The man who was supposed to retire finally agreed to do so, not because he wanted to, but because a campaign had recently been launched to encourage people of retirement age actually to retire. In the past he had always tried to make light of his age, but now he was more or less forced to give in. His colleagues gave him a festive farewell and even presented him with an inflatable rubber boat. Although he had also hinted at some fancy fishing tackle, no one had caught the hint; the inflatable boat alone was enough to bankrupt our union treasury. Later on he began telling everyone that he had been made to retire against his will and had even been deprived of his promised fishing tackle. Of course this was all utter nonsense. He had been promised an inflatable boat and had gotten it; but as for the fishing tackle, it had not even been mentioned.
I go into all this in such detail because to a certain extent it looked as if I were the one who was taking his place. Actually, however, the terms of my employment were different from his, since I was being hired as a local employee for whom no apartment would have to be provided.
I had been acquainted with the paper’s editorial staff since my student days when during summer vacations at home I had tried to interest them in some of my poems. While my efforts in this direction had met with little success, I had learned something about the staff members themselves. Among other things, I knew for a fact that the paper’s editor-in-chief, Avtandil Avtandilovich, had never written a poem in his life and had no intention of doing so. In fact, during the whole period of his employment with the paper he had to the best of my knowledge never written anything at all.
Avtandil Avtandilovich was a born leader and man of many talents. Like most Abkhazians he had a natural gift for making speeches and toasts. Not only was he an expert at the banquet table, but his height, curly hair and masculine appearance made his presence equally desirable and even indispensable at important meetings and conferences. He spoke all of the Caucasian languages fluently, and his toasts never had to be translated.
Before his editorial post he had headed a local industry— naturally, one on a scale appropriate to our small, but charming, autonomous Republic. Apparently he had managed the industry quite well—perhaps even too well, since the need had arisen to promote him, and when the opportunity presented itself, he was made editor-in-chief of the city newspaper.
As a man of great ability and resourcefulness he quickly mastered this new enterprise. His operational talents were truly phenomenal. Editorials would frequently appear in our paper on the very same day as in the Moscow papers, and sometimes even a day earlier.
As I had hoped, I was assigned to the paper’s agricultural section. This was a period of radical reform for Soviet agriculture. Experiments were taking place right and left, and I wanted to see for myself what was going on, find out what it was all about, and eventually become an expert in my own right.
The paper’s agricultural section was headed by Platon Samsonovich. If one wonders at the name, I should point out that in our region such names are as plentiful as fish in the sea. Apparently they are a holdover from the Greek and Roman colonization of the Black Sea coast.
I was already acquainted with Platon Samsonovich and had often gone fishing with him in the past. He was a quiet, peaceful individual and one of the most capable and experienced fishermen I had ever run across.
By the time I came to work for him, however, Platonov Samsonovich had completely changed. Not only had he lost all interest in fishing, but he had even sold his small boat. Gone too was his former peaceful exterior. With pursed lips and a certain purposeful glitter in his gloomy eyes, he would pace feverishly from one end of the office to the other. He had always been on the short side, but now he seemed to have shriveled up completely. He had grown even wirier than before and was absolutely charged with energy.
The cause of this sudden transformation was the goatibex-breeding campaign which had recently been launched in our region. Platon Samsonovich had initiated this campaign and was its main promoter.
Some two years before, Platon Samsonovich had paid a visit to one of our mountain game preserves and come back with a short news item on a certain breeding specialist who had succeeded in crossing a mountain ibex with a common goat. As a result of his experiment there appeared the world’s first goatibex. Grazing peacefully among a herd of goats, the new animal could hardly suspect the glorious future that awaited it.
No one paid any attention to Platon Samsonovich’s article—no one, that is, except for a certain very important individual who always spent his vacations at Cape Orange on the shores of our Republic. This individual, who was not exactly a minister but no less important than a minister, read the article and, upon reading it, exclaimed, “An interesting undertaking, to say the least.”
At this point it would be difficult to ascertain whether he addressed these words to anyone in particular or merely uttered aloud the first thought that came into his head. In any case, the very next day Avtandil Avtandilovich received a phone call and was told by the voice at the other end of the receiver, “Our congratulations, Avtandil Avtandilovich. He said it’s an interesting undertaking, to say the least.”
Avtandil Avtandilovich promptly called a staff meeting and in an atmosphere of general rejoicing expressed his gratitude to Platon Samsonovich. At the same time he instructed the latter along with our staff photographer to set off immediately for the game preserve and this time to bring back a full-length article on the life and habits of the goatibex.
“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that the goatibex will some day play a significant role in our national economy,” declared Avtandil Avtandilovich.
A week later our paper published a feature article entitled “An Interesting Undertaking, to Say the Least.” The article took up a whole half page and was supplemented by two large photographs of the goatibex. Seen in profile, the animal’s lower lip seemed to curl skeptically to the side, like that of some decadent aristocrat. In the second photograph the goatibex was shown fullface with his powerful and splendidly curved horns. Here his expression seemed to be one of bewilderment, as if he himself could not decide who he really was and which was better: to become a goat or remain an ibex.
The article gave a detailed account of the animal’s daily food requirements and of his touching devotion to humans. His superiority to the common domestic goat was particularly stressed. First of all, it was pointed out that the average weight of the goatibex was twice that of the common goat—a circumstance of no little importance in light of the country’s chronic meat shortages. Secondly, the goatibex was blessed with strong legs and a hardy constitution, and hence should be able to graze on the steepest mountain slopes almost without risk. Thanks, moreover, to his calm and gentle disposition, the animal would be easy to care for and a single goatherd should be able to tend as many as two thousand goatibexes.
The author adopted a somewhat lighter tone in his description of the goatibex’s wool yield. The animals’ thick wool of white and ashen hues was in his words a real bonus for the consumer industry. It seemed that the breeding specialist’s wife had already knitted herself a sweater of goatibex wool—a garment which according to Platon Samsonovich was in no way inferior to any import. “Our fashion-conscious ladies will be satisfied,” he declared.
It was further pointed out that the goatibex had inherited the jumping ability of his illustrious forebear, the ibex, as well as the latter’s beautiful horns. If suitably processed, these horns could be used as decorations for the home or as attractive souvenirs for tourists and well-wishing foreign guests.
Platon Samsonovich had put heart and soul into this article, and to this day it stands out in my mind as the most colorful of the many articles devoted to the goatibex. And I have read all of them!
The article must have provoked considerable public response, for soon afterward our paper began to feature two new columns under the headings: “On the Trail of the Goatibex” and “Laughing at the Skeptics.” All favorable letters were
published with suitable commentary in the first column; any skeptical or critical letters appeared in the second column and were promptly attacked and repudiated.
Under the heading “On the Trail of the Goatibex” there was published a letter from a certain Moscow scientist* who declared that he personally was not at all surprised by the appearance of the goatibex, since all of this had long ago been foreseen by the followers of the Michurin school of biology. Certain other scientists, however, who had been captivated by theories of dubious validity, had not and naturally could not have foreseen anything of the sort. The great scientist concluded his letter with the statement that the appearance of the goatibex had helped to confirm the validity of his own experiments.
This individual was our country’s most renowned scientist. In his day he had advanced the hypothesis that the ram is nothing other than a direct descendant of the prehistoric reptile which, in keeping with Darwin’s teachings, had undergone a gradual transformation in its struggle for survival. The proof of his hypothesis had been based, it seems, on a comparative analysis of the frontal sinuses of the ram and the skull of an Assyrian reptile fossil.
On the basis of this analysis the great scientist logically concluded that the stubby tail of the ram—being in fact a vestigial reptile tail—ought still to have the capacity to revert to its original form. It remained only to develop this capacity while at the same time training the organism to cast off its present tail in some relatively painless fashion. This is precisely what the great scientist had been working on in recent years and, as far as one could tell, his experiments were meeting with some success.
There were, it is true, certain envious individuals who complained that no one had been able to repeat the great man’s ingenious experiments. Such complaints were countered, however, with the quite sensible reply that what made these experiments ingenious was precisely the fact that they could not be repeated.
All this notwithstanding, the great scientist’s support of our goatibex was both timely and beneficial.
In the same column a letter was published from one of our lady readers. Apparently she had not understood a word of Platon Samsonovich’s article or else was going merely on hearsay, since she wished to find out where she could purchase a sweater made of goatibex wool. The editors politely informed her that although it was a bit premature to be discussing the commercial manufacture of sweaters, her letter did nonetheless provide food for thought. In fact, some of our manufacturing organizations should begin to make immediate preparations for the eventual stocking and processing of goatibex wool.
Under the same heading there also appeared a letter from the workers’ collective of the city slaughterhouse. The workers wished to congratulate the agricultural toilers on their interesting new undertaking and to offer their services to whichever kolkhoz became the first to specialize in goatibex breeding.
In the second column, “Laughing at the Skeptics,” excerpts were published from the letters of a certain livestock expert and an agronomist.
The livestock expert politely expressed his doubts as to the hybrid’s ability to reproduce itself, thus calling into question the whole future of the goatibex venture. In this connection, however, the editorial board was happy to report that the goatibex had already impregnated eight female goats and according to all indications had no intention of stopping here. The impregnated goats were all in good health and the mating continued.
The agronomist proved to be more acrimonious. He made fun of each and every one of the goatibex’s qualities, from the first to the last and all of them as a whole. The animal’s jumping ability was an object of particular derision. I should like to know, he wrote, how our collective farmers can possibly benefit from the goatibex’s jumping ability. As if we didn’t have trouble enough with the jumping ability of our own goats and the damage they do to our corn fields—now you want to saddle us with the goatibex! After this he went on to make some wisecrack about the possibility of our paper’s entering the goatibex as a contestant for the high jump at the next Olympic games.
The agronomist’s letter was given a worthy rebuff by Platon Samsonovich. He began by calmly explaining that the goatibex’s jumping ability was in fact a great asset, since future herds of goatibexes would be able to graze on high alpine meadows inaccessible to the common domestic goat. And there, thanks to his great jumping ability, the animal would be able to escape with relative ease from the predators which continued to prey on our communal livestock.
As for the jumping ability of our collective farm goats, here the editorial board could take no responsibility. All responsibility for the goats lay with the collective farm shepherds, most of whom probably spent their days sleeping or playing cards. Such shepherds should be fined, and not only the shepherds but the kolkhoz leadership as well—from the chairman on down through those agronomists who were unable to distinguish between alpine meadows and Olympic fields.
Platon Samsonovich’s reply apparently silenced the acrimonious agronomist for good. The polite livestock expert, however, continued to make himself heard, and once again his name appeared in the column “Laughing at the Skeptics.”
He declared that the paper’s reply had not convinced him, since even if the hybrid did have the capacity to mate with female goats, this did not necessarily mean that any offspring would be forthcoming. Moreover, he felt that the livestock industry should be placing its main emphasis on the larger breeds of cattle (on the buffalo in particular), rather than on the goatibex which, while larger than the goat, was nonetheless a small breed.
In reply to this letter Platon Samsonovich stated that, quite to the contrary, the goatibex’s mating capacity did indeed prove that he would be able to reproduce himself. In a very few months we shall see for ourselves; time is on our side, wrote Platon Samsonovich.
As for the proper course to be adopted by the livestock industry, here he had two points to make. First of all, even though the goatibex was smaller than the large breeds of cattle, it could by no means be called a small breed. And secondly, the livestock expert’s excessive preoccupation with the larger breeds of cattle clearly demonstrated that he was still suffering from the gigantomania characteristic of the period of the personality cult—a period which had come and gone, never to return.
Several months later the paper devoted a whole page to the observance of a joyful event. All of the thirteen she-goats impregnated by the goatibex had given birth; of these, four had brought forth twins, while one of them had actually produced triplets.
An enormous photograph depicting the goatibex along with his harem and young offspring ran the full width of the page. The goatibex stood in the center, and this time his face did not express the slightest bewilderment. He seemed to have found himself, and his appearance was calm and dignified.
By the time I came to work for Red Subtropics, Platon Samsonovich had become the paper’s leading reporter. No longer confining himself to agricultural issues, he now dealt with cultural and educational matters as well, and even wrote editorials for the propaganda section. In fact, his article “The Goatibex as a Weapon for Antireligious Propaganda” had been singled out as one of the paper’s best articles of the year.
And now, for days on end, Platon Samsonovich would sit at his desk, surrounded by biology texts, letters from breeding specialist and all sorts of diagrams. Sometimes he would grow thoughtful and suddenly wince.
“What’s the matter, Platon Samsonovich?” I would ask.
“You know,” he would reply, now reverting to his former cheerful and lively self, “I often think back to my first article. Why, at the time I actually wondered whether the item was worth turning in. To think that I almost let this great undertaking slip through my fingers!”
“Well, and what if you had?” I would ask.
“Don’t even suggest such a thing,” he would answer, wincing once again.
Platon Samsonovich devoted all his time and energy to the newspaper. He was always the first to arrive in the
morning and the last to leave at night. In fact, such was his zeal and dedication that I, his assistant, felt almost embarrassed to leave the office at the end of a normal work-day. He never seemed to mind, however, and was probably just as happy to be left alone. He was unable to work at home, since his apartment consisted of only one room, which he shared with his wife and several grown children. Years before, he had applied to the city soviet for a new apartment, but only now, some weeks after my arrival, was his request finally granted. No doubt his rise to fame in connection with the goatibex had more than a little to do with the Soviet’s decision.
We all congratulated him on the acquisition of his new apartment and even hinted at the possibility of a housewarming. For some unknown reason, however, he obstinately ignored our hints.
It was not until several days later that we discovered the reason for his obstinacy. It turned out that he had left his family and was staying on in the old apartment. Apparently he had tried to leave home several times before, but without success—first of all because he had no place to go, and secondly because his wife had immediately gone to complain to the editor, who on each occasion had managed to persuade him to return to the fold.
On this occasion too Platon Samsonovich’s wife went straight to the editor and demanded, “Give me back my inventor.”
Avtandil Avtandilovich summoned Platon Samsonovich to his office and began trying to persuade him as usual. This time, however, Platon Samsonovich stood his ground and flatly refused to return to his family, although he was willing to help in their financial support.
The Goatibex Constellation Page 2
