White Noise - Don Delillo [80]
“It dissolves the medication encased in the membrane. Slowly, gradually, precisely. The medicine then passes out of the polymer tablet through a single small hole. Once again the rate is carefully controlled.”
“It took me a while to spot the hole.”
“That’s because it’s laser-drilled. It’s not only tiny but stunningly precise in its dimensions.”
“Lasers, polymers.”
“I’m not an expert in any of this, Jack, but I can tell you it’s a wonderful little system.”
“What’s the point of all this precision?”
“I would think the controlled dosage is meant to eliminate the hit-or-miss effect of pills and capsules. The drug is delivered at specified rates for extended periods. You avoid the classic pattern of overdosage followed by underdosage. You don’t get a burst of medication followed by the merest trickle. No upset stomach, queasiness, vomiting, muscle cramps, et cetera. This system is efficient.”
“I’m impressed. I’m even dazzled. But what happens to the polymer tablet after the medication is pumped out of it?”
“It self-destructs. It implodes minutely of its own massive gravitation. We’ve entered the realm of physics. Once the plastic membrane is reduced to microscopic particles, it passes harmlessly out of the body in the time-honored way.”
“Fantastic. Now tell me what the medication is designed to do? What is Dylar? What are the chemical components?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Of course you know. You’re brilliant. Everyone says so.”
“What else can they say? I do neurochemistry. No one knows what that is.”
“Other scientists have some idea. They must. And they say you’re brilliant.”
“We’re all brilliant. Isn’t that the understanding around here? You call me brilliant, I call you brilliant. It’s a form of communal ego.”
“No one calls me brilliant. They call me shrewd. They say I latched on to something big. I filled an opening no one knew existed.”
“There are openings for brilliance too. It’s my turn, that’s all. Besides, I’m built funny and walk funny. If they couldn’t call me brilliant, they would be forced to say cruel things about me. How awful for everyone.”
She clutched some files to her chest.
“Jack, all I can tell you for certain is that the substance contained in Dylar is some kind of psychopharmaceutical. It’s probably designed to interact with a distant part of the human cortex. Look around you. Brains everywhere. Sharks, whales, dolphins, great apes. None of them remotely matches the human brain in complexity. The human brain is not my field. I have only a bare working knowledge of the human brain but it’s enough to make me proud to be an American. Your brain has a trillion neurons and every neuron has ten thousand little dendrites. The system of intercommunication is awe-inspiring. It’s like a galaxy that you can hold in your hand, only more complex, more mysterious.”
“Why does this make you proud to be an American?”
“The infant’s brain develops in response to stimuli. We still lead the world in stimuli.”
I sipped my water.
“I wish I knew more,” she said. “But the precise nature of the medication eludes me. I can tell you one thing. It is not on the market.”
“But I found it in an ordinary prescription vial.”
“I don’t care where you found it. I’m pretty sure I’d recognize the ingredients of a known brain-receptor drug. This one is unknown.”
She began to shoot quick looks toward the door. Her eyes were bright and fearful. I realized there were noises in the corridor. Voices, shuffling feet. I watched Winnie back toward a rear door. I decided I wanted to see her blush one more time. She put an arm behind her, unlatched the door, turned quickly and went running into the gray afternoon. I tried to think of something funny to say.
26
IS AT UP IN BED with my notes on German grammar. Babette lay on her side staring into the clock-radio, listening to a call-in show. I heard a woman say: “In 1977 I looked in the mirror and saw the person I was becoming. I couldn’t or wouldn’t get out of bed. Figures moved at the edge of my vision, like with scurrying steps. I was getting phone calls