Ezembe

by Jeffrey L. Morris

  Pat, busily sketching with the tip of his tongue curled ’round his lip, replied absently, “Oh, a colleague brought him to my attention. The chemical sensitivity thing was getting to be a bit of an issue for him.”

  “It was so serious as to warrant seeking your help?”

  “Bordering on debilitating.” Pat dragged his glasses off, pinched the bridge of his nose, and changed the subject. “How are you getting on with the DNA comparison, old boy?”

  “Oh, splendid, splendid, but I see a very large difference between the subject’s mitochondrial DNA and the father’s. You have noticed, I have no doubt.”

  “Oh, sure. There’s only a passing resemblance to the father’s mitochondrial DNA. It’s obvious the mother was almost irrelevant as far as that aspect goes, so we’re looking at either a massive mutation or a contribution from elsewhere.” Pat tapped his pencil on the desk, and stared at a point on the opposite wall as if it would provide the answer.

  Havard shook his hairy head, and said in his round, rolling Danish way, “You are thinking mutation? A chance mutation of this many alleles would almost certainly create an individual with many, many problems, to say it conservatively.”

  Pat found Havard’s accent endlessly amusing, but stifled the urge to mock it.

  “I agree, so we’re left with what? Genetic engineering? Or perhaps transduction?” Pat said.

  “Transduction? You believe perhaps a virus made this many modifications to the DNA?” Havard curled his lower lip and frowned. “It is certainly plausible, but this is huge modification to any organism. Are you certain this man is healthy?”

  “As a horse.”

  “The girl who inherited her father’s mtDNA, in Maine, I think? She is not healthy like a horse.”

  “Correct. My understanding is that her energy levels are critically low.”

  “I would love to meet this person, and see for myself.”

  “The girl from Maine?”

  “No, no. Your patient.”

  “Ah, you’ll just have to take old Pat’s word for it, Havard.” Pat aimed a wink and a smile Havard’s way.

  Karen breezed in and pirouetted towards them. “Good morning, Pat!”

  He winked, and sucked his cheek with a tch. “Ah, a woman in a good mood. That’s what I like to see.”

  “And how are you today?” she said, eyeing the hairy interloper.

  “Fine, darlin’. Havard, I would like you to meet a good friend of mine, Dr. Karen Weems.” Havard stood and bowed from the waist.

  “And this is Dr. Havard Troelson.”

  Havard took Karen’s wrist and said, “Enchanted, my dear doctor,” then kissed her hand.

  Karen giggled. “Enchanted, even! Thank you, Doctor...?” she said uncertainly.

  “Troelson. But please, call me Havard.”

  “Havard’s visiting,” said Pat.

  “Is he?”

  “He is.”

  Karen’s lips parted, and she licked the inside of her teeth as she scanned Pat’s face. She smiled at Havard and said, “Do I detect an accent, Doctor?”

  “Yes, dear lady, I am from Copenhagen.”

  “Havard is from the WHO and is here to, un, just check us out.”

  “Uh-huh.” Karen’s eyes flicked across the interloper, then narrowed. “Wonderful to meet you, Dr. Troelson,” she said. Her gaze locked onto Pat. Pat blinked—several times—raised his eyebrows, and smiled weakly. Karen said, through clenched teeth, “I need to borrow Patrick for a minute, Doctor. Would you excuse us?”

  “Certainly, certainly, dear lady. But please, it is Havard.” He bowed again, respectfully. Karen smiled courteously, then hustled Pat out into the corridor.

  Before Pat could utter a word, Karen tore into him. “Right, who is he?”

  “He’s a visiting WHO guy, that’s all.”

  “So what’s he doing here, checking to see if we’re washing our hands? Spill it, Patrick.”

  Pat’s face took on the innocence of a five-year-old boy. “Well, he saw Bob’s article and—”

  “And what? He knows! You told him!”

  Pat shrugged, palms up, and grinned sheepishly.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? What are you doing? I thought we were going to keep this quiet! Quiet!”

  “Yes, yes,” said Pat, “I know, I know.”

  “What did you tell him? How much does he know? Does he know about James?”

  “Well, he came here already seeming to know a great deal. Not about James specifically, but about the case in general. It wasn’t me, it was that article.”

  “Oh, crap crap crap crap shit. Why didn’t you just tell him to get lost?”

  “Bob again. Bob seems to know more than he ought to about this whole deal. I suspect a spy.”

  “A what?”

  “A spy. In my department. So I’ve been playing this game solo. Anyhow, Bob brought old Havard to me, and there didn’t seem to be much I could do to wriggle out of it without dragging Bob deeper inside.”

  “Old Havard? Old Havard?” Karen smacked Pat on the shoulder. He rubbed it, and looked as if he might cry. “You could have done something, Pat. Anything! It’s much more dangerous to let a stranger in on this than just Bob Scholl.”

  “Well, to be honest, I’ve taken a shine to the man. He’s a genuine enthusiast.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Genuine: you know, for real. Frankly, I need some heavy-duty help on this thing. And don’t you worry, I’m keeping him on the periphery. He genuinely appreciates the need for ‘Patient S’s’ privacy. And he knows almost nothing about Jimmy’s peculiar talent.”

  Karen’s lashes descended as her eyes twitched and rolled. A long, shuddering breath rumbled through her throat.

  “I’ve got this, Karen; no need to worry.” Pat wasn’t even convincing himself.

  “So how long is this guy here for? Where the hell is he from?”

  “Denmark. He’s the deputy director of the World Health Organization’s European office.”

  “And now the fucking WHO is involved. That’s just fucking brilliant.”

  “No, no. He’s here as a civilian. He’s really just doing this for fun.”

  “Is he some kind of nut? How long?”

  “Couple of weeks, tops. Look, the guy has a mind like a bloody computer. He’s only been helping for two days, and we’ve covered more ground than I did on my own all summer. He’s a godsend.”

  Karen relaxed, just a little.

  “Look, Karen, maybe we should rethink this whole secrecy thing.”

  “No. No way,” Karen said flatly. She folded her arms tightly to her chest, and arched her back.

  “Now, wait. Hear me out, love. Sooner or later, if we continue on this path, all of this is going to come out. Sure, we’re creating an explosion in medical information here, and it is there to be used. Admit it, you’re using it. I know I am. Eventually, someone is going to wonder where it’s all coming from.”

  Karen shook her head.

  Pat pleaded, “Jimmy could provide the greatest leap forwards in medicine since... Fleming.”

  “That may be, but it will all come to nothing if that kid’s life is ruined. The drug companies alone would eat him alive.”

  “Yeah, they’d have him living like a king, poor baby. He’s not a kid any more, Karen.”

  “Well, be that as it may, he doesn’t want it now. There may come a time when it’s right for him to go public, but it isn’t now.”

  “Lives could be saved.”

  “Maybe, but he’s going with his gut, and I’m going to support him.”

  Pat grimaced and nodded. “Well, in my heart of hearts, I agree with you, but it had to be said.”

  Karen’s arms unraveled and fell to her sides. “Yes, I suppose it did. Just don’t say it again.”

  Pat held his hand towards the door and led her back to Havard, a gigantic ginger elf on a lab stool.

  ~* * *~

  Karen walked straight up to Havar
d. “Doctor, em, Havard, I’d like to have a little chat about Pat’s project.”

  “Of course, dear lady.” He folded his hands in his lap, and crossed his legs at the ankle. “Have you an interest in this case also?” he said.

  “Well, just a passing interest. It falls outside of my field.”

  “And that is?”

  “Oncology.”

  “I see, I see, so you two are good friends, then?” His eyes darted to Pat, then settled back on Karen. She tugged her lab coat closed, and kept it shut with her elbows. She avoided Havard’s gaze, but then his eyes seized her attention. The eyes were lustrous, as if electrically charged. The irises: a deep golden hue at the pupil, radiating outwards, green to gray, and finally an iridescent blue at the edge.

  Karen stood like a dummy, her lips parted, for some time, then stuttered, “Oh yes, well, yes, we are friends. Good friends. That is to say, old friends, you know?”

  “I know.” Havard smiled broadly. His fuzzy red mustache fanned out.

  Pat looked on in a watchful big-brother sort of way for a moment, then said, “Well, we’ve just been looking at the DNA data from subject ‘S’, Karen.” He flashed Havard a wink.

  “Oh, yeah?” Karen said, dreamily.

  “Yes, yes, it’s quite incredible,” Havard added, “Such a large variation in a single generation with no apparent harmful effect on the organism. It’s unbelievable.”

  “Well, I’ve still got my money firmly on transduction,” Pat said. “It’d be a hell of a virus to pull this stunt off, but I can’t see any other way.”

  “What?” Karen said, then shook out the wool that had gathered in her head. “Sounds pretty far-fetched to me, Pat.”

  “Only decent guess I got. Unless we take a massive leap here and suppose that the mtDNA is programmed to change itself, or something mad like that.”

  Havard fished his pipe from a vest pocket, and wrapped his lower lip around the stem.

  “Dr. Troelson, there’s no—” Karen said.

  Havard laughed. “It is the same in Denmark, dear lady. It just helps me think. Oral habit.” He chewed on the stem and said, “We could put the problem in front of a few people I know, and see what they can imagine.”

  Karen glanced sharply at Pat, prompting him to blurt out, “No, no, I wouldn’t be too crazy about that idea at the moment, Havard. I’d like to make a little more progress here before anything like that happens.”

  “As you wish, Patrick, but ten heads are better than two.”

  “Sure, sure. But we put a bombshell like this out there, and every nut-job espousing every crackpot notion from homeopathy to intelligent design will be on our doorstep.”

  Havard laughed hard, choking lightly as he replied, “Let them! They will only make fools of themselves!”

  “All the same, I think we’ll keep it between ourselves for the time being. The last thing we want is a circus on the lawn.”

  “As you wish, Patrick. I only suggest, but when you put it this way, in fact I think you are wise.”

  “You have to admit, though, a virus would explain a lot,” Pat said.

  Karen said, “Yes, but how often does a virus bring a mutation beneficial to the organism?”

  “Well, that depends on which organism you are talking about,” Havard said, “If you are the virus, it is certainly to your benefit.”

  “I suppose, but that is hardly the point, is it?” Karen said. “In any case, an oncogenic retrovirus that could do this? Ridiculous. You’d be looking at a virus that could modify the father’s DNA, and then have it kill off and usurp the mother’s. It’s ridiculous, or at the very least, fantastically improbable.”

  Havard concealed a smirk beneath his mustache and said, “My dear lady, I grant you, it appears statistically improbable, but then life itself appears so, does it not?”

  “True, but we’re looking at an evolutionary equivalent of a snake producing babies that can fly in a single generation. It simply doesn’t happen.”

  “Well, not as far as you know.” Havard chuckled.

  Pat said, “Well, that’s right, we don’t know that things like that haven’t happened. Bit unlikely, though, you have to agree. Discounting the snake-bird scenario here, there’s nothing to say that this isn’t some sort of symbiotic thing—a virus evolved to benefit both organisms—ensuring mutual survival. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that there’s a virus out there that has developed this vector for its own benefit.”

  “What benefit is that?” Karen asked.

  Pat replied, “Same as any organism receives: survival and progeny. The host receives health benefits from the virus, ensuring the virus a vector of its own for survival. That’s going to be bloody difficult to trace, what with the father gone and all.”

  “I take it the father is no longer living?” Havard asked, casually.

  “No, he died some time before this case came to light,” Karen said.

  “I see. This is too bad. The father’s gametes could have revealed much here.”

  “That’s true, Havard,” Karen said, “but we’re not digging up Rich’s semen.” As soon as she’d said it, she gasped and covered her mouth.

  Pat gallantly came to her rescue. “Well, there are viruses which can hitch a ride on a gamete, especially the flagella of sperm, and can interfere with reproduction in a variety of ways. I’m tempted to think we may be looking at something like this, here.”

  Havard winked, and pointed his pipe stem at Pat. “You are a clever man, Patrick!”

  Pat laughed. “Thanks, Havard, and you’re an excellent judge of character. I mean, the only other front runner is genetic engineering.” Karen glared. He quickly added, “Which is even more unlikely for several reasons, not the least of which was that GM wasn’t even in its infancy when this individual was born. More like its gestation period, if you’ll pardon the pun.” Karen’s glare continued, unabated. Pat cleared his throat. “Look, about eight percent of the human genome is viral fossil, and most of that is junk DNA. For instance, we know that Bornavirus somehow got integrated into what became the human genome about fifty million years ago.”

  “Sure. And how much of that has brought about any evolutionary advantage?” Karen argued.

  “Well, who knows? There’s a school of thought that lying in that junk DNA are the materials that gave rise to things like opposable thumbs and walking erect. Viruses may not have affected our DNA often, but the effects when it did occur may have been huge. This could be the ‘next big thing’.”

  Havard guffawed, deep and loud, and slapped the desk. “Imagine, to be on the spot for that. We’d be famous as Watson and Crick.”

  “Or Laurel and Hardy,” said Pat, leaning back against the desk and crossing his legs. “I think we’d be best served pushing on in that direction, comparing the mutated HVR-1 to viral RNA patterns and seeing what we come up with.”

  “Excellent plan, Patrick,” said Havard.

  “Any objections, Karen?”

  “Hey, it’s your train set, Pat.”

  Pat gave Karen a knowing wink.

  As she stood to leave, Havard asked, “What are you doing for dinner, Doctor Weems?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all,” she lied.

  Twenty-six

  “I’m not knocking you; I just don’t see it, that’s all I’m saying.”

  James could picture Peggy, curled up in her big chair, with her bare feet tucked up. She’d be wearing that big ripped sweater of his, the collar pulled up to her nose because she said she liked his smell. Her face would be like a hornet’s nest.

  “It’s just not you. I just never pictured you as the doctor type, you know?”

  “Well, neither did I, to be honest. But here I am, pre-med.”

  “But your contribution to the art world, isn’t that enough for you?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just a direction my life took.”

  “All by itself? Are you not master of your own destiny?”

  “I guess life
just does that sometimes. I dunno. It’s hard to explain. I’m sure I’ll be able to tell you one day.”

  “Why not now? You must have at least some idea. Or are you just bored? Feel you have to move on?” The voice had claws.

  “No, nothing like that, really. It just happened.”

  “Your mother, right? She finally got to you.”

  “No, it wasn’t my mother.”

  “James, you just told me she helped talk you into it.”

  “She helped me weigh the pros and cons, that’s all. Look, I’m going to do this. I thought you would be pleased.”

  “I am, I am. I’m just surprised, that’s all,” Peggy said, clearly anything but pleased.

  James faced the wall and let himself fall forward, leaning against it with his head. “We’ve been going around in circles with this for almost a month now. I am going to try this. If I’m not able to get through the first semester, then so be it; I’ll quit. But I’m actually pretty excited about this. I got a little prep work done, and the first few days of class weren’t too bad. It’s work, but it’s bearable.”

  “Okay, if it’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want.”

  “When will I see you?” Peggy asked sweetly.

  “Well, the first semester goes right up to Christmas. We get breaks for Homecoming and Thanksgiving, but realistically, I’ll need to be working over those just to keep up with the rest.”

  “That’s what I thought. So when?”

  “If you could come down, we could have dinner one night and maybe a show, but I am going to have to see how well I can cope with the load.”

  “So a night or two between now and Christmas is what you’re saying?”

  “I’m afraid so, Peg.”

  “You realize it has been over a month already?”

  “Yes, I do, but I don’t understand the problem. I mean, I thought we had an understanding before I left New York.”

  “Yes, you’re right, we did. It was stupid of me to forget that.” Peggy paused. “Listen, I gotta run. Say ‘hi’ to your mom for me, okay?”

  “Okay, I will.”

  Before he could say good-bye, she hung up. James slapped the phone down and kicked over a kitchen stool.