Kevin gestured up toward his lab, then mumbled words to the effect that Esmeralda was expecting him.
“Can’t you give her a call?” Candace asked. She had the intuitive feeling Kevin wanted to join her, so she persisted.
“I guess,” Kevin said. “I suppose I could call from my lab.”
“Fine,” Candace said. “Do you want me to wait here or come with you?”
Kevin had never met such a forward female, not that he had a lot of opportunity or experience. His last and only love other than a couple of high school crushes had been a fellow doctorate candidate, Jacqueline Morton. That relationship had taken months to develop out of long hours working together; she’d been as shy as Kevin.
Candace came up the five stairs to stand next to Kevin. She was about five-three in her Nikes. “If you can’t decide, and it’s all the same to you, why don’t I come up.”
“Okay,” Kevin said.
Kevin’s nervousness quickly abated. Usually what bothered him in social circumstances with females was the stress of trying to think of things to talk about. With Candace, he didn’t have time to think. She maintained a running conversation. During the ascent of the two flights of stairs she managed to bring up the weather, the town, the hospital, and how the surgery had gone.
“This is my lab,” Kevin said, after opening the door.
“Fantastic!” Candace said with sincerity.
Kevin smiled. He could tell she was truly impressed.
“You go ahead and make your call,” Candace said. “I’ll just look around if it’s okay.”
“If you’d like,” Kevin said.
Although Kevin was concerned about giving Esmeralda so little warning he’d not be there for lunch, she surprised him with her equanimity. Her only response was to ask when Kevin wanted dinner.
“At the usual time,” Kevin said. Then after a brief hesitation, he surprised himself by adding: “I might have company. Would that be a problem?”
“Not at all,” Esmeralda said. “How many persons?”
“Just one,” Kevin said. He hung up the phone and wiped his palms together. They were a little damp.
“Are we on for lunch?” Candace called from across the room.
“Let’s go!” Kevin said.
“This is some lab!” she commented. “I never would have expected to find it here in the heart of tropical Africa. Tell me, what is it that you’re doing with all this fantastic equipment?”
“I’m trying to perfect the protocol,” Kevin said.
“Can’t you be more specific?” Candace asked.
“You really want to know?” Kevin asked.
“Yes,” Candace said. “I’m interested.”
“At this stage I’m dealing with minor histocompatibility antigens. You? know, proteins that define you as a unique, separate individual.”
“And what do you do with them?”
“Well, I locate their genes on the proper chromosome,” Kevin said. “Then I search for the transponase that’s associated with the genes, if there’s any, so I can move the genes.”
Candace let out a little laugh. “You’ve lost me already,” she admitted. “I haven’t the foggiest notion what a transponase is. In fact, I’m afraid a lot of this molecular biology is over my head.”
“It really isn’t,” Kevin said. “The principles aren’t that complicated. The critical fact few people realize is that some genes can move around on their chromosome. This happens particularly in B lymphocytes to increase the diversity of antibodies. Other genes are even more mobile and can change places with their twins. You do remember that there are two copies of every gene.”
“Yup,” Candace said. “Just like there are two copies of each chromosome. Our cells have twenty-three chromosome pairs.”
“Exactly,” Kevin said. “When genes exchange places on their chromosome pairs it’s called homologous transposition. It’s a particularly important process in the generation of sex cells, both eggs and sperms. What it does is help increase genetic shuffling, and hence the ability of species to evolve.”
“So this homologous transposition plays a role in evolution,” Candace said.
“Absolutely,” Kevin agreed. “Anyway, the gene segments that move are called transposons, and the enzymes that catalyze their movement are called transponases.”
“Okay,” Candace said. “I follow you so far.”
“Well, right now I’m interested in transposons that contain the genes for minor histocompatibility antigens,” Kevin said.
“I see,” Candace said, nodding her head. “I’m getting the picture. You’re goal is to move the gene for a minor histocompatibility antigen from one chromosome to another.”
“Exactly!” Kevin said. “The trick, of course, is finding and isolating the transponase. That’s the difficult step. But once I’ve found the transponase, it’s relatively easy to locate its gene. And once I’ve located and isolated the gene, I can use standard recombinant DNA technology to produce it.”
“Meaning getting bacteria to make it for you,” Candace said.
“Bacteria or mammalian tissue culture,” Kevin said. “Whatever works best.”
“Phew!” Candace commented. “This brain game is reminding me how hungry I am. Let’s get some hamburgers before my blood sugar bottoms out.”
Kevin smiled. He liked this woman. He was even starting to relax.
Descending the hospital stairs, Kevin felt a little giddy while listening and responding to Candace’s entertaining, nonstop questions and chatter. He couldn’t believe he was going to lunch with such an attractive, engaging female. It seemed to him that more things had happened in the last couple of days than during the previous five years he’d been in Cogo. He was so preoccupied, he didn’t give a thought to the Equatoguinean soldiers as he and Candace crossed the square.
Kevin had not been in the rec center since his initial orientation tour. He’d forgotten its quaintness. He’d also forgotten how blasphemous it was that the church had been recycled to provide worldly diversion. The altar was gone, but the pulpit was still in place off to the left. It was used for lectures and for calling out the numbers on bingo night. In place of the altar was the movie screen: an unintended sign of the times.
The commissary was in the basement and was reached by a stairway in the narthex. Kevin was surprised at how busy it was. A babble of voices echoed off the harsh, concrete ceiling. He and Candace had to stand in a long line before ordering. Then after they’d gotten their food, they had to search in the confusion for a place to sit. The tables were all long and had to be shared. The seats were benches attached like picnic tables.
“There are some seats,” Candace called out over the chatter. She pointed toward the rear of the room with her tray. Kevin nodded.
Kevin glanced furtively at the faces in the crowd as he weaved his way after Candace. He felt self-conscious, given Bertram’s insight into popular opinion, yet no one paid him the slightest attention.
Kevin followed Candace as she squeezed between two tables. He held his tray high to avoid hitting anyone, then put it down at an empty spot. He had to struggle to get his legs over the seat and under the table. By the time he was situated, Candace had already introduced herself to the two people sitting on the aisle. Kevin nodded to them. He didn’t recognize either one.
“Lively place,” Candace said. She reached for catsup. “Do you come here often?”
Before Kevin could respond, someone called out his name. He turned and recognized the lone familiar face. It was Melanie Becket, the reproductive technologist.
“Kevin Marshall!” Melanie exclaimed again. “I’m shocked. What are you doing here?”
Melanie was about the same age as Candace; she’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday the previous month. Where Candace was light, she was dark, with medium-brown hair and coloration that seemed Mediterranean. Her dark brown eyes were nearly black.