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The letter from the lawyers was sharp and to the point.
“We own you, body, genes and soul. And there’s nothing you can do
about it”. They didn’t quite put it that way, but what else did
they mean when they said: “From
henceforth, your DNA profile will be jointly owned by the two parties
aforesaid?” The principal matter at law was a 200kb segment of Ismay’s
DNA. Ismay was furious. What was it with this talk of joint options
on future deals, and licensing and marketing rights? On Ismay, on
her own self? Her DNA was something she must own by right of birth,
by right of property in her own body. What did Arnason Genomics
lot have to do with her? The lawyers were out to screw her. And she hadn’t done
anything wrong. Or had she? Perhaps she shouldn’t have taken that
turn along the forest path. She should have stayed home, in her
house in the middle of the forest, with never had a thought in her
head about patent attorneys, hi-tech investment options, hedge funds
and the like. Ismay got mad. Then she decided to get even. * * * Once upon a time before, things were very different. Once, in a time to come, they said back then, a hero will be born to do great deeds. The child will be born a hero, in full possession of the right heroic genes. Maria and Joe wanted a child of their own, and a hero with it. They chose Dr Ferdinand, a grey-haired family doctor of the old school, though well versed in the new genetic ways. The good doctor had known Maria and Joe from the time they were mere eggs and separate sperm. ‘So you’ll be looking for the genes for risk-taking, then?’ asked Dr Ferdinand, having already settled the basics of eyes, blue, skin, black, and hair a muted russet, glinting with bronze highlights in the fullness of the sun. ‘You’ll be wanting a giant-killer?’ ‘I wasn’t thinking about giant-killing, nothing so specific’, said Joe. ‘But I guess a hero has to do what a hero has to do, and yes, giant-killing could be part of the agenda.’ Joe planted his strong farmer’s hands upon the table and turned to Maria for confirmation. ‘We want our child to be happy’, said Maria firmly. She pulled at the edge of the shawl that spilled down from her shoulders. A hero was all right by her. Joe could have something of what he wanted, but she wanted her child to find joy as well as strength in work and play. Dr Ferdinand looked kindly upon Maria and Joe. ‘Sometimes it happens’, he said, gently, ‘that parents want conflicting talents for their child, particularly if that child is their first, and they’re not sure about what lies ahead. Sometimes its best they ask for less, not more, and to proffer their choice of genes to more than one child. I could do twins for you. One will be a giant killer, the other will be happy.’ ‘I want what I want’, said Maria., firmly. Parental rights. Dr Ferdinand knew all about it. ‘Just the one child then?’ Joe nodded. ‘Yes, doctor. One child will suffice, for the moment’. ‘I have to inform you of one down side. The child destined for a heroic future is often an orphan, or so the old stories have it.’ Maria stood firm. ‘Those stories belong to the old days. Before death got given the push. Nearly. Orphan? Who hears that old word any more?’ ‘Think about it’, said Dr Ferdinand. ‘The person who embarks on a heroic quest has to be unhappy, at least to start with. Why travel the seven seas on a long and hazardous journey, if one has a full and happy home life? You can’t both have the gene for happiness, and be a hero.’ ‘We want our child to be a happy hero, and that’s that.’ Nine months passed, and one day Maria and Joe got a call from Dr Ferdinand. The parents rushed to see their child. ‘There’s something miraculous about this moment of birth, I always think. Popping out of the crucible as she will.’ Dr Ferdinand made the new parents welcome. ‘It’s a girl?’ ‘We couldn’t fit in all you wanted, and a boy. Something had to give. Genetics is a complex science, no guaranteed outcome. You signed and said you’d cherish what you got.’ ‘We just didn’t think’, said Maria. ‘We just assumed a boy, because of the giant-killer specification.’ Joe touched his baby’s wrinkly skin. He smiled. ‘She’s looks a bit like me, don’t you think? Apart from the eyes and skin and hair. I reckon a girl will do for us.’ The baby dripped with fluids from the crucible. She shut her soft blue eyes and gave a heroic yawn. ‘There’s one good thing about having a girl’, said Dr Ferdinand, ‘A girl will stick around her mother that bit longer before she hears the call to adventure, and departs.’ Maria burst into tears. ‘Whoops. Post partum depression? Not to worry. Here’s some happy genes just for you. A few deep whiffs, and you’ll be right. Happiness is in the genes, come what may, whether the genes come at birth, or later, begged, borrowed or stolen.’ Maria and Joe took their baby home, and named her Ismay. Ismay was Dr Ferdinand’s last creation. Once he believed, so strongly, in his work. His job as embryologist was not to judge why people want what they want. In the course of time, he began to have his doubts, and after Ismay he decided enough was enough. Something came over him at a crucial stage of her pre-natal development, and into her bubbling vat he placed a few surprises of his own. The day after Maria and Joe took Ismay home, Dr Ferdinand resigned, and left his business in the hands of Howard, his bright young assistant. He went off into the forest to grow violets, or so he said. The child Ismay grew fair and strong and happy, delighting in the flowers that grew in her mother’s garden, and clever at designing new and strange herbs with quite surprising properties. ‘That herb Joe grew increasingly depressed. Ismay was the kindest and best little girl a father could ever wish to have, but as for giant-killing, Ismay showed little inclination for the heroic life. ‘I know we should have done more for her’, he said to Maria, ‘She should have been an orphan.’ ‘No!’ said Maria, ‘I asked for happiness, and look at Ismay, playing with her dolls, and growing those bright purple poppies with the quite delicious seeds. Such a perfect child.’ ‘Not a hero though.’ ‘She’s happy’. ‘Insufferably so. I think Dr Ferdinand was right. A hero has to suffer.’ Joe returned to his biotech vats in the shed at the bottom of the garden and shovelled some more mushroom compost into the mix. He set the controls to auto and sat down to do some thinking. He’d been born and bred a farmer. His parents and their parents before them had always lived in a little house in the centre of the forest, making a living from gathering the wild mushrooms and selling them at market, hunting their own food in the forest, harvesting the wild berries of summer and the nourishing nuts of autumn. It was Joe who took the family farm from primary production to cottage industry, and greatly increased the margins. Yet he wanted more. His foremothers and fathers had chosen their life, but the more Joe brooded the more he came to the conclusion he’d never had any real choice about his path in life. His parents made the choices for him, when he was but separate egg and sperm. Just as he and Maria had made certain choices for Ismay. And it wasn’t working. He had to look at Ismay and face the facts. ‘I could have been a sailor who sailed the seven seas! But it was never to be.’ Joe took his thoughts to the next family conference. ‘I could have been the dragon–slayer for this family, or the giant-killer, whatever, but I never got the opportunity!’ Maria had been having a few thoughts of her own. ‘ And I’m bored by life in the forest.’ Ismay listened. Then she did what she had to do. ‘Joe, Maria, you’ve been the best of all possible parents a thirteen year old girl could ever have. But a time comes in the life of us all, a call to adventure, that cannot be denied. It is not something that is given. It is a choice that only one person can make, and that person, is you Joe, and yes, you too, Maria.’ Maria jumped up from her rush-bottomed chair. ‘It’s true I want more than this cottage, these woods, this herb garden. But you are too young to be left alone, Ismay. We can’t leave yet.’ ‘Mother, Father, you’ve got to follow your own hearts’ separate desires. I shall stay here, with my dog Bertram and my chicken Harry. They will protect me from harm. You need to harness the power of your true selves.’ ‘If we go, Ismay, perhaps it will be for the best not only for us, but also, in a funny kind of way, for you. Dr Ferdinand told us that the hero is often an orphan, and I did not want, back then, to deliberately set out to have that happen to you …’ ‘Or to us’, Joe added. ‘But it seems to be coming to pass, at least in a way that will pan out best for the three of us. Though it will be so hard to let go.’ Maria shed a few tears as she hugged Ismay to her breast. ‘We both love you Ismay, but loving you is no longer enough.’ ‘We shall meet back here in seven years time’, said Joe, ‘And tell our tales of far flung lands, and celebrate our lives both separately and together.’ At first, after her parents went away, Ismay missed them tremendously. How would she cope, if a dragon came to visit her in her cottage in the middle of the woods, or a monster threatened? But she was a sensible and clear-thinking young girl. No such horrors had yet come to disturb the calm of her days, so why should they happen now, just because her parents had left home? Still, all the same, she should be a bit more careful with security. She traded her chicken Harry for some geese that warned her with loud honking whenever strangers came near. The years passed. Each Friday Ismay walked to the market, and returned with new seeds to plant, new herbs to try. Maria had taught her well. The mushroom business expanded rapidly. The biotech vats were bubbling along nicely, thanks to what she had learned from Joe, and with a little help from the new ingredients she added. And so her life might have continued, on its even, gentle way. Except one day Ismay met a new trader at the market. His business card read, ‘Howard Arnason, genomics entrepreneur and venture capitalist’. Howard told Ismay. ‘Set up a company, incorporate it, take out a reverse
mortgage. Diversify your product range.
Don’t put all your biotech eggs in one basket, or one cold
cabinet, as the case may be. There’s this nice little genomics company
in Ismay took Howard Arnason’s card and sent him on his way. Back home in the soft light of dusk, she got to thinking about her problems. She fed her geese and called her dog Bertram from his frolic in the duck pond. As she wiped Bertram vigorously with an old piece of towel, Ismay knew that she had to come to some decision about her business life. Moderate success was difficult to cope with. Either she got big, or she got out. Perhaps it was as simple as that. Next week at the market, she would search out Howard Arnason, and find out more about his offer. But next week at the market, she could not find him. She asked around, and learned he’d gone to the forest in search of some violet grower in the forest. Ismay grew thoughtful. Violets. The mushroom boom might be near its end. Ismay dallied later at the market than she intended, checking out the competition. Violet essence, extract of violet, violet balm, yes, she could spot a trend developing. She hadn’t got far into the forest on her way home when a gentle chuckling and cackling burbled upon her ears. She looked around, then up in the canopy of trees. ‘Harry?’ Ismay jumped up and down to get a better look. The rooster wriggled his red cox-comb in reply. Bertram barked a furious welcome. ‘Harry, no-one has clipped your wings, the way I used to.’ All the better to catch you with, thought Ismay, but Harry didn’t need to know. Harry flew off, deeper into the forest. Bertram gave chase, rustling his way through the leaf litter. Soon Ismay was soon well off the forest path. She had found a lost friend, but lost her way. Still, there was always Harry and chicken to eat, if worse came to worst. Ismay was a country girl, and practical with it. Harry flew high in a tree, tucked his head under his wing, and fell asleep. All the long cold night, Bertram and Ismay huddled together for warmth. As day dawned, Ismay took stock of the situation. She must find her way out of the forest. Or she must push on, to find the violet seller. She had come this far. No stopping now. She came to a sparkling brook, where she drank of the pure clean waters, tinged with the essence of violet. Ha! If she followed the brook upstream, she might find the outflow from the violet farmer’s sheds, and the grower himself. Harry pushed on in front, half flying, half scuttling through the thick undergrowth. But why was Harry in the middle of the woods? What had become of him since she last saw him? Ismay thought back to those early days when she’d been home alone, when things seemed more of a struggle. She hadn’t wanted to let Harry go, but the geese lady had come to her door, and pointed out the virtues of geese as a biological early warning system. She’s said that Harry would be going to a good home, and Ismay had believed her. Looking back on it, she might have suspected some kind of trap, industrial espionage, even. What was it with Harry? Ismay had never yet met a rooster that kept out of the cooking pot for so many years. Harry flew into a small clearing in the forest. In the middle of a violet patch, Howard Arnason, venture capitalist and genomics entrepreneur, stood in wild argument with another man whose arms were filled with violets. ‘Ismay is mine!’ shouted the man with the violets. “You stole her from me!’ ‘Wrong’, she’s all mine now’, Howard Arnason bellowed in reply. Ismay stepped into the clearing. “Ah, Ismay, delighted to see you’, said Howard Arnason. ‘Permit me to introduce you. ‘Ismay, meet Dr Ferdinand, who has played such a large part in your life. Dr Ferdinand, meet Ismay, your finest creation. ‘I’ve had my eye on both of you for quite some time.’ Dr Ferdinand bowed towards Ismay. ‘You are the finest creation of my former craft. You were created to he happy. And are you?’ For while Ismay was incubating ever so gently in her crucible, Dr Ferdinand took some of her cells, and when he sequenced the DNA, and studied its relevance in brain function, he identified a linkage to a particular 200 kb segment in the HLA region. He discovered the candidate genes for extraordinary happiness. One day, shortly after Ismay’s birth, Dr Ferdinand left the company. He took his knowledge, and his interesting DNA, and vanished deep into the woods. Along the way, he traded for her chicken Harry, and it was upon Harry and his progeny that he carried out his genetic experiments. ‘Not so fast’, said Howard. ‘You reckon Ismay is your creation, and your creation alone? I’m here to remind you that created Ismay on your employer’s time, with your employer’s money. And when I bought out the company, I bought that time, that money, that creation. Ismay is mine. ‘Off my property!’ Dr Ferdinand pointed Howard Arnason in the direction of the forest. ‘Harry is a happy rooster. And Ismay is a happy child’, Howard Aranson replied. ‘At Arnason Genomics, we can cut you both an excellent deal.’ ‘You heard me. Away with you!’ Howard shrugged. ‘You haven’t heard the end of this”, he said, as he took the path through the trees. ‘You have a day to think it over.’ ‘I’m not going to be cutting any deal upon myself, upon my own DNA’, said Ismay with determination. ‘Do we get to have a choice?’ Dr Ferdinand bunched some violets together, and gave them to Ismay. ‘I am already happy by nature. My gift should be freely given as knowledge for the whole world.’ Ismay didn’t need a day to think her answer over. ‘You were created to be a hero. And you are.’ ‘Nonsense’, said Ismay, ‘If I am going to be a hero, it will be because I create my own heroism for myself.’ ‘Are you happy?’ ‘Up to a point’, said Ismay, thinking of the financial decisions she had been about to make. ‘I created you to be a hero. But that wasn’t enough for Joe. He wanted a hero of a particular heroic type, a dragon-slayer.’ ‘You didn’t give my parents what they really wanted. Now they’ve got
it.. Father has gone to ‘Maria and Joe wanted a life of adventure, and there, they have it. You, Ismay, wanted a life of home comforts, or so it seems, and look at you. You sit at home at the centre of your web, and spin out your connections into the whole world. And there you have it, the new way of being a hero. The world, and its financial advisors, now comes to you. You have chosen the path of quiet, unheralded heroism. You are a giant killer, in your own way. You can take on Howard Arnason - and win.’ The next day, Ismay got her letter from the lawyers. First Ismay got mad. Then she decided to get even. She retired to the biotech vat at the bottom of her garden, and brooded. When she emerged, it was with a glint in her eyes, a spring in her step, and the elixir of happiness in her hands. Ismay called in the corporate watch-dog, and they sorted a few things out. In reclaiming her rights in her own DNA, Ismay struck a deal with her creators. With respect to other projects that involve the rooster Harry, she agreed to a three way split on all future licensing arrangements. Thus it was that Ismay could create her own heroism from herself, and give Essence of Ismay freely to the world. Essence of Ismay -- spray some on the skin where the blood pulses close underneath, and the sun has a glint in its shining, the wind softly sifts through the leaves, and the world is a place where wonders occur as a daily event, and happiness springs from the genes. First published in Michael Wilding and David Myers (eds) Best Stories
Under the Sun, Central University of Copyright Rosaleen Love, 2004. |
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