Pathological

by Jinkang Wang

  It was a lesson Mei Yin took to heart.

  Days later, when the follow-up team from the WHO arrived, father and daughter said good-bye to Dr. Adi, then went to see the old woman one last time. She had more or less recovered, and was sitting up in bed, running her fingers through her tangled hair, chatting to her neighbor in a language they didn’t understand. She naturally had no memory of the blood-drawing incident, and no idea that her own recovery had signaled someone else’s salvation too. Mei Yin and her father looked at her and laughed, their hearts full of unspoken joy.

  It was only in 1986, a full five years after AIDS had been discovered, that Dickerson suddenly thought of the six hundred blood samples he’d taken in Zaire back in 1976. They’d all been tested for Ebola, but could the AIDS virus have been present too? Mei Yin had graduated early from the University of North Carolina by then, and was working at the CDC’s new AIDS laboratory. Dickerson proposed revisiting the samples, and with the CDC’s agreement, retrieved them from cold storage. The blood specimens were old and degraded, but Mei Yin finally succeeded in cultivating cells from them, and achieved a result—0.8 percent of the samples were from AIDS victims.

  The virus isolated by Mei Yin was the original form of the AIDS virus, and proved very helpful to subsequent researchers looking into its later mutations. Later, the CDC carried out a large-scale investigation into several countries in Central Africa, finally proving that AIDS had had a stable presence in the villages of Central Africa for quite some time, with an infection rate of about 0.8 to 0.9 percent, a comparatively mild transmittable disease. What’s more, until the late eighties, it maintained this comparatively low rate of infection in these villages. In the cities, however, it suddenly became the scourge of an entire era.

  Fortunately, the vial of serum Dickerson had injected himself with ten years before hadn’t been among that 0.8 percent, otherwise he’d have had the distinction of being the very first AIDS patient in America.

  After leaving the infection zone, Mei Yin and her father hurried to the Serengeti grasslands, on the border of Tanzania and Kenya. In the tribal language, this area was known as the “eternally flowing land,” though it wasn’t the grasslands that moved, but the animals on them. Every summer, millions of wildebeests and zebras would migrate northward to the Maasai Mara wetlands, only returning during the dry season.

  Mei Yin had watched the wildebeest migration on TV and felt drawn to it—perhaps the idea of returning to one’s ancestral lands resonated with her. After watching this program, she couldn’t stop thinking about it, and kept asking her father: When can we go to Africa to see it? And now, her wish was finally granted.

  Dickerson rented a Jeep and drove to the Grumeti River, which intersected the migration route diagonally and, as the only water source along the way, was a guaranteed spot for seeing the wildebeests. Their driver/guide was a Maasai tribesperson. He spoke a little French, but Dickerson’s grasp of the language was only enough for the most basic conversation. In the end, they simply handed over the task of navigation to him, since discussion was essentially impossible.

  They stopped by the river and spread out a blanket as a simple bed. They ate their dry rations and drank river water, which tasted like nectar as far as Mei Yin was concerned. In Zaire, they’d used iodine to make the water potable, which gave it an awful flavor. That night, they were so worn out they fell asleep right away. The next day, soon after the sun rose, there was a faraway sound like drumbeats. The driver pressed his ear to the ground, then pointed into the distance and yelled in delight, “They’re coming! They’re coming!”

  Great plumes of dust rose from the horizon, and the morning light fell on a sheet of moving life, a great tide of flesh. Millions of wildebeests appeared majestically from the south, charging toward the Grumeti River. Around the herbivores were lions and cheetahs, keeping pace with them, keeping watch for the young ones, launching sneak attacks under cover of dust clouds. The wildebeests accepted these losses with equanimity, though occasionally a mother would tussle with the lion prides, usually to no effect. When a death was inevitable, the mothers howled with grief, then returned to the herd and continued the journey. Now they were at the river, and at the foot of the steep banks was the water they longed for, though instinct told them there were deadly enemies within—crocodiles. The lead wildebeest tottered toward the bank, sniffing every few steps, calling out and retreating, a back-and-forth dance with death. The ones behind could smell the water and pushed impatiently ahead, inexorably forcing the lead animals into the water. Finally, one of the herd tumbled in, then immediately reared up, scrambling back to shore, panicking the rest. The crocodiles began to attack, and with a flash of teeth a wildebeest was caught around the neck, its throat ripped open an instant later. A few more wildebeests were bitten to death in quick succession and dragged underwater, fresh blood spreading through the river, dyeing it red. But fear seemed to leave the others now, and they boldly roared, stepping on the bodies of their companions and even of the crocodiles, surging to the opposite shore. The vast majority of the animals made it across, shaking off water, and without a moment’s pause continuing their stampede across the grasslands.

  The Maasai guide laughed at the sight, so familiar to him. Mei Yin was deeply moved, however, and could barely hold back her tears. It was a true battle of life and death, the fate of the species in the balance. The bodies left behind became a river of life, individual sacrifices exchanged for the survival of the species. It was a play that had been acted out for billions of years.

  One wildebeest escaped from a crocodile’s jaws, and tottered its way up the shore. Its wounds didn’t look fatal, but after swaying a little more, it tumbled to the ground not far away. Dickerson said to Mei Yin, “I think this one might be ill. Let’s take a look.”

  The two of them went over and knelt for a closer examination. Sure enough, tears and saliva were streaming from its face, the mucous membrane of its mouth unnaturally flushed, and when it fell, foul-smelling bloody stools seeped from its rear. Seeing the humans approach, it struggled to stand, but didn’t have the strength. A leopard had been eyeing this animal and now slowly approached, snarling and snapping at the two of them. The guide quickly pulled them back into the Jeep.

  As the Jeep pulled away, Dickerson said, “That leopard was doing a good deed. The wildebeest had cattle plague, and couldn’t have been saved. By eating it, the predator makes it less likely that the disease will spread to the rest of the species.”

  Mei Yin listened carefully, not saying a word. Only later in the evening, when they were eating dinner, did she suddenly ask, “Dad, you said cattle plague was highly infectious, so why wasn’t that wildebeest herd wiped out by it? They’re mammals, like humans, so their immune systems should be similar too. And they migrate in such a tight pack, squeezed together, diseases should spread between them even more easily than between humans in cities. Besides, there aren’t any wildebeest doctors, no vaccines or inoculation, and no stupid protective suits or masks.”

  Dickerson laughed. She’d hated having to wear all that protective gear over the last few days; she’d refused to put it on during their last day, and he’d been forced to give in. Now, he said, “That’s right, imagine a million wildebeests all in protective masks, that’d be quite a sight. Actually, there is a kind of medicine among the wildebeests—God’s medicine, that is, natural selection. Those susceptible to illness are eliminated, whether by the sickness or predators, so that leaves only the individuals with good immunity. Of course, this isn’t workable with human beings. Ever since the time of Hippocrates, medicine has been inextricably linked with humanism. Medical science is built on the foundation of individual lives, and its objective could be summed up as one single golden rule: save the individual, not the species.”

  “Huh, at least these wild animals live naturally. Look at the wildebeests, so strong and full of energy! Seeing them run across the plains, I feel like they’re not animals, but flying spirits. So, the way I se
e it, God’s medicine is every bit as good as human medicine.”

  This statement stunned Dickerson. Thirty years in medical research, yet never noticing the most obvious truth. The standard of human health was no better than the wildebeests’—perhaps worse. Now, God was staging a great drama in the African wilderness, and the actors were millions of beasts, brimming with the energy of life. These creatures instinctively knew God’s instructions, and were a living demonstration of these rules—and it was a child who’d first understood this. He sighed. “But it’s not the same.”

  Mei Yin wasn’t buying it. “Why not?”

  “God’s medicine actually seems more effective. The way he does it, the individual is perpetually in danger of death, but the balance between the whole species and the pathogens is stable. Even when there are ups and downs, they’re not too violent, so the species won’t suddenly collapse. Whereas in human medicine, the individual gets complete protection, but as a species we have a most unstable relationship with pathogens, and the whole system becomes susceptible to a crash. Truly, scientists should seriously consider your question. Speaking of which, I have an answer to Mr. Smith’s question, from the Wilson Airport in Nairobi.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the theory that, on the whole, pathogens and their hosts find a stable balance. African viruses have a long history, so there are more strains than on other continents. And among their original hosts, such as the green monkeys or gorillas, they are indeed a benign presence. It’s only the growth of modern civilization that’s disrupted the original balance too much. Add that to the many varieties of African viruses, and that’s what makes them so deadly to humans.”

  Mei Yin said thoughtfully, “Oh, I see.”

  That night, several large herds of wildebeests remained by the riverside. Having eaten and drunk their fill, they were sauntering along the banks, the calves squirming playfully around their mother’s legs. The lions, also full, rested nearby at the river’s edge. The wildebeests, zebras, and gazelles ignored the lions, even daring to frolic quite close to them, instinctively knowing that if the predators’ bellies were heavy with food, they wouldn’t need to kill. The shroud of night lowered over the plains, and a peaceful stillness lay on the riverside, as if the daytime slaughter had never happened.

  They decided to sleep in the open air, as before. National Park guidelines forbade this, but if a baby wildebeest wasn’t afraid of the lions, why should they be? The Maasai guide was even less bothered, his tribe having historically viewed both lions and wildebeests as part of the family. He spread out the blankets, and quickly fell asleep. Mei Yin and her father sat cross-legged on the grass, gazing at the dome of the sky, watching the twilight clouds grow dimmer, as the first stars appeared and a new moon rose. Their surroundings were slowly swallowed by darkness, not a glimmer of light, not a hint of civilization. Nature had been forging its own path for billions of years, and would continue to do so, indifferent to the ups and downs of a certain intelligent species.

  Resting her head on her father’s knee, Mei Yin slipped into sleep. She woke again late in the night, and saw he was in the same position, still gazing up at the sky, his eyes glittering. She murmured, “Dad, why’re you still awake?” In a moment she was asleep again, but Dickerson stayed up almost till dawn. The Crucifix Society and its teachings came into being that night. He came to understand that the living world had reached a point of natural equilibrium through billions of years of evolution. Humans were now disturbing that equilibrium. They couldn’t return to the natural condition of wildebeests—it was too late for that. Homo sapiens could only continue along the road, and seek a new equilibrium.

  In the morning, he shook her awake and said, “Get up, look at the sunrise over Africa, how beautiful it is!” The scenery was breathtaking, animal silhouettes swirling in the distance as the mist rose around them, like spirits in a dream. Her father’s smile was just as radiant, seeming to come from deep within his heart, his face mysteriously glowing.

  Spring 2017—Nanyang, China

  Dickerson’s funeral took place three days after his death. Deputy Mayor Jin gave his personal assurance to the detention center, so that the two defendants were able to attend. Several members of the Crucifix Society were there, of course, as was Xue Yu, but no one else. The cavernous hall that could have held a thousand felt empty. The cross around his neck had been taken off and presented to Mei Yin. His body was turned into a pile of warm ashes on foreign soil. Mei Yin scattered half of them into the nearby river, and gave the other half to Susan Sotomayor to bring back to the States. Her adoptive father was a citizen of the world, but if he had such a thing as a soul, it would feel closer to home there.

  The trial resumed the next day. Xue Yu arrived very early and saved a place for Deputy Mayor Jin. It was Mother Chen’s turn to come watch, and she sat on his other side, muttering anxiously. “What’ll happen to Director Mei? Will she be jailed? It never rains but it pours: first her granny dies, then her dad, and now she and her man are both going to prison. How much can one person take?”

  The deputy mayor was early too. Recognizing him, Mother Chen quickly leaned over and repeated the whole speech. Jin reassured her. “It’s up to the court whether or not she goes to prison, but the way things are looking, it should be a light sentence.”

  “That’s good, that’s good.”

  The day before, there’d been a meeting between the city’s legal committee leaders, the city council, the municipal government, and the prosecutor’s office. They all agreed they’d met their main objective—demonstrating the nation’s innocence—and so could afford to go easy on Mei Yin. If her lawyer managed to get her off altogether, then why not allow her some leniency. Her actions, after all, had shown her to be on the side of humanity, even if her opinions and behavior were somewhat extreme. Besides, the most serious charge—smuggling the smallpox virus from abroad—lacked persuasive evidence. The prosecutor’s attitude had softened.

  The foreigners were in court too, sitting in the same place, an empty seat in the middle for the deceased. The journalists in the back row recognized Deputy Mayor Jin and pointed at him, whispering. Then the defendants, prosecutor, and judges had all arrived, and court was in session. The judge said, “Previously, the defense said it had conducted its own analysis of the virus specimens from Heavenly Corp. Please produce your results.”

  The defense lawyer smiled mirthlessly. “No need for that. My client wishes to change her plea to guilty.”

  The audience couldn’t believe their ears. Xue Yu stared in shock at Ms. Mei, but from where he was, he could only see her profile. Next to him, Mother Chen was asking doubtfully, “Xue, what did that lawyer say? Director Mei says she’s guilty?” The journalists were buzzing in their seats. The commotion grew too loud, and the bailiffs came over to ask everyone to hush. The other defendant, Sun Jingshuan, appeared as shocked as everyone else, and stared at his wife uncomprehendingly. Mei Yin’s lawyer appeared helpless, his expression seeming to say, This is the defendant’s own decision, nothing to do with me, this isn’t my fault.

  Jin Mingcheng was perhaps more baffled than anyone. When they’d called a halt to proceedings, the trial had been going favorably for the defendants. The city had been in touch with the prosecutors, and the day before, he’d met with Du Chunming to secretly inform him of how the wind was blowing. As far as he was aware, Du Chunming had then met Mei Yin. Why was she suddenly admitting to her guilt now?

  The chief judge, also startled, said, “Defendant, you’re pleading guilty?”

  Mei Yin said calmly, “Yes. I did indeed transport the smallpox virus into the country from Russia. Stebushkin, who provided me with the samples from the Vector Institute, hadn’t attenuated the virus. So what I brought in was the virulent form of a Level-Four virus.”

  “What was your motive in doing so?”

  “I was carrying out the teachings of my adoptive father, Walt Dickerson—taking practical action to alleviate t
he smallpox vacuum created by science. Later, I spent more than ten years cultivating and weakening this virus, not to turn it into antigens, but to create a mild strain of the virus that could exist in the natural world. That’s a new medical concept. Should I explain a little more?”

  The judge nodded.

  “Let me talk about the antigens first. Compared to inactivated vaccines or other forms of inoculation, antigens have a great advantage: as they are alive, they can multiply within the patient’s body, meaning the immunity they confer lasts much longer. Yet this ‘living advantage’ isn’t fully exploited with antigens, which still need to be first cultivated in laboratory conditions, then stored and disseminated by human means, so they are relatively inefficient, limited by the human factor, unable to become part of the balance of the natural world. For instance, if a war were to cut off production of antigens, interrupting our stocks and supply chains, disease would proliferate again. Mild viruses are different. They’re able to exist in the natural world, and can squeeze out the original, more virulent strains, becoming the dominant variety, conferring immunity against the original virus in everyone they infect. All in all, cultivating a mild virus and setting it free in the natural world was a way of inducing a small epidemic now, to prevent a potentially much worse epidemic later.”

  This was a fairly technical speech, and the audience seemed to be having trouble following it. Xue Yu, however, felt a shock wave pass through him. This was a completely new concept. If Ms. Mei had actually done it—and from the way the Nanyang epidemic had played out, it would seem that she had—it would be a historic revolution, akin to Jenner’s invention of the cowpox vaccine, or Fleming’s discovery of antibiotics. At the same time, he was shattered by the words “setting it free,” a phrase that carried terrifying implications. The judges and audience were evidently still catching up, and hadn’t realized the import of what she’d said.