Heavy Weather

"No, Dad. We were out where the storm set down at first. We were tracking it and we saw where it started."

"Oklahoma City was very heavily mediated," his father said, reflectively. "That was a rather important event."

"We weren't inside Oklahoma City. Anyway, they all died there."

"Not all of them," his father said. "Hardly more than half of them."

"We didn't see that part. We only saw the begi

"Understand it, eh? Not very likely! Do they know why the storm stopped so suddenly, right after Oklahoma City?"

"No. I don't know if they understand that. I doubt they understand it." Alex stared at his father. This was going nowhere. He didn't know what to tell the man. He had nothing left to tell him. Except the ugly news that he was very near death, and someone in the family had to watch him die now. Just for formal reasons, basically. And he didn't want Jane to have to do that. And his father was the only one left.

"Well," his father said, "I've been wondering when you'd come back here, back to sense and reason."

"I'm back, papa."

"I tried to find you. Not much luck there, not with your sister hiding you from me."

"She, uh...ell,, I can't defend her, papd. Juanita's very stubborn.

"I had good news for you, that's why I wanted to talk to you. Very good news. Very good medical news, Alex."

Alex grunted. He slumped back in his chair.

"I don't know how to tell you the details myself, but we've had Dr. Kindscher on retainer for some time, so when I heard you had arrived, I called him." He gestured above a lens inset in his desk.

Dr. Kindscher arrived in the office. Alex got the strong impression that Dr. Kindscher had been kept waiting for some time. Just a matter of medical etiquette, a way to establish whose time was more important.

"Hello, Alex."

"Hello, Doctor."

"We've had new results from Switzerland on your genetic scan."

"1 thought you'd given up that project years ago."

Dr. Kindscher frowned. "Alex, it's not an easy matter to scan an entire human genome right down to the last few centimorgans. Doing that for a single individual is a very complex business."

"We had to subcontract that business," his father said. "Bits and pieces.

"And we found a new bit, as Mr. Unger has said," Dr. Kindscher said, radiating satisfaction. "Very unusual. Very!"

"What is it?"

"It's a novel type of mucopolysaccharidosis on chromosome 7-Q-22."

"Could I have that in English?"

"Sorry, Alex, the original lab report is in French."

"I meant give me the upshot, Doctor," Alex croaked. "Give me the executive report."

"Well, since your birth, this genetic defect that you suffer from has been periodically blocking proper cellular function in your lungs, proper expression of fluids. A very rare syndrome. Only four other known cases in the world. One in Switzerland-we were quite lucky in that eventuality, I think-and two in California. Yours is the first known in Texas."

Alex looked at the doctor. Then at his father. Then at the doctor again. It was no joke this time. There wasn't any of the usual hedging and mumbo jumbo~ and alternate prognoses. They really thought they had it this time. They did. They had it. This time they actually had the truth.

"Why?" he croaked.

"Mutagenic damage to the egg cell," Dr. Kindscher said. "It's a very rare syndrome, but all five of them diagnosed so far have -involved maternal exposure to an industrial solvent, a very particular industrial solvent no longer in use.

"Chip assembly,"-his father said. "Your mother used to do chip assembly in a border factory, long before you were born."

"What? That's it, that's all there was to it?"

"She was young," his father said sadly. "We lived on the border, and I had just begun the start-up, and your mother and I, we didn't have much money."

"So that's it, eh? My mother was exposed to a mutagen in a maquiladora plant. And all this time I've really been sick."

"Yes, Alex." Dr. Kindscher nodded. He seemed deeply moved.

"I ~

"And the best news of all is, there's a treatment."

"I might have known."

"Illegal in the U.S.," his father said. "And far too advanced for any border clinica. But this time it sticks, son. This time they really have the root of it."

"We have a clinic contacted already, and they're ready to take you, Alex. Genetic repair. Legal in Egypt, Lebanon, and Cyprus."

"Oh..." Alex groaned. "Not Egypt, I hope."

"No, Cyprus," his father said.

"Good, I heard there's a bad staph strain in Egypt." Alex stood up and walked, painfully, to the doctor's side. "You're really sure about it, this time?"

"As sure as I've ever been in my career! Intron scans don't lie, Alex. You can depend on this one. The flaw is written in your genes, obvious to any trained technician, and now that we've spotted the exact position right down to the branch of the chromosome, any lab can verify that for you. I've already verified it twice!" He beamed. "We've beaten this thing at last, Alex. We're going to cure you!"

"Thanks a lot," Alex said. "You son of a bitch." He hit Dr. Kindscher in the face.

The doctor staggered and fell. He scrambled up, amazed, holding his cheek, then turned and fled the office.

"That's going to cost me," Alex's f~ther observed.

"Sorry," Alex said. He leaned onto the table, shaking. "Really sorry."

"It's all right," his father said, "a son of a bitch like that pest, you can't hit him just once."

Alex began weeping.

"I want to do this for you, Alejandro. Because now I know, it was never your fault, my boy. You were damaged goods right out of the box."

Alex wiped his tears away. "Same old papd," he croaked.

"I don't know if things will change when you are no longer a mutant," his father declared, nobly, "but maybe you will. Who knows? I'm your father, my boy, I feel I owe you that chance at life." He frowned. "But no more foolishness this time! None of these scandals like that shameful business in Nuevo Laredo! Alejandro, those people have lawyers on me! You are going to Cyprus, and you're going right away, and you're going to stay there. No talking, no phone calls, no charge cards, and you do just as you're told! And no more nonsense from you, and especially none from your damn fool of a sister."

"All right," Alex said. He sat in the chair, half collapsing. "You win. I give up. Call the ambulance." He began giggling.

"Don't laugh, Alex. Gene replacement therapy-they tell me it really hurts."

"It always hurts," Alex said, laughing. "It all hurts. Everything hurts. For as long as you can still feel it."