The Black Cat.pdf

To the teacher:

The Black Cat

In addition to all the language forms of Levels One and Two, which are used again

at this level of the series, the main verb forms and tenses used at Level Three are:

• past continuous verbs, present perfect simple verbs, con

ditional clauses (using the 'first' or 'open future' con

ditional), question tags and further common phrasal verbs

• modal verbs: have (got) to and don't have to (to express oblig

ation), need to and needn't (to express necessity), could and

was able to (to describe past ability), could and would (in

offers and polite requests for help), and shall (for future

plans, offers and suggestions).

Also used are:

• relative pronouns: who, that and which (in defining clauses)

• conjunctions: if and since (for time or reason), so that (for

purpose or result) and while

• indirect speech (questions)

• participle clauses.

Specific attention is paid to vocabulary development in the Vocabulary Work

exercises at the end of the book. These exercises are aimed at training students to

enlarge their vocabulary systematically through intelligent reading and effective

use of a dictionary.

You are not going to believe this story. But it is a true story, as true as I sit here

writing it - as true as I will die in the morning. Yes, this story ends with my end,

with my death tomorrow.

I have always been a kind and loving person -- everyone will tell you this. They

will also tell you that I have always loved animals more than anything. When I

was a little boy, my family always had many different animals round the house.

As I grew up, I spent most of my time with them, giving them their food and

cleaning them.

I married when I was very young, and I was happy to find that my wife loved all

of our animal friends as much as I did. She bought us the most beautiful animals. We

had all sorts of birds, gold fish, a fine dog and a cat.

The cat was a very large and beautiful animal. He was black, black all over, and

very intelligent. He was so intelligent that my wife often laughed about what some

people believe; some people believe that all black cats are evil, enemies in a cat's

body.

Pluto - this was the cat's name - was my favourite. It was always I who gave him

his food, and he followed me everywhere. I often had to stop him from following

me through the streets! For years, he and I lived happily together, the best of friends.

But during those years I was slowly changing. It was that evil enemy of

Man called Drink who was changing me. I was not the kind, loving person people

knew before. I grew more and more selfish. I was often suddenly angry about

unimportant things. I began to use bad language, most of all with my wife. I even

hit her sometimes. And by that time, of course, I was often doing horrible things

to our animals. I hit all of them - but never Pluto. But, my illness was getting

worse -oh yes, drink is an illness! Soon I began to hurt my dear Pluto too.

I remember that night very well. I came home late, full of drink again. I

could not understand why Pluto was not pleased to see me. The cat was staying

away from me. My Pluto did not want to come near me! I caught him and

picked him up, holding him strongly. He was afraid of me and bit my hand.

Suddenly, I was not myself any more. Someone else was in

my body: someone evil, and mad with drink! I took my knife from my

pocket, held the poor animal by his neck and cut out one of his eyes.

The next morning, my mind was full of pain and horror when I woke up.

1 was deeply sorry. I could not understand how I could do such an evil thing. But

To the student:

Dictionary Words:

• When you read this book, you will find that some words

are darker black than the others on the page. Look them

up in your dictionary, if you do not already know them, or

try to guess the meaning of the words first, without a

dictionarv.

drink soon helped me to forget.

Slowly the cat got better. Soon he felt no more pain. There was now only an

ugly dry hole where the eye once was. He began to go round the house as usual

again. He never came near me now, of course, and he ran away when I went too

close.

object was not there before

I got up, and went to see what it was. I put my hand up, touched it, and

found that it was a black cat — a very large one, as large as Pluto. He looked like

Pluto too - in every way but one: Pluto did not have a white hair anywhere on

his body; this cat had a large white shape on his front.

He got up when I touched him, and pressed the side of his head against my

hand several times. He liked me. This was the animal I was looking for! He

continued to be very friendly and later, when I left, he followed me into the street.

He came all the way home with me - we now had another house - and came

inside. He immediately jumped up on to the most comfortable chair and went to

sleep. He stayed with us, of course. He loved both of us and very soon he became

my wife's favourite animal.

But, as the weeks passed, I began to dislike the animal more and more. I

do not know why, but I hated the way he loved me. Soon, I began to hate him —

but I was never unkind to him. Yes, I was very careful about that. I kept away

from him because I remembered what I did to my poor Pluto. I also hated the animal

because he only had one eye. I noticed this the morning after he came home with

me. Of course, this only made my dear wife love him more!

But the more I hated the cat, the more he seemed to love me. He followed

me everywhere, getting under my feet all the time. When I sat down, he always

sat under my chair. Often he tried to jump up on my knees. I wanted to murder

him when he did this, but I did not. I stopped myself because

I remembered Pluto, but also because I was afraid of the animal.

How can I explain this fear? It was not really a fear of something evil . . .

but then how else can I possibly describe it? Slowly, this strange fear grew into

horror. Yes, horror. If I tell you why, you will not believe me. You will think I am

mad.

I knew he didn't love me any more. At first I was sad. Then, slowly, I

started to feel angry, and I did another terrible thing . . .

I had to do it - I could not stop myself. I did it with a terrible sadness in

my heart - because I knew it was evil. And that was why I did it - yes! I did it because I

knew it was evil. What did I do? I caught the cat and hung him by his neck from a

tree until he was dead.

That night I woke up suddenly - my bed was on fire. I heard people

outside shouting, 'Fire! Fire!' Our house was burning! I, my wife and our servant

were lucky to escape. We stood and watched as the house burned down to the

ground.

There was nothing left of the building the next morning. All the walls fell

down during the night, except one — a wall in the middle of the house. I realized

why this wall did not burn: because there was new plaster on it. The plaster was

still quite wet.

I was surprised to see a crowd of people next to the wall. They were

talking, and seemed to be quite excited. I went closer and looked over their

shoulders. I saw a black shape in the new white plaster. It was the shape of large

cat, hanging by its neck.

I looked at the shape with complete horror. Several minutes

passed before I could think clearly again. I knew I had to try

to think clearly. I had to know why it was there.

I remembered hanging the cat in the garden of the house next door. During the

fire the garden was full of people. Probably, someone cut the dead cat from the tree

and threw it through the window — to try and wake me. The falling walls pressed

the animal's body into the fresh plaster. The cat burned completely, leaving the

black shape in the new plaster. Yes, I was sure that was what happened.

But I could not forget that black shape for months. I even saw it in my

dreams. I began to feel sad about losing the animal. So I began to look for

another one. I looked mostly in the poor parts of our town where I went

drinking. I searched for another black cat, of the same size and type as Pluto.

One night, as I sat in a dark and dirty drinking-house, I noticed a black

object on top of a cupboard, near some bottles of wine. I was surprised when I

saw it. 'I looked at those bottles a few minutes ago,' I thought, 'and I am sure that

Several times, my wife took the cat and showed me the white shape on

his chest. She said the shape was slowly changing. For a long time I did not

believe her, but slowly, after many weeks, I began to see that she was right. The

shape was changing. Its sides were becoming straighter and straighter. It was

beginning to look more and more like an object . . . After a few more weeks, I saw

what the shape was. It was impossible not to see! There, on his front, was the

shape of an object I am almost too afraid to name . . . It was that terrible

machine of pain and death - yes, the GALLOWS !*

I no longer knew the meaning of happiness, or rest. During the day, the

animal never left me. At night he woke me up nearly every hour. I remember

waking from terrible dreams and feeling him sitting next to my face, his heavy

body pressing down on my heart]

I was now a very different man. There was not the smallest piece of good left

in me. I now had only evil thoughts — the darkest and the most evil thoughts. I hated

everyone and everything, my dear wife too.

* gallows. The place where criminals are hanged.

One day she came down into the cellar with me to cut some wood (we were

now too poor to have a servant). Of course, the cat followed me down the stairs and

nearly made me fall. This made me so angry, that I took the axe and tried to cut the

animal in two. But as I brought the axe down, my wife stopped my arm with her hand.

This made me even more angry, and I pulled her hand away from my wrist, lifted

the tool again, brought it down hard and buried it in the top of her head.

I had to hide the body. I knew I could not take it out of the house. The

neighbours noticed everything. I thought of cutting it into pieces and burning it. I

thought of burying it in the floor of the cellar. I thought of throwing it into the

river at the end of the garden. I thought of putting it into a wooden box and taking

it out of the house that way. In the end, I decided to hide the body in one of the

walls of the cellar.

It was quite an old building, near the river, so the walls of the cellar were

quite wet and the plaster was soft. There was new plaster on one of the walls, and I

knew that underneath it the wall was not very strong. I also knew that this wall was

very thick. I could hide the body in the middle of it.

It was not difficult. I took off some plaster, took out a few stones and made a

hole in the earth that filled the middle of the wall. I put my wife there, put back the

stones, made some new plaster and put it on the wall. Then I cleaned the floor, and

looked carefully round. Everything looked just as it did before. Nobody would ever

know.

with them, of course. I was not a bit afraid. I walked calmly up and down, watching

them search.

They found nothing, of course, and soon they were ready to go. I was so

happy that I could not stop talking as they went up the stairs. I did not really know

what I was saying. 'Good day to you all, dear sirs.' I said. 'Yes, this is a well-built old

house, isn't it? Yes, a very well-built old house. These walls - are you going,

gentlemen? - these walls are strong, aren't they?' I knocked hard on the part of the

wall where my wife was.

A voice came from inside the wall, in answer to my knock. It was a cry,

like a child's. Quickly, it grew into a long scream of pain and horror. I saw the

policemen standing on the stairs with their mouths open. Suddenly, they all ran

down in a great hurry and began breaking down the wall. It fell quickly, and there

was my wife, standing inside. There she was, with dried blood all over her head,

looking at them. And there was the cat, standing on her head, his red mouth wide

open in a scream, and his one gold eye shining like fire. The clever animal! My

wife was dead because of him, and now his evil voice was sending me to the

gallows.

The Oval Portrait

We saw the dark shape of the roof above the forest. It was not far away,

but travelling was difficult in that wild part of the mountains. We did not arrive

until night was falling.

It was a sad and strangely beautiful house, many hundreds of years old. Pedro,

my servant, broke in through a small door at the back and carried me carefully

inside. I was so badly hurt that I would die if we stayed out all night.

'People were living here until a very short time ago,' Pedro said. 'They left in

a hurry.'

Next, I went upstairs to kill the cat. The animal was bringing me bad

luck. I had to kill it. I searched everywhere, but I could not find him. I was sure it

was because of my wife's murder; he was too clever to come near me now.

I waited all evening, but I did not see the evil animal. He did not come

back during the night either. And so, for the first time in a long time, I slept well.

When I woke up the next morning, I was surprised to see that the cat still was not

there. Two, three days passed, and there was still no cat. I cannot tell you how

happy I began to feel. I felt so much better without the cat. Yes, it was he who

brought me all my unhappiness. And now, without him, I began to feel like a free

man again. It was wonderful - no more cat! Never again!

Several people came and asked about my wife, but I answered their

questions easily. Then, on the fourth day, the police came. I was not worried when

they searched the house. They asked me to come with them as they searched. They

looked everywhere, several times. Then they went down into the cellar. I went down

He carried me through several tall, richly decorated rooms to a smaller

room in a corner of the great house. He helped me to lie down on the bed. There

were a lot of very fine modern pictures in this room. I looked at them for a while in

the dying light. They were everywhere on the walls, all round me.

After dark, I could not sleep because of the pain. Also, I was so weak

now that I was afraid that I was dying. So I asked Pedro to light the lamp beside

the bed.

I began to look at the pictures on the walls, and as I did so I read a small book.

I found this book on the bed next to me. It described all the pictures in the room, one

by one, and told their stories.

I looked and read for a long time, and the hours passed quickly. Midnight

came and went. My eyes became more and more tired, and soon I found it hard to

read the words on the page. So I reached out - this was painful and difficult -and

moved the lamp closer. Now, the lamp's light fell in a different part of the room, a

part that was in deep shadow until then. I saw more pictures, and among them there

was a portrait of a young woman. As soon as I saw it, I closed my eyes.

Keeping my eyes closed, I tried to understand why. Why did I suddenly

close my eyes like that? Then I realized. I did it to give myself time. I needed time to

think. Was I sure that I really saw what I thought I saw? Was I dreaming? No, I was

suddenly very awake.

I waited until I was calm again; then I opened my eyes and looked a second

time. No, there was no mistake. My eyes were seeing what they saw the first time,

only seconds before.

The picture, as I said, was a portrait. It was oval in shape, and showed the

head and shoulders of a young woman. It was the finest and the most beautiful

painting that I have ever seen. And I know I never ever saw a woman as beautiful

as her! But it was not her beauty that shook me so suddenly from my half-sleep.

And it was not the beauty of the painter's work that excited me in such a strange way.

I stayed for perhaps an hour, half-sitting, half-lying, never taking my eyes off

the portrait. Then at last, I understood. At last, I realized what the true secret of the

picture was, and I fell back in the bed again.

It was the way she was looking at me.

Her eyes, that beautiful smile, that way she looked at me -she was so real!

It was almost impossible to believe that she was just paint — that she was not alive!

The first time I looked at the portrait I simply could not believe what my

eyes were seeing. But now I felt a very different feeling growing inside me. The

more I looked into those eyes, the more I looked at that beautiful smile, the more I

was afraid] It was a strange, terrible fear that I could not understand. It was a fear

mixed with horror.

I moved the lamp back to where it was before. The portrait was now

hidden in darkness again. Quickly, I looked through the book until I found the

story of the oval portrait. I read these words:

'Before, she was all light and smiles. She loved everything in the world.

Now she loved all things but one: her husband's work. His painting was her only

enemy; and she began to hate the paintings that kept her husband away from her.

And so it was a terrible thing when he told her that he wanted to paint his young

wife's portrait.

'For weeks, she sat in the tall, dark room while he worked. He was a silent

man, always working, always lost in his wild, secret dreams. She sat still - always

smiling, never moving -while he painted her hour after hour, day after day. He

did not see that she was growing weaker with every day. He never noticed that

she was not healthy any more, and not happy any more. The change was

happening in front of his eyes, but he did not see it.

'But she went on smiling. She never stopped smiling because she saw that

her husband (who was now very famous) enjoyed his work so much. He worked

day and night, painting the portrait of the woman he loved. And as he painted,

the woman who loved him grew slowly weaker and sadder.

'Several people saw the half-finished picture. They told the painter how

wonderful it was, speaking softly as he worked. They said the portrait showed how

much he loved his beautiful wife. Silently, she sat in front of her husband and his

visitors, hearing and seeing nothing now.

'The work was coming near an end. He did not welcome visitors in the

room any more. A terrible fire was burning inside him now. He was wild, almost

mad with his work. His eyes almost never left the painting now, even to look at his

wife's face. Her face was as white as snow. The painter did not see that the colours

he was painting were no longer there in her real face.

'Many more weeks passed until, one day, in the middle of winter, he finished

the portrait. He touched the last paint on to her lips; he put the last, thin line of

colour on an eye; then he stood back and looked at the finished work.

'As he looked, he began to shake. All colour left his face. With his eyes on

the portrait, he cried out to the world: 'This woman is not made of paint! She is

alive!' Then he turned suddenly to look at the woman he loved so much . . .

'She was dead.'

The picture was a portrait. It was oval in shape, and showed the head and shoulders of a

young woman.

'She was a beautiful young flower, and always so happy. Yes, she was

happy until that evil day when she saw and loved the painter of her portrait.

They were married. But, sadly, he already had a wife: his work. His painting was

more important to him than anything in the world.

were my whole life.

Berenice

Egaeus is my name. My family — I will not name it — is one of the oldest in

the land. We have lived here, inside the walls of this great house, for many hundreds

of years. I sometimes walk through its silent rooms. Each one is richly decorated,

by the hands of only the finest workmen. But my favourite has always been the

library. It is here, among books, that I have always spent most of my time.

My mother died in the library; I was born here. Yes, the world heard my

first cries here; and these walls, the books that stand along them are among the

first things I can remember in my life.

I was born here in this room, but my life did not begin here. I know I

lived another life before the one I am living now. I can remember another time,

like a dream without shape or body: a world of eyes, sweet sad sounds and silent

shadows. I woke up from that long night, my eyes opened, and I saw the light of

day again — here in this room full of thoughts and dreams.

As a child, I spent my days reading in this library, and my young days

dreaming here. The years passed, I grew up without noticing it, and soon I found

that I was no longer young. I was already in the middle of my life, and I was still

living here in the house of my fathers.

I almost never left the house, and I left the library less and less. And so,

slowly, the real world — life in the world outside these walls — began to seem like a

dream to me. The wild ideas, the dreams inside my head were my real world. They

Berenice and I were cousins. She and I grew up together here in this house.

But we grew so differently. I was the weak one, so often sick, always lost in my dark

and heavy thoughts. She was the strong, healthy one, always so full of life, always

shining like a bright new sun. She ran over the hills under the great blue sky

while I studied in the library. I lived inside the walls of my mind, fighting with

the most difficult and painful ideas. She walked quickly and happily through

life, never thinking of the shadows around her. I watched our young years flying

away on the silent wings of time. Berenice never thought of tomorrow. She lived

only for the day.

Berenice - I call out her name - Berenice! And a thousand sweet voices

answer me from the past. I can see her clearly now, as she was in her early days of

beauty and light. I see her . . . and then suddenly all is darkness, mystery and fear.

Her bright young days ended when an illness - a terrible illness — came

down on her like a sudden storm. I watched the dark cloud pass over her. I saw it

change her body and mind completely. The cloud came and went, leaving someone

I did not know. Who was this sad person I saw now? Where was my Berenice, the

Berenice I once knew?

This first illness caused several other illnesses to follow. One of these was

a very unusual type of epilepsy.* This epilepsy always came suddenly, without

warning. Suddenly, her mind stopped working. She fell to the ground, red in the

face, shaking all over, making strange sounds, her eyes not seeing any more. The

epilepsy often ended with her going into a kind of very deep sleep. Sometimes, this

sleep was so deep that it was difficult to tell if she was dead or not. Often she woke

up from the sleep as suddenly as the epilepsy began. She would just get up again as if

nothing was wrong.

* epilepsy. A serious illness in which, for a short time, the mind stops working, everything goes black,

and the body jumps and shakes.

It was during this time that my illness began to get worse. I felt it growing

stronger day by day. I knew I could do nothing to stop it. And soon, like Berenice,

my illness changed my life completely.

It was not my body that was sick; it was my mind. It was an illness of the

mind. I can only describe it as a type of monomania.* I often lost myself for hours,

deep in thought about something — something so unimportant that it seemed funny

afterwards. But I am afraid it may be impossible to describe how fully I could lose

myself in the useless study of even the simplest or most ordinary object.

* monomania. Thinking about one thing, or idea, and not being able to stop.

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