When our rats had learned all the symbols, we started them on memory exercises, learning a sequence of symbols. After that, when all the plexiglass doors went up, the rat had to remember which symbol he saw first in order to get the reward. Rachel and I were amazed at how quickly our rats learned their sequences, and although Number 16 still learned them faster than Oly, Oly was better at making the final decision: even before the doors went up, he’d nose the bottom of the correct panel, as if to say, “Okay, okay, it’s the triangle. Now let me at that Froot Loop.” When it was Number 16’s turn, he’d often hesitate, moving from one door to another, or he’d run halfway down the radial arm and then stop and try to back up, as if changing his mind.
Number 16 seems particularly sluggish in the maze today. I give him a little prod with my fingertip. “What the hell’s the matter with him? I know he knows the right symbol.”
“I think he’s just bored,” says Rachel. “I mean, wouldn’t you be, if all you did all day was run back and forth and look at circles?” She flips a purple Froot Loop at Oly. “I’d go out of my mind.”
“Well, he is just a rat.”
“A smart rat.” She gives Number 16 a pink Froot Loop. “Look at him.” Number 16 is sitting up on his haunches and nibbling his Froot Loop carefully, holding it like a large doughnut. “All he needs is a little cup of coffee.”
“You know, if you keep feeding them extra Froot Loops, they won’t do what they’re supposed to in the maze.”
Rachel strokes Oly’s head. “I think it’s cruel to starve them.”
“They’re not starved, just fed a little bit less.”
“They’re hungry, aren’t they?” Rachel argues. “That’s why they go for the reward so fast, ‘cause they’re starved.”
“There’s a difference between hungry and starved, Rach’.”
“Not to me, there isn’t.” Rachel strokes Oly’s head thoughtfully. “I wonder if rats have dreams,” she says. She smooths Oly’s needle-like whiskers between her thumb and forefinger, holding them out to the sides of his head. Oly explores the buttons on her shirt, nibbling gently on them to make sure they aren’t Froot Loops.
“What would they dream of,” I ask, “running in the maze?”
“That wouldn’t be a dream; that’d be a nightmare. Dreams are s’posed to be about stuff you want to do, not stuff you already do all day.”
“Well, maybe that’s one of the things Dr. Troutman will find out.”
“Whattaya mean?”
I hold a piece of paper out to her. “This. It was in the lab check-in box. It says that starting Wednesday, some of the rats are going to have their brains lesioned, and then we’ll start the memory trials all over again.”
“What?” Rachel puts Oly back in his cage and jerks the paper out of my hand. She scans the memo. “‘Their brains lesioned.’ What does that mean?”
“What?” Rachel puts Oly back in his cage and jerks the paper out of my hand. She scans the memo. “‘Their brains lesioned.’ What does that mean?”
“Just what it says, I expect. Dr. Troutman was talking about it after class the other day. Guess you’d already left. They’re doing an experiment to demonstrate that one part of the brain will take over function if another part is destroyed.”
“Hasn’t that already been established? I mean, we read about that happening, even in humans.” Her voice rises, and a couple of students over by the radial maze look up from their rats.
“Don’t get upset, Rach’,” I soothe. “It’s a fairly common procedure. I think Dr. Troutman said it had something to do with Alzheimer’s research.”
“But Sam, think about it. Oly and Number 16!”
From the other end of the lab, Dr. Troutman raises his head and adjusts his glasses. “Is there something you need help with over there?” he says in his tight, acerbic voice.
From the other end of the lab, Dr. Troutman raises his head and adjusts his glasses. “Is there something you need help with over there?” he says in his tight, acerbic voice.
I take Rachel’s arm and lead her out of the lab. She shakes my hand off, but follows me around the corner. We stand by the water fountain in the hall. “Look,” I say, and I hear myself trying to sound gentle and reasonable. “They’re just rats. It’s the kind of thing they’re bred for.”
“Not Oly.”
“Rachel, you made a mistake when you named him. He isn’t a pet. What did you think was going to happen to him at the end of the semester?”
“Well, I didn’t really think about it. But not this!” Rachel’s face is cloudy, and she keeps looking down and to the left, which, I can’t help remembering, is where the textbook in Behavioral class says some people look when they’re feeling sad. We stand in silence for a minute or so, Rachel looking down and to the left, and me looking at her. There’s a little piece of purple Froot Loop caught in a strand of hair near the base of her neck where Oly was snuggling a while ago, and I want to brush it away, but while I’m thinking about it, Rachel starts walking off down the hall.
“I gotta go to work,” she says, without turning around. “Sign out for me, will ya’?”
“I gotta go to work,” she says, without turning around. “Sign out for me, will ya’?”
That afternoon when I stop by Pegasus, everything seems to be fine. It’s only three-thirty, but for some reason, the “regulars,” as Rachel calls them, are all there. For a while, she’s kept busy behind the counter, checking out videos and popping tapes into the closed circuit system that allows customers to watch movies in the narrow viewing booths at the back of the adult section.
Finally, Rachel looks my way.
Finally, Rachel looks my way.
“You seem to be feeling a little better,” I venture.
“Not really,” she says, “but I have a plan.”
“Whattaya mean?”
She doesn’t answer for a minute, just looks at me hard, as if she’s trying to see something inside me or behind me. This makes me feel nervous. “What?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer for a minute, just looks at me hard, as if she’s trying to see something inside me or behind me. This makes me feel nervous. “What?” I ask.
“Trying to decide.”
“What?”
“If I can trust you.”
And this makes me feel sad, but I’m not exactly sure why. For a couple of seconds, neither one of us says anything, we just stare at each other. And I see something brittle about Rachel now, something cold in her face that I haven’t seen before.
Over her shoulder, I catch the eye of one of the regulars, a tidy, clerkish man who I recognize from the credit union. He clears his throat. “Uh, Miss? Could you start the video? I’ve been waiting.”
Rachel turns to the man, her old, easy manner rushing back with her apology. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She pushes a button on the VCR behind the counter. “There you go. Whenever you’re ready.” The man thanks her, nodding politely, and returns to the viewing booth.
“Okay, here it is,” says Rachel, turning back to me. Her words tumble out quickly. “I’m going to kidnap Oly. And Number 16, if you’ll help me.” “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. And don’t give me a bunch of crap about ‘they’re just rats.’”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Oh.” Rachel looks surprised and relieved. “What were you gonna say?”
“Well, I don’t know,” I stammer, “but I guess I was thinking that it’s University property. It’s not really kidnapping--”
“Rat-napping” Rachel and I say in unison and smile.
“But,” I go on, “it is stealing. You could get kicked out of school.”
“If we’re caught.”
I notice the pronoun. “If we’re caught,” I repeat. 
