The Little Demon

by Fyodor Sologub

  Large bright beads shone on her neck and ornate golden bracelets jingled on her arms. Her whole body smelled of orris, which overpowers the senses with its heavy, sensual, exciting perfume; made from the distillations of slow-moving waters it brought on a delightful drowsiness and lethargy. Lyudmila suffered and sighed as she looked at his dark-skinned face, at his blue-black eyebrows, his midnight eyes. She lay her head on his bare knees and her bright hair caressed his dark skin. She kissed his body and its strange, potent smell, mingling with that of his young skin, made her head go round.

  Sasha lay quietly with a gentle flickering smile on his face. He was excited by a vague feeling of desire that stirred within him and brought sweet torment. And when Lyudmila tenderly kissed his knees and feet, her soft kisses aroused languorous, almost dreamlike, fantasies. He wanted to do something to her, be it pleasant or painful, tender or shameful – but what? Should he kiss her feet or beat her long and hard with supple birch twigs? Should he make her laugh with joy or cry out with pain? Perhaps she desired both: but that would not be enough. What did she want of him? There they both were, half naked, tormented at the same time by desire and shame at their naked flesh. Just what was this mystery of the flesh? And how could he sacrifice his blood and his body, sweetly surrendering to her desires, at the price of his shame?

  Meanwhile Lyudmila was longing for him, squirming at his feet, one moment turning pale and cold from desires that could never be fulfilled and burning with passion the next.

  ‘Am I not beautiful?’ she passionately whispered. ‘Have I not burning eyes, beautiful hair? Embrace me! Take me! Tear off my bracelets! Undo my necklace!’

  Sasha was terrified, tormented by what for him were impossible desires.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  When Peredonov woke up in the morning someone was looking at him, so it seemed, with enormous dim rectangular eyes. Could it be Pylnikov? He went to the window and drenched the menacing spectre with water.

  Everything around him seemed to have been bewitched. The little demon squealed wildly, people and even cattle looked at him craftily, malevolently. Everything was hostile towards him and he felt that he was one against many.

  During lessons Peredonov made spiteful remarks about his fellow teachers, the headmaster, parents and pupils. The boys listened to him in astonishment. Some of them, boors by nature, expressed their sympathy by humouring him. Others remained grimly silent, but whenever Peredonov attacked their parents they stoutly defended them. Peredonov would look at these boys mournfully and walk away muttering something. Sometimes he amused the class by making ridiculous comments on the texts they happened to be studying.

  One day they were reading some poetry by Pushkin:

  In freezing mist dawn awakes to show

  The fields which give no harvest load,

  With his hungry mate in tow,

  The wolf walks out on the road.*

  ‘Let’s stop here,’ said Peredonov. ‘We must try and understand the poet’s meaning. What we have is an allegory. Wolves hunt in pairs, that is to say, the wolf with his hungry mate. He is well fed, but she is hungry. Now the wife should always take her turn after her husband. The wife must obey her husband in everything. That’s the meaning.’

  Pylnikov, who was in high spirits, smiled at Peredonov with his deceptively innocent fathomless black eyes: his face both tormented and fascinated Peredonov. That damned boy was casting a spell over him with his insidious smile!

  But was he a boy? Perhaps there were two of them, brother and sister. He couldn’t tell one from the other. Perhaps Pylnikov could even change into a girl when he wanted. That was why he was always so much cleaner than the others – when he wanted to change he sprinkled himself with different kinds of magic water – that was the only way. He always smelled of perfume.

  ‘What have you been spraying yourself with, Pylnikov?’ Peredonov asked. ‘Patchouli?’*

  The boys laughed. Sasha turned red at this insult and remained silent. Any genuine desire to please, to look pleasant and tidy, was beyond Peredonov’s comprehension. Any such display, even by a boy, he regarded as part of a plot against himself. Any boy who dressed himself smartly was obviously intending to lead him astray. What other reason could there be? A smart appearance and cleanliness were anathema to Peredonov and for him perfume had an evil smell. He preferred the smell of freshly manured fields to any perfume – in his opinion it was very healthy. To dress smartly, to keep oneself clean, to wash – all that needed time and effort. And any thought of hard work depressed and frightened Peredonov. How wonderful if he could do nothing but eat, drink and sleep!

  Sasha’s friends teased him about the patchouli and about Lyudmila, saying she was in love with him. He flared up and furiously denied any such relationship with Lyudmila, maintaining that she wasn’t in love with him and that it was all an invention of Peredonov’s, who had been in love with her himself. But she had turned him down, so he was getting his own back by spreading malicious rumours about her. Although his classmates believed him – it was obviously Peredonov’s work – they still teased him, just for the fun of it.

  Peredonov persisted in letting everyone know about Pylnikov’s depravity. ‘He’s having an affair with Lyudmila,’ he claimed. ‘They kiss so passionately that she’s already given birth to one prep-school student and she’s expecting another.’

  Lyudmila’s love for the schoolboy was grossly exaggerated by the townsfolk, who added many stupid obscene details of their own. But few actually believed this story, realizing Peredonov had gone much too far. However, those who loved to tease (and there are quite a number of them in our town) would ask Lyudmila, ‘How could you fall for a young boy? It’s an insult to the cavaliers of this town!’

  Lyudmila would laugh and reply, ‘Stuff and nonsense!’

  Sasha became a general object of morbid curiosity. A rich general’s widow inquired about his age and when she discovered that he was rather too young for her purposes she decided to take him under her wing in two years’ time. In the meantime she would keep a close watch on his development.

  Sasha was already beginning to reproach Lyudmila at times, since everyone was teasing him because of her. He even gently struck her now and then, which only made her laugh out loud.

  To put an end to the ridiculous gossip, and to save Lyudmila from what might easily turn into a very nasty scandal, the Rutilovs, together with their numerous friends and close and distant relatives, waged a fierce campaign against Peredonov to prove that all these stories were the invention of a raving lunatic. Peredonov’s wild behaviour convinced many of the truth of what they said.

  At the same time denunciations of Peredonov poured into the office of the director of district schools, and from the district offices an inquiry was sent to the headmaster. Khripach referred to his previous reports and made it plain that the continued presence of Peredonov in the school was a positive danger, since his mental state was noticeably deteriorating.

  Peredonov was now a hopeless victim of his wild imaginings, and his hallucinations formed a barrier between himself and the world. His vacant demented eyes were never at rest, it seemed as if he were always peering beyond objects, in the hope of finding some illumination, some ray of hope beyond the real world. He talked to himself and shouted wild threats at people, such as, ‘I’ll kill you! I’ll cut your throat! I’ll have you locked up!’

  Varvara would only laugh and grin. Rave as much as you like! she spitefully thought. She felt that the explanation for his behaviour was nothing other than spite: he had guessed that he had been cheated and now he was furious. But he wouldn’t go out of his mind – an imbecile has no mind to go out of! And even if he did, he would at least be happy in his lunacy.

  One day Khripach told him, ‘Did you know, Peredonov, that you look most unwell?’

  ‘I’ve got a splitting headache,’ Peredonov gruffly replied.

  ‘To be frank, my dear sir,’ the headmaster continued in a cautious voice, ‘I would advise
you not to come to school for a while. You should seek medical treatment, rest your nerves, which are clearly in a pretty bad state.’

  Not go to school! thought Peredonov. What could be better! Why didn’t I think of that before? I can pretend to be really ill and then I can stay at home and wait and see what happens. So he cheerfully replied, ‘No, no, I shan’t come. I’m ill!’

  Meanwhile the headmaster sent another letter to the director of district schools and was expecting to hear any day that doctors would be coming to examine Peredonov. But, being civil servants, they took their time.

  So Peredonov stayed away from school – he too was expecting something. For the past few days he had been sticking to Volodin like a leech. In fact he didn’t dare let him out of his sight for fear Volodin might do him some harm. From the time he woke up Peredonov wearily thought of Volodin: where was he at that precise moment? What was he doing? Sometimes he thought that he could see him everywhere: in the clouds that drifted across the sky like a flock of sheep, there was Volodin in his bowler hat, bleating with laughter; or in the smoke pouring from a chimney, pulling the most grotesque faces and leaping about in the air.

  Volodin was sure that Peredonov had taken a great liking to him and proudly related the news to everyone. He was certain Peredonov just couldn’t live without him. Varvara’s done the dirty on him, he thought, and in me he sees a loyal friend. That’s why he never leaves my side.

  One day Peredonov left the house to call on Volodin and saw him coming towards him, complete with bowler hat and walking-stick, gaily skipping and bleating for joy. On another occasion Peredonov asked him, ‘Why are you always wearing that thing?’

  ‘And why shouldn’t I wear a bowler?’ Volodin replied cheerfully. ‘It’s not too showy and it suits me very well. I’m not allowed to wear a cap with a badge, and top hats are strictly reserved for aristocrats – they’re not for the likes of us.’

  ‘You’ll boil* to death in that,’ Peredonov said sullenly.

  Volodin burst out laughing.

  They went off to Peredonov’s.

  ‘I get so tired of walking,’ Peredonov said.

  ‘But it’s good for you,’ Volodin assured him. ‘If you work, walk and eat your food, you’ll stay healthy.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ objected Peredonov. ‘Do you think that people will still have to work two or three hundred years from now?’

  ‘But what should they do? If you don’t work, you have no bread. Bread costs money and money has to be earned.’

  ‘But I don’t want any bread.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have any rolls or pies either,’ Volodin chuckled, ‘and you wouldn’t be able to buy any vodka or have anything to make liqueurs from.’

  ‘But people themselves wouldn’t have to work. Machines would do everything. You would only have to turn a handle, like a barrel-organ, and there you are … But it would be boring to turn it for long.’

  Volodin reflected for a moment, lowered his head and stuck out his lips. ‘Yes, that would be fine,’ he said pensively, ‘only we shan’t be here.’

  Peredonov glared at him and growled, ‘You mean you won’t be here, but I shall.’

  ‘God grant you live two hundred years and crawl around on all fours for three hundred,’ Volodin gaily replied.

  No longer did Peredonov recite magic charms – let the worst come! He would get the better of everyone. All he had to do was to be vigilant and stand firm.

  As he sat in the dining-room at home, drinking with Volodin, Peredonov would tell him about the princess. In Peredonov’s mind she was getting uglier and more repulsive by the day. She was an evil old woman, with yellow wrinkled skin, a hunched back and large tusks – that was how he constantly imagined her.

  ‘She must be two hundred years old,’ Peredonov said, staring strangely at the opposite wall. ‘And she wants me to be her lover – otherwise she won’t get me the job.’

  ‘She’s asking a lot, I must say!’ Volodin cried, shaking his head. ‘The old hag!’

  Peredonov talked some delirious nonsense about a murder. With a fierce frown he told Volodin, ‘There’s a body hidden behind the wallpaper. And I’m going to kill someone else and nail him under the floorboards.’

  Volodin took this as a joke and sniggered.

  ‘Can’t you smell that stench from behind the wallpaper?’ Peredonov asked.

  ‘I can’t smell anything,’ Volodin replied, tittering and pulling funny faces.

  ‘Then you want to clean your nose,’ Peredonov said. ‘That’s why it’s so red. The body’s there, rotting away behind the wallpaper.’

  ‘It’s only a bug!’ Varvara cried and burst out laughing. But Peredonov looked deadly serious.

  Sinking deeper and deeper into insanity, Peredonov had already begun to write denunciations of the playing-cards, the little demon and the ram, which was obviously an impostor passing itself off as Volodin and after an important position, although it was simply a ram. He wrote denunciations of woodcutters – they had felled all the birches so that there was no fuel for steam baths and nothing to beat the children with, leaving all the aspens intact – and what good was aspen?

  Whenever he met some of the boys in the street, his foul and sometimes absurd remarks terrified the younger ones but amused the older boys, who would follow him in a group and rapidly disperse when they saw another master coming. The younger boys ran away of their own accord.

  Every object seemed bewitched and harboured some evil spirit. Terrifying hallucinations drew mad howls and shrieks from him. The little demon would appear covered in blood, or on fire. It roared loud enough to split his head with unbearable pain. The cat grew to a fantastic size, stamped on the floor with its boots and pretended to be an ogre with large red whiskers.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sasha had gone out after lunch and still hadn’t returned by seven o’clock, when he was due back. Kokovkina was very worried and thought, Heaven help him if he’s caught by a master in the street when he’s not supposed to be out. He’d be punished and it would make things very awkward for her. She had the reputation of taking in only well-behaved boys who weren’t given to wandering about the streets at night. So she went to look for him – and where else but at the Rutilovs’?

  As ill luck would have it, that day Lyudmila had forgotten to lock her bedroom door. In came Kokovkina. And what did she see? Sasha was standing in front of the mirror in a woman’s dress, fanning himself. Lyudmila was laughing and arranging the ribbons on his brightly coloured belt.

  ‘Good heavens! What’s going on here?’ she shrieked with horror. ‘I’ve been worried out of my life looking for him everywhere, and here he is dressed as a woman! What a disgrace, wearing a skirt! And you should be ashamed of yourself, Lyudmila!’

  Lyudmila, taken by surprise, didn’t know what to say at first, but she soon regained her composure, however. With a cheerful laugh she threw her arms around Kokovkina, made her sit down and then proceeded to tell her some cock-and-bull story she’d made up on the spot.

  ‘We’re just rehearsing for a little play at home. I’m taking the part of the boy and he’s the girl and it will be terribly amusing.’

  Sasha stood there red-faced and frightened and with tears in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t give me that nonsense!’ Kokovkina said angrily. ‘He should be doing his homework and not wasting his time with stupid plays. Whatever will you think of next! Get changed at once, Sasha, I’m taking you straight home.’

  Lyudmila laughed loud and gaily and kissed Kokovkina. The old woman thought that this cheerful young lady was as irresponsible as a child and that Sasha had been stupid enough to want to do all she asked. Her cheerful laughter, however, showed that this was simply a childish prank which deserved no more than a good telling-off. After a few grumbles and angry looks she calmed down.

  Sasha quickly changed behind the screen where Lyudmila’s bed stood. Kokovkina took him home and scolded him all the way. Sasha was too ashamed and frightened
to attempt any excuses. What will she do when we get home? he thought anxiously.

  For the very first time, Kokovkina was strict with him and made him get down on his knees. But after a few minutes she relented, touched by the sight of his guilty face and those silent tears.

  ‘A proper little nancy boy! Heavens! You can smell the perfume a mile off!’ she grumbled.

  Sasha bowed smartly, kissed her hand, and she was even more touched by the punished boy’s politeness.

  Meanwhile a storm was gathering over Sasha’s head. Varvara and Grushina had sent an anonymous letter to Khripach, in which they stated that Pylnikov was infatuated with Lyudmila Rutilov, that he spent entire evenings with her and that he had given himself up to debauchery. This letter reminded Khripach of a recent conversation he had heard at the house of the marshal of the nobility. Someone, he recalled, had made a pointed remark which no one had picked up, about a young lady who had fallen in love with a boy. The conversation immediately turned to other topics: in Khripach’s presence, according to the unwritten law of people who moved in polite society, this was considered an extremely awkward subject for discussion, so they pretended that such conversation was improper in the presence of ladies and that the subject itself was trivial and most implausible. Khripach, of course, was quick to notice this, but was not naïve enough to question anyone about it. He had been absolutely certain all along that he would hear everything sooner or later. And here was this letter with the news he had been waiting for.

  Not for one moment did Khripach believe that Pylnikov had become depraved and that there was anything improper about his behaviour with Lyudmila. It’s all an absurd invention of Peredonov’s, he reflected, encouraged by Grushina’s spiteful jealousy. However, this letter does show that undesirable rumours are circulating, which might sully the reputation of the school that has been entrusted to my care. Therefore I must take the necessary steps.

  First of all he invited Kokovkina to come and discuss the circumstances that might have encouraged those undesirable rumours. Kokovkina already knew all about it: she had been told in even plainer terms than the headmaster. Grushina had waited in the street for her, had started a conversation and informed her that Lyudmila had already completely corrupted Sasha. Kokovkina was stunned. At home she showered Sasha with reproaches. What annoyed her more than anything else was the fact that all this had happened practically under her nose and she had known very well that Sasha was visiting the Rutilovs.