How we slept together 
CATS FALL
How we met
The first cat splashed down somewhere
around the middle of 1953. It fell like a watermelon, bursting
into a hundred million tiny pieces. I ran out curiously, all five
years of me, onto the scorching-hot concrete of our yard and, as
everything else blazed in the ferocious glare of the summer
sunshine, I found the cat lying there, grey and all alone, as if
she had come from some other world.
And so it was that I came out, stood by her,
bent down and took a look; and I found her very interesting! In
fact, except for being a little bit flattened, she had remained
quite intact and looked like a starfish clinging to the sea bed,
its arms splayed out in all directions. Thin rivulets of blood
were dripping from her mouth and backside, flowing away from her
body. Her eyes caught my eye too. They looked like marbles completely
loose in the dust except for the long thin thread which still
attached each of them to the socket it had jumped out of.
At this point, still bending forward, I heard
shrieks from the very top floor coming down the stairs.
One little girl.
One little girl of my age, in a little blue
dress with a huge red hair-ribbon, came out of the dark staircase
into the yard as if onto centre stage; her arms were tensed, her
fists clenched and pressed against her body. As her tears sprayed
around like sparks, she came towards me and then on a little
further, sobbing convulsively.
Of course she was really heading for the cat.
She stopped half a metre away from it and, choking and
snivelling, gushed tears like a fountain.
Well, as I was still crouching, I looked up
at her then from just below; saw her rosy pink palate and little
white teeth, peered at her nostrils which dilated spasmodically
as she caught her breath. I still remember how a small sun was
shining in each of her tears.
– Are you crying over that cat? – I asked
her.
But she just went to pieces, as though I
wasn't there, and if she maybe let up for a moment, it was only
so that she could gather her strength for an even louder scream.
– What's that cat to you? – I asked,
Then she and I both heard that someone was
calling from the balcony up in the clouds: – Maja! Come in
immediately! – That was her name.
She turned round like a clockwork doll. As
she had come, so she went back, the sound of her wailing
gradually becoming fainter and more remote.
One day, two years later, we met for the
second time, above a second cat. This one was really gross. The
only attractive thing about her were the tiny eye teeth which
were so splintered that they gleamed whitely around her small,
mangled muzzle.
We laid her in a cardboard shoebox and put
her in the ground near the place where I had buried the first
cat, below the tree in the corner of the yard,which had a circle
of real soil round it. Kneeling there, I dug with some spoon or
other while the little girl squatted beside me, clasping the box
containing her tragically deceased pet tightly to her chest.
– Do you live up there on the top floor all
the time? – I asked. -Why don't you ever come down to play with
the rest of us?
– Mummy has told me that I shouldn't play
with you – she said.
– Why? – I asked as I was digging.
– Mummy said so – and she said she didn't
want to talk about it any more.
Later sometimes, when I stopped to get my
breath back after I had been running hard, wiping my sweaty
forehead or pushing my hair out of my eyes, high above I would
notice her fluttering hair or her hands holding on to the balcony
railings. Then I would wave and she would wave back.
But the cats kept on falling all the same and
we soon discovered exactly why they did that: it was because of
the pigeons. The pigeons would strut and coo on the edge of the balcony and
the cats would creep towards them, cunningly and patiently, full
of ultimate intentions. They would leap forward at full thrust
and jump on the pigeons but the wily pigeons as a rule dodged
them. Then the cats would hurtle down with flailing legs and
distended tails as the pigeons cheerfully looked on, heads aslant
and eyes wide open.
They crashed down caterwauling onto the
concrete courtyard, with looks of helpless expectation on their
pinched, stretched mouths. At the bottom they burst asunder
outside my basement window, turning into fur bags overflowing
with pulverized, excess parts and sundry, pulped ingredients.
From time to time when I caught sight of that
detonation, not unlike a lightbulb exploding, I would leave my
hot lunch, jump out of bed or interrupt whatever I was doing
hoping that I would meet Maja and exchange a few words with her.
Really, when I think about it, she was often
on my mind, and this story, although full of dead cats, is a true
love story full of sorrow and tenderness.
How we got to know each other
The fifth cat committed suicide, as Maja
said, for no reason. She ran round and round and round the flat,
rushed out onto the balcony and quite simply – jump! –
plummetted into the void. Went crazy. Something snapped in her
head. Faulty connection. Screw loose.
Maja was in Primary 6 and completely
devastated.
– Oh, my poor little pussycat – she said
to the dead beast. – Why have you left me?...
Who's going to dress you up now in pretty
little frocks? Who's going to bath you and comb you?
Then to me: – Like all children, she didn't
like having regular baths!
And again to the cat: – Who will I tuck up
in your bed? Who will I love if you aren't there?
– Do you really feel so terrible because of
one ordinary little cat?
– She isn't an ordinary cat – she snapped
through her tears. – She's a wonderful sweet little cat. The
two of us used to listen to the radio together all day long.
– Can I be your friend now instead? – I
asked.
– Why not? – she said.
We fell silent as she sniffled, looking at me
through long eyelashes which fluttered like silver fringes.
– What will you do now? – I asked.
– I'll get another.
But that one didn't last long either. She
banged her head and after that didn't look like anything at all.
You'd have said she was a duster rather than a cat. She too
appeared below the window as though to order. In a trice I was
standing over her in my best trousers and smartest jersey: I even
managed to comb my hair.
Maja came down slowly, carefully placing one
gangly, twelve-year old leg in front of the other and looking at
me half sideways with one eyebrow raised.
– Hi – we said.
– Listen – I said. – Would you like to
come down this afternoon? There's a birthday party.
– Why not? – she answered – What will
people be wearing?
– Come as you like! – I said. – Jeans
and a jersey...
– Oh – she fluttered her eyelashes. –
And where will we sit?
I said there would be a lot of us and that,
whatever, there was a couch and a rug on the floor.
– It'll be great – I told her. – We've
bought cigarettes and beer and there's music on the radio the
whole time...
We looked at each other for a little while
then she said decisively: – Oh dear! I'm sorry! I don't know
how I forgot! I can't come. I won't be able to. I've got a French
lesson ... no, a piano lesson ... . Another time.
– Another time – I repeated ...
She wheeled round and skipped lightly away.
When she reached the first step she turned to look at me and,
holding on to the banister with one hand, her eyes still wet with
tears, smiled as they do on the posters. God! I'll never forget
her: with one long leg stretched out and the other slightly bent
below her little white creased skirt, she looked like a film
star. She even pursed her lips ... as though for a kiss.
While I was burying the cat I kept my eyes
half shut the whole time, trying to retain that picture behind my
eyelids for as long as possible.
Love. It was love. True love.
But, we saw each other so damned little. In
fact, we didn't see each other at all except when some cat died.
During term-time I was always studying or helping my mother and
my sister around the house. She went away as soon as the holidays
started and only came back a few days before they ended. She went
to a school which was completely different from mine; her mother
drove her there and brought her back, keeping her under close
surveillance. I saw them together a few times in the town,
looking in windows or going in and out of different shops: the following
day I would be weak with excitement.
Then our little cemetery was enriched by a
new member. We sat above the freshly filled grave and I watched
her with eyes like traffic lights as, holding a white lace
handkerchief between those long, genteel fingers, she wiped away
her precious tears. I felt that small piece of ground was
precious too because it bound us together.
– Don't cry! – I said to her. – Don't
be sad about that ... that ... this ...
– Felis ocreata domestica.
– What was that? – I was taken aback.
– Cat – she said. – Member of the cat
family. Felina.
– Ah – said I.
– I'm not sad– she lectured me – Now
I'm only thinking how many girls have cried over these small
feral household pets since they were domesticated by the ancient
Egyptians and kept both in reed-huts and the palaces of the
Pharaohs. When I think about all that anguish and feel that I'm
part of that immense suffering my own pain seems trifling. –
She went on with her lecture. – She mentioned the poets who had celebrated
cats, the philosophers who saw them as a symbol of egoism, self
reliance and goodness knows what, and the cats which had played important
roles in history; different aspects of cats. From that we went on
to the strange things she learnt at her school or in distant
corners of Italy and France. She had been everywhere and seen
everything. We parted when it was already almost dark. God, I was
so much in love.
The seventh cat came to a painful and tragic
end. I was seventeen at the time and remember the exact day it
happened as it was a really important one for me: I'd found a job
at last after searching for a whole year. There were seven
centimetres of snow on the ground and it was fiendishly cold. I
didn't even hear the thud because the window was shut as clusters
of snowflakes whirled wildly outside in the gusting wind like
little cotton clouds. I noticed her only when she began to bang
her head crazily against the window-glass.
I ran outside in my shirt and slippers and
this is what happened. The cat was still moving. She was actually
still fully alive except that her back seemed to be broken and
she was dragging herself along on her front paws. Her eyes had as
usual popped out and her jaw hung down like a shapeless meat
pendant. But worst of all were the heart-rending cries which drove
me crazy in no time. I had to do something as quickly as possible.
Just wishing that she would shut up, I
grabbed her around the belly with both hands and banged her
against the wall with all the strength I could muster. She
collapsed like a bag of flour, yowling even more horribly. Now I
took hold of her and raised her above my head so that I could
hurl her to the ground. At this point, there in the snow beside
the door, I noticed that iron device for cleaning the soles of
your shoes, which was projecting from the cement: I just bashed
the cat's neck against its sharp edge. To the sound of hissing
her head swayed a little then, when I struck once more, flew off
a metre away into the snow leaving a hot trail of blood.
I relaxed, wiping the sweat from my brow with
a blood-stained hand. It was then that I saw Maja looking at me
in horror from the stair door and whispering: – What have you
done to my cat? What on earth have you done?
Dry-throated I gasped : – I had to.
She ran off upstairs without a word leaving
me there at the bottom feeling completely despondent and empty.
Out in the cold. I stood and watched her climb until she rounded
a corner and disappeared from view.
I wrote her a letter but I don't know if it
reached her. I wanted to phone her but I couldn't find her name
in the directory and at the post office, for reasons which I
couldn't understand, they wouldn't give it to me. I lay in wait
for her in the hallway but she never passed by alone. I spent all
my free time watching out of the corner of my eye to see if any
more cats would appear. Early in the morning, before going to
work, I would check that none had fallen overnight and in the
evening when I came back I would first go into the yard. And so on for
days.
To be fair one did arrive in the springtime
when everything wakens up. I saw it floating down like dandelion
seed. I watched it from the other end of the yard until it
touched the ground, saying to myself: – At last.
But it hardly lay down for a second before
unsteadily getting up, taking a few drunken steps, then again
burying its nose in the concrete. My heart leapt. But it stood
still only for a moment before walking off, dragging its tail
behind it and swinging its hips like the most hardened of whores.
I was desperately disappointed.
That one died a year and a half later. It ran
right out of luck. Forever. And what happened?
While I was waiting for Maja, some old granny
came out of the stairway, a typical cleaning woman with a cloth
tied round her head and a carpet sweeper in her hand; these comrades had
servants! She swept up the carcass into a dustpan and threw it
into the bin.
How we slept together
And
if you are interested in finding out if I fucked Maja I can tell
you honestly: I did. This is how it happened. On a Friday. No, on
a Saturday! At around six o'clock in the afternoon, on a dark and
gloomy day, under a cloudy sky, out of the blue a cat plunged
down right under my window. I stood up slowly, like a lazy dog
stretching, and strolled slowly out from the basement into the
dirty yard.
The picture of the battered cat, as always,
made me tremble. I was standing there staring when out came Maja.
She came down looking like a fashion-plate, her appearance
shaking me up even more. I started to fidget. She flashed her
eyes and her teeth; I was watching her hips. She was acting like
a widow – in a yellow suit, light, like a dandelion!
What next – I thought to myself. – you
hormonoid idiot.
We stood there looking at each other above
the cat which had fallen with the twilight, all the time seeing
less and less.
– You're not crying this time – I
observed.
– No.
– Why not? – I asked, just to say
something
– Why should I cry? – she said to me.
– Your cat's dead – I said.
– I threw it out myself – she said. For a
moment I was speechless.
– How can you just throw out a cat? What's
the matter with you? Why did you have to do that? What for?!
She said: – I just did
I prodded the crushed cat in the ribs with
the top of my shoe: – Should I bury it?
– If you like.
– What would you like?
– I would like, – she said – I would
like . . you . . to show me where you live.
I gaped at her like a bald-headed coot, and
about as intelligent, before setting off into the building with
her close behind me; as we went downstairs I offered her my hand
so that she wouldn't trip in the dark.
– You'll have to put a light in here one
day – she said.
When we went inside she looked all around her
then went over to my bed which I guess she recognized from the
pictures stuck on the wall above it. Pin-up posters from magazines
... Brigitte Bardot, for example.
She bent down and tested the springs with her
hand. – Do you sleep here? – she enquired – And who sleeps
here?
– My sister. – I said.
– Where is she at the moment?
– She's working. She's on night shift.
– Very nice too.
– To hell with nice! – I said. – You
should try it.
After that she wandered all over the room
examining everything carefully.
– And is this, actually, your kitchen? –
she said when she was by the gas-ring.
– This is, actually, everything we have –
I said in return. – And here, actually, my mother sleeps when
she isn't at the hospital.
She puckered her lips: – Ah! – and
carried on walking around as though she was the Countess Walewska
at the Royal Ball. She walked around ... I had seen that before
in films. I had the impression that she wanted something.
– What do you want?
– Oh! – says she. – You're not very
subtle! I want to lay you!
I was yet again left speechless and felt
myself rocking somewhere around knee-level. A wave of enthusiasm
washed over me, drowning me like a sponge: all in all I couldn't believe either
her or my own ears.
At that point, word of honour, she came over
to me and, as though it was the most normal thing in the world,
engulfed me, coiled herself up and wrapped herself right round
me. I found myself lying on my back as she tugged at my belt with
one hand , unbuttoning my shirt with the other. Lying like that
on the bed, (it creaked horribly), I said: – Listen, what is this...
?
– Relax! – she ordered, tugging my
trousers down over my knees.
– But why ... ?
– Just relax! – she barked once again.
With a thudding heart I lay as still as a
captive hare, looking up at her as she swayed above me, stripping
off her clothes. Now quite naked, she straddled my thighs and
peered at my cock, stared at it fixedly for a moment or two, then
raised her head and looked me straight in the eyes. We exchanged
glances, then she winked wickedly, reached out and switched off
the light above the bed-head and, like that in the dark, got back into
position.
– What the ... – I babbled out, breathing
with difficulty.
I sensed that she had slapped me lightly down
below and that it hurt. Then I felt the traitor raising his head
like a cobra from a basket and straightening up like a
starting– gun. My feeling was: God, I'm going to burst ... I
feel as though I've got an obelisk growing down there.
When she raised herself to her knees the bed
squeaked and a second later, I swear, she just lowered herself
down there ( there ... you know), and wriggling a little bit this
way and a little bit that way, simply sat down. She eased herself
right down to the bottom and said: Oooooooooooh! – Then she got
up again and left the bed saying: – That's it. – She put on
the light and began to sort out the clothes on the table and to
pick them up off the floor.
I jumped up like a maniac. – What do you
mean – that's it?! What do you mean – that's it?!
– Nice – she said. – That's it! No
more! The cat's cooked. – And she pulled her shirt over her
head.
– Bugger – that's it! – I told her but
she just carried on dressing. She had already pulled on her left
stocking and fastened it.
I went crazy, totally, and like a war
criminal with a blooded battle-rod, grabbed her and pulled her
down. We fought like wild animals. She tore into me, hissing and
scratching, panting and tugging at my hair: she ended up with a
tuft of it in her hands.
God, I was out of my mind. In the end I
slapped her five or six times, sharp and fast, bif-baf-boof. She
toppled headlong onto the bed with her feet still touching the
stone floor. I pulled her legs roughly apart and leapt on her
like a dervish: I came back to my senses, and was amazed to find
we were already moving like metronomes. She was stretched out
below me, convulsively letting herself go, digging her fingers
into the bedclothes and frenziedly biting the bedspread, totally
dishevelled, breathing like a fish out of water – and so on.
Finally she braced herself, jerked and went wild for a moment
before relaxing and lying there like a melted plasticine model.
I withdrew, saying: – Now that's it! – I
went for my jeans and had even fastened them when I heard quiet,
scarcely audible sobs coming from her corner. I came back, leaned
over her, and saw... that she was whimpering. That bothered me.
– What is it? What is it? – I said.
Like a little bird she just gazed at me
through the tears in those almond-shaped eyes of hers. I stroked
her hair, kissed her forehead, and caressed her tenderly just as
she was, crumpled and half-dressed. Fondled her. She clung to me
like a little pussy-cat, snuffling my chest. I said to myself:
"You're in love boy"
Then I lifted her gently right onto the bed,
lay by her and embraced her, pulling the cover over with my other
hand.
How we parted 
The
first thing I became aware of was that she was kissing my
shoulders, then I recalled everything, then I was wide awake. The alarm-clock
glowed on the sideboard showing two o'clock and a bit. – Are
you awake? – I asked.
She murmured an affirmative without lifting
her lips. – How are you? – I said.
– Why do you ask? – she asked.
– God, I'm interested.
– It's nice and warm – she whispered
coyly, and we carried on hugging and kissing and fondling each
other. You wouldn't believe how that female smelt. She was
scented all over. Like lilac and goodness knows what all else..
Like a flower. I sniffed at her trying to pick up the scent of some
bad smell but without success; she smelt good all over.
I talked to her half the night too. How come
her hair was like that – or her legs? how could she have such
amazing breasts, or such skin – like hazelnut pudding? how come
she was as she was?
– Ah – says she – That's easy. Take a
bath every day, wash your hair, brush it for a long time ...
exercise in the morning and evening, be careful about what you
eat, and how much. Learn how to walk with a book on your head.
Look after yourself. Look at yourself in the mirror often and
learn each movement and posture by heart . . Steam in the sauna,
swim, sunbathe in moderation, study cosmetics and creams, male psychology,
that is: what men like ... And what else? Watch that you don't
singe your eyelashes when you light a cigarette. Protect your reputation
...
– Why that?
– Men value it.
– Which men? – I was surprised.
– Some do – she answered.
– Stupid – I said.
– Once – she told me – I nearly lost my
head. Once in my life I was in love with someone, only a student,
but already a real intellectual. He was incredibly clever. You'd
hardly believe that an intellectual could be so clever. I told
him he could have me whenever he wanted, that we should get
married, love each other ... but he didn't want me although I ...
– Why not? I would marry you tomorrow!
– I've already told you – she said. –
He was really clever.
We fell silent then and stared at the ceiling
like dead bodies in a mortuary, each of us thinking his own
thoughts.
– You're a student too – I said. –
That's really nice. What are you studying?
– Well, nothing much. It's only for
marriage. Business.
– Which? – I said.
– Work, or rather: I'm improving my chances
of success in the lottery.
– Which lottery? – I asked again.
– Never mind – she whispered gently –
Forget it.
– I'll never forget you – I said in
return.
– Sweetie – she kissed my ear – I will
already have forgotten you today; even before day has dawned I
will have forgotten that you exist.
– How can you say that in that voice? – I
sat on the bed and looked at her. I couldn't understand it. I
started to talk. I told her that she couldn't do that; that I had
been dreaming about her for years and years, that I had been
imagining this encounter from the very first moment that I had
known that such encounters exist. I told her everything. Now she
was here and now I wouldn't let her go again, that was that. I
said all sorts of things to her. That happened just before
morning.
But day had still not dawned when she said to
me: I'm getting married today. Forever. To a really nice guy.
He's very bright, good-looking, well-educated, strong, serious,
sensitive, reliable. Faggot.
I was stunned. Really without a thought in my
head, just with a feeling that something inside me, deep, deep
inside me was collapsing and falling.
As she dressed she sang sad songs like:
" Love,
oh love, oh careless love,
Love, oh love, oh careless love,
Can't you see what love has done to me?"
And another:
"Yesterday,all
my troubles seemed so far away,
Now it looks as though they're here to stay.
I believe in yesterday."
And
it was awful for me too, just listening to her.
And even now the occasional cat still lands
outside. Sometimes they fly by about once a fortnight, sometimes
even more often. They pile up below my window and no-one moves them.
They stink like the plague. One day, I know, they'll strike oil,
maybe they'll even build a refinery, but it's all the same to me.
I don't care.
translated by Heather
Hewitt
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