Virgil

My mother-in-law warned us. It’s not like we didn’t listen, we really did and we made a concerted effort not to take in the endemic microbes. That sounds clinical but every local environment has different variations of micro organisms and water treatment varies, so that they will be different from country to country. And when one’s system is not used to a strange bacterium, well, you know what can happen.

My mother-in-law set us straight. She considers herself an experienced international traveler. She said not to drink the local water. Of course, we knew that.

“It’s bottled water for everything,” she said.

“Of course,” I said.

“I’m talking about gargling when brushing your teeth too.”

“Really?” I asked. “For that too?”

“Yes. You’ll be sorry if you don’t. And you’ll have to rinse your tooth brush with bottled water too. And don’t eat anything that’s not cooked. The only fruit you can have are those you can peel, like a banana or an orange. No salads. Vegetables are washed with local water and are uncooked.”

Hmm, ok, that was a week before we traveled and we kept it in mind. I came up with a good idea. I used the remaining water that had been boiled in the kettle for tea to rinse after brushing my teeth. Cool. I can save on purchased water. But then two days into our stay I suddenly realized, wait, while I had been gargling with boiled water I had been inadvertently washing the toothbrush off the tap water. I froze at the lavatory. She warned me about that. Would I get the runs? Well, I hadn’t. Must not be a big deal. After all, I gargle with Listerine afterwards and that kills germs, right?

And then there was that night Pussnboots and I ate at Madlin’s Café with the UK couple. We had both wanted something light that night and she got a Caesar salad and I got a mixed greens salad with cheese. We finally were in a conversation with some English speaking people and we forgot the advice. We didn’t even think about it until the next day. That morning Pussnboots said she felt funny. She seemed pale. All of a sudden I saw her rush to the bathroom. When she came out, she wasn’t better.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“My stomach.” She sat down, and then stretched out. I was typing at the computer that morning. Later she got up and rushed to the bathroom again. We talked about it and we remembered the salads from the night before.

“I shouldn’t have had the salad,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Your mother warned us, but I had a salad too. It didn’t seem to upset me.”

“Maybe it was the salad dressing.”

“That’s true. Mine was a vinaigrette.”

She lay pale on the couch with her arms on her belly all morning, with occasional runs (no pun intended) to the bathroom.

Tsk, tsk, I thought. A weak stomach. Poor, pitiful girl. I had a salad too and nothing to me. I must have an iron set of bowels.

Well, of course such hubris cannot go unpunished by the gods. I’m sure you’re expecting it, and no surprise, a few days later, wham, I got it too. It was different for me. It didn’t come all of a sudden and last a morning like Pussnboots. For her it lasted that morning and she’s never had a problem since. But for me it started out as having to go and it came out kind of liquid. And then half the day later I had to go again. But I wasn’t in any sort of pain, just a need to go and out came liquid. And then a few hours later, the same thing. Three times in a day and liquid. No that wasn’t normal, but I wasn’t in any pain or anything. I still thought I had the better constitution.

And then the next day, the same thing, three times, but this time I sort of felt a gurgling in the belly, and then followed up with a cramp, and then a bit later, an sudden urge to go. Still it was just a cramp and no overwhelming, debilitating ache. That would come later.

I wondered what I had done to get this. Time-wise it was removed from that salad. Perhaps the toothbrush rinse. Oh, the thought struck me – perhaps the glass I was using to gargle. Yes I used the boiled water to gargle, but the glass hadn’t been washed. In fact I was putting to my mouth from the same glass as the previous inhabitants. Yuck. I quickly got up and took the glass to the kitchen and washed it with soap. What else? Perhaps I’m eating something that’s doing this. The yogurt? Delicious yogurt out here. The beans? Pussnboots's been making beans and rice or beans and pasta. I bet she hasn’t been bringing the beans to a boil. Or maybe it’s the mayonnaise from that chicken club sandwich I like at Madlin’s Café?

And then the third day hit. It started with a belly cramp. It felt like my intestines were one of those long balloons that get inflated and twisted into animal shapes, and that a balloon blower with a grin, one of those clown types at a children’s birthday party, was blowing a bubble. The bubble would travel slowly down the chute, press hard against my insides, and then in about a half hour reach the end where it pressured me to let it out. So that’s when I would head to the bathroom, and then one of two things would happen. I would either sit there waiting for something to happen, suffering in pain, with the balloon expanded at the colon, or what’s called in fluid dynamics a Venturi effect would happen, passage of fluid through a constricted orifice: “The fluid velocity must increase through the constriction to satisfy the equation of continuity, while its pressure must decrease due to conservation of energy” (Wikipedia). All I can tell you is it hurt.

And then two hours later that damn balloon blower would be at it again, inflating my intestines, puff, puff, puff, ouch, ouch, ouch, until I squeezed out some bubbles before I would run over to the can. I surely didn’t want to leave anything in my pants. Pussnboots would ask, “what’s the matter?” and I would say, “nothing, just have to go.” “Again?” “Yeah, again.” And I would curse. We’re trying to save money and I’m using up all the damn toilet paper. And these European styled low water toilets means I have to scrub and clean them after use.

I wish I could slap the crap (this time pun intended) out of that balloon blower clown.