Dr. Rolanda Krook arrived on Wednesday morning adorned in khaki and sporting mirrored aviators. I first noticed her standing at the door to Room the First, her face framed in the little window. When Mr. Spiros spotted her, he opened the door and asked, “May I help you?”
“Don’t let me be a bother. Go on with your class, go on,” Krook said in a soft but indeterminate accent, the type that revealed she either came from money or wanted us to think she did.
“And who might you be?” Spiros asked.
Jane Rolling stepped out from behind Krook, slipped into the room, and announced, “This is Dr. Krook of the Farthing Institute. She flew in on a red-eye this morning and she wanted to come immediately and observe our class.”
“Well, that is some dedication,” Spiros said. “Welcome, Doctor. Have a seat in the back if you like. We were just discussing Cartesian philosophy and the ontological argument. Are you a fan of Descartes, Dr. Krook?”
“I am a fan of all who question the nature of the world,” Krook said as she floated between the rows of desks. She was not a small woman, but she moved like a dancer. She slid into one of the few available chairs and sat in the corner with her legs crossed. Jane sat next to her, sporting a grin boisterous enough to be kicked out of church.
“Okay then,” Spiros said. “Where were we? Oh yes, perfect islands. What constitutes perfection in an island? If God is omnipotent, as Descartes says, then he could create a perfect island, right? But an island has certain restrictions, does it not? It needs to have a body of water around it. Would a perfect island be infinitely large? If so, then how could it have water around it?”
“You could say that about anything,” Claire remarked. “Everything has restrictions.”
“Exactly,” Spiros said. “Descartes believed that if you can imagine a perfect God, then that God had to exist, because existence is part of perfection. But you are courting contradictions when you argue perfection.”
“There’s no arguing with this perfection,” Clint Jessup said, flexing his muscles and pointing at himself with his thumbs. It elicited a respectable number of laughs.
“True enough, Clint,” Spiros said. “You are the one thing philosophers can all agree on.”
“I happen to know that Dr. Krook has some theories on perfection,” Jane added.
Spiros’s eyes widened. “I’m intrigued. Enlighten us, Dr. Krook.”
Krook chuckled—a real belly rumbler—and uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “Miss Rolling has undoubtedly read some of my work on cellular perfection.”
“So you’re a biologist?” Spiros asked.
“I have a PhD in molecular biology, as well as an MD with a residency in oncology and hematology,” Krook said. “But that’s neither here nor there. It has been my studies with the Wooli tribe of Papua New Guinea that has been most vital to my work.”
“Even more intrigued,” Spiros said. “Go on. Who are the Wooli?”
“The Wooli are the world’s last group of endocannibals,” Krook said with a smug smile. “Meaning that when someone in their tribe dies, they consume the ashes. In a beverage, usually. Sometimes in a stew. They call this ‘drinking the dead.’ What few people know, however, is that this practice has its origins in the phenomenon of spontaneous combustion.”
Spiros folded his arms, thumbed his chin, and said, “News to me. And I’ve actually read a bit on New Guinea.”
“Then you know that the diversity of languages and tribes there is astounding,” Krook said. “And the Wooli is probably one of the least known, but most fascinating, among those tribes. Spontaneous combustion is actually common in their villages. Their bodies burn rather than explode, but I suspect what happens to them is not that dissimilar to what is happening here.”
“And yet have any of us heard of this?” Spiros said to the class.
Jane’s hand shot up. Tess started to raise her hand, but reconsidered.
“Okay, one remarkably studious young woman has heard of it,” Spiros said with a nod to Jane that surely made Tess a little jealous. “And yet you’d think this would be international news. You’ve seen the circus we’ve had to endure.”
“I hardly think the same reporters would be willing to take the treacherous ten-day journey into the jungle to find the Wooli,” Krook said. “And when they got there, they’d hardly be welcomed as guests.”
“But you have made this journey?” Spiros asked.
“Many times. I have been there for the last six months. I only learned about your town’s predicament when I made a provisions trip to Port Moresby and saw a video clip some local children were sharing. It featured young Jane here. She’s quite popular in the capital.”
Jane was absolutely beaming. I know “Big in Japan” is a thing, but I guess so too is “Big in Papua New Guinea.” I turned to Dylan to see his reaction and he was as enthralled as the rest of the room, clinging to every word.
“Surely you brought a camera with you to document this phenomenon?” Spiros asked Krook.
Krook shook her head. “We are all aware that camera footage can be manipulated and the Wooli would never agree to being filmed in the first place. That is all besides the point.”
“What’s the point then?” Spiros asked.
“The point is that I have seen this happen,” Krook said, and she finally removed her shades to reveal a pair of brilliant green eyes that popped from her olive skin. “It seems inexplicable, but there is an explanation. This is evolution in progress. In a quest for cellular perfection, the cells are self-destructing.”
“Cellular perfection?” Spiros said with a cocked eyebrow. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of that, either.”
“Ah, but, Mr. Spiros,” Krook said with a finger wag. “I have no doubt you have also never heard of my mother, and yet she exists. I am proof of that. As educated as you are, sir, I’m sure you will admit there are some things that are out of your purview.”
“Guilty as charged,” Spiros said with a sly smile. “I have yet to uncover the secrets of a woman’s heart.”
I turned to Tess, who was shifting in her seat and trying to hide her face behind her bangs. I mouthed, Bullshit? She shrugged, and then slowly raised her hand. Man oh man, I was hoping she’d blow the lid off this sucker.
But Jane stole the spotlight again, blurting out, “Tell him about the snooze button, Dr. Krook.”
“Ah,” Krook said. “Thank you, Miss Rolling, for reminding me of my reason for being here. Assuming they don’t die from other causes first, spontaneous combustion is an inevitability in the Wooli tribe. But it can be delayed. I have created a treatment that my husband has given the delightful moniker ‘snooze button.’”
You couldn’t hear much over the din of questions that were suddenly shouted. Though I’m pretty sure I could hear Tess sigh as she lowered her hand. Well played, Krook’s husband. Well played.
After all, what teenager doesn’t love a snooze button?