Youth
I know I shall never forget the day I first encountered the rat. His appearance was rather forlorn, and it occurred to me that perhaps he needed someone to bring him a bit of cheer, so I taught him to play chess. Demonstrating impressive knowledge, he quickly learned the game with remarkable skill. I clearly recall one particular match that lasted for two days. He used all his men as pawns, thus allowing me to capture them with ease; however, he quickly endangered my queen, and I was barely able to avoid being trapped into checkmate.
Looking back, the irony makes me sick at heart. My worst enemy was once my best friend, and I am the one who helped him sharpen the wit he would one day use against me! Still I do not regret the days when I would amuse Ratigan by telling him stories of the great detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
"You must agree to take my case if I ever fall into the hands of criminals!" he would say every time I mentioned my future plans.
Naturally, I would agree, and we would shake to solidify the promise. I am thankful that at the time, I did not truly understand what I was saying. Being on Ratigan's case has cost me five hundred seventy-two nights of insomnia, eighty-six nights with no sleep at all, forty-nine migraines, twenty-seven nearly fatal confrontations, thirteen experiences of utter humiliation, and countless bouts of depression. After all the trouble, I never even had the pleasure of seeing Ratigan arrested.
Even considering all the difficulties, I have bittersweet memories of the last day of our friendship. I was to attend the university, and Ratigan had a most thoughtful parting gift for me.
He presented me with a trench coat and a deerstalker cap. "For the great mouse detective."
After receiving such a wonderful gift, I feared my present for him was unworthy. I had only two songs, written in honor of our friendship, to play for him on my violin. However, he seemed to like them.
I wish I had never composed the melodies! When I consider what I have done, I am nearly tempted to swallow cyanide! One of the songs I played had lyrics, and these same words were used to taunt me when Ratigan nearly executed me on an elaborate mouse trap! The second song was an instrumental; I had written the melody and advised Ratigan to think of the lyrics. I cringe when I recall the words he added to my melody some years later:
From the brain that brought you the Big Ben Caper
The head that made headlines in every newspaper…
Blaming oneself never does much good, so there's no point in dwelling on how Ratigan ruined my final gift to him.
The university was nothing like I had expected. Although I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge of my courses and excelled as a student, my roommate and I were instant rivals.
"I have a list of rules I expect you to follow!" he informed me during our first meeting.
"If you were in a position of authority, I would gladly obey your every whim; however, I fail to see what gives you any right to force me to comply with your outrageous demands!" I responded.
When I wrote to Ratigan to ask his advice on the matter, he replied that my roommate was acting difficult due to a hidden problem. I resolved to find the cause of this unmerited actions. After three weeks, my roommate was still attempting to quarrel with me at every opportunity, and I had found no answers. Again I wrote to Ratigan, receiving the following response:
Of course you haven't found any answers yet! Everyone on campus knows the two of you are roommates! They wouldn't dare say or do anything concerning him in front of you! Unless you have a good disguise, you won't learn anything!
Sometimes I worry about you. Although you have the ability to become a first-rate detective, you seem to have no knowledge of how a guilty conscience or hostile spirit can affect one's logic and behavior. That being, I have included a few minor items that you may wish to consider.
When his "few minor items" turned out to be a three page list explaining criminal mentality in great detail, I should have been suspicious of the extent of his knowledge, but at the time, I failed to recognize the problem. Taking Ratigan's advice, I disguised myself one day as I sauntered around campus.
Paying me no heed, three young men were busy dividing money among themselves. Even though I knew it would be most improper to eavesdrop, I did so, holding a book in front of my face to appear uninterested.
"That was too easy!" one exclaimed. "He never defends himself!"
"All cowards are like that!" a second remarked.
The third laughed. "He is a coward! The only way he feels any self-esteem is by bullying his roommate."
I learned even more from their conversation than I had hoped, and not a day too soon. When I noticed my roommate preparing to leave the dormitory that night, I was ready.
"Don't do it!"
He shot me a baleful lower. "I thought you were asleep!"
"You don't really want to kill them," I stated, attempting to maintain my composure, even though I had never before been involved in such a dire situation. "Put down the gun."
His look changed from resentment to bewilderment. "What makes you think I have a gun?"
"I know three ruffians have been stealing from you, among other crimes. I also know you've never had the audacity to confront them. That's how you became so pugnacious. You believe the world is against you, and your way of fighting injustice is being cruel to anyone you don't believe has the valor to oppose you. If you are sent to prison for murder, you will spend the rest of your life knowing your oppressors won. Don't let them force you into obtaining a criminal history."
He made no audible reply, but the intense hatred in his eyes challenged me to continue.
"They've done wrong and will be brought to justice. You don't have to allow them to bring you down as well. It's already over for them. Do you really want to waste your life in a prison cell just when you've arrived at the point where everything will begin to improve?"
His gaze began to soften a bit.
"Besides, these are criminals. Even if you succeeded in murdering them without being sent to prison, you would still be endangering your own life. They no doubt know other scoundrels who would be happy to avenge their deaths by ending your life."
He continued to stare at me.
"Put down the gun," I repeated.
He dropped the gun and began trembling. "I don't know what I was thinking! And you…I have been rude to you for no reason, and you're still trying to help me! I can't believe I almost…!"
"It's alright now," I assured him.
"But how did you know I had a gun?"
"It was elementary," I replied, explaining how I had arrived at the conclusion.
He nodded. "You'll make a fine detective. After tonight, I suppose you already are one, aren't you?"
"Not officially," I answered. "I've much work to do yet."
"Am I the first one you've talked out of committing a crime?"
"You're the first one on the verge of perpetrating a felony, but I once dissuaded my childhood friend from starting a fight with someone who insulted him. He had lifted the offender off the ground by the back of the shirt, and I persuaded him not to use fists," I recounted.
"Your first hostage situation!" my roommate joked. Becoming serious, he added, "You realize that such events are more police work than the job of a private investigator, don't you?"
"My duties are to bring justice to the innocent and prevent further depravities by any means necessary," I responded.
"I will never again imperil anyone's life," he promised.
"I believe you."
From that day forward, my roommate and I never squabbled again. However, I became increasingly worried about life back home. Ratigan rarely wrote to me, and when I received his letters, I noted they were rather brief and almost more formal than personal. While I was pondering this dilemma, Mrs. Judson sent lengthy letters about a dangerous criminal who lived in London. This fiend was rumored to be more deadly than any other villain in the history of Mousedom. Detectives had been summoned from every city in the empire, and none could find sufficient evidence to convict this felon.
I frequently wrote to Ratigan, imploring him to use extreme caution, yet I feared the nefarious brute had already taken over my friend's life. After living in dread for what seemed an interminable length of time, I finally returned home. My first act was to buy myself a newspaper so I would be well informed of current events.
Upon seeing my former friend's name in the headlines, everything suddenly became clear. He had become the Napoleon of crime, and since I was the only detective who even remotely understood Ratigan's sense of logic and reasoning, I would have to be the one to see him arrested. If I refused to get involved, there would be no end to the innocent lives lost. I tried not to think about what would happen to Ratigan after his trial. Surely he would be found guilty of numerous crimes too horrible to mention, and then…
The words on the newspaper blurred until I blinked my eyes. I steeled myself enough to prepare for my first investigation involving Ratigan, but depression plagued me the rest of my life, and I never allowed myself to get close to anyone again.