Already Among Us Read online

  I feel my fur bristling. Very suggestible little animals, indeed!

  But I don't know how I can remember a story I've never heard, a story that people knew before I remembered it. And soon I start to have other memories. I remember gnawing the ropes holding a lion to a stone table; I remember frightening an elephant; I remember being blind, and running with two blind companions. I remember wearing human clothing and being in love with a bird named Margalo. Each memory is as vivid and particular as the one about being a horse. Each memory feels utterly real.

  I quickly learn that Dr. Krantor doesn't want to hear about any of this. The only thing he's interested in is how quickly I can master successively more complicated mazes. So I talk to Pippa instead, when she comes to visit the lab. Pippa knows some of the stories: the poem about the three blind mice, the belief that elephants are afraid of mice. She doesn't know the others, but she finds out. She asks her mother and her friends, her teachers, the school librarian, and then she reports back to me while Dr. Krantor is on the other side of the lab, tinkering with his computers and mazes.

  All of my memories are from human stories. There are also a witch and a wardrobe in the story about the lion; the mouse who is in love with the bird is named Stuart. Pippa asks her mother to read her these stories, and reports that she likes them very much, although the story with the bird in it is the only one where the mouse is really important. And while that story, according to Pippa, ends with Stuart looking for his friend Margalo, the story never says whether or not he ever finds her. The fate of mice seems to be of little importance in human stories, even when the mouse is the hero.

  I begin to develop a theory. Dr. Krantor believes that language makes me very good at running mazes, that with language comes the ability to remember the past and anticipate the future, to plan and strategize. To humor him, I talk to myself while I run the mazes; I pause at intersections and ask myself theatrical questions, soliloquizing about the delicious cheese to be found at the end of the ordeal, recount fond anecdotes of cheeses past. Dr. Krantor loves this. He is writing a paper about how much better I am at the mazes than previous mice, who had IQ boosting but no vocal synthesizers, who were not able to turn their quests for cheese into narrative. Dr. Krantor's theory is that language brings a quantum leap in the ability to solve problems.

  But my theory, which I do not share with Dr. Krantor, is that human language has dragged me into the human world, into human tales about mice. I am trapped in a maze of story, and I do not know how to reach the end of it, nor what is waiting for me there. I do not know if there is cheese at the end of the maze, or an elephant, or a lion on a stone table. And I do not know how to find out.

  And then I have another memory. It comes to me one day as I am running the maze.

  In this memory I am a mouse named Algernon. I am an extremely smart mouse, a genius mouse; I am even smarter than I am now. I love this memory, and I run even faster than usual, my whiskers quivering. Someone has told a story about a mouse like me! There is a story about a very smart mouse, a story where a very smart mouse is important!

  Pippa comes to the lab after school that day, scowling and dragging a backpack of homework with her, and when Dr. Krantor is working on his computer across the room, I tell her about Algernon. She has never heard of Algernon, but she promises to question her sources and report back to me.

  The next day, when she comes to the lab, she tells me that the school librarian has heard of the Algernon story, but says that Pippa isn't old enough to read it yet. “She wouldn't tell me why,” Pippa says. “Maybe the mouse in the story is naked?”

  “Mice are always naked,” I tell her. “Or else we're never naked, because we always have our fur, or maybe we're only naked when we're born, because we're furless then. Anyway, we don't wear clothing, so that can't be the reason.”

  “Stuart wears clothing.”

  “But the three blind mice don't.” My personal opinion is that Stuart's a sell-out who capitulated to human demands to wear clothing only so that he could be the hero in the story. It didn't work, of course; the humans couldn't be bothered to give him a happy ending, or any ending at all, whether he wore clothing or not. His bowing and scraping did him no good.

  I suspect that Algernon is non-monogamous, or perhaps that he eats his young, and that is why the librarian considers the story unsuitable for Pippa. But of course I don't tell her this, because then her father might forbid her to speak to me altogether, I must maintain my appearance of harmlessness.

  Am I a sell-out too? I don't allow myself to examine that question too closely.

  Instead I tell Pippa, “Why don't you ask your mother to find the story and read it to you?” Since Pippa's mother doesn't mind letting her see naked women in the shower, she may not share the librarian's qualms about whatever misconduct Algernon commits in the story. It makes perfect sense to me that a very smart mouse would do things of which humans would not entirely approve.

  “Okay,” Pippa says. “The story's called 'Flowers for Algernon,' so it must have a happy ending. Mommy gets flowers from Michael on her birthday.”

  “Oh, that's lovely!” I tell Pippa. I've never seen humans eating flowers—Pippa favors chocolate and once gave me a piece, which I considered an entirely inadequate substitute for seeds and stems—but my opinion of people rises slightly when I learn this. I'm very optimistic about this story.

  The next day, Pippa tells me cheerfully that her mother found a copy of the story, but is reading it herself before she reads it to Pippa, just in case the librarian had a good reason for saying that Pippa shouldn't read it. This frustrates me, but I have no choice but to accept it. “I told her that you'd had a good dream about it,” Pippa says happily. “She was glad.”

  The next day, Pippa does not come, and Dr. Krantor makes me run the maze until my whiskers are limp with exhaustion. The day after that, Pippa returns. She tells me, frowning, that her mother has finished reading the story, but agrees with the school librarian that Pippa shouldn't read it. “But I told her she had to: I told her that it wasn't fair not letting me know what happens to Algernon.” Her voice drops to a whisper now. “I told her she was being like Daddy, trying to keep me from knowing stuff. And that made her face go all funny, and she said, okay, she'll start reading it to me tonight.”

  “Thank you,” I tell Pippa. I'm truly touched by her persistence on my behalf, but also a little alarmed. What in the world could have shocked both a school librarian and Pippa's unconventional mother?

  It takes me a while to find out. Pippa doesn't come back to the lab for a week. Dr. Krantor is frantic, and as usual when he's worried, he talks to me. He paces back and forth in front of my cage. He rants. “She says it's because she has too much homework, but she can do her homework here! She says it's because her mother's taking her to the zoo after school, but how can that be true if she has all that homework? She says it's because she and her mother and Michael have to plan a trip. A trip! Her mother's brainwashing her, I know it! Michael's brainwashing both of them! I'm going to lose Pippa! They'll flee the country and take her with them! He's probably a Colombian druglord!”

  “Just calm down,” I tell Dr. Krantor, although I'm worried too. The string of excuses is clearly fake. I wonder if Pippa's absence has anything to do with Algernon, but of course I can't talk about that, because Dr. Krantor doesn't approve of my interest in human stories.

  “Don't tell me to calm down, rodent! What would you know about it? You don't have children!”

  He storms back to his computer, muttering, and I pace inside my cage the same way Dr. Krantor paced in front of it. What in the world is wrong with Pippa? What in the world happened to Algernon? Was he eaten by a cat, or caught in a trap? Right now I would welcome even the mazes, since they would be a distraction, but Dr. Krantor is working on something else. At last, sick of pacing, I run on my exercise wheel until I am too exhausted to think.

  Finally Pippa returns. She is quieter than she was. She avoids me. She si
ts at the table next to Dr. Krantor's computer, all the way across the lab, and does her homework. When I stand up on my hind legs, I can see her, clutching her pencil, the tip of her tongue sticking out in concentration. And I see Dr. Krantor frowning at her. He knows she is acting oddly, too. He stands up and looks down at her workbook. “Pippa, sweetheart, why are you working so hard on that? That's easy. You already know it. Why don't you say hello to the rodent? He missed you. We both missed you, you know.”

  “I have to finish my homework,” she says sullenly.

  “Pippa,” Dr. Krantor says, frowning even more now, “Your homework is done. That page is all filled out. Pippa, darling, what's the matter?”

  “Nothing! Leave me alone! I don't want to be here! I want to go home!”

  I'm afraid that she's going to start crying, but instead, Dr. Krantor does. He stands behind her, bawling, his fists clenched. “It's Michael, isn't it! You love Michael more than you love me! Your mother's brainwashed you! Where are they taking you, Pippa? Where are you going on this trip? Whatever your mother said about me is a lie!”

  I stare. Dr. Krantor has never had an outburst like this. Pippa, twisted around in her chair, stares too. “Daddy,” she says, “it has nothing to do with you. It's not about you!”

  He snuffles furiously and swipes at his face with a paper towel. “Well then,” he says, “why don't you tell me what it's about?”

  “It's about Algernon!” she says, and now she's crying, too.

  I'm very afraid. Something even worse than a trap or a cat must have happened to Algernon.

  It's Dr. Krantor's turn to stare. “Algernon? Who's Algernon? Your mother has a new boyfriend named Algernon? What happened to Michael? Or she has two boyfriends now, Michael and Algernon? Pippa, this is terrible! I have to get you out of there!”

  “Algernon the mouse, Daddy!”

  Dr. Krantor squints at her. “What?”

  And the whole story comes out. Pippa breaks down and tells him everything, hiccupping, as I cower in my cage. Pippa's upset, and it's my fault. Dr. Krantor's going to be furious at me. He won't let me have any more cheese. He'll take away my exercise wheel. “That's why I've been staying away,” Pippa says. “Because of Algernon. Because of what happens to Algernon, Daddy -”

  “It's just a story,” Dr. Krantor says. It's what I expect him to say. But then he says something I don't expect. “Pippa, you have to tell the rodent -”

  “His name's Rodney, Daddy!”

  “You have to tell Rodney what happened, all right? Because he's been waiting to find out, and he can hear us talking, and not knowing will make him worry more. It's just a story, Pippa. Nothing like that has happened to my mice, the ones here in the lab. I promise. Come on. I'll help you.”

  Astonished, I watch Dr. Krantor carry Pippa across the lab to my cage. “Pippa,” he says when he gets here, “Rodney's missed you. Say hello to Rodney. Do you want to hold him?”

  She snuffles and nods, shyly, and Dr. Krantor says, “Rodney, if Pippa holds you, you won't run away, right?”

  “No,” I say, even more astonished than I was before. Pippa's never been allowed to hold me before, because Dr. Krantor's afraid that she might drop me, and I represent a huge investment of research dollars. But now Dr. Krantor opens the top of the cage and lifts me out by my tail, the way he does when he's going to put me in the maze; but instead he puts me in Pippa's cupped palms, which are very warm. She peers down at me. Her breath is warm too, against my fur, and I see tears still shining in the corners of her eyes. “See?” Dr. Krantor tells her. “Rodney's a very healthy mouse. He's fine, Pippa. There's nothing wrong with him, even though he's smart.”

  I don't understand this, and nobody's answering the main question. “What happens to Algernon?” I ask.

  “He dies,” Pippa says in a tiny voice.

  “Oh,” I say. Well, I'd deduced as much. “A cat gets him, or a mousetrap?” And Pippa's face starts to crumble as she strokes my back, and I hear Dr. Krantor sigh.

  “Rodney,” he says, “In the story 'Flowers for Algernon,' the mouse Algernon has been IQ boosted, the way you are. Only the story was written before that was really possible. Anyway, in the story, the mouse dies as a result of the experiment.”

  “He dies because he's smart,” Pippa says mournfully. “Except he gets stupid first. The experiment wears off, and he gets stupid again, and then he dies! The flowers are for his grave!”

  “Right,” Dr. Krantor says. “Now listen to me, you two. It's just a story. None of my mice have died prematurely as a result of the IQ boosting, and the IQ boosting hasn't worn off on any of them. All my mice stay smart, and they don't die any sooner than they would anyway. If anything, they live longer than non-enhanced mice. Okay? Does everybody feel better now?

  “But how did they die?” I ask, alarmed. “How could they die if they were here in their cages, where they aren't any owls or cats or snakes or mousetraps.”

  Dr. Krantor shakes his head. “They just died, Rodney. They died of old age. All mice die, sometime. But they have good lives. I take care of my animals.”

  “What?” I say stupidly. All mice die? “I'm going to die? Even if there aren't any cats?”

  “Not anytime soon,” Dr. Krantor says. “Everything dies. Didn't you know that?” A drop of water splashed on me, and Dr. Krantor says, “Pippa, sweetheart, you don't have to cry. Rodney's fine. He's a healthy little mouse. Pippa, dear, if you're going to drown him, you'd better put him back in his cage.

  And he helps her put me back in my cage, and he says he's going to take her out for ice cream, and he'll bring back some special cheese for me, and I won't even have to run a maze to get it, and they'll be back in little while. All of these words buzz over me in a blur, as I huddle in my cage trying to make sense of what I've just learned.

  I'm going to die.

  I'm going to die. All mice die. That's why the stories about mice never say what happened to them, because everyone knows. The mice died. The mouse who became a horse died, and the mice who freed the lion died, and Stuart Little died. I curl into a ball in a corner of my cage and think about this, and then I uncurl and run very hard on my exercise wheel, so I won't have to think about it.

  You have taught me language, and my profit on it is, I know how to fear.

  Where did that line come from? I don't know, and it's not even really true. I feared things before I knew that I must die; I feared cats and snakes and mousetraps. But fear was always a reason to avoid things, and now I fear something I cannot avoid. I run on the exercise wheel, trying to flee the things I have learned I cannot escape.

  Dr. Krantor and Pippa come back. He has brought me a lovely piece of cheese, an aged cheddar far richer than what I usually find at the end of the maze. He and Pippa sit and watch me nibble at it, and then he says, “Are you all right, Rodney? Do you feel better now?”

  “No,” I tell him. “You aren't really protecting me by keeping me in this cage, are you? You can't protect me. I'm going to die anyway. You aren't keeping me safe from death, you're denying me life.” I think of my memories, the joy of galloping down the road, of chewing through rope, of loving a bird. “You're depriving me of experience. Dr. Krantor, please let me go.”

  “Let you go?” he says. “Rodney, don't be ridiculous! There are still cats and snakes and mousetraps out there. You'll live much longer this way. And you represent a huge investment of research dollars. I can't let you go.'

  “I'm not an investment,” I snap at him. “I'm a creature! Let me go!”

  Dr. Krantor shakes his head. “Rodney, I can't do that. I really can't. I'm sorry. I'll buy you a new exercise wheel, ok? And a bigger cage? There are all kinds of fancy cages with tunnels and things. We can make you a cage ten times bigger than this one. Pippa, you can help design Rodney's new cage. We'll go to the pet store and buy all the parts. It will be fun.”

  “I don't want a new exercise wheel,” I tell him. 'I don't want a new cage. I want to be free! Pippa, he says he ca
n't let me go, but remember when he said you couldn't go to the zoo? It's the same thing.”

  “It's not the same thing at all,” Dr. Krantor says. His voice isn't friendly anymore. “Rodney, I'm getting very annoyed with you. Pippa, don't you have more homework to do?”

  “No,” she says. “I already did my homework. The page is all filled out.”

  “Well then,” Dr. Krantor says. “We'll go to the pet store – “

  “I don't want you to go to the pet store! I want you to let me go! Pippa – “

  “Stop trying to brainwash her!” Dr. Krantor bellows at me.

  I can feel my tail flicking in fury. “You're the one brainwashing her!”

  “Stop it,” Pippa says. She's put her thumb in her mouth, muffling her words, and she looks like she's going to cry again. “Stop it! I hate it when you fight!”

  We stop. I feel miserable. I wonder how Dr. Krantor feels. Pippa goes back to the table where her homework is, and Dr. Krantor goes back to his computer, and I nibble disconsolately on the excellent cheddar. No one says anything. After a while, Dr. Krantor comes back over to my cage and asks wearily, “All right, Rodney. Ready for the maze?”

  “Are you out of your mind? I'm not going to run any more mazes! Why should I? What's in it for me?”

  “Cheese!”

  “I've had enough cheese today,” I'm being ungracious, I know. I should thank him for the excellent cheddar. But I'm too angry to mind my manners.

  “It's for my research, Rodney!”

  “I don't care about your research, you imbecile!”

  Dr. Krantor curses; Pippa, at her table, has covered her ears. Dr. Krantor reaches into my cage. He lifts me by the tail, none too gently, and plunks me down at the beginning of the maze. “Go,” he says.

  “Go groom yourself!”

  He stomps away. I sit in the maze and clean my whiskers, fastidiously, and then I curl into a ball and take a nap.