The Path of Most Restistance

During the early hours of a familiarly cold and wet mid-November morning, a newborn rat first saw the light of day. Yet it was not light; the dank sewer, filled with the malodorous stench of yellow-tinged wastewater and putrid debris, was still dark, save for the dim, irregular illumination of the flickering candle that Mr. Seamus Ratigan was carrying.

"I can't take it, I can't!" echoed the repeated screams of his wife, exhausted by the painful ordeal of giving birth to another litter. "Take care of them, Seamus! Be a good father!" she managed to say before surrendering to a horrendous blood cough.

"I will, Jo dearest," her husband promised. Three days after the incident, her dark eyes closed forever. Mr. Ratigan was left alone with six little pups; his older offspring had long since left their nest, and their parents had not heard from them for some years. Ratigan mourned his wife's passing; yet after gradually increasing attempts to drown his grief and generally bleak outlook on the grim, purposeless future that lay before him with any inebriant he could get his hands on, the promise he had made shortly before her dying day seemed doomed to be broken. Though no wicked rat, he lacked a sense of responsibility, and his horrid habit would mar the atmosphere of any place he set foot into, especially his home.

Years passed, and only three of the young ones were able to survive enough winters to reach adolescence. Mr. Seamus Ratigan's drinking habit had worsened, much to the vexation of the staff of the dairy shop that he owned. What additionally exacerbated things was that his business was faring more and more poorly; an ambitious young mouse had recently opened his own dairy shop nearby, attracting far more customers than Mr. Ratigan. In spite of these miserable prospects, he did not consider closing down as long as at least some money came in; when she was still alive, he had agreed with his wife to pay for their children's schooling, for they knew that life was destined to be cruel for those who were uneducated. Ratigan's ancestors were of a higher class; yet his father was an incurable gambler, leaving his own family with but little of what he had originally possessed, and thereby causing their social descent. Unfortunately, the old rat's son had inherited a similarly destructive addiction, and what was more, rather disregarded the importance of a high intellectual status. He knew that the time would very soon arrive when he would retire; and although he had made enough money to support himself till the end of his life, which, he presumed, would end sooner or later due to some common illness, being the irresponsible rat he was, he placed little importance on the material future of his youngest offspring.

In the meantime, his daughter Patricia, and his sons, Rodney and Padraic, were soon to be finished with their schooling. Patricia had grown into a considerate, conscientious, but frail girl; Rodney was a reckless, pleasure-seeking young rat, taking much after his grandfather; and Padraic appeared to have been cast in an entirely different mould. While Rodney was out playing sports with his friends after school, frequently neglecting his homework, his brother locked himself in his room, studying – voluntarily. Not only was he supremely intelligent, but also possessed great ambition, and a desire to succeed at whatever he strove to achieve. His teachers praised him for his diligence and confidence; and yet, he remained a loner, for interacting with his peers was of no interest to him, nor did it please them to spend time discussing school matters after the bell had finally rung. Padraic was not particularly well liked by his classmates; however, they were in awe of him, and wherever he went, he radiated a certain uncanny charisma. He disdained his brother's simplistic attitude to life and his father's lack of responsibility, and made no secret out of it. Intelligence, knowledge, vision, success – these were the things Padraic held in high esteem. He had found out about his family's history, and it irked him that his grandfather had managed to sink so low. In contrast to his peers at school, he was the only one who resided in the ugliest, dankest area of the sewers. He was aware that his parents had desired that he and his siblings at least receive some education, and that they had to sacrifice a more respectable home for this. But it angered him – the lack of control over one's primitive desire for pleasure. His grandfather's waste of money; his father's alcoholism; and Rodney was apparently following in their footsteps. How could they be so ruthless, so ignorant about what really mattered in life? So uncontrolled? A sense of control, Padraic thought, was extremely important.

He sometimes thought about his late mother. He had never known her, only knew that her death was painful and horrible. He wondered what she was like; had she been a curious, studious lady rat? Or an average pup-breeding female who had never read a book out of her own choice? His father had told him that she was a 'good, clever one'. How clever was she exactly, Padraic would ask himself. If she had been cleverer than her husband, he would have respected her greatly. He always imagined it must have been his mother who had insisted that he was sent to school; seeing how his father was doing, Padraic could not fancy that it had been his wish.

"Don't be so hard on father, Padraic," his sister said when once again, he complained about his obnoxious drunkenness in her presence. "I believe it must have been the grief over poor mother that got him into his wicked habit."

"Grief? Stupidity is more likely," her brother replied. The brilliant rat could not understand emotions as well as considerate Patricia – the only emotion he often felt was resentment. He was not really a creature of sentiment, but rather one of cold reason, though he did occasionally have the tendency to be on the verge of losing his temper.

Padraic excelled in mathematics and the sciences, and though not artistically gifted, at least in the visual realm, he was particularly fond of art and beauty in its many forms. Little did his family suspect that he planned on continuing his education after he was done with school, until he announced it one afternoon.

"Go to University? Whatever for? You'll finish school in less than a month, you've even skipped a class – you're a smart lad! What else do you still need to learn? You can take over my shop when I retire, you don't need to listen to them boring lectures for that!" Seamus Ratigan replied with a playful sneer that infuriated his son.

His brother commented, "Insane, are you? Sit in classes for longer than you must? Besides, you've still to find a half decent job, a pretty girl, and get married and get comfortable, like you should – you think you'll find a good wife in an all-male lecture hall? Hahahaha!"

Find a girl? Get married? Rodney's words disgusted him. Marriage would not teach him anything worthwhile; apart from that, he had not the slightest interest in girls. The few that he was especially attracted to were not women; and it was primarily their brains that had won his admiration. He had never had reason to be confused about this, except when other boys his age were busy hunting after females and one of them had the audacity to ask him what sort he liked, to which Padraic plainly answered with "None, really". Needless to say, this caused much whispering and childish giggling in the school yard.

Padraic was thinking of a retort to his brother's statement when his sister spoke.

"Padraic… you know our situation is tough. You'd better find work as soon as you can….or listen to father and take over his shop, if Rodney won't. We have little; but we should be content with what we have been provided with up to now."

"I absolutely disagree!" the ambitious brother cried. "As you are well aware, I possess a rare gift that no one I have yet had the honour of being acquainted with does, and I shall certainly make it my goal to further hone the superior mind I have been endowed with. Why should I listen to what you say?" Each member of his family was pierced by his blazing eyes . "You are…not even worth my company! Father – how can I possibly respect a drunkard like you? Is this really all you adhere to in your wretched life? Liquor-filled bottles? And Rodney – you don't seem to be any better, frequenting pubs, betting and debauching in any physical pleasure you can find? There's no speck of complex thought that ever crosses your simple mind! And Patricia – I know you're a girl; but what does that matter? You care more about serving everyone you know for nothing than reading and educating yourself. You're my sister, for God's sake! I refuse to have a dumb sister. I know you can be so much more! You choose to defend the lazy rather than face the truth about what they are. You're hard-working yourself – don't you dream of being more than an average doomed housewife someday? Do you have no imagination for a better future?"

Patricia coloured, yet, peace-loving as she was, thought it best not to respond to her brother's reproaches. She admired his independence; but could not understand him, no matter how hard she tried. For his sake, she wished he had been born into another family, into more elevated circumstances.

"Now see here, Padraic," Seamus Ratigan snarled, now visibly angered, "This is the way things are, and this is the way they shall be. You seem to forget that Arrogance is a vice like any other. Pull yourself together, boy! You shall graduate from school and take over the management of my shop. That's that! Rodney will help you…"

"Never!" Padraic spat with loathing in his countenance. For the first time, his brother, perplexed by the words uttered, felt intimidated by him, and took a step back for fear of being attacked in some way. For a few moments, it was silent.

Then, he continued, agitatedly, "Father – I have decided to leave this rotten place. I'm going to find work and pay for my higher education, even if I must nearly starve myself. With my grades, I should receive a place at one of the best Universities around. I shall study chemistry, and nothing you say shall stop me."

The other Ratigans were flabbergasted at the theatrical nature of Padraic's speech.

"If it weren't for my promise to your mother," his father said with clenched teeth, "I wouldn't even continue to pay one more penny for your last weeks of school, you ungrateful little devil! Now shut up, think about how dreadful and selfish your conduct has been, and apologize afterwards."

Padraic frowned, narrowed his eyes at his consanguine opponent, but indeed, was silenced at last. He left the parlour and locked himself in his room, pondering how to proceed with his plan for the future. Smouldering hatred was stirred within him when he heard his father crack open another bottle of intoxicating liquid.

"I shall leave indeed, as soon as I can," he thought to himself, "and none of these people shall miss me. They are beneath me. I should not be surprised that what I talk about is beyond their capability of comprehension."

The self-centred, ingenious rat took a pen and paper, and made a list of possible places he could apply to for an occupation that would provide him with enough money to rent a small flat and finance his studies. His siblings would still be at school for another year; in the meanwhile, he would have rooms of his own, and even if he would be condemned to dwell in another slum of London for until he was finished with his studies, it would be worth it – so he thought – for he would live in fine conditions afterwards for the rest of his life, in contrast to the rest of his family, who did not even consider attempting to ascend the social ladder. He did not care about what they would do in his absence. They were inferior.

They did not hear a word from Padraic until the next afternoon.

"Well? Don't you have a few words to say to me?" his father asked.

"I am sorry if I offended you," Padraic began, and for a moment, his father's hard expression softened – until his son continued, "But I stand by my words, and have not changed my mind. I shall apply for an occupation tomorrow, leave this place as soon as I have found one, and pursue the studies of my choice. I will thrive in my career, and my name shall be known throughout the Continent and beyond. You may live your life as you wish, but without me."

Seamus Ratigan shook his head, but said nothing. He believed his son was only going through a phase, and would dismiss these strange fancies after awhile. Though appalled at Padraic's behaviour towards him, his paternal affection was unconditional, so he did not stay too angry with him. However, some time later, an incident occurred that would change his life and the relationship with his son forever.

After a month, Padraic, as expected, graduated from school with distinction. He had kept it a secret from his family that he had indeed found employment that would pay relatively well and guarantee him an extremely modest, but self-sustaining life. He had applied at a renowned mouse lawyer's office for a position as a full-time typist, which was not the most intellectually demanding work, but sufficed for his temporary purposes.

Finally, he disclosed the news that he had found work – and told his family that the contract had already been signed, and that he would start in a week. Initially, his father approved. "I'd still prefer you'd take over my shop," he began, "but it's a decent profession." Padraic looked into his father's bloodshot eyes and said, "You do know that this is only a temporary means to an end? I will work for some months until I can afford a little flat for myself, and around mid-autumn I should have moved out of here."

Seamus Ratigan's face reddened. "You're still considering that university thing, aren't you?"

"Naturally," said his son calmly. "I always mean what I say."

"Well, then," the father said, shrugging his shoulders, as a false attempt to appear indifferent, "what will be, will be. You'll change your mind sooner or later." He nodded at his own statement, and resumed his former tirade about the decrease in his customers and his rival mouse shopkeeper. "You'd think that just 'cause I'm from the sewers, and my shop isn't as germ-free, that little bloke is getting more customers than me, mice and rats alike. They're so conceited, them mice are."

You could be dwelling somewhere else, Padraic thought to himself. You're a damned sewer rat out of your own will. But I... I'm going to leave this filthy place one day. If only I was born another kind of rat... No, I'd rather not be a rat at all. They all despise us...those mice are always more successful than my vile type... I've never encountered any sewer rat who wanted to escape his milieu. I shall be the first! I'll create a new identity for myself and leave this low life behind for good!

After his little reverie, Padraic got up and withdrew into his room.

*** Six months later***

"You can't possibly leave us, Padraic! It would be most horrible of you. Father is at death's door, and Rodney has been threatened to be expelled from school, you know how he is. It doesn't even make sense for him to take over father's business since it's going so badly and the shop is closing, but there's nothing else he can see himself doing now. You must please stay and support us since you're earning money, until Rodney finds work and I am married. I beg you! If there's a heart beneath that cold exterior, which I am certain there is, you can't just run away in this manner! How are we supposed to survive?"

Desperate, Patricia burst into tears. Rodney was absent, playing sports with his friends somewhere outdoors.

Additionally to suffering the consequences of drinking in excess, Mr. Seamus Ratigan had caught pneumonia, and was in a terrible condition. His son, by that time having worked as a typist for half a year, had gathered enough money to be able to rent a room, which he had found in the Soho; he was away from home for the entire day, and maintained little personal contact with his family, save for a few words.

Padraic was furious at his sister's request. Rodney was a self-indulgent idiot, and he saw no reason to support him if he was unwilling to feed his brain with knowledge. He would have to see how he survived by himself. And Patricia? Foolish, emotional girl, he thought. Why did she always have to forgive Rodney's vices and pretend he was a good lad? Padraic would never forget how his brother had mocked him for his dreams and laughed at his diligence. Why did she always have to care about Rodney's well-being when he did not deserve it? Well, marriage would certainly do for her. Most men craved a plain, endlessly supportive wife who had no goal of her own.

"We have hardly any savings left," she then continued among several sobs, "we've used them all up since less money has been coming in from father's shop. You can't be so cruel and just leave! He did pay for our education, after all, remember that! You can't entirely disrespect him just because of his bad habits and some of his decisions. That's wicked."

"So be it then. It's actually he who does not respect me, his own son, for what I am. He refuses to recognize my genius and see to it that it is nurtured, which is his damned responsibility! He would rather have me continue to reside in the sewer than break through and rise above, just because he thinks this way of life is fine for himself. It is not for me! I detest it! I'm designed for something better, and I shall pursue it!"

"You are so incredibly selfish, Padraic. Your genius fails to understand that it is not entirely his fault that we are where we are! Remember it was his own father who wasted all the wealth he once possessed."

"Perhaps, but our father does not seem to mind. That's what angers me."

"You are greatly mistaken. He could have decided simply not to pay for your education if he was truly so indifferent to it. If it weren't for that, you wouldn't even be having these goals of yours."

"He should remember his great-grandfather's status, then, and realize that it is laudable that I wish to return to the Ratigans' former lifestyle as the only one in his family. What about our older siblings who survived? We know nothing about them. They all quit school after a few years and left, to God only knows where. And father does not even care a bit about this disgrace!"

Patricia sighed. "I must be able to understand that someone with your abilities is so obsessed with a high status," she then said. "So I forgive your mean words once again. Padraic, please do stay."

But Padraic was not moved. "Farewell, Patricia!" he said. And after having packed a large suitcase, he went out of the house.