“All I know, Inspector,” Zeru said, “is that a Basque patriot, who has suffered more than most, continues to draw unwarranted attention from the authorities. When is enough, enough?”
“You know of his association with the ETA?”
“Old news,” she said.
He stared at Zeru. “You have Basque heritage?”
“No, Inspector, I am Basque, and proud of it.”
“Listen, Professor, we already have a file on you. You’re a decent hard-working woman with a bright future ahead. Don’t compromise that for the sake of Jorge Moneo—he’s not worth it.” He paused. “Watch out for him. When the day comes,” he said, “I’m prepared to share all I have on Moneo with you.” He handed Zeru his card. “Be careful.”
Jorge was at his desk studying data sheets when Zeru Ibarra came in. She sat nervously before the desk pulling on a lock of brown hair. He looked up. “Something’s bothering you, Zeru. What is it?”
“Inspector James Olsen visited me.”
Jorge paled. “What did the FBI want?”
“They made it clear that they didn’t trust you, and that you still had ties to the ETA.”
“They made that clear when I stepped off the plane from Spain. I can’t do a thing about the ETA issue.” He paused. “I won’t deny having many friends in the ETA…they are, after all, patriots who, despite just cause, have disavowed violence. I won’t apologize for my sympathies.”
“We’ve worked together for some time,” Zeru said, “and I really don’t understand our ultimate objectives.”
“What else?”
“This is a state-of-the-art laboratory. It must have cost a small fortune. Who are our patrons?”
“Our patrons wish to remain anonymous.”
“I don’t like it,” Zeru said.
“It's a bit late for misgivings.” He paused. “Moreover, you came into this with your eyes open. If you discover that what we do offends you,” he pointed to the door, “there’s your way out.”
She stared into her lap, and then looked up. “Excuse me, sir, but that’s completely unfair. If you had disclosed that the job required blind obedience, I would not have taken it despite my respect for you, your work, and my desire to be part of it. I’m not your slave, and if we can’t have a professional level conversation about our activities and objectives, I guess you’re right—you’ll have my resignation.”
“Hold your horses,” Jorge said. “Perhaps we do need to discuss this more.”
She took a deep breath, and then leaned back in her chair. “That would be nice.”
“Unless you’re a saint, human motives are complex. I won’t deny personal considerations…” he paused.
“Anybody familiar with your tragic life story would be moved by your loss and by your commitment to the Basque cause, but…”
“But what?”
“I don’t know how you go on. If my family had died under those circumstances, I don’t think I could do this work.”
Jorge’s face flushed with anger. “They didn’t die. The Spanish Security Forces brutally murdered—executed them. I won’t forget, and neither will they.”
“If that’s the way you feel, then go back to Basque country, and rejoin the ETA.”
“If I returned to Spain, I’d wind up in jail or worse. Anyway, I’ve worked with the ETA before. Their approach is not the answer.”
“What is the answer?” she asked.
“Why are the Jewish people so successful out of proportion to their population in the world, and why are the percentages of Asians at UC Berkeley so high?”
“I don’t like racial stereotypes either for good or for evil,” Zeru said. “They’re destructive.”
“Now, who’s letting racial considerations interfere with scientific study?” He paused to examine her. “You’re not denying the observations about Jews and Asians are you?”
“No,” she said, “only the potential for damage these observations might have in the hands of the unscrupulous or the stupid.”
“I don’t fit into either category,” Jorge said, “and neither do you.”
“Jews value education and literacy, and despite thousands of years of persecution,” Jorge said, “they have the highest literacy and the greatest accomplishments in the world. Persecution, despite its cruelty, creates advantages for the oppressed: marrying within the group has genetic advantages, it's more difficult to oppress the powerful and intelligent than the weak and uneducated, and the Jews have always practiced a benign form of eugenics.”
“Eugenics?” she asked.
“Yes,” Jorge said. “They simply encourage rabbis and the most accomplished in their communities to have as many children as possible. They consider procreation in this group to be a mitzvah, a blessing. In addition, the new world of neuroplasticity (changing brain cells) suggests that education changes the somatic (body) DNA, and perhaps the DNA of germ cells, as well.”
“Oh,” she shook her head, “No problem. That makes it easy for the Basque people. Let’s send them all to the equivalent of the Jewish yeshiva, and start a eugenics program to breed smarter and more capable Basques. In five hundred years, we’ll be there.”
Jorge frowned. “You’re right, of course, but I have a shortcut.”
Zeru stared at Jorge. “A shortcut?”
He opened his drawer and removed a thick file. “Here’s a good start—our six subjects.”
She read the file, and after forty-five minutes, she looked up at Jorge. “It's so neat, clean, and dispassionately scientific. Every detail in place.” She paused, and stared into his eyes. “Tell me, Jorge, what aren’t you telling me?”
“You either trust me, or you don’t. Frankly, I wouldn’t work for someone I didn’t trust.”
“I’m a reasonably intelligent woman with my own set of ethical values. Don’t expect me to compromise them.”
Jorge smiled. “Fair enough.”
Chapter Ten
(2000)
Denise held Zack’s hand as she walked him to his first day at school. He wore jeans and a plaid shirt. His new Reeboks shone white in the morning sun.
With his bright red hair and freckles, Zack looks great, Denise thought.
“Are you nervous, Zack?”
“A little. Look at all these kids. I don’t know nobody.”
“Anybody,” Denise said.
“Yes, Mother,” Zack smiled. “That was for effect, and you bought it. I can always depend on you.”
She playfully mussed his hair, then pulled out a comb and smoothed it back.
After they stepped through the doors, Denise paused and took Zack aside. “It’s likely that you’re going to be way ahead of the class in reading and in other subjects as well. I hope you’re okay with that?”
“It’s always been that way. I’m used to it, and maybe the teacher will let me help.”
“Just go slow, Zack. The teacher and the class need to get to know you just as you need to get to know them.”
Two days after Zack started kindergarten, Denise’s phone rang at 3 p.m. “Mrs. Berg?”
“Yes. May I help you?”
“It's Randi Snow, Zack’s teacher. May I have a word with you?”
“What took you so long?” she paused, “And, please call me Denise.”
“I’m sorry,” Randi sputtered. “I don’t understand.”
“Forgive me, but knowing Zack, we were anticipating this call. He’s a remarkable kid.”
“I’ve only been teaching for eight years, but I’ve never met a child with Zack’s gifts.”
“Zack is so much more than his gifts,” Denise said. “Now, how can I help you?”
“You don’t understand. What I want is to help you to help Zack.”
“I know that you mean well, but he’s our responsibility, and we’ve given all aspects of his education careful thought.”
“I’m sorry,” Randi said. “I was presumptuous.”
“Not at all. You’re a good example of one of
Zack’s gifts; he brings out the best in people.” Denise paused. “Let’s talk about it as time goes on and you get to know Zack a little better. Then, we’d appreciate any suggestions.”
A week later, Denise and Gabe walked into Zack’s kindergarten room on back to school night. They wrote their names on ID badges, and then sat and listened to Randi Snow. She discussed her teaching philosophy and her plans for the year with the parents. Afterward, Randi walked through the room stopping to chat with parents. When she approached Denise and Gabe, she smiled broadly.
“Denise, good to meet you in the flesh. This must be Mr., I mean, Dr. Berg.”
He extended his hand. “Call me Gabe.”
“I’m sure that neither of you will be surprised to hear that Zack’s way ahead of the class. I think he’d do well in second or third grade, but I’m not suggesting that we consider that now. Keep it in mind. It's obvious that you’ve worked hard teaching Zack at home.”
“Frankly,” Denise said, “it wasn’t necessary. Zack is naturally curious, and with his ability to concentrate, he learns quickly. As for advancing him, we have grave reservations. He’s smart, but he’s still a little boy. Moreover, a smart principal once said: when a child skips a grade, he loses a year of his childhood.”
Randi smiled. “I like that one. I’m going to use it.” She paused. “Socially, however, Zack’s equally gifted and, in fact, he has a calming effect on the kids. It’s weird,” she paused, “but nice.”
“I’m not quite comfortable with the word, ‘weird’ applied to Zack,” Gabe said.
“It’s a compliment, and an expression of my affections for Zack,” Randi said. “I feel lucky to have him in my class. The only reservation I have, and I’m not sure I’d call it a reservation, is Zack’s terrific sense of humor. While I enjoy him, and appreciate his entertaining views, the other kids don’t get him.”
“He has an adult sense of humor. He’s always prodding, challenging, and entertaining us.”
“Thank you for coming,” Randi said. “We believe that the gifted child warrants as much attention as the neediest one. If I can help in any way, please don’t hesitate to call.”
A week later, Denise’s office phone rang at 11:15 a.m. She picked up the handset.
“Mrs. Berg?”
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
“It’s the school nurse—it’s about Zack…”
Denise paled. “My God—just tell me he’s okay—please.”
“He’s fine. Sitting right next to me, but he did have a little accident.”
“But, he’s okay?” Denise pleaded.
“Here, talk with him,” the nurse said.
“Zack, sweetheart—are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mother. Just a few bruises. No big deal.”
“What did you do?”
“I was playing on the horizontal ladder and fell off. I’m fine, Mother.”
“Let me talk with the nurse,” Denise said.
When the nurse got back on the line, Denise asked, “What happened?”
“Like Zack said, he fell off the ladder.”
“How could he hurt himself falling off a horizontal ladder? Zack’s particularly agile.”
“He didn’t fall from hanging on the ladder; he was on top of it doing a show for the other kids. He’s fine, but I’m afraid the school requires that a physician must examine anyone in an accident on school grounds. This is the age of the trial lawyer, you know. We can’t afford to take chances.”
When they got home from Brier Emergency, Zack had a large bandage on his right knee.
“I’m sorry, Mother. It won’t happen again. I was careless.”
Denise still felt shaken.” No, Zack, you were reckless. Do you know what could have happened to you?”
Zack looked up at his mother. “I almost made the complete flip from the top. In fact, I overdid it and landed on my knees.” He paused and then smiled at Denise. “I’m thinking of trying the flip blindfolded next time.”
“If you do that again, Zack, you won’t have to worry about being injured. I’ll kill you myself.”
Denise invited Jacob and Lola for lunch. “I need to talk with you about Zack. It's important.”
They met for lunch at a local bistro near Brier Hospital. Afterward, they were chatting amiably as they sipped the remainder of a local Napa Valley chardonnay.
After Lola finished her last drop, she said, “If this is so serious, Denise, you should have treated us to Chez Panisse. Jacob loves that place.”
Jacob took a deep breath savoring the restaurant’s aroma. “Age has become deprivation,” Jacob said. “We’re losing sight, hearing, and our skin's like tissue paper. If we get any smaller, we’ll be fit for a doll house.” Jacob touched his nose. “But the schnazolla’s still working well enough to enjoy a gourmet meal and a fine wine.”
“I’m worried about Zack,” Denise said.
“That’s what mothers do,” Lola responded.
“The worry I can handle; it's the decisions that trouble us. Zack’s a special kid, and we don’t want to screw up.”
Lola smiled. “You won’t—you can’t. You love and care for him. That’s 99 percent of the job.”
“Every day, we see kids who, with the best of parental attention, turn out to be unhappy, unfulfilled, or even worse.”
Lola patted Denise’s hand. “It took a lifetime for Jacob and me to get over the fact that we couldn’t control everything. Circumstances rule and nature has her say. We can’t do a damned thing about it.”
“You’re depressing me,” Denise said. “Zack’s gifts raise the odds for problems, don’t you think?”
“You’re out of your mind,” Jacob said, looking to Lola for approval. “That’s the sweetest kid I’ve ever seen. Since you’re willing to take the blame for everything, how about taking the credit.”
Denise turned to Lola. “You think I’m nuts, too?”
“Just a little—nice nuts.” Lola turned to Jacob. “Tell her.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t,” he said.
“Tell her. Trust her.”
“Wise men say that firstborns are special, not so much because they came first, but because you make all your mistakes with them. Donald, our first child was gifted, too. I’m sure his gifts weren’t like Zack’s, but he was special, for sure. We did the best we could with our limited knowledge at the time, and sure as hell, he turned out okay. He has a successful career as an attorney, a wonderful family, and status—he really loves status.”
Denise stared from Jacob to Lola. “I’m waiting for the ‘but’.”
“But,” Jacob smiled. “He turned out to be a putz—a schmuck. I tried to blame it on Lola, but she wouldn’t let me get away with it.”
“And,” Denise said, “that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Lola grasped Denise’s hand. “Even in retrospect. Even with clear hindsight, we did everything right—mostly right. We may have been a bit too indulgent, but truth be told, even at age three or four, Donald was a putz. Look at Zack,” she paused. “Zack has an inner peace that, regardless of circumstances, will guarantee a rewarding and satisfying life. Trust an old lady on that. Maybe if you work hard enough, you can screw him up, but I doubt it. Just love the boy, accept him as he is, and encourage his nature, whatever it is.”
Jacob smiled at Denise. “Listen to her. Lola’s smart. She was smart enough to marry me, and stay with me all these years.”
“More stubborn than smart,” Lola said, grasping Jacob’s wrinkled hand.
“Thank you, both,” Denise said, and she stood, and embraced them. “You two are great godparents.”
Jacob shook his head in disgust. “Find a better synonym, Denise—anything without reference to God. God abandoned us in Auschwitz.”
Lola grasped his hand. “Don’t Jacob…”
“Okay—okay. I’ll settle for mentor, advisor, kindred soul, or even guru,” Jacob winked, “although, that smart, I’m not.”
Lola and
Denise laughed.
Jacob grinned as he handed Denise the bill. “And thanks for lunch. Next time, it's Chez Panisse.”
Chapter Eleven
(2002)
Denise was folding clothes when Zack rushed into the house, and headed straight for his room. As he passed the laundry room door, he stared at his mother for a moment, and then turned away.
Denise set down the warm towels and followed Zack to his room. He was sitting on his bed, head down. “What’s wrong, she asked?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Just tell me what happened.”
“What’s wrong with me?” he asked staring at her with pale blue eyes. “Something’s wrong. I can tell.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re just special.”
Zack turned to his mother. “Special. Every mother tells her children that they’re special. It’s part of the job description.”
Denise smiled. “You’re only seven, but I’m talking with you as an adult—it’s a little odd.” She paused for a long moment. “You have gifts, but in every way, you’re as normal as each of your friends. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, and we don’t want your special abilities to interfere with your life.”
“None of that is new, Mother. “When I was a kid…”
“You’re still a kid…” she hesitated. “I’m sorry. Go ahead.”
“When we play hide and go seek, the kids rarely find me, but I get them every time. They accused me of cheating, but, Mother, I’m not.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I, but now…”
“Now, what?” Denise asked.
“Remember last Christmas?”
“Of course.”
“When Dad came in Christmas morning and said he had a surprise for me?
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t a surprise to me, Mother. I knew it was a bicycle.”
“You mean you guessed it was a bike.”
“No, Mother. I knew.”
“You’re smart. You’re a good guesser, or you heard something or surmised that you’d get what you were wishing for.”
Hybrid (Brier Hospital Series Book 7) Page 5