Elixir

Elixir

Also by Eric Walters from Penguin Canada

The Bully Boys

The Hydrofoil Mystery Trapped in Ice

Camp X

Royal Ransom

Run

Camp 30

Other books by Eric Walters

Triple Threat

The True Story of Santa Claus Grind

Overdrive

I've Got an Idea

Underdog

Death by Exposure

Road Trip

Tiger Town

Northern Exposures

Long Shot

Ricky

Tiger in Trouble Hoop Crazy

Rebound

Full Court Press Caged Eagles

The Money Pit Mystery

Three-on-Three

Visions

Tiger by the Tail

War of the Eagles

Stranded

Diamonds in the Rough

STARS

Stand Your Ground

El
ixir

E
ric
W
alters

Foreword by Bob Banting

VIKING CANADA

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (Canada), 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

Penguin Group (NZ), cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

First published 2005

(RRD) 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Copyright © Eric Walters, 2005

Foreword copyright © Bob Banting, 2005

Note from The Sir Frederick Banting Educational Committee

   copyright © Dr. Peter Banting, 2005

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Publisher's note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Manufactured in the U.S.A.

LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

Walters, Eric, 1957–

   Elixir / Eric Walters.

ISBN 9-780-143-18149-1

1. Insulin—History—Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

PS8595.A598E95 2005 jC813'.54 C2004-905410-4

Visit the Penguin Group (Canada) website at
www.penguin.ca

To Sir Frederick Banting—a truly great Canadian

FOREWORD

BY  BOB  BANTING

T
HE DISCOVERY
of insulin was a miraculous medical breakthrough. It is also a wonderful Canadian story. The discovery was a first for Canada and represents a defining moment in our history.

Many books about the discovery of insulin have been published over the years. Few have captured all the details of what is a complicated tale, while others have given too many. Some stories are inaccurate, while others provide a boring narrative extracted directly from Fred Banting's notes. Like many great events, the discovery of insulin was attended by controversy. Some of the early books avoid the controversial aspects, while others record these aspects incorrectly. Consequently, when a medical report on insulin is published today, it often references forty or more scholarly documents. Understanding the complete insulin story, then, means having to read many books.

So where does this leave younger readers who are new to the story of insulin? How do we spark their
interest in this episode of Canada's history? The solution is to go outside the normal guidelines used to produce traditional history books—in other words, to make history fun to read.

When Eric Walters first contacted me about a year ago and told me that he was going to write
Elixir,
I was intrigued, but also concerned. Banting family members and Fred Banting historians are quite close to the real story, and most are quick to point out the parts of any retelling that stray from what actually happened. It's very important to provide a factual account of this history. Would Eric's
Elixir
portray Fred's character accurately? Would it evoke the Fred Banting who often returned to Alliston for Sunday dinners and family picnics? Would it convey how much Fred enjoyed working with children?

Eric sent me an early copy of his manuscript, and it wasn't long before I was hooked.
Elixir
not only recounts the basic insulin story but features some of its controversy as well. Eric and I met at my home to talk about the book, and I was able to give him some feedback and to suggest some changes to the historical content. Eric also made sure that I was familiar with Penguin Group (Canada) and their plans to support and promote Canadian history in their books. Recently he sent me his revised manuscript, and after reading this version I'm sure that
Elixir
will find a large audience. Readers will not only gain a better understanding of
this important medical breakthrough but will also thoroughly enjoy the novel in the process. Fred Banting liked reading stories just like this one. He also wrote a few of his own.

Thank you, Eric Walters and Penguin Group (Canada), for publishing
Elixir
and my great-uncle's story.

CHAPTER ONE

JUNE 1921

THE HEELS OF OUR SHOES
clicked against the cobblestones as my mother and I hurried across the campus. The dress shoes pinched my toes. I'd outgrown them, but there was neither the need nor the money for my mother to purchase new ones for me. I didn't even know why we had to be so dressy today. It was hot enough without adding extra layers of clothing.

The buildings of the University of Toronto, both small and tall, soon surrounded us on every side. Stone and brick covered with ivy. Old and impressive. And intimidating. The windows of all the buildings were wide open, trying to capture any stray breeze that had managed to escape off the lake, hoping to drive away the relentless heat.

School wasn't even over for another two weeks and it was already as hot as if it were the middle of the
summer. It had to be the hottest June in the history of the world … or at least the hottest June day I could remember. My mother said it was the hottest summer she could remember, and she'd lived in Toronto all her life.

“Ruth, I want you to be on your best behaviour and remember your manners,” she said.

“Yes, Mother.”

“And speak only if you're spoken to. Children are to be seen and not heard.”

“Yes, Mother.”

She gave my hand a little squeeze. I was twelve and I guess I was too old to have my mother hold my hand as we walked, but it felt good. Besides, I thought maybe she needed to hold
my
hand too. My mother seemed nervous, anxious … and that wasn't like her. And that made
me
nervous and anxious.

“Do you remember Professor McDonald?” my mother asked.

I shook my head.

“He and your father used to be very close. Before the Great War he was at our house frequently. Then your father enlisted and it wasn't more than a month later that Professor McDonald joined the armed forces as well.”

“I don't remember.”

“I'm not surprised. You couldn't have been more than five years old. But you have seen the professor since then.”

“I have?”

“About two and a half years ago … at your father's funeral.”

I felt a wave of electricity surge up my spine. It was rare for my mother to mention my father at all and even more rare for her to mention the funeral. To me the funeral was like a dream, or like something I'd read in a book, something I'd just imagined. That's how it was with most of the things I remembered about my father— or thought I remembered.

I was just a little kid when he left to fight in the war. There were letters that he sent from Europe and some photographs—now tucked away in the bottom of the cedar chest. Those pictures were more real to me than the person in them. I never saw him again except in those pictures.

“This is where your father used to have his office.” We had stopped in front of a small stone building. We stood there, just staring up at it.

“There were many times when I'd leave you with your nanny and bring him supper because he'd lost track of time, lost in his work.” Her voice sounded a bit dreamy, as though she was picturing it all in her mind, reliving it as she spoke. “Your father loved his work so. I've never seen a man so passionate about chemistry— he thought it would someday cure all ills. Why, he even enjoyed giving lectures. He was a wonderful professor and very popular with his students. They'd often ring him up to ask questions, and at the end of each term he'd
have a gathering in our backyard to celebrate their successes. Do you remember those parties?”

I shook my head.

“That's unfortunate,” she said wistfully. “They were such grand occasions.”

My mother and I rounded a corner and found ourselves staring at a crowd of people—there had to be thirty or forty of them, all women, and although some were holding parasols to shield them from the brilliant sun, most held signs. They were standing in front of a large building, watching and listening to another woman give a speech from the steps. At the very top of the steps, guarding the big double doors, stood three policemen. Their arms were folded across their chests, serious expressions were on their faces, and nightsticks hung from their belts.

“What are all those people doing here?” I asked.

“It looks like some sort of demonstration or protest.”

“A protest … what are they protesting?”

My mother gave a little shrug. “I can't even make out the signs. Can you?”

The people and their signs were all facing away from us and toward the stairs and the speaker.

“I can't tell either,” I said.

“Demonstrations,” my mother scoffed. “It seems like everybody with a paintbrush and a sign thinks they have the God-given right to stand out on a street corner and foist their views on the rest of us.”
We moved along the sidewalk, well back from the crowd. One of the women turned round for a second and I caught a glimpse of her sign. It said “Animals have rights.”

“Animal rights? What does that mean?” I questioned.

“Who knows? Now that women have the right to vote I imagine they're trying to get dogs and cats suffrage as well. They'll have their work cut out for them, given how long women had to wait. I'd like a few more chances to go to the voting booth myself before they let house pets cast ballots.”

I looked at my mother and caught a twinkle in her eye. She used to have that look all the time. Now she just seemed to be sad or serious or tired or worried.

“It could be anything,” she said. “Nothing but a bunch of women with too much money, too much time, and too little else to occupy themselves with.” There was a trace of bitterness in her voice. “They should be home caring for their husbands and children. Now let us get on with
our
business.”