Part One – There
(Eastern Hemisphere)
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR – PHYSFAC. FIFTH YEAR. EVENTS
The last year at the university was spent under the auspices of my thesis. Of course, we were still students, and even “Physicist Day” took place, but all this was slightly aside from the new scientific life. This is how our thesis work seemed to us back then.
“Physicist Day” has already been held by young guys who, two years ago, sincerely asked, “Teach us how to do Physicist Day.”
I really wanted to teach them how to make a bright holiday out of gray everyday life. And we did it from both sides! Therefore, I no longer participated in any organizational matters, I simply read the report, watched the concert, in a word, I was present as an honored guest.
My thoughts revolved around my thesis. I really wanted to go to some main research institute of the country. It must be said that many of our students were preparing to disperse around the country, choosing large scientific centers for their diploma. Eli and Denis – to Pushchino, Slava – to Gatchina, Anton – to Kyiv.
I stayed at home. I was needed here.
But, apparently, I couldn’t help but come up with entertainments, and during my last academic semester I decided to look at the stars through a real modern telescope at least once in my life. These, I believed, were available at the Abastumani Astrophysical Observatory. And I decided to visit there.
Academician Kharadze was its director for many years. And without hesitation I went to meet him. He received me cordially and immediately agreed to host a student delegation – four biophysicists and three theorists in the mountains. He asked in detail what reasons led us to telescopes, hoping that someone would want to study astrophysics professionally. But I was completely honest,
“I think it’s a shame for a future physicist to finish five year studies and still not see a telescope.”
The academician agreed with me.
Everything seemed simple, if not… the observatory was located in the mountains, in the border zone of the USSR. A pass to this area was required. It took months to register with the police, but we had to do it before the start of the diploma practice.
And then I remembered my pistol, walled up in the kitchen wall. More precisely, I remembered about its origin. And I went to Alma. Her dad, the chief forensic expert of the republic, picked up the phone and simply asked that… the formalities be done without bureaucracy, for friends. Three days later, the lucky pass holders landed in Abastumani.
The small town was unremarkable, and the tuberculosis sanatorium not only did not interest us, but even slightly frightened us. An old bus with a “shortness of breath” and a door on a lever ran between the observatory and the bus station once an hour. Just what observatory? The road made a complete U-turn at the foot of a high wooded mountain.
“Strictly follow all instructions in the cable car! It’s a little further, in the woods,” the driver admonished us and drove off.
Intrigued and wary, we entered the forest. Indeed, behind the trees one could see a concrete bunker, from which masts and ropes led up the mountains. But there was not a soul! The cable car was designed for self-control, and the cabin was made of tin. The instructions are laconic to the point of trembling in the knees:
1. A fifth person in the booth will cause the floor bending.
2. Stand so that your center of gravity is in the middle of the booth.
3. Call for the booth – green button on the platform.
4. Start – green button in the booth. Alarm – red button in the booth.
“Maybe it’s time to press on the red button?” Denis suggested.
But we started. These instructions were compiled by physicists for physicists. And physicists, as you know, joke… on both sides, although the climb was not for people with weak nerves. The ropes creaked, squealed, the cabin tilted as it passed the mast, as if preparing to get stuck at the top and suddenly fell down with a whistle, like in a roller coaster. The floor rattled and sagged…
But the beauty around was indescribable. We sailed at an altitude of forty meters (45 yards) above the giant ship pines, in the branches of which red Abastumani squirrels frolicked, chasing our cabin.
The exit at the upper station of the cable car opened into the observatory park. A green garden bench providently stood at the station door. We immediately plopped down on it, waiting for the second batch of our group.
Housing was already waiting for us. It was an apartment in the Observatory Hotel – four bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, two showers, two toilets, an entrance hall and a gallery. I have never seen such projects before. But the main factor was the hospitality with which we were received. Each guest in the environment remote from the world was worth its weight in gold, and even more so – for young guests. We regaled the hosts with student humor, songs and jokes, and they regaled us with astronomy news. I was impressed by a documentary from America – the Apollo-11 flyby of the moon, which was brought by an Observatory employee after his internship in the USA. I was amazed by his story that he was simply included in the scientific development of the telescope guidance system. No ideological or other barriers! Wow!
And at night we looked into the telescopes eyepieces. I have never seen so many stars when looking into the sky of my beloved Manglisi or my getting attracted sky of Abastumani.
And then we had a small feast in our royal chambers. Amazingly, seven people got drunk on one bottle of wine. No, we didn’t fall drunk or couldn’t get up. We just laughed for no reason, at every word. But we felt happy and good. Light oxygen starvation and youth – isn’t it wonderful!
Soon the last academic semester ended and practice began. In fact, it was a transition to a new world, from the student bench to the research laboratory. I celebrated this event with a beard, which I wear to this day with rare breaks during which no one recognizes me. Perhaps, with a beard, I was not recognized by those whose eyes did not see its growth.
Every morning I went to the Institute of Physiology, where I was now writing my internship in the biophysics department. The Institute was created in 1935 by Academician Beritashvili and now bore his name. Of course, it was a temple of science – poor, limping Soviet science, but science. In addition to laboratories that smelled of chemicals, there were many rooms with shelves to the ceiling filled with old tomes; with not even, but carefully rubbed with mastic parquet; with lamps under classic green lampshades on tables covered with the shabby artificial leather.
And the concentration of smart academic brains was at its best. To give a feel for the flavor of the establishment, one would have to write a separate novel: introduce dozens of characters, give them traits and revive their ideas, jokes, statements. Unfortunately, work of most of them was unproductive, because it was more important to show an image of scientific work than to actually perform it.
Do you understand? That is, experiments were carried out, conclusions were drawn, models and theories of functioning were created, but who supported them, who accepted them? Science was marking time, scientific discoveries came from abroad…
But then we haven’t seen that far from our perch. The country seemed powerful, thanks to its nuclear weapons, several big names in physics, and the space developments of Korolev’s team.
I can’t even remember exactly how I got my diploma thesis at the Institute of Physiology. Probably, I just turned to my molecular biology teacher, Professor Vaalishvili, saying that I want to write a thesis in his laboratory. He did not mind, “If you want, go ahead, write!”
Extra hands were not a hindrance, and there were no obligations. None of us then understood that it was necessary to look for a place of practice with a long-term view of work, and not for the sake of learning experimental techniques, carried out only in this particular laboratory, and even then, for three or four months. In fact, the department of biophysics, thanks to the efforts of Vaalishvili, grew into something more (de facto, these were three laboratories – thermodynamics, biochemistry and radioisotopes), and the professor’s main task was to turn his department into an institute, while turning himself into an academician, with which he successfully managed.
Everything else was left to the discretion of the three lab heads. In principle, the model was good if everyone was connected by a common idea or direction of a great researcher. Alas, where could we get him? Each of the lab heads tried his best, but… in his own advancement (accumulated articles, dissertations, scientific societies). Everybody used to a following plan: to conduct a series of experiments; to discard any seemingly non-standard results as erroneous; to build a nice curve on the remaining ones and to explain it all with a series of hypotheses. Colleagues might applaud you at your reports and conferences, but reproducibility – the most important feature of a scientific discovery, was not observed.
Each group, each laboratory preferred not to expose their neighbors, but to multiply their own vague observations and hypotheses.
As a result, Soviet science was marking time, and in translation books everything was clear and understandable.
There was such a joke. In a kindergarten, a teacher carries out ideological work,
“In America, children are offended, fed tastelessly, toys are taken away, but in the Soviet Union children are loved, treated to candy, given toys.”
The children started crying,
“We want to go to the Soviet Union!”
I recalled it because we all really wanted to go there. To the Soviet Union!
At the military training camp, I didn’t understand, who needs artificial difficulties? Create humane conditions for the soldiers – they will respond doubly!
And at the research institute I completely ceased to understand who needs this type of effort? We puff like a steam locomotive, and as if we were driving!
In the beginning, I was just an “extra hands” in the lab, doing this and that, learning different experimental techniques. But then I began to worry that I would not have time to collect enough observations for my own thesis. Under my pressure, a rough topic was finally drawn up: the influence of ions (which will be found in the laboratory and will give not wild results) on the activity (if it can be measured) of the enzyme (which can be obtained or isolated).
It sounded as follows: “The influence of mono- and divalent ions K+, Na+ and Ca++ on the activity of the enzyme DNA-dependent RNA-polymerase C from animal tissue.”
I don’t want to go deep into the scientific foundations, but if done in reality, such work could be a PhD, if not a discovery. But it was all make-believe. The acidity of the medium (pH), the concentration of added ions, their type, the type of enzyme and a bunch of other parameters influenced the processes so significantly that there was no talk of any serious result. At best, “Yes, alright, then what?”
But this is how dozens of people worked in the laboratory, hundreds in the institute, thousands in the city, and hundreds of thousands in the USSR. And these are the most educated, academic researchers. The color and pride of the country of the Soviets.
And I, with the joy of a young setter, wagged my tail in greeting them.
There were a lot of funny stories in the laboratory, ranging from simple pranks, such as splashing liquid nitrogen under the door and listening to the reaction to a “fire”, or running someone’s coat in a centrifuge at the end of the working day, or throwing extra bolts into a pile of parts for someone who liked to disassemble and reassemble his own moped. But there were also more impressive ones.
One day the plaster workers pestered the researchers,
“You must have alcohol in your laboratories, it smells strong, but everyone refuses to give us a drink. What’s the matter?”
A joker Ramaz decided to play a prank on the workers, and at the same time make fun of the boss. He said,
“The alcohol is distributed by the guard. He is very strict, but with a red nose, maybe he drinks himself. Talk to him. He will understand you better as a proletarian, but it’s unlikely… He is offended by fate: his father-professor deprived him of his inheritance for drunkenness, and he suffers and still passes himself off as a scientist. And Ramaz pointed to the head of the Department, who wore a faded blue robe and a beret in the institute. But in general, he is a kind fellow, and if you persuade him, he will pour it to you.”
The workers were delighted, approached Professor Vaalishvili and said,
“Listen, man, we found out everything about you, pour some alcohol!”
“What are you saying?” the “almost academician” got indignant, “I’m a professor!”
“Don’t be angry. We understand you, in your head you are a professor, but in reality you are a watchman. But a watchman can also be useful. Come on, bring it a little.”
“Who are you? Drunkards?” the chief of the Department of Biophysics became furious.
“We are craftsmen, plasterers, we address you as a friend, and you pretend devil knows whom. Look at your red nose and faded robe!”
Then it dawned on Vaalishvili that he had fallen victim to a practical joke. After all he still was a scientist.
“I don’t give it to you, because you are our own guys. This is not simple alcohol, but radioactive! Whenever you stand next to it, your nose turns red, your robe fades, and if you drink it, impotence will set in. One employee begged and begged, and then stole some. Ask him – what happened to him?!”
The workers returned to the laboratory and said to Ramaz,
“Did you take alcohol from the watchman? Did you ever drink it?”
“It happened,” Ramaz became wary, “And what?”
“Why didn’t you tell us that this alcohol is radioactive, and it caused you impotence? Since you don’t care, do you think others don’t either?!”
Everyone roared with laughter and then teased Ramaz “impo” until the new situation created a new nickname – “blaster”.
One day Ramaz sat with a soldering iron and assembled a space gun for his little son from LEDs and integrated circuits. Suddenly, Professor Vaalishvili entered the laboratory and noticed the blinking lights, the howling of acoustic circuits and the tense expression on the employee’s face.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“About the blaster,” Ramaz went all-in, caught red-handed.
“I can see for myself that it’s above the blaster,” the professor decided not to lose his face, “I meant, are there any problem with the parts?”
An employee, Faina Uck, worked in the laboratory. In all statements she signed FUck. The accountant of the institute, the aunt of the head of the laboratory Gera Stepanov, advised her nephew to tell Faina to at least separate the initial from the surname with a dot. Gera reasonably objected,
“She is the only one of all who can express at least some protest at the meager salaries of researchers.”
But more serious, albeit comical, cases also happened at the institute.
One weekend day, an employee of the institute, Tamaz, PhD, head of the laboratory, part-time secretary of the Academy of Sciences, a cultured man from an intelligent family, took his little son to the park to treat him to ice cream in an open summer restaurant. The rogue bartender stole more than half child’s ice cream (instead of two hundred grams he gave eighty). Tamaz was very angry that his son was offended. He raised a cry, but the bartender did not even think of apologizing,
“Well, why shout? Big deal! The child ate everything, you didn’t even notice.”
This lie and impolite address angered Tamaz even more. He decided to teach the crooks a lesson.
“You didn’t understand who you robbed!” and Tamaz pulled out a red Academy of Sciences identification card, similar to a police one, from the inner pocket of his jacket.
The barman’s face impression has changed,
“Wait, I’ll ask for the director now.”
A minute later the excited director appeared.
“Let’s go to my office, it’s cooler there. Now we will settle the annoying misunderstanding.”
The table was already set in the office – ice cream, cakes, government lemonade.
“I assure you, this is an accident; the bartender just buried his father…”
“And he tries to compensate for expenses!” Tamaz said angrily.
“In no case! He is simply inattentive due to his grief. And in order to forget the accident, please accept this,” and he handed Tamaz an envelope.
“What is this?” Tamaz asked, opened the envelope and saw two hundred rubles, “Are you offering me this to hush up the matter?! It will not work! I’ll be back at five o’clock and make an audit here.”
It could only be that Tamaz had a temporary disturbance in his thinking, well, at least its clarity. He really decided to bring some kind of audit forms from the Academy of Sciences and greatly scare the director.
But the director was already very scared. He called the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the auditors, among whom he had friends, and complained:
“Who did you send to us? Some kind of beast,” and he briefly described the situation and the auditor.
“This man does not belong to us. This is a scam,” the director was told, “Set a table for two by four o’clock and prepare an envelope with money. Put a thousand, and write down all the banknote numbers on a separate piece of paper.”
At five o’clock Tamaz appeared in the director’s office. Five minutes later, two inspectors who already had had their lunch came in and arrested the researcher. In his jacket pocket there was an envelope with director’s banknotes.
At the police station, Tamaz was accused of extorting money. No matter how hard he tried to explain his actions as a desire to punish the swindlers, nothing helped. Too serious evidence was taken from his jacket pocket. The police did not believe that Tamaz was a researcher and, moreover, the secretary of the Academy of Sciences. All weekend until Monday Tamaz was kept in a cell, and then, when the Institute of Physiology and the Academy of Sciences confirmed his identity, he was released on bail. But to close the case had cost Tamaz a lot of nerves and money. In addition, many doubted, “Was the restaurant director put an envelope with money into Tamazi’s pocket really so quietly?”
Yes, sometimes the heat melts not only ice cream…
The days of my diploma practice flew by faster and faster. All series of experiments have already been carried out, all graphs have been plotted and the curves have been explained scientifically and professionally.
“Active centers change the conformation of the protein in the presence of ions, which in turn changes the activity of the enzyme, which includes isotope-labeled nucleotides in RNA.”
I hope you understood.
In May, my diploma thesis was printed and bound – in appearance it was no worse than a PhD. All that remained was to pass the thesis defense and the distribution to work. It took place in early summer, in our beloved large physics auditorium with its amphitheater, tall stucco windows overlooking the university garden, giant portraits of Newton and Einstein and moving slates. The entire scientific council of the physics department and many scientific supervisors in biophysics were present at the defense, who in case of trouble could support their students. Those who wrote their theses in Moscow and other centers had the support of their friends, but usually this was not required, their reports sounded so reasonable. After all, no one, no Nobel Prize laureate, could determine with accuracy from the report whether the experiment was true or false. Most members of the scientific council, in general, had no knowledge of molecular biology and kept a quiet silence.
However, the incident still happened. One professor was tired of dozing, and, not catching much of the story, he carefully examined the graphs that the graduate student had hung on the board. And he didn’t understand what quantities were measured in the experiments. For example, if the speaker talks about the increasing well-being of families, then you can expect not just the letter I on the Y-axis, but also an explanation in brackets (Income) and a unit of measurement (rubles or dollars), and on the X-axis – time in years. He did not find any explanations or units of measurement, so he decided to take an interest in this and asked a question. A biophysicist from our group, Micho, who was writing his thesis in Moscow, defended himself. Micho was not a stupid guy (we generally didn’t have stupid students with us), although he was more interested in sports than science. He played for several years in the reserve of the republican soccer team, but never made it into the main team, and returned permanently to the scientific community. During lecture breaks, Micho always suggested playing some sport games, in which he had an advantage due to the speed of his reaction. Especially often he played Black Jack on his fingers, you know, when on the count of “Three!” two players unclench their fists and open a number of fingers. They collect points (up to 21) as in the game Black Jack. Micho won so often that we called him “Tom 21 Thumb”.
Imagine our surprise when Micho, instead of a reasonable answer, said,
“The graph is created by the device itself. He puts what is needed on the axes.”
The physics professor immediately became agitated at this answer,
“Do you want to say that after five years of studying at the physics department, you don’t know what is plotted on the axes of the graphs that you built yourself?”
“No,” said Micho, “Of course, I know it. This is an enzyme parameter, but no one builds graphs manually in Moscow, so the device itself determines everything and draws the graph itself.”
“It turns out that it was not you who wrote the thesis, but the device? Then let it report and defend it!”
Things started to take a bad turn. Our head of the Department of Biophysics, professor Vaalishvili, decided to rush to the rescue.
“The student was simply confused, he is very shy…”
Here he shook his fist at Micho, who wanted to protest. How, they say, is he, an athlete and a soccer player, confused?! But Vaalishvili was adamant.
“It’s not every day that a student, even a graduate, has to speak in front of the city’s scientific elite. He, of course, knows that he measured the activity of an enzyme…”
“Let him at least say in what units he measured this activity. Although biophysics is not our specialty, as physicists we will understand everything!”
“In percentages!” Micho put in his two cents.”
“Shut up!” Vaalishvili whispered to him, “Otherwise they’ll cut you off!” and loudly, for the whole hall, “You see, he’s worried again. Percentages are often used to express the relative activity of a prototype compared to that of a standard label. But both of them are nothing more than the radioactivity of drugs labeled with an isotope and measured in microcuries.”
“Thank you, colleague,” said the professor, “I was just expecting to hear an answer from the graduate student, and not from his respected teacher.”
“Believe me, colleague, the student knows all this well, but he is very worried…”
The defense of the diploma was saved.
No one else had any difficulties with the presentation. There was only one procedure left – state distribution, and we would become certified specialists.
The distribution procedure itself was very simple. A graduate in the Dean’s office, in the presence of members of the Distribution Commission, got acquainted with a handwritten journal that listed all the graduates’ places of employment: positions in research institutes, laboratories, factories, schools, departments, etc. Of course, it was not allowed to review the entire list, and there was no time for that. Many places were prepared for selected students and were not even shown to other students. Some places were shown to one or the other – to choose from, and many students were left with uninteresting, low-prestige places and places in the faraway districts. This kaleidoscope nevertheless worked somehow. Because everyone, even functionaries and bribe takers, were living people and, in addition to the necessary from them actions, they also performed the desired for them ones. I am sure that the representative of the Institute of Physiology, Gera Stepanov, not only brought and entered into the distribution log two or three places intended for the children of respected people, but also advised students like me, which he knew personally, what they should do.
“Nick,” Gera said, “I read the list, there are several requests for physics teachers at school, I know that you love teaching. In addition, from the unoccupied positions there is a request for a biophysicist from the Ministry of Health. Nobody knows what it is, that is, it is not a personal place. If you want, take a risk. At least the place is in the city. And then you’ll continue looking for a spot by yourself.”
What I had to do? In the biophysics laboratory of the Institute of Physiology that I liked, there were no spots for graduates of the Russian part of the Department of Physics. And not at all because of a bad attitude towards us. It’s just that when there was a shortage of places, newcomers were accepted exclusively from the clan. That’s when we remembered the sighs and gestures of the astronomer, Academician Kharadze, who understood well what would happen to us. But we also understood that it would not be us who would be sent to the United States to work with data from the Hubble telescope.
It was necessary to take a risk and agree to a position in the Ministry of Health. School suited me at home. Well, that’s what I did.
Five minutes later, for the last time in my life, I left the dean’s office with a referral to the Ministry of Health at their request. Everyone congratulated me. Now I have become a real graduate. Many people thought that I had carved out a desirable place for myself and respected me for it. Eli was helped by his uncle, who worked for many years at the Ministry of Health in the personnel department and arranged for him to become a laboratory assistant at the Institute of Psychiatry. Denis and Anton got a job in the soil radiology laboratory. I also went there for an interview, but the place seemed suspicious to me. The boss said:
“We have secrecy. Be sure – in two years, you submit any nonsense for a dissertation (PhD), and successfully defend it.”
This is the last thing I wanted. I’m sure the guys did too, but they had to get a job somewhere in the city and get paid. Abrasha went to the Institute of Agriculture to write a PhD on God knows what. And I took the risk of coming to the distribution without my place, as if I was relying on God. And, although I didn’t believe in him, he didn’t leave me without a place.
Such was the orphan fate of our five excellent biophysicists.
There was no need to rush to the work; we needed to start it in September. There was plenty of time, and I could think about my first adult vacation. I started looking for companions for the trip, but as always, life adjusted its scenario.
Mayka, my sister, didn’t dry her hair (it was warm, if not hot), but my grandmother, the keeper of order and principles, rushed after her with a headscarf in her hands. There was a story in the family about someone who did not dry his hair after a bath and, how as a result, he died from meningitis. Of course, no one except the grandmother herself believed in this, but her firm belief was enough to set off a chain of events. So, the grandmother ran out after Mayka and, having safely overcome the steep spiral staircase, rushed after her. And if she had caught up Mayka, it would have turned out to be a banal story that I would hardly remember. But alas, Grandma Sofa was big and overweight, with arthritis in her legs and back, and she was driven like a cruiser by a passionate desire to save her beloved granddaughter from meningitis. Isn’t this a feat?
Mayka heard the screams of passers-by and turned around. The grandmother lay face down on the sidewalk and moaned loudly. They picked her up, carried her home, put her to bed and called my mother’s work. In short, when I returned, my grandmother had turned from a housekeeper into a bedridden patient with compresses on her forehead, under which a huge lump was hidden. It was so strange… Grandmother, who polished our floors with cloth to the state of the ballrooms of her beloved Lodz, daily swept away visible and invisible dust from the furniture and made the beds, became helpless like a child. Previously, she listened with obvious pleasure to my stories and lectures about the structure of the Universe. And now she has lost her interest not just about stars and galaxies – in life! No, there was no bleeding or paralysis; Grandma somehow immediately gave up and collapsed like an exploded bastion. Every day she became worse, pneumonia began, and Sofa had to be hospitalized. But in the hospital she became even worse, she refused to eat, and was losing weight daily. It seemed that everything hurt her, and the doctors were suspicious of this. Mom spent a lot of time with my grandmother; she was released from work in the morning, and I usually arrived in the afternoon. But one day, the tearful mother returned earlier than usual. Grandmother is gone. An autopsy showed multiple metastases…
We buried my grandmother according to average city customs. Some of them looked like Jewish, some looked like Christian. The body was embalmed, and funeral services lasted for at least two days, so that people had enough time to find a minute to stop by and express their condolences. One room turned into a hall for remembrance, where there was a coffin and chairs, and in the other, small, two people could sleep.
Mom thought that I would go to spend the night to my aunt or my friends’ apartment, but I expressed a desire to open my folding bed and sleep next to the coffin.
“I loved my grandmother, I’m not afraid of the dead,” I reassured my mother.
That’s what we did: we turned off the light and went to bed. But I couldn’t sleep. I thought about the difficult life of my dear grandmother, her constant worries about us and her bright love. “Maine lichtiker (my beloved ones)!” Grandmother usually said in Yiddish, looking at us, and her blepharitis eyes, lined with brilliant green, shone with happiness.
These memories and the irrevocability of the loss made me feel unbearably sad, and unexpectedly I burst into tears. I howled and moaned like a hysterical woman, burying my face in the pillow so as not to reveal my weakness and not wake up my family. But the violent reaction died down, like a farewell cry after a train moving further and higher away from you.
And I was left alone…
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