‘If that’s so, why do you keep tormenting the boy?’ Darya rudely retorted.
Lyudmila blushed and a guilty expression appeared on her face. Darya was sorry and went up to embrace Lyudmila.
‘Don’t be upset, we didn’t mean to be spiteful,’ she said. Lyudmila again burst into tears and put her head on Darya’s shoulder.
‘I know that it’s hopeless,’ she sadly said, ‘but if only he would caress me a little – I don’t mind how.’
‘Oh, what misery!’ Darya said peevishly. She walked away from Lyudmila, put her hands on her hips and started to sing:
Yesterday I left my dear love,
And went home to spend the night—
Valeriya broke into delicate tinkling laughter; Lyudmila’s eyes brightened and took on a lascivious look. She quickly went to her room and sprayed herself with corylopsis.* Its sweet, heady, voluptuous smell enveloped her with an insinuating seductiveness. Smartly dressed and excited, she went out into the street, smelling provocatively of that tempting perfume.
Perhaps I’ll meet him, she thought.
And meet him she did.
‘You’re a fine one, I must say!’ she cried reproachfully, yet overjoyed at seeing him.
Sasha felt both embarrassed and delighted. ‘I really didn’t have the time,’ he stammered. ‘I had so much homework, so much studying. That’s the truth.’
‘You’re lying, my dear. Now come straight home with me.’
Laughingly, he refused at first, but he was obviously delighted that Lyudmila was taking him home with her.
‘Here he is!’ she announced triumphantly to her sisters as she led Sasha to her room. ‘You wait, I’m going to get even with you,’ she said threateningly and bolted the door. ‘No one’s going to help you now.’
Sasha put his hands inside his belt and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling both happy and frightened. The room had been freshly sprayed with sweet-smelling perfume, but there was something irritating about it, something that set one’s nerves on edge, like the touch of small, scaly, nimble, joyous snakes.
EIGHTEEN
Peredonov was returning from one of the boys’ lodgings when he was caught by a shower of fine, penetrating rain. He wondered where to take shelter as he didn’t want his new silk umbrella ruined.
Across the road stood a detached two-storey stone house. Over the gate was a sign N. N. GUDAYEVSKY. PUBLIC NOTARY. Peredonov decided to call on him and at the same time complain about his son, who was in the second form.
He found both parents at home and they greeted him with a great deal of fuss – as always in that house.
Nikolay Gudayevsky was a small, thickset, balding man with a long dark beard. His movements were jerky and erratic. He did not walk so much as hop like a sparrow and it was impossible to predict from his movements or facial expression what he was going to do next. In the middle of a serious conversation he would suddenly throw out one knee, bewildering rather than amusing his audience by its very pointlessness. Whether he was at home or out visiting he would sit calmly for a few minutes, then suddenly leap to his feet and for no apparent reason pace the room, shouting and kicking. In the street he thought nothing of stopping dead, squatting and turning a somersault, or performing some other gymnastic exercise, and then continuing on his way. On the deeds and documents that he witnessed he liked to write funny remarks. Instead of Ivan Ivanov, residing in Moscow Square, in Mrs Yermilov’s apartment house, he would write, Ivan Ivanov, living in the market square in that abominable tenement where it is impossible to breathe for the stench and so on. He even noted the number of hens or geese kept by the person whose signature he was witnessing. His wife Julia was a tall, thin, demonstrative and dreadfully sentimental woman. Strangely, despite the great difference in their figures, she had the same mannerisms as her husband – the same erratic, impulsive movements, quite incongruous with everyone else’s. She wore bright dresses that were far too young for her and she had a strange liking for long ribbons of assorted colours, with which she adorned her dresses and her hair in great profusion, and which were always streaming out behind her when she moved quickly.
Their son Antosha, a slightly built alert-looking boy, politely clicked his heels to Peredonov who, the moment he was seated in the drawing-room, started complaining about Antosha’s behaviour. Peredonov told the parents that he was lazy and inattentive, that he laughed and talked in class and that he was always misbehaving during break. Antosha was astonished at these fantastic accusations – he had no idea he was as bad as that – and stoutly defended himself. Both parents became very excited.
‘Allow me to ask,’ shouted the father, ‘precisely what he’s done wrong?’
‘Nikolay! Don’t take the boy’s side!’ the mother shouted. ‘He shouldn’t misbehave!’
‘But what has he done?’ insisted the father, prancing around the room on his short legs.
‘He’s always up to mischief,’ said Peredonov mournfully, ‘fighting and playing around. He’s always misbehaving.’
‘I don’t fight,’ pleaded Antosha. ‘Ask anyone you like, I’ve never fought anyone.’
‘And he bullies the others,’ Peredonov said.
‘Right, I shall go to school myself and find out from the inspector,’ Gudayevsky said with determination.
‘Nikolay! Do you distrust the word of a teacher? Do you want Antosha to become a lazy good-for-nothing? A good thrashing is what he needs.’
‘Rubbish!’ shouted the father.
‘I’m going to thrash him – that’s for certain!’ shouted the mother as she grabbed Antosha by the shoulders and dragged him into the kitchen. ‘Come on, dear!’ she shouted, ‘I’m going to give you a nice thrashing!’
‘I won’t allow it!’ shouted Gudayevsky, trying to pull Antosha back. But Julia would not let go and Antosha cried out in despair as his parents struggled.
‘Help me, Mr Peredonov!’ Julia cried. ‘You hold that brute while I deal with Antosha.’
Peredonov went to her aid. Gudayevsky, however, tore his son out of his wife’s grasp, shoved her to one side, rushed over to Peredonov and shouted, ‘You keep out of it! Don’t meddle in other people’s affairs! I’ll give you what for!’
Dishevelled, his face flushed and covered in sweat, he waved his fist in the air. Peredonov went back on his heels, muttering something inaudible. Julia ran around her husband, trying to catch hold of Antosha, but the father shielded the boy behind his back, pulling him by the arm to the right and left. Julia’s eyes blazed as she shouted, ‘He’ll grow up to be a bandit! He’ll end up in prison. He’ll be sent to hard labour!’
‘Shut your trap, you silly old cow!’ Gudayevsky roared.
‘You tyrant!’ screamed Julia. She rushed over, struck him in the back with her fist and then ran from the room.
Gudayevsky, fists clenched, rushed up to Peredonov. ‘You’ve come just to make trouble. So Antosha’s been misbehaving, has he? That’s a lie. He never gets up to mischief. If he’d been misbehaving I would have known without you telling me. But I don’t want to speak to the likes of you. You go around this town hoodwinking people stupid enough to believe you, and thrashing the boys. I suppose you’re after a diploma – Master of Flagellation! But this time you’ve found the wrong man. Sir, I must ask you to leave this house at once!’
As he said this he leaped over to Peredonov and forced him into a corner. Peredonov was so terrified he would have fled there and then, but Gudayevsky was so incensed that he didn’t notice he was blocking the exit. Antosha seized his father’s coat-tails and pulled him towards himself. His father angrily shouted at him to stop and started kicking out. Antosha smartly jumped to one side, but didn’t let go of his father’s frock-coat.
‘I’m warning you!’ Gudayevsky shouted. ‘Behave yourself!’
‘But Papa!’ Antosha said, still tugging. ‘You’re standing in Mr Peredonov’s way!’
Gudayevsky quickly jumped back and Antosha barely managed to get out
of the way.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Gudayevsky, pointing to the door. ‘That’s the way out, so don’t let me detain you any longer.’
Peredonov hurried from the drawing-room. Gudayevsky stuck two fingers up at him and then did a high knee-jerk, as if to help him on his way. Antosha tittered, at which his father turned round and angrily shouted, ‘I’m warning you, Antosha! You wait, I’m going to school tomorrow and if it turns out to be true I shall hand you over to your mother for punishment.’
‘I didn’t misbehave, he’s lying,’ Antosha said in a pathetic, squeaky voice.
‘Antosha! Remember where you are!’ his father shouted. ‘He’s not lying – he’s mistaken. Only children lie, adults are mistaken.’
Meanwhile Peredonov had escaped into the half-dark hall. After much groping he managed to find his coat and tried to put it on, but he was trembling so much that he couldn’t get his arms into the sleeves. No one came to his aid. Suddenly Julia came running from a side-door, her ribbons streaming and rustling behind her. She waved her hands, danced about on the tips of her toes and frantically whispered something to him. Peredonov didn’t understand at first.
‘I’m so terribly grateful,’ he at last made out, ‘it’s so noble of you, so very noble, to show such concern. People are so indifferent, but you saw things from a poor mother’s point of view. You just cannot imagine how hard it is bringing up children. I’ve only two and they nearly drive me insane. As for my husband, he’s a tyrant, a terrible, terrible man. Don’t you agree? Well, you saw for yourself.’
Peredonov mumbled, ‘Yes … your husband … shouldn’t carry on like that … I go to all this trouble and he—’
‘Oh, you don’t have to tell me,’ Julia whispered, ‘he’s a terrible man. He won’t be satisfied until he’s driven me into the grave. Then he’ll be able to corrupt my children, my little Antosha. But not while I’m alive. Antosha’s going to get a thorough thrashing whatever happens.’
‘He won’t let you,’ Peredonov said, jerking his head in the direction of the drawing-room.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll do it when he’s gone to the club. He won’t take Antosha there! I shan’t say a word until he goes, as if I agree with him, and the moment he’s left I shall thrash him – and you can help me. You will help me, won’t you?’
Peredonov thought for a moment and then said, ‘Of course, but how will I know when to come?’
‘I’ll send you a note,’ Julia happily whispered. ‘Just wait. The moment he’s gone I’ll send for you.’
Later that evening Peredonov received the following note from Julia:
Dear Mr Peredonov,
My husband’s gone to the club and I’m free from his barbarity until midnight. Please do me a favour and come as soon as you can and help me punish my delinquent son. I realize that it must be thrashed out of him while he’s still young, or it’ll be too late.
Yours sincerely,
Julia Gudayevsky
PS Please come at once or Antosha will have gone to bed and we’ll have to wake him up.
Peredonov quickly put on his overcoat, wrapped his scarf around his neck and was ready to leave.
‘Where are you going this time of night?’ asked Varvara.
‘I’ve an important matter to see to,’ Peredonov replied gruffly and hurriedly left.
Varvara wearily realized that she wouldn’t get much sleep that night. If only she could get him to marry her without any more delay. Then she would be able to sleep night and day. What bliss that would be!
Out in the street Peredonov began to have doubts. What if this were a trap? Supposing Gudayevsky was at home all the time, just waiting to get his fists into him? Hadn’t he better turn back?
The silent, dark, cool night surrounded him and forced him to walk slowly. He could smell the freshness of nearby fields. In the deep grass that grew along the fences could be heard faint rustlings and shuffling sounds, and everything appeared suspicious and strange. Perhaps someone was creeping up on him from behind? Enveloped in darkness, all objects looked mysterious and it seemed that a new kind of life was stirring in them, nocturnal, hostile and incomprehensible to man. Peredonov quietly walked down the street and muttered, ‘You’re wasting your time. I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m only going about my work, my friend. Oh yes.’
At last he reached Gudayevsky’s house. A lamp was burning in only one of the five windows facing the street, the others were in darkness. Peredonov tiptoed up the steps, stopped for a moment, put his ear to the keyhole and listened. All was quiet. He gently pulled the brass bell-handle and a faint tinkling sound echoed in the distance. But faint though it was, it frightened Peredonov and seemed to be the signal for all the hostile forces that were threatening him to rouse themselves and come to the door. Peredonov quickly ran down the steps and pressed close to the wall, behind a post.
A few moments passed. Peredonov’s heart stopped and then pounded away. He heard some light footsteps, the sound of a door being opened. Julia peered out into the darkness, her dark passionate eyes gleaming. ‘Who’s there?’ she whispered.
Peredonov moved a little way from the wall, glanced from down below into the dark narrow doorway and whispered in a trembling voice, ‘Has he gone?’
‘Yes, he’s gone,’ Julia happily whispered and nodded.
Peredonov looked timidly around and then followed her into the dark hall.
‘Do forgive me, I put the lights out in case anyone sees – you know how people talk.’
She led Peredonov up the stairs into a corridor where a small lamp was burning, casting a dim light on the uppermost steps. Julia laughed softly and this made her ribbons dance up and down.
‘Yes, he’s gone,’ she joyfully whispered as she looked round and turned her passionate, burning eyes on Peredonov. ‘I was afraid he would stay at home as he was in such a filthy mood. But he can’t do without his game of whist. And I’ve sent the servant out. There’s only Liza’s nanny. Otherwise we might be disturbed. You know what people are like these days.’
Julia seemed to be smouldering and her whole body was as dry and hot as a flaming torch. When she caught Peredonov by the sleeve he felt as if small dry sparks were running all over his flesh. Quietly they tiptoed down the corridor, past some closed doors, until they came to the last one. It was the door to the nursery …*
Peredonov left Julia after midnight, when she was expecting her husband back any minute. He walked gloomily along the dark streets, quite certain someone had been hiding in the shadows by the house and was now following him.
‘I was only doing my duty,’ he muttered. ‘It wasn’t my fault. She was the one who wanted it. You won’t catch me out – you’ve got the wrong man!’
Varvara was still awake when he returned and a pack of cards lay spread out before her. Peredonov thought that someone might have slipped in unseen when he entered the house. Or perhaps Varvara herself had let the enemy in. He said, ‘Once I’m in bed you’ll start practising witchcraft with those cards. Let me have them, I don’t want you casting a spell over me.’
He snatched the cards and hid them under his pillow. Varvara grinned and said, ‘Stop making a fool of yourself. As if I could practise witchcraft – and as if I’d want to!’
Peredonov was both frightened and annoyed to see her grinning: that meant she didn’t need cards to bewitch him. And there was the cat crouching under the bed, its green eyes glinting in the darkness – she could easily bewitch him by stroking sparks from its fur. And there was the little demon again, darting about under the chest of drawers – perhaps she was summoning it at night with her whistle-like snoring?
That night Peredonov had a terrible, vile dream: Pylnikov came and stood by the door, beckoning and smiling. Peredonov was mysteriously compelled to follow him through the dark muddy streets while the cat, its evil eyes glinting, ran at his feet.*
NINETEEN
Each day Khripach became increasingly perturbed by Peredonov’s weird behaviour. He c
onsulted the school doctor as to whether Peredonov had gone out of his mind. The doctor laughed and replied that Peredonov had no mind to go out of and that he was acting strangely because he was such a stupid man. Many complaints had been coming in. The first was from Miss Adamenko, who sent him her brother’s exercise book: he had been given a very low mark for perfectly good work.
During one of the breaks the headmaster sent for Peredonov. Yes, he really does look like a madman, thought Khripach when he saw the turmoil and terror on Peredonov’s dull, miserable face.
‘I’ve a bone to pick with you,’ Khripach said in his dry patter. ‘Every time I take a class in the room next to yours my head literally splits from all that laughter in your room. May I request you to make your lessons a little less light-hearted? “Joking, always joking – how can you bear it?” ’*
‘It’s not my fault if they laugh,’ Peredonov said angrily. ‘One can’t always keep on about spelling or analyse the satires of Kantemir.† Sometimes you only have to say something and immediately they collapse with laughter. They’re very lax and really need taking in hand.’
‘It’s desirable, in fact even necessary, that classwork should be conducted in a serious manner,’ Khripach said. ‘And there’s another thing.’ He showed Peredonov two exercise books. ‘They’re in your subject. One is Adamenko’s, the other is my son’s. They’re both in the same class. I’ve carefully compared them and am obliged to say that you are not giving your work the attention it deserves. Adamenko’s last piece of written work, which was excellent, is given the very low mark of one, while my own son gets a four for poor work. It’s obvious you’ve given them each other’s marks. Although to err is human, I must ask you to avoid such mistakes in future. Such slipshod marking arouses deep discontent among parents and pupils – and rightly so.’
Peredonov muttered some inaudible reply.
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