“Ah, good girl, Gogola, good girl,” he crooned once again, as if hoping to restore his good mood. But apparently his efforts were in vain, for he suddenly spat out in disgust: “Losers! Real losers!”
Then he grew silent.
We finally reached the area where the animals were kept. Next to a large, empty cowshed was a pen with wattle fencing, which was used for the animals in the summertime. This pen was adjoined by a smaller one, and it was here that we found the goatibex resting under a thin canvas awning.
As we approached the pen, I eagerly began examining the illustrious animal. As soon as he caught sight of us, the goatibex stopped chewing his cud and glared with pink, unblinking eyes in our direction. Then he rose to his feet and with a forward thrust of his powerful chest began stretching himself. He was a surprisingly large animal with massive horns which curled outward like a well-cultivated Cossack mustache.
“He’s healthy enough, but he’s just not interested in our female goats,” said the chairman.
“What do you mean, not interested?”
“He doesn’t mate with any of them,” explained the chairman, “our climate’s too humid. He’s used to the mountains.”
“And you say you feed him with cucumbers?” I asked, suddenly recoiling as I remembered that he had talked about the cucumbers in Abkhazian. Fortunately, however, my slip of the tongue went unnoticed.
“What do you mean!” he exclaimed. “We give him the regular, prescribed diet. The cucumbers are just an extra — a bit of local initiative on our part.”
The chairman thrust his hand into the pen and began coaxing the goatibex. The goatibex fixed his gaze on the chairman’s hand, but didn’t budge an inch.
At this point Valiko drove up. He got out of the car and as he started toward us — his pockets bulging with cucumbers — the agronomist sat down beside the fence and immediately dozed off in its meager shade. The chairman relieved Valiko of one of the cucumbers and extended his hand through the fence. The goatibex pricked up his ears and fastened his gaze on the cucumber. Then, as if hypnotized, he began to move slowly forward. But just when he had come within a few feet of the cucumber, the chairman lifted his hand so high that the goatibex was unable to reach it. The animal now proceeded to raise himself up on his hind legs, resting his forelegs on the fence. But no sooner had he extended his neck in the direction of the cucumber than the chairman raised his hand even higher. This was too much to bear, and now with one light, savage spring the goatibex leaped over the fence, almost landing on the agronomist’s head. The latter just barely opened his eyes and then dozed off again.
“His jumping ability is quite extraordinary,” solemnly declared the chairman as he surrendered the cucumber.
Baring his large yellow incisors, the goatibex seized the cucumber and began chewing on it with the frenzied impatience of a cat attacking a ball of catnip.
“You’ll have to climb over and coax him back in again,” said the chairman, turning to his driver.
Valiko groaned in disgust and climbed over the fence, accidentally dropping several cucumbers from his pockets. The goatibex would have pounced on them, but the chairman quickly chased him away and picked up the cucumbers himself. From inside the fence Valiko held up one of his remaining cucumbers and began coaxing the animal back into the pen. The chairman offered me one of the cucumbers that had fallen on the ground and himself bit into another, first rubbing it lightly on his sleeve.
“Most of our animals are pasturing up in the mountains,” said the chairman, smacking his lips as he ate. “We’ve kept ten of our best she-goats down here for him, but he’s just not responding.”
Once again the goatibex raised himself up, placing his forelegs on the fence. But still unable to reach the cucumber, he jumped back into the pen with an even more impressive leap than before. No sooner was he inside, however, than the driver raised the cucumber high above his head. The goatibex stopped dead in his tracks and fixed his pink, animal eyes on the cucumber. Then he jumped up, tore the cucumber from the driver’s hand, and crashed to the ground.
“He almost bit off my fingers,” grumbled Valiko as he took another cucumber from his pocket and bit into it.
All of us were now munching on cucumbers except for the agronomist, who still lay dozing against the fence.
“Hey,” shouted the chairman, “maybe this will wake you up!” And he tossed him a cucumber.
The agronomist opened his eyes and picked up the cucumber. He wiped it lethargically on his linen tunic and was about to bite into it, but then for some reason changed his mind. He put the cucumber into his pocket and dozed off again.
A little boy and girl, both about eight years old, came walking up to the pen. The little girl had a large ear of corn in her arms, which she cradled like a baby. The ear must have just been picked, since there were beads of moisture on the silky hairs protruding from beneath its green husk.
“I think the goatibex is about to start a fight,” said the little boy.
“We’d better go home,” said the little girl.
“We’ll watch him fight and then we’ll go,” declared the little boy.
“Try letting in the goats,” said the chairman.
The driver walked over and opened the gate leading into the other pen. Only now did I notice that in a corner of this larger pen a group of she-goats lay huddled together, dozing.
“Heyt, heyt!” shouted Valiko as he began to rouse them.
The goats got up unwillingly and now, raising his head in alarm, the goatibex began sniffing in their direction.
“He understands,” said the chairman, obviously delighted.
“Heyt, heyt!” Valiko kept shouting as he tried to herd the goats together and drive them through the open gate into the smaller pen. But the goats refused to go near the gate and kept running off in every direction.
“They’re afraid,” said the chairman joyfully.
The goatibex stood stock-still with his neck craned forward and his eyes glued on the gate. As he watched and sniffed, his upper lip would occasionally quiver, and I had the impression he was baring his teeth.
“He hates them,” said the chairman almost ecstatically.
“Let’s go home,” said the little girl, “I’m scared.”
“Don’t be scared,” said the little boy and then added with enthusiasm: “He’s gonna start fighting right away.”
“I can’t help being scared. He’s awful wild,” the little girl said soberly as she pressed the ear of corn to her chest.
“He’s stronger than all those goats put together,” said the little boy.
The agronomist suddenly began to chuckle, and taking the cucumber from his pocket, he broke it in half and offered it to the two children. The little girl didn’t move an inch, but merely hugged the ear of corn all the more tightly to her chest. After a moment’s hesitation the little boy edged forward and took the two halves.
“Let’s go,” said the little girl, and then glancing down at her ear of corn, she added: “Dolly’s scared too.”
Apparently she was reminding him of some previous game in order to divert his attention from the present one.
“That’s not a doll, it’s an ear of corn,” the little boy promptly retorted, violating the rules of the old game for the sake of the new. And now he too was munching away on a cucumber. The little girl had declined her half.
Swearing loudly, Valiko finally managed to drive the goats into the smaller pen and to shut the gate behind them. But no sooner were the goats inside than the goatibex charged forward, scattering them in every direction. Quickly overtaking one of the goats, he knocked her over with a thrust of his horns. She somersaulted headfirst, groaned, but then immediately jumped up and took off as fast as her legs would carry her.