Parasite Eve Sephirotto Part 8

Did she know about the other cells? He studied her face a.s.siduously for signs as he nodded. Just then, the door opened and in walked one of his seniors, who was quite taken aback at Toshiaki's unexpected return.

"Good morning," said Toshiaki gently and began talking with the student, missing his chance to probe what Asakura knew about the cells.

Perhaps because Toshiaki had been able to talk with Asakura, he was able to greet the other staff members without much awkwardness. They all bowed and uttered condolescences to him, but things didn't get too soppy.

"You shouldn't return to work so soon. Take a break," Mutsuo Ishihara, the professor, told him. Toshiaki thanked him but turned down the offer.

"To be honest, I was actually getting more depressed being away from my work."

Ishihara raised an eyebrow.

"I see," he said worriedly. "Just don't overdo it."

That night, after the staff had gone home, Toshiaki stepped into the Cultivation Room with a feigned nonchalance and opened the incubator. He took out the stainless steel sheet from inside. There appeared to be no change in Kiyomi's cell flasks from the night before. He gazed at the word "Eve" written on the lid; he'd chosen this name because Kiyomi's birthday fell on Christmas Eve.

After performing the primary culture on her liver cells, he had come here 'every night to look at them. At two or three in the morning, after all the students would have left, he came to "meet" with the cells, not even turning on the lights, stalking sure n.o.body caught on to his secret visits. Bathed in the pale glow of the clean bench, Toshiaki would put his eyes up to the microscope and peer at the cells.

He imagined that Kiyomi would have been frightened by a figure hunched over a microscope in a gloomy room during the dead of night. She had always been very sensitive, looking away during the murder scenes of TV dramas, calling for his help whenever she needed to get rid of an insect in the house. He had never been able to describe his experiments to her in detail. Even after they married, for some time Kiyomi innocently kept asking him about his research. He gladly informed her about the more general findings of his work, but took care to avoid talking about dissecting rats, cultivating cancer cells and bacteria, and such matters. He knew not to, after the mention of a routine mouse injection had been enough to frighten her. Toshiaki also made sure no odors from the lab animals lingered on his clothing when he got home.

But now Kiyomi herself was in a culture flask. Even on the night of the wake, after gazing upon her face one last time, he had come here to observe Eve. On that night, Toshiaki was seized by strange delusions that Kiyomi had divided and disseminated.

She was surely more than just a corpse and the cells now in his possession. Each of her kidneys now thrived in other people.

"I'm sorry but you can't meet them," he'd been told over the phone the day before.

He'd held the receiver, just sitting still for several seconds, before he could plead again.

"Why not? Please. Just once."

But the woman on the phone told him that the patients' privacy had to be respected and that any such action would be an intrusion.

Toshiaki had called the City Central Hospital after struggling in vain not to. He simply couldn't resist after he'd read the letter from the transplant coordinator, Odagiri. The letter was very polite. It explained that Kiyomi's kidneys had been transplanted into two recipients and that one of them was a 14-year-old girl. It spoke of her favorable recovery and expressed a deep grat.i.tude on behalf of everyone involved. At the end of the letter, a postscript said to contact her should there be anything they could do for him.

Kiyomi's kidneys were still alive, resuscitated in other bodies. Toshiaki's heart ached at the thought. He wanted to meet these people desperately. If anything, he hoped to find traces of Kiyomi in those who harbored her gifts.

In the end, he could do nothing but hang up the phone in defeat.

Of course, the hospital's response made perfect sense. If the donor's family were allowed to meet the recipient, unpleasant arguments of a financial nature could easily arise. If the organ in question was ultimately rejected by the recipient's body, the result could be no little hurt on both sides. By keeping the two parties ignorant of the other's ident.i.ty, it was ensured that their lives would be lived without any unnecessary trauma. Though Toshiaki found no fault with this reasoning, he refused to abandon the notion altogether.

He wanted so much to feel Kiyomi's existence, despite her body having already been reduced to ashes. All he could do now to satisfy his desire was to look at her liver cells. Ever since the coffin was carried away, his apartment had become dark and terribly cold, enshrouded though it was in the brightness of early summer.

Toshiaki had returned to his lab duties with these thoughts swimming in his head. If he went back to work, he could meet with Kiyomi anytime and not have to resort to lurking in the university halls under cover of night. He could spend more time with her.

Toshiaki removed another flask from the incubator and placed it under the irticroscope.

He then turned on the lamp switch and drew his eyes close to the lenses.

As he turned a small wheel with the middle finger of his left hand to bring the image into focus, Kiyomi's cells emerged in full clarity. They had grown protrusions and looked like stars, adhering to the bottom of the flask. In this one area alone, about ten-odd cells covered the bottom completely. Toshiaki moved the stand, shifting the field of view left and right to check the other cells. He had added a number of growth factors to the solution for the primary culture, and Eve looked alive, very much so.

After looking at the cells for a while, Toshiaki noticed something strange. He squinted.

The cells had increased in number.

Unlike cancer cells, normal liver cells did not multiply all that much. A built- in control system made sure that they divided only when, and as much as, necessary. Cancer cells were precisely those that weren't subject to this control. When cultivating cancer cells, adding a serum, their nutrient, was enough to have them multiply up to the brim of a flask over the course of just a few days. In order to continue with the cultivation, one actually had to remove the cells from the flask and to redeposit just a portion of them. Meanwhile, in order to cultivate liver cells, which had weak self-replicating capabilities to begin with, one had to introduce growth inducers to the solution, in addition to the serum, to make sure the cells didn't die. Even then, liver cells never divided and proliferated vigorously like cancer cells.

In fact, they usually died out after a few weeks.

But these cells were different.

Cell coverage was dense, but far from uniform, gathered in some places like little archipelagos and only spa.r.s.ely in others, a pattern that arose only when cells were multiplying. Toshiaki had been careless not to see it until now. Their growth rate must have been increasing with each pa.s.sing day. He suspected for a moment that perhaps they were fibroblasts that had been mixed in, but when he examined the cell's shapes he confirmed that it was indeed the liver cells.

Toshiaki checked each flask and plate. All showed similar signs of growth. The plate wells were already overcrowded, so much so that if he didn't transpose them, the cells would begin to die.

This was getting interesting.

Eve consisted of normal liver cells but was growing at the rate of cancer cells. There was a small possibility that the presence of cancer-related genes was causing this anomaly, but Toshiaki had no reason to suspect that Kiyomi had been suffering from liver cancer. It looked like he had in his possession an extremely rare cell type. Some unique mutation, the likes of which had never been reported before, was transpiring within these cells.

Establishing lines of these could not be that hard, either.

Toshiaki flicked on the clean bench lamp and ignited the gas burners. He took some trypsin and a culture medium from the refrigerator. He tossed a 15 cc tube, still in its wrapper, on the bench. Finally he placed a cell plate on the bench with care.

He sat in front of the bench and began gathering the cells. They would have to be cloned. His obsession with Eve was only growing stronger now that it promised to aid his research on mitochondria. Countless questions swarmed in his head. Had the mitochondrial form in these cells changed with this metamorphosis? Were beta-oxidation enzymes being induced? How about the formation of retinoid receptors? If the mitochondria had indeed changed, was it in fact Responsible for the cellular reproduction? If so, how, why?

Kiyomi's face floated before his eyes. She was smiling, so cheerfully. Her large eyes, her gently curving eyebrows, her lips that shone with a rosy hue, without the aid of rouge, those soft cheeks, all were set aglow by her smile. Toshiaki loved her smile. He could almost hear her pleasant, rolling voice.

He recalled the first time they met. Kiyomi, not used to drinking, was flushed from the beer she'd had, but this detracted nothing from the loveliness of her laugh. Toshiaki talked too volubly about his research, but she listened with interest. Her curiosity didn't abate even after they started going out. Toshiaki was touched by her sincere desire to know more about him, though it seemed she also concealed a certain jealousy towards his work. She sounded lonely when he was delayed by his experiments late into the night. He was sympathetic to her 'complaints, but was also vexed that he couldn't convey to her that his love for her and his love for research were two completely different dimensions of his life. It was not a matter of choosing one over the other. To him, research was a necessity, but Kiyomi never seemed willing to grasp that.

But the two had become one now. Toshiaki felt strangely elated. Studying these cells was, at one and the same time, spending quality time with her.

As he continued with the limiting dilution of the cells, he felt a slight fever rise in him.

He felt that Kiyomi was calling out to his body. Despite not being able to meet the recipients, he did have these cells. Working with them, he could [connect with Kiyomi.

He had to nurture the cells with care. He would prolong their life, as much as possible, and produce significant data. He knew this would have made Kiyomi glad, too. He'd come home late so often, even after they were married, and couldn't give her all the attention she deserved. He would now make up for it by pouring all of that lost love into Eve.

With a firm resolve, he reached for the next plate.

5.

Kiyomi's friends were always impressed that her parents were both doctors. Whenever they came over to her house, they could not help but notice its s.p.a.ciousness and well-decorated interior. A grand piano stood in the living room, as well as a wooden book case that housed a charming a.s.sortment of music boxes and French dolls. Kiyomi's mother enjoyed baking and usually made cake or cookies for her and her friends.

"We've only got an apartment. My father's always complaining he doesn't have enough money 'cuz he's a high school teacher," said Chika in a bright voice, despite the mouthful of freshly baked cookie. Denying any possession of such riches, Kiyomi replied modestly that Chika had plenty going for her, all the games she had, not to mention an older brother to keep her company at home.

"Oh, he's a pain. He's so uncool," Chika retorted, shaking her head dramatically. Then she laughed and said Kiyomi's house was the best.

Kiyomi had many friends and enjoyed her time with everyone. She had been close to most of them since grade school. But because she and Chika were in the same homeroom cla.s.s for their first two years of middle school, they had become especially good friends and spent much of their free time together. They differed in character and taste, yet this only served to augment their friendship. Chika often described Kiyomi's lavish household, to use a vocab word she had learned in history cla.s.s, as "bourgeois." Kiyomi understood Chika's praise to be genuine at bottom, so she didn't mind at all.

Kiyomi inherited her mother's hobbies and had recently begun to pursue an interest in baking, occasionally making cakes together with her mother. She was also fond of doll-making. For her birthday the year before, she'd received an Anne of Green Gables book from her father and had fallen in love with it. She now owned the entire series and had reread them from cover to cover a number of times.

"Kiyomi, you're such a lady, everything you do. 'Course, if I grew up like you, I'd be baking fancy cookies too," Chika said heartily.

After finishing their cookies, they sipped orange juice from straws.

"I would love to be more like you, Chika." Kiyomi was thinking of Chika's fifty meter dash in gym cla.s.s that day. Though Chika was short, she had the right reflexes and excelled in short distance running, for which she held the top honor in her cla.s.s. She'd partic.i.p.ated in city meets, and she was always the star on Sports Day. For the relay run, she easily beat out boys from the other cla.s.ses. Her figure stood out quite noticeably on the track.

"Nah, I suck. Look at my legs, they're getting fat. None of the cute guys 'll even get near me!" said Chika sarcastically and smiled.

"Don't be silly. You're adorable, Chika...I'm sure you'll find someone who appreciates you."

"You're just saying that. 'Sides, if you looked up 'adorable' in the dictionary, your picture'd be right there next to it." Chika laughed as she said this, but then her expression grew serious. She leaned in closer.

. "What's wrong?" asked Kiyomi, somewhat unnerved.

"A question for the witness. This'll go on record, so you must answer honestly. You do have the right to remain silent."

"What is it, Chika?"

"What's your type?"

"Huh?"

It was such a sudden question that Kiyomi did not know how to answer. She looked around bashfully, then gazed directly at Chika's face. Chika's eyes took on a mischievous look; the straight line of her lips twisted and broke into laughter.

"You're too much, Kiyomi." Chika held her belly and continued laughing. "Is it that hard to answer?"

"Hey..."

"I could see you ending up with someone like your dad," she said, at last suppressing her snickering.

"You think?"

"Definitely. He seems like someone you can really count on. They say if you have a father like that, you end up with pretty high standards."

"I never thought about it..."

"Your family's like a TV show, anyway. You've got your quiet father, gentle mother, and the little princess. Everything you need for the perfect drama."

"Don't say things like that...it's embarra.s.sing." Kiyomi's face turned red and she hid it behind both hands. She tried to change the subject.

"Well, enough about me. What about you? You haven't told me what your type is."

"Me? Hm..."

She grew serious again, folded her arms, and tilted her head. Her emotions always changed so quickly. Kiyomi was more reserved in character and was envious of Chika's outgoing nature.

Chika thought about it for a good thirty seconds. Then, a smile rose to her lips.

"Someone who will think of me forever."

"Yeah."

Kiyomi nodded, a smile upon her face as well.

Kiyomi's grades were in good standing and she was an active member of the bra.s.s band. She was accepted into a prep school without even attending cram- school cla.s.ses. The high school was considered one of the best in her prefecture, with a lot of the graduates going on to college. Meanwhile, Chika's diligent study in her final year of middle school paid off and she was accepted into the same high school as Kiyomi. Chika always wore a cheerful smile in the company of others, showing no signs of stress, but Kiyomi suspected that she was secretly a very hard worker.

The high school placed as much emphasis on extracurricular activities as on academics, and most students picked up something. Chika did what she was best at and joined the track and field club, while Kiyomi joined a chamber ensemble.

High school life was as enjoyable as they could have imagined. Kiyomi liked to read in the time between cla.s.ses and after-school activities. After finishing The Tale of Genii, she started on Anne of Green Gables in the English original.

The seasons pa.s.sed by quickly. Nevertheless, somewhere in her heart, Kiyomi felt like high school life was all she would ever know; hence her exclamation of surprise one day during the summer of her second year when the teacher handed out a college selection form to the cla.s.s.

Later that day after practice, Kiyomi was putting her things away when Chika dropped by the practice room. She was carrying her backpack and duffel bag in one hand. As she stood in front of the doorway, peeping into the room, she gently waved her free hand. Her hair was a bit wet from the shower she had taken after track. Kiyomi smiled and waved back, signaling with a finger to wait a moment. When most of the band members had left, Chika stepped into the quiet practice room and sat next to Kiyomi, who was cleaning her instrument.

Watching Kiyomi's fingers detachedly, Chika asked, "So what do you think you'll do, Kiyomi?"

"I don't know."

Kiyomi shook her head. The still warm sunlight poured in through the window, illuminating her hands as she wiped fingerprints from her trumpet with a small cloth. The heat had been quite intense throughout the day, but remained now only in scattered places as a languid afterglow. It was already 6:30 and, before they knew it, the voices echoing from the basketball team in the rear gymnasium had faded away.

They hopped on their bikes and took the road home together, riding side by side. The streets were unusually inactive, not a single soul in sight. The girls, too, were silent. Kiyomi began to feel uncomfortable, pedaling her bicycle faster to keep up with Chika.

Kiyomi broke the silence at last.

"So, we were just starting to get used to high school and now we have to decide what to do with our lives. It's too much to handle right now. I can't even think beyond band practice, you know?"

But Chika simply pedaled, staring off wordlessly into the distance before them. Kiyomi studied her profile. Before long, they had pa.s.sed the street and reached a paved road which ran straight through a rice paddy. The failing heat of the rays was pursued by twilight and their surroundings became steeped in deep blue. The brightness of a single star twinkled from a gap in the clouds. Chika replied at last.

"I want to become a doctor," she mumbled.

Surprised, Kiyomi looked at Chika, whose eyes remained fixed on the sky spread out above them.

Chika's mother had pa.s.sed away that spring. Kiyomi did not understand the details very well, but knew that there had been something wrong with her heart. The days of nursing and the funeral itself must have been hard on Chika, but she'd never once shown a depressed face to Kiyomi. She continued to smile and joke around in her usual manner and remained the person Kiyomi could always talk to. Yet, Kiyomi had been unable to read what had been transpiring in her best friend's mind.

Kiyomi had trouble falling asleep that night.

What did she want to be? She could not picture herself finding a job and earning a salary. She would probably attend college but had no clear ideas as to what she would major in. She had plenty of time and she could decide once she was in college; that had been the extent of her thinking.

Chika's comment that day struck at her heart. Chika seemed to know what she wanted to be, at least. Kiyomi didn't. Chika had taken a step ahead and was pulling away from her.

Kiyomi fantasized about what shape her life would take. Who would she marry? What would her children be like? How would she die? She lay in bed with her eyes open, staring at the dark ceiling with a contemplation that was fragmentary at best. The fluorescent light dangling from above began to spin around slowly. She had no idea if she was awake or dreaming. Countless doubts arose, overflowing and spilling over one another inside her head.