I have to admit there’s also something nice about being compensated well. Payment in academia comes in the form of recognition. You’ll get it, in the long run, if your work is good, but you get it a lot faster if you’re good at the publicity game. Are the ones who thrive the ones most talented at gaining recognition, or the ones gifted at grasping the structure of a molecule, designing an elegant experiment, reading results insightfully? Here, all of us on the team are pulling in the same direction: nailing this target, curing cancer, and, by the way, cashing in on those stock options.
Found out today that this program is McKinnon’s baby, from back when he first got into the field. Big risk, big payoff. We started off with a fairly specific target, but the candidate seems to work on almost everything we throw at it. It looks like we might have something huge! And here I am right in the middle of it. It’s like a dream come true.
It would take some studying to decode just what she was working on, but I got the feeling Sheila was quite good in her field. She clearly loved what she did.
Call from Abe, just back from Sierra Leone. His group was held for three days by teenage soldiers. Abe speaks of it the way anyone else might an airport delay.
And then look at me. Living in this apartment. Waking up to drink my precious tea in my little den. Following all the other tech rats in our shiny metal shells down the dotted yellow line to another cage. Pressing the right buttons and going down the right corridors to my little station and my little reward. Moaning about the fact that Simon wants me and it’s making my life complicated. Coming home late, alone most of the time, to nibble on my anchovies and greens.
A waste of time to think too hard about this, Abe would say. When you choose what you are going to do, choose it strongly. Yes, this is what I’ve chosen. Yes, the reasons are selfish. I love to find the telltale spots of multiplication in a cell culture. To put that 138th try at gene transfer under the scope and see we’ve hit upon the growth factor. To zoom in on the mass spectrometer peaks and nail the molecular weight of my protein. To be alone at the bench, coaxing a cell line along as the clock ticks a late hour. Even the smell of the acetone and methanol warms my heart. A born lab rat.
Abe’s work must give him the same pleasure. He was always so directed, so serious about helping humanity. But doing good is also a measure of achievement, a road to recognition, and an unassailable one.
Who knows if my work will ever make a difference to anyone. It’s nice to imagine a future woman who finds, say, a lump in her breast, being able to go into her doctor and treat it with a simple course of pills or injections. Even still, if that day comes, people will say we were just in it for the money.
Simon rated only a mention or two as Sheila’s relationship with him heated up. But he got more attention as things started to go wrong.
Simon is slipping away. I ‘forget” to return his calls. It’s just because I don’t know what to say to him. He thinks I’m sloughing him off. We plan a weekend outing, and I realize I have to be in the lab. My work day goes later and later, and he comes to meet me at night in the lab, only to find us whooping it up, doing a dance around the ELISA plate so it will give us the results we want. A couple of wine bottles waiting to be opened if the assay is a success. Simon must think we’re in some goofy cult. How can I explain to him that he just happened to arrive after hours of mind-numbingly repetitious work and we are punchy from the tedium, the fluorescent lights, Doug’s constant pressure? I don’t want to make excuses, excuses are boring, and I’m sick of all mine. No one outside the lab would understand. So I just smile and hope he’ll join in. Simon can be so passionate, trying so hard to spark my own. He sees I’m holding back. It’s not because of you, I say in various ways. He only tries harder. Men do love a challenge. But that’s not the game I’m playing. There’s no game at all, just my mind folded in on itself.
I’ve noticed his eyes wandering over in Fay’s direction. She’s certainly been trying to catch them. I can see how Fay would be more appealing. She has those playful black eyes, that beautiful glossy hair, that figure. She’s fun and lively and a guy would be crazy not to find her sexy. Next to her I feel dry and mousy. Simon thinks “curing cancer” is noble and so on, but he can’t follow the labyrinth involved in actually doing it. His eyes glaze over when I try to explain. I don’t blame him. But it’s my life, it’s what makes my neurons snap crackle and pop.
Maybe I should just come out with my secret. Open the door for him to walk away. But what if he doesn’t? I could see my condition making him feel sorry for me. We’ll fall a little farther into each other’s lives. Then when it starts to get serious it will slowly dawn on him what he’s really getting into, and he’ll begin to back out. Even if he didn’t, I’m not sure I can bring a child into the world, knowing what I know. And I’m sure he’s got kids on his agenda.
Maybe, for me, my work will be my child. My legacy, my regeneration — whatever it is that makes people crave offspring — will be my research, however small the contribution. Better that than to have my life run by genes nagging REPRODUCE ME, REPRODUCE ME.
They say childbirth is the essence of being human. Yes and no. It’s the essence of bacteria, yeast, fungi, and every other form of life. But unless you want to say we’re no different than snails, the essence of being human must lie elsewhere. Like in choosing our own destiny.
The phone rang. We were on Jenny’s bed, pillows behind our heads. Jenny was watching a movie. When she hesitated, I gestured for her to hand the phone across to me.
It was Marion. She said a few polite words, but didn’t waste time getting to the point. Wes had told her about the diary, and she wanted to see it. I asked her why.
“Let’s just say that Sheila got herself in some hot water. I assume you’re a friend — were a friend — and you care about her reputation. First of all, don’t mention this diary to anyone else in the company—”
“Neil Dugan already knows about it.”
This brought a moment of silence. “That’s not good. He’s the last person who should see it. Please make sure he doesn’t.”
“He won’t get it from me. We don’t have the diary anymore, anyway. Sheila’s parents do.”
“Can you help me get a look at it?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said noncommittally. “I have a question for you, Marion. Did you go inside Sheila’s apartment?”
Another silence. “I did. You have to believe me, I’m trying to protect Sheila. These are complicated scientific matters that, really, are internal to our company.”
“Complicated and scientific, huh? If I’m not bright enough to understand them, then I’m not going to be much help, am I?”
“Honestly Bill, I wish I could say more. The last thing I want to see right now is a smear on her name. If you help me, I’ll do everything I can to prevent that.”
“We can get together and compare notes,” I allowed.
We left it at that, neither of us quite forthcoming or satisfied. I did ask her if there was to be a funeral, and she said it would be Wednesday, in Colma. Apparently Sheila’s mother was from the area.