The Little Demon

by Fyodor Sologub

  Varvara was stunned. Peredonov was glad that he had shocked her into silence. He hurriedly found his cap and went off to play billiards. While he was putting on his coat in the hall Varvara ran out and screeched, ‘If anyone’s carrying a devil around it’s you! I don’t have one. Where do you think I’d get one? By mail order from Holland?’

  Cherepnin (the subject of Vershina’s story of the rain-tub) had wanted to woo her shortly after she lost her husband. Vershina, who really had no objection to marrying again, found him most insignificant. This made him very bitter. So he jumped at Volodin’s idea of smearing her gates with tar.

  But no sooner had he agreed than he began to have doubts. Supposing he were caught? After all, he was a civil servant. So he decided to get others to do the job for him and bribed two hooligans with twenty-five copecks, promising them a further fifteen copecks each when they’d done the job – and on one dark night the deed was done.

  If anyone in Vershina’s house had opened a window after midnight they would have heard the shuffling of bare feet in the street, stifled whispers and some other soft noises – as if someone was gently brushing the fence. Then a faint clatter, the sound of those same feet hurrying away ever faster, distant laughter and the barking of awakened dogs.

  No one, however, opened the window. And in the morning the gate and fence between the garden and the backyard were covered with bright orange streaks of tar. Filthy words had been written all over the gate. Everyone who went past just gasped and laughed. The news soon spread and the curious came to look. Vershina paced up and down the garden, smoking as ever, smiling even more wryly than usual and muttering angry words. Marta didn’t leave the house and she shed bitter tears. Marya the maid tried to wash off the tar and had furious exchanges with the gaping spectators, who kept laughing riotously and making a dreadful racket.

  The same day Cherepnin told Volodin who had done it and Volodin was not long in telling Peredonov. Both knew the boys, who had something of a reputation for wild escapades.

  On his way to billiards, Peredonov stopped off at Vershina’s. She was sitting in the drawing-room with Marta.

  ‘I see your gates have been smeared with tar,’ Peredonov said.

  Marta blushed. Vershina hurriedly told him that when they had got up they had seen people laughing at their fence and that Marya was now washing it down.

  ‘I know who did it,’ Peredonov said.

  Vershina looked at Peredonov in bewilderment. ‘How did you find out?’ she asked.

  ‘I have ways and means,’ said Peredonov.

  ‘Who was it then?’ Marta angrily asked.

  At that moment she struck Peredonov as really quite ugly, with her spiteful tear-stained eyes and her red swollen eyelids.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to tell you – that’s why I came,’ Peredonov replied. ‘Those hooligans must be taught a lesson. But you must solemnly promise not to say who told you.’

  ‘But why, Peredonov?’ Vershina asked in astonishment.

  After a significant silence Peredonov explained. ‘They’re such a wild bunch, they’d smash my head in if they ever found out who told on them.’

  Vershina promised not to breathe a word.

  ‘And don’t you say that I told you,’ Peredonov said to Marta.

  ‘You can rely on me,’ Marta hastily agreed, as she was impatient to hear who the culprits were and felt that they should be made to undergo a severe and humiliating punishment for their crime.

  ‘No, you’d better swear on the Bible,’ Peredonov said anxiously.

  ‘I swear to God that I won’t tell anyone,’ Marta assured him. ‘But do hurry up and tell us.’

  Vladya was listening through the keyhole. He was glad that he’d not gone into the drawing-room, to be made to promise like the others. Now he could tell anyone he liked. The thought that here at last was a chance to take his revenge on Peredonov filled him with delight. Peredonov began, ‘Last night, at about one o’clock, I was going home along this street when suddenly I heard someone moving by your gate. At first I thought it must be burglars. Before I had time to think what to do, two figures ran out towards me. I flattened myself against the wall and they didn’t see me. I easily recognized them. One had a brush and the other was carrying a bucket. They’re well-known ruffians, Avdeyev the locksmith’s sons. As they ran off I could hear one saying to the other, “We can’t call this night wasted – we’ve earned fifty-five copecks!” I very nearly stepped out of my hiding-place to stop one of them but I was afraid I might get my face smeared. And I was wearing my new overcoat.’

  No sooner had Peredonov gone than Vershina complained to the police chief Minchukov, who at once sent a constable to arrest Avdeyev and his two sons.

  The two boys strutted into the police office, certain that they were being brought in for some previous offence. Avdeyev, a tall miserable old man, was convinced however that his sons had committed some fresh outrage. When the police chief told Avdeyev what the charge was, he replied, ‘Do what you like, I can’t cope anymore. I’ve ruined my hands from thrashing them.’

  ‘We had nothing to do with it,’ insisted Nil, the elder son, who had thick red hair.

  ‘We’re blamed for everything in this place,’ complained Ilya, whose hair was just as luxuriant as his brother’s, but fair. ‘Once you’ve done something wrong you have to answer for everything.’

  Minchukov smiled his sugary smile, shook his head and said, ‘You’d better make a clean breast of it.’

  ‘There’s nothing to confess,’ Nil gruffly replied.

  ‘Is that so? Perhaps you could tell me who gave you fifty-five copecks for the job, eh?’

  Seeing from their obvious bewilderment and startled silence that they were guilty, he told Vershina, ‘Yes, these are obviously the ones.’

  There were fresh denials but the protesting boys were taken into a storeroom for a good birching. The pain was too much and after a few strokes they broke down and confessed. But they still wouldn’t say who had paid them.

  ‘It was our own idea,’ they said.

  They were thrashed in turn, slowly, until they confessed that it was Cherepnin who had offered them the money. Then they were turned over to their father. The police chief told Vershina, ‘Well, they’ve been punished – I mean, their father punished them – and you know who did this to you.’

  ‘I won’t let Cherepnin get away with it as easily as that,’ Vershina said. ‘I shall take him to court.’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise that,’ Minchukov said curtly. ‘It’s best to let the whole matter drop.’

  ‘What? And let those ruffians get away with it! Never!’ exclaimed Vershina.

  ‘The main thing is, there’s no real proof,’ the police chief said calmly.

  ‘What do you mean, if they themselves confessed?’

  ‘Yes, they confessed all right. But once they’re in court they’ll deny it. No one’s going to flog them there!’

  ‘But how can they? There’re witnesses – your own constables,’ Vershina said with rather less assurance.

  ‘What witnesses? If you flay the hide off a man he’ll own up to anything, even something that never happened. Of course, they’re scoundrels and they got what they deserved. But you wouldn’t get anything out of them in a court of law.’

  Minchukov smiled sweetly and calmly looked at Vershina, who went away feeling highly dissatisfied. She admitted, however, after due consideration, that it would be extremely difficult to accuse Cherepnin and that it would only lead to unnecessary scandal and unwelcome publicity.

  THIRTEEN

  In the evening Peredonov went to see the headmaster on business.

  Nikolay Khripach’s life was governed by a set of rules which could so easily be applied to every eventuality that keeping them was no bother at all. As headmaster he calmly carried out all the regulations or instructions as laid down by the authorities, so the school board, parents and pupils could find no fault with him. He was a stranger to knotty problems,
indecision, hesitation – and what was the point of them, anyway? Wasn’t there always the education committee to fall back on when there were difficult decisions to be made? And in his personal relationships he gave the same impression of imperturbability and correctness, which was confirmed by his appearance of solidity and good nature. He was short, well built, with shining eyes and a confident voice. He struck one as a man who had got on well and was determined to do even better. His study was crammed with books and he made copious notes from some of them. When he had accumulated a sufficient number of these notes he would classify them, write them out in his own words and incorporate them in a textbook for publication. Although they didn’t sell as well as standard textbooks, they still enjoyed respectable sales. He often compiled from foreign books anthologies of impeccable scholarship which were respected but completely useless, and which he then proceeded to publish in a respected but equally useless journal. He had many children, all of whom, both girls and boys, were already showing decided talents – some for poetry and sketching, while one of them was making great strides in music.

  Peredonov entered the study and came straight to the point by growling, ‘You’re always finding fault with me, Mr Khripach. I know some people in this town have been spreading malicious lies about me, but I never say a word about anyone myself.’

  ‘You must excuse me for being so stupid,’ interrupted the headmaster, ‘but I really don’t understand what malicious lies you’re talking about. As head of this school I am guided by my own personal observations. May I make so bold as to state that my experience as headmaster is sufficient to enable me to put a correct interpretation on everything I see or hear. As you know, my work comes before everything else and this is a self-imposed rule that I have never broken.’ Khripach said this in a distinct, rapid way, and his clear dry voice sounded like thin bars of zinc being snapped in half. He continued, ‘And as far as my personal opinion of you is concerned, I stand firmly by my opinion that your work leaves much to be desired.’

  ‘You’re obsessed with the idea that I’m no good at all. But the welfare of the school is my constant concern,’ snarled Peredonov.

  Khripach raised his eyebrows in amazement at this outburst and looked at him quizzically.

  ‘It’s obvious that you haven’t noticed there’s a possibility of a grave scandal in the school. And I’m the only one who’s discovered it.’

  ‘What scandal?’ asked Khripach with a dry laugh as he briskly paced his study. ‘You really do intrigue me, my dear Peredonov. I’d be very surprised if there were a scandal in my school.’

  ‘But you don’t know about the new boy you’ve just admitted.’ Peredonov said this with such venom that Khripach stopped in his tracks and stared at him.

  ‘I know all the new boys in the school,’ he said coldly. ‘Class one has a very good record – none of the boys in it has ever been expelled from another school. And the only new boy to join class five has references that place him quite above suspicion.’

  ‘That may be so, but he should have gone to another type of school, not yours,’ Peredonov said morosely and with apparent reluctance.

  ‘Please explain yourself, Mr Peredonov,’ Khripach said. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting we send him to an institution for juvenile delinquents?’

  ‘He should go to an establishment* where they don’t teach Greek and Latin.’ Peredonov’s eyes gleamed with malice.

  Khripach put his hands in his short jacket and looked at Peredonov in utter astonishment. ‘What school do you have in mind? Do you know what type of school has that kind of syllabus!? And if you do, how dare you make such an improper suggestion!’ Khripach went very red in the face and his voice sounded sharper and dryer than ever. On any other occasion Peredonov would have been flustered by these signs of anger. Now he felt cool and collected.

  ‘You all think that he’s a boy,’ he said, derisively screwing up his eyes. ‘But let me tell you, he’s a girl – and no virgin either!’

  Khripach burst into a dry, clear, resonant laugh that sounded almost artificial; that was how he always laughed. ‘Ha! Ha!’ he went, sitting back in his armchair, throwing his head back, as if collapsing with laughter. ‘That’s a good one, Peredonov! Ha! Ha! Please be so good as to tell me on what evidence you base this amazing revelation – unless it’s something you have to keep to yourself. Ha ha!’

  Peredonov related all that he had heard from Varvara and at the same time expatiated on Kokovkina’s failings. Khripach listened, occasionally breaking into that peculiar, crisp, clear laugh of his.

  ‘I’m afraid your imagination has been playing tricks on you, my dear Peredonov.’ He stood up and tapped Peredonov’s sleeve. ‘Look here, I’m a married man with children, like many of my esteemed colleagues. We’re all men of the world. Do you really think that we could be so stupid as to take a disguised girl for a boy? I ask you!’

  ‘You’re entitled to your opinion. But what if I’m right? How will it look for you then?’

  ‘Ha! Ha!’ went Khripach. ‘And what do you think will be the consequences if it really is a girl?’

  ‘It will be the beginning of the complete corruption of the school.’

  Khripach frowned and said, ‘Now you’re going too far. I must say that your story so far hasn’t given me the slightest reason for sharing your suspicions.’

  That same evening Peredonov made hurried visits to all of his colleagues, from the inspector right down to the assistant masters. Most of them roared with laughter when they were told that Pylnikov was really a girl in disguise, but many began to have doubts as soon as he had left. Their wives believed him at once, almost without exception.

  Next morning many of the teachers came into class thinking that he might be right after all. If they were suspicious they didn’t tell anyone, nor did they argue with Peredonov, for fear they would look complete idiots if they were wrong, and they answered questions as ambiguously as they could. Many wanted to hear what the head had to say about it. He disappointed them, however, by staying in his room the whole day and when he did finally turn up very late for his only lesson that day, with the sixth form, he stayed an extra five minutes and then went straight to his study without seeing anyone.

  Before the fourth lesson started, the grey-haired divinity teacher, together with two others, went to see the headmaster on the pretext of some school matter and the divinity teacher cunningly led up to the subject of Pylnikov. But the headmaster took it all so lightly and laughed so much that all three were immediately convinced it was a load of nonsense. He quickly turned to other topics, related the latest piece of town gossip and then complained of a splitting headache and said he would probably have to send for the school doctor. And then he most genially announced that the lesson he had taken that day had made his headache even worse, since Peredonov happened to be teaching in the next classroom. The boys there had been laughing the whole time, and exceptionally loudly for some reason. After producing his usual dry laugh Khripach said, ‘Fate hasn’t been kind to me this year. Three times a week I have to sit next to Peredonov’s classroom. The laughter goes on the whole time, almost without interruption. I’ve never heard anything like it. It’s strange, don’t you think, that an apparently unfunny person like Peredonov should be able to arouse such constant mirth!’

  Without giving them time to object he once more changed the subject. In fact a great deal of laughter had been coming recently from Peredonov’s room, but it wasn’t something he encouraged. On the contrary, a child’s laughter had always irritated him. The fault was his, however, in that he was unable to let a lesson pass without making some indecent remark or saying something quite unnecessary. He would tell some stupid story, or tease one of the more defenceless boys. And there were always those troublemakers who were only too glad of the opportunity of creating chaos and who roared furiously with laughter at each of his sallies.

  Towards the end of school Khripach sent for the doctor, picked up his hat and went into the park
, which lay between the school and the river. It was large and shady. The boys loved to play there and ran around as much as they liked during break. This was why the assistant masters avoided it like the plague: they were afraid one of the boys might do himself an injury. Khripach, however, insisted that the boys spent their recreation there. This was necessary so that he could make his reports to the authorities more impressive.

  As he went down the corridor he stopped by the open gymnasium door, stood there a few moments with head bowed and then entered. From his miserable face and slow walk everyone knew at once that he was having one of his headaches.

  The fifth form was getting ready for exercises. They were lined up in single file and their instructor, a territorial lieutenant, was just about to shout an order when he saw the headmaster. He went over to him and they shook hands. The headmaster peered absentmindedly at the boys and asked, ‘Any complaints? Are they working hard? Not tiring too easily?’

  The instructor had a profound contempt for the boys, who in his opinion would never learn to bear themselves like soldiers in a hundred years. Had they been real cadets, he would have told them what he thought of them – in no uncertain terms. He had to think of his job, however, and therefore didn’t dare tell the sad truth about that load of clodhoppers. And so, pleasantly smiling with his thin lips and giving the headmaster a friendly, cheerful look, he said, ‘Very well indeed, sir. A fine lot of boys!’

  Khripach walked past the file and then stopped by the door to ask, as if he’d suddenly remembered something, ‘Are you pleased with the new boy? Is he trying hard? Does he get tired easily?’ He said this lazily and sullenly, puting his hand to his forehead.