house all kinds of animals in the facility. A few for the veterinary program and the psychology department, but most are for the genetics program, the medical school, and the experimental sciences.”
“Which animals do you take care of?”
“Me?” She smiled, revealing neat white teeth and a dimple. “The monkeys, of course.”
“I had a feeling.”
She went on: “The monkeys and dogs are the positions that everyone seems to want, and that you probably won’t stay long enough to get. So as the new guy, you’ll get what’s left over.”
They came to a door at the end of the hall. The trainer swiped a badge and opened the door. She hit the lights.
Paul’s mouth dropped open.
“And this is where you’ll be working,” she said, sweeping an arm out in front of her. “Welcome to the mouse room.”
* * *
During his junior and senior years, Paul dove into archaeology. He examined the ancient remains of Homo erectus and Homo neanderthalensis. He examined the un-men: afarensis, and Australopithecus, and Pan.
He examined the shape and skin and touch of a girl named Lillivati.
They took a class together: ancient skeletal anatomy.
She also trained him for his job in the biology department. Her specialty: monkeys. Together they studied for tests, and they found reasons not to study, stealing moments between classes and work shifts.
Lillivati’s long fingers clasped the small of his back, pulling him into her, dark hair an inky pool around her head while she whispered to him in Gujarati. Though he asked, she’d never reveal what she said to him in these moments. She’d only smile, her dark eyes half-lidded, and say, “It’s dirtier than you think.”
Students at most Ivy-caliber schools could be divided into three categories. First (of course) were those who were rich. Second were those who might or might not be rich but had, more significantly, gotten scholarships. Third were those who were going to graduate with a debt approximating the national deficit.
This third category could be subdivided. Some of these debt-indentured students would, after graduation, go on to make an amount of money even more obscene than the world-crushing debt they’d labor under. They’d work their asses off. Money would rain from the sky and sluice into the overflowing gutters of their bank accounts. They would, in fact, pay off their obscene debt without too much trouble and later wonder what all the fuss was about. Anybody could do it, right? They’d succeed largely because they were computer savants or good-looking, charismatic lawyers with the attention surfeit of competitive Chinese rice farmers and eidetic recall of corporate tax law, or because they’d invent Google or something. In short, they’d be able to pay off their obscene debt because they came out of the box preoptimized for dollar acquisition. The rest of the students in that third category were screwed, though.
Lillivati was in the first category; Paul, the second.
They used her room for sex, because her parents could afford for her not to have a roommate.
She was a year older than him and graduated early.
And true to her first words to him: she left. Or had to leave.
I hate to break your heart.
First, home to India. Then graduate school in Seattle.
Paul threw himself into his schoolwork, taking independent study in the osteochronology of ancient anthropoid remains.
In the world of archaeology, the line between man and un-man could be fuzzy, but it was never unimportant. To some scientists, Homo erectus was a race of man long dead, a withered branch on the tree of humanity. To those more conservative, he wasn’t man at all; he was other, a hiccup of the creator, an independent creation made from the same toolbox. But that was an extreme viewpoint.
Mainstream science, of course, accepted the use of stone tools as the litmus test. Men made stone tools. Soulless beasts didn’t. Of course there were still arguments, even in the
“Which animals do you take care of?”
“Me?” She smiled, revealing neat white teeth and a dimple. “The monkeys, of course.”
“I had a feeling.”
She went on: “The monkeys and dogs are the positions that everyone seems to want, and that you probably won’t stay long enough to get. So as the new guy, you’ll get what’s left over.”
They came to a door at the end of the hall. The trainer swiped a badge and opened the door. She hit the lights.
Paul’s mouth dropped open.
“And this is where you’ll be working,” she said, sweeping an arm out in front of her. “Welcome to the mouse room.”
* * *
During his junior and senior years, Paul dove into archaeology. He examined the ancient remains of Homo erectus and Homo neanderthalensis. He examined the un-men: afarensis, and Australopithecus, and Pan.
He examined the shape and skin and touch of a girl named Lillivati.
They took a class together: ancient skeletal anatomy.
She also trained him for his job in the biology department. Her specialty: monkeys. Together they studied for tests, and they found reasons not to study, stealing moments between classes and work shifts.
Lillivati’s long fingers clasped the small of his back, pulling him into her, dark hair an inky pool around her head while she whispered to him in Gujarati. Though he asked, she’d never reveal what she said to him in these moments. She’d only smile, her dark eyes half-lidded, and say, “It’s dirtier than you think.”
Students at most Ivy-caliber schools could be divided into three categories. First (of course) were those who were rich. Second were those who might or might not be rich but had, more significantly, gotten scholarships. Third were those who were going to graduate with a debt approximating the national deficit.
This third category could be subdivided. Some of these debt-indentured students would, after graduation, go on to make an amount of money even more obscene than the world-crushing debt they’d labor under. They’d work their asses off. Money would rain from the sky and sluice into the overflowing gutters of their bank accounts. They would, in fact, pay off their obscene debt without too much trouble and later wonder what all the fuss was about. Anybody could do it, right? They’d succeed largely because they were computer savants or good-looking, charismatic lawyers with the attention surfeit of competitive Chinese rice farmers and eidetic recall of corporate tax law, or because they’d invent Google or something. In short, they’d be able to pay off their obscene debt because they came out of the box preoptimized for dollar acquisition. The rest of the students in that third category were screwed, though.
Lillivati was in the first category; Paul, the second.
They used her room for sex, because her parents could afford for her not to have a roommate.
She was a year older than him and graduated early.
And true to her first words to him: she left. Or had to leave.
I hate to break your heart.
First, home to India. Then graduate school in Seattle.
Paul threw himself into his schoolwork, taking independent study in the osteochronology of ancient anthropoid remains.
In the world of archaeology, the line between man and un-man could be fuzzy, but it was never unimportant. To some scientists, Homo erectus was a race of man long dead, a withered branch on the tree of humanity. To those more conservative, he wasn’t man at all; he was other, a hiccup of the creator, an independent creation made from the same toolbox. But that was an extreme viewpoint.
Mainstream science, of course, accepted the use of stone tools as the litmus test. Men made stone tools. Soulless beasts didn’t. Of course there were still arguments, even in the
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