John Heffernan has studied mice for many years. He even lived with a colony of Giant Mexican Jungle Mice for months, earning the trust and respect of these huge but surprisingly shy rodents. John insists that mice are far more intelligent than we realise, and believes they might even take over the planet one day if we are not careful.
This book is dedicated to one of John’s best ever mice-mates – Calypo, the Amazing Mighty Mouse.
Eric &
Einstein
JOHN HEFFERNAN
illustrated by
ALEX SNELLGROVE
First published 2007 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
1 Market Street, Sydney
Text copyright © John Heffernan 2007
Illustrations copyright © Alex Snellgrove 2007
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
Heffernan, John, 1949- .
Eric & Einstein : a boy with a mouse, a mouse with a brain.
For children.
ISBN 9780330423175.
1. Boys - Juvenile fiction. 2. Mice - Juvenile fiction.
I. Snellgrove, Alexandra. II. Title.
A823.3
Internal text design by i2i design
Typeset in 12/15pt Sabon
Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group, Maryborough, Victoria
Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.
These electronic editions published in 2008 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
Eric & Einstein
John Heffernan
Adobe eReader format 978-1-74197-833-9
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EPUB format 978-1-74262-553-9
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CONTENTS
A genius is born
The problem with Eric
Welcome to paradise
Growlworthy and Graymouth
A nasty mob
Call me Einstein
Take it away, Einstein
Homework, sweet homework
Pop, pop, popping
Look out, Nathan Sharp!
A new person
Reedweed poses a problem
You’re the genius
The Big Brain Game
Piece of cheese
All or nothing
Prizes and surprises
The final answer
Thanks but no thanks
Beware the doctor
Sweet revenge
‘Reality is merely an illusion,
albeit a very persistent one.’
ALBERT EINSTEIN (1879–1955)
A GENIUS IS BORN
‘I’ve done it! I’ve made scientific history!’
Doctor von Burpinburger thwacked off his surgical gloves and burped. That’s what the doctor did when he was excited.
‘I’m brilliant,’ he squerped (a squeal and a burp at the same time).
Laid out on the operating table, within the doctor’s castle in the faraway land of Bulgonia, was a white mouse, eyes closed, still unconscious, barely breathing. His head had been shaved, and he was connected to a wall of computers by hundreds of wires. The same message flashed on each computer screen:
DOWNLOAD SUCCESSFUL
A wild storm raged outside. Rain lashed at the windows of the old castle. There was a clap of thunder and, for a moment, the mouse was lit up by a flash of lightning.
‘Look at him, Brique!’ the doctor yelled to his assistant. ‘Isn’t he beautiful?’
‘Yes, Master,’ the assistant scowled. ‘For a mouse.’
‘Fool!’ the doctor shouted. ‘You may have no brain in that ping-pong ball you call a head, but this little chap does. Oh yes. I, Dr von Burpinburger, have implanted a nanocomputer in his brain, complete with voice-generating software and satellite connection to a bank of supercomputers. Do you know what that means?’
‘Yes, Master.’ Brique winced. ‘It means he’s a genius.’
‘Exactly. Behind the pointy nose and the pretty pink ears, beneath the whiskers and the white fur, there lies a little Einstein.’
‘A little what-stein, Master?’
‘EINSTEIN!’ the doctor screamed. ‘The greatest mind in history! EIN – burp! – STEIN -burp!’ He was shaking with fury. The doctor stamped out of the laboratory. ‘Just take good care of our little mastermind. Be sure to lock him up safe and sound.’
‘Of course, Master,’ Brique hissed after the doctor had gone. ‘Your burp is my command.’
Brique’s lips crumpled up until they looked like a monkey’s bottom. ‘Einstein, indeed,’ he snarled down at the mouse. ‘Mastermind, hmph! Mousetermind! I wanted a computer in my brain. But, oh no. Brique doesn’t deserve to be smart!’
A crash of thunder shook the castle walls and a pair of arched stained-glass windows burst open. Dark velvet curtains billowed like the wings of a giant Bulgonian mountain bat as the whole chamber flashed with the electric blue of lightning.
‘Typical!’ Brique shouted, and scurried across to the windows. ‘Leave it all to me!’ The assistant struggled with the windows, finally forcing them shut against the howling wind. ‘How many times have I told him these windows need fixing?’ Brique growled, drenched to the skin. He turned the latch as tight as he could, and glared at all the mess. ‘Now I’ll have to clean up as well! But then that’s all I’m good for, isn’t it?’
Tikazza Brique grumbled and mumbled so much that he completely forgot to lock up the mouse safe and sound. He didn’t realise that two pink ears were listening to everything he said, and that one red eye was open, watching and waiting.
THE PROBLEM WITH ERIC
‘Ouch! Watch your claws, guys! Everyone will get something.’
Thousands of miles away from Bulgonia, on the other side of the world, Eric Wimpleby was having breakfast with a flock of pigeons on the rooftop terrace of his parent’s penthouse, twenty-three stories up.
The pigeons were all over him. He was feeding his fluttering friends fistfuls of cereal from a large bowl. ‘And don’t poop on me either!’
‘Coo, coo,’ the pigeons chorused.
‘Cool, cool,’ Eric replied. ‘I wish I could fly all day, up there in the clouds with you. Away from school, from teachers and questions and homework.’ Away from the other kids laughing at me because I’m not much good at anything. Away from Nathan Sharp and his gang.
‘And if I could fly, Mum and Dad might think that I’m special, too.’ The thought made Eric smile. ‘They mig
ht even take time off work, and do stuff with me for a change.’ Yes!
No. The smile faded. Not likely. ‘They’re too busy for that,’ Eric told the pigeons. ‘They’re always working. Home late, leave early. Maybe they’re avoiding me.’ Maybe they want me to go away. ‘Wouldn’t blame them. I must be such a disappointment. They think I’m just a dreamer.’
Eric sighed and drifted off into his thoughts. As the pigeons fluttered and cooed around him, he daydreamed about what he reckoned would be the best thing ever – having his very own pet.
He would’ve loved a dog. Not possible, his parents said. Not in an apartment. They did get him a cat, but it came to a nasty end on the first day when it sprang at some pigeons on the balcony and went straight over the edge. Eric watched it fall the twenty-three floors and land on a taxi. Ker plonk! It left a cat-shaped dent in the roof, and later Eric was sure he saw a very flat cat in an alley nearby.
Eric suggested guinea pigs, but his mother shrieked. ‘Filthy, putrid things!’ He asked about mice, too. ‘Never! They’re even more disgusting.’
So what could I have? Jellyfish? Goldfish? Worms?
Eric glanced at his watch. ‘Oh no!’ he shouted, leaping to his feet, spilling the cereal and scattering the pigeons. He was late for school again. Third time that week.
Eric raced across the rooftop terrace and through the penthouse (grabbing his backpack on the way). He caught the express elevator to the ground floor, shot out the front door and ran the two kilometres all the way to school. He didn’t even stop for his usual peep in the pet shop window.
WELCOME TO PARADISE
If Eric had stopped at the pet shop, he might have noticed a particular white mouse surrounded by lots of other mice. Some of these mice were interested in the white one’s shaved head, others in the loose wire that poked out from it. But most were fascinated by the strange whirring sounds that seemed to come from inside the mouse’s head every now and then.
The white mouse was sound asleep. And no wonder – he’d been on the move for two days and nights, trying to escape the horrid little man who’d poked about inside his head and hurt him.
As soon as the doctor’s assistant had gone to bed, the mouse had leapt up, tugged the tangle of wires from his head, and scurried out of the lab and castle through a maze of air vents and drains. He waited by the roadside and caught the first cart and horse that came along, hiding in bales of hay.
The hay was loaded onto a truck that drove to a railway station. There the mouse caught a train which rattled its way to an airport, where he scrambled onto a plane. The plane flew all day and all night, landing many thousands of miles away on the other side of the world. The mouse hitched a ride into the city on top of a taxi with a cat-shaped dent in its roof.
Alone and exhausted in a strange city, the little rodent found himself standing outside a shop with a sign that said:
PARADISE 4 PETS
As he stared at the sign, an odd whirring sound filled his head, and bits of information passed through his mind:
paradise: a great place to be.
That sounds good, the mouse thought. I’d like to go to that place. There was more whirring and buzzing in his head:
pets: tame animals kept for friendship or fun.
Sounds even better, he decided.
The little white mouse nodded his head and squeezed under the door. He looked around the shop and soon found a cage filled with other mice. Friends! There he settled down and fell asleep at once. Safe at last, he decided.
GROWLWORTHY AND
GRAYMOUTH
‘Got you, Wimpleby!’
Mr Growlworthy, the Principal of Templeton Grammar, waited at the front gate every morning to pounce upon latecomers. He chuckled with glee, and opened his little black book.
‘You’re making a habit of this, boy. Your parents won’t be at all pleased when I tell them.’
Mr Growlworthy had already sent several notes to Eric’s parents. Eric wished the headmaster wouldn’t do that. He hated being in trouble.
‘It won’t happen again, Sir. I promise.’
‘Nonsense, Wimpleby. Your type is always in trouble.’
Miss Graymouth got hold of Eric next. As soon as he walked into her class, she began firing questions at him. ‘When did Columbus discover America? What’s 4 x 12?’ With each question she crept closer. ‘Give me three words that mean the same as angry.’
The old teacher made Eric squirm. He often wondered if she was a witch. Up close, he felt sure she was. Her glaring eyes burned right into him, her yellow-stained teeth made him feel ill, and her breath stank like rotten cheese.
‘What’s that on your head, boy?’ Miss Graymouth grabbed Eric’s hair and inspected it. ‘It’s all over your blazer, too.’ The other children in the class were whispering to each other. ‘It looks like bird poo!’ Miss Graymouth squealed. A ripple of snickers swept through the class as she picked a piece of the substance from Eric’s hair and looked as if she was about to pop it into her mouth. She held it under her nose instead, and her lips crinkled in disgust.
‘IT IS BIRD POO!’ she shrieked, and everyone burst out laughing. Eric’s face turned the reddest it had ever turned.
After lunch, Miss Graymouth didn’t pick on Eric nearly as much. It even looked as though the whole afternoon might slip by without her asking him a single question, or pointing out how little he knew. But then, just before the final bell, she opened her large black book. Eric sank in his chair.
‘Only one person hasn’t handed in their homework this week,’ Miss Graymouth said, sliding her finger down the names. ‘Same person as last week,’ she added. ‘And the week before.’ She lifted her eyes from the book and glared at Eric. So did everyone else.
It’s not my fault, Eric wanted to shout. I meant to do it, honest I did. I just didn’t know how, or where to start, or anything. Eric stared at the floor, wishing he could sink into it and vanish forever.
‘I’ve had enough, Wimpleby.’ Miss Graymouth was right there at his desk, scowling down at him. ‘I’m giving you homework every night for a week. Starting with some maths for tonight.’
She rummaged in her bag and handed Eric a page of problems. ‘On my desk first thing tomorrow morning! Or you’ll be very sorry indeed.’
A NASTY MOB
Eric was very pleased to get out of class. But he wasn’t so pleased to see Nathan Sharp and his gang waiting at the school gate.
‘Look who it is. Wimpy the Poo,’ said Nathan. He and his mates were much bigger than Eric. (Most people were.) ‘You better come with us. We’ve got a few lessons to teach you.’
‘Sorry, guys.’ Eric hurried past. ‘Gotta fly.’ He crossed the road. So did Nathan and his lot. Plan A no good.
Eric tried to join a bunch of older girls waiting for the bus. ‘Hi, everyone. I’m here.’ But they told him to buzz off. Plan B no good.
In the end, Eric went with Plan C: RUN!
‘Come back, you little worm,’ Nathan shouted, and the whole gang took off after him. Eric headed straight for the busiest part of the city, running as fast as he could. He ducked and weaved through the crowd. He slipped in and out of the dense traffic. But all the time, Nathan and his thugs kept gaining on him.
‘Just wait ’til we get hold of you, Wimpy,’ Eric heard Nathan yelling. ‘You’ll be sorry.’
When Eric realised that he wouldn’t make it home before the gang caught him, he raced down a narrow lane and leapt into what he thought was an empty garbage bin. ‘He came this way,’ one of the gang insisted. ‘I’m sure of it.’
Eric held his breath. Not because he didn’t want anyone to hear him, but because the stink was so bad. The bin wasn’t empty at all, but half filled with stinking fish heads and other rotten unmentionables that he preferred not to think about as he sank as low as possible into the rubbish.
‘He could be in here.’ Nathan lifted the lid, but slammed it down again at once. ‘Pooh! Not likely. Come on.’
Eric waited for
the last of the footsteps to pound away down the lane before he pushed up the lid and peered about. He climbed out, his clothes wet and stained and stinking, fish heads poking from his pockets, chunks of rotten meat stuck all over him.
He trudged home through the backstreets and alleys, still watching out for Nathan and his lot, but not really caring much any more. It was all, quite simply, too awful for words.
Nearby, in the pet shop, the white mouse was pressed against a corner of the cage, surrounded by all the other mice. They didn’t like him. They didn’t like the way he looked, or the way he sounded.
The white mouse didn’t like the way he sounded, either. Whenever he looked at anything for more than a second or two, especially if he focused, the odd whirring and buzzing noises were there again, like when he had seen the pet shop sign. It was happening now as he stared at several mice who were staring back at him. Whiiirrrr!
mice: long-tailed rodents that are similar to but smaller than rats.
And then there were lots more mice. A whole mob, in fact. Whiiirrrr! Buzzzz!
mob: a crowd that can turn nasty.
The other mice began snarling and hissing, prodding and poking at him. One pulled the loose wire out of his head. They were angry. Whiiirrrr!
angry: cranky, cross, annoyed, furious, enraged. As in: the angry mob turned nasty.
The white mouse didn’t really need this information as he cringed in the corner of the cage. He knew that at any moment now the angry mob was going to make mincemeat of him – or more correctly, micemeat.
Then he saw a boy’s face appear at the shop window.
Eric smiled. He loved the pet shop. It always made him feel better. Three puppies tumbled together. Several pussies were curled up like a single ball of fur. A mass of mice played. Above them was a sign:
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