Gray Matter

serious psychological problems and emotional disorders. Nor should it surprise you that the majority of people on welfare and in prisons in the United States have an average IQ of eighty-seven.”

That comment jabbed Rachel like an ice pick. “Those are blind statistics,” she said. “And I resent the implication.”

“Of course, of course, they’re blind statistics,” Malenko said. “And in no way am I suggesting that Dylan would otherwise grow up to be a criminal or on welfare. I’m just telling you what studies have found.”

He slipped the charts back into the drawer and locked the cabinet. “So?” he said, waiting for a response.

“So, you’re saying that you can do this—that you can increase Dylan’s intelligence?” Martin asked.

Malenko smiled. “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

“That’s incredible.” Martin’s face looked like a polished Macintosh.

“What about the side effects?” Rachel asked again.

“Side effects might be the wrong term, madam,” Malenko began. “Intelligence is holistic. It’s intricately bound up with a person’s ego, his self projection, his personality, and character—and all his or her assorted talents. So, the person that Dylan will become would most likely not be the same person he would be were he not enhanced. Depending on the emotional complexity of a person, much of the difference would have to do with confidence and self-esteem.

“Studies have shown that intelligent people are more centered, more self-assured, more self-confident, and less timid than those who are intellectually challenged.” He turned to Martin. “You see it all the time in your profession—that special poise, presence, and strength not found in people possessed of lower intellectual skills.”

“But you’re talking about changing who Dylan will be,” Rachel said. “I don’t want him to be intellectually enhanced if his personality changes …”

he kissed my boo-boo

“ … or he loses his love for singing or baseball.” Although he could not read music, he had a voice like wind chimes. It was a talent that distinguished him and brought him pleasure.

“Mrs. Whitman, forgive the analogy, but he would be like the child who had been stricken with polio. Without the vaccine, he’d grow up wearing leg braces or confined to a wheelchair. Now consider that same child who at age seven was given his legs back and all that went with that. Which child do you suppose would have the happier, longer, better life?”

He did not expect an answer, nor did they offer one. But Rachel was vexed by the man’s pronouncements.

“Before we go any further,” he said. “I must know if this is something you would consider for Dylan. Mrs. Whitman?”

Rachel felt confused and overwhelmed. “I don’t know where to begin.” It was as if Malenko were no longer a physician but some kind of self-proclaimed Fairy Godfather. “You’re talking about surgically manipulating my son’s native intelligence. That’s not something I can make a snap decision about. There are too many questions and unknowns.”

“Of course, nor am I asking for a snap decision. I’m simply asking if you are interested in pursuing the matter. If not, then we can go back to our original plan for an instructional program.”

“Well, I’m interested,” Martin announced. He looked at Rachel beckoningly. “I mean, isn’t this what we wanted?” He was almost giddy.

Rachel was not sure what they had wanted. “I think I need time for all of this to sink in.”

“Of course, but I should caution you that the time for best results for the procedure is when the child is between three and six years of age. Any older and enhancement diminishes in effectiveness. And Dylan is six years and two months.”

“You mean there’s a deadline?”

“The earlier the better. As a child approaches puberty, everything changes. Yes, nerve cells are still generated—even in adults. But the massive wiring of the brain takes place early. More importantly,” he added, moving his finger across his head, “the long axonal connections from one section of the brain to another are most important in terms of cognitive functions, and they’re laid down and fine-tuned well before puberty. At six, your son’s brain is still experiencing large-scale cognitive development. But it’s already begun to diminish.”

“I understand,” Martin said. He was beaming.

Malenko’s face seemed to harden. “There’s something else that you’ll need to factor into your decision: I ask that you maintain total confidentiality even if you decide against this. And I’ll be honest with you: Enhancement is not standard clinical procedure for the treatment of LD children. It’s an alternative, but it’s not FDA-approved.”

“May I ask why not?”

“Because, although the procedure is medically safe and sound, it would be something of a social taboo. It’s not politically correct. And unless they wanted full-scale riots on their hands, no government administrators would support the procedure. And until they do, we play hide-and-seek.”

The unexpected element of secrecy made Rachel even more uneasy and confused. On top of all the disquieting medical unknowns, she now had to be concerned with social and ethical issues. Malenko was right: If word got out about a medical procedure that enhanced the intelligence of children, the social implications would be astounding. Every parent who could afford it would have his or her LD kid fixed. In the long run, that would throw off the balance of society, the intellectual diversity. Not to mention the class problems—the haves versus the have- nots. Enhanced versus the enhanced-nots. Not to mention how every liberal left of Joseph Goebbels would raise a stink about eugenics and social engineering. And rightfully so. But at the moment, social questions weren’t most pressing. “But you say the procedure is medically safe?”

“Absolutely, and one hundred percent effective.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning every enhanced child is now a genius.”

Martin looked at Rachel in wordless amazement. “And how many is that?” she asked.

“Several.” His expression was unreadable.

Trade secret, she thought.

“But what about the ugly stuff,” Martin asked. “Cost?”

Malenko made a bemused smile. “A lot, but nothing we should discuss now. First things first, and that’s letting this all sink in.” He stood up and came around the desk. The meeting was over.

“What I’d like you to do is go home and think about this. Think if this is something you want to go through with, because you’ll be making a lifetime decision for your son, probably the most important in his life and yours. It’s a decision that transcends the merely medical. If you’re uncomfortable with the philosophical or social implications, then this is not for you. If you feel this runs counter to some ethical position you maintain, then this is not for you. But if you take the less global view—that this is your son and that your son has but one life to live—then you may accept the tenet that intelligence is its own reward.”

Rachel and Martin rose.

Malenko walked them out of the office to the front door. “Once again, I must caution you about confidentiality. Security is supremely important. Be it understood that this will not work if people talk. You are not allowed to discuss this with others. You are not allowed to seek others’ opinions. You are not allowed to put anything in writing. There will be no enhancement if I suspect that you will breach confidentiality. Is that understood?”

“Yeah, sure,” Martin said weakly.

Rachel nodded.

“Good. If we agree that this is the best thing for Dylan, then you’ll be asked to sign a nondisclosure agreement, the details to be explained later. Then we’ll discuss the ugly stuff.” He shook their hands. “Now go home and think about all this, and we’ll talk next week.”

Throughout the interview, Rachel had seen in Malenko a man of intimidating self-assurance and intelligence, a man whose polished rhetoric and keen instinct had nearly stripped her of defenses, had maneuvered her and Martin nearly to admit that they were here because of their dissatisfaction with their own son. And while part of her hated how she had bought into the presumption that intelligence was it own reward, this was the first time in their hour-long discussion that she sensed an abstract menace behind the porcelain smile.