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The Animal Room
Steven Mayoff
Steven Mayoff lives in Prince Edward Island, Canada. His work has
appeared in numerous Canadian print journals such as the prestigious Grain Magazine
and The Malahat Review, and on-line in SaucyVox and Forget Magazine. He
has also written radio drama and is currently working on a novel. Samples of his work can be
found here
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As soon as I step out of
the elevator I get the first strong whiff. Damn nasty. No time to change into my whites. I
head straight into the Animal Room. I can practically see the stench slithering around the
corners of the whitewashed walls, rubbing its back against the fluorescent lights, wrapping
itself around the stainless steel faucet. Not the usual stink of caged rats; that's second
nature now. I don't even notice it anymore. This is worse. I recognized it as soon as the
elevator doors opened. The stench of death. One of the rats has died overnight.
Most of the cages are wire mesh and fit like drawers into either
side of four tall iron racks. There's no quick way to find the dead animal. I have to check
every cage. For the uppermost ones I get up and balance on my toes, craning my neck to peer
in. For the lowest cages I have to squat down. It's getting harder on the knees. The worse
thing is being all out of breath. I cover my mouth and nose with a handkerchief. The stench
is starting to make my eyes burn.
Some of the rats sleep with fat hairless tails curled around
them. Some drag tumours back and forth, like prisoners dragging a ball and chain. They can
smell the dead one and it gets them agitated. All their gnawing and scratching turn more
feverish.
I finally find the dead one lying on its back, baring long sharp
teeth. A mere imitation of fierceness. The paws look like little bony pink hands, holding onto
nothing. The stomach's been eaten away. Now the stench is unbearable, coiled like a serpent in
its nest of wet entrails.
I put on rubber gloves and fetch a heavy plastic bag from a
cupboard in the far corner of the room. Two other rats are curled up together in a corner of
the cage sleeping off their late night feast. They stir slightly as I slide the cage open and
in one motion take out the dead one, drop it into the bag and push the cage shut. The two
others lift their heads, sniffing the air, then go back to sleep.
I seal the grooved strip on the bag and drop it into the freezer
out by the elevator. The freezer is more than half-filled with dead rats and mice. You can
barely see them because the plastic bags are clouded by the last of the animals' body heat,
turning into what looks like icy cataracts.
My office is right next to the Animal Room in a small L-shaped
area at the very top of the Strathcona Building. There's also a storage room with a large iron
vat for cleaning cages. Beside it is a teaching lab where Dr. Kilmer often brings her students.
She is head of the Anatomy Department.
After I change into my whites and replace my hard leather street
shoes with rubber-soled canvas runners, I fill the kettle and plug it in.
Before becoming Animal Room Technician here I worked for six
months at the McIntyre Medical on the far side of the campus. Over there I was tending other
animals that the university used for
| "I call her Annie Cornflowers, which embarrasses
her. It's just that the colour of her eyes reminds me of the cornflowers I used to see in the
fields around my grandmother's farm near Trois-Rivères." |
research. Dogs. Cattle. Monkeys. It was hard. I got
depressed a lot. A dog is a smart animal. Even a cow. You can see something in those brown
eyes. Once they brought in a gorilla and I had to wrestle him down just so they could sedate
it. After the injection he started to calm down and looked right at me. I expected to see some
kind of anger or hatred in his eyes. But it was worse. There was a look of confusion and then
surrender. After that I started to lose my appetite and found it hard to sleep.
That's why I transferred here. I only have to deal with the rats.
They're easier to deal with. I can handle them. There's nothing to see in their beady red eyes.
That's because they're only vermin, scavengers fit for roaming the sewers or the alleys. At
least here they have some use. Here they're helping mankind in some way.
Once the kettle starts to whistle I drop a bag of peppermint tea
into my mug and pour the hot water. I take a moment to let the peppermint steam rise into my
face. Something to cleanse away all traces of the stench from my nostrils. Clear it out of my
head.
* * *
The rest of the morning
is spent changing the plastic cages that hold pregnant rats and newborns. I'm lining them with
clean shavings when Annie comes into the Animal Room. I call her Annie Cornflowers, which
embarrasses her. It's just that the colour of her eyes reminds me of the cornflowers I used
to see in the fields around my grandmother's farm near Trois-Rivères. That's where I spent most
of my summers growing up. I used to travel there by bus on my own. The rest of the time I lived
with my mother in a tiny apartment in the north end of Montreal.
Annie has just finished her first year of pre-med and is doing
some work in the Anatomy Department over the summer for extra credits. She always crinkles her
nose in an unpleasant way when she comes into the Animal Room and says she could never get used
to the smell. Her voice is very soft. I think she's a little bit afraid of me. She sometimes
seems embarrassed and can't look me in the eye. I'm sure she sees this gross, hulking body and
tries to hide her pity and contempt. Still, I like the way Annie blushes easily. Her neck is
delicate as a tendril and glows all rosy in contrast to her crisp white lab coat.
"What can I do for you this morning, Miss Annie Cornflowers?"
She speaks down at her shoes.
"I'm sorry I didn't hear you."
"You said you would help me inject two of the rats for my
experiment."
"Did I?"
She looks worried but says nothing. The poor girl is still quite
nervous around the animals and hasn't learned to hold one properly with a firm grip.
"You'll have to wait until I've finished doing theses cages."
She nods and looks a bit relieved.
I transfer one of the expectant rats from its soiled bedding into
fresh shavings, then snap on the metal lid and slide the water bottle back into the groove. The
rat immediately starts to push the shavings to one side of the cage.
"Doesn't it hurt her when you hold her by the tail?"
Annie always asks me this whenever she watches me change cages.
She worries too much about the rats and I always try to settle her fears. I always try to be
patient with Annie Cornflowers.
"Not if you move the animal quickly. If you just hold it, it will
start to struggle and possibly injure itself. You could also get bitten."
The next cage holds a rat that gave birth the day before. There
are seven newborns. "It's important to transfer the mother first. If you go for the babies the
mother will attack to protect them."
After I put the mother into the clean cage I tell Annie to move
the newborns so she can get a feel for handling the animals.
"Oh no, I don't want to hurt them."
"You won't hurt them. Give it a try."
She looks into the cage. The newborns are pink and hairless with
eyes still closed, yipping like tiny squeaky hinges. Annie's mouth purses into a nervous frown
as she picks one up between her finger and thumb and quickly drops it into the cage with its
mother.
"No, no, no. You can't do them one at a time or else you'll be
here all day. Just scoop them up into your hand."
"But..."
"Go ahead. Don't be afraid."
Annie positions her hand beside the newborns, carefully sliding
it into the shavings and under them. She lifts her hand and the remaining six are cradled in
her palm. Squirming little sausages, shivering and crying, huddling together for warmth. There's
both fear and tenderness in Annie's eyes at the way the newborns cluster and seem to fuse
into a single pulse. A wriggling pink muscle. A shapeless beating heart.
"Okay, now put them into the cage with the mother."
She stands there not moving, just staring at the newborns in her
hand. Their cries are growing louder so I figure it's up to me to do something. I take hold of
her wrist and guide it to the cage and the newborns drop safely onto the shavings with their
mother. Maybe I grabbed her wrist too hard or turned it too sharply because she looks at me in
alarm and pulls her hand away.
"What were you waiting for?" I try to laugh, but there's anger
in my voice. "You were in a dream world."
She opens her mouth. Saliva glistens on her teeth. Tears are
forming in the corners of her cornflower eyes and she rubs her sore wrist.
"I didn't mean to grab you so hard. Here let me see your arm."
She takes a step back.
"You shouldn't be scared of me, Annie Cornflowers. I would never
hurt anything as beautiful as you."
"But you did."
"I'm sorry. It was an accident. Just let me see it. I promise
not to touch."
She won't come near me and continues to rub her wrist. I try to
look suitably penitent, but now she is walking along the rows of racks, still cradling her wrist
in her hand like a wounded bird, and peers into each cage. So solemn and curious. So innocent. I
feel like an intruder and wonder how to gain her trust again.
"If you want I'll help you with your animals now. I'll even do
the injecting so you can see how it's done."
"I know how it's done." She won't look at me, but keeps
inspecting the cages. "I've seen you do it before, the way you hold the poor rat hard by the
scruff so it can't move and then jab the needle in."
"But if you hold it right the rat isn't hurt. And the needle
just pricks for a moment, like when you get a shot at the doctor."
"Do you really think they like it in these cages?"
"Why not? There's always enough food, always fresh water.
Besides, they're bred in captivity. Cages are the only home they've known."
"Then why are they always trying to escape?"
Her wrist must be better now because she's not holding it
anymore. Instead she runs her index finger along the cages. Softly at first, but then she does
it harder, her fingernail against the wire making a clacking kind of noise. I tell her to stop
because the noise upsets the animals and gets them all worked up. She waits a moment and starts
it again, soft at first, then harder and louder than before. It sounds like she's going to take
the top of her finger off. When I make a move towards her she backs away and gives me a hard
stare, as if to show she's not afraid. And I believe it. This is a new side of Annie
Cornflowers I've never seen before.
"You're supposed to be a professional," I say. "We're all here
to do serious work. So do you want help with your animals or not?"
"Never mind that. If you really cared about them you'd set them
free."
"That's crazy. I can't set them free. They're in my charge. I'm
responsible for them."
I don't like the way she is wandering around the cages. I take
a step towards her but she disappears behind one of the racks, spying on me through a space
between the cages.
"You're responsible for their lives, for their health. Even for
their deaths. The burden falls squarely on your shoulders. You are their god."
I move around the rack but she's too quick and runs the other
way, taking refuge behind the next rack over. I try to be silent and fast, but she's younger
and more agile. My forehead is damp and I can feel my heart pumping like mad. She can see my
every move and laughs like a little kid, amused as hell by this childish cat-and-mouse game.
Then one of the racks starts shaking. Annie is pushing one end
of it from side to side like she wants it to topple over. They're on wheels so they can be
moved around, but they're heavy, even for a strong burly guy like me.
"Stop that now."
"If you want… me to stop…" She's gasping, barely getting her
words out. "You have to promise… promise to free the rats."
She gives the rack one last push and I see it teeter for a
moment. I rush and lean all my weight against it until it's steady again. Then I turn to Annie
who is backed against a wall, panting like a cornered animal. I approach slowly, trying to
regain my own puff.
"This is over now."
"Don't come any nearer."
"I'm sorry I grabbed your arm. I don't want any trouble."
"Leave me alone!" She makes a run for the door. I stand there
for a minute, unsure of what to do. When I check the hall and down the narrow stairway there's
no sign of her anywhere.
* * *
The large binder with the
breeding schedule is open on my desk. I look down at the straight columns of dates and cage
numbers, but in my head I'm going over the whole business with Annie Cornflowers, rerunning it
like a movie and stopping at certain moments, then playing it back again. Perhaps it never
really happened at all, only in my head.
There is a sound and I look up to see Dr. Kilmer standing there,
politely knocking, even though the door is open. I didn't even hear her come up the stairs. The
wavy fullness of her white hair always reminds me of goose down. Her eyes are serious but kind
behind rimless glasses. They give her expression the tranquillity of a windless lake.
"I wanted to talk about the breeding schedule with you." She
points at the binder. "You must have read my mind."
She pulls up the only other seat, an iron stool next to the
mini-fridge. I make a motion to stand. "Maybe you'd be more comfortable in my chair."
She raises her hand. "This will be fine."
"One of your rats died last night. I found it this morning."
She nods with a kind of dispassionate melancholy. I think of how
understanding she was when
| "She turns and walks out of the Animal
Room. The door closes behind her and she looks back through the square glass.
I feel a terrible emptiness. Her face seems distant except for those eyes; the brilliance
of cornflowers shining in a field from the window of a passing bus." |
I was looking to transfer from the McIntyre Medical. She had nodded
the same way throughout my interview when I told her how difficult it was for me there. I think
at some point I made her smile when I told her about the summers I spent on my grandmother's
farm, how I learned to love animals there. Even when I was slopping out the stalls. I discovered
at a young age that the most honest smell in this world is manure. That made Dr. Kilmer shake
her head, but laugh out loud nevertheless.
While we are looking over the breeding schedule she's telling me
about her ideas to expand the Animal Room and modify our system. As much as I'm trying to pay
attention I keep thinking I should say something about Annie Cornflowers. Dr. Kilmer knows how
trustworthy I am, how vigilant I am about my job. I've never let her down. If she found out in
some other way about what happened this morning I could get into trouble.
"You're not listening are you? You seem to be in another
world."
"I'm sorry, Dr. Kilmer. I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I
slept badly last night."
"Is something bothering you?"
"Nothing really. Just a strange dream I had. It woke me up in
the middle of the night and I couldn't get back to sleep."
This is true. I had totally forgotten about the dream until this
very moment, but now it comes flooding back into my mind like misty moonlight.
"What was the dream?" She leans in closer.
"You see, there was this travelling fair that came every summer
to Trois-Rivères and set up not far from my grandmother's farm. It had games and rides and
candy stands. In my dream I was there but it was deserted. I had the whole place to myself
and I couldn't believe my luck as I walked around. But all the candy stands and game kiosks
were locked up so I couldn't help myself to the food or the prizes. The gates to all the rides
were also locked.
"The only ride that was open was the carousel, which had always
been my favourite. I scrambled up the ramp but when I got onto the ride I noticed that giant
white rats on poles had replaced all the horses. Their mouths were open with long wooden teeth
painted yellow and their wooden tails were painted pink and curled into spirals.
"I was walking around when the merry-go-round suddenly started
to move. I tried to get off but the next thing I knew I was sitting in one of the swan boats,
except it wasn't a swan. It was an upside-down rat with its paws straight up in the air. The
stomach was dug out and the inside was lined with a very plush red material. I wanted to get
out but it was moving too fast and I had to hold onto the metal pole to keep from falling out.
Then I woke up."
The way her eyes search mine unsettles me. I look down
at the page in the binder. The columns seem so narrow like underground tunnels. I hear
Annie Cornflowers’ voice in my head, something she had said this morning: “Then
why are they always trying to escape?”
We return to the breeding schedule and even as I pay close
attention to what Dr. Kilmer is saying, another part of me can’t help but listen for the
elevator and glance occasionally at the stairway.
* * *
At four-thirty I’m
wheeling the racks around so I can mop the floor. Sometimes I can get into pushing the
wet mop around, how the soapy water gives the cement floor a sheen under the
fluorescent lights, bringing out the tiny dimples and crevices, like the surface of
another world.
I glimpse a flash of movement at the corner of my eye.
It’s the constant vigilance that plays games with me, because I have to make sure
everything stays in order. Sometimes it’s just a figment of my imagination, but sometimes
it’s real. Even though I try to ignore it, concentrating instead on dragging the mop across
the floor, my attention is like an agitated compass needle that keeps being drawn to a corner
of the room. And there it is: one of the rats has crept out of its cage. Not an adult, but probably
a couple of weeks old with a new soft coat. White as a cotton ball.
I carry the mop and metal bucket to the storage room, empty the
bucket into the iron vat and go to my office. From the cupboard over the sink I get the plastic
pail with the lid that snaps on. There’s also a small pile of old newspapers in there and I grab
a couple of sheets, lining the inside of the pail. In the mini-fridge there’s an open can of ether
and I splash some evenly over the newspaper in the pail. Then I press the lid on so it’s airtight
and carry it into the Animal Room.
The rat is cowering behind a wheel of one of the racks. It scurries
behind another wheel. What I need to do is flush it out into the open somehow. I nudge it with
my foot and it dashes to a corner. At least it’s a bit more out in the open now, a little easier for
me to scoop up. The rat is very still. Only its stringy tail stiffens and quivers, preparing to make
a move. My shadow darkens its sky.
I grab it up in my fist and balance myself with my other hand against
the wall to straighten up. The pail is next to the sink. With one hand I pop open the lid, trying not
to breathe in any of the ether. Then I drop the rat in the pail and reseal the lid. I hear the desperate
scrambling, the sound of tiny claws scuttling through ether-soaked newspaper.
I go to the sink to wash my hands. The water rings loudly in the
stainless steel basin. I roll the soap well in my hands and concentrate on lather. I feel weightless
like when I was a boy on the farm, watching my grandmother prepare to kill a chicken. Her face
would be a mask of determination as I stood by. A silent witness to something brutal and necessary.
My ears would echo with the sharp whack of the blade against the wooden block, the spurting
blood and frenzied headless body. Afterward I would go stand by the road staring at the edge of
the fields fringed with wildflowers, my skin all tingling and purified.
I turn off the tap. There is still the tiniest whiff of ether in the air.
The sound coming from inside the plastic pail has stopped now. Everything is too silent. There’s
a faint tingling on the back of my neck. I turn and she’s standing there in sweater and jeans, no
lab coat. A small beaded purse is slung around one shoulder. It looks only big enough to hold a
wallet; I can’t imagine what else she would keep in it. She looks lost, as if she walked into this
room right off the street without thinking.
“Is it dead?” She’s looking toward the pail. Her voice is low and
meek as I always remembered it.
“Yes.” I pull a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and dry
my hands. “How is your wrist?”
She rubs her forearm in what looks to be an automatic response,
maybe from the power of suggestion. She quickly stops and clasps her hands, looking embarrassed.
“It feels okay.”
I go to the cupboard for a small plastic bag to put the baby rat in.
When I turn around she has taken off the lid from the pail and is looking inside. For a minute I
wonder if she’s going to start crying. Actually her face has no real expression except for a slight
wrinkle on her forehead. Her whole body is so still and solemn as if witnessing some great
mystery--like when she was holding the newborns, but this time there is more of a quality of
abstractness, something unnameable.
“Why did you have to kill it?” She asks this the way a child
might ask why the sky is blue.
“I had no other choice. It escaped from one of the cages, but I
don’t know which one. These animals are bred specifically for certain experiments.”
“What are you going to do with it now?”
“Put it in this bag and then into the freezer.”
She puts her hand into the pail and takes out the dead animal and
holds it in her palm. A white puffball lying so still it might as well be asleep.
“I wondered if you were going to report me to Dr. Kilmer.”
“I should have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
The empty plastic bag feels conspicuous in my hand. “I don’t know.
I think I felt responsible somehow, like I let things get out of control. Like the whole job suddenly
got too much for me. Dr. Kilmer trusts me. I didn’t want her to know I let her down.”
“But you defended your post, didn’t you?” She smiles shyly and
a strange fog of emotion wells up behind my eyes.
“The truth is I was afraid you would come back. And I didn’t
know what I would do. If I would turn you in or not.”
One finger strokes the dead puffball in her hand. “Are you afraid
now?”
I take a step toward her and hold out the plastic bag. She slips
the baby rat into her tiny purse and zips it closed. I know this is something I shouldn’t allow,
but make no move to stop her. I ball up the bag in my fist and stuff it into my pocket. She
turns and walks out of the Animal Room. The door closes behind her and she looks back
through the square glass. I feel a terrible emptiness. Her face seems distant except for
those eyes; the brilliance of cornflowers shining in a field from the window of a
passing bus.
* * *
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