Elixir (5 page)

Suddenly the figure of a man caught my eye as he broke through the crowd and started to walk up the steps. Was he going to try to get into the building and free the dogs? Wait, it was Dr. Banting!

“No!” the woman said as she stepped forward to block Dr. Banting's way. “As much as we'd like to, we can't go inside to free the animals. You must go back down the steps and join our brothers and sisters!”

I could clearly see the look of confusion—no,
shock
— on his face. “Dear woman, you are mistaken,” he said. “I have no intention of going in to
free
the animals.”

“Do you wish to come forward to offer testimony?” she asked.

“Perhaps I could say a few words.”

What did he want to say? Maybe he hoped they'd be able to free the dogs from that kennel beside his office so that he and Mr. Best could get some peace and quiet and be rid of the smell. Those dogs must drive him practically crazy, I thought.

“Excellent!” she beamed. “Excellent! It is so wonderful to have another brother join with us sisters! You are new to our cause.”

“Completely new. This is the first time I've heard you speak,” Dr. Banting replied. “But certainly not the first time I've read literature such as this.” He held one of their pamphlets.

“The words are powerful, are they not? The pen is truly mightier than the sword,” she said. “Can you tell us your name, dear sir?”

“I am Frederick Banting—
Dr.
Banting.”

“A man of science. We have many men of science in our cause. Men such as Dr. Leffingwell and Dr. Bigelow, founding members of the New England Anti-Vivisection Society. Please, dear
doctor,
speak.”

Dr. Banting turned away from the woman so that he was now facing the demonstrators below. From my vantage all I could see was his back. He cleared his throat.

“I'm afraid I'm not much of a public speaker,” he began. His voice was shaky and hesitant.

“Speak from the heart and the words will be true!” called up a woman's voice from the crowd.

“I certainly don't have the oratorical eloquence of some,” he said, gesturing to the woman still standing beside him. She bowed her head slightly in response. “I was born and raised on a farm north of Toronto, just outside the community of Alliston. Living on a farm you have animals around you all the time. Beef cattle, chickens to lay eggs, horses to help in the fields, and dogs that don't just work with you but become your friends.” He
paused. “One of my best friends growing up—heck, one of the best friends I'll ever have my whole life—was named Collie. She wasn't much to look at. Part German shepherd, part collie, and part who knows what. But what she was, indeed, was one hundred percent faithful and loyal. That dog would have given up her life for me in a second. And I would have risked
my
life to save her. I know that.”

“As it should be,” the woman added, “for both species, man and dog, are equal in importance.”

The audience cheered. Dr. Banting looked at the woman, waiting for the crowd to become silent again.

“And that's where I find myself so confused today. Confused by the fact that so many of you … obviously good people, obviously caring, obviously articulate and well-educated people from families of advantage … can all be so … so …
misguided
.”

Misguided … what did he mean by that? The crowd started to stir.

“How can so many people,” he continued, “devote so much time …
waste
so much time on such a ridiculous pursuit? What person could possibly equate human life with that of an animal? I loved my dog as any boy would love his pet, but Collie was a dog … not a person. And now, I must get on with my work.”

He turned and started up the steps. The crowd stood there in stunned silence, as if each person were holding her breath, unable to register what he had just
said. Suddenly as he reached the top step someone yelled out something, and then another person jeered and the crowd began to boo. One of the policemen held open the door and the angry roar of the demonstrators poured into the building. Dr. Banting stepped inside and closed the door, muffling the sound of the angry crowd.

“What incredible idiots!” he snapped. “What sort of nincompoops would ever think …” He stopped mid-sentence as he saw me staring at him. “Hello, Ruthie.”

“Hello, Dr. Banting.”

“Were you watching all that?” he asked.

I nodded.

“That was not very kind of me. I should have just walked in and held my peace instead of stirring things up. Sometimes I'm not very bright that way … things jump out of my mouth before I even have a chance to think them through. My mother always told me, you have two ears and only one mouth for a reason. Now, I really had better get back to work. I hope you'll join us for tea again today.”

“I'll try,” I said.

“And please ask your mother to come along.”

My mother! I'd forgotten all about her. If she came back now and found me wasting my time.… “I'll tell her, sir,” I said. “I promise.” I picked up my book and hurried away from the window.

I tried to concentrate on Dickens, but I couldn't help feeling confused by what Dr. Banting had said to the crowd. He seemed to be speaking in support of harming animals. Why would he do that? It made no sense to me.

CHAPTER FIVE

“
I REALLY DON
'
T
have time,” my mother protested.

“But he asked again today if you'd join them for tea, and I think it would be
rude
to turn down an invitation two days in a row. Don't you always tell me how important it is to have good manners?”

“And I also tell you that you should respect your elders, but that doesn't always happen.”

“Sorry.”

My mother sighed.

“I still have a lot of work to do.” “I'll help you. And we don't have to stay long. Just a cuppa and a biscuit.”

“All right, just a cuppa for me and you can have the biscuits for both of us.”

“I like that idea.”

My mother removed her long apron and smoothed the skirt of her dress with her palms. She then tucked some loose wisps of hair back into her bun.

“Do I look presentable?” she asked. She sounded almost nervous.

“Pretty as a picture.” I smiled up at her.

We climbed up the stairs. The air was thick and still and became hotter with each step.

“Even when I was cleaning first thing this morning it was like an oven up on the third floor,” my mother said. “It's a shame we're having tea in this hot building rather than sitting under the shade of that big tree in the backyard of our old house. Ever since our meeting with Professor McDonald, I've been thinking about those wonderful times.”

“It would be nicer,” I agreed. We used to have tea in the backyard every day in the good weather—every day before we sold the house and moved. The lab certainly wasn't our backyard.

“I don't know how those two men stand it up there in all that heat,” my mother said.

“Yes, it must be hard. Maybe they could work in one of the other labs down on the first floor. Some of those aren't being used, are they?”

“There are two empty labs on the main floor,” she said. “And I'm grateful for that.”

“You are?”

“Anything that's not being used isn't being dirtied, and if it isn't being dirtied it doesn't have to be cleaned.”

“So why don't they move downstairs?” I asked. “It would be cooler.”

“I imagine those labs belong to other researchers,” my mother said as she held open the door to the third floor. A rush of even hotter air, stained by the smell and sounds of the kennel, flooded into the stairwell. “You have to remember that this building is normally pretty busy … when classes are on. It's just now during the summer break that things are so quiet.”

Sometimes it seemed as though the only people in the whole building were me, my mother, Dr. Banting and Mr. Best, and of course Mr. Mercer guarding the door. Other people came and went—a few people who looked like students and some older men who had offices in the building—but it was pretty well deserted. Each of them, unless they were familiar faces, had to stop at Mr. Mercer's desk and be given permission to enter.

Mr. Mercer was always friendly to me. We talked a lot because I often sat in the foyer. It had a big high ceiling and it was the coolest place in the building. He liked to joke around and he often had treats that he would share with me. He was sort of like I thought a grandfather would be—not that I knew because mine had both died before I was born. I wondered how old he was, but it wasn't polite to ask.

“Do you hear that?” my mother asked.

“It's hard to miss those dogs barking,” I replied.

“Not the dogs … don't you hear it? It sounds like—”

“Singing … it sounds like singing.”

As we continued down the hall the voices got louder. We passed by the kennel. The dogs were barking along in chorus. We stopped at the open door of the lab—it was Dr. Banting and Mr. Best! They were working away in different corners of the little lab, but were joined together by their song. Dr. Banting sang in a rich, deep baritone.

I knew the song well—“Pack Up Your Troubles.” I even knew most of the words. It was a happy song, and even though their harmony was pretty bad, they were singing so loudly, so enthusiastically, that I was almost tempted to join in.

One of the voices stopped singing.

“Ladies!” Mr. Best called out.

Dr. Banting stopped singing as well and turned around. “It's good to see you.” He looked at his watch. “Ah, it's two o'clock. Do we have the honour of you two joining us for tea?”

“Ruth extended your kind invitation today,” my mother said.

“Today and every day,” Dr. Banting said.

“I'll put the kettle on,” Mr. Best offered.

“It's most kind of you,” my mother said.

“Nonsense,” Dr. Banting said. “It's our great pleasure to have your company.”

“Most certainly,” Mr. Best agreed. “It allows us a few minutes in the day when we're not staring at each other.” He laughed. He had such a nice laugh. He placed the kettle atop the Bunsen burner and lit the flame.

I couldn't help but wonder what my mother thought of the way they were heating the water, and then I shuddered at what she'd think when they produced the chipped old mugs we'd used yesterday. They certainly weren't the elegant tea set we used to use in the garden—fine English china, silver sugar and creamer, little sterling spoons … I hadn't seen any of that since the move. They were probably in a box somewhere. That is, if we hadn't sold them. We'd had to sell off so many of our lovely things. I knew it made sense from a practical point of view, since there wasn't nearly as much space in our rented flat as there had been in our house. I also knew it was because we needed the money.

“We don't want to be a bother or interrupt your work,” my mother said.

“No bother whatsoever,” Dr. Banting said.

“In fact you're doing us a favour,” Mr. Best added.

“We are?” I asked.

“Yes, if you hadn't appeared at our door, we might have missed tea altogether.”

“We do tend to get lost in our work and lose track of the time,” Dr. Banting agreed.

“Ruth told me about your work,” my mother said. “She said you were studying diabetes.”

“We're working on a theory proposed by Fred here. We're trying to isolate a secretion of the pancreas, a hormone, that he believes is responsible for breaking
down glucose. When this hormone is not secreted, then diabetes is the result.”

“And if we can isolate it, and then produce this secretion in a form that can be administered to patients, it will result in a way to control and treat the disease,” Dr. Banting explained.

“An interesting theory,” my mother agreed. “You're obviously building upon the theories put forward by Paul Langerhans.”

“Langerhans … you know of the work of Langerhans?” Dr. Banting asked. He sounded amazed.

“Not directly … I've not read any of his work, but I distinctly remember my husband discussing his ideas and those of a Polish doctor—”

“Dr. Minkowski,” Mr. Best said.

“Yes, that's it. Dr. Minkowski.”

“He was the first person to note that an animal with a damaged pancreas will develop diabetes,” Dr. Banting said. “You mentioned your husband. Who is your husband, madam, that he would know of this work?”

“John Williams.”

“
Professor
Williams?” Mr. Best asked.

She nodded her head. She looked proud.

“He was my professor for one of my first-year courses, in biochemistry. Your husband was one of the most respected teachers—students almost fought to get into his classes and … and … his death was a great loss … allow me to offer my condolences.”

“Thank you,” my mother said.

“His death was a tragedy,” Mr. Best said.

“His death was part of that larger tragedy of war,” she replied.

“Your husband died in the war?” Dr. Banting asked.

“In France. He was a captain in the infantry.”

“I served in the infantry too,” Dr. Banting said. “I was an army surgeon.” He turned to me. “I acted as a doctor on the field of battle. I tended to the injured, performed operations, tried to save the lives of those soldiers wounded in combat.”

“An honourable action, one of the few the war would allow,” my mother said.

“No more honourable than the actions of your husband, or Charles here—he fought in the war too,” Dr. Banting said. “We all served, just in different capacities.” He took the kettle off the Bunsen burner and poured the boiling water into the teapot.

“Let me get the biscuits,” Mr. Best offered.