Heaven wanted to shake her but she knew that a little motherly shake wasn’t going to straighten Pauline out, or anyone else in the room for that matter. She headed back to the phone. As she dialed Detective Bonnie Weber’s home phone number she spotted Iris running down the sidewalk on the other side of 39th Street, next to Sal’s. Her heart leaped. She knew she needed to get Bonnie over here so she yelled, “Somebody help please. Joe, Chris, Murray. Iris is across the street. Someone go get her.”
Joe and Chris headed out the door, and Bonnie Weber answered her phone. “This had better be good,” she said in lieu of hello.
“Bonnie, it’s Heaven. We’ve got a serious problem over here at the restaurant.”
“Who’s dead?” Bonnie asked tersely.
“No one yet but the entire group of bread bakers has gone bonkers. I think they’ve been poisoned. I called Hank and…”
“I’m on my way,” Bonnie said and hung up.
Iris. Heaven couldn’t wait. She went outside and saw the three of them, almost two blocks away. Iris was running as if she were at the Olympics. Neither Joe nor Chris were out of shape, but they hadn’t been able to catch her. Heaven could hear them calling Iris’s name. She felt fear wash over her. What if Iris ran out in front of a car? Didn’t that used to happen when people took psychedelics? Just as she was ready to start the chase herself, she saw Chris grab Iris from the back and pull her to a stop. Soon Joe joined them and the three turned and headed back toward the cafe. Iris started shrieking at the top of her lungs, loud screams that pierced the Sunday evening quiet on 39th Street. Heaven started crying.
Red Cabbage and Apples
1 large head red cabbage
3 ‘Granny Smith’ apples, sliced, but not peeled
1 cup sugar
1 cup red wine vinegar
2 T. olive oil
2 T. butter
Kosher salt and white ground pepper
Melt the butter and heat oil together in a large, heavy sauté pan. Thinly slice the cabbage and sauté over low heat. When the cabbage starts to soften, add the apples. In a separate heavy saucepan slowly melt the sugar, stirring often when the edges start to liquefy. When the sugar is completely melted and browned, add it to the cabbage. Add the vinegar and seasonings and cook until the cabbage is caramelized.
Fourteen
Bonnie Weber put down the medical book. “Well, I’ll be damned. I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it right here in front of me.”
Hank looked up from the photocopied papers he was studying and smiled wanly. Cafe Heaven looked like hell. It had become an annex to the hospital. Only the two most serious victims had been admitted to the real medical center down the street, one for a messy cut from a broken wine bottle and an older man from Pittsburgh who had convulsed badly. The rest of ARTOS had been looked at by emergency room doctors who, like Hank, were off duty and had responded to their friend’s request for help. Hank brought the copies of pertinent medical info he had made for Heaven earlier and had gone back and checked out several medical books from the med center library. He had also borrowed blankets and pillows from the hospital, not that they were getting much use. The bakers couldn’t sleep. Chills, sickness, and hallucinations continued. Hank’s friends had taken blood samples from at least half the group. They were keeping an eye on everyone until they heard from the lab and could come up with a diagnosis, then they would start treatment.
Heaven came out of the kitchen, her eyes rimmed as red as her hair from crying. “When do we hear from the lab?” she asked.
Hank glanced at his watch, got up and poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Heaven. “Soon. I know it seems like a long time but its only been two hours since you called me at home.”
“How’s Iris?” Murray asked.
“Better,” Hank said. “I told her what we thought was wrong with her and all the rest of these poor suckers. It seemed to make her less anxious. She’s trying to rest, lying down on top of the worktable. She even cracked a joke, something about now that she knew she was supposed to have fun, she’d try to. Oh, dear God,” Hank murmered as he looked around the room. “How did this happen?”
Bonnie held up her hand. “Hold on. I’m still trying to understand just what it is we’re dealing with here. I’m up to where the general had LSD in his system and a black tongue. Hank you did some research at the hospital and found a connection between those two things.
Hank nodded. “Ergot.”
“Ergot?” Chris and Joe asked together. They had been cleaning up around the dining room. “Ergot? What’s that? We weren’t in on the detective work Murray did on Friday.” They glared first at Murray, then Heaven, as though a sacred trust had been broken.
“Sorry, guys,” Murray said. “There hasn’t been any time for a session at Sal’s.” When they could, the whole crew liked to go over to Sal’s to figure out their problems. “But I didn’t find out about ergot. No, sir. Hank did.”
Hank grabbed Heaven’s hand and pulled her next to him. “Sit down,” he said.
“No,” Heaven answered. “I want to go back to Iris, but I need to know too. What is this ergot stuff?”
“A fungus,” Bonnie Weber chimed in. “Some kinda fungus.”
“Claviceps purpurea,” Hank explained. A toxic fungus that evidently parasites rye grain and can poison livestock and humans. It will affect other grasses too but it really likes rye.”
“But where does the LSD come in?” Heaven asked anxiously.
Bonnie pointed at the photocopied sheet of paper lying on the table. “When you bake it, it turns into LSD.”
Chris and Joe looked incredulous.
Hank pointed to the book in front of him. “No, it’s true. The ergot alkaloids contain lysergic acid. That’s the chemical structure right there, C15H15N2CON, better known as lysergic acid diethylamide. Evidently one of the alkaloids, ergotamine, converts to LSD in the baking process.”
“But,” Murray protested, “it says the milling companies watch for ergot closely. They can test for it. How could this stuff slip by?”
Heaven’s eyes narrowed. “Well, the first name that comes to mind is Walter Jinks and his damned experimental grains which I’m sure aren’t tested by the government. Pauline said he slipped some of his breads into the party breads, trying to see if anyone could pick them out. And Walter never showed up here tonight. Then there’s Dieter’s sourdough rye. It was made from Dieter’s own rye patch somewhere in Germany. I think it’s safe to assume no one checked it for ergot and the bakers made twenty loaves of bread, supposedly out of that flour. If those two don’t have the acid rye, then there’s the Milling and Grain International Studies Laboratory in Manhattan, Kansas. They’re doing all sorts of biogenetic experiments there, and the general had LSD in his system. And if that’s not enough suspect grain sources, how about ol’ Patrick Sullivan and his research and development for BIG BREAD. Dieter took a dive in the dough over at BIG BREAD. For all we know they grow the stuff and are plotting to take over the world with ergot, as if their regular bread wasn’t bad enough.”
No one said a word for a minute. When Heaven got riled up it was hard to figure how to respond safely. Hank was brave. He pulled another book to the top of the pile and spoke up. “And that’s not all of the possibilities. Ergot causes vasoconstriction. In the Middle Ages midwives and physicians used it to either cause abortions by inducing contraction of the uterine muscles or to stop uterine hemorrhaging after childbirth. It’s still used today to stop hemorrhage. Also another derivative is used for migraine headaches so some of it is grown commercially in Minnesota and somewhere in Europe, probably Germany, for medical purposes. It can be obtained, is what I’m trying to say.”
Bonnie shook her head. “As usual, the more you know, the more confusing it gets. Vasoconstriction? Is that what causes the necrosis, the dead tissue?”
Hank nodded. “No blood circulating for a while and any tissue becomes gangrenous. That’s usually manifested in the fingers and toes and
the tip of the tongue, like Heaven noticed on the general.”
Heaven was sick with worry. Would Iris lose her toes? “So on a good day, this stuff can cause gangrene. And then, if you bake it up in a loaf of bread, it turns into acid. Great.”
Bonnie looked down at the book she’d been reading. “It says in the Middle Ages whole villages would go nuts on this stuff. It may be what caused the Salem witch trials. Even in 1951, a village in France got dosed. Three people died and 300 were affected. Oh, and some of them thought they could fly.”
“Just like the general,” Murray said thoughtfully.
Another wave of fear came over Heaven. “Thank God we’re on the first floor. I’m going back to Iris. Let me know when the lab calls.”
Just then, the phone rang and three female bakers started fighting with each other, pulling hair and rolling on the floor in angry hysteria. Hank answered the phone, and Detective Weber and the rest of the crew went to break up the cat fight. Heaven stopped on her way to the kitchen and looked hopefully at Hank on the phone. He hung up quickly and nodded. “It’s official. Lysergic acid, ergot alkaloids galore.”
“What can they do?” Bonnie called from across the room, her hands full holding a buxom blonde not unlike herself.
Heaven walked over and hugged Hank, feeling that as bad as it was, maybe a solution was near. Iris appeared from the kitchen and stood by her mother, shaking and covered with sweat, eyes burning bright. Heaven took her daughter’s hands.
“It’s too late to pump stomachs. Everyone but Iris had the bread at lunch and Iris had her sandwich.”
“Around four,” Iris said calmly. “Aren’t you glad you weren’t hungry,” she said with a hollow laugh directed at Joe and Chris.
“Yes, for once I ate before I came to work,” Joe said, almost guilty he hadn’t joined Iris in a snack. He turned to Hank. “Isn’t there something else they can do?”
“Yes, there is. We can give everyone a vasodilator so they won’t have tissue damage. And sodium nitroprusside will work for those that are experiencing hypertension.” He gazed over at the talkers. “The convulsions can be treated with diazepam. Are the buses still parked in front?”
“Yes, but the bus drivers are in just as bad shape as everyone else. They had lunch at the bakery and they came wandering in babbling about tiny little purple cars that were crashing into their buses,” Chris said.
“Can anyone drive a bus?” Hank asked. “We need to take everyone to the hospital for treatment.”
Bonnie slipped her sweater on. “I have my chauffeur’s license. I’ll fill up one bus. We’ll have to take the rest by car. This should be fun,” she said cryptically.
* * *
Hank and Heaven stood in the hospital parking lot. It was a little after dawn and the pink light was just showing over the tops of trees to the east. It was going to be another pretty September day.
Heaven was pacing.
“Heaven, for the last time, please don’t do this,” Hank pleaded.
“I don’t have a choice, Hank. Why can’t you see that? I have to talk to Walter Jinks, to see if he did this to Iris, to everyone.”
“Iris is going to be fine, and so is everyone except Mr. White from Pittsburgh.”
Heaven kicked at the side of her van. “Poor Mr. White is paralyzed.”
Hank shook his head. “Maybe not for long. I don’t think his paralysis is permanent. If this Walter is responsible you’ll be in danger. Wait and let Detective Weber go with you, or Murray. Or wait until this afternoon and I’ll go with you.”
Heaven shook her head vehemently. “You have to stay with Iris. I don’t want her to be involved in this any more than she has…” Heaven’s voice broke. She started again. “Bonnie had to go in to work, and she has no authority in the middle of Kansas anyway. Murray and Chris and Joe only went home to sleep an hour ago. I certainly wouldn’t expect them to get up and go down the road with me. And I’m not waiting, for them or for you. Thanks for saving all the bakers. Now go back inside and let me leave. I promise one thing. I promise I’ll let my brother know where I am. After all, I don’t want another disaster, believe me. What about everyone in there? When will they get to leave?”
“We’ll keep them until they’re not hallucinating or experiencing paranoia anymore,” Hank said. “Twenty-four hours at least.”
Heaven pecked Hank on the cheek and opened the door of her van. “Take care of my little girl,” she said, her eyes flashing with anger at the thought of what had happened to Iris. Without giving Hank a chance to say another word she started the van and pulled out onto 39th Street with a screech of tires.
“Heaven!” Hank yelled and ran out to the curb.
Heaven stopped and rolled down the window an inch or two. She was shaking her head in advance of any final argument.
“Don’t speed,” Hank said with a little wave. Heaven waved back and was gone.
* * *
Heaven lied. She drove too fast and she didn’t let anyone know where she was. She meant to go by Del’s before she went to GRIP but she was possessed. Her fury had propelled her down the highway in record time. Somehow she had avoided a speeding ticket. She knew it was foolish to not let someone out here know what she was doing, but she also knew she would have a lot of explaining to do to her brother. She just couldn’t take the time to do that. She’d rip Walter’s heart out, then she’d go to her brother’s farm.
Of course, she wasn’t at all sure Walter had planted the ergot-tainted flour. Why would he? Had he been trying to change the world for so long he’d just lost touch of reality? Had his competitors become his enemies? The bad grain from Germany, the big corporation, the rival research facility, all were still options.
Walter was just the first person Heaven could think of. So many things pointed to him. Walter had a lot riding on his version of the future of bread. He had a farm and so theoretically he could grow rye with ergot growing on it. If they could grow ergot rye for medical purposes then surely Walter could do it. He had taken a stand publicly against the Milling and Grain International Studies Laboratory and its director. He hated BIG BREAD, INC. But would he put people’s lives in jeopardy for his cause? Walter thought that was precisely what depending on wheat to feed the world was doing, putting the world in jeopardy. It wouldn’t be such a stretch for him to do the same to make his point.
Heaven pulled into the yard of the Grains Research Institute for Peace. Two student interns were lugging a big stalk of some plant over to the mill. They threw the plant inside the stone building and then came over to Heaven.
“Hi, I’m Heaven Lee, from Kansas City. Well, actually I grew up around here. Del O’Malley is my brother. I was here last week with the bread bakers. Something happened yesterday. I need to talk to Walter.” Heaven realized she was babbling. So she shut up and looked expectantly at the two young men.
One of them shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. “Walter was sick when he came home yesterday. He thought it was the flu. He said it hit him at some bakery, I guess all the bakers were there making bread. He came home early he said, before the party at your cafe, I guess.”
Heaven could see Walter dosing himself to make the whole thing look good. Clever. “Where is he?”
The other young man spoke up. “That’s what we want to know. We were here when he came home last evening. We asked him if we should stay but he said no, he wanted to go to bed, just sleep it off. So we went back into Manhattan, where we’re in school. When we got here this morning, Walter wasn’t around.” The two young men exchanged glances. “It was pretty bad in his bedroom, he’d vomited, and I guess he was too sick to clean it up. We thought maybe he’d gone to the hospital but his truck was still here. We checked at the hospital, thought maybe he’d called an ambulance. He wasn’t there either.”
Heaven looked around. She imagined what Iris would have done with this much wide-open space last night. A person tripping on LSD on a big farm could be anywhere. Of course if that person knew they w
ere going to be hallucinating, it would make more sense for him to lock himself in the house or to get help under the guise of having the flu. If Walter had been the one doing all this, surely he would have had a plan, like not eating the bad bread if he wasn’t going to stay with the group. “Why don’t we do this,” Heaven said breezily. “Why don’t I take a look around the farm and you guys do whatever you’re supposed to be doing. Maybe he went for a walk. Sometimes when you have the chills and are sweating a lot, you want fresh air. Maybe he was just too sick to get back home.”
“You can take the golf cart,” one of the boys said. “Most of the fields have cart paths around them. Walter did that so he could take funders on the grand tour, as he called it.” He led her toward a small outbuilding. In it were assorted riding lawnmowers, bicycles, a motorcycle, and two golf carts. He dropped a battery that had been charging into one of the carts and drove it over to Heaven.
“Thanks. Wish me luck,” Heaven called as she lurched off. She stopped the cart and looked over her shoulder. “If for some reason I’m not back in an hour, come find me.”
The two young men looked at her with surprise. She smiled. “You can see I’m not very good at driving this thing. I don’t want to wipe out and be stranded on the back forty.” With that little bit of insurance, Heaven took off. If it turned ugly with Walter, all she had to do was survive more than an hour and she should be rescued. Unless those boys were so brainwashed with Walter’s perennial polyculture dogma that they were part of the plot. Well, she couldn’t worry about that now. She had ignored all safety precautions by not telling her brother where she was and what she was doing. Those two students had to be good guys, that’s all there was to it.
Half an hour later, Heaven was reasonably sure Walter wasn’t walking out in an open field. She guessed he could be crouching behind some tall prairie grass, but she had checked all the fields that the ARTOS group had toured. No Walter.
“I’d probably go to the woods if I was high on acid. Commune with nature,” she mumbled as she left her cart and started for a thick stand of oak trees. As she tromped into the dense foliage, the sunlight was diffused by the leaf cover.
Bread on Arrival Page 18
