The Gene of Life

by Tetsuo Ted Takashima

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “There are so many things out there that we don’t understand. Our world is full of mysteries,” he said, more to convince himself, and patted Katya on the shoulder.

  Before the week ended, five foundations and companies had cut off their research grants. Some contacted the facility by phone, and some by mail. They all tried to sever ties in a businesslike fashion, emphasizing that it was due to internal financial circumstances, and not because of the quality of the research. The lab’s funding for the next fiscal year was slashed by $900,000 within a week. It was a giant blow to the institute.

  The following Monday morning when they entered the cafeteria, all eyes were on Max. Max raised his hand in greeting, and was met with awkward smiles and averted eyes.

  “Did something happen?” Katya asked.

  “You’re asking me?”

  “Then ask them.” Katya watched as researchers avoided Max. A researcher tapped Max on the shoulder and put a local newspaper in his hands.

  “The world is really mysterious. That’s why it’s fun.”

  He arched his eyebrows and shrugged before walking off.

  BEHIND THE GLORY

  Beside the headline was a photo of Max about the size of a business card. He skimmed the article, then silently left the cafeteria. Katya chased after him.

  “Is it that mysterious?” Katya asked when they were back in their room.

  Max put the newspaper on his desk. THE REAL FACE OF MAX KNIGHT, WORLD-RENOWNED BIOLOGIST, read the headline subhead. The article was about his high school arrest history, drunk driving, and violence.

  “Is it true?”

  “It’s ancient history.”

  “So, they’re just the ghosts of your past from twenty years ago?” she said, looking up from the article.

  “That’s not the world’s opinion.”

  “But why did you do all that?”

  “How was your high school experience? You’re beautiful, intelligent, and in perfect health. You must have been the center of attention at school. The future was always rosy for you. You probably had a blast.” Max put his hands on the desk and closed his eyes. “Try to see it through my eyes. Out of nowhere, my dad’s hair turns gray and starts falling out. His body starts getting wrinkly, and veins appear all over his now-spotty skin. My mother was confused and afraid. She left home six months later. No one could blame her. In our hearts, we wanted to avoid him, too. We were afraid of him. He was like an avatar of old age and death—of what humans fear.”

  Max looked up at Katya. “But it was my father who suffered the most. In addition to his accelerated aging, everyone was afraid of him, and he was left to rot by his loved ones. So, he chose to die. That was the beginning of my high school life.” The blood drained from Max’s face. Katya looked away. “What really ruined me was how the universe suddenly decided to take away everything that made me. All through elementary and junior high, I was going to be a football player. I was the star player of Little League, too. Think about how I felt when I realized I no longer had a future. Where would I be ten, twenty years down the line? Close to death, that’s what.” Max’s voice was trembling.

  “No matter what I did, I wondered whether there was any point to it. At first, I was just afraid of death. Then I went wild and was reckless.” Max looked off into the distance. “I wandered around the city and got some weed. I never took harder drugs, but I was close. I got into fights over money, and did other dangerous stuff. That was when I got arrested for drunk driving, and was tried in court for battery.” Max’s hands were shaking. Katya gripped his hands.

  “When you came to my room, you . . .”

  “No. It wasn’t like that. I just wanted to hold you. For some reason, my heart feels at ease when I’m with you. It feels like a hole in my heart is getting filled up.”

  Max took a few deep breaths. Gradually, he calmed down.

  “It was my brother who saved me. Alex picked me up at the police station and brought me straight to the lake where our father committed suicide. He dragged me into the lake and said if I couldn’t keep the promise we made on the night of our father’s funeral, then we should just follow in his footsteps then and there. We’d only live to 40 anyway, right? If I couldn’t get a hold of myself, the only thing in my future was a miserable death. My brother is a far greater man than I ever was. I vowed to save him—and myself in the process.” Max looked up at Katya. “I studied hard after that. I swore I’d never touch a football again. I’d figure out what killed our father and grandfather. And my brother and I will live on.”

  “What happened to your mom?”

  “She remarried and is living out East.”

  Katya sighed and threw the newspaper in the trash.

  That afternoon, Max got a surprise visit from the lab’s director, Dr. Thomas Owens. When he entered the room, Director Owens sat down and looked up at Max. His long white hair and beard gave him the air of a mild-mannered old man. The eyes behind those thick lenses, however, were sharp enough to pierce the soul. While he hadn’t won a Nobel himself, he counted two winners among his protégés. He was retired from research and focused on the institute’s daily operations. His personality and approach to science earned him the respect and support of researchers all over the world—as well as the moniker of “the Conscience of the Science World.”

  He had an uncanny insight as to what was ahead. When everyone had their sights set on IT, he predicted that the twenty-first century would be the era of the genome, and set out to establish a genetic research institute. He was appointed its first director, gathered leading researchers, and made the institute the core of the genetics world. Now he hoped to reinforce the institute’s status by making state-of-the art updates.

  There was a letter on the desk. Director Owens told Max to read it. There was no return address. He’d expected this, but his hands trembled all the same.

  “It’s an anonymous letter, and it arrived at my doorstep. I could have thrown it away, but I figured I’d better show it to you,” Owens said, his tone as gentle as his expression.

  The letter mentioned one of Max’s high school classmates. “I remember a girl named Annie Jones. I heard she moved to New York after graduating, but that was a long time ago.”

  “Did anything this letter says actually happen?”

  According to the letter, she’d had an abortion during high school, and she swore the baby was Max’s. She claimed the abortion left her unable to get pregnant, and that her life was a misery. She also wrote in detail about Max’s unfaithfulness and acts of violence.

  “No. I never dated her, and haven’t spoken to her since high school.”

  “Would you like to report this to the police, or sue her for defamation?”

  “Just throw it away, please.”

  “That’s all I need to hear.” The director stood up and took the letter back from him.

  “I’m going to keep it, though. There seems to be trouble brewing around you. We may need to give it to the police.”

  Max thanked Director Owens and walked him to the door. Max’s hand was on the doorknob, when,

  “Professor Knight.”

  Max halted and looked back.

  “Do you remember about fifteen years ago? You were my student.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you remember that math problem?” Owens said, with a distant look. “I always asked that problem in the first class of the school year. I’d let the freshmen agonize over it for two hours. I never thought they’d be able to solve a high-level math problem of that caliber. I meant it as a reminder that college is about challenging yourself intellectually, and tackling the questions of the day.”

  Owen smiled faintly as he reminisced. “Thirty minutes in, the classroom was dead silent. I could almost choke on the youthful enthusiasm. I liked that moment. But one student was looking out the window. I walked over to reprimand him, but when I stood behind him, I was stunned. Not only was there
a solution written neatly on the page, but even more surprisingly, that solution was perfect. That was the first time that had ever happened. That student was you.” Owens stared at Max. His eyes shone with compassion and kindness. “You have my thanks.”

  Max looked at Dr. Owens, taken aback.

  “It was only after I met you that I understood the importance of teaching, and how much fun it could be. You absorbed my knowledge and skills like a sponge. You were the best student I ever had.” Dr. Owens smiled at Max. “I have great expectations for your talent, and I greatly respect your scientific spirit, a respect that goes beyond teacher and student. I believe in you, and I plan to defend you no matter what. I think your brain is this institute’s treasure—no, the world’s.” Owens laughed. “That math problem was the same one my mentor asked me to solve during my first year at Caltech. Actually, I couldn’t solve it then. I finally solved it six months later.” Owens waved goodbye. Max thanked him, and smiled at him in appreciation.

  The next evening, Katya drove Max home in the Mercedes. She offered to drive because she could see Max was racking his brain. She stopped a block away; several cars were parked in front of the house. A large minivan was from a TV station. They were waiting for him.

  “They’ve finally got me cornered.” Max got out of the passenger seat and stuck a newspaper in front of Katya.

  “A ‘mysterious female housemate’? Does that mean me?”

  “I don’t think it means Nancy.” Katya looked at the newspaper article and the cars parked in front of the house.

  The article included photos of Max and Katya entering the house and of them in the car. Depending on the viewer, they could be interpreted as either pulling each other by the arms, or hugging and kissing each other.

  “Expert timing,” she commented. “I wonder when they took these. They were definitely using a telephoto lens from far away; look at how grainy they are.”

  “First they cut our funding, now we get paparazzi? Talk about getting kicked while we’re down.”

  Max told her about the letter that had been delivered to the director.

  “Any idea what any of that is about?” she asked.

  “I did have a girlfriend, and I may have gone a little too far,” he said quietly, sighing. “Remember when I said I was taken in by the police over a fight? And I can’t count how many times I got a ticket for a traffic violation. Have you ever broken the law?” His voice had gotten louder. “But nothing like what that letter said happened. As far as I can remember, anyway.” Max pulled the newspaper from Katya’s hand.

  “Relax, Professor. I know you aren’t a saint. I know you’re a scientist, not some televangelist selling a squeaky clean image to the world. If there’s nothing you feel guilty about, then there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Katya started the car. “Ready?”

  “I’m ready when you are.”

  A reporter pointed to the Mercedes and said something to a man with a TV camera.

  “I changed my mind,” Katya said. “This is too much for me.” She backed up and veered into a side street. They could see the press chasing after them in the rearview mirror. Katya pushed down on the accelerator.

  That night, they stayed at a hotel downtown.

  When Max and Katya entered the lab together next morning, Dr. Phillips approached them.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at university administration right about now?” he laughed while looking at the clock. “The director should already be headed there.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Isn’t it your inquiry hearing?”

  Max hurried to his room and called Director Owens. Max asked about the inquiry and was told it was just about to begin.

  “I told you to leave it all to me, didn’t I?” Owens said, in his typical calm and even cadence.

  “But . . .”

  “You’re 35 years old, if I remember correctly. Well, I’m 62 and feel the ticking of my clock. Do I really want to just keep managing the facility? Is that all I want to do with the rest of my life? Maybe it’s time to plant new seeds. When it comes to ideas, you young people won’t beat me quite yet,” he laughed.

  “Are you saying you’re stepping down as director?”

  “I might, depending on how the wind blows. But it’s not because of you.” The tone of his voice had changed.

  “I don’t hate teaching or running the facility. I believe it’s as meaningful a vocation as research is. In fact, it may suit me better. And I was able to raise a life scientist par excellence in you. I will defend you even if it ruins me. But please forgive me if I lack the power. Only God can decide where my path will lead me now.” Before Max could think of what to say, Owens had hung up.

  For a minute he just stood there, the receiver still in hand. Katya was beside him, giving him a worried look.

  “I’ve hurt a lot of people,” he said, after hanging up the phone.

  “Don’t feel bad!”

  “I was naive. They’re ruthless enough to slaughter a whole village of people. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me how easily they’d cut the facility’s funding and manipulate the media.”

  “I’m going to stick by you, even if I’m not paid. But please have me stay home for the time being.”

  The door opened, and Warren leapt in, newspaper in hand.

  “They put out a corrected article in this irresponsible gossip rag they call a newspaper. It was on TV, too. They don’t exactly put out corrections every day, you know. Either they saw the light, or somebody had friends in high places pull some strings. In any case, the inquiry hearing’s been called off.”

  The door opened, and this time the secretary appeared. “You have a call from a representative of Theodor Roemheld of the Roemheld Foundation. She wants to talk to you directly, Dr. Knight. Please pick up the phone now.”

  “Another sponsor cutting all funding?” Warren’s smile vanished from his face.

  Max pressed the extension button and picked up the receiver.

  “Roemheld’s one of the world’s leading foundations, with headquarters in New York,” explained Warren under his breath to Katya, “It was founded by Theodor Roemheld. He began an IT company, made a fortune, and retired at 45. He’s funded dozens of research institutes and universities around the world. But it’s weird. The Roemheld Foundation never gave us any funding in the past.”

  Max put down the phone. “It’s about funding research. In the next few days, Roemheld’s secretary will come to negotiate contract terms.”

  “How much we talking?”

  “$900,000.”

  Warren sighed. “I didn’t know you knew Roemheld.”

  “I don’t. This was our first time speaking. I spoke with Mrs. Catherine Roemheld. She was doing business on his behalf, but she introduced herself as his wife.”

  “That’s the exact amount of money we lost. And I don’t think that can be a coincidence.”

  Max was thinking.

  “I’ll go tell all the staff. Once they hear about this I guarantee the other donors will take back their cancellations. We’ll be getting enough funding to rival the national budget! Get me an electron microscope and a new sequencer, if you don’t mind. Phew, I can finally sleep easy!” said Warren.

  “This is Feldman’s handiwork.” Max looked up. “Theodor Roemheld is Jewish. Feldman pulled the strings.”

  “He has that kind of power?” Katya asked.

  “Jews share a hatred of the Nazis. Plus, Feldman said he has support from around the world.”

  “He must have felt guilty. He’s the one who got you into all of this.”

  “I did everything of my own free will. I have no regrets.”

  “So, Jewish money beat the Nazis.”

  Suddenly, Max’s body seized up, and something hot ran up his throat. Max pulled out a handkerchief and held his mouth closed.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Katya, looking on anxiously.

  “Nothing,” he rasped, but his heart was pounding.
As if to dampen his joy, the same heavy, oppressive clumps of lead flowed back into his mind. They grew denser as they metastasized, pulsating. He took deep breath after deep breath, and began to feel better.

  “We may just be dancing in the palms of their hands,” Max muttered, and turned on his computer. On the screen, the familiar DNA sequence and waveform that had already been seared into his eyes appeared.

  CHAPTER 17

  That Saturday, Max and Katya were in the experiment room. It was already past 11:00 p.m. Red emergency lights illuminated the silent corridor.

  The experiment room—where everything he did when he was a student took place. Max had started his days there, eaten there, and slept there.

  He looked up from the microscope. In a corner of the room, Katya set cell samples into the constant temperature incubator.

  Then it shook.

  There was a rumbling boom. The floor rose up a few inches. Max felt a powerful blow to his back, and was thrown against the wall. Dull pain spread through his whole body.

  The room was completely dark; the power was out. He tried to get up, but a stabbing pain in his back sent him right back down.

  “Katya!”

  No reply.

  “Are you okay? Answer me!”

  Nothing.

  After a few seconds, the pain subsided. He grabbed a fallen shelf for leverage and managed to get up. Fine particles flowed into his mouth and nose, along with the smell of burnt chemicals. He stumbled to the desk in the dark, careful of the holes in the floor, groped for the drawers, and found the flashlight. The room was shrouded in smoke and dust from the collapsed floor and walls. In the scant light he could see that the floor in the center of the experiment room was gone.

  “Katya! Where are you?!”

  The corner of the room where Katya had been was buried in debris. He weaved through fallen shelves and shattered equipment to the spot where the constant temperature incubator had been. He could see a lab coat in the gap between a shelf and the floor. He put the flashlight down and lifted the shelf with all his strength. He thrust his arm in the gap and felt around for her. She was moving. She was alive. Using an iron pipe that had clattered to the floor as a lever, he raised the shelf further, then pulled out Katya’s body. Max picked her up and carried her out to the corridor. Half of the corridor floor had collapsed along the wall, and he could see fire from the bottom of the hole.