Chapter Four
The next evening also, Gauche was having a cup of water, exhausted from once again practicing his cello into the early hours, when he again heard a knock at the door. He had decided that tonight, he would frighten off whatever animal appeared as soon as they came, like he had finally done to the cuckoo the previous night, and he stood waiting with his cup in hand, when the door opened just a fraction, and in walked a little raccoon dog. Gauche pushed the door open a little wider and stamped his foot on the ground,
“Hey, raccoon dog! Do you know what raccoon dog soup is?” he yelled.
The little raccoon dog gave a confused look as he neatly sat himself down on the floor, and for a few moments he cocked his head sideways, thinking as hard as he could, before finally replying,
“No, I don’t know what raccoon dog soup is.”
After watching the raccoon dog’s face Gauche nearly burst out laughing, but forced himself to look as mean as possible,
“Then I'll tell you,” said Gauche. “To make raccoon dog soup, you start with a raccoon dog, like yourself, mix in some cabbage and some salt, then boil it for a few hours, and then that gets eaten by people, like me.”
The little raccoon dog looked up at Gauche with a confused expression on its face,
“But my pa said that you were really nice, and that you weren’t scary at all, and that I should go and take a lesson from you.”
Gauche burst out laughing.
“What did he tell you to learn? Don’t you know how busy I am? And sleepy too.”
Encouraged, the little raccoon dog took a step closer in.
“I play the snare drum. My pa told me to go learn to play with the cello.”
“I don't see any snare drum.”
“Ah, here,” said the little raccoon dog as he grabbed two sticks from his back.
“What are you going to do with them?”
“So, please play The Merry Coach House.”
“What's The Merry Coach House? Is that jazz?”
“Um, this is the music here,” said the little raccoon dog, grabbing a sheet of music from his back.
Gauche laughed as he took the music.
“Hmm, this looks a little weird. Alright, I’m gonna start playing. So are you going to play the snare drum, are you?” As he began to play, Gauche continued to glance down at the raccoon dog, waiting to see what it was going to do.
Using his sticks, the little raccoon dog started tapping ♬rat-a-tat-tat-♬ directly beneath the cello’s bridge, in time to the music. In fact he was really quite good and Gauche started to enjoy himself. When they reached the end of the piece, the little raccoon dog cocked its head sideways in thought.
Then, as if finally working out a difficult problem, he said to Gauche,
“Master Gauche, when you play on that second string, you fall just a bit behind, don't you? It puts me off my rhythm a little.”
Gauche was taken aback. Ever since last night he'd had the feeling that no matter how quickly he played that string, the sound never came out straight away.
“Hmm, you might be right. It's the cello,” replied Gauche dejectedly. The little raccoon dog gave Gauche a sympathetic look and was again lost in thought, but then said,
“I wonder what's wrong with it. Could you play one more time?”
“Alright, here I go,” said Gauche and started again.
This time, the little raccoon dog tapped on the bottom of the cello like before, but every now and then he placed his ear up against the bottom of the cello. When they reached the end, a silver haze was once again showing in the eastern sky.
“Ah, the sun's coming up. Thank you very much.” The little raccoon dog hurriedly placed his music and sticks on his back and tied them down with an elastic band, bowed two, three times and then left.
Gauche stood dreamily breathing the fresh air blowing in through the hole where the window had fallen out the previous night, but then thinking to get a decent rest before going into town, he quickly jumped into bed.
Gauche the Cellist and Other Stories Page 4
