Mutation

5 Monday Evening

Marsha looked across the dinner table at her husband and son. VJ was absorbed in reading a book on black holes, barely looking up to eat. She would have told him to put the book away, but Victor had come home in such a bad mood she didn’t want to say anything that would make it worse. And she herself was still troubled about VJ. She loved him so much she couldn’t bear the thought that he might be disturbed, but she also knew she couldn’t help him if she didn’t face the truth. Apparently he’d spent the whole day at Chimera, seemingly by himself because Victor admitted, when she’d specifically asked, that he’d not seen VJ since morning.

As if sensing her gaze, VJ abruptly put down his book and took his plate over to the dishwasher. As he rose, his intense blue eyes caught Marsha’s. There was no warmth, no feeling, just a brilliant turquoise light that made Marsha feel as if she were under a microscope. “Thank you for the dinner,” VJ said mechanically.

Marsha listened to the sound of VJ’s footsteps as he ran up the back stairs. Outside the wind suddenly whistled, and she looked out the window. In the beam of light from over the garage she could see that the rain had changed to snow. She shivered, but it wasn’t from the wintry landscape.

“I guess I’m not too hungry tonight,” Victor offered. As far as Marsha remembered, it was the first time he’d initiated conversation since she’d gotten home from making her hospital rounds.

“Something troubling you?” Marsha asked. “Want to talk about it?”

“I don’t need you to play psychiatrist,” Victor said harshly.

Marsha knew that she could have taken offense. She wasn’t playing psychiatrist. But she thought that she’d play the adult, and not push things. Victor would tell her soon enough what was on his mind.

“Well, something is troubling me,” Marsha said. She decided that at least she’d be honest. Victor looked at her. Knowing him as well as she did, she imagined that he already felt guilty at having spoken so harshly.

“I read a series of articles today,” Marsha continued. “They talked about some of the possible effects of parental deprivation on children being reared by nannies and/or spending inordinate amounts of time in day care. Some of the findings may apply to VJ. I’m concerned that maybe I should have taken time off when VJ was an infant to spend more time with him.”

Victor’s face immediately reflected irritation. “Hold it,” he said just as harshly, holding up both hands. “I don’t think I want to hear the rest of this. As far as I’m concerned, VJ is just fine and I don’t want to listen to a bunch of psychiatric nonsense to the contrary.”

“Well, isn’t that inappropriate,” Marsha stated, losing some of her patience.

“Oh, save me!” Victor intoned, picking up his unfinished dinner and discarding it in the trash. “I’m in no mood for this.”

“Well, what are you in the mood for?” Marsha questioned.

Victor took a deep breath, looking out the kitchen window. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“In this weather?” Marsha questioned. “Wet snow, soggy ground. I think something is troubling you and you’re unable to talk about it.”

Victor turned to his wife. “Am I that obvious?”

Marsha laughed. “It’s painful to watch you struggle. Please tell me what’s on your mind. I’m your wife.”

Victor shrugged and came back to the table. He sat down and intertwined his fingers, resting his elbows on his place mat. “There is something on my mind,” he admitted.

“I’m glad my patients don’t have this much trouble talking,” Marsha said. She reached across to lovingly touch Victor’s arm.

Victor got up and went to the bottom of the back stairs. He listened for a moment, then closed the door and returned to the table. He sat down, and he leaned toward Marsha: “I want VJ to have a full neuro-medical work-up just like he did seven years ago when his intelligence fell.”

Marsha didn’t respond. Worrying about VJ’s personality development was one thing, but worrying about his general health was something else entirely. The mere suggestion of such a work-up was a shock, as was the reference to VJ’s change in intelligence.

“You remember when his IQ fell so dramatically around age three and a half?” Victor said.

“Of course I remember,” Marsha said. She studied Victor intently. Why was he doing this to her? He had to know this would only make her concerns worse.

“I want the same kind of work-up as we did then,” Victor repeated.

“You know something that you are keeping from me,” Marsha said with alarm. “What is it? Is there something wrong with VJ?”

“No!” Victor said. “VJ is fine, like I said before. I just want to be sure and I’d feel sure if he had a repeat work-up. That’s all there is to it.”

“I want to know why you suddenly want a work-up now,” Marsha demanded.

“I told you why,” Victor said, his voice rising with anger.

“You want me to agree to allow our son to have a full neuro-medical work-up without telling me the indications?” Marsha questioned. “No way! I’m not going to let the boy have all those X-rays etcetera without some explanation.”

“Damn it, Marsha!” Victor said gritting his teeth.

“Damn it yourself,” Marsha returned. “You’re keeping something from me, Victor, and I don’t like it. You’re trying to bulldoze right over my feelings. Unless you tell me what this is all about, VJ is not having any tests, and believe me, I have something to say about it. So either you tell me what’s on your mind or we just drop it.”

Marsha leaned back in her chair and inhaled deeply, holding her breath for a moment before letting it out. Victor, obviously irritated, stared at Marsha, but her strength began to wear him down. Her position was clear, and by experience he knew she’d not be apt to change her mind. After sixty seconds of silence, his stare began to waver. Finally he looked down at his hands. The grandfather clock in the living room chimed eight times.

“All right,” he said finally as if exhausted. “I’ll tell you the whole story.” He sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. He established eye contact with Marsha for a second, then looked up at the ceiling like a young boy caught in a forbidden act.

Marsha felt a growing sense of impatience and concern about what she was about to hear.

“The trouble is I don’t know where to begin,” Victor said.

“How about at the beginning,” Marsha suggested, her impatience showing again.

Victor’s eyes met hers. He’d kept the secret surrounding VJ’s conception for over ten years. Looking at Marsha’s open, honest face, he wondered if she would ever forgive him when she learned the truth.

“Please,” Marsha said. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

Victor lowered his eyes. “Lots of reasons,” he said. “One is you might not believe me. In fact, for me to tell you we have to go to my lab.”

“Right now?” questioned Marsha. “Are you serious?”

“If you want to hear.”

There was a pause. Kissa surprised Marsha by jumping up on her lap. She’d forgotten to feed him. “All right,” she said. “Let me feed the cat and say something to VJ. I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”

VJ heard footsteps coming down the hall toward his bedroom. Without hurrying, he closed the cover of his Scott stamp album and slipped it onto the shelf. His parents knew nothing about philately, so they wouldn’t know what they were looking at. But there was no reason to take any chances. He didn’t want them to discover just how large and valuable his collection had become. They had thought his request for a bank vault more childish conceit than anything else and VJ saw no reason to make them think otherwise.

“What are you doing, dear?” Marsha asked as she appeared in his doorway.

VJ pursed his lips. “Nothing really.” He knew she was upset, but there was nothing he could do about it. Ever since he was a baby he realized there was something she wanted from him, something other mothers got from their children that he couldn’t give her. Sometimes, like now, he felt sorry.

“Why don’t you invite Richie over one night this week?” she was saying.

“Maybe I will.”

“I think it would be nice,” Marsha said. “I’d like to meet him.”

VJ nodded.

Marsha smiled, shifted her weight. “Your father and I are going out for a little while. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure.”

“We won’t be gone long.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Five minutes later VJ watched from his bedroom window as Victor’s car descended the drive. VJ stood for a while looking out. He wondered if he should be concerned. After all, it was not usual for his parents to go out on a weekday night. He shrugged his shoulders. If there was something to worry about, he’d hear about it soon enough.

Turning back into his room, he took his stamp album from the shelf and went back to putting in the mint set of early American stamps he’d recently received.

The phone rang a long time before he heard it. Finally, remembering that his parents were out, he got up and went down the hall to the study. He picked up the receiver and said hello.

“Dr. Victor Frank, please,” the caller said. The voice sounded muffled, as if it was far away from the receiver.

“Dr. Frank is not at home,” VJ said politely. “Would you care to leave a message?”

“What time will Dr. Frank be back?”

“In about an hour,” VJ answered.

“Are you his son?”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe it will be more effective if you give him the message. Tell your father that life will be getting progressively unpleasant unless he reconsiders and is reasonable. You got that?”

“Who is this?” VJ demanded.

“Just give your father the message. He’ll know.”

“Who is this?” VJ repeated, feeling the initial stirrings of fear. But the caller had hung up.

VJ slowly replaced the receiver. All at once he was acutely aware that he was all alone in the house. He stood for a moment listening. He’d never realized all the creaking sounds of an empty house. The radiator in the corner quietly hissed. From somewhere else a dull clunking sounded, probably a heating pipe. Outside the wind blew snow against the window.

Picking up the phone again, VJ made a call of his own. When a man answered he told the person that he was scared. After being reassured that everything would be taken care of, VJ put down the phone. He felt better, but to be on the safe side, he hurried downstairs and methodically checked every window and every door to make sure they were all securely locked. He didn’t go down into the basement but bolted the door instead.

Back in his room he turned on the computer. He wished the cat would stay in his room, but he knew better than to bother looking for her. Kissa was afraid of him, though he tried to keep his mother from realizing the fact. There were so many things he had to keep his mother from noticing. It was a strain. But then he hadn’t chosen to be what he was, either.

Booting up the computer, VJ loaded Pac-Man and tried to concentrate.

The fluorescent lights blinked, then filled the room with their rude light. Victor stepped aside and let Marsha precede him into the lab. She’d been there on a few occasions, but it had always been during the day. She was surprised how sinister the place looked at night with no people to relieve its sterile appearance. The room was about fifty feet by thirty with lab benches and hoods along each wall. In the center was a large island comprised of scientific equipment, each instrument more exotic than the next. There was a profusion of dials, cathode ray tubes, computers, glass tubing, and mazes of electronic connectors.

A number of doors led from the main room. Victor led Marsha through one to an L-shaped area filled with dissecting tables. Marsha glanced at the scalpels and other horrid instruments and shuddered. Beyond that room and through a glass door with embedded wire was the animal room, and from where Marsha was standing she could see dogs and apes pacing behind the bars of their cages. She looked away. That was a part of research that she preferred not to think about.

“This way,” Victor said, guiding her to the very back of the L, where the wall was clear glass.

Flipping a switch, Victor turned on the light behind the glass. Marsha was surprised to see a series of large aquariums, each containing dozens of strange-looking sea creatures. They resembled snails but without their shells.

Victor pulled over a stepladder. After searching through a number of the tanks, he took a dissecting pan from one of the tables and climbed the ladder. With a net, he caught two creatures from separate tanks.

“Is this necessary?” asked Marsha, wondering what these hideous creatures had to do with Victor’s concern about VJ’s health.

Victor didn’t answer. He came down the stepladder, balancing the tray. Marsha took a long look at the creatures. They were about ten inches long, brownish in color, with a slimy, gelatinous skin. She choked down a wave of nausea. She hated this sort of thing. It was one of the reasons she’d gone into psychiatry: therapy was clean, neat, and very human.

“Victor!” Marsha said as she watched him impale the creatures into the wax-bottomed dissecting pan, spreading out their fins, or whatever they were. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because you wouldn’t believe me,” Victor said. “Be patient for a few moments more.” He took a scalpel and inserted a fresh, razor-sharp blade.

Marsha looked away as he quickly slit open each of the animals.

“These are Aplasia,” Victor said, trying to cover his own nervousness with a strictly scientific approach. “They have been used widely for nerve cell research.” He picked up a scissor and began snipping quickly and deliberately.

“There,” he said. “I’ve removed the abdominal ganglion from each of the Aplasia.”

Marsha looked. Victor was holding a small flat dish filled with clear fluid. Within, floating on the surface of the liquid, were two minute pieces of tissue.

“Now come over to the microscope,” Victor said.

“What about those poor creatures?” Marsha asked, forcing herself to look into the dissecting pan. The animals seemed to be struggling against the pins that held them on the bottom of the tray.

“The techs will clean up in the morning,” Victor said, missing her meaning. He turned on the light of the microscope.

With one last look at the Aplasia, Marsha went over to Victor, who was already busily peering down and adjusting the focus on the two-man dissecting scope.

She bent over and looked. The ganglia were in the shape of the letter H with the swollen crosspiece resembling a transparent bag of clear marbles. The arms of the H were undoubtedly transsected nerve fibers. Victor was moving a pointer, and he told Marsha to count the nerve cells or neurons as he indicated them.

Marsha did as she was told.

“Okay,” Victor said. “Let’s look at the other ganglion.”

The visual field rushed by, then stopped. There was another H like the first. “Count again,” Victor said.

“This one has more than twice as many neurons as the other.”

“Precisely!” Victor said, straightening up and getting to his feet. He began to pace. His face had an odd, excited sheen, and Marsha began to feel the beginnings of fear. “I got very interested in the number of nerve cells of normal Aplasia about twelve years ago. At that time I knew, like everyone else, that nerve cells differentiated and proliferated during early embryological development. Since these Aplasia were relatively less complicated than higher animals, I was able to isolate the protein which was responsible for the process which I called nerve growth factor, or NGF. You follow me?” Victor stopped his pacing to look directly at Marsha.

“Yes,” Marsha said, watching her husband. He seemed to be changing in front of her eyes. He’d developed a disturbing messianic appearance. She suddenly felt queasy, with the awful thought that she knew where this seemingly irrelevant lecture was heading.

Victor recommenced his pacing as his excitement grew. “I used genetic engineering to reproduce the protein and isolate the responsible gene. Then, for the brilliant part...” He stopped again in front of Marsha. His eyes sparkled. “I took a fertilized Aplasia egg or zygote and after causing a point mutation in its DNA, I inserted the new NGF gene along with a promoter. The result?”

“More ganglionic neurons,” Marsha answered.

“Exactly,” Victor said excitedly. “And, equally as important, the ability to pass the trait on to its offspring. Now, come back into the main room.” He gave Marsha a hand, and pulled her to her feet.

Dumbly she followed him to a light box, where he displayed some large transparencies of microscopic sections of rat brains. Even without counting, Marsha was able to appreciate that there were many more nerve cells in one photograph than the other. Still speechless, she let him herd her into the animal room itself. Just inside the door he slipped on a pair of heavy leather gloves.

Marsha tried not to breathe. It smelled like a badly run zoo. There were hundreds of cages housing apes, dogs, cats, and rats. They stopped by the rats.

Marsha shuddered at the innumerable pink twitching noses and hairless pink tails.

Victor stopped by a specific cage and unhooked the door. Reaching in, he pulled out a large rat that responded by biting repeatedly at Victor’s gloved fingers.

“Easy, Charlie!” Victor said. He carried the rat over to a table with a glass top, raised a portion of the glass, and dropped the rat into what appeared to be a miniature maze. The rat was trapped just in front of the starting gate.

“Watch!” Victor said, raising the gate.

After a moment’s pause, the rat entered the maze. With only a few wrong turns the animal reached the exit and got its reward.

“Quick, huh?” Victor said with a satisfied smile. “This is one of my ‘smart’ rats. They are rats in which I inserted the NGF gene. Now watch this.”

Victor adjusted the apparatus so that the rat was returned to the start position, but in a section that did not have access to the maze. Victor then went back to the cages and got a second rat. He dropped it inside the table so the two rats faced each other through a wire mesh.

After a moment or two he opened the gate and the second rat went through the maze without a single mistake.

“Do you know what you just witnessed?” Victor asked.

Marsha shook her head.

“Rat communication,” Victor said. “I’ve been able to train these rats to explain the maze to each other. It’s incredible.”

“I’m certain it is,” Marsha said with less enthusiasm than Victor.

“I’ve done this ‘neuronal proliferation’ study on hundreds of rats,” Victor said.

Marsha nodded uncertainly.

“I did it on fifty dogs, six cows, and one sheep,” Victor added. “I was afraid to try it on the monkeys. I was afraid of success. I kept seeing that old movie Planet of the Apes play in my mind.” He laughed, and the sound of his laughter echoed hollowly off the animal-room walls.

Marsha didn’t laugh. Instead she shivered. “Exactly what are you telling me?” she asked, although her imagination had already begun to provide disturbing answers.

Victor couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Please!” Marsha cried, almost in tears.

“I’m only trying to give you the background so you’ll understand,” Victor said, knowing that she never would. “Believe me, I didn’t plan what happened next. I’d just finished the successful trial with the sheep when you started talking of having another child. Remember when we decided to go to Fertility, Inc.?”

Marsha nodded, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.

“Well, you gave them a very successful harvest of ova. We got eight.”

Marsha felt herself swaying. She steadied herself, grabbing on to the edge of the maze.

“I personally did the in-vitro fertilization with my sperm,” Victor continued. “You knew that. What I didn’t tell you is that I brought the fertilized eggs back here to the lab.”

Marsha let go of the table and staggered over to one of the benches. She wanted to faint. She sat down heavily. She didn’t think she could stand hearing the rest of Victor’s story. But now that he had begun she realized he was going to tell her whether she liked it or not. He seemed to feel he could minimize the enormity of his sin if he confined himself to a purely scientific description. Could this be the man she married?

“When I got the zygotes back here,” he said, “I chose a nonsense sequence of DNA on chromosome 6 and did a point mutation. Then, with micro-injection techniques and a retro viral vector, I inserted the NGF gene along with several promoters, including one from a bacterial plasmid that coded for resistance to the cephalosporin antibiotic called cephaloclor.”

Victor paused for a moment, but he didn’t look up. “That’s why I insisted that Mary Millman take the cephaloclor from the second to the eighth week of her pregnancy. It was the cephaloclor that kept the gene turned on, producing the nerve growth factor.”

Victor finally looked up. “God help me, when I did it, it seemed like a good idea. But later I knew it was wrong. I lived in terror until VJ was born.”

Marsha suddenly was overcome with rage. She leaped up and began striking Victor with her fists. He made no attempt to protect himself, waiting until she lowered her hands and stood before him, weeping silently. Then he tried to take her in his arms, but she wouldn’t let him touch her. She went out to the main lab and sat down. Victor followed, but she refused to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said again. “Believe me, I never would have done it unless I was certain it would work. There’s never been a problem with any of the animals. And the idea of having a super-smart child was so seductive...” His voice trailed off.

“I can’t believe you did something so dreadful,” she sobbed.

“Researchers have experimented on themselves in the past,” he said, realizing it was no excuse.

“On themselves!” cried Marsha. “Not on innocent children.” She wept uncontrollably. But even in the depths of her emotion, fear reasserted itself. With difficulty, she struggled to control herself. Victor had done something terrible. But what was done, was done. She couldn’t undo it. The problem now was to deal with reality, and her thoughts turned to VJ, someone she loved dearly. “All right,” she managed, choking back additional tears. “Now you’ve told me. But what you haven’t told me is why you want VJ to have another neuro-medical work-up. What are you afraid of? Do you think his intelligence has dropped again?”

As she spoke, her mind took her back six and a half years. They were still living in the small farmhouse and both David and Janice were alive and well. It had been a happy time, filled with wonder at VJ’s unbelievable mind. As a three-year-old, he could read anything and retain almost everything. As far as she could determine at the time, his IQ was somewhere around two hundred and fifty.

Then one day, everything changed. She’d gone by Chimera to pick VJ up from the day-care center, where he was taken after spending the morning at the Crocker Preschool. She knew something was wrong the moment she saw the director’s face.

Pauline Spaulding was a wonderful woman, a forty-two-year-old, ex-elementary-school teacher and ex-aerobics instructor who had found her calling in day-care management. She loved her job and loved the children, who in return adored her for her boundless enthusiasm. But today she seemed upset.

“Something is wrong with VJ,” she said, not mincing any words.

“Is he sick? Where is he?”

“He’s here,” Pauline said. “He’s not sick. His health is fine. It’s something else.”

“Tell me!” Marsha cried.

“It started just after lunch,” Pauline explained. “When the other kids take their rest, VJ generally goes into the workroom and plays chess on the computer. He’s been doing that for some time.”

“I know,” Marsha said. She had given VJ permission to miss the rest period after he told her he did not need the rest and he hated to waste the time.

“No one was in the workroom at the time,” Pauline said. “But suddenly there was a big crash. When I got in there VJ was smashing the computer with a chair.”

“My word!” Marsha exclaimed. Temper tantrums were not part of VJ’s behavioral repertoire. “Did he explain himself?” she asked.

“He was crying, Dr. Frank.”

“VJ, crying?” Marsha was astounded. VJ never cried.

“He was crying like a normal three-and-a-half-year-old child,” Pauline said.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Marsha asked.

“Apparently VJ smashed the computer because he suddenly didn’t know how to use it.”

“That’s absurd,” Marsha said. VJ had been using the computer at home since he’d been two and a half.

“Wait,” Pauline said. “To calm him, I offered him a book that he’s been reading about dinosaurs. He tore it up.”

Marsha ran into the workroom. There were only three children there. VJ was sitting at a table, coloring in a coloring book like any other preschooler. When he saw her, he dropped his crayon and ran into her arms. He started to cry, saying that his head hurt.

Marsha hugged him. “Did you tear your dinosaur book?” she asked.

He averted his eyes. “Yes.”

“But why?” Marsha asked.

VJ looked back at Marsha and said: “Because I can’t read anymore.”

Over the next several days VJ had a neuro-medical work-up to rule out any acute neurological problems. The results came back negative, but when Marsha repeated a series of IQ tests the boy had taken the previous year, the results were shockingly different. VJ’s IQ had dropped to 130. Still high, but certainly not in the genius range.

Victor brought Marsha back to the present by swearing that there was nothing wrong with VJ’s intelligence.

“Then why the work-up?” Marsha asked again.

“I... I just think it would be a good idea,” Victor stammered.

“I’ve been married to you for sixteen years,” Marsha said after a pause. “And I know you are not telling me the truth.” It was hard for her to believe she had anything worse to discover than what Victor had already told her.

Victor ran a hand through his thick hair. “It’s because of what has happened to the Hobbs’ and the Murrays’ babies.”

“Who are they?”

“William Hobbs and Horace Murray work here,” Victor answered.

“Don’t tell me you created chimeras out of their children, too.”

“Worse,” Victor admitted. “Both of those couples had true infertility. They needed donor gametes. Since I’d frozen the other seven of our zygotes, and since they could provide uniquely qualified homes, I used two of ours.”

“Are you saying that these babies are genetically mine?” Marsha asked with renewed disbelief.

“Ours,” Victor corrected.

“My God!” Marsha said, staggered by this new revelation. For the moment she was beyond emotion.

“It’s no different than donating sperm or eggs,” Victor said. “It’s just more efficient, since they have already united.”

“Maybe it’s no different to you,” Marsha said. “Considering what you did to VJ. But it is to me. I can’t even comprehend the idea of someone else bringing up my children. What about the other five zygotes? Where are they?”

Exhaustedly, Victor stood up and walked across the room to the central island. He stopped next to a circular metal appliance, about the size of a clothes washer. Rubber hoses connected the machine to a large cylinder of liquefied nitrogen.

“They’re in here,” Victor said. “Frozen in suspended animation. Want to see?”

Marsha shook her head. She was appalled. As a physician she knew that such technology existed, but the few times she even thought about it, she considered it in the abstract. She never thought that it would involve her personally.

“I wasn’t planning on telling you all this at once,” Victor said. “But now you have it: the whole story. I want VJ to have a neuro-medical work-up so that I can be sure that he has no remedial problems.”

“Why?” said Marsha bitterly. “Has something happened to the other children?”

“They got sick,” Victor said.

“How sick?” Marsha asked. “And sick with what?”

“Very sick,” Victor answered. “They died of acute cerebral edema. No one knows why yet.”

Marsha felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. This time she had to put her head down to keep from passing out. Every time she got herself under control, Victor unveiled a further outrage.

“Was it sudden?” she asked, looking up. “Or had they been ill for a long time?”

“It was sudden,” Victor admitted.

“How old were they?” Marsha asked.

“About three years old.”

One of the computer print-out devices suddenly came to life and furiously printed out a mass of data. Then a refrigeration unit kicked in, emitting a low hum and vibration. It seemed to Marsha that the lab was running itself. It didn’t need humans.

“Did the children who died have the same NGF gene as VJ?” Marsha asked.

Victor nodded.

“And they are about the same age as VJ when his intelligence fell,” Marsha said.

“Close!” Victor said. “That’s why I want to do the work-up, to make sure that VJ isn’t brewing any further problem. But I’m sure he’s fine. If it hadn’t been for the Hobbs’ and the Murrays’ babies, I wouldn’t have thought about having VJ examined. Trust me.”

If Marsha could have laughed, she would have. Victor had just about destroyed her life, and he was asking her to trust him. How he could have experimented on his own baby was beyond her comprehension. But that couldn’t be changed. Now she had to worry about the present. “Do you think the same thing that happened to the others could happen to VJ?” she asked hesitantly.

“I doubt it. Especially with the seven-year difference in ages. It would seem VJ already survived the critical point back when his IQ dropped. Perhaps what happened to the other children was a function of their being frozen in zygote form,” he said, but then broke off, seeing the expression on his wife’s face. She wasn’t about to take a scientific interest in the tragedy.

“What about VJ’s fall in intelligence?” Marsha asked. “Could that have been the same problem in some arrested form, since he was nearly the same age when it happened?”

“It’s possible,” Victor said, “but I don’t know.”

Marsha let her eyes slowly sweep around the lab, seeing all the futuristic equipment in a different light. Research could provide hope for the future by curing disease, but it had another far more disturbing potential.

“I want to get out of here!” Marsha said suddenly, getting to her feet. Her abrupt movement sent her chair spinning to the center of the room where it hit the freezer containing the frozen zygotes. Victor retrieved it and returned it to its place at the lab bench. By that time Marsha was already out the door, heading down the corridor. Victor quickly locked up, then hurried after her. The elevator doors had almost closed when he squeezed in beside her. She moved away from him, hurt, disgusted, and angry. But most of all she was worried. She wanted to get home to VJ.

They left the building in silence. Victor was smart enough not to try to make her talk. The snow had started to stick, and they had to walk carefully to keep from slipping. Marsha was aware Victor was watching her intently as they got into the car. Still she didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until they crossed the Merrimack River that she finally spoke.

“I thought that experimenting on human embryos was against the law.” She knew Victor’s real crime was a moral one, but for the moment she couldn’t face the complete truth.

“Policy has never been clear,” Victor said, pleased not to have to deal with the ethical issue. “There was a notice published in the Federal Register forbidding such experimentation, but it only covered institutions getting federal grant money. It didn’t cover private institutions like Chimera.” Victor didn’t elaborate further. He knew his actions were indefensible. They drove in silence again until he said, “The reason I didn’t tell you years ago was because I didn’t want you to treat VJ any differently.”

Marsha looked across at her husband, watching the play of light flickering on his face from the oncoming cars. “You didn’t tell me because you knew what a terrible thing it was,” Marsha said evenly.

As they turned on Windsor Street, he said, “Maybe you’re right. I suppose I did feel guilty. Before VJ was born, I thought I’d have a nervous breakdown. Then, after his intelligence fell, I was again a basket case. It’s only been during the last five years that I’ve been able to relax.”

“Then why did you use the zygotes again?” Marsha asked.

“By that time the experiment seemed like a big success,” Victor said. “And also because the families in question were uniquely qualified to have an exceptional child. But I shouldn’t have done it. I know that now.”

“Do you mean that?” Marsha asked.

“Oh God, yes!”

As they pulled into their driveway, Marsha felt for the first time since he’d shown her the rats that she might someday be able to forgive him. Then maybe — if VJ was truly all right, if her concern about his development was groundless — maybe they might be able to continue as a family. A lot of ifs. Marsha closed her eyes and prayed. Having lost one child, she asked God to spare the other. She didn’t think she could suffer such a loss again.

The light in VJ’s room was still on. Every night he was up there reading or studying. For however aloof he seemed, he was essentially a good kid.

Victor used the automatic button to raise the garage door. As soon as the car came to a stop, Marsha dashed out, anxious to reassure herself VJ was fine. Without waiting for Victor, she used her own key on the door to the back hall. But when she tried to push it open, the door wouldn’t budge. Victor came up behind her and tried it himself.

“The dead bolt’s been thrown,” Victor said.

“VJ must have locked it after we left.” She raised a fist and pounded on the door. It sounded loud in the garage but there was no response from VJ. “Do you think he’s all right?” she asked.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Victor said. “There is no way he could hear you knocking out here unless he was in the family room. Come on! We’ll go to the front.”

Victor led the way out through the garage and around to the front of the house. He tried his key. But that door had been deadbolted as well. He tried the bell. There was still no response. He rang again, beginning to feel a little of Marsha’s anxiety. Just when they were about to try another door, they heard VJ’s clear voice asking who was there.

As soon as the front door was opened, Marsha tried to hug VJ, but he eluded her grasp. “Where have you been?” he demanded.

Victor looked at his watch. It was a quarter to ten. They’d been gone about an hour and a half.

“Just been over to the lab,” Marsha said. It wasn’t like VJ to notice one way or the other when they weren’t around. He was so self-sufficient.

VJ looked at Victor. “You got a phone call. I’m supposed to give you the message that things will be getting unpleasant unless you reconsider and are reasonable.”

“Who was it?” Victor demanded.

“The caller didn’t leave a name,” VJ said.

“Was it male or female?” Victor asked.

“I couldn’t tell,” VJ said. “Whoever it was didn’t speak into the receiver, or at least that’s what it sounded like.”

Looking from husband to son, Marsha said, “Victor, what is this all about?”

“Office politics,” he said. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Marsha turned to VJ. “Did the caller frighten you? We noticed the doors were all bolted.”

“A little,” VJ admitted. “Then I realized they wouldn’t have called with that kind of message if they intended to come over.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Marsha said. VJ had an impressive way of intellectualizing situations. “Why don’t we all go into the kitchen. I could use some herbal tea.”

“Not for me, thanks,” VJ said. He turned to head up the stairs.

“Son!” Victor called.

VJ hesitated on the first step.

“I just wanted to let you know that we will be going to Children’s Hospital in Boston tomorrow morning. I want you to have a physical.”

“I don’t need a physical,” VJ complained. “I hate hospitals.”

“I understand your feelings,” Victor said. “Nonetheless, you will have a physical, just like I do and your mother does.”

VJ looked toward Marsha. She wanted to hold him and make sure that he didn’t have a headache or any symptoms whatsoever. But she didn’t move, intimidated by her own son.

“Nothing is wrong with me,” VJ persisted.

“The matter is closed,” Victor said. “Discussion over.”

His cupid’s mouth set, VJ glared at his father, then turned and disappeared upstairs.

Back in the kitchen, Marsha put on the kettle. She knew it would take days before she could sort out all her feelings about what she’d learned that evening. Sixteen years of marriage and she wondered if she knew her husband at all.

Wind whipped snow against the window, causing the sash to rattle against the frame. Rolling over, Marsha squinted at the face of the digital radio-alarm clock. It was half past midnight, and she was a long way from sleep. Next to her she could hear Victor’s rhythmic breathing.

Swinging her feet from under the covers, Marsha searched for her slippers. Getting up, she picked up her robe from the chair in the corner, opened the door, and stepped into the hall.

A sudden gust of wind hit the house and the old timbers groaned. She thought of going down to her study on the floor below, but instead continued down the long corridor, to VJ’s room. She pushed open the door. VJ had left his window open a crack and the lace curtains were snapping in the snowy breeze. Marsha slipped through the door and silently pushed the window shut.

Marsha looked down at her sleeping son. With his blond curls and high coloring, he looked perfectly angelic. She had to restrain herself from touching him. His aversion to affection was so strong; sometimes it was difficult to think of him and David as brothers. She wondered if his disinclination to hug or cuddle had anything to do with Victor’s injection of foreign genes. She’d probably never know. But she realized her earlier concern about VJ had some basis in reality.

Moving the clothes from the chair next to VJ’s bed, Marsha sat down. As an infant, he’d been almost too good to be true. He rarely cried, and he slept almost every night the whole night through. To her astonishment, he began to talk when he was only a few months old.

Marsha realized that her excitement and pride of VJ’s accomplishments had been the reason she’d never questioned them. And she’d certainly never suspected any artificial enhancement. Now she realized she’d been naive. VJ’s brilliance was more than genius. She remembered when a French scientist and his wife had come to Chimera for a six-month stay when VJ was just three. Their daughter, Michelle, had been brought to the day-care center. She was five, and within a week she could say a number of sentences in English. But what was more astounding was that during the same period of time, VJ had become fluent in French.

And then there was VJ’s third birthday. To celebrate, Marsha had planned a surprise birthday party, inviting most of the children his age from the day-care center. When he came downstairs Saturday for lunch, he’d found a roomful of mothers and kids shouting “Happy Birthday.” It was not a success. VJ pulled Marsha aside and said, “Why did you ask these kids? I have to put up with them every day. I hate them. They drive me crazy!”

Marsha was shocked, but at the time she told herself that he was so much brighter than the other children that being forced to socialize was a punishment. VJ much preferred the company of adults, even at age three.

VJ suddenly turned over, muttering in his sleep, bringing Marsha back to the present and all the problems she wanted to forget. He was such a beautiful boy. It was hard to reconcile his innocent face in slumber with the monstrous truth revealed at the lab. At least now she felt she had some understanding of why he was so cold and unaffectionate. Maybe that was why he shared so many of the personality disorders displayed by Jasper Lewis. Ruefully, she reflected that at least her absences from home in VJ’s early years were not to blame.

Well, as long as Victor was insisting on a neuro-medical work-up, Marsha decided that she would give VJ a battery of psychological tests. It certainly wouldn’t hurt.