Rare for N___ to have lunch in so public a place. Usually he ate in the lab, take-out food in Styrofoam packages and not what might be designated as “lunch.” Just ate when he was hungry, or rather became aware in the midst of work that he was hungry.
Like characters in a broadly humorous, brightly lit TV situation comedy they introduced themselves: N___ with a plausible-sounding name—“Nathaniel” for wasn’t that an Anglo name, slightly formal, archaic?—and the girl with a name that suited her: “Merry Frances.”
Merry—?
But no, the name must be “Mary Frances.”
“That’s a nice name …‘Mary Frances.’”
“It’s for my grandma. I mean, it was. I mean—my grandma is—isn’t—alive …” Pausing, breathless. “‘Nath-an-yiel’—that’s a nice name.”
N___ smiled. Tried to smile. Not recalling how Asian boys smiled at Caucasian girls.
Not that N___ had been a boy for fifteen, twenty years.
In so public a place, amid a babble of undergraduate chatter, N___ felt exposed, absurd. Here was “Nathaniel Li” in the alarming company of “Mary Frances Bowes.” If anyone from Life Sciences happened to see the Professor’s chief technician in the clamorous student union, sitting across a table from the smiling, stolid undergraduate girl—how astonished they would be! Unless the colleague was from the primate lab, and could guess what N____’s motive was …
During the course of the cafeteria meal by asking discreet questions N___ was able to determine that 1) Mary Frances had few friends at the University; 2) Mary Frances did not have a “boyfriend”; 3) Mary Frances was living some distance from her family which was a “broken-up family” and she was “not real close” with them; 4) Mary Frances was enrolled in the College of General Studies yet had signed up for Introduction to Biology with the (questionable) hope that it would aid her application to nursing school—“I always wanted to be a nurse ’cause I want to help people all I can. It’s what Jesus wants us to do—I mean, Christians … It’s real hard to get accepted in the nursing school here but my advisor said they’d be impressed if I took Intro Biology and got a good grade …” Her voice trailed off wistfully at good grade.
So that was why the girl was in the Professor’s lecture course, valiantly trying to take notes amid a sea of premed students and science majors murderous-competitive as sharks. A responsible advisor would have urged her to take only courses in the College of General Studies in which, in fact, she might receive good grades.
N___ pushed himself to sound sympathetic, convincing. “Well. If you work hard … maybe—somebody could help you …” Picking with a plastic fork in the “Asian salad” swill he’d selected in the cafeteria line, lifting his eyes to meet hers, shy-Asian-boy smile: “… Maybe I could help you.”
Have you no mercy for her? Once, you were her.
But no. No mercy. Not in Life Sciences.
Recalling the girl’s eager eyes on his face when he’d told her he could help her. Feeling a shudder of guilt and self-revulsion that the experimental subject was so unwary, so easily led and so tractable.
But it is not in the nature of the peregrine falcon to pass up its prey.
Especially if the falcon is hunting in the service of his master who expects much of him, that is not outwardly stated.
For there was the understanding that, if the Professor’s renowned primate lab violated certain legal restrictions, committed certain acts that might be ruled “scientific misconduct”—not often, but occasionally, in the service of scientific progress—it would be the chief technician N___ who took the blame, and not the Professor. In the many years of the primate lab it hadn’t yet happened that any outside authority had challenged the Professor’s findings, still less his methods, for the primate lab was one of the crown jewels of Life Sciences, bringing in approximately twice as much money in research grants as its nearest competitor, and so the University had no wish to look too carefully into the “ethics” of its experiments even if the University had had the means to undertake an investigation, or could have known where to begin.
In any case, N___ would be the individual held responsible. N___ would be the member of the team to be disciplined, even “suspended”—“terminated”—for he was not a PhD appointment to the University, but rather an employee of the Professor.
This possibility N___ understood and accepted tacitly though he and the Professor had never discussed it; just as N___ understood that, in the event of an investigation, a harsh ruling, ugly public exposure and the loss of his appointment, still N____’s coveted Green Card would not be rescinded, for the Professor would protect him from deportation to the birth-country he had not glimpsed in more than thirty years. And, in time, there would be a considerable reward for the chief technician. He was sure.
It helped that in this affluent adoptive country, under the protection of the Professor, N___ had forgotten his origins. There’d been “war”—“civil war”—a terrible air bombardment. A sky churned into havoc, clouds bleeding guts. Not once. Not twice. Countless times.
Collapsing walls. Clots of flame. A refugee camp, with a muddy burial ground. Before that a protracted escape-by-boat, or had it been the reverse, or had there been more than one desperate escape-by-boat, and more than one squalid camp. And more than one death. More than one language and N___ had forgotten them all. His brain refused to process these lost languages so that the name on his Green Card—“N___”—had come to seem mildly preposterous to him, too many consonants packed into a single syllable, a foreign name.
All that was changed now. N___ could barely recall his adolescence, let alone his childhood. Let alone his young childhood. The English spoken in his adoptive country was his language now. He had no interest in any other language. He had no interest in any other country. Vaguely he was aware that he had relatives who shared a surname living in Canada, possibly in Vancouver, a cousin his own age who was a research scientist like himself. But he had no interest in any other N___ for (in fact) “N___” was (almost certainly) not his birth name but a refugee-camp name given to a mute parentless child not (evidently) terminally ill and so worth “naming.”
Instructive to remember too that N____’s surname was, or rather is, the most common of surnames in his native country. One of the most common surnames in the world. Not much pride in this and indeed, N___ was not one to take pride.
Like removing a CD from a player, such memory. Sliding in another CD. A phase of life: slice of neural memory in the brain. In an autopsy you could slice—very thinly—such neural matter. Store it, with care, in formaldehyde. Hardly necessary to recall, let alone record. So long as he had his Green Card and the identity that went with it: “N_____.” So long as he had the protection of the Professor who was his sponsor/employer in this affluent adoptive country.
Sending a rare email to the Professor: Something to report on preliminary scouting for Project Galahad.
Next morning at the weekly lab meeting there was N___ with a proposal.
Taking the others by surprise. For that was the Professor’s chief technician/right-hand-man for you—crafty and unpredictable. In the way that N___ hid his smile somehow up inside his deceivingly bland Asian face so that you felt it rather than saw it, inscrutable.
Informing them that he’d sighted, he’d vetted, at least to a degree, a very promising female specimen for (classified, confidential) Project Galahad.
The female was twenty years of age. A first-year student in the College of General Studies with a (quixotic?) hope of being accepted into the nursing school. By her own account she had virtually no friends. She and her roommate “didn’t get along.” Most crucially she had no boyfriend, fiancé, husband.
She did have a family, but not living close by. And no close ties.
She was tractable, credulous, eager to please. Not very bright. Not very attractive. Physical type: wide-hipped, sturdy-boned.
N____’s proposal: with the permission of the lab, he would move forward
in securing the girl as the experimental subject.
But no: objections were immediate. For N___ had adversaries in the lab. Rivals for the Professor’s esteem. Pointing out that initiating even the first stage of the experiment was in violation of University policy regarding classified research, since the primate lab did not (yet) have permission to move forward; also, the schedule for Project Galahad hadn’t yet been established …
But yes of course. Permission would be granted eventually. A schedule could be drawn up within a few days—N___ could compose a draft. It was unwise not to take advantage of the female specimen he’d discovered for she appeared to be ideal, and if they lost her through an excess of caution they might not find another.
But—no. It was months too soon for Project Galahad, there wasn’t yet a budget …
But—yes. The Professor’s NIH (National Institutes of Health) grant could be tapped for miscellaneous expenses.
The senior members of the primate lab were meeting in the Professor’s office on the eighth floor of Life Sciences. Sitting at an oak conference table heatedly discussing N____’s proposal as with a bemused expression the Professor scrolled through images of the twenty-year-old female specimen on N____’s iPhone.
As others debated the issue the Professor remained silent. Stroking the crisp white goatee that gave him at a little distance the (misleadingly) benign look of a wire-haired terrier.
At such times the Professor’s brooding silence did not indicate that he was listening to his younger associates, who spoke as much to impress the Professor as to reason with one another. Yet, the contemplative way in which the Professor stroked his goatee did not indicate that he was not listening, perhaps very carefully to each word.
The father is most powerful when he does not indicate his preferences among the children. Only the most subtle hints, but these must be conflicting hints, fertile for endless speculation.
At last putting N____’s iPhone down on the table and pushing it in N____’s direction.
With a terse nod of his head, yes. The female specimen was ideal.
Around the table, a ripple of assent. Even those who’d most opposed N___ now agreed, it was wisest to begin at once.
“So, N____—will you be the one to prep her?”
Gravely N___ said: “Of course, Professor. I have already begun.”
It is known that Homo sapiens shares 95 percent of DNA sequences, and 99 percent of coding DNA sequences, with certain ape species; and in some human beings, the simian kinship seems more evident than in others. Many times this thought has occurred to N_____, seeing the experimental subject waving to him, blushing at the mere sight of him—“‘Nath-an-yiel.’ Hi!”
Meeting at the student union. In the main library. In a coffee shop on campus. In a coffee shop off-campus. Never in her residence hall since N___ did not want to be seen by girls who knew her, in her company.
The delight in the coarse-skinned face, the glisten in the small close-set eyes. The thrilled smile.
“Mary Frances. Hi.”
Seeing, to his embarrassment, that Mary Frances’s chapped-looking lips began to turn rosy. Her rust-red frizzed hair began to be more frequently shampooed, brushed.
In her pudgy ears, pierced earrings.
The nails of her stubby fingers, filed and polished.
An attractive sweater, fitting her sizable breasts snugly. An attractive shirt. Necklace, scarf. Whiff of something cheaply sweet like lilac.
(The pretext for) their meetings was N___ kindly providing help for Mary Frances with the biology course. Securing her trust. Making her grateful, indebted.
For all his intelligence N___ wasn’t a natural teacher. Research engaged his interest, not teaching. To teach another, you have to care.
Yet, in the service of Project Galahad and what it might mean for scientific progress as well as what it might mean for the careers of everyone in the primate lab, N___ was determined to care.
Over the years he’d acquired a sympathetic and instructive manner with younger students in the lab. His natural disdain for persons less intelligent than himself he’d learned to disguise. Though he was impatient with stupidity he could sympathize, to a degree, with ignorance; it was astonishing that Mary Frances knew so little about science, but he was impressed by her determination to learn, and volunteered hours of his time tutoring her in elementary principles of mitosis, meiosis, gametes, chromosomes, genetic diversity though he felt (he could not help it) a faint revulsion for the girl, both physical and intellectual … and also a sort of angry pity for her, that a girl who looked like Mary Frances could sincerely believe that a young man like “Nathaniel” was genuinely interested in her.
He hoped that she wasn’t boasting about him, at least. Hoped she had no one to whom she might boast.
By degrees N___ began to take some (small, grudging) pleasure in teaching the girl something valuable about biology. Enough at least to prepare her for lab quizzes and exams.
Mary Frances did not seem to grasp principles or abstract theories but she had a capacity for memorization, at least for temporary memorization. N___ could coach her to repeat something enough times to get her through a limited period of time—a day, a few hours—before it began to fade.
Despite himself he began to take a sort of pride in his tutoring. And indeed it was flattering, to see that look of adoration in a (white) girl’s face, which he’d rarely seen before in any face.
Running to greet him one day as he approached the coffee shop, with childish joy waving a sheet of paper—“Oh—Nath’iel! Oh gosh! Look! Look at this! Thanks only to you.”
Startling N___ by hugging him, pushing herself breathless and heated and smelling both frantic and fragrant against him, laughing as the two came close to toppling over on the walkway.
In red ink on white paper, a beautifully rendered B–.
It was only a weekly biology lab quiz graded by a postdoc but a B was impressive, for a student of Mary Frances’s capacity. N___ was himself impressed.
“It’s, like, you are saving my life, Nath’iel. Oh gosh—I love you.”
How soon then, to initiate the impregnation.
By measured stages seduction, sexual relations, impregnation. And if impregnation, gestation.
Birth, and beyond birth.
Of course, much had to be spontaneous, or seeming-so. With the Professor’s approval N___ had drawn up a tentative schedule based upon a normal nine-month gestation, birth sometime the next summer if all went as planned.
If successful impregnation, an engagement ring. If necessary, plans to marry after the birth.
Promise her whatever is required. You will know her very well by then.
Soon, N___ steered the female specimen away from campus. He preferred to spend time with her less publicly, he said.
Soon, meals together in (inexpensive, ethnic) restaurants and cafes where N___ wasn’t known. For certainly that was the next step, taking out the experimental subject on “dates.”
(Of course, N___ kept receipts for all expenditures and was reimbursed weekly out of the Professor’s “miscellaneous” fund.)
Tutoring the girl in biology was still crucial but was not the only, or even the primary subject of their conversations.
How did one fall in love? N___ had no more personal experience of falling in love than he’d had of personally experiencing impregnation, gestation, birth in laboratory animals whom he oversaw in the Professor’s elaborate experiments.
Drawing a deep breath one evening as they sat at a small table in a Chinese restaurant awaiting their meal N___ took hold of Mary Frances’s hand that lay, like a small animal in a pretense of sleep, on the tabletop. Steeling himself for the immediate pressure of her (hot, moist) hand, grasping his as a drowning person might grasp for life.
“Oh—Nath’iel. Gosh!”
A single heartbeat thudded between them. Suddenly, they were a couple.
Soon then, Mary Frances dared to slide her arm through his as they wal
ked together. Leaning against N_____, giddy and clumsy as in a three-legged race.
Together, crossing a street. At a pace that left the girl breathless trying to match N____’s long-legged stride.
“Oh, Nath-iel! You are so tall.”
Such inane remarks the girl made. There was something childlike in her naivete that made N___ want to protect her.
“People are always saying, Asians are so smart. Not like the rest of us. And, know what?—they are right.” Pausing, leaning against N_____. “And handsome, too. And sweet.”
This was bold. This was unmistakable. Yet, N___ did not wish to take advantage of the girl, just yet.
He was fearful of her emotion, that threatened to overwhelm him. Her warm, often overwarm body, leaning against his, denser than his own and (possibly) more resilient. Her eyes he saw were mud-brown, shiny with feeling.
Like a precious coin that has been covered by the thinnest soil the girl’s soul was too easily exposed. Seeming to take no notice of how guarded N___ had been in speaking of himself she did not hesitate to open her heart to him, confiding her most private secrets—bullied in middle school, friendless in high school, lonely and “miserable” at the University until she’d met him.
Oh, there’d been some guys at the University—“frat boys, real assholes”—who’d asked her out to “disgusting ‘keg parties,’ they call them”—but she’d had enough sense at least not to say yes.
“Really bad things happen to girls at ‘keg parties.’ All along Posner Avenue—those damn frat houses …” Mary Frances shook her head wryly, with an expression both disgusted and wistful.
N___ wondered uneasily if Mary Frances was a virgin. The very term virgin was quaint, faintly ludicrous to the ear, like an old-fashioned clinical name for a disease.
“Guys can be mean. Nasty. Back in middle school they’d tease us—try to scare us. ‘Pig-snout’—they called a friend of mine. She’d run away and cry. Just nasty.”
Shaking her head, such disgust that N___ had to suppose it had been Mary Frances herself called such a name.