Рита Браун - Sour Puss

"You come on over and see Burly when you can. Oh, almost forgot, I ordered Italian sunflower seed. You should have it in a few days. Thought you might try a few different varieties."

"Great."

After Harry hung up, she sang and whistled to herself. Most barns have radios blaring, but Harry loved silence, broken occasionally by her singing. She only turned on the radio for news or, more important, weather. Truth be told, popular music gave Harry a terrific headache, whether it was from the 1920s or current.

That evening, when she and Fair ate their first quiet supper as renewed husband and wife, they caught up on the day's events.

"He's a perfect specimen." Fair smiled as he related Burly's entrance into the world. "He's truly a little beauty."

"I'll swing by tomorrow."

The two cats and dog, having eaten, snuggled in the sheepskin bed in the kitchen. Tucker didn't mind cuddling with the cats, but she had heard quite enough about Martha and the largesse of Pewter.

Fair, paper opened to his right as he drank a cup of hot green tea, peered more closely. "This ought to be exciting."

"What, honey?"

He handed her the paper, opened to the state section, pointing to a column with a photo.

Harry read aloud, "Professor Vincent Forland, a Virginia Tech world expert on various fungi, especially black rot, Guignardia bidwellii, a fungus devastating to winegrowers, will join a panel on agriterrorism." She paused. "Poor fellow, looks like a worm with glasses."

"You should see all the material I get concerning safety procedures in veterinary bacteriological laboratories. The other panel member is an expert on anthrax. Let's go." He took the paper back as she handed it to him. He again checked the photo. "Forland does kind of look like a worm with glasses."

3

As luck would have it, Fair got to meet Professor Forland before the evening presentation. He'd been at Kluge Estate to check on a mare, and Patricia Kluge and her husband, Bill Moses, asked him to please stay for the small luncheon that would include the professor and a few local vineyard owners.

Leaning forward across the mint-green tablecloth, Professor Forland held the guests at the informal luncheon spellbound. "We have knowledge that mycotoxins have been used in warfare and are probably being used now. Substantiating the information proves difficult, as there is much at stake politically."

"What? Arousing the nation, you mean?" Hy Maudant, a transplanted Frenchman, asked, his English enlivened by a seductive accent.

"Not just theUnited States , but verifying chemical-warfare attacks calls an entire complex of international relations into play. There are those who will deny that Iraq used them and those who simply sit the fence. Naturally when all is resolved the fence-sitter wants the best deal on oil and wants to rebuild Iraq ." Bill Moses wasn't cynical, just realistic.

"But did Saddam use mycotoxins?" Toby Pittman, a former student of Professor Forland's, now proprietor of Rockland Vineyards, asked earnestly.

"I believe he did." The diminutive professor pushed his thick glasses further up on his nose, as they had a habit of slipping down. "On January nineteenth, 1991, during the Persian Gulf War, I believe an Iraqi aircraft penetrated our defenses and sprayed aflatoxin over Seabees and the Twenty-fourth Naval Mobile Construction Battalion near theport ofAl Jubayl inSaudi Arabia ."

As an undergraduate at Virginia Tech, Toby displayed such brilliance that he secured a teaching fellowship as a graduate student. His thesis adviser was Professor Forland.

After completing his Ph.D., Toby assumed he would start as a lecturer to undergraduates. His classmate, Arch Saunders, not as gifted as Toby in Toby's estimation, also was awarded his Ph.D.

When no offer to stay on at Tech was forthcoming, Toby approached his adviser, who told him, truthfully, there was a budget crunch. What Professor Forland didn't tell him was that after working closely with Toby for three years, he felt the young man lacked mental stability.

When Toby found out, a few days after he'd packed up, that Arch Saunders was offered the position, he was beside himself. Two years later, Arch left to work at a large vineyard inNapaValley . Somehow, that seemed like another slap in the face to Toby. Arch repudiated what he, himself, wanted.

Out on his own, Toby worked like a dog to make a success of his vineyard. He often wondered what his life would have been like if he'd been given the job at Tech along with a regular paycheck.

"I'll spare you the denials and the subsequent explanations by our government." Professor Forland tenaciously kept on his subject. "Perhaps what threw off authorities about this event, what led to denials, was the fact that our intelligence people were still back in the mustard gas or anthrax stage of chemical warfare. How could they admit they hadn't kept pace with what Saddam was really doing, which was developing various toxic substances in dizzying array?" Professor Forland shrugged, then continued. "But the fact remains that fungal toxins are easier to produce than anyone can contemplate without feeling deeply depressed."

"How easy?" Rollie Barnes, rich and aggressive, had been invited to the small gathering because of his large plans for Spring Hill Vineyards. He betrayed his nervousness by cracking his knuckles under the table.

Accompanying Rollie was his newly hired vineyard manager and partner, Arch Saunders. It seemed to Toby that Arch had come back from California to taunt him.

Fair was polite to Arch and vice versa, but neither man warmed to the other. When Harry and Fair divorced, she'd enjoyed a brief affair with the outgoing, good-looking Arch. He fell hard. She didn't.

Arch burned gas driving back and forth from Blacksburg to Crozet. When Harry broke off the affair, he resigned his position and burned more gas hauling to California . He flourished there, learning even more about soil, grapes, sunshine, and rain and how they combine to form magic in a glass. Arch steered clear of entanglements, which may have been a good thing since he had so much to soak up.

He had returned to Crozet only two weeks ago.

"A bright student of chemistry, of agriculture, could figure this out. Now, figuring it out means you have to assemble the laboratory to produce the mycotoxins. Still, the knowledge is well within the grasp of a good student." Professor Forland's bushy eyebrows darted upward. "The trichothecene mycotoxins are fungal toxins. The molds attack corn, barley, rye, oats, millet, even straw and hay. If a bright soul had access to lab equipment or the money and determination to build his or her own lab, he could distill the trichothecene mycotoxins from the mold. A lethal dose for humans need only be from three to thirty-five milligrams, depending on the severity ofthe toxin. For instance, T-2 is the most potent. A ridiculously low dose would kill someone. Unfortunately not without prolonged agony."

"Has this happened?" Fair thought it revolting that so much of human intelligence was harnessed to produce pain instead of alleviating it.

"Yes, I think so. You can't lock up knowledge. It's been tried over the centuries and, sooner or later, it leaks out." Professor Forland leaned back in his chair as dessert was served. "Can I prove other nations have used chemical attacks in the last twenty years? Not conclusively. Do I believe Saddam deployed them when he was in power; do I believe the former Soviet Union used chemical warfare inChechnya ? I do." The professor compressed his thin lips until they disappeared.

Toby Pittman spoke up, eager to shine, especially with Arch present. "There was a case in 1944 when thirty percent of the population of theOrenburg district nearSiberia came down with sickness because they ate tainted food. It wasn't chemical warfare, just moldy grain. I think it was alimentary toxic aleukia, or ATA."