Rainbow (1): Why Do Americans Love Dimming the Lights?
Rizelrote had chosen this upscale restaurant. The lighting was so dim I could barely read the menu. What was the appeal of squinting in the dark just to make out the words?
Rizelrote, as usual, didn't even glance at the menu. She simply told the waiter to bring the recommended evening course.
"Please recommend the dinner course."
Her philosophy was that food was art, and adding instructions would only spoil it.
The hospital's fluorescent lights were blindingly bright white. Here, the warm orange glow forced you to narrow your eyes just to read. I looked at Rizelrote.
"Thanks for the invitation."
I still had no idea why she'd called me here. Did she have something to say?
Rizelrote was dressed more plainly today: a white blouse, dark brown bow tie and skirt, brown beret. Her hair was cut short to shoulder length. She looked like a doll.
She smiled at me. "I saw it in the newspaper."
"Saw what?"
"Someone discovered a new pneumonia. Saved countless lives because of it. I figured it had to be you."
Legionella pneumonia. That was me, all right.
Rizelrote set down her fork and stared straight at me.
"That's right. Federal agents came to the hospital, asking what this new disease was and how to manage it."
"And you told them?"
"Of course..."
As if I wouldn't. "It's a new contagion? Classified info. Next thing you know, the CIA's knocking on your door at night."
I nodded, and Rizelrote tilted her head, clearly intrigued.
"Would you mind explaining what you told them?"
I gave her a much shorter version of what I'd told the federal agents: that the new central air conditioning systems were essentially creating a novel infectious disease.
She nodded as if she understood. Who knows if she really did.
Rizelrote murmured something about central AC systems in other places.
"It's fascinating, isn't it? You never know how many lives one research finding can save."
Fascinating? It was interesting, sure.
"Thank you."
"That one person's work can impact so many unspecified people, the whole world like that. I think it's incredibly cool...!"
I could picture her as a noble lady from a novel, sitting demurely in a dress, hand fanning her mouth as she laughed. Not literally, but the vibe was there.
She chuckled softly again. Rizelrote had her own peculiar creed, that much was clear. A bit odd, but...
The next course arrived while we waited. A somewhat comical sight—it felt out of place. Since landing in America, I'd grown used to abnormally huge portions. This was the land of "super-sized," right?
In contrast, everything at Rizelrote's chosen restaurant was smaller than my palm. Though the courses kept coming.
I eyed the intricately garnished tofu steak. Slightly bigger than my thumb. Far more modern than I'd expected.
"How's it going? Busy these days?"
"Stood a few shifts because of the new pneumonia. Schedule's pretty light this month, though."
"I see... Why don't you ever reach out first, Doctor? After something this big, you'd think you'd suggest grabbing a meal."
What did that have to do with anything? Very Korean way of thinking.
"Oh, right. We see each other plenty."
Rizelrote nodded as if it were the most obvious answer, smiling innocently.
"You promised... Shall we head out?"
She brushed off her skirt and stood, looking quite pleased.
We moved to a nearby café she'd recommended. The lighting was even dimmer than before. These people might start insisting on infrared cameras for meals soon...
Rizelrote tilted her coffee cup. "It's nice and peaceful, though. Working at a hospital must keep you on edge all the time, right?"
I shook my head. "Not that bad."
Sure, there were tense days now and then, but people adapt to anything.
The next day. At the hospital.
I grabbed my bag and headed out of the residents' lounge. I'd finished all the prescriptions due right then. Everything for the week was done.
"Heading home already?"
Senior resident James looked at me.
"Yeah."
"Alright, good work."
After all the chaos with Legionella pneumonia, how much had we suffered? Those few shifts on duty, plus sorting the paper—it had taken time.
"Thanks."
"Weekend plans?"
"Heading to a conference."
James stared at me, tongue clicking in disbelief. Who does that?
"Man, you bring it on yourself."
"Just sitting and listening."
"You?"
I shrugged. "Yeah. Rest up, anyway."
James walked past me. The crisis was over, at least, leaving a bit of breathing room. I'd taken a few days' vacation.
Perfect chance to mull over the next research project. I'd already snagged the Lasker Award for the immunology work with Professor McDevitt.
What to chase next? I had something in mind.
If Paul Berg's work enabled cutting genes with restriction enzymes, the logical follow-up was replicating them. PCR. Polymerase chain reaction. Exactly as named: a chain reaction using enzymes to synthesize DNA.
The issue was replicating it in a test tube.
The principle was simple enough. DNA is like a ladder, two strands holding hands. Raise the temperature, they separate; lower it, they bind.
The strands must separate for DNA polymerase to work—fitting nucleotides like puzzle pieces on the opposite strand.
Easy so far. The problem? Enzymes suitable for this denatured at high temperatures. Like eggs at around 70°C.
No DNA polymerase survived the heat needed to unwind DNA. That was the state of knowledge in the 1970s.
I closed the molecular biology textbook. Complicated indeed. That's why gene amplification couldn't be done in vitro...
This issue lingered unsolved into the 1980s. How to keep polymerase from cooking?
Figure that out, and the Nobel was in reach.
The answer was straightforward: find organisms that thrive in heat and extract polymerase from them. No other way.
This year's microbiology conference was at the Four Seasons near Yellowstone. I'd head there first.
Dr. Kary Mullis. Not a venerable university professor, but a researcher at a private firm—Cetus Corporation. Ordinary for a future Nobel laureate, but...
He'd faxed a few months back. To Stanford's internal medicine lounge.
> Hello.
> I've heard that the youngest-ever Lasker Award winner, who discovered restriction enzymes with Professor Berg, is in your department.
> I've read the paper. The hypothesis of reducing simple organisms to components for in vitro use was intriguing.
> So, then.
> Is gene synthesis too complex to reduce to components?
Corporate researcher thinking, for sure. A simple question like that.
Time to move on the plan. I boarded a flight to Wyoming.
Professor Berg was joining for the microbiology conference. We got on the plane.
Berg sat next to me, book open.
"Still researching, huh? Congrats."
"Ah, nothing major. Just continuing undergrad work."
Berg nodded. "Heard you're going to the conference with a plan. Meeting someone?"
"A team working on gene synthesis."
"Why?"
Because he'd cracked cutting genes. Next was synthesis.
"Logical progression, right? Your work lets us cut genes. Next is synthesizing them."
Free synthesis would enable reading base sequences, pinpointing genes, and more.
For reference, this era sequenced DNA base by base. Frederick Sanger's team? Took two years for the 5,400 bases of φ-X174 virus. Grueling.
Published this year.
"Big ambitions."
"I think it's doable."
Berg returned to his book. "Well, with you, maybe."
The task was simple: meet the gene replication team, get my name on Nobel-level research, accelerate replication tech.
For Mullis's question, science hadn't dreamed of an answer so simple and elegant.