The Undiscovered Chekhov

THE

CAT

BARBARA PETROVNA WOKE UP and listened. Her face went white, her large black eyes became even larger and burned with terror, when she realized she wasn’t dreaming. She covered her face in horror, raised herself on her elbow, and woke her husband. Her husband curled up and, gently snoring, breathed onto her shoulder.

“Alyosha, darling! Wake up! Sweetheart! Oh, how awful!” Alyosha stopped snoring and stretched his legs. Barbara Petrovna prodded his cheek. He stretched, sighed deeply, and woke up.

“Alyosha, darling! Wake up—someone’s crying!”

“Who’s crying? You’re just imagining things!”

“Listen! Can’t you hear? Someone’s moaning.... Someone must have left: a baby on our doorstep! Oh, I can’t bear the sound!”

Alyosha raised himself up and listened. Outside the wide-open window the night was gray. Along with the fragrance of lilacs and the quiet whispering of the lime trees, a weak breeze wafted a strange sound toward the bed. You couldn’t tell right away what kind of a sound it was: a child’s crying, the song of Lazarus, or just wailing. You couldn’t tell. But one thing was clear: the sound came from right below the window, and not from one throat but from many—there were trebles, altos, tenors.

“Barbara—they’re cats!” Alyosha said. “My silly darling!”

“Cats? It can’t be! What are those bass notes?”

“That’s a sow grunting. Don’t forget we’re at a dacha here. Can’t you hear? Yes, that’s what it is, cats! Come on, calm down. Go back to sleep now.”

Barbara and Alyosha lay down and pulled the blankets over their ears. The morning freshness had begun seeping through the window, and a slight chill hung in the air. Husband and wife curled up and closed their eyes. Five minutes later Alyosha turned round to the other side.

“They don’t let you get any sleep, damn them! With all that screeching!”

In the meantime the feline song was reaching a crescendo. Powerful new voices were joining in, and what had started as a light rustle beneath the window gradually turned into a hubbub, then a rumpus, and finally a hullabaloo. What had begun as a sound tremulous as aspic jelly had finally reached a full fortissimo, and soon the air was full of ghastly notes. Some of the cats let out curt yelps, others rollicking trills—and exactly in rhythm, in octaves and alexandrines! Others sounded long sustained notes. One cat, it must have been the oldest and most passionate, sang in an unnatural voice, not a cat’s voice, but at times in bass, at times in tenor.

“Meouw-meouw—tu tu tu—carrrrriou!”

If it hadn’t been such a donnybrook, you would never think it was cats howling. Barbara turned over and muttered something. Alyosha jumped up, sent a few curses flying through the air, and closed the window. But windows are meager barriers: they let in sound, light, even electricity.

“I have to get up at eight to go to work,” Alyosha shouted, “and these damn cats are howling! They won’t let you sleep! Can’t you at least shut up, woman? Whimpering like this in my ear! Whining at me like that! Is it my fault? They’re not my cats!”

“Please, darling, chase them away!”

Her husband swore, jumped out of bed, and marched over to the window. Night was turning into morning.

Looking up at the sky, Alyosha saw only one little star. It barely flickered in the mist. Sparrows chattered in the lime tree, startled by the sound of the opening window. Alyosha looked down into the garden and saw some ten cats. Their tails in the air, hissing and treading delicately on the grass, they howled, proceeding like a group of dromedaries around a pretty little cat who was sitting on an overturned washtub. It was hard to decide which was stronger: their love for the little cat or their self-importance. Had they come out of love, or just to show off? Their attitude betrayed the most refined scorn for each other. On the other side of the garden gate the sow with her piglets chafed against the grille, trying to get in.

“Shoo!” Alyosha hissed. “Shoo, you devils! Pshhh! Shoo!”

But the cats paid no attention. Only the cat in the middle looked in his direction, but even then casually, in passing. The cat was ecstatic; she didn’t care about Alyosha.

“Shoo! Shoo! Damn you! Shoo, I wish you’d all go to hell! Barbara, give me that carafe there! I’ll throw water on them! The devils!”

Barbara jumped out of bed and brought him not the carafe but a pitcher from the washstand. Alyosha leaned with his chest over the windowsill and tilted the pitcher out of the window.

“Gendemen! Gendemen!” he heard a voice above his head. “Young people nowadays! How can you do such a thing, huh? Ohhhhhh! The young people nowadays!”

A sigh followed. Alyosha looked up and saw a pair of shoulders in a calico dressing gown with a large flower pattern, and withered, sinewy fingers. From the shoulders protruded a small, gray-haired head with a nightcap, and the fingers were pointing down at him threateningly. The old man sat by the window without taking his eyes from the cats. His eyes were sparkling with longing, as if he were watching a ballet.

Alyoshas mouth fell open. He went white, and smiled.

“Are you resting well, Your Excellency?” he asked weakly.

“This is terrible! You are going against nature, young man! You could say, you are... hm, yes... actually sabotaging the laws of nature! This is terrible! How could you! These are... hm, yes... organisms. How do you say, yes, organisms! One must understand! Contemptible!”

Alyosha stepped back from the window, tiptoed to bed, and lay down meekly. Barbara curled up next to him and held her breath.

“That was our...” Alyosha whispered. “In person... he’s not asleep. He loves cats. Damn! There’s nothing worse than living with one’s boss!”

“Young man!” Alyosha heard the old man’s voice a minute later. “Where are you? Come out here please!”

Alyosha went to the window and looked up at the old man.

“Do you see that white cat there? What do you think of it? It’s my cat! What carriage it has, what carriage! What a gait! Just look at that! Meow, meow, Vaska! Vaska, darling! You naughty little thing, you! He’s a pure Siberian. From far away... ha, ha, that little lady-cat over there—she’d better watch herself! My cat is always triumphant—you’ll see what I mean! What carriage! What carriage!”

Alyosha replied that he found the animal’s fur fabulous. The old man began talking about the life of the cat and all the things it did. Getting carried away, he spoke till sunrise, extolling every detail, smacking his lips and licking his sinewy fingers... so there was no going back to sleep.

The following night, at one in the morning, the cats again struck up their song, and again woke Barbara. Alyosha could not chase the cats away; His Excellency’s cat was among them. Alyosha and Barbara listened to the cat concert till morning.