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But we must get on with the telling of how Gian Carlo met Prince Rupert in battle in the desert and of the genial friendship which miraculously came of it. One morning in the clear June weather following our first winter in the Rio Grande valley, we were awakened by a feeble squawking from the patio outside. We arose to investigate, but found that Candida had long since preceded us, for she was kneeling over in one corner of the patio holding something. "Mommy, it's a bird and he's still alive. Maybe we can save him." "I don't think so, Candy. Punker always chews them up badly."
My wife looked down at the forlorn bunch of tattered black feathers and shook her head. "Punker would have a fit with a live bird around." "Mommy, I'll make him behave - " this spoken with a grim determination which boded no good for Gian Carlo. With misgivings we gave in and sat back uneasily to watch the course of events. First of all Gian Carlo received a lecture behind the closed door of Candida's room. From what we could make out of it it went something like this: "Punker, sit still. I'm very angry!" A hoarse wail. "No, you're going to listen for once." A lesser wail. "You've been very bad killing all those little animals every night, and I've got to do something to you." A tamping sound. He was trying to ingratiate himself. "No. It won't help to start dancing now. I'm serious. Now listen carefully, Mr. Gian Carlo Severini Da Something-or-Other - that's a silly name Daddy calls you. Punker's better. You're going to leave this bird alone. In fact, you're going to make friends with him." A veritable vulcanism of howls gave indisputable proof of the nature of the insult. "You've already broken his wing, but that'll heal. Now you and he are going to learn to eat out of the same dish and sleep together in a box. I'm tired of having you lopping all over my feet at night anyway. I can't turn over properly." No sound. "Punker, you've got to learn to be good. I'll switch you if you're not." Candida was quite apparently very much in earnest. There was no answer from Gian Carlo, which was unusual. The silence was followed by a low murmuring as if Candida were entrusting something affectionate to the animal's ear. When they emerged from the room some kind of a rapport had been achieved on the crucial question. Candida went out onto the patio and Gian Carlo strolled casually past us with a big, open air about him and vanished into my den. It was unusual and a trifle mystifying. We eagerly awaited the sequel.
12 I don't know how Candida managed it, but she did. Her zeal was unflagging; her anxious oversight of the bird was constant. Gian Carlo had never met a situation like it before. Whenever he started to slither on his belly towards the box in the corner of the patio, like a Greek Fury in pigtails Candida came darting out from nowhere to punish him. And along with the punishment went the slow process of familiarizing the two. In this process Gian Carlo found one of his beloved yeast tablets placed every day beside his dish - which was then by degrees moved closer to the box. Candida further rigged up a little mass of feathers on the end of a long string swung from a bamboo pole. With this she taught Gian Carlo to play, but never to injure. If he began to chew it, out came the little switch. You could have done this with very few cats. Only such a cat as Gian Carlo was would have so gracefully lent himself to the process. When he became fully aware of the laying down of these unaccustomed limits, he accommodated himself in the grand manner, even persuading himself that it was of his own contriving. His attitude became one of "0 yes, it's difficult to teach Candida to feed me this way and to play with me so, but I shall succeed in a bit, and I do have to keep her interested in that poor bird!"
The most difficult part for Candida came in the fulfillment of her vow to get them to sleep together. She tried various stratagems, none of which seemed to work well, until finally she gave up altogether, whereupon Gian Carlo initiated the dormitory idea himself. Thenceforth the bird and the beast became inseparable. You may wonder about the bird. Candida gave him the name Prince Rupert because she was wallowing in the Graustark novels at the time. To my eye the bird looked more like the Scarecrow of Oz. Prince Rupert was a very young crow. I must admit that birds have never appealed to me as pets, for their way of life lies in an element alien to man - as with the fish. It is the warm-blooded mammals who have to labor in earthen purlieus for their living and who can therefore find true rapport with man - himself just such a mammal, with some pain scraping in the same dust. I excerpt Prince Rupert from the generalization. Like Gian Carlo, Prince Rupert was, among his avian kind, a genius. We never ceased to wonder at our luck in having two geniuses with us at once. Prince Rupert was the opposite of Gian Carlo. He was a true Machiavellian, A King Spider, An Aragonese Ferdinand. Gian Carlo never hatched a plot. Prince Rupert was never without one. Gian Carlo had a massive geniality, Prince Rupert the smiles of a Richelieu. Gian Carlo ate his food as if the whole race of man had grubbed richly and with love to provide for him; Prince Rupert approached his plate like a Borgia - with suspicion. But I call Prince Rupert a genius, not because of his capacity for stratagems (which was enormous) but because of his ability to hold his own with Gian Carlo on perfectly equal terms.
13 After Candida had completed her work of training these two, she continued towards them in the role of an exalted confidante, for when things went awry between bird and beast, one or both would scuttle off to her for aid and sympathy. In the morning Prince Rupert hopped out of his wicker carton in the patio, fluffed his feathers and preened his one good wing. Contrary to Candida, his torn wing never did heal properly, but dragged on the ground; it could be fluttered somewhat, however. In his alarming moments, he used the wing for "horror" effects, jerking it about, beating it frantically like a huge dry leaf, or folding it crookedly in front of his beak for all the world like a Dracula hidden in the black folds of his cloak. Once done with his toilette, he silently ran into the house and there clamored at the foot of Candida's bed for Gian Carlo, hopping and fluttering as if beside himself. Gian Carlo would raise his head grandly and stare down at the black menace. The moment those two bland blue eyes opened upon him, Prince Rupert turned tail and left the room squawking. This performance was repeated only during those rare times when Gian Carlo returned exceptionally late from his hunting and then preferred Candida's bed to his wicker box beside the bird. Yawning and stretching Gian Carlo would finally complete his ample levee out on the patio. By this time the bird had apparently completely disappeared. Gian Carlo then approached his plate (in which was mixed both cat and bird food--though often the two animals failed to distinguish between them) and scrunched down over it to innocently watch the morning's ants busy about it. Meanwhile from behind a small pat of prickly pear, or around the urn at the end of the patio wall, or the doorway even, a pair of beady eyes would glisten. Prince Rupert's sense of the conspiratorial was as theatrical as was Gian Carlo's feeling for the magnanimous. Stealthily the tawdry shadow would tiptoe out from the covert towards Gian Carlo's rear, on which in due course the expected dagger blow would be delivered. That began the early morning warm-up. For about a half an hour mayhem possessed the house. While we performed our morning's ablutions and while the aroma of coffee and bacon tantalized us, the spectre of sudden death moved from room to room. Gian Carlo, howling defiance, rushed grandly about after the slippery anarchist, who fled before him or ambushed him in narrow places. The noise was deafening and was difficult on the morning's digestion. The finale always came with Prince Rupert's capture. Kettle drums were nothing to this. Prince Rupert shattered the heavens with his clatter and squawking, and one would have sworn that blood was flowing in buckets. Actually, Gian Carlo was a better actor than even we could believe, for when the bird finally arose from what looked like his end, not a single feather had been displaced; when it appeared that Gian Carlo was munching his tormentor, his eyes glowing with a warrior's joy, it was rather the embrace of two careful friends. But it was a bit breathless to watch. Candida alone was unconcerned. When they had tired of this act, to our great relief they separated. Prince Rupert stole away to hatch a new intrigue or perfect a cabal of low proportions, while Gian Carlo muttered benignly on his way to the kitchen.
14 Late morning and the siesta hour brought us peace. Gian Carlo dozed while Prince Rupert walked silently about the house like an apprehensive sentry, hugging the walls and peering around every door before he would proceed. Candida sometimes gave him speech lessons in the afternoon, which would replace these prowlings. Her success was immediate but startling in its results, for, while the Prince learned easily, he would speak only in a kind of hoarse, rattling hiss. After these sessions he roamed ceaselessly about the house repeating garbled sentiments to himself like a Russian Jaques - "Ooooossssslay najjj tantonn" which was from Candida's last French lesson and meant "Ou sont les neiges d'antan," or "Joooo Warfemmmto warf furs presinton" which was supposed to be a patriotic whoop and mean "George Washington was our first president." He liked it at any rate and he hissed with rare aplomb. At such times he was the very epitome of subversion; whatever it was which he said, it came out top-secret. When meal time came and the shadows began to lengthen over the parched earth, our friends concerted again together in a crime of great originality. As we ate, the two partners sat on the floor beside my chair, shoulder to shoulder. This pose they held for some time to see whether it brought the desired scraps. If not, the great robbery was set in motion. This was eminently amusing to watch because of the totally different personalities of the two, here working perfectly in accord. The conception was surely achieved in the subtle mind of the bird, but the executive largeness required to carry it out belonged to the cat. Prince Rupert would hop sullenly (dragging his wing more than usual) over to the low chair beside the sideboard. Here by dint of frenzied flappings and leapings, he would ascend from the floor to chair to sideboard, on which stood a bowl always filled with some kind of fruit. Having attained this eminence, he would pause to glance bitterly at us for causing a poor cripple such agony and then horribly gaping and cawing he would rush at the fruit bowl. The first time this happened we all left our chairs to save the fruit. Meanwhile Gian Carlo had been pleasantly washing his cheeks and ears beside my chair. With my plate only momentarily unprotected, it took swift and bold action on Gian Carlo's part to abstract from it a large and tasty morsel of meat. This initial robbery was discovered by a thin gravy smear over the edge of the table and on my chair. At first we believed it to be coincidental, until the same conjunction of events began to appear at every meal. What really gave it away was the incredibly guilty appearance of Prince Rupert as he watched us from the sideboard. He looked villanous beyond words. He exuded an aura of duplicity. His head hung down a bit and his black eyes peeped sideways at us in the most melodramatic fashion. When we deposited him on the floor, he edged away from us towards the door still hanging his head and fixing us with that evil sidelong glance. It was Candida, of course, who first guessed the deception. The fourth or fifth time the trap was sprung on us, it was she who glimpsed Gian Carlo making off with the prize through the open doorway. This splendid intrigue was often repeated in the year that Prince Rupert was with us, but we held it a point of honor to pretend ignorance of it. Religiously we would rush the bird on the sideboard and repeat the consternation of the moment. I would leave a large tidbit at the edge of my plate to make it easier. We did not know which to admire more, the timing, the boldness, or the subtlety of the crime. On the completion of the plot, Prince Rupert would jump out of our laps and edge his way toward the patio, out onto which he would finally dart. Through the windows we could then spy on the two alternately picking at the swag. Candida called them the James brothers. What is immorality in men may be high accomplishment among beasts. Therefore do not judge us harshly if we seem to have encouraged such a falling away from virtue. In drama nothing could equal it for psychological interest--the insouciance and brilliant action of the condottiere and the poisoned cunning of the rogue, both in well adjusted harmony.
15 As evening came on, both animals prepared for the thrill that comes of being alive at that time. Having both eaten out of the same dish, fed by Candida's hands, they preened and licked and made each their preparations. Before parting they sometimes staged a gladiatorial show in the patio to sharpen their wits and weapons against the vicissitudes of the night. We would sit leisurely taking in the loveliness of the desert as it moved chromatically to the ending of the day while a battle would be raging at our feet. This could become very irritating, what with the grating and rasping and hissing of these not-too-dulcet creatures, the sudden leaps and hops, the poignardings, the sabering, the rushing and retreating about our legs, under our chairs and up and down the low patio wall. Here Gian Carlo's magnaminity showed forth, for he always allowed himself to be beaten in the end, and, buffeted by the menace's one good wing, fled smoothly and grandly out to the darkening desert wherein his night's hunting was to begin. Left victor on this recurrent Bosworth Field, Prince Rupert would stand for awhile humped over (more like Richard than Henry however), enticing himself with counting up the plenitude of his triumphs like a miser. Furtively then and peering this way and that, he would walk slowly over to the end of the wall, clamber up to it, and like the Spirit of Night frozen into a gargoyle, softly clucking and chortling under the stars, he would remain boding. Occasionally he would favor the desert air with the fact that George Washington was our first president. He was canny. Though he sat very still, he watched the sky carefully for the numerous large owls which by some instinct he knew enough to fear. Seldom did he leave the patio, and when the last of us turned in, he hopped down off the wall and edged over to the box he shared with Gian Carlo. I think he waited up for the beast, for I once looked out long after midnight to see him teetering in the moon-light on the edge of the box. In the earliest dawn, if you went over to the box and looked down in it, you would see the two inseparables snoozing away the last chilly part of the night, cheek to cheek. They loved each other - these two - in a wonderfully casual yet trusting way. Their friendship lasted a year, producing joy for them and infinite interest for us. Candida ruled them like an antique Mother Goddess - from afar. She was the fountain of authority, and they both revered her in a way quite unlike their more boisterous feelings towards us.  |
"Only his wing is broken, Mommy. Let me try." 