A Finch

With the secure blanket of darkness smothering the city of Nottingham, a door opened precariously, an urgent hand beckoning a group of inquisitive people into the homestead; a mixture of young and old, female and male. There was only a candle at the table for light, and a boy watched the window, his gaze often slipping towards the alluring moon. He caught the eyes of some of the group as they walked in, his brow rising in judgment as he watched them settle down into a protective formation around the table. The unstable, wooden structure held an apparatus of which the company fawned over in awe and exhilaration of the upcoming event.

Benedict Wallace stood in the shadows observing his audience. A few young maidens were present, tittering nervously as they eyed the glass dome that rested at the top of the device; which could pose a problem for they’d be likely to draw attention to his home. The children giggled as they tugged upon their parents’ clothing; unscarred by the corruptions of the world, but eyes full of curiousity as their sights fell upon the machinery.  The adults themselves were sombre; and for the right reason. If they were caught today, the implications for everyone involved would inhibit the rest of their lives.

“An air pump, it’s called,” Wallace suddenly spoke, startling the audience to yelp with surprise, “They say that it will help us greatly in the future, but today is the future!” His voice had ended on a harsh note, causing the males to frantically nod in agreement.
“What an air pump does, you see, is create an area of low pressure right here by suctioning the air away.” He motioned to the bottom of the apparatus manically, “And that creates a high pressure system within the glass dome that from where the air then flows down to accommodate the air needed to keep the pressure level. But then what happens when there’s no air left? That’s what the scientists of the world puzzle about; the substance that is present when air isn’t. Though there is only one way to determine what it is…” With that dramatic speech out of the way, he turned to a cloaked stand next to him, jerking it off in a gracious flourish. A finch resided within a cage, glaring at them with beady, cold eyes before ramming itself into the bars, and withdrawing with a loud screech of aggravation as it started to preen itself with newfound energy.

The boy at the window looked back, a sneer in his expression as his eyes roved over the open-mouthed spectators, before gazing out again with disdainful eyes. Not paying heed to him, Wallace meticulously removed the air-tight dome before placing the bird within, and hurriedly re-attaching it.
“This is the first time that I’m doing this with an audience,” Wallace announced. “Though most of you have been waiting for this moment of truth. To see whether all the reports that the scientists give us are true. Behold; the experiment of the air pump!” With a loud clank, Wallace flipped the switch, causing a great, guttural grunting of the machinery before it spluttered into life, complaining whilst it started to suck the air, and exhale it with deep, hot breaths.

Indignant gasps filled the air, as the children clung to their parents, and wives buried their faces into their husbands’ shoulders. There was no sound from within the dome, so sight was the only observation upon which many could use. For a while the finch seemed lively enough, its frail wings flapping as it tried to navigate the dome; a mean of escape. After a few minutes though, when the machine was turned off and a stopper placed below the dome to stop the air flow to go back, it began to manifestly droop, appearing drowsy and clumsy as its wings fell limply to its side.

Wallace splayed his hand out, “So what does this dome consist of? Certainly, whatever remains is unable to sustain human life.”
Yet only silence followed as he looked over his audience. The only sound was of a young girl weeping steadily, muffled. Wide eyes were only on the struggling finch, which had now collapsed upon its side, shaking with twitchy breaths, wings futilely stretching. Weaklings, Wallace thought, that they couldn’t stomach an experiment that was vital for knowledge; for the power of being the dominant race. He was so absolutely sure that this was the answer to a stronger world; one filled with mechanical machinery and electricity. Instead of waiting for a hundred years for this evolution, he was determined to bring it crashing upon the world now and be famous for rushing the future; for helping the world to progress swiftly.
“And yet it remains alive for quite a while.” Wallace continued, forgetting his thoughts and disregarding the shocked quiet. Small steps at a time; first he had to convince an elite amount of people before appealing to the government “Does this give us the notion that the animal itself possesses something that keeps it alive?”
One of the men looked up, in shock, “You think so? Really? That was disproved years ago.”
“Animal energy.” Wallace nodded knowingly. “I believe strongly that it is what keeps it alive. You can see the plating here is steel, and what is the bottom? Copper. That is why the heart continues to beat.”
“Your theories are ridiculous.” Another gentleman disputed. “Galvani had tested it on a dead frog. How would it be affecting a living finch? And even as we watch; it grows closer to death, its eyes lidded with the pain and misery of this cruelty you afflict upon it! If only, it disproves your idea.”
“It will stay alive.” Wallace insisted stubbornly. “The animal energy will force it to take shallower breaths, to withhold as long as possible.”

“Eventually, it will run out, won’t it?” The boy at the window challenged, jumping down from his ledge by the window, looking disgustedly at the audience. “This animal energy, if it even exists; there would only be a limited amount.” He had watched Wallace conduct this experiment multiple times before and each time, the animal that was placed within the dome had died. Whatever Wallace was trying to do, he was killing harmless souls, abusing nature; abusing the world.

“Charles, you miscreant –“Wallace started speaking heatedly, his attention focusing on the boy; eyes burning in anger. The little brat had always tried to impose his narrow-minded ideas upon Wallace, but had managed to remain silent on the topic of the air pump. He should have known! Of course, he would have looked down upon it; the boy was simply a coward, unable to understand that to live in today’s world; one needed to make sacrifices on a daily basis. He shouldn’t have taken the little chit in, shouldn’t have kept him alive all these years.

The two men glared heatedly at each other; unaware of anyone else. The tension was palpable, and Charles could see a vein throbbing at Wallace’s forehead, and how he was starting to perspire. All Wallace saw was red; a dark scarlet that surrounded Charles; demanding his blood, and his dignity.
“You’re nothing but useless.” Wallace snarled, his hand rising to smack Charles and he ducked his head, waiting for the striking blow that would push him to the floor; like the countless other times that he’d been sprawled across the hard timbre floor, crying with shuddering breaths for the affection that he had never received. This was his life; but today he was putting a stop to it.

The blow came then, strong and harsh; his body tumbling onto the floor, as Wallace shook himself off with great effort; reining his temper in. Looking up, he saw the people who had originally come to witness the great miracle staring at him horror, some shaking their heads in revulsion.

“Sir Benedict Wallace?” A voice distracted him and he turned to look at the source of the noise; near the open door. Standing there was a man, dressed in a police uniform, his mouth set in an unforgiving line as he noticed the young male on the floor who was groaning in pain, as well as the finch in the air pump that had finally become still. Its body lay awry on the plate, breast upwards, and neck drooping behind its wings. He saw the finch’s eyes, glassy and lifeless, feeling a low sinking feeling as he realised that his rescue was too late; the animal had indeed been murdered.

“Wh – what do you want?” Wallace spluttered, his face red, as he straightened his coat and looked at the officer with a demanding eyebrow.
“A moment, please,” the officer sighed. “Civilians, I’ll require you to evacuate if you wish to not be associated with this man. Of course, we already have your names on record, but you’re being given a generous option here.”
The populace in the room looked at each other in resignation as they made their way out, some relieved, others grumbling about the new-found law.
The officer then put out a hand, picking up the young boy. “Is Benedict Wallace your father, young man?”
Charles shook his head, coughing raggedly as he looked up at the officer. “He’s my guardian.”
Nodding, the man cleared his throat importantly. “As you very well know, in 1876 – just last year – we passed an act as the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. You’ve just acted against the Cruelty to Animal Act Controlling Experimentation, and for that, Mr Wallace, I’m afraid that I do have to arrest you for breaking the law, and apparently abusing your charge as well.”
“It’s for science,” Wallace spat, looking around for an escape. “And he deserves it; just look at the little fool. Ever since the blasted police force has come into existence; you have made my life a living hell! I can’t do anything I want, constantly restrained by these ridiculous laws.”
The officer nodded knowingly, stepping behind him to take his hands, leading him out of the house. “Son, you’ll be alright until we get someone here, right? It’ll only be a day at the most.”
As Wallace was escorted away, expletives bubbling rabidly out of his mouth, he turned to see Charles give him a sarcastic, little wave before slamming the door shut. Growling in frustration, he vowed that one day, the boy would pay for the misfortunes that he had caused.

 Charles, as soon as the door was closed and locked, made his way to the air pump, where he removed the dome and removed the finch gently, placing it on the table. Taking the apparatus that had caused misery for many creatures; he went outside in a sudden rage, smashing it into small shards of metal and glass without a thought. The finch was buried hurriedly, and finally he was able to raid his guardian’s room for the information that had been abstained from him; information that detailed all the aspects of his life; facts that didn’t necessarily determine who he was, but where he came from. That night was spent reading through those papers, curled up in a  warm corner of the room, as tears teased his eyes, dripping steadily as he apprehended what had happened to his family. They hadn’t abandoned him, as he’d been told before in a mocking, taunting voice. They had loved him. They had cared. It was a good thing that he had alerted the authorities of Wallace’s depravity; had realised that his work was an abomination. Otherwise; he ever mightn’t have known about what occurred to his heritage; hadn’t ever learned the truth. 

As for Benedict Wallace, he was convicted for conducting animal experiments for years without a license, and for continuing the practice after the act that had strictly forbidden it had been put into place and thus sentenced to five years of harsh penal servitude.  The two never crossed paths again, much to the bitterness of Wallace who lived out the rest of his life, branded as a criminal.