Departures

Time passed; Padraic Ratigan was notified that his father had passed away. Yet he had determinedly cut all ties to his family, and the news left him coldly unaffected. By then, he resided in small rooms in the district of Soho. Though opposed to his refined tastes, notorious for its reputation as the city's largest congregation of various despicable indecencies, it cost but little, and provided a modest but familiarly damp roof over the self-seeking maverick's head, so as to keep him away from his former dwellings. He had, shortly after his permanent departure from the family nest, received a place at University College London, one of the better educational institutes in his country, since he knew it was in vain to apply at Oxford or Cambridge, as those locations were too far away from where he was employed; and he could not yet afford to migrate from the capital. Nevertheless, he could not have gained more satisfaction from his present state. He was pursuing studies of chemistry, and was supporting himself entirely on his own. Unfortunately, he was compelled to work several hours during the early afternoon and evenings, therefore was only able to visit morning lectures. But he consoled himself with the thought of being a high-achieving student who did not struggle with most of the material he was presented with, and he studied during the dark and still night hours while most of his colleagues were slumbering. The subject fascinated him exceedingly, and he became very fond of researching – so fond, in fact, that he harboured the dream of becoming a professor, when things would look more fortunate for him.

The ambitious young Ratigan not only stood out from the other students due to his sharp intellect and vigour, but also due to his appearance; surrounded by mice, save for two odd exceptions, he was one of the only rats who attended university. The casual observer would never suspect that this state of uniqueness caused him any particular discontent – since he had always prided himself in his uniqueness – yet during certain irrational moments, it did faze him that he had not been born small and dainty like the vast majority of his colleagues – and his instructors. He began to secretly feel ashamed of the species of which he was a representative; how came it that so few of his kind aspired to educate themselves as highly as their brains were adequately designed for? But in this city's more elevated range of society, it was the more diminutive rodent that, paradoxically, had apparently succeeded at ascending greater realms than its more sizable counterpart. Wherever the most respectable rats were to be found these days – it was certainly not in the city of London. In spite of having been occasionally honoured with exorbitant praise from his teachers, and betimes begrudged for his gifts by lesser talented colleagues, Ratigan had reason to feel a misfit, and dreaded the days and the sceptical eyes when he would have to convince his slight superiors that he was suitable for a profession of high position. Yet he quickly dismissed these dark thoughts, telling himself that he was the only one worthy of an exceptionally superior position anyway...

One day, he would be able to afford some handsome new attire, and at least be able to demonstrate the exalted elegance that existed within his furry dull grey exterior on an outwardly recognizable level to everyone but the blind. One day, when he had graduated with the honours he deserved, and had earned and saved a sufficient sum to pay for these luxuries.

And his brother Rodney? He would forever run about in the filthy sewers where his unsophisticated soul felt at home, and would never amount to anything of merit, whilst he, Padraic, gave extraordinary lectures and speeches, and dedicated himself to researching the mysteries of the world and putting this knowledge to universal use. He might even find a like-minded, similarly gifted someone with whom he could share his quests...might. A genius of his calibre was as rare a find as a blue diamond.

And his sister Patricia? She was probably a married housewife by now. Unless she had made a lucky match, she would be breeding more doomed little sewer rats (he shuddered at the mere thought as the word echoed in his head) to pollute the city. Foolishly considerate and overly kind-hearted as she was, she would probably bear the chains of motherhood with delight. Motherhood...what was it worth? Nothing but death was what it led up to, as he knew from his own late mother. In the worst case, Patricia's husband might prove himself to be a gambling, drinking idiot as her grandfather had been, and she would suffer from her own foolish decision to get married to an imbecile when she deserved something better. But once a woman had made her decision, there was no more escape – unless she divorced, and finally died, eternally stigmatized, in shame and abject poverty.

For a moment, Ratigan was seized with a brief feeling of guilt; he questioned himself as to why he was so absolutely indifferent to his sister, who indeed had always been sweet and kind. This was the reason: she had no other virtues but the goodness of her heart; she was plain, had no drive or imagination whatsoever. She was, by nature, a servant. Ratigan could not respect submissive servants who lacked intellect and opinions of their own. The fact that she was a girl was irrelevant; he had known of women who had been clever in their own ways – or at least, ways that their husbands and fathers reluctantly allowed them – and he would not mind in the least if he could boast about having a headstrong, clever sister. What use was it to the world to have infinitely kind, but stupid people? Intelligence was what the world needed, and desperately. Yes, this was it: he thought little of his poor sister. A tiny seed of doubt as to the justification of his arrogant attitude was only beginning to emerge from his callous heart, when his icy mind decidedly buried it with its stinging cold.

One afternoon, before leaving for the office, Ratigan discovered a letter in his little mailbox. "URGENT" was written over the envelope, and with great curiosity, he opened it...

"Dear Mr. Padraic Ratigan,

It is with great reluctance that I decide to write to you on your sister Patricia's behalf. I am informed that you have severed all contact to your late father, and siblings, who were until very recently ignorant of your current address. Thanks to several mutual acquaintances at the University College, I am now capable of writing to the correct one, and I trust that the intended recipient is now reading these lines.

Your sister has fallen ill – I emphasize, gravely ill. She was and is heartbroken at your cruel conduct –leaving your family and never thinking it worth the effort to contact your siblings every once in a while to ensure they are at least safe and healthy; so she was unwilling to inform you of these sad news at first. But knowing you are, besides your brother Rodney, the only living relative she knows of, she has decided it is worth an attempt; and I agree with her.

I am sorry to tell you that you have left your family in very terrible circumstances. As you might have predicted, your father has passed away leaving very little money behind; both your siblings were compelled to quit their schooling. Rodney has found a simple position where he earns an extremely meagre sum of money, and Patricia has become very recently engaged to one Mr. Conroy, whose acquaintance she made through a friend of hers; he has the means to offer her a brighter future, and is a decent young man. Unfortunately, it is not very likely that she should ever live to see her wedding. For three weeks, she has been confined to bed at Westminster Hospital, and to be frank, the illness will sooner or later put an end to her short life.

It would be an evil and shameful act on your part if you do not come to see her instantly and apologize for the damage your selfishness has already caused. Miss Patricia is as kind a soul as any brother could wish to have, and she tells me she would be ready to forgive you, for you are only animal, as we all are. Rodney is in great distress, for his sister is all he has now; and he has sworn to forgo his youthful mischief and behave like a grown rat. Until he finds employment that pays better, he depends on your financial support. It would evince your compassion if you gave up your studies for a year or two and helped him survive.

I cannot force you, Mr. Ratigan, to do as your family appeals; however, as a mouse who is devoted to aiding the infirm, I implore you to think your past actions over and to avail yourself of the opportunity to atone for your sins.

Regards,

Dr. Andrew Sutton, MD"

For a moment, Ratigan felt a shiver run down his spine. It was only recently that he had thought about Patricia's possible fate – he had not exactly envisaged his sister currently lying at death's door. He creased his face into a frown, and for a split-second he dreaded that his emotion would get the better of him, which it did. Irate tears stung his eyes, and he wished in vain that he could prevent these symbols of weakness from streaming down his hollow cheeks. But the fraternal instinct that had originally released the salty fluid quickly gave way to another trigger – self-pity. He was being asked to give up his dream and pay for his good-for-nothing insolent brother, who he knew for certain would resume his old habits of wasting precious time and money! Oh, but how could he possibly blame this good physician for not knowing Rodney as well as he did...

Nevertheless, he was overwhelmed with the gruesome effects of a bad conscience. Poor Patricia! He had not foreseen the probability of a death so untimely for her.

Then again, why should it be of your concern? a devilish little voice inside him asked. It would have occurred anyway, sooner or later. Every minute some unfortunate being perished from illness; it was nothing particularly extraordinary. His mother had suffered the same fate; and perhaps Fate was only being good to Patricia by releasing her from the pains of a poor woman's life earlier than anticipated. Heaven knows Mr. Conroy was not as decent as Mr. Sutton described him!

Intelligence is what the world needs, the fiendish voice resounded in his head yet again. You've no use for poor, stupid people. Ratigan experienced an inner battle between the moralizing remnants of his conscience and the whispers of his heartless, egoistic reasoning. Finally, it became evident which of the adversaries was the more powerful combatant. Ratigan scrunched up the letter he still held in his hand and resolutely threw it into the next litter bin. He would not witness his sister's demise, for he had matters of greater importance to attend to. He would not begin to support his silly brother, who would most certainly break his promise and once again behave like a debauching dullard. Ratigan wondered whether he was committing a felony by making this utterly unsympathetic decision; but ultimately, he did not care. "Sometimes, a sacrifice is necessary, if it can dispose of onerous obstacles on the way to one's destination", he thought.

The malicious spirit prevented him from replying to the sender of the mournful epistle. Never thereafter did he learn about the considerably gruesome and lachrymose circumstances of his siblings' cruel fate; he succeeded at erasing this objectionable chapter of his life from his mind, and continued with his daily routine as if he had had no past prior to departing from his roots.