Lab rats

The lab was stuffy. The air seemed much denser than the air in the hallway outside had been, and the faint smell of chemicals imposed itself onto his nose. Martin had always wondered how rooms such as hospitals or labs could be stuffy yet smell of disinfectant simultaneously. He wrinkled his nose but quickly straightened his demeanor: he couldn't act like a seventeen-year-old boy, not when he was supposed to assist someone as respected as Professor August Hirt. 

The aforementioned professor busied himself around the lab, preparing the little vials of liquid mustard gas. He'd explained everything to Martin before. "We've given the rats a lot of vitamin A, recently I found that vitamin A gathers in the liver and takes up the space that the toxins of the mustard gas would. So far, the rats have lived for much longer if they received vitamin A before being exposed to mustard gas." Science wouldn't be very scientific if experiments weren't repeated many times to prove their accuracy, so the professor and his assistants were trying it out again. This time with a little more mustard gas than the time before. Martin shuddered at the idea of the rats who didn't get any vitamin A before coming in contact with the Kampfgas. 

He watched the little critters run around in cages, squeaking, as Professor Hirt readied all of the equipment. "Around mustard gas one has to be very careful," he'd remarked, "it can have very dangerous consequences." He'd experienced them firsthand. August Hirt's lungs had recovered well, but they weren't what they'd been before. And they would never fully heal. Martins's eyes followed one of the rats. The rodent was curious, it sniffed around the glass confines and once even stood and placed its tiny hands on the glass. Martin swallowed hard. Had Franz done experiments too? Or had he been more of a theoretical researcher? 

Professor Hirt turned to him and gently called his name, bringing him back from his tortured thoughts to the here and now. To the torture itself. "I think it's best if you just watch this time, Mr. Weiher." He said with his unique but uncanny speech problem, "Next time you can do some of it yourself. I will show you everything." 

"Are the rats not sedated?" Martin asked as he watched Professor Hirt reach into the glass box with one of his gloved hands. 

"They were given a natural remedy to relax them before," Hirt explained, "but noting wild. It shouldn't interfere with the mustard gas." He held the rat gently. It was still in his hand. He dropped a single drop of the liquid onto its back and rubbed it in. "That's it. That's the magic. Or the medicine." He looked at Martin and the corners of his mouth curled up ever so slightly.

That's when Martin realized what had put him off about the man before. He hadn't smiled. And now, seeing that August Hirt's thin lips only very, very slightly tugged upwards at the ends made Martin understand why. It wasn't that he didn't smile because he was arrogant or unhappy. He didn't smile because he physically couldn't. Not to the extent that most people can. 

He watched the man carefully put the rat back and then reach for a second one. He was very focused on his work. And after every couple of rats, he'd note something in a lab journal. The way he worked was professional and precise. 

To see him work was the most absurd thing in the entire world to Martin. There was a man in front of him who'd been through two wars, fighting as a soldier in one and as a doctor in the next, a man who'd experienced all the horrors that life could throw at somebody. And he couldn't even smile. But he still did his work dutifully, carefully, even with pride and enthusiasm. What an impact not smiling must have had on his life. As if an issue with articulation hadn't been enough! Martin tried to shake his amazement off and focus on what the professor showed him but it proved difficult. 

The lab was silent as they worked and Martin watched. Once in a while, Hirt would comment on what exactly he was doing to explain it to Martin Weiher. He occasionally asked if he had any questions, but Martin always just shook his head. He was too mesmerized by the man's handiwork to think of a question.

At the end of the experiment, Hirt instructed him on what to put away and where. The rats were enclosed in their confines again, the ones who had received vitamin A locked apart from those who hadn't. Hirt let Martin leaf through one of the lab journals to refresh the man's memory on how to write entries. It all looked familiar to Martin: he guessed that Franz had done things similarly back in his days at university. 

***

They left the lab. Hirt thanked his assistants and bid them farewell, and then he turned to Martin Weiher. "Would you like to go and grab a drink before you retire home?"

"A drink sounds like a great idea," Martin said. And he meant it. 

He didn't have the energy to process what he'd witnessed in the lab. He didn't want to admit that it had fascinated him as much as it had disgusted him. 

"Professor Hirt," he asked slowly, "do you ever feel guilty about what you're doing to the animals?"

"No." The answer came as if shot out of a gun. "The experiments we conduct are necessary, and the results could potentially save many lives. We're not playing with life, that would be morally incorrect, but I don't see anything wrong in testing out theories to serve a greater purpose." 

Martin remained unconvinced. 

"Think about it, Mr. Weiher," Hirt continued, "most vaccines we have today, every cure for sickness, all of these things were tested on animals and eventually on people as well. It's something unavoidable in science."

"Does that make it right?" Martin pushed. He didn't know why he was being so 'suspicious' but he felt like he needed to be. For the rat's sake. 

"Mr. Weiher - I encourage you not to think about it too much. The answer is clear as day: it's alright to experiment with living organisms if the research is important."

"I guess you're right."

"You'll get the hang of it, don't worry about it too much. Once you've done several experiments it becomes routine work. I'm not saying it's anything like working with cadavers, because I would be lying if I said so, but we're able to get used to doing pretty much anything no matter how repulsive or wrong it may have seemed in the beginning." 

There was truth in the professor's words. 

No matter the atrocity, people will get used to it. 

It's the most inhumane and human thing in the world.