‘What do you want those for?’ Volodin asked, grinning.
‘They’re for the cat,’ Peredonov gloomily replied.
‘Are you going to stick them in its fur?’
‘Yes.’
Volodin gave an idiot-like laugh. ‘Mind you don’t start without me, won’t you?’ he said. ‘It should be quite amusing.’
Peredonov invited him to come immediately, but Volodin excused himself. He suddenly felt that it wasn’t the done thing not to have business to see to, and Peredonov’s enterprise in calling on everyone had encouraged him to call on Nadezhda Adamenko and tell her that he had some excellent new sketches that he was going to frame. Perhaps she might like to look at them. Besides, she might give him some coffee.
So Volodin did just that. What was more, he had now thought of another ingenious plan: he would offer to give her brother carpentry lessons.
Nadezhda really thought he needed the money and readily agreed, suggesting he came three times a week for two-hour lessons. She would pay him thirty roubles a month. Volodin was in raptures, not only because of the money but also because of the opportunity of seeing her frequently.
As always, Peredonov returned home in a wretched mood. Varvara, pale from a sleepless night, raved at him, ‘You might have told me yesterday that you weren’t coming home.’
Peredonov, teasing her, told her that he had gone to Marta’s. Varvara said nothing. After all, she had the letter. Even though it was a forgery, still …
Over breakfast she sniggered, ‘While you were gallivanting around with Marta I had a reply from the princess.’
‘Did you actually write to her?’ Peredonov asked. His face came alive with a gleam of expectation.
‘Now stop being so silly!’ Varvara laughed. ‘Didn’t you yourself tell me to?’
‘Well, what does she say?’ Peredonov anxiously asked.
‘Here’s the letter, read it yourself.’
After a great deal of fumbling in her pockets, she found the letter and handed it to Peredonov. He dropped his knife and fork and eagerly pounced on it. He read it through and was overjoyed. Here at last was a clear and definite promise. Now he had no doubts at all. He gulped down the rest of his food and rushed to show the letter to his friends.
Filled with grave excitement he entered Vershina’s garden. As always she was standing at the gate smoking. She was delighted: formerly she had been obliged to employ all her charms to coax him in, now he came of his own accord.
That trip with Marta is having results! After a few hours in her company he’s come running! I wonder if he’s made up his mind and wants to marry her? she wondered, both nervously and happily.
Peredonov disillusioned her at once by showing her the letter. ‘And you didn’t believe it,’ he said. ‘Well, here’s proof for you, it’s from the princess herself. Read it and see for yourself.’
Vershina looked at the letter suspiciously and blew tobacco smoke over it several times. Then she smiled wryly and asked in her quiet, rapid voice, ‘Where’s the envelope?’
Peredonov suddenly took fright. He realized that Varvara could have tricked him and written the letter herself. He must demand the envelope from her at once.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I must ask Varvara for it.’
He bade Vershina a hurried farewell and dashed off home. He had to discover the origin of the letter – and as soon as possible. This sudden doubt was truly excruciating for him.
Vershina stood at the gate and watched him go, smiling and puffing at her cigarette for all she was worth, hurrying as if trying to finish some lesson in time.*
His face full of despair and terror, Peredonov ran all the way home. Before he had even reached the dining-room he shouted in a voice hoarse with agitation, ‘Varvara, where’s the envelope?’
‘What envelope?’ Varvara asked in a trembling voice.
She looked at Peredonov quite brazenly and would have turned red had she not been smothered with rouge.
‘The envelope of the princess’s letter that came today,’ Peredonov explained, looking apprehensively and malevolently at her.
Varvara forced a laugh. ‘I burned it. What use was it to me? Do you think I’m starting an envelope collection? You don’t get your money back on them like beer bottles you know.’
Peredonov sulked around the house and growled, ‘There’s all kinds of princesses, you and I know that. Perhaps this one’s living right here.’
Varvara pretended not to have any idea that he suspected something but she was scared out of her wits.
Later that evening Peredonov was stopped by Vershina as he was walking past her garden.
‘Have you found the envelope?’ she asked.
‘Varvara says she’s burned it,’ he replied.
Vershina laughed and fine white clouds of smoke drifted in front of her in the calm mild air.
‘How very strange of your cousin to be so careless! Such an important letter and suddenly it’s got no envelope! At least you could have told where and when it was posted from the stamp.’
Peredonov was furious and in vain Vershina tried to lure him into the garden, in vain did she offer to tell his fortune with cards – Peredonov left. All the same, he still showed his friends the letter and boasted about it. They believed it was genuine.
But Peredonov didn’t know whether to believe it was genuine or not. At all events, he decided to begin his self-justificatory visits to all the important people in town on Tuesday – Monday was a bad day.
EIGHT
As soon as Peredonov had gone off to play billiards Varvara went to see Grushina. They had a long talk, at the end of which they decided to put matters right with a second letter. Varvara knew that Grushina had friends in St Petersburg and through them it would not be difficult to have a letter sent back.
As before, Grushina took a long time to be persuaded. ‘But Varvara, dear! I’ve still got the shivers from doing the first one. Whenever I see a policeman near the house I’m scared stiff thinking he’s come to lock me up.’
After a whole hour and much cajolery, the promise of gifts and payment in advance, Grushina agreed. Their plan of action was as follows: Varvara would say that she had written to the princess to thank her. A few days later they would receive an answer from her, stating even more definitely that there were some posts vacant and that she would ensure Peredonov was offered one if they married straight away. Like the first one, Grushina would write the letter, seal it in an envelope with a seven-copeck stamp and send it in another envelope to a friend in St Petersburg, who would post it back to her. Then they both set out for a shop right on the other side of town, where they bought a packet of narrow envelopes with a floral-pattern lining and some coloured paper. They bought up the whole stock, a precaution that Grushina had thought of to help conceal the forgery. Narrow envelopes were chosen so that the forged letter could easily be enclosed in another.
When they returned to Grushina’s they set about writing the letter from the princess. Two days later it was ready and they sprayed it with potent sandalwood perfume. Then the envelopes and paper that were left over were burned as an extra precaution. Grushina wrote and told her friend exactly when to post the letter. They worked it out so that it would arrive on a Sunday – then Peredonov would be at home to receive it from the postman himself, which would be additional proof of its genuineness.
On the Tuesday, Peredonov very much wanted to get home earlier from school. Luck was on his side, for the classroom where he took the last lesson of the day was opposite the clock, near which the school porter, a doughty army reservist, stood with his gong.
Peredonov sent him to the common-room for the register and while he was gone put the clock forward a quarter of an hour. No one noticed. When he arrived home, Peredonov said he didn’t want any lunch and asked for his dinner to be kept for him when he came back: he had important business in town.
‘They’re all trying to trap me and I must escape from their clutches,’ he said angrily, thinking
of the snares his enemies were setting for him.
He put on a tailcoat which he seldom wore: it was tight and uncomfortable. Over the years he had grown fatter and the coat itself had shrunk. This and the fact that he had no medals exasperated him. All the others had them, even Falastov at the town school. There was no doubt that the headmaster was behind this – not once had he recommended him. He felt that he could be sure of his rank as a minor civil servant – that the headmaster couldn’t take that away from him. But what was the use if there were no visible signs of it? Well, it would show on his new uniform. It was nice to know that the epaulettes would correspond to his rank, not the type of position he held. Once he had his new uniform with its epaulettes – like a general’s – and its one large star, then everyone would be able to see at once that a State councillor was coming down the street. I must order that uniform as soon as possible, he thought.
He went out into the street and only then did he wonder where to go first. It seemed that the people who could help him most were the district police officer and the district attorney. So he must start with them. Or perhaps the marshal of the nobility? But the thought of going to see them terrified him. Marshal Veriga was a general and in the running for a governorship. The police chief and attorney were two terrible symbols of law and order. I must start rather lower down, he thought. Then I can have a good sniff around, find out what they think of me, what they’re saying. So he decided it would be best to visit the mayor first. Although he was a merchant, and had only been to a parish school, he was in great demand and was highly respected in that town. Into the bargain, he had friends in quite high places in other towns, even in St Petersburg.
So Peredonov summoned up his courage and set off for the mayor’s house.
The weather was miserable. Leaves fell submissively from the trees, as if too tired to hold on any longer. Peredonov felt rather scared. In the mayor’s house the smell of newly polished parquet floors mingled strangely with a faintly discernible, pleasant smell of food. It was very quiet, even depressing. The children, a boy at the high school and a teenage daughter who in the mayor’s words was ‘under the supervision of a governess’, were where they should be, in their room, which was cheerful and bright and looked out on to the garden. The furniture looked comfortable. There were all kinds of toys there and in the garden, and their voices rang out gaily.
On the first floor, which looked on to the street and where guests were received, everything was stiff and severe. The mahogany furniture seemed to have been taken from a doll’s house and magnified many times. For everyone but the weighty master of the house, who sat on them quite comfortably, the chairs were as hard as stones. The archimandrite of a nearby monastery, who was a frequent visitor, called them ‘soul-saving’, to which the mayor would reply, ‘Yes, I don’t like all that soft effeminate stuff you find in other houses, when you get shaken up and down on springs. You shake – and the furniture shakes with you. What’s the good of that? Besides, doctors don’t approve of soft furniture.’
Yakov Skuchayev, the mayor, met Peredonov at the door of his living-room. He was a tall stout man with short black hair. He held himself with dignity and was slightly overbearing and condescending to those without much money.
After he had sat bolt upright in one of the hard chairs and returned the preliminary compliments Peredonov said to his host, ‘There’s something I want to discuss with you.’
‘Good. How can I help you?’ Skuchayev politely inquired.
A scornful glint showed in his cunning black eyes. He thought that Peredonov had come to ask for money and made up his mind not to lend him more than one hundred and fifty roubles. Many officials in town owed Skuchayev fairly substantial sums. Although he never reminded his debtors when the money was due, he would never again lend to anyone who didn’t pay up on time. The first loan was always fairly generous, but depended on the cash he had to hand and on the solvency of the borrower.
‘Since you’re the mayor and the most important person in this town I must talk to you,’ said Peredonov.
Skuchayev assumed an important look and bowed slightly from his chair.
‘All kinds of rubbish is being said about me in this town,’ Peredonov said sadly. ‘It’s all invented, of course.’
‘You can’t stop other people talking, you know,’ the host said. ‘But there are scandalmongers around here who have nothing better to do than wag their tongues.’
‘They say I don’t go to church. That’s not true for a start. I do go. True, I wasn’t there on St Elijah’s Day, but that was because I had stomach-ache. Otherwise I’m always there.’
‘Yes, I saw you myself. But even I don’t go every day. It’s long been a family tradition to drive out to the monastery instead.’
‘They’re saying all sorts of rubbish,’ Peredonov continued. ‘That I tell the boys dirty jokes. That’s nonsense. It’s true I sometimes tell them something funny, just for a laugh. You have a son yourself at the school – he hasn’t said anything about me, by any chance?’
‘Nothing at all, rest assured. Boys are a cunning lot, at times they only say what they really have to. Of course, my boy is young enough to say something stupid. But he’s said nothing to me so far.’
‘Yes, and in the senior forms they already know everything. I’ve never said anything indecent to them, either.’
‘Well, of course. A school isn’t a market-place.’
‘But it’s considered the normal thing in this town to concoct all sorts of fiction. That’s why I came to see you, as you’re the mayor.’
Skuchayev was extremely flattered by Peredonov’s visit. He wasn’t quite sure what it was all about, but was diplomatic enough to pretend that he understood perfectly.
‘And they’ve been saying other nasty things about me. That I’m living in sin with Varvara, that she’s not my cousin at all, but my mistress. Well, she is my cousin, but a distant one, three times removed. One’s allowed to marry that kind. And I do intend marrying her.’
‘Quite so. But a little walk to the altar would settle everything.’
‘I couldn’t marry her earlier, there were important reasons. It was quite impossible – I’d have done it long ago if I could have, believe me.’
Skuchayev assumed a dignified air, frowned and tapped the dark tablecloth with his puffy white fingers. ‘I believe you. If what you’re saying is true, then it’s a different matter. I believe you now, but I must confess, if you will permit me to say so, that I did find it rather dubious, your living with your … companion without being married! I say dubious, because youngsters are very sharp. They’re liable to distort anything they hear and see the worst side of everything. It’s difficult to teach them what’s good – and what’s bad needs no tuition! That’s why it looked so dubious. At any rate, whose concern is it? – that’s my considered opinion. I’m flattered that you’ve come to me. Although I’m an ordinary sort of chap, who didn’t go further than the district school, I still enjoy the trust and respect of society … I’ve been mayor for three years, so my word counts for something among the people of this town.’
The more Skuchayev rambled on in this way, the more he became entangled in his own thoughts and it seemed that his maundering would never stop.
He abruptly broke off and sadly thought, Anyway, I’m wasting my time. The trouble with these educated men is that one can never understand what they want. Everything is as clear as daylight to a scholar as long as he has his books. But the moment he takes his nose out of them he’s all at sea – and he makes sure others are too.
He became hopelessly confused and stared wearily at Peredonov. His keen eyes had lost their fire, his stout body slumped back in his chair and no longer did he seem the vigorous man of action of before, but a tottering, stupid old man.
Peredonov also sat silently, as if drugged by Skuchayev’s speech. Then he screwed up his eyes and said with a vague, morose expression on his face, ‘You’re the mayor of this town, so you can tell them
it’s all a load of nonsense.’
‘About what?’ inquired Skuchayev warily.
‘They might report me for not going to church or something. You could speak up for me, should they come and ask questions.’
‘That we can do. You can rely on me, have no fear,’ the mayor said. ‘Why shouldn’t I stand up for a respectable man and put in a good word for him? I could even get the town council to send a testimonial if need be. That we can do. Or make you an honorary citizen. All that’s possible.’
‘So I can depend on you,’ Peredonov said gloomily, as if replying to something very unpleasant. ‘The headmaster’s always persecuting me.’
‘Go on!’ exclaimed Skuchayev, shaking his head in sympathy. ‘That can only be because of all this slander that’s going around. Nikolay Khripach has always struck me as a sound man who wouldn’t offend anyone for no reason. I can tell that from his son. A fine, serious man. He’s strict and only shows leniency where it’s due. He’s quite impartial, a very sound man. It can only have been because of all this malicious gossip. What have you been quarrelling about?’
‘We just don’t see eye to eye,’ Peredonov explained. ‘And some of the teachers are jealous – they all want to be inspectors. But Princess Volchansky promised me the position, so they’re all mad with envy.’
‘Quite, quite,’ Skuchayev said, taking care not to contradict him. ‘To change the subject, why are we having such a dry conversation? Let’s have a drink and something to eat.’
He pressed the button of an electric bell near the table lamp. ‘Useful gadget, isn’t it?’ he told Peredonov. ‘All the same, I think it might be a good idea if you took up a post somewhere else. Dashenka, bring us some of the nice savouries and some hot coffee – understand?’
‘Yes, sir!’ replied Dashenka, a heavily built, pleasant-looking girl. She glided off with a remarkably light step considering her size.
‘As I was saying, I think you ought to take up another post. Had you thought of going into the Church? If you wanted to take holy orders I’m sure you would make an excellent high-minded priest. And I could help you – I’ve quite a few friends who are high up in the Church.’
The Little Demon Page 10