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“How did he end up in Romania?”
“He married a Romanian woman, Mariana. She was a nurse at the hospital in Paris where he worked. They fell in love, and when they got married, they decided to move to her homeland. They opened a private clinic in Cluj where her family lived. Mariana is retired now, but Jean-Paul still works, doing his job with unfailing dedication as always.”
“And he’s curing cancer patients with this treatment he invented?” Genuine interest had replaced her panic.
Gerard shifted in his seat, but his legs were too long and his shoulders too wide for him to get comfortable. He’d never been a fan of airplanes and their tight quarters.
“Let me clarify something,” he said, placing her hand more comfortably on his thigh. “Jean-Paul didn’t invent this treatment. Others discovered the healing properties of hellebore. Some have even created drugs with it for use against certain types of cancer. The world is full of cures for cancer, HIV, you name it, but those medications have never reached the market. I’ve seen dozens of announcements regarding potentially miraculous treatments, and then, silence. No one ever mentions them again.”
Her forehead creased. “But why?”
“Good question. Unfortunately, I don’t have the answer. Some drugs have dreadful side effects. Others don’t pass the clinical trial stage. You’ve probably heard about conspiracy theories of all kinds—we all have—about groups of individuals who don’t want these diseases cured, for reasons only they know. Some think of them as Mother Nature’s way—natural selection, survival of the fittest. I’m sure you’ve heard it all.”
“Well… I heard about that nonsense, but… I thought that’s all it was… until now.” Her eyes were wide and troubled. “I mean, who could believe such a thing? What kind of monsters would allow millions of suffering souls to die by hiding the existence of potential cures from them? It’s diabolical.”
Gerard shrugged. He was uncomfortable discussing this subject. After all, these theories were conjectures, not facts.
“Maybe there are powerful forces out there who control humanity from the shadows,” he said. “Who knows what their purpose might be? Perhaps itisas simple as a means of avoiding over-populating the planet and draining it of all its natural resources.”
“Well, it’s still inhumane. There have to be other solutions—the balanced distribution of those resources, the elimination of waste, a way to redirect this consumption-oriented society. Using illness, despair, and the premature death of certain people as weapons is… unspeakable.”
She stopped abruptly. Fear contorted her features.
“Gerard, if you succeed in developing your treatment from snake venom, you’ll be famous. What if someone tries to hide your serum? What if they try to silence you, too?”
He looked over her head down at the foggy clouds which seemed to stay still as the plane moved through the air above them. He squeezed Linda’s hand, touched by her concern, and a little sad at the reality of what she’d said.
“There’s a slim chance of something like that happening. I don’t mean about the fame, I couldn’t care less about that. I’m talking about my being able to cure several types of cancer. The odds are remote because the treatment has to be localized. It’s much too dangerous to be used systemically. Do you understand? It can be used externally, for a melanoma, and injected into some nodules or small tumors, but in severe cases, when the disease has spread, it could do more damage than good. It’s still a huge victory. I may not be able to cure a brain tumor, but I can cure skin cancer. Every life is important to me. I intend to use all the weapons at my disposal to save them, one life at a time.”
She reached out to stroke his cheek, her eyes filled with love.
“You’re a hero, you know that?”
“Not even close,” he scoffed, feeling his cheeks heat. “But the fact that you believe it means the world to me.”
They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts until turbulence shook the plane once more.
“Speaking of Romania,” he said, hoping to distract her, “there are several famous doctors and medical institutes there. I’ve heard of a doctor who created a line of products made from insects. He treats several diseases, including hepatitis and cancer.”
“Drugs made from bugs? Yuck! The cure might just be worse than the disease.”
She grimaced, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
He smiled, unable to resist leaning over to kiss her and the few freckles sprinkled across her pert nose.
“Yep. But many antibiotics originate in mold. If I remember correctly, the drug is made from the salivary glands of cockroaches. Apparently those insects could survive a nuclear disaster. The Cantacuzino Institute in Romania has made numerous medical discoveries, and created an efficient vaccine against several strains of the flu virus. Most of Europe used it until its production stopped.”
“Why?”
“Lack of funds, I think, was the reason they cited, but I’m not sure. The point is that, although to some foreign nations Romania is considered another lousy third world country, they have some valuable people there, and they’re not only doctors. Jean-Paul is fascinated by their history. When he told me a bit about it, I was impressed.”
“Well, I’m looking forward to learning more. The country already intrigues me.”
Their plane touched down at Otopeni Airport in Bucharest. Since neither of them spoke a word of Romanian, they’d anticipated communication issues, but were pleasantly surprised. Almost everyone they spoke to understood and spoke a bit of English, including the staff at the car rental agency near the airport.
Gerard rented a sturdy blue Jeep that looked well maintained. After completing the necessary forms and paying the fee in Euros, he climbed behind the wheel. Linda sat beside him, seemingly comfortable driving on the right, just as she had in Italy.
It didn’t take Gerard long to get accustomed to driving on this side rather than the left, especially since France had the same rule. It came back to him easily—like riding a bike.
