Doctor Rat

by William Kotawinkle

  “Along the banks of the Congo, the coffee, palm, and rubber plantations have suffered severe damage from the great stampeding herds and from the army troops and heavy equipment which is in pursuit of them.

  “In every direction, on all the highways and byroads, the animals have appeared, caught in the movement, driven by unnamable instinctual forces which have thrown the Congo into yet another war, this one the strangest and most terrible, by far, that it has ever fought. Jim Winthrop, CBS News, Kinshasa…”

  I lie on the great plain with death inside me, with death sunk deep into me. My trunk is all that is left to me; I stretch it out, but it fills with dust. I have toppled. My tusks are dug into the sand. I thought to die by the river, but it was not to be.

  I hear the screaming of the she-lions; upon the wind is the sighing of the hippo. He opens his mouth to the sky, to swallow it, to live a moment longer. From the corner of my eye I see him on his back, his stumpy legs in the air. He was too fat to fare well on this plain. But he wanted to come. They all wanted to be here. It was worth having been here, in the one moment when we surged. Then I felt us all united. Then I saw the meaning of the earth. Could I have forgotten it already?

  Yes, I’ve forgotten. I’m old and badly wounded. And were I to speak the little bit I remember of the surging moment, the fierce badger would bite me.

  The smoke is drifting over us. We lie in a heap, the quivering elephant nation. The mightiest bulls are fallen beside me, their tongues hanging out, their eyes staring into the sand. We bought the one moment with our blood. It seems a high price to pay, but we stood imperturbable, in the knowledge.

  I don’t feel any sharp teeth. The badgers are all dead. But even so, I cannot elaborate further on the surging. We touched our trunks, we were one. I miss the riverbank. It isn’t easy to die. All my careful preparations—it isn’t easy. My breath is leaving me. My breath is departing. I’m sorry for the young ones, for the newborn calves. They barely tasted the sweet leaves.

  My breath goes further… I cannot call it back. The path is black. This is the great fear. The plums, the plums…

  They’ll make shoes out of me if they catch me. They’ll be wearing this old chimp on their feet. I went to the center of the plain, like the old fool I am. Went and got trapped.

  Desire to test the Great One Animal led us here. Desire to be the One Great Animal, to feel the power of his kingdom.

  Feel it trembling now, feel it trembling about us, the thunder of war. They love it; we are their sport. Terrified trembling nation, thunder on the plains, my body keeping the awesome drumbeat. Their drums are much louder than ours. What chimp can drum as loud as you, oh man! We cannot match your mighty tr-ump tr-ump! Our tree-stump drums are too small. We couldn’t sound like you.

  This way, rush through the yellow sand, over the fallen bodies of the others. Must make the jungle wall. Must reach the treetops again.

  We wanted to know the One Animal, and man had to be there too. For one moment of completeness we give our life. We bought it with our life, but we had it, masters. We had our illumination. We all stood together on the plain with you. We appreciated our perfect plain with you.

  We had the one moment.

  Down, bend your head low, chimp. Crawl along through the hairy bodies. Fur all around me, much trembling, blood-oozing. Man, the animal, with his fiery horns.

  Man’s horns of fire.

  Playing his drum of mightiness.

  Roar, roar!

  This old chimp is going to make the jungle wall. They haven’t seen me yet. I’ll get away. Get back to the little babbling stream and dream beside it all day long. Never go away from it, never leave it. Listen to it night and day. I want to listen to you, little stream, lead me back to you. You are magic, this I know. Help the old chimp now, give him your protection, guide him by your magic power.

  Baby chimp on the sand. Pick him up, scoop him in my arms. “Hang on to me. Wrap your arms around my neck.” Now which way do I go? Man’s horns of fire everywhere. His magic is great.

  Baby chimp’s heart pounds against my back. He cries. I run. Babbling little stream, help us get to you. Help us through the horns of fire. If I can get to you and plunge into you, little stream, we’ll be saved. Nobody will be near us, for you are far back in the forest where man has never been.

  Talk to the little babbling stream as we run, child. Pray to it for guidance. Seek its spirit with your call. It is our only hope, for we’re on the open plain.

  A fog of smoke, shadows moving through it. The gorilla spins, struck by a flaming stone. How does man hurl the stones so fast?

  Must reach the green wall, dive into the jungle. Drink from the flower cups. Pour the flower water on my head. Splash in the little stream. Blue flowers filled with cool water. Guide me, little flowers, guide me through the fire. I’ve got the little chimp. We’re trying to get to you. The great plain is vast, holding so many. Giants thundering all around us. But through the smoke, the jungle appears to me. Not far now, little chimp, hold on tight.

  The last few steps—into the green! Grab the vine and go. Go, old chimp, faster than you ever went before. Don’t let the little one fall. We made the jungle, little chimp, the stream is guiding us. The power of the stream will guide us on.

  With the soft green all around us. Covered in grass now nobody sees us. Saved by the green. Always the green. Follow it to safety. The open plain is not for us. We are the denizens of the treetops. Swinging through the treetops. This old chimp can climb. I’ll take you far away, child. This stream I’m thinking of, this stream we’re praying to, is filled with bright faces. You’ll see your ears sticking out there. Hold tight to me, for I’ll move without stopping.

  What more could we ask from life, little stream, but the sight of you rippling and playing in the light? You are wiser than a thousand elephants. You pour wisdom over our heads, and you lead me.

  “Sergeant, what’s moving in that treetop?”

  “Very good, Captain, I shall attend to it at once.”

  I lower my horn. Man’s great lifeless rhinos grind toward me, their long straight horns snorting fire. They snort once and the lions are ripped apart. We must learn to make fire come out of our horns.

  The chimps are all dead, and the great gorilla leaders have pounded their chests in vain. The lifeless beasts of men roll over them. Even the elephants are losing, every charge they make ending in a quivering fall. But these snorting clanking beasts of man will not find me so easy to kill. They won’t kill a rhino so easily. I’ll plunge my horn through the heart of man’s monster.

  My wrath should never be provoked. My wrath is a terrible thing. You’ll feel my wrath, monster.

  But many dying beasts block my path. Open for me, animals! I want to use my horn!

  I go forward, pushing through the dying herds. Our great meeting has been ruined. For a moment we lifted our heads and became one animal. Now I pad along blindly through the dust. I am an old beast, and I’ve heard the lion strike at dawn, but never have I known such dying as today.

  Snorting monster, I hear you. I hear the cries of the animals struck down. I’m searching you out with my horn.

  “Don’t step on Great Silence, mighty rhino.”

  “No, ostrich, I’m short-sighted but him I see. I wouldn’t step upon his body.”

  I see the monster before me. I see him moving there, where he snorts at the lioness, blowing her into the air with his flaming trunk. He’s mine now, I’ll take him down.

  Thunder, great rhino. This is the time. Bring it all forward into your shoulders and horn. Bring your many days forward now, bring it all forward, the fields and the trees and the skies you have seen. Bring it all into this rush.

  I think I’d better throw in some typhoid too. Here, my dear, the good Doctor Rat is going to let you out for an airing. What a pretty cloud, floating over the lab. Rebels dropping in their tracks as they breathe it. Yes, she’s a mean lady, multiplying rapidly, right through the colony, knockin’ ’em dea
d!

  They haven’t got a chance. I might as well mix in some dysentery, with a little glanders, and some anthrax, shoving them off the shelf. The good Doctor mixing up a brew for you, here in the secret storehouse. It’s coming, it’s coming at you. Ah, they float down, crash they break open, woosh they float off.

  Bacilli, wild and shivering with rage. The spirits in this Chemical Closet are amazing. I love them so. Pilot to bombardier: Bombs away!

  Down goes the special container of spiders carrying good old hemorrhagic anthrax meningitis. Furry crawling black spiders, leaving the bottle bomb, and moving toward the enemy (cf. The K’uan-Tien Incident, March 12, 1952, International Scientific Commission Report).

  Pilot to bombardier: Let’s give them one more. There’s a bottle of fleas here carrying a dynamite strain of pasteurella pestis. It’d be a shame not to use it. Down through the dark night it goes, caught in the rebel searchlight. But they can’t stop it. Biological warfare can’t be beaten. The bottle explodes, scattering the fleas. Off they hop, looking for their victims.

  Here come the Growth Hormone Rats after me! They’re carrying the Aeroil Torch! The bastards are setting fire to the Chemical Closet!

  Flames leaping into the air. I hurl a cholera capsule at them, exploding it at their feet, but the damage has been done. The shelves are crackling and swaying, smoke rising all around me.

  I scurry down the braces. Oh, this is horrible, everything burning, the lab ravaged by fire. Enemy troops are closing in, moving through the curling smoke, but I slip into the gray curtain, hiding in the swirling clouds.

  “There he is. Take him!”

  Hooded rats advance toward me. If only I can get to pen and paper and make my last official statement in the Newsletter. History will read it and history will be my judge. I must get to the desk over…

  …the floor collapses and I find myself beneath the laboratory, in amongst the beams. This, then, is my final bunker. I sought to lead my people to their destiny, on the surgical table, and they have betrayed me. My empire has been destroyed. My paws are shaking.

  Horrible Allied shadows move overhead—the dogs, the frogs.

  Your unicorn has attended the feast. My white flesh intrigues you, and my spiraling horn. I dance here among the fallen, but you can’t see me, no. I came from the plain of the highlands, beyond what you can know. But you attended, you made me attend. We had the one meeting, whose purpose you shall never know. You served a purpose, you came today. The One Animal needed you, prepared you, and sought you out today. You will never know the reason why. The One Animal is beyond all of us. I am but a veil across his dream. This hour is but a turning in his sleep. And yet…

  We needed you, man, for the One Animal’s dream.

  “…as president of the Toshido Fisheries, I’m honored by your presence at the stockholders’ meeting. Ten thousand echoes of good fortune resound throughout the entire whaling industry. The unseasonal and unprecedented migration of such vast whale herds into the offshore waters has saved us millions in manpower, storage, and shipping of the product…”

  I crawled to the mountaintop to see the eagles and I slithered back down to attend the great meeting.

  I’ve been caught and nailed to a tree.

  The nail is through my neck. I hang, lashing my body. Men move from tree to tree, where other snakes hang. They took all the bright ones. On each tree hangs a brightly colored snake, with a nail through its neck.

  We hang in the meadow. The eagles were killed by men’s lifeless birds. Each time I move the nail tortures my nerves. We hang, decorating the trees.

  The eagles’ hearts no longer sound the drum. The drums are silenced. We hang in the heat of the day. Now they come with their sharp tools.

  He slices through my neck, down my body. And walks on. I am agony split open. Now comes another; he inserts his fingers into my neck. He tears the skin from my body! I see my skin in his hand! I hang raw, exposed and tormented. I hang raw upon the tree. The others hang beside me, their skins ripped off—there—torn off—there, another. We thrash and beat our anguished flesh against the bark.

  All the bright skins are gone.

  The flies land upon our raw streaming bodies.

  “…for CBS in England, Malcom Pendennings brings us this report:”

  “…there you see the just developed footage of the capture of the legendary beast. Two soldiers, Lieutenant Patterson and Corporal Davis, carrying the beast between them on a pole, the fabulous unicorn, slain on the field of battle. Lieutenant Patterson is with us in our studio now. You are the one who fired the shot that brought the unicorn down?”

  “Yes sir, two rounds, at a distance of 250 yards.”

  I, the hyena, crawl to my water dish. Our leader, the Imperial Eagle, is dead. We felt him die; we were with him on the heights; we plunged with him to the earth and we crashed there, in a heap.

  My legs are weak; I crawl back to the corner of my cage like a spotted shadow. There is nothing left for me now. In his glass cage the gorilla sits, staring into nothingness, soiling himself. The elephant is sprawled in his straw, no longer hungry, no longer caring to rise.

  The birds have ceased their chatter, have stopped squawking over twigs and nesting space. Even the insane pelican, who usually defends his rock with hideous shrieks, has tucked his head under his wing. The rock which gave him stability and a shred of sanity has been abandoned.

  I know now that I’m dying; the whole prison is in the grip of death. We flop about feebly. Our soul is withdrawing into its deepest cave; it no longer cares to live.

  A bird has fallen on the lawn; he was no captive bird, but a free creature. He has fallen, and he is not the first to fall from the open sky.

  I smell the day, the wet leaves, the grass. Through the years my only pleasure was in these smells, and even in my feebleness I still enjoy them. Their secret character is indeed clearer to me now than ever before. Each smell is a dancer in the air, dancing round me, intoxicating me. I try to rise, my legs won’t hold me.

  “Surpassing Slothfulness, why have you stopped shuffling along? We’re not yet at the meeting place.”

  “Quickly, young fellow, take hold of a branch!”

  “But you said we weren’t to stop until we reached the meeting!”

  “The meeting is ended. Didn’t you feel it just now surrender?”

  “Surrender?”

  “Hang on, young sloth, if you value your life.”

  The old pile of moss displays surprising speed as he ambles toward a tree and mounts up the trunk to the limbs, where he takes his grip and immediately becomes a part of the foliage.

  The hanging green nest dissects itself, the upper portion turning slowly, deliberately, toward me. A dark hole appears among the twigs, the moss. “Don’t stand there gaping, you idiot. Grab a branch!”

  I go to the trunk of the tree and slowly climb it. Selecting a branch beside Surpassing Slothfulness, I go down it, hand over hand, and take my position.

  “What is going on, Master Surpassing?”

  “Hang still and you’ll know soon enough.”

  “Please, Master, I’m not as sensitive to the hidden winds as you are. What is going on?”

  The old bunch of moss doesn’t reply. I have no choice but to hang beside him and wait. Out of the corner of my eye I can discern a tiny raindrop hidden in the hanging pile of moss. It is the eye of the master; the twigs gently rearrange themselves and the raindrop is gone, covered by a green curtain.

  Well, I know how to enjoy a rest period. I close my own eyes and prepare for the long slow glide into sleep. But a soft whisper interrupts me:

  “Don’t sleep, young sloth. Cling tightly and stay awake.”

  “I’m very tired, sir.”

  “It’s approaching now. It comes like a whirlwind. You’ve got to greet it with your eyes open.”

  “What’s coming?”

  “The Soul of the Animals. A tremendous number of them died today, all over the earth. It has loosened
the thread that ties us to our bodies.”

  A sudden sadness overtakes me. I feel it now, searching its way through the jungle. The bird stops in mid-song.

  “It will try to take you, young sloth.”

  “I’m holding fast.”

  “Now…now it blows over us…”

  The whirlwind has touched me. I hear wailing and moaning. I’m being pulled upward! My little piece of the Animal Soul is being tugged. No! I won’t go!

  It pulls at me and I hold firm, with the crying all through my body. A sloth cannot be pulled from his branch. It passes on, leaving me alone.

  “That was its first pass, little sloth. It’ll come again.”

  “I don’t want to die, Father! Why do I have to?”

  “Our great departure time may have come. All the signs indicate that it has, but nonetheless it’s our duty to resist. Hang on now, it comes once more. It’s stronger now. It’s gathered the jaguars to itself. They’ve surrendered. The great cats have all yielded. Now it springs at us…now…”

  My limbs are trembling. I feel weak, drained, terrified. It strikes, leaping upon me like the cat, and rushes upward through my body, carrying my little bit of soul in its great teeth. My beautiful jungle! I don’t want to leave. Oh lovely earth, please let me stay!

  I hang fast as it leaps away. My blood is roaring, my heart crashing violently in my chest. “Oh, Master, I felt them all, felt the whole Soul rising. The whole Soul—what will happen if it takes me?”

  “You won’t be hanging upside down anymore.”

  “But will I continue somewhere?”

  “Who knows?” The moss parts and I see the raindrop again. It has grown larger and the bits of leaf all around it are wet.

  I hear the Soul moving through the jungle corridors, through the galleries and tunnels of our home. It rolls over me again and circles through every part of my body. I’m drawn into the depths of the Soul, into its vast dream. I’ve hung on for countless seasons. I’ve hung on through the ages. I’ll hang on. This is my branch.