I made a scene. I called down the holiest feathered saints on her head.
“Calm down, Visko. Your ‘V’s are still right there. I just gave birth—you can’t go on torturing me like this.”
“You still have the nerve to open your beak! You think I’ve slaved all my life for the great pleasure of raising cuckoos? You think my kind have held on for millennia of genetic competition so one day a fucking cuckoo can have a baby-sitter?!”
I turned around to check the eggs, and I swear that one of those “V”s was in a strange beakwriting. I spent another three days without closing my eyes, pacing around the eggs, praying and cursing. My nerves on edge all the way to the tips of my feathers.
Then they finally hatched. Two boys and a girl. They made a certain impression: three little unfeathered bodies with huge gaping mouths going cheep cheep.
“Aren’t they darling?”
“I suppose so,” I answered warily. I stopped to examine the one in the middle. He was clearly different from the other two. “Look—this one has reddish down.”
“He’s just got a little yolk stuck to him, Visko. That’s all.”
“Okay, but it’d be a good idea to keep an eye on him. And why the hell is he squawking louder than the others?”
“Because you’ve been ruffling his feathers for an hour.”
“Could be. But it’d be better to separate him from the other two.”
“You’re joking. Do you have any idea what a trauma that would be for the poor little thing? Be reasonable for a second—if he were what you’re afraid of, he’d be the biggest of the three, but the other boy is bigger.”
“Okay. It’d be a good idea to keep an eye on him, too.”
When I said the word “eye,” my own began to cross. How long a damned time had it been since I’d been able to close them?
“The little ones need protein, Visko. Get busy—hunt up an earthworm, a snail, a grass snake. Yes, best of all would be a nice little grass snake.”
A grass snake? Easier said than done. Where could I find a grass snake at this time of night?
I took off anyway. What with the fresh air and smacking my head on branches, I half woke up. I flew all over the place. But once again my skill and minute knowledge of the territory paid off. At dawn I returned to the nest with a first-rate grass snake.
“Bravo, Visko,” my Ljuba twittered. “I knew you could do it. Hand it over.”
“Oh, no. I want to feed them the grass snake myself!”
I divided my prey into three parts. I shredded them and started feeding the little girl.
“Thanks, Papa,” she chirped.
“Did you hear that? She already knows how to say ‘papa’! She’s certainly one of ours.”
After that I fed the boy with the yellow down.
“Thanks, Papa,” he mumbled.
“Did you hear him? This one’s got his act together.”
Then I took the last piece and gave it to the one with the reddish down.
“Thanks, Visko,” he rasped. “The grass snake’s not bad.”
I felt a cold shudder in my bones.
“It’s him!” I cried to heaven. “It’s him! I knew it was him, the bastard!” I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “Admit it! Admit it, you miserable son of a bitch! You wanted to screw me over, eh? You thought you could get away with it, you deformity?”
The guy started crying as if I’d slit his throat. Ljuba jumped on me and started raising hell. I ended up with my wings pinned to the floor.
“Don’t you dare touch my babies or I’ll kill you!” she erupted. “As God is my witness, if I hear one more word about cuckoos, I’m taking my little ones and clearing out!” She was furious. “On second thought, I’m leaving now!”
“Wait, sweetness. Let’s not be hasty. You know I love you and the babies, you’re everything to me. Forgive me, I don’t know what I’m doing. This story about cuckoos—”
“I don’t want to hear that word again!”
“Okay, okay. Maybe all I need is a good rest. A good long rest.” The little one kept on yowling in Ljuba’s wings. I couldn’t take it anymore. “I’ll take a nap, Ljuba. Don’t forget—keep an eye on them . . . I mean . . . you take care of everything.” I dropped like a stone.
When I woke up, Ljuba and the kids had disappeared. The nest was torn apart, as if a hawk had been through it.
“Ljuba!” I shouted.
“We’re here on the veranda, Visko. It’s time to get more food, dear. The grain is all gone.”
“All gone! Damn! How long did I sleep?”
“Three days, dear.”
The kids were basking in the sun. I observed them carefully. “Anyone acting strange, Ljuba?”
“Only you, Viskovitz.”
They’d already grown a promising set of feathers. Ash gray on the cheeks, throat and breast, dull black with white spots on the pinions and tail feathers. They looked okay, as alike as three drops of water. Very good. It was time to celebrate. I still had some currants in the attic, and I went to get them. As I got to the top floor, my eyes played a nasty trick on me. My feathers stood on end, and I froze on the spot with my beak gaping. Somebody was in my bunk. A great big bird was lolling on my feather bed!
“Ljuba!” I yelled. “What’s going on?!”
Ljuba rushed upstairs. Meanwhile, that guy on the bed jumped to his feet. He was as big as Ljuba—four times bigger than me. His breast feathers were ash gray and his pinions were dull black with white spots. He opened his beak and said, “Cuckoo, Viskovitz.”
I saw my little ones coming upstairs. Not all that little— they were already taller than me by a beak.
“Cuckoo, Viskovitz,” they chorused.
Then I looked at Ljuba and saw her smile.
“Cuckoo, Viskovitz,” she chimed in.
My head was spinning. I didn’t know what to say.
“Cuckoo,” I answered politely.
YOU’VE GOT HORNS, VISKOVITZ
I, Viskovitz, am good and kind, but when I lower my antlers . . .
I let out a bellow and charged.
That’s the way it’s always been among us elks: whoever wins gets all the girls in heat for himself. The other bull-elks are crushed; all that’s left is fantasies. Right now there was only one adversary left between me and glory, love and power. I could not fail, I couldn’t let one instant of distraction or trivial fear ruin a year of athletic preparation and ground-pawing anticipation . . .
I came down on him with the speed of a warhorse, with the whole half-ton of my weight. But just as I made my thrust, Petrovic, my rival, played dirty. He tucked himself up like a rat and flipped me into the air. He hit me on a leg joint and I collapsed. I ended up with my snout in the ground and all I could do was ask for mercy. Petrovic gave me another swipe with his antlers and then went off in the direction of the cow-elks to get his reward.
That evening I limped off into the undergrowth to lick my wounds in private. Then I dragged myself as far as the watering hole and looked for Jana.
“Hi, Jana,” I croaked.
“You smell awful, Viskovitz.” The darkness of the evening mercifully covered her. As she grazed, her teats hung down, brushing the ground. “They made a real mess of you this time, Visko,” she sneered.
If you picked off her lice, she would always go for a stroll with you, and if you scratched her scabies sores, she would even bray out something like “You’re the best, you’re the champion, you’re number one.”
That’s how we spent our winter.
Meanwhile, you got in training for spring. And you sharpened your antlers. Because you’re an elk, and up there coming out of your head you don’t just have thoughts—you have sabers.
When the new season came and the females were in heat again, there we bachelors were at the foot of the mountain, deciding who would face Petrovic. To my strength, a natural gift, I’d added a good bit of experience —all those tricks you learn with time. It only took me a quarter of an hour
to make Lopez and Zucotic and others understand that I was still the number-one contender. A few of the younger ones had mistaken my circumspection for fear, and they were now in the bushes licking their wounds. Petrovic, who had been following all this from the mountaintop, charged immediately. This time I was waiting for him at the end of the valley, hooves planted. I saw that he was aged and run-down, thin and unsteady. I slammed him into an oak tree a couple of times until I felt sorry for him.
Having settled that business, I set off up the mountain where the cow-elks were waiting for me. Their little heads were peeping out from behind the boulders. In the air I caught the scent of females and heard some sweet murmurings.
“Who won?”
“Viskovitz. He’s on his way up.”
When I got right in front of them, they didn’t exactly fit what comes to mind when you think of a herd of females in heat. You imagine them all atwitter, shivering and whinnying. A couple of them were snoring. Others were stretched out on their bellies, swishing their tails across their backs. Some were browsing. However, the most appetizing of the bunch came forward and whinnied, “I am the prime female of the group. You, having won the fight, are the pride of the herd, our lord and master, and you will couple with me first and then with all the others, and we will give birth to your vigorous and abundant offspring.”
“You can count on it,” I grunted.
“Naturally you will have to see to the security and prosperity of the herd. You will discover and conquer new territories, and you will always watch over our feeding grounds. You will keep the wolf and the lynx away, and you will stand guard night and day on the mountaintop to catch the scent of hunters. You will be feared by other herds and you will defend our territory.
“Since you are the only one with antlers, you will pull down the higher branches so that we can browse, and you will pick the parasites out of our coats. You will be an example for your sons, and you will see to their education. When we are pregnant you will satisfy our least whim. You will settle every fight, always governing wisely and judging fairly. You will not associate with the other males on the mountain, and you will keep us away from their impure seed. During the mating season you will face rivals in the arena until one day, when you are old and tired, you will succumb to challengers who are younger and fresher, among whom you may find your own sons. And you will be killed. Your antlers will join those of your predecessors, to whom we have never lessened our grateful and reverent homage. My name is Ljuba.”
“And I’m Viskovitz, my treasure,” I nickered. “You have a beautiful coat, Ljuba. You know what I’d like to do now, my little blossom? You and I are going to take a little stroll into the bushes . . .”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. When you wish to couple with me—I gather that’s what you’re driving at—you must do it here, on the mountainside. The herd must not be left unguarded.”
“Here? In front of everyone?”
“That is the rule, Your Elkness.”
“Okay, we’ll talk about this later, when it gets dark. But, my filly, do me a favor—call me Visko.”
That evening, after sunset, I was on sentry duty. The night was peaceful. The little ones were sleeping curled up between the legs of my cow-elks, who were snoring. Only Ljuba continued to graze. Every so often she gave me a look. I whistled and she broke into a trot. It was clear that we understood each other right away. The moon made her dewy eyes glisten. I began to fondle her. I felt a certain tormented urgency. Hey—it’s more than understandable. I hoisted myself onto her rump. I held her steady with my forelegs, I nipped her neck with my teeth. With my—
“What was that noise?”
“I’m afraid that a wolf has seized one of the little ones, Your Grace.”
“Well, as long as it’s not one of mine. It’ll be one less to—I mean—of course I’ll get right down and take care of it . . . But I beg you, call me Visko.”
A slobbering wolf had seized an elk-calf by the throat and was slinking off to pluck it apart in the forest. I butted him in the rear and sent him flying. But just then another pair of those lousy bastards popped out of the woods, and now I had one of them hanging on my hock. I shifted my weight onto my forelegs and gave a kick to get him off. They’d picked the wrong day. I ran the third one through with a heavy thrust, and that finished him off. The others broke away, and I could tell I wouldn’t see them again for a good while. But by then the evening was ruined. I was bleeding from two legs and my stomach. It’d been a long day. I lowered myself onto my back, belly in the air, and let the mares lick my wounds. I heard one of them say to another, “What did I tell you? I knew Visko would straighten them out.” Then I collapsed.
The following day, before I’d recovered, the lynxes showed up, and then toward evening a couple of elk bastards came up from the valley, attracted by the scent of the girls. It wouldn’t have been hard to take care of these guys if not for the shape I was in. I was a dishrag. But you can imagine what would’ve happened if I let these guys have their way. I decided to gamble. I forced myself into a trot, pretending my legs were in working order. Only God knows that I was cursing with pain. Then, facing the more combative of the two, I let out what we call “the ultimate bellow,” the one that up here, just like down on the plain, means a fight to the finish. My luck held. They headed off. But if they’d had the guts to charge . . . it’s better not to think about it. I heard the girls say, “He’s got what it takes, that Visko. Did you see? Those other guys pissed on themselves.” Then I tumbled to the ground.
The next day I began to feel better. I got my strength back and with it a certain languorous yearning. I decided to dedicate the day to Ljuba. I called to her and she didn’t make me ask twice. But I noticed right away that she was a little nervous.
“Are you still afraid of your good old Visko?” I snorted with a horsey little smile.
“It’s not that, my lord. It’s that I heard a shot. It came from the woods.”
“You must have imagined it, dear. Calamities can’t all come at once. It’s just a little emotion—I myself . . .”
I heard a crack, then a strangled mooing in the forest.
“I’ll see what I can do. But do me a favor—next time call me Visko.”
I went down into the woods and attracted the attention of the hunters while the herd got away to safety. I bounded off, going this way and that, over hill and dale, leaving tracks and erasing tracks. I took two slugs and a hail of buckshot. Then, in the dead of night, I dragged myself back to the mountaintop.
A pair of she-elks were still awake. I heard one bray to the other, “What a guy, that Viskovitz! With him around we can sleep in peace.” Then I collapsed.
The next day I woke up in a great mood. In our neck of the woods, hunters don’t show up more than once a week. I’d taught the wolves and lynxes a good lesson, and as for the bull-elks . . . they’d better steer clear. It was a mild sunny day, and when the air is clear, the spectacle of the Rocky Mountains is something to see. Maybe it’s because I’m an elk, but to me those sharp peaks look like invincible antlers. I bugled. Because I felt like it. I would have liked it if, from the other mountains, some herd bosses had answered. Because we elks are here on all these peaks. The little brats were grazing happily. The herd was peaceful. I had a bite of grass and then I called the girls over. How nicely the little fillies trotted! We had some unfinished business to take care of. There was no reason to wait for evening—from now until then I would take my pleasure. There was really no need for modesty in my own home. There was Ljuba, then there was Lara, then there was Elke, then there was Olga . . . Great Elk, I felt as excited as a young buck!
“Girls, today we’re all going to work together to make sure our herd has an abundant and vigorous offspring,” I neighed. “Step right up, Ljuba.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, my lord.”
“Don’t say that, not even as a joke . . .”
“The mating season is over, my lord, and we’ll h
ave to wait until next year for these things, if we’ll still have the honor of having you with us. In the meantime, you remain our only master. If you would be so kind as to pull down that branch, we . . .”
Jana was lying in a pond, half submerged in the slime that covered her scabs.
“Your Elkness,” she brayed, “you smell awful.”
ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD, VISKOVITZ
As soon as I was born, I got compliments.
“How beautiful he is,” Mama crowed. “He’s already a perfect beetle. He has more color than the others, he’s more attractive!”
She was completely happy with what she saw. Brand-new, I must have been a pretty sight.
I congratulated myself on coming into the world and took a look around to make sure there were no predators. I would have been annoyed if the party ended so soon. Around me there was a bunch of snot-noses who had barely completed their larval stage. They were trying to get out of their “pears,” making an effort to move around. I liked the idea that I was starting life with an advantage over them, even if it was as ephemeral as beauty. But Papa managed to dampen my enthusiasm.
“Don’t listen to your mother, Visko. Beauty is no advantage at all for creatures like us.”
“Is that right?”
“I’m sure of it, son. And it would be good for you to know right off how things stand. We’re dung beetles, kid, and the only thing that matters in our life is . . . well, look . . . it’s shit.”
I was stunned. I wasn’t able to take in what he meant, but the way he said it, hunching up in his shell with a mortified expression, weighed on me uneasily.
“But we should have a party now,” he continued. “This is a delicacy, you’ll like it.” With a certain apprehension he held out a little dark ball with his appendages. I warily tasted it, just a little lick. It was disgusting. My God, I thought, do our lives really depend on this filth?
“You are our first son, Visko. It wasn’t easy to bring you into the world. To grow a larva it takes a ball of material two inches thick. We call them ‘pears,’ and they don’t grow on trees.”
You're an Animal, Viskovitz Page 3
