The Little Demon

by Fyodor Sologub

  In the classroom he embarked on a ruthless campaign of teasing those small boys who had recently been the victims of his complaints: this he did out of sheer spite. Kramarenko was particularly singled out for attack. The boy would say nothing, turn pale under his deep suntan and his eyes would flash.

  That day, after lessons, Kramarenko did not hurry home, but stood by the school gates. He waited until Peredonov came out and then started following him, keeping a short distance behind, waiting until the few passers-by had gone. Peredonov walked slowly. He was depressed by the miserable weather. Over the past few days his expression had become even more blank and stupid. His gaze seemed to be fixed on some distant object, or strangely wandering, and in his eyes everything appeared double, blurred and confused.

  Who was he trying to see? Obviously, informers. They were hiding everywhere, laughing and whispering to each other. His enemies had dispatched a whole army of them against him. Sometimes he tried to surprise them, but they were always too quick for him and disappeared just as if the earth had swallowed them up …

  Peredonov heard quick determined footsteps behind him along the pavement and turned round in terror – Kramarenko was gaining on him and looking at him determinedly and malevolently with his burning eyes. He resembled some small, pale, ineffectual warrior about to attack his enemy. The way he looked frightened Peredonov. What if he suddenly bites me, thought Peredonov. He quickened his pace, but Kramarenko kept up. Peredonov stopped and angrily shouted, ‘Who the hell do you think you’re following around, you filthy guttersnipe? I’ll take you straight to your father if you don’t clear off!’

  Kramarenko stopped too and continued to stare at Peredonov. They were now standing face to face on a loose wooden pavement in a deserted street, near a grey, blank-looking fence.

  Quivering all over, Kramarenko hissed, ‘You bastard!’ He laughed and turned to go, but after three steps he turned round again and shouted even louder, ‘What a bastard! Reptile!’

  He spat and went off. Peredonov watched him with gloomy eyes and turned towards home, his head swimming with vague, uneasy thoughts.

  Vershina called out to him. She was standing, as usual, by her garden gate, wrapped in a large black shawl and smoking. Peredonov didn’t at first answer her – she seemed sinister, like a black sorceress blowing magic smoke to bewitch him. He spat, muttering a charm. Vershina laughed and asked, ‘What’s wrong, Ardalyon?’

  Peredonov looked at her blankly and said, ‘Oh, it’s you! I didn’t recognize you.’

  ‘That’s a good sign,’ said Vershina. ‘It means I’ll soon be rich.’

  This did not please Peredonov at all: he wanted to be rich himself. ‘Why do you want to be rich? You should be satisfied with what you’ve got.’

  ‘But I’m going to win twenty thousand roubles in the lottery,’ Vershina said with her wry smile.

  ‘How can you? I’m going to win, not you,’ he argued.

  ‘I’ll win in one draw and you in the other.’

  ‘Rubbish. You never have two wins in the same town. I tell you, I’m going to win.’

  Vershina noticed his increasing anger so she decided to end the argument. Opening the gate, she tried to lure him into the garden.

  ‘Why are we standing here?’ she said. ‘Please come in, Murin’s here.’

  This name he associated with what was highly agreeable – food and drink – so he went in.

  In the drawing-room, which was darkened by the trees outside, were a radiant Marta, with a red sash and a silk scarf around her neck, Murin, looking more dishevelled than ever and particularly pleased for some reason, and a sixth-former, Vitkevich, who was pursuing Vershina and who thought that she was in love with him. He dreamed of leaving school, marrying Vershina and managing her estate.

  Murin rose to greet Peredonov with an exaggerated show of pleasure. His eyes glistened and his face took on an even more sickly expression, none of which went with his sturdy figure and his tousled hair, which harboured a few wisps of hay.

  ‘I’m here on business,’ Murin said in a loud husky voice. ‘I have business everywhere. This time I’m lucky, as these charming ladies are spoiling me with tea.’

  ‘I never knew you had any business!’ Peredonov angrily replied. ‘You have money, but you don’t work for it. I’m the one who’s here on business.’

  ‘Well, all business boils down to getting hold of other people’s money!’ Murin retorted with a loud laugh.

  Vershina slyly smiled and seated Peredonov at the table. On a small round table were glasses of rum, cups of tea and blackberry jam, as well as a filigree silver dish covered with a knitted doily and piled high with teacakes and home-made almond cakes.

  Murin’s glass smelled strongly of rum and Vitkevich had heaped a great deal of jam on his oyster-shaped glass plate. Marta, with undisguised pleasure, was consuming dainty slices of teacake. Vershina offered Peredonov something – he refused the tea. It might be poisoned, he thought. Poisoning’s the easiest thing in the world. You can drink and not notice a thing, because poison can taste sweet. I’d just go home and turn up my toes.

  He was annoyed that they had brought Murin some of their best conserves and that they hadn’t offered him any of the better jam. After all, they had other kinds besides bramble jelly.*

  And Vershina was paying Murin a lot of attention. Realizing that there was very little hope with Peredonov, she was looking somewhere else for a husband for Marta. Now she was trying to lure Murin. This landowner, who had grown completely out of touch with society as a result of his pursuit of hard-earned profit, rose eagerly to the bait. He liked Marta very much. Marta was glad, for she constantly dreamed of settling down with a nice husband and having a good home – then her cup would be full. She looked at Murin with love in her eyes and that huge man, past forty and coarse-featured, with his gruff voice and simple face, seemed to her in every way the very paragon of vigorous manhood, of youth, beauty and goodness.

  The loving glances exchanged between the two did not escape Peredonov – he was expecting Marta to admire him instead. In an angry voice he told Murin, ‘Just like a fiancé you are, sitting there with that blissful look on your face.’

  ‘It’s because I’m so pleased,’ Murin replied in an excited, cheerful voice. ‘I’ve managed everything very nicely.’

  He winked at the ladies. They both smiled in turn. Peredonov scornfully screwed up his eyes and asked crossly, ‘So you’ve found yourself a wife, have you? I suppose there’s a large dowry?’

  Murin continued as if he hadn’t heard. ‘Dear Natalya Vershina, God bless her, has agreed to take care of my Vanyusha. He’ll be living in clover here. And I shan’t have to worry about him being spoiled.’

  ‘He and Vladya will start fooling around together,’ Peredonov said dolefully. ‘They’ll both burn the house down.’

  ‘Vanyusha wouldn’t dare!’ Murin cried with conviction. ‘You need have no worries on that score, my dear Natalya. He’ll be at your beck and call.’

  Vershina thought it was time to put an end to this conversation and said, ‘I fancy something sourish.’

  ‘Would you like some bilberries and apples? I’ll fetch some,’ Marta said, quickly getting up.

  Marta hurried out of the room. Vershina didn’t even give her so much as a look: she took her services for granted, as if it were her due. She settled herself comfortably on the sofa, puffed blue clouds of smoke and compared the two men who were talking: Peredonov, dull and angry, Murin cheerful and lively.

  Of the two she far preferred Murin. He had a kind, good-natured face, whereas Peredonov was incapable of smiling. Murin pleased her in every way. He was big, fat, attractive, gently spoken and was very polite to her. At times Vershina even thought she might try and arrange things so that he became engaged to herself, not Marta. But she always ended by magnanimously surrendering him to Marta. Anyone would marry me for my money, she thought, so I can take my pick. That schoolboy for instance. And she found it pleasant looking
at his impudent yet handsome face. Vitkevich, who said little and ate a lot, kept cheekily smiling at her.

  Marta brought the bilberries and apples in an earthenware dish and started telling them about last night’s dream. She was a bridesmaid at a wedding and was eating pineapple and pancakes with honey. In one of the pancakes she found a hundred-rouble note, which someone snatched from her, making her burst into tears, and when she woke up she was crying.

  ‘You should have quietly hidden it so no one noticed,’ Peredonov said indignantly. ‘If you can’t look after your money in your dreams what good would you be as a housewife!’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t be upset about the money,’ Vershina said. ‘You see all sorts of things in dreams.’

  ‘But I am upset about losing it, terribly upset,’ Marta said ingenuously. ‘A hundred roubles!’ Tears welled up in her eyes and she forced herself to laugh in order not to cry.

  Murin fussed about in his pocket and produced a wallet. ‘Now don’t you upset yourself, Marta dear! We’ll soon put things right.’

  He took out a hundred-rouble note, put it on the table in front of Marta, slapped his fist on it and said, ‘Please take it. No one’s going to take it away from you now!’

  Marta was about to rejoice when she blushed deeply and replied in an embarrassed voice, ‘Oh, Mr Murin! How could I accept it! What are you thinking of? Really!’

  ‘Well, if you don’t, I’ll be most offended,’ Murin said. He laughed softly and left the money where it was. ‘Just to show you that dreams can come true!’

  ‘No, I really can’t. Not for anything. I feel quite ashamed,’ she replied, looking hungrily at the bright green note.

  ‘Why are you so stubborn,’ said Vitkevich, ‘if someone’s giving you it? Some people are just born lucky,’ he added with an envious sigh.

  Murin stood in front of Marta and said persuasively, ‘My dear Marta, believe me! I mean it with all my heart. Please take it. And if you don’t want it for nothing, we can say it’s for looking after my Vanyusha. That’s what we agreed upon, Natalya Vershina and I … for looking after him.’

  ‘But it’s far too much,’ Marta said hesitantly.

  ‘It’s for the first six months,’ Murin said, bowing low to Marta. ‘I shall be offended if you refuse it. Now take it and be like a second sister to my Vanyusha.’

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Vershina said. ‘Take it and thank Mr Murin.’

  Coyly and joyfully blushing, Marta took the money. Murin began thanking her profusely.

  ‘You’d better get married now, it will be cheaper in the long run,’ Peredonov said venomously. ‘Just listen to him gushing!’

  Vitkevich laughed but the others pretended not to hear. Vershina started telling them about her dream, but Peredonov didn’t want to hear and got up to leave. Murin invited him round for dinner.

  ‘No, I must go to evening service,’ Peredonov said.

  ‘Since when have you been such an ardent churchgoer?’ Vershina asked mockingly.

  ‘I’ve always gone to church!’ he replied. ‘I believe in God, not like some others I know. I think I’m the only one in the school who does. That’s why I’m persecuted. The headmaster’s an atheist.’

  ‘Well, just tell me when you’re free,’ said Murin.

  Peredonov angrily crumpled his hat and replied, ‘I’ve no time for social visits.’ But then he suddenly remembered that Murin was the most liberal of hosts. ‘Well, I could come on Monday,’ he said.

  Murin was delighted and wanted Vershina and Marta to come too. Peredonov, however, didn’t give them time to answer and said, ‘We don’t need any ladies. If we get tipsy one of us might blurt out something that should have been censored!’

  When Peredonov left, Vershina grinned and said, ‘Mr Peredonov’s been behaving most peculiarly. There’s nothing he wants more than to be made an inspector, but Varvara’s probably stringing him along. That would explain his odd behaviour.’

  Vladya, who had been hiding while Peredonov was there, came into the room and said with a spiteful snigger, ‘Someone’s told the locksmith’s sons that it was Peredonov who gave them away.’

  ‘They’ll break his windows!’ Vitkevich exclaimed with a happy laugh.

  Everything outside struck Peredonov as hostile and malevolent. A ram standing at the crossroads blankly looked at him. It resembled Volodin so much that Peredonov was frightened. He thought that Volodin had perhaps turned into one so he could follow him around without arousing suspicion. How do we know? he wondered. It might well be possible. Science hasn’t managed it up to now, but perhaps there’s someone who does know. Take the French. They’re a learned lot and there’re a lot of sorcerers and magicians in Paris at the moment. And he began to feel terrified. That ram could give me a nasty kick, he thought.

  The ram bleated and it sounded just like Volodin’s laugh – sharp, piercing, unpleasant.

  Then he met Rubovsky the police officer again. He went up to him and whispered, ‘Miss Adamenko needs watching. She’s corresponding with Socialists and I do believe she’s one herself.’

  Rubovsky looked at him in mute astonishment. Peredonov walked on and the perplexing thought crossed his mind, Why do I keep bumping into him? He must be investigating me and he’s stationed constables everywhere to keep an eye on me.

  The muddy streets, the overcast sky, the wretched little houses, the sluggish, ragged children, all combined to produce an impression of dreariness, squalor and hopeless melancholy. This is a wicked town, he thought. Everyone in it is evil and rotten. I’d better get out of it as soon as possible. At least in other towns all the teachers would bow low and the boys would tremble and whisper, ‘The inspector’s coming!’ Yes, officials have a better time of it altogether in this world! ‘Inspector of the second district of Ruban,’ Peredonov muttered to himself. ‘His Excellency, Peredonov. That will be my title. Do you know who you’re talking to? His Excellency, Ardalyon Peredonov, head of the national schools of Ruban Province, councillor of State! Hats off there! You’d better resign! Clear off! I’ll make it hot for you!’

  His face took on an arrogant look; his meagre imagination had for once conjured up an illusory sense of power.

  When Peredonov arrived home he was greeted by high-pitched noises from the direction of the dining-room as he was still taking off his coat.

  It was Volodin laughing. His heart sank. He’s managed to get here before me, he thought. Perhaps he and Varvara are conspiring to make a fool of me. That’s why he’s laughing – he’s glad Varvara’s on his side.

  Spiteful and depressed, he went into the dining-room where the table was already laid for dinner. Varvara met Peredonov with a worried look. ‘Ardalyon!’ she exclaimed. ‘What do you think has happened? The cat’s run away!’

  ‘Well, why did you let it out?’ Peredonov cried in horror.

  ‘You didn’t expect me to sew it by the tail to my apron, did you?’ Varvara said indignantly. Volodin sniggered. Peredonov was sure that the cat had gone straight to the police station to purr out to the police everything it knew about him, where and why he went out at night. It would reveal all it knew about him – and might even tell them things that never even happened! This was really something to worry about! Peredonov sat at the table, his head bowed, crumpling up the end of the tablecloth and immersed in depressing thoughts.

  ‘Cats always return to their old home,’ said Volodin. ‘They get used to a house, but not to their master. You should always make a cat dizzy before you take it to a new house. But you mustn’t let it see the way, otherwise it’s bound to run away.’

  Peredonov was somewhat consoled by this. ‘So you think he’s gone back to the old flat, Pavlusha?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s no doubt about it, Ardalyon.’

  Peredonov stood up and shouted, ‘What do you say to a drink, Pavlusha?’

  Volodin chuckled. ‘That’s something I never say no to!’

  ‘But we must get the cat back,’ Peredonov decid
ed.

  ‘Such a little treasure!’ Varvara said with a smirk. ‘I’ll send Claudia to look for it after dinner.’

  They sat down to eat. Volodin was in a good mood and talked and laughed a great deal. To Peredonov his laughter sounded just like that bleating ram in the street. What’s he cooking up now, I wonder? What does he want from me? he thought.

  He felt that he might be able to win him over to his side, so he said, ‘Listen, Pavlusha. If you don’t do me any harm I’ll buy you a pound of the best-quality fruit drops every week. You can suck them to your heart’s content.’

  Volodin laughed, but then he looked quite offended and said, ‘I would never do you any harm, Ardalyon. But I don’t want any fruit drops because I don’t like them.’

  Peredonov looked glum. Varvara grinned and said, ‘Stop being so stupid, Ardalyon. Why should he want to hurt you?’

  ‘Any fool can play all sorts of dirty tricks,’ he replied mournfully.

  Volodin took great offence at this, puffed out his lips, shook his head and said, ‘If that’s your considered opinion, Ardalyon, then all I can say is thank you very much! What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to take it, in what sense?’

  ‘Have some vodka, Pavlusha, and pour me some,’ Peredonov said.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of him, Pavel,’ Varvara said consolingly. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.’

  Volodin didn’t reply and, still looking offended, began pouring out the vodka from the decanter. Varvara grinned and asked Peredonov, ‘How come you’re not scared of accepting a drink from him? It’s possible he’s cast a spell over it – just look how he’s twitching his lips.’

  A look of horror appeared on Peredonov’s face. He seized the glass and threw its contents on to the floor. Then he recited: ‘Keep away, keep away! A curse on the plotter, may the evil tongue wither, may the evil eye burst! Sudden death to him. Keep away, keep away!’ Then he turned to Volodin with a bitter look, stuck out a finger and said, ‘That’s for you! You’ll get nothing out of me. You may be clever, but I’m even cleverer.’