Specimen & Other Stories by Alan Annand Read Free Book Online Page B

Suddenly the air was
filled with a cloud of butterflies. Peter pursued them with his
net, capturing several in a few swipes. He came back to where
Walter was now seated on the ground, his back against the face of
the cliff.
    “Didn’t I tell you?” Walter said. “Two at a
time.”
    “This is amazing.”
    Peter opened his basket and took out half a
dozen small jars. One was filled with cotton, another with fluid,
the rest empty. He opened the jars, took a cotton ball and dipped
it into the fluid, then put the ball in an empty jar. Carefully he
plucked a butterfly from the net, examined it and then put it into
the jar with the cotton ball.
    “Ether?” Walter guessed.
    “Chloroform.”
    Peter plucked another butterfly from the
net, examined it and tossed it away. It fluttered away across the
clearing. He plucked out another one and put it in a jar.
    Walter sat at the base of the cliff, reading
a book. A bottle protruded from the top of his open rucksack. Peter
trudged in from the sun and collapsed on the ground beside him.
    “Anything interesting?”
    Peter caught his breath. “Three new
families.”
    With obvious weariness, he prepared the last
three jars. He poked around in the net, mauling the undesirables,
and withdrew one by one the best three specimens of the catch. He
placed each in its jar and put all his jars into his basket.
    “What a day!” he rejoiced.
    Walter offered Peter his bottle. “Celebrate.
Have a drink. You’ve earned it.”
    Peter hesitated, then took the bottle and
drank.
     
    ~~~
     
    Walter stood in the middle of the clearing,
facing the stone head. Their expressions were equally grim. Walter
dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his foot.
He walked to the base of the cliff, where Peter lay curled,
sleeping on the ground. Walter picked up the machete. He looked
down at Peter, at the carotid artery pulsing in his exposed neck.
Walter ran his finger along the edge of the machete. Peter snorted
in his sleep, his legs twitching. Walter moved in closer until he
was standing directly over Peter.
    Peter,” he called.
    Peter woke up and raised his head. He saw
Walter looming over him with the machete. His face convulsed in
alarm. “No!”
    “Yes,” Walter said. “It’s time to go. It’ll
be dark by the time we get back.”
    Peter lay frozen a moment, then scrambled to
his feet. He gathered up his hat, his basket and his net.
    “How long was I asleep?”
    “An hour or so.”
    “What were you doing?”
    “Getting hungry. Are you ready to go?”
     
    ~~~
     
    Peter sat alone at the dining table. He
removed the last specimen from its jar and with a long pin mounted
the butterfly with the others on a panel of his portfolio case. He
sat back and admired them.
    Walter came in from the kitchen, carrying a
platter of meat, a bowl of vegetables and a few plates balanced on
his arms like a waiter.
    “Aren’t they beautiful?” Peter said.
    Walter nudged the portfolio cases aside and
set down their food. “Yes, but more so when they were alive.”
     
    ~~~
     
    Six nights later, they sat in rattan chairs
on the verandah. A pair of glasses and a bottle of brandy occupied
the small table between them. Walter smoked a cigarette. A full
moon hung well above the horizon. The water was dead calm.
    “I can’t believe the week’s gone already.
“Peter shook his head. “Tomorrow the boat comes to take me
back.”
    “Pity, isn’t it? We barely got to know each
other.”
    “I know. We’re still awkward – like
strangers.”
    “And there are still so many things I don’t
know about you.”
    “Like what?”
    “I don’t know anything about your personal
life.”
    “I have none. I told you I never
married.”
    “But with no heirs, then what would happen
if...?”
    “Everything goes to the Royal Society.”
    “Really?”
    “Science is my only passion. I want to help
support their research. I suppose you might think that’s
unfair.”
    “Not at all,” Walter shrugged.