Winston Churchill had been amazed to remember his past life and horrified with the realization that he had been reincarnated as a small gray field mouse with an awkward crook in the middle of his tail all in the same few moments after his rebirth. While he'd always been a staunch believer, none of his studies into reincarnation ever spoke of remembering a previous life. The knowing did, however, prove to be an asset. His new mother abandoned her young shortly after they were born and the infant mouse survived solely on his previous knowledge of finding shelter, food, and water.
For the last two years, Winston took refuge in the only non-functioning oven in the largest German-American bakery on Chicago's south side. The bottom warming drawer of the massive cooker had rusted through on one corner, leaving just enough room for the somewhat pudgy mouse to squeeze through. Over the months he'd lived in the stainless steel bedroom, Winston had dragged in enough strips of paper and cloth to fashion a bed and a comfortable couch. During the operating hours of the popular bakery, he stayed in his metallic abode, only coming out to search for crumbs when the lights were extinguished each night.
The previous day, there had been a loud clattering noise from outside his home. Lots of cursing in German and doors slamming for most of the morning. When he wriggled through the opening that evening, he could smell a fresh roll on the other side of the bakery. In the darkness, even with his enhanced mouse vision, he could make out the shape of the roll wedged in-between one of the large clay oven support blocks and the tiled wall.
Scurrying across the nearly spotless concrete floor, Winston stopped to munch down a chocolate chip that had been missed by the cleaning crew. The flavor evoked a memory of chocolate scones and Earl Grey tea with two slices of lemon.
And Jefferies to bring them to me a sliver platter just as the sun would set. Even in the worst of times, he never let me down. Winston sighed, but it only came out as a warbled squeak. A mouse. Of all the animals, I've returned as one of the lowliest creatures on Earth. The man who saved England and perhaps the world. This is my fate?
He swallowed the last chunk of chocolate and continued across the floor. Even though the roll had been baked hours ago, it still had that fresh-baked smell. Winston imagined he was drooling, but his mouth was dry. There was bowl of water the bakers set out for the owner's dachshund, but it was the other direction. Hunger held the trump card over thirst and he stayed on course for the roll.
Stopping a few inches away from the prize, Winston turned slowly to make sure he was alone. Once, several weeks ago, they'd left the damn dog behind and he'd almost had a confrontation with the beast. Fortunately, the owner-nearly twice the size Churchill been at his heaviest-must have realized the error and returned for his pet. The stupid dog had made an awful fuss, refusing to be caught and leashed while the mouse was hiding in the old oven. Winston had nicknamed the owner Zeppelin and the dog Adolph. The names seemed appropriate to the former British Prime Minister and crusher of the Teutonic invaders.
A minute or two passed before Winston was convinced he was alone. Charging forward, with his mouth opened as wide as possible, he bit into the roll. From the hard crust and savory taste, he knew it was a Kaiser. Even without seeing the scores across the top, there was no mistaking a Kaiser roll for any other baked goods. The exacting measure of sugar and butter gave the roll a distinct flavor different from bread or bagels or anything else that was created in the massive ovens. The aftertaste of malt identified these Kaiser rolls as coming from the German recipe. Anyone could tell the difference. Especially a reincarnated British statesman.
Winston swallowed the first bite and dug in for a second and a third. Where are the seeds? Got to find the seeds.
Everyone knew the best part of a Kaiser roll was the sesame seed-covered top. But the way this one was stuck-between the oven and the wall-the top was inaccessible to the mouse. The angle was wrong and the only way for Winston to reach the prize was to eat his way through to the opposite side.
Backing out of the roll, he raced across the bakery floor to the water bowl and drank his fill. The water and pastry mixed in his stomach and he felt bloated, but the allure of the sesame seeds was strong. Returning to the roll at a much slower pace, Winston resumed his excavation.
How could they have baked so well yet been so easily deceived by that lunatic? If I ever get the chance, I'd like to see what Germany looks like today. Has it all been rebuilt? Are they smarter now, with a better government, or is there still a threat? He tried again to sigh, cursing his lack of proper vocal cords as the sound came out as an annoying squeak.
He twisted slightly, the crook in his tail catching on the crust for a moment. I can smell those delicious seeds. Only another inch. A rumble came from his stomach. Getting stuffed. He shook his head. Shouldn't have drunk all that water.
Another bite, smaller this time, but the taste was just a tad more savory. Winston knew he was almost at the inner crust. I might have to finish this tomorrow night. I don't think I can eat any more.
The rumbling from his midsection grew louder and he started to back out of the Kaiser roll. But he'd eaten too much and his body had expanded in all the wrong places. Shaking from side-to-side, Winston tried to make the hole large enough to wriggle free. But it was no use. Every motion he made with his body included the Kaiser roll. Forward, backward, left or right, it didn't matter. He was stuck half in and half out of a pastry prison.
Bloody hell!
With an extra effort, Winston managed to slide himself and the roll just far enough to wrap his tail around the stone oven support. Pulling with every ounce of strength in his tail, he was able to free the roll, but he was still trapped inside.
The sound of a deadbolt turning was followed by the lights coming on in the largest German-American bakery on Chicago's south side. Winston had lost track of time. Night had become early morning and the bakery was coming alive for the next day's business.
Zeppelin was first through the door, spotting the mouse while he still had his keys in his hand. Instinctively, he threw them at Winston, but missed. Cursing in German, he bent over to release Adolph from his leash, but his gut intervened. In a single motion, he yanked the dog up from the floor and let it drop onto one of the large steel prep tables. Catching the dog before it slid off the other side, Zeppelin unclipped the leash and screamed at his pet to get the mouse.
To a fourteen-inch dachshund with legs shorter than a croissant, looking down from a three-foot prep table is as frightening as the high diving board to an adolescent on his first day at summer camp. Adolph lay down and moaned, moving back several feet from the edge of the table.
Now cursing the dog as well as the mouse, Zeppelin grabbed the largest rolling pin on the counter and waddled across the kitchen toward the mouse and Kaiser roll combination. Winston couldn't see much, but he felt the vibrations of the huge man's feet and did his best to push himself and roll toward the safety of his home.
But the big man got between Winston and the non-functioning oven. He swung the rolling pin as though it was a cricket bat, but missed twice. On his third attempt, he caught the edge of the roll and knocked it free from the mouse's head. With all four legs available, Winston sprinted towards the defunct oven. He reached the entrance well ahead of Zeppelin, but couldn't fit through the narrow opening.
Gluttony. The Queen was always on my case about my dining habits.
Turning, he jumped out of the way, as Zeppelin swung the rolling pin again. This time, it smashed into the old oven and out of the baker's hands. Losing control of his forward motion, the humongous German crashed into the oven and then fell backwards, knocking himself out as his head hit the prep table on his way down. Barking as though the world was about to end, Adolph ran around in circles, stopping briefly each time he passed the unconscious bakery owner.
The sound of the door opening caught both animals by the ears and they turned to see the cashier and assistant baker come through the door. She screamed, seeing her boss out cold on the floor. He screamed, seeing a mouse in the bakery that he had personalized cleaned and sanitized the previous evening.
Winston took one glance at the half-eaten Kaiser roll and the pile of sesame seeds and bolted toward the open door. The bakery, the largest German-American bakery on Chicago's south side, was across the street from the Chicago River. Without a moment's hesitation, he sped across the street and jumped into its icy water.
I'm not suited to be a mouse. This just will not do. Better luck next time, old boy. He took a deep breath and dove for the bottom. But at least I took the Kaiser down...again.
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