Free Fleabrain Loves Franny by Joanne Rocklin Page B

paradoxical effect of bestowing extraordinary powers upon those who have survived a first dose. I don’t know if this has ever happened. There had never before
been
any survivors of the first dose, as far as I know, although,of course, I am going by purely anecdotal evidence. But I surmise that I developed powerful antibodies, which, when fighting the poison a second time, in some way affected my resilin. Resilin is the rubbery protein in a flea’s limbs, which explains my amazing jumping ability under normal conditions. My unfortunate experience with Be-Gone-with-Them helped concentrate my resilin so that it became even more effective. I didn’t think I could become stronger and smarter, but here I am.”
    â€œI’m not sure I understand all that, but it sounds wonderful,” said Franny.
    â€œâ€‰â€˜Ah! Sweet Mystery of Life.’ Sweet mysteries of the molecules and atoms of which we are composed. Never, ever underestimate them. Small is great, I am learning.”
    â€œ
You
are great, Fleabrain,” said Franny. “And kind, too.”
    â€œI meant ‘great’ in the ‘powerful’ sense,” said Fleabrain, “as opposed to the ‘wonderful’ sense, although small
can
be wonderful, of course. Small is great. Invisible is great. The atom is great. Antibodies are great! I’m sure the German-born physicist Albert Einstein—born March 14, 1879—and I are in accord about all this, as we are about many things, although I’ve never quite reconciled myself to his vegetarianism. And as the Roman philosopher Lucretius—born 99 BC, died 55 BC—suggested …”
    At this point Franny couldn’t suppress a yawn, which she tried to hide with her apple core.
    â€œOh, dear,” cried Fleabrain. “I’m prattling on and on! I just find everything so fascinating, and, before meeting you, I haven’t been able to share it with anyone.”
    â€œYou’re not boring me, Fleabrain. I’m just sleepy and comfortable,” said Franny. “Small is great. I will remember that. But what about viruses? The poliovirus, for instance.”
    Fleabrain paused briefly. A flea-millisecond of a pause, but Franny noticed.
    â€œNot so great,” he admitted ruefully. “Powerful, yes. But not wonderful. Anyway, let’s not talk about viruses. It’s time to cross the boulevard and meet a couple of fellows who are very important to me, besides yourself and Alf, of course. And do bring that apple core.”
    A police car from the Northumberland station was patrolling the area. Fleabrain and Franny and Alf waited until the coast was clear, hiding behind a big dark tree. Then they scurried across Beechwood Boulevard and along English Lane to the stables.
    A joyful whinny soon greeted them—Lightning, stomping about in the second stall. Fleabrain unlatched the gate to the stall, as the other horses watched from theirs. The horse approached Franny, bending down, as he always did, to nuzzle her neck.
    â€œFor you,” said Franny, giving him the apple core. “Dear Fleabrain thought of everything.”
    Meanwhile, Fleabrain had delved into Lightning’s tail and the area around the horse’s bottom. “Over here, Francine,” he called in a muffled voice. “Come meet some friends of mine.”
    On close inspection with Sparky’s Finest, and by the light of the gleaming moon, Franny could see Fleabrain leaping and cavorting with several tiny multilegged insects, who seemed very excited to see him. “I visit the ticks as often as I can,” said Fleabrain, “whenever Alftakes this particular route. Unfortunately, a few of these cute tykes will be dead by tomorrow.”
    â€œOh, no!”
    Fleabrain sighed. “Well,
c’est la vie
. Excuse me; translation from the French: ‘such is life.’ Or such is the life cycle of the ordinary tick. Very, very short. I’m the