by Lynne Jonell
“The Flying Squirrel,” the professor went on. “The Giant Rat of Sumatra.”
An exceptionally large and sullen-looking rat lumbered out of its cage and went immediately under the couch, out of the spotlight.
“The Jerboa.”
“The Kangaroo Rat.”
A small, very hoppy rodent came bounding out of its cage, leaped up onto Emmy’s sofa, and sat attentively with its feet straight out in front. After a while it looked shyly at the Endear Mouse.
The Endear Mouse hid its face with its paws.
“Oh, go on and play.” Emmy, amused, gave it a gentle nudge with her mind.
“The Prairie Dog,” announced Professor Capybara, flipping a page. “The Red Squirrel. The Spiny Pocket Mouse.”
They were almost through the alphabet. Emmy looked at the freed rodents, all sitting in the audience now. Every one of them wore a look of exhilaration. Every one of them seemed to be breathing a little deeper, a little more freely.
“The Striped Gopher. The Syrian Hamster.”
“Almost time for refreshments,” whispered Joe.
Emmy shook her head. “Not yet. Look at Raston.”
The Rat was as nervous as Emmy had ever seen him. Gnawing on a pencil, feverishly making small notes on a torn piece of paper, his mouth moved as if he was saying words over to himself, while his tail twitched spasmodically. Behind him, the little group of rodents looked frozen in place.
“Performance anxiety,” whispered Emmy, knowing the symptoms.
“The Tree Porcupine. And—the Woodland Jumping Mouse.”
There was sustained applause. The rodents embraced one another, wiping away tears. The Kangaroo Rat and the Endear Mouse, holding paws, hopped up and down on the sofa.
“But, Professor,” said the deep voice of the muskrat. “What do we do now? Where should we go?”
“An excellent question,” said Professor Capybara, beaming as if a particularly bright student had just spoken up in class, “and one you should all consider carefully. First, I will not abandon you. You may stay here at the Antique Rat for as long as you need to make up your mind.”
Mrs. Bunjee stood up on her chair. “Some of you smaller rodents may want to consider living in Rodent City.”
“We can always use burrowers,” added Chippy. “We’re enlarging our tunnel system every year.”
Buck cleared his throat. “If you prefer country living, there’s waterfront property along Grayson Lake and the creeks thereabouts. Just watch out for the wild rodents. They speak a primitive dialect, and they like to throw nuts.”
A golden hamster stood on its hind legs. “Can I go back home to Syria?”
“And wh-what about the ocean?” stuttered an excitable salt marsh mouse.
The professor spread out his hands. “If you want to go back to your native land, talk to me. In the meantime, though, if any of you would be willing to assist me in my research, I would very much appreciate it.”
There was a dead silence.
“What do you mean?” said the surly voice of the Giant Rat of Sumatra. “You plannin’ to tie us down, an’ lock us up, an’ stick needles in us?”
The professor shook his head. “Not at all. I will never force you. But I would like to discover more about you rodents. Every one of you has a very special power; one that can be used to help, or to harm. To hold someone hostage, or to set them free …”
Raston moved to the center of the desk, clutching his sweat-stained piece of paper.
“We can discuss that later on, however. Now,” said Professor Capybara, “we conclude with a rodent version of ‘America the Beautiful,’ written and conducted by our very own Raston Rat!”
There was a sudden hush. The Rat lifted a shaking paw.
Sissy smiled at him proudly.
Raston’s shoulders straightened. He threw back his head. “Hmmm,” he began, giving the note. And then, in four-part harmony, the rodent chorus sang:
Oh, pitiful, the pellets dry
And the wood shavings damp
Rats running round in metal wheels
Until their hind legs cramp …
But captive rats can boldly dream
Till prisoned rats are free
Till, as they should, in rodenthood
They squeak in liberty!
Oh, beautiful, for freedom sweet
For cages open wide,
For furry rodents’ scampering feet
Throughout the countryside …
Oh rodent cities, rodent fields
Oh rodent country grand—
May noble rodents ever fill
This happy, ratty land!
There was utter silence as the last note faded away.
The Rat looked around, uncertain. “I … I had a third verse,” he said apologetically, “but the last line wouldn’t scan ….”
The silence lingered a moment more. Mrs. Bunjee sniffled and blew her nose. And then the room exploded with whistles, paw stomping, and thunderous applause. The rodent choir began to cheer, too.
“Take a bow, Ratty,” said Emmy, prodding him.
Small eyes shining, the Rat grabbed for Sissy’s paw. “I could never have done it without you,” he whispered, and they bowed together as the applause went on and on.
Emmy and Joe made their way to the refreshment table and stood by the open door, eating. The air was warm and fresh, and the little iced cakes were delicious. Outside, on the green, a white puppy ran, barking happily.
Joe nudged Emmy. “Look who showed up,” he murmured.
Perched on the windowsill, looking in, were two rats—one piebald, one glossy black.
“Have a mint, my precious tulip?” offered the black rat gallantly.
Miss Barmy crammed the mint into her mouth and chewed, her furry cheeks distended. “That professor’s a fool,” she said indistinctly. “Those rats were worth millions.”
“What do I care, my dainty cupcake?” said Cheswick Rat, nuzzling her. “I have you … that’s all any rat could want.”
The piebald rat stiffened. “Get your nose off my ear this instant,” she said frostily.
“Oh, come now, my little chicken dumpling.”
“I’ll chicken dumpling you, you old fool!” screeched Miss Barmy, unsheathing her claws.
With a yelp, Cheswick Rat leaped off the windowsill and took off across the grass. Miss Barmy, her claws outstretched, was close behind.
Emmy and Joe watched them scuttle across the green, their tails in the air.
“She wasn’t much of a nanny,” said Joe thoughtfully. “Or even a decent human being. But you’ve got to admit, Emmy …”
“What?”
Joe grinned. “She makes an excellent rat.”