Varvara was delighted to see Grushina as there was something that she very much wanted to tell her. They whispered to each other about their maids and the inquisitive Volodin moved his chair closer and tried to hear what they were saying. Peredonov sat alone at the table and dejectedly crumpled up the corner of the cloth.
Varvara grumbled about her maid Natalya. Grushina recommended Claudia, a real treasure, and they decided to go at once to see her at Samorodina, where she was working for the time being in the house of an excise officer who had just been given a transfer. All that worried Varvara was the name. She asked in a quandary, ‘Claudia? So what can I call her then – Clashka?’
Grushina advised, ‘Call her Claudyushka.’
Varvara liked that. She repeated, ‘Claudyushka, dyushka.’ And she gave a rasping laugh.
It should be pointed out that in our town pigs are called dyushkas. Volodin produced a grunt. Everyone laughed. ‘Dyushka, dyushenka,’ Volodin babbled between fits of laughter, screwing up his stupid face and puffing his lips out.
And he carried on grunting and clowning until they told him that he was getting on everyone’s nerves, whereupon he walked away with a hurt look, sat down beside Peredonov, lowered his sharp forehead like a ram and stared at the tablecloth, which was covered with stains.
Varvara decided to buy the material for the wedding dress on the way to Samorodina. She always went shopping with Grushina, who was a great help when it came to making up her mind and getting the best price. Unnoticed by Peredonov, Varvara had stuffed Grushina’s pockets full of sweets and tartlets and other gifts and Grushina guessed that Varvara was going to ask her a big favour that day.
Varvara found walking very tiring in her tight high-heeled shoes, so she usually took a cab, even though it didn’t take long to get very far in such a small town. Recently she had been visiting Grushina a lot and the cab-drivers, of whom there were about a score, had taken note of this. When they seated her, they didn’t even have to ask for the address.
They drove off in a drozhky* to the house where Claudia was working, to make inquiries. There was mud almost everywhere, even though it had rained only the previous evening. The drozhky clattered along the stone pavement for a while, only to get bogged down again in the sticky mud in the unpaved road. By way of contrast, Varvara’s voice twanged incessantly, to the frequent accompaniment of Grushina’s sympathetic chatter.
‘That goose of mine has been to Marta’s again,’ Varvara said.
Grushina answered spitefully, ‘She’ll get him in the end, mark my words. He’d make a wonderful husband, especially for Marta. She wouldn’t find anyone like him again in a hurry.’
‘I don’t know what to do for the best,’ Varvara complained. ‘He’s been so touchy lately it’s simply terrible. Believe me, it makes my head go round. He’ll marry someone else and I’ll be out on my ear.’
‘You’re worrying yourself for nothing. He won’t marry anyone else because he’s too used to you,’ Grushina said consolingly.
‘He’s been going off on his own in the evenings and then I just can’t sleep. For all I know he might be getting married. Sometimes I toss and turn all night. Everyone’s after him – those three fat Rutilov cows who hang around everyone’s necks, and that fat-faced Zhenka.’
Varvara went on complaining for a long time. Grushina could tell that she wanted a big favour from her – and she looked forward to a large reward.
Claudia proved satisfactory. The excise officer’s wife sang her praises. They hired her and told her to start work that evening, since the officer was due to leave the same day.
Finally they drove to Grushina’s. She lived a slovenly life in her own dingy little house with her three dirty, scruffy, stupid brats who were as vicious as scalded puppies. Only now did the women get down to serious business.
‘Would you believe it, that idiot of mine wants me to write to the princess again. But it’s a sheer waste of time writing to her. Either she doesn’t reply at all or she writes some stupid nonsense. We hardly know one another.’
Princess Volchansky, for whom Varvara had once worked as a dressmaker, doing simple little jobs, could very easily help Peredonov. Her daughter was married to Privy Councillor Shchepkin, who was very high up in the Ministry of Education. She had already written a year ago, refusing to have anything to do with the matter unless Varvara was married to Peredonov. Peredonov was piqued by this reply, which offered only a vague hope and gave no firm promise that she would ensure he got the job once they were married. So they went to St Petersburg to make everything clear to the princess. Varvara made certain she saw the princess first, on her own, and then deliberately delayed going there with Peredonov, so that they didn’t catch the princess when she was home. Varvara knew very well that the best they could expect was for her to advise them to marry as soon as possible and then make some vague promises, which would certainly not satisfy Peredonov. So Varvara decided it was best for Peredonov not to see her at all.
‘I’m counting on your rock-solid support,’ Varvara said. ‘Please help me, dear.’
‘But what can I do?’ asked Grushina. ‘You know I’d do anything for you. Would you like your fortune read?’
‘I know all about your fortune-telling,’ Varvara laughed. ‘No, there’s something else you can do for me.’
Grushina trembled with pleasure. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s very simple. I want you to write a letter to Peredonov in the princess’s handwriting and I’ll show it to him.’
‘But how can I do a thing like that, my dear?’ Grushina said, pretending to be scared. ‘What would happen to me if anyone found out?’
Varvara was quite unperturbed and took a crumpled letter from her pocket. ‘This is one of the princess’s. All you have to do is copy the handwriting.’
Grushina took a long time to be persuaded. Varvara realized that she was merely hedging and wanted as much from her in return as she could get. Varvara, however, was prepared to give her very little. She carefully increased her offer, promising her an old silk dress and various small gifts. A stream of entreaties poured off her tongue. When Grushina saw that she would get no more, she took the letter, pretending she was agreeing out of softness of heart and nothing more.*
FOUR*
The billiard-room at the club was stuffy and full of smoke. Peredonov, Rutilov, Falastov, Volodin and Murin – an extremely tall stupid-looking landowner with a small estate, shrewd and well-off – had just finished their game and were preparing to leave.
It was getting late and the dirty rough table was covered with empty beer bottles. The club members had been drinking a great deal while they played – their faces were flushed and they filled the whole place with their drunken racket – with the exception of the pale, sickly Rutilov. He had drunk less beer than the others but a lot of wine, and wine only made him even paler. Obscenities and insults flew around. No one took offence: it was all among friends.
Peredonov had lost as usual. He was a poor player, but he maintained an expression of imperturbable gloom and paid up with bad grace. Suddenly Murin shouted, ‘Fire!’ and aimed his cue at Peredonov, who jumped back in horror. The ridiculous idea that Murin wanted to shoot him flashed through his mind. Everyone else laughed.
Peredonov growled, ‘I don’t think that’s funny.’
Murin was sorry he had frightened Peredonov, for the simple reason that his son was in Peredonov’s class and he therefore felt it was his duty to please the teacher as much as he could. He apologized profusely and bought him wine and seltzer.
Peredonov said glumly, ‘My nerves are a bit on edge. I’m not at all happy with the present headmaster.’
‘The future inspector’s lost all his money again,’ bleated Volodin. ‘What’s more, he’s a bad loser.’
‘Unlucky at billiards, lucky in love,’ Rutilov said, chuckling and showing his rotten teeth.
Peredonov was already in a temper because of his loss and the scare with the cue, and n
ow they were teasing him about Varvara. ‘I’ll get married to someone else and Varvara can clear out!’ he said.
Everyone laughed and provoked him even more. ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ they said.
‘Wouldn’t I? I’ll do it tomorrow!’
‘It’s a bet! Ten roubles?’ suggested Falastov.
Peredonov was in no mood for taking risks – if he lost, he’d have to pay up. He turned away without a word. At the gate the others went off in various directions, leaving Peredonov and Rutilov together. Rutilov tried again to persuade him to marry one of his sisters without further ado.
‘I’ve arranged everything, you don’t have to worry about a thing,’ Rutilov assured him.
‘But the banns haven’t even been read,’ said Peredonov.
‘I’m telling you, everything’s arranged. And I’ve found a priest who knows you’re not related to the bride.’
‘There’re no men on the bride’s side,’ said Peredonov.
‘True. But I can easily get hold of some. I only have to send for them and they’ll come straight to the church. Or I’ll bring them myself. You understand, I couldn’t arrange anything earlier as your cousin would have found out and interfered.’
Peredonov didn’t reply and looked around despairingly at the dark outlines of a few silent little houses with their sleepy front gardens and ramshackle fences.
‘If you wait here by the gate,’ Rutilov said persuasively, ‘I’ll bring out whichever one you fancy. Listen, and I’ll prove something. Now, twice two is four – right or wrong?’
‘Right,’ Peredonov replied.
‘Well, as sure as twice two is four you should marry one of my sisters.’
Peredonov was really taken aback. Yes, he’s right, he thought. Of course twice two is four. And he looked at the sober-minded Rutilov with respect. Yes, I’ll have to marry one of them. There’s no arguing with him.
Just then the two friends reached the house and stopped at the gate.
‘But you just can’t force them to come out,’ Peredonov said angrily.
‘Don’t be so silly! They’re not going to wait for ever for someone to come to them, you know.’
‘Well, suppose I don’t want to marry any of them?’
‘Have you gone off your head? Do you want to stay a bachelor all your life? Or end up in a monastery? Or are you still hankering after Varvara? Think of her face when you bring a pretty young wife home!’
Peredonov gave a short cackling laugh but then became serious again and said with a frowning face, ‘Suppose they don’t want to marry me?’
‘But why shouldn’t they, you silly man!’ Rutilov replied. ‘I give you my word!’
‘They think too much of themselves,’ objected Peredonov.
‘All the better – for someone in your position.’
‘They like to mock other people,’ Peredonov objected.
‘But never you,’ said Rutilov persuasively.
‘How can I be sure?’
‘You must believe what I say. I won’t trick you. They respect you. You’re not some sort of Pavlushka, always making yourself a laughing-stock.’
‘Well, I shall take your word for it,’ Peredonov said sceptically. ‘All the same, I want to make sure for myself.’
Rutilov said in amazement, ‘You are a strange fellow! How would they dare laugh at you? Anyway, how do you want to convince yourself?’
Peredonov thought for a moment and said, ‘I want to see them here in the street, right away.’
‘You have but to say—’
‘All three of them,’ continued Peredonov.
‘All right.’
‘And I want each one to tell me what she has to offer.’
‘Why on earth—?’ Rutilov asked in amazement.
‘I want to see for myself what they want. I don’t want to be led up the garden path.’
‘No one’s going to do that.’
‘Perhaps they’ll want to laugh at me,’ Peredonov reasoned. ‘Well, let them come out. If they want to laugh at me, I’ll laugh at them!’
Rutilov pushed his hat to the back of his head, then over his brow, and reflected. At last he said, ‘Right. Wait here a moment and I’ll go in and tell them. You really are a queer fish, I must say! But stay inside the gate – you never know who might come down the street and see you.’
‘I don’t give a damn who sees,’ said Peredonov, following Rutilov all the same.
All the sisters were sitting in the room that looked on to the front garden. All had the same features as their brother; all were attractive, rosy-cheeked and high-spirited. Larisa, the married sister, was quiet, pleasant and rather plump; Darya, the tallest and slimmest, was flighty and lively; then there was Lyudmila, so easily amused; and Valeriya, small, delicate and frail-looking. They were all eating nuts and raisins and, judging from the fact that they were excited and laughing more than usual, were clearly expecting something to happen. Close friends and people they had never even met came in for ridicule as they discussed the latest town gossip. Since early that morning they had been ready for the altar and needed only to put on a suitable dress, veil themselves and pin flowers to their hair. The sisters made no mention of Varvara in their conversation, as if she didn’t exist. But the fact that those merciless scoffers made no mention of her, when they picked everyone else to pieces, proved that she was firmly entrenched in their minds, an ever-present menace.
‘He’s here. At the gate,’ Rutilov announced as he entered the drawing-room.
The sisters stirred themselves at this news and began talking and laughing in chorus.
‘There’s only one snag,’ laughed Rutilov.
‘What’s that?’ asked Darya.
Valeriya knitted her beautiful dark eyebrows together in annoyance.
‘I don’t know whether I should tell you,’ Rutilov said.
‘Don’t keep us in suspense!’ Darya urged.
With some embarrassment Rutilov told them what Peredonov wanted. The young ladies shrieked and vied with one another in showering Peredonov with abuse.
Gradually, however, their indignation gave way to laughter and jokes. Darya assumed a grimly expectant expression and said, ‘This is how he’s standing at the gate!’
It was a very good imitation.
The girls looked out of the window towards the gate. Darya opened the window a little and cried out, ‘Mr Peredonov! Can we speak to you like this?’
Back came the gruff reply, ‘No, you can’t.’
Darya quickly shut the window. The room was instantly filled with unbridled laughter as the sisters ran from the drawing-room into the dining-room so that Peredonov couldn’t hear them. In that happy household they could pass in a flash from the angriest of moods to laughter and jokes, one cheerful word usually being enough to tip the scales.
Peredonov stood by the gate and waited. He felt miserable, even frightened. He thought of running away, but did not have the courage. Somewhere, far off, he could hear someone playing the piano – most likely the marshal’s daughter. Those faint, delicate sounds flowed into the quiet hazy air of evening, awakening sadness in the heart and inducing sweet day-dreams.
At first these day-dreams took an erotic form and he pictured the Rutilov girls in the most seductive poses. But the longer he had to wait the more annoyed he became. No longer could he hear the music that had barely stirred his dull, unreceptive senses. Night came swiftly and silently, and all around were ominous footsteps and whispers. Two shafts of light from the drawing-room fell across the fence and accentuated the surrounding darkness, and beyond the fence dark log walls were visible. Deep down in the Rutilovs’ garden the trees grew black and menacing, and they seemed to be whispering to each other. From the street came the sound of slow, shuffling footsteps – not very far away. What if he were attacked and robbed, murdered even, while he was standing there? He pressed against the wall, hid in the shadows and nervously waited. Suddenly the broad beams of light were broken by long shadows, doors bange
d, voices could be heard behind the porch door. He cheered up. They’re coming at last! he joyfully thought. And amorous visions began to fill his mind again – the vile offspring of his meagre imagination.
The sisters were standing in the hall. Rutilov came out to the gate to see if anyone was coming down the street. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. ‘It’s all clear,’ he whispered to them through his cupped hands. He stayed in the street to keep watch and Peredonov joined him. ‘They’re coming out to speak to you right now,’ Rutilov said.
Peredonov stood by the gate and peered through one of the narrow gaps between the gate and the post. He looked mournful again, scared almost, and all the erotic imaginings and day-dreams faded, leaving a vague, aching desire.
Darya was the first to appear. ‘And how can I tickle your appetite?’ she asked.
Peredonov remained sullenly silent. Darya went on, ‘I’ll make you the most delicious pancakes, piping hot, but you’ll have to watch you don’t choke yourself!’
Lyudmila shouted over her shoulder, ‘And I’ll go and collect all the gossip every morning and come back and tell you all about it. That should be great fun!’
Valeriya’s mischievous delicate face popped up between the two cheerful faces and she said in her frail voice, ‘I wouldn’t tell you for anything in the world how I’d please you – try and guess for yourself!’
The sisters scampered off in fits of laughter and the sound of their voices died away behind the door. Peredonov turned away, not really satisfied. They just babbled something and left, he thought. They should have written it all down on bits of paper. I don’t want to stand around here waiting at this late hour.
The Little Demon Page 6