The Book of Lapism, Deluxe Edition

By Phil Geusz

If biotech can sculpt the body, can it also shape the mind. . . and soul?

That was the challenge laid before Dr. Aaron Thomas by his latest client, to shape him into a gentler, more loving being, inside and out. But the world is not a kind and gentle place, and as one man’s search for truth inspires a movement, will a kinder, gentler people be able to survive and face the legal, spiritual, and ethical challenges that await them?

The New Book of Lapism contains all of the original short stories, presented in their original order of publication, as well as the new stories Prodigal Son and Chosen People.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legion Printing
• Release date: May 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311276360

Book preview

Foreword

This book presents the Lapism stories in the order of their original publication. This is done because later stories build on characters and concepts developed in earlier stories, creating a more coherent narrative than if the stories were presented chronologically.

Table of Contents

Foreword

Drama Class

Schism

Full Immersion

In the Beginning

Prodigal Son

The Chosen People

Other Books by Legion Printing

Drama Class

1

It was a damp and chilly morning at the school bus stop, but even so the weather was a welcome change from winter’s bone-freezing cold. Thunder rumbled occasionally in the distance; it’d been raining off and on for two days and the ground was muddy and covered with puddles. But for the moment it felt very good to be out of doors. The trees were budding and already a single redbud down the street was flowering into violet splendor. The birds were singing, the scent of new life hung everywhere in the air. I was feeling bright and full of energy. It was a wonderful morning!

I’m looking forward to it, myself Ray was saying for the hundredth time. My father says that the Marines are going to make a man out of me for sure.

I nodded politely. Are you working out every day like you said you would?

Sometimes, my plump friend said, looking down. But I’m still gaining weight. I nodded again as Ray polished his glasses nervously. I can’t stay away from Burger Royale to save my life. Sometimes I envy you, you know. Most of the time, even. You eat salad all of the time and never get tired of it.

Never say never, I answered with a grin. Sometimes I get a real craving for a chocolate milkshake. A big one.

But then you burn it right back off, Ray countered wistfully. "I wish my parents had gotten me a gengineered body when I was a baby."

You weren’t around when I was little, I countered. It was pretty hard in elementary school sometimes, being a Lapist. You can’t have the slightest... But I didn’t finish the sentence; instead I perked up my ears and listened.

What’s wrong? Ray asked, seeing me suddenly go stiff.

Shh! I answered testily. The sound was just a distant stuttering roar at first, but it grew steadily louder and clearer until I was sure. Damn! Quick, Ray! Take my backpack! I’ve got to go!

But...

There wasn’t any time to spare, so I just dropped everything onto the wet grass and took off at top speed. Normally I can’t outrun a motorcycle, but this time I had the advantage of being able to cut across a couple of my neighbors’ yards. By the time the big bike arrived at my house, I was doing a pretty fair imitation of a speeding bullet and was just four houses down the street. My younger brother emerged from the front door casually, then saw me coming. Digger! I cried out. Don’t you...

But it was already too late. My brother is almost as fast as I am, and probably will be even quicker someday. In three hops he was astride the bike, and the big Harley was already moving before I came up alongside. Digger! I shouted angrily. You know you’re not supposed to—

Aw, shove it up your candy ass! he answered me with a smirk. Punch it, Tom! And with that the helmeted driver opened his throttle wide, outdistancing me in no time at all.

Digger! I cried out again. Come back here! You’re on probation, remember? But the bellowing exhaust swallowed up my words, and presently I gave up chasing the Harley and stood up on two legs to watch my sibling vanish over a hillcrest, long brown ears flapping in the breeze. Digger! I called out one last time, but it was far too late. He was gone and might not be back for days. Damn it! I murmured under my breath. Damn it all to hell! It had only been a week since Mom had gone back to work, and already my brother was acting up again. What on earth were we going to do with him?

My reverie was cut short, however. In the distance I heard another distinctive engine roar out; this time it was my bus climbing the same hill a block over! Damn Digger and all of his problems, anyhow! I was going to miss my ride to school, barring some kind of miracle. Angrily I dropped once more to my forepaws and pound-pound-pounded across the yards in nearly the opposite direction I’d just come. There was a chance, just a chance, that I might make a successful interception at the subdivision entrance. I leapt fence after fence, once taking a terrible chance by passing within five feet of Mr. Kuttmann’s startled Great Dane as she peacefully urinated in her normally calm and placid back yard. With hindpaws skidding in the mud I barreled around the last corner around the Welch’s shed just as the bus pulled up at the stop sign. I’d made it after all!

Yay, Berry! cheered my busmates as Mrs. Cribbs opened up the big door to let me aboard. I was breathing hard after my two long dashes, and now I could feel the linings of my ears growing warm in an embarrassed blush as well.

The bus driver leaned way over in her seat and spoke in a low voice that only I could hear. Brush yourself off, Blueberry. It’s all right. I saw Digger go by and then noticed that Ray was carrying your backpack. So I waited for you. She smiled. You did your best. And I‘m running a few minutes early today anyway. Take your time.

I nodded shyly. She wasn’t early; just being nice. The older woman lived two blocks down from us and knew Mom and Dad pretty well. They played cards together sometimes. Thanks! I’d made a terrible mess out of my nice clean white fur in the mud and grass, and my forepaws were all soggy and dirty too from being run on. Ray? I called out into the bus. Have you got my stuff?

My friend knew what I needed; he brought me my small travel comb and I worked out the worst of the guck while my driver and fellow students waited patiently. There, kiddo! Mrs. Cribbs said kindly after I was done. You look a lot better now. Hop on up and let’s be on our way.

She meant it literally. The bus entryway was much too steep for me to step up onto, but I’d quit being self-conscious about that sort of thing a long time ago. Or at least mostly I had. Carefully I grasped the railings and hopped up three times. Then I was aboard and able to walk around and pick a seat like the rest of the kids. I chose the place next to Ray, as usual, and he continued on just like nothing had ever happened. I’ll get to shoot machine-guns and throw hand grenades and ride helicopters...

I sighed and nodded. Ray had been talking about almost nothing but the Marine Corps for weeks. It came as a relief when he was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. Psst!

What? I asked, turning half around in my seat. It was Jay, from my drama class.

Where was Digger going? he asked. We played baseball sometimes after school, and he knew my brother a little. Up until a few months ago, Digger had usually played with us. But he hadn’t been much interested in stuff like that lately.

Who knows? I answered, rolling my eyes. Not where he should be, is all I know for sure. He’s been skipping school.

The guy on the bike looked pretty old, Keith pointed out. He was Jay’s very best friend, and some people thought that perhaps he was something a little more. That bike must’ve cost a fortune!

His name is Parks, I answered in a low voice. Tom Parks. He’s a dropout, and maybe about twenty-two.

The pair sat silent for a moment. Oh, Jay replied eventually. There didn’t seem to be much else to be said, so I turned back around in my seat.

You’re really worried about your brother, aren’t you? Ray asked.

Yeah, I answered eventually. Everyone is. I think he’s smoking dope and maybe doing worse, but I haven’t told Mom and Dad yet.

Ray whistled. He’s only fourteen. That’s kinda young.

I sighed and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. School busses made no provision for bunny tails. Can we talk about something else? Please?

Sure! Ray answered brightly. You know, I bet the Marines would straighten Digger right out! My dad would sure think so....

2

When we got to school, Mrs. Cribbs told me she was going to call Mom about Digger for me, so I had nothing to do before class but make a routine stop at my locker. I took drama first hour, which I always thought was a really nice way to begin the day. As usual, most of my classmates had already gathered in the oversized classroom, and two or three were busily setting up for the morning’s rehearsal even though the bell hadn’t yet rung.

Heya, Berry! Celicia greeted me with a sunny smile. You look a little tangled this morning. Run out of shampoo?

I smiled back at her. No, just decided to do a little cross-country work to get the old blood flowing. But look at you! Split-end city! Back in the seventh grade Celicia had begun perming her hair into elaborate ‘dos, and had never stopped. The running class joke was that the only person in school who spent more time under a hair dryer than her was me. We’d kept the gag going for over four years now. I think you may need professional help.

Usually my partner kept a straight face, but this time she out-and-out giggled before answering. Well, you oughta know, Berry. You’re the big hare expert.

I rolled my eyes in mock surrender just as the morning bell went off; in any other class we students would’ve already taken our seats and waited for attendance to be taken. But drama was a special sort of place, so we paid the bell very little attention at all. There were only thirteen of us, all hand-picked fourth-year drama veterans. Presently all of us were sliding props around on the small mini-stage and donning costumes; we all knew what to do. I was just tying a necktie over my t-shirt when I noticed that Mrs. Lansing had joined us.

Over here! she was directing Jay as they maneuvered a backdrop into place together. More to the left.

Gotcha, Jay replied. Let me get it for you. This thing is heavy.

In no time at all our stage was set up as a miniature house. There was a bustle as if someone had stirred up an anthill, and then like magic we were all in our assigned places. Mrs. Lansing sat down in her front center seat, and suddenly it was time. All right, she declared. Let’s get started.

A special little thrill passed through me, one that I’d never known outside of drama class. I was the Narrator, a far more important part in this particular work than in most others. I stepped briskly out to the podium, then swallowed and pressed my split upper lip closed just as tightly as I could. The work we were about perform was a true masterpiece, one that didn’t deserve to be lisped through.

There Shall Come Soft Rains, I began soberly. A dramatization of the short story by Ray Bradbury... Suddenly our classroom was filled with life and magic. Clocks spoke in poetic rhyme, automated appliances cooked hot breakfasts and electric mice cleaned carpets in a kind of parody of normal home life. But meanwhile, it very quickly became clear, the real mothers and fathers and children of all the world were dead, dead, dead; achingly dead and gone, until eventually the house died too and all that was left of the family and of mankind was a single electronic voice reading a poem about life and its inevitable passing. As always, the tragedy of it all absolutely overwhelmed me. I was openly weeping by the time I reached the closing couplet, though my voice remained as firm as I could make it, and I had to gather myself for a moment before reading the credits. Narration by Blueberry Longleaper Rabbit, I finally finished, and then Mrs. Lansing was on her feet and clapping her hands off. Even more importantly, she was crying too.

Wonderful! she gushed. Just wonderful! You all should be very proud of yourselves! We’re going to knock ‘em dead at assembly next Friday!

Yay! we all cried out in a chorus, jumping up and down and slapping each other on the back. Every single one of had experienced the intense chemistry, had felt Bradbury’s masterpiece come alive as we recited our lines and played our parts in the greater whole. Mrs. Lansing was right, and we all knew it. We were going to knock them dead!

A bell rang in the distance, but we ignored it. Drama class ran two hours, so the bell really only marked our halfway point. Our teacher gathered us into a circle and critiqued our performances. Bill Whitman, one of the electric mice, had stepped to the left when his motion ought to have been to the right. Jay had failed to center one of the backdrops properly. Celicia had been late on a cue. And my voice, despite my best efforts, had sounded a bit strained during the final poem. I know that it’s very hard, Berry, our teacher explained. I was crying too. But I could afford to, being out in the audience, while on stage you simply cannot. You need to work on that some more.

I nodded. She was absolutely right, of course. I was probably the least-skilled actor in the room—my real interest was in stage-design, at which I was frankly not particularly gifted either. Mrs. Lansing had considered my tenor voice to be perfect for narrating Rains, however, and so I was giving it my best shot. When we finished with our critique session there was still almost ten minutes of class time left. I could let you out early, our teacher suggested. You did wonderful work today...

None of us stirred, and Mrs. Lansing smiled. All right, then. Let’s talk about something special.

What? Joey Cohen piped up.

The Summer Play, of course. She paused dramatically as everyone sat straighter and my ears visibly rose. As you know, traditionally we do Shakespeare. Several hundred people show up; the Summer Play is a big event around here. This year, however, I feel like we ought to do something different.

What? Celicia asked. She was almost certain to have the female lead, whatever it was. Her hands were visibly trembling.

Alice in Wonderland! the older woman replied, and suddenly everyone was staring directly at me.

My ears rose again, but this time in alarm. Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly...

But apparently others did not agree. Awesome! I heard Celicia crow as she pounded the stage in ecstasy. "Yes, yes, yes!"

I want to be the Mad Hatter! Jay cried out in delight as he reached over and hugged me to him tightly.

And I want to be the Dormouse! Billy shouted. He was small for his age, as well as being unusually gifted in the silliness department. There was no doubt he’d get the part, none at all.

But, but... I objected weakly.

But what? Jay answered for everyone. "It’s perfect! I hate Shakespeare, even if I get flunked for saying so. We’re the perfect class for Alice. Thank you, Mrs. Lansing!"

Yes! everyone cried out, one after another. Thank you, thank you! Then the bell rang and this time we simply could not ignore it, much as we would have liked to. For the rest of the day we’d be normal high school kids attending mundane, dull high school classes. It was pretty hard to take after Drama.

Aww! we cried out in the ritual chorus, then one by one everyone filed out the door. I tried to hang around until last so that I could talk to Mrs. Lansing, but Jay wasn’t having any of that.

Come on! he cried out, grabbing me by the elbow and grinning like the Cheshire cat that he might very well soon portray. We’re late! We’re late!

Yeah, I answered weakly. I guess we are at that. And with those words I let him drag me out into the bustling hallways.

3

The rest of the school day was every bit as humdrum as I’d expected it to be. I took a calculus test, watched a bad movie in American History and took a nice nap in study hall. At lunch I sat right between Jay and Celicia, listening to them chatter endlessly about Alice as I sat and quietly ate my greens. You don’t seem very excited, Berry Celicia pointed out eventually. Is something wrong?

Well, I temporized. I get to play a white rabbit every day. It’s not like the part is going to be any kind of challenge for me. Besides, I’m worried about Digger.

Hmm, Jay replied thoughtfully. You’re such a natural for the part that I never thought of it that way. And I do hope that everything comes out all right for your brother. He used to be so nice! Then they were off again, talking a mile a minute about their hoped-for roles.

On the ride home from school, I learned from Ray all about why the Marines still officially preferred the older M-14 rifle to the more modern AR-15, even though the Army weenies had forced the Corps to go with the inferior weapon regardless of the fact that they were wrong. Then I was off the bus and home at last. When I opened the garage Dad’s car was inside, something very unusual. He was waiting for me in the family room.

Hi, Berry. How was school today?

Not bad, I answered, closing the door behind me. Have you heard from Digger?

Dad’s face fell, and I noticed that the liquor cabinet was open. Neither Mom nor Dad drank very often except when entertaining, but when they did you could be sure that something serious was bothering them. No, son. Not a word. I took off early, hoping that he might come back in the afternoon when he thought that no one would be home. The minute I heard the garage door opener I was going to nab him. But he’s still out.

I sighed and looked down. "He’s so stupid!"

Dad sighed too, and then he stepped over and paced his forepaw on my shoulder. I’m proud of you for trying to stop him this morning, Berry. You’re growing up to be a fine young Rabbit.

I looked my father in the eyes; among we Lapists being referred to as a Rabbit is a very high compliment. To us, the word has a far deeper meaning than to normal humans. I’ve had a very fine Rabbit to live up to, I replied after a long time. Dad, Digger isn’t evil, you know. He’s just...

Shh, shh, shh! my father hushed me. We’ll talk about Digger plenty later, I’m sure. But today is Wednesday. Or had you forgotten?

Of course not, I answered. Wednesdays and Sundays were always devoted to religious study and family activities. Dad had been tutoring Digger and I every Wednesday night in our faith for as long as I could remember. But I thought that tonight...

Dad smiled. You thought wrong. I’ll not have your brother’s delinquencies affect you any more than I can help it, Blueberry. It’ll be just you and I tonight; your mother is working late at the lab. Have you got any extra-urgent school homework that you need to take care of?

Not really. I was a good enough student that I rarely brought any work home at all, except on long holidays.

All right, then. I’ve chopped you up some nice veggies; they’re in the refrigerator. There’s some really tasty melon juice in there too.

I nodded eagerly. Melon juice was my favorite drink.

Dad smiled. I think I’d like to work on chapter twelve tonight. Would that suit you?

Sure. It really didn’t matter to me. One chapter was as important as another.

Good. You read up and eat dinner, and I’ll see you at about… What, six o’clock?

All right, I agreed. On a sudden impulse I stepped over and hugged my father. He’ll be all right, Dad. I know it. Digger is a smart kid, in his way.

Dad hugged me back for a very long time before letting me go. I sure hope so, Berry.

I wish Mom was here, though. Why didn’t she come home too?

She’s a gengineer, son. There’s a procedure in process. She can’t just up and leave whenever she likes; someone’s life is depending on her. Somehow, though, my Dad's voice sounded considerably less certain than his words would indicate. Now you go and study your texts, Berry, and I’ll do the same. Then we can have a nice Discussion-Time together.

I nodded, then dropped my schoolbooks on the coffee table and visited the kitchen. Dad had picked us up some fresh celery, crisp broccoli, and had run a fresh head of cabbage through the shredder. We rabbits are not much on heating things up; I simply took a large bowl out of the cabinet and filled it to the brim. Then I poured myself a nice, tall glass of melon juice and took everything to my room where I could study in privacy.

The Book of Peace was the primary philosophical work behind the Lapist movement; it’d been written almost two decades ago, not long after gengineering had really taken off and proven itself practical. Sweetgrass Bloomsniffer Rabbit had been the very first Lapist; he wrote the Book of Peace as a direct result of having his body reworked into lapine form. Sweetgrass hadn’t sought out ethical insights through physical change, he explained in the introduction. Rather, he’d merely chosen to utilize a previously-ordered design that otherwise would’ve gone to waste. But his frugality had borne fruits far beyond his wildest expectations. Once he opened his eyes as a Rabbit and saw the world through new and gentler eyes, he'd known instantly that the universe could never be the same for him again. As a Rabbit, he strongly believed, he was a far better person than he’d ever been as a human. When the body changed, he reasoned, the soul could not help but change as well. Within a year the Book of Peace was written and Lapism was born.

I smiled to myself as I pulled my own personal Book of Peace down from the shelf in my room. It was hard to believe that my parents had allowed me to even handle this particular book when I was very young, much less put it through the kind of battering that any normal kid dishes out in the normal course of things. But my grandfather had given it to me personally not long before he was martyred, and had given another one just like it to my brother. I clasped the big volume to my chest and sniffed at it. Yes, his scent was still there, all right. It was far more distinctive and personal than any mere signature could ever be, was the scent-mark of Sweetgrass himself. My grandfather, some Lapists claimed, was the cleanest-smelling Rabbit who’d ever lived. I was lucky to be able to remember him; poor Digger couldn’t, I knew.

Chapter Twelve was all about what it truly meant to wear a Rabbit’s body; it was in some ways the essence of the work. When we choose to walk through a human-filled world as Rabbits, my grandfather stated, we’re making a crucial statement about ourselves with every breath we take, a public statement that no one can possibly miss. We’re dedicating ourselves to peace, to living our lives in search of purity of soul, and to seeking gentle and humble existences. Living one’s life in a Rabbit’s body is the most sincere possible commitment to the ideals of peace and harmony. Moreover, because the wearing of a Rabbit’s body is such an all-encompassing and obviously different choice of lifestyle, the Rabbit is continually reminded by both himself and others that his actions need now be judged by a higher standard. The new body provides both the means by which improvements in human nature can take place and a continual spur to achieve greater and greater heights of goodness.

Sweetgrass went on to explain why he thought that the lapine form was so ideal a choice for personal improvement. There were subtle personality alterations in any human/animal morphing, and he felt that becoming a Rabbit steered these alterations in exactly the right direction to counter the worst of humanity’s vices. Even more, the greater human society acted to reinforce these personality changes. I knew from my own experience that people expected me to be nicer and more polite than they did most other folks, and that they usually were more polite in return. Being a Rabbit was much like wearing a clerical collar that I could never take off, and wouldn’t want to if I could. Grandfather had been completely right, so far as I could tell. Rabbithood could improve one’s life enormously, and made meaningful personal growth far easier for us than for the mundane. I was still young, but already I could see the foundational truth of his beliefs. In elementary school my ears had been pulled and the other kids had teased me and made me wish that I was a ‘normal’ person. Nowadays, however, I lived among more mature humans. Among adults I was now an object of respect, almost a holy figure, just as Grandpa had foreseen. Never a figure of fun.

I sighed and closed my Book; I was supposed to be meditating more than reading. Like most Lapists, I had the work practically memorized. Becoming a Rabbit was the luckiest thing that’d ever happened to me, I now understood, and being a Lapist suited me just fine. Someday I would in turn follow in Dad’s footsteps. Even now he was reading the same tracts as I was, trying to help his son along the Way. Lapism wasn’t a religious faith, not at all. We claimed no mystic knowledge and pretended to no divine revelations. Rather it was a way of life, and at that a far better one than anything else out there so far as I could tell. Once a year we Lapists held a big get-together, and hundreds of us Rabbits flew in from all over the world. For that single glorious week we were able to live almost wholly among others like ourselves, and the difference that it made was incredible. Everyone was so nice and thoughtful and considerate!

I sighed. There was just one problem that I could see. If Lapism was such a wonderful thing, then how had my own brother Digger gone so far astray? He wasn’t the only Rabbit ever to go bad, of course. But they were very, very few. How had Sweetgrass’s own grandson come to be among the failures? I thought and thought and thought about it, but there was no answer that I could see. Eventually six o’clock came, and it was time for Dad and I to hold our Discussion.

4

My father was still studying when I entered the family room, reading his Book while absently swirling a mixed drink in his right hand. Oh! he said, looking up. It's six already?

Uh-huh I answered, plopping down on the floor at his feet. Time flies when you read Chapter Twelve.

It surely does, Dad agreed. Then he set his drink aside and began the Discussion. Just a little while ago, son, we were standing in this very room telling each other what wonderful Rabbits we are. Will you tell me what you think it means to be a Rabbit, Berry?

Sure! It means being able to hop really fast, having fur all over, big floppy ears—

Berry! Dad interrupted with a smile. You haven't been six years old in a very long time now. Come on! Give me the kind of answer that I know you can.

I smiled back. All right, Dad. I think that being a Rabbit is about striving to become the essence of goodness, more or less. It's not about wisdom; we're no more gifted in that department than anyone else. And I don't think that it's about being morally better than anyone else either. What I think it's all about is tapping into the potential for ethical growth that lies within us all. Maybe we increase that potential through our physical change like Grandfather thought, and maybe not. I've been a Rabbit for longer than I can remember and therefore can never know. But I'm quite sure either way that being a Rabbit is all about tapping the potential inside of us. I paused. "Dad, you converted as an adult, right before you married Mom. Do you think that you're a better person now?"

Yes, he answered without hesitation. Absolutely. I only wish that I'd been as lucky as you, and could never remember having been anything else. Anything lesser. His eyes closed for a moment, then he sipped at his drink before continuing. When I fell in love with your mother, I tried at first to persuade her to give up the 'bunny rabbit nonsense', as I used to call it. I thought her father was an eccentric crank, though a brilliant one. But over time I began to realize that the very things I admired and loved her for the most were part and parcel of her Rabbithood, just like her crazy dad was claiming. Getting made into a bunny isn't cheap nowadays, and was even more expensive back then. But I took out a loan and did it anyway. I decided that I wanted to be a Lapist whether she married me or not. Though she did, thank god. He paused, looking thoughtful. Your Mom thought at first that I had myself changed just to impress her. Sweetgrass, though, knew me better than I knew myself. He was like that; it felt sometimes like he could look right through you. Dad paused and smiled. I don't think I've ever told you this, Berry. But my mother's maiden name was Hutchings. Your grandfather and I used to laugh about that sometimes.

I sat up and crossed my legs Indian-style. Really?

He sipped at his drink again. Yeah. It's kind of funny, isn't it? Anyway, there is only one acid test for anything in life, and that is whether or not it works out in the real world. I can tell you that Lapism worked for me. I know this from personal experience. For just about everyone who joins us, it works. Not that we Lapists are all angels, mind you. I’ve known a few Rabbits who were frankly real sons of bitches. And others that are irresponsible losers. But man for bunny, I think that we come off very well in any kind of moral or ethical comparison that you'd care to make.

I thought about that for a minute. Thinking about things was encouraged during Discussion Time. Why is it, then, that we don’t proselytize? Why aren't we trying harder to share this with others?

Because your grandfather believed, and I agree with him, that Lapism is something that you have to find within yourself. If the potential to be a Rabbit is there, then the person in question will seek us out and find us. We're kind of hard to miss, you know. We stand out in a crowd; everyone knows we're around and exactly where to find us. If the potential isn’t there to begin with, then trying to persuade someone to become a Rabbit against their nature would be a terrible mistake—a crime, even. He sighed. I wonder about your brother sometimes, quite frankly. We chose to change you both very young, before you could make your own choices. At the time it seemed the right thing to do, but… What if someone just doesn't have a bunny in him? Your grandfather agonized over this very question a lot towards the end. He was never certain about what was right when dealing with kids.

A lot of people would stop us entirely if they could, I pointed out.

Dad nodded. Thank heavens for the Bill of Rights. By the time that animal-morphing was outlawed, your grandfather already had his Book written and almost two dozen converts in hand. The Supreme Court saw things our way and therefore our labs stayed open when all the rest closed. He paused. We Lapists have sought to become gentler and purer. But back when I was just a little older than you are now there were people getting morphed into all kinds of vicious and obnoxious forms just for looks or thrills or money. If becoming a rabbit is good for the soul, which I know it to be, then is it not reasonable that becoming a lion, say, would be bad?

That was something I'd never thought about before. I wonder what Digger would be like if he were a lion? I asked. Would he be happier?

I doubt it, Dad answered after a long time. Though sometimes I wonder. Your grandfather told me several times that he ran a little wild himself when he was young. Sweetgrass was arrested for grand theft auto at age fourteen. He was convicted, too. Not a lot of people know that, Berry. And even those who do rarely talk about it. It doesn't mesh very well with his clerical image.

I blinked. No, it doesn't.

Dad sighed. Adolescence is a time of rapid growth and development of the personality. In humans it seems that rebellion against authority is an important part of the process. Whether we like to admit it or not, we Lapists are more human than lapine by far. You've had a few bad days yourself, Berry. And you're still young enough that I expect more of them before all is said and done.

I blushed, remembering times when I'd screamed at Dad at the top of my lungs over what I could now see had really been nothing at all. I'd not put my father through that again, not if I could help it. He didn’t deserve to be treated that way.

But you've pretty much kept things under control. Whatever it was that you needed in order to grow, you've found it somehow. Digger, though... Dad sighed. He’s looking in all the wrong places. I just hope that he comes out as well in the end as your grandfather did. Though on days like today I have my doubts, I must admit.

We sat quietly together for a long, long time. That happened a lot during Discussion Times, and it might even have been my favorite part. Dad? I finally asked.

Yes, son?

I need to ask you about something.

What's that?

You know how much I like drama class.

Right. I'm planning on coming to see you narrate 'Soft Rains' Friday at the assembly performance, by the way. I meant to tell you sooner, but I wasn't sure until today that I could make it.

Really? I smiled. Is Mom coming too?

No, she has another procedure to perform. Dad looked very tired for a moment, then he was all concern again. What is it that you need to ask?

Well... They've decided on a summer play.

And?

Instead of doing Shakespeare like they always do, they're going to do something else. Because of me, I think.

Because you're such a good narrator?

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. No, Dad. They want me to play the White Rabbit in 'Alice in Wonderland'.

Oh. He winced, then was thoughtful for a time. I can get you out of this on religious grounds, you know. The school district has always been very good about this kind of thing. I suppose your teacher—what’s her name, again?

Mrs. Lansing. She's a really good teacher, Dad.

He held up a hand. "I know, I know. Absolutely top notch, in fact, judging from what I've seen. But she’s probably not aware of our doctrine on this sort of thing. We never abuse our Rabbithood by trivializing it like that. It means far too much to us."

"She doesn't know, I confirmed. I'm sure of it. But Dad, there's more. Everyone—everyone!—except me is just dying to do 'Alice' now instead of some dumb Shakespeare play. You should’ve seen the way the whole class jumped up and cheered. And all of them were looking right at me! I stared down at the carpet again. Dad, I don't want to do this. But how can I disappoint everyone? They’ll all know it's my fault if we don't do 'Alice' now."

Dad cocked his head to one side. Why can't they put on 'Alice' anyway and let you do something else? Like backstage work?

Because... Because... I sighed. "Because I'm an artist, Dad. They're right; having me play the White Rabbit, and for that matter probably the March Hare too, will absolutely make this play. It's the justification that Mrs. Lansing needs to break the Shakespeare tradition. If I don't play these parts when I know that I could do a better job than anyone else, then I'm letting the troupe down. And they're my friends too, Dad."

Hmm. My father picked up his glass, stared at it a moment, then sat it back down without drinking any. There are good arguments on both sides of this one, Berry. Sure enough, there are. I don't know that there are any purely right or wrong answers here.

"But... What should I do?"

You'll have to make up your own mind, son. I'll support you fully either way, so long as you've thought things through. Adolescence is about growth, after all. So I reckon that you're about to do a little growing up.

"Dad! I complained. What would Grandfather have said? This is important! I don't want to put him to shame!"

Beats the hell out of me, son, to tell you the truth. This situation probably would have beaten the hell out of him too. He never sought to be venerated, and honestly never considered himself to be anything particularly special. The way his writings are practically worshipped today wouldn’t have pleased him. Most likely he’d have advised you to make up your own mind, like I just did. He smiled lopsidedly. Only you can decide this one, Berry.

I sighed and rested my muzzle in my hands. I don't want to make Lapism look like a joke. Honestly I don't! But I can't let my friends down either!

Dad reached out and touched my shoulder. "I know, son. Think about it, and then do the best that you can. In the end doing the best that you can is what being a Rabbit is really all about,"

Now isn't it?

5

Dad and I watched an old movie for a little while after Discussion Time was over, then around nine I went to bed. We Rabbits need a little more rest than normal humans, especially during our teen years. It’s one of the few real drawbacks. I'd been asleep for what felt like a long time but probably really wasn't when Mom's voice woke me up. ...and we're likely to stay overloaded for a long time to come! she was saying loudly, not quite shouting. People are waiting a year or more to become Rabbits. The only other clinic in the world licensed to do this kind of work is terribly overpriced. You know that! I have obligations at work too! Important ones!

I know, Dad replied in a calmer voice. And you being Sweetgrass's daughter makes it even more important that you be there in the front lines. I recognize that, and accept it. But you've got to look at the other end of things too, is all that I am saying. Digger is in real trouble. You're not spending nearly enough time with Berry, either. It's a miracle that he's turned out to be such a good kid so far, what with all the mayhem going on around him. When was the last time that you were at Discussion Time with us? Have you ever even attended one of his plays?

There was a long silence. Shit! Mom cursed in frustration. Then there was a long silence. There are only so many hours in the day, Silkfur she said finally. You're right. But I've got such huge responsibilities...

Things grew very quiet then, and I was just about to go back to sleep when there came a scratching at my window. Berry! I heard my brother's voice whisper. Are you awake?

I was out of bed and at the window in a flash. What in the world? I asked conversationally, opening it up. Why aren't you—

Shh! he interrupted, real urgency in his voice. Have the cops been by?

Not that I know of, I replied, voice lowered. I've been asleep, but I think I'd have noticed if anyone had come to the door.

Whew! Digger seemed to deflate a little, as if he'd been terribly worried about something. Open up the screen and let me in, willya?

Sure! If my brother wanted to enter the house via a window instead of a door, that was just fine by me. In fact, I’d have willingly knocked a hole in the wall, just so long as he was back in the house. The screen took only a moment to unlatch, then my brother squirmed on through.

Thanks, Berry! he whispered. I appreciate it.

Carefully I sniffed at Digger. His fur reeked of dope and... Blood! Digger! Are you hurt? I reached for his left arm, where I thought the scent was coming from, but he snatched it away.

I'm fine! It's just a scratch.

I sighed. Don't be stupid, Dig. If I can smell it this easily, you're bleeding pretty bad. It needs to be looked at. Besides, Mom and Dad have good noses too.

With great reluctance my brother extended his arm out to me. I reached over and turned on the reading lamp at my desk. Sure enough, about halfway down the outside of Dig's left forearm there was a great mass of clotted blood in his fur. Yech! I said. I'm no doctor, but I bet this will need stitches.

No! he snapped, snatching his arm back again. Mom and Dad can't find out. Not ever!

I sighed. Digs, I began, then let my voice trail off. There was something else in my brother's scent besides dope and blood, I suddenly realized. It was the stink of fear, not like what came from riding a carnival ride but real, acrid honest-to-goodness run-for-your-life fear. It’s okay, I said reassuringly, just like I'd heard Dad do when one of us got hurt playing games. I'm not going to tell anyone or do anything unless you let me. All right?

He stared into my eyes intently, then decided I was telling the truth. All right, Berry.

I smiled. Good. Now, let's get you into the bathroom and get this cleaned up.

Digger and I worked very quietly, as our parents were equipped with ears every bit as sensitive as our own. I used the emergency flashlight from the hall closet to work by. Mom and Dad weren't talking any more that we could tell, just sitting quietly and watching television together. If we made too much noise, they would certainly hear us. Owww! Digs hissed as I poured antiseptic over his fur. Fuck, but that hurts!

Shh! I cautioned him. Be quiet! Cleaning clotted blood out of dense rabbit fur is a real bear of a job, but Lapists get lots of practice and tend to keep the right supplies for the job convenient and ready to use. Digger's fur was dark brown, and that helped a lot. It was much harder to get stains out of white fur, like mine. The wound proved to be small but deep. It looked like a puncture to me. The bleeding had mostly stopped, though there was still a little oozing. You've been in a knife-fight, haven't you? I asked accusingly.

Shit! he cursed again as the antiseptic penetrated deeper. And what business is it of yours?

I'm your brother.

You're a candy-ass, he answered me, though his tone was far more kindly than the words themselves. Stay out of this, Berry. This kind of thing... Well, it's just not for you.

I sighed. You're my little brother, I repeated again. Did that Parks guy get you into some kind of trouble?

No! Shut up, Berry. I'm warning you!

By then I was almost finished with the bandaging job. I still think that you need to go see a doc about this. Or else at least let Mom look at it.

No, he answered me, looking down at the carpet. I... I just can't.

I nodded. All right, then. I promised you that I wouldn't say anything, and I won't. But will you let me look at it every day or so? To see if it’s getting infected?

Yeah, he finally agreed reluctantly.

I smiled, then grew serious once more. Good. You know, you're going to have to talk to Mom and Dad eventually. They're worried sick about you.

For the first time, my brother looked slightly repentant. I could go back out the window, he said slowly. Put on a different shirt, try and clean up my scent...

I wasn't really sure if it was the right thing to do or not, but I knew that Mom and Dad really were worried sick about Digger. Anything that got the three of them back together seemed like a good idea. So I dug out the scent-killer spray and my brother found himself a clean long-sleeved shirt and we bustled away until he was at least presentable. My sibling would still be in very serious trouble, but not nearly so bad as he otherwise would have been. In a few minutes he was sitting astride my windowsill once again, looking at me with an odd expression on his face that I couldn’t quite identify. Thanks, Berry he finally said.

You're welcome, I answered, surprising myself by meaning it. That's what brothers are for. Digger sat there for just a moment longer, then he smiled and was gone. Hurriedly I closed my window back up, then threw myself back under the covers. A very long time passed, and I began to worry that Digger had lied to me and headed back out to wherever it was that Tom Parks took him all