The Constant Gardener

"Since the drug is killing patients I would wish very much that I had not invented it," says Lara softly, choosing not to hear Amy's parting sally.

"When did you last see Lorbeer?" Justin asks when they are alone again.

* * *

Her tone still guarded, but softer.

"He was in Africa," she said.

"When?"

"One year ago."

"Less than a year," Justin corrected her. "My wife spoke to him in the Uhuru Hospital six months ago. His apologia, or whatever he calls it, was sent from Nairobi several days ago. Where is he now?"

Being corrected was not what Lara Emrich liked. "You asked me when I last saw him," she retorted, bridling. "It was one year ago. In Africa."

"Where in Africa?"

"In Kenya. He sent for me. The accumulation of evidence had become unbearable to him. "Lara, I need you. It is essential and very urgent. Tell nobody. I will pay. Come." I was affected by his appeal. I told Dawes my mother was ill and flew to Nairobi. I arrived on a Friday. Markus met me at Nairobi airport. Already in the car he asked me: "Lara, is it possible that our drug is increasing pressure on the brain, crushing the optic nerve?"' I reminded him that anything was possible since basic scientific data had not been assembled, although we were attempting to remedy this. He drove me to a village and showed me a woman who could not stand up. Her headaches were terrible. She was dying. He drove me to another village where a woman could not focus her eyes. When she went out of her hut the world went dark. He related other cases to me. The health workers were reluctant to speak frankly to us. They too were afraid. ThreeBees punishes all criticism, Markus says. He also was afraid. Afraid of ThreeBees, afraid of KVH, afraid for the sick women, afraid of God. "What shall I do, Lara, what shall I do?"' He has spoken to Kovacs, who is in Basel. She says he is a fool to panic. These are not the side effects of Dypraxa, she says, they are the effects of a bad combination with another drug. This is typical Kovacs, who has married a rich Serbian crook and spends more time at the opera than in the laboratory."

"So what should he do?"

"I told him what was the truth. What he is observing in Africa is what I am observing in the Dawes Hospital in Saskatchewan. "Markus, these are the same side effects that I am documenting in my report to Vancouver, based on objective clinical trials of six hundred cases." Still he cries to me, "What must I do, Lara, what must I do?"' "Markus," I tell him. "You must be courageous, you must do unilaterally what the corporations refuse to do collectively, you must withdraw the drug from the market until it has been exhaustively tested." He wept. It was our last night together as lovers. I also wept."

* * *

Some savage instinct now took hold of Justin, a root resentment he could not define. Did he grudge this woman her survival? Did he resent it that she had slept with Tessa's self-confessed betrayer and even now spoke tenderly about him? Was he offended that she could sit before him, beautiful and alive and self-obsessed, while Tessa lay dead beside their son? Was he insulted that Lara displayed so little concern for Tessa, and so much for herself?

"Did Lorbeer ever mention Tessa to you?"

"Not at the time of my visit."

"So when?"

"He wrote to me that there was a woman, the wife of a British official, who was putting pressure on ThreeBees regarding Dypraxa, writing letters and making unwelcome visits. This woman was supported by a doctor from one of the aid agencies. He did not mention the doctor's name."

"When did he write this?"

"On my birthday. Markus remembers always my birthday. He congratulated me on my birthday and told me of a British woman and her lover the African doctor."

"Did he suggest what should be done with them?"

"He feared for her. He said she was beautiful and very tragic. I think he was attracted to her."

Justin was assailed by the extraordinary notion that Lara was jealous of Tessa.

"And the doctor?"

"Markus admires all doctors."

"Where did he write from?"

"Cape Town. He was examining the ThreeBees operation in South Africa, privately making comparisons with his experiences in Kenya. He was respectful of your wife. Courage does not come easily to Markus. It must be learned."

"Did he say where he'd met her?"

"At the hospital in Nairobi. She had challenged him. He was embarrassed."

"Why?"

"He was obliged to ignore her. Markus believes that if he ignores somebody he will make them unhappy, especially if they are a woman."

"Nevertheless he managed to betray her."

"Markus is not always practical. He is an artist. If he says he betrayed her, that can also be figurative."

"Did you reply to his letter?"

"Always."

"Where to?"

"It was a box number in Nairobi."

"Did he mention a woman called Wanza? She shared a ward with my wife in the Uhuru Hospital. She died of Dypraxa."

"The case is not known to me."

"I'm not surprised. All traces of her were removed."

"It is predictable. Markus told me of such things."