Woods Hole Tale 1

part 1/6 of my current novel.

By

Alan Steinbach

Stonybrook.burr@gmail.com

415-308-4035

Copywrite 2024

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In Parts

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Part 1: 1995-1998 Beginnings and Boundaries 2-75

Part 2 2000 Doubling Down; Evalina bends boundaries **

Part 3 2000 Boundaries broken **

Part 4 2000 Enter the Hurricane **

Part 5 2000 Things happen in a storm **

Part 6 2000 Collateral Damage and an Ending of Sorts **

Part One

5/12/1995 0945 Dana Albu woke up with a headache. She was in a small comfortable bunk, in a low ceiling brightly lit room, not quite square and painted a shiny grey. There were other women, in other beds or in chairs at several tables. Some of the women were really only girls. There were no windows, the whole room hummed and vibrated, there was a steady noise. The walls seemed to be metal, not wood. She realized that it was a room in a ship. Now she could feel the movement, recognized the sound of a diesel.

Dana Maritza Albu was born May 31 in Durres, Albania, 1973 . Her father didn’t come home from work one day when Dana was 5. During Hoxha’s time social activists often disappeared. Dana’s mother left without any goodbye when Dana was 7. Dana went to live with an Aunt in Tirana . The aunt had a life full of hatred. Dana looked elsewhere for what she needed. Pregnant at 14, she aborted the POC into a friends toilet after a kitchen table procedure. She survived, more aware, stronger. Her grades in school were good enough to get her into a local technical college. She studied English and Business.

In 1994, and 22 years old, she was living with her gjyshja (grandmother). A friend’s boyfriend’s uncle had a connection. A company in America takes care of all the paperwork, living, food, everything. You work hard, for two years. After that you get papers and can live in America. Forget prayers. This is real.

Dana took stock of her resources. She had glossy black hair, a strong straight nose, and almond eyes, a comforting brown color. Skin very white, prominent natural arching eyebrows. Her hips and breasts seemed in proportion, her waist was small. She must remember to smile, giving her generous lips room to curve, the smile lines to appear.

On May 11, 1995 Dana took a bus to Durres. She went to Villa Austria 1843 Rruga Dom Nikoll Kaçorri, Nr.5 . She met a somewhat older woman named Marta, who reminded Dana of her mother, but not crazy. It was all quite proper. The woman was very nice. There were several glasses of wine. After dinner, she suddenly felt very sleepy, and the nice woman said she could stay overnight. Twenty minutes later two men carried Dana, deeply asleep, to a car and took her to the harbor.

Now,a metal hatch-door clanged open, and a large ugly man with a smile came in with small cart carrying soup, bread and salad. With him was the woman who had been at dinner the night before. Marta. After a moment of anxiety, Dana had to smile. It was all happening.She must have been given something to make her sleep.

Everyone had a similar version of the story, phone calls, a chance for a new life in America. ‘Not to worry’, Marta said, she had been to America already, and everything would be OK.

Marta has dark brown hair and a round face with sharp cheekbones, and a small mouth with faint disapproval lines. Her family was from Tirana, the capital of Albania. No nonsense. She had a tightly put together figure, with substantial breasts and hips. At all times, Marta was in charge.

They were onboard a fishing boat.The boat was owned by the Company ( by people from Albania, Marta assured them). The Company was going to employ them and, after two years of work, provide them with citizenship in the USA. The story confirmed what they had been told, and the older woman reassured the frightened youngsters that they would be well taken care of. Among themselves, they confirmed what it really meant, as they had all figured out. Kurve. Like, you know, sex for money.

Several of the women were very seasick at first, and Marta had some pills. Everyone smoked, and Marta had Marlboro cigarettes, At night, when the weather was good, Marta took them outside, and they discovered the boat was quite small, and smelled like fish. Several of the women, said it was better than they were used to, and they were looking forward to their new jobs and a new life in America.

The man Oleg who brought the food wanted to talk to Dana. Actually, he wanted sex. After one try, he left her alone. Marta did not stop Ekatrina, who was older, from leaving the room at his whispered invitation. Marta had condoms.

One night, after a week, they were not allowed on deck for a day. Marta said they were passing the pillars of Hercules. Dana knew from long ago geography lessons this was the exit from the Mediterranean into the Atlantic ocean.

A few nights later, Dana was able to find Marta alone. Marta had gone to the back of the boat, and was sitting out of the wind . The waves were bigger, but softer somehow. “Yes, if we are stopped by the Roga Brogatare, we are just going fishing. Just under that hatch..”, she gestured behind her, “..that metal plate in the deck, under there is a freezer full of fish. You’ll smell them perhaps later, when they get a little older. That’s to fool any police”

“I can smell them already”. replied Dana. She sat down and held up a cigarette to get a light from Marta. She took a long puff. “Faleminderit,” she said.

“Je I mirpritur”, Marta replied. Dana waited, took a deep breath. The stars somehow gave her courage.

“Marta, how can I become you?”

“What do you mean?. Why would you want to be me?”

“Marta, I know that what will happen to all of us, to me, is not exactly what you have said”

“What do you mean, I have said nothing”

“yes, exactly. You have been very kind. My grandmother always said ‘honey is not found far from a sting.’ I thank you for your kindness, but I want more than that.”

“Oh ho, so the little Dana wants to become the big Dana, is that it?”

“Yes. Make me bigger, like you”.

Marta took a drag on her cigarette, and then started to talk.

Dana’s ploy worked. Over the last week of the trip, Marta gradually outlined the reality of the operation. She would deliver Dana and the others to a house, somewhere near a small port where their boat, looking like a fishing vessel, could put them ashore.

“But where is this ‘small port?’ I know of New York. Boston ?

“No, very small. A place called Woods Hole. Near Boston. Quiet.”

The company had papers to say they had cleared customs. The boat would then proceed back out to the fishing spot, called Georges Banks, actually fish a bit, and then back to Durres.

“And you?”, Dana asked?

“Oh, I get off with you, and then go to the airport and get on an airplane and fly back to Tirana, then Durres.”

“You have a passport?”

“Yes, of course. And a visa stamp”

“Real?”

“No of course not, you silly. But real enough for the stupid customs. And money too, dollars.”

“So you could, well, escape?”

“Why would I escape? Now I am Albanian, but soon I will be an American. No, I make friends with other young women, like you. Travel back with them again.”

“How is that possible?”

“Listen little Dana, it’s all about business. Papers , money; the Company can do anything. There are laws in America. There are lawyers who know how to use the laws. So men who understand can get rich. And not only men, women too. “

“What, you mean you?”

“Maybe someday. If I do well at this job.”

“Then what.?”

“Then I will get the American papers Mihai has promised, and even some money to start my own business. Always with the Company of course. In America you need strong protection to succeed in any business. In America, it’s all about business. Success is success. Money is money. How you get it is none of anyone else’s business. I have heard you praying. I suggest you forget that. Or pray to Mihai”

“Who is this Mihai?”

“Shhh, I should not have said. Look, don’t say that name again, but remember it.”

Dana sat for a long moment. In just a day or so, Marta had said, they would arrive. All of the things would happen. During the time together, Marta had seemed to warm up to her, and the harsh descriptions of the planned work, prostitution actually, had given way to more talk of Marta’s own hopes.

“Marta”, Dana finally broke the silence, “Is there no way to avoid being Kurve?’

“Ah little Dana, it makes me sad. I don’t know of any. What you must do is what I had to do.”

“And if I do it? If I let any man who pays the price fuck me?”

“Or women, my child. Sometimes women. That’s not so bad. It’s when they want to beat you up as well. But sometimes, they want you to beat them.”

“No!!”

“Yes, its true. Only don’t beat them too hard!”

Despite her concern, Dana laughed at that, and Marta joined in.

The next day, after almost two weeks, Marta said that they were coming to America. To a little town called Woods Hole. A quiet place.

04/24/1995 0130 Sure enough, when they had been asleep for hours, the engine sound suddenly changed, and the rolling of the boat calmed. They got into their daytime clothes, and waited,

The engines roared, slowed, roared again. Oleg opened the hatch, looking somewhat wild.

“koha për të zbritur nga kjo shushurime (‘Time to get off this rustbucket’) he said.

Marta turned to them. “Now you must do exactly as I say. We are going to have a ride in a van, with warm clothes, and then a nice place to get some sleep and something to eat. It will be dark, may be a bit cold. There will be coats for you in the van. No noise!!”

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5/14/95. Alex Lynch Daybook

5/14/1995 Woods Hole MA 02543 Longitude: -70.673085 Latitude: 41.526497 Elevation: 3m / 10feet NW wind 6 mph, 34 degrees F. I want my writing to be a record for my family and friends, particularly my friend Charlotte.And for you; hope you enjoy hearing about Woods Hole. Woods Hole is the town I chose to settle in, and what I write will, generally, be about Woods Hole, its environs, its origins, and its inhabitants. And maybe something about what I am feeling. Hold on, it may be bumpy!! Among other things, I have cancer.

I want to be sure you, dear reader, have an accurate picture of the the environs of Woods Hole, and the waters of Vineyard Sound and Buzzards Bay that surround it. Woods Hole is a village that clings to the southwestern most part of the Cape. Unkind commentators might call it the Armpit. It is governmentally a precinct of the town of Falmouth, elects members of the Town Meeting, and is sometimes called ‘The Republic of Woods Hole‘.

Woods hole had its official origin either on July 23rd when the land around Little Harbor was divided into ‘settler shares’ of 60 acre lots, or when Job Notantico signed a ‘Indian deed’ confirming the land titles in on July 15 1679. Of today’s Falmouth residents, 89.5% are classified as White, 3.1% Black or African-American, and 0.8% American Indian, historically Wompanaug.

I want to acknowledge that the land now regarded as Woods Hole is part of the traditional land of the Wompanaug and that the ‘selling’ of land to colonists is not accepted by Wompanaug people.

About present day Woods Hole; three major scientific institutions are based there, and if that wasn’t enough, so is the mainland terminal for the Woods Hole, Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket Steamship Authority d/b/a The Steamship Authority. Where you, your car, and a phalanx of big trucks scramble to catch the boat for Marthas Vineyard.

Water Street, which amounts to Main Street, is at most about ten feet above mean high water. Water Street is what becomes of route 28, the main road from the rest of the world, which sweeps grandly into town along the rocky hill at the head of Little Harbor. A US Coast Guard station about thirty feet below it on the left, and then ends abruptly in a intersection of two narrow streets. In summer it’s jam packed with trucks, busses, cars and tourists. In the winter, they mostly go away, leaving a residue of scientists, students, fishermen and us retired folk.

I’ve drawn a little map of the town, to help you get to know us. I’ve included a series of numbers that I refer to in this writing. You might imagine you are arriving by car in the town at #1. .

(1) The bigger of several signs point left to the Steamship Authority terminal, reached over a bridge across what used to be railroad tracks, now the Shining Sea Bikeway, and then down into a mess of parking, ticket buying, and waiting. Straight ahead you must not go, it’s a oneway uphill exit from the terminal. And to the right, is Water Street. The cast of houses are, in order of appearance, on the left, a Bank, Pie in the Sky , the quaint old Post Office, a Gift Shop, and the Woods Hole Inn, soon to be modernized I hear. On the right and elevated about 20 feet is the stone built Woods Hole Public Library, with the traditional two white lamp globes marking the door. Opposite the bank, an elderly building clad in asbestosis had become the home of WCAI, the local public NPR radio station. Next, across from Pie, a dressed stone wall of comfortable height, providing a perch for the 10 o’clock coffee break. Behind it, rising rapidly, the lawn of the historic home now owned by the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute (WHOI, pronounced ‘Hoo-eee”) the youngest, and now the largest, of the three Scientific Institutions in town.

(2) Yes, you started 30 feet up or so near the library, but by the time you reach the slightly skewed intersection of School Street on the right and Luscomb on the left, you are down to the 10 foot or less elevation of much of Woods Hole. Coffee Obsession rents the SW corner of Luscomb and Water Street, and then there’s a parking lot with what used to be a seaplane hanger, at the base of a wharf where the SEA (Sea Education Association) tall ship Corwith Cramer ties up when in Port. Past the parking lot, literally next to the channel and the drawbridge over it, is the Fishmonger restaurant. Across Water Street, occupying the full 100 yards between School Street and the Eel pond channel is Redfield Hall built by WHOI before they acquired the old Fay estate on the road to Falmouth. It’s red brick, and the second story is about 12 feet up. The first story is a little below grade; just about at mean high water. Its a research lab with auditorium attached.

That’s enough for a first report. Next writing I will continue down Water Street to the rest of the town.

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5/14/1995 Steve West paused at the door of Crane 211, his new scientific home. Stacked, scattered, now unwrapped and stashed around him were various instruments, glassware, and aquariums…all part of the equipment he had brought from NIH in Bethesda. He smiled, his face showing fatigue, and then sighed. It looked like everything had arrived undamaged. It would just be days, maybe a week or more, before it could all be uncrated and assembled and calibrated and ready to work. He checked his wrist…3 o’clock,…really got to get to Swope to help Lorena get more settled. Steve pulled the door open, and stepped through into the second floor hallway of Crane building…one of the oldest of the dozen or so buildings that made up the present day campus of the Marine Biological Laboratory, or MBL. The stairway down led to a small lobby, with a gilded 3/4 size figure of Confucius, a legendary Oriental sage. He felt in his pocket. Leave a penny for luck in the next experiment..I love traditions of superstition smack in the middle of white scientific reality. And they think WE are savages. As so often, he recognized his thought for what it was. Them…and us. White and Black.

Penny offering in place, Steve pushed through the swinging doors to outside. The family Subaru Outback was parked on the near curb of Water street, Wood’s Hole’s main street. Looking ahead, he ran lightly down the stone steps, took the short cement walk across the winter brown lawn, down two steps more past the low hedge. The car was locked. Lorene, he thought, still wants to lock all the doors. That librarian, Charlene?..who helped me with the computer…she says Woods Hole needs locks like a fish needs a bicycle. My kind of town…but Lorene…

Across the street, there was a surprisingly ugly sculpture, a finlike swirl of sharp metal, attractive to young climbers only, and made more so by a small sign that said ‘no climbing’. Beyond, a stone sea wall with no guard rails and….nothing. Water. It was called Great Harbor, he had been told. The best deep water port on Cape Cod. Well known to generations of African Americans… the ferry boat to Marthas Vineyard.

Steve used his electronic key to open the hatchback, extracted his briefcase and a bag of groceries, and closed the back. He could drive, but actually the nearest parking to their temporary room in the Swope Center that housed the eating facilities and the transient residence was close. He could make better time walking, and every minute was important. Lorene didn’t need any more reasons for disliking their new town. And what she did like, so far, was the proximity to Oak Bluffs on the Island.

Steve Jordan West is 48 years old, and a Principle Investigator at MBL. He has tightly curled black hair, with the beginnings of grey frosting. His eyebrows are furry and friendly. His eyes are large and wide set. His smile lines are ready to deepen with emotion. His lips are full, and attractively dark, over a definite chin. His cheeks appear slightly concave, enough to attract, and then concern, the women in his life. He has a spitting gap between his upper front teeth,. He brushes and flosses and still has all his own teeth. . He is 5 foot 11 inches tall, 175 pounds, with a relatively light bone structure, and muscles well defined by jogging and kayaking. His skin is light brown. Friends are sometimes surprised at how well he looks in a bathing suit.

As Steve walked along MBL street towards their temporary home, he tried to remember the details of Lorene’s history on ‘the Vineyard’ as she referred to it. Her mother, a Thomas, was in some way related to the original organizer of Jack and Jill, a social club intended to train young women of color, and sponsored ‘the’ black social event of the year in many American cities. Marthas Vineyard was wrested from the Wampanoag by white colonials, and was never predominately occupied by people of color, like some of the Carolina barrier islands. However, it was a stop on the Underground Railway in the late 16th century, and in 1912, a mixed race man turned one of the small cottages built for vacationing on Oak Bluffs into the first inn for black vacationers.

The locale that was created by successful African-Americans, with its Inkwell Beach, and black glitterati of creative people of color who began to arrive in droves each summer, was part of Lorene’s childhood, Steve knew. When he had proposed the move to Woods Hole, she had initially been enthusiastic. Her own work as a creative artist and fashion writer involved episodic events in major cities, but she had begun to imagine Woods Hole as a cultural paradise, complete with a famous laboratory for her husband and a supportive community for herself. Boston less than two easy hours East, and New York accessible four hours west.

Now, only a week after their arrival, looking for more permanent housing, and a job, Lorene was finding the same old story. The apartment is taken, sorry. The pricing on this house may be out of reach for you. We aren’t taking any club membership applications at this time. I’m afraid you would not be a good fit in our organization.

Never just ‘no blacks’. No ’N’ words. Just No.

Steve bounded up the last stairs leading from the dining and social area to the guest rooms at Swope Hall. The door of their room was slightly ajar.

He pushed the door back. Lorene was sitting on the couch, an uncomfortable affair whose only virtue was converting into a second bed. She was crying. Steve’s bounce slumped into concern.

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5/24/1995 0145 The man who called himself Diem heard the boat coming. His moment of alarm subsided fast; what he was doing wasn’t illegal có đúng không?

For hours, from his place precariously balanced on the wooden beams under the wharf, he had been fishing for squid. Woods Hole harbor attracted large schools of bait fish each spring, and the squid he would sell were there to feed on them. When the diesel became audible, he had turned off his light, used to attract the squid. Now the whole structure of the dock shook and creaked as a large boat arrived. To lớn (Big), he thought. He swore, silently. But it wasn’t the first time a commercial fishing boat had arrived at this hour., to ruin his fishing, Over the past several nights, he had made his perch more comfortable with a piece of plywood bound onto the beam, and several cushions. He also had a place for a bucket. The squid were hungry, easy to catch. In the borrowed truck parked at the head of the pier, he had a portable freezer, already half full.

5/24/1995 0200 Marta had a small flashlight, otherwise the room was dark. New noises, scrapings and footfalls overhead. Then two taps on the metal above.

“Now” Marta said. Dana and the other women joined hands as Marta had insisted, and followed her up the narrow stairs and out on deck. There was more smell of more dead fish. Dana could see mounds of nets on the wharf. Oleg and the boat captain were standing on the wharf near a ladder . Dana staggered as she tried to walk. Marta had warned them that might happen; sea legs, it was called. The first woman scrambled up the ladder. The dock was lit dimly by fixtures on poles, and behind it, a few lights showed windows in buildings. The vans side door opened, and a man with a mask waved them forward. Anxious, Dana nevertheless felt a pulse of something like joy. It was all happening. She tumbled into the van.

Now Diem from his place under the wharf could hear voices. People, overhead. He swore again, barely audibly. Diem did not want to meet people. If they owned a big boat, they might make him leave. Even steal his catch. If it was local Tay (white people), they would be suspicious. Maybe he was illegal? Maybe call police?

Diem decided, go now, and rapidly started the precarious process of working his way along the beams, moving the bucket carefully, until he was at the edge of the wharf. As he began to pull himself up towards the platform, he heard the scuffling of feet. He was just able to get his eyes above the platform, and was surprised to see that a line of people, women he thought, were climbing from the boat to the wharf. He froze, his fingernails in the wood of the wharf.

Diem did not need anyone else to tell him what was going on. He understood how boats could be used. Boat. Women. Night. May mắn khủng khiếp! (What terrible luck!). He had to keep completely quiet and hope that the arrival proceeded as it was supposed to, secretly. The bucket of squid in his left hand suddenly seemed impossibly heavy. He calmed his fears, and kept his grip, his head in full view to anyone who cared to look. The lights were dim. He must hold on.

The side door of the van was slammed shut by a person wearing a ski mask, who then got into the right hand seat.

In the van, Dana, fearful but also excited, looked again. Something about the person who had just gotten in…perhaps even a smell, even with the mask…, she was suddenly certain it was the man, Mihai, that Marta had talked about. And it didn’t matter. She was ready to do her part, even to become a… prostitute. She had arrived.

Oleg turned away, his flashlight sweeping briefly across the wharf.

“Cfare dragin!!’ he exclaimed loudly. The van stopped. Mihai stepped out.

“Dicka nuk eshte..? “ Mihai hissed, taking several steps towards the wharfs edge, where Oleg’s flashlight illuminated…a face!!

“Dikush është këtu” (someone is here) Oleg answered. He took surprisingly rapid steps, reached down, and pulled Diem violently upwards. Diem managed to maintain his hold on the bucket, which then banged against the rim of the wharf, spilling slippery dying squid across the wharf towards Mihai who was walking rapidly towards the struggle.

Mihai could see that the person Oleg had caught could not have an official capacity. Probably one of the Asians who were always cluttering up the wharfs and piers with their fishing. To this fellow, he could be anybody he wanted.

“Who are you? What are you doing on my wharf?” Mihai demanded. He pulled out his wallet, and flipped it open to display a photograph and a gold badge. The universal gesture of authority. The badge was a gift from the Police Foundation of Boston. He was a major contributor. As Mihai had expected, Diem went on defense.

“Please, fishing, just fishing. See, see…” Diem pointed at the squid.

Mihai could see…a few calamari. But…what had this fshatar seen?. Quite likely, women getting into a van. So…

Using English, Mihai spoke to Oleg. “This man could fuck up our operation. Search him, remove any ID, and take care of him so he will not be found”

Diem, a veteran interpreter from the Army, and fluent in English, heard and understood. He dropped the bucket, and lunged forward towards the shore. Oleg kicked his legs out from under him. Diem fell heavily against a roll of cable, his skull making the unforgettable noise of a fatally solid collision with metal. Diem lay still. Mihai prodded him with a foot, and smiled .

“ Duket se puna jote ka mbaruar (It seems your work is almost done)”, he said to Oleg.

Dana finished putting on one of the coats from the pile already in the van, heard the noises and talk from outside, and was even more sure that the person in the mask who had jumped back out when the disturbance started, was the Mihai whom Marta had spoken of. Marta who had disappeared. Now the disturbance, whatever it was, seemed to be over.

Mihai climbed back in the front seat, partially lit from outside. He grunted an order at the driver. The van left the wharf. Dana, now just one of the girls, had her first view of Woods Hole. Dark houses, a few street lights.

Back on the wharf, Oleg searched Diem, who was still out cold. He then used a headlock and twist to sever Diems spinal cord at the C1-2 junction of his neck. With the ships captain, he dragged Diems body, and threw it onto the boat. The recovered squid ,were treated more gently; Oleg put them in the refrigerator and washed his hands. Within a few minutes, the boat was on its way out of Woods Hole into the vineyard Sound and towards George’s Bank, a historical fishing spot. Also, historically a burial ground of fishermen .

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11/15/1996 Mihai stepped through the doors of the 1996 annual meeting of NAAF, the National Alopecia Areata Foundation. He had no personal interest in hair growth; at 43 his own was full, black, and barbered every week. Mihai is not so much handsome as forceful in looks. Shorter than his father, at 5-9 feet and weighing 160 pounds, now with some grey around the temples, his dark eyes and dark skin , setting off his beak of a nose and full lips, make him look capable of handling any situation. His typical expression is amused disinterest. His face darkens, suffused with blood, when he encounters a problem he considers to be unnecessary, the result of faulty thinking or lack of respect. He is very able to use extreme measures to deal with persistent problems. However, he is kind to small children and dogs.

As Shefi of Markuman LLC, Mihai was still developing the personal services component of the Boston based family business. This was built on importing women for hospitality work. Yes, you might say he was a whoremaster. He was looking for the next thing in personal services, something he might develop as one of the completely legitimate sources of income in this ignorantly complacent social feeling trough called America

Articles in the Wall Street Journal had featured money to be made treating male balding. For that reason, he decided to attend the Alopecia meeting.

Elvin Kokot was attending the meeting in the hopes of meeting someone with money to invest. Elvin Truman Kokot was born in 1957 in Galaji, Romania, and grew up as a young immigrant in The Bronx, NYC. Unusually bright with language and science, he got his BS in Chemistry and PhD for a project in the genomics of cardiac arrhythmia. Elvin often shaves twice a day, His watchful dark eyes, narrow under the impact of input. His moderately full mouth lips also watch and wait, although the smile lines are waiting for an entrance opportunity. His broad based nose with some complex curves flares with emotion. There are no dimples in a firm wide chin. He tans easily, and skin tones contribute to some overall darkness of presence. He keeps in condition with weights and a gym several days a week.

“Hello, welcome”, said Elvin as a man disengaged from the shuffling crowd and approached him where he stood in front of his poster. He smiled, aware that he should not be too effusive. This was, after all, a science based meeting. This guy looks more like a funder than a scientist. In fact, like a thug. Oh well, I can practice my pitch.

“What is all this”, said Mihai, waving his hands at the poster. “What, you have a cure for baldness? That’s a good joke, no?“ He had looked Elvin over as he approached.. The poster title …’male hormonally related local alopecia; a treatable problem?’…sounded like baldness to him.

“Are you working in this field?”

“Nah, more on the business end of things”, replied Mihai..casually. He picked up the skimpy one page Elvin had prepared last night and run off on the motel printer. “ But yeah, I’ve studied this stuff a little. You?”

“Ah, of course, of course. Science is always about business, no matter what we call it. I am a scientist, but business is not scary, to me it’s fascinating. If my science doesn’t scare you, and you want to discuss things further, allow me to outline my ideas.”

“OK, outline away.”, replied Mihai.

“Well, of course, but just to start with, are you familiar with the term ‘Phase Three Trials’.

“ Yeah, I sure am”, replied Mihai. “That’s when you find out your investment is in the toilet” He laughed, a bit harshly, Elvin thought.

“Ah, good. So let’s get into the science, since you clearly have some experience with business. As you know, soon we will be able to determine the genetic instructions to make any proteins we want. And, after all, hair is made of protein. So…”

After minutes, the men shook hands. Mihai Marku and Elvin Kokot went their separate ways. However, both immediately did some background checking. They would meet again soon after.

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12/1/1996 1205 They met at the Stoa Tarsi, an out of the way Greek lunch place on the edge of Chinatown. There was a back entrance, and only eight tables, one with room for six. For a large family of Cypriot Greeks. Or a small gang. Both Elvin Kokot and Mihai Marku preferred small meetings. Getting things done.

“So, Dr Kokot, please let me know how a Foundation that gives away money would help Markuman LLC make money,”

Elvin, his larger briefcase on the floor beside him, pushed across the table a slim, discretely grey folder with a stylized dark brown and green logo symbol. “It’s all in this folder, but I would be glad to explain it in words”.

Mihai picked up the folder. The logo looked interesting, but he didn’t know what it was.

“ Very nice, discrete, sophisticated. This thing, it’s a…a…”

“Limulus…horseshoe crab. Just a name, but also an animal that symbolizes the contribution of marine biology to science. The eyes…very basic, and where much of our understanding of vision began. The blood…special cells react to human toxic bacteria, and allow tests for meningitis. It’s a good symbol, also, for survival. Limulus is one of the worlds oldest animals”

“Ok, OK, great choice. I like the idea. So, again I must ask, how do we do this ‘spend money to make money’ using Limuwhatsis?”

“There are four phases of this proposal. The Plan. The Project. And then, the Product and Profits”. Elvin paused. Mihai was nodding thoughtfully.

“Mihai, my friend, you understand there are laws about ideas, about intellectual property, right? If you work for General Electric, and you invent something, then GE owns it. Because you signed an agreement when you signed your contract to get paid for your work? “

“So, you will hire people to work for Limulus Foundation and make them sign that way?”

Elvin smiled. “No signatures. Limulus Foundation will pay young scientists for their work, and they will not own the results.”

“But then they will sue us in court when we make money from their ideas, why not?”

Elvin continued to smile, but Mihai’s immediately prescient thought surprised him. This guy definitely has street smarts,

“Right my friend, but they will not do that. First, because the money we pay them will be ‘under the table’, as we say it. And, because we can let them know how much they might lose if they speak up about it .”

“ Yes, they might lose a lot!! Yes, we can make that happen. Also, we pay them well. OK, so what about finding the right people?.”

Elvin licked his lips. Mihai, always alert of any advantage in business, took note of this action, and filed it as a possible ‘tell’. He had learned, from uncles, about the small habits that would ‘tell’ a persons intentions. The uncles were skillful gamblers. “Mr Marku, Mihai…I am proposing that we incorporate the Limulus Foundation as a 501c3 non-profit, with community board and so forth, capitalized at $1 million dollars. The ‘Vision’… see here… is ‘Better Living through Marine Biology’. The Plan, page 3… right here…is to develop a cure for Androgenic Alopecia. We will call it ‘Gender Associated Keratin Product Development’. Keratin is what hair is made of. So we are talking male baldness. You understand that?”

“ Go on; call if whatever you want”

“Right…now to close the loop, Markuman LLC starts a division devoted to Research and Development…”

“Already got that”, Mihai growled.

“Good, I thought perhaps you did. So, no contracts with researchers, strictly cash in return for research work. Probably we will pay the supervisors of the researchers something as consultants, too. These are called ‘honoraria’. I will do the work of finding the right people. Perhaps they will not want these payments reported for taxes. I will handle all of the details, and keep track of the progress. Ideally, I will be working with several Post-Doctoral students in different institutions, to lessen the chance of anyone person getting a full idea of what is happening. I think I have found a place that may be ideal for this.

“Probably somewhere like a second rate University, yes?”

“ No, good thought, but better. Better a famous research institute. They seem to be less concerned about intellectual property rights. Administrators in famous places suffer from the error of excellence.

“ So, like where?”

“ Have you heard of a little village called Woods Hole? It’s on Cape Cod, where you go to take a boat to Marthas Vineyard…?”

Mihai stopped any display of his startled reaction to the name. He played bridge with his wife and other couples, at the Albanian Association club, usually once a week. Between canasta and killings, he had eliminated most of his ’tells’ in the process. So, hearing the name of the village, which he had recently begun using as the port of entry for his highly illegal hospitality trafficking business, he gave no indication of recognition.

“Go on, my friend. What about this little village? “

“ Well”, said Elvin, enjoying his apparent surprise, “Woods Hole happens to be home to several research institutions. MBL and WHOI. These are independent, not part of some University. I have made enquiries. I can become a Visiting Scientist, a Research Associate. That gives me certain privileges. I can associate with Post Doctoral students, as a colleague. Many of them are very familiar with gene control. They are poor, and often feel mis-used by their bosses”.

“But what about those ’intellectual property rights’ you mentioned. Anything your Posted Doctoral students discover belongs to what you said, the BLM and ‘Hooey’ I think you said?”

“That’s the best part my friend. WHOI has a basic agreement, but it does not apply to Research Associates. MBL has some poorly written sentences for Principal Investigators, really nothing at all. These institutes are run by scientists, you see. Not by business people. So, what do you think of The Plan?”

Mihai had many thoughts. But, after a mildly chaotic moment, he arrived at a conclusion he could share with Elvin.

“Elvin my friend, soon you will be named as Chief Scientist of this….Limulus Foundation. My business associates will be on the Board. You will direct expenditures of funds. As a COO, you report to me. How does all that sound?”

Elvin sat back. This was beyond what he had hoped for. The foundation would fund a research program. He, Elvin, controlled the money; a million dollars. The research would be conducted where intellectual property ownership was not tightly controlled The cover was control of keratin production. The unstated objective would be be a working treatment, a real cure, for male pattern balding. If the research phase was successful, Elvin would become CEO of a company licensed to conduct translational research and then clinical trials. Marketing . Eventually lots and lots of money. And scientific fame. A Nobel prize?

It was all possible.

“Well. What you have outlined has all of the elements I need. It has the music of money and the opportunity of real science. Sounds good” Elvin finally said to Mihai.

As a result of that meeting, Dr Kokot resigned his position at Astra-Zeneca in early 1997. And Markuman LLC became the primary benefactor of the Limulus Foundation, supporting applied Marine Bioscience. Within a year, the fantastic plans were becoming a reality.

In parallel, Mihai of Markuman LLC continued his other plans. Curiously, although the main business of sex traffic was quite different than the business of curing male baldness, the little town called Woods Hole, turned out to be perfect for both. Right under the nose of the Coast Guard. Only a fool or a genius would make the arrival point of a sex trafficking business that obvious.

And perfect for having several top level research institutions. Collections of very smart and naive young scientists surviving on under-funded grants. And feeling under-appreciated.

Mihai did not, at first, bother Elvin Kokot with the details of his plans to outwit the US immigration authority. And Elvin did not discuss with Mihai the details of how he planned to game the Woods Hole science institutions to discover the genomics of keratin in human cells.

Little sins of omission rather than of commission. Operationally distinct. Ethically not at all different.

❖

02/09/1997 0845 Almost two years after the night when their friendship really started, at sea on the way to America, Dana sat with Marta again. This time, they were in identical Eames LCW chairs in front of a Herman Miller desk. Fifteen floors up at 1 Milk Street in Boston, MA. They were warm, well dressed for business, and not hungry.

Dana looked around, carefully, unconsciously using the skills she had learned over the last years. She had looked at the many, many men, and very occasionally the women, who had come through the door to her room those first months. Very carefully. She had learned to pose seductively, to undress her clients if they wanted, or to simply pull up her skirt and lean over the bed if they were in a hurry. She learned about lubricants that contained a little pepper, to help a man reach his orgasm in less time. She had learned how to use her tongue along the little raised ridge on the underside of the penis to produce an exposive finish. Sometimes, that was all that was needed. Sometimes, why is that exciting?, the man would ask her to swallow his ejaculate. That meant more money.

It had been like being at a very strict school, where you could be punished, or rewarded, depending on your performance. A school where all the classes were laboratories, practical classes. Sometimes she would wait in another girls room, or another would join in hers, That could almost be called fun, except of course, it could not be fun becase it was work. Always, reminded by invisible violence, they were making business, not love.

Later, she waited in a kind of staged version of a living room, and then take a client to her room, play acting a role. More talking, and she had studied hard. Now her American English was, well, ”perfect” The word came out, dd softly

“Yes”, Marta said, turning towards her and away from the view out towards Boston harbor, “it is perfect”

Behind the desk, Mihai looked up from the papers in the two folders that he had been working with.

“What’s so perfect?”, he said. “ Last quarter, the take was down 5%. That means all of our shares go down. Perfect would be up 5%.”Marta turned back towards the man who was, in his way, their godfather.

“I think Dana was referring to her plan. Don’t you agree, it is, well, perfect”

Mihai shifted his gaze to Dana.

Yes, he thought. Look at her now. Not the child that crawled out of the van two years ago. Not the reluctant whore that I fucked. Where did she learn all those ideas about managing the business of sex, and about new locations? From Marta, from me!! Yes, looking at her now, dressed well, modest makeup, and glowing youth, she is perfect. Oh no, not for me, he thought with a slightly sour taste. The Company is a very small world, and it could be bad with Elvia. Dana is more important as a business partner.

“So, “ Mihai pulled himself back to the moment. “ These are the papers you need. For you Marta, it’s the title to that property in Quincy, and the business license, insurance, LLC declaration; everything. You are calling yourself…”, he paused, looked down at the folder.

“Marta’s Meetup” she quickly filled in. “We are already getting people leaving notes on the door asking about jobs. “, She continued with enthusiasm.

“Hmmph”, Mihai exclaimed, “well, as long as The Company gets it’s share, you should have no trouble with any of the local independents or amateur kid gangs. What do you estimate as a monthly gross?”

“After a year, 18 months…probably 2-3 hundred thousand” replied Marta. “That’s assuming,” she continued, uncrossing and recrossing her legs,” that you can provide the persuasion to squeeze those Johns hard. A net of at least 100 thousand.”

“I see no problem with that,” continued Mihai. “And now let’s look at Ms Albu; do I have the name right? You are no longer just little Dana, you know, who can be…” He made the gesture with one hand circled and one finger moving in and out.

“Yes, everything is right” said Dana. She felt her heart accelerate. She could take the insulting gesture, anything he could dish out. The papers she was receiving included a birth certificate from Durres Hospital in Albania, naturalization at age 13, graduation from High School in Hyannis on Cape Cod, SSA identity card, a drivers license and money. Mihai nodded, and continued.

“So, the cards, they are just what they say. Easy to get if you know how. The certificates, a little harder, but when you were born, not such good computers, and Albanians are better with fixing documents than Shkije (Foreigners), The rest, well, try to avoid any trouble and everything should be OK.”

“How much money do I have?”

“ As we agreed, twelve thousand. Get a bank account and put the money in it. Go to school. Then get a job. At, and this is important, The Marine Biological Laboratory, in Woods Hole, on Cape Cod. You are planning to study?”

“Yes, there is a Community College near the town Hyannis. They have a 6 month secretarial program. Then I will get a job at this Marine Laboratory.”

””OK”, said Mihai. He closed the folders. He leaned forward. No smile now.

“Dana Albu, you would not be here except for me. “ He paused. “ And her,” he jerked his head towards Marta. “Don’t forget that. There will be a time when you will need to remember who you are, and who made you what you are. He paused again. “We are your friends. The Company is your friend. Do not forget your friends”

Mihai stood up. Marta and Dana followed his lead.

They all looked at each other. Now, they smiled.

They were in business. Americans in America. Almost.

❖

03/04/1997 0930

Principal Investigator Steve West experienced a kind of grinding of emotions as he left his lab. Dr West’s title sounds grand, but what it means is that he is responsible for a lab, and must constantly write grants and supervise the research of others. In 2000, he has one Post-Doctoral student, Elena Comescu, and two graduate students attached to his lab. Steve grew up in Chicago. Ethnically, he prefers the term ‘black’. His paternal grands came north in the Great Migration, met in Chicago where they both worked in service. In the Chicago African American society of the middle twentieth century, Steves birth family had status. His father was a lawyer, a graduate of Fisk, and most importantly, the son of a Pullman Porter, who become a pharmacist and owned his drugstore. His mom, from a large family that included both blacks and whites in Mississippi, met his father at a college, and has worked as a middle school administrator. Their friends included white people, mostly jewish. Steve’s friends at Wilson HS in Hyde were Jewish or black. His best friend, Araf, was from Ethiopia, proud of a heritage that he insisted included the first humans. Araf was known as a strong fighter, while Steve focussed on reason.

“This man is black, all the way through to his heart and bones”, Araf proclaimed to the two boys, now sprawled, groaning, who had started the fight to teach Steve some kind of lesson about color. “And don’t you forget it, or I’ll know you are an Oreo yourself, and bust you up again”. Well, no more busting after that. But like all men of color, Steve had to accept the assumptions, the mumbled apologies, the looks through the windows of squad cars, and worst of all, being stopped, way too many times, simply for walking or driving while black. Silently, following his mothers teaching, he still felt their white hands all over him, including his genitals, and also all over his date, inside her coat even. At least, in Woods Hole, that hadn’t happened.

Margaret, Director Ericsson’s secretary, was almost finished with the emails when Dr. Steve West appeared in the office doorway. She liked his skin color, his hair. A real gentleman, not like so many self important men who came to this office. Not like this man she worked for, the Director. He had a real mean streak. She had over-heard what he said about nice Dr West when he talked to his wife. But soon all this would be history. She was moving to Vermont. The pay was better, and housing was about half the cost. Yes, she liked Dr West. Not for the first time, she had the fleeting thought ‘maybe being black is a little like being a woman’, and she smiled at him.

“Good morning. Is the Director in?” asked Steve.

“Yes, Dr West, shall I see if he is available?”

“Yes, please. Just want to clear up some of the things he was concerned about. Few minutes”

Steve stood waiting as the woman got up, walked across to the closed door, and knocked. There was an unintelligible response, a brief conversation, and she walked back, leaving the door open to the Directors inner office. “Please”, she gestured he should enter.

“Ah, Dr West. What do you want?” Ericsson realized as he uttered the words that the tone was wrong. This man may be a ungrateful and mediocre specimen, but he is a member of my institution and he is a negro, and the Science Council has reviewed his work and found no fault, so I don’t want to let my feelings enter into my actions here.

‘I mean, now can I help you?”, the Director continued before Steve could recover from his surprise at the mans first attempt at welcome. Wow, Steve thought, good thing I decided to come in. Definitely some damage control needed here.

“Mind if I sit down for a moment”, Steve asked rhetorically. He sat down in the modern metal framed chair closest to the Directors desk.

“Well”, Steve said, “I thought I should clear up a few things left from our encounter at the Science Council.”

“Such as?”, Ericsson spit out, without any waiting.

“Well, my suggestion against redecorating the conference room, for example…”

“Dr West, if you and the Council feel that we should enshrine our past history by continuing to use barely functional and antique furniture, I accept that. And if you feel we should devote more time and energy, which I remind you costs money that could be better devoted to research, to trying to right the many wrongs society has visited on minorities, you are entitled to that. We do not need to discuss that further. I serve at the will of the Council”

“Hey, hold on. I’m trying to be friendly. Also, the MBL is actually required to increase diversity at all levels of the organization…”

“Dr West, please!! Do you imagine I am not fully cognizant of the legal and ethical behaviors required of MBL?”

“No, that’s not my point at all…”

“Well, I think that my response to any point you might be capable of making, short of an apology for your previous behaviors, has already been made. Can I help you in any other way? No? Well, I have work to do, important work on behalf of MBL, and if you don’t mind….”

The Director stood, and raised his voice. “Margaret, can you show Dr West the way out please”.

❖

4/5/1997 Dr Elvin Kokot brought his double shot expresso carefully out onto the covered porch area of Coffee Obsession, on the corner of Luscombe and Water Streets. He had just arrived in Woods Hole, and wanted to learn as much as he could about the two major scientific institutions whose scientists were tackling problems involving the new science of genomics. He was meeting with a woman named Charlotte, who worked in the library at the Marine Biological Laboratory. When he had called confirming that he wanted to get a library card and ask some questions, a pleasant but pressured individual had suggested he speak to the Librarian about cards or any historical questions.

Ahead of him, sitting at a small table for two in the muted light of a surprisingly warm spring day was a middle aged female, who turned her head and smiled as he approached.

“You must be Dr Elvin Kokot”, she said without getting up.

“ And you are Ms Charlotte Silva, Madame Librarian, I believe”

Charlotte laughed. “ Yes, but don’t call me Marion. That’s not a popular name with my people here. Half of them are from the Islands, and the other half, well, we are from right here. My own nation is Wampanaug, in case you are interested.”

Elvin set his mug carefully on the table, and sat down across from his new acquaintance. ‘A strong face’, he thought,’about 60, so no flirting confusions…someone who will certainly know what there is to know’. And maybe not quite all white?“ So very glad to meet you”, he said. “Perhaps you are curious about my name, and since you shared something about you, let me respond. My own heritage is from what you call ‘The Balkans’. People often guess Israel, or even Turkey, but I was born in Romania, brought up in the Bronx, and feel 100 percent American.”

Charlotte smiled. “Yes, well, I did do a little research. Seems you have published in some good journals, and worked for some good institutions, and now seem to be Chair of a Foundation , called after one of our local animals. Limulus…horseshoe crab”

Elvin Truman Kokot was born in1957 in Galaji, Roumania. Black hair, straight, same as eyebrows, often shaves twice a day, Watchful dark eyes, narrowing under impact of input, and a moderately full and watchful mouth, although the smile lines are there waiting for an entrance opportunity. Broad based nose with some complex curves that flare with emotion. No dimples in a firm wide chin. Tans easily, and skin tones contribute to some overall darkness of presence. 5-10, 170 pounds, keeps in condition with weights and a gym several days a week.

By 1997, Dr. Kokot was painfully aware that it was past time for him to make the mark in the world that he had always felt he deserved, and had worked for. Starting in the Bronx, the oldest son in a family newly arrived from Romania, he had clawed his way out of the third story railroad walkup apartment shared with relatives and into the University of Rochester on a Reagents Scholarship after the superb high school education then available at Bronx Science. His own family had a small variety store.

Elvin smiled, and took a sip of his expresso. So good. He let the familiar wash of the caffeine, the warmth of the sugar hit his brain. “Well, I suppose I should expect that kind of thoroughness. I spoke with the MBL Director’s office,, and they referred me to you. And the coffee is good, thanks for meeting me here”

Elvin finished his small talk. Charlotte thought it might be interesting to find out what he actually knew. Her undergraduate degree was in cell biology, and for her job as librarian she did a lot of eclectic reading. “So, I understand you are interested in Genomics. What in particular, and how could you be using the resources of marine animals we have here”

“Aha, you get right to the point. Are you also a scientist, if I may ask?”

“Oh you can ask anything you want. No, I have a boyfriend who was an oceanographer, and a daughter who is studying Cell Biology at Brown University, so I know a bit. And because I live here, I know more about the animals and plants than some scientists, I guess.”

“Well, let’s remember the basics of Genomics. It all started with Miescher in 1870…”

Charlotte interrupted. “…actually, around here , we like to think things started in 1872, when Professor Agassiz had his first class in Natural History down on Penikese Island”

Elvin was taken a bit by surprise. He didn’t much like to be interrupted, and yet did not want to appear annoyed “Ah yes, Agassiz and his school. But I was simply referring to the understanding of genomics as opposed to the idea of genetics.

Charlotte was satisfied. Miescher had been the first to publish on the contents of the cell nucleus. So at least this man had some actual background knowledge in cell biology. He might not know about Agassiz’s racist beliefs about people of color. So many people didn’t. But Romanian? ‘He’s definitely a brother’ she thought.

“How can I be of assistance?”, Charlotte said, and took a sip of coffee.

❖

2/17/1997 Alex Lynch Daybook So, where were we? On Water Street, the center of commerce of our little village, which is dipping it’s toes in the sea at a high tide. Woods Hole, Cape Cod, MA. We crossed the drawbridge going West. On the map that’s (3). We are right in front of the old Fire House and the Community Hall. The Community Association and related organizations have promoted preservation of historic buildings. That includes the Hall, the Fire Station, and the School. West along the seaward side of Water street, the little wooden one story buildings that sold coal, dry goods, and hair cuts in the nineteenth century, have all been replaced by WHOI laboratories. And, on the side away from the harbor and between Water Street and Eel Pond, there’s the Captain Kidd bar and restaurant, a general provisions store, and then three buildings that have survived by selling T shirts and raw oysters to tourists and administering the Woods Hole Marina, better known as Pinky’s. Now, the modern research institutions were not the first commerce in Woods Hole. For about 130 years, inhabitants raised sheep, made salt, and fished. Then in in about 1815 commercial whaling and the manufacture of whaling ships came to town, and continued to the late1860’s. In 1863 The Pacific Guano works began smelly operations on what is now exclusive Penzance Point. This involved up to 200 employees, mostly Irish, who combined bird poop and a smelly oily fish called menhaden(or ‘Pogy’ for short) to make fertilizer. By the late 1870’s , Pacific Guano went bankrupt. Luckily, the science era began with the US Fisheries (now National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration : 1971) , rapidly followed by the Marine Biological Laboratory ( MBL :1888) and WHOI in 1930.

Ok, had to look all that up. I’m done for today.

❖

4/20/1997 1620 Dana had finished her class at 4 C’s, and drove slowly towards Hyannis. Her shift at the answering service didn’t start until 6, and she already had what she needed for dinner, left over from lunch. The job at the telephone answering service sdddddddhad worked out well, and after 2 months she felt it was serving as as a good introduction to local English, as well as enough money so she had not had to draw on the bank account. She lived in a rented room and was learning English and Portuguese from her landlady. She took the bus or walked to work and at the few social occasions she was invited to, she mostly saw the other girls in her classes and that she met in the break room at work. They all had to work more than she did. Or they were married, and so had their husbands as security. And often kids. They were mostly kids themselves.

The job at the answering service was pretty simple. She had gone for an interview at the Marine Biological Laboratory in Woods Hole. It was a little village really. A street of stores, mostly for people waiting to take a big boat to Marthas Vineyard. The people she had talked to at the HR department at MBL seemed nice. The Director needed a new Executive Assistant. She didn’t know why this was important to Mihai or The Company, but it was They would let her know about a job.

Dana looked out of the bus; they were approaching her workplace at the PAS Center, on Iyannough Road. Work was good, too. She was mostly doing late shifts, as she was tonight. She knew Kathleen, the site manager, liked her . Because she was good at handling the difficult callers, the ‘weeperwailers’ Kat called them. No problem. They just needed to talk to another human. Her method was to listen for 35 seconds, and then follow what had become kind of a script; ‘excuse me, I want to help you reach the person you ought to be speaking to, so please, let me connect you. Just a minute please…’ They really didn’t have a choice, she was in control of the call, but she did want to try to make them feel better, some of them were literally sobbing.

The bus stopped and she said goodnight to the driver and descended. As always, she felt a brush of fear. One night a man had suddenly stood up between the cars as she was going across the lot. There were no words, she just turned and ran, she heard his scuffling footsteps for a few moments, then reached the door, and he was gone by the time she returned escorted by the security officer . Now, Dana swiped her door card, hung her coat up in the line of coats, and opened the soundproofed inner door. It was like stepping into a hive of bees. Muted conversation’s from a hundred cubicles, each a regulation 6 x 6 feet, with half walls 48 inches high. tall enough to block most sound of a sitting person. Some places, she had been told, didn’t have walls at all, but Perception Answering Service (PAS) did, and she shuddered at the thought of sitting in a long line of girls answering phones right next to each other.

Dana slid her backpack of school work under the carrel on one side of the cubicle, and before she sat down, pulled a disinfectant towelette from her purse, and began to wipe off the equipment she would be touching. A Dell Dimension ®) desktop computer with adjustable keyboard, a headset, a small pad of newsprint, a couple of cheap ballpoints, and all the connecting wires. She was particularly careful to wipe off the small microphone, since most of the operators seemed to have colds.

Perhaps because they had been forbidden when she was working for Markuman LLC, she preferred pants to skirts. She figured it would also give her a little edge if someone tried to rape her. She also carried a can of MACE that one of the girls had given her for her birthday. She smiled, a bit grimly, to think of that. So symbolic of the actual America she was getting to know!!

Dana sat down, smoothed her straight black hair, rotated her head several times, shook out her shoulders and hands, clicked the computer switch to ‘on’ and picked up the headset. In less than a minute she was at work.

“Hello, this is Dr Seegers answering service, how may I help you?”

She typed in whatever was important in the callers concerns. If possible, she would then put the person on hold by moving the little arrow to the magic button on the screen, and then select a list of doctors, producing a click in her earphone, and then connect to the doctor, another magic button, and then connect them together, a third button. Of course the buttons weren’t real. The whole thing was like a game. Or she could tell the caller that the doctor was not available, and type out a message, and send the message. Maybe.

If she wasn’t able to answer by three beeps, the call automatically went to someone else. She could send the message, but most offices didn’t have a system to receive them. So she would have to call and leave a telephone message.

Dana wondered if Tirana had this yet. It was possible. “Hello, this is Dr Seegers answering service, how may I help you?”

“ Hi, this is Frank, could I talk to Dr Seegers nurse?” Sounded like a man.

“No, I’m afraid the office is closed. Can I take a message?”

“No, I’ve gotta be back on the boat. Is there anyone there I can talk to?”

The man with the voice sounded worried, and something about his voice made Dana hesitate. She had plenty of experience to suggest that voices could be as deceptive as whole personalities, but still…he sounds nice. I might be able to get the doctor on his car phone.

“Perhaps you can tell me what the problem is” she found herself saying, breaking all of her usual rules.

A week later, again at work. Dana got another call, but this time, the nice mans voice announced his name was Frank, and then asked immediately it she was the one he had spoken to.

“Yes, I think so” she answered, feeling a little skip of adrenaline. “Are you the fishing boat man? How did the prescription that Dr Seeger called in for you work out?”

“Great, I feel great and we’re back with about $60 thousand in scallops. And all because of you.”

“Well, I’m sure it was a lot a hard work, and glad your cough is better. I will certainly let Dr Seeger know”

“Actually, that’s not why I’m calling”

“How can I help you” Dana found herself repeating.

“Uh, well….er…I’d like to make a date with you”.

Dana smiled. She got lots of hits at 4C’s, but mostly from younger kids. And this guy, was his name Silva??….Frank she knew, he had been so worried about not being able to go fishing. A date; of course not!…but then, why not?

“You mean a social date? We aren’t allowed to socialize using company time”

“Ok, OK. How about just meeting for something to eat. Not dinner…how about lunch? Or I could pick you up, like after work”

“ I don’t get off from morning shifts until noon….she paused…and again, thought, why not? “We could meet for lunch on…Thursday…do you know Cookes Seafood, it’s right near the 4C’s campus?

“Oh sure, great. Hey, I take classes at 4C’s. I’m studying for my captain license. I know the place. Hey what time?”

“1 o’clock. 1 PM”. She thought quickly. “ I will wear a blue hat. How will I know you?”

“Blue hat. What goes with blue…how about I wear a green hat. OK, great, wow, OK. I’ll see you then. Blue hat…”

Dana clicked, the screen immediately showed the incoming calls menu. Carefully, she copied down the number on her scratch pad, and the name. Maybe I have done something stupid. No, not stupid. I am ready, ready to start to erase all those memories, never letting a feeling happen. I want to erase being fucked, I want to feel love. She realized, with a rush of something like panic, that she really couldn’t remember what it was like to make love with a lover. He sounds so nice. Her computer pinged softly. Another call. Would he smell a little like fish? She found herself hoping for yes.

Frank Soares was born April 1 1972. His sister was fond of pointing out that meant that in addition to being an Aires, he was a Water Rat in the Chinese system. She was a Virgo, and a Earth Dragon, and since she was his older sister, she ruled him like a Drakaina. Perhaps that was why Frank became known among women for being even tempered and agreeable.

Franks family on his fathers side had always fished. Papi immigrated from Cape Verde with his family in 1950. His mothers side, not so much. She is a member of the Mashpee Wompanaug tribe. Wompanaugs are hunters, gatherers , and now often farmers. Not so much fishing. Frank didn’t really believe all that stuff about horoscopes and even heredity. He was just good at fishing, so that’s what he did, starting with rowing his own skiff when he was 11.

After Falmouth HS, he moved out of his family home in Mashpee, and started fishing full time. He was on some lucky boats, long lining, scalloping, dragging. And was bright enough to realize that luck had little to do with it, what mattered was knowing about where to find fish. And the way to learn that was from the skipper of the boat you were on. ‘Make yourself useful and everyone is a teacher’, Papi used to say.

Frank was very useful, on a boat and on land. He was OK looking, he’d been told, and his mom had made very sure that he spent time with her elders, ‘learning to live clean’. The girls he knew in HS were often were willing to fool around, but always on the way to marriage. By the time he might have tried cocaine or speed as a way to burn the social candle at both ends, he had already witnessed, up close and personal, what drugs, or alcohol, could do. So he passed through the school of hard knocks that was Falmouth HS for a kid of mixed parents, avoiding the cliques of Native, and Cape Verdean kids. He fished.

Frank is 5 foot 10, tall for his family. His face was maybe a little wider than most Cape Verdean kids, and he was more like mahogany colored than black or red. Dark eyes, emphatic and mobile eyebrows, and relatively sparse facial hair. Several girls had told him his lips were the second best part. Out at sea, he uses lip balm to avoid chapping and cracking. Lucky for him, his teeth mostly take care of themselves. His number 8 was chipped slightly, an accident while he was serving.

Frank learned to shoot with his uncles. They hunted rabbits over small Podengo Pequeno dogs, and deer from tree stands. As part of his studies for his USCG Captain rating, he acquired a sidearm (Sig Sauer 220 6 mm) and a long gun (Remington .232), and became skilled in the use of the pistol.

❖

4/20/1997 Alex Lynch Daybook. If you are still walking with me, we are about half way down Water street, heading West. Beyond that it’s all MBL on the right, WHOI on the left, followed by a narrow open waterfront area protected by a sea wall about 4 feet above the high tide, with a dock and pumping station supplying sea water to the . MBL is short for Marine Biological Laboratory, by origin date the middle child of the scientific institutions. Further along, on the right in the space between Water Street and Eel Pond, all the buildings belong to MBL.

(4)Then, west of the MBL campus where Water Street ends and Albatross Street begins at a right angle, the scientific and administrative buildings of NOAA (or ‘The Fisheries’) front on the harbor, alongside the public access aquarium with its outstanding exhibits related to commercial fishing through the years.

On Albatross St, beyond the NOAA research building and aquarium on the Vineyard Sound side, you can look out along the Town Dock over the western part of Great Harbor towards Penzance Point that encloses Great Harbor, and separates the Sound from Buzzards Bay. Ahead across Albatross and to the north, the old residences are (with one exception) MBL residential buildings on the landward side. The land rises slightly. There are three private residences on the harbor side along Albatross,. The high point, is marked by Bar Neck Road taking off to the west, opposite the end of MBL street that has turned west and taken the name of North Street to meet it. In all directions from this intersection, land is lower. You can walk down Bar Neck road towards Penzance Point, where the family names are who’s whos. Once a shipyard building whaling ships, then a guano based fertilizer works, Penzance Point is now the protected property of the rich and retired. The men who began the build out of the Penzance community once commuted to Woods Hole on summer weekends aboard a train known as the Flying Dude. As Bar Neck road passes a parking lot that used to be the Breakwater Hotel, it returns to near high water level at the little Yacht Club building and a open space full of poison ivy, chinaberry, cat briar and other impenetrable rabbit habitat that used to be a tidal wash between Great Harbor and Buzzards Bay. Notice, (look right,) the seawall made of quarried granite blocks that was built to hold the land connection. The guard will let you walk out on Penzance, but will stop unauthorized cars or bicycles. Legend has it that MBL was offered the purchase of the whole of Penzance, but refused it as it being too far from the railway station.

Are you bored with all this detail? I want you to learn about life in the village, and like all coastal towns in the Eastern United States, a big part of our concern is about storms…winter Nor-Easters and Fall Hurricanes. The Devil is in the details of land and water.

❖

5/5/1997 1105 From his room in the Woods Hole Inn, Elvin Kokot dialed the number Charlotte had provided.

“West Lab, MBL, can I help you” It was a female voice with a familiar non native pronunciation.

“Yes, I am Dr Kokot, trying to reach Ms Elena Comescu”

“That me. Wow, your pronunciation is very good”

“ I am Romanian, maybe that is why”.

“Ah, and I am too”

“ Eu sunt incantat sa te cunosc”( I am pleased to meet you”)

“ La fel, And lets speak English…or I should say, American”

“Ah, so it’s fate that we should meet so far from home. I am working in Genomics. I understand you are too?” Elvin continued.

“Yes, I am a post-doc with Dr West. Are you here at MBL?” Elena replied. Although she was pleased, she was also a bit suspicious of men claiming special privilege.

“Well, yes, a Senior Visiting Scientist. Actually, that’s why I was calling. Your name came up as someone interested in genomics, specifically of keratin production. If this is true, I’d like to offer you coffee and ask some questions”

“Why not talk to my PI, Dr West. He is more senior.”

“Ah, but you trained in London, with Winchester in Biochem. Using mice”

Elena was now fully alert. How did he know all this? And why?

“Yes, I did study with Dr Winchester. He was my thesis advisor.” And it’s true, I did a project on keratin production in mice.

“And now you work with marine worms, Dr West’s specialty. I want to offer you an opportunity to work with mice AND worms…part time only. Please, lets meet to discuss it, just for coffee. I am staying at the Woods Hole Inn. Just pick a time”

Elena Adriana Comescu is 23, was born Roumanian in 1976 . She has sandy hair, a naturally pink mouth, and smile lines that form readily below her cheeks. She has a straight nose with some spread for the nostrils, and her eyebrows, the same color as her hair, stretch out across a broad face with widely spaced eyes that are a distinct bluegrey color. Her malar ridges are prominent, and give more depth to a face that tends towards the round.

Compared to Traian Vuia in dTimisoara , London Gatwick was huge, and the UCL campus in Bloomsbury was alive with people, walking, riding bicycles, hopping on and off busses that barely stopped and swayed perilously so that riding in their upper decks was like sailing in a storm, Kovac had phoned ahead to a small hotel across the street from UCL, and she was able to unpack and clean up enough to present herself at the Biochemistry department office on Gower Street.

“Please, I am here to work with Professor Winchester”, Elena said to the imposing woman who peered up at with a severe expression..

“And who may I ask are you, Miss”…..

“Comescu, Elena.”

“Ah. And you say you are here to work with the Prof?”

“Yes, I have the letter here.”

Nervously, Elena passed the much creased and folded letter to Patricia Beasley, WRNS (ret). She seemed almost as scary as the Customs agents had been.

It was their first meeting. Three years later, as she came to say goodbye, they both laughed at their shared memory

“ I thought you were a schoolgirl, looking for a summer job”, recalled Patty.

“ And I thought you might eat me right up”, Elena said, smiling at the memory.

“Well DOCTOR Comescu, now you are a graduate, and going off for your Postdoctoral work, do I still appear to have anthropophagic tendencies?”

“No, and I do know what that means, thanks to your help with English. How can I ever thank you and the Prof enough?”

“Well, a letter, or one of those new email thingys would be sufficient I should think. An invitation to your Nobel Prize lecture, of course”

❖

5/7/1997 1000 Elena stopped at the front desk of the Woods Hole Inn, a little unsure about protocol. The desk was a well proportioned and kept table, and there was no one at it. In Romania, it would not be proper to visit a man in a hotel room , not any time of day. Would whoever came give her one of those looks? Perhaps she should just walk in. There was a little nickel plated push bell, and after a moment of indecision, Elena pushed it. Immediately she heard footsteps in the nearby room, and a woman appeared. She was smiling, a scarf holding back somewhat unruly looking blond-grey hair, and was holding an old fashioned feather duster.

“May I help you?”, asked the woman. “I’m Charlotte, and I think you work for Steve West”, she continued. ”I guess you’re here for Dr E…I suggested he talk to somebody in Dr West’s lab, so I guess you are somebody. Oh, don’t worry, my other job is Librarian at MBL, that how I already know something about you”.

“Oh, well, yes, I am here to see Mr Elvin Kokot. I am Elena Comescu”, responded Elena. The woman’s smile was infectious. Elena guessed she might be fifty, old. Her tension loosened a bit. She didn’t feel so much the stranger.

“Sure, Dr E’s in room..unh…6, and I think he’s even there. We don't have a switchboard; why don’t you just go up and knock?. We aren’t that formal here, as you’ve probably guessed”

“OK, thanks”, replied Elena. Yes, Woods Hole was a small town for sure, but it is 10 AM on a cold winter day, and how many people could even know I have come? But what is this place. The woman was already turning away.

“If you don’t mind, is this like…well, a hotel, or more like…” Elena stumbled over the words.

“A boarding house?,” replied the woman, pausing in her escape. “Oh, we’re always informal, but in summer you can order food from the Kidd, and they’ll sometimes deliver…and we can serve cokes and stuff..For longer term guests like Dr E and in winter, we give a special rate. Would you be interested in a room?”

“Well, not for myself, not now. But if friends come….it seems nice here.”

“Well, Dr E is here since last year , so I guess he likes it”, replied the woman. “Excuse me, gotta get back to work.”

Upstairs, Elena walked down the hall on a carpet that was perhaps valued as much for its being threadbare as having an old looking floral design. An antique. It reminded her of homes in Timisoara, where they had lived, studied, and been at least somewhat happy. The dark mood swirled around her again, flavored with some bitters. The darkness is always there, she thought. It’s testing, waiting. It wants me to fail.

She reached the door, at the end of the hall, labeled with its original black on white oval ceramic number 6. She knocked. Waited, her mood insinuating itself, memories of other doors, other waitings. Then the inspection peephole darkened, and a moment later Elvin opened the door.

“Come in, come in” He was dressed a bit formally for Woods Hole, and the Harvard necktie looked appropriate on him. He was wearing a yellow sleeveless sweater, over a white shirt with rolled up cuffs, and jeans. “Or would you rather go out for coffee?”

“No, this is good, thank you. You wanted to talk?”

“Yes, and I wanted it to be just between us, at least at this point.” He smiled. She came into the room, now careful and on guard, until she saw that she was actually in an office kind of room, with a desk and chair near the window, and a small couch and two chairs with a coffee table forming a conversational area.

A window looked out over Coffee O, and a second room, the bedroom she supposed, was to the right, and thus probably overlooked the intersection of School and Water Streets.

“Nice, isn’t it”, remarked Elvin. It was just the impression, reassurance and affluence, that he had hoped to create by taking a suite. There was only one in the Inn. The Innkeeper had warned him it might be a little noisy during the day, as crowds coming or going on the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard milled around at this main..really the only, village intersection. But during winter, when he wanted the suite, the location and the price were both right. And it meant he could meet in confidence and without the too suggestive bed in the room.

“Yes,” said Elena. The curtains, the furniture, even the lighting were…nice. The word nice in English meshed well with her two other languages.

“Sit down, sit down”. Elvin made a small but expansive gesture, and Elena walked across the area rug and sat in one of the chairs. It was woven of some kind of fiber. The couch, a few feet away looked to be leather, a little worn but comfortable looking.

“ I just put on some water; would you like tea or coffee. Or orange juice?.” On the inner wall, in the corner, there was a small fridge and on a shelf over it a hot plate, a small sink, and two pots. 'Nice', thought Elena again. 'I should find out how much this costs. And if the other rooms have this.'

“So, of course you wonder what this is about”, Elvin said as he walked back with her Earl Grey tea and a cup for himself. “Don't worry, I don't bite my business associates!”

“Well, I assume it has to do with the work you want to do, and the collaboration you mentioned the other day.” They had met for coffee, but not talked of specifics. He had asked many questions about her previous Genomics work. This meeting was for the specifics.

“Yes, exactly”. Elvin paused while he sat down. “Are you good? Milk and sugar right over there if you want it. What do you think about doing some work together on a new project, one very much related and perhaps quite exciting?” He flashed an animated grin.

“Well, you were very excited when we got to discussing my project on adhesion in sea worms”, Elena laughed as she replied, “That’s unusual, usually friends go to sleep then in my story.”

“I can’t believe any scientists would ever go to sleep during one of your stories” replied Elvin. Elena looked quickly at him as he finished; he was gazing down at his cup. Perhaps he was just testing her.

“Well, they do,” she replied forcing another short laugh.

“In any case, yes I was excited, and I still am. Chaetoptorus, the tube worm, yes. And you are close to having all the genes, many of the proteins, isn't that true? Good science always excites me.”

As he finished, Elvin looked up, directly at her now. A lurid fantasy of naked Elena waiting on an unmade bed bloomed briefly, leaving a bright emotional tint to his expression. With practiced care, he let the thought flare for a fraction of a second, and then mentally moved it to stage left, giving it a little push out of his mind. Elena could be very important to him , much more important as a scientist than as a potential conquest.

“Yes”, he covered his own fantasy. “You can see I am excited, but it’s about the science, I assure you.”

“OK”, said Elena. “What’s so exciting?” Actually, she thought, many of the genes have been identified already by Steve’s lab or others all over the world.

“Elena”, Elvin said carefully, “we are both very much the same. You are a visitor here, yes?” She nodded. “And I am a visitor too, did you know that?”

“Well”, said Elena, “I’ve heard the talk…”

“Yes, they probably say things, those administrators and lab directors. I think they envy my freedom of movement. And I really did post-doctoral work at Harvard. I just didn’t want to follow the herd and scrabble for NIH grants at, to be blunt, crap wages. So I went to the dark side, I worked for Big Pharma, it’s true. And I know they say I have a lot of corporate money to spend. That’s even partly true. The Limulus Foundation is funding my work at MBL. We also fund work at WHOI”

“No”, said Elena, I didn’t know that last part. What exactly is Limulus?“

“What, the animal or the foundation?”

“Well, I asked Steve about the name, and he told me about the animal…it’s a ancient animal, not even a crab, more a spider; not exactly a romantic kind of beast…like Chiron, or …”

“Yes, a trilobite like animal, related to spiders. And did Dr West tell you about the eyes of Limulus? It’s one reason we know so much about vision. Like the squids, and their giant axons. Or your Chaetopterus worm, it’s been important for cell biology, yes?”

Elena smiled; he seems quite passionate. “OK, so an important animal, a symbol of persistence perhaps. What about the Limulus Foundation? I’ve never heard of it.”Whatever this was about, he isn’t hitting on me. Or, she reflected, if he is, there is always a wife, she reflected a little sourly. Even Steve West..

“Ah yes”. Elvin sipped his tea. “Right to the point. I’ve been in touch with Foundation top management. We invest in science; we pay well, and we expect to be re-paid well in turn. Privately held; don’t look for us on the stock exchange. Anyway, we want to fund a little project that you could be involved in. It would take a little bit of your time, and because of that we would provide funding that would be in addition to the fellowship that you receive already at MBL.”

Elena frowned, shaking her head. “But my fellowship specifies that…”

“Ah, ah ah!!. Your Friendship Fellowship from NIH specifies that all your work at MBL must be carried out under the Fellowship aegis. But if you look carefully at the paperwork, you will see that it does not prohibit paid work at another institution.”

“You mean…”

“You would do the work officially at WHOI, as my research associate. At MBL, we would just be collaborators, no extra pay. I am a Research Associate, and you are a post doctoral fellow. But we all know that science goes on all the time, it’s your life, isn’t it?”

“Yessss..”, replied Elena. “So, what you say is I would be paid extra for doing work , not officially at MBL…?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“…but the work might not…actually.. might be at WHOI ..?”

“Exactly!”, Elvin interrupted. He sat forward a bit. “All I am saying is that I think your ideas on the control of adhesion proteins, and keratin protein deposition, all the work that you are doing really, is important. I think you have creative ideas. I don’t think that the very nice Dr Steve West is quite as supportive as you deserve. The project I want to work on would extend that work quite a bit. In some important directions. And you have a grant based on financial assumptions that are, well… out of date…and…”

“You can say that again!”, exclaimed Elena. The supposedly elite fellowship barely paid enough to rent a single room.

“…you deserve more, and Limulus Foundation can provide that”, finished Elvin.

“Hmm. I’ll have to know a little bit more. And of course, it would have to be OK with Dr West”…replied Elena.

Elvin smiled. He sat back. “Ask any questions”, he said. “Then we could go for lunch. Maybe the Captain Kidd? Of course I will talk with your Dr Steve West. And tomorrow we could get started on a work plan…and you could be making $2000 a month , maybe even more.

❖

7/14/1997 Steve was halfway along Water street. The tourists were still flocking, and he generally tuned out their chatter. Then he heard a female voice calling his name from close behind. It was Elena, his most recent post-doctoral student.

Elena Comescu… kom-ess-cue … really pretty in an understated way, he thought. Her face was symmetric, almost roundish, her eyebrows were unplucked and a bit bushy. Her nose seemed elegantly long to him, with a little bulk towards the nostrils. Her mouth, perhaps naturally pink, seemed always about to smile. Her tawny blonde hair was usually up in some knot or french braid, even sometimes in what she had told him was ‘old lady look, a babuska; for keeping out of cooking pot, and also good for cooking DNA too’, she had joked.

Elena had been a bit of a gamble on his part. She had just finished up a degree at UC London, where he had done a Postdoctoral years ago. Her professor, Westinghouse, was a well known genomic biochemist, and a friend of his own old ‘boss’. The letter he had received with both their signatures was quite glowing about her knowledge of new biology. Also, she came with money. It was something new from NIH called a Friendship Fellowship, enough to live on and with 40% for overhead, meaning he could use it to support the lab. And it was for 3 years, dependent on documented progress, but still, much better than the usual 1 year. And worth the gamble, so far.

“Hi Elena”, Steve replied.

“Yo, dude!” As he turned Elena continued “ Is that right, like, American?”, her expression now slightly concerned.

“ ‘Dude’, well, it’s a little on the familiar side”, he replied with amusement.

“ I learned last night, at the movie. ’She Gotta Have It’, I think. By Lee, Spike”

Steve laughed. Elena always amused him. “If Spike Lee says so, you can call me ‘Dude’ any time. So what’s happening?”

“ I am walking to work”, Elena replied, taking the salutation literally. “ Hey, did my new collaborator Dr Kokot get in touch?”

“No, although I met a guy recently with the name. Some kind of visitor. About my age?”

“Yes, nice guy. He’s interested in genomics. We might collaborate on some stuff. Ok to collaborate, yes?

“Oh sure, Post-docs are encouraged to do collaborations. What’s his name again, maybe I should call him, or he can call me. Just ask him to give me a call sometime”

Elena’s family moved to Timisoara in the north of Romania. Timisoara is north of the Carpathian Mountains, a natural demarcation that once defined different peoples. The dictator Nicolae Ceausescu was not interested in places far away from Bucharest. Her father was able to use forged papers created by an uncle, to get a job as a teacher at UPT, a Polytechnic Elena entered the UPT in the Licenta program at age 16 using papers that made her 18. She finished there in 1993, and began working as a tech in a lab working on genetics of mice. During the spring she attended a lecture by Professor Marjan Kovac, a Slovenian who had trained in Biophysics at UC London in the laboratory of a Nobel Laureate. Elena arranged to meet with him the next day for breakfast at the Savoy Hotel nearby. Kovac confessed, with a laugh, that he had forged his own papers to enter university in Lubliana at age 16. He was excited about the possibility of helping her leave Romania and attend University in London.

❖

10/12/1997 Frank turned into the oyster shell driveway of their little house in West Dennis He liked to hear the crunch of the tires on the shells. Maybe some of them were from oysters I helped harvest. Too bad Dana didn’t like raw oysters; he could eat ‘em all day. His headlights showed the garage door was shut, so likely she was already at home.

Inside Dana heard the scrunch of wheels too. She continued putting the goulasch into the oven, and then headed towards the front door. She passed the refrigerator, and stopped, opened the door, and pulled out a Rolling Rock beer. It was largely symbolic, but Frank seemed to like finding her with his beer in her hands.

“Hi honey, here I am again” Frank said as he opened the door and saw her standing there.

Dana was already smiling, and let it bloom into a grin. Actually, like all fishing spouses, she was relieved. Not a particularly risky time of year, but still, she had heard enough of the stories. They were unpleasantly like the stories of disappearances she remembered from her childhood in Albania.

Fishing near Durres was not easy, but it was rarely dangerous. The fish there were small, caught in small nets. The danger was from people, from politics. Not fish. On Cape Cod, men were going out in small boats hunting fish 5 times heavier than them, spearing them, hooking them, hauling them into their boats where the fish, with huge swords, were as dangerous as enemies on a battle field. I’ve had seen Frank’s friends with only 4 fingers. They limp and stumble like old men, their hands are too battered to close. They feel a storm coming. And they keep on, in the winter, hacking ice off the boats railings and ropes, in water that could kill you within minutes. Whole boats were swept away and never found. But here he is, warm and strong and loving and mine!

“Hello darling!! I was just thinking, how lucky I am to have you. Look, I have your favorite beer, isn’t it?”

“ It’s you I want, not a beer!” Frank said, taking a step towards her. Knowing she hated any kind of violence, he paused, although his impulse was to hug her hard.

Dana laughed. Backing up a step, she held out her right hand with one finger playfully raised, and turned slightly to put the beer on a small table. Then, she turned back, opened her arms, and welcomed him in.

And as she relaxed in his embrace, that gnawing pain in her right pelvis growled and bit. Why?

Frank loved Dana’s smell. Particularly after work, or when she had been working in the garden. He knew some of it was her perfume, something called ‘Woman’, but so much of it was her. And he was also aware that she really didn’t like the smell of fish. Which made it even more special that she hugged him hard. He had to laugh.

‘What, whaaat, why are you laughing?” Dana said, still face pressed against his chest.

“You’re holding your breath, honey. I can feel it. It’s OK to breathe, just breathe through your mouth. And I’ll take a shower. Didn’t want to waste anytime using the shower at the Cooperative.”

Dana leaned back, laughing herself now. He’s funny and sweet and I’m so lucky. “OK, I just put the dinner in the oven, It’s goulasch, I know you like that, right?”

“Oh yeah, just the thing. Now gimme that beer, and start me a shower and I’ll put my clothes right in the washing machine.”

Dana watched him go. She gave a slight sigh. I really am a lucky woman.With the job at MBL in Woods Hole, everything is perfect. The pain growled again.

❖

6/2/1998 1100 Outside Mass General Hospital in Boston, Frank was waiting in the old truck. He had sold her car, and her savings, and his, were gone as well. Without insurance, the hospital had been coldly firm about payment, with half in advance, for the operation that would remove the cancer and her right ovary. She and Frank now knew much more than either had wanted to know about female human anatomy. The doctors called it Ovarian Cancer IA. It was just luck I felt some pain. OMG, the tests cost so much money. And the medicines,’just in case’ she had taken before and after the surgery. The operation, and of course infection, and so more days in hospital, all costing more and more. Dana stood up from the wheel chair, said thanks to the health care worker, and turned to wave at Frank.

“Hi Babe, wait just a minute, I’ll come help”

“ No darling, I am quite OK. See, I open the door just fine.”

Dana closed the door. The old truck had no seat belt alarm anyway. The new truck had been returned to the dealer. Frank pumped the gas pedal, engaged the manual gearshift, and the truck lurched forward.

Frank told her about the latest fishing and she told him of the generally unattractive food and that Marta had come for a visit. Mostly they were silent.

“Got into a bunch of mussels last week,” Frank said.

“Oh good darling. Do they sell well?”

“Nah, not like quahogs or oysters. But still, every little bit helps, right.?”

“Right”, Dana replied. ‘OMG, how will we ever pay it all off. How can we keep our beautiful little house? Will I have enough strength to keep up with the work I had just started at MBL?.

Frank took his right hand off the wheel, and reached gently to touch her upper left thigh. “What counts is your health”, he said. “The rest, that’s just what happens. So don’t worry. A few more tuna next season, and we can pay off anything. Trust me”

“OK, darling” Dana replied. She touched his hand, hugged his arm. ‘I have to believe it will really all be ok’, she thought

❖

02/10/1999 1430 The Director of the Marine Biological Laboratory leaned forwards to be sure he was reading the screen correctly. He had been scanning through the listing of research reports, the biannual required brief summaries of research in progress in all of the labs within MBL. And now his attention was jolted out of its semi-attentive read-the-boring-stuff mode.

Who the hell was Elvin Kokot, and what was this poster included in the West Lab section? ‘Senior Visiting Research Associate’? And the title‘Exons shared by Chaetopterus sp. and D2B6F1mammal’. Authors; Comescu, Elena; Lev Stern; and Elvin Kokot . But D2B6F1 was a genetically modified mouse. Mouse work? Not what West’s lab was supposed to be doing, not at all!.

The Director started to shout into the next room, but remembered just in time that Dana, his new executive assistant, did not like that. Says it reminds her of Albania. Poor kid, she’d had enough trauma, a recent operation and all, didn’t need more from me. Besides, I should be practicing with the intercom function on the new telephone. Damm expensive enough.

The Director leaned forwards, and depressed the right hand switch button on the base of the new electronic telephone. He could hear a chime ring twice in the other room. And almost immediately, and without a sound, Dana Albu appeared in the open doorway separating her reception area from his larger inner office.

The Director had his usual pleasant amazement at how striking she looked. She looks a little too thin now, of course even more attractive. Her husband was nice enough. Some kind of brown guy, local, maybe from the Azores?

“Dana, can you get me the file on”…he looked back at the screen..”Dr Elvin Kokot?”

“Certainly Sir. Do you want the grey file or the blue?”The grey files were the ones that had all the information needed for grant applications, or public relations releases. They held the official CV’s, the published papers. The blue files, part of what his older previous secretary from Chicago has said was called a Farley File, were less formally organized. They were not available to anyone except the Director or his staff. They were where any personal, unofficial or possibly harmful not generally known information was kept.

“Both”, said the Director. “And both files on…Elena Comsomething and anything on Lev Stern, maybe at WHOI, Post Doc or something…and Dr Steve West. Elena Comwhosis is in his lab. All their names are on my screen right now”.

“Yes Sir”. Dana smiled, turned, and walked the 7 steps back to her desk. The desk was empty; the computer monitor swung out from a mounting, and the keyboard pulled out from below. She loved emptiness. The computer screen blinked and a small beep emerged from the electronics under her desk. The file locations were presented on the screen. Within a few minutes, the Director had all seven items, three blue folders and four grey on his desk.

“Thanks”, said the Director, turning from the screen where he had continued to scan through the long list of project reports he was required to review and sign off. As Dana walked away from the desk, she was pleased not to feel him watching her legs. She had made a special effort to dress, to walk, even to think in a way that she and Frank felt would make her look all business.

OK, thought the Director. The blue file on Elena Comescu, the Romanian Post-Doc, was empty except for a local address and the notation ‘single, F1 visa.’. Her grey file had more in it. So she was Romanian. Right near Albania, where Dana came from. Coincidence? She had trained at UCL, in London, and was here on a three year Friendship award from NIH. There was a penciled in marginal note, ‘Limulus Fund ?’ Wonder what that means. Hmmm. Elena was unmarried, and that could be a problem, but her major advisor was Steve West. The man was a climber, typical of his race, but not an obvious bad guy. A total pain in the ass on the modernization committee. Hmm. Elena’s research proposals were detailed and technical, and one of the reprints was from Journal of Cell Biology, with Steve West as PI. All about sea-worm genomics. But where was that poster with Kokot and the ‘mammal’ reference?

West’s files were both more informative, thick with years of reporting. Living separately from a wife, no kids. Hmm, better remember that, no wife in the house. And his name wasn’t on the damm mouse project anyway…but it was his lab! And he was certainly outspoken when he disagreed with what was clearly my administrative policy.

The Director turned to the grey file with the name Kokot, Elvin on the tab. It was thick, but most of that, on the left hand side, was the boiler plate of agreements. All the papers were there, but the last page, with the signatures, had a stamp at the bottom that said simply ‘electronically signed’. That was a little weird. So, had Dr Kokot actually signed any intellectual property assignment paperwork?

He skimmed through the pages. Here..something called Limulus Foundation. That name again…wasn’t that handwritten into Comsomething’s file? What the hell was ‘Limulus Foundation’ ?

He opened the blue file on Dr Elvin Kokot. There is was, Limulus Foundation…a source of his funding. And he was apparently a member of their Board!! And he was listed as a Visiting Scientist at WHOI!. ‘That’s a little unusual,’ thought the Director. Ok, here it was, ..’Study of mouse genomics in relation to keratin production’ Funny, no internal review. He remembered, it was not required for Research Associates. And this Stern fellow, he definitely wasn’t MBL. He opened the last folder, new, with a single note, again in Dana’s handwriting, ‘Postdoc at WHOI, Bothelo Lab, Advanced Marine Mammal Genomics Project.That was all.

The Director frowned. Was the project this Dr Kokot was doing, apparently with two Post-Docs, legitimate? He’d have to check. The whole business was a little out of the ordinary. He raised his right hand to press the button for Dana, but then hesitated. Why bother her with this? Tell them to make an appointment to explain what they are doing. Leave the Postdoc’s along for now. Send West one of those memos by computer..email. If anything was going on, I need to know. Could West possibly be actually pulling something like Chicago? ? No, Dr West was just an annoyance, full of ‘good ideas’ about improving diversity. Diversity meaning more people like him, unable to keep up with real superiority. Always complains about not getting enough support funds. He stabbed the RET button. Selected ‘e-mail’ from the choices. That’s it, that’ll make them know who’s boss here.

❖

2/10/1999 Dana was near the front hallway when the doorbell rang. Generally she preferred Frank to answer, and he didn’t seem to mind. Usually it was people selling something. Their friends all called before coming, especially since her operation. This time, she put down the small stack of magazines she had tidied up, and opened the door herself.

“O Doumne! “ (OMG!). The words were expelled from her throat before she could catch and stuff them back in.

“Honey, are you OK?”, Frank spoke from the couch in the living room down the hall behind her. Concerned by her voice, he rose and came towards the door.

“OK” she said, her voice a little high pitched. She continued to look at the man who stood under the entry light. Mihai.

“Hello Ms Dana”, Mihai said with a big smile. He thrust a bunch of daffodils forward. “Is your husband home? I thought I would pay you both a visit. Congratulations, you know. And maybe a little business. The Company, you know” This last was said in a lower tone. Perhaps to not be heard in the living room. Frank appeared in the passageway.

Dana found her voice. “Oh yes, yes come in. I don’t think you know my husband, Frank. Frank darling, this is Mihai. He was my boss at work, you know, in Boston”

Frank was still holding the National Fisherman magazine he had been looking at open and dangling from his left hand. Work in Boston?, he thought, So this guy was part of the Albanian gang? His expression changed from open welcome, to closed caution.

“Mister Meehy , I don’t….” Frank started to say.

“Please, just plain Mee-High, no ‘Mister’! I can see you are all settled in, and don’t worry, I won’t be here long. Dana and I have been associates for several years. Just wanted to congratulate you on your good fortune. Dana is a real treasure.”

“Well, thank you. I guess…honey, are you up for a visit…?”

Dana, heart pulsing fast, did not feel up for much at the moment, but she above all did not want anything that would upset Mihai, keep him in her house one minute longer. Marta may have become part of the Company, and a loyal soldier, but this is too much. She had managed to forget the mixture of fear and loathing that she felt for this man. Now It had all come crashing back. What I really want is for Frank to slam the damm flowers back in his teeth and throw him out the door. There!!

Dana took a breath and said “Of course, I am fine. Come in, come in. Sit down, please. Right in here. I will go find something for the flowers. How beautiful. Can I get you something. Coffee? Tea? Beer? We don’t have any wine. Apple juice?”

“No, nothing, please. I’ll just sit down for a moment, get to know your husband a little.“ He handed the flowers to her, and confidently started down the hall, motioning Frank ahead. In the living room, Mihai hovered with a smile on his face, and then came around to sit in the chair Frank indicated. It was cream colored, with a pattern of little flowers, and was plump but not overstuffed. It matched the couch.

Mihai settled into the chair. He did not like to sit facing away from the door, but here it was unavoidable. The room was small. It was neat. He liked all that. Marta’s report had been accurate.

“Well” said Frank. “Here we are!”. What does one say to a mobster, he was thinking. Maybe he likes sports. “What do you think of those Redsocks?”, he said. “I’m more of a hockey fan, the Bruins you know.”

“Oh yes, I ‘m more of a Patriots man. But I suppose you are busy with the fishing anyway, no time for sports, yes?”

“Did Dana tell you that?”

“Oh no, no, I suppose it was her friend, and mine, Ms Marta”

“Yeah, her friend….Marta” There was a silence.

“Honey, you OK?” Frank called towards the kitchen, keeping is eyes on Mihai ‘This old friend stuff is bullshit. I don’t like this guy’

Dana appeared in the archway that demarcated the kitchen. A quick drink of water and a damp towel over her face, and she felt better. She put the flowers, now in a vase, on the small bookshelf. There was no question this was NOT a social visit. The only question was what…did he want?’ She thought back, trying to remember exactly what Marta had said.

She walked over and sat, pulling a folding chair ostentatiously close to Frank. Her feet and knees were close together, although she was wearing a pair of jeans. Without thinking about it, she crossed her arms, and then. remembering things about office psychology she had learned at 4C’s, uncrossed them.

“How are you, Mihai?” she said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.’ I will pretend that this is an interview for a job. Perhaps in some way it is,’ she felt with a little cold prickle along her spine.

“Very well. Such a pretty little house. Have you been here long?”

“Since we were married, about a year ago. It’s small, but it’s ours. And the bank, of course.”

“Yes, small. Housing is so expensive on the Cape. I have a little place myself, over in New Seabury. Not much larger than this”

Frank glanced quickly at Dana. Both of them knew the cost of ‘little places’ in New Seabury. So, presumably, did Mihai.

“So, I don’t want to keep you up. I came to congratulate, and also to make a business offer,” Mihai continued, clearly having taken in their exchange.

“We dont want your business!!” Frank blurted out.

“ Darling, please,” Dana intervened. She turned back toward Mihai. “Please excuse my husband. What he means is that he makes enough fishing, and with my secretarial work, we are quite comfortable”.

“No offense”, said Mihai. “I’m so glad you make a good income. Let me guess; Frank you probably make about twenty-five thousand, and dear Dana, a little more perhaps, so shall we say a family total of $52,400, approximately of course?”

Dana and Frank both glanced towards each other. On the IRS forms, their income was listed as $52,405. ‘ What the hell? ‘thought Frank. ‘Of course he knows already’, thought Dana.

“Yes,” Mihai continued, smiling slightly, “and I believe that the family debt, at least Ms Dana’s share of it, is about $160,000…give or take? The operation, the unkind insurance. . I am so very sorry. I think Marta brought you a little treat when you were in hospital”

“How the hell…” Frank began to sit forward. Dana put a hand on his right arm.

“All right Mihai. You’ve made your point. What’s your business offer?”she said.

“Ah, that’s the Dana I remember. Does Frank know all about your abilities in business ? Perhaps not? Well, you see Frank, your wife is an accomplished business woman. So I will cut to the point.” Mihai nudged himself forward in the chair. Spread open hands.

“How would you like to have no debt? I mean, your medical bills. All paid, gone away?”

“What kind of crap…” blurted Frank. Dana tightened her grip

“Yes” she said. “ I would like that.”

“And you can have that, as a part of the deal. No money, no taxes, no debt. ”

“Yes”, Dana replied, aware that her voice might tremble a bit. She was working on regaining that interview persona Mihai’s casual conversation had chased away. “And what do we do in return”

“Oh, not much. Ms Dana, we are delighted in your choice of jobs. The Marine Biological Laboratory in Woods Hole, what a prestigious place to work. And I believe you work for the Director?”

“Yes, yes I do. And I will tell you right now, I won’t do anything illegal, and nothing to hurt them and…and..well nothing like that”

“No, no, of course not. We have a strong interest in keeping things going well at the MBL. But sometimes even Directors can get into trouble. We just want to know what is going on there. Everything that is going on there. Can you do that?”

“ But why…how…” Dana was genuinely confused. What could The Company possibly want from her information about the Director

“Ah, you don’t have to know the ‘why’. Just a report by phone each week. Just an informal summary. Names, events, things like that. How about it?”

Dana was confused, uncertain. There must be some hook and for $160,000 it had to be a big one. But what?

“And what else, please?” , she said.

“Frank, I understand you have recently gotten your rating as as Captain. Congratulations. The Company would like you to help bring a ship from Europe to America. To Woods Hole in fact. You know the waters, and there are problems with the sandbars apparently. We need someone like you. Not often. So why not keep it in the family? “

Dana, already shaky, felt actually faint. Mihai was recruiting her husband to operate the same kind of boat that had brought her to America. She shuddered, took a deep breath. Frank, feeling her tremble, looked at her with concern. She took another breath, squeezed his arm in what she hoped would seem like reassurance, and soldiered on.

“Could you do that, darling?” asked Dana, turning to her husband but not quite ready to meet his eyes yet. Frank, realizing something had deeply affected her but unsure what replied to them both.

“Sure, sure I could do that. But why; plenty of well qualified captains out there…”

“Yes, yes, but you are our first choice” replied Mihai. “Good, good. You see, The Company wants to continue our friendship. Your needs are not your faults. Everyone wins.” He paused sat back in his chair. Across from him, he saw with satisfaction, two very confounded people, eyes to each other, sorting out their feelings. He waited for the inevitable decision.

This is not the end of this, thought Dana.

“It’s a deal”, said Frank.

❖

6/12/1999 0945 Steve West answered the knock on the lab door. Standing in the hall was the scientist that Elena was told him about, that he had seen having coffee with her once..

“Hi Dr West. I think you remember me, Elvin Kokot here. Just thought I would drop by to have a word with you.”

“If you are looking for Elena, she’s over on the Vineyard today, being a tourist.”

“Yes, I know that. I thought it would be good if we talked.”

“And we have talked…remember, when you first started the project with Elena”.

“Yes, of course. Perhaps you recall that after we discussed our support for Elena, I mentioned further support as a possibility.”

“OK, hey, come on in. We can talk over the other side of the lab. Do you want coffee”

“No, just finished some. Nice set up you have. Is that a sequencer? “

“Yes, got that on an NIH grant. Fisher Scientific. Already given us more data that the old one could produce running full time for a year.”

“Good, good. And good that you have a nice place to just sit down and talk. Not so easy to write that into a grant, but essential for real team work. So, can you spare a moment to hear my thought?”

“Sure”, said Steve. He sat down in one of the chairs, Elvin took another. From their seats, they had a view out over Great Harbor. The sun was already behind the building, but there was plenty of indirect light.

‘OK’, Elvin continued, “as you know, Dr Comescu has been doing a little project with me, for, well, over a year now.”

“Yeah, sure. She talked to me about that. The money is very nice. And she likes working with you, she says. As long is it doesn’t take too much of her time. You guys are determining which exons might be common to marine worms and mice, is that right?.”

“Exactly. As you know, Elena worked with mice during her stay in London. She is quite expert in this area. And now she knows much more about marine annelids. So it’s a chance for her to spread her wings a bit, so to say.”

Steve wondered where is this going?. He had plenty of experience with white people stumbling because they felt he might not understand what they were asking. This guy has a little color, but still. Best to ask

‘Dr Kokot, Elvin, are you trying to tell me something new? I’m listening”

“Well, yes, Dr West. I wanted to check in. Elena and I and Lev at WHOI have pretty much finished our work. It could not have happened without you. We spoke once of you becoming a consultant.

‘Well, if it benefits Elena, maybe that would be OK.” ‘and what will I have to do. Meet stockholders? Write Reports? Be the black guy? ‘“How much was the honorarium again?”

“We are used to providing around a thousand a month to our consultants.”

“Well, I could certainly use that. And what would I be expected to do?”

“Nothing more than you do already. You are Elenas supervisor. Without you, her work with us would be impossible. No reason why you should not receive some direct benefit.”

“And the paperwork for this…”

“Done. Just a simple signature saying you agree to be a consultant.”

“Well, I’ll have to think about it a bit”

“Please do. I’ll just leave a copy of the one page agreement we use. Here. And let me know. I’ll be glad to pick it up if you decide to accept the offer. This is my card, my phone number. And, by the way, the honorarium will be as a certified check. We do not report such expenditures by individual. Entirely up to you whether you list it as income.”

❖

6/2/1998 0915 Steve arrived from his usual walk, Buzzards Bay Avenue, left on School Street and arriving at Pie in the Sky by 7 o’clock if he wanted conversation with the Breakfast Club. Today he had arrived at 8, for take out coffee, and then on down Water Street to the MBL. He preferred walking to the bike. And either to a car. In the summer, there was no parking anyway for most of the day. As usual, he headed for the main door to Lilly building, on MBL street. In case the other doors were still locked. He was black.

‘What crap’ Steve thought briefly, as he strode across the hall and turned into the right hand corridor. ‘The idea that with a PhD, a house, a car, a wife, and I could still be strip searched on suspicion of burglary.’ It was more than annoying, and now he came past the blown up photos about how great the MBL was. ‘Like King Midas’, he continued to muse, ‘everything Admin touched turned to gold…into money that is. Or at least, it’s all they think about.’ He searched his mind briefly for a better myth…Croesus…Solomon, hmmm. At the same time, he habitually scanned the titles of the posters further along on the corridor wall; the projects completed and presented at conferences by the labs behind the still silent early morning doors. These posters had formidable titles, graphs and sober conclusions. Results, He had nothing against results, or bragging about success. It was just the rush to make money. ‘Or maybe’, he thought as he lunged up the stairs, took another look out at the harbor, and continued towards the second floor and his own lab, ‘its just jealousy. Over a year ago this guy , Alvin Kokot, came by looking for Elena. Kokot was a Visiting Investigator, he complained about administrators and money too. ‘And Elena told me he is making $100,000 a year with bonuses for writing papers and grants. And I am going to be broke and out of a job if I don’t get our grant written this week’. He keyed the newly installed lock, and shoved through the door into the overcrowded one room laboratory.

The labs in Crane really were very much the same as they had been when marine biology was about men in stock collars and women in long full skirts sitting on stools and watching arbacia or fundulus eggs divide. Steve’s lab today was full of beeping alarms and winking lights on machines that looked like computerized kitchen equipment. There was still some ordinary lab glassware, but most of the actual experiments were done with microdot arrays and chromatographs of various kinds. ‘Expensive kinds’, thought Steve as he shucked off the red kayaking paddle jacket he was wearing and turned to hang it behind the door. ‘We’ve come a long way down Von Leeuwenhoek’s path’, he thought.His gaze has strayed across the wall, with the cutout photographs and drawings taped in some disorder. Krebs, Bohr, Huxley, probably, definitely Szent Gyorgi when he was on his game, and Einstein…well… HE was in a different class. The famous photograph of Einstein with his tongue out looked back at him. Next to it was a photocopy of the first and last page of the little paper on Brownian motion, where Einstein derived Avogadro’s number…a true Q.E.D of the power of his thought.

As he turned from the door, and flicked on the light switch, something on a newer Formica bench across the room caught his attention. A small fidgety movement. It looked like…Steve walked rapidly around the central work table and could look directly in the cramped space remaining in front of the bench. A mouse!!

Aware that something had changed, the mouse darted away across the smooth surface of the bench, it’s tiny claws making an barely audible scratching noise as they scrabbled for a grip. The mouse ran for and scrambled into..a small plastic and metal transport cage. Without thinking Steve reached the bench, and closed the cage door behind the mouse. Were there any more? As he looked, there was the click of the electronic lock and the door to the corridor opened. Elena, came hurriedly through the door.

“Oh!”, she said, catching sight of Steve. Then, ” Hi!...did you see a mouse?”

“Hey Elena” , said Steve. “Did you lose one?” His hand was on the transport cage.

“Yes! Well, maybe. I came right back without coffee because I suddenly had thought maybe did not closed the cage door.? “

“You didn’t”, said Steve. He laughed. “But I did. Is this your Mouse of Desire?” He held up the transport cage.

“Oh, thanks!” , said Elena. “Was it…you know, from the cage?” She came around the corner, reached for the transport cage.

“Yes, it was”, replied Steve. He had a sudden thought; ‘what is my post-doc doing with a mouse? ‘’Elena’s grant was for control of keratin secretion, and in marine worms, not mice. As Elena put her hands on the cage, and he loosened his grip on the top, he looked into the cage, through the transparent plastic.

The mouse was very busy grooming, presumably calming itself after the adventure out of the cage. It was brown, small, and completely healthy except for one remarkable thing.

The mouse was bald.

Steve kept hold of the mouse cage.

“Elena, where does this mouse come from? What’s it got? Who constructed it?”

“ Be cool, man”, said Elena, who was learning idiomatic American English fast but not quite perfectly. “This mouse is one of Elvin’s, from a lab at WHOI, got from Cold Spring Harbor. It’s good, just bald, see?

“I can see that, but does it have anything else wrong? Anything that could affect other species?” It was unlikely. Most microorganisms, even cancer inducing viruses, did not cross between major biological Orders…not from invertebrates like the barnacles or worms that Steve was studying to mice or vice versa. But viruses could definitely jump from mice to men. And Steve was a little uneasy; he had thought that Elena’s project with Elvin was a kind of one shot deal, and already over. .

“No, no”, said Elena, gently pulling the mouse cage they both still held. Steve let go, and she moved back a step with the cage in her hands. “Is stable genome, just balding on top”. Steve looked closer. The little critter, alone in the cage, was still grooming nervously. Unlike the naked mice steve had seen, that he knew were used in dermatology research, this mouse was only bald over its skull area, giving it the quality of a Capuchin monk.

‘What, is Elvin interested in balding?’…Steves’s mind worked. Elvin was balding..hell, he was too, a patch at the back of his head, and receding on the sides in the front. What makes men go bald…testosterone of course. Actually, DHT and what was the conversion pathway…anyway, castrati didn’t go bald…some pre Greek had noticed that..maybe even Hippocrates?

“So, this is a male mouse?”

“Uh huh” replied Elena. “Aggressive little guy; kill other mice if space too small.”

‘So uh how old is he?”

“Old mouse., about 70 human years. In actual days, about 60”

“So..he’s an old mouse. Does he start off bald. Or…”

“No, Elvin thinks maybe is model for human and chimp bald. These mouse really only loose hair on head.”

“And so…are they good for anything else?”

“No, just being bald. Otherwise mouse is very normal mouse. Our worms won’t get bald.”

Steve looked back at Elena. Her English was almost perfect now, just a slight lilt and some missing articles to let you know it was a second language…hers happened to be Romanian, he remembered. She was looking down at the mouse, then looked back up from her 5 foot 7 to his 5-11.

“You are worried about something yet,” said Elena

“Yeah,” said Steve. “Elena, I don’t want to be pushy, or invasive, but how much time are you spending on this mouse business? And what does it do for our lab? I mean, we’re supposed to be working on keratin, not baldness.. Do you have, well, some closer relationship to Dr Kokot?”

“You can take a chill pill, Steve”, replied Elena, her smile blunting the expression. Her almost sandy hair, her widely spaced and generally excited eyes, and perpetually almost smiling lips helped too. Also, she had the same prominent malar ridges, like his wife. “ Since last year, you know I do a little work with Elvin. In the mouse lab and little, sometimes here, but no mice here. And with Dr Elvin; no dates, just research and coffee. Just two Nords.”

Steve smiled, despite his growing concern. “I think the word you want is ‘Nerds’, not ‘Nords’ “. Elvin had a minimal accent of his own, which might explain Elenas confusion. “But I still don’t get it. Elvin must know plenty about genomics. And I thought he does lab work at WHOI?.”

“He thinks maybe like we are understanding control of hair, he gets excited. It is same maybe as keratin deposition. Like hair, like keratin. Start, stop, how it goes? What starts bald in man?”

“So…”

“So, you know, I told you about my little project, collaboration.” Elena smiled. It faded as she gazed at Steve. “What, not a good thing to make collaboration? “

Steve did remember, after all, Elvin had come by about a year ago. What the hell did Elvin think he was doing? He managed a smile. Elena wasn’t the right one to talk to anyway. But he had to say something..then talk to Elvin

“Elena, science in America is all about collaboration. Yes, it’s a good thing. I just want to make sure that the NIH, and this lab, gets value from your work”.

Elena continued to gaze at Steve, watched his subtle expressions change. This is saying is not the whole answer. That’s how I got here, she thought as she had so many times. For science in Romania, I had to be always aware of the social and political imports of actions, constantly listen for the unspoken, the unofficial, everything men say, because that was what decided my career. Awareness of how all those factors, intelligence, sexuality, language ability, social skills worked together was something her mother had understood, and her father not. This Steve is not big important, but he is important for me. Besides, he is nice guy. She quickly let her mind review the plans that she had made with Elvin, and what she would have to do to keep them moving forwards.

“OK Boss Steve, I’ll work hard for the great good of American People. Is that what NIH wants?”

❖

7/28/98 Steve called Elvin Kokot at the number Elena wrote down for him; a special Boston exchange. Apparently the man had a portable telephone.

“Hello, this is Dr Kokot speaking” he heard after three rings

“Hey, Dr Kokot, this is Steve West. You know, Elena’s PI?” There was a brief pause, then

“Oh, of course, Dr West, or may I call you Steve? How can I help you?”

“Well, I thought it would be good to have talk. You got a moment for coffee or whatever? Assuming you are in Woods Hole. We could meet out by the sundial, it’s a beautiful day”

“Coffee…by the sundial…of course. When?”

“Oh about half an hour or so. You want anything to eat? I can go by the Swope cafe…”

“No, I will bring my own coffee..so about 9 o’clock a the sundial”

Meeting as planned, the two men kept a respectful distance apart.

“Maybe we should walk a little, keep this kind of private, OK?” asked Steve. They were standing between the Yalden sundial, and on his initiative started walking side by side, first towards the water of Great Harbor, and then right along the seawall towards the NOAA research buildings.

“So, what’s all this about?” Elvin asked, looking towards Steve to try to judge his mood.

“Well” said Steve, “it’s about Elena. And your work with her”

“Yes”, said Elvin. “It’s going very well. Of course, I don’t take much of her time. All done at WHOI, although we meet sometimes here to talk. She is very intelligent, and often way ahead of me in the genomics of our project. And of course, quite an attractive person”

“Elvin, let me just come right out and ask. Do you have a thing for Elena? “

How uncultured, Elvin thought with a little jolt of adrenaline. He took a breath. ‘Always take at least one breath’ he thought. Then answered.

“A thing? You mean as a woman, not as a research colleague?”

“Yeah, something like that. Do you?”

Elvin stopped and turned to face Steve who had stopped as well.

“Dr West, Steve, I am a little surprised you even have to ask that. I am not a beginner. Of course I do not have that kind of ‘thing’ with Ms Comescu. Don’t take offense, but I wonder if I should ask you the same question.”

“Hey, you can ask away. The answer is no. Elena is my student, as a postdoc, and even if I had those thoughts, it’s way, way unethical. But you…”

“…But I would not be ethically bound if we wanted to form a mutually agreeable relationship, even an intimate one. You are right. So, fair enough, my exact answer is No; no, no. “

Within his own mind, Elvin raged. “I think that perhaps Elena might be interested in YOU, but I assure you she and I have only our scientific relationship. Not that I do not recognize the admiring stares when I am seen with her, and who doesn’t want to look at beauty and youth”

Steve did not take the bait of Elvins first statement concerning Elenas possible social interest in him. Looking at Elvin, he found little to like. But he felt the man was telling the truth about Elena, although Steve was astute enough about humans to recognize at some barely conscious level that Elvin was likely not telling the full truth about something. So he continued

“Dr Kokot, Elvin, would you please tell me what Elena was doing with a bald mouse in my lab?.”

“Steve, Elena is doing some work with mice, but she was not supposed to take them to your laboratory. I will have to talk to her about that. Did you reprimand her already?”.

“No, not really, just interested. Why a BALD mouse?”

Elvin thought quickly. Better to stick as close to the truth as possible.

“Because I am interested in mechanisms of keratin deposition, as you know. Hair is just another instance of a general process. Mice are an accepted vertebrate model. Genetic variations that breed true are available. So, I study mice”

“But Elena doesn’t work with mice, not in my lab.”

“ No, no that’s right. She was wrong to bring it to your lab. I will solemnly reprimand her.”

“But that’s not my point. Why is she working with mice at all?”

Elvin stopped walking, raised his voice slightly

“ Ms Comescu happens to know a lot about transfection. Including plasmid transformation. Perhaps you have forgotten her thesis work. But that’s not really your concern, is it? She isn’t doing that work in your lab, and what she does in her free time is up to her, is it not? This is, as they say, a free country, no?” Elvin finished, and made a movement, very slight, to start walking again.

Both men realized that their conversation had heated up. Both men, at the same time, stepped back, just a little. An observer might have concluded they were from the middle class. Working class men might have edged forward and rotated slightly to free up their best punch. Knights of old would have loosened swords.

“ Dr Kokot,” said Steve, trying to keep his own feelings under control.” I am not trying to start an argument. “ He didn’t move, and Elvin did not continue to walk.

“Please, call me Elvin. Good, I am not for arguing either. Let me say it perhaps better. I provide an opportunity for Elena. She decides to take it. End of story. Soon we are finished”

Steve paused, trying to decode the last message. Then he responded.“OK, Elvin. Sorry to have gone a little too far there. You are right, Elena can decide what she does with her time outside my lab. But she has a grant that I administer. Are you providing any support for her work with you?”

Damm, thought Elvin. Well, that changes things. I need to either advance or retreat. He forced a smile, and took a sip of the coffee he was still holding. It was cold.

“Well, not myself. But the Limulus Foundation does give her a small stipend. “

“How small,?” replied Steve

“Well, perhaps that’s her business, but since you ask and are concerned as any good teacher should be, Elena is awarded about $500 per month.”

“Ah”, said Steve. “OK, I was wondering. That should help her, I know she doesn’t think her grant is enough to live on. Well, thanks. No more mice in the lab then, and I hope she is learning a lot.” Now they both began to walk.

“Oh yes, I think so. I certainly am” Elvin responded as they continued along the waterfront.

“Well, that about does it. My coffee is kinda cold, and I should be getting back to my lab” said Steve, after a few more steps.

“I’m glad we talked” said Elvin. He extended a hand. “Lets shake on our mutual concern for the lovely Ms Elena. Actually, we are still interested in your serving as a consultant. interested in your serving as a consultant to the project”.

❖

8/8/1998 1900 “I should just die”, Alex said into the rumpled quilt, but audibly

“Yes, but not just yet” Charlotte muttered.

Alex was sprawled face down across their King sized bed, his T nightshirt hiked up, emphasizing the slightly icky folds of skin where his first wife used to admire substantial buns. His head rested on Charlottes thigh, which was covered chastely by her part of the comforter. He caught a glimpse of green, suddenly triggered from memory another time, same bed, same woman, and the green was a long very sheer nylon slip she had liked to wear to fool around before intercourse. But now,it was a green plastic barf bag, appropriated by Charlotte as she gathered up the hard back book she had brought to the Emergency Room. The bag was mixing with the bedding, near Alex’s outstretched right hand. They had just spent hours in the ER, and then Alex had felt sick again. Now the spasm had passed, and they had both collapsed onto the bed.

A small amount of vomitus had missed the bag; she would deal with that later. Charlotte recognized her sudden thought that the bag would make a pretty good condom for the Jolly Green Giant was inappropriate. Alex was not thinking along those lines, and wasn’t looking at her slight smile anyway. Under her breath, almost an after thought, she repeated the words. “…not yet…”

“What did you just say?” Alex was speaking in a breathy whisper, which he often did during one of his sudden sicknesses,

“Oh, nothing.”

“No, you said ‘not yet’ didn’t you? Does that mean you do want me to die? I wanted to, earlier. When it was starting again. Well, do you? I mean, maybe it would be better.”

Charlotte sighed, and of course Alex heard the faint sibillance, his hearing progressively worse, but still sharply tuned to such non verbals after years of practice.

“You just sighed”, he said. “Oh…Augh!!….Ack!!!”

His right hand scrabbled a bit, found the edge of the beveled circular opening of the barf bag, and he lunged into a hunched but semi upright position, bag to mouth. The retching gargling noise, almost suggesting a rending of tissue shook his shoulders. Again.

Charlotte reached out a practiced and authentically caring hand to smooth his thinning forelock out of his eyes. ‘I shouldnt have sighed’, she thought. That was uncaring, even mean. And not helpful. She felt the particular wash of emotion that her Buddhist teacher had helped her identify as a Klesha. She imagined that if it were embodied, it would be greenish in color. Like bile.

‘That’s one of your Klesha’s’, her teacher remarked, as they spoke one on one in the meeting she had requested known as Dokusan.

‘What, that I am angry with my partner because he is always being sick?’.

‘No, the anger happens, even to bodhisattvas. That you hold onto that feeling of anger, rather than letting it pass through and away. It’s natural to have emotion. When you attach to the emotion, it becomes a Klesha. A very dangerous obstruction in your path.’

Traditional Tibetan buddhists, in their interpretation of the teachings of Shanti Devi at some monestary in India, she remembered not which, had apparently needed a word to identify the emotional feelings that arise as one experiences the suffering of the world, that often lead to actions and further emotions that strengthen attachment to the suffering, and inhibit progress along the path towards enlightment.

The parallels of Dokusan and the confession required of her as a newly confirmed Catholic girl 50 years ago were obvious. And that, too, might become a Klesha. These bile green clawed and fanged emotions could clearly become a problem, worse than mosquitos or a pack of wolves. As Alex continued to retch, she recited silently the teachers sloka regarding other blame and anger:

“Where would I find enough leather

To cover the entire surface of the earth?

But with leather soles beneath my feet,

I’ve the whole world covered.

”‘Well, I don’t want to get attached to anger’, thought Charlotte. ‘It’s my problem, not his’ Alex was probably finished being sick , or rather, this spasm was finished with him for the time being .

“I feel awful,” husked Alex. He flopped back onto her, his head coming down a completely unromantic bony hard hit on her thigh. She felt a sigh coming, experienced it as her teacher had said she might, got out of its way, let it find its own way to the door and exit without any fuss at all.

‘It really is a practice’, she thought. Felling the tension easing, as all the books said she would, she raised her left hand and gently let it rest on his left shoulder. Did it matter that he was left handed? More creative? Better athlete? But, she remembered, less likely to have colitis. And yet, here they were. She, he, and his ailing guts. Gently she moved her fingers, enjoying unbidden the memories of touching and being touched. When they had joked about chronic illness, eaten pepperoni pizza and licked chocolate malts off salty bodies.

“Don’t do that if you don’t want to”, said Alex.

She felt her muscles harden. Took a breath. “You don’t like it?”, she asked.

“I don’t like you feeling pity for me”, he replied. “Right now, I’d just as soon forget about my body. That’s what death would be. Maybe I will be a butterfly. More likely a slug. Uggh.”

Realizing that she was taking a big chance, but unwilling to simply listen to his self hatred, Charlotte lowered her face to the back of Alex’s head, and wished a little buss of a kiss onto the skin, making a tiny smack as her lips parted. And said, “I am not feeling pity, and I do want to touch you if it will help you feel better”.

“Well, it’s working; I don’t feel as nauseous anymore. Maybe the medicine helped. Anyway, thanks for the healing touch.”

She caught a whiff of vomit, bile and some digestion byproducts, the antithesis of pheromones, she thought. “Here”, she said, reaching for the glass of water on her nightstand. “Wash your mouth out”.

“What, I smell bad? Don’t want to kiss a smelly guy? You used to like the way I smelled, at least that’s what you said then.”

“I do like your smell, but not when you’ve been vomiting”.

He took the glass, took a sip, swashed it around his mouth, swallowed. Took a larger gulp, and handed the glass back. “Well, thanks. That does feel better.”

Charlotte restored the less full glass to its place, and settled herself against the two pillows she preferred. Alex had been proud of sleeping without a pillow, but now the specialist had insisted on two or even three. To prevent aspiration of gastric juice that might be burped up in sleep, causing irritation and perhaps even cancer of the throat. Now Alex followed her lead, ostentatiously flopping back against a pile of pillows.

“Will you be able to get to sleep?”,she asked.

“Well maybe, I guess. I have a meeting at 7 about being a playground monitor. But I suppose Cigne would hate it. Having dad around, creepy almost.”

Charlotte felt the tension hesitate on it’s way out the door, and hang around waiting. Of course he would drag her daughter into it. Typically, he worried about Cigne’s life, something she had never invited him into even. Did he even hear his own self disrespect? The unexplored stereotype that he apparently identified with self? She felt she had to say something. Charlotte shifted slightly, turning towards Alex.

When she spoke, she felt she was successfully, by sheer will power, in staying away from any judgmental words, focussing on the positive.

“Alex, I wonder if this is good time for me to bring up something about you that continues to concern me.”

‘Now what?’, thought Alex. His thoughts raced. ‘No, this a fucking terrible time to hear one of your lectures on spiritual health and good vibes and natural medicine. I just barely feel anything better than terrible, still might have to barf again, and you probably want to tell me that it’s all in my head, that it’s my attitude towards my emotions that are at fault. Fuck no!’ . He took a breath.

“Yes of course dear”, Alex said. “Please do enlighten me with the wisdom of the ages…I mean, sages. The teachings of your perfect teacher. Then I’ll take another valium, since I seem, oh dear, to have thrown up the one I took”. He turned to look at her face, pretty with lips slightly parted, as if already forming some profound thought, and hair that taken down for sleep accentuated her cheek bones,the smooth evenness of her forehead, and the arches of her eyebrows. By rote, his gaze shifted to her nipples visible through the sheer material of her nightgown. He watched as the word ‘valium’ hit her, watched breath catch, her lips tighten, the small line between her brows deepen. There!! ‘Stuff that in your buddhist meditation practice’ he thought with a brief flash of uncaring bravery. ‘Why did you do that?’, the secondary rebuke echoing around the chamber his nastiness had just cleared out. She’s just trying to help. Good God, I love her and she wants to help, and that’s what I do. Seized by a tiger of remorse, he looked away. Apologetic words, ‘didn’t mean that’ and ‘don’t know what I’m saying’ , ready to rush into battle with the lines between her brows, loosen her resolute lips…with what, a vomited stained kiss?.The adrenalin was gone, leaving only him and his troubled guts.

“Well”, continued Charlotte when Alex’s spurt of guilt and sorry, washed away, “that was a good starting point. You get so angry so suddenly and then almost right away try to apologize, take on blame you don’t have to. And then do it again. Does it give you pleasure when I feel hurt? Or just now, when I was trying to help you feel less like throwing up, I could feel your thoughts pushing me away. And then the anger.Don’t you see what you are doing? To you…and me. Do you want to change?”

Any remorse was now swirling in the rising whirlwind of fresh anger. “Jesus, I can’t believe you are attacking me, now of all times. I’m sick for god’s sake. Do you think I like being sick? That I try to be sick? That I can’t do a regular job because of the times when I will have to either suffer bent over the smelly little toilet at work, or take another half day off and toss my cookies beside the road with people slowing down to gawk.”

“ It’s not an attack”, replied Charlotte. “You’re a typical American. Roshi says that Americans hear suggestions for better behavior as confirmation of their self hatred. I am not attacking you, I’m trying to share something important”

“ Oh right, all my fault as usual. All in my mind!”

A bit too late, Charlotte realized that what she was feeling was in fact one of her most common hangups. Sticking points. Klesha’s. Time to shut up. How had Shantideva put it? ‘Be like a log’.

Faced with a girlfriend suddenly gone mute, Alex’s immediate feeling was more rage. How infuriating, say something critical, demeaning almost, and then go silent. If he felt any better, he might have even jumped out of bed, thrown on clothes and gone out into the night. As it was, he still felt mildly nauseous, although much less. Probably the valium was working, and perhaps the Percocet too. Feeling gas, he risked a small burp. Better, and no barf.

Unbidden, the details of his new diagnosis, Crohns Disease, swirled around his brain. Recurrent attacks of nausea and vomiting with diarrhea, sometimes alternating with periods of constipation. The pain was a recent addition. Medications, which he had laughed at several years ago, and now grasped at as they were offered by several different specialists. So taking daily doses of Percocet, Zofran, Metaclopramide, Zantac, and some Advil and Tylenol on the side. The Valium was for acute attacks. At first, he had tried to set up a database of effects and side effects. Now, feeling awash in medications and still ill, he was angry, but also scared. He attributed his increased dose of Percocet to stress, to conversations like this with Charlotte. Now he had five pills left, and his regular doc had made it clear that there would be no refills before a monthly visit. In 10 days. Meaning 5 days including the weekend without the one medication that seemed to prevent his misery. It wasn’t fair. And not his fault. He didn’t control the stock market. And the fact that Charlotte seemed totally without medical problems didn’t help. And now there was this Tibetan buddhist stuff.

His brain cleared, and for a long moment, no one was keeping count, they confronted each other.

For Alex, looking at Charlottes composed face, there was a continued wash of self blame and guilt, sloshing around the stony bulwarks of self that he still held with pride and wished to be appreciated for. A sense of entitlement, a short fall of recognition, questionable accomplishment; had he made a difference? He was dying. She was not.

For Charlotte, looking at Alex’s angry eyes and tight mouth, wave upon wave of dipping uncertainty followed by hopeful belief in the way that she had been taught, had learned, the middle way offering some hope not of salvation, but of a meaningful and mindful journey. She was full of life. He was dying.

Finally Alex; “OK, i’m ready to listen”

Then Charlotte: “ I want only the best for you, for all people, for all beings. For an end of suffering. For enough food, water, sleep, love, and yes, death too, all of that.”

Alex: “ A tall order. What about money? Recognition? Rewards? What about my health, this insane conditions I have, the pain I feel, the demeaning nausea, vomiting, disability.? “

Charlotte: “We are taught that the true source of all pain and suffering is within the self. Those little feelings that I can see forming like whirlwinds over the ocean, like sinkholes in the swamp, that turn your eyes angry and your words bitter and cruel. That’s where the pain is. If you can somehow let go of the attachment to those emotions you will be free to be whatever you choose”

Alex: “Hah!! Can you cure a cancer with mindfulness? Can you resist a fascist takeover?”

Charlotte:”Try it and see. Look at true practitioners. Look at the life of the historical Buddha. Do they look angry, sad, hateful, cruel? “

Alex: “ Those are just artful images, imaginary people. They don’t have the real problems we have. They don’t have to pay bills, fire employees, kill animals and plants for food”

Charlotte: “Real people who have accepted the Noble Truths, act out the Paramitras… they pay bills and hire and fire. Just try it.

Alex: “Will it cure my colitis? Will it cure my cancer? My Hep C? No, forget that. Will I feel better?”

Charlotte: “ You are the only one who can answer that question. And I’m here to help”

❖

9/15/1998 0930 The 1015 Bonanza bus that Elvin was riding to Boston came up Railroad Ave from the Steamship Authority parking lot, and accelerated along the improved but still two lane highway designated 28A leading to Falmouth. Elvin Kokot looked out at the panorama of Little Harbor, dominated by the USCG Base Woods Hole along its western margin. The morning sun created some pretty reflections off the water, and lit the channel marker buoys, red and green, at the harbor mouth.

Elvin opened his copy of the Wall Street Journal, and began to read his way through the economic tattling of the day.

Almost ninety minutes later, Elvin felt the familiar feeling of a change in pace as the bus swung around the long left hand turn onto route 3, where Boston really begins. Soon they would be passing by Sister Mary Corita Kent’s boldly painted gas storage tank, and the little boat basin that reminded him of Korcula on the Dalmatian Coast, where he had once been taken for a holiday. Everything was going well. It was time to wake up for the days work. So why was he on edge?

❖

9/15/1998 1345 Their lunch had been excellent. Elvin poked at the shells left over from his mussels Posilipo, and let the plump and friendly serving woman take his plate. He noticed that Mihai had finished his salad, a good sign, in his experience. The man actually seemed quite relaxed, although Elvin had learned that that could change within words of a sentence.

“So”, exclaimed Mihai. “How are things going ?”

“ I thought you’d never ask” Elvin returned. He noticed the hardening in Mihai’s eyes. “ I mean, I enjoyed your comments on the economy. It’s nice you are so positive about opportunity. I’ve made progress, too. For the last year, a young associate at MBL has been working on the genomics, and the other, at WHOI, is well into the actual mouse studies, They are both paid, in cash, And of course I’ve brought the usual paperwork supporting spending and accomplishments”

“Forget the paperwork; I’ll check it over later, you can be sure. I know you have the data, I know it will prove that the money is being used well. That’s not my concern today”

“No?,” said Elvin. He felt a slight twinge in the left chest. “Well, what is?”

“It’s time you knew..”, Mihai said, looking directly at Elvin as though to anchor his eyes on what he was about to say, “that your little Woods Hole has been useful to the Company in a more direct way.”

Uh-Oh, thought Elvin. What’s this about? He said nothing, but tried to look helpful and was now fully on guard.

“Yes”, said Mihai. ”We have been using Woods Hole as entry point for some import work. Things are going very favorably. And we need someone of your availability, a man of action. You will have some new responsibilities. There will be some simple tasks, nothing official, nothing to distract you from your Limu-mus foundation. You have a van?”

“No, I don’t even have a car” Elvin returned. “Why a van?”

“You will need to be picking up some people. This must be done very quiet, at night. You will be told where to go, and where to take them. Not far. About a dozen people at a time.”

“What kind of people, may I ask? “

“Women. Young women.”

Elvin was astounded. Rapidly, his thoughts swirled and congealed; he wasn’t really surprised. I knew that The Company was involved in running women into the country, and that the women involved were probably not legally in the country. Now, he wants me be come a part of this operation. And it’s right here, in my town!! This is an outrage! I am being asked to do something that is clearly over the boundary that he had insisted would separate my work and any other activities of The Company. I am a scientist, not some kind of pimp! But how to play this?

“I don’t understand”, he said, carefully keeping Mihai’s gaze. “You want me to provide transportation for women you are importing? Why me? And why Woods Hole.?”

Mihai smiled, his always thin, brown, and now slightly tired face moving into lines that softened his gaze. “Why you? Because you are there!! “ He laughed, perhaps aware of George Mallory’s reply to the question of why he climbed Everest. Elvin did not laugh. I must resist, this is a terrible idea!

“No, really.” Elvin said, spreading his hands in what he hoped was a calming manner. “ Something like this might endanger the whole Project. Things are going so smoothly, why take a chance? Surely someone else..”

“No!!. Enough Why’s!“ Mihai had raised his voice enough to cause the man having lunch with the woman at the next table to look towards them. He lowered his gaze, and continued in a normal tone. “You are there, you are known, your being in town has nothing to do with the kind of activity that I want you to do. You are the right person”

There was no suggestion of an any appeal. Mihai did not have to proceed to the obvious threats and consequences that quite clearly could ensue.

“OK, I hear you. How will this commence?”

“You will be called. Buy a van. Limulus needs a van.

Do it soon. Now, give me your reports, and you should head back to your beautiful Woods Hole. And by the way, your compensation as a Board member goes up by $3000 a month, effective now”

Elvin, a bit in shock, reached into the briefcase that lay on the banquette besides him, and extracted a thin folder, slid it along the leather of the seat. Without any further words, he slid the other direction, got to his feet, and left the restaurant.

❖

9/16/1998Alex Lynch Daybook. Are you still with me? We’re almost all finished pretending to walk through Woods Hole town as I have lived it. Go to the little map again, #(5). The corner of Albatross, Gardiner, Millfield and Spencer Baird is another low point, and floods with major storms. The two houses on the left of Albatross/Gardiner corner as you head down towards Millfield are very low. Along Millfield, and thus heading back to Eel Pond, we are next to a parking lot with Ms Tinkham’s original hedge around it, and then Swope, an MBL residency and commons building of two stories on your right, with a few low lying one and two story private houses on the left, then the Catholic church , with a bell tower and a Mary garden across the street and next to Eel Pond,. All this area is only a few feet above mean high water. Maps from 1850 show Millfield as a path, with two little bridges across open channels between Eel Pond and the Woods Hole Marsh,. The Ball Park, north of the church, was part of a scheme to fill the marsh that never progressed further.

(6) At this East end of Millfield Street, which is on higher ground, you can look down and south along School street past a small spring fed marsh connected by a culvert under School street to Eel pond, and then climbing 20 feet up hill to the old Woods Hole School. This Queen Ann style dates from 1870 and is one of the structures that the Community Foundation owns, lovingly maintained by Mr Tom Renshaw and Co. Looking back north, what began as School Street becomes the old road to Quissett and then Falmouth and twists away up hill, and is all on relatively high ground, and once nicely wooded. Was cleared for construction material, and used for hay as Mowing Hill. Now it’s part of the poshly exclusive 18 hole Woods Hole Golf Club. The remaining woods are mostly second growth, scrub pine giving way to oaks and increasingly beech.

You see, the historical Eel Pond was typical of such ponds all along the Cape and Islands. Big winter storms remodel the sand, often creating a sealed off pond that then fills with ground water and eventually breaks through to discharge. But as people began to occupy the sand spit (Water street), they built structures to contain the natural changes. Barely. Eel Pond is still barely contained between Water street and Millfield. The houses, and for that matter the three story institutional buildings, are kind of rip/rap in the big picture of hurricanes and winter storms. Irregularly but multiple times within my memory, the connection between Great Harbor, and Buzzards Bay is recreated, and the water runs several feet deep on both Water and Millfield Streets. The flood spills across the marsh and Gardiner road (see item (7). It connects the Sound and the Bay.

I get tired more often now. Guess it’s the cancer. But keep reading, there’s more to learn about Woods Hole. And storms.