Forever Courses

The Forever Course

(4784 words)

The River Somme flowed smoothly past the cluster of seafood cafes on
its northern bank and a dappled glitter flashed off its surface from
the low sun. An effortless undulation carried it past with sleepy dips
and curves like a dress playing in a gentle wind. It belied the swift
dark current that lay beneath swirling along its ancient course where
it continued to cut a swathe all the way to the ocean as it had for
aeons. A local sat with his feet in it where the water slowed and
turned in tight circles as it had once done for the Roman troops
stationed nearby in faraway Gaul. The river was also long a companion
for the freemasons who dowsed many a thirst while they crafted
sandstone for the great cathedral of Amiens. More than a hundred
generations have washed in its eddies and traded on its currents. And
had it not swallowed the dust and blood of the town and countless men
during the Great War then one might never have known that it once
divided Europe with its impassable sliver of immortality.

Jodie put away the guidebook. Today, washed clean once more it would
allow a company of old acquaintances to reminisce. Punctual by nature
as well as profession, she had arrived as if expecting photographers,
with large dark glasses and a wide rimmed summer hat. She sat away from
the other diners and their umbrellas near the river and requested 'eau
et pain' for five from the waitress and then reeled off a specialised
order for Pimms with crushed cucumber and lemon for herself. To her
disappointment the waitress spoke back in English.

'Yes, ice thank you. Yes cartes - A la Carte. Thank you.'

She drew out her set of photographs; a jumbled collection of colour
group shots, intimate party close ups and few larger black and whites
from their capping.

Ah, what a place for nostalgia!

She was still looking across the river to the smoke grey stone of the
cathedral, it's flying buttresses stamped against the late afternoon
sky when the first of her old friends arrived;

'Still a babe Jodie.'

She was startled by the surprise as much as the familiarity and turned
towards the boulevard. The years vanished as if she was coming home
from a weekend away.

'Art.'

'Who else?'

'You look great.'

'Crap.' He said. 'I look like a bum. But you're doing all right by the
looks of it. Sigmund was right, you haven't aged a day.'

'Stop it.' She stood up and kissed him on both cheeks. Art shrugged off
his suit jacket and slung it around the back of a chair. She glanced
over him momentarily, a fleeting appraisal. Gone were the student
goatee and the Norwegian Zen clothing that had captivated the girls in
the hallways and courtyards of the chemistry department. She'd been one
of them for a while, blind to what had attracted her, frantically
falling for the cornball romance that Art wore like a lampshade, joking
about the 'alchemy' of their situation. To break that homespun mould
she'd brought from Caithness perhaps?

So what was so different about him now apart from the snow dusting of
white and grey hairs and the cobweb of wrinkles around his eyes?

That, she realised, was what was missing. The clear eyes of Art, the
fanatic hedonist, were gone. In their place a doleful look of one who
had lost a lover or a faith.

'So when did you see Sigmund?' She said.

'About six months ago. Just after we received our invitations. We'd
been keeping in touch but you know what London's like&;#8230; So,
what's all this about then? Thomas got some special
announcement?'

Jodie shrugged, 'Who knows? I thought we had always planned to meet up
some time. Just didn't think it would be fifteen years.'

He shifted forward in his seat and Jodie noticed his puffy eyes
tighten. 'May I see your invitation?'

'Why? Did Thomas employ you as the bouncer?' She began digging around
in her bag.

'Hilarious. Indulge me.'

She withdrew a square envelope, which had been opened already without a
single tear and slid out a white, silver embossed card. 'There you are
sir.' She said primly.

Art made no effort to even smile at her humour, his eyes firmly on the
card. He accepted it in an open palm, investigating it on one side and
then flipping it onto the other hand so it was not soiled with
fingerprints.

'This.' He said pointing with his little finger to a plastic strip
along the back edges of the card.

'Did you wonder why this was here?'

'No.' She said, crossing her arms. So much for the chit chat.

'Thomas is up to something. Look at this plastic. It's a membrane of
some sort and there's a chemical under here&;#8230;'

'So?' Jodie said distractedly. 'It's probably some new kind of bar
code.'

Art looked up at her with a glimmer of contempt then reached behind him
into the inside of his jacket. She was about to comment on his
preoccupation when the waitress returned with the water and her
Pimms.

'See. Look at mine.' Art said producing his own invitation. There were
strips on the back of his card as well. 'Except yours is a different
colour here.' He was referring to the oblong of violet that had been
left by Jodie's forefingers.

Jodie took both of the cards from Art and examined them.

'I don't know. Oil on my fingertips maybe. So what?'

The pair were interrupted by the arrival of Esther and Sigmund who had
spotted them from the towpath by the river.

'Oi !' Yelled Sigmund.

******

Five unnaturally pink and white lab rats peered blankly through the
glass of a grime-clouded fish tank. A Bunsen burner was heating a
domestic kettle that sat on a tripod above the licking flame like a
surrealist art sculpture; out of place, yet functional. One of the
other students had bought it in when the thesis hours had begun this
exponential growth. Now, in the last days, it was battle-worn; the
plastic plug fitting melted to a crisp, the stainless steel literally
black and blue from overheating.

The smell of formaldehyde and disinfectant had blanched Jodie's
Obsession except for when she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her
father's old cardigan. There, it was ingrained from months of close
proximity to her perfumed wrists. Her constant sniffing was annoying
Thomas who told her for the tenth time to blow it.

Standing hunched over a PC, as was his habit to assuage the hang over
that kicked in if he sat down; Thomas was himself suffering flu, the
result of being run down. But in place of the wet sinuses he bore an
occasional rumbling cough.

The computer urged one final check, one last warning; 'Are you sure?'
followed by the familiar 'OK' or 'Cancel' box. Last chance saloon.
Jodie was looking over his shoulder. Thomas hovered over the 'OK' box
twirling the pointer in circles.

'Come on!' Jodie hissed over his shoulder. It would make no difference
to run another check or cleanse the data. They had been through this
how many times now? It would either give Thomas the results he needed
or end his hopes.

He tapped the mouse in his heavy-handed way and watched as the first of
the streaming data flowed down the screen. There would be fifteen
minutes of this as a graph of the results was built.

Thomas sighed. 'Coffee?'

'Yeah.' Said Jodie and moved toward the Bunsen.

'No, I mean real coffee.'

'What, like bought stuff?'

'Yeah come on. I'll introduce you to Gulliver's. My treat.' Thomas was
already making for the door.

'You mean your student loan.'

They made their way across the empty quad. Most of the students were
finished now; long gone to families in the regions, a series of clubs
in London or Costa del Sol. Jodie had heard that the little island of
Ibiza (which a couple of Essex lads she knew called Ibeefa) was going
to be the place to go that summer. But then again if it was full of
wide boys&;#8230;

They stayed silent while they left the hollow campus as if their voices
might break something fragile. Across the bald mound of the park with
its ring of oak and birch trees like a monk's head, they reached the
noise of the town and turned into the little lane that kept one of
Cambridge's best secrets; Gulliver's Coffee House.

The small stained glass door rang a brass bell as Thomas stooped under
the frame. Jodie's nostrils, blocked as they were could almost hear the
smell of coffee such was its strength. Every inch of wall space was
adorned with postcards, trinkets and foreign currency in a complete and
random way. Instead of looking tacky, it formed a wrap around, floor to
ceiling collage that Braque himself would have enjoyed.

They huddled into a seat by the bay window and ordered.

'I've got a good feeling about it this time.' Thomas said airily. 'I
know this doesn't sound very scientific but all the signs are
right.'

'Now don't go getting mystical.' Jodie said 'It shouldn't be for me to
remind you that this extension is conditional on results. Not many
people, including the Professor by the way, believe the answer lies in
the mitochondria. God, I don't believe it's there. Protein production
has only ever been linked to cell breakdown in the most tenuous of
ways. I want to see you succeed, Thomas, but I don't want to get your
hopes up. This is a limb. How far are you willing to go out on
it?'

'What looks like a limb could be a root, could be a branch, could be
the very tree itself.' Thomas exclaimed, eyes wide with
confidence.

'Stop counting your chickens. Last week could have been fluke. It
happens you know.'

Thomas tilted his head a fraction. 'I don't think you would have come
back from Caithness if this was just a fluke.'

'Thomas, I would have come back from Caithness to wash my hair if it
was a better excuse. You just count yourself lucky someone doesn't mind
spending her summer break in the company of five lab rats.'

'Whatever.' he replied refusing to have the wind taken from his sails.
'If I'm wrong, as Blake said, I'm wrong in good company.'

'Under the circumstances, Thomas, you should be quoting Peter
Pan.'

'Huh?'

'Forever sixteen?'

Thomas left that comment well alone.

******

'Come on, if a mushroom is ten, an anchovy has got to be worth
more.'

'Not if it's near the outside.'

'Especially if it's near the outside. That should be a triple
twenty.'

Art and Sigmund had stolen a dart set from the Frog and Spoon and
pinned a frozen pizza on the wall of the lounge. While Esther and Jodie
faithfully deciphered a cryptic crossword from the Sunday paper in the
corner, the boys were devising a scoring system.

'Alright, alright,' said Art, 'Anchovies are like a bull's-eye, no
matter where they are and salami are only worth the full thirty if you
get two in the same one.'

'OK.'

'Guy's,' said Esther not looking up. 'What about 'No prime
consideration'- twelve letters? It's the last one.'

Sigmund paused before his last shot. 'Esther. It is psychologically
impossible for a male to engage both the creative and rational sides of
his brain at the same time. I can't be cryptic and accurate.' He
smirked at her 'whatever' face as she raised her head. 'However,
because it's you, I'll try.' He made a small humming noise and closed
one eye as he threw the dart. 'Afterthought.' He said.

'That fit's!' Esther shrieked scratching in the answer.

Art shook his head in disbelief. 'Double salami?!'

Sigmund opened his other eye and gave a pondered look of confusion. 'I
guess I must be a one-off.'

The doorbell rang and Jodie jumped up to get it.

'Oh dear', she said. 'We know who that'll be. '

Traipsing down the hall, she already knew it was Thomas, his tall
blurred silhouette could be seen through the frosted window of the
front door.

'Hiya,' she said taking his coat and umbrella as he stomped in. 'Very
handsome.' He was in a Tuxedo. 'You look frozen.'

'That and hungry. Is everyone ready for dinner?'

They headed back towards the lounge.

'Well, I wouldn't say ready ready, but -.'

'Aw guys.' Thomas said, when he saw the state of his friends. 'I
thought we were going to get dressed up and make this an official.' He
looked helplessly at Jodie. 'I've made Duck l'orange!'

'Sorry Thomas', said Esther, 'I think everyone's still pretty hung
over. We'll get ready. Come on you lot.'

The boys went off to their room to have a deodorant shower while the
girls decided who would go first for a real one. In the safety of the
bathroom, Esther confronted Jodie with her suspicions. 'I think Thomas
fancies you.'

'I think you're right. I knew this would happen if I helped him with
his thesis.'

'Why did you anyway? Do you fancy him?' Esther began running the
bath.

'No way!' Jodie mocked horror then giggled. 'I've been seeing Art
anyway.'

'Really?! You've managed to keep that secret. Sigmund would have told
me if Art had said anything.' She narrowed her eyes. 'You really are a
dark horse aren't you Miss Munroe?'

Jodie shrugged. 'We only got together last week. I don't think it's
anything serious. But the annoying thing is, I enjoy working with
Thomas. He'll be one of the countries' top scientists one day and not
everyone gets to see someone like that up close. Now it'll be
uncomfortable.'

Esther agreed but for different reasons. 'I think he's weird.'

'Mad professor huh?' Jodie said into the mirror.

'Big time.'

Someone was tapping on the door. 'Are you both in there? Sigmund, check
this out! Your girlfriend's having a bath with Jodie!'

Jodie flung the door open only to see Art almost falling forward.

'Don't be an idiot Art.' She replied stepping past him. 'We never do it
while you boys are around.'

Art, lost for a reply, ignored it and composed himself; then having a
quick look around the bathroom, presumably for other potential
lesbians, winked at Esther and closed the door behind him.

Thomas had helped himself to the dusty bottle of Glenlevit on the
mantelpiece and was twirling it in the bottom of a chipped wineglass
when Sigmund and Art returned.

'Very smart.' Thomas said approvingly.

'Smart?' Said Sigmund. 'That's all? This is a genuine Safari suit. It's
exquisite.' He checked himself in the darkened reflection of the
window. 'A classic even. I'll have mine with ice please Arthur.'

Art, in a plain shirt and tie, obliged, fixing himself a gin. 'So have
you got a few treats for us Thomas?'

Thomas looked quickly at the door.

'The girls are in my room getting changed.' Sigmund assured him.

Dipping into his top pocket he withdrew a milky twist of film and
unravelled it. Holding it in his palm, Thomas displayed the pills
proudly.

'What the hell is that?' Said Art abruptly.

'Shh,' said Thomas. 'It's a very special treat.'

'I thought you were getting some acid.' Sigmund said dubiously peering
at the pin head sized spheres.

'I haven't decided on a name for it yet, but technically it's a
drysothamine-pretanginate.' Art and Thomas laughed. 'Sorry; little
chemist in-joke, Sigmund.' Thomas added. 'A drysothamine-pretanginate
is a nothing name which chemists have given to a pre-market drug. All
the trials and tests have been done and it's waiting for a licence and
a patent before being put in general circulation. This,' he plucked one
between thumb and forefinger and held it in front of their faces, 'is a
revolutionary and very potent painkiller.'

'You've brought us aspirin?' Sigmund sneered.

'Not just any aspirin. A long lifespan dose of morphine, laced with
some pretty hefty uppers.'

'Isn't that a nice way of saying heroine?'

'Not as strong.'

'How long is the 'lifespan'?'

'Between eight hours and twelve, depending on your size. It's being
developed for the military for soldiers who might need to wait hours
for treatment but need to remain alert and possibly active.'

Art took one, rolling it around his palm. 'So it's a high, but a very
lucid one.'

Thomas nodded. 'Without a serious injury for your mind to contend with
this is a rush and half.'

Sigmund and Art were sold.

'There is a catch.' Thomas said as Sigmund took one for himself. 'We've
taken risks before and I've always told you what they were beforehand.
In this case, the risks are, I think, extremely small, but unknown, at
least long term. I've broken a few rules this time and you need to be
aware of them. First; it has never been officially tested on
humans.'

'What!' Said Art 'Are you insane?'

'I said 'officially'. It has been trialed on one human on several
occasions with very positive results but this has not been registered
with the scientific community.'

'You.'

'Of course. Second, it has a very positive but unusual side affect. It
seems to increase the lifespan of the protein-producing mechanism in
the cell.'

'The mitochondria?'

'Yes; and by the look on your face, Art, you know what that
means.'

'This is a bloody elixir!'

'Potentially. How much of one, I'm not sure. I have to ask you, and
it's a strange request: you might live longer. Do you want that
risk?'

The others looked at each other.

'Why would that be a risk?'

'It might increase your lifespan by a day or a month.
Or&;#8230;longer. Not everyone wants to live forever you
know.'

They stood silently for a moment looking at the tiny pills.

'Sod it,' said Art finally, 'I don't know anyone who doesn't want to
live forever.'

'A very Zen approach to drug-taking, Arthur. But I just figure, if this
is the next big thing, everyone I know will be taking it anyway.'

'A toast then', Art said. They all tucked a tiny pill under their
tongues.

'To friendship.'

'No.' said Thomas, 'To eternity.'

'Bit twee.' Said Art. 'We may as well be toasting the sunrise.'

'What would be wrong with that?'

A door in the hallway closed and Esther and Jodie stepped in having
heard the last of their conversation. Thomas nonchalantly closed his
hand around the pills.

'Why not eternal friendship?' Esther said.

Art relented. 'Good enough. To eternal friendship.'

'To eternal friendship.'

******

The seafood platter had arrived and with it the last and most important
guest.

Jodie had been looking out for him; her curiosity piqued and she had
hardly concealed the lazy glances towards the boulevard. Art, Esther
and Sigmund had commanded the conversation which suited her and she
found herself wondering what sort of life Thomas had been leading and
whether she would find out any more than she knew now.

It was no secret that it was a secret. Everyone knew Thomas had spent
years working for the government. When he had surfaced, briefly (he had
tracked Sigmund and Art down on several occasions) he had been distant
and aloof. But the mystery was compelling and neither Sigmund nor Art
would deny him their company when he called. But this was the first
time he had emerged in such a planned fashion.

He walked slowly, a wistful amble, inspecting stalls and windows of
things she knew he would not be interested in, as if he was too early.
His great coat, too warm for the late spring, swirled out behind him
like a tethered curtain where he had jammed his hands in the trouser
pockets beneath. Late to his own funeral was a phrase that sprung to
mind.

Art followed Jodie's lingering look and betrayed the game.

'So, the phantom has arrived.'

They all then looked and Thomas, with a spirited attempt to look
surprised, acknowledged them and made his way over.

'Hallo. Am I late?'

Sigmund laughed. 'It's your bloody party! Of course you're late.'

Jodie noticed the lines now that he was close. The soft dimple on
Thomas' chin was now a chiselled crater, brow dry and crinkled like an
unravelled ball of paper and his eyes dazed and hollow. The years had
been particularly cruel.

'Terribly sorry. I lost track of the time. Beautiful town.'

So many times, Jodie had pondered what Sigmund and Art saw in him,
apart from the mystery, that is. She knew that Esther had simply
accepted him because he was one of the cast members before they turned
up, and she because of his brilliance, but what had drawn these three
boys together all those years ago? The division between them and Thomas
was now glacial in size. She truly wondered if this was going to be a
big mistake.

'We've got white and red,' said Art. 'Or would you prefer a
beer?'

'I'll have tea thanks' replied Thomas as he gave up his jacket to the
waiter and sat down, 'I can't handle anything stronger at the
moment.'

Jodie noticed that no one questioned his request. An old habit of his
that had survived the years. Thomas would always begin by doing or
saying something out of context. Not that it would be unusual to have
tea in their company, but after fifteen years, something stronger would
be more than expected&;#8230; They were in automatic; tumbling back
all those years and ignoring Thomas' attention seeking.

Esther spoke. 'So why did you choose this place to meet Thomas?'

'Well,' he said, patting himself down for his cigarettes, finding them
in his trousers and lighting one before he continued. 'I moved here
several years ago, when I was first diagnosed and fell in love with it.
Something about the timelessness of the place. You can almost believe
that nothing has changed here in a million years.'

Art couldn't help himself any longer. 'Diagnosed?'

'I'll come to that in a minute, Art.'

With that, Jodie noted, he was in control. It was clear now, that this
was not merely a reunion. There was a catch; a delivery to be made and
Thomas wanted everyone to hear it and remember it.

'I never let you get to know me that well in Cambridge, I'll admit
that.'

Sigmund slowly put down his glass and Esther's brow furrowed. He went
on.

'It's a strange thing having a gift you know. You feel as if so much of
your life is assigned to it that something else has to give in order to
compensate. In my case I think what I gave up was friendship. I can't
complain, of course, those were good cards to be dealt for an
anti-social obsessive like Me.' he smiled. 'But it made me half-want
the things that you all have. And it made me do some things I'm not
proud of.'

Art attempted to break up the speech. 'If this is about taking drugs, I
don't think-'

'I'm dying.' Thomas said calmly.

There was a pause as it sunk in. 'I have a tumour. Very advanced and
very inoperable.'

'Oh my God, Thomas!' Esther exclaimed. 'Why didn't you tell us
earlier?'

He looked genuinely touched. 'You were the best friends I ever had, and
that's why I would never burden you with my affliction. I'm well looked
after. My mother is staying here and my father and brother see me
whenever they can. Really, this is not about pity.

'You need to know some things about the work I was doing in Cambridge.
After the success of my thesis, much of my work was patented by the BMA
on behalf of the government. The Ministry of Defence took quite an
interest and gave me all the resource I needed to complete the trials
on Genesine.'

'But,' Jodie cut in, 'your thesis failed.'

Thomas shook his head wearily. 'Word of my potential success was passed
on by the professor to certain channels. I was approached by several
government officials who made me some rather lucrative offers
considering my position at the time. The government paid me to fail the
tests for my thesis; Jodie. The scientific breakthrough of the century
could not become public knowledge until the government's use for it had
been expended. I sold out.

'But not before sampling some of the final trials.' Thomas looked at
everyone around the table before his eyes came to rest on Art and
Sigmund whose faces were grave and immovable. 'We sampled some of the
final trials.'

Sigmund and Art nodded reluctantly. 'On the night before capping, but
it didn't do anything.'

'Oh, I'm afraid it did.' Thomas said. 'That's why I had to meet with
you again. To give you the truth and ask for your forgiveness.' He
crushed out the last of his cigarette and pointed to the small cards
that Art and Jodie had in front of them. 'Those invitations should have
revealed the affect of the pills we took. They contain a membrane that
detects the levels at which cell breakdown is occurring. If my
suspicions are confirmed, and the Genesine did in fact kick start a
perpetual chemical reaction; the fingerprints on those cards will have
changed colour.'

'Um, Thomas&;#8230;' Said Jodie carefully fingering her card, 'How
is it, Esther and I have a membrane on the back of our invites? We
didn't take Genesine.'

Thomas shifted in his seat, for the first time unsure of what to say
next. 'I was arrogant. I had meant to ask for your permission but I was
possessed by an almost spiritual belief in my
infallibility&;#8230;They were in each of your portions of the
duck.'

'Wha - ?' The two girls were simultaneous in exclamation. Thomas held
up a hand and rode over their protests;

'I needed all the four blood types plus a control and it so happened we
had the four blood types between us. I had to know if I was right,
before it was taken away from me. There was so little time, I'm sorry.'
His voice trailed away.

'Do you expect us to forgive you?' It was Sigmund. He had been utterly
silent and disbelieving. Now his anger was swelling and Jodie noticed,
peripherally, as if it was another part of her, the other guests
beginning to take notice. 'I mean, OK, Art and I took the stuff. Even
if we were stupid, we had a choice. But Esther and Jodie didn't have a
chance to even consider it.' Esther squeezed his leg in an effort to
calm him down.

Art, frowning, had considered something else; 'A control would not be
exposed to the trial. Who was the control, Thomas?'

The face said it all.

'You lied to us as well!?' Sigmund exclaimed. 'You use us as lab rats
and look after yourself! You not a scientist, you're a vampire!'

'I'm not sure what I expected from you.' Said Thomas. 'I just knew I
had to tell you.'

'Aright.' Jodie sighed. 'Tell us what this means, Thomas. Are we in any
real danger?'

'No immediate danger, no. The tests should prove my theory that certain
blood types respond to the drug, while on others, there is no affect.
Or possibly, I've discovered lately, a regressive
tendency&;#8230;You, you might age slightly quicker.'

'Oh great', said Art putting his face in his hands.

'What are the colours?' Jodie questioned, realizing she was the only
one willing to engage Thomas rationally.

'Well,' he replied, breathing out heavily, and flipping over the
invitations, 'the, the total lack of pigmentation on Esther and
Sigmund's, means there has been no affect at all. Ah, um, the red of
Art's is not so good and suggests an, ah -'

'Early aging?' Art finished the sentence for him tiredly.

'Yes. But there are remedies, the corporation is working
on&;#8230;'

'What about violet?' Jodie said.

'It's what I hoped and prayed for you Jodie. You haven't aged a day and
you never will my darling.'

The people of Amiens have never explained it; certainly not the
Gendarmerie, nor the stall owners by the river, the patrons of the
restaurant, or the tour guide on the bridge who was completing a brief
talk about the Somme and it's history: A beautiful young woman in a
broad rimmed summer hat and dark glasses stood up from her table with a
group of friends and threw herself in the water, the hat remaining
stubbornly on the surface as if she had passed through the eye of a
needle. Her friends, they say, seemed in too much shock to stop her and
the fishmonger's son who dived in after her was swept hundreds of
metres down the river before he was able to pull himself out of the
current. He never came close to seeing her.

They do talk of how beautiful she was; the cannons of the cathedral
remember her visit earlier in the day and the car hire clerk recalls
her gentle manner.

'Why a pretty lady would do such a thing is beyond the mortal mind.' He
said quietly to the inquiring Gendarme.

**********************************************