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Michael Mitsakis: The Bear |
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Michael Mitsakis
The Bear (Title of the original: Η Αρκούδα)
Translated and adapted by Vassilis C. Militsis.
This
story was published in 1893. Mitsakis was particularly sensitive to
tormented animals and often made reference to this topic in his
narratives. In the following short story one should especially note the
author’s sharp observation, the force of his description and his
penetrating perception in connection with his fluency of expression and
the richness of language, elements which dominate in Mitsakis’ prose.
Come on now, show us the way a shepherd tends his sheep…
And
the pitch-black bear, still young, a little bigger than a sheepdog, but
hard-worn, filthy, scabby, weary of a miserable life, its skin mangy in
places, its eyes bleary, is standing upright on its hind legs. Docile,
it takes a long stick from the hillbilly’s hand, passes it over its
shoulders, sticks it tilted on the ground and holds it in such a way as
to lean on and support its body by throwing its weight on it; then the
bear dissembles supervising the alleged fold of sheep, and afterwards
brings the stick vertically upon the ground like a shepherd’s staff,
steps a little forward and moves as though it had the fold in front
guiding it with cries and whistles…
Come on now and show us how the lasses behave when they’re shy…
And
the bear, with a throaty growl, gives back the stick, lifts its right
forepaw, using it as a hand, and half-hiding its face covers its eyes
like a shy, young maiden who timidly shrinks before a crowd to avoid
their leering stares…
And now, go on and show us the way a lass looks into the mirror as she’s about to go to the fair…
Whereupon
the bear lifts to its snout the left forepaw, curved in as if it were
holding a mirror, pretends to look into it whereas with the right paw
adjusts the hairs of its forehead, pets them lightly and coquettishly…
Well done!... Come now and kiss your master’s hand…
Submissive to the command, the beast obsequiously rubs its muzzle on the hairy coarse hand of the vagrant…
Well done! Well done! … Now do a little dance for the ladies to see…
And
shaking with a jangle the brass collar around its jaws and the ring
that pierces and connects its upper and lower lip, and rattling the long
chain whereby its master holds it in check, the bear starts going
around the circle of children. The Macedonian hick, a small cap barely
perched on his crown, with his pitch black disheveled, shaggy hair and
with prickly whiskers grown on his sunburned countenance, tall and
kilted, standing in the center, taps with his fingers a tambourine he is
holding in his hand and sings a boorish, off-key and cacophonous song
in a queer melody and unfamiliar lyrics that is utterly unintelligible.
And the bear, in orbit around the hillbilly bending coarsely its
ungainly body, tries to tune its steps to the thump of the drum and with
spread legs to move in rhythm cutting dancing figures. It affects
comical mannerisms often growling and from time to time hopping up and
down…
* * *
Over at Vathrakonisi, on the small square
there are only few spectators. There is a crowd of a score of children
and less than a dozen women having recently come out of the neighboring
houses. There are also three to four spectators sitting on stools
outside the corner grocery. The vagrant has newly made his appearance
through a narrow alley after he had coasted from the one of the adjacent
hills. Having perhaps coming from afar and weary to proceed any
further, considering it proper to perform in front of this meager
public, or perhaps hoping to gradually attract more, he stood in the
midst of the place and began to urge his quadruped actor to an impromptu
dancing and mimicry performance. The beast, now preceding and now
following, treading slowly on its four paws, looking down as if it were
seeking aught on the ground, suddenly stood up balancing on its hind
legs and faced its master. The children that have been recently playing
scattered all over the place ran to the scene while the gossiping
womenfolk of the neighborhood as well as the drinking men at the grocery
table turned curiously their heads. And under the shadows of Hymettus,
tinted in the rosiest colors by the late afternoon sun, by the bank of
the dry stream on the extreme limits of the city, the extempore showman
excites the bustle of the neighborhood with his uncouth commands to the
animal of his curious spectacle. And the beast, willy-nilly, obeys these
commands complying with the familiar tones of his master’s voice and
guessing the meaning thereof coordinates its pauses and movements.
Come on and show us now how the bride and the groom flaunt…
And
the bear immediately bows its head, crosses its front paws, assumes a
serious and decent mien by tilting its neck and half closing its eyes…
And now let’s see how the housewife kneads the dough to make bread…
And
the bear starts to move forcibly its mutton paws up and down as though
to dip them into the trough and stir the flabby dough floating in the
water.
And now, do some dancing again …
And the animal resumes
its shuffling circle twisting its body and thumping its paws on the
ground. It then goes on to leap, gallivant and cut obscene figures…
Oho, a little faster!
The
chain drags and rattles pulling abruptly and painfully at the ring on
its muzzle. The bear seemingly willing and submissive accelerates the
dancing steps to its master’s banging of the tambourine…
He must
undoubtedly have caught it, still a newborn cub in a gorge of Pindos or
Rodopi massive, brimming with savagery and vigor, full of the fierce sap
of life of a beast born under the foliage of an aged oak or a gigantic
hornbeam, deep in a black forest, by the roar of a fast stream, and
under the dim luster of the stars that seemed to be plagued by the snowy
breath of the northerly wind on a tempestuous night. He must also have
laid in wait some day and when its unsuspected parent had gone to search
for food entrusting the nursling in the bosom of mother nature,
apparently safe in the shadow of its den and in expectation of its
parent’s return, and being alone and unprotected, he grabbed the chance
to enter the den and run off with the cub, wrapping it in his mantle,
stunning and dazzling it and thus rendering it panicky and bewildered,
unable to resist his abhorrent and insidious force. Or perhaps, after
some months had gone by since its birth and it had begun to grow, he
might have lured it outside its den with lamb’s flesh and as it came out
to gambol on the grass and test its strength, and being attracted by
the scent of meat, unaccustomed as it was, it was caught in his snare.
In vain did its yowls echo the sides of the gully. And becoming thus its
master, the hick may have carried it to his wretched abode – a straw
hut – and cut off his claws so as not to be in risk of being gnashed by
them, pulled out its fangs, which are excited by the lust of blood,
pierced its lips to pass the ring through, bridled its snout and put a
chain around its neck; measures of caution, dastardly machinations of
his timorousness and cowardice. Securing thus his miserable hide from
the fierceness of the beast, the latter remained ever since with him
wallowing like him in the muck of his stinking hovel, having in all
likelihood caught the filth and the vermin of his body. Then he must
have begun through hunger and thirst, through beating and intimidation,
through the carrot-and-stick method and through necessity – a tyrant’s
quality – to break the poor beast in such wretched games as befit to the
prospective entertainment of the rabble. After training it accordingly
and gradually smothering every noble instinct in it, he rendered it a
slothful, neurotic, bleary and malodorous quadruped without pride or
will – a miserable pet and perfect instrument of his foul desires. Then
he led it by the bridle dragging it in slavery though born free and
unfettered to roam the hills, streams and forests instead of following
its wretched tyrant along the dingy town alleys and village slums, like a
docile monkey, to demonstrate its miraculous abilities. And now
pitiable, humiliated and terrified, enduring beatings and hardships, the
poor creature follows him around beaten and growling and dissembles
dancing and gracefulness.
* * *
- Come on and show us how the ranger watches over the vineyard against thieves…
And
the bear sits down and places the stick on its shoulder straight and
tilted like a rifle touching one end on the ground grabs hold on both
ends and gazes at the distance as if from a high watching hut.
And now show us how the guard aims his rifle at the thieves…
And
the wretched animal sets the wooden stick in a horizontal position,
stands it on its knee and places one end under the armpit, holding it in
both hands like a marksman about to shoot…
Come on now and show us what a married couple does in their tender moments…
And the bear, standing up, puts out its arms as if to embrace lovingly the imaginary waist of the spouse…
Now dance well to the tune, you miserable thing!
And shaking the stick the boor threatens the halfhearted and reluctant beast.
* * *
Dance
well to the tune, poor bear, dance well, otherwise your hind quarters
will be kicked! Dance well and in earnest or your hide will be processed
by the beating! Dance artfully and gaily or in the evening in the
suffocating hovel not a bit of bone will be left for you to lick to
appease your hunger! Dance in diverse ways or else the gag will be
tighter around your snout! Go on dancing, my ill-fated creature, dance
for the passers-by to laugh, for the dames of the remote slums, who
regard you from their front doors and windows and grin with your queer
capers! Dance for the fun of children, who, joyful at this strange
spectacle, besiege the boor and his danseuse and stare at you in
surprise, scrutinize, admire and jeer at you, hopping around you; and
approaching you as nigh as they can, they attempt to pull out a tuft of
hair form your coat as you walk in front of them. And if a dream of
escape should momentarily flash by your eyes, think that there are
chains harder than yours in the world. And if sometimes your drowsy
glance is fixed in yearning at the ridge of the opposite mountain,
beware before you attempt the first step to freedom, because the
smarting yard will bruise your sides more than once! And if your
bedimmed mind, your smothered bosom and your tormented soul are stirred
by a vain and instinctive reminiscence or longing for escape, remember
that you no more have sharp nails or cutting fangs or strong muscles or
lung stamina or blood vigor!
* * *
- Go now and salute their lordships…
And the bear again raises its paw to its brow and respectfully salutes militarily…
And now show how the ladies protect themselves from the sun…
And
the poor wretch flexes her fore leg at the knee and covers with the paw
its countenance pretending to protect itself from the burning rays of
the day star, the flames of which terrifies it…
And now show us how the old man and his old woman go to bed…
And
the bear lies down on the ground face up, wallowing on it and spreads
its legs, its hind quarters in salacious movements. And when it rises
from the ground, a large white dusty spot is impressed upon its black
skin. The performance ending, the vagrant hands over his tambourine to
the beast, which goes around begging for some coins. But the dames are
reluctant and pretend not to notice this odd mendicant avoiding to throw
some money as a reward. The creature manages only to collect two or
three pennies, which it hands over to its master, who, disgruntled, in
turn throws them into his sack.
* * *
Its dance was a complete failure, says a fat dame as an excuse not to pay.
You’d better not criticize its dance – it’s only you don’t want to pay, replies the boor angrily.
Thus
the vagrant, disillusioned, pulls the animal’s bridle and is ready to
leave. And the creature, melancholic, heavy-hearted, lackadaisical,
walking on all fours, like a mangy and tailless mastiff follows after,
its head bowed with the distinct, spacious white dusty spot on its back.
And as it walks on perhaps it is thinking, as it were, that were it
not for this cursed chain, the gag and the horrid ring, it would shake
off by a mere jolt of its jaw the hateful bum, would disperse the
riffraff of onlookers and would escape furious and roaring to the
expanse of the fields. But the collar is tied fast around its neck, the
ring is locked in its snout and the coarse iron chain drags it on. The
timid, base and drowsy beast chafes on the man’s shins as it walks on,
whereas a crowd of kids, some in front and others behind, with catcalls
and jeers accompany the degraded creature.
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