Still Life With Crows

“We don’t usually do that.”

“You’ll just have to make an exception in my case. University policy.”

Ludwig sighed. “Very well.”

“Proceed,” said Chauncy. He sat back in the chair.

“Would you like a coffee, some breakfast?”

“I ate hours ago, back in Deeper.”

“All right, then. Let’s see.” Ludwig opened the steno book to a blank page, smoothed it, readied his pen, and tried to think of a few pithy questions.

Chauncy looked at his watch. “I’m really a very busy man, so if you could keep this to fifteen minutes, I’d appreciate it. Next time, you should bring questions instead of making them up on the spot. It’s a simple courtesy when interviewing someone whose time is valuable.”

Ludwig exhaled. “So, tell me about yourself, where you went to school, how you got interested in agriculture, that sort of thing.”

“I was born and raised in Sacramento, California. I went to high school there, and attended the University of California at Davis, where I majored in biochemistry. I graduated Phi Beta Kappa, summa cum laude, in 1985.” He paused. “Would you like me to spell ‘summa cum laude’?”

“I think I can manage it.”

“Then I attended graduate school at Stanford University, graduating in four years—that would be 1989—with a doctorate in molecular biology. My dissertation was awarded the Hensley Medal. That’s H-E-N-S-L-E-Y. I shortly thereafter joined the biology department of Kansas State University on a tenure-track position. I was awarded the chair of Leon Throckmorton Distinguished Professor of Molecular Biology in 1995 and, in addition, became director of the Agricultural Extension Program in 1998.”

He paused for Ludwig to catch up.

Ludwig had done enough boring stories to know what one smelled like, and this reeked to high heaven. TheHensley Medal, Jesus Christ. Was this guy a prick or what?

“Right, thanks. Stan, when did, ah, genetic engineering really capture your interest? When did you know what you wanted to become?”

“We don’t refer to it as genetic engineering. We refer to it as geneticenhancement. ”

“Genetic enhancement, then.”

A pious look briefly settled on Chauncy’s features. “When I was twelve or thirteen, I saw a picture inLife magazine of a crowd of starving Biafran children all crowding around a UN truck, trying to get a bit of rice. I thought,I want to do something to feed those starving children. ”

What a crock. But Ludwig dutifully wrote it all down.

“And your father? Mother? What did they do? Does science run in the family?”

There was a brief silence. “I would prefer to keep the focus on myself.”

Father probably drove a truck and beat his wife,thought Ludwig. “Fine. Tell me, have you published any papers or books?”

“Yes. A great many. I will have a copy of my curriculum vitae faxed to your office if you will give me the number.”

“No fax machine. Sorry.”

“I see. Frankly, I find it a waste of time to answer questions like this when it would be far simpler for you to get the information yourself from the KSU public relations department. They have a file on me a foot thick. And it would be much better if youread some of my papers before interviewing me. It just saves everyone so much time.” He checked his watch again.

Ludwig shifted to another tack. “Why Medicine Creek?”

“May I remind you, we haven’t necessarily chosen Medicine Creek.”

“I know, but why is it in the running?”

“We were looking for an average place with typical growing conditions. Medicine Creek and Deeper came out of a comprehensive, two-hundred-thousand-dollar computerized study of almost a hundred towns in western Kansas. Thousands of criteria were used. We are now in phase three of the study, determining the final choice for the project. We have already struck agreements with the appropriate agribusinesses for possible access to their land. All we need now is to make a decision between the two towns. And that is why I am here: to make that final decision and announce it on Monday.”

Ludwig wrote it all down, all the while realizing that when you really parsed what the man had said, he in fact had said nothing.

“But what do you think of thetown? ” he asked.

There was a brief silence, and Ludwig could see that this was one question Chauncy did not have a ready answer for.

“Well, I . . . Unfortunately there’s no hotel here, and the only place where I could stay had already been booked by a man, a difficult man it would seem, who took the entire floor and categorically refused to relinquish a room.” His lips pursed, bristling the short hairs around his mouth. “So I’ve had to stay in Deeper and make an inconvenient drive of twenty-five miles every morning and evening. There isn’t anything here, really, except abowling alley and a diner . . . No library, no cultural events, no museum or concert hall. Medicine Creek really hasn’t got anything particular to recommend it, frankly.” He smiled quickly.