Claudandus has made an excellent recovery from the operation and sleeps most of the time. It remains to be seen whether his immune system will reject the glue after the expected period of time. I have sprayed his entire belly with a substance that tastes awful so that the animal will not lick his wound or bite through his stitches. In a few weeks, we will repeat the experiment on several animals, proceeding exactly as I did on that miraculous night.
Seldom does one's triumph come alone: the much-feared visit of that cretin Knorr took place without a hitch, and he was denied the satisfaction he so much desired. After all, we had Claudandus to show for our work.
1 June 1980
I am on the brink of losing my mind. The breakthrough that I assumed had long ago taken place—how arrogant of me—apparently never had. The experiments on all five animals have failed. Not only did the mixture show no effect on them but, inexplicably, obstructed natural blood clotting so that the animals bled to death most miserably.
I have a nasty suspicion. We are waiting on hot coals for Claudandus's abdominal wound to heal. Then we will have to "take him apart" again.
14 June 1980
It's just what I thought. Claudandus is a mutation. We do not know what makes him different from other animals. But some factor in his genetic makeup enables his organism to assimilate the soup without any difficulties.
Today we got busy on the flanks of the animal, where we made incisions of varying length and depth. Some superficial incisions were also made in his internal organs. After treatment with the mixture, the edges of the wounds stuck together so well that we could even do without safety stitches. Then the same experiment was repeated on another animal, but it was a complete failure. We did not even bother to patch together the injured animal, and put him to sleep on the spot.
Luckily Gray is with us, for from now on our battered research train will chug off in the direction of genetics. We will have to carry out an infinite number of studies on Claudandus to discover his "secret." Experiments with other animals will naturally continue to be carried out. Considering how uncertain success has become, I am seriously concerned that PHARMAROX may be planning to distance or even disassociate itself from the project. What will happen to us then? I will never return to the institute!
2 July 1980
Gray and Ziebold are busy day and night analyzing Claudandus's genetic makeup to the extent possible with our modest equipment. The animal is not to be envied, for it is being subjected to unimaginable suffering. Tissue samples must be taken continually, injections and pain-causing substances given, and operations on its internal organs made. It is a heartbreaking sight. Since we have already used half of the time allotted to us, we will have to continue to work under great pressure. It's a macabre routine: slitting open nearly a dozen animals daily and stitching them back together again, often mutilating them or even putting them to sleep. Moreover, I have been quarreling more often with Rosalie about my drinking. She simply refuses to understand that I am nearly at the exploding point because of stress and depression and that I need a way to let off steam, at least at night.
I have never loved alcohol, not even in my spare time. My affinity for red wine actually has an epicurean origin. In recent months, however, alcohol has stimulated all my senses, enabling me to think more clearly, providing the relaxation I so bitterly need. Rosalie understands nothing of this. But has she ever understood anything at all? I mean the significance of my work, my dreams, the meaning I have tried to give my life? Apparently two people can live together for an eternity without knowing and understanding each other. This insight is bitter and sad, sad like everything else here.
17 July 1980
We aren't making any progress. Yet even that doesn't seem to be the real problem; rather, my staff is becoming uninterested in, even reluctant to go ahead with, the project. Young people, particularly ambitious ones, seem to possess an unerring sixth sense for failures, warning them to take their bets off the wrong horse before it loses. Although they try not to show what they're thinking by industriously going about their daily work, dutifully laughing at my jokes, and pretending that every insignificant advance amounts to a breakthrough, one would have to be very insensitive not to notice that the paralyzing darts of resignation have long since stung them. How can young people be so short-winded and shortsighted? Don't they know that great things are accomplished only by people of great courage and magnanimity? This sad matter does have one cheerful aspect. The more I work with these animals and learn about them, the more they fascinate me. No matter how the project ends, I plan to give up research after this and probably not work anymore at all. Breeding these beasts on a strictly scientific basis would be a nice and even profitable hobby. To be honest, I have already begun doing so in secret.
14 August 1980
Ill tidings three times in one day: now it's official. This morning, a letter from PHARMAROX landed on my desk in which Geibel informed me that funding for the project will be reduced by one third. The concrete consequences of this senseless cut: the dismissal of nearly all the lab technicians and one biological assistant, a reduction in salaries, and drastic economization on experimental animals and diverse odds and ends, the lack of which will make the work even harder for us than it
