Strong Medicine (60 page)

the injections had begun. Now Yvonne was returning the last rat to its

cage.

It was still early Sunday morning. Apart from the two of them and a

watchman they had spoken to on the way in, the institute was silent and

deserted.

Like the other animals that preceded it, the twelfth rat began eating

from a container in its cage.

Martin observed, "They still feed well."

"They all do," Yvonne agreed. "Now, will you tell me what this is about?"

"All fight. Because the rats we gave peptides to have lost weight, got

thin, and some of them are gaunt, all of us here assumed their general

health is poorer." He added ruefully, "It wasn't very scientific."

"What difference does it make?"

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"Possibly a lot. Supposing their health hasn't worsened. Suppose they're

all perfectly well? Maybe more so than before. Suppose Peptide 7, as well

as improving memory, caused a healthy weight loss.11

"You mean

"I mean," Martin said, "we may have stumbled on something for which

people have been searching for centuries-a way to metabolize food in the

body without producing fat and therefore weight

gain."

Yvonne regarded him openmouthed. "But that could be terribly important."

"Of course-if it's true."

"But it's something you weren't looking for."

"Lots of discoveries have happened when scientists were seeking something

else."

"So what do you do next?"

Martin considered. "I need advice from specialists. Tomorrow I'll arrange

to get them here."

"In that case," Yvonne said hopefully, "can we go back to your house

now?"

He put his arm around her. "I never heard a better idea."

"I'll send you a detailed report, of course," the visiting veterinarian

informed Martin, "and it will include measurement of body fat, blood

chemistry, urine and stool analyses done in my own lab. But I can tell

you right now that those are some of the healthiest rats I've come

across, particularly remembering their advanced age."

"Thank you, Doctor," Martin said. "It's what I'd hoped for."

Today was Tuesday and the veterinarian, Dr. Ingersoll, an elderly

specialist in small mammals, had come from London on a morning train. He

would return that afternoon.

Another expert, a nutritionist from Cambridge, was due at the Harlow

institute two days later.

"I suppose," Dr. Ingersoll said, "you wouldn't care to tell me precisely

what it is you've been injecting into those rats of yours?"

"If you don't mind," Martin replied, "I'd prefer not. At least not

yet.,,

The veterinarian nodded. "I rather thought you'd say that. Well, whatever

it is, my dear fellow, you are obviously onto something interesting."

Martin smiled, and left it there.

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On Thursday, the nutritionist, Ian Cavaliero, provided information that was

even more intriguing.

"Possibly what you have done in treating those rats," he pronounced, "is

change the functioning of either their endocrine glands or their central

nervous systems, or perhaps both. The result is, the calories they take in

with food are converted to heat instead of fat. If not carried to extremes,

there's no harm in that. Their bodies simply get rid of the excess heat

through evaporation or some other means."

Dr. Cavaliero, a young scientist whom Martin had known at Cambridge, was

widely regarded as a leading authority on nutrition.

"New data are emerging," he reported, "showing that different

individuals---or animals-have differing efficiencies for utilizing

calories. Some calories go into fat, but a lot get used for the kind of

body work we never see or feel. For example, cells pumping ions, such as

sodium, out of themselves and into the blood in a continuous cycling

process."

The nutritionist continued, "Other calories must go into heat, just to

maintain body temperature. It's been discovered, though, that the

proportion going to heat, metabolic work, or fat varies widely. Therefore

if you can change and control that proportionas you appear to be doing with

these animals-it represents a major advance."

A small group whom Martin had invited to join the discussion with Cavaliero

listened intently. It comprised Rao Sastri, two other staff scientists, and

Yvonne.

Sastri interjected, "That fat-work-heat variation is undoubtedly why some

fortunate persons can eat large meals, yet never put on weight."

"Exactly." The nutritionist smiled. "We've all met, and probably envied,

those kind of people. But something else may be affecting your rats also--a

satiety factor."

Martin said, "Through the CNST'

"Yes. The central nervous system is, of course, highly regulated by brain

peptides. And since you inform me that the injected material affects the

brain, it could be reducing brain signals of hunger . . . So, one way or

another, your compound plainly has a desirable antiobesity effect."

The discussion continued and, next day, Martin used Cavaliero's

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words, "desirable antiobesity effect," in a confidential report sent

directly to Sam Hawthorne.

"While an enhancement of memory through Peptide 7 remains our primary

objective," Martin wrote, "we will experiment additionally with what, at

first glimpse, appears as a positive, promising side effect which may

have clinical possibilities."

While the report was restrained, excitement among Martin and his Harlow

colleagues was at fever pitch.

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FOUR

1977-1985

Majestically, and with a solid dignity no other form of transportation yet

devised could match, the cargo liner SS Santa Isabella edged its way along

Fort Armstrong Channel and into Honolulu Harbor.

Andrew and Celia were on deck, standing with other passengers, below the

bridge and forward.

Andrew, with binoculars, was already scanning the dockside and port

buildings coming into view. His scrutiny had a purpose.

As the Aloha Tower loomed ahead, made golden by Hawaiian sunshine from

an azure sky, the ship swung smoothly to starboard, tugs fussing beside

it. Ships' whistles sounded. Among the Santa Isabella's crew, landing

preparations intensified.

Lowering the binoculars, Andrew stole a sideways glance at Celia. Like

himself, she was bronzed and healthy, a consequence of almost six months

of leisure, spent largely in the open air. She was relaxed too, he could

see, as he thought of the accumulated tensions that had preceded their

departure. No doubt about it: their tour, the comparative isolation and

a total absence of pressures had been good for them both.

He raised the binoculars again.

"You seem to be looking for something," Celia said.

Without turning his head, he answered, "If I see it, I'll tell you."

"All right." She sighed. "I can hardly believe it's almost over."

And it was. Their long journey, which had taken them through fifteen

countries. essentially would finish here. After a brief stopover they

would fly directly home from Honolulu, ready to resume their lives amid

whatever changes awaited them, though such changes would be mainly those

affecting Celia.

She wondered what they might be.

Deliberately, since leaving home in early March, she had excluded

thoughts of the future from her mind. Now it was midAugust and the future

must be faced.

Touching Andrew's arm, she said, "For the rest of my life I'll remember

this time; all the places we've been, everything we've done and seen . . ."

Celia thought: There was so much to remember. In her mind, scenes flooded

back: Yes, truly magic moonlight on the Nile, and sand and searing heat in

the Valley of the Kings . . . walking the labyrinthine cobbled streets of

Lisbon's Alfama, nine centuries old, and flowers everywhere . . .

Jerusalem-"The hill nearest heaven, where a man can cup his hand to the

wind and hear the voice of God. " . . . Rome's paradoxical mingling of the

earthy and ethereal . . . Greek islands, diamonds in the Aegean, a montage

memory of dazzling light, white terraced villages, mountains, olive groves

. . . Oil-rich, thriving Abu Dhabi and a happy reunion with Celia's younger

sister, Janet, her husband and young family . . . India, subcontinent of

savage contrasts, its pleasures weighed against appalling filth and

degradation. One picture-postcard scene: Jaipur, the pink city . . . Then

the Great Barrier Reef, Australian coral kingdom, a snorkeler's Fantasia .

. . and near Kyoto, Japan: the fragile, dreamlike beauty of the Shugakuin

Imperial Villa, an emperor's hideaway and a place of poetry, still guarded

from the tourist mainstream . . . Hong Kong's frenetic pace, as if time

were running out, and so it wasl . . . In Singapore-amid enormous

wealth-the humble hawker food stalls, a gourmet's paradise, with nasi

beryani served at Glutton's Corner, aptly named . . .

In Singapore, too, Andrew and Celia had boarded the Santa Isabella for an

unhurried journey through the South China Sea and into the Pacific, a

journey which was ending in Hawaii, here and now.

There had been twenty or so other passengers aboard, most of them savoring

the leisurely shipboard pace and comfortable accommodations without the

hectic, organized jollity of a conventional cruise ship.

As the cargo liner continued moving slowly, Celia's musing drifted on . .

.

Despite her conscious efforts at the exclusion, until now, of thoughts

about the future, inevitably there had been some about the past. In recent

days especially she had asked herself. was she wrong in quitting

Felding-Roth so abruptly? Her resignation had been impetuous and

instinctual. Had it also been unwise? Celia wasn't sure, and that thought

made her wonder whether sometime soon

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she would experience regrets and anguish even greater than her present

doubts.

Clearly her departure had not affected the company or the drug Montayne in

any serious way. In February, as scheduled, Montayne was launched,

apparently with great success. According to tradepress reports which Celia

read before leaving with Andrew on their tour, Montayne was at once widely

prescribed and popular, especially with women who continued to be employed

during pregnancy and to whom relief from morning sickness was critically

important. It seemed obvious that the new drug was a bonanza for

Felding-Rotb.

Similarly, she had learned while in France that the same was proving true

for the French originators of Montayne, Laboratoires Gironde-Chimie.

The France-Soir news stories out of Nouzonville and Spain, it seemed, had

not harmed the reputation of Montayne. Nor, in the United States, had Dr.

Maud Stavely's anti-Montayne arguments been given much credence or impeded

sales.

Celia's thoughts turned back to the ship, which was close to the dockside

now, approaching Pier 10 where they would disembark and clear Customs.