A Trial of One

The interior lights of the rooms glowed, and the aroma of hot food wafted out to them.

Harry saw Jefferson awkwardly lowered to a chair on a dais only to gaze vacantly outward over the heads of the guests. So much like Norma when she tripped into madness! Hawke bent to whisper something in his patient’s ear. The chandelier swayed slightly as an underground train departed the station. The guests began to form a line to greet the professor.

Jefferson’s gaze fell upon Dr. Philip Glasser. “Good evening, sir. How good of you to come,” he said politely.

Dr. Glasser offered his hand. “Good evening, sir. I am Dr. Glasser.”

“Good evening. How good of you to come.” Jefferson’s eyes drifted over the doctor’s shoulder.

By now, the line behind Glasser had grown. Swiftly, he withdrew to allow others to meet the guest.

“Good evening, sir. How good of you to come.” The old man smiled vacantly as he greeted each person in an identical fashion.

Dr. Michael O’Hearn mounted the dais and presented himself.

“Good evening, sir. So good of….”

“Professor Jefferson. How long have you been taking Emerituus?”

Panic flashed in the old man’s eyes. “The roses in the garden … running, you see. Always running.”

Michael shook his head and withdrew. Continuous repetition of a few polite phrases, interspersed with total nonsense.

Microphone in hand, Dr. Hawke ascended the dais. “Ladies and gentlemen!” His voice, an eerie whisper, wafted throughout the room. “Today, a truly marvelous meeting of minds has occurred. I am absolutely delighted to announce the culmination of many months of hard work. The Hawke Institute and the Queen Mary Hospital have joined forces to embark on a program to effect nothing short of a miracle. Thanks to the efforts of Dr. Brian Tasker and the members of the hospital board.” When Hawke pointed in his direction, Tasker gave an embarrassed shrug. “We are indeed privileged to conduct our trials of the drug Emerituus at your esteemed institution.”

Hawke waited until the murmuring died down.

“Dr. Jefferson is a patient in the preliminary trials for Emerituus. Ten milligrams of this drug is administered by subcutaneous injection on a daily basis. Unfortunately, although we have found substantial improvement in both cognitive and motor functions, the results are not uniformly reliable. We believe it is a matter of adjusting dosages. Tonight, when we inject our patient, I believe you will see its most beneficial effects.”

Mrs. Deal helped the old man with his coat, carefully folding it on a chair. When his shirtsleeve was rolled up, he fixed his eyes heavenward as if struck by a revelation. Hawke took a needle and syringe from a case and drew a clear liquid from a vial. With a flourish, he held up the needle and then swabbed Jefferson’s arm.

“Tonight,” Hawke intoned, “you will witness the transformation of a debilitated man in his eightieth year to a vigorous one still in his prime.”

Lights illuminated the doctor and his patient. Glasses were set down, and waiters disappeared to darkened corners of the room. The professor’s gaze was beatific. The doctor injected his patient and guided him back to his seat.

“Professor Jefferson,” Hawke continued, “has exhibited all the usual signs of Parkinson’s disease and Alzheimer’s. Stiff, jerky gait. Slow and garbled speech followed by irrational outbursts of anger.”

Hawke continued to regale his audience with anecdotes, facts, and figures. Within five minutes, Jefferson’s eyes began to roam about the room, making eye contact in a friendly and interested fashion.

With his back to his patient, the doctor said, “We expect the drug to take effect within ten minutes. I would be happy to answer any questions in the meantime.”

The professor cleared his throat. He checked his watch and then stretched his legs without any cramped motions. His eyes grew lively and intelligent. The subway, deep underground, rumbled and turned like an awakened beast.

The doctor continued in his whispery, amplified voice, “Sometimes, we get lost in reams of dry statistics and results. But tonight, you will witness, firsthand, the effects of this drug in our initial research. However, much work lies ahead. In conjunction with the Queen Mary…”

Jefferson began to rise and tugged on the doctor’s sleeve.

Hawke turned to his patient, whose face was wreathed with smiles.

“Ah, Professor Jefferson, are you ready?” beamed Hawke. “Please, come to the podium.”

Head held high, the professor walked smartly toward the microphone.

Hawke’s voice was a stage whisper. “As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, Emerituus has taken effect. This should last for approximately twelve hours.”

The old man assumed his post behind the podium. “Good evening, sirs. How good of you to come.”

The room was silent, except for a snicker or two from the back. At first, Jefferson appeared to falter. His eyes darted about. Veronica Deal smiled her encouragement. Dr. Hawke beamed fondly at him. Nervous coughs flitted about the darkened room.

The old man blinked in the spot light. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Professor Andrew Jefferson. I am eighty years of age.” After a pause, his voice grew in strength. “During my career, I taught philosophy and medical ethics at Stanford University. Four years ago, I was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” His lower lip trembled. “For one who prized intellectual pursuit, the diagnosis was cruel beyond all imagining.”

Jefferson’s eyes glistened in recollection. “Then, another devastating blow! Within months, my hands began to shake, and I could not write. The diagnosis was Parkinson’s. The abilities I cherished most were snatched from me by the cruelest of fates.”

By now, Harry had worked his way close to the dais. He frowned to see tremors course through Jefferson’s body as he grasped the podium.

Righting himself, the professor continued, “Relegated to the scrap heap, I was incarcerated in a nursing home. The means of escape was the ability to key in a five-digit numerical code. No one with Alzheimer’s could do that.”

The old man’s shoulders slumped. His voice choked. “Dr. Robert Hawke rescued me from the dense, black fog of my mind. By entering the initial trials of Emerituus, my life was transformed.” Looking out over the crowd, his knees suddenly buckled, and he began to sink. Mrs. Deal rushed forward, but Hawke waved her back. Jefferson regained his strength and appeared to straighten.

Lips twisted in scorn, Michael raised his hand. “Professor Jefferson? Could you describe for us the effects of this drug?”

Recovered, Jefferson gave a small smile. “I would be delighted, sir,” he said faintly. Grasping the podium, he looked outward upon his audience. His voice rose in strength.

“For one as stricken as I, it is like the sun coming through the blackest of clouds. It is like coming to sit by the fire on the coldest day of the year.” Tears brimmed in the old man’s eyes. “Like hearing one line of poetry containing the wisdom of a lifetime, or listening to music that stirs the soul to its most fabulous depths.”

The room was filled with a reverential silence. Distant tremors of the trains below could be felt.

“That, sir, is the effect of Emerituus,” the professor whispered into the microphone.

Hawke bent into the light. “Ladies and gentlemen, Professor Jefferson will only be able to take one or two more questions.”

Jefferson reached for the microphone. “When I was referred to Dr. Hawke, my entire being was rescued. Before Emerituus, I tripped and stumbled from tenuous lucidity to utter madness, where uncontrollable forces swept over me. Those forces buffeted me without mercy, and I stood helpless before them. My memory narrowed to a slit, leaving me with only glimpses of a far shore where I had lived my life in peace and harmony. I had to return to that safe harbor of remembrance and sanity. Only Dr. Hawke was able to help me on my voyage.”

Several people began clapping slowly at the back of the room. Soon the rest of the gathering took up the applause.

Harry did not move. How could a man, apparently suffering severe mental deterioration, paint such vibrant images? The professor’s words had stirred him to the beginning of hope for his father. Excited murmurs rose in a room once filled with skepticism.

Hawke resumed the podium. “Gentlemen, I trust you share my enthusiasm and commitment to forge ahead with further testing of Emerituus. You have seen firsthand the results of our initial research. Much hard work lies ahead. But, in conjunction with the Queen Mary, we hope that we will find answers to many questions. We do not know precisely how the drug works, but we are determined to find out. We do know that it does work wonders.”

Michael’s hand shot up at the back of the room. “Dr. Hawke? Could you describe for us exactly how you intend to select candidates for these trials?”

Hawke smiled warmly as he focused intently on the young doctor. “An excellent question, to be sure. Of course, we will adhere to the usual standards of selection. Sufferers of this disease will first be divided into categories determined by the progression and severity of the disease. Then, on the basis of random selection, we will choose an equivalent number from each class or group to enter the trials. One group of each will receive the drug, and the other, a placebo.”

The gathering of doctors nodded. Michael raised his hand again. “Given Professor Jefferson’s performance here tonight, can you speculate upon the effectiveness of the drug on a long term basis?”

Hawke shook his head sagely. “A bright young man, indeed.” He smiled at his audience. “That is precisely one of the most important questions we must answer.”

Professor Jefferson had been casting an intelligent eye over the crowd. Suddenly, he began to slump to one side and mutter. Mrs. Deal rushed to his aid with a glass of water.

With a raised hand, Hawke silenced the group. “Gentlemen, as you can see, we have wearied Andrew Jefferson. Out of concern for him, we really must conclude.” At Mrs. Deal’s request, two men assisted the professor from the dais. Hawke hurried behind him.

When they entered a small anteroom, Jefferson sank into a chair.

Veronica asked. “How did you think it went, Robert?”

He patted her arm. “Like a charm, my dear. Jefferson was excellent.”

“What about those questions?”

Hawke shrugged. “Entirely typical, Mrs. Deal.” Then he smiled. “But I can tell you one thing. Only the brightest and the best will actually get Emerituus. I have no intention of wasting such a drug on the substandard.”

Lost in thought, Harry entered the cavernous depths of the subway station.