The Dinosaur Feather

by S. J. Gazan

  “Er, no,” Anna said. “Popper thought a theory was false when it was scientific?”

  “No, of course not, you dork. Popper thought it was only when a theory was open to testing and could, possibly, be disproved, that it could be deemed scientific.

  “At the start of the 1960s,” he continued, “a new school of thought in scientific theory was born that wanted subjectivity to be acknowledged and included in our understanding of science. One of the frontrunners was the physicist Thomas Kuhn, who pointed out the value of subjectivity in science. I just want to interpose,” Johannes said tapping his upper lip lightly, “that of course there are many different ways to interpret Kuhn, so it’s not absolutely certain I’m right.” He gave her a teasing look before he continued.

  “Kuhn was later supported by a woman I have the greatest respect for, the brilliant science theorist Lorraine J. Daston, who in an attempt to solidify the role of the subjective in science introduced a concept she named the Moral Economy of Science. So we’re talking about a shift in perception, with on the one hand Popper’s demand for an absolute set of rules for science and, on the other, a more relative attitude, as proposed by Kuhn and Daston.” Johannes wrote Kuhn on the board following by a colon.

  “Of course, none of them was a genius working in isolation who suddenly saw the light, that goes without saying,” he added, “but to simplify matters I’ll give you the shortened version, okay?”

  Anna nodded.

  “Kuhn demonstrated that a scientist’s choices are influenced by the personality and biography of that scientist, and that ultimately subjectivity determines what the scientist chooses. Kuhn, you won’t be surprised to hear, attracted huge criticism and was accused of having a completely irrational understanding of science, but he responded by pointing out that making room for disagreement doesn’t equal throwing open the doors to a misleading and totally subjective understanding of science, as long as”—Johannes raised his index finger—“the scientists in question are 100-percent loyal to their own explanations and can argue convincingly in case of any breaches of that loyalty.” Johannes planted a hand on the desk either side of Anna and stood very close to her.

  “Have you examined whether Freeman is consistent within his own work? Is he loyal to his own choices, and when he changes his explanations, is his argument satisfactory?”

  “I don’t know,” Anna said.

  Johannes took a step back.

  “Let’s move on,” he said, and spent the next fifteen minutes reviewing Lorraine J. Daston’s concept of the Moral Economy of Science. Anna listened in awe and made notes as Johannes’s talent for abstract thinking unfolded before her.

  “I think that’s enough for today.” He smiled. “But first let’s summarize.” He looked gravely at her. “Over to you.”

  “What?”

  Johannes nodded.

  Anna took her notes and jumped down from the desk. Suddenly the situation reminded her of her forthcoming dissertation defense, and her heart started pounding as she wiped the board, picked up a piece of chalk, and carefully accounted for her understanding.

  Johannes looked pleased when she had finished and said: “Find out if Clive Freeman adheres to universal and established premises for sober science. If he doesn’t,” he snapped his fingers, “then you’ve got him.”

  “And if he does?”

  “Then you’re screwed,” Johannes laughed.

  Anna was about to sulk, but then she felt it. There was something. Something almost terrifyingly intangible, but vital. Something she could work with.

  Over the following weeks she studied Popper, Kuhn, and Daston in detail, and as the days passed, two points emerged: scientists who contradicted themselves couldn’t claim their theories were scientific; and scientists must, at any given time, be able to substantiate effectively any theories they propose or reject.

  She revisited the controversy with a fresh pair of eyes. She reviewed Freeman’s arguments for the umpteenth time, and they were just as well oiled, indisputable, and professional as they always had been, but to Anna’s huge astonishment Freeman’s scientific premises didn’t bear scrutiny. Spurred on by renewed enthusiasm, she attacked Freeman’s book The Birds again, and the contradictions sprung from the pages like mushrooms after a rain shower. Triumphantly, she slammed the desk and when Johannes, who had just entered the study at that point, gave her a quizzical look, she got up and kissed him on the cheek. Johannes giggled.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said. A scent of something dark and perfumed surrounded him.

  “Ah, well,” he said, shyly, “you’ll think of something.”

  Two students walked noisily down the corridor, past the study, and interrupted Anna’s train of thought. She massaged her forehead and felt ashamed. Her way of thanking Johannes had been to scream at him, and he hadn’t deserved it. She tried calling him on his cell, but he didn’t answer. She left a message and asked him to call her back. The air in the study was oppressive and uncomfortable. She called Dr. Tybjerg to cancel their meeting that evening, but there was no reply. Then she did some preparation for her dissertation defense. Just after 2 p.m. she packed up and left, locking the study behind her. Johannes still hadn’t returned her call. She was outside in the cold air when she heard someone tap on a window. She turned and saw Professor Moritzen.

  “Can I come in?” she mouthed. Hanne nodded.

  “Have a seat,” she said, when Anna entered her tasteful office. Anna sat in a molded chair and, without asking, Hanne handed her a cup of tea.

  “I’ll get straight to the point,” she said with a quick glance at Anna. “I’ve a favor to ask you. Can this remain just between the two of us?”

  Anna nodded.

  “I presume you’ve heard about Helland?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good.” Hanne looked briefly relieved. “Yesterday I had a visit from a police officer, Søren Marhauge. I’ve seen him here a few times, so I assume you know who he is? Very tall guy with short hair and dark eyes?”

  Anna nodded a second time.

  “He wanted to know if it was at all possible that the material came from my department, and—”

  “What material?”

  “The proglottids, obviously.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Ah, so you don’t know that…” she said.

  “Know what?”

  Hanne sighed and told Anna what she knew. Anna was shocked.

  “Who did it?” she whispered.

  “I refuse to believe that anyone did,” Hanne said dismissively. “The material was in my care, and everyone who needs to work with live material must be approved by me before the material is released, and afterward they must account for how it was used in detail. Everything happens under strict control, and the people who work in the laboratory are colleagues I trust.” She took a sheet of paper and reeled off a list of names. “All of us have worked with parasites our entire professional lives and we’re very careful. Besides, it requires imagination to even think of infecting someone with mature eggs. It would have been much easier to push Helland out in front of a car, or shoot him even,” she remarked drily.

  “Could someone have stolen the material?”

  “No!” Hanne sounded momentarily offended, then she sighed again. “Of course it’s possible—in theory. It’s also theoretically possible to steal the crown jewels. But it’s very unlikely. You need to know how to treat the material, or it will die. Live organisms are complicated.” She paused.

  “So what’s your explanation?” Anna asked.

  “I think he was infected on a trip abroad,” she said. “I know the police claim that Helland has never been outside Europe, but he doesn’t have to have been. Taenia solium is cosmopolitan, because it spreads via pigs, so even though the number of incidents is infinitesimal, it’s still a possibility. My conclusion: he must have been infected elsewhere.” The expression in Hanne’s eyes suddenly changed.

  “
I don’t know if you’re aware, but there is no permanent Parasitology department at the Institute of Biology now, nor will there be any teaching next year. The course and the department will be closed due to cuts.”

  “I don’t understand.” Anna was genuinely puzzled. “You still work here.”

  “I do, but when I leave, it’s all over.” Her eyes shone. “We weren’t awarded a single grant to fund graduate programs, PhDs, or post-doctoral studies this year, and that means when the money runs out, well, that’s it.” Hanne fished out a thin string of pearls from under her blouse and started fidgeting with it.

  “The Faculty Council controls the distribution of faculty grants and, like in any other council, they agree to an overall plan. What to invest in and why. It’s important for Denmark to have a competitive research profile that not only matches what happens elsewhere in Europe, but also in the rest of the world. That said, few people believe the Faculty Council bases its decisions exclusively on what’s best for Denmark.” Hanne gave Anna a hard stare. “Of course, a certain amount of nepotism exists in the charmed circle that is the Faculty Council. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. A mechanism that has undoubtedly enjoyed great popularity since the government slammed its coffers shut,” she added tartly. “I’m not saying it’s an easy job, and that’s why I’ve always avoided administrative work myself. You won’t believe how much money we need to save right now. Council members are under pressure, and they experience, first hand, how even their own areas of research are being slimmed down. They try to compensate for that in the notorious faculty meetings. They trade pots of money and grants like kids trade stickers, and when they make an announcement, everyone holds their breath and crosses their fingers.” She held her breath for a moment.

  “I do actually believe they’re trying their hardest—up to a point—and some level of self-promotion is unavoidable. Let me give you an example: take the Natural History Museum’s beetle collection. We have one of the most impressive collections in the world, and it’s left to rot. There’s no one to look after it, and no research happens within that field. Beetles are low status, they’re not ‘sexy.’ The Faculty Council shut down the department of Coleoptera Systematics, which used to be in this building. From an outside perspective, it seemed a small sacrifice, the department had only two staff, Professor Helge Mathiesen, who was about to retire anyway, and a very young scientist, Asger…” Hanne shook her head, as if she had forgotten his surname. “He went into a total tailspin. Before the summer break, he had a promising academic career ahead of him, after the summer break, his department had been closed. For a scientist who has micro-specialized within a specific field…” Again she shook her head. “He’s finished. It’s the end of his science career. That’s the way it is. Certain areas of research are high status because they reflect what’s happening globally, others have high status because they’re areas of interest to members of the council, whose decisions have huge consequences for all of us, depending on whether or not we work in a field that happens to be flavor of the month. Up until this year, I had never been directly affected by the council’s priorities and have always been given my fair share. However, this spring, it was finally our turn. My turn. The department will be closing.” Her voice rang hollow.

  “They dropped the bombshell on the first day after Easter break. We have three years to finish our work. Research, which has already cost the Danish tax payer millions of kroner, and projects that—were we allowed to complete them—could save the lives of hundreds of thousands of people in the Third World where parasites kill people every day. Three years. That may not sound unreasonable to you, but it’s the equivalent of building the Great Wall of China in an afternoon. It’s a preposterous timetable.” Hanne gave Anna a dark look. “My research is my life, Anna,” she said. “I’m forty-eight, and I have devoted my life to my academic career.”

  Slowly Anna began to grasp the implications.

  “And now you’re scared you’ll be fired on the spot if the material found in Helland is traced back to your department?”

  “Yes,” Hanne said.

  “What do you want from me?” Anna asked.

  Hanne shook her head softly. “Sorry, I was ranting. Listen, I can’t start asking questions around your department. Not now, after what’s happened. At worst, it will look suspicious; at best, it would be inappropriate. But I need to know about the investigation and, more importantly, in which direction it’s moving.” She looked almost beseechingly at Anna. “Will you help me, please?”

  Anna placed her hands on her knees. “I’m not sure I understand. What do you want me to do?” she said.

  “Keep your ears open. What are Svend and Elisabeth saying? What about the police? I know your chances will be limited, but just try to pay attention, please? And if you hear any rumors suggesting the parasites came from my stock”—for a moment she looked anxious—“please contact me immediately. It’s important, Anna. I only have three years; after that the completion of our research projects will depend on outside funding, and I can promise you that if we are labeled as careless with potentially fatal material, we can forget about outside funding. The Tuborg Foundation is currently our main sponsor, and they only touch projects that are squeaky clean. I need to know if the ax is about to fall.” She let go of the string of pearls, and it fell against her skin. “I need to be prepared.”

  Anna nodded slowly, and Hanne crumpled into the elegant sofa. She ran her hand through her hair and closed her eyes.

  “I’m absolutely exhausted,” she sighed.

  Anna started wrapping her scarf around her neck and pulled up the hood of her jacket. Hanne kept her eyes closed and rested the back of her head against the wall.

  “I need to pick up my daughter,” Anna said.

  Lily was kneeling on the ground, mesmerized by a polystyrene box full of seedlings, when Anna arrived to collect her. Her daughter held a watering can in her hand and listened dutifully as the nursery school teacher gave her instructions on how to water the seedlings. Anna sat down and watched her little girl from a distance. They had seen so little of each other and, for a moment, Lily seemed almost a stranger to her. She was her child. Hers.

  All of a sudden, the sun broke through the large windows of the nursery school, and Anna heard Lily say, “My granny grows sunflowers.”

  The nursery school teacher listened, replied, and pushed back the soil around the seedlings where Lily’s watering had been excessive, despite the instructions. Just as Anna was about to call her, Lily turned around. She dropped everything and leapt like a kid goat to her mother.

  Anna noticed the earrings immediately. Two silver studs with glass beads. They caught the light. How long was it since she had last seen Lily? Two days? She decided not to say anything. Lily was pulling and pushing her, showing her around, jumping on the spot, climbing on to her lap, trying to slip her hands into Anna’s sleeves and up to her armpits. When one of the teachers came to give Anna some information and she hushed Lily to make herself heard, Lily had a tantrum. She threw herself on the floor, kicking, so one of her socks fell off. Anna tried to distract her by pointing to a drawing of a clown and getting Lily to tell her about it. Lily ignored her. Anna tried to bribe Lily with the offer of hot chocolate. It appeased Lily, but only for a moment, then the tantrum resumed. Anna was at her wits’ end and had no idea how to make Lily stop.

  So she ended up scolding her. She didn’t shout, but her voice was loud enough for one of the assistants to come over and help Lily put her coat on. Lily stopped crying and gave her mother a miserable look. Hand in hand, they walked down the path, out through the gate, across the communal garden and home to their apartment block. Anna promised herself she would never yell at Lily again. Back in the apartment, they watched Teletubbies. Anna nodded off next to her daughter and when she woke up, Lily was gone. Anna found her in her bedroom, where she was doing pretend cooking with beads.

  “I want to go to Granny’s,” she said, when Anna came
in and said hi. Anna squatted and tried to embrace her daughter.

  “No, darling,” she said, anxiously. “You need to be with me. You need to be with Mommy.”

  “I love Granny.” Lily looked away and carried on with her cooking. She seemed contented. She babbled as she poured beads from one container into another and spiced up her dish with some chestnuts and four small birthday cake candles. Anna went into the kitchen and tried very hard not to cry. She cooked dinner. Cheese-and-bacon omelet with a green salad. She cooked peas and carrots for Lily as well. They had a nice time at the table. At first, Lily refused to eat and looked away when Anna tried to feed her. Then Anna pretended the fork had come alive and every time Lily tried to bite into it, it would squeal and hide behind the milk; then it would peek out and get scared the moment it saw Lily and her many teeth. Lily laughed so hard that she cried. A moment of harmony had been created. And then the witching hour descended on them, Lily rubbed her eyes and everything went wrong. It took Anna forty-five minutes to put her to bed. They read books and Lily’s eyelids were heavy and drooping, but still she refused to go to sleep when Anna put her in her bed and switched off the light.

  “Nooooooo,” she wailed and pulled herself up to stand. Eventually Anna was forced to pin Lily to the mattress, and after a bout of kicking and screaming she fell asleep at last.

  Anna stood in the dark kitchen, leaning against the table. She could see the lights in the other apartments across the street, cozy homes filled with life and warmth by the looks of it.

  The telephone rang. She went to answer it. It was Cecilie. She wanted to know if everything had gone all right, how Lily was, had she been in a good mood, and had she discovered that she had left her teddy behind?