In reply to this letter Platon Samsonovich stated that, quite to the contrary, the goatibex’s mating capacity did indeed prove that he would be able to reproduce himself. In a very few months we shall see for ourselves; time is on our side, wrote Platon Samsonovich.
As for the proper course to be adopted by the livestock industry, here he had two points to make. First of all, even though the goatibex was smaller than the large breeds of cattle, it could by no means be called a small breed. And secondly, the livestock expert’s excessive preoccupation with the larger breeds of cattle clearly demonstrated that he was still suffering from the gigantomania characteristic of the period of the personality cult — a period which had come and gone, never to return.
Several months later the paper devoted a whole page to the observance of a joyful event. All of the thirteen she-goats impregnated by the goatibex had given birth; of these, four had brought forth twins, while one of them had actually produced triplets.
An enormous photograph depicting the goatibex along with his harem and young offspring ran the full width of the page. The goatibex stood in the center, and this time his face did not express the slightest bewilderment. He seemed to have found himself, and his appearance was calm and dignified.
By the time I came to work for Red Subtropics, Platon Samsonovich had become the paper’s leading reporter. No longer confining himself to agricultural issues, he now dealt with cultural and educational matters as well, and even wrote editorials for the propaganda section. In fact, his article “The Goatibex as a Weapon for Antireligious Propaganda” had been singled out as one of the paper’s best articles of the year.
And now, for days on end, Platon Samsonovich would sit at his desk, surrounded by biology texts, letters from breeding specialist and all sorts of diagrams. Sometimes he would grow thoughtful and suddenly wince.
“What’s the matter, Platon Samsonovich?” I would ask.
“You know,” he would reply, now reverting to his former cheerful and lively self, “I often think back to my first article. Why, at the time I actually wondered whether the item was worth turning in. To think that I almost let this great undertaking slip through my fingers!”
“Well, and what if you had?” I would ask.
“Don’t even suggest such a thing,” he would answer, wincing once again.
Platon Samsonovich devoted all his time and energy to the newspaper. He was always the first to arrive in the morning and the last to leave at night. In fact, such was his zeal and dedication that I, his assistant, felt almost embarrassed to leave the office at the end of a normal work-day. He never seemed to mind, however, and was probably just as happy to be left alone. He was unable to work at home, since his apartment consisted of only one room, which he shared with his wife and several grown children. Years before, he had applied to the city soviet for a new apartment, but only now, some weeks after my arrival, was his request finally granted. No doubt his rise to fame in connection with the goatibex had more than a little to do with the Soviet’s decision.
We all congratulated him on the acquisition of his new apartment and even hinted at the possibility of a housewarming. For some unknown reason, however, he obstinately ignored our hints.
It was not until several days later that we discovered the reason for his obstinacy. It turned out that he had left his family and was staying on in the old apartment. Apparently he had tried to leave home several times before, but without success — first of all because he had no place to go, and secondly because his wife had immediately gone to complain to the editor, who on each occasion had managed to persuade him to return to the fold.
On this occasion too Platon Samsonovich’s wife went straight to the editor and demanded, “Give me back my inventor.”
Avtandil Avtandilovich summoned Platon Samsonovich to his office and began trying to persuade him as usual. This time, however, Platon Samsonovich stood his ground and flatly refused to return to his family, although he was willing to help in their financial support.
“Times have changed,” said Avtandil Avtandilovich to the wife, “you’ll have to handle your family affairs by yourself…”
“They’re always making fun of me,” Platon Samsonovich is supposed to have interjected at this point.
“What do you mean, making fun of you?” asked the editor in surprise. Then turning to the wife, he added: “Platon Samsonovich is working on an important national problem…”
“They’re always interfering with my thought processes,” Platon Samsonovich is supposed to have prompted.
“Give me back my inventor,” repeated the wife.
“She’s making fun of me even now,” complained Platon Samsonovich.
“It isn’t as if he were asking for a divorce,” said the editor.
“That’s all I need!” exclaimed the wife.
“Just think of him as living in his own private office,” concluded Avtandil Avtandilovich.
“But what are people going to think?” asked the wife after a moment’s reflection.
With that it was settled. Platon Samsonovich was not, of course, leaving his family in order to acquire a new one, much less a mistress. Rather it was as if he were removing himself from all worldly cares in order to devote himself wholeheartedly to his favorite cause.
Despite his partial desertion Platon Samsonovich’s wife regularly returned to the old apartment to tidy things up and to supply her husband with fresh linen. For his part Platon Samsonovich continued to work on his brainchild — now with twice as much energy as before — and from time to time would discover a new vantage point from which to view the problems of goatibex breeding.
When a new soft drink pavilion was opened next to one of our seaside cafés, he managed to have it named “The Watering Place of the Goatibex.” He was a frequent visitor to the new establishment, and sometimes in the evening when emerging from the cafe, I would see him sitting there, sipping our Caucasian mineral water Narzan with his arms resting on the counter, and on his face the look of a weary but contented patron.
Although Platon Samsonovich was in favor of promoting the goatibex in the most surprising and varied ways, he would not tolerate any levity in this connection. Thus, for example, when our paper’s humorist compared a certain polygamist and incorrigible defaulter in his alimony payments to the goatibex, Platon Samsonovich stood up at a staff meeting and declared that such a comparison only served to discredit an important national undertaking in the eyes of our collective farm workers.
“Though no one should be accused of any political error, still Platon Samsonovich’s point is well taken,” concluded Avtandil Avtandilovich in a conciliatory tone.
Platon Samsonovich had worked out an appropriate diet for the goatibex and was now urging our collective farmers to follow it. Wishing at the same time to leave some room for individual initiative, he suggested that they try supplementing his diet with various foods of their own choice and report their findings to the newspaper.
“Well, this is a real breakthrough!” he exclaimed to me one day as he approached my desk with a popular Moscow magazine in his hand, and pointed lovingly at its cover. Glancing up, I saw a photograph of the goatibex with his entire family — the same photograph which had appeared in our paper, only here it was in color and looked even more festive.
Shortly afterwards one of the Moscow newspapers ran an article entitled “An Interesting Undertaking, to Say the Least” which told of our Republic’s innovative experiments in goatibex breeding. The paper advised the collective farmers of the central and black earth regions of the country to study and follow our innovative example — without excessive panic and without overdoing it, but at the same time without any costly delays.