Djibi

by Felix Salten

At last, Djibi was able to leave her sickbed, though she dared not attempt jumping down from the chest. She sat near her bed, apprehensive, cowering, obviously not yet herself. The teacher caressed her fondly, talked gently to her. But Djibi behaved like a bad-tempered, distrustful stranger.

  “Leave her alone,” called Bertha. “She has only just come back from the dead.”

  The teacher wanted to take her in his arms and lift her down from the chest, but she resisted with such violence and hostility that it frightened him.

  “What is the matter with you, puss? Are we no longer friends?”

  He stood helplessly before her, lacking the courage to touch her again. “You are my darling puss; have you forgotten it?”

  Djibi was not listening to him.

  “What is wrong with her? Isn’t she well yet?” He addressed his wife.

  “She is far from well,” replied Bertha. “She is still suffering from aftereffects.”

  “Poor, poor kitten,” said the teacher compassionately.

  “Yes, she is poor, and therefore she must be left in peace.”

  When Tasso came into the room and put his paws on the chest to greet Djibi, she arched her back and spat tonelessly.

  Tasso was surprised, but did not try to force himself upon her. As she maintained her hostile attitude and continued to spit, the dog retreated in bewilderment.

  “You see,” observed Bertha. “She doesn’t even recognize Tasso, and they were such close friends . . .”

  “What will it all lead to?” whispered the teacher, bewildered.

  “Everything will be well!” his wife consoled him. “But it takes time! You can’t put it all straight overnight! Isn’t that so, pussy?” Her hand passed lightly over Djibi’s back.

  Djibi nestled closer to her nurse, and suddenly a low purring became audible.

  “Did you hear that?” called Bertha to her husband.

  “No!” he replied. “What was it?”

  “Djibi has purred!”

  The teacher wanted to take her in his arms again; but the cat, too weak to scratch, raised her paws in defense.

  “I don’t know what I have done!” The teacher turned away crossly. “I love animals as I have always done, and yet I fail in everything I try to do with them!”

  “You must understand that she is still ill,” reasoned Bertha.

  “I must, I must . . .” he repeated querulously. “There is always a ‘must’ for me . . .”

  “You must be considerate,” interrupted Bertha.

  “Does anyone trouble to be considerate to me?”

  “You might remember your wife and Tasso.”

  In his cage, the canary began to warble a jubilant song.

  After having listened to him for a time, enchanted, the teacher whispered: “Thank you. Thank you, little prisoner! You are happy, aren’t you? You are a consolation and your song would warm anyone’s heart!”

  “At last, a pleasant word,” murmured Bertha.

  “You shall no longer be a prisoner,” continued the teacher. “I am going to give you your freedom!”

  “Don’t for heaven’s sake!” warned Bertha.

  But the teacher had already opened the door of the cage.

  The canary was silenced, appeared in the open door and peered round him. Then he flew flutteringly a short distance, sat down on the lampshade and twittered: “Peep!”

  “How do you like it?” laughed the teacher.

  “Peep!” replied the canary.

  “Now sing!” insisted the teacher. “Sing a song of freedom!”

  But the canary was silent. He seemed to appreciate neither his freedom nor his new position. He remained sitting on the lampshade.

  “Shut the window!” ordered Bertha.

  “Why?”

  “Very well, I shall shut it myself!” Determined, she went to the window and fastened it securely.

  “But Hansi should learn to know the trees and their green foliage . . .”

  “Sometimes you are really stupid,” she declared.

  “Stupid?” he asked in surprise. “Because I want to give this bird its freedom?”

  “I wish you would stop this freedom talk!” she interrupted him. “If Hansi got outside he would be completely helpless and the other birds would soon kill him!”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” admitted the teacher.

  “Of course I am right!” she cried impatiently. “I know you mean well, but you go about it the wrong way!”

  The canary fluttered about in the room and landed on a chair.

  Djibi lifted her head, pricked her eyes and eyed the bird with interest.

  Bertha scolded, “What shall we do now? I suppose we shall have to chase him until he is exhausted, so that we may catch him again!”

  “No!” begged the teacher. “No!”

  “How else will he return to his house and get some peace?”

  But Hansi spared the disconcerted teacher and supplied the answer himself. He flew over to his cage, sat for a while on its roof, called “Peep” several times, looked for the open door and slipped back into the familiar house, where he immediately began to peck at his seeds.

  Bertha hurried to the cage, quickly climbed a chair and fastened the door. “There, that is far better for you than the much-praised liberty, of which you know nothing!”

  Djibi’s recovery was complete within a few weeks.

  Still very thin, yet happy, she was her old self again.

  When the teacher took her in his arms, she cuddled up to him and purred like a spinning wheel.

  He loved it when she mounted his shoulder and pressed her head under his chin, reciprocating his caresses.

  The farmer, who came in and saw her, rubbed his hands contentedly: “Well, thank heavens!”

  At the sight of him, Djibi took refuge with Bertha, to whom she had become extremely attached, in gratitude for her devoted nursing.

  “Put her down on the floor,” demanded the farmer.

  “I’ll do nothing of the sort,” refused Bertha. “She is frightened of you, and with good cause.”

  Soon Djibi was well enough to walk about the room with her tail raised triumphantly.

  Tasso greeted her fondly, and she renewed her friendship with the dog.

  “Everything is settling down fine,” rejoiced the teacher. “Patience is the main thing.”

  “And one shouldn’t shirk any effort or give up hope,” added his wife.

  The teacher tried to justify himself.

  “It is not surprising if at times I lost courage . . .”

  “Oh, you!” Bertha patted his shoulder. “If things don’t go the way you expect . . . If any of your illusions fail to become a reality, you immediately grow despondent, disappointed, a true pessimist! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

  He smiled: “I am ashamed, and glad to acknowledge it!”

  It gave Djibi obvious pleasure to parade about the room. Tasso accompanied her steps, wagging his tail gleefully.

  Suddenly, he shot into a corner and growled. Djibi escaped into the teacher’s lap.

  The farmer entered the house.

  “I saw Djibi walk about the room.” He laughed. “Has the time come?”

  “It has!” cried Bertha.

  “Well, perhaps you’ll talk to me now,” said the farmer to the teacher, stretching out his hand.

  The teacher took it, while Djibi sought Bertha’s protection.

  The farmer sighed with relief: “It has been a difficult time.”

  The teacher smiled: “But we were all lucky, you in particular!”

  One morning, an imposing Persian tomcat sneaked into the room, examined every corner with composed curiosity, and finally sat down quietly at Djibi’s side.

  She received him with both dignity and a reserved amiability.

  When he was greeted by the teacher and his wife, he showed gratitude, purred when he was stroked, but did not move, showing clearly that he wished to stay with Djibi.

  “Well, st
ay then!” said the teacher.

  Bertha warned the cat: “But you must behave when Tasso arrives! He will not hurt you, and we can’t have any fights!”

  The Persian looked at her as though he understood every word.

  “What a fellow!” said Bertha. “He is a strapping big creature, with a great deal of strength, and probably a temper, too. Who knows how he will take to the dog? . . .”

  “At any rate, we must watch them,” said the teacher.

  He went up to the Persian and asked: “Do you agree to be called Rustan?”

  At the word Rustan, the Persian lifted his head, pricked his ears and looked questioningly at the teacher.

  Bertha laughed: “You seem to have guessed his name!”

  “If I have, it’s pure coincidence!” replied the teacher.

  When Tasso came in the Persian leaped up, arched his back, and spat loudly.

  “Hostilities have already begun!” cried the teacher’s wife.

  Tasso was taken aback at first, but then he approached very cautiously and slowly.

  Djibi put her paw on the Persian’s shoulder and seemed to explain something to him, which had the effect of calming him immediately; he crouched down and waited for the dog, though he was visibly nervous.

  But Tasso’s manner was so irresistably friendly that, while it did not immediately win the Persian’s affections, it compelled a peaceful attitude.

  “That’s good,” smiled the teacher, contentedly. “At least there will be no fight. They will get on with each other.”

  Bertha was still doubtful. “Let’s hope so.”

  “Good Tasso, good Rustan!” the teacher joined the animals, patting the dog and the cat. “If you could only tell me where you come from and why . . .”

  The Persian listened attentively, and Tasso looked as though he had understood every word. He put his paw on the edge of the settee, and seemed to echo his master’s question.

  Djibi had stretched out coquettishly by their side. The Persian followed her and clapped her softly on the back, to which she responded with a contented “Mew.”

  “It is easy to guess why he has come,” teased Bertha. “One need only look at our puss!”

  But Rustan the Persian did not stay more than a few days with Djibi; another tomcat suddenly made his appearance. He was a very ordinary fellow, with shaggy fur and torn ears, which testified to many a bitter fight.

  The teacher eyed him suspiciously. Bertha pitied him.

  “A bad egg,” was the teacher’s verdict.

  “A poor devil,” said Bertha. “He must have had a hard time!”

  “Only because of his unruly disposition,” stated the teacher.

  He was right, because the Ruffian immediately fell over Rustan, growling and spitting.

  “What’s all this?” intervened the teacher. “We must have peace here!”

  But the newcomer took no notice of the teacher; he behaved as though he did not exist.

  Intimidated, Rustan avoided the attack. But when the Ruffian threatened him again he jumped out of the window and escaped.

  Bertha’s eyes followed him: “We shall not see him again!”

  “Coward!” muttered the teacher, annoyed.

  But the Ruffian’s rule did not last long either, though Djibi’s attitude to him was most tender. The teacher and his wife left him alone, but could not love him. Tasso’s reaction to the ill-mannered brute was different. At first he seemed dumbfounded, but then became so indignant that one day he suddenly seized the tomcat and threw him violently against the wall. The Ruffian was so taken aback that he made no sound, and lay quietly on the floor, stunned.

  Tasso rushed at him and seemed ready to deal with him as he had dealt with the Angora cat.

  “Tasso!” called the teacher in a subdued voice. “What are you doing?”

  The dog immediately restrained himself obediently, wagged his tail and looked questioningly into the teacher’s eyes.

  “Don’t be a murderer,” warned the teacher softly.

  Bertha supported him: “Tasso, don’t ever make such a cruel exhibition again!”

  The dog looked from the man to the woman, and then looked at the cat in the corner, baring his fangs.

  “Enough, old chap,” said the teacher. “You have punished him sufficiently. Enough, now!”

  “You are a good dog,” praised Bertha.

  The dog wagged his tail peaceably; then he lay down at the Ruffian’s side, watching him closely. The Ruffian was recovering slowly.

  The dog growled.

  “He is not prepossessing,” was the teacher’s opinion of the Ruffian.

  “I can’t stand him either,” admitted Bertha.

  “But since he is staying with us,” continued the teacher, “we must protect him.”

  “Of course,” agreed Bertha. “But he mustn’t always start a fight.”

  “He will get out of this habit.”

  “If he doesn’t, he will have to bear the consequences. In that case, nobody can help him.”

  “These consequences worry me . . .”

  “What must happen will happen, my dear, and all attempts to prevent it are useless!”

  “Nevertheless, I shall do my best to see that peace reigns.” The teacher did not give up hope.

  The Ruffian got up cautiously, crept past the growling dog, and climbed up the settee, where he crouched at Djibi’s side.

  Djibi exerted all her charms to attract him; but he was too weary to take any notice of her. She sat pouting in the corner, but when the teacher took her in his arms, she immediately began to purr, took up her favorite position on his shoulder and behaved most lovingly.

  “Pussy, sweet dear pussy,” the teacher said tenderly.

  The Ruffian spat.

  “Be careful!” cried Bertha.

  “Why? No animal will ever hurt me!”

  “Don’t be so confident! You never can know!”

  The teacher repeated: “No animal will ever hurt me! Don’t worry.”

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when the Ruffian was about to attack him. But Tasso leaped between the teacher and the cat, and the Ruffian cowered down again.

  A little puppy attached himself to Tasso. He was young, playful, had no master and was pitifully starved. His urge to serve a master was even stronger than his hunger.

  The puppy met with Tasso’s approval.

  He jumped up at the big dog, snapped at his ears, but Tasso tolerated him and behaved like a good-natured uncle.

  Then the pup noticed Djibi and the Ruffian; he ran to them and poured out a stream of abuse. It was obvious that he was abusing them, because his voice sounded quite different; it was hostile, even threatening, entirely different from the voice with which he addressed Tasso.

  Djibi completely ignored the little dog. She paid no attention to his barking, and did not even seem to consider him a nuisance.

  The Ruffian, however, immediately arched his back and his claws hit out at the pup, who avoided him nimbly but grew more and more furious.

  “What do you mean by all this noise?” asked the teacher.

  The puppy was immediately silent, rolled on his back, full of boundless obedience and devotion.

  Bertha, bending over him, was amused. “A funny chap! So young and so thin!”

  “A child,” said the teacher, to whom the pup appealed.

  “A noisy child,” smiled Bertha, “and a funny one!”

  “He has the best instincts of his race,” said the teacher approvingly. “Shall we keep him? You know that I am unable to turn away any animal.”

  “Of course I know it! I don’t want to chase away the poor wretch.”

  “You have found the right name for the little chap. He shall be called ‘Wretchy.’ ”

  “All right. Wretchy, come with me and I’ll teach you something more important than your name.”

  She fetched a bowl from the kitchen, filled with food to the brim. “You may have your meal in Tasso’s company.”
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  Tasso ate a few mouthfuls, indifferently. Wretchy sat impatiently on his hind legs, his head tilted to one side, pricking his ears, whining softly and trembling with greed.

  Tasso raised his head, wagged his tail encouragingly and walked away.

  “That’s what I call an invitation!” approved Bertha.

  “Of course,” agreed the teacher. “Tasso is showing his hospitality, as usual.”

  “Come here, come here, Wretchy!” coaxed Bertha. “It is yours!” She whispered: “He can’t possibly manage all that!”

  But she had underestimated Wretchy. Like mad, he threw himself over the huge bowl: lap, lap, lap! He swallowed so passionately as though he had only just discovered the existence of food.

  The entire meal, which would have satisfied the giant Tasso, disappeared in a jiffy. Little Wretchy had managed to eat it all. Then he sank down with a rounded belly, sighed deeply and immediately fell asleep.

  Bertha shook her head. “It is incredible how much the little fellow managed to put away!”

  “He had probably been starved for a long while, and was generally leading a miserable existence,” said the teacher.

  A few days later Tasso liberated the household from Ruffian’s shameless tyranny. The occasion for this deed was Wretchy, whom Tasso had to rescue from the Ruffian.

  The pup was hopping playfully around the settee, on which the cats were lying.

  Djibi surveyed his doings with the mien of a bored queen, disdainful of her subjects. But the Ruffian behaved differently. He arched his back, spat, and directed furious blows at the pup.

  Tasso was stretched out on the floor. He had pricked his ears anxiously when Wretchy began his antics at the settee, because the Ruffian’s attitude forecasted an attack.

  The attack was not long in coming.

  Wretchy continued to hop about, harmless and playful; from time to time he emitted a short, friendly bark, followed by a mad whirl through the room. He was quite engrossed in his game, and paid no attention to the Ruffian’s menacing attitude.

  The teacher had long ago made up his mind about the Ruffian, and Tasso was equally candid in his disapproval of the cat.

  “Take care, Tasso!” said the man to the dog. But the warning was unnecessary, because Tasso was keeping a careful watch.

  Wretchy’s happy barking was suddenly interrupted by a piercing yell of pain; the Ruffian had clawed him over the eyes, and the puppy, with his face bleeding, whining and bitterly disappointed, took refuge in Bertha’s skirts.