Nick took the net and stepped to the front of the boat. He wasn’t sure about putting the net in his mouth, but the Iban had done it from the beginning of time, and they were healthy. He hoped giardia wasn’t going to be part of this adventure. He mimicked Robert’s hold on the net as best he could, turned his body like a discus thrower, then unwound, twisting hard and fast, and let go.
It wasn’t pretty. Part of the net caught on itself, but the worst part was, he forgot to let go with his teeth, and the net pulled him over. He kept from falling into the water but smacked his forearm hard against the side of the boat.
Robert was at his side in an instant. “You okay, Nickloss?”
Nick pushed himself up and inspected a large scrape down his forearm. But at least he hadn’t let go of the hand rope and lost the net. Robert helped him sit back on the side of the boat as Nick nursed his arm.
“You will get it. It takes years of practice—I started before I can remember,” the old man said and patted him affectionately on the head. “Come on, give it another go.” Robert pulled on the hand line, but as the net came up out of the water, it held a large fish.
“Look at what we have here!” Robert cheered in excitement. “An Empurau.”
The flopping fish looked something like a carp with large greenish-blue scales and weighed in at three to four pounds.
“Nickloss, you have caught dinner for us tonight and a delicious one at that.”
“Really?” Nick said. His arm stopped hurting as much.
“Oh, yes. My people eat very little of these fish anymore because they are so valuable at the fish market in Malaysia. This guy would probably be worth a few months’ salary, maybe three hundred dollars.”
“Well, then you should take it, Robert, and sell it.”
“Oh, no, Nickloss. Some things are more valuable than money. Tonight, we eat like kings.”
Robert dumped the fish at his feet, and Nick reached in and grabbed it by the gills. He held it up to Robert with a huge smile, but as he did, the fish shook so hard it came off of his fingers. It hit the bottom of the boat, bounced once, bounced twice and was almost over the side before they could react. Nick dived for it and smacked his forehead against the edge of the wooden seat, but it was Robert who saved the fish from going overboard. He thumped it on the head and threw it into a bucket of fresh water behind his seat.
“That was a close one.” Robert laughed.
Nick rubbed both his forehead and arm. “I didn’t remember fishing being such a contact sport.” He laughed with his friend. “I went fishing once with John and Maggie and her dad. Her dad was so competitive; he would have let the fish go over and said it didn’t count.”
Robert smiled and sat facing him. “Maggie is a very special lady.”
The statement surprised Nick, and he looked at the old man. Robert’s smile disappeared, and he turned serious. “You know, Nickloss, God will give you what you need, but you have to fight for what you want.”
“You mean Maggie?”
“Of course. I was surprised when you let Master Paul take her away.”
Nick’s heart sank. Was it that obvious?
“He can be very persuasive,” Robert said.
This was not helping. If he knew where to go, Nick would point the boat downstream immediately and go to get her back. What was I thinking? He didn’t even have the sat phone to call her; he’d relinquished that as well. He shook the thoughts out of his head. She loved him, she’d told him so, and he’d have to trust in that fact and trust her.
“Is that why you sold the land to Wright? He made you a deal you couldn’t pass up?” Nick said, changing the subject.
Robert watched a bird with a bright red head and chest and long colorful tail wing by. “That is a hard question, Nickloss. Many of my people were upset at me and still are.” A shadow of somberness crossed his face. “The Iban are the guardians of the rainforest. We believe that if there is no rainforest, there is no more earth. This is the oldest rainforest on the planet. The scientists have told us that it is one hundred and forty million years old.”
The old man closed his eyes like he was praying or tired. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. “I am going to tell you something that only my wife and the elders know. Part of the settlement was that I would not discuss the deal with anyone else, and I have kept that part to this day.” He glanced around as though the forest were listening. “There was a battle raging over the land that I sold to Master Paul. A logging company was challenging our ownership of that portion of land and threatened to take it by force. Mr. Paul came to our rescue and overbid the loggers, and his lawyers chased them away. I had to sell. My comfort is that the land is used for research and not clear-cutted.”
“Well, that was good of him.”
Robert nodded but bit his lower lip.
“And?” Nick asked.
“And…I have told no one else this, not even my wife.” Robert lowered his voice even though they were alone on the river. “I do not know if I should even say this, as I have no proof and my people have reasons to distrust Master Paul as it is.”
“It’s okay, Robert. You don’t need to tell me either.”
Robert seemed to straighten his back with resolve. “I think Master Paul may own the logging company as well.”
Nick nodded. Relinquishing the secret seemed to take a burden off the old man’s shoulders. “He was going to get the land one way or another. You had no choice.”
Robert leaned back, scooped a handful of water and splashed it over his head. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“Why don’t some of the men like Wright? They always are polite to him to his face.”
“Of course. That is the Iban way. But that animosity has run its course for many generations. It goes back to Rentap and James Brooke. Forgiveness is not natural for those of us in the rainforest. Some hold on to bitterness and are unsure why.”
A raindrop hit Nick’s shoulder and then his arm. Rain dimpled the water as the clouds above the canopy let loose their volley. The shower was a welcome relief from the heat and humidity of the afternoon, and instead of motoring for cover, Robert raised his arms in celebration and scrubbed his face and chest in the downpour. Nick followed suit, and the rain finished almost as soon as it started.
“I guess that’s why they call it the rainforest,” Nick said.
“It is what keeps us all alive,” Robert said and smiled. “Master Paul told me about the injuries to your eyes and that you may give up being a doctor. What do you think you are going to do with yourself now?” he asked. “I saw what you did for the witch doctor and that little boy. I think you are a very good doctor, Nickloss.”
“Thanks, Robert, but it’s pretty complicated. I have been out of surgery for a while and I’m not sure I can go back. It’s like I’m all thumbs now, even doing something as simple as taking that wood piece out of the boy’s hand. Besides, medicine in the US is a mess. It’s all based on profits and production. Doctors have become a commodity for the medical system to use, and they are spending less and less of their time taking care of patients.”
“Can’t go back or don’t want to go back?” Robert asked.
“Well, that’s a good question. I wish I could take all the things I love about medicine and make a living at it. A surgeon is required to do a certain amount of surgery just to pay the bills, and the mountain of bills keeps growing. A lot of doctors have given up and sold out to the hospital where they become a mere pawn of the system.”
“But I see healing in your hands. I saw how the miracle for the witch doctor surprised even you. You need to know that in Him we are far more loved and powerful than we can possibly imagine.”
Nick smiled to himself and heard Chang in Robert’s voice. “I’m not sure what I’ll do,” Nick told Robert. “I have to make a living somehow.”
Robert laughed. “Yes, our lives are laid out before us like the twists and turns of our river. As we move through it, we are given choice
s—and we are not smart enough to know what is good and what is bad for us…therefore we need the Holy Spirit to guide us and then to say, ‘Your will, Father, not mine.’”
Nick nodded.
“Look at my people. We do not have much, but we have everything we need. I’ll tell you what, you can stay here and be a doctor, and we will pay you in chickens.”
Both men laughed.
“You heard Wright asking me to consider working for his company. Do you like working for Wright?” Nick asked.
Robert only nodded and looked beyond the river in contemplation. “It would not be my first choice, but I feel like the Holy Spirit has asked me to do so. I still do not see the reason why.”
“Was your longhouse part of the clinical study for this latest drug?” Nick asked.
“No. I have told my people that we will not be a part of the drug testing. We do not need the money from it. Besides, I have never heard of such a thing…taking a pill to make you happy.” He searched the jungle. “After all, this is all we need.” He stretched his arms. “But Dr. Amy told me that many people around the world suffer and the medication would help them not be miserable.”
“And what do you think?” Nick asked.
“I think the Iban people have endured much throughout time.” Robert gathered his thoughts. “But somehow the suffering that we go through is important…there are no shortcuts. I think God is preparing us for eternity.”
Nick contemplated Robert’s words as two large black birds flew into the trees overhead and barked out their calls. The birds sounded and looked prehistoric with gigantic, hooked bills and secondary bright orange horns that jutted out from their foreheads. The birds’ blinking blue eyes seemed to judge the men.
“My ancestors thought these birds, the Great Rhinoceros Hornbills, served as intermediaries between man and God,” Robert explained. “Even before we came to know Jesus, we understood that we must have a connection to Him. It is the only way to understand life and the suffering that we endure…it is our only hope…to abide in Him.”
“What do the villagers who are participating in the drug study say about the medicine?”
“They are happy to get the white man’s money. Most say they don’t feel any different. But the witch doctors are calling it mali…bad.”
“Really? Why is that? Do they see side effects?”
“No, not really, but some are saying that they can no longer hear from the spirit world. Even the witch doctors know there is a cost…taking a shortcut always costs something.”
Nick nodded and sighed deeply, watching the hornbills overhead. When he looked back at Robert, the old man was smiling and holding up two fingers.
“What, Robert?”
“You may have caught the largest fish, but I caught the first and the most,” he said looking at the two small fish still flopping in the bottom of the boat. “You owe me two dollars.”
CHAPTER 25
PINECONE
Wright frowned at the haggard-looking doctor with her stringy, oily hair hanging around her face. Amy wore no makeup and had an annoying piece of food caught in her front teeth. Leah didn’t look much better, standing behind them with her arms crossed.
“You get any sleep at all last night?” Wright asked them.
They ignored his question, and Dr. Amy continued with her findings. “The autopsies on both King Louie and the other male were unremarkable except for their injuries and the gunshot wounds.” Her voice trailed off. “This whole thing is buggered up—even their brains were unremarkable. I’d almost hoped I’d find a tumor to explain the change in behavior.”
“Nothing?” Wright asked.
The doctor turned to her computer and typed on the keyboard. Instantly images of brain MRI scans filled the large monitors hanging over her desk.
“Fortunately, we have prestudy cranial MRIs on both of them.” She pointed to the screen on the left. “And postmortem scans.” She indicated the right.
Wright bent to look closer. He knew what the grainy black-and-white images of the brain represented and searched between the screens for differences. There were none.
“I don’t see any changes,” he said.
“Exactly. I didn’t either.” Amy nodded. “I ran the new program we recently purchased to measure the exact size of each portion of the brain.” She typed a sequence of keystrokes, and the scans disappeared, replaced with 3-D images of the brain. Each section of the brain was clearly marked in different colors. She took a joystick off her desk and manipulated the images, rotating the brain and splitting it into pieces. The cerebrum divided into its right and left hemispheres and then into the four lobes of each. She separated the brainstem into its three regions. Amy pushed buttons on the keyboard. The outer portion of the brain faded, and the deep structures expanded into view—the hypothalamus (the master control of the autonomic system), the pituitary and pineal glands, the thalamus, and the limbic system (the center of human emotion).
Wright studied the models and nodded in approval. He glanced at Leah, who looked away in boredom, then back at Amy. “See anything?”
“Nothing significant,” she said, adding, “there is one tiny difference.”
She began typing again, and spreadsheets replaced the images, listing every portion of the brain and revealing the exact size of each. “You would expect to see discrepancies here…the difference between a living brain and one with no blood circulating through it. In this column, I adjusted for the variations, then compared each region again.” She pointed to one line of the sheet. “This is the only difference I could see. There is a 30 percent reduction in the size of the pineal gland, and even that’s reaching.” She threw her hands up. “I’m beached. I have no idea.”
“The pineal gland?”
“We have not talked about this very small gland.” She replaced the spreadsheets with the MRI scans. She zoomed in to an area in the very depths of the brain. “The pineal gland is the only midline brain structure that is azygous.”
“Azygous?” Wright asked, irritated that she was being obtuse.
“It’s a single entity…it’s unpaired. Every other area of the brain has two of itself, a left and a right. The pineal gland is one-of-a-kind and stranger; it is the only part of the brain that is not isolated from the body by the blood-brain barrier. Amazingly, this small gland has a great deal of blood flow, second only to the kidney.”
“Where is it?” Wright asked, looking at the scan.
“This is it.” The doctor pointed to a tiny dot on the screen. “In the human brain, it’s the size of a grain of rice.”
“Geez, no wonder we couldn’t see any changes. What’s it do?”
“That’s a very good question. It’s a bit of mystery. For sure we know it produces melatonin.”
“That regulates our sleep?” Wright asked.
“Exactly. But this tiny structure does much more. It also produces a type of serotonin and, crazy enough, the gland contains photoreceptor cells.”
“Photoreceptor cells? Like the cells in the retina of the eye?” Wright straightened his back and rubbed his head. “Why would that occur in the depths of the brain where there is no light?”
Dr. Amy laughed. “The pineal gland holds an exalted status in pseudoscience. A Greek physician named Herophilus described the pinecone-shaped structure in the third century BC. It’s where it got its name. The New Agers call it the third eye, and throughout the years, theories have popped up now and again that it’s the center of our spiritual experiences…like some antennae to the divine.”
Wright laughed and shrugged. “What do you think?”
“Who knows? To make it more interesting, the staff that the Pope carries, the papal ferula, has a pinecone between his hand and the Christ—the connection between God and man. The Vatican even has a huge pinecone statue connecting the palace to the Sistine Chapel.”
“The Fontana della Pigna? I’ve seen it,” Wright said excitedly to Leah, who just shrugged. He turned back to Amy. “T
he portal between the seen and the unseen?”
“Yes, even the Maya have statues of pinecones.” Amy smiled at him. “Plato may have been a believer in the pineal gland when he said, ‘The soul through these disciplines has an organ purified and enlightened, an organ better worth saving than ten thousand corporeal eyes, since truth becomes visible through this alone.’”
“You’re right, who knows,” Boxler grumbled, starting to fidget with talk of the divine. “I guess the important thing is we don’t see a reaction to Welltrex. I can’t imagine a small decrease in a rice-sized gland caused all this.”
Leah’s phone rang, interrupting the discussion.
Wright watched her expression change to concern as she listened. He could tell she was serious when she pulled on a random hair on her chin.
“What’s up?” he mouthed.
“Yes, I’m standing here with him. I’ll tell him.”
Leah ended the call and looked at Wright. “It’s your grandmother. She has fallen and broken her hip. She is with the surgeon now.”
“Is she okay otherwise?” Wright asked, annoyed at her lack of empathy. “Did she hit her head?”
“No, she’s fine. Her staff called the ambulance straight away. Her surgeon is one of the finest in Calcutta.”
Wright was about to push for more information when Amy interrupted them.
“Bloody hell,” Amy said and pushed away from the computer. “I’m sorry about your grandmother, but maybe I was too pissed-up to think straight. I’ve been looking for something that the medication did, some structure change, some reaction, some side effect.” She put her hands on top of her head. “Oh my God, Wright. What if this is withdrawal? I stopped the medication last week, both for the orangutans and in the human trials…I’ve got to get upriver.”
* * *
Maggie’s world had shrunk. A month ago, she couldn’t have imagined being in Singapore, never mind the mysterious island of Borneo, but now here she was in the heart of Calcutta.
The Rusted Scalpel Page 19
