Vasco, Leader of the Tribe

Vasco placed his front paws on the edge of the crate and stuck his head out. His snout raised, he happily breathed in the smells of the harbor--salt, fuel, burnt rubber, and rust--all of which indicated the presence of freighters. There is no better place in the world than this for a young rat, he thought as he stretched out his body. Each day humans dumped enough trash on the wharf to feed the entire tribe. Since his birth, Vasco had never known hunger. Life was easy for him. Eating and sleeping were all that he required. Yet as the sun rose on the horizon, glimmers of dawn began to redden the harbor waters. The bustle of men would soon make this place too dangerous to linger around. It was time to go back. His belly heavy with food, Vasco clumsily clambered up and passed through the hole in the crate. He fell onto the other side and scurried between the steel cables coiled on the wharf. Although he had never left the docks of the harbor, he felt more daring each day. This past night he had gone a little farther than usual from the nest. And who knew? Soon he might find the courage to go beyond the last landing dock, straight toward the city. For the time being, though, he hurried along, impatient to rejoin his tribe and the safety of his nest. His mother, brothers, and all the others were waiting for him. He cleared a gangway, slipped through the moorings of a tugboat, and zigzagged between the huge legs of cranes. He could see the warehouse now and covered the last stretch at full speed. He coasted along a wall and turned at the corner before finding the twisted sheet of metal that his kind used as a door. When he reached the opening, Vasco stopped, on the alert. A strange silence hung about the warehouse. Vasco sniffed the air with worry, on the lookout for danger. Picking up no particular signals, he ventured inside. In the warehouse, everything was quiet . . . too quiet. Vasco cautiously approached the opening in the pipe that led to the burrow. He sniffed an unfamiliar smell. It was not that of a cat, or of another rat, or of a human. It was a new smell, not altogether unpleasant. Vasco hesitated and stood on his hind legs. Finally he slipped into the pipe and reached the corridor that had been dug under the warehouse. The unfamiliar smell was still there. But Vasco didn't detect the morning commotion that usually prevailed when he returned from hunting. Why weren't the females scurrying in all directions to feed their little ones? Vasco grew increasingly concerned. Going deeper into the burrow, his snout forward, he explored each nook and cranny. He recognized the foul smells of urine, of droppings, and of food remnants. But where were the rats of his tribe? Vasco emitted a short cry and pricked up his ears. An icy silence made him shudder. His heart began beating madly. He let out another squeak, running this way, then that way, until he reached the end of the burrow. Now he had to acknowledge what he saw: there was no one around. Vasco was seized with fear. He ran in circles, unable to make a decision. He thought of his mother and brothers and wished they would appear so he could take refuge among them. But nothing happened. The mysterious and frightening silence continued. Panic-stricken, Vasco rushed toward the exit, knocking against the elbows of the pipe and hurting his flanks on the metal mesh installed by men to keep rats from going through. When he finally reached the ground floor of the warehouse, he ran outside to search for a sign, any trace, of his family. Men were busy at work on the ships, but Vasco sprinted toward the end of the wharf. All of a sudden he noticed a small ball of gray fur lying between the wheels of an idle loading machine. His heart thumping, Vasco slipped under the vehicle. The ball of fur did not move. Vasco came nearer, sniffing at it. It was Memona, the oldest rat of his tribe. Full of hoBondoux, Anne-Laure is the author of 'Vasco, Leader of the Tribe ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780385903783 and ISBN 0385903782.