Mutation

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.