A Tangled Web (30 page)

“The what?” Penny asked.

“I'm sorry. B and T cells are the names of lymphocytes that recognize foreign cells in our bodies and destroy them. It is because of them that we recover from a cold or the flu—that is, when they do what they are supposed to do. But it is a very complex system and it can fail if certain genetic defects exist, and then the system turns against the body.”

“Turns against the body?” Sabrina repeated. “What does that mean?”

“The B and T cells can no longer tell the difference between foreign cells that invade our body, and our body itself.” Penny was frowning, and Lu said, “I mean, the lymphocytes that are supposed to save us by attacking invading cells turn on us and start attacking
us.
Then we get diseases like rheumatoid arthritis, diabetes mellitus, multiple sclerosis, myasthenia gravis, and Addison's disease. These are all autoimmune diseases. The one I am working on is rheumatoid arthritis; I am trying to find out if we can replace the defective gene that controls the growth of lymphocytes with a healthy one so that the body can produce new lymphocytes that won't attack joint tissue.”

“Could you cure AIDS that way?” Cliff asked.

“No, AIDS is caused by HIV. Anyway, I am not working on AIDS.”

“Why not? AIDS is killing people.”

“And rheumatoid arthritis is crippling millions . . . including my mother. I promised her I would bring back to China a cure for her and so many others.”

“It would be a medical revolution,” Garth said. “There's tremendous excitement in the department; this is the frontier of research in how genes specify the immune system, and Lu is doing the kind of work that will push it even further ahead. We're very proud of him; his research program is excellent and he has good ideas about the nature of the problem and ways to attack it. If his experiments pan out, it will be a very big feather in the cap of our new institute.”

Sabrina saw Lu's face close up. He wants the glory for himself, she thought—not for the department, not for the institute, certainly not for Garth Andersen, just for Lu. He probably thinks he's going to get the Nobel Prize. And from what Garth says, maybe he could. “But others must be working on this, too,” she said to Garth.

“At least a dozen, but I don't think they're as close as we are. Farver Labs in San Francisco is probably the closest; I talked to Bill Farver a couple of weeks ago and he sounded about as excited as we are. Of course they don't have Lu, which puts them at a distinct disadvantage.”

Cliff made a retching sound. “Oh, Cliff,” Sabrina sighed, but at the same time she felt a rush of pity for him. She met Garth's eyes and shook her head slightly. She didn't know why he always seemed to go overboard about Lu, as if he had to make him feel loved and admired over and over again, as if it weren't enough to tell him once that he was on his way to being a fine scientist and leave it there.

Well, if he has to, for whatever reason, he can do it on campus, she thought; he doesn't have to do it at home, especially in front of Cliff. We just talked about this; I guess we'll have to do it again.

“I did want to ask you, Professor,” Lu said, “about the polymorphisms within the peptide-binding cleft: how much of the variation in individuals is determined by the ability of the MHC protein to bind different antigens . . .”

They slipped into their own language, their own world. Smiling, Sabrina watched them, feeling a great tenderness for Garth, a man driven by so many passions, and for Lu, never capable, perhaps, of passions as intense as Garth's, but somehow understanding how rare and wonderful they were. His face was absorbed and even adoring, she thought, as he kept his eyes locked on Garth's face.

She looked around the table, set by Mrs. Thirkell with a patterned Provenèal cloth, yellow candles, white and yellow daffodils, and bright blue and yellow Provençal pottery that Sabrina had found years before at the marché aux puces outside Paris. It was as if the sun shone within the room, bringing a brightness to the faces around the table, and Sabrina felt a tenderness for all of them—her husband, her children, Mrs. Thirkell, Lu—and for the place where she was: the dining room with its furniture rubbed golden and satiny from centuries of loving hands, the house that enclosed her in well-worn comfort, the town where she greeted friends as she walked down the street.

Oh, everything is so good, she thought. The good things in her life piled up ever higher, never erasing the sadness inside her but dulling it, keeping it out of sight except for the quiet times of very early morning, when she often woke and ached for Stephanie. But at times like this, with her family around her in their bright dining room, she felt herself stretching inside, like a cat in a warm circle of sunlight, and thinking, Oh, everything is so good.

It struck her that she thought that more and more often lately, so often that it had become a refrain beneath everything she did. It was almost as if she were cataloguing and memorizing the glories of autumn, knowing they would be snatched away in the cold sweep of winter. But that was a foolish fantasy, and she brushed it aside. I'm
happy, she thought, and I'm grateful for happiness, and I thank goodness for that. The riskiest thing one can do with happiness is to take it for granted.

But Garth and Lu had talked long enough in their private jargon; Cliff's face had tightened and Penny was fidgeting. “We're feeling a little left out, here,” Sabrina said lightly. “The conversation has gotten a trifle technical.”

“More than a trifle,” Garth said ruefully. “I'm sorry. The problem is that I'm so busy with the new institute I don't get much time with Lu. In fact, I haven't been paying much attention to him at all. So it was fun to catch up.” Then, as if going back over their dinner and hearing himself praise Lu and withdraw with him into a scientific discussion, he turned to Cliff. “We haven't heard much about your work lately; what are you doing in your lab course these days?”

“Nothing much. It's pretty boring.”

“I thought you liked it.”

Cliff shrugged, then threw a glance at Sabrina and hunched his shoulders. “Can I be excused?”

“Before dessert?” Garth asked. “That's a first. I think you should hang around, Cliff. We have a guest and it would be nice if we could finish dinner together.”

“I
know
we have a guest!”

Mrs. Thirkell came in and began to clear the dishes. “Cliff, how about helping out?”

“Do I have to stay?” Cliff asked Sabrina.

She nodded. “I agree with your father.”

“Jeez,” he muttered, and began to stack plates.

“Not too high,” said Mrs. Thirkell, and the two of them went into the kitchen.

“Cliff does not like me,” Lu said. “Have I done something to offend him?”

“A lot of ideas and feelings get stirred up in a twelve-year-old,” Sabrina replied. “Cliff will work them out. Didn't you have a lot of mixed-up feelings when you were twelve?”

He shook his head. “We don't have time for things like that. We owe our country all our energy and attention. It is making it possible for us to be educated so we can lead productive lives, and we have no right to fritter away any of our time.”

“
What?
” Penny asked.

“Well, we feel honored that you took time out for dinner,” Sabrina said, amused, and then was ashamed as she saw confusion on Lu's face.

“I take it very seriously. My government and my family expect me to bring great credit to our country, and then to come home to help all of China.”

“Quite a burden for anyone, much less a young man of twenty-two,” Garth said. “I hope you don't feel that all of China will condemn you if you do less than brilliantly.”

“But why would I do less? You told me I have a brilliant future.”

“If everything goes well, I think you do. But I'm sure that your government will support you, and your family will always be behind you whatever—” Garth saw the confusion deepen on Lu's face, and he cut his sentence off. “That's enough shop talk for tonight, I think. Let's have coffee. Lu?”

“Yes, thank you.” His voice was muted, and then he was silent as Garth poured coffee and talked about plans for the groundbreaking ceremony for the Institute of Genetic Engineering.

“A little over three weeks away and Claudia and I haven't written our speeches,” he said as Mrs. Thirkell and Cliff finished clearing the table and brought in a cake. “The hope is that the longer we wait the shorter they'll be. Do you know, if we could find the gene for brevity we could create universal happiness by shortening ceremonies all over the world.”

Sabrina smiled. She cut the cake and handed around the dessert plates, and as they talked of other things, Lu's face relaxed, though he remained quiet. But when he stood up to leave, he stopped beside Cliff's chair. “I guess you
don't want to learn Chinese, but I played soccer in China and we could talk about some things I learned from my coach. I mean, if you want to. They're a little different from the stuff you're doing.”

Sabrina heard the plea in his voice and held her breath, watching Cliff struggle between jealousy and his love of soccer. “I guess,” he said at last; then, as if he was ashamed of his grudging reply, he added, “Sure. Thanks.” Sabrina breathed a sigh of relief. She met Garth's eyes. He needs our help, she thought, and then, as they stood and went with Lu to the front door, she wondered which young man, Lu or Cliff, she had meant.

Garth watched Lu walk down the porch steps. A light May rain was falling; there was no breeze and the warm air was soft on their skin. Lu put up an umbrella and turned to wave goodbye, and then Garth closed the door and put his arm around Sabrina as they went back to the dining room. “Thank you. It is a joy to watch you keep a conversation going.”

“Everyone helped. He loves you, you know.”

“Lu? Why do you think that?”

“I saw it in his face.”

“I haven't seen it. Or much of anything else; he hides most of his feelings. I've known him for two years and he's never talked to me before tonight about proving himself worthy of his government's expectations.”

“Still, I think he thinks of you as a father.”

“Well, I can live with that if Cliff can.”

“We'll talk to Cliff. But, Garth, you really do go on about Lu; does he need all that stroking all the time?”

“I don't know. You're right; I realized I did it again tonight, but he's so tense most of the time I find myself trying to make him feel better about himself. There's a kind of desperation to him, almost a recklessness. He can't really relax; he can't really enjoy himself. One time when he was in my office I wanted to hold him on my lap and tell him everything would be all right.”

Sabrina smiled. “He would have been very surprised.”

“He would have thought the eminent professor had lost his mind. Well, I'll be careful at home from now on, and I'll talk to Cliff.” At the door to the dining room, he stopped and took her in his arms. “I love you.”

“I'm so glad of that.” They glanced into the room and saw an empty table, and heard Penny and Cliff talking to Mrs. Thirkell in the kitchen, and they held each other close and kissed.

“Stolen kisses,” Garth murmured as the kitchen door swung open and Penny and Cliff came back.

Sabrina stayed in his arms. “It's when parents stop kissing that children get upset.”

“Not a problem, then, since kissing you is the first item on my agenda for the next fifty or sixty years.”

“What's the joke?” Cliff asked as Sabrina and Garth smiled together.

“Sixty years of kissing,” Sabrina said, and as Cliff came close she put her hand on his hair, chestnut-colored, the same as her own, and pulled him closer. “We plan to kiss you and Penny for at least the next sixty years.”

“You'll be ninety-three,” Penny said. “That's really old.”

“Not too old to kiss.”

“We're hot on the trail of a gene that makes kissing as potent at ninety-three as it is at thirty-three,” Garth said, and he stood in his dining room with his wife in his arms and his children close by, and felt the abundance of his world and of his own powers: he was just forty years old, healthy, respected in his field, loved in his home. He had everything he wanted; there was nothing he could not do.

*  *  *

A week later he reached back to retrieve that feeling as he sat in his office facing a staff attorney for Congressman Oliver Leglind.

“Roy Stroud,” the attorney had said as he walked in. “Glad to meet you, Professor; I've been wanting to for a long time. Ah, this must be the grand new building we've heard so much about.” He walked to a square table beneath
the window and looked down at a model of the Institute for Genetic Engineering. He was short and stout, with a small brush mustache, wire-rimmed glasses that slid down his small round nose, and a watch chain across his paunch, and he rocked back and forth from toes to heels to toes as he contemplated the Styrofoam model set in Styrofoam-landscaped grounds. “Very handsome. Handsome indeed. That's a handsome monument to you, Professor.”

“To science,” Garth said.

Stroud was moving a model car along the road circling the institute. “Takes me back, oh, it does take me back. I had a collection once: every model car they made. I don't think I missed one. Not one model car did I miss. Well.” He turned back to Garth. “Let's sit down, Professor, I don't want to take too much of your time.”

Garth pulled out a chair for Stroud, debated briefly taking the one next to it, then sat in his leather swivel chair instead, putting his desk between them. “It would be helpful if I knew what this is about.”

“Well, it's about universities; I guess you could guess that. Congressman Leglind, as I'm sure you know, is chairman of the House Committee on Science, Space and Technology, and he's been bombarded lately with a flood of mail from constituents who are worried about balancing the budget and wondering if maybe Congress is giving too much money to universities. Nobody watches over universities, you know; there's nobody out there signing off on how you spend the funding you get from your government, so nobody really knows where the money goes. So the congressman thought, in response to this avalanche of mail—an outcry from the people if we ever saw one—that he'd hold hearings on the way universities use the money Congress gives them.”