Blood and Clay - a Tale of Mustela sapiens

[pauljmsn]

[Slightly late - had to replace certain characters. I'm glad I didn't send them to China.]

BLOOD AND CLAY

By Paul E. Jamison[/center]

PROLOGUE

Forest near Lodz, Poland – Autumn, 1905

The ferret swept his gaze around the nearby trees. He’d come along with the Rabbi as a lookout for any approaching humans. Moshe had told his friend that they should have brought some other ferrets – young hobs, strong and more able to handle humans – along as guards, but Rabbi Jeremiah had refused. The fewer that knew about it, the better, he had said, and Moshe would be enough, if he were vigilant.

And Moshe did the best he could, reacting to the slightest movement, the least sound. But he couldn’t resist turning around to watch what the Rabbi was doing. It frightened him; it appalled him. And it fascinated him.

Truth to tell, it didn’t look like the Rabbi was doing much. Moshe had expected – what? He hadn’t been certain. A boiling cauldron would have been ridiculous, really. They were Jews, not witches. Some sort of sacrifice? A powerful storm, with the sky lit by flashes of lightning?

But Jeremiah had simply come to this spot, dug beneath the soil to find the good, damp clay, and had proceeded to get his paws dirty by sculpting… it. It had not taken long to build something so tall. When he was done, the Rabbi had cleaned the mud from his paws and taken a small book from his pocket.

Jeremiah had adjusted the black yarmulke with the red trim on his head, stood quietly for a few moments looking up at – it – and then bent his head over to recite something from the book.

The Rabbi wasn’t speaking clearly. He mumbled so that Moshe couldn’t understand what he was saying, and he couldn’t even be sure what language the words were. Moshe didn’t think that he wanted to understand what his friend was saying.

Finally the Rabbi’s voice came to a halt. Moshe didn’t know what to expect now, either. Again, nothing happened. No storm, no lightning. It didn’t move; Jeremiah simply looked up at it.

Finally, Moshe said, “Is – is that it? Is that all? Are you done, Jeremiah?”

The Rabbi nodded. “Yes. The rites are complete.” He sighed. “I am done.”

Moshe stared up at the – thing. It was so tall, taller than a human and much taller than a ferret. Why had the Rabbi made it so tall? “Are you certain that this is wise, Jeremiah? Will this thing help us against the humans? I am so uncertain about all of this. What are you getting us into?”

The Rabbi looked at the other ferret. “I do not see as we have any choice, Moshe. They hunt us and persecute us, because we are animals that talk and because we are Jews. We mean no harm to the world, but we must protect ourselves. You see that, do you not?”

Moshe nodded. The loss of his wife still ached. He was not a fighter, but…

He finally said, “So – how long before you can use it?” The question sounded silly.

The Rabbi chuckled. “The scholars do not agree. This book recommends waiting a full day. We will make our way back to the town and come back –”

A loud report came from nearby, and something pinged from the ground between the ferrets.

Moshe shouted, “Run!” and the two took off through the forest.

Moshe was a good runner, but he was barely able to keep up with his friend. The Rabbi managed to sprint along and still call over his shoulder, “Keep running – It isn’t ready! They mustn’t find it!” So the two ran as fast and as far away from – it – as was possible.

Moshe thought he could hear someone crashing through the trees behind them, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t slow down to look back; he just followed Jeremiah.

After what seemed like forever, the Rabbi waved and they came to a stop near a shallow ravine. The two ferrets bent over and gasped for breath. Everything was quiet behind them.

Finally, Moshe got his voice back and said, “Do you – do you think that we lost them?”

This time the gunshot was incredibly loud. The Rabbi was blown off of his feet and sailed through the air into the ravine.

“Jeremiah!!”

The gun was fired again, and Moshe flew through the air as well.

Moshe landed on the side of the ravine and tumbled down the slope. He quickly reached the bottom and came to a stop amid the leaves and fallen tree branches.

Soon voices could be heard. Human voices.

One, loud, deep, laughed and said, “That does it for those creatures! I hit them both! I told you I was the best shot in all of Poland, didn’t I?”

Another voice, not so loud, not so sure of itself, spoke. “Are you sure, Kristopher? We were told to make certain that they were both dead. Perhaps we should go down and check –”

The first voice bellowed. “Do you question my skill with a gun? I told you I was the best shot in Poland, and I mean what I say! When I say that I hit them both, I mean that I hit them both! We do not need to check!”

“What were they doing back there? Should we check that?”

Kristopher laughed again. “Of what concern is that? What do you think they were doing?” The laugh turned unpleasant. “Perhaps you’re afraid that they plan to sneak into your house and have their way with your lovely daughter.”

The other didn’t see the humor. “They’re animals! What interest would they have in my family? You don’t think –”

“Pah! You worry too much. Whatever they were doing, we stopped them! Come along, hunting is thirsty work, and I feel the tavern calling me!” There was thrashing through the forest and the voices moved away.

Moshe didn’t move until they were long gone. Then he sat up, nursing a bruise from hitting a tree limb; he had no other wound. He quietly thanked God for the sin of Vanity, especially in one such as Kristopher.

The voice was barely audible. “Moshe?”

He ran to where the Rabbi lay nearby. His friend had not been so fortunate.

Moshe knelt down by the Rabbi. The ferret was bleeding from a horrible gunshot wound. Moshe said, “Jeremiah? Don’t move. I’ll get you to a healer. You’ll be fine –”

“No.” The Rabbi was having trouble breathing. “I won’t. It does no good to lie to me, old friend. I know I haven’t much time.”

The tears came easily. “Oh, Jeremiah! Oh, my friend! Don’t leave us! Not now! All of your work… All of your studies… You gave us hope! And it all came down to this day! But now – all of your work on – on that – it can’t have been for nothing!”

“It has not been, old friend. When I created it – I mixed some of my own blood with the clay. It will not be just I that can control it. It will answer to the blood of my blood. It will obey my descendants.”

“You mean – your son? But Judah is but a kit! He is too young! He can do nothing now –”

“He must!” Jeremiah’s grip on Moshe’s arm was surprisingly strong. “He is our hope now – our salvation! Tell him! Tell him!”

“Yes, Jeremiah.”

The Rabbi’s voice was frantic now. “And the Records! You must write this all down in our Records! Do that, Moshe!”

The grip on Moshe’s arm loosened.

############

It took some time for Moshe to return to the community, but he couldn’t leave his friend behind; the ferrets disposed of their own and never left anything for the humans to find.

When he carried Jeremiah into the synagogue, Judah was there. The little kit loved his father very much, and now he howled and wailed and almost went mad with grief. Moshe decided to wait before telling the child of his legacy – of what his father had left in the forest.

There were times when Moshe questioned the wisdom of this decision; the humans came after them more fiercely than ever. But days later, he watched the kit, clutching his father’s black yarmulke with the red trim, sit and stare at something no one else could see, and he did not regret waiting. If Judah understood the power he could now wield, he might lay waste to half of Europe.

But Moshe waited too long. Within weeks, he lost his own life trying to protect the ferret community’s Records from the humans with the flaming torches. The Records – a branch of the Thread first begun in the Yorkshire countryside by the ferrets known as the Skippys – had been destroyed, and the line would never be completely repaired. The ferret community of Lodz was cut off from the others of their kind.

The ferrets went deep into hiding in Poland, and they managed to hide themselves well for over ten years. It wasn’t until 1915 that they reappeared, when humans were more concerned with the terrors visited on them by other humans; a group of talking animals somehow didn’t seem so threatening, and the ferrets were at least tolerated. Until the next wave of persecution began in 1939.

Judah did not follow in his father’s footsteps; he at least recognized that the hatred in his soul was not proper for a Rabbi. Someone else would wear the black yarmulke, and it would be passed on to others.

The Records were gone, and no one really knew for certain what Rabbi Jeremiah had done. There was just the faintest whiff of rumors – of something he had done to ensure their salvation.

No one ever went into the forest to investigate. They simply waited.


END OF PROLOGUE

[pauljmsn]

Part 1

The Present Day

Marriage had wrought some changes in Rabbi Sammy’s office. Clarissa had taken over the filing of Sammy’s papers, and everything was neater. Books and correspondence didn’t seem to pile up on his desk for very long. Sammy actually welcomed this; he could get his paws on things faster now.

The most visible change, though, was probably the playpen set up in one corner.

“Baby – Baby – Bay-bee –”

Sammy put the folder down on his desktop and smiled over at the playpen. Little Levi had plenty of toys, but at the moment his favorite was the stuffed-toy otter he was singing to and dancing around in the air right now. He loved his “Baby” and kept it close all the time. The first time his Mamma had taken the toy away to wash and dry, Levi had put up quite a fuss and wouldn’t be consoled until it was back in his paws. Now he tolerated having the toy cleaned or mended, but he was always wary until Baby came back, good as new.

The door to the Rabbi’s office came open and a handsome Sable ferret, dressed in his red serge uniform, walked in. He hadn’t knocked before entering, but he rarely did.

Little Levi squealed with joy. “Muffy!”

Sammy couldn’t handle this. He lay his head down and was now pounding the desktop with his fist and gasping with laughter.

Murphy muttered, “Alright, what does he call you when nobody else is around?”

Sammy stopped laughing and grinned at his friend. “Lately he’s been calling me ‘Daddy’.”

Murphy blinked. He looked at Sammy and he looked at the grinning little kit, and finally said, “Right. I can’t really respond to that one, can I?”

Levi held up his toy otter and said, “Baby!”

“Oh, and what has Baby been up to then?” Murphy bent over and took the otter and held it close, nose-to-plastic-nose. He said severely, “All right, otter. What crimes and misdemeanors have you committed?”

Levi watched this anxiously; he wasn’t sure whether to cry or not. Murphy looked at the little kit thoughtfully and then back at the toy otter. “Hmmm… Under the circumstances, I see no choice but to surrender you to the custody of your guardian.” He handed the toy back to Levi, who squealed, “Baby!” and clutched the otter close.

Murphy lifted the kit up out of the pen and bounced Levi up and down in his arms. “So, Rabs, what exciting reading have you got there?” He leaned over to look at the folder on the desktop. “Something I can recommend to my – Oh.”

The tab on the folder read POLAND.

Murphy could be a clown, but he could drop the act real quick. There was concern in his voice as he continued. “Have you received information lately?”

Sammy sighed and shook his head. “Not much.” He placed his paw on the papers in the folder. There weren’t many there. “Just the usual – family histories from the immigrants. A few letters. I just have this file out because… well, I can’t help but think about them.”

Baby, with a little help, gave Murphy a kiss on the cheek. Murphy responded by gently stroking some Albino fur. “That’s no surprise, Sammy. What with all that’s happened to them over the years.”

“The pogroms, yes.” Sammy looked up at this friend. “And it all started out so well. They – my ancestors – got along fine with the humans in Lodz back in the 1850’s, when they first got there. Remarkable, considering the turbulent times in Poland then. But, then in 1905 it started to go bad.”

Murphy had heard this all before. It was an old conversation. But an old conversation can be as comfortable as an old chair. “Things were about to go bad everywhere about then. The ferrets got caught up in it.”

“They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, right. I guess the humans always resented the talking animals. And sometimes… they let it get the better of them. The ferrets hid themselves. They got through it and came back. But 1905 was just the start. Next it was the Thirties, and they came. The ferrets had to hide again. But they caught some of them. It stills amazes me that any of the Lodz ferrets survived the Holocaust at all.” Sammy looked up at the picture on his wall of his great-great-grandfather, Joseph. The ferret with the haunted eyes and the tattooed number on his arm. “The anti-ferret flare-ups in the ‘70’s and in ’97 weren’t nearly as bad as that, but still, ferrets have died.”

“Do you have any idea how many ferrets are still in Poland?”

“No, we don’t. As far as I can determine, from what little information we’ve got, they never did get back to keeping the Records, not after the originals were burned. What with emigration – so many have moved to the States over the decades – and with the deaths, we can’t even begin to make a guess. But it can’t be very many.”

“Shouldn’t someone go and check on them?”

“We’ve tried. But the Lodz ferrets have traditionally been fiercely independent. They don’t turn outsiders away, but they’re… distant. They don’t think they need help, either. I’ve tried keeping up a correspondence with Rabbi Cotton there –” Sammy pronounced it “Cot-ton”, with the emphasis on the second syllable. “– but the postal service for them is atrocious, and the Polish government has never been any help to us, even after the Soviet Union went away. I haven’t heard anything definite lately, only rumors and little things, but I’ll tell you this, Murphy. From what little I have heard, I think the persecution has started again.”

“Oh, dear.”

Sammy’s office door opened and Skippy came in with a pretty cinnamon jill. Levi squealed, “Mama!” and reached out to Clarissa.

Sammy grinned and said, “Hello, dear. Nice of you to join…” He noticed the look on her face. “Is something wrong, love?”

Clarissa took Levi from Murphy and held him close. She said nothing for a few moments, and there was shock on her face. She finally blurted, “Albert’s car – the Skippys found it!”

Sammy’s jaw hung open and he slowly rose to his feet. He looked over at Skippy and softly said, “Where… How…”

Skippy replied, “The wreck happened near Kingman, west of Wichita, and that’s where we’d been concentrating the search the past year and a half. We must have visited every junkyard and auto place in the area.”

“At least three times,” said Murphy.

“Right. But none of us thought to look east of Wichita. And that’s where we found it. Skippy was out on a nature hike near Mulvane and came across a small auto salvage place a few miles outside of town. And he noticed something like a human child’s toy car next to the back fence. He looked a little closer and saw it was a ferret’s car. If he’d passed in front of the place instead of the back, he’d never have seen it.”

Clarissa hugged her little son close, so hard that he squeaked in protest, and the tears were flowing down her cheeks. The car wreck had claimed the lives of her husband Albert and her father, so long ago. Sammy stayed where he was. He loved his family deeply, but he understood that this was one of those rare times when he was an outsider, and he did not intrude.

Murphy said, “It’s always seemed odd to me that the car disappeared right after the wreck. Is he sure that it’s Albert’s car?”

Skippy said, “Of course. All the Skippys had descriptions of the car, and Skippy has better recall than most. It was closed and he didn’t go in, but he called the Compound on his cell phone, and he wrote a description of and directions to the place.” Skippy took a piece of paper from his pocket. “Here. It’s called ‘Henry and Joe’s Salvage Place’. He said it’s not much of a place to look at.”

Murphy took the paper and looked at it. “Right. We can go out there today. I can drive.”

Clarissa looked over at Sammy and smiled a teary smile. She shifted Levi to one arm and held the other open. Sammy walked over an enfolded his family in his arms.

Murphy said, “I’ll wait to see if anyone else wants to go along.”

############

As Skippy had said, it wasn’t much to look at. Someone had spray-painted HENRY AND JOE’S on an old door and had attached it to a tall chicken-wire fence surrounding a yard full of rusty old car bodies and piles of car parts.

While Clarissa strapped Levi into his stroller, Murphy made a call on his cell phone. “Hello, Skippy, yeah, we found it. Your directions were good, as usual. Thank you kindly.”

Murphy put his phone away and said, “Small wonder the Skippys missed this place. It’s not near the road, so you’d miss it if you so much as blink.”

Clarissa said, “Now hold on to Baby, little one. – I certainly didn’t notice any signs on the road for this place. I’m surprised that they get any business.”

Sammy replied, “Evidently they must. Word of mouth, I guess. Are we ready, then? Okay, let’s go in.” The three ferrets walked to the front gate, Clarissa pushing the stroller ahead.

Murphy pulled a cord next to the gate, and an old school bell echoed through the yard. There was what looked like a small shop building across the yard, and they heard a voice shout, “I’m coming! Don’t pull the bell down!” A middle-aged stocky man in greasy coveralls came out. “Yeah, what can I do for –” He stopped when he saw the ferrets. He looked at them for a moment, and then smiled.

“Well, hello there! Nice to see ya folks! My name’s Henry. What can I do for ya?”

Sammy said, “How do you do? We wanted to call ahead of time, but we couldn’t find your business in the phone book. We’ve been looking for a ferret-sized auto that was involved in a crash some time ago, and we have reason to believe that it ended up here somehow.”

The human thought for a moment. “Small car? About your size? Hmmmm… I don’t know if I’ve seen any such thing.” He called back to the shop. “Hey, Joe!”

Another man, a bit taller and thinner than the first, came out of the shop carrying a large crescent wrench. He frowned at the ferrets and said, “Yeah, Henry?”

“These, um, folks think that we have a wrecked car here in the yard, their size. You know about that?”

Joe shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know what all we’ve got here.”

Sammy said, “Well, someone we know is sure he saw a small auto body here. It was around the back.”

Murphy said, “As he described it, it would be over by this wall.” He began to walk down the side of the yard.

“Let me come with you, Murphy. I could identify it.” Clarissa started to follow him, pushing Levi along in the stroller.

Sammy was about to say something to the human named Henry when someone shouted “NO!” Sammy turned just in time to see Joe throw the crescent wrench as hard as he could, directly at Clarissa. It happened fast, but Murphy was faster. He jumped forward and pushed Clarissa and the stroller over. The wrench caught Murphy full in the chest.

Sammy was stunned. Before he realized what was going on, Henry had pulled out a gun and was pointing right at him.

“Don’t move, animal.”

“Baa-BEEEE!!”

Levi’s stroller had been knocked over on its side. He’d lost his grip on his toy otter, and Baby had landed just out of his reach. Levi was helpless, still strapped into the stroller, and he was wailing, reaching out for his toy with his little paws.

Henry said to Joe, “Could you do something about that?”

“Sure.” Joe walked over to the stroller. He took something out of his pocket and flicked open a knife blade. “Nice color on the fur. I could do something with a pelt like that.”

“Knock yourself out.”

Sammy gasped. “No…”

Henry pointed the gun closer. “Don’t try anything, animal!”

Joe stood over the overturned stroller. With tears trailing down his cheeks, Levi looked up at the human and stuffed his fingers in his mouth. Joe got down on his knees and steadied himself on the fist holding the knife.

Levi whimpered and said, “Mamma?”

“Got to it get it out of that contraption.” Joe leaned forward and reached for the straps.

“Mamma? Mamma! Ma-maaa!!”

The crescent wrench slammed down on the hand with the knife; there was the sound of breaking bone. Joe howled with pain and fell over on his back, holding his shattered hand in the air.

Clarissa held the wrench up over her head. She snarled, “You will not harm my child!”

Joe tried to roll over on his stomach and brought his good hand up. Clarissa swung the wrench again and connected with the side of the human’s head. Joe fell backward and didn’t get up again.

Henry swung the gun around and started to say, “You little –”. Immediately something slammed into his back and knocked him over. He dropped the gun as he fell.

When he got his breath back, Henry started to look around for the gun. It was easy to locate.

Many ferrets do not like guns; this is up to individual philosophy about the sanctity of life. But no ferret likes a human gun, for the simple fact of size. It is very hard for a ferret to hold such a large object with any degree of steadiness, so that it can be aimed properly.

Henry’s gun was pointed directly at him. It was in Sammy’s paws, and he was holding it as steady as a rock.

The human sneered. “And what will you do with that, Jew animal? I’ve read about you – the great ferret Rabbi! You value all life, and you wouldn’t hurt anyone! You’ll never pull the trigger, will you?”

Sammy’s aim never wavered. His face showed nothing. He simply said, “You threatened my family.”

Henry stared at the ferret. He was weighing his chances when there was the sound of running feet, and two men in suits came into the salvage yard. They both had guns drawn, and one pulled out a badge. “FBI! Don’t move!”

Henry said, “Thank God you’re here! These creatures barged in here and attacked my partner and me! The one with the gun is dangerous – take him out before he uses it!”

This didn’t have the right effect. The two FBI men pointed their guns at him.

“Didn’t you hear me? Shoot him! I said he was dangerous! Don’t you know what happened here –”

The younger agent said, “Oh, we know exactly what happened here. We’ve heard the whole thing, in fact. Bet you didn’t know your business was wired for sound?” All Henry could do was stare at him.

The older FBI man said, “All right, Rabbi, we can take over from here. You can put the gun down.”

The ferret with the gun may as well have been carved from marble.

“Rabbi?”

All of a sudden the gun seemed like the heaviest object in the world. Sammy let it drop to the ground.

The agent said, “Very good. Lewis, will you help the man to his feet?”

“Yessir.” Agent Lewis pulled Henry up, and he wasn’t too gentle about it. As he got to his feet, the salvage man began to speak urgently.

“What’s wrong with you two? These are evil creatures! Don’t you understand what they’re capable of? They want to kill us all!”

Lewis took some handcuffs out of his pocket. “Oh, yes, I understand. Why, I’ve actually heard them threaten a helpless little human child.” He turned Henry around to put the cuffs on and continued. “Oh, excuse me, I got that all wrong. It was you that threatened their helpless child! I get things so mixed up sometimes.” Henry scowled and spat out an obscenity.

“Maa-maa…”

Sammy gasped and ran over to Levi.

Levi was clutching Baby in his paws and was crying into his mother’s shoulder. Clarissa was sitting down and holding her son tightly, rocking back and forth and making soothing noises.

“Clarissa?”

She looked up at Sammy and said, “I’m fine. We’re fine. Look after Murphy!”

Murphy!

The Sable ferret was sprawled on the ground like a broken doll; he didn’t move as Sammy rushed up to him and knelt down. Murphy’s chest was barely moving and his breathing was erratic.

Murphy eyes fluttered open and he looked up at his friend. “Anybody get the number of that truck?”

Sammy reached over and removed Murphy’s cell phone from its holster. He pushed a red button on the outside and a small red light began to flash.

“Okay, Murphy, help is on the way. You’re hurt pretty bad, so just lay here and don’t try and move.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“This ground is hard. Let’s make you more comfortable.” Sammy took his black yarmulke off and folded it twice to make a cushion. He gently lifted Murphy’s head up. No blood; no head injuries. That was good.

“Here, take this.” A human hand reached down. It was the older FBI agent, and he was holding a folded white handkerchief.

“Thank you.” Sammy lifted Murphy’s head up a little more and the man slipped the handkerchief beneath. Sammy placed his yarmulke on top of the handkerchief and set Murphy’s head down again.

The human took out a cell phone and said, “I’ll call for an emergency vehicle for the Constable.”

Sammy replied, “Not necessary.” He pointed to Murphy’s phone. “The Skippys built an emergency locator and a GPS beacon into each of these cell phones. I activated it when I pushed this button, and the Skippys know to scramble a rescue chopper immediately. I can guarantee you that they’re partway here already.”

Levi looked up and saw the human. The little kit began to panic and thrash around. “Nuh! Nuh! Nuh!” He tried to get away from the human, but Clarissa held him close.

“Hush, little one. Hush. Don’t be frightened. He doesn’t want to hurt you.” Clarissa’s voice wavered slightly. “I won’t let him hurt you.” Levi buried his face in her shoulder and wailed.

Sammy looked up at the human and said, “I apologize; he doesn’t understand what’s going on and he’s frightened.”

The human nodded. “I can’t say as I blame him. I’m the one who should apologize to you and your family. I’m Inspector Morse of the FBI.”

“How do you do, sir? I don’t know if I can thank you enough for arriving when you did. I don’t –” Sammy thought of the gun. Such a vile, hateful thing. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t. The choice –” Sammy shuddered.

“Be thankful you didn’t have to make that choice. Still, you and yours did well on your own. I ought to look after this man.” He stepped over to where Joe lay on the ground and stopped. “What – This man is dead!”

Clarissa looked up in horror. “No… I didn’t…”

Sammy said, “No, you didn’t, my love.” He sniffed. “I think I smell… is that bitter almonds?”

Inspector Morse looked down at Joe’s body. “Bitter almonds? Cyanide?”

“Come on! Spit it out!” Henry was struggling with Agent Lewis, who had him by the neck and had bent him over. “Whatever you’ve got in your mouth, spit it out!”

Henry grinned. “Too… too late, species traitor! We – we warned you!” The man slumped down to the ground.

Sammy looked down at Murphy. His friend had slipped into unconsciousness. There was nothing more Sammy could do until the rescue Skippys got here; he could already hear the unique whit-whit-whit of their helicopter approaching.

Sammy and Clarissa exchanged bewildered looks. What had they gotten into?


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 2

Emergency surgery took close to three hours.

The Skippys tend to be more respectful of the individual than the media circus that passes for news reportage among humans. The Skippy Compound does have its own television station and News Department, but it did not provide “live, continuous coverage” during Murphy’s operation, with some talking heads speaking inanities to fill up the dead air. Still, everyone in the Compound kept an ear out for any news, and when the operation was over, the News Department did break in to regular programming.

Skippy, the head surgeon, came out of the operating room and removed the paper mask from his snout. He looked into the camera and said, “It was touch-and-go there for awhile, and I wouldn’t have wanted to make any predictions. Constable Murphy had several broken ribs, a cracked sternum and extensive internal injuries. But that is one tough hob. He’s been in some serious scrapes before, and he probably will be again in the future. This time was bad, but I think he’s going to make it.”

“I think” from a Skippy is a virtual guarantee. Across the Skippy Compound came the sound of high-pitched cheers.

############

Of course the Intensive Care Unit in the Skippy Compound is one of the best in the world, whether human hospitals would admit it or not. The Skippy’s ICU has one drawback, though: it’s scaled down to ferret-size, and it is simply too small for humans to visit a ferret patient. The best they can do is to hunker down just outside the door and peer inside; this is frowned upon by the ICU staff.

So, there were two humans who were very concerned about Murphy, but they couldn’t see him.

There are, however, places in the Compound that are human-friendly, such as conference rooms. These are large enough to accommodate humans, with human-sized chairs and human-sized tables. The conference tables are specially modified for ferrets, with smaller tables and chairs firmly attached to the large tabletops. Each tabletop is also handicapped-accessible, with a small ferret-sized ramp attached to one side.

Inspector Morse and Agent Lewis of the FBI were sitting at the table in one of the conference rooms. Sitting at the smaller table were Sammy and Clarissa. They were waiting for someone else. Lewis and the ferrets were exchanging small talk. At a work station nearby was the Head Skippy; she was idly tapping away at her laptop.

Sleeping in Inspector Morse’s lap was Levi, holding his stuffed otter and curled up in a little ball of white fur. Morse was marveling at the capacity of forgiveness in one so young. He hoped that Little Levi didn’t lose that innocence too soon.

Clarissa was smiling at something Lewis was saying, but Morse noticed that she kept Levi in sight at all times. He would not have wanted to come between her and her child.

The door to the conference room irised open and a Sable ferret in some sort of mobility device came into the room. Max smiled and waved. “Hi, guys! Sorry I’m late, but I stopped by the ICU.” Then he saw the child in the human’s lap. He lowered his voice. “Woops! Sorry!”

Clarissa said, “Don’t worry about Levi. He won’t wake easily. He’s been through a lot today and it wore him out.”

Max started up the ramp. “I can imagine. You’ve all been through plenty.”

Sammy said, “How’s Murphy?”

Max’s chair turned a corner on the way up the ramp. “Looks like he’ll recover. Skippy says that the internal injuries were bad but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Lots of repair work; if they’d used metal pins instead of ceramic, Murphy would drive the airport security alarms nuts.”

“Murphy might enjoy that.”

“No doubt.” The chair was most of the way to the tabletop. “He’s doped up on pain meds, so he drifts in and out. It’s gonna take awhile for Murph to recover, though. Skippy has decreed that he’ll be bedridden for four months.”

“Four months? Murphy!? Skippy ought to know that Murphy will try and get back on his feet in four weeks!”

Max reached the table top. He smiled. “Actually, Skippy wants it to be six weeks. But he knows Murphy, too. If he’d said six weeks, Skippy knows the d**n fool would’ve stayed in bed for only a few days, so he made some adjustments.” Max stopped in the middle of the table.

Sammy nodded. “That’s Murphy, all right. Max, may I introduce you to Agents Morse and Lewis of the FBI? Fellows, this is Max, the other member of our little team.”

Max held out his paw. “Pleased to meet you.”

Morse and Lewis dutifully shook his paw, but they didn’t say anything in return. They were staring at Max’s mobility device. No doubt this was because it was hovering a couple of inches above the table top.

Finally, Lewis managed to say, “What – what is that?”

Max grinned. “Oh, this? It’s my Hoverchair. Thanks to the Skippys, I don’t have to worry about those silly wheels anymore.” The Head Skippy left off playing on her laptop and was now smiling smugly.

Morse leaned forward and held his hand close to the anti-grav chair’s skirt. “I don’t feel any air.”

“Nope, it’s not a conventional hovercraft.”

Agent Lewis said, “Um… what holds it – um – up?”

Max shrugged. “Skippy tried to explain it to me. But when he gets wound up, his eyes kind of glaze over and he gets really animated. I got as far as something about room-temperature superconducting magnets, and then I got a headache.”

Max turned to the Head Skippy. “Oh, yeah, Murphy wanted me to tell you that you ought to have attached a couple of these things to his hospital bed. That way he could’ve been here.”

Skippy rolled her eyes. “That’s the sort of thing Murphy would want. Crazy weasel.”

Morse said, “H’m. Interesting. A human-sized one of… these… could prove quite useful.”

The Head Skippy replied, “Not yet, I’m afraid. Power on the generator goes up when you scale it up, but the weight goes up even faster. Above a certain size, it can’t even lift itself, much less a passenger. A small-sized one like this is the best we can do now. We’re working on the efficiency, though, and I assure you, once we make improvements, we’ll let you humans know.”

“Well, that’s fine.”

“Of course, whether you listen to us or not – that’s a different story.”

“Ah.”

Max said, “All this is well and good, but we’re meeting here for a reason. What’s the situation?”

Lewis said, “Henry’s still alive, but in a coma – he botched the dosage. It’s iffy whether he comes out of it.”

The Head Skippy was all business. “We found the car in the back of the salvage yard, and my guys are examining it now. We’ve already come to some conclusions about what happened.”

Clarissa hesitated before saying, “What – what did you find?”

“There’s an entry hole in the front end of the car – a bullet hole. Somebody, probably with a rifle, took a potshot at the car.

“This is what we figure happened. Someone was in hiding – or he may have been out hunting and decided to take advantage of the opportunity – when Albert came driving by. The perp took a shot at the car, which apparently severed the brake line, and Albert lost control. After the accident, the sniper and someone else took the car away to hide what happened.”

Morse said, “We found some weapons in the salvage yard – top-of-the-line sniper rifles. Perhaps one of them was used to shoot at the car.”

“Most likely.”

Inspector Morse looked over at Clarissa. The ferret’s eyes glistened with tears. She whispered, “Albert…”

Morse carefully stood up and held Levi out toward her. Clarissa took her son from the human and held him close and let the crying come.

Sammy leaned forward and ran his paw over Clarissa’s back. Levi woke up and smiled up at him. “Daddy.” Sammy bent down and kissed him on the head.

After a few moments, Max softly said, “Inspector, you must have known who these people were. Why had the FBI bugged their place?”

Morse cleared his throat. “Well – yes. There’s been some activity lately among White Supremacist groups. We suspected these two were involved. We couldn’t get anything from wiretaps that would be admissible in court, of course, but we did want to know what they were up to.”

Lewis said, “It seems that the Supremacists have been changing their goals lately. Nowadays they talk about ‘Humans First’.”

The ferrets looked at him. Sammy said, “Us.”

Morse nodded. “Yes, they talk about targeting ferrets. We have a sample here of some recent literature.” He pulled out a pamphlet and handed it to Max.

It was cheaply made, poorly reproduced, with several glaring typos. Typical. The title page stated GOD MEANT HUMANS TOO RULE! Max turned the page and saw a photo of someone with a scraggly beard and a gap-toothed grin. On his head he wore some sort of animal skin –

Max looked up. “Please tell me that isn’t what it looks like.”

Morse replied, “We thought it was at first, but we have our doubts now. It doesn’t look right.”

“Let me see.” Max passed the pamphlet over to the Head Skippy, who peered closely at the photo. Finally she shook her head. “No, you’re right. The color of the fur and the shape of the head are different. I’m certain that that’s a weasel pelt he’s got on his head.

“Besides, if any of our folk had gone missing, I assure you that we would have heard about it.”

Morse said, “We think this was taken in the Northwest – Idaho maybe.”

Max said, “My parents live in Oregon, and they haven’t mentioned anyone disappearing.”

The Head Skippy handed the pamphlet back. “No, this isn’t one of ours, thankfully.” The look on her face was grim. “But that doesn’t mean that they wouldn’t if they had the chance.”

Morse nodded. “We think so, too. So now White Supremacy is evolving to Species Supremacy.”

Max said, “That’s not much of a stretch, really. Racism can easily justify itself by claiming that other people are of an inferior species. ‘They’ may look like ‘us’, but they’re not, because of, say, skin color.”

Sammy said, “Or religion.”

“Or religion, right. I’m Catholic, and we’ve had our share. But people in the past have tried to make Jews out as a separate race. Of course, we ferrets have been persecuted as well. What’s really sad is that we really are a separate species.”

Max looked at the humans. “We’re different. That doesn’t make us better or worse than you. We’re just… different.”

Clarissa had no trace of bitterness in her voice. Maybe she should have. “It’s like my Sammy has said before – humans don’t handle ‘different’ very well.”

Morse looked back at her. He felt tired. “I know. It doesn’t help you much, but I am truly sorry.”

“Thank you,” Clarissa replied. “That means a lot.”

The Head Skippy asked the humans, “What will you do now?”

Morse said, “We’re treating the salvage yard as a crime scene. Properly speaking, we shouldn’t have let you take the car away, but – well…

“We think these two were part of a larger network – here in Kansas and elsewhere across the country. Those two had a sophisticated computer setup, and we think they were connected to other groups. Our people are already trying to get in, but we’ve had no luck so far.”

Lewis said, “Much of what’s on the computer is encrypted and password-protected. We’re working on cracking it, but it’ll take some time.”

“And we have to get back to it.” Morse stood up. “I want to thank you for all of your help.”

Max replied, “I’m afraid we haven’t been that much help to you, but you’re welcome all the same.”

Clarissa said, “And we thank you, too.”

“You’re welcome. Come along, Lewis. I could use a drink.”

Agent Lewis whispered to the ferrets, “And guess who’s going to pay for it.” He waved at Levi and followed Inspector Morse out the door.

A few minutes later the room intercom beeped. The Head Skippy said, “Yes.”

Skippy’s voice came over the comm. “The two humans are getting into their car now. They’ll be taking off here pretty quick.”

“Right. Thanks.” The Head Skippy opened her laptop and began vigorously typing away.

Max said, “Don’t tell me. You’re going to hack into the salvage yard computer.”

“Nope.” Skippy grinned. “I did that while we were talking to them. The contents of the computer are being remotely downloaded as we speak. What I’m doing now is writing an e-mail to the FBI that’ll give them tips on passwords and encryption keys. It’ll be anonymous, of course. I’ll send it to them… eventually.”

“That’s uncommonly generous of you.”

The Head Skippy snorted. “Yeah, well, it would’ve been nice if they’d told us about this Species Supremacist thing that they were investigating.” She shook her head. “Humans.

“Ah, we’ve downloaded the contents of the humans’ computer to our server. Let’s see what we can find.” She tapped away at her laptop.

In a few minutes, she said, “Oh, my. The Feds are gonna have a real treasure trove – names of groups, private websites, detailed plans – that and a lot more. These goons weren’t too concerned with privacy.” She looked closely at the screen. “Hmmmm… Say, there are detailed invoices here, too. It looks like somebody was bankrolling these speciesist bastards. For quite a bit, if I can trust these figures.”

Max replied, “Where humans and money are concerned, you can always ‘trust the figures’. Where’s the cash coming from?”

“That won’t be easy to tell, I think. The sponsors would be sure to cover their tracks closely. There are records here of hefty cash transfers to a bank in western Kansas. The origin point – let me look here…” Shortly, she said, “I figured as much. A dummy address and a rerouter. If we follow that, now –” She typed and looked, typed and looked. “We come to… another dummy address and another rerouter. And we go on from there.”

Clarissa said, “Can you follow it, though? They could have done that sort of thing fifty times.”

“So we do this fifty-one times. This might take awhile.” The Head Skippy hunched over the laptop and did a lot of typing.

She had to do it fifty-six times.

“Got it!” Skippy looked up. “The people bankrolling these bozos – and probably a lot of others – have originally been depositing the money in the Narodowy Bank Polski – the Polish National Bank. It looks like the actual deposits have been made about once every month at the central branch in Warsaw.”

Clarissa and Sammy looked at each other. Sammy finally whispered, “Poland…”


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 3

He’d only been a small kit at the time, but Sammy could clearly recall his Grandpapa when he was in the hospital after the heart attack, with the electronic monitor and the intravenous drip. Seeing his best friend now was tearing his heart out.

Murphy was connected to two IVs, with an oxygen feed under his nostrils. A high-tech monitor displayed readouts on Murphy’s heart rate, blood pressure, breathing rate and several other data points. Murphy was pale, and his breathing was uneasy.

Sammy and Clarissa, with Levi in her arms, stood by the bed and looked down at him. Levi clutched his stuffed otter and leaned forward. “Muffy?”

Murphy’s eyes opened and he smiled weakly. “Yeah – Muffy’s here. Hi, there, kid.”

Levi leaned forward, and Clarissa gently laid him on the bed next to Murphy. She said, “Be careful, sweetheart.”

Levi held the otter toy out to Murphy. “Baby.”

Murphy slowly reached out and took the toy. “Nice of Baby to come.” He hugged the stuffed toy close and Levi snuggled next to him.

Sammy said, “How are you feeling, Murph?”

Murphy wrapped an arm around Levi and replied, “It hurts. I won’t lie to you. Skippy has me on morphine, and it makes things a little easier. But it still hurts.”

Sammy said quietly, “You saved my family’s lives, Murphy. Thank you.”

“Any time. How’d the meeting with the Feds go?”

Clarissa replied, “We learned a little from them, but not much. These humans were apparently part of a hate group that the FBI is keeping an eye on.”

Sammy said, “It used to be that they only hated other humans, but now it seems like they’re turning their attentions to ferrets.”

Murphy nodded. “Hate is hate. There’s probably plenty to hate if you just go looking for it. It’s a lot easier to find someone or something else to blame your problems on, rather than accepting the responsibility yourself. I presume that the FBI will be following up on this.”

Sammy said, “I wouldn’t be surprised. I think that the Skippys kind of suspected – and I did, too, and most likely you did – but now they’re sure of it. The Head Skippy said they’ll be taking steps to protect us.”

Murphy said, “And woe to any human that tries to take the Skippys on. So, now what do we do?”

“These people seem to be well-financed – homegrown hate groups don’t normally have fancy sniper rifles and cyanide capsules. The Head Skippy managed to hack into Henry and Joe’s computer and traced the money trail. Murphy, someone in Poland is financing these groups. Someone in Poland hates ferrets enough to support this.”

Murphy sighed – or tried to. “Ow. That means someone is going to Poland, then?”

“Yes. I’m going. There’s also the Lodz ferret community. I’ll want to track them down – if any are still there. In fact, I’ll tell everyone that that’s the reason for the trip. I’ll keep quiet about the main reason I’ll be going.”

Clarissa said, “And I’ll be going with him.” She looked at Sammy. “I will not let my husband go into danger alone.”

Murphy said, “Good idea. If you’ll wait a few days, I’ll go with you.”

Clarissa looked at him. “No, Murphy. You need to stay here and heal.”

“Ahh, come on! All this looks – Ouch! – looks worse than it really is. A few days, I can sit up, and I can sweet-talk Skippy into putting me in a good, strong cast. I can borrow one of Max’s old wheelchairs. Not that I’ll really need it –”

“No!” Clarissa leaned over the bed and almost came snout-to-snout with Murphy. “Murphy, you have been seriously injured; you’re lucky to be alive. You need to heal. You will lay here in this hospital bed until you are fully recovered from your injuries, and you will not get up until Doctor Skippy says that you’re ready to! Now we care about you very much, Murphy, and we want you to be well again.” She smiled at him. The smile was love sculpted from polished steel. “Do you understand?”

Murphy looked at her and finally said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

Little Levi frowned at Murphy and said, “Yeah!”

Murphy looked back at Levi. “You’re not helping any, kid.”

Sammy said, “You think that’s bad, Murph, I tried talking her out of going with me.” He shook his head. “It didn’t do me any good, either.”

Murphy tried sighing again. “Ouch. Who is going with you, then?”

“Max is going. So is Second-in-Command Skippy; it turns out that he speaks fluent Polish. A couple of other Skippys will go along. As soon as the Head Skippy gets our passports straightened out, we’ll be flying over in the Skippys’ SST.”

Clarissa stroked her son’s pretty Albino fur. “My mother and Sammy’s will be looking after Levi while we’re gone. They both said that they’d bring him here to visit you.”

“That would be nice. I could always use the company.”

Sammy said, “You’ll have plenty of visitors, don’t worry. Probably several folks from my congregation will drop by to look in on you. For Jews, visiting the sick and infirm is a mitzvah - a Commandment from God.”

Murphy smiled at Sammy and Clarissa and gently pulled Levi closer. “Thank you guys. For everything. If you’ll excuse me, I’m kind of tired…” He got comfortable and closed his eyes.

############

Sammy gazed out the window. The Skippy Supersonic Transport was traveling at 45,000 feet above the state of Virginia, and at that altitude the landscape seemed to be crawling along below them at a snail’s pace. Sammy knew that the SSST was flying at 650 mph, but it seemed to him that they were making virtually no progress at all. That was the kind of mood he was in; he was restless and impatient and he wanted to get there now.

Sammy turned around and looked at his seatmate; Clarissa smiled at him and squeezed his paw. Sammy thought that his wife must be at least as anxious to get to Poland as he was, but she didn’t complain and she looked relaxed. That made Sammy feel better, if not a bit ashamed of himself. They’d get there, sooner or later.

Max sat a few seats away. He was busy, at least. He had brought the galley sheets for his latest Western novel and was taking the opportunity to proofread them. Sammy couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t sure who owned the Lone Ranger copyright, but they’d recently granted permission for someone to write a new series of novels featuring the character – and they’d chosen a ferret with a built-in mask to do it.

The cockpit door opened and Second-in-Command Skippy came through. “Just wanted to tell you folks that we’re coming up on Chesapeake Bay. In a few minutes we’ll hit the Coast. As soon as we pass the Three-Mile Limit, we can go supersonic.”

Apparently Clarissa had been more impatient than she’d let on. “It’s about time! If we’d been traveling that fast when we left Wichita, we could have been halfway there by now!”

“I know. But, like I said before, we’ve got restrictions from the FAA. No private jet can go faster than the speed of sound over US territory. Sonic booms, they say.”

“But… you said that this plane doesn’t make sonic booms!”

Skippy nodded. “And that’s true. You can minimize the noise from supersonic shock waves if you design the wings and fuselage just right. NASA did fairly well with their Quiet Spike program a few years back, and the Skippys built on that and proved it was possible.

“You know it. I know it. The aircraft industry looks at what we’ve done and they’re going nuts, but the FAA insists that it isn’t possible, so they give us these restrictions. And believe me, they’re watching this plane like a hawk to see that we don’t do a no-no. Our transponder has been registering radar hits since we took off in Kansas.”

Max put away his galleys and looked up. “Sounds to me like the Feds have some serious sour grapes going on.”

“Yeah, but once we’re over international waters, we can open the throttle and we’ll cross the Atlantic in three hours. Europe has never had any problems with us, as long as we dodge England – and that’s our choice.”

Sammy asked, “Where will we land when we reach Poland? Can we fly directly to Lodz?”

“We could if we wanted, but we probably ought to land at the Frederic Chopin Airport in Warsaw, if only long enough to clear Customs. It seems the polite thing to do.”

Skippy’s voice came over the intercom system. “Hey, boss, we’re a couple of minutes from the Coast.”

Skippy replied, “Thanks, I’ll be right there. Okay, folks, strap yourselves in. We’ll light the jets soon and see what this puddle-jumper can really do!”

############

When a small aircraft called in to W³adys³aw Reymont Airport near Lodz for landing clearance, the operator in the control tower didn’t think much of it, at first; small aircraft came in all the time. The pilot’s voice seemed high-pitched, but he attributed that to something with the radio. But when the craft came into view on final approach, he realized that it was very small indeed. Then he rethought that high-pitched voice.

He’d heard of the talking fretki of Lodz, but they’d been rarely seen since the unrest of the mid-90’s. He wasn’t even sure that any were still around. And he was positive that none of them had had such a sleek airplane as that one.

The small aircraft came in for a picture-perfect landing, and the pilot requested ground clearance. The operator thought for a moment, and then shrugged. The ferret seemed very polite – which was more than he could have said for many human pilots – and it did speak near-perfect Polish. He gave the clearance and taxiing instructions and received a friendly ”Dziekuje” for his efforts. As long as the fretka could pay the airport fees, it was no bother to him.

############

Murphy – being Murphy – had referred to it as the “Skippymobile”. The Skippys had laughed at the name, and then had turned around and trademarked it. It was a miniature version of a utility van, and for a ferret it was large. It was rugged and could travel almost anywhere that there was a hint of a pathway. There were accommodations for seven to eight passengers, with a compact kitchen and fold-out beds. In the back was a computer and communications setup, which could access the SkippySat® system from practically anywhere in the world. The vehicle, of course, was handicapped-friendly and was large enough to carry Max’s Hovercraft, with a backup wheelchair in storage.

After the SSST had landed, the Skippymobile® had been unloaded and the four ferrets were now driving through the streets of Lodz near the southern outskirts. Lodz is a modern industrial city, but this section of town was lightly populated and retained the feel of a village.

The Skippymobile® parked in an open square, surrounded by several medieval buildings. The ferrets got out and looked around.

Sammy said, “It’s been some time since I’ve received any communications from Rabbi Cotton, but as best as I can figure, his synagogue was somewhere nearby.”

Several humans were walking by. They glanced at the ferrets, but continued on their way, pretending that there was nothing unusual about talking animals. A small boy, about four or five, stopped to stare. He pointed at the ferrets and said something to his mother, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

Clarissa pointed at an old building with the Star of David above the ornate door. “Love, that looks large for ferrets. Could that be a human synagogue?”

Sammy nodded. “I believe it is. Cotton mentioned one nearby. That would be a good place to start asking around.”

Max looked up at the synagogue. “It’s a nice building, I must say.”

Someone tapped a paw on his shoulder. Max turned around and looked at the building Skippy was pointing at.

It looked at least as old as the synagogue, but there was an ornate cross on the front wall. Skippy said, “I think that’s the Catholic Church here.”

Max nodded. “I’d say you’re right. Think they’ll let us attend Mass?”

“I don’t see why not. We can check when Mass is. For now – Sammy, would you like us to come with you?”

“I’d appreciate it.” The four ferrets headed for the synagogue.

############

It was a cozy little synagogue, like the ferrets’ back in Wichita. There was a bulletin board next to the entrance, covered with sheets of paper. Sammy couldn’t read the words, but he could guess what they were – announcements of fund-raisers, auctions, bake sales. Just like home. He wondered how good the synagogue was at raising money, but from the looks of things, not very well. The building looked like it could use some structural repairs and a good coat of paint.

Rabbi Nikolai’s desk was, as usual, piled high with papers, books, letters and the like. He was bending down now, writing something in some sort of ledger. There was a knock on his study door.

He looked up and said, “Yes, Andrzej, is that you? What is it?”

A young man opened the door. “Rabbi, you have some visitors. Shall I show them in?” The young man’s voice held a little bit of awe.

“Very well, let them in. See if you can find some refreshment.” Andrzej stepped back from the door. “Now, then, what can I –” He stopped when he heard footsteps, but saw no one. He realized that the footsteps were very light, and he stood up and looked over his desk.

The Rabbi was astonished to see four ferrets, standing on their hind feet and wearing clothing, in front of his desk. Rather, three were standing there, and the fourth was sitting in some sort of moving chair – with no wheels.

The Rabbi stared for a few moments, and then realization came to him and he grinned. He said, in Polish, “Well, now, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen any of you folk around here! Where have you been hiding yourselves?”

One of the ferrets replied, in Polish, “Actually, sir, we are not from here. We are from America.”

Rabbi Nikolai recognized that the Polish, good as it was, was delivered in a strange accent. He switched to English. “Ah, I see. Welcome to Poland, then, my little friends.” The human walked around to the front of the desk and leaned against the edge. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Sammy smiled. The human Rabbi was in his late 50’s, with a long, bushy white beard and a large waistline; the Jewish patriarchs must have looked like him. He seemed pleasant and friendly enough. Sammy replied, “We’re pleased to meet you, sir. My friends and I came here to try and track down the ferret community here in Lodz.”

Nikolai nodded. “I see. I knew there were ferrets like you in America, and I’m surprised that you hadn’t come here before.”

“Well, the ferrets here are very independent. They don’t encourage visitors. I didn’t know if we’d be welcome. But now… We hadn’t heard anything from them in a long time, and I thought that we ought to check up on them.”

“Ah.” The human frowned. “I hope you’re not too late. There have never been many ferrets here. But after the anti-ferret demonstrations in Poland in the 90’s, they’ve practically disappeared. Oh, I’m sure that there were still some around, but they apparently went into hiding after that. We’ve caught glimpses from time to time, but now, with the recent unrest…” The human sighed. “We’ve not seen any at all. We thought that they’d left entirely.”

Sammy shook his head. “I know how proud they are. There’s virtually nothing I know of that would make them leave.”

Clarissa said, “They had a synagogue near here, didn’t they? What’s happened to that?”

Rabbi Nikolai looked at her sadly. “It was only a few months ago. Someone set fire to the ferrets’ temple. There’s nothing now but ashes and charred timbers. It was a lovely building. I’m sorry.”

Clarissa sighed and leaned against her husband. Max leaned forward and touched his friend on the back. “Sammy, I’m so sorry.”

Sammy looked down at the floor. He said softly, “That’s all right. A synagogue’s just a building. But it houses sacred things. The Torah…” He looked up at the human. “Were there… casualties? Did anyone find…?” His voice trailed off.

Rabbi Nikolai replied, “We’ve looked through the ruins, but found no remains. The search was not thorough, however. The people around here are… ambivalent about talking animals. I would even say they were superstitious.”

Sammy nodded. “I can understand that. Perhaps there were survivors. We’ll have to look.”

The human said, “If they were meant to survive, they would have survived. It is in God’s hands. “Of course…” Nikolai smiled. “Sometimes we are God’s hands.”

Sammy could not read the human’s smile.

Skippy said, “Sammy, it’s getting late in the day. We ought to think about our plans for this evening.”

“You’re right.” Sammy said to the human, “Sir, my wife and I would like to attend the evening services. Our friends will attend services of their own at the Catholic church.”

Rabbi Nikolai replied, “Of course you may attend. We start at Sundown, of course. Do you have a place to stay the night? You’d be welcome to bed down here.”

Skippy replied, “We prefer staying with our vehicle. There might be trouble, and it has an alarm system. Please understand, but we want to be protected.”

“As you wish, little ones.”

############

It was a small church, but a nice one. Skippy walked and Max glided down the aisle, looking around. The wooden pews and the altar were polished to a fine sheen. The icon behind the altar looked to be centuries old.

Max said, softly, “I like the stained glass windows.”

Skippy replied, “They’re quite old. Many churches in Lodz were vandalized during the Nazi occupation, but this one survived more or less intact.”

Footsteps could be heard, and a thin, white-haired man dressed in a white cassock appeared. He said, “Hello? Is someone here? Can I help –” He stopped and stared at the ferrets for a moment.

He finally said, “We have not seen your kind around here in a long time. Dare I ask what you two are doing here?”

Skippy replied, in Polish, “Hello. My friend and I are visiting from America. We are Roman Catholic, and we want to attend services tonight.”

The priest made a noise of disappointment. “Oh, phoo. And here I was thinking that some of the Jewish ferrets around here had decided to convert! Ah, well, one can hope.”

A second man in a less ornate cassock appeared. “Father Emil, did I hear voices?” The man looked at the ferrets.

Father Emil said, “Roman Catholic ferrets from America.”

Skippy and Max said, “How do you do?”

The man bent down to shake paws. “I am pleased to meet you. I’m the sexton here.”

Father Emil shook hand and paw as well. He straightened up and said, in English, “Flattered as I am that you chose our church for services, I’m certain that you didn’t travel all the way here for just that. What brings you to our city?”

Max replied, “We came with some friends. We are trying to find out what has become of the Jewish ferret community here.”

Father Emil sighed. “I assure you that we would help if we could, but we know very little. I haven’t seen ferrets around here in significant numbers for well over two decades.”

The sexton said, “Since the Troubles – I’m sure you know about them.” The human looked sad. “I’ve missed the ferrets. They were always friendly to us.”

Max replied, “It’s nice of you to say that. Any help that you can give would be appreciated. But the main reason my friend and I are here is to inquire about services. May we attend?”

The priest smiled. “Certainly! Mass is held at Eight O’clock tonight. You will be most welcome.”

Skippy asked, “Will you hear Confession tonight?”

The priest and the sexton glanced at each other. They both got an odd look on their faces. Father Emil turned back and said, “If you wish, I will hear your Confession tonight, little one.”

Max wasn’t sure to make of this. He decided to stay on guard.


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 4

At Sundown, the Ma'ariv service began with the Barechu, the formal public call to prayer. Clarissa and Sammy were surrounded by humans mumbling their prayers in Hebrew. The synagogue followed the traditional practice of separating the men and women during service, but no one objected to Clarissa standing by Sammy’s side. Some humans, however, seemed to be concerned about their presence, simply because they were ferrets.

At one point, Clarissa whispered in Sammy’s ear, “Have you noticed that some of these people have been making gestures at us?”

Sammy whispered back, “With their fingers? Yes. It’s a sign to ward off evil spirits. They’ve been trying to be discreet about it, but I’ve noticed it just as you have.”

Clarissa kept her voice down, but there was still hurt there. “I don’t like it that they think of us as evil spirits.”

Sammy squeezed her paw. “I know, but I don’t think they can help it. We’re different, and you know how humans are about anything different.”

Thankfully, many of the humans – perhaps even most of them – seemed to have no problem with the ferrets. Rabbi Nikolai was nice enough. However, it is customary for a synagogue to offer any visitors the opportunity of leading the congregation in prayers, and no one had approached Sammy.

############

Max’s and Second-in-Command Skippy’s experiences at Mass took a different turn.

People gave them furtive glances during the service, to be sure, and they were suppressing their feelings about something. But Max couldn’t sense any hostility. No one made hand gestures at them, at least. If Max could sense anything, it was anticipation and… amusement? Were these people waiting for something? And what?

Father Emil didn’t hesitate in offering Communion to Max and Skippy, along with the other humans. Indeed, he’d prepared for it. He’d broken the Host into pieces small enough to fit on ferret tongues.

Then came Confession. Skippy went first and got into a short line of humans in front of the Confessional. The line moved steadily but not too slowly – apparently these folks hadn’t been very wicked lately.

Soon Skippy was next. He waited politely until the woman before him came out, and he went in after her and closed the door.

The congregation became completely quiet. And somebody giggled. Max was very puzzled.

Suddenly a shriek came from the Confessional, and Father Emil came staggering out, a look of horror on his face. He swayed where he was, staring at the Confessional, and then he turned and ran down the aisle, waving his arms and wailing in despair.

Skippy came out of the confessional and stared goggle-eyed after the priest. And the whole congregation began to howl with laughter.

An elderly lady stopped laughing long enough to lean over and speak to Max. “I apologize to you and your friend. But Father Emil likes to – how do you Americans say it? – pull that prank during Confession. But it has happened to each of us too many times for it to be fresh anymore, and we seldom get visitors. It is nothing personal.”

Max smiled and nodded. “We take no offense, thank you.” But he decided his Confession would be in private.

############

Sammy said, “I think I like this Father Emil.” Clarissa giggled.

Second-in-Command Skippy was unfolding the beds in the Skippymobile® – a single for himself, a double for Sammy and Clarissa, and a special bed for Max with side rails. He replied, “Well, I’m glad you’re amused.” But he didn’t sound like he meant it.

Max, in the role of mediator, said, “Besides that, though, it was a nice service. Everyone was nice to us.” Skippy was pulling out the privacy curtains, and he stopped long enough to scowl as Max. But he kept quiet.

Max continued. “Okay, Sammy, I guess you’re in charge. What do you want to do?”

Sammy replied, “We should find some clues about what happened to the ferret community here. I want to check out the ruins of the synagogue first thing tomorrow morning.”

Clarissa wasn’t giggling now. “It’s going to look horrible, I just know. That won’t be easy for you, love.”

Sammy sighed. “I know. But I have to look. Someone has to. However, that’s not the only reason we’re here.”

Skippy finished with the curtains around the double bed. “Right. We have to track down the money for the anti-ferret people.”

Sammy said, “Any ideas on that, Skippy?”

“We were able to track the funds to the Narodowy Bank in Warsaw, but you can only do so much online. The next step is gonna involve real-life research.”

“That’s what I figured. That means someone will have to go to Warsaw and poke around.”

Skippy replied, “I can do that. I don’t know if I could get into the Bank, but I can figure something out, I suppose.”

Sammy nodded and he was lost in thought for a moment.

Finally he said, “Perhaps you can do something else while you’re there. I have a hunch that the anti-ferret demonstrations in the ‘90’s may have something to do with the disappearance of the Lodz ferrets. You might want to check through the back issues of some newspapers.”

“The Warsaw Library.”

“Exactly.”

Clarissa spoke up. “I’m pretty good with newspaper research. Maybe I can go with Skippy.”

Skippy said, “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

Sammy said, “And to me. I know how this sounds, love, but things may be dangerous here, and I want you safe.”

Clarissa looked at him and gently said, “I want you safe, too, sweetheart. But we have to be realistic about who can do what. I want you to be careful.”

Max spoke up. “Sammy won’t be alone, Clarissa. I’ll go with him tomorrow to search the synagogue and look for clues.” He grinned. “I’m not as helpless as I look.”

Clarissa smiled. “Oh, I can believe it.”

Sammy sat up. “Fine, then. Folks, we’ll have a long day tomorrow, so let’s get some sleep.”

############

The ferrets awoke just before sunrise and had a light breakfast. Sammy had wanted to get started before most of the humans were up and around.

Skippy and Clarissa were almost ready to leave for Warsaw. The overcast sky was just beginning to turn a lighter gray in the East. Skippy was making a few last minute adjustments to Max’s Hoverchair, and Sammy and Clarissa were saying their goodbyes.

Sammy gave Clarissa a gentle kiss and held her out at arm’s length. He said, “Now you be careful.”

Clarissa replied, “You be careful! I’m sure it won’t be dangerous in a big city like Warsaw, and I can take care of myself. I think that you’re more likely to get into trouble.”

Her paw gently stroked the white fur in her husband’s chest. She said, “There are times, my love, when I wish we didn’t get into dangerous situations – that you get into. I would so much love to just live a simple life, where no one wanted to hurt us.”

“I know,” Sammy replied gravely. “Someone has to fight for the Right. It’s not so much that I want to do these things, as it is that I feel that sometimes I must. I think God wants me to. For me, it’s a mitzvah.”

Clarissa nodded. “I think that it’s a mitzvah for me, too.”

Sammy held her close and said, “And we’re ferrets. I don’t think we can ever live a simple life.”

Clarissa pulled back and looked up at him. “But we will never stop trying. I know.” They leaned forward and kissed again.

Skippy stood up. “There. Your fuel cells are working fine. The Emergency Beacon is working – anything goes wrong, it’ll automatically turn on and I’ll get the signal with my Skip-PDA®.”

Max said, “Is the cell phone coverage okay here in Poland?”

“With the SkippySat® system? Of course. Then again, I may not be near my phone.” Skippy looked up at the cloudy sky. “It looks like it might rain. Not now, but later in the day, say early afternoon. You should be fine outdoors. Okay, I think we’re ready to go. How about you folks?”

Clarissa gave Sammy one more kiss and said, “I’m ready. See you later, my love. I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you.” Sammy and Max watched the Skippymobile® drive away, until it had disappeared from sight.

Max said, “Okay, do you have directions to the ferrets’ synagogue?”

Sammy nodded. “It’s a few blocks over that way. After you, friend.”

“No, no, you go first. Old Testament before New.”

############

The fires had gone cold weeks ago, and rain had come several times. What remained were charred timbers, collapsed stone walls still black from grime, and a muddy mess of ashes. The synagogue was nothing more than a skeleton.

Sammy stood for the longest time, saying nothing, simply staring at the ruins. Max waited nearby; he did not intrude on his friend’s grief.

A middle-aged, overweight woman came waddling by. She didn’t seem perturbed by the sight of two ferrets, one in a floating chair. She stopped and bent over to whisper to Max.

“I’ve walked this way every day for over twenty years. I enjoyed seeing the building. I thought it was pretty.”

Max looked up at her and said, “Thank you, Ma’am. And I’m sure my friend thanks you, too.”

Sammy turned around. “I do, Ma’am. It means a lot.”

The woman gravely nodded. “I am truly sorry that this had to happen to your folk. Not all of us want to hurt you.”

Sammy only nodded. The woman walked on her way.

Max moved his chair up beside Sammy and said, “I don’t see any remains – at least not at first glance. There might be some buried. But it looks like there were no casualties.”

“No. I can only hope so.” Sammy shook his head. “But the Torah. That’s important, too. The Torah is the most sacred object of any synagogue. I can only hope that when they escaped, someone managed to rescue it.” He gestured at the ruins. “Who knows what’s buried here?”

Max said softly, “We have to look.”

Sammy nodded. “Yes. You start over there, and I’ll look over here.” He waded into the ruined, shuffling among the debris.

Max flipped a switch and more power was fed to the anti-gravs. His chair gave out a high-pitched whine and rose a few inches higher above the ground, so that he could easily levitate over the debris. He headed off in the other direction.

Sammy had never seen a picture of the synagogue when it was intact – Rabbi Cotton had never sent photographs – but there was just enough left that he could imagine what it had originally looked like. It had to have been a lovely building.

He could tell where closets, separate rooms, and storage rooms had been. The bimah – the raised platform for the Torah reading – was in the center of the synagogue; no surprise there. It seemed to have come through the fire relatively intact, although the reading table was now a pile of debris in the center. And near what remained of the back wall –

Sammy gasped. The ark – the receptacle for the synagogue’s Torah scroll – was virtually undamaged. There were a few scorch marks, but it was still a lovely piece of architecture. Rabbi Cotton had written of his pride in the delicate fretwork on the doors.

But the Torah. Was it still in the ark? If it were, what condition was it in?

Sammy hesitated. He thought that the congregation would have taken it with them when they’d escaped. But he couldn’t be sure. He could believe that the scroll was safe – as long as he didn’t look. But he was afraid of what he’d find.

But he had to look. He carefully shuffled forward.

So far, Max hadn’t seen anything among the ruins that he’d consider important. Apparently no personal items had survived the fire – no books, no clothing. He wasn’t certain what he was looking for, really. But he kept his head down and glided along.

He was never sure why he looked up when he did; maybe he heard something. When he did look ahead of him, he saw the face of a little ferret child.

It’s anyone’s guess who was more surprised. The child’s dark eyes were wide as she stared at Max. Max’s eyes were probably just as big.

Neither one of them moved for a moment. Then the child spun around and ran away among the charred ruins.

Max shook off his shock and shouted after her. “Wait! Come back! I won’t harm you!” He pushed the throttle on his chair forward and flew after her.

Sammy hadn’t quite reached the ark when he heard Max’s shout, and he ran toward it. He was just in time to see Max’s chair speeding ahead. And just beyond, he saw a little child just as she turned a corner and disappeared.

Sammy ran after Max and the girl. They both had a head start, but Sammy was quick on his legs, and he was soon right behind Max. As he followed the Hoverchair, some part of his mind registered something odd. The air seemed to have gotten chilly. He didn’t think much of it and quickly forgot.

The appearance of the girl had been surprise enough for Max and Sammy. When they turned the corner, they got a bigger surprise. A few yards away, an adult Panda Blaze ferret wearing a dark blue yarmulke was standing there.

The ferret softly said, “Przyksc! Szybko!” and stepped to one side. Yet another surprise: He was standing right next to a large hole in the ground.

Max and Sammy didn’t even stop. A ramp led down into the earth; the hole was large enough and the ramp was shallow enough that Max’s Hoverchair could handle it easily. He went down, closely followed by Sammy.

A tunnel led away from the entrance, and the two followed the Panda Blaze deeper beneath the earth. Surprisingly, they could easily see where they were going; Sammy noticed that the light came from very small electrical lamps on the walls.

Finally the Panda Blaze stopped. Just beyond him, the little girl was peeking from behind the skirts of a lovely jill who was staring at Max and Sammy.

The Panda Blaze said brusquely, “Ktory jestescie ty?” Then he looked at Sammy more closely.

The ferret said in English. “Your yarmulke… Black and red…” He continued, wonder in his voice, “From America? Rabbi Sammy?”

Sammy began to have his suspicions. “Yes… You must be…”

A smile broke out on the Panda Blaze’s face. “I am Rabbi Cotton!”

“Cotton!!” The two Rabbis met in a strong, bone-crushing embrace.

After a few moments, Cotton broke the embrace and said, “It is good to finally meet you, friend.”

Sammy replied, “And it is good to meet you. Cotton, may I introduce you to my gentile friend Max? He’s one of the finest folks I know.”

“Of course he is. He’s a ferret, after all.” Cotton and Max warmly shook paws. “Welcome to our home. Tell me, Sammy, why have you come to Poland?”

Sammy replied, “because of you. I had heard nothing from you for months, and I hear instead rumors of new troubles with the humans. I have been worried.”

Rabbi Cotton said, “I appreciate your concern, but we’re a tough lot. We can take care of ourselves. For almost two centuries, we’ve had to.”

“I know. But there have been developments in America. Our relationship with the humans there has always been strained, as here. But recently some anti-ferret groups have arisen – violent ones. My family was attacked, and another friend was severely injured.”

Max spoke up. “Someone has been financing these hate groups, and our folk were able to trace the money. The trail led here, to Poland.”

Rabbi Cotton looked distressed. “That is bad. That is very bad. We’ve been attacked recently by groups of humans as well. A few of us have been killed. It never occurred to me that someone was supporting them here. Sammy, my friend, it may be the same human that is financing the groups in America.”

Sammy sighed. “I’m afraid that it’s very likely. But you – how have you been able to survive?”

Cotton smiled. “As you can plainly see, my friends, we’ve gone underground. Come, follow me.” He turned and walked deeper into the tunnel. Sammy walked and Max glided behind.

The tunnel sloped gently down and penetrated deeper below the earth. It opened up wider and taller, so it was comfortable for about three ferrets to walk along side by side. Doorways appeared on either side, and Max could see that they led into rooms large enough to serve as decent-sized apartments for ferret families. Ferrets peered out of the doorways at the strangers. More ferrets appeared. And more ferrets. And still more ferrets.

Max said, “Rabbi Cotton, how many of you folks live down here?”

Cotton looked back and said, “We don’t keep an accurate count, but at least four hundred.”

Sammy gasped in surprise. “Four hundred? So this is where you’ve all been!”

“Yes. After the anti-ferret times of the mid-90’s, we decided that we could not stay above ground for very much longer. It wasn’t widely reported, but the humans went far beyond mere public demonstrations. There was violence done against our kind and a few ferrets were killed. The elders sat down and decided that we needed to go into hiding.”

Cotton stopped and made a sweeping gesture with his paw. “So we began to dig the tunnels beneath the synagogue. We took our time about it – we wanted to make this new home as comfortable as possible – and we didn’t want to just disappear overnight. During the following years, a few of us moved down here at a time, so the humans wouldn’t notice as our numbers gradually dwindled. If a human did notice, they just figured that we’d either left for America or had been dying off.

“By the time the latest set of troubles started, virtually all of our families were living down here. Then the rest of us moved down. I don’t know of any ferrets that are living aboveground now.”

Sammy said, “I’m amazed that you folks have stayed on all these years. It must be tempting to leave.”

“It is, and some have given in to the temptation and have emigrated. You know that – your ancestors left for America. But those that remain, this is our home. We will stay.”

Sammy looked around and nodded. The underground caverns actually looked comfortable. The walls had been insulated and waterproofed, and the temperature was quite cozy. “I understand. It looks like a good place to live. What about power?”

“Some of the more technically-minded of us set up an underground generator that puts out a minimum of emissions. That way, none of the humans can detect us down here.”

Max looked up at Sammy and said, “Skippys. They evidently have Skippys here.”

Rabbi Cotton said, “We know the name. Our records are scanty, but we do remember the Skippys.”

“What about supplies?”

“Some of us go out at night and forage. We are very careful about it and try not to be seen. But even so, we find it easy to locate food. I strongly suspect that some of the humans know that we’re still around, but they’re kind enough to pretend otherwise.”

The three ferrets walked and glided on. From time to time, larger rooms appeared to the sides – kitchens, storerooms, meeting rooms. Soon they came to a door, curtained off to maintain some privacy. Rabbi Cotton lifted the curtain back and said, “Come in.”

It was a larger room than any they’d seen before. In the center was a raised platform, made of tamped-down soil, supporting a simple wooden table. Set into the back wall was a wooden cabinet.

Sammy became excited. “An ark! This is the Sanctuary! You were able to rescue the Torah from the fire!”

Cotton smiled. “Yes, it holds our Torah.”

“I’m so glad.” Sammy frowned. “But your beautiful synagogue. I know that some humans liked it. It was terrible that other humans burned it down.”

Rabbi Cotton shook his head. “No, you’re wrong. The humans didn’t burn our synagogue down.

“We did.”

Sammy said nothing for a few moments. He looked at the ceiling above and around at the simple sanctuary. He finally looked at Cotton and said, softly, “Yes. I understand. A synagogue is just a building.”

Rabbi Cotton nodded. “It has been hard for us living here – so hard. There have been times when I wonder if God has been punishing us for our transgressions.”

Sammy said, “All Jews wonder about that. Is there any particular transgression that you’re worrying about?”

“Well… It hasn’t been easy to keep kosher. We’re ferrets, of course. That means that we’re carnivores. We do our best to avoid the animals that have cloven hooves or chew the cud. But we have to survive. There have been times when clean food has been difficult for us to find. Sometimes all we can find is the hare. I will not tell you how many times we’ve had to make do with pork. We are carnivores.” Rabbi Cotton shook his head. “But I sometimes wish that we could vary our diet.”

Sammy and Max looked at each other, and Max said, “Sir, perhaps we can help you there.”

Rabbi Cotton looked oddly at him and said, “How?”

“The Skippys have been working on ferret diet. Not long ago they developed an enzyme supplement to help us digest vegetable matter. We all have to take it in pill form every day. But with it we can eat fruits, vegetables and cereal products without any trouble.”

Rabbi Cotton looked down at him and several seconds. Then he looked at Sammy and said, “Fruits? Vegetables? Bagels? Latkes? You can eat these things?”

Sammy and Max smiled and nodded.

It isn’t easy to properly embrace someone in a wheelchair, but Rabbi Cotton managed it.

Cotton also hugged Sammy again and said, “No. I have been wrong. God is not punishing us. He has sent you to give this good news to us. The human Jews here have said good things about latkes. I’ve always wanted to taste them. Now –”

The Rabbi smiled. “Thank you. Both of you.”

Sammy placed a paw on the Rabbi’s shoulder. “You’re welcome. That alone makes our trip worthwhile.”

Another ferret came up and said, “Rabbi? It’s almost time for morning service.”

Cotton said, “Oh, yes! The Shacharit! Sammy, you are our guest. Will you lead us in our prayers?”

Sammy nodded. “Certainly.” He turned to Max. “It’s traditional for a visitor to be asked to lead the synagogue’s prayers. That would be me.”

Max replied, “I know. Would you want me to leave?”

Cotton shook his head. “No. You’re a guest, too. I’d ask that you as a gentile…” Cotton made a vague gesture with his paw. “…not draw too much attention to yourself.”

Max smiled. “I’ll pray quietly.”

“Fine. The rest of us will give thanks to God that you folks have come to us.”

As Rabbi Cotton’s congregation mumbled their prayers, Max bowed his head and prayed quietly to himself. He prayed that he and his friends could help these fine people. Somehow he figured that they’d all need help.


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 5

Through sheer necessity, Mustela sapiens have become world-class experts at defensive driving. This is not surprising, given the difference in size between human and ferret automobiles. For similar reasons, ferrets have also become adept at finding decent parking spaces. The biggest problem that they usually face is the disappearance of their parked vehicles; children usually mistake them for toys and make off with them.

Second-in-Command Skippy found a particularly good parking spot near the National Library of Poland in Warsaw – there wasn’t a child in sight – and he and Clarissa walked over to the library entrance.

Surprisingly, few people on the street paid the ferrets much attention. A few folks made the usual gestures to ward off demons, but most of the humans that did notice them simply went on their way. By far, however, the majority of the pedestrians paid Skippy and Clarissa no notice at all. Most of them were walking along with an electronic device stuck in their ear and the usual glazed cell-phone-conversation look on their faces. Others just didn’t look down. Fortunately Mustela sapiens, besides being superb defensive drivers, are also superb defensive walkers. Nobody stepped on the ferrets.

Clarissa looked up at the library entrance and asked, “Are you sure that we’ll get cooperation from the humans in here? Many of the people here in Poland are friendly enough, but some obviously aren’t.”

Skippy snorted. “Clarissa, these are librarians.” He gestured at the human pedestrians. “How many of these people do you think actually go into libraries?”

Clarissa took a good look around. “Um. Not very many, actually.”

“Right. It’s bad that way in the States, and getting that way here in Europe. Nobody cares about libraries anymore, except the librarians. They’ll be ecstatic about anyone walking through the front door, furry-skinned or not. I’ve seen the staff at the Public Library back in Wichita almost burst into tears when I go in. We’ll be lucky if the librarian here doesn’t kiss our feet.”

The library was sparsely populated. Some younger people were crowded around the banks of personal PCs, taking advantage of free online service. There were a few elderly folk, sitting at the tables and tapping away at old-fashioned handheld video games.

The prediction about kissing the ferrets’ feet was an exaggeration. Librarians do have a sense of decorum. The lady behind the front desk had her grey hair pulled back in the severe bun common to all grey-haired receptionists. When the ferrets walked in, she scowled down at them. But librarians always scowl at everyone. She said, “W czym moge pomoc?”

Skippy, in Polish, replied, “Yes, you may. We want to make use of your newspaper archives.”

The librarian switched to English. “Americans? Please follow me.” She got up from her desk and walked toward the back of the building. Clarissa and Skippy followed.

The human stopped once and said, “Your Polish is excellent, by the way.”

The librarian let them into a room that smelled of musty old paper and ink. There were several stacks of newspapers on shelves along one wall. Alongside another wall were tables holding four old microfilm viewers and several cabinets, labeled in Polish, and with ranges of dates.

The librarian said, “The library subscribes to twenty-five newspapers, approximately half of which originate in Poland; the remainder are foreign newspapers. I presume that you are interested in the Polish newspapers.”

Skippy replied, “Thank you, we are.”

“We keep paper copies of all of the newspapers for a maximum of two years. All newspapers older than that are transferred to microfilm.” She indicated the cabinets. “The microfilm rolls are kept here. I regret that we do not have our newspapers online, but we cannot afford to upgrade.”

Second-in-Command Skippy made a mental note to talk to the Head Skippy about an anonymous donation to the library. To the human he said, “We are interested in events here in Warsaw approximately 25 years ago.”

“What is it in particular that you are looking for? I can perhaps help.”

Clarissa said, “We want to know more about the public demonstrations that happened then. They concerned our kind.”

The human looked at them and said softly, “Yes. Of course. I remember them well.” A gentleness came to her eyes. “I remember them too well. It was only a few years after the collapse of Communism here in Poland, and the country was still restless. I would like to think that that may have contributed to the ill-feeling.

“I have never had anything against the ferrets. They’d always seemed polite and kind. Many humans felt as I do, but not all of us. I was so sad to see and hear what they said back then about your folk – for what they did. I would like to think we have learned better since then. But I’m afraid that’s not so. I have heard of what’s happened recently in Lodz.”

Clarissa replied, “It is bad back in America as well, and it’s getting worse.”

The human shook her head. “I am so sorry, little ones. I do not see you as evil. We are all God’s creatures. Why can’t others see that?”

Clarissa was thinking of Albert. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

The librarian became professional again. “The demonstrations began in April of 1997 and lasted for at least a year.” She turned to the microfilm cabinet. “Two newspapers – the Gazeta Wyborcza and the Zycie Warszawy – carried extensive coverage of the events. You will find that both newspapers were fair and nonjudgmental.” She opened two drawers and took out two reels. “Each reel holds three months of newspapers, beginning with April. That will be a good place to start, I think.”

Skippy said, “My friend and I will each take a roll of film. That way we can get more done.”

“Very well.” The human switched on two viewers and loaded the microfilm reels into them. “The controls are easy to understand.” She looked at the ferrets. “And I believe that they are easy for small hands to operate.”

She stepped back. “There. The viewers are ready. This one is the Gazeta Wyborcza and this one is the Zycie Warszawy. I sense that I can trust you to be respectful of the library’s property. I will leave you two in private. If you need any help, come find me.”

The two ferrets settled in the human-sized chairs in front of the viewers. Clarissa had the Zycie Warszawy. She looked up at the human and said, “How do you say ‘Thank you’ in Polish – ‘Dziekuje’?”

The human smiled and replied, “Yes, That’s it. You are welcome, little ones.” She padded out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Clarissa turned and looked at the front page of the newspaper in front of her. It was in Polish, of course. Most of the letters looked familiar, but many had curlicues and accents and little dots attached to them. She thought she could recognize some words, but most of it made no sense. She said, “Okay, what are we looking for?”

Skippy replied, “The Polish word for ‘ferret’ is ‘fretka’ – ‘fretki’ is the plural. Just try and find any headline with either of those words. If you don’t see that, try and find them in the body of an article. That’s gonna take longer, I’m afraid. If you find something that looks interesting, let me know. I’ll be able to read it.”

Clarissa sighed. “This is going to take a lot of time.”

She was wrong.

Clarissa was scrolling through the reel, doing a preliminary scan of the headlines, when the word FRETKI jumped right out at her in large, bold type. None of the other words made any sense to her, but it didn’t matter. She’d obviously hit the jackpot. The article filled an entire page of the newspaper, and front and center was a large photograph of some humans with a large banner; the word fretki figured prominently there, too. The humans were male, and all of them looked angry. Their mouths were open; the camera had apparently caught them in the act of shouting something.

And they were wearing –

Clarissa shouted and slammed her paws down on the table.

Skippy looked up from his viewer. “What’s wrong?” He jumped over to her chair.

Clarissa pointed at the photograph. “Look at them! Those humans – they’re wearing yarmulkes! The anti-ferret demonstrators – they were Jewish! How dare they!!”

Skippy looked grimly at the photograph. “I see. I can’t say that I’m surprised. These people are human. Just because they’re Jews doesn’t mean that they’re immune from prejudice. I’m sure that there are plenty of Jews that hold racist beliefs about blacks and Asians – and similar biases against gays –” He touched his chest with a paw. “– and certainly about Roman Catholics.”

“But… my own people…”

“No, it’s not about your own people. It’s about humans hating ferrets. I’ve gotten plenty of grief from humans who follow my own religion. My own people, if you will.”

Clarissa scowled at the photograph of the demonstrators. One human, with a long, black beard, seemed even more agitated than the others. Even in the photograph she could see the anger in his eyes –

She looked at him more closely. He seemed familiar somehow…

Clarissa gasped and pointed at the photo. “Skippy – that one. Is that who I think it is?”

Skippy looked more closely at the photograph. “H’m… He’d be older – Oh, my God.”

He began to read the newspaper article closely. After a few minutes, he said, “Listen to this:

“‘…This reporter talked with two of the demonstrators during a lull in the rally. They did not tell me their names. The more moderate of the two men advocated driving the ferrets out of Poland and perhaps out of Europe altogether. The other demonstrator was more forceful in stating his beliefs and advocated more radical ideas; this reporter could not help but think of these ideas as bordering on the terroristic.

“‘The radical expressed his opinion that animals were not meant to stand on their hind legs and walk and talk. “Anyone can see that these creatures are evil. They were created as demons to make a mockery of the followers of God! And they should be cast from this world like demons!”

“‘In response to this, the more moderate of the pair said, “I respect my friend’s beliefs, but I must disagree. I feel that it is enough to drive the animals into exile. After that, their fate is in God’s hand.”

“‘The radical emphatically replied, “Sometimes we are God’s hands!”’”

Skippy looked at Clarissa and said, “It can’t be a coincidence. This has to be him.”

Clarissa was looking at the image in the viewer, but she was seeing the face of her Albert. She felt a tear run down her cheek.

Skippy said softly, “Clarissa, I’m so sorry.”

She looked at him, and anger shone through the tears in her eyes. “Sammy was right. The anti-ferret demonstrations back then are related to what’s happening here today.” She pointed at the photo. “But this isn’t enough. We need more proof. We have to get more information from the Bank!”

Skippy looked at the photo. “We may not be able to. But this is a start. We have a suspect now, and we have a face that we can put to him. That might be useful.” He began to remove the microfilm reel from the viewer.

“How do you mean?”

“If we can find a witness that has seen this person enter the Poland National Bank at regular intervals over the past few months – say, around the time the money transfers were made to the American hate groups – that would be strong circumstantial evidence.” Skippy hopped down, holding the microfilm. “Come on. We’ll have our friend the librarian print copies of this article. We have work to do.”

############

After the Shacharit, Max and Sammy noshed with Rabbi Cotton and some of his congregation. The two didn’t know if their visit cheered the other ferrets up, or if it was always this way, but there was lively conversation in Polish and occasional laughter. From time to time, a ferret would come up and shyly introduce himself or herself to Sammy. There would be a bit of small talk, and the ferret would scurry away.

Sammy was puzzled at this. He leaned over and whispered, “Excuse me – Rabbi? Why are your folks acting this way toward me? Have I done something wrong?”

Cotton smiled and said, “No, you have done nothing wrong. But it is what you wear. We lost much of our lore and our traditions when our Records were burned so long ago. But one of the few points of continuity we had was the black yarmulke with the red trim. It is sacred to us.”

Sammy removed his yarmulke and looked at it. “This? It was given to me by my Grandpapa. He inherited it from his grandfather Joseph.”

Cotton nodded. “Rabbi Joseph, yes. He is remembered among us for his strength. He survived the Holocaust and emigrated to America. Joseph was wearing that yarmulke when he left us. It had been passed down to him by his ancestors. Rabbi Jeremiah was wearing it in 1905 when he was killed in the first Pogrom. We believe that it is the yarmulke made by the human woman Miryam for Rabbi Daniel in 1856, when the first of our kind converted to Judaism.”

Sammy was speechless. He stared at Cotton, and down at the black skullcap in his paws. “But… I’d heard of Rabbi Daniel and his yarmulke. I thought this was just a copy. I know copies are popular, but…”

It did look old, now that he examined it. It had obviously been handmade. It was slightly faded in spots. The edge had frayed over time, and it had been mended. But the material was in excellent shape.

And all of this time he’d been wearing it…

Sammy held his yarmulke out to Rabbi Cotton.

The Rabbi shook his head. “It is not ours. It is yours. It belongs to you and your family. Wear it with pride, my friend. We are proud of it – and now we are proud of you.”

Sammy placed his yarmulke on his head. “That – does that mean that I’m related to Rabbi Jeremiah? To Rabbi –” His voice dropped to a whisper. “– to Rabbi Daniel? My family has had difficulty tracing our ancestry.”

“I am not surprised. After the Records were destroyed, and during the years of the Pogroms, we have had great difficulty keeping track of events. But we are certain of our Rabbinical lineage.” Cotton shrugged. “Reasonably certain, at least. But it does make sense, doesn’t it?”

Sammy nodded. He then said, “I know little about Rabbi Jeremiah. Can you tell me something about him?”

Cotton sadly shook his head. “Not very much, I’m afraid. A few stories have been passed down. We believe that he was a good Rabbi, and a kind being who loved his fellow creatures. He was apparently fiercely protective of his congregation, and it has come down to us that he wanted to do whatever he could to protect them when the Pogrom started.” Cotton stopped, and an unhappy look came to his face.

Sammy said, “What’s wrong, friend?”

Cotton resumed talking. “At least one story that has come down to us troubles me. If we are to believe it, he tried to use Kabbalah Ma'asit.”

Max said, “Does that have to do with the Kabbalah? You’ve mentioned it to me before, Sammy. That has to do with the mystical aspect of Judaism, doesn’t it?”

Sammy replied, “Yes. The Kabbalah is a set of esoteric teachings that tries to make sense of the relationship between an infinite and unknowable Creator and his mortal Creation. I studied it a little in Seminary, but not much.”

Cotton said, “‘Kabbalah Ma'asit’ means ‘Practical Kabbalah’. It concerns the use of magic. Among other things, it concerns divination of the future, amulets and folk remedies – and the creation of life. Jewish law today forbids these practices.”

Sammy said, “It’s straying too close to God’s territory. Man – human and ferret – was not meant to do that. Are you saying that Rabbi Jeremiah was trying to practice forbidden magic?”

Cotton replied, “It has been passed down to us as a possibility. I say again that we’ve only heard bits and pieces, but he apparently wanted to do everything to protect his people.”

“Do you know what he was trying to accomplish?”

“No. I am thankful that we don’t. It is believed that he was doing whatever-it-was in the forest near Lodz when he was shot by the humans. If someone else was with him at the time, the secret died with them.”

Max asked, “Have you ever found any clues in the forest as to what he was doing?”

Rabbi Cotton was surprisingly emphatic. “No! For over a century since Jeremiah was killed, we have avoided the forest. Some of us believe that it is haunted by his spirit – or by whatever he was doing. For the rest of us, the association with his death, and all of our troubles since then, is too painful.”

Sammy said, “Lodz has grown over the years. Is the forest still there?”

“Most of it, yes. The humans have no qualms about the forest, but they pretty much leave it alone. Perhaps there is something to the talk of haunting.”

It was getting late in the morning, and Sammy and Max shortly said their goodbyes. Sammy promised to get to the bottom of the recent anti-ferret activities, and said that he would return later in the day.

Sammy and Max carefully left the hidden entrance in the ruins, and were soon walking – and levitating – down a nearby street.

Max said, “Well, what do we do now?”

Sammy said nothing. Max looked up at him and said, “We’re going into the forest, aren’t we?”

Sammy nodded. “I respect Rabbi Cotton’s fears, but I think that there’s something there that we ought to check into. I want very much to know what Jeremiah was up to way back when.”

“So, shall we go now?”

Sammy looked up at they sky. The day was overcast, but it didn’t look like rain yet. “Now is as good a time as any. Let’s go.”

The two ferrets headed for the edge of town. Behind a curtain, a hidden pair of human eyes watched them.


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 6

Second-in-Command Skippy slowed down as he drove the Skippymobile® past the Polish National Bank, but the guard standing at the door gave the little vehicle a suspicious look. Granted, it was his job to be suspicious of anything unusual, but Skippy thought paranoia was the better part of valor. He said, “No, I’m sure they won’t like us walking in.”

Clarissa was looking at a building on the other side of the street. She said, “You know, I can’t read the sign, but I think that’s a kosher restaurant.” She pointed at a small storefront.

Skippy looked over and said, “I think you’re right. They’re advertising a special on knishes. Now that’s an idea. They’re in an excellent position to see the people going in and out of the bank. They might remember seeing our suspect.”

“I’ve thought of something else. There can’t be that many kosher restaurants in Warsaw. He might stop in for a meal whenever he’s in town to make a deposit. They’re certain to remember a monthly customer.”

Skippy nodded. “It’s worth a try. I’m a good artist. I’ll draw a picture of the person we’re looking for.”

“But, they’re humans in this restaurant. They still might not cooperate with us. How do we ask them questions?”

“Oh, that’s easy enough. We hire a human to do it for us.”

############

Mikhail Mlotek was leaning back in his office chair, with his feet up on the worn wooden desktop, and cleaning his roscoe. Actually, he thought, “roscoe” was a ridiculous term for a gun, but a hard-boiled detective was a hard-boiled detective, whether he plied his trade in Chicago or in Warsaw.

Mlotek had devoured the American detective novels of Chandler, Hammett and Spillane as a young boy. Naturally he’d wanted to become a detective when he grew up – two-fisted tough, slapping dames around and punching out thugs, with his roscoe barking in his hand and an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. As he grew older, Mlotek had thought better of this. For one thing, he’d realized that if you hit someone, he or she would hit back; that would take a lot of fun out of it. And people would definitely shoot back. Besides that, he really liked women and couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for slapping them around. And Polish cigarettes didn’t appeal to him at all, even if they were unlit.

So, Mlotek had become a detective anyway, but he preferred to stick to divorce work and missing spouses and the like. True, he was perpetually late with his rent, but he couldn’t remember the two-fisted American detectives actually getting paid any better. Besides, the last person to pull a gun on him was a deserting husband, and the man had ended up shooting himself on the foot. On the whole, Mlotek figured the personal risk was fairly small.

Still, he had his dreams. So Mlotek was leaning back in his chair, with his feet up on the desktop, cleaning his roscoe, when there was a knock at the front door.

He called out, “Wchodzic! Ten drzwi jest otworzyc!” The door opened and he heard small feet padding across the floor. But when he looked up, there wasn’t anyone there.

He was starting to think that the neighborhood children were playing a practical joke when a high-pitched voice said, “We’re down here!”

Mlotek stood up and looked over his desk to the floor. There were two fretki there, looking up at him quite politely. This threw him for a moment until he remembered the talking ferrets of Lodz. He’d thought they’d disappeared, but here were two of them.

One of them smiled and said, “Detective Mlotek?” He had an American accent.

“Yes, I am he. What can I do for you?”

“We have need of your services. We need to find out some information.”

Mikhail Mlotek had no problem with talking animals one way or another. He was a businessman who could use a paying job right about now. But he was an honest businessman, so he said, “I would be willing to help you, but how do I know that you can afford my fees? They could be high.” He figured that any fee would be high to a talking animal.

The fretki hopped up on his desk. One of them pulled out a small electronic device and began tapping the keys with its long fingers. Their front paws were almost like hands; Mlotek thought this was interesting. The ferret held the device out and said, “Would this make it worthwhile for you?”

Mlotek looked at the figure on the little screen. Then he looked again, more closely. The figure didn’t go away. He looked up at the ferret and asked, “Are you sure you didn’t enter too many zeroes?”

Skippy shook his head. “I can assure that that figure is what we are prepared to pay. And I can guarantee that we can afford that amount.”

It was several moments before Mlotek finally said, “I will not commit murder or treason.” He looked at the figure again.

Clarissa said, “We do not want you to do that. We are not killers.”

Skippy said, “We don’t want you to do anything illegal or immoral or even fattening.” Skippy pulled out a letter-sized paper; on it was a drawing of a middle-aged human with a beard. “We want to find out if this human has been in the Polish National Bank recently.”

Clarissa said, “There is a kosher restaurant across the street from the Bank. They may have seen this person go in or out of the Bank. It’s possible that he might have stopped in the restaurant for a meal.”

Mlotek looked at the picture. It was an excellent drawing. He said, “Don’t you think that the people in the restaurant will cooperate with you?”

Skippy said, “Do you know what’s been happening to our brethren in Lodz? How likely do you think it is that these humans will cooperate with us?”

“Good point. And yet you seem to trust me.”

Clarissa said, “Yes, we do. I just feel that we can. You seem like an honest human to us.”

Mlotek said, “Thank you for the vote of confidence.” And since he was an honest human, he continued. “But this is quite a lot of money. You may be able to afford it –” Somehow he sensed that they could. “– but are you sure that you want to spend this much? It will be a simple task for me.”

Clarissa replied solemnly, “Yes, we’re sure. This is very important to us.”

Detective Mlotek looked into her eyes. He could read a lot in those dark little eyes. He said, “This person has done something very terrible to you, hasn’t he?”

She replied, “We will not hurt him.”

Mlotek nodded. “I believe you. Still, I will not want to be in his shoes when you find him.” The detective stood up. “Very well. I will take your case.”

Mlotek picked up a baseball cap – he’d never liked the Fedoras the American detectives favored – and headed for the door. “This should not take long. You may wait here while I’m gone if you wish.”

Skippy said, “That will be fine. We won’t bother anything.”

“I trust you, little ones.” Mlotek walked out the door.

############

Cloudy as it was, the day was nice, and any other time Sammy and Max would have enjoyed the walk. A few birds were singing and off in the distance there was the sound of a loud motor – an off-road vehicle of some kind.

Max’s anti-grav chair made only a soft humming noise as it glided along an inch or so above the forest floor. Its passage didn’t even disturb the grass or the fallen leaves that it passed over.

They’d been out for about an hour and were now about a mile from Lodz. Max said, “See anything?”

Sammy replied, “No. Not yet. Do you?”

Max shook his head. “This is the second time today I’ve been searching for I-don’t-know-what. Just once, couldn’t we hunt for something with a detailed description and maybe diagrams?”

“Sorry. Life’s like that sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah. It might help if one of us was psychic or something. Do you feel anything wrong?”

“I’m afraid not. The car engine sounds a bit louder, for what that’s worth.”

“I noticed that.” Max listened for a few moments. “In fact, it sounds like its getting ahead of us.”

The two ferrets paid more attention to the noise of the motor as they kept walking. Finally they turned a bend in the pathway and saw an off-road truck parked ahead of them. As they got closer, several humans got out of the truck and stood in a semicircle blocking the path. There were five of the humans, and one was carrying a high-powered rifle. None of the humans looked friendly.

Sammy said, “Oh, dear.”

The human with the rifle shouted, “Zwierzeta! Postoj!” He lifted the rifle to cover the ferrets.

Sammy and Max kept going forward. Max whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Okay, here’s the plan. When I give the word, you get on the back of my Hoverchair and hang on.”

“Sounds simple enough. Can you get us out of here?”

“I think so. We just have to catch them by surprise.”

The two ferrets reached the men and stopped. One of the humans stepped behind them to cut off their escape route. The two ferrets smiled up at the humans. Sammy said, “How do you do? Is there something we can help you with?”

The humans did not reply, and they began to move closer.

Max kept a keen eye on the space between the two directly in front. He was waiting for one particular moment…

“Now!”

Sammy hopped onto the back of the chair and Max slammed the throttle as far forward as it could go. The anti-grav chair shot forward, aiming for the space between the two humans.

The chair barely missed the two humans, but it passed right over one man’s foot. The man howled and began hopping around on the other foot. He bumped into the man next to him and they both fell down. The other three were caught off-guard by the ferrets’ escape. One pulled out a pistol and fired, but he didn’t come close to hitting the fleeing ferrets.

Max’s chair was flying along incredibly fast now just above the ground, and Sammy held on as best he could to keep from falling off. He finally got settled and leaned over to shout in Max’s ear. “What happened to the goon back there? You didn’t hit his foot, did you?”

Max was concentrating on the forest ahead of them as he flew the chair along. He leaned back and replied, “Nope. Just passed over it. But that was probably bad enough.”

“How come?”

“Well, the Skippys call the doohickeys levitating this thing room-temperature superconducting magnets, but that’s not really true; the magnets don’t get closer to room-temp than about twenty degrees. That means it gets cold underneath the chair when it’s floating. Now that’s under normal operating conditions. But when you crank up the power, the temperature underneath drops even lower. Right now, it’s really cold down there!”

“How cold we talking about?”

“Probably about 100 to 120 degrees below Zero Fahrenheit.”

“Whoa!”

“Yeah, I’d say that guy has a really bad case of frostbite right now.”

Hanging on to the chair, Sammy looked back over his shoulder. Stretching out on the ground behind them was a ribbon of white. The grass and the leaves had been flash-frozen by their passage.

Sammy turned around and said, “Nice that we’ve gotten away, but I can see a flaw in our escape plan.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one thing, we’ve left a pretty easy trail to follow.”

############

About an hour later, Clarissa and Second-in-Command Skippy looked up as the office door opened. Mikhail Mlotek walked in with a big smile on his face.

The detective said, “It was easier than I thought it would be. The proprietor of the restaurant is a friendly man. He and his staff like to chat with strangers – if you ask the right questions, of course.” Mlotek held out the drawing of the bearded man. “He recognized this man right off. Says that he comes in town at about the fourth of each month, regular as clockwork, goes into the Bank and has a meal at the restaurant afterward. Friendly enough fellow, they say, but a little on the stingy side about tips.”

Skippy was tapping away on the SkipPDA®. “The fourth, you say?” He looked at Clarissa. “That coincides with the payments going out to the groups back home. I’d say it’s strongly probable that he’s our man.”

Clarissa said nothing for a few moments. She was thinking of a ferret with a big smile and a kind soul that had captured her heart so long ago. She finally nodded. “Yes, it must be so. Thank you, sir. You’ve been a great help.”

“You’re very welcome… Ma’am.”

Skippy again was tapping at the PDA. “Yes, we’re grateful. Now then, as to your payment – do you have an account in the National Bank?”

Mlotek replied, “Yes, I do.”

“Okay.” Skippy held out SkipPDA®, “I’ll let you enter your account number. This is small, but humans can handle the keys easily.”

Detective Mlotek took the electronic device from the ferret and looked at the screen. “Um. This isn’t the amount you quoted earlier.”

“I know. But you were so prompt that I figured you deserved a little extra.”

“Oh. Um. Thank you.” Mlotek tapped in his account number and handed the PDA back.

Skippy tapped a couple of keys and said, “There you go. The money is in your account.”

The telephone immediately began ringing. The human picked the receiver up. “Hello, Mlotek’s Detective Agency … Polish National Bank? Oh, hello! Yes, I’m fine! … Oh, yes, it was deposited just now. I know … Oh, no, I didn’t assassinate anyone. No, I didn’t rob a bank, either ... Well, if I did rob a bank, wouldn’t you have known about it? You’re a bank, after all … No, no, it was a perfectly legitimate business transaction…”

Skippy pulled out a business card and held it out to the human. “Here’s contact information for my people, If the people at the Bank give you any trouble about the transfer, have them get hold of us.”

Mikhail Mlotek took the card and in return gave the ferret back the drawing of the bearded man. Human and ferret gave each other thumbs up, and Mlotek settled back and continued to talk on the telephone.

Clarissa said to Skippy, “We have to get back to Lodz now. My husband will want to know what we found out.”

“Agreed.” The two ferrets waved at the detective and left.

############

The frosty-white trail left by Max’s anti-grav chair wasn’t as easy to follow as Sammy thought. The chair could go over a lot rougher ground than the off-road truck, at least not if the driver cared anything about the truck’s suspension. Or, for that matter, his own suspension. Max was also able to make much tighter turns and weave and dodge through the thicker parts of the forest.

As the two ferrets sped through the forest, the truck followed behind. More or less. Once in awhile, someone fired the rifle, but the bullets came nowhere near them.

All in all, Sammy wasn’t enjoying the ride. But he preferred it to the alternative. During a relatively straight stretch, he leaned over and said, “This thing has a built-in cell phone, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but the power supply’s tied in to the chair’s fuel cells. All the power’s being used to keep us going and there’s none to spare for the phone. Stupid design flaw, I know, but I don’t think anybody expected a situation like this!”

“I can see that. Do you have any idea where we are?”

Max replied, “No. I kind of figured the important thing for now was to simply get away. Getting away where was sort of a lower priority.”

“I can’t disagree. It looks like we’re going deeper into the woods, I think.”

“Yeah, that’s the idea I had – Whoa !”

Max performed a deep bank and just barely missed a brownish-colored column that had appeared in a clearing right in front of them. Sammy managed to keep from falling off, but he turned his head to stare as they left the obstruction behind them.

Max snarled, “Who in their right minds would put a statue out here in the middle of the woods?! I swear – Hey! Now what?!”

Sammy was pounding on Max’s back, and he was shouting, “Go back! Go back!”

“What!? Have you gone out of your mind?!”

“No, no, we have to go back to that statue!”

“You are out of your mind! Those goons are hot on our tails and you want to go all artistic all of a sudden? And that thing was ugly!”

“This isn’t about esthetics! Go back! This might be important!”

Max shook his head, but he made a wide turn and headed back to the clearing.

Sammy stared at the statue. It was huge and stocky, over ten feet tall, only vaguely humanoid, with no neck at all. The face was only rudimentary, with indentations for eyes and a little bump for a nose. Max thought that the sculptor hadn’t really been trying. About the only thing that they’d taken any care with seemed to be a word molded on the forehead. The letters were strange to Max, but he’d seen some texts in Sammy’s study and thought that these looked similar.

“Sammy, is that word in Hebrew? Do you know what it says?”

Sammy replied with an odd catch in his voice. “Yes – yes, it’s Hebrew. The word is ‘Emet’. It means ‘Truth’.” Sammy shook his head. “So that’s why Rabbi Jeremiah was studying the Kabbalah Ma'asit. To make this. Oh, Jeremiah…”

“Eh? What is this thing?”

“Max, this is a golem.”

“A golem? A creature made of clay, like in the old folk tales? That’s impossible!” Max laughed, but Sammy didn’t. “Isn’t it?”

Sammy stared at the clay figure. “I would have thought so, but I’m not so sure now. Rabbi Jeremiah wanted to do something to protect his people. If he were desperate, he might have been tempted to create a guardian like – this.”

“Looks more human than ferrety to me. I wonder why?”

“Who knows? Jeremiah may have run out of clay to make a snout. He may not even have bothered with such details.”

“But what’s it doing here? If he’d made a golem to protect the ferrets, why didn’t he use it?”

“It may be that he didn’t have time. As best as I can gather, he died out here in the forest. Jeremiah may have been killed right here, just as he’d finished creating the golem. Just before he was able to give it any orders.”

“So, it’s been waiting here for orders for over a century. But its creator isn’t here anymore to give them. Do I understand right? Will a golem only take orders from the person who built it?”

“I read only one or two texts about golems in Seminary, but I think that that’s true.”

Max was less than impressed. “Hmph. And the Rabbi isn’t around any more to tell it what to do. So it’s useless to anyone.”

Sammy was thinking. “I’m not so sure… I seem to recall that a golem could be made to take orders from the creator’s children – and their children. I think it could be done by mixing a small amount of the creator’s blood in with the clay.”

“A genetic marker, then?”

“I believe so. Blood is probably the easiest one to work with. Well, one way to find out.” Sammy looked up at the golem and said, as authoritatively as he could, “You! Raise your right arm!”

The golem didn’t move.

Sammy snorted. “I guess that settles that.”

Max said, “Well, as interesting as this is, what do we do –”

There was the sound of a gunshot, and Max’s Hoverchair exploded.


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 7

Second-in-Command Skippy and Clarissa had just reached their van when the PDA started making a beeping noise. Skippy opened it up and looked at it, and he said, “Uh-oh.”

“What? What’s that?”

“The emergency beacon on Max’s chair.” Skippy tapped a few keys. “And I’m not getting a signal from his cell phone. Something must have happened.”

“Max? Sammy…”

“Get in.” The two ferrets practically jumped into the van. Skippy’s fingers flew over the glass dashboard, and a map came up on the screen. One steady green light in the center of the map, and a flashing red light appeared to one side.

Skippy pointed at the flashing light. “We’re the green light, and that’s Max’s chair. It looks like they’re in this forest.”

Clarissa’s face had turned pale. “How far away is it? How long will it take to get there? Oh, my Sammy! Hurry! Hurry!”

“On our way. Buckle up!” Skippy slammed on the accelerator, and the Skippymobile® sped down the street. In the next few minutes, Skippy pushed his defensive driving skills to their limits.

############

Max was getting sick of vehicles blowing up under him. He opened his eyes and looked around. The golem was towering over him, motionless – no surprise. Sammy was lying nearby and beginning to stir. It looked like a truck was parked nearby –

“Ha!” a rough human hand snatched Sammy up, and a heavy pressure pushed Max down to the ground.

Max looked up and saw one of the humans standing over him and pinning him down with his foot. The human gave Max a nasty smile and turned to the other human holding Sammy. “Dmitri, kill that one.”

Dmitri replied, “I will. I will pull off his head, when I can get him to hold still.”

Sammy was resisting for all that he was worth, kicking and flailing about and twisting his head frantically from side to side.

“Pah! He won’t hold still! I’ll get him, though.”

Max tried to move, but he couldn’t. “No, don’t kill him! Sammy, no!”

The human’s foot pressed down harder. “Quiet! Your turn will come! First, though, you will watch the other die.”

Max realized, to his horror, that the humans were speaking English for their benefit. The humans wanted the ferrets to know what was happening.

Max was helpless, and he couldn’t even turn away. When Dmitri’s hand finally clamped down on Sammy’s head, the despair was too much, and Max shouted.

“Somebody – help us!”

The golem swiftly pivoted around and one of the giant hands closed on Dmitri’s arm and squeezed. There was the sound of something breaking, and the human screamed and dropped Sammy. The ferret fell to the ground and lay there wheezing and gasping for breath.

The golem lifted Dmitri up by his broken arm and swung him around like a limp toy. After an impressive windup he flung the human away. Dmitri flew through the air and disappeared behind a line of trees that had to be over a mile away.

Everyone, human and ferret, was stunned. Nobody moved or made a sound. The golem turned around and backhanded the human pinning Max down. He only flew as far as the edge of the clearing, but he made up for it by plowing a deep furrow where he landed.

That brought the other humans out of their trances. One of them ran for the off-road truck and the remaining two took out their pistols and began firing at the golem.

Max and Sammy couldn’t do much for protection, and they flattened themselves to the ground as best they could. The bullets ricocheted off the clay figure in all directions, but luckily the ferrets weren’t hit.

The golem didn’t seem to be bothered by the shots at all. It walked over to the two gunmen, who fired even more frantically, and picked them up in its hands.

Sammy coughed and said, “No – don’t kill them…”

The golem paid no attention. It lifted the two men up and held them out at arm’s length.

Max shouted, “Stop!”

The golem stopped, and the two humans dangled.

Max said, “Let them go.”

The golem opened its hands, and the humans fell to the ground. It was a long drop.

Sammy looked at Max and wheezed again. “It looks like Jeremiah was successful after all.”

An engine roared and tires squealed. The truck burned rubber and shot forward, aiming right for the golem.

Max only had time to shout “LOOK –” before the truck slammed into the golem’s legs dead-on.

It was almost exactly like pounding a brick wall with a hammer made of tinfoil.

The truck’s bumper and front grill crumbled and wrapped around the creature’s legs. The front axle broke in two and every window in the vehicle shattered. The engine broke free of the mounts and was pushed backwards through the firewall, to end up in the front seat, next to the driver.

“…out.”

Things went quiet. The truck’s proximity alarm was beeping away, which made everything else seem even more quiet. The truck was leaking various fluids onto the ground. The driver was leaning out of the window, because he didn’t have any room. The engine was being a seat hog.

The driver looked down at Max and said, “Um … Pomagac?”

Max’s Polish was nil, but he knew a request for help when he heard it. He looked up at the golem and said, “Open the door for the man.”

The golem had no trouble extricating itself from the wreckage, and it walked around to the side of the truck. The door handle was far too small to be any good to such huge hands, so the golem hooked its fingers on the window sill and pulled. The door tore off its hinges and ended up several feet away, near the human plow. The driver tumbled out of the truck, and the engine settled into a more comfortable position in the front seat.

The three remaining humans were relatively unhurt, and they didn’t seem so threatening now. They lay on the ground and stared at the ferrets.

Max looked back and asked, “Do you speak English?”

The humans nodded.

“Fine.” Max pointed off to the Southwest. “The German border is that way. I don’t know how far, and I don’t care. You will start walking, and you will not stop until you’re in Germany.”

The golem turned around and began walking Southwest.

“Not you, Clay-for-Brains! Come back here! I was talking to the humans –” Max looked around. “Where did they go?”

Sammy pointed Southwest, where three backs could be seen disappearing into the tree line. The humans had gotten the message.

“Oh.”

The two ferrets stared up at the golem. Neither one of them knew what to say.

Max finally broke the silence. “I thought – I thought that you said it wouldn’t obey anyone except its creator, or – or his children. Why did it listen to me and not you?”

Sammy replied, “I know. That’s what I’d read. I don’t understand.

“Unless…”

Sammy snapped his fingers. “Of course, that’s it! I’m not Rabbi Jeremiah’s descendant!” He pointed at Max. “You are!”

The only reply Max could make was a stammer. “Um – wow. Sammy, I’m – I’m sorry –”

But Sammy wasn’t the sort of ferret to hold grudges about silly things like that. He was too excited. He went on. “Yes! It makes sense! The Lodz ferrets’ Records were destroyed in 1905, and they must have lost track of birth records and family trees! Tell me, when did your family come to America?”

“Huh? Somewhere in the twenties, I think – about a hundred years ago.”

“From where?”

“I don’t know – we lost track. Somewhere in Europe, I think –” Max’s jaw dropped open and he stared at Sammy.

“Do you mean – we were originally Jewish?”

Sammy smiled. No, not a jealous bone in his body. “Looks that way. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Well… no. I guess not. But we’re Roman Catholic!”

Sammy shrugged. “So? People change their minds about more important things than religion. Somebody must have converted after they came here.”

“Hmph. Father Red back in Oregon is gonna be surprised when he hears this.” Max looked at what was left of his Hoverchair. “Drat. My cell phone’s probably busted, so we can’t call Skippy. Now what?”

“I say we have to get back to Lodz.”

“Oh, I agree.” Max pointed at the wreckage. “But that’s not gonna be easy. We’ve got no transportation now.”

Sammy looked thoughtfully at the golem. “Oh, I’m not so sure of that.”

Max looked at the clay giant, looked at Sammy, looked at the golem again, and looked back at Sammy. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. If I were joking, I’d ask, ‘What do you do with an elephant with three balls?’”

“Oh, um.” Max looked at the golem again. “Okay, I’m game if you are. It’s not gonna be comfortable.” He pointed at the Hoverchair. “Especially if we take that with us, and we won’t leave it behind for the humans to grab. So…”

Max narrowed his eyes and looked at the off-road truck. He and Sammy studied it for a few moments.

Sammy finally said, “The front seat’s bound to be soaked with grease and oil by now.”

“From the engine, yes. So, back seat it is.”

############

The distance between Warsaw and Lodz is slightly less than 75 miles, and the Skippymobile® was speeding down the E30 Highway. As far as Clarissa was concerned, they were barely crawling along. She held a copy of the newspaper article, the English translation and Second-in-Command Skippy’s sketch of the human, careful not to crumple the papers. She never lost track of how critical they would be.

The Skippymobile® had a Head-Up Display for speed, proximity of other vehicles, power levels from the fuel cells, and other basic driving data. But a detailed map of the vicinity would have cluttered up the HUD, so the map of their route was projected on a screen set in the dashboard below. Skippy kept his eyes mainly on the road, with frequent glances at the map and the flashing light.

At one point, he looked down and noticed something different. He risked a longer look.

Clarissa was good at reading body language. “What? What’s wrong?”

“That’s strange. Look here.” He tapped on the flashing light on the map. “Max’s emergency beacon – it’s moving.”

Clarissa studied the map. The flashing light was moving. “What’s that mean? Could the beacon just be malfunctioning? They might be all right after all!”

“Could be… All we know for sure is that the beacon is moving.” He glanced at the map again. “And it’s heading for Lodz.”

“What do we do? Do we try and catch up with them there?”

“I don’t think we have much choice. The beacon would be the only clue we have.” Skippy thought for a moment. “We’re further away, but we’re going faster. We ought to reach Lodz at the same time they do.” He pushed down on the accelerator.

############

The walking speed had been reached through some trial and error. The golem could have gone a lot faster and reached the city much sooner, but Sammy’s and Max’s breakfasts would have been left behind somewhere.

The clay giant easily carried the rear seat of the truck in its arms. Max and Sammy had to share one of the seatbelts – the remains of Max’s anti-grav chair were using the other belt.

There wasn’t much to see on the trip back. A few people appeared along the way, but they took one look at the golem and decided that they had urgent business elsewhere.

Max looked up at the golem’s incomplete face. The ferret said, “Sammy, do you think I ought to apologize?”

Sammy turned his head. “Huh? What? Apologize to who?”

“The golem. That ‘Clay-for-Brains’ remark I made wasn’t very nice.”

Sammy’s eyes widened in horror. “No! Don’t apologize to it! It’s a golem, Max! It’s not a living creature! It has no soul. It can’t speak. It has no life. It’s just a shadow of a living being. Only God can create the real thing. You do not have conversations with a golem!”

“Oh.” Max looked up at the golem again. “I see. That’s… scary.”

“Yes, it is. It takes a holy person to create a golem, and even then it’s dangerously close to playing God. Many of the legends deal with of the creator’s pride and arrogance for making the golem, and with the person’s eventual downfall. Rabbi Jeremiah was taking a tremendous risk in creating this one. And it’s dangerous to start thinking of it as a person.”

The golem kept going, and the two ferrets rode in silence.

Finally, Max said, “Sammy?”

“Yes?”

“What do you do with an elephant with three balls?”

“What – Oh! You walk it and pitch to the rhinoceros.”

“Ah.”


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 8

Two Americans were hiking along the E30.

“Now there’s something you don’t see every day, Chauncey!”

“What’s that, Edgar?”

“A ferret breaking the speed limit in a miniature van!”

“Oh, I don’t know, Edgar. I still haven’t been able to figure out the Polish traffic laws.”

############

Second-in-Command Skippy slowed down the van for the streets of Lodz, but only just.

Clarissa said, “How close are we? I think I recognize these buildings.”

“Not far. The humans’ synagogue is just around this corner –”

Skippy slammed on the brakes.

Clarissa asked, “What now? What’s wrong?” But she got no answer from Skippy. He stared ahead of them, his mouth hanging open and his eyes almost popping from his head – for a ferret, this is very impressive-looking.

Clarissa looked into the street. The first thought that came to her was that she didn’t remember the statue being there. This thought was barely completed before other, more compelling thoughts entered her head and stole the limelight.

The next thought was that the statue was moving. Not only that, but it seemed to be carrying a seat from a human-sized car.

And riding in the car seat was a broken mechanical contraption and two ferrets –

“Sammy!” Clarissa undid her seatbelt and scrambled out of the van.

Max looked up at the golem and said, “Okay, now set us down - Whoa! Gently, gently! – There you go.”

Skippy stared at the bizarre scene silently for a few more seconds, and finally said, “Well, it looks like Max needs his spare wheelchair.” There was no one to hear him, but it was more practical to say this than to start gibbering about moving statues. Skippy got out of the van and headed for the storage area in back.

Sammy jumped down from the car seat and ran toward Clarissa. The two met in the middle of the street and held each other in a tight embrace. They leaned back from time to time and smothered each other’s face with kisses, before getting back down to some serious hugging.

Skippy came trotting by with Max’s wheelchair. He stopped long enough to say, “Hi,” and slap Sammy on the back before moving on. Sammy didn’t notice him.

Clarissa broke the clinch and looked at her husband. “Oh, Sammy, my love.” She kissed him. “I was so worried. The emergency beacon was going and Max’s cell phone wasn’t working.” She kissed him again. “We didn’t know what happened to you.”

“I know. We got into a rough spot.” He returned the kiss. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t know if we’d make it.” Another kiss. “But we did. And we found this… thing.” He held her in another embrace. “And we’re together again, sweetheart.”

Something between the two rustled. Clarissa was still holding the papers.

Clarissa stepped back and gave him a sober look. “Sammy – in Warsaw – we found out who’s behind all of this.”

“What? Who is it?”

Clarissa said nothing, but she handed the papers over to Sammy. He studied the copy of the newspaper article, and read Skippy’s translation. He then looked for a long time at the sketch of the human being.

Skippy came up, pushing Max in his wheelchair. They stopped beside the other two ferrets and said nothing.

Sammy’s face was impassive, but Clarissa had a good idea about what emotions were going on in her husband’s mind.

Sammy turned to Skippy and Max and said, very quietly. “We have to go talk to the Rabbi.”

Sammy looked at Clarissa, but he didn’t say a word to her. He didn’t need to, and neither did his wife. She simply nodded at him, and he nodded back.

Sammy again turned to Max and Skippy and said, “If you two don’t mind, I’d like you to stay here.” He and Clarissa walked to the synagogue.

############

Rabbi Nikolai was bent over his desk, poring over a weighty tome, carefully turning the old, fragile pages. He was researching an obscure bit of Judaic doctrine. He leaned beck and massaged his brows. The typeface was small and very elaborate, even for a 19th-Century European book, and it was hard on his eyes. He called out, “Andrzej! Bring me some wine, will you?”

“Yes, Rabbi! A glass, or would you prefer the carafe?”

“A carafe full, if you please.”

“Yes, Rabbi.” Then, Nikolai heard Andrzej switch to English. “He’s in his study. You may go in.”

Ah, visitors.

Sammy and Clarissa walked in. Rabbi Nikolai betrayed a brief moment of surprise, and then he smiled. “Ah, little ones! It’s good to see you! And how has your day been?”

The two ferrets did not smile, nor did they return the greeting. They stared at the human for a few seconds.

Finally, Clarissa said, very steadily, “We want to ask you a question.”

Nikolai looked puzzled. “Why – certainly. Is there something –”

“Why do you hate ferrets?”

Rabbi Nikolai gasped. “What? What has someone said? You are seriously mistaken if –”

“Don’t!” Sammy’s voice was strong. He held up three pieces of paper in his paw. “We did some research. We know!”

Nikolai began to look less friendly. “What do you mean?”

Clarissa said, “There have been some anti-ferret hate groups operating back in the States. One small group actually attacked some of us. It’s likely that they killed my husband and my father.”

Sammy said, “Someone has been supplying them with money, and we traced the money here – to the National Bank of Poland. That’s the main reason we came here – to investigate. But tracking the ferret community here in Lodz came in at a strong second.”

“Skippy and I found an old newspaper article in the Warsaw library today. It showed a picture of some humans from the anti-ferret demonstrations in the 90’s. One of the humans, a young man with a beard, looked very familiar to me, taking into account how much older he’d be today. And the article contained a quote from one of the demonstrators – they didn’t say who – and he used the phrase ‘We are God’s hands!’ Just like you did yesterday when we first talked to you.”

Sammy said, “All those years ago, in the demonstrations – that was you, wasn’t it? You were one of the anti-ferret people then. Ferrets died back then – did you have anything to do with that? Is their blood on your hands?”

Rabbi Nikolai said nothing. He glowered at the ferrets.

“That doesn’t prove anything, of course. People change their minds about such things. But I don’t think you did. When they were in Warsaw today, my wife and Skippy did some checking. They hired a human detective to see if someone answering your description had been seen going into the Bank. He found some witnesses in a kosher restaurant nearby – you’d actually come in regularly for a meal whenever you were in Warsaw. We checked your schedule with the witnesses, and it coincides with the payment schedule to the hate groups back home.

“It was you financing the anti-ferret groups. This is only circumstantial evidence, and it won’t hold up in court, but it has to be you! You’d raise money here – in your own synagogue! With bake sales and calls for donations from the congregation on a regular basis. That money could have gone to fixing this building up, to help the poor in your congregation. But you’d travel up to Warsaw and deposit it in a Bank account instead. To support anti-ferret hate groups in America!”

Rabbi Nikolai’s face had undergone a radical change. It was no longer the least bit friendly. The ferrets could feel the anger, the hatred, the loathing that radiated from that awful face.

Clarissa shook her head. “You have helped to cause us so much harm. Why? Why do you hate us so? Why?”

The human roared, “Because you are monsters! You have been sent to this world by the Evil Forces to bedevil us humans! To laugh at us and mock our religion, our intellect! It is not natural for animals to talk, to walk, to pretend to think and to obey the laws of God! It is my mission – it has always been my mission to oppose you and to rid the Earth of your kind! I tried to make others listen when I was a young man – to make them see the truth about you evil creatures! But people did not listen!

“So I had to wait. I bided my time, until I could act – much more subtly this time. I helped others – others who knew you for what you were – to act against you, over in America, where you flourish out in the open and flaunt your mockery in our faces! That is what I do now! That is my holy mission – given to me so long ago by God.”

Sammy stared. “God? You dare invoke God!? You raise money to fund evil people in their quest to commit murder! Clarissa’s husband was killed –”

“Don’t talk of your mockery of our marriage rites!”

“– her husband was killed. She became a widow and her newborn baby lost his father. My best friend was seriously injured by these – these people, and they wanted to kill my wife and her son! And it’s not just ferrets they hate – these people are anti-Semites as well! Did it ever occur to you what else they might use the money for? Because of your hatred for us, you treated with the enemy!

“And you call this a holy mission? How dare you? How dare you?!”

Rabbi Nikolai stood up and said in a much more controlled, much more dangerous voice, “I dare. Because I know you for the demonic monsters that you are. I have not told my congregation of what I have been doing. But I know them. I know that they would agree with me, and would support me in what I have done.”

There was the sound of breaking glass. A carafe lay shattered on the floor in the middle of a slowly growing puddle of red liquid. Andrzej was standing in the doorway, staring in horror. Rabbi Nikolai could see that the young man was staring at him.

Clarissa said, “Are you that sure about your congregation?”

Sammy said, softly, “Tell me, Rabbi, who is the monster here?”

Nikolai roared. He picked up the heavy old book and threw it at the ferrets. Clarissa and Sammy rolled out of the way and easily dodged the book, which slammed into the floor.

The human came around the desk and aimed a vicious kick at Sammy. Again, the ferret dodged and escaped injury.

“Rabbi! No!”

Nikolai stared wild-eyed at Andrzej. The young man continued, “Please, no, Rabbi. Do not harm these creatures. They have done harm to no one.” Andrzej whispered, “Rabbi, what they have said about the hate groups – is it true? Tell me it is not.”

Rabbi Nikolai was quivering with pent-up emotion, and the look in his eyes seemed to be balancing on the edge of a knife.

The Rabbi screamed, “MONSTERRR!!” and ran out the door into the street.

Clarissa and Sammy exchanged a silent glance and jumped up and ran out the door after the Rabbi. Andrzej followed behind.

Nikolai had not gone far. A crowd of humans had gathered on the sidewalks and were watching the Rabbi as he stood and stared up at the golem.

The Rabbi looked back over his shoulder at the ferrets. He turned back to the clay giant. “Golem! Hear my words! Obey me!”

Some weeks later, a small group of rabbinical scholars gathered in a small motel conference room in an undisclosed Midwestern city. The meeting was not strictly confidential, but the attendees certainly didn’t advertise it in the Community Calendar section of the local newspaper. The attendees were a varied lot – Orthodox, Hassidic, and Conservative Jews – and included both humans and ferrets. They all had one thing in common: extensive knowledge of the Kabbalah.

The purpose of this gathering was to discuss the events of that day in the street of Lodz. It soon became obvious that the primary area of concern was this:

Rabbi Nikolai had not created the golem in 1905. He certainly was not related to the ferret who had created it. So why, at that moment in the street on that day, did the golem choose to obey him?

There was much discussion on this, and many theories were put forth and examined. But in the absence of real data, they could be no more than theories. In the end, it was agreed by the scholars that the most plausible explanation was put forth by Old Abraham, an elderly ferret from Wichita, Kansas.

Old Abraham said, “Perhaps it’s not so much that the golem obeyed the human as that the golem took the opportunity to obey a higher authority.”

In any case, Nikolai pointed at the ferrets and shouted, “Obey me! Destroy the abomination!” The golem responded and reached out his arms.

However, it quickly became apparent that the golem’s idea of “abomination” was not the same as the human’s.

When Rabbi Nikolai discovered this difference of opinion, it was far too late for him.

Clarissa could not watch what happened next. She turned away and buried her face in her husband’s shoulder. But she couldn’t stop her ears. Rabbi Nikolai’s scream was cut off quickly, but it burned itself deep into the minds of everyone who heard it. For years to come, Clarissa would hear that scream in her nightmares.

Sammy, Max and Skippy didn’t turn their heads away; they couldn’t.

For several long seconds, no one could say anything. Finally, Max found his voice and croaked, “Stop.” He tried again. “That’s enough! Stop!”

The golem stopped.

“Place him on the ground. Gently.”

The golem put Rabbi Nikolai down.

Max, Sammy, Skippy – and all of the humans – stared at the clay giant and at the remains of the Rabbi. There was the rumble of thunder from the sky.

Sammy said, “The golem has killed. We can’t let it exist any longer. It must be destroyed.”

Max looked up at his friend. “How do we do that?”

Sammy replied, not unkindly, “It’s not a case of ‘we’. You have to do it. I can’t help.”

Max hung his head and sighed. “I was afraid of that. What do I have to do?”

“To destroy a golem, you have to erase the first letter of the word on its forehead. That changes it from Emet to another Hebrew word, Met.”

“What does Met mean?”

“It means ‘Dead’.”

“I see.” Max looked at the giant clay figure for some time. Finally he said, “Could you push me over there?”

Sammy took hold of the handles on the wheelchair and pushed it closer to the golem, which was standing at rigid attention. Its eyes, which did not exist, were looking off at nothing.

Max looked up at the golem. He took a deep breath and said, “Lay down on your stomach.”

The golem obeyed and was quickly stretched out on the street. It had no neck, and the head was directly attached to the shoulders. By bending down, Max could just reach the forehead.

Max looked a long time at the golem’s incomplete face. There wasn’t even a mouth beneath the bump of a nose. He tried to sense some sort of presence behind those crude features, but there was nothing. It was like a statue, nothing more.

“Max…”

“Okay, okay, I know.” Max brushed his paw over the first letter of the Hebrew word. The clay crumbled far more easily than Max would have guessed, and the letter came away from the forehead.

If there were some presence, it wasn’t there now.

Immediately a network of fine lines appeared and spread over the surface of the clay. A crack sounded; the left leg separated from the body and rolled to one side.

A large crack traveled across the face, from the temple down through the nose. Sammy grabbed the wheelchair and backed Max out of range.

More cracks quickly appeared. More pieces broke off; cracks appeared on the smaller pieces, and they crumbled into even smaller pieces.

In less than three minutes, the golem was no more. In its place were small piles of clay particles no bigger than the pebbles on a beach.

There was the sound of a plop. Sammy looked to one side and saw a dark spot on the street nearby. Another plop, and a second spot appeared.

Sammy watched as more spots appeared on the pavement. He felt something soft hit his shoulder. A droplet hit his nose and he felt the water dribble down his snout.

Sammy looked up. It was now sprinkling lightly but steadily. He finally said, “Is this Your idea of a joke?”

Rabbi Sammy walked off to one side and began to talk to the sky.

“Because if this is supposed to be a joke, I think that it’s in very poor taste!

“I mean, look at the situation! You bring us into this world, and You give us voice to speak and a mind to think. And what do we get from our fellow thinking beings? Misunderstanding. Mistrust. Hatred. Prejudice.

“And then You lead some of us to the Jewish faith! Talk about doubling the misery!”

Clarissa and Skippy were standing a little way away. Skippy whispered, “Pardon me, but is your husband arguing with God?”

Clarissa still had her back turned. “Yes, of course he is. It’s an old Jewish tradition. We’re good at it.”

Sammy continued.

“All that was over two centuries ago, and in case You hadn’t noticed, it hasn’t gotten much better. Just thought I’d say.

“And now what happens? A human died today because of the hatred in his heart for us. And deep inside, he was a good man! Yes, in spite of everything, I say he was a good man, and I’ll say that to my dying day! He paid for his hatred with his life. Was that fair?

“I know what people say. ‘God works in mysterious ways,’ they say. It’s true, I’m sure. You’re all-powerful and we’re just mortal creatures, and all that. We can’t begin to fathom Your reasons for what You do. But just once – just one time – it would be nice if You could give us some idea of what’s going on. It would help us get through the day better.”

Sammy sighed. “Okay, You have Your reasons. I suppose I can accept that. I haven’t much choice. But now, after all of this, You’re sending us rain?! That is the worst dramatic cliché that anyone could ever come up with for a situation like this! Hollywood screenwriting is bad, but even this wouldn’t fly with them! Will You please tell me, who writes Your stuff?

“Here’s a better question – Who put You in charge?!”

Skippy said, “Whoa.”

Clarissa said, “He always gets to that one at the end.”

Sammy said, “Okay, have it Your way. Rain. But could You at least please hold off for awhile? I have things that I want to do this evening. Maybe You could let it rip later tonight. You probably won’t listen to me, but it’s worth a try, I guess.”

Sammy fell silent. After a few moments, Max said, “Are you done?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Did it help?”

“As much as it usually does.”

“Okay. In case it doesn’t do any good, what say we get indoors?”

Sammy pushed Max over to Skippy and Clarissa. Clarissa gave her husband a hug. Behind them, some humans moved out of the crowd and approached Rabbi Nikolai.

Sammy said, “They’ll blame us for this, you know.”

Skippy said, “Are you sure? Couldn’t they see that it wasn’t our fault?”

“Oh, they saw, all right.” He pointed at the crowd. Andrzej was deep in conversation with some older men. “That young man will tell them what the Rabbi said. Some people will certainly believe him. And they heard him give the golem orders, and they saw what it did to him. But they’ve just lost their Rabbi. They’ll find a way to blame us.”

Clarissa said, “I don’t want to stay in the human synagogue tonight.”

Sammy kissed her forehead. “Neither do I, my love. I don’t like the idea of bunking in the van, either; it’s too impersonal. I want someplace peaceful – a place to think.”

Max looked over at the Catholic church. Father Emil and the sexton were standing just outside the front door. They’d watched what had happened.

Max said, “I have an idea.”


To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 9

When the ferrets came up to them, Father Emil and the sexton were watching the activities in the street. The crowd was eerily quiet. Someone had covered Rabbi Nikolai with a sheet, and two men were coming up to him with a board. Without looking away, Father Emil began to speak.

“Nikolai’s great-grandfather and mine met a long time ago, at Buchenwald. Not many people know it, but the Nazis sent Catholics to the camps as well as Jews. The two men became friends and survived the camp by working together. Our families have always been close ever since. I’ve known Nikolai since we were children.”

Sammy bowed his head and said softly, “Max, I’m afraid that this is a bad idea. Father, I’m – I’m sorry –”

Father Emil held up his hand. “No. That is not necessary. That man out there today – the one who ordered the clay giant to destroy – that was not my friend.” He looked down at the ferrets. “And I apologize in the name of that man. What can we do for you?”

Second-in-Command Skippy said, “Father, my friends and I have been through so much today. We want a place of sanctuary, for a little while. May we enter the church?”

Father Emil replied, “And you want someone to talk to, I presume?” Skippy nodded and no one else contradicted him.

The sexton said, “You are a good listener, Emil.”

The Father nodded. “Come in, little ones. You are welcome here.” He and the sexton stepped aside, and Skippy pushed Max in.

On the threshold, Sammy pulled Clarissa close and gave her a gentle kiss. He said, “You’ll be safe here, love.”

She looked at him with concern. “Aren’t you coming in, sweetheart?”

Sammy shook his head. “Not right now. I need to go talk with some folks first. I have to do this alone; I think I’m the only one that they can trust.”

“Will you be safe?”

“I believe so. It’s only a few blocks away, and I believe that no one will harm me.”

Clarissa sighed. “More separation.” She placed a paw on the white fur on his chest. “Please be careful. Come back to me.”

“I will.” He looked up at the sky. The rain had stopped, but it looked like it would start again later. “I may be some time.”

The two humans and the ferrets watched as Sammy walked down the street. He turned a corner and disappeared from view.

Max looked up at the priest and said, “Father?”

Father Emil looked down. “Yes?”

“Would you have time to hear my Confession?”

The priest nodded. “This is as good a time as any, and better than most, I think. Come this way, my son.”

############

It was a little over three hours later. Father Emil and the sexton were sitting in one of the pews. They were talking of their memories of the ferret community of Lodz. Second-in-Command Skippy had retrieved his laptop from the van and was taking notes of what the humans were saying. The information wasn’t much, but it would be used to supplement the Skippy Chronicles. Any little addition would be invaluable.

Max’s wheelchair was parked close, and he was listening closely to the humans; some of it was his family history. Clarissa was stretched out on the pew, listening halfway to the humans and to Skippy’s questions. Then the knock came at the front door.

“I’ll get it.” The sexton rose and went to open the door. “Hello, Rabbi. Please come in.”

Clarissa hopped down from the pew and ran to welcome her husband back. The two ferrets exchanged a warm hug and gentle kiss.

Still holding Clarissa close, Sammy said, “Skippy, can you get hold of the Skippy Compound from here?”

“Yes, I can.” Skippy clicked on the SkippyIM® icon and waited for the program to boot up. “Signal’s great right now. You got a message to pass on?”

“Yes, ask the Head Skippy to send us some transport aircraft – the Number Five type, I think. We’ll need two of the Passenger version – Those hold 250 ferrets each, don’t they? Good. – and two of the Cargo version, with maybe a third Cargo plane to be on the safe side.”

Second-in-Command Skippy began typing. “Two Skippy-5P and two -5C aircraft, with a third -5C for reserve. Got it. We’ll probably need a refueling plane, too, for a Transatlantic trip – a Skippy-4T tanker ought to do.”

Max looked at Sammy. “I think I know where this is heading.”

Sammy nodded. “You’d be right. Folks, I’ve just been talking with Rabbi Cotton and the rest of the members of the ferret community here.”

Father Emil looked thoughtful. “So there are still ferrets here in Lodz? They must have hidden themselves well.”

Sammy replied, “Yes, they have – for over two decades. They dug a series of tunnels under their synagogue and have been living there. There are over four hundred of them.”

The two humans looked surprised. So did Clarissa and Skippy.

The sexton muttered, “All this time… I could have sworn I’d only seen a handful of fretki over the years, but so many…”

Sammy sighed. “Yes, it was a surprise to me, as well.”

Father Emil said, “Hold on. Four hundred… and those airplanes will hold a total of 500…” His eyes widened. “The ferrets – are they leaving?”

Sammy nodded. “Yes. I’ve spent the last three hours talking with Rabbi Cotton and the rest of the ferrets. They’re not happy about it, but they agreed with me in the end.

“When my friends and I leave for America, all of the ferrets in the city will be leaving with us. Rabbi Jeremiah created that golem over a century ago to protect his people from their human enemies. Now someone has died at the hands of that golem.”

“But you destroyed the golem –”

“That makes no difference. They can’t stay here any longer. The ferrets are leaving Poland forever.”

Father Emil and the sexton thought about this. The sexton said, sadly, “And Poland will be the poorer for it.”

“I know. Not all humans here hate us. We’ve met some very friendly people – including you two, thank you so much. I don’t know how many humans here hate us and want our kind to leave. Well, I guess they’ve won.”

Father Emil said, “There is a saying about losing a battle and winning a war. The ferrets have lost their home, but they will be reunited with their own.”

“Thank you, Father.” Sammy slumped down. “I am so tired.”

Clarissa said, “Come lay down, my love. You need your rest.”

“I’m too keyed up to get any sleep.”

“I’m the same way.” Clarissa kissed her husband on the cheek. “So we’ll lay down together and we can both pretend to sleep. I think the closeness will do us both some good.”

The sexton said, “We can find a place among the pews to give you privacy. I’m afraid that the cushions are old and not too comfortable.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Sammy’s face. “The way I feel now, kind sir, I’d be comfortable stretching out on a picket fence.”

Clarissa and Sammy followed the sexton off to the far end of the church. The priest leaned down and said, “Max?”

“Yes, Father?”

What is a ‘picket fence’?”

############

The authorities were informed the next day of Rabbi Nikolai’s death, but the Jewish community of Lodz weren’t of much help to the Policja in their inquiries. So the Rabbi’s death remained in the files as “unsolved”.

The Rabbi was taken away and his body lay in state in the home of one of the community’s more prominent residents. All that was left in the street was a pile of clay debris and a pool of blood. Some of the residents began to talk about requiring the ferret visitors to clean up, but late that night the heavens opened up in a downpour.

Under the rain, the particles of clay dissolved and mixed with the blood to form a brownish slurry. The heavy storm continued, and the rain washed away the muddy mixture into the drains.

The storm stopped and the clouds dispersed before morning, and the sun rose and dried the street. The blood and clay was gone, as if neither had ever been there.

############

The next day, the Skippys contacted the Polish Embassy in Washington, DC, to make emigration arrangements for the Lodz ferrets. The bureaucratic process went far more smoothly and swiftly than one could have anticipated. The Polish government was not hostile, but they wanted the ferrets out of the country with a minimum of fuss.

The day after, the Skippys’ aircraft flew into W³adys³aw Reymont Airport. The air traffic controllers remembered how professional, and how polite, the ferret pilot had been three days ago, so there was no trouble, and the planes were quickly parked on a tarmac near the terminal. The nose on one of the cargo transports was slowly raised, and a vehicle ramp was extended. Two buses, each capable of carrying thirty ferrets, and two cargo trucks carefully drove down the ramp and headed into town.

The word had gotten around Lodz that the old ferret community still existed and had been rediscovered – and that the ferrets were leaving. So the street was lined with curious humans – civilians, some soldiers of the Polish Army, children, old folk who still remembered the creatures from long ago.

There was no talking. The humans remained quiet and watched as the first ferrets emerged from the ruins of the synagogue and walked down the street to the waiting buses. Young ferrets clutched the paws of their parents, and the younger kits were carried. The ferrets’ eyes were weak from living so long underground, and they blinked in the bright sunlight. The little kits in their parents’ arms clutched a favorite doll or toy and stared wide-eyed at the strange humans watching them, and the adults glanced from side to side. Occasionally a child would whimper and a parent would gently shush him or her. A number of the ferrets would board one of the buses and be taken to the airport.

Sammy, Clarissa, Max and Second-in-Command Skippy stood to one side, with Father Emil and the sexton, and watched the quiet procession. As the ferrets walked by, Father Emil and the sexton bowed their heads and crossed themselves; so did Max and Skippy.

Each ferret family had a few personal belongings with them, but not many. Living in refugee conditions underground had taught them the unimportance of material possessions. But there were the bundles.

Each bundle was wrapped in plain, simple cloth, and each was marked with a name. Some bundles were large, some were small, and some bundles were very old indeed. Everyone carried at least one bundle, and there were so many of them. Bundle after bundle was loaded in one of the cargo trucks, and when full it was driven away to the airport, emptied and returned for another load.

Rabbi Cotton appeared and walked over to Sammy. He carried two of the bundles in his arms – one was labeled RABBI DANIEL, and the other RABBI JEREMIAH.

Cotton said, “These remains, of two fine people, should be placed in charge of a descendant.” He held the bundles out to Sammy.

Sammy said, “I agree,” and took them from Cotton. Sammy then turned around and held them out to Max.

There was a muffled rattle as Max took the bones of his ancestors and held them in his lap. For the rest of the day he didn’t put them down. Rabbi Cotton returned to the ruins to continue monitoring the move.

The process of loading and transporting ferrets and bundles to the airport took until late afternoon. Soon the last ferret family and the last bundles were driven away, and the buses and trucks did not return. All that was left in the street was the Skippymobile® and four ferrets. They were waiting for one last passenger.

Rabbi Cotton emerged from the ruins of his synagogue and walked slowly and with dignity down the street. In his arms he carried a cylinder. From one end protruded two wooden rollers, and a small crown was placed on the other end. The cylinder was tied with a sash, and a breastplate was hung over the top.

Rabbi Cotton did not look to either side, but walked straight up to stop in front of Sammy. Cotton held the Torah scroll close and simply said, “That is all.”

Sammy nodded, and Rabbi Cotton turned to walk toward the van.

An elderly human lady quietly said, “Do widzenia.” A young child said, more loudly, “Do widzenia!” One of the soldiers lifted his cap and said, “Do widzenia!”

“Do widzenia!” “Do widzenia!” “Do widzenia!” Soon the whole crowd was chanting “Do widzenia!”

Rabbi Cotton climbed to the first step of the van’s open door and turned around to look at the humans for the first time that day. His eye swept over the crowd. There were so many sad faces, and quite a few tentative smiles.

Finally, he said, so softly, “Do widzenia,” and turned to enter the van.

Skippy helped Max into the van after the Rabbi. Sammy and Clarissa held paws as they climbed in. The door was shut quietly behind them, and the van started to drive out to the airport.


To be concluded...

[pauljmsn]

Part 10

Sammy gazed out the window. Just off the starboard wing of the Skippy Supersonic Transport was one of the -5P passenger planes. Flying behind it was one of the -5C cargo aircraft. Though Sammy couldn’t see them, the other passenger aircraft and one of the other cargo planes were flying off the port wing in a similar formation; the third cargo plane was following close behind. The small fleet of aircraft had rendezvoused with the -4T Skippytanker south of England for refueling and now, tanks full, were flying together across the Atlantic. The SSST was traveling at subsonic speed to stay with the slower craft. It was late. The sun had already set ahead of them.

Rabbi Cotton had refused to fly on the SSST. He had wanted to stay with his congregation – at least some of them, anyway. Sammy wondered how his friend had chosen which passenger plane to ride on; flipping a coin, maybe.

Cotton, however, had agreed that it was a very good idea for the Torah scroll and the two bundles to be transported on the SSST. They were now lying on the carpeted floor at the back of the cabin; Sammy hadn’t thought that putting them in the cargo hold would be respectful.

The Torah scroll was sacred to Rabbi Cotton and his congregation. Sammy wondered if the travel arrangements meant that the bones of Rabbis Daniel and Jeremiah were considered sacred as well. And why not? If it were up to him, they certainly would be.

Clarissa was sitting a little way away, concentrating on Skippy’s laptop; she was communicating with the Skippy Compound over SkippyIM®.

Max was sitting in the seat across from Sammy. A small patch of fur had been shaved off of the Sable ferret’s snout, to leave enough bare skin for a bandage to stick to. This wasn’t the only shaved and bandaged spot on Max’s body, nor on Sammy’s. There were times when it was hard to be a member of Mustela sapiens. Right now, for these two, it was undignified.

Sammy leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes.

Max said, “You look beat.”

Sammy replied, “And that’s surprising how?”

“You ought to try and get some shuteye. The jet lag’s gonna foul up your sleep cycle.”

Sammy snorted. “I think jet lag’s not gonna be that big a problem. The way I feel, I’ll probably hit the bed when I get home and sleep for three days.”

“Three days? Are you sure that’s a good idea? Tomorrow’s Friday – you’ll need to lead the Sabbath service, right?”

Sammy opened one eye and glared at Max. “You know too much about my religion, Gentile.”

Max chuckled and looked out the window at the transport plane. Most of the passenger windows were lit up, and it was like a string of Christmas tree lights. Max said, “What do you think, Mr. Rabbi? Will our new friends join your synagogue?”

Sammy sat up. “What, two Rabbis in one congregation? That wouldn’t work. I figure Rabbi Cotton will establish a temple of his own. I’d be surprised if any of the Polish ferrets will want to join my congregation; they’ll want to remain with a Rabbi that they know. I think that Wichita is big enough for two ferret synagogues, so I’m not worried.”

“Makes sense.” Max was silent for a moment. When he continued, his voice was softer. “It’s not going to be easy for them. They’ve been abruptly moved to a completely new country and a completely different culture, where people speak a completely different language. All those children must be confused, and I’ll bet they’re all scared.” Max looked at Sammy. “And all this wouldn’t have happened to them if we hadn’t come along.”

Sammy thought for a moment, and then replied, “That may be. But we have no idea what would have happened to them if we hadn’t come along. They’d set themselves up as comfortably as they could underground, but I think it would only be a matter of time before they were discovered. Their synagogue was built on prime real estate, and sooner or later some human would have wanted to clean out the ruins and build on it. They would have discovered the tunnels. And as comfortable as it was underground, it’s still underground – it’s no way to live. No, they couldn’t have lived that way forever.

“Yes, they’re scared. But they all chose to leave with us – none refused. They all understood that they had to leave.”

Sammy smiled. “But do you know what? These folks are strong. They’re resilient. I don’t think that they’re so much frightened of the change in their lives as they’re excited about it. They can look at this as exile – which it is – but they can also look at is as an adventure. You know how we ferrets are about adventures.”

Max nodded. “Well, adventures do have consequences.” He scratched the bare skin around the bandage on his snout. “But that doesn’t stop us from going ahead with adventures, does it? So, yeah, I can see that. Probably a healthy attitude, really.”

“Oh, yes. As a matter of fact…” Sammy pointed out the window at the passenger plane. “It’s late, right? I’ll bet they’re all tired like we are. But look how many of the windows on that passenger plane are lit up.”

Max looked. “Yeah, you’re right. Now that you mention it, I’d think they’d want to get some sleep. Why are the lights on, then?”

“Because these ferrets can have the lights on now. They don’t have to hide and worry about someone seeing them. That’s what we’ve done for these folks, Max; we’ve brought them out of the darkness into the light.”

Max looked out the window again, and he smiled. “That’s right. Good for us.” He looked closer at the passenger plane. “That’s odd – the light in one of the windows is flashing. I wonder what that means.”

Sammy looked out the window and grinned. “Do you know – I think that whoever it is, they’re playing with the overhead seat light.”

Max began to laugh. Sammy joined in, and for several minutes the two ferrets howled.

After they had settled down to chuckles, Clarissa walked over and knelt by Sammy. She gently kissed her husband and said, “I’ve just been talking with the Head Skippy and catching up on the news.”

Max said it before Sammy, though it was close. “How’s Murphy?”

“Murphy’s still in serious condition, but he’s already showing signs of improvement. He still has a long way to go. He isn’t even arguing with Doctor Skippy about staying in bed.”

Sammy said, “Give Murph a few more days; then he’ll start fussing. He’ll be fine.”

Clarissa continued. “The Head Skippy says, too, that they’ll send the anonymous e-mail to the FBI in a few hours. Then they can go after the Species Supremacists. After that, it’ll be the Feds’ battle.”

Sammy replied thoughtfully, “Their battle, yes. But I suspect that it’s going to be our war. And it’s going to be a long one.”

Max said, “That’s true. But we have friends among the humans. At least Mustela sapiens will have allies.” He looked up at Clarissa. “Please tell us that you have some good news as well.”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled. “The Skippys are manufacturing an extra-large batch of the enzyme supplement. More than enough for our friends.”

Sammy smiled. “That’s good. Cotton will be glad to hear it. His people can get started on taking the stuff right away.”

Clarissa said, “And not a moment too soon. Sammy, your congregation is already planning a big welcome dinner for the immigrants. And your mother and mine are in charge of the banquet. Apples, nuts, my mother’s knishes, your mother’s latkes.”

Sammy said, “So Rabbi Cotton and his folks will be doubly blessed – they will be able to eat kosher, and they’ll have our mothers’ cooking to enjoy.”

Max said, “Sounds scrumptious! You mind if I crash the party?”

Sammy replied, “I’m sure that we’d be honored.”

Clarissa said, “Oh, and one more thing. It’s way past his bedtime, but there’s a sleepy little boy who wants to say ‘Nye-Nye’ to his Mamma and Daddy.” She stood back and held out her paw. “Sweetheart?”

Sammy stood up. “How can we refuse?” He took Clarissa’s paw and said to Max, “We’ll be back in a little bit.”

Max said, “Take your time.” Clarissa and Sammy moved over to the laptop, and Max lay his head back and gazed out of the window.

THE END

The characters Murphy, Sammy, Max, Clarissa, Levi, Skippy, Skippy, Skippy, Skippy, etc., are copyright 2009 by Paul E. Jamison. All characters are fictional; any resemblance between these characters and real people, living or dead, is unintentional.

Skip-PDA®, SkippySat®, Skippymobile® and SkippyIM® are registered trademarks of the Skippy Corporation and are used with permission. (Well, no, not really, but that’s what makes all this so much fun. Even so, I wouldn’t press my luck.)

All Polish translations are courtesy of online translation services. I ran and reran them through the programs. Any mistakes are my own.

The descriptions of Warsaw and Lodz are from what little information I could find online. Both are likely much more progressive cities than the impression given here. I apologize for any misinformation. I may be wrong about the dire forecast for public libraries as presented here, both in Poland and America; at least I hope I’m wrong.

JEWISH AND HEBRAIC REFERENCES

Ma'ariv – Evening prayer services

Shacharit – Morning prayer services

Barechu – Formal call to public prayer

mitzvah – a commandment from God

bimah – the raised platform in the synagogue for the reading of the Torah

Latkes – Potato pancakes

Knish – Snack food consisting of baked or fried dough stuffed with potatoes, ground meat, cheese, onions, or other fillings. It does sound scrumptious.

Kabbalah – A discipline and school of thought concerning the mystical aspects of Judaism, rabbinical in origin

Kabbalah Ma'asit – Practical Kabbalah; a branch of Kabbalah that concerns the use of magic. Here be dragons.


POLISH WORDS AND PHRASES

Narodowy Bank Polski – Polish National Bank

fretka – ferret (Plural: fretki)

Dziekuje – Thank you

Przyksc! Szybko! – Come! Quickly!

Ktory jestescie ty? – Who are you?

W czym moge pomoc? – May I help you?

Wchodzic. Ten drzwi jest otworzyc – Come in. The door is open.

Zwierzeta! Postoj! – Animals! Halt!

Policja – Police

Pomagac – Help

“Gazeta Wyborcza”, “Zycie Warszawy” –Names of actual Polish newspapers; literal translations: “Electoral Newspaper” and “Warsaw Life”

Mlotek – Hammer

Do widzenia – Goodbye

[yukkabelle]

I absolutely need to come with an empty brain for to have complete concentration for read that, seems so interesting. I will come back

[huronna]

Yukkabelle, all of Paul's stories are located ferretfamily.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=stories so they can be found more easily when the boards move them

[Lily]

Paul,

I've been quite scarce in my posts recently. It's just life. Work and play both keeping me from having much online time anymore. But, I wanted you to know, your stories and writing are more than brilliant and very special to me. Thank you so much for sharing them.

Hugs, Lily

[pauljmsn]

A few Annotations and Plenty of Thoughts

This story was a serious one. So much so, in fact, that I didn’t indulge in playing name games nearly as much as before.

For the FBI agents, Morse and Lewis, I borrowed their names from Colin Dexter’s “Inspector Morse” crime novels. Endeavour Morse (Yes, that is his real Christian name!) is a Chief Inspector for the Thames Valley Police in Oxford and is highly intelligent, moody, and has a love for beer, crosswords and classical music. Sergeant Lewis is Morse’s assistant, naïve but definitely not stupid, patient with his superior (and he usually pays for the drinks) and eventually promoted of Inspector himself. I recommend the “Inspector Morse” mysteries.

The name Cotton (pronounced “cot-ton”) is one I came across in Harry Kemelman’s “Rabbi Small” crime novels. It is apparently based on the Hebrew word for “small”, although I can’t set my hands on the specific reference right now, and online Hebrew-English dictionaries have been no good. The pun is obvious. I don’t know if my Rabbi Cotton will be solving any mysteries, though.

Now then…

One of my beta-readers told me that he thought that this was a darker story, and I agree. People in another forum have said that “Blood and Clay” made their blood boil and made them angry or sad. I take none of this personally. Basically that was the point.

Humankind’s capacity for hatred for other groups of people – simply because they’re “other people” – bothers me greatly, as if you hadn’t figured that out already. There’s no justification for it. There never has been, and when intolerance raises it ugly head again – and you KNOW it will – it won’t have a justification then, either. Sadly, hatred and bigotry are not exclusive possessions of WASP males. There are members of every race, gender, creed, religion and lifestyle orientation who cannot stand the idea that some other group of people exists. (And I am not using this argument to diminish the impact of WASPish bigotry. “It okay to hate because everyone else does it” has never been a good excuse.)

What would happen when you drop an entirely new, thinking, talking species into this mix? How would humans actually react to talking ferrets? I’d like to think that the online ferret community would welcome them with open arms, or at least would accept them quicker than most people. But what about the average human? How would he or she react? It would be a lot for the best of us to get used to, I think. To some folks, they’d be the cutest things and the demand for ownership would be high. (And who would ask the talking ferrets how they would feel about being property?) At worst, it’s another group to hate, probably even more so. That’s what I went into here. Creatures of the Devil. Unnatural mutants. Obviously inferior because, well, they’re not humans, are they? Mustela sapiens would be liked by some, tolerated by many, shunned by others and, in some cases, actively hunted down. Is it that much of a stretch, given how things are today?

The worst villains aren’t really evil people. No one is a villain in his own eyes. They don’t glory in evil for its own sake, twirling their mustaches and laughing in glee while they tie the poor girl to the railroad track. They simply do what they do because they feel that they have to. For their families, for their country, for their God, for the Greater Good; hurting others is just the sacrifice that one has to make. That’s the way the “villain” is in this piece. In the end, Sammy knew this, and believed that, under it all, the “villain” was a good man. It didn’t make the outcome easier to accept.

Thankfully, not all humans hate other humans, and not all humans would hate Mustela sapiens. There’s darkness in this story, but I hope that people can see some light as well. There’s always hope, for the talking ferrets and for us two-legs.

I’m slowly building up an idea for what I call “The Last Mustela sapiens Story”. Rest assured I have NO plans for writing it for a looong time. But I have my own idea about the final fate of Mustela sapiens, and the “Last” story is coming together in my head. It shapes the stories I’m writing now. I’m basically leaving signposts, pointing the way to what I think will happen. You’ll probably never read “The Last Mustela sapiens Story”, but one never knows. I’ll leave you guessing.

Keep in mind, my characters are mortal. I put some of our Mustela sapiens friends in danger in this story, but I have NO intention of killing any of them off. Murphy will heal, with a few more ceramic pins in his bones than before. He’s Good Old Murphy; how could he ever not be around? Sammy’s and Max’s owies will heal, too, and their fur will grow back. (I think the shaving for band-aids makes sense.) But never forget that they are mortal.

From what I’ve gathered, Sammy’s argument with God near the end is very Jewish. If you’ve seen “Fiddler on the Roof” – And if you haven’t, why not? – there are scenes that touch on this, although, if anything, I think it’s watered down a bit there.

One of my beta-readers told me that he was blown away with the revelation about Max. This won’t change Max’s character much, if at all. We’ve just found out something about his heritage. Religious conversion isn’t uncommon. And that “Hoverchair” concept is pure science-fiction gadgetry.

I’m having loads of fun developing the Skippys. Quite simply, they’re the best that there is in just about any field of endeavor that you can think of. And I’m giving them the coolest toys. They’re getting away from copying human aircraft and are turning out their very own. (Better aircraft than humans’, too – part of the anti-ferret feelings are pure jealousy.) They’ve got all sorts of electronic gadgets, too. By the time of this story, the Skippys already have a presence in space, and are well along on constructing their own space station. Or should I say their first space station? (Hint: This all ties into the “Last” story.)

Now, as to when this takes place… oh, dear. I have problems with my timeline, and it all goes back to “To Boldy Go…”, when I sent Murph and Sammy up in an Orion space vehicle. Everything I’ve written since then takes place after that adventure. But there’s no telling when NASA will finally get the Orion program up and working. We’re approaching an awkward time, with the shuttles about to be retired, with nothing to replace them yet. So, I have no clear idea as to when these stories are taking place, except that it’s in the future sometime. It’s all NASA’s fault. For convenience, I’m saying that this one take places in 2020.

I hope people have enjoyed “Blood and Clay”; as dark as it was, I was worried. I hope I haven’t said anything here that spoils the plot for anyone who hasn’t read the story yet. Next will be an adventure involving Superman and Max. For a handicapped ferret, Max does get around. After that – Oh, Lord, I don’t know. Specific ideas for other stories haven’t popped into my head yet. I’d like to write one teaming Wonder Woman with Clarissa (throwing in Catwoman, I think), thus making a “Trinity” of Superman, Batman and WW stories (I swiped the “Trinity” moniker from DC). But the plot just isn’t there yet. And there are so many more Mustela sapiens stories to tell. What about that other group of breeder ferrets shipped to Canada in 1795? How did Max’s ancestors make it to Oregon? How did Murphy’s ancestors start out in Ireland, when, after 1856, only Skippys were in England; and how and when did they end up in Canada? No plots yet, though. They’ll come, I’m sure. I think. I hope.

Paul

[huronna]

Paul, do you want me to add this last part to the thread???

[pauljmsn]

Huronna, that would be fine. I think it belongs there. Thank you kindly.

Paul

[huronna]

Ok Paul, Just got in from work and I put it where it belongs
Thanks again for all your great contributions

[pauljmsn]

Thank you kindly, Huronna. And I've caught up with putting my stories on my personal website.

Paul

www.geocities.com/pauljmsn

[Deleted]

Another great story from Paul. I can't wait to read this one and add it to my collection of "Stories by Paul" I just love all of the Sammy and Murphy stories and I am sure that this one will be just as good although from the sounds of things it may be a little different. Which is a good thing to keep people guessing. Keep them coming Paul.

[Lily]

I agree JD, thank you Paul for writing and sharing.
Thank you Huronna for keeping them for us here.