“How strange and yet how explicable! Though we human beings have been driven out of the Garden of Eden, some of us have, nevertheless, retained certain instincts and tendencies which I would call fragmentary remnants. The desire for the companionship of animals, the brotherly feelings toward these creatures . . .”
The teacher looked at his wife with some surprise. After a short while he sighed: “Very fragmentary feelings . . . they prompt us to try and develop our friendship with animals.”
Bertha laughed heartily: “They are remnants, remember! It is the same in the case of those animals who are affectionately disposed toward human beings. Their fraternal feelings are also only a fragmentary remnant of distant, better days.”
He sighed again. “The better days always seem to us distant and in the past. They may be no more than the dreams of our longing, our never satisfied longing.”
Bertha put an end to these meditations. “No more brooding!” she declared with determination. “It does not do any good to dwell upon these things. What can come of it? It is nothing but groping and erring in the dark.”
“You’re quite right, my dear. But something drives us on . . .”
“Don’t let yourself be pushed and driven!”
“What else can I do?”
“Nothing, you blind scholar! Things are as they are, and we must say: ‘They are fine!’ We can say it with a good conscience!”
“Really, Bertha? With a good, clear conscience?”
“Yes! We don’t stint our efforts! We do whatever is in our power . . .”
“You have called me a blind scholar . . .”
“My poor dear, all scholars are blind, but they want to see. The urge for light is characteristic of the blind; the urge to see marks the scholar.”
“Perhaps there is some truth in this way of thinking . . .”
“I hope you don’t think I am doing wrong . . . that is the last thing I want.”
“No, my dear. There can be no question of right or wrong between us.”
“What, then, is the question?”
“Whether there is concord between us.”
“Dearest, in a large forest of oak trees you will not find two leaves which are completely identical.”
“What do you imply thereby, Bertha?”
“We are as identical as possible. Our roots are the same, we agree on all vital matters. We must be content with that.”
“I am more than content with it! It is a supreme and rare happiness.”
“Thank you for feeling that way . . .”
“Don’t thank me! I don’t deserve it.”
“Very well, dear. I will not thank you. I’ll thank the Almighty for having brought us together.”
Djibi and the young tomcat were lovers.
At night, strange tomcats screeched, groaned and sang in all keys in front of the house.
The young tomcat wanted to go out. He trembled with eagerness to fight.
But Djibi stopped him, and he gave in.
Sometimes Tasso would rush into the yard, followed by Wretchy. The two soon put an end to the cats’ orchestra.
Tasso’s appearance was in itself sufficient to scatter them, and Wretchy assisted him with excited yapping and chasing.
Djibi suddenly grew gentler, softer, more tender. She delighted the teacher because she never tired of his caresses. But one day she began to resist the advances of her hitherto beloved tomcat.
Bertha, in whose arms she lay purring, felt her body and declared:
“Pussy is pregnant!”
“Now we must take care that Tasso doesn’t drag her about in his teeth,” said the teacher.
“That won’t hurt her!” contradicted his wife.
“At any rate, she must no longer go into the fields, and, above all, not into the road!”
But Djibi ran into the fields as before, hunting mice, strayed in the road and was brought home by Tasso as usual.
In vain did the teacher always protest against her escapades. Djibi proved as affectionate as she was self-willed, charming, but disobedient.
When the time of her confinement drew near, she hardly left the house. She walked about the room restlessly, and looked appealingly at the teacher and at his wife in turn.
She kept the young tomcat and the frisky, playful puppy at arm’s length, and they soon left her alone. Tasso was the only one whose proximity she tolerated. Their friendship withstood any crisis.
One day she followed Bertha at every step, wailing plaintively and impatiently. Bertha bent down to her and laid her hand on the cat’s head.
Djibi pressed her forehead against this hand, emitted a piercing shriek and gave birth to a kitten.
“Any more coming, puss?” inquired the teacher with concern.
But no more came.
The newly-born had no life in it. Djibi nevertheless attended to it with the most tender maternal care, licked, cleaned and nursed her child, which never moved. Finally she put the kitten to her breast. It then appeared that she had no milk to suckle it.
Djibi made innumerable attempts to revive the poor little creature, but in vain. It was dead in less than an hour.
But Djibi did not give in. She could neither believe that her child had died, nor resign herself to the fact.
While the teacher held her in his arms, speaking tender words to her, while Bertha disposed of the kitten and buried it, Djibi pulled more and more violently away from her protector.
When he at last released her, she jumped down to the ground and began to search for the kitten.
She searched everywhere, whining all the time with a thin voice.
Strangely enough, Wretchy kept very still as he was watching her. The young tomcat, too, as though conscience-stricken, did not move a limb; he lay timidly on the settee, while Djibi searched and searched, and her low complaint was the only sound to be heard in the room. She turned to Tasso, to his master, and her eyes spoke the question: “Where is my child?” and the entreaty, “Give it back to me!”
The teacher, deeply moved, said: “It is a tragedy!”
Bertha, always less sentimental, shrugged her shoulders.
“Do you know what goes on in a cat’s head? She will soon forget!”
But, in spite of Bertha’s forecast, Djibi’s memories lived on. She stopped searching after a time, but remained listless. She wailed a great deal, seemed to expect from the teacher and his wife the restitution of her child, and grew estranged from them as her expectation remained unfulfilled.
The teacher, who watched Djibi’s transformation anxiously, said repeatedly: “It’s a tragedy!”
Bertha again put forward the argument that cats have short memories, but he replied: “You may be right where daily matters are concerned. This, however, touches the root of life, the essence of existence. It cannot be subject to definite rules.”
“Let’s wait and see,” said Bertha.
The young tomcat, Djibi and Wretchy were playing together in the yard. Again a rat hurried by.
The young tomcat jumped at her, though he was hardly as big as she, and certainly not as fat.
The rat put up a stiff defense, and bit him hard, so that he released his grip with a cry of pain and surprise.
But Djibi had already arrived to his rescue. She seized the rat unerringly by the neck, bit right through her throat before she could even squeak, shook the dead body and flung it away in disgust, just as she had done with the first rat.
The young tomcat was bleeding rather profusely. He whined pitifully and ran frightened into the house.
“I hope the rat bite will have no ill-effects,” said the teacher, who had witnessed the incident and felt worried.
“Why always anticipate the worst?” objected Bertha.
“A rat bite can easily lead to blood-poisoning.”
“The little chap can stand it.”
But the young tomcat could not stand it. The wound would not heal, and he lost his liveliness. At first it was not very noticeable. Yet
the teacher, who watched him closely, grew anxious.
“Bertha, I don’t like the look of the little one.”
“What’s the matter? I can see no cause for alarm.”
“I am sure there is something very wrong with him.”
“You exaggerate, as usual.”
“I hope you are right, Bertha, but I fear for his life because of the rat bite.”
The young cat licked his wounds. Gradually he became quite listless. When Djibi invited him to play, he did not move, but only pawed her weakly.
Then he stopped cleaning himself, and his fur grew bristly and lusterless.
Now Djibi began to avoid him; she even seemed to fear him.
“Bertha, can’t you see the change in the little one?”
“I’m not blind . . .”
“It’s certainly a consequence of the rat bite . . .”
“Ridiculous!”
“But there can be no other reason.”
“If you’re so worried, send for the vet!”
They did, and the vet came. He was a young, hearty man, and obviously very kind.
“What is the matter? Who is the patient?” he inquired immediately upon entering:
The teacher explained the case.
“Nothing serious,” ventured Bertha.
“We shall have to see,” said the doctor; “from what I hear, it is not quite so simple.”
It was difficult to hold the young tomcat during his examination. He tried to bite and scratch the doctor’s hand, but the latter handled him so capably and soothed him so well that he soon ceased to resist.
The doctor examined the wound carefully. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “There is nothing much I can do. Blood-poisoning! He may overcome the poison, but I doubt it. If you like . . . I’ll relieve him immediately. The animal will be spared any further suffering, and it takes a bare second.”
Bertha said with determination: “If that is the case, do it. It’s best for the cat.”
“No!” opposed the teacher. “You did say, doctor, that he may overcome the poison . . .”
“It is possible, but, as I have said, very doubtful.”
“Still, you admit the possibility?” asked the teacher, agitated.
“I cannot exclude a faint chance.”
“I’ll take it,” decided the teacher. “Who knows? Cats are tough!”
The doctor left. The young tomcat continued to lick his wound. But it would not heal.
Djibi still kept away from him.
“It is awful to watch his tortures,” said Bertha. “I wish you had agreed to put an end to him . . .”
“As long as there is life there is hope,” warned her husband.
“You can hardly call it life any longer. At most it is a weary death-struggle.”
A few days later the young tomcat disappeared. His masters searched for him everywhere, but could not find him.
Tasso had to be appealed to.
“Where is the young tomcat?” asked the teacher.
“Find him!” urged Bertha.
The dog sniffed eagerly all round the room, sniffed at all the corners, but was visibly frightened when he put his nose under the cupboard.
“That’s where the little one is,” said the teacher.
“And he is no longer alive,” added Bertha sadly.
“How do you know?”
“Didn’t you notice how frightened Tasso was? It’s an infallible sign.”
They pushed the cupboard aside; the young cat lay there, stretched out. He had hidden himself away to die.
The wound inflicted by the rat bite gaped wide open, its edges were swollen.
Djibi seemed quite indifferent; she showed no signs of missing her former gay playmate.
She often ran out into the fields to chase mice and, with a stubbornness nobody could understand, insisted on sitting in the middle of the road.
Tasso always had to be sent out to fetch her, which he did, invariably accompanied by the faithful Wretchy.
Then Djibi would purr in the teacher’s lap, climb up to his shoulder, push her head under his chin and unfold all her tenderness.
“God’s creatures are modest,” said the teacher to his wife, delighted. “All they want is our tender kindness, and they are ready to love us for it!”
“Poor little thing!” said Bertha, who was thinking of the young tomcat. “He would have grown up into a charming creature.”
“Yes, it’s a great pity.”
A few peaceful weeks went by.
Then Bertha said one evening: “I am very worried about Wretchy.”
“About this jolly chap?”
“Yes, because he is no longer jolly since yesterday.”
The canary sang in his cage. His warbling inspired the teacher with confidence and good humor.
“What is the matter with Wretchy?”
“He slinks about dejectedly and won’t touch his food.”
“Some little trouble! Tummy-ache! Dogs have it too!”
“Tasso never had any.”
“Well, our Tasso! He is a giant, not only by stature, and his constitution cannot be compared to that of poor little Wretchy.”
“Look at the puppy! He is certainly ill.”
The frisky puppy was indeed ill.
On the following morning he did not get up at all, but lay on one side, with glassy eyes and a dry, hot nose.
“Fever!” said Bertha. “High fever!”
The teacher approached: “Oh, dear, distemper!”
Djibi abandoned the puppy. She refused to remain next to him on the settee.
“What can I do to help you, you poor thing?” wailed Bertha.
“I’ll call the vet,” promised the teacher. “He will find ways and means.”
The vet concluded, after a very brief examination: “A serious case of distemper. Hardly a hope.”
He took out his syringe. “It would be best to relieve him of his suffering now.”
The teacher resisted: “Even a feeble glimmer of hope still means hope.”
The vet smiled, derisively: “Just as you like! But I can’t see the faintest glimmer.”
Soon afterward Wretchy’s hind legs became paralyzed.
“This is the beginning of the end,” said the vet.
“I can’t stand it any longer!” cried Bertha. “Put an end to it, doctor!”
The teacher did not dare to intervene.
And so the vet pricked Wretchy’s breast with the death needle, saying: “The puppy is more dead than alive, anyhow.”
Wretchy did not even show signs of convulsion. Everything was over immediately.
The teacher turned away. He could not restrain his tears and sobbed quietly.
“There, there!” his wife tried to calm him. “I, too, grieve for the little fellow, but where there is no help . . . Think of the human beings who have to suffer to the bitter end because it is forbidden to offer them this last mercy.”
The farmer had heard of Wretchy’s death and came to offer his condolences.
“What a shame,” he sighed, but it was impossible to tell whether he was sincere or not. The teacher and his wife therefore remained silent.
The farmer, however, did not budge; he sniffed, blew his nose, and looked dejectedly in front of him. Finally he said, after a great effort of thinking: “Yes, he was such a nice dog . . .”
He wished them to believe in his sorrow.
As there was still no answer, he grew secretly hostile again.
“You see, Teacher, one should never make any resolutions, since it is impossible to keep them . . .”
Bertha asked sharply: “What exactly do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing!” he replied eagerly. “Only . . . it is true, isn’t it, that you had the poor little puppy put to sleep?”
“Certainly!” affirmed Bertha. “There was no hope for him, so we released him from his pain.”
The farmer shook his head: “I would never have believed it of you!”
Bertha
snapped at him crossly: “What’s this nonsense you’re talking?”
“It’s no nonsense! I know what I’m talking about, and the teacher knows it quite well, too!”
“Perhaps you will admit me into your confidence as well?” she inquired coldly.
“Didn’t you affirm, Teacher, that you would never kill an animal?”
“But I’ve explained to you . . .” Bertha tried again.
“It makes no difference!” interrupted the farmer. “You were very proud of yourself for never killing an animal under any circumstances!”
“Listen to me, Farmer!”
“There is no need for me to listen! You can’t deny that you were responsible for killing the little dog. Nor can you deny that you were proud of your principles, but that you have, nevertheless, acted against them.”
The teacher left the room without a word, slamming the door behind him.
The sun poured warmth over the house, the yard and the fields. The pigeons walked about, cooing. The birdcage stood on the windowsill and Hansi warbled long, melodious tunes. Djibi lay stretched out on a sunny spot on the floor, and Tasso kept a tender watch over her.
The teacher sat comfortably in his chair, and Bertha busied herself quietly between the room and the kitchen.
It was a lovely, peaceful day.
Suddenly a magpie flew into the room, chatted a little and behaved as though she were an old acquaintance and had always lived there.
Djibi only raised her head, looked at the newcomer curiously but without surprise, and continued sunning herself.
Tasso walked up to the magpie and amicably wagged his stump of a tail.
“The master of ceremonies,” smiled the teacher.
Bertha asked in astonishment: “Where on earth does she come from?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea, my dear wife!”
With her head cocked to one side, the magpie tip-toed to Djibi and pecked gently at her.