The Great & the Small

by Andrea Torrey (A. T. ) Balsara

  “Scratch helped me,” said Fin. “I’m not going to ‘turn you in,’ or whatever you were talking about. Just because I’m the Chairman’s nephew, you act like I’m a…a Plague Rat or something!” At the words Plague Rat, Zumi gasped and Scratch’s eyes went as round as red currants.

  Fin’s ears burned. He wasn’t even sure what a Plague Rat was—something to do with the Great Dying from long ago. Nobody talked about the Great Dying except in whispers. He snapped, “You know what? I’m leaving! I hope you’re happy!” He tried to walk, but his paw was so swollen he stumbled. He leaned against the dirt wall.

  “No, Fin!” cried Scratch. “You can’t! Don’t listen to my bossy sister!”

  Zumi stared at his bloody paw, her nose twitching. “You really can’t walk, can you? Okay, okay, you can stay here. Just don’t tell anyone—”

  A voice interrupted her, bellowing from the outer tunnel. “Is Fin here? Nephew, are you here?”

  Zumi gasped, shrinking into the shadows. Scratch hunched into a tight ball, squeaking, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

  The Chairman was coming.

  FIVE

  “The life we lead is but a sleep; whatever we do, only dreams.”

  Petrarch, Italian scholar and poet, 1349

  Fin’s uncle charged through the burrow opening. Papa was as large as a well-fed cat. His velvety black fur rippled across his back.

  “Fin! Where are you?” His eyes darted over the crouched brother and sister. He spied Fin.

  “Nephew!” In one bound he reached Fin. He sniffed him from tip to tail. When he found the wounded paw, he froze.

  “Papa, I can explain,” said Fin.

  The Chairman drew himself up. “You disobeyed!”

  “No, Papa! We were doing surv—”

  “Every good Tunnel Rat follows the rules!”

  “But I ran under the ceiling,” Fin said. “Two-legs can’t go under the ceil—” His uncle began to pace.

  “Your antics were noted by several witnesses, as were his.” He jerked his head toward Scratch. “Bothwell and his ARM say they saw this young fellow biting you!” Scratch flattened himself against the wall, shaking his head wildly, his eyes bulging with fear. Zumi stood like a stone.

  “No, no, Papa!” cried Fin. “Scratch saved my life! It wasn’t his fault, it was mine!”

  “Saw him pushing you along,” said his uncle, speaking over him, “after your little escapade.”

  “Surveillance,” said Fin. “We were doing surveillance! We were trying to help the Tunnels—”

  “You expect me to believe that?” The Chairman stood on his hind legs and glared down at his nephew. His eyes burrowed into Fin.

  Even though Fin’s heart galloped, he held his uncle’s gaze. His uncle’s eyes narrowed. Still Fin did not look away.

  A growl started in the Chairman’s chest, but as it grew, it swelled into laughter. Papa threw back his head, guffawing. “Ah, Nephew! Trouble must run in the family! I don’t like rules either!” Still chuckling, he leaned in close. “But mind it doesn’t happen again, young pup. Eh?”

  Fin let out his breath. “Yes, Papa! Thank you, Papa!” He grinned over at Scratch, but Scratch glowered at him, his eyes crescent-shaped slits. Fin’s smile froze.

  The Chairman spoke, smiling down at Scratch’s sister. “And who is this friend of my nephew’s?”

  Before Zumi could answer, Fin said, “Oh, that’s just Scratch’s sister. This is my friend. Right?” He looked hopefully at Scratch.

  Whatever had bothered Scratch melted away before the Beloved Chairman of the Tunnels. Scratch bobbed up and down, a smile crinkling his cheeks. “Your Majesty…I mean, your Grace. No—”

  Papa laughed. “We’re all equals here, friend. Equals! There is no ‘king’ here! I am only Council Chairman. You know our most precious Tunnel Law: ‘Every rat is equal! Every nest for all!’”

  Scratch bobbed. “Yes, your Majesty! I mean, your…your Lordship.”

  The Chairman laughed again. “Papa will do. Scratch, is it? Such a loyal Tunnel Rat! Such a loyal friend to my nephew! The Council values loyalty above all!”

  Scratch’s ears turned even pinker than usual, and his head bobbed so vigorously that it looked in danger of flying off his neck. His sister, however, stood off to one side, her face as pinched and stiff as an old cheese. She turned and caught Fin staring. He looked away.

  Papa gazed around the nest.

  Scratch followed the Chairman’s movements, his small, pale shoulders hunched and quivering. Papa sniffed the air, murmured, “Acceptable. Clean.” He sniffed again. “Close to food. Excellent. Council shall hear of your living conditions.”

  Scratch probably hadn’t a clue what the Chairman was talking about, but his shoulders heaved with relief. “Oh, thank you! We find it quite acceptable!”

  Addressing Fin, Papa went on. “Your mother, Nia, lived under the market too. Down the hill. Do you remember, Nephew?”

  Fin snorted. “No. I was only a few nights old when you adopted me.”

  “Ahh. Nia begged me to take you. Her dream was that you would one day stand by my side as Chairman of the Tunnels.”

  “Why didn’t she raise him herself?” asked Zumi. She hadn’t moved from the shadows. The smile froze on the Chairman’s face. There was an awkward silence.

  Fin glared at her. “Because she was dying, Mumi, or Fumi, or whatever your name is! And if it weren’t for Papa, I’d be dead too!”

  “Now, now, Nephew. I have nothing to hide.” Papa bowed to Zumi, who looked more like a pinched cheese than ever. “I will answer this good Tunnel Rat’s question. It is time the truth came out.”

  Papa began to pace. “Fin’s mother was my dear sister. She chose a mate, though, who was…how to say it…dangerous.” He paced faster. “I warned Nia. I told her he was an outsider, a Wrecker. An enemy of the Tunnels.” His eyes flicked toward Fin. “And so cruel.”

  Fin frowned. “Wh-why? What did he do?”

  Papa’s eyes glinted with tears. “I tried to warn her…” He bowed his head. “He murdered her. That dirty Wrecker murdered your dear mother. Murdered your brothers and sisters and then—then tried to kill you. He dragged you out of your mother’s nest by your paw.”

  Fin’s lame foot began to throb. “No,” he said.

  The Chairman shook his head and said to Scratch, “That’s why his foot will never be right. I called him Fin because his curled paw reminded me of a tiny fin.”

  Scratch nodded, his eyes huge.

  A tear slid down Papa’s cheek. “When my nephew was dragged away, it was only through my…my…ah!” He choked up and was silent.

  Fin’s mouth moved. He tried to speak, but no sound came. Voices babbled in his head: My father…killed my mother…killed my brothers…my sisters…tried to kill me….The voices buzzed around, swarming him. He killed her… He killed my mother…

  “Fin?” Scratch nudged him. “You okay?”

  “I…I’m fine…” he lied. He lurched forward and fell.

  ***

  Nia’s face hovers over him. He tries to snuggle into her side, but she noses him up, her eyes piercing his. Her mouth moves. She is saying something, but he is so sleepy…

  Something tugs at his paw. Fire licks up his leg.

  His eyes fly open. But there is only shadow.

  SIX

  “I give credit to the great Party—it bore me and raised me in its own image.”

  Josef Stalin

  Ananda peeked into the History room. It was a new semester and she was late getting to class; she’d sat too long in the courtyard, reading. Now she had to run the gauntlet: find a seat in a crowded classroom.

  She scanned the rows of chairs, but there was only one seat left… behind Hyena-Boy from the market.

  “Great. Just bloody great,” she muttered, as she slid into the chair.


  He swivelled and said, “Hey, it’s the crazy girl! ‘Stop it! Oh, stop it! You’re sooo mean!’ I didn’t know you went to this school, Rat-Girl.”

  Ananda just stared at him, smirking, the master of calm and cool. It was crap, of course. Inside, she wanted to punch him between his dumb, idiot eyes, right on his bushy unibrow.

  “Shut-up, Chris,” said the girl next to her, looking over her shoulder at Ananda. “I’m George.” Her eyes slid to Chris. “Don’t mind him. He’s harmless.” George looked more Greek goddess than high school student. Ananda had seen her around school, but this was the first class they’d had together. Chris scowled at them both but turned around and faced the front.

  Ananda smiled at George, suddenly feeling shy and painfully aware of the pimple that was growing on her chin. In the few months she’d been attending the school, Ananda had noticed her; George who seemed effortlessly popular, lived two houses down from her, but it might as well have been in a different universe. She had long blonde hair that fell like a sheet across her back, perfect skin that had never been besmirched by a zit, and a body that didn’t shop in the petite section.

  The teacher was sitting on the corner of her desk looking over her notes. She stood up.

  “Without further ado, I’m Mrs. Zimmer. I’m here to teach you something about the world you live in.” She paused, looking at them.

  “One question: why study history?”

  Mrs. Zimmer’s question hung in the air like a bad smell. Eyes stayed lowered, or stared out of windows. Ananda doodled in the margins of her notebook. The question was so easy.

  Hyena-Boy belched. A waft drifted back to Ananda in a humid cloud. Vomit rose in her throat, which she gulped back down.

  Mrs. Zimmer said dryly, “Thank you, Mr. Litko.” She asked again, “Why study history?” A pencil drummed on a desk. Giggling on the far side of the room. A yawn. “Well? It’s going to be a long semester, people, if you don’t participate.”

  “To torture us,” Chris muttered.

  Ananda rolled her eyes. She raised her hand.

  Mrs. Zimmer’s eyes lit up. “Yes?”

  Ananda tucked her hair behind her ear. “History is the story of humanity.” She looked around. Everyone looked back at her like she’d sprouted a couple of extra heads.

  Chris swivelled in his seat to stare, his unibrow raised.

  Instant sweat stung Ananda’s armpits, and her mouth went dry, but she plunged on, feeling the need to explain. “It’s the story of us. When I read history, I feel connected to people who lived ages ago. I think it’s because for them it wasn’t history. It was life. Just like ours is to us.”

  To Ananda’s surprise, some of her classmates looked thoughtful. George shrugged and nodded. “Huh. I never thought of it that way.” Litko just looked puzzled, his fat lower lip drooping open. Maybe hyenas needed more processing time. Or maybe that Neanderthal unibrow was sucking up too many grey cells.

  Ananda leaned forward and whispered, “Shut your mouth.” His jaw snapped closed and his unibrow lowered in menace.

  Mrs. Zimmer, who hadn’t heard Ananda’s taunt, said, “That’s so true! Very insightful, umm…Miss…?”

  “Ananda Blake.”

  “Very insightful, Ananda!” Mrs. Zimmer whipped out a folded newspaper, warming to her subject. “Ananda’s comments lead beautifully to my topic today. Did any of you see this article?” She opened the paper with a flourish, like a magician who had just pulled a rabbit from a hat.

  Ananda glanced at it, then bolted upright. It was the same front-page article her dad had shown her—the exact same photo. The person in the white hazmat suit surrounded by stacked sausage-bodies, wretched hands outstretched.

  As Mrs. Zimmer read the article, Ananda’s mind raced. Did her dad call the teacher about the article? No. Even he wouldn’t stoop so low. But twice in two days?

  “Now, why did I read this?” continued the teacher. “The Middle Ages is part of our first unit, and during that time the Black Death killed one-third of the population. One-third. Look around. That means out of every three of you students, one would die.” A few people shifted in their seats. “Imagine, everywhere you go, whether it’s to the mall, to church or mosque, to work, to the movies, or home with your family, one out of three people, gone. ”

  Ananda felt like something was pressing on her head. Coincidence. That’s all. She picked up her pen and began to doodle. Thoughts swarmed like moths around a street lamp.

  Mrs. Zimmer was relentless. “So how does something that happened in the 1300s relate to us today? How does thisphoto connect us to the plague?” A few students put up their hands.

  Mrs. Zimmer’s words floated in and out. Ananda’s head pounded; her ears buzzed. “Those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it…”

  As the rest of the class discussed the plague of the Middle Ages, Ananda drew in her notebook. Coincidence. Definitely. Just a coincidence.

  The bell rang, bringing Ananda back into the present moment. Looking down at her notebook, she saw that she had doodled the rat at the market. She ripped the paper off and bunched it up, gathered her books and, head down, beelined out the door.

  Chris was waiting for her. He bumped her arm and scattered her books. “Hey, Rat-Girl!” he said. His cronies snickered behind her.

  Ananda wanted to punch him. “Very clever name, Chris.” She widened her eyes and said sweetly, “And by the way, I have an extra razor if you want to shave your unibrow.”

  His friends guffawed and slapped him on the back.

  Chris touched his eyebrows and frowned at her. She stared him down.

  For a moment, Ananda wasn’t sure which way it was going to go. Finally, Chris snorted and turned away. The group slouched and swaggered its way around the corner.

  She breathed out and, now that no one could see it, tears sprang to her eyes. She wiped a sleeve across her face. Someone put a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped.

  It was George. “Everything okay?”

  Ananda laughed. “Yeah! I’m just clumsy. And my eyes won’t stop watering. Must have gotten a stupid cat hair in my eye or something.”

  Her books were strewn across the hall. George gathered a few of them and handed them to her. “I’ve got to get to class, but you should get allergy testing. I did, and it helps a lot.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Ananda said brightly. “Thanks!” She stared after George as she walked away, her perfect figure receding down the hall.

  Ananda gathered the rest of her books as tears slid down her cheeks. “Bloody flipping hell,” she muttered as the bell rang.

  She was late for class, again.

  SEVEN

  “Loving Lord, do not condemn the just with the unjust.”

  Gabriele de’ Mussis, 1348

  After Fin collapsed, his uncle carried him by his scruff back through the sewers, drainage pipes, and crevices that led from the Lowers to the Upper Tunnels where they shared a nest.

  Over the next few moonrises, Fin passed in and out of consciousness. Waking once, he realized he was back in the nest. His uncle was sitting by the burrow opening, his nose high, nostrils working as he swept his head back and forth, scanning the air.

  “Papa?”

  “I’m here, Nephew. Go to sleep.”

  Fin sank back into restless sleep.

  One sunrise, Fin woke to find Papa crouching by the opening again, scanning the air. Fin sniffed, but the only thing he could smell was food. As Chairman, his uncle had first dibs from the Tunnel’s night foragings. After he’d eaten his fill, there was always plenty left for Fin.

  “Papa, what are you doing? And why aren’t you asleep yet?”

  His uncle grunted and waved for Fin to be quiet. His nose continued to sweep back and forth.

  Fin shrugged. Sometimes he couldn’t figure Papa out. He picked at a bit of cold s
crambled egg then lay back with a sigh. A fine salty breeze riffled through the burrow’s entrance and snaked back out through the bolt-hole at the back of the nest. Fin’s nostrils quivered as aromas from the market wafted by. Oh, how he wanted to go outside.

  Papa turned and said, “Patience, Nephew. You’ll be free soon enough. You do remember what patience is?”

  Fin lowered his head, snuggled into a ball, and tucked his tail around himself. “Of course, Papa. Patience is one of my strong points.”

  “Ha!” Papa dug into the bedding, circled until he found the perfect spot, and flopped down.

  Another waft of air. Fin didn’t raise his head but breathed deeply. A thought occurred to him.

  “Papa?”

  One of his uncle’s eyelids opened a sliver. “Eh?”

  “Am I…” Fin’s voice trailed off.

  Papa raised his head and looked at him. “Are you what?”

  “A…a good Tunnel Rat?” asked Fin. “My father was a dirty Wrecker, and me? I…I look more like a mouse.”

  Papa chuckled. “Now, now. Of course you are a good Tunnel Rat. You are my nephew. No matter who your father was, you are mine now.” He began to groom Fin, licking his fur the way a mama would groom her pup. “No more talk. Sleep.”

  Fin settled in to his bedding and closed his eyes. They sprang back open. “Papa, what’s a Plague Rat? I’ve heard of them, but what are they?”

  His uncle paused his licking, then said, “Nothing. Go to sleep.”

  “Will you tell me later?”

  “Yes, but not now. Sleep.”

  “Tell me now,” said Fin, fighting to stay awake.

  Papa chuckled. “No.”

  Fin nuzzled into his uncle’s side and drifted off to sleep. Below them, across the alley and down the hill, the market was waking. The fishmongers laid out rows of fresh fish, farmers stacked their choicest fruits, and at the newsstand the day’s papers were arranged, their front pages blaring the news.