Elixir (8 page)

I didn't want to do that—I didn't want her in the building. “She's too busy working … and I have work to do, too.” That was only half a lie. I'd already done my spelling and written a story. All I had to do now was read, and it was up to me to decide how much or for how long.

“Perhaps another time,” she said.

“Maybe,” I agreed, trying to be polite.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ruth. Until we meet again.”

She started to walk away. I watched as she got smaller and smaller and then disappeared behind another building. She certainly was nice. And I really would have liked a soda—it had been a long time since I'd had one—but there was just something about her that made me nervous.

I put the pamphlet into my book to mark the spot where I'd stopped reading. I made sure that it was safely tucked in, with none of the edges showing. Then I dashed back up to the steps and into the building.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I SLUMPED DOWN
 onto the floor beside my little desk. Perhaps it wasn't ladylike to sit on the floor, but the granite was so smooth and cool.

I opened my book. The pamphlet, upside down and backward, was looking up at me. There was a drawing—a picture of a dog, I thought, but I couldn't be sure. Slowly, carefully, I went to pick up the pamphlet. I looked up and down the hall. The only person in sight was Mr. Mercer, and he was dozing off and not paying any attention to me. I picked the pamphlet up and turned it over. The drawing wasn't a dog, it was a pig— but not like any pig I'd ever seen. It was nothing but skin and bones. The artist obviously didn't know how to draw. Then I saw the caption underneath: “Deliberately Starved to Death.” I started to read.

It described how a surgeon had operated on a pig and tied off its duodenum to deprive it of proper nourish-
ment. By blocking the flow of food into the stomach, the researcher could study something called “pernicious anemia.” Over the course of months the pig finally died—starved to death.

I didn't know what pernicious anemia was. I didn't even know what a duodenum was, but it did sound awful! The article went on to talk about what people experience when they're deprived of food and the extreme pain they feel, and how pigs are actually among the smartest animals, so that they probably experience the same reactions—and feelings—as people.

I tried to think that through. Did animals have feelings? I'd never owned a dog, but I'd had a cat once— Tabby, I called her. One day she just appeared in our garden, and when she didn't disappear I started feeding her. Eventually my parents allowed her to come inside. She liked everybody, but she seemed to like me the best, and I was positive she knew how I was feeling. Once when I was sick Tabby came up and lay right down on my chest. And other times when I was sad she'd come up and rub against my leg. If she could tell how I was feeling, maybe she had feelings of her own. And if
she
had feelings then why wouldn't a dog or a pig? And if a pig had feelings, was it right to use it for experiments … or for breakfast?

I flipped the pamphlet over to the front and started to read.

The Ontario Anti-Vivisection Society

 

There will come a time when the world will look back to modern vivisection in the name of science as they now do the burning at the stake in the name of religion.

—Henry J. Bigelow, M.D.

Vivisection is the exploitation of living animals for experiments concerning the phenomena of life. These experiments may involve creating distress for the animals, exhaustion, starvation, baking, burning, suffocation, poisoning, mutilation, inoculation with disease, and surgical procedures which result in protracted pain, agony, and death.

The Ontario Anti-Vivisection Society is affiliated with Societies across North America and is dedicated to opposing and exposing the evils of vivisection to the public and by doing so ending this barbaric practice.

The Horror of Vivisection

There is great debate across this country, across the continent, and around the world concerning the practice of vivisection. The proponents of this practice—often men of science and medicine— claim that these cruel practices are needed to assist man in the pursuit of science. They feel that any
pain inflicted upon an animal is justified if it has even the smallest possibility of providing some increase in scientific knowledge. These men—and they invariably are men—have tried to convince the public that without these animal experiments the public health will suffer—that to improve public health and find cures for diseases in man, animals must be used. They claim it is nobody's business what happens to animals as long as the individual researcher can say he is
trying
to increase scientific knowledge and pursue scientific goals. The position of the vivisector is that man is justified in inflicting any amount of pain on any number of animals if a shred of new scientific knowledge can be unearthed. They are wrong! These facts are false! These men are more monster than human and are lower than the life forms they experiment upon!

Here are the
true
facts.

1)  Most of these so-called experiments result in no new knowledge.

2)  Human health is much more dependent on diet, proper sanitation, fresh air, and exercise than on surgery or serums. The practice of vivisection merely stops people from focusing on the true solutions to human health problems.

3)  These men are not really dedicated to trying to cure human ills but are simply seeking fame and
recognition from other scientists in the research community.

4)  Man has no superiority to any animal. In fact the act of inflicting cruelty on another species is practised
only
by man and surely demonstrates that we are
inferior
to other species.

5)  What good is a healthy body if the mind practises evil? Nothing derived from cruelty can be good.

Do you ever wonder why vivisection is practised behind closed doors? It is because the horrors that I speak of are the truth. Their practices cannot be allowed to be seen in the light of day because if they were, there is not a right-thinking woman—or man—who would permit such things. We must
expose to oppose!

My mind flew up to the third floor. I started thinking about that closed door. I didn't know what was going on in there. I just knew that I heard the dogs calling out.… Were they calling out in pain? A shudder ran through my entire body. I turned back to the pamphlet.

Pet Napping

An entire industry has sprung up from the ground to provide for the vivisector. Just as a fire needs fuel, a vivisector needs animals. And, just as with the fire, the animal is completely consumed. You
may have wondered where these animals come from. In many places there are laws that allow the medical establishment to get lost and abandoned dogs and cats from city pounds. This is barbaric enough, but think of those evil people who simply go out into the night and steal animals—dogs tied up in backyards, cats simply out for an evening romp—and then sell them to the vivisector!

Is that what happened to Tabby? We'd let her out one evening and she never returned. My mother said that cats sometimes move on that way—after all, someone must have owned her before she came to our garden— but I didn't believe she'd just run away. Tabby was my cat and she loved me.

Is there anybody so naive as not to think that where money is involved evil cannot happen? After all, the love of money is the root of all evil. People, tempted by money, are stealing pets and selling these animals into a terrible life of unspeakable suffering, torture, and then finally, and at times mercifully, death.

Imagine the torment of a young girl or boy waiting in vain for their beloved pet to return. Waiting, night after night, day after day, hoping to hear a bark, a meow, to have their face licked or to be rubbed against, but never to experience that.

I felt my face getting red and my tongue getting thick. I hadn't even thought about my Tabby for years, and now I was on the verge of tears.

“What have you got there?”

Startled out of my thoughts, I looked up at my mother. “It's … it's nothing.”

“It surely is something, unless my eyes aren't working. Something that must be so fascinating you didn't even hear me approach. Let me see it,” she said, holding out her hand.

I hesitated for an instant and then handed it to her. I made a snuffling sound to try to draw back the tears. My mother took the pamphlet and studied it for a while. I got an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, as though I'd been caught doing something bad.

“Where did you get this?” Judging by her tone of voice I was in trouble.

“I was given it.”

“By whom?”

“A woman. Her name is Melis … Miss Jones. I met her when I was sitting outside—you said I could go outside, remember? I was just reading, minding my own business, and she came over and started talking to me.”

“About this?” she asked, waving the pamphlet.

“Not really. About the weather and how hot it was. And she asked about the book I was reading. She said what you always say about books being a good way to explore the world.”

“And she didn't say anything about the Anti-Vivisection Society?”

I hesitated. “A bit. A little. She offered the pamphlet to me and I couldn't really say no without being rude,” I explained, looking for an excuse. “She had lots of them.… She was going to be giving them out to lots of people. She was very nice.”

“I'm sure she was. Generally speaking, people who are concerned about the well-being of animals are tender of heart.”

That made me feel a little bit better.

“There are some very powerful and provocative statements in this pamphlet,” my mother said as she tapped it with a finger. “At least in what I've read so far.”

“Some
terrible
things,” I said. “Did you read about how they took a pig and—”

“I've read only part of the first page, but I'll read all of it when I have time.”

“It's just awful some of the things that are happening! They shouldn't be allowed to do those things, because animals have
feelings
!”

My mother furrowed her brow. “Animals have feelings?”

“Yes, just like people. I guess you didn't read that far, but it says right there that they
do
have feelings.”

“Just because it's written down doesn't make it the truth.”

“But they can't just write something down if it isn't true.”
My mother shook her head. “Oh, to be twelve years old again. Ruth, just because somebody possesses a typewriter and an opinion doesn't make what they have to say correct.”

“But there's a doctor who agrees with them … right there … at the top of the page,” I said, pointing to his quote.

“Being a doctor is no guarantee of truthfulness either.”

“Are you saying he's wrong?” I asked. “That what they've written is wrong?”

“I'm not saying it's false or true. In fact, it may be both or neither.”

“But … but how can that be? Something has to be either true or false, right or wrong. It can't be both or neither.”

“It
can
be,” my mother said.

“I don't understand.”

My mother didn't say anything for a few seconds. I could tell she was thinking. “As you get older, and hopefully wiser—and believe me those two things don't necessarily go together—you'll find out that something can be true and false at the same time. One person's truth is often another person's lie.”

“I … I don't understand,” I said, shaking my head.

“I really don't expect you to. I wish I could explain it more clearly, but I can't. It's something you're going to have to come to understand on your own. Just realize that words can be used as tools or weapons.”

“Words are weapons?”

“They can be. Have you not heard the saying that the pen is mightier than the sword?”

“Yes, I have,” I replied. Just the other day, I thought, when Melissa was on the steps speaking to the protestors. “But I don't really understand what it means.” I felt as though I didn't really understand anything today.

“Words, whether written or spoken, are designed not only to communicate but also to convince. This pamphlet isn't simply trying to tell you something. It's trying to convince you of the rightness of this group's position.”

“But it
is
right. Animals shouldn't be tortured, and they
are
being tortured, maybe right here in this building.”

“Is that why they're targeting this building,” my mother asked, “because of the animals in the kennel?”

“Then they
are
hurting animals in there,” I said. “I just know it.”

“Well, this
is
the medical research building, so I assume those animals are being used for some research purpose. But I've never been in the kennel, and I'm not about to go in there. It's not my business. My business is cleaning … and I need to get back to it. And you need to get back to your work. Have you done any spelling today?”

“I've done my spelling
and
written a story.”

“Good.”

“So would it be all right if I went for a walk?” I asked.

“In this heat?”

“I won't be gone long and I won't go far. I just want to clear my head because of everything we've talked about.”

My mother didn't answer right away, but she let out a cross sigh. “Be back within the hour. Don't talk to any more strangers. And come to me the
instant
you return.”

CHAPTER NINE

MY MOTHER MUST HAVE
thought I was crazy. Why
would
anyone want to go for a walk in the heat of the day? Of course, I hadn't told her where I was walking, or the reason I wanted to go. I was going to try to find Melissa. My mother had told me not to talk to strangers, but surely no one you called by their first name could count as a stranger, right? Melissa had said she'd be at the corner of University and King handing out pamphlets. That wasn't far, although in this heat it seemed like a long hike. There were already little beads of sweat on my brow and my clothes were clinging to me, wet from perspiration.