Deceptions (60 page)

In the rain, it took them an hour to get to Columbia, but

they still had time to visit the lab before Garth's lecture to a graduate seminar. 'A favor to an old friend, * he said as they entered the building. 'Since my meeting isn't until tomorrow, he asked if I'd mind dispensing wisdom to his students for a couple of hours this afternoon. You can sit in, or would you rather shop?'

'Shop, I think. There are some antique dealers I'd like to meet.'

'Then I'll meet you at the hotel about five-thirty or six.*

They rode the elevator to the fourth floor. 'Quieter than the last time you were here,' said Garth.

Sabrina had no idea what he was talking about. A month ago, a week ago, she would have tried to cover her ignorance, but now it seemed unimportant. She had said goodbye to the children and had taken a last walk through the house; now she could feel herself withdrawing steadily from Garth. In an hour she would buy her ticket for London and tomorrow she would tell him she would not be coming back.

She walked ahead of him into the laboratory, a large room partitioned down the center by tall steel cabinets. They went to one side, and Garth looked at the bare soapstone bench. 'Gone are the Tinkertoys. Ah, but look there. They don't get rid of me so easily.'

Still not understanding him, Sabrina followed his gaze and saw on the wall framed drawings that did indeed look like Tinkertoy constructions. Now she knew what he meant: models of molecules. She had seen others like ^em in his lab at Midwestern.

' I did those just before I left,' he said. 'They still look pretty good. But how little we knew then; what incredible miles we've traveled in twelve years! Let's see what Bill's successor is up to.'

On the other side of the cabinets, Sabrina saw cages of scampering white mice stacked on a wall beside a large window. 'Not a bit different,' Garth said, smiling. 'I think Bill may still be on the premises. He may even still have a stock of tweezers and gauze bandages for unexpected wounds.'

Sabrina was looking at the mice. 'I wonder if that window

seems like protection, or a view of a world they can't ever touch.*

'Give me your hand/ Garth said roughly.

Puzzled, she held it out to him. 'Why?*

To see if I can jog your memory. *

'Jog my—' Mentally, she shook herself. 'I'm sorry, please forgive me; I'm being absentminded and rude.' Her hand, held out to him, was trembling. 'Shall we reenact the scene?' I'll do the best I can; just give me some clues.

'No, we don't need to relive the past. I do remember, though, how you looked when I told you I wanted to marry you and make love to you.'

'How?* she asked faintly.

'As if I'd given you a gift. Your eyes were red and swollen from that damn tear gas, but they shone so brightly that I remember wondering how a pair of midnight-blue eyes could look as if they held the sun within them. And then you frowned, as if you were wondering what gift to give me in return.*

'And what did I give you?'

'Yourself. The most I have ever wanted. And what incredible miles we've traveled since that day.' He drew her to him and kissed her. 'Stephanie, whatever is troubling you, I promise you we'll remedy it. Two such fine gift-givers have no place in their life for troubles.'

'Good God, WQuld you believe it?* A tall gray-bearded man with hom-ri^mied glasses came into the lab. 'It isn't enough they have their own bedroom; they still make out in the lab. What an example for the younger generation!' He stretched out his hands to Sabrina. 'Rolf Taggart. I thought Garth was exaggerating when he described you in his letters. Now I find he didn't do you justice. Welcome.' He shook Garth's hand. 'And welcome home.'

Garth smiled. 'Rolf does not admit I coul^l have another home, even after twelve years.'

'I still miss you, even after twelve years; best researcher I ever worked with. Are you prepared to face the sharp questioning of my sharpest students?'

'Probably not, but I'll do my best. Stephanie, five-thirty at the hotel? Six at the latest.'

'I'll be there. I hope it goes well/

As she took the elevator to the cabstand, Rolf said, 'Garth, she's stunning, but that pallor ... is she ill?'

'She's troubled about going to London. I'm not sure why.' In their correspondence over the years. Garth had written to Rolf about matters he could not discuss with Nat or Marty, simply because it often was easier to confide in a friend one did not see eveiy day. But he could not tell Rolf, any more than anyone else, that his wife might still be thinking of leaving him. 'She's always identified strongly with her sister; as long as I've known her she's had fantasies about being Sabrina, or at least living her kind of life. Now, since Sabrina's death, she's been confiised, off and on, about whether she's Stephanie or Sabrina. As if she feels a compulsion to live both their lives or choose between them. But lately, in the most extraordinary way, we'd finally come together, found each other for the first time in the way all of us dream of—*

Garth rubbed his forehead. They had reached the door of the seminar room, and he looked apologetically at his friend. 'I didn't come here for a therapy session. Father Rolf. Why didn't you stop me?'

'Because you needed to talk and I wanted to hear. But now there's this damn seminar. Can you face these young animals whose favorite sport is trying to show professorsyouth knows more than middle age?'

Garth squared his shoulders. 'Let's show them our tricks.'

The room was full; Garth's name was a magnet. He looked at the sixty faces before him, alert and expectant, and felt renewed. However unsure he felt about his future with Stephanie, here in this room he was absolutely confident and excited about the contact with students. Pacing back and forth, he talked easily, relaxed and humorous, but technical; he did not talk down to students. At the same time, he made them feel they were part of a community of scientists, free to ask questions or make comments as he talked.

It was almost four-thirty when he paused and then said, casually, 'I want to talk now about immortal antibodies.' A stir went through the class; the phrase caught their imagina-

tion, and the inflection in Garth's voice told them it was something big. He let the suspense build, enjoying it.

'What we are working on/ he said, leaning on the desk with both hands, 'is the ability to make the himian immune system inmiortal. That implies exactly what you think it does: perpetual production of antibodies. We are looking at the potential for fusing two human cells- one that produces antibodies and one that reproduces itself forever. The result is a hybrid that will produce an endless supply of antibodies, vastly strengthening the body's natural defense system, whici, by itself, often is not effective. In other words, an immorul immune system. In addition, the antibodies would be used to make a broad spectrum of vaccines against disease.'

A hand went up. 'Sir, hasn't this kind of cell fusion been done in mice?'

Garth nodded. 'For about ten years. But you know that when we treat human disease with vaccines made from animal antibodies, there are drastic side effects. Those of you who've had the vaccine for rabies, which is made from horse antibodies, know how painfril it is. But humans can accept human antibodies, as they do in blood transfusions, without those side effects. When we perfect the technology, we expect to produce unlimited amounts of them, specific to various diseases.'

'Which ones, sir?'

'At the moment, tetanus, erythroblastosis - a cause of jaundice in babies- and malignancy of the white blood cells in children, or childhood leukemia. We're probably seven or eight years away from availability of these vaccines for treatment, but clinical tests may begin within a couple of years.'

'Professor, what chemical is used to fuse the cells?'

'Ethylene glycol, inexpensive and readily available.'

'Sir, have you compared actual nucleotide sequences between the original hybrid and succeeding ones to determine that they are truly identical? How many generations have you followed, and what methods do you use to keep track of the original hybrid cell?'

There's always a show-off. Garth thought, trying to

impress the professor and the class. 'We've compared a number of the DNA nucleotide sequences through several generations, and so far they've been found to be identical in every respect. With identical cells, there is, asyou point out, the problem of distinguishing the original from the copy. We've found the most efficient method is to use a radioactive tracer to give the original cell a special identification. This is sufficient, even when all other aspects are identical, to distinguish it from a copy—'

He stopped. The words echoed in his mind: Distinguish it from a copy. Original. Identical. Copy. Distinguish the original firom-Identical. Copy. Identical. Original. Copy...

A blank look in the laboratory; no recollection of tear gas and a cut hand. Wine before dirmer. 'I don't want you to take the job at Foster Labs.' Deflating Irma Kallen. Intimidating Mrs Casey and Rita McMillan. Hiring a maid, taking a new job, without discussion. *It wasn't Sabrina who died ...' A funeral: 'I'm Sabrina ...' China. China.

The copy can be determined from the original.

'Professor Andersen has another appointment.' Rolf was at his side - where had he come firom? - completing the answer to the question, bringing the seminar smoothly to a close. The students were standing, applauding. A few came up with questions poised on their lips, but Rolf turned them away. 'A tight schedule, not this time, perhaps a return visit...' And then they were alone in the empty room.

'Come on. I'll get you to a doctor.'

Slowly, Garth focused on him. 'Do I look that bad?'

'Like you'll pass out any moment. Where's the pain? Chest? Arm?'

He laughed shortly. 'Head and heart. But not a heart attack, Rolf. Just an attack of reality; enough to wake me up.' He looked at the high dark windows, raindrops running crazily down their length, and heard his voice go on and on. He could not stop it. 'Amazing, isn't it, how we keep ourselves deluded long past the time when we should have forced our eyes open? We see things, we hear them, and they don't fit, but we force them to make sense, we push them into the shapes we want, we don't even allow ideas to reach the

surface of our minds because they're in^possible to accept, too awful to contemplate. I sound like a psychologist. Maybe I'm in the wrong profession. God knows I'm in the wrong marriage.'

'Garth, what the hell—I*

*0h. ftick it, don't pay any attention to my ravings, Rolf. I have no right to burden you with a delayed awakening. I'm going for a walk; think some things out.'

'In this rain? And aren't we meeting later, for dinner?'

'Not tonight. Rolf, I let you down. I'm sorry. The seminar—'

The seminar was terrific. An abrupt ending, but that wasn't important. You can't tell me about your waking up? Sometimes it's easier to have the eyes forced open if a finend shares the view.'

'I can't. I'm not even sure I'm right. But there may be a time ... I'll let you know.' They shook hands. 'I owe you another seminar.' 'Forget it. Let me get you a cab.'

'I'll find one.'

But there were no cabs. The rain was as steady as before, and, after walking a few blocks, he gave up and ran down the subway stairs. He stood on the platform, jostled by riders positioning themselves to leap through the train doors when they opened. The air smelled of wet wool. He was in no hurry; he stepped back.

He could be wrong. He had no proof. Scientists insist on proof or overwhelming evidence. Observation, controlled experiments, documentation, replication. All he had was the sudden flood of light that had blinded him in the seminar room, as if a curtain had been ripped aside. Everything fit together; he was certain she was Sabrina.

There were no empty seats on the train. He stood in the packed aisle, swaying, grasping the steel loop above his head, shaped like a hangman's noose, he noted, or a teardrop. Fooled him. How well she had fooled him. The scientist, the careful observer, with an international reputation for the purity of his experiments and the thoroughness of his documentation. Couldn't even tell he was living with his wife's twin sister. Sleeping with his wife's twin sister. Excused her mistakes; convinced himself she was trying to

improve their marriage; gave her the benefit of eveiy doubt; helped her make a fool of him. Again and again, helped her make a fool of him, helped her and loved her while doing it.

Fool.

In the hotel lobby he slowed his steps. But it was only when he was in the crowded elevator, stopping at every floor, that the full impact hit him and he doubled over as if struck in the stomach.

His wife was dead.

Tou getting off here?'

Garth looked up. The elevator doors had opened at his floor and a young girl was holding them back with her hand.

'Yes,- he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. 'Thank you.'

She watched him shuffle along the flowered carpet. Tou got somebody to take care of you?'

'Yes. Thank you.' No. No one. But it doesn't concern anyone else. Only Sabrina and me.

Outside the door of their room, he leaned against the wall. Cold tremors ran down his legs and arms and crushed his chest; his breath came in gasps. He stood there, in that frozen vise, waiting for the tremors to stop. Guests passed with curious glances. A waiter pushed a cart loaded with drinks and hors d'oeuvres to a room down the hall. And from the other side of the door beside him. Garth heard the telephone ring, and heard it answered. So she was there. Waiting for him.

He stood away from the wall. He had to face her. He might, after all, be wrong. An infinitesimal, unscientific hope. He put his key in the door and went in.

Sabrina was curled up in a chair beside the window. Lamplight turned her hair red-gold and her skin a pale translucence; she looked fragile and vulnerable, and reflexi-vely Garth's arms began to reach out to her. Noi he cried silently, and stayed beside the door as Sabrina said, 'Rolf called, wondering how you—'

She stopped as she saw the set of his mouth and the deep lines of his face. And she knew that he knew the truth. Briefly she wondered how he had discovered it. Her stupidity