little.
He is holding a long syringe.
“This rat weighs fully three pounds — rats are growing larger with every generation. But it is not merely his size I wish to show to you this evening. I will show how
Rattus norvegicus
is a perfect disease-carrying organism.”
He smooths the fur of the rat around its heart. It is hardly breathing now.
“Alive, a rat is dangerous, a perfect walking mechanism for spreading disease. Even when it is dead, its war against humanity continues.”
He glances up at his audience and smiles. He is enjoying this moment.
He aims the syringe at the heart of the rat, then plunges it into the flesh.
. . . of King Tzuriel, I lost all sense of safety. His pulse was within me, summoning me. He needed the help of citizens, and only one citizen was nearby.
A loud scream bubbled up from within me, shaking and racking my body as it emerged from my throat.
The sound of the enemy was all around me. I ignored it. With all my strength, I ran toward my king.
. . . pointing at the floor. Others around him, on one side of the hall and near the front, move quickly from their seats.
Soon that part of the hall is in tumult.
Then I see it. A rat, quite small, is scurrying down one side of the lecture room toward the stage.
The scientists near the beast stand up. Some of them try to stamp on it as it runs by. Yet still it continues toward us.
“Get it, someone! Get it!” A voice, squeaky with panic, can be heard above the confusion. It is the doctor. Eyes wide, hands clutched together in front of him, he is backing away as if, at any moment, he might run out of the room.
The rat reaches the base of the stage and seems to look up. Unable to get any farther, it scurries along the baseboard before vanishing into another hole.
“Oh. Oh. Oh.”
Slowly all eyes return to the doctor. When he realizes that the beast has gone, he gives a nervous little laugh. “Oh . . . what a surprise that was,” he says.
“You’ll be all right now, Ross-Gibbon,” a stout, bewhiskered man in the front row calls out. “Return to your talk. You were just telling us how important it was not to show any fear.”
And the moment of alarm is suddenly broken. The room rocks with laughter.
The doctor’s face has turned an angry red. He walks slowly back to the table and the big rat, which is now motionless.
“I shall dissect our friend,” he says, his voice still shaky. He runs a scalpel along the rat’s stomach. Dark blood oozes onto the table, a smell of putrid flesh fills the air.
The man with whiskers, sitting in the front row, takes a handkerchief from his pocket and covers his nose and mouth.
“Yes, gentlemen, the smell is not good,” says the doctor irritably. “That is the very argument I am making.” He points with his scalpel to the purple and red innards of the rat. “There are in my opinion no fewer than fifty-five infectious diseases, many of them fatal, that can be carried and passed on, in one way or another, by the rat. Typhus, plague, leptospirosis, infectious jaundice, trench fever, influenza,
Trichinella spiralis
. . .” He starts to list beast-related sicknesses, but it is clear now that the so-called scientists have heard, seen, and smelled enough of rats for the evening.
One or two leave their seats, and others sidle out of the room with obvious relief. By the time the doctor has finished his list of diseases, the lecture hall is half empty.
He finishes hurriedly. When he asks for questions, there is an embarrassed silence. The man in the front row makes a show of looking at his timepiece.
It is done. The moment that the doctor has been talking about for so long is over.
“Where did that blinking rat come from?” His question is directed to me as I lift the corpse of our specimen back into the cage. “Did someone release it as a joke?”
Saying nothing, I lay a cloth over the table. It is soon dark with blood.
“I wasn’t afraid of it, you know.” The doctor sniffs and squares
He is holding a long syringe.
“This rat weighs fully three pounds — rats are growing larger with every generation. But it is not merely his size I wish to show to you this evening. I will show how
Rattus norvegicus
is a perfect disease-carrying organism.”
He smooths the fur of the rat around its heart. It is hardly breathing now.
“Alive, a rat is dangerous, a perfect walking mechanism for spreading disease. Even when it is dead, its war against humanity continues.”
He glances up at his audience and smiles. He is enjoying this moment.
He aims the syringe at the heart of the rat, then plunges it into the flesh.
. . . of King Tzuriel, I lost all sense of safety. His pulse was within me, summoning me. He needed the help of citizens, and only one citizen was nearby.
A loud scream bubbled up from within me, shaking and racking my body as it emerged from my throat.
The sound of the enemy was all around me. I ignored it. With all my strength, I ran toward my king.
. . . pointing at the floor. Others around him, on one side of the hall and near the front, move quickly from their seats.
Soon that part of the hall is in tumult.
Then I see it. A rat, quite small, is scurrying down one side of the lecture room toward the stage.
The scientists near the beast stand up. Some of them try to stamp on it as it runs by. Yet still it continues toward us.
“Get it, someone! Get it!” A voice, squeaky with panic, can be heard above the confusion. It is the doctor. Eyes wide, hands clutched together in front of him, he is backing away as if, at any moment, he might run out of the room.
The rat reaches the base of the stage and seems to look up. Unable to get any farther, it scurries along the baseboard before vanishing into another hole.
“Oh. Oh. Oh.”
Slowly all eyes return to the doctor. When he realizes that the beast has gone, he gives a nervous little laugh. “Oh . . . what a surprise that was,” he says.
“You’ll be all right now, Ross-Gibbon,” a stout, bewhiskered man in the front row calls out. “Return to your talk. You were just telling us how important it was not to show any fear.”
And the moment of alarm is suddenly broken. The room rocks with laughter.
The doctor’s face has turned an angry red. He walks slowly back to the table and the big rat, which is now motionless.
“I shall dissect our friend,” he says, his voice still shaky. He runs a scalpel along the rat’s stomach. Dark blood oozes onto the table, a smell of putrid flesh fills the air.
The man with whiskers, sitting in the front row, takes a handkerchief from his pocket and covers his nose and mouth.
“Yes, gentlemen, the smell is not good,” says the doctor irritably. “That is the very argument I am making.” He points with his scalpel to the purple and red innards of the rat. “There are in my opinion no fewer than fifty-five infectious diseases, many of them fatal, that can be carried and passed on, in one way or another, by the rat. Typhus, plague, leptospirosis, infectious jaundice, trench fever, influenza,
Trichinella spiralis
. . .” He starts to list beast-related sicknesses, but it is clear now that the so-called scientists have heard, seen, and smelled enough of rats for the evening.
One or two leave their seats, and others sidle out of the room with obvious relief. By the time the doctor has finished his list of diseases, the lecture hall is half empty.
He finishes hurriedly. When he asks for questions, there is an embarrassed silence. The man in the front row makes a show of looking at his timepiece.
It is done. The moment that the doctor has been talking about for so long is over.
“Where did that blinking rat come from?” His question is directed to me as I lift the corpse of our specimen back into the cage. “Did someone release it as a joke?”
Saying nothing, I lay a cloth over the table. It is soon dark with blood.
“I wasn’t afraid of it, you know.” The doctor sniffs and squares
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