“Only because we’ll be discussing matters that concern his son, too, no?” His manner was pleasant, although she was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“Actually, he doesn’t know. This is a kind of a reconnaissance mission. Maybe if things work out, I’ll bring him next time.”
He looked puzzled, but said nothing and affixed a pair of half-glasses to his nose and thumbed through a folder of Dylan’s test results.
Adding to his immaculate appearance was his nearly pure white hair, which was combed back, emphasizing a broad aggressive forehead. In spite of the hair, he had dark, thick eyebrows and a smooth, boyish face that belied his age. He was a big man who might have been an athlete at one time. His eyes were heavy lidded and intensely watchful. But there was something disconcerting about his gaze—something she had vaguely registered the moment they had met. And only now did Rachel realize what it was: His eyes didn’t match. One was reef-water blue, but the other looked black. On closer inspection Rachel noticed that one iris was all pupil, giving him a disorienting appearance—one eye icy cool, the other darkly alluring.
On the walls hung a few framed plaques—from the American College of Neurological Medicine, the International Society of Skull Base Surgeons, the American Board of Neurosurgery. Also, a Kiwanis Club award for outstanding contribution. Clustered on the opposite walls were photos of him with groups of students from Bloomfield Prep and with people at black-tie functions. The only other form of decoration was a bronze sculpture of the Indian elephant-head god on the windowsill. It had four arms, and each hand held something different. Only one she could make out. It was an axe.
“His name is Ganesha,” Malenko said, his face still in the folder. “He’s the elephant-faced deity, sacred to Hindus the world over.”
“It’s rather charming,” she said. The figure had a large potbelly spilling over his lower garment, and his eyes were large and his smile broad under his trunk.
“Yes. Indians revere him as a god of intellectual strength. Was your son named after Bob Dylan?”
“No, the poet Dylan Thomas.”
“Ah, yes, the great Irish bard. ‘Do not go gentle into that good night.’ Wonderful stuff. Are you a literature person?”
“I like to read.”
“A former textbook editor, of course.”
Rachel wondered how he knew that, because she hadn’t put that in the questionnaire. Perhaps it was in Dylan’s medical records.
“Reading is the highest intellectual activity of the human experience,” Malenko continued. “More sectors of the brain are active than in any other endeavor including mathematics or flying an airplane. It’s the most totally interactive processing of information, even with children reading Mother Goose.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, now you do.” He smiled and displayed a row of small but perfect white teeth in a sugar-pink mouth. “So, what can I do for you?”
The baldness of the question threw her. Dylan’s records and test results sat under his nose. “Well, you can see from his folder that he has serious learning disabilities.”
Malenko removed his half-glasses. “Yes, he’s functionally dyslexic, which means that the Wernicke’s area and the angular gyri—those areas of the brain involved in deciphering words—are underactive. As Dr. Samson clearly explained, we have here some of the best LD people in the country who could construct a personalized curriculum for your son.” He tapped his fingers impatiently as he spoke, as if to say,
“It’s just that I wanted to explore other approaches.”
“Other approaches?”
Clearly Sheila had not told him about her. She probably did not even know the man, just his reputation. “Well, you’re a neurophysician, correct?”
“I also can be found baking cookies.”
She smiled in relief that his manner had softened. “I’m just wondering if there was anything you could do medically to help him.”
“Medically?”
“You know … some special procedures …”
“Everything we do is a special procedure. We tailor our programs to each child, according to his and her individual needs. I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
“It’s just that I heard you had some kind of enhancement procedures.”
Malenko’s eyebrows arched up.
“To repair the damaged areas. Maybe something experimental—some electrical stimulation thing.”
He looked at her for a long moment that reprimanded her in its silence. Then he glanced inside the folder again. “I see that you were recommended by Sheila MacPhearson, the real estate lady.”
“Yes.”
“And what exactly did she say, Mrs. Whitman?”
“Well, that you had some special procedures that can enhance children’s cognitive abilities.”
“Like cripples at Lourdes.”
“Beg pardon?”
“We get some child to improve significantly on a math test or the SATs, and the word gets out that we’re miracle workers.” He chuckled to himself. “Mrs. Whitman, let me explain that we
Rachel felt a little foolish. She had been caught in Sheila’s exaggerated promise. Martin was right. “You’ve seen the MRI scans, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well, they’re not normal. There’s some kind of anomaly. I was just wondering if—you know—if anything could be done about that? I mean, with all the breakthroughs in medical science, aren’t there any
Malenko stared at her intently as he considered her appeal, then he opened the folder and removed the MRI scans. “It seems to me, Mrs. Whitman, that you are confusing some magical medical fix with behavioral programs. I’ve looked these over, and I see no signs of hemorrhaging or lesions or tumors that might be impinging on your son’s intellectual development or performance. If there were, then something possibly could be corrected by surgery or radiation.”
“But the left hemisphere is smaller than the right.”
“Mrs. Whitman, let me ask you why you had the MRI scan done.”
Suddenly she felt as if she were entering a minefield. “Because I was worried that he had a tumor or some other problem.”
“But what made you suspect a tumor or some other problem?”
“It was simply … I don’t know … precautionary. His memory retention isn’t normal.”
“Had you consulted your pediatrician for possible psychiatric counseling or medications? Sometimes a child’s memory problems are the results of environment issues or chemical imbalances.”
“Yes, we went through all of that.”
“And was it your pediatrician who referred you for the MRI?”
“Yes.”
“And what was his evaluation?”
“That the ventricles in the left hemisphere of his brain were larger than normal, indicating some kind of underdevelopment in the thalamus.”
“And what did the doctor recommend in terms of medical treatment?”
