“Times have changed,” said Avtandil Avtandilovich to the wife, “you’ll have to handle your family affairs by yourself…”
“They’re always making fun of me,” Platon Samsonovich is supposed to have interjected at this point.
“What do you mean, making fun of you?” asked the editor in surprise. Then turning to the wife, he added: “Platon Samsonovich is working on an important national problem…”
“They’re always interfering with my thought processes,” Platon Samsonovich is supposed to have prompted.
“Give me back my inventor,” repeated the wife.
“She’s making fun of me even now,” complained Platon Samsonovich.
“It isn’t as if he were asking for a divorce,” said the editor.
“That’s all I need!” exclaimed the wife.
“Just think of him as living in his own private office,” concluded Avtandil Avtandilovich.
“But what are people going to think?” asked the wife after a moment’s reflection.
With that it was settled. Platon Samsonovich was not, of course, leaving his family in order to acquire a new one, much less a mistress. Rather it was as if he were removing himself from all worldly cares in order to devote himself wholeheartedly to his favorite cause.
Despite his partial desertion Platon Samsonovich’s wife regularly returned to the old apartment to tidy things up and to supply her husband with fresh linen. For his part Platon Samsonovich continued to work on his brainchild—now with twice as much energy as before—and from time to time would discover a new vantage point from which to view the problems of goatibex breeding.
When a new soft drink pavilion was opened next to one of our seaside cafés, he managed to have it named “The Watering Place of the Goatibex.” He was a frequent visitor to the new establishment, and sometimes in the evening when emerging from the cafe, I would see him sitting there, sipping our Caucasian mineral water Narzan with his arms resting on the counter, and on his face the look of a weary but contented patron.
Although Platon Samsonovich was in favor of promoting the goatibex in the most surprising and varied ways, he would not tolerate any levity in this connection. Thus, for example, when our paper’s humorist compared a certain polygamist and incorrigible defaulter in his alimony payments to the goatibex, Platon Samsonovich stood up at a staff meeting and declared that such a comparison only served to discredit an important national undertaking in the eyes of our collective farm workers.
“Though no one should be accused of any political error, still Platon Samsonovich’s point is well taken,” concluded Avtandil Avtandilovich in a conciliatory tone.
Platon Samsonovich had worked out an appropriate diet for the goatibex and was now urging our collective farmers to follow it. Wishing at the same time to leave some room for individual initiative, he suggested that they try supplementing his diet with various foods of their own choice and report their findings to the newspaper.
“Well, this is a real breakthrough!” he exclaimed to me one day as he approached my desk with a popular Moscow magazine in his hand, and pointed lovingly at its cover. Glancing up, I saw a photograph of the goatibex with his entire family—the same photograph which had appeared in our paper, only here it was in color and looked even more festive.
Shortly afterwards one of the Moscow newspapers ran an article entitled “An Interesting Undertaking, to Say the Least” which told of our Republic’s innovative experiments in goatibex breeding. The paper advised the collective farmers of the central and black earth regions of the country to study and follow our innovative example—without excessive panic and without overdoing it, but at the same time without any costly delays.
Wisely anticipating any objections which might be raised with regard to climatic differences between the Caucasus and other regions farther to the north, the author of the article reminded his readers that the goatibex would hardly suffer from the cold, since on his father’s side he had been raised in the high alpine meadows of the Caucasian mountains.
Platon Samsonovich was quietly exultant. At our last staff meeting only a few days before, he had announced rather precipitously that it was time to challenge the State of Iowa, our competitor in the production of corn, to compete with us in goatibex breeding.
“But they don’t even raise goatibexes,” objected Avtandil Avtandilovich, though not without a shade of uncertainty in his voice.
“Well, just let them try and see how they do under their private enterprise system,” replied Platon Samsonovich.
“I’ll have to consult some colleagues on this,” said Avtandil Avtandilovich. Then by way of indicating that the meeting was adjourned, he switched on his office fan.
This fan stood on a table directly across from his desk and he would always turn it off at the beginning of each meeting. At such moments, with his head rising directly above the greasy blades of the fan, he looked like a pilot who had just flown in from distant parts. Later on, upon closing the meeting, he would once again switch on the fan and his face would tense, as if he were about to lift off.
The day after the meeting Platon Samsonovich was informed by the editor that he would have to wait as far as the State of Iowa was concerned.
“Just between us, he’s one of these play-it-safe types,” Platon Samsonovich later confided to me, nodding in the direction of the editor’s office.
Under the heading “On the Trail of the Goatibex” there once appeared a letter from the staff members of an agricultural research institute in Ciscaucasia. They reported that they had been following our undertaking with interest and had themselves already crossed a Ciscaucasian ibex with a common goat. The first ibexigoat was reported to be in excellent health and growing by leaps and bounds.
Writing on behalf of all the goatibex fans in Transcaucasia, Platon Samsonovich congratulated our northern colleagues on their great success and predicted that they would be even more successful in the future if they continued to stick to the diet which he had worked out for the new animal. He concluded by declaring that he had always known it would be they, the Ciscaucasians—our brothers and closest neighbors to the north, who would be the first to follow our lead in this new undertaking.
The letter from Ciscaucasia was printed verbatim except that in place of the word “ibexigoat” Platon Samsonovich substituted the term “goatibex” adopted by us.
For some reason or other the authors of the letter were offended by this harmless correction and shortly thereafter sent a letter of protest to the editor in which they stated that they had never even considered feeding their ibexigoat according to our diet, but were feeding and would continue to feed it strictly according to the diet worked out by their own professional staff. In addition, they felt obliged to point out that the term “goatibex” was completely unscientific. The very fact (and facts cannot be denied!) that it was a male ibex which was crossed with a female goat, and not vice versa, clearly indicated the predominance of the ibex over the goat—a circumstance which should, of course, be reflected in the animal’s name if one were to approach the matter with scientific precision.
The term “goatibex,” they went on, would be justified only if one succeeded in crossing a male goat with a female ibex, and even this would be stretching things a bit. In such a case, however, there would be no further grounds for argument since we would be dealing with two different animals produced by two different means, a situation which would naturally justify the use of different names. In any case, you can go on experimenting with your goatibexes if you wish, but we for our part will continue in the future, as we have in the past, to stick to our ibexigoats.
Such was the general tone and content of the letter from our colleagues in Ciscaucasia.
“We’ll have to print it; they are specialists, after all,” said Avtandil Avtandilovich as he handed the letter to Platon Samsonovich. Apparently he had considered it of sufficient importance to deliver in person.
Platon Samsonovich quickly scanned the
letter and then threw it down on the desk.
“Well, only if it goes in the ‘Laughing at the Skeptics’ column,” he said.
“We can’t do that,” objected Avtandil Avtandilovich. “These are specialists expressing their opinion. And besides, you did take liberties with their first letter.”
“The whole country knows about the goatibex,” protested Platon Samsonovich, “but no one’s even heard of the ibexigoat.”
“That’s true,” agreed Avtandil Avtandilovich, “and the Moscow press did use our name.… But where did you get the idea that they were using our diet?”
“What other diet could they be using?” retorted Platon Samsonovich, shrugging his shoulders. “Up to now, everyone’s been using our diet…”
“Well, all right,” agreed Avtandil Avtandilovich after a moment’s reflection, “write up an intelligent reply, and we’ll present both items in the form of a friendly debate.”
“I’ll have it ready today,” exclaimed Platon Samsonovich, perking up at the very thought. He reached for a red pencil and took the specialists’ letter in hand.
Avtandil Avtandilovich left the office.
“The schoolboy’s trying to out-teach the teacher,” muttered Platon Samsonovich, nodding his head so vaguely that I was not sure whether he was referring to the editor or to his unexpected opponents from the north.
Several days later the two items appeared in the newspaper. Platon Samsonovich’s reply was entitled “To Our Colleagues beyond the Mountains” and written in an aggressive spirit. He began with a distant analogy. Just as America was discovered by Columbus, but given the name America in honor of the adventurer Amerigo Vespucci who, as everyone knows, did not discover America, so, in similar fashion, wrote Platon Samsonovich, our Ciscaucasian colleagues are trying to give their name to someone else’s creation.
When we corrected the awkward and imprecise name “ibexigoat” in our colleagues’ first letter by inserting the euphonious and universally-accepted term “goatibex,” we assumed that they had merely made a slip of the pen—all the more so since the extremely naive and somewhat immature contents of the letter did not preclude the possibility of such a slip or even of a simple confusion of terms. We perceived all this at first glance, but printed the letter all the same, considering it our duty to support a still weak and hesitant but nonetheless purely motivated attempt to keep pace with the most advanced experiments of our time.
But what do we now find to be the case? It turns out that what we assumed to be a slip of the pen or a simple confusion of terms was actually the false and harmful manifestation of a whole system of beliefs. And since it is always the system itself one might fight, we hereby take up the gauntlet flung down from beyond the mountains.
Is it perhaps possible, continued Platon Samsonovich, that the name “ibexigoat,” for all its clumsiness, may from the scientific point of view more accurately reflect the essence of the new creature? No, even here our colleagues from beyond the mountains have fallen wide of the mark. The real essence of the new creature is expressed precisely in the name “goatibex,” since it is this name which accurately reflects the primacy of man over untamed nature. Thus it is the domestic goat, known even to the ancient Greeks, which, as the more advanced species, occupies first place in our variant, thereby reaffirming the principle that it is man who conquers nature and not vice versa—which would indeed be monstrous.
But perhaps the name “ibexigoat” is somehow in keeping with the best traditions of our own Michurin biology? Wrong again, colleagues from beyond the mountains! Taking as an example some of the new varieties of apples raised by Michurin, we find such names as Bellefleur-Kitaika and Kandil-Kitaika—names which our people have long accepted and approved of. Here, as in our case, the wild Chinese apple Kitaika occupies its altogether fitting and respectable second place.
As for the idea of crossing a female ibex with a male goat, continued Platon Samsonovich, this seems like a rather strange proposal to be coming from the mouths of specialists. In the first place, given the undesirably and even frighteningly large proportions of the female ibex, it is highly unlikely that a male goat would even attempt to mate with her. But even supposing such a union took place, what would we and the national economy have to gain from it? To answer this question we need only consult our own or foreign texts on the subject of mule breeding.
Centuries of experience in mule breeding have clearly demonstrated that the mating of a male horse with a female ass produces a hinny, whereas the more desirable mule results from the mating of a male ass with a female horse. As is well-known, the hinny is a weak, undeveloped and sickly animal which in addition has a tendency to bite. The mule, on the other hand, is an extremely useful animal and one which plays a worthy role in our national economy, especially in the economy of the southern republics. (The possibility of extending the area of mule breeding farther to the north and of raising even hardier species is not presently under consideration, though the impartial reader could learn a great deal from the ten-day mule run between Moscow and Leningrad which took place in the heart of winter with the animals harnessed to sleighs and hauling a full load [see the Large Soviet Encyclopedia, Volume XI, page 206]).
From the foregoing it should be perfectly clear that when produced by our time-tested method, the goatibex can and should be equated with the mule, whereas if produced in the manner suggested by our Ciscaucasian colleagues, he would turn out to be that very same hinny mentioned above. For this reason we can only reject the proposal of our Ciscaucasian colleagues as an attempt—perhaps an unintentional one, but an attempt nonetheless—to set our livestock-breeding industry onto the false paths of idealism.
Our colleagues from beyond the mountains seem to imply that our goatibexes are the deviants, and only their single ibexigoat is keeping in step. But in step with whom?
The mysterious laconism of this last phrase had an ominous ring to it.
Some two weeks had passed and still we had no reply from the Ciscaucasians. For some reason or other they had chosen to keep silent, and this disturbed our editor no end.
“Perhaps their goatibex has died and now they’re too embarrassed to continue the debate,” suggested Platon Samsonovich.
“Well, call their institute and find out what’s going on,” ordered Avtandil Avtandilovich.
“But won’t we be losing face if we call first?” objected Platon Samsonovich.
“On the contrary,” replied Avtandil Avtandilovich, “it will only show how confident we are that we’re in the right.”
Platon Samsonovich placed his call and, having gotten through to the institute, was informed that the ibexigoat was alive and well, but that the staff members had decided to cut short the debate since only time would tell whose ibexigoats would be the first to prosper and multiply.
“Whose goatibexes,” corrected Platon Samsonovich before hanging up the receiver. “Nothing to say for themselves,” he winked in my direction, and rubbing his hands in satisfaction, he returned to his desk.
I was very impatient to see a real, live goatibex with my own eyes. Much as he approved of my enthusiasm, however, Platon Samsonovich was in no hurry to send me off to the countryside. Up till then I’d had only one out-of-town assignment, and it had not been an unqualified success.
I had set out to sea at dawn with the leading brigade of a fishing collective located just beyond the city limits. Everything had been perfect: the lilac-colored sea, the old dory, and the fishermen themselves—strong, agile and indefatigable. But then, after they had made their haul and we were already on our way back, instead of taking the fish directly to the processing plant, they had veered toward a small promontory which lay off to our side. From along the shore some women with pails and baskets were making their way toward this same promontory, and I could see that we were fated to meet.
“Hey, fellows, do you really think we should stop here?” I asked, perhaps a bit belatedly, since the bow of the dory had just touched shore.
&
nbsp; “Sure we should,” they cheerfully assured me, and right away the bargaining was off to a lively start. Within fifteen minutes all of the fish had been traded for rubles and a variety of home-grown produce.
When we set out to sea once again, I tried to lecture them on the impropriety of what they had done. They listened politely but went right on laying out the food and slicing the fresh bread. The meal was soon ready, and when they asked me to join them, I naturally accepted. Anything else would have been unspeakably rude.
We ate our fill, polished off a bottle or two, and immediately afterwards fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.
Later that same day the men explained to me that there had been too few fish to bother with. The processing plant would not even have accepted such a small quantity and, in any case, they were sure to exceed their quota for the season.
Realizing that none of this was proper material for an article, I resigned myself to writing a “Ballad of the Fishing Industry,” in which I celebrated the fisherman’s labor without being too specific as to how he profited from the fruits of his labor. The ballad was well received in the editorial office and soon appeared in print as a new and sophisticated newspaper genre.
But to return to the goatibex.
A regional conference was currently being organized for the purpose of discussing common problems and experiences in goatibex breeding. The animals had already been apportioned among the most prosperous kolkhozes in order that their mass reproduction might begin, but unfortunately, certain kolkhoz chairmen had tried to wangle their way out of the new venture with the excuse that for years they had not even raised goats, much less goatibexes. Such individuals were put to shame, however, and eventually forced to purchase appropriate numbers of female goats. But no sooner had the goats been purchased than our paper began receiving complaints to the effect that some of the goatibexes were acting very cooly toward the females. This prompted our editor to suggest the possibility of artificial insemination, but Platon Samsonovich was firmly opposed to the idea, insisting that such a compromise would only play into the hands of the lazier chairmen. The coolness of the goatibex, he declared, was but a reflection of the kolkhoz chairmen’s own coolness to everything new.
The Goatibex Constellation Page 3
