Seconds after the door of the study opened, he was squeezed tight, his cheek subjected to a rain of kisses.
“Thank you. It’s all exactly like I left it a year ago.”
“The souvenirs were wonderful, especially the sausage and wine. It arrived two weeks ago.” Nancy stopped and looked at him suspiciously, only to break into a big smile. “So, that’s how it is.” Nancy let go of him and pointed a finger for him to see. Max turned around; Katya was standing at the door.
“You should’ve let me know in advance! There’s so much I need to prepare now. Especially myself, emotionally!” she admonished him, but couldn’t hide her joy. “You’re so young and pretty!” Nancy wrapped her arm around Katya.
“That’s Dr. Katarina Lang. She’s a brilliant life scientist with a degree from Stanford. And she’s my assistant. I’d like her to stay here until she finds a place to live. Though, of course, that’s up to her.”
Katya tried to smile, but it was an exceedingly faint smile.
“She’s my most formidable rival as well. She is a talented and ambitious scientist who’s gunning for a Nobel Prize.”
Nancy was visibly unconvinced.
“Could you please make breakfast for us in about ten minutes? The lab is waiting for us!”
“You never change.” Nancy smiled back and went to the kitchen.
Katya stood there without saying anything. Max was about to open his mouth, but didn’t. He didn’t know what to say, and he knew nothing he said would be right. They were staring at each other silently.
“I . . . you . . .”
Katya looked away and went back to her room. Meanwhile, Nancy could be heard singing in the kitchen.
Max was silent in the driver’s seat.
Katya hadn’t said a word during breakfast. The false smile she’d shown to Nancy made Max’s heart turn to ice. Even after she got in the car, she looked out the window away from Max.
“I’m ashamed of myself,” said Max.
Katya said nothing.
“Even if you leave, or you sue me, I won’t object. To me, you’re—”
“Professor, I . . .” She swallowed her words, and wiped the corners of her eyes with a finger. Then she put that hand out the window to feel the wind.
“I’m a weak man. Sometimes I’m struck by a fear so deep that I can’t control myself. When I’m alone, I just endure it. And I’ve been alone all this time. But last night, I was with you.”
“All you did was give me a goodnight kiss. You didn’t do anything else.” Katya turned to Max. She was trying to smile, but all she did was curve her lips in an odd way.
“Can I take that as a sign of forgiveness? I won’t do that ever again—”
“Nancy is a lovely person and a beautiful woman,” she said, trying to sound sunny and failing miserably.
“She is an excellent housekeeper.”
“How old is she?”
“She says time stopped when she hit 50. That is, when her husband died in a plane crash. Her oldest son, who was 20 at the time, got married, and his kid’s going to junior high now. He’s a history of science professor at Berkeley. She’s also her son’s student. She’s much more knowledgeable about science than I am. It’s been eight years since she started coming to my house.”
“That’s why she knows all about you.”
“She thinks she does. My favorite food, my favorite clothes. What time I get up and what time I go to bed. My habits, my type, but so what? It’s impossible to know everything there is to know about someone. I don’t even know myself.”
“Sometimes there are things others notice about you that you don’t see yourself.”
“For example?”
“You’re ridiculously confident, stubborn, and hard to please. None of which you have any idea about.”
Max just kept driving.
“Plus,” Katya thought for a while, “you have some kind of major secret.”
Max froze for a moment. A Cadillac passed by and honked at him.
“Careful on the road. My life’s just beginning.” Katya refastened her seat belt.
When they arrived at the lab it was past ten o’clock.
“Let’s introduce you to everyone.” He took Katya to the cafeteria. Suits, blazers, T-shirts and jeans—there were more than ten scientists, dressed from formal to casual.
Remarks came from every which way.
“Are you single?”
“Any hobbies?”
“Are you interested in making new genes? Can I help you out?”
“I’d like to get to know you.”
“She’s my assistant. And she’s under contract stating she can’t accept any other jobs.” Max grabbed Katya’s arm and left the cafeteria. “Bunch of juvenile idiots . . .”
“They’re all world-class researchers. I’ve read dissertations by nearly all of them.” Katya’s face was stiff with nervous tension.
“The slogan of the institute is Enjoy life, for it is both beautiful and short. And that’s a consequence of the genetic information incorporated into the genes of all living things,” said Max in order to ease her tension, but Katya’s face remained stiff.
“Don’t be nervous. Everyone here’s just a normal guy.”
“If there were drugs that could enhance my scientific talent, I’d take them, even if it ended up shaving years from my life.”
Max stopped and stared at Katya. He had a serious look on his face. “Don’t even joke about shortening your own life.”
“You’ll never understand how I feel, Professor.”
Max didn’t answer and began walking.
When he reached his office, he heard the phone ringing inside. He hurried to pick up, listening silently at first, and then he said, “It shouldn’t take that long to decode the DNA. All you’ve got to do is extract it and run it through the sequencer!” A pause. “Just tell them to hurry up!” He slammed down the receiver.
“That was the lab. It seems the genetic analysis I asked for last night is going to take all day. I should’ve had you do it.”
“You’re being awfully pushy, Professor. Almost as though something’s standing over you.”
“This is just my pace!” he shouted, out of an intense surge of emotion that quickly turned into regret. “I’m sorry I yelled. Sometimes I can’t control myself.”
“We need to take it easy. It was the same story in Germany and the Amazon. Science isn’t going to run away from us.”
“But time waits for no man,” muttered Max. He put on a lab coat and headed to the lab.
CHAPTER 15
That Saturday afternoon, two days later, Max left home alone. Katya had been out since the morning.
He drove south from San Francisco, pushing down the accelerator until the car reached a cruising speed of 60 mph. He’d been on the road for over an hour when he changed freeways. The Pacific was on his right, and on top of a small hill in front of him, a white building like a pigeon spreading its wings came into view. He exited the freeway and turned onto a road leading to the building.
As he entered the parking lot, he saw a red Toyota climbing the hill in the rearview mirror. He’d noticed it several times. He could see the driver; a woman with a yellow scarf wrapped around her head and dark sunglasses. Her profile looked familiar. Max got out of the car with a bouquet and a small box. He crossed a large, park-like garden toward the building. At the front was a block of granite that read CALIFORNIA MEMORIAL HOSPITAL. He entered and stood behind a tall plant in the corner of the hall. Max’s reflection showed in the window. A puffy face from lack of sleep, red swollen eyes, and a tired expression. Anybody would want to look away from a man in that sorry state. After a few minutes, the woman in the yellow scarf strolled in.
Max went to up her. “When did you change jobs to private eye?” he said quietly.
She looked surprised, “I just want to know about you, Professor.”
Max felt a deep melancholy. It was different from anger or sadness. It was part
despair, part resignation. Max grabbed Katya’s arm and quickened his pace. Katya resisted for a moment, but soon relaxed. They crossed the hall to the elevator and went up to the third floor. As they walked down the hallway, the nurses passing by flashed them friendly smiles. Max greeted them; this was a familiar place for him. Katya’s face softened.
They stopped in front of a room and opened the door without knocking. It was clean and well-maintained, with a slight disinfectant odor. A man was in a wheelchair in the sun, his back to them. Max approached him and gently put his hand on his shoulder. Then Max turned to Katya, who was standing at the entrance, and motioned for her to come in.
“Don’t be afraid to look. He’s not shy or ashamed at all.” He turned the wheelchair toward Katya. She tried to hide the horror that came over her.
Liver spots on the man’s scalp could be seen through his sparse white hair, and his face was creased with deep wrinkles. Tears were leaking out the corners of his eyes, and strings of drool streaked down his chin from his half-open mouth. The arms poking out of his short-sleeved pajamas were bony, and his dry skin was full of blemishes. The ugliness of old age radiated through his flaky, emaciated form. Max stood beside the old man and stared at Katya.
“This is my older brother, Alex.”
Katya’s expression turned to shock.
“Today’s his birthday. He’s 44 years old—nine years older than me.”
The hollow eyes of a decrepit old man were staring at her. They were a stagnant yellow, and she didn’t think he could see. He looked like he could be Max’s grandfather at the youngest. “Werner syndrome,” Katya murmured.
Werner syndrome begins during puberty or adolescence, and it causes aging to progress more rapidly than normal. Hair falls out and turns gray, and the skin wrinkles and ages. Illnesses associated with old age also appear, such as cataracts, diabetes, and heart disease. It’s caused by a genetic defect, and the gene that causes it, the SW gene, was discovered in 1996.
“It’s similar to Werner syndrome, but not quite.” Max took a tissue from the table and wiped Alex’s mouth.
“There are more than a dozen types of progeria, but this one is different. Symptoms suddenly appear after the age of 40. For my brother, they manifested at the age of 42. For my father, it happened at age 43. He committed suicide the following year. I heard that my grandfather was 41 years old. In the first year of the disease, the sufferer ages ten years, twenty more years during the second year, and thirty more years during the third year. The rate of aging accelerates. No one has survived after year three. Brain defects begin within two years of the onset of illness. The progression is slow, but dementia is inevitable,” Max told her plainly, as a doctor might describe a patient’s clinical condition. Katya’s eyes were glued to the wheelchair. “My brother was a talented attorney. He graduated from Berkeley Law School at the top of his class and worked for a law firm in Los Angeles. But now he doesn’t even remember his own name, or my face, for that matter.” Max put his hand on his brother’s white head and looked into his face.
“It’s unprecedented in the world. There were some similar cases, but the cause and cure are unknown. What’s certain is that it’s hereditary and only appears in men over the age of 40. And that they’re sure to die within three years.”
“Then, Professor, you . . .”
Max nodded. “I’m 35 years and 6 months old. I only have four years and change left before it’s my turn.”
Katya’s face was pale and her fingertips were trembling. “What are the treatment options?”
“It’s not looking great. I’ve scrutinized my brother’s genes. But given that it’s an unprecedented form of progeria, there’s not much to compare them to. I managed to get my hands on my father’s and grandfather’s genes, as they were born and raised in the US. I traveled to London and several other towns to get my great-grandfather’s genes. I wanted to look into my ancestors’ medical history. My great-grandfather immigrated to the US from the UK. But I couldn’t find his house or any relatives in London, thanks to the Blitz.”
Katya looked down. The Blitz (“lightning” in German) was a huge air raid on London by German troops during World War II. Katya looked up and stared at Max with fight in her eyes.
“What are the similarities to Hutchinson-Gilford syndrome, Cockayne syndrome, Down syndrome?”
“We examined all cases of progeria. Each has similarities and differences to this case.” Max put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “In some cases, the causative genes have been identified, but there’s still no treatment. Everything has been tried. In this case, we haven’t even identified the causative genes.”
“That’s why you went to Germany.”
“I wanted to look at it from a different angle. I thought that mulling it over in a different place and discussing the issue with different people might lead to new ideas.”
“You were looking at the genes of centenarians, too. I saw it in a file on the computer.”
“I thought I might hit on something by comparing the genes with the DNA of the long-lived—people who lived past 100. They’re in the exact opposite position, after all.”
“Then you found out about Gehlen and Dona . . .” Katya nodded, convinced.
“Carius Gehlen, Reinhard Benchell, and Dona. They are not clones. They are the original Gehlen and Benchell—who have been running from Nazi hunters for sixty-three years. Somehow they’ve retained their youth. They’ve found the road to immortality.”
Katya’s eyes widened.
“Those are the facts, and there must be a cause. If some are forced to age many times faster than normal, it makes sense others may age at a fraction of the rate normal people age,” Max said confidently, and stared at Katya. Katya looked bewildered. “Gehlen and Dona died in that bombing, but if that didn’t happen, they would have lived on for decades to come. No—if they didn’t die by an accident or illness, they would have lived for hundreds of years. I’m sure Benchell is alive somewhere—and that he hasn’t aged a bit.”
“Then the graves in Domba are fake.”
“They erased all evidence of their survival. That was why they slaughtered the villagers and destroyed the village.” Max walked by the window and looked down at the garden.
He thought of the mound of charred black lumps in the smoldering flames in that clearing surrounded by jungle. He closed his eyes and let the nausea pass.
“The key lies in that village,” Katya said, picking up Max’s train of thought. “And now you think the key is in the cells of the girl who lived there.”
“Yes, you saw that amazing resilience. I’m convinced that girl was Aska. The child with Gehlen and Dona’s blood, the daughter who holds the key to the miracle we need,” he stammered, taking in deep breaths.
Some patients were basking in the sun on the grassy hill. A place where life and death live together. It was a peaceful scene and, at the same time, a scene of desolation.
“So, did you learn anything?” Katya asked. “You got the results of the genetic analysis the night before yesterday.”
“The repetitive junk sequences matched. Dona and Aska are definitely mother and daughter. Also . . . ,” he exhaled faintly, “the telomeres at both ends of her chromosome are several times longer than those in normal people.” Max turned around and looked at Katya.
“But that alone can’t be proof of longevity.” Katya looked confused and sat in a chair next to the bed. “Certainly, the length of telomeres can increase the number of cell divisions. They could be beyond thirty to sixty times of the Hayflick limit. In fact, there have been cases where giving telomerase to human cells has increased the life span by more than four times. However, even if cell division increases, DNA damage caused by free radicals will eventually cause normal cells to turn cancerous.”
“There’s next to no damage in Aska’s DNA. There’s also an unusually high amount of antioxidant enzyme secretion. In addition . . .” Max stared at Katya. “Her telomerase is differen
t from everyone else’s.”
Katya’s expression grew even more serious.
“Aska’s telomerase not only prevents telomere loss, but it may also repair DNA damage. Or maybe other genes are what’s preventing the cell damage. There’s probably also some difference with respect to her embryonic stem (ES) cells. Not that I know what that difference is.” Max muttered the last few words under his breath.
“We know that telomerase is an enzyme that prevents telomeres from shortening as a result of cell division and that cancer cells repeat division indefinitely by producing telomerase. That’s why they’re called ‘immortal cells.’ However, telomerase does not have an effect on most adult cells and only functions during the fetal stage, reproductive cell production, and stem cell division.”
Max’s brother moaned and looked up at them. Max stood in front of him and stared at his face. There was a long silence between them. Max quietly nodded and wiped the tears from the corners of the old man’s eyes with his fingertip. They “communicated” by staring at each other.
“If you discover the relationship between Dona, Aska, Gehlen, and Benchell, you may discover a possible treatment,” Katya said, trying to lighten the suffocating atmosphere.
Max didn’t answer. He had sought that miracle since he saw that disembodied hand in Germany, and he had yet to find it.
The door opened, and a nurse came in.
“It’s examination time. Please go see the doctor. He said he’s ready to talk to you.” The nurse smiled brightly at Max.
“I want you to come with me,” Max told Katya.
“But I . . .”
“I chose you as my research partner, and as my partner, you need to get a grasp of the symptoms you are studying.”
Katya stared at Max and nodded.
Max led Katya into one of the examination rooms. A middle-aged doctor with an easygoing air looked at Max and stood. The doctor shook hands with him, and then turned to Katya.
“This is my brother’s physician, Dr. George Hamilton,” Max said.
“This is Dr. Katarina Lang, and she’s my research partner. She’s a physician as well, and a life scientist. I’m looking forward to her help in the future.”
The Gene of Life Page 18