At this moment he suddenly snatched the papers from her hand.
‘What the hell was that for?’
‘There’s no point in your reading about it. It’s the ultimate bitch disease. None of the senses are untouched. Christ, did we hit the jackpot.’
Laura crumpled, sobbing, into Barney’s arms.
Adam Parry arrived a little before seven, studied Barney’s notes, and, having more or less digested the various specialists’ reports, confirmed that Harry was indeed suffering from RSS.
‘Although,’ he confessed, ‘I don’t know where the hell this leaves us.’
Laura answered softly, ‘It leaves us with Harry for just a few more weeks.’
‘No, goddammit!’ Barney snapped. ‘We’re gonna find a way. We’re gonna shake the trees for every kind of doctor or faith healer – we’ll even go to Lourdes – I don’t give a damn what. As long as Harry’s breathing we’re gonna keep on fighting. I’m going to my own office and make a few calls. Laura, you phone the guy you used to work for in Children’s Hospital.’
Before she could nod, he was out the door.
Laura returned to their cubbyhole and began telephoning. First the Harvard expert.
‘RSS?’ asked the astonished voice.
‘Yes, Professor,’ Laura said softly.
‘My God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an actual case. Listen – would it be okay if I came down to New York – ?’
‘Of course.’
‘And can I bring some of my residents? This is probably the only chance they’ll ever get to see the disease.’
Laura slammed down the phone. Then she called Dain Oliver at NIH. And asked him to check the records. Here she received not only consolation but some elucidation. After all, the NIH had data that hadn’t yet been published.
‘Laura, there’s at least a theoretical way of approaching a possible cure.’
I want more than theory, Dain, she thought inwardly, but forced herself to listen.
‘An abnormal myelin results from the absence of just one enzyme.’
‘I know, I know,’ she said impatiently, ‘aryl sulfatase B.’
‘So the problem is clear. You have to get the missing enzyme back into his body. Now, as I see it, there are three possible ways.’
‘What?’ she asked, now breathless.
‘First you might try a transplant of histocompatible skin fibroblasts. Of course, you’ll have to find a matched donor and that could take time.’
‘Has it ever worked?’ Laura asked.
‘It’s never been tried,’ Dain answered.
Okay, Laura thought to herself, let’s put that on hold. We may not have time to find a donor, much less perform the experiment.
‘What are your other two ideas?’
‘You might try the technique that’s used to treat kids with osteogenic sarcoma.’
‘You mean, first the poison, then the antidote to kill the killer cells? It’s too risky. What’s the third alternative?’
‘Well,’ her former boss said with a sudden awkwardness in his voice, ‘there are people at the Institutes working on creating a laboratory model of the enzyme.’
‘How close are they, Dain?’ she asked urgently.
‘It’s in the pipeline,’ Dain replied apologetically. ‘We’re talking years, maybe two, maybe three. What can I say, Laura?’
‘Dain, you have records of what’s happening in every lab everywhere. Has anyone made advances in this field?’
‘Well, actually the West Coast has several groups trying to duplicate all kinds of enzymes – mostly private firms. In fact, there’s one person who seems to have the jump on everybody. But he’s very peculiar and I doubt if you could even get to talk to him.’
‘Just tell me who he is, Dain, please,’ Laura implored, thinking, If this guy’s got an answer, I’ll crawl on my hands and knees all the way to California.
‘He’s with a very high-powered little firm called Neobiotics – a professionally discredited genius named Peter Wyman, who—’
‘I know him,’ Laura said, quickly cutting him off. ‘Give me his phone number and I’ll do the rest. What’s the name of that firm again?’
‘Neobiotics. It’s in Palo Alto.’
‘Thank you, Dain, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.’
He gave her the number. Then, with a helplessness that she could feel across the telephone wires, he said, ‘I wish there were more I could do, Laura. I’m sorry for you.’
‘Thanks,’ she answered, barely audibly, and let the receiver slip from her hands onto its cradle.
An instant later she was dialing California.
But the receptionist said firmly, ‘I’m sorry, but Dr Wyman’s rules are that he is never to be disturbed when he’s working in his lab.’
‘Tell him that it’s Laura Castellano – and it’s literally a matter of life and death.’
Moments passed, and then a facetious voice.
‘Well, well, how is Harvard Med School’s answer to Marilyn Monroe?’
Laura was not about to waste precious time on verbal niceties. ‘I’ve got to see you, Peter. I’ve got to see you as soon as possible.’
‘That’s very flattering,’ he said, laughing. ‘But I’m a married man. You should have declared your feelings sooner.’
‘Please,’ Laura beseeched, ‘we’ll take the next plane to San Francisco.’
‘May I inquire who “we” is?’
‘My husband, Barney, myself, and our little boy. He’s very sick, Peter. We need to see you right away.’
‘Why me? I’m a research scientist, Laura. I don’t practice medicine.’
‘There’s a special reason.’
He sighed a weary sigh.
‘All right,’ he replied grudgingly. ‘I suppose the least disruptive time would be in the late evening. Most of the lab staff are gone by then – it’s when I do my most creative thinking. If you could drop by tomorrow evening after ten—’
‘What about tonight?’
‘Is it that urgent?’
‘Yes, Peter. And if you’ll only say the word, we can still catch the noon flight.’
‘Well, I must say,’ he replied in peacock tones, ‘this is making me extremely curious. Anyway, it will be nice seeing you again, Laura.’
‘Thanks, Peter. We’ll—’
‘I can’t really say the same about that husband of yours, but if he comes with the package …’
‘Goodbye, Peter, we’ve got to catch that plane.’
While Laura got the necessary apparatus to keep Harry stable during the journey, Barney called the airport. Three hours later they were airborne to San Francisco.
They had told only Adam Parry where they were going.
‘You do realize,’ he had warned sympathetically, ‘that you may be coming back with no more answers than you have now?’
‘We realize everything,’ Barney had replied.
Harry was almost comatose from all his medication, and Barney and Laura took turns holding him in their laps. Not because there wasn’t room for him on the middle seat, but because they needed to touch him – both for his sake and for their own.
So that if the worst occurred, they would at least have precious tactile memories. How it felt to press him to her breast. How it felt to hold him with an embrace so tight Barney was afraid he might be crushing him.
It was primal. Barney wanted to shield his son from everything bad. He kept murmuring to reassure all three of them, ‘Mommy and Daddy will never let you go. Never, never, never. We’re here, Harry, we’re here.’
At the same time, Laura was obsessively thinking, If I could only take you back inside me, Harry. So I could protect you.
‘What a sweet little boy,’ cooed a stewardess, ‘and so well-behaved. Is this his first flight?’
Laura nodded. ‘Yes.’ And, she thought, maybe his last.
At the airport they rented a car and drove immediately to the University Inn near the Stanford ca
mpus in Palo Alto.
Barney and Laura were exhausted from the journey, the time change, and most of all the tension. They fought to stay awake till the appointed hour with the imperious Wyman. (It would be 1 A.M. in their body time.) And they discussed strategy incessantly. Should Laura go alone? Should she go with Harry? Or should all three of them go? Would Peter react with revulsion at the sight of two Med School classmates he knew loathed him? Or would he show compassion for a grieving couple whose only child had days, perhaps hours to live?
Finally, Barney decided for them.
‘We’re all going together, Laura. I want that bastard to look into my eyes. And into yours. And at Harry – and see if there’s a molecule of humanity in his granite soul.’
They drove along El Camino Real to a surprisingly modest rectangular brick building, whose small illuminated sign read NEOBIOTICS, INC.
As soon as Barney pulled up at the gate, however, he realized where this corporation had spent its money. Two armed security men asked them both to step out and be frisked. They even made Laura unwind the blanket in which she was holding Harry.
After passing through a glass door, manned by another pair of sentries, they reached the reception desk, at which yet one more guard was seated.
They identified themselves and were told to wait.
They sat down, now cradling their sleeping child across both their laps. They checked the clock on the waiting room wall. It was seven minutes to ten. Barney and Laura exchanged weary glances of disbelief. Neither was really sure why they were here. It would probably turn out to be merely a West Coast blind alley.
And Harry chose this of all times to wake and, frightened by the strange surroundings, began to wail. Laura had just managed to calm him down when Peter Wyman appeared in his white lab coat.
‘Well, hello, old friends,’ he said, sarcastically. ‘You’re a long way from civilization. What brings the mountain to Mohammad?’
Laura said quietly, ‘This is Harry, our little boy, Peter.’
‘Oh,’ said their erstwhile classmate.
It was an awkward moment, and Barney asked uneasily, ‘Uh, can we go inside somewhere and talk?’
Peter glanced at his watch.
‘I do hope this won’t take too long.’
Barney took hold of Harry, and lifted him as he stood up.
‘Don’t sweat, Peter. We won’t waste your precious time.’
They had a sense that he wanted them to see his office: his huge desk, his space-age telephone equipment, his numerous trophies on the wall. He wanted them to see that though in Harvard’s myopic eyes he was an outcast, to the real world he was a giant. Indeed, growing taller by the minute.
‘Okay,’ he said when he had seated himself in his massive leather chair. ‘What seems to be the problem?’
Barney had rehearsed his speech a million times during the flight. Now he blurted out the essential details. Their only hope for Harry would be an infusion of the purified enzyme.
‘I agree,’ said Peter, looking interested for the first time. ‘That might very well do the trick. But, as you both know, the Food and Drug Administration sets up strict guidelines for the approval of a new drug for use in humans. I mean, they wouldn’t want another Thalidomide episode, would they? And my synthetic ASB is only in the second “trial stage.” So it would be totally illegal for me to give it to you.’ And then he added, ‘There’s also the possibility that it could kill him.’
At this point Laura broke down.
‘Please, Peter, don’t let him die without at least having a chance.’
Barney stood up and demanded, ‘Listen, Wyman, you took the Hippocratic Oath with all of us. Forget the FDA. Look at my dying son. Are you just gonna let us walk out of here and take him to his grave?’
Slightly cowed by Barney’s bluntness, Peter looked nervously at his watch.
Nobody moved.
Then Barney spoke again. ‘Did you understand what I just said, Peter?’
‘I haven’t practiced medicine for quite some time. And certainly not pediatrics. But your son looks very sick to me. Why don’t you take him to Children’s Hospital and get him into bed with an I.V.?’
‘And then what?’ Barney demanded.
‘Then I’ll call you at ten o’clock tomorrow night.’
‘No sooner?’ Laura implored.
‘I need some time to think about it,’ said Wyman dryly. ‘This is a pretty serious thing. Make sure one of my secretaries knows how to reach you.’
They walked numbly out of his office, down the long corridors, through the glass door, past the guards, and out to their car. In silence.
Harry was asleep against his daddy’s shoulder. Barney could feel the warmth of his son’s cheek. He’s got fever, Barney thought to himself.
‘What do you think, Castellano?’ His voice was hoarse from emotion.
‘I think he’s right in one sense, Barn. We ought to get Harry to the hospital. I think he would be safer there.’
The Livingstons found human beings at San Francisco Children’s Hospital. Caring people, who dispensed with all the red tape so they could get Harry into bed and on a drip as soon as possible.
Too worn out to move anywhere, Barney and Laura slept on mattresses in Harry’s room. They woke early. The time change was still messing up their body clocks. And after seeing that their son’s condition was stable, they started out to find the cafeteria so they could get some coffee. They had just reached the elevator when a nurse called to them from her station.
‘Dr Livingston – there’s a phone call for you.’
They both sprinted madly back.
‘Who is it?’ Barney asked the nurse.
‘It’s Dr Goldstein, our head of Pediatrics. She says she knows you both.’
‘Goldstein?’ Laura asked an equally puzzled Barney. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’
Barney shrugged and then picked up the phone.
‘This is Dr Livingston.’
‘Welcome to San Francisco,’ said a female voice with a special lilt he still remembered.
Suzie Hsiang.
‘Suzie! Are you Dr Goldstein?’
‘By virtue of marriage to Dr Mike Goldstein,’ she replied. ‘I saw your name on the overnight admissions list and I wanted to know if I could help.’
‘That’s very kind,’ Barney replied, ‘but unless you discoverd a cure for RSS last night, I don’t think you can. Still, if you’re free, we’d love you to have a cup of coffee with us in the cafeteria.’
‘I’ll come down as soon as I’ve taken a look at your little boy.’
Barney and Laura were toying with their scrambled eggs when Suzie came into the near-deserted cafeteria.
‘He’s a lovely child,’ she said warmly. And then more somberly, ‘But he is awfully sick. What brings you all the way out here?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Barney sighed.
Yet by now he was used to presenting the case with a minimum of words.
‘But Wyman’s got to help you,’ Suzie stated emphatically. ‘I mean, he must have some human feelings.’
‘Don’t bet on it,’ Laura remarked. ‘He gives a pretty good imitation of a stone.’
‘So when is he letting you know?’
‘At ten tonight.’
‘Why does he need so much time?’
‘I don’t know,’ Barney replied, ‘the workings of Peter’s mind are beyond my capacity to understand.’
‘Why don’t you come out to my parents’ house before you go back to see him? You could have a real Cantonese dinner – and besides, I’d like you to meet my father.’
They did not know what to say. On one hand, they wanted to be alone with Harry. On the other hand, they knew that any distraction from their chilling, persistent fear would be welcome.
‘Let me give you the address. It’s easy to find from here. I’m only sorry Mike is at a Nephrology congress in Texas. Anyway, if you want to, we’re all at home by six o’clock.’
> They exchanged thanks, and Suzie excused herself to hurry back to her rounds.
They spent the day at Harry’s bedside. Their only dialogue, ‘What time is it?’ The answer always, ‘Just two minutes later than the last time you asked.’
Late that afternoon they bundled up their little son – who had slept most of the day – and asked that he be discharged. For they had decided that if Wyman said no, they wanted to be alone with Harry – out of the hospital – when he died.
A little before six, they walked up the hill from Union Square and through the ornate green and white pagodalike gateway whose dragons seemed to be saying, Lay down your newfangled Western ideas, and come in to an older, wiser, Eastern world.
The main thoroughfare was lined with touristy trinket shops, offering China-in-a-packet to take home to the folks in South Dakota. But branching to the right and left were smaller streets such as Kearney and Washington, which were decorated to make the Chinese residents feel at home: lanternlike street lamps illuminated the sidewalks, which at intersections bore the names of the streets in both English and Chinese.
‘Look, Harry,’ Barney said with manic, desperate enthusiasm, ‘isn’t this great? Can you imagine how Marco Polo felt when he first saw stuff like this?’
Laura said nothing. And merely indulged Barney, whose rational mind knew that Harry was far too febrile to comprehend what he was saying. Still, Barney was desperately trying to cram as many years of life into him as he could.
Suzie’s parents lived in a ground floor apartment on Jackson. A Chinese placard in the window announced, they presumed, that this was the office of a practitioner of Oriental medicine, whose origins antedated Hippocrates by at least two thousand years. Dr Hsiang, his wife, Suzie, and Suzie’s unmarried younger sister were seated, dressed in silken robes drinking tea. The elderly man rose when the visitors entered and said something in Cantonese.
Suzie translated: ‘Father welcomes you to our home and says he shares your sorrow about your son. He wonders perhaps if you would allow him to examine Harry?’
Barney and Laura looked at each other.
What the hell harm could it do? Laura thought to herself. He’s a real doctor, after all. Just not our kind of doctor.
Barney nodded to the elderly man and said, ‘Thank you very much.’