Zig Zag is Copyright © Max Black Rabbit. Sabrina, Darke Katt and R.C. are Copyright © Eric W. Schwartz. James Sheppard, Marvin Badger, Rhonda Badger, Yohni, Alexi, Michael, Esteban, Mia, Wanda Vixen and Tamara Rabbit are Copyright © James Bruner. Jean LeBrun, Francois LeBrun, Marie LeBrun, Gabrielle Ryder, Theodore Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg the Third, Roxanne Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Timothy Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Malcolm Grazer, Doctor Lupin, Doctor Fox Jones, William Pongo, Captain Archibald, Peter Spermophilus, Miranda Spermophilus, Leo Leon, Vincent Leon, Abu-Yusuf, Sergeant Otetiani, Lieutenant Black, Julie Black, Miriam Redtail, Lizzy Doe, Emma Grey, Rowena Spyke, Jeremy Mustela, William White, Hannah Vulpes, Professor Nutkin, Professor Moose Nicholson, Professor Verner Schnauzer, Professor Erica Belge, Charles 'Mouse' Mombay, Ulf Søndergård, Paul Donkey, Harley Davidson (Not the motorcycle manufacturer, obviously) and Pethouse Magazine is © Joan Jacobsen, 2005.
Legal Notice: This story is Copyright © 2005 by Joan Jacobsen. This story may not be sold or used for commercial profit in any form or fashion. This story may not be modified in any way. This story may not be posted on a mirror site or any other Internet site without the written permission of the author. This story may not be distributed on print, magnetic, electrical or optical mediums.
Permission to use characters that are Copyright other individuals was obtained prior to the appearance of said characters.
The author, Joan Jacobsen, hereby asserts moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is an independent work of fiction with no connection whatsoever to Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions or James Bruner and is in no way meant to imply any connection with Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions, or James Bruner. This story contains characters created by Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, James Bruner, Tigermark and Silver Coyote. Events and characters occurring in this story should not be considered part of the storylines for either 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online' or 'Sabrina Online - The Story'.
In fact, as far as 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online', 'Sabrina Online - The Story' and 'Zig Zag the Story' are concerned, this story does not exist. The artists disavow any knowledge of and do not officially sanction the events in this story.
Darwinism
"I'll be back early today. We won't really have much work to do today," Malcolm called out from the front hallway. He was already putting on his jacket to get going. It wasn't that he was running late but he knew rush-hours in New York on a Monday Morning. Somehow, for a city of fifteen million souls, it constantly struck him as odd that none of them seemed to realize that weekends were only two days long. Monday always seemed to hit the majority of them with complete surprise. Yet, the following week...there it'd be, all over again.
"That's fine. How early is early?" Timothy answered from the bathroom. The water was running so he had to shout to be heard.
"Won't be later than two or three in the afternoon, I think. If it does drag out, I'll call you," the Arabian stallion answered. "I'll see you later. Love you."
With that, he was gone.
He took the elevator down and smiled, politely, to what other furs were already there as he got in. It was slightly cramped, but it always was in the morning. It didn't matter much. Tomorrow would be final dress rehearsals for the new show. Thursday evening would be the first time the troupe perform it in front of an audience. A small one, admittedly. Specially invited. Mostly critics from various newspapers. It was important, too. Especially for Malcolm himself since it was his first lead.
The elevator stopped at the ground floor and he got out, politely apologizing to the femme behind him in case he'd taken up too much space. He didn't get an answer. Frankly, he hadn't expected one. New Yorkers in the morning were not exactly the living incarnations of politeness or alertness. Normally, he wouldn't be either, but he was in a very good mood since everything was coming along so well at work. Not to mention at home. The day before had been very relaxing. Quiet and completely uneventful. Except for the fifteen minutes he'd spent running to and from the nearest Seven-Eleven to get some apples, of course. All in all, it had been a great day.
Now he had to get to work. He turned left and headed down the street, paws in pockets. He whistled, skipped and jumped over a few cement tiles on the sidewalk...chuckling to himself. Monday or not, it was a beautiful day. Normally, this time of year, he'd expect rain or at least overcast skies. So far, it was just warm and pleasant, day after day. No doubt, winter would hit with a vengeance later, but he'd worry about that when it happened. He turned a corner and grinned widely, nodding to his regular source of gossip.
Abu-Yusuf grinned back and held up a big, red apple. "Fresh supplies, my sinful friend," he called out.
Malcolm chuckled. "Mind if I ask a question?" he asked, looking over the various types of fruit available.
"Go right ahead," the oryx answered.
"How come you always point out my sinful nature?" Malcolm asked, letting his eyes wander over a selection of large, green pears. "Don't get me wrong, I know you're just kidding around and I don't mind in the least, but why is it?"
"Aha! You finally asked the question I have been waiting for since we first talked, Malcolm," Abu-Yusuf said and leaned over the fruit-stall. He tapped the side of his muzzle in a conspirational sort of way and grinned. "I'm Moslem, Malcolm...that's one of the two reasons. Even my name signals that...and since it's right there on the sign over my stall, every customer I have expects me to be. I just happen to be Moslem much the same way most New Yorker's are Christian. Or Jewish...or whatever. I take it veeeery easy on religion. I can't even remember the last time I actually prayed five times a day and I stay away from the mosques in general. There's too much anger there...against anything deemed un-Islamic. So just like you'd find biblebeaters, foaming and fuming up a storm about how you will burn in Hell for your preferences, you'll find Moslems swearing you are actively bringing about judgement day. Personally I take it with a big grain of salt. The Koran is not exactly the most logical book in the world."
Malcolm grinned and nodded. "I believe you. I haven't read it. I thought it was supposed to be God's own words, though?"
"It is. But who says God has to be logical? At least for us simple mortals. Are we so conceited that we really believe we have the ability to understand and comprehend an almighty, all knowing being? No, my equine friend, I don't presume to understand Him. So I drink beer and I've been known to enjoy a good cigar. I take God's name in vain, I curse and swear and I haven't tried stabbing you yet, despite you being gay. By fundamentalist standards, I'm more or less the embodiment of evil. Frankly that's just so stupid I refuse to take it seriously. I ran from the Ayatollahs, as you know...I ran in order to be free. I have no right to condemn freedom for others when I seek it myself. Besides, I have a real problem seeing love as evil."
"You are a good fur, Abu-Yusuf. Now...you said there were two reasons, though...what's the other one?" Malcolm asked and looked over his shoulder. The bus hadn't arrived yet.
The oryx grinned widely but humorlessly, scratching his beard. "My wife is the second reason. She's a lot more religious than me," he said and sighed. "She wasn't like that when I met her. It's very silly, really. She was one of those femmes who clapped the most and cheered the loudest when the Shah banned the use of the hijab. After we came to the United States and she realized that westerners think furs from the Middle East are a bad lot, by and large...she started taking religion a lot too seriously."
"Ehhh...what's a hijab?" the stallion asked.
"The scarf that femmes wear to cover their hair in Moslem society. The Shah was a rotten fur, Malcolm, but he did want Persia to get good, natural relations to the west. So he forbade Islamic, religiously dictated styles of clothing. The femmes literally burned their hijabs in the streets in great pyres. If the Shah and his cronies had been less corrupt, and had taken care of the poor before they took care of the super-rich, they would've succeeded because there would've been no basis for the Ayatollahs to gain a foothold with the poor. But the poor saw the rich get richer and richer...and in the end, they turned to religion as their only consolation. The priesthood saw a chance to regain the power they were losing because of the Shah's new laws...you see?"
Malcolm nodded. He sighed but deep down, he knew exactly what Abu-Yusuf was talking about. It was sad to think about.
"I see very well, my friend. It's quite depressing, isn't it?" he said.
"It is. Very much so. Well, I like the western way better, so I ran. The revolutionary guard would've killed me if I stayed, anyway," Abu-Yusuf said and shrugged. "You seem very interested in those pears, Malcolm. Want a few?"
"Yeah, let me have four of those. Mind if I ask what you did before you left Iran, anyway?" Malcolm said and looked up from the fruit.
"Oh, I don't mind you asking..." Abu-Yusuf grinned.
Malcolm chuckled. "But you're not going to tell."
"Exactly. My past is my past, my friend. I don't really see much reason to dig it back up. Let's leave it buried, yes?" the oryx said and found four nice pears, putting them in a brown bag. "Oh, I am getting a shipment of fresh cherries sometime this afternoon. I seem to remember you like those. I'll make sure to put some aside for you for tomorrow morning."
"You really are a good fur," Malcolm laughed and paid for his fruit. Then he turned around just in time to see the bus turn the corner, coming towards the bus-stop where he had to board. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Insh Allah, Malcolm," Abu-Yusuf said with a crooked smile.
A new customer approached and the oryx turned his attention that way. The bus stopped and Malcolm got on it. It was full that morning, so he had to remain standing. That was all right. He smiled and let his thoughts wander back over what his Arab friend had just said.
###
Mrs. Belge sat down at her desk and ran a paw through her hair. She groaned at the paperwork in front of her. Somehow, budgets never added up. Especially when she had to balance the necessary teaching staff with scholarships and new purchases for the library. She sighed and pushed the papers away. There was almost no money to spare. History was a perpetual low-priority field. It annoyed her and it made little sense to her. She realized it wasn't a field of study that cost as much as for instance chemistry. All those glass tubes and fancy fluids had to cost a small fortune...and all the 'science-fiction' machinery a very large fortune. But it was annoying to have to scrape the absolute bottom of the barrel every year, one month into the second semester. Having to tell students for four months; 'Sorry, it's a great idea, but come back with it in January. We're out of money,' was something she was certainly sick and tired of.
It wouldn't get solved by groaning, but right now, she felt like it. She pushed her chair back and got to her feet. Maybe a cup of coffee would help. Even her eyes were tired. Hurting from looking at that cursed paperwork for hours already. Even the short break she'd just taken wasn't helping. Her brain was hurting from crunching numbers. Not dates or years, but fiscal figures.
The door opened. Moose Nicholson stuck his head in. He looked terribly worried.
"Erica, if you have a moment, we've got a real problem on our paws," he said, wearily.
"Not another one..." the rabbit muttered and sighed. "Let me hear it then."
The moose came inside and closed the door behind him. "I'm not sure I can explain this or if it's better you come and see. But do you remember that class we all worried about?"
"You mean 'Developments in the culture of the 19th century'? Yes. I know...that century meant leaps and jumps in many ways. Some that are still hotly debated, idiotically enough. How bad is it?" Mrs. Belge said and sighed, leaning back against her table.
"It's very bad. Erica...we've got some really good teachers here. Some excellent professors and some good intellectual minds overall. The younger staff are inquisitive and complement the older ones very well. Jean LeBrun is just one example. She and I work well together, because she knows I've got thirty years of experience that she doesn't...and because she doesn't take everything I say at face value despite that, but supports the students in asking critical questions. It's refreshing. Even if it doesn't necessarily mean we'll change perspectives, but we'll be forced to look at things the way the students do, again. It helps us teach better," Moose said, sighing. "But the problem is when we find issues that collide heavily with beliefs that are not up for discussion."
"You're talking about religion, aren't you?" Erica asked, wearily. The mere thought was enough to make her tired. Religion and history were two closely related issues. Historians, specializing in any period within the last millenium and half necessarily had to have at least a working knowledge of Christianity, unless they chose to specialize in non-Christianized geographical areas. In which case they'd have to familiarize themselves with the faith or faiths native to that area instead. The impact of religion on any culture was simply too great to ignore. However, problems always arose when certain students forgot their objectivity when it came to issues of faith. It happened every single year. Teaching these furs to set aside their faith and look things completely objectively was one of the biggest, most difficult challenges of her job, in fact. It routinely led to students dropping out, because they were either incapable or unwilling to understand that what they believed in, religiously, could never be allowed to influence their professional work.
Moose Nicholson nodded, sighing heavily. "It is, yes. The class is about to start and there's already a group of fourteen students threatening to boycott it, unless we denounce Darwinism as fraudulent and unscientific nonsense."
Erica Belge rose to her full height of 5'4'' and set her jaw. "Moose, we do not bow to threats. The students are not here to dictate what we teach. They're here to learn. Darwinism had a tremendous impact on the second half of the 19th century. Ergo it's a part of the curriculum. We don't tell them if they should support it or not. That's for each for to decide. This happens every damned year. If not with Darwinism then with something else. Remember those three who refused to take classes in Classical History, because the curriculum involved a book on Graeco-Roman religion? We're not teaching theology here. We're not here to determine which set of religious beliefs is the right one. We're here to teach history, Moose!" she exclaimed. She was getting angry. There was no way to avoid this nonsense every year but she was sick and tired of it nonetheless.
Moose nodded and smiled crookedly. "I know. But I think you need to explain that to them. You have more impact than anyone here, since you're the head of the faculty, and poor Werner is on really deep water here..."
Mrs. Belge sighed and nodded. Professor Werner Schnauzer was a very kind canid. An elderly, quite small and bent over German, and an acknowledged expert on the sociopolitical history of the 19th century. He also hated confrontation. While he would defend his views, he dealt very badly with agitated furs taking outright offense to what he taught. In Germany, this problem had been practically nonexistent, probably on account of different teaching-traditions. Mrs. Belge could easily understand why Werner often spoke about going home. He taught classes in a period that dealt with great political and religious changes. Never a good combination for someone uncomfortable with confrontation.
"Let's go and see how bad it goes then," she said and smiled wearily.
"He's going to talk about the 'Split species' theory today, Erica...and we have fourteen furs in there who brought their bibles to class. How do you think it's going to go?" Moose asked, rubbing his face.
"I don't know, Moose...I don't know. But I know if it gets out of paw in there, I know a few furs who are going to be in real trouble," the rabbit said and headed to the door.
Moose Nicholson nodded and followed the femme out of the office. "Let's go then," he said, trying to sound optimistic.
###
Jean walked down the hallway towards her class. It was her first day at work and so far, she hadn't made any mistakes that she could think of. Of course, she'd only been at campus for ten minutes and she hadn't even been to the teachers room yet. Somehow, it didn't feel like she belonged there. At least not until after she had taught her first class. There were furs milling about, going to classes in various parts of the building.
It brought a smile to her face to look at them. Until a few months ago, she was one of those trying to keep up. Not anymore. Now, the only teacher she had was herself and Moose Nicholson who had kindly agreed to supervise her Ph.D. work. She was quite grateful for this. The elderly moose was without comparison her favorite teacher. He even looked like a historian. She often found the way he fit every possible stereotype perfectly, rather amusing. The professor was in his mid- to late fifties. He was always immaculately dressed, insofar as the clothes were of good quality and clean. He also invariable dressed completely out of style. His pants would sag just a little. He wore orthopedic shoes and a tie, even at the most informal occasions. His idea of relaxing was taking his jacket off. Such extremes as loosening his tie or rolling up his sleeves were inconceivable. One might as well ask the moose to drop his pants. There were round leather patches on the elbows of his English tweed-jackets. He used three different ones, but all of them had that trait. Whenever someone suggested he bought himself a new jacket, perhaps a bit more up-to-date with fashions, he'd look at them in disbelief and explain he'd only worn those for twenty years. Why get a new one before they were worn out? He had a short, neatly trimmed graying beard, he walked fast but with a very slight stoop, and he smoked a pipe. Of course, he wore glasses.
If anyone had asked Jean to describe how an arch-typical history-professor looked...she'd simply describe Professor Nicholson. His mind was completely encyclopedic, though. The vixen knew she had a sponge for a brain when it came to history, but she was consistently awestruck by her mentor. That really was how she'd come to see him. At first, he'd seemed a bit stern. When she had first started her lectures, she had been a little frightened of him, but as time had passed she'd come to appreciate his dry sense of humor and his tremendous knowledge. She'd written a couple of papers with Professor Nicholson as supervisor, and they had quickly developed a fine working relationship. His idea of supervising a student was to meet twice, to make sure the young fur wasn't going off on some wild goose chase and then let him or her get on with the work at paw without interfering. Some thought it was cold and cynical...even that it showed a lack of interest in the student's work. Jean felt it spoke of a tremendous trust. If a problem arose...Moose Nicholson expected you to either handle it yourself or contact him if it wasn't possible. He wouldn't hawk over the student to make sure they did everything right. They'd just get nervous.
Jean smiled as these thoughts ran through her head. Yes...she liked Professor Nicholson. Working with him was a privilege, and she knew it. Her nerves about her first lesson were dissipating as well. She could just see Professor Nicholson for her mind's eye, leaning forward in his chair, looking over the rim of his glasses.
"Do you know your material, Jean? What're you nervous about then? Hm? No? Can't say? Then it's probably nothing, don't you agree? There, that's more like it. Now stop being silly. You'll do just fine," he'd say...spoken in a calm, almost fatherly voice.
She shook her head and chuckled, turning around a corner. Her thoughts about her classes stopped as she nearly bounced into Mrs. Belge and Professor Nicholson.
"Oh...I'm terribly sorry. I'm walking around in my own thoughts," Jean said and smiled apologetically.
"No harm done. Going to your first lecture on the teacher's side of the desk?" Mrs. Belge asked, smiling.
"I am. A little nervous, I admit. I know...I know...I have no reason to be but I think it'd be unnatural not to be a little nervous before one's first lecture," Jean grinned.
"Absolutely. But you'll do fine," the rabbit said.
"Mind if I ask what's happening? You're in an awful hurry," Jean said and looked between the two professors.
Moose Nicholson sighed and shrugged. "Werner Schnauzer is about to start a lecture on the rise of Darwinism and the way debates on the 'Split species' theory influenced late 19th century Europe. You know, the idea that somewhere along the line of evolution, certain types of furs rose onto two feet...or hooves...and developed opposable thumbs. Fourteen of the students have arranged a protest...wielding bibles..." he explained.
Jean nodded, seriously. "I'm familiar with the theory. I used to live with an equine room-mate. She always found it a little bizarre when someone rode a non-sentient horse. If I remember right, Darwin postulated that those species that did split, mainly did so because of a mutation in the hip and shoulders...enabling them to stand upright, at first for brief periods, then gradually doing so for longer and longer until it became permanent. The bit about opposable thumbs and heightened intelligence came later. It's quite logically constructed, whether one believes it or not. If it is true, it stands to reason that is the way it must've happened. It's not my job to ascertain if it is true or not, though. And if one still believes in Adam and Eve, I suppose the question is why we have so many different species of furs, all stemming from the same couple, hm? Anyway, I pity Professor Schnauzer being in that position in the first place. I know how biblebeaters can be, after all. Don't these furs understand that it is not our jobs to take the easy way out and judge history, only to present it as objectively as possible, which is really a whole lot harder?"
Erica Belge couldn't stifle a chuckle. She patted Jean's shoulder and smiled. "Not yet, Jean. It's your job to teach them that, remember?"
"Oh...it is...you're right," Jean mumbled and shook her head. "I've got my work cut out for me then."
"Don't worry about it. There are always those who won't listen," Professor Nicholson said with a little smile. "What you must remember...always...is that just because they disagree, it doesn't invalidate your knowledge. You are good at the class you're teaching. The best student we've had here at that particular thing for years. You know things they don't. It's your job to teach them those things. Some won't agree...but if they won't be convinced, then it isn't your problem anymore. You're responsible only for making the knowledge available to them. It's up to them if they want to listen."
Jean smiled. Again, that fatherly voice of wisdom helped calm her nerves down. She knew Professor Nicholson was right. That was precisely her job. She stepped aside to let the two furs pass.
"I hope it'll work out in there," she said, then nodded to them both and headed down the hallway towards her own lecture. It wasn't very far. At least her nerves were dissipating. Compared to what Professor Schnauzer no doubt had to go through, she was in for a very easy time, and she knew it.
###
Yohni felt like someone had just handed her the keys to the vault of Fort Knox after forgetting to turn on the alarm systems. If she'd been canid, her tail would be hurting from wagging. As it was, she almost felt like wagging it anyway.
"I like Europe," she said, for probably the twentieth time in the last fifteen minutes.
Gabrielle was sitting on a chair, legs crossed, dangling a hoof and looking incredibly amused.
The situation invited it. After holding out all of Sunday, the mongoose had finally succumbed to the demands of her overdeveloped shopping-gene on Monday. Ulf hadn't been able to show them around. He had to get to work to deliver his report on his New York visit. He'd promised to get in touch after he got off work, provided he got a chance. Gabrielle had asked where he'd suggest going for a shopping spree and the canid had laughed heartily, instructing the two femmes to go to someplace called 'Strøget'. After laughing at Gabrielle's four failed attempts to pronounce it, he had explained to her how to spell it, including the slashed 'o'. It wasn't difficult getting there, then. The two femmes had simply shown the note to the taxi-driver who had taken them to a large, open square, and pointed down a wide street. There were no cars that way. Only pedestrians. Apparently, cars weren't to go that way.
Yohni had been like a tightly wound up spring suddenly unleashed. She'd giggled a lot as well.
This was the third shop they visited. Gabrielle had quickly decided that her main task should be to somehow curb the excesses of her girlfriend. Before she emptied her credit card within the first week of the vacation. If she found something she liked, she would certainly buy it. The question was how to make sure Yohni didn't shop too much too fast. They'd put quite a lot of money aside, but she'd never known anyone who could shop with such passion as the mongoose currently trying on her fifth top and seventh skirt.
"I think I have a working idea, Yohni," she said and smiled. "We know how much money we brought. If we divide it up into equal portions...we know how much we can spend each day. If one day we use less, we have more for the next day after all."
Yohni looked over her shoulder and smiled. "I guess you're right. I like this combination though. I'll get these two items here. Maybe we can find some shoes too, somewhere?"
"Well, there is a problem you won't see me suffering from," Gabrielle grinned and dangled her hoof again to illustrate her point.
"Aww, come on. I'm sure you can get some really fancy ones around here," Yohni giggled.
"Probably but y'know, Yohni...any shoes I wear are largely unseen. There's a limit to my snobbery," the equine grinned. "It's not like with you. You have actual feet. You can make a fashion statement with your shoes. All I can do is make a fashion statement with what imprint I leave on the ground."
"At least you only have one toenail to work on. Pedicure is easy for equines," Yohni teased, then looked at the salesfemme. "I'll take these," she said and headed back into the dressing room.
Gabrielle looked around the store. They had some really nice clothes there. She had to admit she was awfully tempted by several items. The salesfemme, a small, very curvaceous gray feline, noticed and smiled at her.
"American too, Miss?" she asked, politely.
"Can't deny it even if I tried," the equine answered, smiling politely.
"Is there anything I can help you with, Miss? Your friend has all her purchases decided on I think," the feline answered and flicked her hair back.
"Well...I do like quite a lot of your tops. I wish I could read what it said on them, though..." Gabrielle said and beckoned at a couple of halter-tops hanging on the wall.
The salesfemme smiled crookedly. "Well, I suppose they'd make a good souvenir then. I can translate for you? Anything in particular you're looking for, Miss?"
Gabrielle grinned widely. "Attitude!"
"You'll like this one then," the feline said and took a black ladies v-necked T-shirt out of a rack. There was a large, deep red lipstick-mark print on it, and some writing in Danish.
"How do you pronounce that?" Gabrielle asked and looked confused. "It might as well be Russian..."
"It says 'Kærlighed får ikke verden til at dreje, men af og til får det verden til at gå lidt op og ned'."
"And...that means?"
The feline winked. "It means 'Love won't make the world go round, but sometimes it does make the world go up and down'. Probably the most 'attitude' you'll find on a top in this store."
Gabrielle blinked. A wide smile spread on her face. "Oh I'll so definitely take it. I can't wait to get back to work and show them that one..."
"Well, since your co-workers almost certainly won't know what it says, I suppose that'll work," the sales-femme said and giggled.
"Believe me...they'll want to know and considering where I work, it'll just land me bonus points with the boss," Gabrielle answered and got up.
A moment later, both she and Yohni had paid and were back outside. The mongoose held her purchases in a bag over her shoulder, reaching out to take a hold of Gabrielle's paw. The equine happily took her girlfriend's paw and smiled. Something struck Gabrielle as strange, though, but she couldn't quite put a finger to what it was. It wasn't something unpleasant, but it was more a matter of something that was...different. Not with Yohni either. It was something about the place.
"What're you in the mood for?" Yohni asked, smiling. "I've got my daily doze of shopping done...but there are lots of windows to look through."
Gabrielle shrugged. "Something to eat maybe? We haven't had anything to eat all day."
Yohni nodded. She had to admit she was feeling a slight rumbling in the pit of her stomach.
"Food sounds good. Got any ideas or preferences?" the mongoose asked. "There seems to be plenty of café's to choose from if that's what you'd like."
"I don't know. I know I don't want anything like Burger Mac or the likes...we have that at home too," Gabrielle said.
They started walking. Gabrielle still couldn't quite shake the feeling that something wasn't entirely normal. It was starting to nag her a bit. There were plenty of furs out and about. Young and old alike. The weather was fine...still not a cloud in the sky. The two femmes passed a fountain with a stork-theme. Young furs were sitting on the edge, eating ice-cream or talking. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood. There were smiles everywhere. She saw more than one couple, holding paws or even stealing a kiss. Not just by the fountain but in general.
"Yohni...what is different about all this? Why can't I get rid of this feeling that something is different?" she asked at last, stopping.
The mongoose stopped as well and looked around. She didn't let go of Gabrielle's paw though. "I don't know. Good different or bad different?"
"Definitely not bad. I'm not sure if it's outright good but I am not feeling ill at ease or anything. I just can't seem to figure out what it is," Gabrielle said and shrugged.
Yohni pondered a moment longer. Once more, she looked around trying to figure out what could be so different.
"It's not simply that the city looks way different than anything we're used to, is it? I mean...it's got this old'ish look to it. I'm sure Jean would be bouncing around between these houses like a kaht on nip. You know...we have a distinct lack of castles and palaces in Ohio. We really need to import some. Which reminds me...we should find a taxi and go see the royal palace. Don't they have a King around these parts?" she asked and looked up at the equine next to her.
"A Queen, actually. According to the lecture, anyway."
"Lecture?"
"Yeah...Jean. Remember I told you about those two hours? Anyway, the travel-guide I bought said the same thing," Gabrielle explained with a crooked grin.
"Ah, yeah, I remember. Well, let's go see if we can't catch a glimpse then. Then we can find something to eat?" Yohni asked.
"Since when did you get so interested in architecture and palaces, Yohni?"
"I played being a princess too, when I was a kid, okay? A real, royal palace with actual blue-blooded content is something I have to see!"
Gabrielle laughed and nodded. There was no way to fight that kind of enthusiasm. Besides, she wouldn't mind seeing it either. She wasn't sure how to get there though. Copenhagen might not exactly be the largest city in Europe, but it was easily big enough to get hopelessly lost in.
"I think we can get Ulf to help us with that, later?" she asked. "I would really like to find some food first."
"Not a bad idea. Let's give the Dane some work," Yohni said and smiled even wider. "Oh, by the way, I think I figured out what's so different."
"What is it then?" Gabrielle asked, once again looking around.
"Stand still a moment," Yohni asked.
The bronco did as she was asked. Stopped, looking slightly puzzled, and waited. Yohni reached up, grabbed a hold of Gabrielle's T-shirt and pulled her down closer before kissing the equine fiercely. Gabrielle blinked but didn't protest. The mongoose made sure to let it linger...nuzzling her fingers in Gabrielle's hair, before she finally let go.
Gabrielle blinked, grinning dumbly. "Whoa...nice. What was that for, though?"
Yohni smiled and looked around, shrugging. Then she took Gabrielle's paw again and hummed, starting to walk. The bronco really had no choice but to follow. She still wasn't quite sure what was going on. She looked around again...
...then it dawned on her.
No one was staring.
###
"Good morning, class..."
Jean had cleared her voice before entering but she still felt like her larynx had gone numb.
She straightened up her back and cleared her throat again, pretending to cough slightly. It gave her a chance to take a look around. There weren't all that many students present. Probably somewhere between twenty five and thirty. She even recognized a few of the faces from around the hallways. Second year students.
"Good morning, class. I hope you're all ready and awake, after a long vacation," she said and put a smile on her face.
A few students yawned in response. That got a couple of giggles.
"Well, that's encouraging," Jean grinned. "For those of you who don't know me...if such a thing is conceivable...I am Jean LeBrun, Ph.D. student. And I'm supposed to teach you...how to think."
That got another few sporadic laughs. Jean put her briefcase on the table and looked at the group in front of her. There were all kinds of furs. Some were older than herself, though they were rather few...others looked like they'd barely come out of High School yet. As second year students, Jean told herself, they were at least one year out of it, but they looked so young. Had she really ever been that young herself?
In a way, it made her relax. She remembered Moose Nicholson's words. She knew these things. It was her job to make that knowledge available to the students in front of her. Older or younger, that didn't matter. They were there to learn. She opened her briefcase and took out some of her paperwork.
"We should probably start by introductions. I don't know all your names, and you already know mine," she said and leaned against the table.
"I think every student here knows who you are, Miss LeBrun," a scrawny looking male terrier said from the back row. "No offense intended, but it's not like you're like everyone else. Rumors spread."
Jean felt a sensation like someone had poured a bucket of ice-cubes down her back. It quickly dissipated, though. She had expected it. Now she had to deal with it. Just because she'd been on summer vacation didn't mean rumors magically disappeared. She nodded, thoughtfully, looking at the terrier at the back, waiting for him to go on if he had more to say.
That clearly made the canid uncomfortable. He'd apparently expected something else. "Ehh...Miss?"
"Well, I'm just waiting to hear what the rumors say. I mean, I'm not deaf. I hear them too but I can't be sure if I'm hearing the same rumors as you?" Jean said, politely. Quite calmly. Her worries were already gone. She was on top of this situation.
Most of the class started fidgeting with their papers and books, looking for pencils or their fingertips. None of them seemed terribly willing to speak up. Jean couldn't conceal a little smile.
"Okay, if no one will speak voluntarily, I'll just have to do it the military way and pick a volunteer. You there, in the back...yes, you. You mentioned this, so let's hear it from you. What's your name, to start with?" she asked and nodded towards the terrier again.
"Richard Terry, Miss," the canid responded, clearing his throat. "Well, I should've just kept my mouth shut, shouldn't I? Sorry, Miss LeBrun..."
Jean shook her head and smiled. "Uh uh...you're not getting out of it. What do these rumors say? What've you heard? Come on, this is important for the lecture, believe it or not," she said, without sounding angry.
Richard Terry blinked. He hadn't anticipated that. "Well...they say you're really male, Miss..." he said and squirmed in his seat. "Some of them say you used to be..."
"Well, the first one is flat out wrong. It never was right, either. The second one is only partially right. I'll keep my private life to myself if it's all the same to you, but I'll leave you to think about it for a moment. The point here is...you heard a rumor and you reacted to it...how?" Jean asked.
"I don't really know. I have to admit I didn't know if the rumors were true or not. I've never met you, and frankly it sounded pretty viscous," Richard answered, shrugging. "Besides, what business is it of mine anyway?" he mumbled and looked at the table.
"None, but you didn't exactly go digging it up, Mr. Terry. You were force-fed this rumor, so to speak, so don't blame yourself. Anyway, we'll make a historian of you yet. You didn't just believe or disbelieve it. You said it yourself. You 'didn't really know' and 'you'd never met me'. This is important. I'm here to teach you critical thinking, as part of historical method. That means you go to the sources and deal with them critically. Does this make sense?" the vixen asked and picked up some papers, holding them out to the first student on her right.
There were some mumblings of acknowledgment around the class. The student Jean handed the papers to, took them. He took one copy himself and sent the rest down the line.
Jean smiled crookedly. "Very well...what is the source in this case?" she asked and looked around the class again.
Richard Terry put up a paw. "Erhm...the ones who told me the rumor?" he asked after Jean had motioned for him to speak.
"HOOONK Wrong answer. Sorry Mr. Terry, you don't win the trip to Malibu beach, but you can still try for Cucamonga..." Jean chuckled.
The students laughed. Even Richard himself. He shook his head and grinned widely, realizing he'd blundered.
Jean took a piece of chalk and turned to the blackboard. "Well, let's try to illustrate this. We have me," she said and wrote down her name, circling it. "Then we have rumors about me..." she went on and wrote the word 'rumor' down, circling it and making an arrow from that to her name. "And lastly we have the origin of the rumor. Those who spread it."
Most students were already busily taking down notes, copying what Jean drew on the blackboard into their books.
Jean wrote down 'rumormongers' and circled it, drawing an arrow to the word 'rumor', then turned back around to face the class. "Where is the source?" she asked.
A female puma raised her paw and smiled crookedly.
Jean nodded in her direction and leaned against the table again, brushing her paws off against each other to get rid of the remains of chalk stuck in her fur.
"Hantaywee Twofeathers," she said, introducing herself. She looked around the class, keeping her crooked smile on her face. "I'm Lakota Sioux, before anyone asks. First of all, Miss LeBrun, I know what this rumor is all about and I'd like to give you two thumbs up for having the guts to do this. Good for you! Secondly, the source of the rumor is you. You're the one it's all about, ergo, if we want to know more...the place to go is not to those spreading the rumor but to you."
Jean beamed. The way the young puma looked at her told her there was in fact no doubt that she knew. That made the compliment all the nicer. She nodded to Hantaywee and winked. "Thank you. And yes...the source of the rumor is me. If you want to know more about something, you have to go to the absolute origins. Now...what I am here to teach you...is how to do that scientifically."
Richard leaned over towards Hantaywee, blinking, whispering something. The puma giggled and thwapped the canid's neck, shaking her head.
"You've studied history for a year now..." Jean went on, ignoring the goings-on at the back of the room. "You've been subjected to a lot of information...a lot of new ways of looking at things and certainly to novel concepts such as scientific theories and methods. Let me guess that most of you study history because you think it's interesting. It's not something a young fur starts a career in to make millions of dollars. Go study law in that case. It's the only legal way to steal money out of anyone's pockets," she grinned.
A round of laughter and a lot of nodding told her she was right. That was good. Interest always made for the best students.
"Excellent," she continued and picked looked around the class again. "You came here because you want to learn what history is about...and you've probably all been sorely disappointed because we're not here to teach you what actually happened hundreds of years ago. I'm pretty sure that a year ago...this class was maybe twice as big...or almost."
"More or less, Miss," Richard Terry said, shrugging. "I think a lot of those who dropped out had expected to be fed history with a spoon. They weren't ready to hear that it was our jobs to go out there and find it."
"Precisely, Mr. Terry. That is precisely it. Now I'm going to introduce you to a further novelty," Jean said and picked up the chalk again, flicking it over in her paw. She felt like she was on top of the world at that moment. She knew something they didn't, and she had their attention. At that moment...she knew she'd made the right choice by teaching.
Every pair of eyes in the room looked at the vixen, expectantly. The rumors were forgotten. What mattered now was what knowledge the lecturer had to share. Whomever that lecturer was.
"I am going to give you the tools with which to lie," Jean said and leaned back against the table again.
A round of surprised murmurings went up. Jean raised a paw to stifle them before anyone protested.
"One thing you probably learned already is that when you look in two different books written by two different authors about the same topic, you'll get two different sets of information. So...which one is right? It's a rhetorical question...because neither set of information is right. Neither author has the whole truth...the total truth. It doesn't exist. As a historian, it is not your duty to tell the truth..."
Hantaywee raised a paw, frowning. "I don't understand that...you mean we should invent whatever we please?" she asked, disbelief on her voice.
"No," Jean said and chuckled. "Good grief, imagine the history-books we'd have then. No, I'm not telling you to be 'Discovery Channel' and make up your own information as you go along, I'm telling you that the truth does not exist. When you look critically at sources, you will learn that absolute truth cannot be found. It is your job not to tell the truth...but to tell the smallest possible lie."
Jean crossed her legs and looked as this sank in. Every face in the classroom slowly went from 'what the Hell is she talking about' to 'ohhh....'.
It was a fulfilling to witness.
It was victory.