The Little Demon

by Fyodor Sologub

  The instructor told him, ‘He’s a bit sluggish and he does get tired quickly.’

  But the headmaster was no longer listening and already on his way out. The air didn’t refresh him very much evidently, and in half an hour he returned to the gym after standing at the door for a while.

  Exercises on the apparatus were in progress. Two or three boys with nothing to do, and who knew the instructor wasn’t watching them, were lounging against the wall. They didn’t notice Khripach return.

  ‘Pylnikov, why are you leaning against the wall?’

  Sasha blushed violently, straightened up and said nothing.

  ‘If you get tired so easily then perhaps gym is harmful for you?’ Khripach said sternly.

  ‘I wasn’t feeling tired, sir,’ Sasha said in alarm.

  ‘There’re two alternatives,’ Khripach continued. ‘Either you don’t do gym anymore, or … anyway, come and see me after school.’

  He hurried off, leaving Sasha confused and frightened.

  ‘You’ll catch it now!’ said the others. ‘He’ll lecture you till midnight.’

  Far more painful than any beating in the eyes of the boys were the headmaster’s lengthy reprimands, and it was with a sinking heart that Sasha went to the headmaster’s study when lessons were over. Khripach almost rushed at him when he entered, and seemed to be rolling along on his very short legs. He went right up to him, looked him straight in the eye and asked, ‘Does gym really exhaust you, Pylnikov? You look healthy enough to me, but appearances can be deceptive, as they say. Have you seen a doctor recently? Perhaps you should stop doing gym.’

  ‘I’m quite all right, sir,’ Sasha replied, red with embarrassment.

  ‘The fact is, your instructor has been complaining about your sluggishness, that you get tired so easily. And I thought that you looked tired when I saw you today. Or perhaps I was mistaken?’

  Sasha didn’t know how to avoid Khripach’s penetrating stare and mumbled in his confusion, ‘I’m sorry. It was just out of laziness, I’m really quite all right. I promise to try very hard in future, really I do!’ And suddenly he burst into tears, much to his own surprise.

  ‘So, you see,’ Khripach said, ‘it’s obvious you’re tired out, otherwise you wouldn’t cry like that. Anyone would think I’d just given you a severe telling-off. Calm yourself.’ He put his hand on Pylnikov’s shoulder and said, ‘I didn’t tell you to come in order to give you a lecture, but to get one thing clear … Sit down, Pylnikov, I can see you’re tired.’

  Sasha quickly dried his eyes with his handkerchief and said, ‘I’m not a bit tired.’

  ‘Now sit down and relax,’ Khripach repeated, pushing a chair over to Pylnikov.

  ‘I tell you, I’m not tired, Mr Khripach.’

  Khripach took him by the shoulders and sat him down. Then he sat facing him and said, ‘We’re going to have a nice quiet chat, Pylnikov. You can’t know the true state of your health. You’re a diligent boy, satisfactory in every respect. Therefore I fully understand why you didn’t like to ask to be excused gym. As it happens, I’ve asked the school doctor to come and see me, as I’m not feeling too well myself. He can have a look at you at the same time. No objections, I hope?’ Khripach glanced at his watch and, without waiting for an answer, asked Sasha how he had spent the summer holidays.

  The school doctor, Yevgeniy Surovtsev, was not long in arriving. He was a small man, dark and sprightly. His favourite topics of conversation were politics and the latest news. Although he didn’t have much idea about medicine, he was very conscientious towards his patients and preferred to leave to the course of nature what medicines couldn’t cure. As a result he was very successful.

  Sasha was told to undress. Surovtsev gave him a thorough examination and found nothing wrong. Khripach was now convinced that Sasha wasn’t a girl. Although he had been sure of this all along, he thought it would be useful if the school doctor could verify the fact should he subsequently have to reply to questions from the district council.

  Khripach told Pylnikov he could go and as he left gently told him, ‘Now we know there’s nothing wrong I shall tell your gym instructor to be quite merciless in future.’

  Peredonov didn’t doubt for one moment that, besides promotion, he would receive a medal for his astonishing revelation. This thought encouraged him to keep a very close watch on the boys’ behaviour. As it happened, the weather over the past few days had been cold and wet and the billiard-rooms were almost deserted. Therefore, all he could do was to go on visiting the boys in their lodgings, even those who were living at home. He selected those parents who could be most easily persuaded. He would complain about the boy, who would then be beaten – and Peredonov would be satisfied. The first victim was Joseph Kramarenko, whose father ran a brewery in the town. Peredonov told him that his son had been misbehaving in church. The father believed him and the son was duly flogged. The same fate befell many others. Peredonov kept away from those he knew would defend their sons and who might complain to the authorities.

  Every day he visited at least one of the student lodgings, where he would really lay down the law, issuing severe reprimands, orders and threats. But the boys who lived out felt much more independent and occasionally jeered Peredonov. An exception was Mrs Flavitsky, a tall loud-mouthed energetic woman who obliged at once by giving her young lodger, Volodya Bultyakov, a really good thrashing.

  Next day in class Peredonov recounted his exploits. He did not mention any names, but the obvious embarrassment of certain members of the class was enough to give them away.

  FOURTEEN

  Rumours that Pylnikov was a girl in disguise spread like wildfire through that town. Among the first to hear were the Rutilov sisters. The inquisitive Lyudmila, always wanting to see anything new with her own eyes, was dying with curiosity about Pylnikov. Of course, she simply had to take a look at that masquerading little cheat.

  She knew Kokovkina very well and one evening she told her sisters, ‘I’m going to have a look at this girl for myself.’

  ‘Nosy!’ Darya angrily cried.

  ‘And all dressed up for the occasion!’ observed Valeriya with a restrained smile.

  They were annoyed that they hadn’t thought of it first and realized that it would be awkward for all three to go at the same time. Lyudmila dressed herself more smartly than usual – she herself didn’t know why. However, she loved to reveal more than her sisters dared: her arms were barer, her skirts shorter, her shoes flimsier and her flesh-coloured stockings thinner and more transparent. At home she normally liked to go about in just a skirt and wear shoes over her bare feet; moreover, her skirts and blouses were always far too dressy.

  It was cold and windy. Fallen leaves skimmed across ruffled puddles. Lyudmila walked quickly and hardly felt the cold, despite the fact that she was wearing only a light cape.

  Kokovkina and Sasha were having tea. Lyudmila eyed them closely but could see nothing out of the ordinary – there they were, both quietly drinking tea, eating rolls and chatting.

  Lyudmila kissed Kokovkina and said, ‘There’s something important I’d like to talk to you about, Olga, but that can wait a bit. In the meantime I’d like a nice hot cup of tea to warm me up. Oh, what a good-looking boy!’

  Sasha blushed and bowed clumsily as Kokovkina introduced him. Lyudmila sat at the table and began to give a lively account of the latest news. She was very welcome in most houses, since she knew everything and recounted it with such charm and simplicity. Kokovkina, who hardly ever went out, was genuinely pleased to see her and cordially entertained her. Lyudmila gaily chatted and laughed and, once or twice, as she leaped from her chair to mimic someone, she brushed against Sasha.

  ‘It must be very dull for you, dear, sitting at home all the time with this sour-faced schoolboy. You could at least come and see us some time.’

  ‘At my age?’ Kokovkina replied. ‘No, I’m too old to start making social visits.’

  ‘Rubbish! You don’t have to be invited,’ Lyud
mila amiably replied. ‘Just come and make yourself at home – this little boy doesn’t have to be mollycoddled by you.’

  Sasha looked hurt and he blushed.

  ‘He’s just a baby!’ Lyudmila said perkily as she nudged Sasha. ‘Well, haven’t you anything to say to your visitor?’

  ‘He’s very young,’ Kokovkina said, ‘and very shy with me.’

  Lyudmila smiled and said, ‘I’m shy too.’

  Sasha laughed and innocently replied, ‘Shy? At your age?’

  Lyudmila burst out laughing. Her laughter had a deep sensuality mingled with gaiety and whenever she laughed she would blush violently and her eyes would become mischievous and guilty – then she would coyly look away.

  Sasha was embarrassed and began to stammer out apologies. ‘I didn’t mean that. What I wanted to say was that I thought you were lively and not shy – not that you were fast!’

  Feeling that what he had said wasn’t as clear as it would have been in writing, he became confused and went red in the face.

  ‘What a cheek he’s got!’ Lyudmila laughed, blushing too. ‘I think he’s perfectly delightful!’

  ‘Look, you’ve got my Sasha in a real muddle!’ Kokovkina said, smiling at them both.

  Lyudmila bent forward and with a catlike movement stroked Sasha’s head. He laughed bashfully, wriggled from under her hands and ran into his room.

  ‘I want you to find me a husband, dear,’ Lyudmila said, coming straight to the point.

  ‘Well, you’ve picked a fine matchmaker, I must say!’ Kokovkina replied, smiling. It was clear from her smile, though, that she would be delighted to take on the job.

  ‘Why shouldn’t you be my matchmaker? Wouldn’t I make a nice bride? You wouldn’t be ashamed, would you?’ Lyudmila put her hands on her hips and performed a little dance in front of Kokovkina.

  ‘I’ll give you what for!’ Kokovkina said. ‘You little flirt!’

  Lyudmila laughed and said, ‘Do it, even if it’s for want of anything better to do!’

  ‘What kind of husband are you looking for, dear?’ Kokovkina asked, still smiling.

  ‘He must have brown hair, very dark – that’s essential. Dark brown – dark as a pit. Just like your schoolboy’s in fact. Yes, the eyebrows must be black, the eyes languishing, the hair black, with a dark blue sheen. And the lashes beautiful and thick – and blue-black! Your schoolboy’s so handsome, so very handsome! I want someone like him.’

  Soon Lyudmila prepared to leave, as it was now getting dark. Sasha wanted to see her off.

  ‘I’ll let you come, but only as far as the cab,’ said Lyudmila tenderly, guiltily blushing as she caressed Sasha with fond eyes.

  In the street Lyudmila was her lively self again and began cross-examining Sasha.

  ‘Are you working hard at school? Do you read a lot?’

  ‘Yes, I read a lot of books. I love reading.’

  ‘Andersen’s fairy tales?’

  ‘No, not fairy tales! All sorts of books. I love history – and poetry.’

  ‘So you like poetry. Who’s your favourite poet?’ Lyudmila asked sternly.

  ‘Why, Nadson* of course,’ Sasha replied, firmly convinced that there was just no one else.

  ‘That’s lovely!’ Lyudmila replied encouragingly. ‘I like Nadson too, but only in the morning. In the evenings I like to put pretty dresses on, dear. How do you like to spend the time?’

  Sasha glanced at her with tender black eyes that suddenly became moist. He softly replied, ‘I like cuddling.’

  ‘Ooh, what an affectionate boy you are!’ Lyudmila exclaimed, putting her hands on his shoulders. ‘So you like cuddling. Do you like puddling† too?’

  Sasha giggled. Lyudmila persisted, ‘In nice warm water?’

  ‘In warm and in cold water,’ he shyly replied.

  ‘And what kind of soap do you like?’

  ‘Glycerine.’

  ‘And do you like grapes?’

  Sasha laughed. ‘You’re such a tease! They’re two different things and yet you ask as if they’re the same! But you won’t catch me out.’

  ‘As if I would want to do a thing like that!’ she laughed.

  ‘Well, I know how you like to make fun of people.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Everyone says so.’

  ‘Why, you little scandalmonger!’ Lyudmila said, pretending to be annoyed.

  Sasha blushed again.

  ‘Here’s a cab. Cabby!’ Lyudmila shouted.

  ‘Cabby!’ shouted Sasha.

  The clumsy old drozhky clattered up to them. Lyudmila gave the driver the address. He thought for a moment and then asked for forty copecks.

  ‘You know, it’s not very far,’ she said. ‘I bet you don’t know the way.’

  ‘How much then?’ the cabby asked.

  ‘Whichever half you want!’

  Sasha burst out laughing.

  ‘A right laugh you are, lady, no mistake!’ the cabby said, grinning. ‘Make it another five.’

  ‘Thank you for seeing me off, dear,’ Lyudmila said as she squeezed Sasha’s hand and stepped into the cab. Sasha ran home, cheerfully thinking about that cheerful young lady.

  Lyudmila was also in high spirits when she arrived home, smiling and thinking about something very amusing. Her sisters were waiting for her in the dining-room at the round table, which was lit by a hanging lamp. On the white tablecloth was an inviting brown bottle of cherry brandy, with bits of glittering silver foil around its neck. It was surrounded by plates piled high with apples, nuts and halva. Darya’s face was flushed with drink and her hair hung over her bare shoulders. She was singing very loudly – Lyudmila had just heard the penultimate verse of the familiar ballad:

  Where is her dress, are her pipes no more?

  Naked he draws her to the sandy shore;

  Fear banishes shame, shame banishes fears,

  The shepherdess laments in bitter tears.

  Oh, forget, forget what you have seen!*

  Larisa was there too, prettily dressed, calm and cheerful. She was slicing an apple with a small knife and softly laughing. ‘Well? Did you see him?’ she asked.

  Darya stopped singing and stared at Lyudmila. Valeriya leaned on her elbow, held her little finger out, tilted her head and tried to imitate Larisa’s smile. But she was a thin, delicate creature and could only produce a nervous smile.

  Lyudmila filled her glass with the cherry-red liqueur and said, ‘It’s a lot of rubbish about his being a girl. Of course he’s a boy – and a very nice one at that. He’s got dark brown hair and sparkling eyes. That little boy’s the picture of innocence.’ All of a sudden she burst into loud laughter. Her sisters joined in.

  ‘So, it’s obviously nonsense invented by that Peredonov,’ Darya said, waving her hands contemptuously. Then she became thoughtful, leaned forward on her elbows, looked down and said, ‘I might as well go on singing,’ and she started to sing in an ear-splitting voice.

  There was something grimly inspiring in those shrill sounds. A corpse might sing like this if released from the grave on condition it sang and never stopped. The other sisters were long used to Darya’s drunken bawling and occasionally joined in, deliberately shrilling their voices.

  ‘She’s really letting rip this time!’ Lyudmila said, grinning.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hear her sister sing, but she would have much preferred to tell them all about her visit.

  Darya suddenly broke off and told Lyudmila very rudely, ‘What’s the matter? I’m not stopping you!’ And she immediately started again where she had left off.

  Larisa said in a soft voice, ‘Let her sing if she wants to.’

  It’s raining hard on me,

  And there’s no roof that I can se-ee.

  Darya sang shrilly, distorting the sounds and inserting syllables for greater effect, like simple folk-singers do. As a result her song sounded like this:

  It’s rai-ning ha-a-ard on me-e-ee!

  The soun
ds on which the accents didn’t fall were particularly jarring as she dragged them out, but had a stunning effect: they would have aroused deathly melancholy in someone listening for the first time.

  Oh, deathly melancholy, echoing over fields and villages, over the vast expanses of my homeland! A melancholy embodied in wild commotion, a melancholy that devours the living word with its vile flame, reducing a once-living song to demented wailing! Oh, my beloved Russian song of old, can it be that you are really dying … ?

  Suddenly Darya leaped to her feet, put her hands on her hips and sang a cheerful ditty, dancing and snapping her fingers:

  Young lad, go away from me,

  I’m a robber’s wife, can’t you see?

  All you’ll get from me is my sharp knife,

  I’ll never be a peasant’s wife.

  So, you’re handsome – I don’t give a damn!

  A tramp for me – oh, that’s the man!

  As she sang and danced and whirled around, her motionless eyes in their sockets seemed to follow her movements like dead orbiting moons. Lyudmila laughed aloud and her heart feebly fluttered and palpitated, partly from unbridled joy, partly from the effects of that powerful sweet cherry brandy. Valeriya’s soft laugh was just like tinkling glass. She looked enviously at her sisters, wishing that she could enjoy herself like them, but for some reason she didn’t feel at all cheerful. She felt unwanted, on the shelf, and that was why she was so weak, so unhappy. When she laughed she seemed about to burst into tears.

  Larisa winked at her and Valeriya suddenly livened up and became full of fun. Larisa stood up, twitched her shoulders and soon all four were whirling around the room, locked together in a frenzied dance. They followed Darya in bawling stupid words from ever-new ditties, each more stupid and wilder than the last. The sisters were young and pretty and their voices rang out loud and wild. How the witches on Bald Mountain would have envied that dance!