Cloning Galinda

by Jan Smolders

  Mary spoke about Joe, accepted Joanna’s generous offer, and apologized profusely for barging in on Mr. Doyle unannounced. Just the way Joe did it once.

  Joanna waved her off.

  Mary saw unease on her face. “Is Mr. Doyle available?” she asked.

  “Let me check. He’s been very busy.” Joanna walked to his door, knocked and waited a second. Then she tiptoed in.

  Half a minute later she returned. “Mr. Doyle appreciates the opportunity to meet you. Please, Miss Jenkins.” She waved the visitor into Doyle’s office.

  As Mary entered, Mike Doyle stood behind his desk, facing her. He was flanked by two impressive stacks of papers in front of him. He pulled up his pants and stroked his hair, walked up to her and shook her hand. “Please have a seat,” he said, sounding serious and compassionate as he pointed to the small conference table with four chairs on the opposite side of the room.

  He joined her, his facial expression solemn. “My apologies for having had to communicate by voicemail, Miss Jenkins. I’m glad you came to see me. Please accept my sincere wishes for a speedy recovery for Joe and strength for yourself. I’m very sorry about this sad mishap.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Doyle,” Mary said, smoothing her light gray blouse and worrying about her hair.

  “How’s your man doing?” he asked, smiling slightly.

  She sighed. “Not well. Worse than I thought. I just drove back from Akron, and the closer I got to Noredge, the darker the future looked. He may not make it. And if he does, what life will he have?”

  “Oh? I’m so sorry to hear that. I….” He paused to put up five fingers twice for Joanna, who had opened the door and shown him a red folder.

  She disappeared.

  “I apologize,” he said, turning back to Mary. “The bank is getting impatient.”

  Mary knew she had to make her case in less than the ten minutes Mike Doyle just had allotted her. She coughed and said, “I hate to be rude, but why did you have to dump on Joe on TV this morning?” She paused and covered her mouth, surprised by her own nerve.

  “Huh? I had no intention—”

  Infuriated, she forged ahead. “What proof do you have for the disparaging comments you made about him, insinuating something was wrong with him? Something that made him lose control of his vehicle? Personal problems? Do you think he’s crazy? A fool? What were those distracting family issues? Which ones? Money problems?”

  “Most people have financial issues.”

  “We have them too—plenty of them. Like everybody else. How are you going to help us?”

  For a moment, Doyle seemed taken aback. He opened his mouth but swallowed and said, “Miss Jenkins, let me explain.” He had his index up, eyes drilled into hers. “Supren is a social company. We have adequate insurance. We’ll take good care of you, your kids, and your husband.” He made it sound like he already had formulated the conclusion on this point and shifted his chair.

  She looked at him askance. “Okay…and that ‘care’ includes informing at least the doctors in the Akron City Hospital about the possible, possible presence of radioactive substances and cancerous particles in the gases Joe has been inhaling? He may have been half unconscious when the accident happened. Because of that poison.”

  “Miss Jenkins, I take serious my responsibilities to the community, to Supren, and to Joe Bertolo.” Doyle’s tone was one of restraint.

  “Okay. Why, then, did you speak so cavalierly this morning on WEWS about the clean-up in Carrollton? From what I’ve read and heard elsewhere, it won’t be the piece of cake you described.”

  Doyle sat up straight, clearly feeling dominant, and took a couple of seconds before answering. “Cavalierly?” he repeated near-mockingly. “How would you know that? Do you have the right sources, Miss Jenkins? I have a very capable, responsible person in charge there.”

  “And would he tell you the truth if he knew you wouldn’t like the facts?”

  “What?” He wrinkled his brows, looking indignant. “Of course he would. I instructed him to, in no uncertain terms. To tell me anything that’s on his mind.”

  “Okay. I can understand that you don’t want to splash trade secrets and knowhow on the TV screen, but I feel you should at least tell me, what chemicals you use for your fracking and what’s in that dirty water polluting Carrollton’s air, creeks and soil. I have a right to know what Joe has been handling, inhaling, and spilling on his hands and clothes.”

  Doyle smiled. “Unfortunately, that information is protected by law. I bet you know that.”

  “I do,” she snapped back, furious. “And you and I know we owe my husband answers. Your answers, not the ones I can read on the web.”

  He leaned over, his face tense, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. “My responsibility is to my company first. That’s my answer.”

  “I understand. But Joe’s part of your organization, so you should feel responsible for any way it’s hurt him, endangered or impacted his health. And you know those chemicals did it. May have done it.” She came close to choking.

  His frown grew deeper. He changed tone. Softer. “Of course, I must care for Joe and all my employees, but I was making the general statement that I must also defend the image and survival of Supren and ultimately the well-being of the communities we work in.”

  “Then why don’t you call in the clean-up and analysis specialists from headquarters in Houston? Nothing better than that to spruce up your and Supren’s image—and take care of our wellbeing here.”

  Doyle’s eyes had become narrow slits. “Houston?” He smiled again. “They can’t perform the miracles you want. Not any better than us. We have very capable people on the spot in Carrollton.”

  “I was just trying to say—”

  “Hold it.” He sounded controlled but his face spoke volumes. “I know what you’re driving at, and it bothers me that you have doubts about our competence and sense of responsibility. You’d better think before you ask such questions. They’re, frankly, a bit insulting. I’m starting to understand why the Chamber doesn’t like your snide comments. Don’t forget you’re a city employee. The Chamber and the City Council are close. It’s obvious that your husband drove carelessly. Preoccupied, tense, maybe worried.”

  “I see.” Mary kept calm. “Half unconscious because of what he inhaled?” Her question dripped scorn.

  “If he inhaled anything it was because he didn’t follow procedures!”

  She had been waiting for that accusation; Joe had heard it a while ago in this same office. She became provocative, taunting. “Are you certain about that? And that it’s really all Joe’s fault? That there wasn’t any malfunction, or—”

  He checked his watch and lowered his voice. “Trust me, I will leave no stone unturned to find the truth, Miss Jenkins, but I must end our discussion here. I hope you understand.” He stood up and turned away.

  Shaken, Mary waited a moment before she got up.

  He came back to shake hands with her and said, “Sorry about that. I have thousands of things on my mind and not enough hours in a day. We’ll do the best we can for Joe and your entire family. I know you have a very difficult time.”

  The door opened. Joanna nodded at Doyle.

  “Yes,” he said to Joanna and returned to his desk.

  Mary hurried home disgusted. Her conversation with Mike Doyle had steeled her conviction that Joe was a victim of his working conditions. Brooding anger overtook her.

  When she pulled into her driveway, she didn’t remember how she had made it there. She blew her horn. She didn’t have the energy to get out right away. She needed a few seconds.

  The kids came running out. “Where’s Daddy? Is he coming home soon? What did he say?” They had to move back so she could open her door and step out. Sonya stood on the threshold, arms crossed, in control.

  Mary embraced Jimmy and An
dy. She struggled to sound upbeat as she told them, “I said hello to Daddy for you guys. He loves you and I think he won’t be long. How were Mrs. Sonya’s cookies?” She put her arms over their little shoulders and walked her boys to the front door. There she let go and threw herself in her friend’s arms, crying.

  “How is he?” Sonya asked quietly, rubbing her back.

  “Joe…Later. Tell you later,” Mary sobbed.

  Sonya said, gripping Mary’s arm, “I think Jake wants to play in the yard, Andy. Why don’t you take a little walk with him and Jimmy?”

  Mary nodded, feeling helpless. “I’ll have to explain, Sonya,” she said, her voice weak, as they entered the house.

  “You don’t have to tire yourself telling me every detail about Joe, unless you want to.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I have tea. And cookies. A couple anyway,” Sonya said with a smile.

  Mary sat down on the couch in the living room.

  Sonya turned off the TV and brought her a footstool. “Now relax. I’ll do the talking, about your fabulous kids. You should ask me over more often.”

  “I may have to.” Mary had no strength in her voice.

  Chapter 17

  July 27th was a big day for Mary and the boys: she would be allowed to bring them to Akron City Hospital for a visit with Joe. The night before she had had all kinds of trouble getting overexcited Jimmy and Andy to bed.

  A flood of questions emanating from their unencumbered brains made her ride to Akron both stressful and enjoyable. “Invigorating” was a better word.

  “Will Daddy recognize us? Can he walk? Smile? Are his bandages all bloody? How many teeth has he lost? Is it true that his room will smell real bad? Maybe he wants to come back home with us? Who’s the boss in the hospital?” There was no limit to their creativity and endearing naiveté. She had not mentioned his foot injury yet.

  By the time she drove up East Market Street, Andy was hungry and Jimmy needed a bathroom urgently.

  “Five more minutes and we’ll be in the lobby. Just try to think of the Cavaliers, Jimmy.”

  “No. I Iike the Indians.”

  “The Galaxy!”

  “No, Andy! They’re in California!”

  “On TV too!”

  “Mommy, hurry!”

  Andy offered expert advice. “Just squeeze your legs together hard, Jimmy. That’s what I do in school.”

  The boys’ faces said it all as they entered the room where their father was resting, asleep and snoring lightly. Mary put her index over her lips and whispered, “Let’s wait quietly. I’m sure he wants to see us. Wait.”

  Pudgy Nurse Johnson, standing behind Mary, nodded. She stepped closer to Joe, took a look at his bandaged head and frowned. She smiled at the boys and Mary and said, “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  They all sat down, Jimmy on Mary’s lap.

  Andy stared at the equipment surrounding Joe, apparently trying to make sense of it without asking questions.

  Jimmy slid off his mother’s lap. “I want to look from close by, Mommy.”

  “Ssh!” Andy said.

  Mary nodded to Jimmy.

  He tiptoed to within inches of the bed but returned almost immediately, whispering, “Daddy has long gray hair on his face, Mommy, and in his nose. It’s not nice.”

  She nodded, took his little hand, pointed at her watch and held up two fingers. “Two minutes and the nurse will be back,” she whispered. “Maybe she’ll wake Daddy up,” she added quietly. Then she realized that Jimmy didn’t really know yet how long two minutes took. He remained standing next to her, silent, lips pursed.

  Nurse Johnson came back with a fresh pillow cover for Joe. She pushed a button to crank up the bed head and smiled at the kids. “Maybe your daddy will be able to say hello,” she told them, her voice kind and soft.

  Andy made a little fist.

  “He’ll be happy to see us,” Jimmy figured.

  “Come,” the nurse said. “I saw him look at me. He smiles, I think.”

  Mary thought that was an exaggeration for Jimmy’s benefit.

  “Oh! Oh, Mommy. Can you help me?” he begged.

  Mary stepped close to the bedside and lifted him.

  Andy followed her.

  “Don’t touch his hand, kids,” the nurse said.

  It was connected to a long tube.

  Joe opened his eyes and seemed to nod slowly.

  “Look, he talks to me,” Andy said, pinching Mary’s arm.

  She held on to Jimmy while staring intensely at her Joe. He spoke, but Mary couldn’t decipher what he said.

  “I know what he’s saying. He loves you,” Nurse Johnson said. “I’ve been reading his lips for three days. He’s still extremely weak because of the tremendous blood loss. He’s lucky he made it to the hospital. And then through that four-hour surgery. I’ve seen people….” She looked at the kids and her voice trailed off.

  “He has spoken before, right?” Mary inquired.

  “Yes. He has moments of strength. It ebbs and flows. Hard to predict. He’s a tough guy. But his blood analysis hasn’t stabilized, organs aren’t completely functional yet.”

  “We picked a bad day, the first one we got permission—”

  “Daddy’s strong, Mommy. The lady’s right. He’ll get much better soon,” Andy opined.

  “But I want to talk to him,” Jimmy lamented.

  Mary sighed. “Let’s sit down another ten minutes. Is that okay, ma’am?”

  The nurse nodded, her hand on the doorknob.

  On the way back to Noredge, Mary had barely made it onto Interstate 77 when Jimmy fell asleep. Then Andy. She felt her boys’ disappointment and wondered whether the visit to the hospital had been a good idea.

  She switched on the radio and went to WKSU, her loyal friends, counselors, inspiration and refuge. Their signal didn’t get through at full strength but she didn’t have the energy to search for another channel. She caught snippets of a weather forecast and an update on the stock market as she drove in a zombie-like state.

  “And now back to Carrollton,” a reporter said, sounding surprisingly enthused. Mary had heard about the spectacular audience the channel generated from the disaster. “We talked to some folks in town….”

  Now she was wide awake.

  “Carrollton has become a ghost town,” she heard local shopkeeper Jim Lynn complain. “I’m not in a blocked-off area, but my business is dead. Roads are cut off and who wants to shop here, so close to radioactive shit and all that other danger? I can’t blame my customers for running away, but—”

  “Whom do you blame, sir?”

  “Who? Everybody. The mayor, the county commissioner, the EPA, the driver, that damn Supren, everybody. But who cares anyway that my business will die? How long is this poison going to hang or sit around? A week? A month? Forever? That fracking business brought me plenty of new customers, but they came with this disease and we may not be able to cure it. Damn poison!”

  The reporter went into an explanation that Supren had marshaled the best possible resources for the clean-up: the most modern equipment, and top quality personnel, headed by Vince Davis, an excellent local engineer. Supren wasn’t sparing any effort or expense to remedy the situation. He compared this spill to the ones in Pennsylvania and Texas, which were much bigger, and worse.

  “So, if this one’s so small it won’t take long,” Lynn concluded. His tone suggested he was speaking tongue-in-cheek. “I also heard of a case where they didn’t really succeed in getting the whole thing fixed. Somebody told me of goats dying long after the incident. Crows feasting on their dead bodies died too. I believe it was in Colorado.”

  Mary nodded. The kids slept like logs.

  “If I’m not mistaken, the Colorado problem wasn’t a tanker spill, but contamination of a water source deep
underground, an aquifer they call it,” the reporter clarified.

  An aquifer was an underground layer of permeable rock, sand or soil. Its pore spaces were filled with water and interconnected, so water could flow. The layer could be thousands of square miles in size and be found at various depths, maybe as shallow as a few hundred feet.

  The merchant sounded undeterred. “Okay. Who cares? Dead is dead. All the same. I wish we’d never seen those Texan oil guys with their ‘y’alls’. Or is it Oklahoma?”

  “I understand, sir.” The reporter paused briefly. “Look, what I can tell you is that Mr. Doyle, the Supren manager, assured us as recently as yesterday that he has full confidence in Mr. Davis. That man is young but already has two clean-up jobs under his belt. Doyle said he felt so strongly about the Carrollton problem and about Mr. Davis’s qualifications that he took him off a critical drilling job in Noredge.”

  “Davis’s two clean-up jobs, a joke; Doyle’s lying his ass off,” Mary grumbled to herself.

  Jim fired one more shot. “Full confidence, eh? All fine and dandy. You and me know who’s really going to foot the bill for all of this: us, the people of Carrollton and the county. Know what I mean? And Mr. Doyle will walk away with his fat bonus anyway. For my part, he can take it to Houston tonight.”

  Andy woke up.

  Mary cut the radio and hoped he didn’t hear her sigh.

  Chapter 18

  An uneasy calm reigned in Noredge the week after the accident in Carrollton. Supren operations continued at full speed at Rutgers Lake and on Maple Road. Mary noticed that Mike Doyle would show up at Harriet’s from time to time and leave an hour or so later. She visited her Joe every day in Akron, without the kids. Sonya Anderson and Jill Smith were the angels helping her out as babysitters.

  Mary continued receiving phone calls from friends and being stopped at Lou’s supermarket by people she only knew by sight or not at all. Her description of Joe’s condition got more laconic and her answers increasingly curt as the day progressed. Many friends cautiously expressed concern and seemed to wonder how she was going to manage without Joe, but she didn’t; her hopes for a full recovery grew stronger by the day. She wasn’t lying when she told Andy and Jimmy their daddy was going to live and play soccer with them again.