Mircea answered no to these questions, Dr Mitu looked faintly surprised.
“Usually if someone has such extreme pain, other symptoms are present. I’ll take some x-rays to see the extent of the damage.”
The way he said that made it sound like Mircea was faking it. Or worse, that the pain was not that severe, and Mircea was just being a cry-baby. He clenched his teeth, which brought back a shadow of the pain. I’d like to see how you cope with pain like this!
Dr Mitu’s office may not have been decorated with the latest style, but his equipment was up-to-date and state of the art. The x-ray he took of Mircea’s mouth was uploaded directly to a laptop, allowing the dentist to confirm the diagnosis in no time at all. He exhaled sharply, looking at the image on the laptop screen.
“You have a very bad mouth, my friend,” he said to Mircea in Romanian. He shook his head, and looked at Mircea with some sympathy. “What did you do to get such a mess? Did someone hit you with a crowbar?!”
Visions of teeth spurting out of Milla’s mouth flooded Mircea’s brain. He winced, and unintentionally put a hand to his jaw. “No, I have no injury,” he told Dr Mitu curtly.
Dr Mitu nodded. “I see no fractures or breakage,” he confirmed. “It’s just that I would normally see this kind of misalignment from someone who had had their jaw broken, or was in some horrific accident.”
Again, Mircea saw Milla bleeding. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to chase the image away.
“I’ll give you a shot for the pain,” Dr Mitu promised.
“I’ve had some…shots and pills,” Mircea admitted, opening his eyes. “I just need to get this corrected, and quickly.”
Dr Mitu sighed, looking at the x-ray on the laptop. “I will do what I can, but you really should go to a specialist. It will take a day or two to get the splints and bite plates.” He saw Mircea react to this, and threw up his hands. “I will go as fast as I can, but you need a lot of help. I need to make sure that the orthotics fit your teeth properly, otherwise we may as well not bother.” Mircea hated hearing Dr Searle’s prognosis being confirmed.
Dr Mitu dug into a cabinet and came out with a package containing a syringe and a phial of liquid. “First, let’s get you some pain killers,” he said. “We’ll take our chances with what you already have had…at worst, you’ll sleep for hours.”
I already have done that. Mircea searched his mind for the name of his hotel – there was no way he was going to sleep on another lumpy couch! “I need to talk to the driver,” he told Dr Mitu.
Dr Mitu used the intercom system to call reception. “Alina, get Danny in here. Mr Rotar needs to discuss his transportation.”
Dr Mitu went on to prepare the shot while Mircea waited for the driver. The kid came in, and went pale at the sight of the syringe Dr Mitu was holding.
“You don’t like needles, Danny?” Dr Mitu teased.
“Good thing it’s for me, then,” Mircea mumbled. He remembered the name of his hotel, and gave the general address to the kid. Danny flinched and looked away as Dr Mitu gave Mircea the shot – some son of Anton Kirilenko!
“You don’t have to be in here for the next bits,” Dr Mitu told Danny. “Even though it’s only plaster settings of Mr Rotar’s teeth to fit him for orthodontics.”
Danny was looking quite green around the gills, and left the examination room gladly. Mircea and Dr Mitu chuckled. “He’s still young,” Dr Mitu said in Romanian. “He’ll have time to toughen up.”
Mircea doubted Danny would get any braver. It’ll be a driver’s life for him! “I guess he didn’t get much of his father’s nerve,” Mircea commented.
Dr Mitu was preparing the plaster for the mould, but he stopped and looked at Mircea in confusion.
“You know he’s Anton Kirilenko’s son, right?” Mircea couldn’t believe that this wasn’t something the kid told everyone.
Dr Mitu snorted, and went back to mixing the plaster solution. Mircea was amazed that a dentist could scoff at the name of Anton Kirilenko, connected as he was with the syndicate. Mircea stared at Dr Mitu, until the dentist noticed. He met Mircea’s gaze with a look of surprise.
“I thought it was the world’s worst-kept secret,” Dr Mitu said, lowering his voice and glancing at the door. “The man you just mentioned…he’s sterile.”
Mircea was a bit woozy now from the painkiller shot. “What?” he asked in English, not sure if he was hearing things correctly.
Sighing, Dr Mitu moved away from the plaster. “That Russian man…he can’t have children,” he whispered to Mircea in Romanian. “He surrounds himself with women who need a father for their kids. He builds himself a reputation as a virile ladies’ man, and has an army of bastard children, only they’re not his.”
Mircea’s vision was getting blurry. “But…but…”
“None of them look like him. None of them look like each other, for that matter.” Dr Mitu motioned to the door with a jerk of his head. “Does that kid look at all Russian to you?” Mircea blinked, trying to steady his vision. Shaking his head, Dr Mitu snorted again. “Danny’s father is probably some cockney low-life, obviously someone the kid’s mother thinks they’re better off without. I can’t believe that they’ve managed to perpetuate the myth of Kirilenko’s army of bastard children in Eastern Europe! Everyone in London knows the truth!”
Mircea blinked, the truth sinking in. But that means Piotr isn’t -! He started to giggle inanely.
Dr Mitu went back to mixing the plaster. “Yeah, that’s right…you sound like we’re using laughing gas!” He laughed a bit with Mircea. “That’s right…it’s all fun and games with us!”
Fun and games! Mircea thought. He couldn’t wait to get back to Ukraine…he’d be looking at Piotr in a whole different light now. He was giggling so much that Dr Mitu wasn’t able to insert the mould when it was mixed.
“Okay, enough now,” Dr Mitu scolded. “This stuff is quick drying!”
Mircea couldn’t stop. “Piotr…thinks he’s hot stuff!” he gasped. Laughter was bubbling out of him.
Dr Mitu sighed, putting the mould down. He realised he wouldn’t be able to make a cast of Mircea’s teeth. “Piotr?” he asked.
“Stupid gangster in his tracksuits…he never takes his sunglasses off!” Mircea was laughing so hard he had to cough.
Dr Mitu poured a cup of water and handed it to Mircea. “Take a deep breath and drink this,” he advised. He thought about what Mircea had said as Mircea tried to get the liquid into his chuckling mouth. “Sunglasses…oh wait, I think I know the guy you mean. He used to work for Ivan?”
Remembering how Piotr had shot Ivan stifled Mircea’s laughter. “Not for Ivan!” How anyone could think that snivelling Ivan was a boss was incredible. Remembering that Ivan was higher in the food chain than he was depressed Mircea. He sighed deeply.
Dr Mitu took advantage of Mircea’s melancholy and gestured to the cup. “Drink!” His mirth gone, Mircea did as he was told and sipped from the cup. Dr Mitu nodded in satisfaction and took the empty cup from him. “I know who this Piotr is. You know why he wears sunglasses all the time?” Mircea looked at the dentist in curiosity. Dr Mitu took advantage of the lull in conversation and laughter to jam the mould into Mircea’s mouth. Mircea gagged, and Dr Mitu gave him a warning look.
“It’s only for five minutes. Try to keep your breathing steady.” Dr Mitu shook his head, moving across the office to throw the used cup away.
Mircea tried to talk through the mould, and Dr Mitu yelped at him to keep quiet. “Five minutes,” he pleaded. Mircea ringed his eyes with his fingers at Dr Mitu, wanting him to explain what he had said earlier. Sunglasses!
Dr Mitu rolled his eyes to heaven. “Yes, yes…Piotr needs to hide how dark his eyes are.” Mircea dropped his hands and Dr Mitu busied himself with throwing out the stick he had mixed the plaster with. “The big Russian diplomat has pale blue eyes. Piotr’s Polish mother has blue eyes as well.” Dr Mitu looked over at Mircea, who shrugged at him. What’s that got to do with anything?
Dr Mitu groaned. “Does anyone know anything about simple genetics?” he asked in frustration, adding a mild Romanian oath. “Brown eyes are dominant. Blue eyes are recessive. If you have one dark-eyed parent and one blue-eyed parent, the kid will normally have brown eyes. If the dark-eyed parent had a blue-eyed parent, the kid from this dark-eyed parent can have blue eyes. A brown-eyed person can have the gene for blue eyes, but a blue-eyed person can’t have the gene for brown eyes. If both of the parents have blue eyes, the kid can’t have brown eyes.” He noted Mircea’s confused expression, and sighed dramatically. “Look, just take my word for it. Brown-eyed people can have blue-eyed children. But blue-eyed people can’t have brown-eyed children. Scientifically, it’s not possible.”
It was beginning to dawn on Mircea what Dr Mitu was trying to explain to him. He tried to open his mouth to ask a question, but Dr Mitu pushed Mircea’s chin closed. “When two blue-eyed people have a dark-eyed child, it’s obvious that the mother was lying about who the father was. A lot of movie casting directors don’t understand this simple fact of nature, but it’s pretty obvious that Piotr does. That’s why he hides his dark eyes behind sunglasses at all times!” He tapped Mircea’s chin meaningfully. “Keep your mouth still, please! Only a few minutes more.”
Mircea was glad that the hardening plaster had practically sealed his mouth closed, as otherwise his jaw would be gaping. So the tough Piotr had a weak spot – he wasn’t a well-connected son after all! Mircea reflected on what Dr Mitu had told him about genetics. His grandmother said his foreign father had had blue eyes, which Mircea always took as proof that she didn’t know his identity. But now Dr Mitu’s lesson explained how Mircea’s eyes would still be dark, even with a blue eyed father. So maybe Grandmother was right…I’m not Romanian, after all!
Mircea was still and reflective, allowing the plaster to harden into a cast of his teeth. Dr Mitu thanked him for his patience as he removed the mould, and promised he would have bite plates and splints within two days. He warned Mircea that this would be a pricey business, which Mircea took calmly, reaching into the money belt he kept tightly clipped to his underwear. Dr Mitu grimaced at the sight, and Mircea made a big display of how the bills were sealed in a separate water-proof pocket of the belt. Wordlessly, he peeled off a significant number of them, more than enough to cover his dental costs.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” he said formally to Dr Mitu, handing him the money. “Thank you especially for the lesson in biology.”
“Pay my wife on the way out,” Dr Mitu replied stiffly, handing the money back to Mircea. “She’ll give you a receipt.”
Mircea chuckled and bowed. Dr Mitu busied himself at the sink in the corner of the room, rinsing his hands repeatedly. Mircea figured it was because of the money he had held, which indirectly came from his underwear, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of the display of cleanliness being directly linked to his being Moldovan. I’m going to seduce the lovely Alina, he thought angrily, looking forward to kissing the dentist’s wife’s hand when he asked her for a receipt.