Forever and Ever

by Dan A. Baker

  “Dr. Metcalf, how do you respond to those who are saying that this same technology might be used to modify embryos, to select for other traits, like higher intelligence, better appearance, athletic ability and so forth?” She hurried the big question.

  “The use of this new technology is highly regulated by the Federal government, and is under constant review by the President’s Bioethics Commission. They have extremely detailed guidelines which proscribe exactly which genes in the human genome may be altered and those are the genes known to be responsible for specific diseases only.” Dr. Metcalf could recite this argument verbatim even as he watched the windows vibrate slightly. The heliport on the building was new, and had only been used a couple of times.

  Jonelle went on to do a yeoman’s job of making point after point from a patient advocate’s perspective, gently countering the fear tactics of the religious right with tearful stories of what it’s like to watch a child die.

  “Dr. Metcalf, if your new therapy is approved, will it actually be the beginning of the end for human disease, as some have said?” Cathy asked, jarring him back into the interview.

  “PIES will go a long way in preventing diseases. Almost all human diseases are from a genetic cause, or develop from a genetic predisposition. Our therapy is very comprehensive, and very safe,” Earl said.

  “Your wife, Jasmine Metcalf, was both the chief researcher on this project and the company’s chief scientist. Will she be recognized for this work in some way?” the reporter asked, glancing at her notes.

  “We think her brilliant work in developing the driver technology and extensive computer modeling will qualify her for attention from her peers,” Earl responded flatly, signaling for a time-out.

  Earl supervised the videotaping of Roy in the playroom and in the grassy area outside in the parking lot while the reporter taped a long segment with Jonelle. Roy’s ears had become noticeably longer and his eyes more sunken. He tottered more, and his feet were almost completely flat. The yellowing in his fingernails was new.

  “I’ve shot a lot of stuff, including a few oil wars, but this is, is… really strange,” Manny said to Earl, taking a break.

  “You know, after working with these kids for thirty years, and thinking about it, it isn’t strange,” Earl said, watching a limousine pull in.

  “It’s not strange to you?” Manny asked.

  “It’s not strange at all. It’s just a glimpse into how life works, how evolution works. If it weren’t for the condition that affects Roy, and the process that produces this condition, we probably wouldn’t be here,” Earl said in a distant way.

  “What do you mean?” Manny asked, puzzled.

  “Life doesn’t know what will work. Which strategy is best, so life always has a wild card; an experiment here, a crazy little idea there. Some of them work, and some produce Roy’s condition, and worse,” Earl said, trying to shake off the thought of Roy’s death.

  “Worse? There is worse than this?” Manny asked.

  “Oh yeah, lots worse; there’s Tay-Sachs, Spina bifida,” Earl said, wondering why a big black limo was parked against the hedge.

  “That’s freaky, really freaky. How come this condition is so rare, like there’re only thirty of these kids in the world?” Manny asked.

  “If these genetic aberrations kill their host before the host reproduces, like in Roy’s condition, then they become rare, then very rare. But these little departures from the norm have to be there for evolution to work, and evolution works pretty damn good,” Earl said, listening to himself.

  “It almost sounds like you’re against messing around with the embryo gene thing then,” Manny said, watching Roy throw a beach ball.

  “Maybe, until I watched the first six or seven of these children die. Now I look at it this way. If Mother Nature didn’t want us fine tuning evolution, then she wouldn’t have given us four pounds of brains. Maybe that was the ultimate wild card,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  Earl stood up as the door to the parking lot opened. Victor came out carrying both of his large shiny black leather legal cases, excitedly talking to two distinguished looking Asian men. When Victor carried both cases, something was up. He turned to Earl and gave him the quick thumbs up, with his head cocked to his shoulder to hear his cell phone.

  “Dr. Metcalf?” the reporter called from the doorway. Earl didn’t answer. He was watching Victor and the two Asian men talking at the limo, trying to pick out a few words, wishing he had learned to read lips. Victor turned to Earl and yelled, “tech partners.”

  “One last question, Dr. Metcalf, and then we have to leave.” Cathy was standing next to Earl now, with that urgent pushiness that New Yorkers signal by holding their hands together, straight out. “Can we contact Jasmine Metcalf by phone and ask her a few questions?”

  “No,” Earl said, wondering why the limo had a satellite dome antennae.

  “She’s had a death in the family, and she’ll be out for a few weeks.”

  “Well, please ask her to call me if she feels up to it in the meantime,” Cathy said, rudely. She turned to go, but was transfixed, watching Roy try to throw the beach ball. “Will Roy get to go fishing with his grandfather?”

  “He’ll be dead by the end of summer,” Earl said, surprised at the weariness in his voice.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jasmine had never flown first class before. The cost was just so much more money, and the people in first class always looked mysterious and lonely. They wore expensive perfumes and lotions that wafted back into the business class, which made her slightly nauseous.

  Her mother came from an old New England medical family, and it seemed proper to have her funeral in New Canaan, Connecticut.

  Her father insisted on paying for her flight, and he wanted her to be comfortable. Too frail to make the trip from California, he felt it was the least he could do.

  The long emotional and spiritual strain of a death is like having your skin and eyelids removed, Jasmine thought. The coldness in the air seems to pass straight through to your bones, and even subdued light seems too bright, forcing harshness into the subdued introspection that is mourning.

  People talk loudly, and televisions in airport bars blare news of death counts in accidents around the world with garish blues and reds. Whenever Jasmine saw the color black, she felt the dark place of nothingness again.

  The sun was beginning to set out into the ocean as they descended just inland of the Santa Cruz mountains. The sunlight had begun to illuminate the top of the clouds with a dark feathery red. Jasmine remembered when her father held her on the beach at Santa Cruz at sunset and told her that the sun wasn’t going down, but that the earth was turning away from the sun. For some reason she was able to understand this simple fact conceptually, and from that moment on she could almost feel the earth turning when she looked at a setting sun.

  “Why does our home turn endlessly in the sky, never stopping? Why? Why? Why?” She had written this in her mother’s eulogy, trying to express the ageless question that humbles mourners.

  “Why an absolute and complete taking of the miracle of life? Why is there a return to the inertness, the coldness, the darkness, and the failure of a universe without life? Why, Why, Why,” she asked herself.

  Earl was at the gate even though the plane was a little early. She looked at him as she came up the ramp, grateful to feel a warm emotion.

  “How was the flight?” Earl asked softly, holding her for a long time.

  “Very nice,” she said, a little startled to hear her own voice.

  “It’s been quite an afternoon,” Earl said.

  “Solista decided to buy us?” she asked.

  “That was the late afternoon surprise,” Earl said, with a broad smile.

  “If there was a late afternoon surprise, there must have been an early afternoon surprise,” Jasmine said, stretching her arms and yawning.

  “Yeah, a big one!”

  “We’re going to work on telomerase next?”


  “You’ll see,” Earl said impishly.

  The drive to Pacifica from the San Francisco airport was surprisingly short. The vast Pacific was suddenly revealed as Highway I hit the top of the hill, and swept dramatically downhill in a series of beautiful curves. Another winter storm was arriving, and the south wind was blowing the spray off the big green ocean swells. The waves slowly jacked up and threw their chests out, like a belligerent drunk on tiptoes, finally doubling over in explosions of red and white spray.

  “It’s good to be home,” Jasmine said, holding Earl’s hand, noticing again the magnificent swept back cypress trees and sensuous green hills that made her feel fortunate to live in Pacifica.

  Jasmine longed to be home, longed to see her battered garden and watch the clouds race overhead from the hot tub.

  “The new roof looks nice, don’t you think?” Earl said, slowly pulling into the driveway.

  “Yes, it does,” Jasmine said, admiring their house.

  “We’ll have a quiet evening tonight. I’ll build a fire and turn on the hot tub,” Earl said, opening the door to the house from the garage.

  Jasmine went up the stairs first, every molecule of the smell of their home re-energizing her. She paused for a moment, sensing that something was different. What was it?

  “Surprise, Surprise, Surprise!” They threw open closet doors, and stepped out of the bedrooms and bathrooms all at once, surrounding her before she could even put down her purse.

  “Congratulations, Jasmine!” Marina said with her heavy Russian accent.

  “You deserve it, you really, really do,” Jonelle said, hugging her gently.

  “We’re so, so, like proud of you Mom!” Malia burst through, bear hugging Jasmine in her tomboy style.

  “What, what is… is…,” Jasmine was blindsided.

  Earl held his finger up to quiet the room and began reading.

  “A reliable source in London today reported that Dr. Jasmine R. Metcalf, from the United States, has been nominated for a Nobel her work in eliminating single gene diseases in the human embryo…”

  “I was nominated for a Nobel?” Jasmine asked, genuinely surprised. “I thought the nominations were secret.”

  “Slam dunker!” Koji yelled, not quite getting American slang.

  “Your father will be so pleased, Jasmine,” Marjorie said quietly as the backslapping eased a little.

  “I, I don’t quite know how this will affect him, I …”

  “He’ll be proud, very proud. That was a long time ago, Jasmine,” Marjorie said in her godmother voice.

  “I know, but he still talks about it, and… I don’t want to upset him now, he’s very lost without mother… and…” Jasmine stopped in mid sentence as a white van pulled into the driveway.

  She went down the stairs to the front door, suddenly worried. The attendants wheeled Dr. Herbert Antrim up the landing where she met his wheelchair. Her father smiled broadly, his gold filling just showing. His face was ruddier than ever now, but his rangy white hair and kind blue eyes were always smiling for her. He held out his arms as he always had, from the very first time she could remember, and waved his hands.

  “There’s daddy’s girl!” he said with a still powerful voice. “There’s Jasmine, my little gift from God.” Dr. Antrim was on a radiological survey in Japan in 1948, just before Jasmine was born, and heard the name there. Jasmine liked it because it was feminine, and none of the other girls had the name.

  Jasmine was pushed by a wave of emotion into his arms, and held him for a long time, finally sobbing just a little as the loss of her mother welled up in her again. She finally stood up awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Everyone was watching, wondering what the distinguished old man would say.

  “If the left one won’t get them, the right one will!” he said, smiling broadly and pumping his fist in the air. The group broke into a rolling cheer, relieved the moment had passed.

  Dr. Antrim was probably the most famous American scientist who didn’t win a Nobel for his work, although he was nominated for his pioneering work in magnetic resonance that led to the development of the MRI. There was never an explanation for his deletion from the group who won the prize for the MRI, none.

  The party really started when the accordion player arrived. Giuseppe was an old friend of Jasmine and Earl’s and appeared at all their parties. He played a fast-paced medley of ballads, folk songs and polkas. It was so happy, and harmless. He had even added a Rap number, which brought howls of laughter from the crowd on the deck.

  “I said to my loved one on the far shore, baby I be with you soon, ‘cause you ain’t no hoe. The King ain’t getting me to leave him be, he’ll see my face behind every tree, dissin’ his homies just to make you free!”

  “Polka rap, it was just a matter of time,” Earl said to Marjorie.

  “Evolution scores another three-pointer,” Marjorie replied, reminding Earl she was a basketball fan.

  “I guess you’ll be making all the Warrior games now that you’re an elder science statesperson?” Earl asked.

  “I was thinking about opening a whore house,” Marjorie said, spearing one of the Tomales Bay oysters on her plate.

  “Probably pay better than academia,” Earl liked to play along.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why?” Marjorie asked, annoyed.

  “Ok, I’ll bite. Why?”

  “It’s because I read the account of a madam in New Orleans, who ran the best brothel in that city for twenty-five years. When she was asked about the money, she said the money was nice, but it wasn’t the best part.”

  “And…?”

  “She said the best part was helping out.”

  Earl looked at Marjorie for a long time. She did have that gregarious twinkle in her eye, and her body was vivaciously shapely. Earl wasn’t quite sure if she was kidding him or not.

  “Helping out, huh?” Earl said absentmindedly.

  “When things got busy,” Marjorie laughed in her high-pitched laugh.

  “I think Jasmine’s right, Marjorie, you must have been abducted by aliens,” Earl said, walking back over to the oysters on the grill.

  Jasmine loved to sit by her father and hold his hand. At ninety-one, he was just a little older than her mother. When Jasmine saw how much her grades in school meant to him, she worked hard to bring home A’s.

  “My girl is the best!” he would say. “It says here my girl is the best!” He also knew when to intervene when Jasmine and her mother reached loggerheads.

  “I’m so proud of you and your fine work. Just think how many parents will never have the heartbreak of a sick child or, or… all the people who will never get sick, never!” he almost shouted. “Hell, you’re talking about killing those diseases, the whole damn lot of them right where they live!”

  “That’s what we’re hoping for, Father, if everything works out,” Jasmine said, looking around the deck. Almost all of Jasmine and Earl’s friends were there, the neighbors all stopped in, thrilled to have a celebrity in the neighborhood. Earl tapped Jasmine’s shoulder as an old yellow VW Westfalia camper pulled into the driveway.

  Darla had come all the way down from Tomales Bay! Darla was a noted painter and irreverent activist who would immediately become the bon vivant of the party. She was endlessly inquisitive, a born raconteur, and a terrific painter, and was always a treat to catch up with. She had been sick most of the year with Lupus.

  “Well, I hope you’re going to rip them up in Stockholm about Rosalind Franklin in your acceptance speech,” Darla half-shouted, as she rushed over to Jasmine, hugging her, and holding Jasmine’s face in her hands. “I am so, so, happy for you, but you look like hell!”

  “It’s a nomination, Darla, I’m not quite there yet,” Jasmine said weakly.

  “And Rosalind is getting lots of press in England already.” Jasmine heard about this early pioneer in X-Ray lithography, who was instrumental in discovering the structure of DNA, but died before she was recognized, and her w
ork was not included in the glory.

  “I’ll have to paint for you some embryos and Nobel medals! I can’t wait! What does an embryo look like anyway?” she said, her artist’s curiosity peaked.

  “Like a glass ball, with four glass balls inside,” Earl said. “And thanks for sending the oysters down.”

  “A glass ball with little glass balls inside? Ooh, sounds sexy!” Darla said laughing, suddenly pulled away to dance.

  “She looks like she’s full of hell,” Herbert said to Jasmine.

  “To say the very least, Father,” Jasmine said, watching Darla dodge in and out of the dancers on the deck, suddenly throwing her long arms up when she spotted Marjorie. Darla was the oldest of their close friends, almost seventy-two.

  “You’re mother was full of hell, too. We were going to go to Paris after Sweden. Never made it, but that was a long damn time ago,” Herbert said.

  Jasmine remembered all the planning her mother had done for the trip; buying coats, and patiently writing letters to make sure the children could attend the ceremony in Sweden.

  “It was a long time ago, Father, but maybe you can go, if you’re feeling better, I mean, if…” Jasmine said.

  “The hell with that, I’ll wait for the video!” he said, surprising Jasmine.

  “They might throw me out anyway, after I whipped their Swedish asses in the paper.”

  When Jasmine finally sat down on the teak deck chair and read the announcement a very deep feeling of pride and fulfillment passed through her. All her life she had wanted this one thing, recognition, and the respect of her peers. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and wondered what it would be like to take the podium in Stockholm, and to address the world as a contributor, as a healer, as a Nobel laureate.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jasmine was relieved when they took the exit off Highway 101. Menlo Park wasn’t very far down the Peninsula, which meant they only had to sit in traffic about fifteen minutes. All of the delayed thinking about work had suddenly flooded back to her, and she was anxious to get to her office and lab. Fighting the rising anxiety, she turned in her seat, as Earl finished a call to Victor.