The cards writhed and twisted and turned, as if trying to escape from the stove. Peredonov seized a poker and started beating them. Tiny bright sparks showered out in all directions – and suddenly, in a swirling, evil-looking welter of sparks, the princess rose up, small, grey as ash and covered with dying sparks. She cried piercingly, hissed and spat on the fire. Peredonov fell backwards and howled in terror. The darkness swallowed him up, tickled him, and its laughter was like a thousand cooing voices.
TWENTY-SIX
Sasha was enchanted with Lyudmila but he was too shy, it seemed, to discuss her with Kokovkina. Now he feared her visits and when he saw her pinkish-yellow hat flash beneath the window his heart sank and he couldn’t help frowning. All the same, he would wait patiently, anxiously, and felt very miserable when she didn’t come for some time. Vague, conflicting feelings of guilt and desire stirred within him – wanton for one so young, and for that reason so very sweet!
Lyudmila hadn’t been either yesterday or today and Sasha, weary of waiting, had given up. Suddenly she came. His face lit up and he rushed to kiss her hands. ‘Where did you get to?’ he grumbled. ‘It’s a whole two days since I saw you.’
She laughed and was happy, and the smell of sweet, languorous, heady Japanese funkia wafted from her, seemingly flowing from her light brown hair.
They went for a stroll together outside the town. They had invited Kokovkina to join them, but she wouldn’t go. ‘What do you want an old woman like me with you for?’ she said. ‘I’d only be a nuisance. Go on your own.’
‘But we might get up to mischief!’ Lyudmila laughed.
The warm motionless air caressed them and evoked what was past recall. Against the tired pale sky the crimson sun shone weakly, as if it were ailing. Dry leaves lay on the dark earth, submissive, dead.
Lyudmila and Sasha climbed down into a hollow. There it was cool and fresh, damp almost. The gentle weariness of autumn reigned on its shady slopes.
Lyudmila led the way. She raised her skirt to show her small shoes and flesh-coloured stockings. Sasha, who was looking down so as not to trip over the roots, saw them. He had thought that she wasn’t wearing any and, overcome by a feeling of shame and desire, he blushed. His head went round. How wonderful it would be if I fell in love with her, as if by chance. Then I could pull off her shoes and kiss her tender foot.
Lyudmila seemed to feel instinctively that Sasha was staring at her passionately and sensed his impatient desire. She laughed and turned to him.
‘Are you looking at my stockings?’ she inquired.
‘No, I was only …’ Sasha mumbled in embarrassment.
‘But they’re terrible stockings!’ Lyudmila said, laughing and ignoring what he said. ‘They’re simply shocking. I know you’re thinking I forgot to put any on. But they’re just the same colour as my legs. Don’t you think they’re silly?’ She turned her face towards Sasha and lifted the hem of her dress. ‘Aren’t they funny?’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Sasha, his face red with embarrassment. ‘They’re lovely.’
With a look of feigned surprise Lyudmila raised her eyebrows and exclaimed, ‘And when did you become such an expert!’
She laughed and walked on. Burning with embarrassment, Sasha followed, stumbling in her tracks.
They crossed a small gully and sat down on the trunk of a birch tree blown down by the wind. Lyudmila said, ‘I’ve so much sand in my shoes I just can’t walk a step further.’
She took her shoes off and shook out the sand, cunningly looking at Sasha the whole time. ‘Don’t you think it’s a pretty foot?’ she asked.
Sasha turned even redder and didn’t know what to say. Lyudmila took her stockings off. ‘Aren’t my feet lovely and white?’ she asked again, with a peculiar, crafty smile. ‘On your knees! Kiss them!’ she said sternly with an expression of imperious cruelty.
Sasha nimbly went down on his knees and kissed her feet.
‘It’s so much nicer without stockings,’ Lyudmila said as she stuffed them in her pockets and put her shoes on again. Her face became calm and cheerful once more, just as if Sasha hadn’t been kneeling and kissing her bare feet a few moments ago.
‘Won’t you catch cold like that, dear?’ he asked. His soft voice was trembling.
Lyudmila laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’m used to it,’ she said. ‘I’m not as delicate as that!’
One day, just before dark, Lyudmila called at Kokovkina’s and asked Sasha to come and help her put up a new shelf. Sasha loved to hammer in nails and had given his promise before to help Lyudmila arrange her furniture. And now he gladly agreed: this was a good excuse to go with her to her room. He felt soothed by the innocent but rather pungent smell of lily of the valley that wafted from her light green dress.
Before they started work Lyudmila changed behind a screen and emerged wearing a short pretty dress with short sleeves; she smelled strongly of seductive, cloying Japanese funkia.
‘Oh, you’re all dressed up!’ exclaimed Sasha.
‘What if I am?’ Lyudmila laughed. ‘But look – my feet are bare!’ She spoke these last words slowly, provocatively, but with a certain innocence.
Sasha shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘You’re always dressing up! Come on, let’s start. Do you have any nails?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Don’t be in such a hurry. Sit down here for a little while first. You make me feel as if you find it boring talking to me and that you’ve just come here to work!’
Sasha blushed and said tenderly, ‘Dear Lyudmila, I’d sit here as long as you like – until you tell me to leave, that is – but I’ve got homework to do.’
Lyudmila sighed softly and said very slowly, ‘You’re getting prettier every day, Sasha.’
Sasha blushed, laughed and stuck his tongue out, curling the tip. ‘Anyone would think I was a girl! Why should I get prettier!?’
‘Your face is pretty – but what about your body? Show me it – at least down to the waist.’ She snuggled up to Sasha and put her arm around his shoulder.
‘Whatever will you think of next!’ he exclaimed indignantly and bashfully.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Lyudmila asked in an unconcerned voice. ‘What do you have to hide?’
‘Someone might come in,’ said Sasha.
‘Who, for example?’ Lyudmila replied in the same carefree voice. ‘We’ll lock the door, then no one can come in.’
She briskly went over to the door and bolted it. Sasha realized that she wasn’t joking. He blushed so violently that tiny beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. ‘There’s no need for that, Lyudmilochka,’ he said.
‘You silly boy! Why not?’ she said persuasively.
She pulled Sasha over to her and began to unbutton his blouse. Sasha resisted and tried to catch hold of her hands. He looked terrified – and ashamed. The excitement made him feel weak. Lyudmila frowned and set about undressing him with a determined expression. She took off his belt and somehow managed to pull his blouse off his shoulders. Sasha struggled even more desperately. They both careered around the room, bumping into tables and chairs. Lyudmila’s heady perfume intoxicated and weakened him.
With a quick push on the chest Lyudmila knocked him back on to the divan. A button flew off the shirt she was pulling at. She rapidly bared his shoulder and began pulling his arm out of his sleeve. In his wild efforts to break free, Sasha accidentally slapped her on the cheek. He had not meant to do this, of course, but she caught the full force of the blow, which rang out loud and clear. Lyudmila staggered, went very red in the face, but didn’t let him go.
‘You wicked little boy, fighting like that!’ she gasped.
Sasha was terribly embarrassed, dropped his arms and looked guiltily at the white imprints of his fingers on her left cheek. Lyudmila quickly took advantage of his confusion and in a flash had the blouse off both shoulders, down to the elbows. Sasha recovered himself, tried to break free, but it was too late. Lyudmila deftly pulled the sleeves down and the blouse
fell to his waist. He felt cold and experienced a strange feeling of shame, which made his head go round. Now he was bare to the waist. Lyudmila held his arm firmly and with her other trembling hand stroked his naked back, staring into his downcast eyes mysteriously gleaming beneath those long blue-black lashes.
And suddenly those lashes quivered, his face became distorted by the pathetic grimace of a child – and he burst into loud sobs. ‘You wicked girl!’ he cried. ‘Let me go!’
‘Stop snivelling, you cry-baby!’ Lyudmila said, angrily pushing him away.
Sasha turned away to wipe his eyes. He was ashamed of crying and tried to hold back the tears. Lyudmila hungrily eyed his naked back. There’s so much pleasure in the world! she thought. Why do people have to hide so much beauty from themselves – why?
Hunching his bare shoulders for shame, Sasha tried to put his shirt on, but it became tangled up with his trembling arms and he just couldn’t get them into the sleeves. He made a grab for his blouse – let the shirt stay as it was for the time being!
‘I shan’t steal your things if that’s all you’re afraid of!’ she said spitefully, her voice full of tears. Then she threw him his belt and turned to the window. She didn’t want him like that, the little prig, wrapped up in that nasty grey blouse!
Sasha quickly put it on, somehow smoothed his shirt out and gave Lyudmila a shy, bashful look. He could see that she was brushing the tears from her cheeks so he went timidly up to her and looked straight into her face – and the tears streaming down her cheeks filled him with tender pity and he no longer felt either ashamed or angry.
‘Why are you crying, dearest Lyudmila?’ he asked in a soft, gentle voice. And suddenly he blushed, remembering how he had struck her. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t do it on purpose, really,’ he said timidly.
‘Are you afraid you’ll melt, you silly boy, if you sit with bare shoulders?’ said Lyudmila. ‘Or are you afraid of getting sunburned, or losing your beauty and innocence?’
‘But why do you want all this, Lyudmilochka?’ Sasha asked with a bashful grin.
‘Why?’ Lyudmila repeated passionately. ‘Because I love beauty. I’m a pagan, a sinner. I should have been born in ancient Athens. I love flowers, perfume, bright clothes, the naked body. There’s supposed to be a soul, but I’ve never seen it. And what should I do with a soul, anyway? Let me die so that nothing is left of me, like a water-nymph, let me melt away, like a rain-cloud in the hot sun. It’s the body that I love – strong, agile, naked – the body can enjoy.’
‘But it can suffer too,’ Sasha said.
‘But suffering is also good,’ Lyudmila whispered passionately. ‘In pain there is sweetness. If only to feel the body, to see it in all its nakedness and fleshly beauty!’
‘But doesn’t it make you feel ashamed, without any clothes?’ Sasha timidly asked.
In a sudden impulse Lyudmila threw herself on her knees before him. ‘My darling boy, my idol, my little god, just let me admire your beautiful shoulders – only for one moment.’
Sasha sighed, looked down, blushed and awkwardly removed his blouse. Lyudmila embraced him with burning hands and smothered his shoulders, which were trembling with shame, with her kisses.
‘There! That’s how obedient I can be,’ Sasha said, attempting to conceal his embarrassment with a joke.
Lyudmila rapidly kissed Sasha’s arms from the shoulder down to the fingers. Sasha did not take them away: he was so excited, filled with passionate, painful longings. Lyudmila’s kisses were adoring and she seemed not to be kissing a young boy but a young god as she paid homage to the flowering of the flesh, tremulously worshipping it with her burning lips.
Darya and Valeriya, who had been standing at the door all this time, looking in turn through the keyhole, were swooning with passionate, burning desire.
‘It’s time to get dressed,’ Sasha said after a while.
Lyudmila sighed and with the same expression of adoration in her eyes helped him on with his shirt and blouse as if she were his humble servant.
‘So you call yourself a pagan?’ Sasha asked.
Lyudmila gaily laughed and answered, ‘And what are you?’
‘What a fine question!’ Sasha replied confidently. ‘I know the whole catechism by heart.’
Lyudmila roared with laughter. Sasha smiled at her and asked, ‘If you’re a pagan, why do you go to church?’
Lyudmila stopped laughing and thought for a moment. ‘Well, one has to pray, shed a few tears, light a candle for the dead. I love that kind of thing – the candles, the lamps, the incense, the vestments, the choir – if it’s a good one – the icons with all their trimmings. Yes, all that is so beautiful. And I love Him … who was crucified …’ Lyudmila spoke these last words very softly, almost in a whisper, blushed guiltily and lowered her eyes. ‘Sometimes I dream of Him on the cross, with tiny drops of blood on His body …’ she said.
From that day onwards Lyudmila would often start unbuttoning Sasha’s jacket as she led him to her room. At first he was ashamed to the point of tears, but he soon became used to it and would watch calmly and cheerfully as Lyudmila pulled his shirt down, bared his shoulders, caressed him and stroked his back. In the end he took his clothes off without any assistance. Lyudmila loved holding him half naked on her knees, kissing and fondling him.
One day, Sasha was alone in the house. He thought of Lyudmila looking passionately at his bare shoulders. What does she want of me? he wondered. And suddenly he blushed crimson and his heart pounded violently. He was overcome with wild, uncontrollable excitement. He turned several somersaults, fell on to the floor, jumped on the furniture, propelling himself in a thousand insane movements from one corner of the room to the other. His bright, clear laughter echoed all over the house.
Just then Kokovkina returned and when she heard the unusual commotion went straight to Sasha’s room and stood in the doorway, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘What the devil’s got into you, Sasha? I wouldn’t mind so much if you behaved like this with your friends – but on your own! You ought to be ashamed of yourself at your age!’
Sasha stood there and in his embarrassment didn’t know where to put his heavy, clumsy hands. He was shaking all over with excitement.
Once Kokovkina came home to find Lyudmila feeding Sasha some sweets.
‘You’re spoiling the boy,’ Kokovkina said. ‘He can’t resist anything sweet.’
‘Yes – and he calls me a wicked girl!’ Lyudmila complained.
‘Sasha! How could you?’ Kokovkina said in a tone of mild reproach. ‘Explain yourself!’
‘She keeps tormenting me,’ he stammered. He glared at Lyudmila and then blushed deep purple. Lyudmila laughed. ‘Tell-tale!’ Sasha whispered to her.
‘How can you be so rude, Sasha,’ Kokovkina said. ‘I won’t have it!’
Sasha smiled at Lyudmila and muttered, ‘All right, I won’t do it again.’
Every time Sasha came to see her Lyudmila would take him straight to her room, lock the door, take his clothes off and dress him in various costumes. Sometimes she would make him wear a corset under them. In a low-cut dress his plump, naked, delicately rounded arms and shapely shoulders struck her as particularly beautiful. His skin was rather yellow, but of a rarely encountered, even gentle, hue. Everything of hers seemed to suit him – skirts, shoes, stockings – and when he sat there, obediently fluttering his fan, completely dressed as a woman, he really did resemble a young girl – and he tried to behave like one. Only one thing wasn’t right – his hair was too short. Lyudmila didn’t want to make him wear a wig or fasten a plait of hair to his head – that would look revolting.
She taught him to curtsey. At first he did this awkwardly and self-consciously. But he had a certain grace, although this was combined with the typical clumsiness of a schoolboy. Blushing and laughing, he studied the art of curtseying – and he flirted furiously.
Sometimes Lyudmila would take his bare shapely hands and kiss them. Sasha would offer no resistance and would
laugh as he watched her. And sometimes he himself would put his hands to her lips and say, ‘Kiss them!’
Most of all he liked some of the dresses that Lyudmila made herself: a fisherman’s costume or a young Athenian’s tunic, both bare-legged. After dressing him she would stand there admiring him, but with a pale, sad look.
Once he was sitting on Lyudmila’s bed, his bare legs dangling, examining the folds of his Greek tunic. Lyudmila stood in front of him and looked at him with a happy but puzzled expression.
‘How stupid you are!’ Sasha said.
‘I may be, but I’m so happy in my stupidity,’ she replied, crying as she kissed his hands.
‘Why are you crying?’ Sasha asked with a carefree smile.
‘My heart is smitten with joy! My breast is pierced by the seven swords of happiness. So why shouldn’t I cry?’
‘You’re such a silly girl! So silly!’ Sasha laughed.
‘And you’re so clever!’ Lyudmila retorted with sudden anger in her voice. She wiped away some tears and sighed. ‘Please understand, you stupid boy,’ she continued in a soft, persuasive voice, ‘only in madness is there happiness and wisdom.’
‘Of course!’ Sasha replied disbelievingly.
‘You must forget – and forget yourself – then all will become crystal clear,’ Lyudmila whispered. ‘In your opinion, do wise men think?’
‘But what else should they do?’
‘They just know. It’s given to them at once to understand. A wise man only has to look – and all is revealed to him …’
The autumn evening gently lingered. At times they could just hear the rustling of the trees in the garden as the wind stirred the branches. They were alone. Lyudmila had dressed Sasha in the fisherman’s costume of thin blue linen and made him lie on a low couch, while she sat on the floor at his bare feet, without any stockings, wearing only a shift. She sprinkled Sasha all over with a rich perfume that had a heady grassy smell, like the still air of a mysteriously flowering valley locked between mountains.
The Little Demon Page 28