Tempus Fugit

By G.L. Berkin




Jolene's life began to unravel when, out of the blue, Winston Grummet told her about the impending death of Mrs. Roberson. Without preamble or hesitation he announced that, "Mrs. Roberson, the Clinic patient in room 210E, is going to die at 3:27 PM on Thursday next." Not, mind you, at 2:30 or 5:15, but at 3:27 PM exactly!

The dark-haired nurse smiled at Grummet's astounding pronouncement and laughed, shaking her head in mock consternation. "How can you say that, Winston?" she asked. "Mrs. Roberson's operation went well and she'll be sent home on Saturday. Her doctor wouldn't release her if he believed something was wrong."

Jolene looked closely at her colleague to see if, perhaps, he was teasing her but the middle-aged scientist appeared as earnest as ever. The Winston Grummet she knew had never before made such an outlandish statement, his usual conversation being, like the man himself, neat and orderly, his universe defined only by his work within the confines of the Pembroke Clinic's biomedical laboratory.

Grummet grinned like a child who had just let on that he knew a secret. Then, lowering his voice as if someone might overhear, he replied, "Her doctor doesn't know what I know, Jolene. And, even if he did, there's nothing he can do about it. I'm afraid that Mrs. Roberson is going to die at precisely 3:27 PM on Thursday... unless my calculations are all wrong."

Taken by surprise, the pretty nurse frowned and retorted, "If you know something dreadful is going to happen to the woman, Winston, why don't you tell her doctor immediately. After all," she pressed, "it's someone's life you're talking about."

Brushing back a stray lock of blond hair, Grummet shook his head. "I'm not yet ready to tell anyone how I know these things, Jolene." But after some gentle, though forceful urging, he at last swore Jolene to secrecy and told her how he had come to know about Mrs. Roberson's impending demise.

He explained how the human body was indeed regulated by a 'biological clock' that was powered through the brain's neurons and synapses. But Jolene's eyes open wide when he declared that he had perfected a means to 'read' a person's biological clock.

"That is," Grummet said, "by learning to precisely calculate DNA strand polarities, it has become almost as easy for me to read a person's 'biological clock' as it is to read the correct time on a wristwatch. And since DNA governs a person's genetic history while RNA governs the instructions sent to single cells, I soon became able, in effect, to accurately discern a patient's detailed clinical future. That," Grummet smugly added, "was how I was able to determine the exact time of Mrs. Roberson's departure from this world."

As he boasted, Jolene felt compelled to interrupt. "But Winston," she asked, "if all of what you say is true, then wouldn't it be just a matter of time until DNA and RNA technology makes it possible to, say, 're-set' a person's biological clock?"

The intense researcher in the white lab coat beamed and slapped his knee. "Of course, Jolene," he exulted, "and I'm working on that technique right now. Once I perfect my method of instructing cells by RNA manipulation, then you and I can, biologically speaking, go back to being teenagers again and best of all, we'll be able to live forever. Physically, we'll be young, healthy and immortal while all around us everyone else will grow old and wither, but not you and me."

He moved closer and grasped her slender shoulders with both his hands, all the while looking deep into her eyes. "Think of it, Jolene," he whispered, "you and I will never die; we'll be together for all eternity and we'll always be young. Wouldn't that be wonderful?" Then he fell silent, his bright blue eyes shining unnaturally.

Jolene said nothing but she loosened his grip on her shoulders and stepped back. Then she looked him squarely in the face and said, "You can't be serious, Winston. No one should be cursed with having to live forever; it would be horrible." And with that, she turned and left Winston Grummet standing alone.

A few days' later, poor Mrs. Roberson unexpectedly died at 3:27 PM on Thursday afternoon. Jolene was taken aback by the news but had the presence of mind not to discuss the matter with anyone at the Clinic. Her apprehension, however, was compounded when she also learned that Grummet had applied for and had received permission to vacation for some weeks in, of all places, a small town in Texas. The Administrator told her that Grummet had demanded two weeks' time off, the first such request he had ever made in his long tenure at the Clinic. He gave as a reason his need for "a week or two" to complete some private research.

When, a few days later, the telephone on Jolene's desk rang, she lifted the receiver and held it to her ear but before she was able to say a word, Winston Grummet's familiar voice came on the line.

"Jolene, is that you?" he asked and satisfied with the response continued speaking, his words spewing from the telephone receiver in an excited torrent. "I've taken the first two shots, Jolene, and I feel wonderful... like I'm seventeen again. Please, Jolene, come down here. I'll prove to you that the procedure is harmless and you can see for yourself what it's done for me. Please promise that you'll come."

Still remorseful for her abrupt abandonment of him a few days earlier, Jolene relented and though apprehensive, agreed to meet him at his hotel. Hoping that she had enough time to dissuade Grummet from completing his terrible enterprise, she took leave of the Clinic that very afternoon and flew to Midland on the earliest available flight.

The quiet Texas town to which Grummet had gone to complete his private research was its normal, sleepy self when she arrived. Renting a car at the airport, Jolene drove to the hotel which he had named and, on her arrival, found that he had reserved a room for her next to his own.

She found her room to be modest, yet clean and sunny so she unpacked and knocked on the door separating her room from that of Grummet. Receiving no response, she then tried the knob and was startled to find it unlocked. She opened the door, stepped into his room and called out his name.

On entering, she saw his clothing strewn all about the room. Then she saw on a corner table several syringes and a few vials, each of which contained a liquid of a different color. But she was stunned by what she found on the unmade bed and with that discovery came an awful realization of what had actually happened.

Jolene knew that to safeguard Grummet's secret, she had to pack his few things and dispose of the medical material. With that accomplished, she then wrapped her discovery in one of his shirts, cleaned the room and paid both hotel bills. "Now," she reasoned, "no one should be concerned about either of us and there shouldn't be any inquiry concerning our departure, either." Jolene then left the hotel, loading the rental car with her bags and made certain that the shirt-wrapped bundle was safely ensconced next to her on the front seat.

She drove to the airport, observing all traffic signals and speed limits to avoid running afoul of the police. Then she returned the rental car at the terminal and took the next flight home.

As the drone of the plane's engines lulled her into a semi-sleep, she thought of Grummet and of their relationship. They were indeed a curious pair; she was a winsome, raven-haired and emerald-eyed woman who smiled easily and he, dour, blond and intense. And though opposites in temperament, she and Grummet had become close, growing even closer after her husband died in a plane crash in the mountains of central Mexico. When she and her husband had learned that they could not have children of their own, he had flown to Mexico to arrange for the adoption of an orphaned infant. It was his untimely death and the shattering of her maternal hopes which, she knew, was the basis of her obsessive devotion to her nursing career at the Pembroke Clinic. But even so, she often found herself thinking about a child and how things might have been.

Jolene's work kept her busy and her relationship with the boyish researcher with the bright blue eyes provided her with a fulfilling and unthreatening distraction from painful memories. But her rapport with Grummet notwithstanding, his declaration of Mrs. Roberson's impending death, detailed with such exactitude, had still come as a surprise.

In the midst of Jolene's reverie, a young flight attendant making her pre-landing rounds came up the aisle and looked enviously at Jolene and at the baby, still wrapped in a man's shirt and securely fastened in the adjoining seat. Then the stewardess smiled and said, "What a beautiful little boy, ma'am, and what lovely blue eyes he has. What's his name, if I may ask?"

Smiling in return, Jolene leaned to her side and kissed the baby on its forehead while brushing a forefinger gently against the infant's soft cheek. Then she looked up at the young woman and replied, "His name is Winston, Miss, and thank you for the compliment. I've waited a very long time for this little fellow and yes, he is very handsome, isn't he?"

Softly cooing at the smiling baby boy, Jolene laughed and added, "he's a very bright little boy but, when he grows up, the first thing I'll have to teach him is how to set a clock properly."

The End

Copyright © 1999 by G. L. Berkin

G.L. Berkin retired after a long career with the Federal Government and now writes odd short stories, some of which have appeared in Show & Tell, Thresholds Quarterly and InnerVisions.

E-mail: gerlber@aol.com


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