Page 59 of The Defiant One
"You know, you really need to get out of your laboratory once in a while and see what goes on in the real world. Of course they are! Aren't all innocent beasts exploited in one way or another by the human species?"
He merely looked at her, his features barely discernible in the gloom. But she could see his dark eyes only inches away, his lips so close she could feel his breath upon her cheek.
"I'll tell you something else, too," she said, staring up at the dark ceiling so she wouldn't have to look into that handsome, searching face. "Not only are these poor little dogs confined within these wheels, but many cooks put hot coals on the iron tracks so that they run their legs off in a futile attempt to keep their paws from being burned."
"You're bloody joking!"
"I'm not."
"How dreadful . . . Good God, I never knew."
"It is dreadful, isn't it?" She began to relax, warming to her subject as she realized she had not only his attention, but his sympathy for her cause. "Now you know why I'm trying so hard to make people find an alternate way of cooking their roasts. Animals have feelings, just like we do. They're not meant to be hurt, or abused, or exploited for our sakes. They're innocent, and helpless, and they're meant to be loved — just as we love our children."
"There are those who don't even love their children, Celsie."
"I know."
"And there are those who would say that since animals lack souls, they don't deserve to be treated any better than they are. That it's perfectly well to treat them as expendable objects. Not, of course, that I adhere to such an opinion . . . just playing devil's advocate."
"I know you are. But who's to say that animals don't have souls? I believe, with all my heart, that they do. I believe they go to heaven, each and every one of them, because they are innocent, and therefore sinless. And I believe that God, who created animals just as He created humans, and made them of the same exact flesh and bone and blood, loves them as much as He does us."
She felt the customary pang of frustration gripping her and swallowed hard, for she wanted to change the world, change people's attitudes, and she knew that she never could, because there would always be cruel, insensitive people as long as the earth turned.
"But oh, if I say such things, people laugh at me," she continued dejectedly. "They smile politely, and pretend to care, but only in order to indulge me. Funny what having money does, isn't it? Fools. I know what they really think. It's a good thing I didn't live a century or so ago, or I would have been burned as a heretic. But you know something? Let them all laugh. Let them all whisper behind my back. People have enough champions; animals do not. If something suits a purpose, exploit it. If something gets in the way, destroy it. It doesn't matter if it's a living, breathing creature, with a heart and feelings and ability to feel pain, loneliness, and grief just like we do. Man's wishes are the only ones that matter, aren't they? Man's wishes cause everything else to be stamped down, to be stamped out. God, how I hate it!"
Her tone had become impassioned, plaintive, angry. She turned her head on the pillow and regarded Andrew. In the faint gloom she could see that he was watching her, his eyes thoughtful. There was a little smile on his face. Was that mockery she saw there? Amusement?
"You think I'm ridiculous, don't you?"
"No. I don't think you're ridiculous at all, Celsie."
"What do you think, then?"
Something in his gaze softened. "I think you are a woman ahead of your time."
"You're not laughing at me, then?"
"Do I look as if I'm laughing?"
"No," she said, exhaling, the fight going out of her. "No, you don't."
"I admire you for your courage in standing up for something you believe in so strongly. For your courage in confessing to me something that is obviously very close to your heart."
"Yes, well, it has made me even more of an outsider than I already was. Not, mind you, that I care one way or another."
"I know the feeling . . ."
"What feeling?"
"Of being an outsider."
"But you don't care, either."
He smiled. "No. I do not."
His confession, along with the deeply intense, quiet way he was regarding her, was starting to do things to Celsie's insides. It was starting to do things to her resolve not to like him, her resolve not to touch him. She turned away and stared up at the ceiling. "I've always loved animals more than people . . . maybe because people are cruel and animals are not . . . maybe because I just never really fit in with people."
"I know that feeling, too."
