Bloodline Sidney Sheldon

One late afternoon when Samuel arrived home, an ancient horse and cart stood in front of the house. On the side of the cart a crudely lettered sign read: “ROFFE & SON.” Samuel stared at it unbelievingly, then raced into the house to find his father. “That—that horse out there,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

His father smiled at him proudly. “I made a deal. We can cover more territory with a horse. Maybe in four or five years we can buy another horse. Think of it. We’ll have two horses.”

That was the extent of his father’s ambition, owning two broken-down horses pulling carts through the dirty, crowded streets of the Krakow ghetto. It made Samuel want to weep.

That night when everyone was asleep, Samuel went out to the stable and examined the horse, which they had named Ferd. As horses went, this one was without question one of the lowest of the species. She was a very old horse, swaybacked and spavined. It was doubtful whether she could move much faster than Samuel’s father. But none of that mattered. What was important was that Samuel now had his laboratory animal. He could do his experiments without having to worry about catching rats and stray cats. Of course, he would have to be careful. His father must never find out what he was doing. Samuel stroked the horse’s head. “You’re going into the drug business,” he informed Ferd.

Samuel improvised his own laboratory, using a corner of the stable in which Ferd was kept.

He grew a culture of diphtheria germs in a dish of rich broth. When the broth turned cloudy, he removed some of it to another container and then weakened it, first by diluting the broth, then by heating it slightly. He filled a hypodermic needle with it and approached Ferd. “Remember what I told you?” Samuel whispered. “Well, this is your big day.”

Samuel plunged the contents of the hypodermic into the loose skin of the horse’s shoulder, as he had seen Dr. Wal do. Ferd turned to look at him reproachfully, and sprayed him with urine.

Samuel estimated that it would take about seventy-two hours for the culture to develop in Ferd. At the end of that time Samuel would give her a larger dose. Then another. If the antibody theory was right, each dose would build up a stronger blood resistance to the disease. Samuel would have his vaccine. Later, he would have to find a human being to test it on, of course, but that should not be difficult. A victim of the dread disease should be only too happy to try something that might save his life.

For the next two days Samuel spent almost every waking moment with Ferd.

“I’ve never seen anyone love an animal so much,” his father said. “You can’t keep away from her, can you?”

Samuel mumbled an inaudible reply. He felt a sense of guilt about what he was doing, but he knew what would happen if he even mentioned it to his father. However, there was no need for his father to know. All Samuel had to do was extract enough blood from Ferd to make up a vial or two of serum, and no one would ever be the wiser.

On the morning of the third and crucial day, Samuel was awakened by the sound of his father’s voice from in front of the house. Samuel got out of bed, hurried to the window and looked out. His father was standing in the street with his cart, bellowing at the top of his lungs. There was no sign of Ferd. Samuel threw on some clothes and raced outside.

“Momser!” his father was yelling. “Cheater! Liar! Thief!”

Samuel pushed past the crowd that was beginning to gather around his father.

“Where’s Ferd?” Samuel demanded.

“I’m glad you asked me,” his father moaned. “She’s dead. She died in the streets like a dog.”

Samuel’s heart sank.

“We’re going along as nice as you please. I’m tending to business, not rushing her, you understand, not whipping her, or pushing her like some of the other peddlers I could name. And how does she show her appreciation? She drops dead. When I catch that gonif who sold her to me, I’ll kill him!”