Doctor Heisenberg

George Graybill (he/him)1,260 words

14 Oak Shadows Lane

Aptos, CA 95003

(831) 688-8814

chickenfat2@gmail.ocm

Doctor Heisenberg

by George Graybill

Doctor Heisenberg had a slightly pointed bald head surrounded by a skirt of curly white hair above an angry white mustache. He had arrived from parts unknown to teach us high school zoology. He insisted that we address him as “Doctor Heisenberg,” even though this aroused suspicions as to why he was teaching high school with a PhD. We all assumed it was because he had lost his professorship at a university for those fiendish experiments.

Doctor H was always assisted in the classroom by his young teaching assistant, Helga Hertz. I guess you would say she was attractive in a don’t-touch-me-you-disgusting-vermin sort of way. She wore her light blond hair in a severe Little Dutch Boy bob. Her eyes pierced you out of sockets that seemed to be darkened by hatred, rather than eye shadow. She looked at the high school girls with a look that said, “Teenage slut!” and at us boys with a look that said, “If you try to undress me in your mind I will have you killed!”

I guess you would say that the doctor’s style of instruction was “old school” in that we were forced to memorize long lists of boring details describing species’ habitats, migration patterns, internal organs, bone structures, and sex life. Even the last topic he could make so clinical it was rendered deadly boring. The habitats and migrations were illustrated with black and white maps, and the organs bones all had Latin names.

I often escaped into my imagination in hopes of preserving my mental health. The doctor’s head, as it rose above the entrapped students looked much like a mountain peak with a puffy cloud cover around the base and in the foreground a patch of morning fog rising from a swamp. I would unfocus my eyes and concentrate on evoking Mount Heisenberg. I was elated one day when the zoologist disappeared and I clearly saw the mountain. I never let my imagination stray to Ms. Hertz for fear of what a glance from those dark eyes might manifest.     

The only relief from the boring classes came from the ones that were disturbing. These were the days when Helga entered the class in the wake of the doctor dragging a large padlocked box made of dull black metal. She unlocked the box and handed the lecturer the first of the day’s “specimens.” The specimens were miniature replicas of various species, which we would examine as they were passed around the room while listening to the doctor describing them in his high, raspy drone. The alarming feature was that these weren’t like stuffed animals. They looked like very small versions of animals that had recently been alive. The details were exact right down to the feathers and claws. There was a mallard duck the size of a hummingbird, a moose the size of mouse, a hippopotamus that looked like a small bratwurst. The hippo, I remember, was wet, as if it had just dragged itself up onto the bank of the Limpopo River.

Fear of our two instructors was heightened by the unusual number of disgusting species we were asked to inspect. There was a black komodo dragon with a gaping red mouth. There was a giant Indonesian fruit bat. There was an Amazonian spider whose full-size version would have been as large as a dinner plate. The one I found most revolting was the naked mole rat. It looked like a small penis with two long yellow teeth. I took a quick glance and passed it on gingerly holding it by the tips of my thumb and index finger.  

Doctor Heisenberg lived in a large house on the edge of town. Ms. Hertz rented a room from him. Our fertile imaginations created fantasies about their relationship, and those stories progressed to legends, which we eventually accepted as established fact. When we used the term “teaching assistant” we always put it in air quotes. We also speculated as to the other inhabitants of Heisenberg House, such as the menagerie of exotic animals. We had never actually seen any of these captive fauna, but we had heard an occasional bark or shriek. We were sure they were there because the doctor and his “assistant” would need them for their “experiments.” We had several theories about how they were related to the classroom specimens. Even more titillating were the scenarios we created in which the doctor and Helga forced menagerie members to join them in drug fueled orgies. The possibilities were endless. There had to be a book deal or a miniseries in the near future.   

When students in most high school courses board the bus to embark on a field trip, hearts are light and the mood is festive. For Dr. Heisenberg’s students, not so much. Beyond fresh air and sunlight, there were few rewards. On arrival at the chosen state park, we were instructed to form an evenly spaced, alphabetically ordered straight line. The doctor would lead from the front of the line, clearly enjoying the implied position of authority. Helga was assigned the role of rear guard, where she could fend off attacks from large carnivores and those opposed to zoology instruction.

As we trooped along, we rarely saw any live birds or animals because a band of twenty teenagers strikes fear in the hearts all sensible species. When we occasionally heard their anguished cries, the doctor stepped into his role and identified the alarmed bird, animal, or insect—in Latin of course.

On one particular outing, our leader begins with, “That, students, was the call of the Corvus bracchythynchos. It is trying to entice a mate, preferably a prolific egg layer. Remember these names!”

(fat chance of that)

We hear a rustling and chattering in the high branches. “And there you hear a Sciurus vulgaris who has forgotten where he hid his acorns. The species tends to be anxiety ridden.”   

As the forest becomes denser and darker, we hear a chirping noise. “That distraught Turdus migratorius has missed the fall migration, and all his friends have left without him.”

The teacher clearly believes that, not only can he identify any species by its cry, but that he can translate exactly what they are expressing into English. There are only two explanations for his belief. Either he has acquired a rare and remarkable ability, or he is batshit crazy. His students are confident they know which it is.

The trail descends into a dark ominous ravine. We trudge on in silence. Suddenly a dark shape is seen as it plunges into the underbrush, and the doctor disappears in pursuit. Time passes. Finally Helga says, “He is probably off collecting specimens. It is his nature. I shall now lead you back to the bus. Doctor Heisenberg will return in due time.”

When we have all climbed into the bus, Helga says, “Don’t forget, children, your end of semester essay is due tomorrow. Place your tortured little stories in the assignment basket on the doctor’s desk.”

I haven’t even started my essay, so I skip classes the next day to work on it. By the time I finish my composition (about those interesting patterns on the sides of giraffes), it is early evening and the school day is over. I peddle my bike out to Heisenberg House in hopes that he will still accept my essay.

Helga answers the door and pierces me with her gaze. “Ms. Hertz….,” I begin and then stop and stare. Something is dangling from her hand. It is a perfect six-inch replica of Doctor Heisenberg.