George noticed how Vale seemed occupied with the careers of each of his guests, as if to point out how each member fit into the community, perhaps indicating how he hoped George and Miriam would fit in someday as well.
George, however, felt increasingly uncomfortable. At first he wasn’t sure why, but now it dawned on him. There was no one else his age here. Apparently no other seniors from town had been invited to Vale’s little party. Not that George minded the company of younger people; he just found that age and experience often produced a certain level of camaraderie with others who’d been through the same struggles in life.
And he suddenly felt alone and out of place.
As if sensing George’s discomfort, Vale gestured across the room. “Everyone here has been in the same situation you are in now, George. Each one has faced some incurable disease and found a miracle cure in perilium.”
“So they all had to move here too?”
“None of them were forced to move here against their will,” Vale said. “They were prematurely facing death and recognized this as a reasonable cost for what they were being offered.”
“Better to live in Beckon than die in Texas, eh?” George grunted.
Vale spread his hands. “Is our little community such a dreary place? Is it such an unacceptable trade?”
George glanced around the room. Everyone seemed pleasant enough—perhaps with the exception of Carson and Mulch. “And everyone here seems to have their own special job to do—their own role to fill?”
“As in any community.”
“I assume they were all considered suitable candidates, just like us? Meaning they were wealthy enough to afford your treatment.”
Vale shrugged. “Unfortunately at present there’s just not enough perilium for everyone in the world. So the resulting cost makes access prohibitive for some—as is the case with any scarce resource. But you must understand: the financial resources that each one here has brought into our community have allowed our research to continue.”
“Research?”
“Yes, for some time now Dr. Henderson has been working to find a way to synthesize perilium,” Vale said. “Our goal is that someday we’ll be able to manufacture enough for anyone who needs it.”
“Very noble. I’d be curious to see his research.”
“That could be arranged,” Vale said.
“And what about you?” George said. “What’s your role in the ‘community’?”
“Balance,” Vale said with a half smile. “I maintain the balance between secrecy and progress. If word of perilium got out prematurely, we would be overrun by hordes of scientists and businessmen. Well-meaning though they may be, they would ruin the delicate balance I maintain with the N’watu. I’m trying to respect their culture while attempting to—”
“Exploit their knowledge?” George raised an eyebrow.
Vale’s expression darkened momentarily, but then a thin smile curled on his lips. “Think about it, George. A day is coming when we can potentially wipe out all disease. When cancer and diabetes and even Alzheimer’s become things of the past.” He leaned close, and his tone grew serious. “Imagine what kind of world that would be.”
George looked across the room, his thoughts coiling around Vale’s words. What kind of world indeed. Free from sickness and disease and the stigma that accompanied them. He’d always thought such dreams were the realm of wishful thinkers or religious hopefuls.
He felt Vale’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m offering you the chance to be a part of it, George.”
George watched Miriam laughing as she chatted with Loraine and Malcolm Browne and the Huxleys. Just a few days earlier she’d been all but a stranger to him. But now it was as if he’d gotten her back from the dead. This perilium was perhaps the most significant discovery in the history of the world. Its impact would be enormous. How could he not be involved?
Amanda came up to Vale and said softly, “We’re ready to eat.”
Vale called for attention. The lights dimmed, and everyone took their places around the main candlelit table with Vale at the head and George and Miriam sitting to his right. Numerous covered platters had been set out along with several bottles of wine. But before anyone began eating, Vale stood and raised his glass.
“My friends, it gives me great pleasure to welcome George and Miriam Wilcox into our circle of fellowship. As most of you know, Miriam was suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s when she arrived the day before yesterday. Just two short days ago she could barely recognize her husband of fifty years, and yet now she sits among us completely restored. Their marriage has been made whole again, and she becomes a privileged recipient of nature’s greatest miracle.” He turned to George and Miriam. “May you be blessed to enjoy a long and healthy life together.”
“Hear, hear,” Max Dunham said to a chorus of clinking glass.
Amanda circled the table, lifting the covers off the platters to reveal steaming vegetables, fresh-baked dinner rolls, and a large salver of meat. Fillets and tenderloins were stacked high on the plate.
All of them quite raw.
George suppressed a gasp. Was something wrong? Was this some kind of sick joke? Miriam seemed repulsed as well and clutched his arm. George looked around the table, but no one else appeared to be disturbed by the sight. Everyone was serving themselves and shoving forkfuls of the red, bloody meat into their mouths. Vale was enjoying a particularly thick fillet, mopping the blood up with a dinner roll. He seemed to notice George’s look of disgust and smiled. “I see our custom doesn’t sit well with you.”
George grabbed a roll. “I guess I just prefer my steak grilled.”
Vale clucked his tongue and slipped another forkful of meat into his mouth. “Did you know that the Inuit in the Far North eat raw meat almost exclusively? So do the Masai of Africa. Both of these cultures are known for their extraordinary health and freedom from disease.”
“Still… if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick with cooked meat.”
“Suit yourself. I can have Amanda put something on the grill.”
“Actually,” George said, “it’s all right. I’ll be content with vegetables and some rolls.”
Malcolm Browne was seated across from George. He wiped a few drops of blood from his chin. “You know, I was the same way when I first arrived. But I discovered it’s an acquired taste.”
“So I’ve heard.”
George was no longer hungry. The Inuit notwithstanding, this was one custom he was definitely not going to adopt. Miriam, however, was staring at the platter. George watched her expression slowly turn from horror to curiosity as she studied the others dining on the raw flesh.
He leaned over and whispered, “Tell me you’re not thinking about trying that.”
Miriam’s lips tightened. “I’m starving.”
“So have some vegetables.”
“Haven’t you ever felt a craving for something? A certain kind of food? And no matter what you try, nothing else seems to satisfy it?”
George was mortified. “You’re not serious. It’s raw.”
Miriam looked away. “Just a little taste.”
She reached out and plucked a small fillet off the platter with her fork, then sliced off a thin piece while George looked on, dumbfounded. She doused it with table salt, raised it to her lips, paused a moment… then put it in her mouth. George watched her chew on the morsel. Her eyes closed and George’s widened. She looked like she was actually enjoying it! She carved off a second slice. Her expression looked like a person dying of thirst getting her first sips of cold water.
Vale took a drink of his wine. “The human body craves protein, George. It needs it to survive. We’re built from it, after all. There may be other sources—nuts and legumes and such.” He grinned. “But nothing provides the raw material our bodies need like real, fresh meat.”