John Christopher - Socrates

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2024-11-23 2 0 56.33KB 14 页 5.9玖币

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Socrates

John Christopher

I HAD closed the lab for the afternoon and was walking down toward

the front gate, meaning to take a bus into town, when I heard the squeals

from the direction of the caretaker’s cottage. I’m fond of animals and hate

to hear them in pain, so I walked through the gate into the cottage yard.

What I saw horrified me.

Jennings, the caretaker, was holding a young puppy in his hand and

beating its head against the stone wall. At his feet were three dead

puppies, and as I came through the gate he tossed a fourth among them,

and picked up the last squirming remnant of the litter. I called out

sharply, “Jennings ! What’s going on ?”

He turned to face me, still holding the puppy in his hand. He is a

surly-looking fellow at best, but now he looked thunderous.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing ?” he demanded. “Killing off a

useless litter—that’s what I’m doing.” He held the pup out for me to

observe.

“Here,” he went on, “have a look at this and you’ll see why.”

I looked closely. It was the queerest pup I had ever seen. It had a dirty,

tan coat and abnormally thick legs. But it was the head that drew

attention. It must have been fully four times the size of any ordinary pup

of its breed; so big that, although its neck was sturdy, the head seemed to

dangle on it like an apple on a stalk.

“It’s a queer one, all right,” I admitted.

“Queer?” he exclaimed. “It’s a monster, that’s what it is.” He looked at

me angrily. “And I know the cause of it. I’m not a fool. There was a bit in

the Sunday papers a couple of weeks back about it. It’s them electrical

X-ray machines you have up at the house. It said in the paper about

X-rays being able to influence what’s to be born and make monsters of

them. And look at this for a litter of pedigree airedales; not one that would

make even a respectable mongrel. Thirty quid the price of this litter at the

very least.”

“It’s a pity,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure the company won’t accept

responsibility. You must have let your bitch run loose beyond the inner

gate and there’s no excuse for that. It’s too bad you didn’t see that bit in

the Sunday paper a few weeks earlier; you might have kept her chained up

more. You know you’ve been warned about going near the plant.”

“Yes,” he snarled, “I know what chance I’ve got of getting money out of

those crooks. But at least I can get some pleasure out of braining this lot.”

He prepared to swing the pup against the wall. It had been quiet while

we were talking, but now it gave one low howl and opened large eyes in a

way that seemed frantically to suggest that it had been listening to our

conversation, and knew its fate was sealed. I grabbed hold of Jennings’

arm pretty roughly.

“Hold on,” I said. “When did you say those pups were born?”

“This morning,” he growled.

I said, “But its eyes are open. And look at the color! Have you ever seen

an airedale with blue eyes before?”

He laughed unpleasantly. “Has anybody ever seen an airedale with a

head like that before, or a coat like that? It’s no more an airedale than I

am. It’s a cur. And I know how to deal with it.”

The pup was whining to itself, as though realizing the futility of making

louder noises. I pulled my wallet out. “I’ll give you a quid for it,” I said.

He whistled. “You must be mad,” he said. “But why should that worry

me? It’s yours for the money. Taking it now?”

“I can’t,” I said. “My landlady wouldn’t let me. But I’ll pay you ten bob a

week if you will look after it till I can find it a place. Is it a deal?”

He put his hand out again. “In advance?”

I paid him.

“I’ll look after it, guv’nor, even though it goes against the grain. At any

rate it’ll give Glory something to mother.” At least once a day, sometimes

twice, I used to call in to see how the pup was getting along. It was

progressing amazingly. At the end of the second week Jennings asked for

an increase of 2/6d in the charge for keeping it, and I had to agree. It had

fed from the mother for less than a week, after which it had begun to eat

its own food, and with a tremendous appetite.

Jennings scratched his unkempt head when he looked at it. “I don’t

know. I’ve never seen a dog like it. Glory didn’t give it no lessons in eating

or drinking. It just watched her from the corner and one day, when I

brought fresh stuff down, it set on it like a wolf. It ain’t natural.”

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John Christopher - Socrates

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