The man tried to intervene with his stick and come to the rescue of his dog, but at that moment Djibi took to her heels. She fled into a cornfield and disappeared among the swaying blades.
The dog lacked the courage to follow her.
Djibi was well sheltered.
She strolled about aimlessly, excited and out of breath. It was a long time before she grew calm again and settled down to her toilet.
She reflected upon her recent experience. Dogs were by no means harmless playmates and good comrades, but enemies! One had to be careful on encountering a dog. The best policy was immediate flight, or a merciless battle if it could not be avoided. At last, very tired, Djibi fell asleep.
But suddenly she was torn out of her slumber. She felt pangs of hunger, but suppressed them, because she had been awakened by a sharp acrid smell which penetrated into her nostrils.
Djibi was immediately on her guard. She arched her back and surveyed the scene intently.
A fox was gingerly picking his way through the corn, hunting for mice.
Djibi and the fox faced each other with surprise. She took him for a dog, having never seen a fox before. She spat menacingly, ready for a fight.
The fox pounced at her, and a wave of his overwhelming smell hit Djibi in the face. She very nearly fainted.
Fear assailed her now. At her wits’ end, she jumped over the fox, and ran, with a single thought in her mind. Flight! She dared not stand her ground against this enemy. She ran as though possessed, driven by a deadly fear. This was by no means a dog. He was a dangerous savage, a dreadful, terrifying stranger.
She heard the corn rustle behind her. The stranger was pursuing her. Both came out of the field into the open. A wide road stretched in front of Djibi, leading to a wood.
Djibi hastily climbed up the nearest tree, a mighty beech. Hidden in the leafy top, she peered down.
If the dangerous enemy could also climb, what then? But the fox leaned against the trunk with his front legs and grunted impotently.
Djibi felt safe.
The wide branch on which she was sitting offered her slender body a cozy resting place. She enjoyed a prolonged spell of quiet relaxation. It took some time before she felt able to tidy herself, but eventually she did, and very thoroughly, too.
She then kept a close watch on her surroundings. Her hunting instincts were roused with her growing hunger.
Various birds flew in and out of the green thicket. Djibi snatched at them with her paws, but her attempts were feeble and unsuccessful. A jay escaped her, and uttered an angry, screeching cry. The sparrows met her antics with derisive laughter. The finches and robins never came near her and were far too quick, anyway.
A squirrel darted by, nimble, gay, amiable.
All Djibi’s hunting lust flared up. She ducked and waited.
Without a doubt there were many tasty tidbits up in the sheltering treetops! Djibi did not move. Only the end of her tail was quivering. She could not suppress it.
The squirrel came dancing back. He did not notice the cat, and crouched down gracefully, pressing his short little paws to his white breast.
The lovely, candid creature had barely time to be frightened, let alone to escape. A very short squeak, and bright red blood came trickling down from his gaping throat.
Djibi had now satisfied her ravenous hunger. Feeling better, she began to prowl through the branches.
With the falling night she grew still bolder, and became doubly enterprising.
Now the birds sat in their nests, surrendering themselves to the peace of the night, lapsing into that state of beatitude in which they could be overpowered without a chance of fluttering away.
Djibi made the wicked resolution to attack the sleeping birds and devour them in turn.
An ear-splitting crowing startled her. She stood motionless, listening. The crowing fascinated her, and was accompanied by a loud clatter of wings.
The pheasants!
Djibi had not yet grasped what was happening. But she did not move, listened attentively with a quivering tail, and licked her chops, full of anticipation.
Again the clatter of wings.
At last Djibi understood. The pheasants were flying to their homesteads in the trees.
A great joy filled Djibi’s heart.
She sat down comfortably and waited.
Let it grow quite dark first, pitch black—she would then go out in search of the pheasants, and catch one of them right in his sleep.
A pheasant!
The unknown, horrid enemy, who had chased her into the wood and up the trees, would never reach her here.
Djibi was triumphant.
Had she known the meaning of gratitude, she would have been grateful to him. As is was, she only sneered at him secretly.
There she was, extending her rule over many pheasants and squirrels, which were living there in great numbers. An owl flew past noiselessly; Djibi heard her melancholy song only later.
She started when a wood-owl broke into a piercing shriek next to her. The sounds of the nocturnal forest, strange and weird, were to her like the voice of an unknown, mysterious life, which whispered, muttered and rustled all round her, on the ground below, among the branches above. She sat and listened, pricked her ears and slowly regained her confidence.
She heard, at first very near her, the lamenting song of the owl, which slowly receded into the distance. Then she saw the wood owl, who was balancing on a branch not far off; but his cries, however shrill, did not frighten Djibi any more.
She remembered the pheasants, and the thought of surprising them in their sleep made her feel feverish.
Djibi began to look for this prey, for which she felt such a strong desire.
Silently she crept from tree to tree, passing several pheasants on her way without noticing or recognising them. Suddenly she almost collided with one, perched soundly asleep on a branch, with his head buried beneath his wing. She inhaled the warm smell of his body, which seemed larger than she had imagined. A bite, and the warm blood poured over her face.
There was no defense, no fluttering, hardly a quiver. The pheasant had slipped from slumber into death, and knew nothing of the end.
Djibi pulled her prey to pieces, devoured it at first greedily and in haste, afterward more leisurely, having had her fill with one half of the bird, at last only out of gourmandise, until she could eat no more.
There was still quite a lot left of her victim. Djibi left the remains and dragged herself away from the scene of her crime, utterly replete, looking for a resting place, which she found in the thickly grown summit of a tall old plane tree.
The morning dawned. The awakening forest resounded with the sweet song of the blackbird, the jubilant stanzas of the finch and the robin, the whispers of the titmouse, the loud chatting of the magpie, the joyful shouts of the oriole, the crowing of the rook.
Djibi heard nothing of all that.
She lay fast asleep, and slept most of the day.
The crows and the blackbirds had discovered the remains of the pheasant, gathered round to have a meal, quarreled and fought over their shares until nothing was left of the dead bird but the feathers to bear evidence of the murder.
The forest-keeper passed by later on, accompanied by the gamekeeper.
He saw the traces and said: “Some bird of prey, or possibly a marten, has killed a pheasant.”
“I’ll keep a lookout!” said the gamekeeper.
Djibi slept and remained invisible.
Toward the evening she woke up, fresh, alert, eager for her hunt, because she was hungry. Soon she could hear the crowing of the rising pheasants, the clatter of their wings.
Djibi did not move from her place.
She was assured of a pheasant tonight. She knew it and waited.
In complete darkness she prowled through the trees, light-footed, stalked up to the dark clump, now familiar to her.
For a short while she sat near the pheasant on which her choice had fallen, enjoying t
he pleasure of the attack in anticipation. Then came the quick, deadly bite, the surging blood which poured hotly over her, and finally the sumptuous, leisurely meal in complete security.
This time, too, she could only consume part of the pheasant.
Satiated, over-full, she made her way back, crawling lazily to her plane tree, which was some distance from the pheasants’ refuge. She then proceeded to clean her face and breast very thoroughly, and went to sleep before daybreak.
From now on she slayed a pheasant night after night, and slept throughout the day.
The moon rose in the starry sky, at first a narrow sickle, then half, and finally the forest was lit up by the full moon.
Djibi was just about to pounce on her victim when a shot burst out. It seemed like the cracking of a whip, a sound known to Djibi from the farm.
Djibi had been spotted by the gamekeeper. Though he could not see her clearly, he knew that he was in the presence of a beast of prey, responsible for the death of many a pheasant.
He fired.
Djibi was hit in the thigh. She vanished like lightning. But she could not run for very long because the small wound was burning like fire.
Djibi limped to her plane tree, pulling up her injured leg.
That the first shot she heard should have been aimed at her! A cold terror shook her. Dare she go hunting again?
For the present, however, she had neither the strength nor the inclination to pursue her prey.
She crouched woefully on her branch, licking her wound over and over again.
It never occurred to her that she had escaped death; she was only filled by a bitter feeling of being singled out for misfortunes.
The pain subsided, but she was even more tormented by fear. Her heart sank at the thought of the lurking danger. The pheasants were safe from her. Forever.
She could find no sleep, and her stirring hunger was suppressed by her nervous agitation and her feeling of utter hopelessness.
In the dead of night a sniffing creature approached Djibi, stopping irresolutely in front of her.
The marten.
He hesitated whether to attack her or to make a friendly advance.
Djibi did not await his decision.
She spat furiously and raised her front paws menacingly.
The marten was surprised. He had not seen such an animal in the vicinity.
“Where do you come from?”
“It’s none of your business!”
“Why so cross?”
“I’ve got a pain!”
“Where?”
“Here!” Djibi showed her wound. “A shot!”
“Ah! The hand of fire?”
“Hand of fire? What nonsense!”
“But I know it! He has a hand of fire.”
“Don’t talk such rubbish. The man had a gun!”
“Call it a gun if you like . . .”
“Oh course! I know the two-legged creatures well. I’ve been with them for a long time.”
“Tell me! What are they like?”
“Sometimes quite nice. But generally bad, very bad!”
“Here in the forest they are only bad, always! And terribly dangerous!”
“I’ve got proof of that!” Djibi raised her wounded thigh. “This shot . . .”
“Of the hand of fire . . .”
“Of the gun . . .”
“Was aimed at me!”
Djibi contradicted. “No, at me!”
“You’re wrong! At me,” insisted the marten.
“No!” Djibi grew excited. “No! At me!”
“I tell you, he was aiming at me!”
“Anyhow, he hit me, not you!”
“I’m sorry, but he meant to hit me.”
“No, me. Only me!”
The marten abandoned the argument. “Yes, these full moon nights . . . we have to be very careful.”
“I am not so well acquainted with the forest, not so experienced . . .”
“You’ll learn!”
Djibi, convulsed with pain, wailed: “Learn! If I don’t starve in the meantime!”
“One does not starve so easily.”
“Bring me something to eat! Anything,” begged Djibi.
The marten grinned. “I bring you something? Have you an idea of my own hunger, my own thirst for blood?”
“You wretched fellow!”
“On a shooting night like this, I’m thankful if I can get something for myself,” apologized the marten. He added: “It’s lucky for you I don’t strangle you!”
“Lucky!” hissed Djibi, wildly. “You just try it, just try!” In her fury she raised her claws, forgot her pain and prepared to scratch the marten’s eyes out.
“I’ll have no dealings with you,” muttered the marten, turned on his heels and disappeared noiselessly.
Djibi was left alone with her troubles; she suffered great pain, pangs of hunger and fear.
She did not quite know what she was afraid of, but it was precisely this fear of the unknown which tormented her most.
She grew rapidly thin, she who until now had always been thriving well.
But her wound healed gradually, so that she was able to get up and search for food. Her thigh, however, remained stiff, and she limped. It also remained sensitive, as though remembering past pains.
She had to be content with small prey. As quick as lightning she would fall over any creature she could spy or reach. She was not driven by hunger alone; anger was mingled with her hunger, as though she wanted to take some revenge, some bloody retaliation.
She played cruelly with her victims, gloated over the death struggle of the magpies, jays, sparrows or squirrels, before she decided to put an end to their tortures.
Suddenly, Djibi noticed that the trees were shedding their leaves.
Autumn had come.
She paid no attention to the roaring and the fighting of the deer. But the falling leaves rustled through the forest like a mysterious whisper and filled her with anxiety.
The nights were cold. Djibi shivered—she could never stand the cold.
One day an icy storm blew through the wood, sweeping the leaves into whirling columns.
The plane tree soon lost all its foliage, and the other trees, too, were standing bare.
Djibi had to descend to the ground.
She did so one pitch-black night, and crawled into the bushes.
At dawn she caught a rabbit, and had a meal which revived her strength. She went to sleep afterward, but could not regain her former carefree frame of mind. She frequently changed her abode, and was handicapped by her lame thigh. She was in constant fear of meeting her evil enemy, the fox, and was also haunted by other fears.
The cold and the shortage of food at last drove Djibi to the resolution to turn to the two-legged creatures in quest of shelter and refuge.
The first house she reached was that of the forest-keeper, but she was chased away by the dogs, and the forest-keeper reached for his gun to fire at the cat.
Djibi fled into the nearest copse, and clawed the dog who pursued her until his eyes were blinded by blood and he retreated in confusion. She then began a cautious investigation of the forest, which seemed endless, starting nervously at every real or imaginary danger-signal.
During that time she lived frugally on an occasional mouse, and slept restlessly only when exhausted by utter fatigue.
At last, she came into the open.
Wide stubble fields stretched in front of her. In the distance she could see the smoking chimneys of the village cottages.
Djibi cowered in the furrows, waited, hoped, worried and hoped again.
When two men passed by, she limped toward them, whimpering desolately.
One of them stopped and picked her up. “Come, poor pussy!” he said.
Djibi was seduced by the soft sound of his voice. She nestled in his breast and purred loudly, enchanted by the warmth of his body. She had reached her goal at last! She heard the two men talking to each other, but, of course, did
not understand a word of their conversation. She continued to purr, and the man was stroking her.
“Can you hear her?” he asked his companion.
“I’m not deaf!” the other replied gruffly.
The man let the unfriendly answer pass.
“Do you know what this purring means?”
“Perhaps gratitude?” sneered the other.
“You may call it gratitude; it is, at any rate, a sign of confidence.”
“She purrs because she feels comfortable . . . it’s entirely selfish.”
The man was a schoolteacher in a fairly large hamlet, and his companion a farmer.
“Selfishness is her right,” the teacher smiled. “Every living being has a right to self-preservation.”
“My dog is not selfish,” replied the farmer.
“He is! But in an entirely different manner to this cat.”
“I would really like to know how you can say that my dog . . .”
“Do you ever beat him?”
“Of course! When he deserves it!”
“There you are! Your dog does his best to avoid a beating. From an instinct of self-preservation!”
“No! Out of obedience, faithfulness . . .”
“I admit it, dogs are obedient and faithful . . . because that is how they can make things easier for themselves.”
“Only for that reason?”
“No. They love human beings. Their master is their God.”
“Isn’t that fine?”
“Of course it is! Of course!”
“But cats are false and malicious! Do you agree?”
“By no means!”
“Do you believe you’ll ever become this cat’s master?”
“I’ll be glad to become her friend.”
“Its sheer nonsense, all this going on over a stray cat!”
“In your view, perhaps!”
“In the view of all reasonable people!”
“In your view, then, I am unreasonable?”
“As regards cats, you’re a . . .”
“A fool?”
“I never meant to say that, Teacher! You’re exaggerating again; you always are!”
They reached the village and parted company.