Mafluq's Chit-Chat!

My friend the reader...

The editor-in-chief of this magazine values this section — 'so she says' — and prizes it as one prizes the fruit a man eats after 'a rich meal..' And the rich dishes here mean the articles written by the great literary lady and masterly writer So-and-So, under such titles as 'Smile' or 'Beware of Searching Your Husband's Pockets,' and so on and so forth — articles without which our crooked society could not carry on.

The latest mark of appreciation this section enjoyed was its being 'thrown,' last time, onto page

40 — which I take to be one of the new theories in the world of journalism, the one that says: 'The best articles are neglected, so that the reader may appreciate them for himself — that is, without retouching or banter.' And I received an apology which said: 'We should have liked to put the "Chit-Chat" on the cover, but you were late in sending it.'

But what have I to do with this 'praise'.. It has been said: he who praises himself is a liar.. So I shall go back to my customary modesty and sit down with you to chat together... What would you say if this month I chatted about our beloved radio station.. For it is told:

A certain 'pussycat' was in the habit of slipping into the transmission-room at the radio station and enjoying the latest strains produced by the genius of this country's composers.. And the composers admired him. How could they not, when he was one of their few admirers — and the more the admirers, 'naturally,' the more the melodies.. and the more the melodies, the more the 'liras,' with plenty of 'words' to follow..

A few weeks ago the 'pussycat' came into the room and sat listening, all attentive ears, his tail swinging right and left with an involuntary motion that betokened admiration.. Suddenly the tail's motion stopped.. and the 'admirer' rose, and growled, and puffed himself up... and opened his beautiful mouth only to close it upon a most vexing 'meow,' by way of 'non-admiration'..

The composer looked at him imploringly, but he would not soften.. He called him by the dearest of names: 'Bsayni... Basbous... you... you... you..' — which only made him wilder.. and he expressed it in a series of threatening 'meows' which meant: if you do not stop this tune, I shall stop the broadcast..

The singers guffawed.. What — a 'pussycat' stop a radio station?? What sort of madman is this?? And here the cat could no longer rein in his feelings; he braced himself while every breath was held to watch his next step... then he leaped in among the transmitting machinery, shrieking cries of vengeance...

And the station went off the air...

The clamor rose, and every engineer rushed for his 'stick' to strike the 'admirer' holding out inside the machines.. Confusion and tumult reigned.. and within minutes the 'pussycat' was brought out a lifeless corpse...

And the station went on broadcasting the 'detested' tune.

The 'dear departed' was bidden farewell with 'musical' tears, while some are now thinking of pressing for a bill of law to forbid cats from entering the radio station, for several reasons, the chief of which are:

1 — Their presence may influence the judging of the melodies...

2 — The composer has grown used to their appreciation of his tunes

3 — The fear that the station may stop if one of them should happen to lose his temper..

And the believer is not stung from the same hole twice.