‘We should have bought some earlier,’ he growled. ‘You never think of anything.’
‘And what man wears corsets?’ Varvara retorted. ‘Tell me that.’
‘Veriga does.’
‘But he’s an old man, and you’re in your prime, thank God.’
Peredonov looked into the mirror with a self-satisfied smile and said, ‘I dare say I’ll live another hundred and fifty years.’
At that moment the cat sneezed under the bed. Varvara grinned and said, ‘That means it’s going to come true.’
But Peredonov frowned. The cat aroused nothing but fear in him, and its sneeze was part of some evil, cunning trick. It might sneeze something it shouldn’t! he thought and got under the bed to try and chase it out. The terrified animal mewed wildly, pressed back against the wall and suddenly, with a loud, piercing mew, darted between his hands and escaped from the room.
‘A Chinese devil!’ Peredonov swore angrily.
‘Yes, it’s a devil, all right,’ Varvara agreed. ‘It’s really gone wild and never lets you stroke it. I’m sure it’s got a devil inside.’
Early that morning the Prepolovenskys sent for the bridesmen. By ten o’clock everyone had assembled at Peredonov’s. Grushina came with Sofya and her husband. The guests were served vodka and savouries. Peredonov ate very little and worried about how best to distinguish himself from Volodin. He’s got curly hair, just like a sheep, he thought malevolently and suddenly realized that he too could have a special hairstyle. He rose from the table and said, ‘Please carry on eating and drinking. I don’t mind how much. I’m off to the barber’s for a Spanish hairdo.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Rutilov.
‘Wait and see.’
When Peredonov had gone, Varvara said, ‘He’s been acting very strangely lately. Says he keeps on seeing devils. That’s what comes of drinking all that cheap brandy, the old soak!’
‘Once you’re married and Mr Peredonov’s an inspector he’ll calm down,’ Mrs Prepolovensky said with a cunning smile.
Grushina giggled. The secrecy of the marriage amused her and she felt a keen desire to throw a small spanner into the works without being implicated herself. On the evening before the wedding she had furtively told some of her friends the time and place of the wedding. Early next morning she bribed the locksmith’s younger son with five copecks to wait outside the town, just where the newly-weds would pass, and tip some refuse over their heads. The boy was only too pleased to oblige and gave his solemn promise not to tell a soul. ‘Don’t forget how you betrayed Cherepnin the moment they started whipping you,’ Grushina reminded him.
‘We were fools then,’ the locksmith’s son replied. ‘They’d have to put us on the gallows now to get anything out of us.’ And to confirm his oath he ate a handful of earth, for which noble act Grushina gave him another three copecks.
At the barber’s Peredonov insisted on having his hair cut by none other than the proprietor himself. A young man, who had just finished his training and who now and then borrowed books from the district library, he was just putting the finishing touches to a local squire whom Peredonov didn’t know. The barber soon finished and went over to Peredonov.
‘Wait until he’s gone,’ Peredonov said angrily.
When the squire had paid and left Peredonov sat down in front of the mirror. ‘I want an extra-special haircut, in the Spanish style,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something very important on today.’
The barber’s young assistant, who was standing at the door, snorted with laughter and the barber looked daggers at him. He had never been asked to do a Spanish haircut. He had no idea what it could be and doubted whether there was such a style. But the customer knew best and had to have what he asked for. As he didn’t wish to display his ignorance the barber politely said, ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible with your hair, sir.’
‘Why is that?’ asked Peredonov, taking offence.
‘Your hair is in a very poor condition, sir,’ explained the barber. ‘Very poorly nourished.’
‘Do you expect me to pour beer over it?’ growled Peredonov.
‘No, sir!’ laughed the barber, smiling amiably, ‘not beer! But you must understand that your hair’s too thin for a Spanish haircut.’
Peredonov felt quite shattered at the impossibility of a Spanish haircut. ‘Well, cut it as you like,’ he said dejectedly. I bet this barber has been bribed not to give me a special haircut. I shouldn’t have said anything at home. Obviously, while he was on his way to the barber’s, walking solemnly and sedately down the street, Volodin had sneaked round by the back, like a little sheep, and conspired with the barber.
‘Some spray, sir?’ the barber asked when he’d finished.
‘Yes, mignonette, and don’t be mean with it. Since you’ve cropped me any old how you could at least smarten it up with mignonette.’
‘I’m very sorry, sir, but we don’t have any mignonette,’ the barber said in an embarrassed voice. ‘Would you like opoponax?’
‘You can’t do anything right!’ Peredonov said dolefully. ‘Yes, hurry up and spray me with whatever you’ve got.’
Peredonov returned in a terrible temper. It was a windy day. Gates banged everywhere and seemed to be laughing and yawning. Peredonov looked at them dejectedly. How could he face the journey? Everything, however, had been arranged.
The three carriages were waiting. They had to leave at once, in order not to attract attention – if that happened crowds of people curious to see the wedding would flock to the church. They settled in their seats and the carriages drove off – Peredonov with Varvara, the Prepolovenskys with Rutilov, and Grushina with the men on the bride’s side.
In the square a huge cloud of dust was rising and the noise of axes could be heard. At least, so it seemed to Peredonov. Through the dust he could just glimpse a great wooden wall: they were building a fortress. Everywhere were savage-looking peasants, dressed in red shirts and going about their work grimly and silently.
The carriages sped across the square and the terrible vision was lost: Peredonov looked back in horror, but now there was no trace of peasants or fortress. He decided not to tell a soul about what he had seen.
All the way to the church he felt utterly depressed. Everything looked at him with hostile eyes, everything held a hidden menace. The sky was overcast and the wind blew right in his face and seemed to be sighing about something. The trees gave no shade – they seemed to have kept it all for themselves.
The dust rose like a long grey semi-transparent serpent. For some reason the sun had gone in behind the clouds – was it spying on him? The road was very bumpy. Bushes, copses, clearings came unexpectedly into view from behind small hills; streams ran beneath echoing arched wooden bridges.
‘The eyebird’s just flown by,’ Peredonov gloomily remarked, peering into the misty white expanse of the heavens. ‘It consists of just one eye, two wings – nothing else.’
Varvara grinned. She thought that Peredonov was still drunk, but she didn’t pick a quarrel with him: he might lose his temper and call off the wedding.
Rutilov’s four sisters were already at the church. They had hidden themselves in a dark corner, behind a pillar. Peredonov did not see them at first, but later, during the actual ceremony when they came out of their hiding-place he was terrified that they might insist he throw Varvara out of the church and take one of them instead. But they made no such demand. All they did was laugh the whole time, softly at first, but as their laughter steadily grew louder, more spiteful, Peredonov thought a hundred furies were laughing in his ears. Except for one or two old women there were only the wedding guests in the church. And it was just as well, for Peredonov behaved most peculiarly and ridiculously. He yawned, muttered under his breath, nudged Varvara and constantly complained that the whole church stank of incense, wax and peasants.
‘Those sisters of yours are always laughing,’ he growled at Rutilov. ‘They’ll do themselves an injury one of these days.’
In addition, the little demon was being very troublesome. This time it had covered itself with dirt and dust and kept hiding under the priest’s robes.
Varvara and Grushina were highly amused by the pomp and ceremony of the service and giggled the whole time. The passage about a woman cleaving to her husband was a particular source of merriment. Rutilov giggled too – he considered it his duty to amuse the ladies at all times and places. Volodin on the other hand behaved irreproachably, kept crossing himself and maintained an expression of the utmost seriousness. For him the ceremony was nothing but a long-established ritual, the sole purpose of which was to create a feeling of well-being and to ease the conscience. Every Sunday he would go to church and be absolved of his sins; and then, after sinning again, would repent the following week and return to be absolved once more. All this was delightfully convenient – all the more so, since outside the church he didn’t have to bother about religious matters at all and could live according to a completely different set of moral principles.
The ceremony had just finished and the congregation were still in the church when something totally unexpected happened. Into the church burst a crowd of drunks – it was Murin and company.
Murin, drab and dishevelled as ever, heartily embraced Peredonov and shouted, ‘You can’t hide anything from us, old man! You thought you’d keep it from us, you old rogue! And we’re supposed to be bosom pals!’
And other recriminations followed: ‘Rotter for not inviting us!’, ‘But we’re here all the same!’, ‘We still found out!’ and so on.
The new arrivals all embraced and congratulated Peredonov.
‘We would have given you the pleasure of our company earlier if we hadn’t got drunk and lost the way,’ Murin said.
Peredonov scowled and ignored their congratulations. He was absolutely fuming. Everyone’s persecuting me, he thought dejectedly. ‘You might at least have crossed yourselves!’ he snarled. ‘Or perhaps you’ve something nasty in mind?’
The guests crossed themselves, guffawed and blasphemed. The young clerks particularly distinguished themselves in this until the deacon rebuked them and told them to stop.
Among the visitors was a young man with a red moustache whom Peredonov had never set eyes on before. He was remarkably like a cat. Perhaps it was their own cat transformed? That would explain why he was always sniffing about – he hadn’t got rid of his feline habits.
‘Who told you about the wedding?’ Varvara angrily asked the intruders.
‘Oh, some nice young woman,’ Murin replied, ‘but I can’t remember her name for the life of me.’
Grushina turned and winked at them. Murin and company chuckled to themselves, but didn’t give her away. Murin said, ‘Whether you like it or not, Ardalyon, we’re coming to your place to drink to your health and we want champagne. Don’t be such a skinflint! You can’t treat bosom pals like this! Fancy trying to get married on the sly!’
The sun was setting when the newly married couple drove from the church, but the sky was still ablaze with a golden light. This didn’t please Peredonov at all. ‘Someone’s been sticking pieces of gold to the sky and they’re already falling off. What a terrible waste!’
Outside town the locksmith’s sons, together with a crowd of street urchins, greeted them with hoots and jeers. Peredonov trembled with fear. Varvara swore violently, spat at them and stuck two fingers up. The other guests and bridesmen thought it a huge joke.
At last they reached the house. Everyone poured in, whistling and making a dreadful racket. First champagne and then vodka were consumed, after which they all sat down to cards. The drunken orgy lasted the whole night. The exultant Varvara danced and got terribly drunk. Peredonov was exultant too – no one had tried to take his place. As always, the guests treated Varvara like the whore she was, but she was well aware that this was in the order of things.
There was little change in the Peredonovs’ way of life after the wedding. The only marked difference was Varvara’s increased confidence and independence. Although, through long habit, she was still afraid of Peredonov, she didn’t run around so much for him now. He still shouted at her – also through long habit – and sometimes he beat her. But even he sensed that she had acquired much more confidence with her new status, and this depressed him utterly. He thought that the reason she didn’t fear him so much as before was that she was even more determined to carry out her diabolical plan to get rid of him and replace him with Volodin. I must be on my guard the whole time, he concluded.
Varvara’s triumph was complete. Together with Peredonov she called on all the ladies of the town – even those she didn’t know very well – and on each occasion she behaved with ridiculous affectation and gaucheness. She was received everywhere, although with much astonishment in many houses. For these visits she had ordered, in good time, a new hat from the best milliner in town, and she was enraptured with the large bright flowers that profusely adorned it.
They began with the headmaster’s wife, then they went to see the wife of the marshal of the nobility.
On the same day that the Peredonovs went to the Khripachs’ (the Rutilovs, needless to say, had known about this beforehand) the Rutilov sisters, curious to see how Varvara would behave, decided to call on Mrs Khripach, and soon afterwards the Peredonovs arrived. Varvara curtseyed to the headmaster’s wife and in a more than usually jarring voice said, ‘So, here we are. I hope you’ll be nice to us!’
‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ replied the headmaster’s wife stiffly as she showed Varvara to the sofa.
Delighted at this reception, Varvara spread her rustling green dress out wide as she sat down and tried to hide her embarrassment by pretending to be at ease.
‘Once I was a mamzell, but now I’m a madam! Did you know we’re namesakes? But we’ve never visited one another. Before I was married I used to stay at home most of the time. That was no life. But now Ardalyon and I intend being a lot more sociable. You’re always welcome at our place, and we’ll come and see you, moosyure to moosyure, madam to madam!’
‘But from what I hear you won’t be living here much longer,’ the headmaster’s wife said. ‘I believe your husband’s going to be transferred.’
‘Yes, we’re just waiting for the papers. But until then we have to show ourselves a little more.’
Varvara hoped against hope that Peredonov might get the job after all. She had written to the princess immediately after the wedding, but up to now had received no answer. So she decided to write again, towards the New Year.
‘And you led us all to believe you’d marry Pylnikov’s sister,’ Lyudmila said.
‘You should know by now I couldn’t marry just anyone,’ Peredonov angrily replied. ‘I need someone with influence.’
‘All the same why didn’t it work out with Mademoiselle Pylnikov?’ Lyudmila teased. ‘Weren’t you courting her? And didn’t she refuse you?’
‘She did, but I’ll show her up for what she is,’ Peredonov growled.
‘Mr Peredonov has what you might call an idée fixe,’ the headmaster said with a dry little laugh.
TWENTY-FOUR
The Peredonovs’ cat had been acting like a creature demented. It kept hissing, it didn’t come when called and was completely out of control. Sometimes Peredonov pronounced exorcisms over it. Does that do any good? he wondered. It’s the strong electric charge in the fur that’s at the root of the trouble.
One day he took it into his head to have the cat shorn. No sooner thought of than done. Varvara was out – she had gone to Grushina’s with a bottle of cherry brandy in her pocket – so no one could interfere. Peredonov tied the cat to a strong cord, having made a collar out of a handkerchief, and took it off to the barber’s. The poor animal mewed savagely, struggled and kept refusing to budge. Sometimes it threw itself in despair at Peredonov, who pushed it away with a stick. A crowd of jeering and hooting boys followed close behind. Passers-by stopped and stared and people looked out of their windows to see what the noise was. Peredon
ov remorselessly dragged the cat along, quite unperturbed. Somehow he got it there and he told the barber, ‘I’d like its fur cut – and the shorter the better!’
The boys crowded the entrance to the shop, roaring with laughter and making funny faces. The barber was furious and went red in the face. In a wavering voice he said, ‘I’m very sorry, sir, but we don’t do such things here. And whoever heard of shaving a cat? If it’s the latest fashion it certainly hasn’t reached us yet.’
Peredonov listened in blank astonishment. ‘Why don’t you admit you can’t do it – charlatan!’ he cried. And he walked out of the shop, dragging the screeching cat. On the way back he pondered dejectedly the fact that no one wanted to help him and that everywhere people were laughing at him. His heart was heavy with sadness.
Peredonov went to the club with Volodin and Rutilov for a game of billiards, but an embarrassed marker explained as soon as they arrived, ‘I’m very sorry, but you can’t play today, gentlemen.’
‘Why not?’ snarled Peredonov. ‘It’s us, and you’re telling us we can’t play?’
‘I’m most terribly sorry, sir, but there aren’t any balls.’
‘Someone lifted them while he wasn’t looking, the dozy devil,’ said the barman in a menacing voice as he leaned across the counter.
The marker trembled and suddenly his red ears twitched like a hare’s. ‘They’ve been stolen, sir,’ he whispered.
Peredonov cried out in alarm, ‘Well, tell us who took them!’
‘We can’t say, sir. There didn’t seem to be anyone around at the time and then, all of a sudden, I noticed that all the balls had gone!’
Rutilov sniggered and exclaimed, ‘A fine story!’
Volodin looked hurt and told the marker, ‘If people start stealing your billiard-balls and you happen to be in another place at the time, then you ought to have provided others right away, so that we have something to play with. We came here to play billiards – how can we play without any balls?’
The Little Demon Page 25