Sheep on the Fourth Floor

by Leonie Thorpe

  Jeff had many questions to answer once they’d discovered Rom.

  ‘Why have you got a sheep here?’ Otis asked. He’d seen rabbits and rats in cages before but he was used to seeing sheep wandering around in paddocks. ‘It’s kind of weird seeing one way up in a building in the middle of the city.’

  ‘Because rats and rabbits are both small animals,’ Jeff explained. ‘Their weight and body organs are only a fraction of the size of a human’s, so you don’t get a truly accurate picture of what will happen in a human situation.’ Jeff felt rather pleased at the excitement the animals had created. Perhaps this would be enough to turn them all into scientists.

  ‘So how long does Rom stay here? When do you put him back in the paddock?’ asked Kurt.

  ‘He doesn’t go back to a paddock; he’s here permanently,’ said Jeff.

  ‘All the time?’ said Kurt. He petted Rom’s head gently, looking astonished. ‘How long has he been here? Where did he come from?’

  ‘Some of our animals are bred in the lab, like the rats,’ said Jeff. ‘But Rom came from a farm. He’s been here since last summer. I remember he arrived on one of the hottest days in February.’

  ‘So, he hasn’t been outside for months?’ said Anna.

  Jeff shrugged and shook his head. ‘Nope.’

  ‘But isn’t it kind of cruel to keep him inside?’ asked Kurt carefully.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Jeff, quickly shaking his head again. ‘He’s very well cared for. The animal technicians are specially trained to keep all the animals fit and healthy; they’re no good to us if they’re sick. The best food, clean water and clean cages.’ He looked from one perturbed face to the other. ‘They’re out of harm’s way here; no predators to hunt them down, no chance of going hungry or thirsty. No frosty mornings or sweltering afternoons. Think of it as a kind of sanctuary.’

  ‘A sanctuary,’ said Otis. He nodded. ‘Yeah, I suppose it is.’

  Though Otis obviously accepted Jeff’s explanation, Anna couldn’t shake a lingering sense of unease.

  ‘Is Rom okay?’ Kurt asked. He pointed to the sheep who was dozing again. His front legs were folded in front of him and his head rested awkwardly on its side.

  ‘Yeah, I thought he was dead at first,’ said Otis.

  ‘I think you’ll find that he’s just sedated—had a few drugs to calm him,’ said Jeff. He pointed to Rom’s belly and leg. ‘See the tubes? He’s not long had a surgical procedure to put them in.’

  ‘What are the tubes for?’ Anna wanted to know.

  Jeff explained that the tubes were catheters which were implanted under the skin. They were used to administer antibiotics, to save the unpleasantness of countless injections.

  ‘Does he have to have them in forever?’ Anna asked. The sight of the plastic tubes disappearing into Rom’s pink skin made her feel a bit queasy.

  Jeff shook his head. ‘They’ll pull them out when our experiment is finished and the wound will heal over.’

  ‘Ugh,’ Kurt shuddered.

  There were a few moments of silence as they all gazed at Rom, sleeping fitfully in his cage.

  ‘So…’ ventured Anna, ‘if your experiment works then you will just keep using Rom for more and more experiments until he…?’

  Anna’s gaze met Jeff’s and he quickly looked away.

  ‘I think we’ve had enough time in the animal lab,’ he said suddenly, without answering her question. He stood up and began ushering them out of the room. ‘Come with me, I’ll show you the PCR room where they analyse DNA.’

  Anna lingered behind and looked at the sheep one last time. She didn’t really need Jeff to tell her what was going to happen. It was plainly obvious. It was as if Rom was standing in a giant spider’s web, and even though the threads weren’t visible, a shroud of death was being spun around him as she watched.

  ‘Animals provide so much useful information for the study of human health,’ said Penelope, carefully threading a slice of courgette onto a kebab.

  ‘But you’re a vegetarian!’ said Anna. ‘How can someone who doesn’t eat meat think it’s okay to have animals in a lab?’

  ‘Good lord, we’re not going to eat the animals.’ Penelope rolled her eyes. ‘They’re helping us with our research.’

  ‘But it doesn’t seem right,’ said Anna in a quiet voice.

  She had been thinking about the animals all day, especially the sheep. Nothing that Jeff had said had quite convinced her that it was okay to keep it locked away like that. She desperately needed her mother’s reassurance that what she had seen was acceptable, yet her mother’s explanation had only complicated the issue and brought up even more questions.

  ‘Isn’t there a way you can test the drugs without the animals?’ asked Anna.

  Penelope nibbled absently on a piece of the raw vegetable. ‘Not really. The only way to see if the drugs truly work is to use them on things that are living. It’s called an in vivo experiment; that’s Latin for alive.’

  ‘But…the poor sheep,’ said Anna, thinking of the woolly bundle curled up on the floor of the pen.

  ‘Bah, it’s only a sheep,’ Peter scoffed as he joined them in the kitchen. He put his journal on the breakfast bar and took a corkscrew out of the cutlery drawer. ‘I’m inclined to agree with your mother. We need animal models to make advances in medical knowledge. I have patients with terrible diseases which could potentially be cured, or at least treated more effectively, but only with the help of continuing research.’ He groped around in the cupboard and brought out a bottle of wine. He lowered his head and read the label over the top of his glasses. ‘Shiraz?’ he asked Penelope.

  ‘Marvellous,’ she replied.

  ‘I can see how the idea of using animals is unsettling to you,’ Peter continued as he grappled with the cork, ‘but believe me, the benefits to human health are too great to discount.’

  Penelope agreed. ‘Imagine a day when we can cure something like…I don’t know…whooping cough! We could wipe it right off the face of the planet, like we did with smallpox, and spare the suffering of countless children and babies around the world. It might not happen for another decade, it might not even happen in our lifetime, but we’ve got to keep trying.’

  A shaft of light began to part the gloom in Anna’s mind. That was the information she realized she had been waiting for. The sheep was being sacrificed to help small and defenceless children. Surely that was okay. Yes, it made a lot more sense now.

  ‘Imagine if you were born with, or contracted, a debilitating disease,’ Peter continued. ‘I’m sure you would see the situation in a whole different way.’

  Anna wasn’t so sure. Suddenly she was glad that she was only fourteen and could leave all the decision-making up to the older and wiser adults. Her mother and father were both well-respected intellectuals. They approved of having animals in the laboratory, so it must be okay. Anna knew that, in time, she too would approve. She just needed to digest all the information and get used to the idea.

  Penelope served the kebabs with peanut sauce on a bed of rice noodles.

  ‘Yum, tofu and vegetables!’ said Peter, winking at Anna. ‘My favourite!’

  Anna smiled back, but it was strained. She suddenly felt very tired.

  Anna put her head on her pillow and closed her eyes, awaiting the blissful release of sleep; it had been a mentally stressful day.

  Do you really think that one sheep is going to cure lots of children?

  Her eyes flicked open at the sound of the strange voice. She frowned with uncertainty. There was no residual echo in her ears, she suddenly realized, because nothing had been spoken aloud. The voice was coming from inside her own head.

  Do you really think that one sheep is going to cure lots of children? the voice repeated, a little more insistently.

  Anna paused. She was very good at debating. A phantom voice within her own head would be no problem. Well, of course one experiment isn’t going to produce miracle results, Anna’s mind replied, but it all
helps. Anyway, using animals for experiments isn’t against the law.

  She held her breath, congratulating herself on her brilliance. How could you argue with the law? There was no reply from the phantom voice, so she relaxed and closed her eyes again.

  Rom didn’t look very happy though, did he? the phantom voice mused a short while later. Sheep aren’t meant to be shut away inside buildings like that.

  Anna’s eyes flicked open again and she sighed. He’s helping save lives, children’s lives. They didn’t ask for him to be locked away.

  Do you think that brings him comfort when he’s delirious with pain or going crazy with loneliness? the phantom voice replied.

  Anna responded immediately. They give him drugs! He doesn’t feel the pain. And there are people there to keep him company.

  The phantom voice was very persistent, Anna thought, and it had a subtle, self-righteous air that was beginning to annoy her.

  It’s just one sheep! Anna continued the conversation in her head. Most sheep have good lives, running around in the grass and all that. This is just one. Anyway, he’s in a kind of sanctuary. But even as she thought them, Anna realized how hollow and meaningless the words sounded. She wasn’t surprised when the phantom voice replied straight away.

  You could also say that prison is a kind of sanctuary, it said mildly. And anyway, why do humans give themselves the right to lock other animals away for their own purposes? What is it that gives them moral superiority over the rest of the earth’s species?

  Anna couldn’t answer that one straight away. In fact, she couldn’t answer it at all.

  It’s helping the innocent children…she replied weakly.

  She knew this wouldn’t satisfy the phantom voice at all. Already she could feel it getting ready to respond. In desperation she reached over the side of her bed and grabbed her iPod. She inserted the earplugs and turned the volume up to eight. Soon a chaotic symphony, loud and aggressive, had completely drowned out the voice. It made sleep impossible but at least it spelled an end to the upsetting and unanswerable questions.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Kurt Osmond was relieved to have had the distraction of the careers visit. Now his thoughts sometimes wandered to the sad-looking sheep he’d seen in the hospital laboratory. He had been disturbed by the look in its eye. For some reason it reminded him of a dog he’d once seen that had been hit by a car. It wore the same pleading, pitiful expression. A sheep! Even Anna Pascoe, whose mother worked in the lab, had seemed lost for words at the sight of it.

  Thinking about the sheep gave Kurt temporary relief from what was really on his mind: Duggie and Max and Aaron, and what his next move was going to be. ‘Try harder next time,’ Aaron had said. Kurt knew he had to nick something better than chocolate to impress them enough. And as he had sat in the back of Anna’s mother’s posh car, staring out at the commuters and trying to block out the ghastly orchestral music, he had finally had a brainwave: there was one perfect thing to steal, and Duggie, especially, would just love it. It wasn’t going to be easy, but that was kind of the whole point. And if luck was on his side, it might not be too hard. If he was particularly observant, he might be able to take advantage of somebody else’s carelessness.

  ‘Mum, I’ve done my homework. I’m just going down to the shops,’ Kurt called out from the front door.

  ‘Oh, hang on, dear, can you pick up two litres of milk while you’re there?’ She handed Kurt a five-dollar note. ‘Be careful on the road. And be good…my little Einstein.’ She smiled and ruffled his hair.

  Kurt frowned and ducked away from his mother as he stuffed the money in his jeans pocket. Why did she keep doing that, like he was a five-year-old or something? He heard her grumble something about ‘teenagers’ as he hurried towards the driveway.

  Kurt wandered slowly down the hill towards England Road, Peraki’s main street. All in all it had been a rough week. He hadn’t slept very well, and he felt tired and grumpy a lot of the time. He had been practising stealing a few little things from school, to try to get rid of the funny knotted feeling in his stomach. So far it hadn’t worked, but he had managed to collect a small pile of odds and ends, which he had hidden in a bag under his bed. A calculator, a cellphone, a library book and two watches, one of which was a fake Ziegler. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it all. After he’d completed this mission he was going to give up stealing altogether; the stress was too much to cope with. It was just this one last, big thing. He wandered down to the shopping centre, past the supermarket, the bookshop and the café, and down to the corner. He turned and walked slowly back again, looking around carefully but casually, waiting for the moment to present itself.

  Police Constable Eric Porter had two passions outside of his job on the police force: fly fishing and mountain biking. His grandfather had taught him to fly fish when he was twelve years old. Though he sometimes entered competitions, the most rewarding thing about fly fishing was getting out of bed before the sun and watching the night turn to dusky dawn while he fixed his ties and listened to the incoherent ramblings of the river as it passed by on its way to the sea. Occasionally his son, Lloyd, would come with him, but he was fourteen now and getting harder to drag out of bed for the 5 a.m. starts.

  His other hobby had come to him more recently. Constable Porter had never thought much of cycling until he’d had to attend a police retraining and fitness programme the previous autumn. One of the activities had been to negotiate a steep and muddy hill course by mountain bike. The ground had been made treacherous by recent rain, and seeing some of his workmates return battered, bleeding and cursing had made him feel a little nervous.

  ‘Hope your medical insurance is up to date, Eric,’ said Constable Maguire, holding a cloth to her bleeding forehead.

  ‘No, it’s his last will and testament he should be thinking about,’ said Sergeant Harrington, nursing a sprained elbow.

  ‘Yeah, what shall we sing at your funeral, old man?’ laughed Constable Sonny Warne, the twenty-five-year-old new recruit who had blitzed the course without injury.

  Constable Porter scowled. He was only forty-seven; that was hardly old. He adjusted his helmet, gritted his teeth and set off. It had been nearly thirty years since he had ridden a bike, and back then, you were lucky if you had three speeds. Now there were twenty to get used to. He was amazed how easy it was to bike up a very steep hill in the lowest gear. His legs felt a bit achy and his lungs were burning but he made it to the top of the course without stopping or falling off. He looked quickly at the lovely view of Moeraki Lake before his gaze was drawn back to the track which dipped away to a hideously steep downhill run.

  ‘Blimey!’ Constable Porter exclaimed with dismay. ‘Surely that’s impossible on a bike?’ Then he remembered that Sonny Warne had managed to do it. ‘“Old man”,’ Constable Porter scoffed. ‘I’ll show them.’ He held his breath and guided the front wheel of his bike over the precipice.

  His co-workers watched on in disbelief as Constable Porter tore around the tracks like a man possessed.

  ‘It’s all in the mind, you see,’ said Constable Porter, skidding to an impressive halt at the end of the course. ‘Old age concentrates the powers of the physical and the cerebral.’ He patted Sonny on the head with a mud-splattered hand and cycled away, leaving him speechless.

  He completed the course several more times over the next few days, setting the fastest time of the weekend and remaining uninjured except for ‘saddle soreness’ and a cut to his lower shin. He had enjoyed it so much that, as soon as he arrived back home, he had joined a local club and bought his very own bike.

  ‘Why did nobody bother to tell me about this amazing sport before?’ he wondered.

  Leaning his custom-made, eighteen-speed, carbon-framed, super-lightweight mountain bike against the post office box, Constable Porter picked up his bag and headed into the bookshop. He put his parcels on the counter.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Champion,’ he said to the dumpy, grey-haired clerk. ‘I
’d like to post these to Wellington, please.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Constable Porter.’ Mrs Champion smiled. ‘Out of your uniform I see. A day off, perhaps?’

  ‘And a lovely day to have off, too.’ Constable Porter glanced at his watch. ‘I’m joining a biking group on Lawson’s Track in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘You’ll be giving Mrs Porter no end of worries, out there on the hills,’ clucked Mrs Champion, shaking her head so vigorously that her double chins wobbled. She took the parcels and put them on the scales.

  ‘You’re right; Mrs Porter is worried about me falling off, but only because I might damage the bike,’ said Constable Porter. He grimaced. ‘It cost more than our old Honda station wagon.’

  Mrs Champion tutted and nodded. ‘Postage will be eight dollars and twenty cents,’ she announced.

  Constable Porter handed over the money and wished Mrs Champion a good day. He stepped out of the bookshop and, shading his eyes from the sun, looked towards the post box. He frowned and then walked around to the other side of it. With his hands on his hips, he looked up the street and then down the street. Then he looked back at the post box. His mountain bike was nowhere to be seen.

  Kurt hurried up the driveway of his house and into the garage, puffing heavily. The stereo was thumping out some of Duggie’s rap music; their mum must have gone out for a while. Max’s motorbike was parked inside the garage and the bonnet of Duggie’s orange car was up. He could see two pairs of legs in oily, blue dungarees.

  ‘Hi, what’s up?’ called Kurt, walking into the garage.

  ‘Hey, it’s Brains,’ said Max, lifting his head to look at Kurt. His eyes drifted to the mountain bike that Kurt was casually leaning against. ‘What’ve you got there? That’s an impressive-looking piece of machinery.’

  ‘It’s a new bike,’ said Kurt, pleased at Max’s reaction.