Page 36 of Requiem & Reverie

“How many taxidermists do you have on site?”

“Our curator should be able to tell you that.”

“And what’s his name?”

“Simon Jeffries.”

Once down in the lower level, we reach an area that reminds me of my high school science class, with its wooden cabinetry and large island tables and black countertops. Some animals are encased in three dimensional frames, some in glass boxes. Others are freestanding throughout the room.

The only person in the room is a woman, wearing a green apron with the company logo, working on what looks to be a hawk.

“This is our main lab. Down the hall there is where all the specimens are catalogued and stored. If you’ll come with me, I’ll introduce you to the curator.”

Down another hallway, she leads me to a smaller lab, where a man sits hunched over a bench with a magnifying light in front of his face.

On the bench is a tiny rodent, a baby mouse, or something, at a guess.

“Excuse me, Mister Jeffries?”

“One moment, please.” Not bothering to look up, he draws a thin scalpel down the belly of the animal. The absence of blood is a sign it’s likely been kept on ice, or something.

A cool little trick I learned, to reduce the amount of blood spilled.

When the man finally looks up, he appears to be in his twenties, and his brow furrows. “Can …. Can I help you?”

“This gentleman is here to tour the building as a potential donor. He has a few questions for you, regarding the taxidermy department.”

His eyes skate to hers and back to me. “Of course. Uh … what can I answer for you, Mister …”

“Voss. You can call me Voss.”

“Mister Voss.” He holds out a hand, still encased in latex.

I glance down, waiting for him to remove the glove, and he smiles sheepishly, withdrawing his hand.

“Forgive me, I’m a … bit of a germaphobe. Perhaps we can get to the questions you have for me? I’m quite busy, as you can see.”

He’s certainly lacking in social skills, and I’d bet this guy probably spends most his life in this lab. Probably talks to the stiffs all day long, too.

Hands stuffed into my slacks, I look around the room, as if I give a shit about what they do down here. “I’m curious to know how many taxidermists work in this department?”

“We have four on staff, including myself, and then various students who come in and assist with the cataloguing, educational programs, that sort of thing.”

“The taxidermists … they come from all walks of life?”

“Some study ecology at the university. Danielle, in the next room, is one who wishes to … take my job, someday.” He chuckles and adjusts his glasses with his exposed wrist. “Wishful thinking.”

Definitely lacking in tact.

“You’re an equal opportunity employer, I see. It’s fairly diverse down here, in terms of age, gender, that sort of thing?”

Another flicker of confusion dances across his face. “Yes, we’re quite diverse. Um, about half males, varying ages, from twenties to our doctorate level student, Richard.”

“Richard,” I echo. “What does he do?”

“Well, you’re welcome to ask. He’s in the back.” The dismissal in his tone is a cue that he’s had enough human interaction for one day, and when he begins picking at the mouse in front of him, I can tell he’s anxious to get back to work.

The woman still standing beside me gives a nod. “I’m happy to introduce you.”