Toshiaki was immediately taken with the plan. Here was an unknown world of knowledge, far exceeding anything he had learned in biochemistry and genetics, just waiting to be explored. He felt the sheer thrill of breaking new ground.

Mitochondria revolved noiselessly, much like the handmade lantern in his room, countless specimens coiled around one another in large cl.u.s.ters. They floated in s.p.a.ce, turning without end. Toshiaki watched them in his dream. Discernible only as opaque shapes, they blocked the sun. He was lifted from solid earth and struggled not to be swallowed up by the darkness.

Eve 1's a.n.a.lysis was proceeding smoothly.

Toshiaki hardly noticed the time pa.s.sing by. It was already August and the hot days pressed on. Leaves from the trees and shrubs surrounding the school complex glittered intensely like thousands of small mirrors in the sunlight, shooting through the gla.s.s of the lab window and bathing the room in a bright haze. In the poorly air-conditioned Pharmaceuticals building, most activities had come to a halt. Toshiaki's course was as inactive as the others were busy and all signs of stress were beginning to fade now that the seniors were all on break studying for their graduate entrance exams. Only Toshiaki and Asakura stayed behind, though their motives for doing so were totally unrelated. Shut up in this small, sweltering room, he was absorbed in Eve 1's data, instructing Asakura as needed.

According to the Northern blot results and RT-PCR data, the beta-oxidation enzymes in Eve 1 had worked remarkably well.

"I've never seen anything like this before," Asakura said upon completing the experiment, barely able to hide her excitement. "The clofibrate enhancement is incredible.

There's a peculiar band here that has appeared in all of them. It's almost as if these cells are developing into something else entirely."

Asakura pointed to the large, dark band on the data film image which indicated a dramatic increase in the enzyme's messenger RNA.

"The clofibrate... ? "Toshiaki muttered, looking into Asakura's face. "Let's try checking all retinoid receptor levels. Then, we'll add clofibrate to the culture medium and see what happens. Check the mitochondrial growth rate alongside the import experiment and carefully record any changes. By the way, Asakura, be sure to let me know if you plan on taking a vacation this summer."

"Nope." Asakura smiled a bit, inclining her head. "I graduate this year, so.. 1 plan on continuing my experiments without pause."

"In that case, you can help me speed up this project. I think you'll be well prepared for the conference in September, anyway, seeing as you're almost ready to collect all your findings."

"Definitely," Asakura said with a prompt nod.

Toshiaki had added a peroxisome proliferator, or extract, into the Eve 1 culture flask.

The extract, of which clofibrate was a representative example, was a substance that caused an organelle in cells called a peroxisome to multiply. At the same time, however, peroxisome proliferators also induced beta-oxidation enzymes within mitochondria, a process which changed their overall shape and composition. Toshiaki had intentionally encouraged this mutation by introducing the extract.

The results were just as he expected. Eve 1's mitochondria were showing great expansion due to the clofibrate, and the enzyme formation was immense. Enzymatic movement to mitochondria was manifestly bolstered. Later, he would have to look at the induction mechanism in greater detail on the genetic level. Toshiaki was sure that the mitochondrial induction mechanism would become clear thanks to Eve 1.

"It's here!"

Toshiaki removed a stack of magazines from their green mail bag with intense enthusiasm.

As he pulled them out, the word nature emerged, followed by INTERNATIONAL WEEKLY JOURNAL OF SCIENCE. Asakura peered patiently over Toshiaki's shoulder, mad with antic.i.p.ation. Toshiaki removed the rest of the magazines, almost ripping the bag in his haste. The photography which graced the cover of Nature sparkled in his eyes. On the front were tides of featured articles. "Science in Mexico" was printed in large letters, but underneath them, in smaller type, were the words: "Approaches to mitochondrial biogenesis."

Toshiaki swiftly turned to the table of contents, tracing his finger along the page until he reached "LETTERS TO NATURE ."There were two articles on mitochondrial interaction.

He found the page number for the second and flipped to it.

"We did it!" shouted Asakura.

Toshiaki's mind burned with a single thought: My own work has appeared in Nature!

His and Asakura's names were printed alongside Professor Ishihara's. They were already expecting the journal's arrival this week, but to actually see and hold it in their hands was a different thrill altogether. Toshiaki had submitted the article the year before, but only now had Part 1 finally come to print. Asakura's voice was filled with sheer excitement as she looked it over.

Their work had been included as part of a small feature. It was no longer Toshiaki's only area of concentration, however. As he continued to find more conclusive data on Eve 1, the results of his research were sure to have an impact upon the world. Everything about Eve 1 was too good to be true. This would someday place him among the highest, most elite circles in the world of science.

Toshiaki flinched from a sudden explosion outside. The smell of powder drifted into the building.

A large fireworks show was being held at the river nearby. The Pharmaceuticals building was the perfect place to enjoy the display. That night, Toshiaki, Asakura. and other staff members and students all went together onto the roof.

The enormous fireworks exploded in chrysanthemum-like shapes against a cloudless night sky. They were so close, it seemed one could touch them just by extending a hand overhead. In a single moment, jewels of light filled their vision, spreading outward as each fizzled into darkness. They could almost feel the glittering, fiery dust pouring down from the heavens, streaking their faces with vibrant colors. Asakura opened her eyes widely, gazing upon the full expanse of the sky. The fireworks changed colors rapidly, from shades of red to vibrant greens. Her cheeks changed color with each new flash as flowers and waterfalls danced in the sky.

She and Toshiaki each opened a can of beer together and drank them down as they savored this aptly timed spectacle. Asakura's eyes scintillated. She drew near to Toshiaki and spoke to him. He smiled and nodded in return. The smell of smoke saturated the air, but he was not bothered by it, because these fireworks were blessing their published work. It was also more secretly a celebration of his rapid progress with Kiyomi's cells. Toshiaki's only regret was that he could not share this happiness with Kiyomi. He wished so much to show Nature to Kiyomi, and to see these fireworks reflected in her proud eyes. The beating of his heart entwined in painful harmony with the rhythm of the bright display, sending ripples of energy trembling along his skin.

8.

Kiyomi was accepted into a local university. She had always done well studying on her own and her entrance exam came and went without stress, despite not having gone through the usual summer prep courses, cram schooling, or private tutors that plagued many of her peers. Even when she went out with her parents the day the results were announced to find her name on the bulletin among those accepted into the English Literature Department, her happiness was shallow at best.

She questioned whether this was really the right path for her and still worried herself about it after the opening ceremony. Kiyomi had only picked English because of an interest in the language and her fondness for reading. But once cla.s.ses began and she made friends with a few cla.s.smates, she appreciated college life much more than she expected.

One night, a party was held for incoming students. It was there where she had beer for the first time. By high school, most of her friends were already drinking alcohol, but Kiyomi always abstained. The beer was bitter to her, but she liked the taste of it. All of the mentors at the party were likable and made her laugh. Before she knew it, she was feeling a little buzzed.

The party was now well under way, and everyone was mingling. Kiyomi went around to socialize with a few uppercla.s.smen for as long as she was able to. Just when Kiyomi was ending a conversation with an older female student, she paused for a moment and broke off the conversation. It was then that she noticed a composed young man sitting next to her. He too looked to have just finished a conversation with someone and was drinking his beer with a faint smile on his lips. Their eyes met and, with an unpracticed hand, Kiyomi lifted her can and offered some of her beer into his empty gla.s.s. She poured it in too straight, turning more than half of it to foam, and bowed her head in apology. He told her to think nothing of it and sipped off some of the froth with a laugh. That is when she asked him: "So what department are you in?"

"Pharmaceutical Sciences," he answered.

"Oh? So you learn about drugs? How to make cold medicines, that sort of thing?"

He smiled bitterly at the questions he had heard many times before and took a swig of beer.

"Well, that's how it started out, but these days it's a bit different. When I was younger, I always thought it was just studying to be a pharmacist."

Kiyomi nodded. She remembered there being many girls among her high school cla.s.smates who, when considering easy jobs, had been encouraged to become hospital pharmacists.

"But the School of Pharmaceutical Sciences is really wide-ranging. Sure, you can become a pharmacist, but you can also do more fundamental research. It's a mixed bag, really. Everything from medicine and physical science, to agriculture and engineering. So even within the department there's a lot to choose from. Some people do organic synthesis, others measure and a.n.a.lyze, for example, certain components of blood. Then there are those whose work is not directly related to medicine. Others culture all kinds of cells and study the effects of cancer on DNA replication. It's a small department, but a unique one, so it's hard for outsiders to really get the gist of it. But 'true' pharmaceutical science is a combination of all these things and more, I think."

The young man told her about the various kinds of research being conducted in each course within the school. She chimed in now and then, listening intently all the while. He broke down his explanations of the seemingly difficult mechanisms of cells and genes.

Though Kiyomi's knowledge only went as far as what she had learned in high school biology, she clearly followed what he was saying.

"That's wonderful that you get to study it, I mean. You really seem to know a lot."

"Nah, I just started my first year in the master's program. I've still got a long way to go."

He scratched his head bashfully. Kiyomi a.s.sumed he was around 22 or 23 years old, if he was just beginning his master's. She understood now why he'd given off an impression of being mature.

"I'm even thinking of going for a Ph.D., as long as I'm able to. But if I was going to do that, this would probably be my last time showing up at a party," he said jokingly.

Kiyomi was deeply impressed. She had been such a pa.s.sive listener in her cla.s.ses, but here was a student already doing his own research and even had the willpower to pursue a Ph.D.

"So...what exactly are you doing research on?" In spite of a fear that his answer would be too technical to understand, she asked anyway in an effort to keep the conversation going.

"Mitochondria." THUMP.

As soon as she heard his answer, Kiyomi's heart leapt. She let out a yell and pressed a hand to her chest.

"...something wrong?"

He looked doubtfully into her face.

"No...it's nothing."

She forced a smile and clung to her chest.

What was that? Kiyomi focused her attention on her body's interior. All she could sense was her own heartbeat. The odd, single thump had come and gone.

She turned her head a little to the side and thought to herself, Maybe I'm just a little drunk is all, then smiled again to ease his concern.

"Really, I'm fine. Please, continue."

The young man seemed unconvinced, but soon he was telling her all about his research.

"Mitochondria are usually mentioned briefly in junior high and high school textbooks, so you've probably heard of them before. Basically, they're necessary components of cells that create energy."

"Yeah, I know that much."

"When fats and sugars are drawn into the cell, they undergo a conversion process and are changed into acetyl-CoA in mitochondria. There, the 'citric acid cycle' leads to the formation of adenosine triphosphate, or ATP. It's this ATP that the body uses in various ways as energy."

"I understand...1 think," Kiyomi said, nodding slightly. She had apparently retained more than she thought.

"My research focuses on why such a conversion occurs in mitochondria in the first place. The process requires a lot of enzymes, and mitochondria are packed with them. Here we run into a problem. We're usually taught that only the nuclei of cells contain genes, but you might be surprised to know that mitochondria also have their own DNA, though it's a very small amount in comparison. But this genetic material doesn't have the info for the enzymes necessary to convert fats and sugars. The genes only code enzymes for the electron transport system needed for making ATP, and just some of those enzymes at that. So where are the genes for the conversion enzymes? They're all in the nucleus. In other words, the nucleus controls the production of enzymes. When the nucleus needs energy, it sends out a command. The more enzymes you have, the more conversions you get. Now, enzymes are usually produced by ribosomes in the cytosol, after which they must find their way into the mitochondria. But how do they get inside at all? Since enzymes are proteins, they can't just pa.s.s through the fatty mitochondrial membrane. Also, how does the nucleus know it needs energy? How does it signal that enzymes have to be produced? And stepping back for the big picture, how does the nucleus control mitochondria anyway? Mitochondria must have originally carried the genes for the enzymes. How did the nucleus just pull those mitochondrial genes into itself? It's so mysterious. At least, I think so."

Kiyomi was completely overwhelmed. She had known what mitochondria were, but she'd never had any reason to think about them so extensively. They were certainly mysterious, as he had said. She was now aware of just how much was still unknown about our biology and that there were people actually trying to bring clarity to all of this.

Thinking he may have been too long-winded, the young man smiled wryly and ended there. He then looked at the gla.s.s in her hands and reciprocated her earlier favor by pouring some beer into it. There was only a little left in the bottle, so he dumped the rest into his own gla.s.s.

"So, what's your name?"

"Kiyomi Kataoka."

"Well, Kiyomi, pleasure to meet you. My name's Toshiaki Nagashima."

They both smiled and lifted their gla.s.ses to drink up.

9.

As Anzai walked out of the room, he looked at his daughter once more.

"I'll be back...I'm just going to talk with the doctor for a little while."

Mariko was turned the other way, her mouth shut tightly in defiance. Anzai understood from her body language that she wanted nothing to do with him. He cast a glance at the floor and left.

While walking along the white hallway which ran straight through the ward, he thought about the operation.

Ten days now, and still Mariko was making no efforts to talk to him, nor to anyone else for that matter. The only time she spoke was when they were checking up on her, and even then she answered only bluntly and without eye contact.

Apparently she had had another bad dream the night before. Her loud screams had been audible even in the hallway. The nurse a.s.signed to her that night tried to shake her out of it, but Mariko appeared lost between dream and reality. Despite all of this, when Yoshizumi asked if anything was wrong, she said nothing and turned away as always.

Before he knew it, Anzai was in the lobby. He pressed the down b.u.t.ton and waited for the elevator to arrive.

He had spoken to Yoshizumi many times throughout this entire ordeal. They inevitably talked mostly about Mariko's practically autistic behavior.

Yoshizumi made it clear he was having a very difficult time with her and complained of the indifference that had been absent in the little girl he had treated two years ago.

No matter how much he tried, Anzai could not figure out why she was shutting herself off from everyone.

The doors opened in front of him. Anzai entered the elevator without paying much attention and pressed the b.u.t.ton for the first floor. The doors closed, followed by a gentle sensation of decent. The ventilation fan hummed quietly above his head.

When first informed of his daughter's renal insufficiency, Anzai knew nothing about the condition. It was the winter of her fourth-grade year. When Mariko was wheeled out from the waiting room, the attending physician had a pitiful look in his eyes and gave Anzai the bad news.

"To put it more technically, she is suffering from glomerular nephritis. In your daughter's case, the inflammation has been progressing slowly for some time now. As it is, her urinary lining has become compacted. If we don't act soon, her kidney will malfunction, blocking her urinary production altogether. Please take a look at this data. We tested her glomerular filtration rate, abbreviated here on the chart as GFR, and blood urea nitrogen levels, BUN. From this information, we were able to make a fairly confident diagnosis. She is already starting to show some common signs, such as swelling, breathing abnormalities, and nervousness."

Frightened, Anzai fell silent, then said, "Is there a cine?"

"I'm sorry, but no." He was unnerved by the doctor's sudden bluntness. "There is currently no established cure for chronic renal failure. Medications and surgery are no use.

The cells themselves just stop working."

"So, what should we do?"

"The only option right now is dialysis treatment. People like her actually get along fairly well with it. We just hook up a machine that does the work of the kidneys, expelling used-up matter from the body. I will set you up with the best dialysis treatment center in the area. They've handled plenty of cases, so you'll be in good hands."

Anzai hardly noticed when the elevator reached the first floor. He got off and went into the lobby. The air conditioning was overpowered by hot air coming from the entranceway.

He wiped the perspiration from the back of his neck and crossed over to the building where Yoshizumi's office was located.

Anzai lamented the fact that he and Mariko had hardly talked at all these past few years. His time was currently consumed with product development, and he felt that his work was vital. He would be pushing into his fifties this year. At any rate, if he didn't work there, he'd have achieved nothing in his life.

In truth, his lack of interaction with Mariko was not a recent development. It had been this way ever since he joined the company. Work was really his only occupation. That was not to say he never found the time to marry, though he hardly ever opened up much to women. He met his future wife when he was 33. Even after they were wed and Mariko was born, Anzai never made an effort to come home early. On most Sundays, too, he was out on business and hardly spent any time with his wife and daughter.

Immediately after buying their first house, his wife died of an illness, leaving their large two-floor house as a monument to loneliness. Mariko came to spend much of her time alone.

She was usually in bed by the time he got back. After waking her up in the mornings, he would rush off to the bus stop. Her affliction had therefore gone unnoticed much longer than it should have.

The hospital was well-accommodated with dialysis equipment of all kinds. Anzai stared in wonder when he and Mariko were first shown through the facilities. There were at least fifty beds spread out in a large room, nearly all of which were occupied with patients.