The Rat Palace
Uris Hall, Cornell University-Late January, 1995
Kolya huddled with two tall, broad-shouldered men, and for once, Vasya was not one of them. From this distance, he could only tell that they were speaking muffled Russian, but not make out anything specific. Being inconspicuous had never been his strong suit, and he tried to look interested in the three-day-old campus newspaper as he stood out front, waiting for his friend to finish talking to, well, whoever they were. Professors, maybe, though they didn't look like any professor Vasya had ever seen on campus, and he was sure by now he'd met every Russian speaker there was.
The coyote had mysteriously disappeared again after his blowup at the party, only to turn up right after the long MLK weekend like a bad penny. Out of the blue he'd called and asked Vasya to join him "to catch up," as if nothing at all had happened between them. So, being the good friend he was, Vasya had acquiesced. It wasn't as if he had other friends…
There was the matter of the girl. Mei. After meeting her that chilly night, he'd thought of little else, to the point that he'd begun daydreaming. More than usual, anyway. Alexei Fet's son was too practical and grounded to daydream. A pair of espressos shared, a few late night phone calls, and, though Mei had politely rebuffed all his requests for an actual date, she obviously considered him a friend.
I like you, big fella. You're not like most of the guys.
He might have flown back to his dorm after she'd told him that. In any case he'd thought little of Kolya, or what the coyote might be doing. Instead, he doodled aimlessly during his advanced History of Architecture lectures and imagined her smooth alto voice speaking that phrase, over and over…
"Vasya." The imaginary Mei's range had suddenly shot down from alto to tenor, and he realized with a start that Kolya was standing right in front of him. "If you keep taking these trips to fantasyland, you mind inviting me next time?"
The two other men, whoever they were, had gone. It was just the coyote, wearing his usual red Adidas jacket, knit cap, and gold-toothed smile. Vasya was relieved. "Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about…" he tried to come up with something plausible, "an assignment I have due. Must have gotten carried away."
"Whatever you were thinking about, it clearly wasn't school, my friend." Kolya grinned.
It took Vasya a split second too long to realize what Kolya was saying, and once he understood, the color rose to his cheeks. "Um. Maybe we should talk inside?" He didn't want to think about how many pretty female students might have walked by while he was engaging in his private daydream.
"Yeah. Wanted to get your input on one of my experiments with the rats, anyway," Kolya said. "You might want to use your satchel or something to, er, cover up. That thing would be considered a deadly weapon on campus. Wouldn't want my dear Vasyen'ka to get arrested for assault."
As they entered the double doors, for once Vasya was glad for the bulky canvas bag he always carried. He shifted it from his side to the front. "What kind of experiment?" he asked, trying to change the subject. Like everything else, the rats had barely registered on his mind these past two weeks, and he'd hardly thought about them since coming back. Unlike Brooklyn, Ithaca was hardly a rat-hunter's paradise.
"I'll show you. I have to ask that you keep it to yourself, though. Still an experiment in progress, eh?"
Though he'd been in and around almost all the buildings on campus on his courier route, there were parts of it Vasya had never explored, and this was one of them. Sterile white walls with identical doors, with a slightly unpleasant smell in the air he couldn't quite identify. "You don't get a little crazy working in here?" he asked Kolya. Even the sound seemed off, the building muffling the sound of his voice and the slap of his boots on the linoleum floor.
"Everybody in this department is a little crazy. Some more than others," said Kolya with a shrug. "You get used to it. Anyway, here we are. I'll have to ask you to wash up before we go in."
There was a small, hospital-style washroom in front of a set of double doors. Vasya scrubbed at his hands, noticing Kolya's as he did so. The pinky had crooked at an awkward angle and was swollen like a sausage. "You have some sort of accident?"
The coyote shoved his left hand into his jacket pocket and smiled. "Nah. Just Kolya being clumsy again. My babuschka says I am born under a bad star."
"I didn't even know you had a babuschka." He'd never heard Kolya talk about his family other than the "crazy people" back in Belarus. From what Vasya had seen, it looked less like a casual accident and more like a broken digit which hadn't been set right. Between that and Kolya's injuries from two weeks ago, that was a little too much clumsiness for one person. Maybe those two other guys had something to do with it? Did he owe them money, or hook up with one of their girlfriends? He decided it wasn't worth probing, or listening to one of the coyote's tall tales, then yanked down a paper towel to dry his own hands.
"So. Welcome to Kolya's workshop. Look but don't touch."
The smell…disinfectant, Vasya guessed…was stronger in here, though everything in the room appeared spotlessly clean. Dozens of cages lined the walls, each containing at least one white lab rat. In one corner of the lab was what appeared to be a circus designed for the rats, a large plexiglass enclosure with a dozen or so of the rodents at play on spinning wheels or chewing on assorted toys.
Vasya crouched down to look at one of them. It paused from its chewing and stared back at him, whiskers twitching. There was intelligence and curiosity in its pink eyes. He was tempted to reach in and pet it but thought better, remembering Kolya's warning. "What exactly is this?"
Kolya gestured as if he were presenting a prize on a game show. "This, my friend, is a rat palace. Classic experiment."
"What's it for?"
"I never thought you'd ask." Kolya tapped on the plexiglass. "Sensory pleasures. Designed to prove that a hedonistic capitalist American lifestyle is a stronger drug than actual drugs."
"Really?"
"Not exactly. But, that's the main idea," Kolya said, watching as two rats chased one another in and out of a tunnel. "I'm writing a paper on it. It's been done before, you know, in the 60s and 70s, even back in the Motherland, but I'm putting my own spin on it."
Vasya didn't know quite what to say; psychology had never been his area of study, though the subject of the experiment seemed perfect for Kolya, who was the biggest hedonist he'd ever known. "The rats seem happy in here," he said, almost to himself. Watching the playful white rodents scurry in and out of their hiding places was mesmerizing. It was hard to believe they were the same species as the Chihuahua-sized Brooklyn rats he'd observed on their stakeouts.
Kolya scribbled some notes on a clipboard. "That's what I'm trying to prove, I think. That they're happier just playing and hanging out than anywhere else, even if they had some really strong shit." His gaze fell somewhere beyond the rat enclosure, and he stroked absently at his injured left hand.
Something about his voice sounded different. Was that regret I heard? Sadness? Vasya wanted to ask the coyote a hundred questions. "What about this one?" he asked instead, pointing to the one rat he could pick out based on its appearance alone. Its tail was tipped with black, as if it had been dipped in an inkwell, and this rat, unlike its all-white cousins, was busily washing its paws and stacking food pellets.
"Oh, that one. Number 74." Kolya pointed with his pen. "Strange, that one. Doesn't seem to like either the morphine drip or playtime, or even boom-boom. Just keeps working away, poor bastard. Must be a Soviet rat."
Vasya felt a sudden stab of remorse. "What are you going to do with him?"
Kolya shrugged. "Keep him until the experiment's over. Then, dispose of him. Don't tell me my strong, stoic Vasyen'ka is a sentimental softie," he cooed.
"That's not funny, Kolya," Vasya protested, even as he felt the color rising to his cheeks.
"Hey, ladies love that sort of thing. Wish I had it. I have all the sentimentality of a horny adolescent chimpanzee." Kolya replaced the clipboard. "Speaking of which, I hear you and Mei are getting to know one another, am I right?" He nudged Vasya with his elbow.
"Just friends," he said, relieved that he didn't have to lie. Even so, I can't stop thinking about her. "How in the world did you manage to meet her, anyway?"
"That," said Kolya, "is a long story, my friend. A sordid tale of adventure and heroism with your Kolyen'ka as a misunderstood, tragic figure who simply needed a smoke one hot summer day in Brooklyn." He produced a half-empty packet of Camels like a magician, and pulled one out. "Which reminds me…the rats may not need narcotics, but I do. I'll be outside if you want to join me."
Any hope of a straight answer had gone right out the window, and Vasya knew it. When Kolya was in one of his indomitably manic moods, he'd no more answer questions than one of his rats would. "You, um, mind if I watch them for a little longer? I'll be out soon," he said, still transfixed by the rats in their constructed palace.
"Be my guest."
Alone in the lab, Vasya watched the white rats going about their carefree lives, while in his private corner, Number 74 toiled away, oblivious to the hubbub around him.
"I feel you, solnyshko," he said, holding a single finger to the glass. He was glad Kolya wasn't there to see the tears brimming at the corners of his eyes.
