Pihkal

by Alexander Shulgin

  I remembering shuddering at what was obviously a portrayal of human existence, each new person emerging with a completely distinctive, never-to-be-repeated set of genes, fingerprints and psychic structure, billions of such one-of-a-kind entities continually being born and dying, all over the earth. The picture was one of terrible waste, of vast indifference on the part of the producing force, and one could only feel a profound horror and, like the book's hero, try to run away.

  I had thought at the time, and I thought again now: what was the use of all the suffering, all the joy, all the searches for meaning, if this obscene birthing and dying, this implacable thrusting into blooming life and disintegration back into the dirt was all that was really happening? And why, for God's sake - if God was anything other, anything more than just the unthinking, unstoppable Begetter-Destroyer force - why was it happening?

  Against that mindless natural machine, that frantic, never-ending life-making and life-taking, there stands what? Only an instinctive knowledge that it is indeed part of the truth of what is, but only part; it is not the whole. I know it's not the whole.

  I knew it, because I had met the answer in my spiral experience, week after week, year after year, throughout half of my life. Hello, my dear friend, it said, I greet you with respect, love and laughter. It is joy to meet with you again, it said.

  That was the Whole.

  Shura came in. He was in his dressing gown and his feet were bare. His hair stood out from his head as it always did when he was in an altered state. He looked at me, wondering how I was, and I smiled at him in reply.

  "How's it going?" he asked, leaning down to look into my face.

  "I haven't been paying attention to the effects, actually, because I've been too busy with concepts and thoughts and all that there kind of stuff."

  "Well, that there kind of stuff is part of the effects. What level would you say?"

  "Now that I take a look at it, a very much plus-three. How about you?"

  "Pounding along nicely. Plus-three, no question. I'll leave you in peace with your thoughts, then. You know where to find me. We haven't plateau'd yet, but it won't be long."

  "Yes," I replied, reaching up to take his hand, "I think I'll be with you pretty soon. Just a couple of loose ends to clear up." He kissed the top of my head and left. I returned to stalking the wild universe. Final question, if you please. How do I stop being afraid? "Know that there is no safety anywhere. There never was and there never will be. Stop looking for it. Live with a fierce intent to waste nothing of yourself or life."

  There was one final message. "Turn fear around. Its other face is excitement." Shura said that to Dante, during the mescaline day. Can't remember in what context, but I do remember those words.

  I took another deep, slow breath and came back to my comfortable old couch. Everything around me was dancing a little at the edges and flowing in the center, and I was reminded of the beloved wallpaper roses in the bedroom. It was time to join Shura. To the potty, first.

  While my body did its usual self-cleansing, the rest of me floated in the soft pulsing of no-time, at peace after battle.

  On the bed, we became totally absorbed in the world created by our mouths, our skin, our tangled legs and salty sweat. At one point, lying beneath Shura, I realized I was feeling no sorrow at all, no sense of imminent loss. The coming of Ursula had no reality. What we were doing and feeling now was the only thing that mattered, and there was a moment of knowing that our alliance, the bond between us, would not be broken. The knowledge stood by itself, not susceptible to analysis or cautionary reshaping by the mind.

  There was only the two of us, breathing each other's smells, tasting each other's familiar flavors, confusing each other's skin and hair with our own.

  The Gods are pleased. We express them well. Tl-ley like the way we do it. Shostakovich, Bartok and the delicious Hummel kept us company. Afterwards, I sat up and said to Shura, "You remember I told you there was a fascinating episode I heard about, from someone who used to volunteer at Dante's institute in Berkeley - you know, the clinic where they allowed people to take LSD trips - and that I was going to tell the group about it, that day on the mescaline?" Shura nodded. "Well, I forgot to tell it, obviously. Now that I've thought of it again, I'll tell you and you can pass it on to Dante."

  "Good," said Shura, "But before you begin, I need to empty a bladder."

  "Okay, me too," I replied, standing up to put on my shift, "Why don't I heat the soup on the stove, and I can talk while we put some yummies in our tummies."

  "Sounds good to me!"

  At the table, I began. "I'll tell you what I can remember. One evening, at a party somewhere, Walter and I got into a discussion with a small group of people about psychedelics, particularly LSD/ and the conversation got pretty intense. There were several therapists there, and one of them was this sweet, pretty lady with a round face and blonde hair, called Eve, and she told us she'd been a volunteer for a while at the Berkeley place - Dante's clinic - and that it was one of the most fascinating chapters of her life, sitting with people while they went on the LSD

  journey."

  Shura ate slowly, listening.

  "I remember telling her that I'd never taken LSD, but that I'd had an extraordinary day on peyote, and I'd had an encounter with what I called the death door, and that it was beautiful and friendly, but I wasn't tempted to go through it because I knew it wasn't time and there was still a lot I wanted to do. I said I'd wondered ever since what might happen to someone who saw that way out of life and was tempted; what would happen if he actually went through, or tried to go through?"

  I ate some soup, then continued.

  "She stared at me and said that, as a matter of fact, she had an answer - at least, she could tell me what happened to one of her clients at the clinic who did just that. She was sitting beside his cot when, apparently, he saw the exit and decided to go through it. What she saw was a young guy lying there, who had stopped breathing. She called out to him, and when he didn't respond, she tried to find his pulse and there wasn't any. He was in clinical death, she said. She dashed out to get help. By the time the staff people got back to him with the injection and whatever to kick his heart back to life, he'd been dead for just under three minutes.

  "Eve said that, as they rushed through the door, he opened his eyes. He was back. After all the panic had died down, he told her that he'd seen that opening and wanted to go through it, and did, and he got to a place where an entity of some sort told him very firmly, but kindly, that he wasn't allowed to stay because it wasn't his time to die, and he was going to have to go back and stick around until it was the proper time. Then - Zap! - he was waking up on the cot with people running into the room, brandishing hypodermics and stuff.

  "He also told her he would never again consider cutting his life short, and that he certainly wouldn't have any fear of death, when it was time to go. One of the things Eve concluded was that there must be some kind of - ah - Overseer part of us that keeps an eye on things, so to speak. She said she'd never talked about the incident outside of the clinic before, especially not to other psychiatrists, needless to say!"

  Shura's eyes squinted at me thoughtfully, and he nodded. After a moment, he said, "Thank you. I'll tell Dante, if he doesn't already know about it. That's quite a story."

  When we'd finished eating, we went into the living room, where I curled up in my usual place and Shura pulled the ottoman closer and sat on the edge, leaning forward. He smiled at me, "Did I ever explain my twosies-threesies theory to you?"

  I shook my head.

  "Didn't think so. Now is as good a time as any to tell it, while we're still blasted out of our skulls. Ready?"

  I grinned, "Sure! What's a two-Zee, three-Zee?"

  "Well, you know those great old - what's your name for them? Sophomoric Questions? - in particular, the one that goes, 'How did life start on earth?"'

  I protested, "Hey, it was someone else who called them that name. Don't lay that
one on me!"

  "All right, but anyway, this has to do with the question of where we - meaning mankind -

  originated; on this planet or elsewhere. Okay?"

  "Sure. One of my favorite questions, as a matter of fact."

  "Let me lay the groundwork for a minute. A living animal, plant, bug or virus can be defined absolutely by a connected series of molecules. These molecules are called nucleotides."

  I nodded, hoping I would be able to keep track of details, but sure I'd at least get the music, as Shura would say.

  "At the far left of this series is the first nucleotide, and at the far right of the series is the billionth nucleotide. This series, taken as a unit which is called the chromosome, completely defines that animal or plant or bug or virus. Not only does it define the structure and how it will look, it also defines every instinct and how it will behave. All of the shapes and all of the behavior patterns are incorporated in that one series of nucleotides, and in no two individuals is that nucleotide series the same."

  So far, so good; I haven't got lost yet. He's so full of energy, talking like this. Beautiful man.

  He makes ideas as sexy as love-making.

  "A small percent of this long series, when the individual molecules are taken three at a time, represent a code for amino acids, and thus represent a code for protein structure. The vast remainder of this series of nucleotides makes no known sense at the moment. But then, again," he gestured at me, "We don't know yet how instincts and memories are encoded, right?"

  "Yeah." "The code is one of triplets, and since one has a choice from among four nucleotides for each position of the triplet, there is clearly the potential for 64 amino acids. Well, 62, anyway/ because one code has to say START and one has to say STOP. But there are only about 20 amino acids, so there is a great deal of redundancy in the system. With several of the amino acids, the first two nucleotides define the amino acid, regardless of which nucleotide occupies the third position. You with me so far?" "So far."

  I sort of lost something around the 64 amino acids, but it's basically clear. "Well," said Shura, rocking a little, "It has always seemed to me a very appealing thought that this triplet system -1 call it 'Threesies' - evolved from a simpler, two-nucleotide system, a 'Twosie.'" I grinned and corrected my mental spelling.

  "I enjoy giving my class a theoretical problem, to wit: if you were given physical and chemical hands of infinite skill, could you design a duplication of a living organism, based upon a 'Foursies?' In other words, it would be a task of stretching out an entire chromosome, that which represents a living individual, and introducing a fourth nucleotide after every triplet. It would be a task of designing a ribosome that would require a Foursie to define an amino acid, but the fourth position should be indifferent - meaning that it can be any nucleotide. It would require going at every single aspect of the entire genetic structure, expanding the three's to four's, and then not using the fourth. Then, if this chromosome could be inserted into a living cell, it would produce the same individual, with the same appearance and instincts as when he was a Threesie."

  I wonder if this would be easier to pin down and remember if I weren't stoned. Probably not.

  "Now, look at the fantastic room that's been made available for evolution! With time, that fourth position may no longer be indifferent, but can be used for survival, adaptation, development, in ways which would be totally unforeseeable. An interesting experiment," he cocked his head at me, "And I think potentially do-able."

  I nodded, trying to look keenly intelligent.

  "And I believe that that's exactly the way the Threesies evolved from the Twosies!" Shura smiled at me/ obviously hoping for a look of startled fascination or, even better, astonished disbelief. Instead, I leaned forward and gave him earnest anticipation. It was the least I could do.

  Fie continued, "Long, long ago, in a place far away, there lived an intelligent species that had its RNA and DNA put together in the form of a binary genetic code. This may have originally limited their proteins to 16 amino acids, or I should really say 14, because one code says START and one says STOP -" I laughed. "- but they evolved beyond this limitation and generated complex genetic machinery to create new amino acids. Just as we - we Threesies -

  require amino acids that don't lie within our chromosomes.

  "And so, a professor in this faraway place, long, long ago, proposed to his students: do you think you can design a system in which all the two-unit pairs in our chromosomes incorporate a third unit and become a triplet system? Of course, he said, you're going to have to redesign ribosomes to accept a triplet system and ignore the identity of the third component - as was the case earlier, where the fourth position was to be indifferent, remember? - held in reserve, if you will, for later use.

  "And I believe this is what actually occurred. I think spores of this triplet system were scattered to the universe. Some fell into blazing suns and most are, without doubt, still adrift.

  But at least one fell onto our planet Earth, where it produced a living organism that was, by appearance, related to our Twosies in a faraway place, in a time long ago, but carried within it that third nucleotide potential which allowed, over the intervening billion years, the development of the human!"

  I stared at him, mouth open. Fie was perfectly serious. It was a wonderful theory - what I understood of it - and I believed it.

  "Do you think," I asked tentatively, "That it will ever be possible to discover where, exactly, we started from? I mean, where - what planet or what system the professor was in?"

  Shura replied, "I'm certain that the star map of our parents lies within the structure of the ribosome they created, but - as they say - that's another story."

  Meaning he hasn't figured that one out yet.

  "Now, for a flight of fancy," said Shura, and I knew him well enough to assume that he was proposing something he considered a real possibility, but wanted to leave open an escape hatch in case he needed to revise something, "If this Threesies from Twosies is reasonable, then one cannot avoid the question of how did the Twosies evolve from Onesies? It seems inescapable that, on a place even far, farther away, long, longer ago, some professor type was carrying about him chromosomes of our famous four nucleotides, but where each nucleotide represented an amino acid - well, not really four amino acids, because one has to say START

  and the other, STOP - anyway, this teacher, who was a Onesie and who was composed of protein made largely of two amino acids, was instructing his students to construct a Twosie.

  "Now, you get to the real heart of it. This reduces the question of the origin of life to something that could very well be rationalized in light of some recent research on the development of complex molecules by chance. They would have needed only to bring together a few nucleotides which would determine a protein of a few amino acids which, somehow, reinforced the ordering of the nucleotides; namely, the system represented a transform between nucleotides and amino acids that, after many failed trials, stumbled upon one which was self-reinforcing. The time requirement for this having occurred would be unbelievably long, but clearly it did happen. There was not anywhere near the time needed, on this earth of only four billion years' age - a major portion of which was taken up with surface conditions which were intolerant of life - for that to have taken place on this planet."

  He spread his arms wide and let them drop again, smiling to indicate that he was finished. I said, "I believe it absolutely. Every fantastic word of it. Have you considered publishing it?"

  Shura shook his head, "Not really. No, it's just for my own enjoyment, right now. Every time I propose it to my class, I think of something else to work into it. I guess you could say it's still evolving."

  When we went to bed, both of us were still feeling the effects of the DOB. Shura was down to a plus-one; I had descended to a soft plus-two. We weren't sure sleep was going to be possible, but somewhere in the middle of Beethoven's Ninth it must have caught up with us, because we weren't around for
the ending.

  The next day was Sunday, the day I had decided I should leave, to give each of us one day alone before the work-week began. I knew I would need crying time, and that Shura would have a thousand things to change, to fix, to make ready for his love's arrival on Thursday.

  In the intimate warmth of the bed, holding me for what he believed was the last time, and what I hoped would not be, but had to allow might be after all, he said something which was intended as a wistful half-joke, "You know, you and Dolph should get together; if only you were friends, you could keep each other company, help each other through this, you know?

  Perfect solution!"

  I held my breath for a moment, not trusting myself to speak, wondering if I had misunderstood, knowing I hadn't. How could he be so wise, so extraordinarily understanding about so many things, yet say a profoundly stupid thing like that!

  I rolled out of his arms, and sat on the edge of the bed to put on my gown. My back to him, I said, "You mean, us poor sad little cast-offs;

  wouldn't it be nice if we could cheer each other up, so our misery wouldn't cast a pall on the happiness of the Prince and Princess? I must say it isn't one of your more brilliant scenarios, my dear."

  There was silence behind me. I could hear him getting out of the bed, and as I walked from the room, I heard a quiet, "I'm very sorry. That was pretty dumb."

  Yes, I thought, it damned well was. How could either of us have expected to get through this weekend without something hurtful being said, something awkward? It just wasn't possible.

  Okay. Drop it now. Don't want my last sight of him to be through a cloud of anger.

  At the gate, Shura dropped his head down and into the car window to kiss me, very gently, on each eyelid. I said, noting with pride that my voice sounded even, pleasant, affectionate, "Try to let me know what's going on, when you can. I'll always be a friend to you, my love, and I hope to be a friend to Ursula too."