As to what happened to Peredonov after he left the hospital, the information I have is vague and contradictory. Some people have told me that Peredonov joined the police, as Skuchayev had advised, and has worked as a councillor in provincial administration. In some way he distinguished himself in this position and is now enjoying a fine career. On the other hand, others have told me that it was not Ardalyon Borisovich Peredonov who served with the police, but a relative of the same surname. Our Ardalyon Borisovich, in fact, wasn’t successful in entering the force, or perhaps he didn’t want to, and took up literary criticism. His articles reveal the same characteristics that had distinguished him before.
This latest rumour strikes me as even more implausible than the first. However, should I succeed in obtaining accurate information about Peredonov’s latest activities, I shall provide a sufficiently detailed account of them.
August 1909
Seventh Edition
Attentive readers of my novel Smoke and Ashes (part four of The Created Legend) already know, of course, what path Ardalyon Borisovich is now pursuing.
May 1913
Dialogue for the Seventh Edition
‘My soul, why are you so troubled?’
‘Because of all the hatred surrounding the name of the author of The Little Demon. Many people who disagree about so much else are agreed upon this.’
‘Accept their malice and abuse with humility.’
‘Surely it cannot be that this labour of ours is unworthy of gratitude. What is the reason for such hatred?’
‘This hatred is like fear. You awaken people’s consciences too loudly, you are far too frank.’
‘But won’t some good come from my truthfulness?’
‘You’re fishing for compliments! This isn’t Paris, you know.’
‘Oh no, it’s not Paris.’
‘You, my soul, are a true Parisienne, a child of European civilization. You’ve come in your elegant dress and dainty sandals to a place where peasant blouses and greased boots are worn. Don’t be surprised if a greased boot sometimes rudely stamps on your tender foot. Its owner is really quite a decent fellow.’
‘But he’s so morose. And so clumsy.’
May 1913
ONE
I wanted to burn her, the wicked witch
The service was at last over and everyone was leaving the church. Some of the parishioners stayed behind to chat by the white stone wall, under the old lime trees and maples. Everyone was in festive attire and gave each other friendly looks. A stranger to this town, looking upon this idyllic scene, would have thought all was perfect peace and harmony. Appearances, however, are deceptive.
Peredonov, who taught in the local high school, gloomily surveyed with small swollen eyes the circle of friends around him from behind gold-rimmed spectacles and said, ‘But Princess Volchansky promised Varvara personally. “As soon as you marry Peredonov,” she said, “I’ll do all I can to get him made inspector.” Those were her very words.’
‘How can you possibly marry Varvara?’ asked the red-faced Falastov. ‘After all, she’s your cousin! What gave you the idea it’s legal to marry blood relatives?’
Everyone burst into laughter. Peredonov’s red, usually impassive, almost somnolent face became angry. ‘She’s only my second cousin,’ he said with great irritation. He looked furiously beyond his audience.
‘Did this princess of yours promise you personally?’ said Rutilov, a tall pale-faced young man in a loud, vulgar suit.
‘No, she promised Varvara,’ replied Peredonov.
‘And yet you can still trust both of them!’ said Rutilov excitedly. ‘Anyone can make up stories like that. Why didn’t you go and see the princess yourself?’
‘I went to her house with Varvara, but we missed her by five minutes. She’d gone to the country and left word she would be back in three weeks. Of course, we didn’t have time to wait, as I had to be back for the exams.’
‘It all sounds very fishy to me,’ said Rutilov. As he laughed he displayed two rows of rotten teeth.
Peredonov stood deep in thought. Everyone left for home, except Rutilov.
‘Of course,’ began Peredonov, ‘I can please myself whom I marry. There’re plenty of others besides Varvara.’
‘Of course, Ardalyon. Any girl would rush at the chance of marrying you, my dear fellow.’ Rutilov’s words reassured Peredonov.
They left the churchyard and slowly crossed the dusty unpaved square. Peredonov said, ‘But what about the princess? She’d be furious if I gave up Varvara.’
‘Why worry about the princess? Let her get you the job first – it’s no good pussyfooting around with her. There’s plenty of time to become involved later. Don’t be an idiot and rush into it blindly!’
‘Yes, quite right …’ Peredonov said without much conviction.
Rutilov continued, ‘Just tell Varvara, “The job first, and then I’ll marry you.” As soon as you have it safely in your grasp you can think seriously about marriage. And you can choose whom you like. Have you ever considered my three sisters, for example? They’re all cultured girls and excellent company. I’m not flattering them unduly if I say Varvara’s not a patch on them. She’s not fit to clean their shoes!’
‘Go on,’ mumbled Peredonov.
‘I know what I’m talking about. I could tell you some things about Varvara … Have a sniff of this.’
Rutilov bent down and broke off a furry stalk of henbane. He crushed the leaves and flowers into one dirty white mass and stuck it under Peredonov’s nose. The sharp, unpleasant smell made him screw up his face and frown. Rutilov said, ‘Crush and then throw away. That’s Varvara for you in a nutshell. She doesn’t even bear comparison with any of my sisters. They’re lovely girls. Believe me, you wouldn’t have a dull moment with any of them. What’s more, they’re all young – the eldest is a third Varvara’s age.’
Rutilov always smiled as he spoke, briskly and cheerfully. But that tall weak-chested man had the frail, unhealthy look of a consumptive and his short straw-coloured hair stuck out pathetically from under his fashionable new hat.
‘Not even a third her age?’ Peredonov said limply, taking off his spectacles and wiping them.
‘It’s true!’ exclaimed Rutilov. ‘And if you really fancy any of them you’d better be quick about it. They’ve no illusions about themselves and can pick and choose. So you’d better make up your mind before it’s too late. On the other hand, any one of them would be only too glad of the chance of marrying you, my dear fellow.’
‘Yes, all the girls fall in love with me here,’ said Peredonov, boasting solemnly.
‘So you must take the chance while you can,’ urged Rutilov.
‘But I just can’t stand the thin sort,’ said Peredonov anxiously. ‘A nice plump girl for me every time!’
‘You can rest assured that you won’t be disappointed if you marry one of my sisters. They’ve all developed well, and if they’re not yet fully mature they can’t be very far off. Once married they’ll fill out like my eldest sister, Larisa. As you know, she’s a tasty little dumpling!’
‘I’d like to marry one of them, but I’m afraid that Varvara will make a dreadful scene.’
‘If it’s that you’re afraid of, then I’ll tell you just what to do,’ said Rutilov with a cunning smile. ‘You should get married either today or tomorrow and then suddenly appear at home – with a young wife. That’s all there is to it. Can I arrange it for you? Would tomorrow evening suit you? Which of my sisters do you fancy?’
Peredonov suddenly burst into loud fits of laughter.
‘All right? It’s a deal then?’ asked Rutilov.
Peredonov stopped laughing as suddenly as he had begun and said in a morose, quiet voice, almost in a whisper, ‘She’ll report me, the filthy slut.’
‘Of course she won’t. Report what?’
‘She’ll poison me then,’ whispered Peredonov in a voice full of fear.
‘Don’t worry, and leave everything to m
e,’ said the excited Rutilov. ‘I’ll fix you up so nicely—’
‘I refuse to marry without a dowry,’ Peredonov said angrily.
This sudden demand from his gloomy companion didn’t surprise Rutilov in the least. He continued in the same animated and persuasive tone, ‘You are a strange one! Of course my sisters have dowries. Well? What do you say? I’ll dash off now and start making arrangements. Only don’t breathe a word to a soul!’
He shook Peredonov’s hand and ran off. Peredonov watched him in silence. He thought of the three cheerful sisters and his lips twisted into a lewd, fleeting semblance of a smile. Then, all of a sudden, he felt agitated. But what will the princess say? he wondered. Those sisters don’t have a copeck between them and they can’t pull any strings. If I marry Varvara I’ll become an inspector and even end up as a headmaster, no doubt about that. He watched the wretched Rutilov scurrying off and thought maliciously, let him run.
And this last thought gave him a dull, languid pleasure. But only for a moment. It was depressing to be alone. He pulled his hat down over his forehead, knitted his blond eyebrows together and hurried home along the unpaved deserted streets which were overgrown with white-flowered pearl grass, watercress and various weeds that had been trampled into the mud.
Someone called out in a soft, hurried voice, ‘Ardalyon Peredonov! How nice to see you, do come in.’
Peredonov raised his mournful eyes and peered crossly over a hedge. Natalya Afanasyevna Vershina, a small, thin, swarthy woman, with black eyes, black eyebrows and dressed completely in the same colour, was standing by the garden gate. She was smoking a cigarette in a dark cherry-wood holder and gave a faint, inscrutable smile. She urged Peredonov into the garden, not so much by verbal invitation as by her swift, delicate movements. She opened the gate, stood to one side, smiled reassuringly and made a gesture as if to say, ‘Do come in. What are you standing there like that for?’
And Peredonov did go in, unable to resist her enchanting silent movements. But suddenly he stopped dead on the sandy path, where a few dry broken twigs caught his eye. Then he looked at his watch. ‘It’s time for lunch,’ he said gruffly.
Although he had had the watch for a long time he still looked with childlike pleasure at its golden case, something he always did in the presence of others. It was twenty to twelve. He decided to stay a short while and glumly followed Vershina along the garden paths, past neglected redcurrant, raspberry and gooseberry bushes.
The late flowers and fruits had turned the garden to yellow. There was a great variety of fruit trees and shrubs, including low-spreading apple trees, round-leaved pear trees, lime trees, cherry trees with smooth, shining leaves, plum trees and honeysuckle. The berries on the elder bushes were a bright red and near the fence was a profusion of Siberian geraniums; whole tiny pale pink flowers were veined with purple. Thistles thrust their prickly purple heads from beneath the bushes. To one side of the garden stood a small grey one-storeyed house with a summer kitchen opening on to the garden. It had a welcoming, cosy look. Beyond was part of the kitchen garden. There dry poppy heads rocked to and fro, together with the large pale yellow camomile caps. The yellow sunflowers were beginning to droop before withering, while among the edible herbs rose the white umbels of hemlock and the pale purple ones of water hemlock. Bright yellow buttercups and small spurges were in flower too.
‘Did you go to Mass?’ asked Vershina.
‘Yes, I did,’ said Peredonov morosely.
‘Marta has only just returned. She often goes to our church instead of the Polish one. She really makes me laugh. “Tell me, Marta,” I ask her, “why do you go to our church?” All she does is blush and not say a word. Let’s go and sit in the summer-house,’ she said, suddenly changing the subject.
In the middle of the garden, shaded by maples, stood an old grey summer-house, very small, with three little steps. Its floor was overgrown with moss and its curious hexagonal roof was supported by six rough-hewn pot-bellied posts. Marta was sitting there, still in her Sunday best. Her bright dress was decorated with bows, which didn’t suit her, what with those short sleeves, sharp red elbows and large, strong hands. Apart from these defects Marta was quite pretty. At least her face was not marred by her freckles. She was even considered a beauty by her fellow Poles, of whom there were a fair number in the neighbourhood.
Marta was rolling cigarettes for Vershina. She was anxious for Peredonov to see her and to fall into raptures. As a result her innocent welcoming face was strained and nervous. The reason for this desire to please was not that Marta was exactly in love with Peredonov, but that Vershina wanted to see her married and settled as she was one of a large family. Marta had been living with her since Vershina’s husband had died a few months ago. She very much wanted to please Vershina both for her own good and for the sake of her young brother who went to the local high school and was living in the same house.
Vershina and Peredonov entered the summer-house. Peredonov greeted Marta somewhat gloomily and sat down. He was careful to choose a place where one of the supporting posts kept the wind from his back and the draughts away from his ears. He glanced at Marta’s yellow slippers with their pink pom-poms and at once suspected that he was being trapped into marrying her. He always thought this with girls who were friendly and pleasant towards him. But he could see only faults in Marta – a great number of freckles, large hands and a rough skin. He was well aware that her father, a Polish nobleman, had a small estate on lease not far from the town. The income was small, and the children many. Marta had left her preparatory school, one brother was still at the high school and the others were even younger.
‘Can I offer you some beer?’ said Vershina quickly.
On the table were some glasses, two bottles of beer and a tin box full of fine sugar. Beside them lay a silver teaspoon that had been dipped in beer.
‘Thank you,’ said Peredonov abruptly.
Vershina looked at Marta, who filled a glass and handed it to the guest, smiling as she did this with a strange smile, half glad and half afraid.
‘Have some sugar in your beer,’ said Vershina as rapidly as before.
Marta gave Peredonov the box. Peredonov said with great irritation, ‘What a revolting idea! With sugar!’
‘But it’s delicious with sugar,’ said Vershina.
‘I tell you, it’s revolting sweetened,’ snorted Peredonov.
Vershina replied with a curt, ‘Please yourself’ and decided to change the subject. ‘Cherepnin bores me to distraction,’ she said, laughing. Marta giggled. Peredonov was not amused, however. Other people’s affairs had no interest for him. He was not fond of his fellow men and only valued them in so far as they affected his own well-being and happiness. Vershina smiled in self-satisfaction and said, ‘He really thinks I’m going to marry him.’
‘He’s got a nerve,’ said Marta, not because she really thought this for one moment, but to please and flatter Vershina.
‘Last night he climbed up to our window,’ related Vershina, ‘while we were eating and tried to spy on us. The rain-tub by the window was full to the brim and we’d covered it with a board, so the water was completely hidden. He climbed up and looked at us through the window. As the lamp was alight he could see us without being seen himself. Suddenly there was a loud splash. At first we were frightened and rushed outside. He’d fallen right in but he managed to get out before we arrived and ran off down the garden path, soaking wet, leaving pools of water. We knew it was him from his back.’
Marta laughed with the high-pitched happy laugh of a well-behaved child. Vershina told the story in her usual rapid and monotonous way, as if she were just pouring out her words, and then suddenly she was quiet. A smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, which creased her swarthy dry face. Her smoke-blackened teeth parted slightly. Peredonov pondered for a moment and then burst out laughing. He did not always immediately react to what was funny as his brain worked slowly, sluggishly.
Vershina smoked one cigarette afte
r the other. To exist without perpetual clouds of tobacco smoke under her nose was inconceivable.
‘So we shall soon be neighbours,’ announced Peredonov.
Vershina glanced swiftly at Marta, who blushed slightly, looked at Peredonov timidly and expectantly and then quickly looked out into the garden again.
‘I didn’t know you were moving. Why?’ asked Vershina.
‘Where I live now is a long way from school,’ explained Peredonov.
Vershina smiled, not believing this. It’s more likely he wants to be nearer Marta, she thought.
‘But you’ve lived in your present flat quite a while – several years in fact,’ she said.
‘The landlady’s an absolute bitch!’ Peredonov said angrily.
‘Why do you say that?’ exclaimed Vershina incredulously and with a sly smile.
Peredonov livened up somewhat. ‘She’s repapered the rooms in the worst possible taste,’ he said. ‘None of the pieces match. For example, the part above the door has a pattern of stripes and carnations, while the rest of the room is done in arabesques of flowers. And the colours don’t match. We wouldn’t have noticed if Falastov hadn’t drawn our attention to it. Now everyone thinks it’s a scream.’
‘I can’t imagine anything more hideous,’ agreed Vershina.
‘Of course, we shan’t tell her we’re going,’ said Peredonov, lowering his voice. ‘First we’ll find somewhere and then just leave without saying anything.’
‘That’s the best way,’ said Vershina.
‘She might kick up a fuss otherwise,’ said Peredonov, his eyes full of fear. ‘We’d be out of our minds to pay a month’s rent for that dump.’
The Little Demon Page 3