It was evening, six nights later. The members of the Venus Orchestra filed neatly off stage and into the dressing room at the back of the town auditorium, their instruments in hand, their cheeks glowing red. They'd just carried off a successful performance of Symphony No. 6. Inside the auditorium the sound of applause was reverberating like thunder. The conductor wandered slowly between the musicians with his hands thrust in his pockets, looking as if he didn't care at all about the applause, but the truth was he couldn't have been happier. The musicians were lighting their cigarettes and packing away their instruments.
The sound of applause continued unabated. In fact the noise was reaching fever pitch, threatening to spiral out of control. In came the master of ceremonies wearing a large white ribbon draped across his chest.
“They are calling for an encore. Can you do a short piece for them or something?”
“No, we couldn't do that,” replied the conductor with a stern look. “What could we possibly follow up with after playing such a brilliant piece like that?”
“Well then, please come out and say a few words to the audience.”
“That wouldn’t do. Hey, Gauche, go out and play something for them.”
“You want me?” replied Gauche dumbstruck.
“Gauche! Yes, Gauche!” shouted the first violinist suddenly looking up.
“Go on, get out there,” cried the conductor. The other musicians shoved the cello into Gauche's hands, opened the door and thrust him out onto the stage. As Gauche stumbled bewildered through the door holding his battered cello, the audience caught sight of him and burst into wild applause. Some were even screaming.
“So they want to make a fool of me? Well I'll show `em. See how they like Tiger Hunting in India,” muttered Gauche as he walked with complete calm out onto the middle of the stage.
He launched into Tiger Hunting with the ferocity of a raging elephant, just like he'd done that night with the cat. The audience became silent, completely captivated by the music. Gauche played on and on. He passed the bit where the cat could take no more and sparks started to fly from its head. He passed the bit where it threw itself against the door, over and over again.
After finishing the piece, Gauche picked up his cello and ran off as fast as that cat had, leaving the stage without so much as a glance at the audience. Backstage the conductor and the other musicians all sat silently staring into space as if they’d just watched a house burn down. Now at the point of desperation, Gauche walked hurriedly passed the others and sat, half-collapsing onto a wooden bench at the far side of the room, and crossed his legs.
Everyone turned as one to look at Gauche, but their expressions were quite sincere and no one was laughing.
What a weird night, thought Gauche.
The conductor got to his feet.
“Fantastic Gauche! Even with that piece, you still had everyone here on the edge of their seat. You’ve improved a lot in what, a week, ten days? If I compare you now to what you were like ten days ago, you’ve gone from a baby, to a warrior. You see Gauche, you can do it if you just try!”
All the other musicians started walking up to congratulate him.
“It’s only because he’s so strong that he can play like that,” said the conductor from the other side of the room, “That'd kill an ordinary person.”
That night Gauche returned home late.
He then gulped down a glass of water as usual. Afterwards he opened the window and staring out at the distant sky in the direction the cuckoo had flown off so many days before, he sighed,
“Ah cuckoo, sorry about that night. You know, I wasn't really angry.”