Djibi

  “What is going on here?” asked the teacher, coming out of the house. “What are you doing here, William?”

  The boy stood there with a lowered head and a stubborn expression.

  “Oh, he is a nasty fellow!” said Mrs. Bertha, furious. “A miserable tormentor of animals! He got what he deserved!” She boxed his ears again, and his face turned purple.

  “Are you a tormentor of animals?” said the teacher, softly. “Come here for a minute.”

  William did not move, persisted in his stubborn silence, remained inaccessible.

  “Well, I shall have to go to you,” smiled the teacher. He walked up to the boy, put his hand on his shoulder and, although William remained motionless, he immediately felt the boy’s violent resistance to this gentle touch.

  “Why do you torture animals?”

  No reply.

  “Does it give you pleasure?”

  No reply.

  “Look, William, to us human beings animals are dumb. They have a language of their own, but we are unable to understand it—certainly very little of what they wish to express. Are you listening?”

  William stared at the ground and was silent.

  “Of course you’re listening,” continued the teacher. “We are often puzzled by the dumb creatures, but they are helpless, defenseless, and entirely in our power.”

  Silence.

  “Well, my dear, is it right to abuse this power? No, a hundred times no! It is horrid!”

  William did not raise his eyes from the ground.

  “When such a tortured animal cries out in pain, aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

  The teacher felt that the vicious boy was silently jeering at him, but he still kept his temper.

  “Some of your victims have no voices at all. The lizard you torture, the beetles whose wings you tear off, the crickets and grasshoppers whom you ill-treat . . . Do you realize what a powerful indictment is growing against you? Do you know how your evil deeds befoul God’s earth?”

  The boy refused to come out of his stubborn silence.

  “Animals flee from you,” continued the teacher. “But people, too, avoid you; they, too, notice that you are an enemy, a cruel, cowardly fellow. You will win nobody’s love; if you don’t change, you’ll be a marked man!”

  William raised his eyes for a moment and threw the teacher a glance full of hatred.

  “Go!” said the teacher, with unusual vehemence. “Go, and don’t come near this place again!”

  William turned and walked slowly out of the yard, without a word.

  One day, Djibi returned home from the fields, or so the teacher thought.

  She no longer had her usual amiable expression; she seemed to be conscious of having committed some misdeed.

  She ignored the teacher and barely touched the milk Bertha put before her.

  When the teacher tried to coax her into a better mood she didn’t take any notice of him. Her behavior was strange, almost hostile.

  Mrs. Bertha shook her head: “There is something wrong with the cat.”

  Toward the evening, Djibi took the first opportunity to escape out of doors. Outside, a huge Persian tomcat was waiting for her. Quietly huddled into herself, she sat opposite him.

  The Persian started the most atrocious catcalls, screeching and howling. Bertha wanted to chase him away with a pail of water.

  “Don’t,” begged the teacher, “don’t! He is wooing pussy.”

  “I can’t stand it any longer,” said Bertha.

  “I am not very fond of this concert myself,” replied the teacher, “but we have to bear it.”

  “Why do we have to?” asked his wife.

  “Because it is the love play of the cats, and we must not disturb the animals in their lovemaking.”

  “But I can’t bear it!” cried Bertha. “This horrible noise gets on my nerves.”

  “Stuff your ears with cotton wool,” joked the teacher.

  Bertha got cross. “You wet rag!”

  “You have already intimidated me once with this word,” said the teacher. “I took it to heart then, and got estranged from pussy. Now I have resigned myself to being a wet rag.”

  “A fine state of affairs!” exclaimed Bertha.

  “It certainly is.” The teacher spoke with emphasis. “I can only be happy if there is harmony between the animals and me.”

  “And you place no value on being at harmony with me?”

  “Oh, Bertha!” The teacher took her hand. “We two are human beings, man and wife; we can talk to each other. That is decisive. We shall always understand each other.”

  All this time the tomcat was growling, hissing, screeching outside.

  “Of course we shall understand each other.” Bertha now spoke very softly, quickly seized the pail and threw the water out of the window. She sighed with relief as the tomcat fled and Djibi crept indoors.

  Djibi shook off the water from her fur and huddled into a corner of the settee. The teacher went up to her, stroked her and spoke very gently:

  “Pussy, dear, beautiful pussy, what is the matter with you?”

  Djibi tolerated his caresses, but did not respond.

  As the teacher continued to stroke her and talk to her entreatingly, Bertha said impatiently: “Don’t always make such a fuss of her!”

  Djibi escaped and hurried out of the room.

  He went to the door and called: “Pussy, pussy!”

  But Djibi was nowhere to be seen.

  Sadly, he returned. “Now you have chased her away,” he said to his wife.

  “I have done her no harm,” protested Bertha. “She has gone to look for her lover.”

  The farmer called again.

  “Teacher, I’ve acquired something new!”

  “What is it?”

  “Guess!”

  “Pigs?”

  “I had gotten those long ago!”

  “Turkeys?”

  “Wrong again!”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “Something that breeds quickly, needs little attention, and tastes as good as chicken.”

  “Rabbits?”

  “You’ve got it! Rabbits. Twenty of them. I got them cheaply off a dealer. We have already eaten several. Delicious, I tell you! And yet their number has not diminished. You ought to get yourself some!”

  “What for?”

  “For eating, of course!”

  “No. If I keep rabbits, I get friendly with them, and I don’t like eating personal acquaintances.”

  “But, Teacher, you eat veal and pork.”

  “Of course, but I have never seen the calves and pigs.”

  “I don’t think you are being consistent.”

  “Life is full of inconsistencies, my dear chap!”

  “You’re making things difficult for yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t think we live to make things easy for ourselves.”

  “On the contrary, in my opinion, one should try and make things as easy as possible.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But it’s not in my temperament.”

  Mrs. Bertha intervened in the conversation.

  “No, Farmer, my husband likes things to be difficult! He believes it is best so.”

  “Well,” said the farmer to her, “I don’t envy you!”

  When he had left, the teacher asked his wife: “Would you like to kill rabbits and eat them?”

  Bertha shuddered and shook her head. “How can you say such a thing?”

  Modest, trusting, shy, and yet proud, a lovely Angora cat came one day into the teacher’s house.

  Dazzlingly white, with long hair, she immediately won the affection of the teacher and his wife.

  In the beginning she only appeared for a short while and vanished again when Djibi came home.

  But as Djibi seemed to pay her no attention, Snowwhite used to stay longer, thereby indicating that she began to feel at home.

  “Where does she come from?” wondered the teacher. “Nobody in the
whole village has such a magnificent creature.”

  “You know what cats are,” replied Bertha, “and you also know the incredible brutality of most people. She has certainly been ill-treated somewhere, or sadly neglected.”

  “She is beautiful!” said the teacher.

  “Lovely!” agreed Bertha. “Come here, you beauty.”

  To the surprise of both the teacher and his wife, the Angora cat jumped gracefully into Bertha’s lap. Bertha put her arms round her, and the cat cuddled snugly into her bosom, swinging her tail to and fro.

  “For once her choice has fallen on me!” laughed Bertha.

  “But she doesn’t purr,” said the teacher.

  Bertha stroked the cat. “As smooth and soft as silk,” she declared appreciatively. “Call her! Perhaps she’ll go to you, too.”

  The teacher was standing a few paces away.

  “Pussy! Beautiful pussy!” he coaxed softly.

  The Angora cat pricked her ears, and lifted her head slowly. Her large, yellow eyes, with their narrow, dark pupils, looked searchingly round the room: her mien had a thoughtful expression, as though she were considering something.

  Then she flew to his shoulder in one single leap.

  He wanted to touch her, but she slid past his face to his other shoulder and returned again, brushing his chin. He could hear and feel her sharp claws digging into his coat.

  Now she sat crouching on his shoulder, her shimmering body pressed against his throat and cheek, vigorously tapping his back with her tail.

  Suddenly the room resounded with a gay, loud purring, so bright and winning that both people burst out laughing. The laughter increased the Angora cat’s good humor; she purred still louder in high-pitched tones, and it was almost as if she were singing a particularly jolly song.

  The canary took it as an invitation and began to warble.

  The Angora cat paid no heed to the singer. She slipped down to the floor, marched about the room, with an air of inspecting her new home.

  Composedly, she peered into every corner, inspected every seat. She even majestically passed by the saucer of milk which Bertha put down for her. She appeared to be guided solely by her own resolve, and nothing seemed to disconcert her.

  Tasso came in, wagging his tail in a friendly fashion.

  “This is a dangerous test,” whispered the teacher anxiously.

  But the Angora cat did not arch her back; she ran to the dog’s encounter, raised herself and embraced his neck. He sniffed at her with puffing breath.

  “Now she’ll hit out,” said the teacher, ready to intervene.

  However, no attack followed.

  The cat and the dog looked into each other’s eyes. The Angora cat purred, and Tasso licked her face.

  Now the cat turned away from him to her milk saucer and drank a little.

  Tasso stood looking on, and his attitude seemed to encourage the guest to enjoy her meal.

  Suddenly the Angora cat pricked her ears and turned her head to the window, listening.

  True enough, Djibi jumped in through the window.

  She had hardly seen the Angora cat before she threw herself at her, hissing furiously.

  Neither the teacher nor his wife were able to say how it happened.

  The Angora cat had not raised a paw, but she nevertheless thrust Djibi violently against the wall. The latter lay there in a heap, whimpering pitifully.

  The teacher picked her up tenderly. “No, I won’t allow this noble lady to ill-treat you! You are my good old pussy, aren’t you?”

  Djibi did not purr, nor did she rub her head against the teacher’s chin. She lay quietly in his arms as he caressed her, and from time to time emitted a low moan.

  The teacher turned to his wife. “Do you think she is all right? Perhaps the new cat has injured her . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” reassured his wife. “You know how tough cats are. The blow she has received is hardly worth mentioning!”

  The teacher tickled Djibi fondly. “What is wrong with you, then, puss?”

  “Nothing is wrong with her!” exclaimed Bertha. “She is simply offended, and jealous!”

  “Come, puss, be good again! You really have no reason to be jealous. True, the white lady is prettier and stronger than you are, but she shall not hurt you anymore. You are and remain my darling!”

  But Djibi would not be consoled or reconciled. The teacher kept her in his arms for a long time, but could not induce her to show any of her usual friendly gestures. After a time he noticed that Djibi pulled away from him.

  He would not admit it at first, but finally had to give in.

  Djibi slipped down to the floor.

  It struck him that on this occasion she did not parade proudly around his legs with her tail high, but simply ran away, indifferent. At the first opportunity she slipped out through the door.

  From now on the Angora cat reigned supreme in the teacher’s house. There were neither quarrels nor fights between her and Djibi. The two cats even drank their milk cordially out of the same saucer.

  Djibi slept with Tasso, as before, and still domineered him.

  The Angora cat, superior, slept alone in a corner of the couch.

  She did not make a single attack on the canary; in the yard she walked among the chickens and the pigeons without even deigning to bestow a look upon them.

  Her behavior to Tasso was extremely courteous, and she did not attempt to subjugate him. One might describe their attitude to each other as one of friendly respect.

  But Tasso’s unshakable love belonged to Djibi; and this, as well as his constant protection, helped Djibi to bear the presence of the Angora cat. She was clearly relying on Tasso’s support in the event of a clash with the intruder.

  Tasso also assisted her in her secret expeditions against the farmer’s rabbits. He never touched a rabbit himself, but carefully guarded Djibi while she seized her prey. He always felt the approach of danger, quickly caught Djibi in his teeth and carried her home.

  Djibi never resisted him in the slightest. She submitted to his decisions without any opposition; apparently it never occurred to her to question his judgement in such cases, though she domineered him in every other respect. She appeared to understand that he was her protector.

  Bertha was very pleased with the Angora cat. She said to her husband: “She is a charming companion, like the canary. They both give no trouble.”

  He agreed: “Yes, the bird delights us with his song, and the white lady with her beauty.”

  “And her nobility,” added Bertha.

  They had no idea of Djibi’s doings, nor of her secret complicity with Tasso.

  Their suspicions were first aroused when the farmer called one day, in great agitation.

  “Some beast is stealing my rabbits!” he cried. “A rabbit every day!” The farmer banged his fist on the table.

  “Perhaps a fox,” said Bertha.

  “Or a marten,” suggested the teacher.

  “A marten, a marten!” the farmer sneered, with an angry laugh. “You ought to know better! A marten would have killed all the rabbits in one go!”

  “Why don’t you secure your rabbit hutch so that no one can get at it, neither fox nor marten?” asked Bertha.

  “A fox!” grunted the farmer. “Have you ever heard of a fox, who would come and take a rabbit every night?”

  “Hardly likely,” admitted the teacher.

  “It’s a clever beast!” reflected the farmer.

  “At any rate, cleverer than you are,” mocked Bertha.

  “If I get hold of the brute, I’ll kill it on the spot!” threatened the farmer.

  Djibi squeezed anxiously past him and ran out, followed by Tasso, who growled as he passed the farmer.

  “Why does the dog growl at you?” The teacher glanced suspiciously at the farmer. “It isn’t like him!”

  The farmer shrugged his shoulders. “No idea! I’ve never done anything to Tasso.”

  “How queer,” said the teacher in a
strange voice.

  “Ah, who is this?” exclaimed the farmer, as though he had only just noticed the Angora cat lying in the corner of the settee. It was obvious that he was playacting in order to change the subject of the conversation. “She is a beauty! Even I would not have minded such a cat! How long has she been with you?”

  The teacher was silent.

  Bertha supplied the information: “A few days.”

  “Where did you get her from?” asked the farmer.

  “She came by herself,” replied Bertha.

  The farmer was now bending over the Angora cat, who took no notice of him. “Why didn’t you come to me? I would have been very pleased!”

  Bertha laughed: “How was she to know it? You detest cats!”

  “But such a gorgeous specimen . . .” Clumsily his hand went over her back. “What a fur! One could really fall in love with her!”

  The cat looked at him with an air of dignified surprise. Her attitude said clearly: “I don’t know you! You don’t know me! No familiarities, please!”

  She got up, indicating her displeasure, and moved to another corner of the settee.

  The farmer turned away, offended. “What an uppish creature! It’s not my loss if she won’t have me as a friend.”

  “One must have the gift to be a friend,” smiled the teacher. “Animals feel it at once. You have little aptitude for friendship.”

  “I! Little aptitude for friendship! But I have been your friend for a long time!”

  “You’re a pleasant neighbor, but not really what I would call a friend.”

  “In this case, you’re not a true friend to me, either.”

  “It’s different in my case. You were my pupil for a long time! You remember that I was always a friend of my pupils, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but now I’m no longer your pupil. Times change . . .”

  “Perhaps, but they don’t change me! Weren’t you always able to speak your mind to me?”

  “That’s true enough.”

  “Was I ever angry when you contradicted me? And you did so often enough!”

  “Look at Snowwhite!” interrupted Bertha. “Does she want to go to you?”