Simple Repair
by Ethan Fishbane
Did I ever mention you about one small Vietnamese girl, live in House Shrubbery, by old waterfront in Sandy Village?
No? Oh, I mention you her now.
Good.
So now I might talk about first fuel and engine ever did I design for project of electronic and automated vehicle unknown to man.
Or I might not.
I prefer to tell you one story, it is of my own, when I am just happen to be present for an eye surgery, by one optometrist, going by the name of Dr. Toleksnya.
It is in one small village this one is taking place. Or perhaps not, perhaps big city. Or just suburban territories? Well, one of those things. I don’t know how you call it. I am not a God.
If you think I am the God, you must have the wrong.
The child in question is one little girl. Not a Vietnamese. More like a native. So, anyway, we are speaking same language and laughing on same jokes. Harder to do that things with the non-national.
Her eye is broken because…
Her eye is broken because of nature, what I can say? I am not the one made to break it, and none intend to break eyeball by choice. It is one of very important pieces in the sight and image of mankind. We like to look with it, you know, at book, magazine, Mona Lisa artwork painting, or even use it look at beautiful woman named Claire Rockwhittle, living on eight floor, same Flat, don’t know you know about me, but I know on you and using my very own eyes to watch watch when you exit on elevator, or pass beautiful brown hairs across shoulder. Simple pleasure, you know.
But sad nationalist daughter cannot do that because the eyeball have one big issue. So I watch our village-city doctor take out tools to fix the sick one.
One sharp, one dull, one which look like magic wizard wand. I am proud to see many academic tool in his presence. He use clamp tool first, to make eyelids open and stay open.
He use fingers, twice, to make mark on eyeball one.
He use words, third, to tell sweet pea angel she going to be fine, and okay.
And then he take sharper of sharp tool, and stick right into the pupil. He begin to twist clockwise, and then begin to counter clockwise. She is no scream as the eyeball becomes rearranged. She actually like it, to know her vision repair begins.
After success of left, right, left, right with sharp stick in full ball, sharp stick tool removed, and the dull one slivers into socket.
Personally, I like this part most.
The pop and click sound becomes heard once, twice, third time, and then one finally clop, and the faulted eye bulb is out of the beautiful young head.
Like soft boil egg, the juicing eyeball becomes set on doctor tray and the gummy of blue color oozes out onto table. Almost make me hungry until I remember it is girl’s eye and not a chicken’s treat.
So doctor patch up the blank spot, kiss nationalist, non-Viet girl on forehead, and send her off.
But when I feel confused, why no other new eye is in place, he smile and laugh and scoff at me, as doctors always do, you know.
“Now,” he tell me “she can see all straight and beautiful with one good eye. No need for replace the damage. If there is problem once, certainly there is problem again, so why risk. Better to adjust to happier life this way.”
Ah, yes. Happier life. I see now. She can clearly see too, now. So we are all seeing. It’s so sweet, you know.
After short conversation, Doctor take me out to dessert parlor for sweet warm cinnamon milk cake and hot black coffee pot.
“You are my son, you know that?”
Ah, yes.