Kashtanka Page 2

  Ivan Ivanych stretched his neck, nodded his head all around, and scraped the floor with his foot.

  “Good boy…Now, play dead!”

  The goose turned on his back with his feet sticking up in the air.

  After a few more simple tricks of this sort, the stranger suddenly clutched his head with an expression of horror and cried, “Fire! Help! The house is burning!”

  Ivan Ivanych ran to the sawhorse, took the string in his beak, and rang the bell.

  The stranger was very pleased. He stroked the goose’s neck and said:

  “Good boy, Ivan Ivanych! Now imagine that you’re a jeweler and sell gold and diamonds. Imagine now that you come to your shop one day and find robbers there. What would you do in that case?”

  The goose took the other string in his beak and pulled. A deafening shot rang out. Kashtanka, who had liked the bell ringing very much, was so delighted by the pistol shot that she ran around the sawhorse barking.

  “Auntie, sit!” the stranger shouted. “No barking!”

  The shooting was not the end of Ivan Ivanych’s workout. For a whole hour more, the stranger drove the goose around him on a tether, cracking his whip while the goose had to leap over a hurdle, jump through a hoop, and rear up on his tail with his feet waving in the air. Kashtanka couldn’t keep her eyes off of Ivan Ivanych, howled with delight, and several times started to run after him, yelping. Having worn out the goose and himself as well, the stranger mopped his brow and shouted:

  “Marya, tell Khavronya Ivanovna to come here!”

  A moment later, grunting was heard. Kashtanka growled, put on a brave expression, and moved closer to the stranger, just in case. The door opened and an old woman looked in, muttered something, and let in a very ugly black pig. Paying no attention at all to Kashtanka’s growling, the pig raised her snout and grunted happily. She seemed very pleased to see her master, Ivan Ivanych, and the cat. She came up to the cat and gently nudged him under his stomach with her snout, then struck up a conversation with the goose. Her movements, her voice, and the quivering of her tail expressed nothing but good nature. Kashtanka realized at once that it was useless to growl and bark at such a character.

  The master took away the sawhorse and shouted:

  “Fyodor Timofeyich, you’re on!”

  The cat got up, stretched lazily, and reluctantly, as if doing a favor, went over to the pig.

  “We’ll start with the Egyptian Pyramid,” said the master.

  He spent a long time explaining something, then gave the command, “One…two…three!” At the word “three,” Ivan Ivanych flapped his wings and jumped up onto the pig’s bristly back…When he had steadied himself by balancing with his wings and neck, Fyodor Timofeyich slowly and lazily, with obvious scorn, looking as if he despised his art and would not give a penny for it, climbed onto the pig’s back, then reluctantly got up on the goose and stood on his hind legs. The result was what the stranger called the “Egyptian Pyramid.” Kashtanka yapped with delight, but at that moment the old tomcat yawned, lost his balance, and tumbled off the goose. Ivan Ivanych wobbled and fell off, too. The stranger yelled, waved his arms, and began explaining again. After working for a whole hour on the pyramid, the untiring master began teaching Ivan Ivanych to ride the cat, then he started teaching the cat to smoke, and so on.

  The lessons ended, the stranger mopped his brow and went out. Fyodor Timofeyich sniffed scornfully, lay down on his mat, and closed his eyes. Ivan Ivanych went to the trough, and the pig was led away by the old woman. The day was so full of new impressions that Kashtanka did not notice where the time went. In the evening, she and her mattress were installed in the room with the dirty wallpaper, where she spent the night in the company of Fyodor Timofeyich and the goose.

  CHAPTER FIVE / TALENT! TALENT!

  A month went by.

  Kashtanka was already used to having a nice dinner every evening and to being called Auntie. She was used to the stranger and to her new companions. Life went on smoothly.

  Each day began in the same way. Ivan Ivanych usually woke up first, and he immediately went over to Auntie or the cat, curved his neck, and began talking ardently and persuasively but, as ever, incomprehensibly. Sometimes he held his head high and delivered a long monologue. At first, Kashtanka thought he talked so much because he was very smart, but after a while she lost all respect for him. When he came up to her with his endless speeches, she no longer wagged her tail but treated him as an annoying babbler who wouldn’t let anyone sleep, and answered him unceremoniously with a “grrr…!”

  Fyodor Timofeyich, however, was a gentleman of a very different sort. When he woke up, he didn’t make any noise, he didn’t move, he didn’t even open his eyes. He would have been glad not to wake up at all, for he was obviously none too fond of life. Nothing interested him, he treated everything sluggishly and carelessly, despised everything, and even snorted squeamishly at his delicious dinners.

  On waking up, Kashtanka would start walking around the room and sniffing in the corners. Only she and the cat were allowed to walk all over the apartment; the goose had no right to cross the threshold of the little room with dirty wallpaper, and Khavronya Ivanovna lived somewhere in a shed out back and only appeared for lessons. The master slept late, had his tea, and immediately started working on his tricks. Every day the sawhorse, the whip, and the hoops were brought into the room, and every day almost the same things were repeated. The lessons lasted for three or four hours and sometimes left Fyodor Timofeyich so exhausted that he staggered like a drunk man, while Ivan Ivanych opened his beak and gasped for breath and the master got red in the face and couldn’t mop the sweat from his brow fast enough.

  Lessons and dinner made the days very interesting, but the evenings were rather boring. Usually, in the evening, the master went out somewhere and took the goose and the cat with him. Left alone, Auntie would lie down on her mattress, feeling sad…Sadness crept up on her somehow imperceptibly and came over her gradually, as darkness falls upon a room. She would lose all desire to bark, to eat, to run through the rooms, or even to look. Then two vague figures would appear in her imagination, not quite dogs, not quite people, with sympathetic, dear, but incomprehensible physiognomies; but when they appeared, Auntie began wagging her tail, and it seemed to her that somewhere, sometime, she had known and loved them…And each time, as she was falling asleep, these figures brought to mind the smell of glue, wood shavings, and varnish.

  One day, when she was already accustomed to her new life, and had turned from a skinny, bony mutt into a sleek, well-cared-for dog, her master came to her, stroked her and said:

  “Auntie, it’s time you got to work. Enough of this sitting around. I want to make an artiste out of you…Would you like to be an artiste?”

  And he began teaching her all sorts of things. The first lesson she learned was to stand and walk on her hind legs, which she enjoyed greatly. For the second lesson, she had to jump on her hind legs and catch a piece of sugar that her teacher held high above her head. In the lessons that followed, she danced, ran on the tether, howled to music, rang the bell, and fired the pistol, and in a month she could successfully take Fyodor Timofeyich’s place in the “Egyptian Pyramid.” She was an eager student and was pleased with her own achievements; running, her tongue hanging out, on a tether, jumping through a hoop, and riding on old Fyodor Timofeyich afforded her the greatest pleasure. She followed each successful trick with a loud, delighted yapping. Her teacher was surprised and also delighted!

  “Talent! Talent!” he said, rubbing his hands. “Unquestionable talent! You’ll be a positive success!”

  And Auntie got so used to the word “talent” that she jumped up each time her master said it, and looked around as if it was her name.

  CHAPTER SIX / A TROUBLED NIGHT

  Auntie had a dog dream one night that a janitor was chasing h
er with a broom, and she woke up in a fright.

  Her little room was quiet, dark, and very stuffy. The fleas were biting. Auntie had never been afraid of the dark before, but now for some reason she was terrified and felt like barking. In the next room, her master sighed loudly, then, a little later, the pig grunted in her shed, and then everything was silent again. One always feels easier at heart when thinking about food, and so Auntie began thinking about a chicken leg she had stolen from Fyodor Timofeyich that day and hidden in the living room between the cupboard and the wall, where there were many cobwebs and a lot of dust. It might not be a bad idea to go and see if the leg was still there. It was quite possible that her master had found it and eaten it. But she was forbidden to leave the room before morning—that was the rule. Auntie closed her eyes, hoping to fall asleep quickly, because she knew from experience that the sooner one falls asleep, the sooner morning comes. But suddenly, not far from her, a strange cry rang out that made her shudder and jump to her feet. It was Ivan Ivanych, and the cry was not his usual persuading babble but a wild piercing and unnatural shriek, like the creaking of a gate opening. Unable to see or understand anything in the darkness, Auntie felt all the more frightened and growled:

  “Gr-r-r…”

  Some time passed, as long as it takes to gnaw a good bone, but the scream was not repeated. Auntie gradually calmed down and dozed off. She dreamed of two big black dogs with clumps of last year’s fur on their haunches and flanks; they were greedily eating mash from a big basin, which gave off white steam and a very delicious smell. Every once in a while they turned around to Auntie, bared their teeth, and snarled, “We won’t give you any!” Then a peasant in a sheepskin coat ran out of the house and chased them away with a whip. Auntie went over to the basin and started to eat, but no sooner had the peasant gone out the gate than the two black dogs rushed growling at her, and suddenly, there was another piercing scream.

  “Ka-ghee! Ka-ghee-ghee!” cried Ivan Ivanych.

  Auntie woke up, jumped to her feet, and, not leaving her mattress, broke into a howling bark. This time it seemed to her that it was not Ivan Ivanych but someone else, some stranger, who was screaming. For some reason, the pig grunted again in her shed.

  There was the sound of shuffling slippers, and the master came into the room in his robe, carrying a candle. The wavering light danced over the dirty wallpaper and the ceiling and chased away the darkness. Auntie saw that there was no stranger in the room. Ivan Ivanych was sitting on the floor. He was not asleep. His wings were spread wide, his beak was open, and he generally looked as if he were very tired and thirsty. Old Fyodor Timofeyich was not asleep either. He, too, must have been awakened by the scream.

  “What’s wrong, Ivan Ivanych?” the master asked the goose. “Why are you screaming? Are you sick?”

  The goose was silent. The master felt his neck, stroked his back, and said:

  “You’re a funny one. You don’t sleep yourself, and you won’t let anyone else sleep.”

  When the master went out and took the light with him, darkness came again. Auntie was afraid. The goose did not scream, but again it began to seem to her that a stranger was standing in the dark. The most frightening thing was that she could not bite this stranger, because he was invisible and had no form. And for some reason she thought that something very bad was bound to happen that night. Fyodor Timofeyich was restless too. Auntie heard him stirring on his mat, yawning and shaking his head.

  Somewhere outside there was a knocking at a gate, and the pig grunted in the shed. Auntie whined, stretched her front paws out, and put her head on them. In the knocking at the gate, in the grunting of the pig, who for some reason was not asleep, in the darkness and silence, she imagined something as anguished and terrifying as Ivan Ivanych’s scream. Everything was uneasy and anxious, but why? Who was this stranger who could not be seen? Now next to Auntie two dull green sparks lit up. It was Fyodor Timofeyich, who approached her for the first time in their acquaintance. What did he want? Auntie licked his paw and, not asking why he had come, howled softly in different tones.

  “Ka-ghee!” cried Ivan Ivanych. “Ka-ghee-ghee!”

  The door opened again, and the master came in with the candle. The goose was still in the same position, with his beak open and his wings spread. His eyes were shut.

  “Ivan Ivanych!” the master called.

  The goose did not move. The master sat down on the floor in front of him, looked at him silently for a moment, and said, “Ivan Ivanych, what’s the matter? Are you dying or something? Ah, now I remember, I remember!” he cried, clutching his head. “I know what it is! It’s because that horse stepped on you today! My God! My God!”

  Auntie did not understand what her master was saying, but from the look on his face she saw that he, too, was expecting something terrible. She stretched her muzzle towards the dark window, through which it seemed to her some stranger was looking, and howled.

  “He’s dying, Auntie!” her master said, clasping his hands. “Yes, yes, dying! Death has come to your room! What are we to do?”

  Pale and disturbed, the master went back to his bedroom, sighing and shaking his head. Auntie dreaded being left in the dark, so she followed him. He sat down on his bed and said several times, “My God! What are we going to do?”

  Auntie walked around his feet and, not understanding what was causing him such anguish and where all this agitation came from, but trying to understand, she watched his every movement. Fyodor Timofeyich, who rarely left his mat, also came into the master’s bedroom and began rubbing against his legs. He shook his head, as if he wanted to shake the painful thoughts out of it, and looked suspiciously under the bed.

  The master took a saucer, poured some water into it from a washstand, and went back to the goose.

  “Drink, Ivan Ivanych,” he said tenderly, setting the saucer down in front of him. “Drink, my dear.”

  But Ivan Ivanych did not move or open his eyes. The master brought his head down to the saucer and dipped his beak in the water, but the goose did not drink, he only spread his wings wider and let his head lie in the saucer.

  “No, there’s nothing we can do!” the master sighed. “It’s all over. Ivan Ivanych is done for!”

  And glittering drops, such as one sees on windowpanes when it rains, ran down his cheeks. Not understanding what was wrong, Auntie and Fyodor Timofeyich huddled close to him, staring in horror at the goose.

  “Poor Ivan Ivanych!” said the master, sighing mournfully. “And I was dreaming of how I’d take you to the country in the spring, and we’d go for a walk in the green grass. Dear animal, my good comrade, you’re no more! How can I manage now without you?”

  It seemed to Auntie that the same thing was going to happen to her, that she, too, for some unknown reason, would close her eyes, stretch out her paws, open her mouth, and everybody would look at her with horror. Apparently, similar thoughts were wandering through Fyodor Timofeyich’s head. Never before had the old cat been so sullen and gloomy as now.

  Dawn was breaking, and the invisible stranger who had frightened Auntie so much was no longer in the room. When it was already quite light, the janitor came, picked the goose up by the legs, and carried him out. Later the old woman came and took away the trough.

  Auntie went to the living room and looked behind the cupboard. The master hadn’t eaten her chicken leg; it was still there, covered with dust and cobwebs. But Auntie felt dull, sad, and wanted to cry. She didn’t even sniff the leg. She got under the sofa, lay down, and began to whine softly in a thin voice:

  “Hnnn…hnnn…hnnn…”

  CHAPTER SEVEN / AN UNSUCCESSFUL DEBUT

  One fine evening the master walked into the room with the dirty wallpaper and, rubbing his hands, said:

  “Well…”

  He wanted to say something more, but did not say it and left. Au
ntie had made a close study of his face and voice during her lessons, and she could tell that he was disturbed, worried, maybe even angry. A little later he came back and said:

  “Today I’ll take Auntie and Fyodor Timofeyich with me. Today, in the Egyptian Pyramid, you, Auntie, will replace the late Ivan Ivanych. Devil knows what will come of it! Nothing’s ready, nothing’s been learned by heart, we haven’t rehearsed enough! It’ll be a disgrace, a flop!”

  Then he went out again and came back after a minute in a fur coat and top hat. Going over to the cat, he picked him up by the front paws and put him on his chest inside the fur coat, to which Fyodor Timofeyich seemed very indifferent and did not even bother opening his eyes. For him, clearly, it was decidedly all the same: to lie down, or to be picked up by the feet, to sprawl on his mat, or to rest on his master’s chest under the fur coat…

  “Let’s go, Auntie,” said the master.

  Understanding nothing, Auntie wagged her tail and followed him. Soon she was sitting in a sleigh at her master’s feet, and heard him say, shivering with cold and worry:

  “It’ll be a disgrace! A flop!”

  The sleigh pulled up in front of a large, peculiar building that looked like a turned-over soup tureen. The long, wide entrance of the building with its three glass doors was lighted by a dozen bright lanterns. The doors opened with a loud clang and, like mouths, swallowed up the people who were milling around by the entrance. There were many people; horses, too, trotted up to the entrance, but there were no dogs to be seen.

  The master picked Auntie up and shoved her under his coat with Fyodor Timofeyich. It was dark and stuffy there, but it was warm. Two dull green sparks flashed for a second—the cat, disturbed by his neighbor’s cold, rough paws, opened his eyes. Auntie licked his ear and, trying to make herself comfortable, squirmed and crushed the cat under her cold paws and accidentally stuck her head out of the fur coat, but at once gave an angry growl and ducked back inside. She thought she had seen a huge, poorly lit room full of monsters. Horrible heads peered out from the partitions and bars that lined both sides of the room: horses with horns or with enormous ears, and one huge fat mug with a tail where its nose should be and two long gnawed bones sticking out of its mouth.