Elixir (9 page)

Perhaps my mother was right and I was crazy to be out here. Especially out here doing something I knew would get me in trouble if she discovered my motives. But I had to get to the bottom of this business. Was it all true, what was written in the pamphlet? And
worse, were the dogs in the building part of this dreadful practice? I felt that Melissa could set the record straight.

There were very few other people on the sidewalk, and it seemed as though even the cars on the street were moving slowly, labouring under the scorching sun. I looked ahead at the intersection. There were a couple of people waiting for the traffic to clear so they could cross, but I couldn't see Melissa. I looked carefully at all four corners of the crossing. She wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere. Although there seemed no reason to go any farther I coasted forward, moving on my momentum, finally stopping at the intersection. The air was tainted by the smell of car exhaust, and the heat radiating from the blacktop made it even hotter.

“Ruth!” a voice called out, and I saw Melissa a little farther down the street. She was waving her arms above her head. I waved back and started toward her as she came to meet me.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” she said with a wide smile.

“I didn't expect to be here.”

Despite the smile she looked limp with the heat and her face glowed with perspiration.
You'd have to be pretty dedicated to a cause,
I thought,
to be tromping around on a day like this
.

“I'm pleased you're here. Come, let's get out of this dreadful heat. This time I'll share
my
shade with
you
.”
I followed behind and she led me to the shadow of one of the large, leafy maple trees that lined the avenue. She sat down on a low brick wall and I took a seat beside her.

“I have something for you,” she said.

“You do?”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a soda! Next she pulled out an opener and popped off the top and handed it to me.

“It's not as cold as it was when I purchased it, but I hope it will still be refreshing.”

I hesitated. Not only shouldn't I be letting her buy me something, but it wasn't right for me to drink a soda while she sat there watching me.

“I can't take your drink,” I said. “You should have it.”

“That is so considerate of you to think of me,” Melissa said, “but I drank one earlier. I bought this one specifically for
you
. I was going to give it to you when I went back to the university.”

“That's so … so … thoughtful,” I said. “Thank you so much.” She
was
a very kind person.

“I hope you like lemon.”

“It's my very favourite.” I took a small sip. It was sweet and cold and felt good in my dry mouth, and even better as it went down my parched throat. I took a second sip that became a big gulp and then stopped myself. I didn't want to just drink it all down at once. I wanted to savour it.

“It turns out it isn't a good day to distribute literature,” Melissa said, fanning herself with a handful of pamphlets. “Most people are too concerned about the heat to go out, and those that are out are so grumpy they're likely to bite your head off. But it wasn't a completely wasted day, since I obviously reached one person … you.”

I didn't know what to say.

“That's why you're here, isn't it … because of the pamphlet.”

I nodded.

“When I saw you coming I didn't think you were here looking for a soda. I imagine you read the pamphlet and wanted to ask me some questions.”

“I did read it,” I admitted. “And there
were
some things I wanted to ask.”

“There's some pretty disturbing information in the literature. Very unsettling, especially if you've never read about it before.”

I nodded as I took another sip of my soda.

“I'm curious,” she said. “Aside from the power of the topic, did you find the pamphlet well written?”

“Well written?”

“Yes. I know it isn't Dickens, but I suppose anybody who reads Dickens is likely to know what constitutes good writing. Did you find that the subject was well presented? Did it capture your attention and imagination?”

“Maybe it was
too
well written and got my imagination working too much,” I said.

She laughed. “That's nice to know, especially since I designed the pamphlet and wrote half the articles.”

“You're a good writer.”

“Thank you,” she said, and bowed slightly from the waist. “Now, you had some questions for me.”

I did, but now that I knew she'd written the articles, it made it even harder to ask what I really wanted to know without taking the risk of offending her.

“Do you want to know if what I wrote is true?” Melissa asked.

That was exactly what I wanted to know. I nodded.

“Every single word contained in that pamphlet is true,” she said. “In fact, not only have I not made anything up, but I deliberately avoided putting in some items because they were too graphic, too awful, things that would have invaded your sleep and given birth to nightmares.”

I couldn't imagine what she could possibly have left out that was worse than what she'd put in.

“The difficulty for you at this point is that you don't know if you should believe me. After all, if I wrote things that were false why wouldn't I lie to you in person?”

“I don't think you're lying!” I exclaimed.

“But I could be. Just because somebody says or writes something doesn't mean it's true,” she said.

“That's exactly what my mother said!”
She smiled. “Did your mother read the pamphlet?”

“She's read some of it. She has it now and she said she'll read the whole thing later, after she's finished work.”

“Ah, yes, work,” Melissa said. “Would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“Sure, I guess that would be okay,” I replied, although I felt very uneasy.

“Your mother works. Does that mean your father is a progressive man who thinks it's respectable for a woman to work outside the home, or that your father is not in the home?”

I didn't answer right away.

“I'm sorry. That was both too presumptuous and too personal.”

“That's all right,” I said. “He died in the war.”

We didn't speak for a moment. “Like so many,” Melissa finally said. “It must have been—it must remain—very difficult for you and your mother.”

“We get by.”

“War,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “They call it the ‘Great War,' although I cannot for the life of me think how any war can be great. I prefer the other name—the war to end all wars. I'm hoping it's the last war we'll ever see in my lifetime.”

“Me too,” I said.

“We now have more than just hope to go on,” she said, brightening up. “Now that women have the vote
I believe we will not allow our men to go off to war again. If it had been your mother's decision, would your father have left to fight in the war?”

“No, never.” I knew that for a fact.

“Our female sensibilities are opposed to war. We won't let our sons and brothers and fathers and husbands march off to fight battles that would be better solved by conversation, debate, and compromise. That is, after all, the female way. And it's our essential femininity that will also lead to the end of vivisection. Women like you and me.”

“Me?” I certainly wasn't a woman and I wasn't leading anything.

“Why not you? There are no age restrictions on common sense, intelligence, virtue, and the truth. And you're very fortunate because you're one of the few people who have the opportunity to actually
see
the truth.”

“I am?”

“Certainly. Have you ever heard the expression that seeing is believing?”

I nodded.

“Well, you can go beyond the words of this debate to actually see the truth of what I've written.” She paused. “All you have to do is walk back to that building where your mother works, climb the stairs to the third floor, and walk into that kennel. You'll be able to see it with your own two eyes. That is, if you're brave enough to want to see the truth.”
I didn't answer right away. I didn't really know if I
was
brave enough. “I've never been in the kennel.”

“But you could go in there if you wanted, couldn't you?” she asked.

“I'm not sure. The door is always closed.”

“Closed or locked?”

“I don't know,” I replied.

“Well, there's only one way to find out,” she said. “But for now, why don't you just enjoy your soda.”

CHAPTER TEN

IT TOOK ME
 a full day and troubled sleep before I decided that Melissa was right. If I wanted to know the truth, the only way was to go up to the kennel and see for myself. But the idea of snooping made me uncomfortable. I'd already had that terrible incident with the professor when I walked into his office. I really didn't want to experience that a second time. Yet, if what Melissa had written was true, then plainly it was right to do some investigation. What other way was there?

I'd been to the top floor twice that day, going up before my mother had finished her cleaning on that level. The first time I'd hardly done more than pop my head out past the stairwell. I could just barely see the kennel door at the far end of the corridor, but I could clearly hear the dogs crying out. Actually I could usually hear them right through the stairwell when I opened the door from the first floor. I'd just been gathering my courage
to head down the hall when I heard a noise, like someone rattling a doorknob. I slipped back down the stairs, my heart pounding.

The second time I'd boldly walked down the hall and right past the kennel. I'd intended to look in and see if Dr. Banting and Mr. Best were working in their lab. If anyone did see me sneaking around the halls I wanted to be able to say that I was going to their lab or coming back from it. Their door was closed and I didn't even knock.

Maybe this time, the third time, would be the charm.

Silently I padded along the corridor. I'd left my sandals in the stairwell. It wasn't just that it was cooler; I could also move more silently in bare feet. I didn't want anyone to discover me. My greatest fear was that I'd be confronted by one of the researchers—the vivisectors. I didn't know what they looked like, but they had to be in the kennel sometimes.

The only reassuring thing was that even if someone did catch me snooping around the kennel I could yell out, and if Dr. Banting heard me he'd come running to my rescue again.

I moved slowly, keeping my body close to the wall. Quietly I glided past a closed door, and then another and another. Aside from the constant noise coming from the kennel there were no other sounds. The air was thick and heavy and still.

From my position close to the wall I could see a little bit around the corner. There was the door to Dr. Banting's
lab. It was slightly open. That made me feel both better and worse all at once. I felt better because I knew he was near if I needed him, but worse because I now knew that at least one person was close enough to discover me.

I stopped at the door to the kennel. The noise of the dogs came through the wood while the smell—a powerful stench of urine that I could almost taste—seeped under the door. I took a deep breath and reached out to take hold of the doorknob. I hoped it was locked. Then I could tell Melissa that I'd tried but could go no farther. I turned the knob. It was unlocked. A wave of fear swept through my body. I felt hot all over, a heat that had nothing to do with the temperature. I had no choice now. I had to go in.

Once more I thought through what I was going to say if I opened the door and someone was standing there: “Oh, I'm sorry, I thought this was Dr. Banting's lab.” I'd close the door behind me then rush straight to see Dr. Banting, so that even if the person didn't believe me they could see I was telling the truth.

I leaned in closer to the door and listened for signs that someone was inside. I couldn't hear anything except the dogs, and they seemed to be getting even louder. There was only one way I was going to find out, and waiting out there just left me open and exposed to anyone walking by. I pushed open the door and took a tentative step into the room.

I was hit by a wall of heat and smell and noise as the dogs all started going wild. I looked around the room. I was alone. I stepped in and closed the door behind me.

The whole room was filled with cages, dozens and dozens of cages. A few looked to be empty, but most held dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, different breeds—all of them barking or whining, pressing themselves against the bars, tails wagging, calling out for me to come to them. My eyes scanned the room, trying to take in the whole scene. It hardly seemed possible.

“Be quiet!” I hissed, and amazingly the noise seemed to diminish. Some of the dogs appeared to settle down, and others stopped barking completely.

I bent down beside one of the cages. It held a beautiful black Labrador retriever. Its tail was going a mile a minute, banging heavily against the side of the cage with a continuous thump, thump, thump. It looked up at me with wet, pleading eyes and whined ever so slightly as it pressed its head against the bars. It wanted me to pet it. I reached my hand into the cage and gave it a rub behind the ears. It stopped whining and pressed harder against my hand.

“You're a good boy,” I said softly. He turned his head and licked me, causing me to draw back my hand in startled response.

I straightened up. In his cage there were two bowls—one containing some dry food and the other— probably for water—overturned and empty. He must
have been awfully thirsty without water. The room was boiling hot. It felt like the hottest place in the whole building.

A fly buzzed annoyingly around my head. I took a swat at it and missed. I waved my hands around a few more times before I chased it away. Two more flies replaced it. Once I noticed the first, I saw that the room was filled with flies. They were everywhere. I flapped my hands in the air, trying to shoo them away from me. When I looked back at the cage I could see why there were so many flies. Dog droppings littered the bottom and in the tray underneath was a thin layer of sawdust stained by urine. That also explained the terrible, terrible stench. Why didn't anybody clean in here?