The Little Demon

by Fyodor Sologub

  Varvara laughed and Volodin said in a high-pitched, hurt voice, just as if he were bleating, ‘You’re the one, Ardalyon, who knows all the magic words and how to recite them. As for me, I’ve never dabbled in black magic. But I never cast a spell on your vodka – nor would I on anything else. Perhaps you’ve been spiriting prospective brides away from me!’

  ‘That’s going too far!’ Peredonov said furiously. ‘I don’t want your women, I can get far better ones any time.’

  ‘You cast a spell on my eye to make it burst,’ Volodin said, ‘but mind your spectacles don’t shatter first!’

  Peredonov grabbed his spectacles in fright. ‘What are you blabbering about now? I think your tongue’s run away with you,’ he said.

  Varvara looked anxiously at Volodin and retorted angrily, ‘Don’t be so nasty, Pavel. Eat your soup or it will get cold. Oh, you’re so spiteful!’ She thought that Peredonov had perhaps recited the charm just in time.

  Volodin started eating his soup. All were silent until Volodin said in an injured voice, ‘It was no coincidence that I dreamed last night I was being smeared with honey. You were the one who was doing the smearing, Ardalyon.’

  ‘And I’d be surprised if you didn’t need smearing,’ Varvara said angrily.

  ‘What for? Please tell me. I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve that,’ said Volodin.

  ‘Because you’ve a foul tongue,’ explained Varvara. ‘One shouldn’t go around blabbering the first thing that comes into one’s head – there’s a time and place for everything.’*

  TWENTY

  In the evening Peredonov went to the club, where he had been invited to a game of cards. Peredonov was terrified when he saw Gudayevsky was there. But the notary didn’t make any trouble and Peredonov was able to relax.

  Peredonov and company played for a long time and drank a lot. Towards midnight, while they were at the buffet, Gudayevsky suddenly went over to Peredonov and without any explanation struck him several times on the face, breaking his spectacles, and then disappeared. Peredonov offered no resistance and, pretending he was drunk, fell on to the floor and started snoring. The others gave him a rough shaking and took him home.

  Next day the whole town was talking about the incident. That same evening Varvara succeeded in stealing the first of the forged letters from Peredonov. It was essential for her to have it, as Grushina had insisted, in case Peredonov found it and later compared it with the other one. Peredonov always carried the letter with him, but on this occasion happened to leave it at home. When he changed into his frock-coat he had taken it out of his pocket, put it under a textbook in the chest of drawers and immediately forgotten all about it. Varvara soon found it and burned it over a candle at Grushina’s.

  When Peredonov returned late that night and Varvara saw his broken spectacles, he told her that they had broken of their own accord. She believed him and decided that Volodin’s evil tongue was to blame. Peredonov believed this too. However, on the following day, Grushina told her about the incident at the club, down to the last detail.

  It was in the morning, when he was getting dressed, that Peredonov first missed the letter. He couldn’t find it anywhere and he was terrified.

  ‘Varvara! Where’s the letter?’ he wildly shouted.

  Varvara didn’t know what to say. ‘What letter?’ she asked, looking at Peredonov with frightened, evil eyes.

  ‘The one from the princess!’ he shouted.

  Varvara somehow pulled herself together and said with a brazen smile, ‘How do I know where it is? You must have thrown it in the waste-paper bin, or Claudia might have burned it. Have another look in your room, it might still be there.’

  Peredonov went to school in a gloomy frame of mind. He remembered yesterday’s unpleasant events. How dare that guttersnipe Kramarenko call him a bastard! Obviously Kramarenko wasn’t afraid of him. Did he know something? Perhaps he did and was going to report him to the police!

  In class Kramarenko stared fixedly at him and smiled, which frightened Peredonov even more.

  During the third break the headmaster asked to see Peredonov. He went to his study, vaguely anticipating something highly unpleasant.

  Khripach had been hearing stories of Peredonov’s behaviour from all over town and that same morning had been informed of yesterday’s incident at the club. The previous day, after school, Volodya Bultyakov, recently punished by his landlady at Peredonov’s instigation, had come to see him. The boy feared a second visit, so he complained to the headmaster.

  In his dry, sharp voice, Khripach repeated what he had heard, adding that all the reports were from reliable sources. According to them, Peredonov had been going round to the boys’ lodgings, giving false information about their conduct and their progress to their parents or tutors, demanding that they be severely beaten. Naturally, this had given rise to much unpleasantness with the parents, as last night’s incident at the club all too clearly showed.

  Peredonov listened indignantly but apprehensively. When Khripach had finished he said angrily, ‘A fine state of affairs, I must say! He started fighting – surely you can’t condone that sort of behaviour. He had no right to sock me on the jaw. He doesn’t go to church and he believes in the apes. What’s more, he’s teaching his son the same heathen religion. And he should be reported to the police for being a Socialist.’

  Khripach looked at Peredonov closely and said in a tone of reprimand, ‘That doesn’t concern me, and I really don’t know what you mean by that most original expression “believes in apes”. It’s my considered opinion there’s no need to enrich the history of religion with any newly invented ones. As for the insult you suffered, you should have taken Gudayevsky to court. However, I consider the best course of action for you is to leave this school altogether. It would be the best solution both for yourself and for the school.’

  ‘But I’m going to be appointed inspector,’ Peredonov angrily protested.

  Khripach continued, ‘Until that time I must ask you to refrain from making these odd perambulations. You must agree that such conduct is unbecoming to a teacher and diminishes his dignity in the eyes of his pupils. Is it right for a teacher to go round to the boys’ lodgings and not be satisfied until they are flogged … ?’ Khripach didn’t finish and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘But it was for their own good—’ protested Peredonov.

  ‘Please don’t let’s start an argument,’ Khripach brusquely interrupted. ‘I must have your solemn assurance that this sort of thing is not repeated.’

  Peredonov simply glared at the headmaster.

  In the evening Varvara and Peredonov decided to give a housewarming party, to which they invited all their friends. Before the party began, Peredonov went through all the rooms to ensure everything was in order and that nothing incriminating had been left lying about. Everything seems all right, he thought. No banned books, the icon lamps are lit, the tsars’ portraits are in the place of honour on the wall.

  Suddenly, Mickiewicz winked at Peredonov from the wall.

  He could put me in a spot, he thought apprehensively. So he quickly removed the portrait and hung it in the toilet, putting Pushkin in its place. After all, Pushkin was a courtier, he reflected as he hung him in the dining-room.

  Then he remembered that in the evening they would be playing cards. So he decided to inspect them first. He took an unsealed pack, which had only been used once, and started to examine each card as if he expected to find something. He didn’t like the court cards’ faces at all – they had such big eyes! Recently, when they’d been playing, the cards seemed to be grinning just like Varvara. Even the humble six of spades had taken on an insolent look and was wiggling about indecently.

  Peredonov collected all the cards and with a sharp pair of scissors poked out the eyes of the kings, queens and jacks so that they couldn’t spy on him anymore. At first he did this to all the used cards, then he opened new packs and mutilated them too. All the time he was doing this he kept looking round,
fearing someone might come in and catch him. Luckily Varvara was busy in the kitchen: he knew that she would never leave Claudia alone with all that food; the moment she was gone Claudia would help herself. So whenever Varvara needed something she sent Claudia for it, and every time she came in Peredonov trembled, hurriedly stuffed the scissors into his pocket and pretended to be playing patience.

  While Peredonov was thus depriving the kings and queens of the ability to annoy him with their spying, something unexpectedly unpleasant was creeping up on him from another direction. The hat that he had thrown on to the top of the stove in the other flat had been found by Yershova. She was convinced that it hadn’t simply been forgotten, but had been left there on purpose by her former tenants (who had good reason to wish her harm), and it was highly likely that it bore a curse which would stop anyone else taking the flat. Terrified and infuriated, she took the hat to a friend who practised black magic and who, after inspecting it, whispered something very mysterious over it and spat on the corners. ‘They’ve played a dirty trick on you and now we can give them a taste of their own medicine. That sorcerer was a powerful one, but I can make an even stronger spell that will have him in convulsions.’

  She continued muttering incantations over the offending hat and, when Yershova had paid her very generously, told her to give the hat to the first redheaded boy she came across and ask him to take it to Peredonov’s, where he was to give it to the first person he saw there and then run off without looking back.

  It so happened that the first redheaded boy she met was one of the locksmith’s sons, who had good reason for wanting to get even with Peredonov for giving him away to the police. He was only too willing to oblige for five copecks, and on the way to the house he heartily spat on the hat of his own accord. Meeting Varvara herself in the dim hall, he shoved it into her hands and disappeared so smartly she had no time to see who it was. Peredonov had just managed to blind the last jack when Varvara rushed into the room in a terrible state. Her voice shook as she told him, ‘Look at this, Ardalyon!’

  Peredonov looked and almost dropped from fright. The hat he thought he had got rid of once and for all was now in Varvara’s hands, crumpled, dusty and with scarcely a trace of its former grandeur. ‘Where did you find it?’ he asked, breathless with horror.

  In a trembling voice Varvara proceeded to tell him how she had received the hat from a fleet-footed boy, who seemed to have sprung out of the earth right in front of her, only to be swallowed up again. ‘It looks like Yershova’s work,’ she said. ‘If I know her, she’s put a curse on it, that’s for certain.’

  Peredonov muttered something unintelligible and his teeth chattered from fear. Once again dark misgivings and forebodings took possession of him. He walked up and down, frowning, while the little grey demon ran about under the chairs and tittered.

  The guests arrived early. They brought a large quantity of pies, apples and pears. Varvara eagerly took the presents and for politeness’ sake said, ‘Oh, you didn’t have to! You really shouldn’t have bothered!’ But she became very angry if anyone brought some cheap rubbish; nor did she like it if two guests brought the same present.

  Without wasting any time they sat down to play whist, at two tables.

  ‘Dear me!’ exclaimed Grushina. ‘My king’s blind!’

  ‘And my queen hasn’t any eyes either!’ Mrs Prepolovensky said as she peered at her cards. ‘Nor has the jack.’

  Everyone laughed and looked to see if their cards had suffered the same treatment. Mr Prepolovensky said, ‘Yes, when I felt my cards I thought they were rough – and this is the reason. I kept running my hand over them and thought how rough the backs were. Yes, they kept catching on each other because of the holes. It’s these little holes that are to blame.’

  Everyone was amused at this, except Peredonov, who was his usual gloomy self. Varvara smiled and said, ‘You know how my Ardalyon likes playing tricks. He’s always thinking up something new.’

  ‘Why on earth did you do it?’ Rutilov asked with a mighty guffaw.

  ‘What do they need eyes for? They don’t need to see, do they?’ Peredonov said mournfully.

  Everyone roared, with the exception again of Peredonov, who remained morose and silent. He thought that the blinded cards were making faces at him, grinning and winking with the gaping holes where once there had been eyes. Perhaps they’ve discovered a way of seeing with their noses? Peredonov wondered.

  He lost, as usual, and he thought the expressions on the faces of the court cards were particularly mocking and malevolent. The queen of spades gnashed her teeth, evidently furious at losing her eyesight.

  Finally, after having to pay a very large forfeit, Peredonov seized the pack and savagely tore it to shreds. Everyone roared with laughter.

  Varvara grinned and said, ‘He always acts strangely when he’s had a drop.’

  ‘You mean when he’s drunk,’ Mrs Prepolovensky said viciously. ‘Have you heard, Mr Peredonov, what your “cousin” really thinks of you?’

  Varvara flushed and retorted, ‘Why do you distort everything I say?’

  Mrs Prepolovensky smiled and didn’t reply.

  The torn pack was replaced with a new one and the game went on.

  Suddenly there was a terrific crash and a large stone came sailing through the window and landed near the table where Peredonov was sitting. Someone was heard to whisper and laugh under the window – then followed the sound of fast-receding footsteps. Everyone jumped up in panic. As usual the women screamed. Someone picked the stone up and examined it with trepidation. No one dared to go up to the window. First they sent Claudia out into the street and only when she had seen that the street was empty did the guests begin to inspect the damage. Volodin concluded that the stone had been thrown by boys from the school. This seemed a likely guess and everyone looked at Peredonov as if expecting an explanation. Peredonov frowned and muttered something unintelligible. The guests started complaining that schoolboys were impudent and corrupt. Of course, it wasn’t boys from the school, but the locksmith’s sons.

  ‘The headmaster’s put them up to it,’ Peredonov suddenly announced. ‘He’s always picking on me. He doesn’t know what to torment me with next, so he’s thought of this.’

  ‘And a nice little trick too!’ Rutilov said, roaring with laughter.

  Everyone laughed, except Grushina, who said, ‘What do you expect from that nasty Khripach. He’s capable of anything. He doesn’t do anything himself, but lets his sons do his dirty work for him.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem to mean a thing that they’re aristocrats,’ Volodin bleated. ‘You can expect anything from that lot!’

  Many of the guests thought that perhaps he was right and stopped laughing.

  ‘You seem to be having bad luck with your glass, Ardalyon,’ said Rutilov. ‘First your spectacles were smashed and now your window.’

  This produced another outburst of laughter.

  ‘Broken windows mean long life,’ Mrs Prepolovensky said with a suppressed smile.

  When Peredonov and Varvara went to bed, Peredonov thought that Varvara had something nasty in mind, so he took all the knives and forks and hid them under the bed.

  ‘I know you too well,’ he muttered in a faltering voice. ‘Once we’re married you’ll report me to the police, just to get rid of me. You’ll get a pension and I’ll be working the treadmill in the Petropavlovsk prison.’

  That night Peredonov was delirious. Obscure, terrifying shapes silently walked up and down; kings and jacks waved their sceptres. They whispered to each other, tried to hide from Peredonov and crawled towards him under the pillow. But soon they grew more daring and began running and bustling around everywhere – along the floor, up and down the bed, over the pillows. They kept whispering and teasing Peredonov, poking their tongues out, pulling horrible faces and twisting their mouths into ugly grimaces. Peredonov could see that they were small and playful, that they were not going to kill him, but were only mocking him and warning him
of some imminent disaster. All the same, he was terrified and first muttered incantations, parts of spells he had heard in his childhood, and then he cursed them and tried to drive them away by waving his arms and shouting hoarsely.

  Varvara woke up and angrily asked, ‘What are you yelling about, Ardalyon? You won’t let anyone sleep in this house.’

  ‘The queen of spades keeps sneaking up on me underneath the mattress cover.’

  Varvara got up, grumbling and cursing as she tried to calm him down with some kind of drops.

  In the local paper there appeared a brief article about how, apparently in our town, a certain Mrs K. had taken to whipping schoolboy lodgers, sons of the best local families. Gudayevsky the notary was highly indignant and spread the news all over town.

  And various other absurd rumours about the local high school were doing the rounds. There was talk of a girl disguised as a schoolboy, and then Pylnikov’s name gradually came to be associated with Lyudmila’s. Sasha’s schoolfriends began to tease him for being in love with Lyudmila. At first he didn’t take their little jokes seriously, but then he would occasionally flare up and defend Lyudmila, assuring his friends that nothing of the kind had happened in the past, nor was it the case now.

  And as a result he began to feel ashamed of visiting Lyudmila, yet the urge to go became even stronger. Confused, agonizing feelings of shame and attraction disturbed him and fed his imagination with vaguely erotic visions.

  TWENTY-ONE

  On Sunday, when Peredonov and Varvara were having lunch, someone entered the hall. In her usual stealthy way Varvara crept up to the door and just as quietly returned.

  ‘It’s the postman. We ought to give him some vodka – he’s brought another letter.’

  Peredonov nodded – he wasn’t mean enough to grudge anyone a small drop of vodka.

  ‘Postman, come in!’ Varvara shouted.

  The postman came into the dining-room, ferreted about in his bag and pretended to be looking for a letter. Varvara poured him a large glass of vodka and cut him a thick slice of pie. The postman watched her with lustful eyes. Meanwhile Peredonov was wondering who he reminded him of. Finally he remembered – surely he was that redheaded pimply jack of hearts who’d tricked him into paying such a large forfeit just recently? And he’ll do it again if I’m not careful, Peredonov wearily thought and secretly cocked a snook at him.