Sasha pretended to understand nothing. ‘What have I done wrong?’ he asked.
At first Kokovkina didn’t know what to reply. ‘What have you done wrong? You mean to say you don’t know? Was it so long ago that I caught you wearing a skirt? Have you forgotten already, you shameless boy?’
‘So you caught me. What was so particularly bad about it? And you’ve already punished me for it, anyway! It wasn’t as if I’d stolen it.’
Kokovkina was dismayed and said, ‘Just listen to the boy argue! It seems I didn’t punish you enough.’
‘I’m not stopping you,’ Sasha replied petulantly with a look of outraged innocence. ‘You yourself forgave me, but it seems it’s not enough. I didn’t ask to be forgiven – I would have stayed on my knees the whole evening. I’m tired of being told off the whole time!’
‘Did you know the whole town is talking about you and your Lyudmila?’
‘What are they saying?’ Sasha asked with naïve curiosity.
Kokovkina again didn’t know what to reply. ‘You know very well what! You yourself know what people are liable to say. And it’s not very flattering. That you’re carrying on with Lyudmila – that’s what they’re saying.’
‘Well, I won’t misbehave anymore,’ Sasha promised, as calmly as if they were discussing a game of five-stones.
He assumed an angelic expression, but his heart was heavy. He kept asking Kokovkina what they had been saying and was scared that he might hear something very nasty. What could people be saying about them? Lyudmila’s room overlooked the garden, so no one could have seen them from the street. Besides, she always kept the curtains drawn. And even if someone had been watching them what could they possibly say? Something annoying, insulting, perhaps? Or merely that they’d often seen him going to the house?
Next day Kokovkina received the invitation from Khripach, and this really alarmed the old woman. She said nothing to Sasha, quietly got dressed and left at the appointed time. Khripach told her as gently as he could about the anonymous letter. She burst into tears.
‘Calm yourself, we’re not accusing you,’ Khripach said. ‘We know you too well. However, I must ask you to keep a closer watch on the boy in future. For the moment I want you to tell me what actually happened.’
When she returned from the headmaster’s Kokovkina once again showered Sasha with reproaches. ‘I shall write to your aunt,’ she said, crying.
‘But I haven’t done anything wrong! Let her come. I’m not scared,’ Sasha said, also crying.
The following day Khripach asked Sasha to come and see him. As soon as he entered the study he asked in his dry, severe voice, ‘I wish to know with whom you’ve been associating lately in this town.’
Sasha looked at him with deceptively innocent calm eyes. ‘Associating with?’ he replied. ‘Olga Kokovkina knows that I only go to see my friends from school – and the Rutilovs.’
‘Exactly,’ Khripach continued his cross-examination. ‘And what do you do at the Rutilovs’?’
‘Nothing in particular, sir,’ Sasha replied just as innocently. ‘We usually spend most of the time reading. The Rutilov sisters are great poetry lovers. And I’m always home by seven.’
‘But perhaps not always?’ asked Khripach with an attempt at a piercing look.
‘Well, once I was late,’ Sasha replied with the unruffled candour of the innocent. ‘I really caught it from Kokovkina for that, so I wasn’t late again.’
Khripach fell silent. He was disconcerted by Sasha’s calm replies. At all events he knew Sasha had to be lectured, reprimanded, but how, and for what? He was afraid that he might have put wicked thoughts into the boy’s head that had never been there in the first place (so he believed); or that he might hurt the boy. He wanted to avoid the possibility of any unpleasantness that might occur in the future as a result of such a relationship.
Khripach thought that a teacher’s job was difficult and carried a lot of responsibility, especially if one had the honour of being a headmaster. Yes, his was a difficult, responsible task! This trite definition of his duty gave wings to a whole train of thoughts that might have remained dormant. He started talking quickly, distinctly – and trivially. Sasha understood very little of what he said.
‘A student’s first duty is to learn … he mustn’t be distracted by friends, however pleasant and irreproachable their company may be. At all events, I must say that the company of boys your own age is much more beneficial for you … you must value your own reputation and that of the school … to conclude, I must come straight to the point and tell you that I have grounds for supposing that your relations with a certain young lady do not conform with the generally accepted laws of propriety, and that they are characterized by a degree of freedom totally impermissible in someone of your age and not at all in accordance with the generally accepted rules of good conduct.’
Sasha burst into tears. He was mortified to hear that anyone could talk of his darling Lyudmila as someone who allowed liberties to be taken with her. ‘On my word of honour, we didn’t do anything wrong,’ he assured Khripach. ‘All we did was read, go for walks, play games – that’s to say we had races – nothing worse than that.’
Khripach slapped him paternally on the shoulder and tried to speak in a voice that was sympathetic, but which still sounded cold and dry. ‘Now, listen, Pylnikov …’ (Why couldn’t he have called him Sasha? Was it because there were instructions from the Ministry, according to which this was not the correct form of address?) ‘I believe what you say, that nothing wrong did happen. All the same, I think it would be better if you stopped making such frequent visits. Believe me, it’s for your own good. I’m speaking not only as mentor and tutor, but as your friend.’
Sasha thanked the headmaster and bowed his way out, having promised to do what he said – he had no option. And from then onwards he visited Lyudmila only for five or ten minutes at a time, but he still tried to see her every day. He was most annoyed at having to cut short his visits and he projected his annoyance on to Lyudmila. He would often call her a silly little fool, a she-ass, and would beat her. But all Lyudmila did was laugh.
News spread that the actors from the local theatre were going to present a fancy-dress ball at the club house, with prizes for the best costumes, male and female. There was much far-fetched talk about these prizes. Some said that the women’s prize was a cow and the men’s a bicycle. These rumours excited the townsfolk. Everyone wanted to win – the prizes were so substantial. Costumes were hurriedly made. No expense was spared and all ideas were jealously guarded, even from close friends, lest some brilliant invention be copied.
When the actual posters announcing the ball appeared – huge placards were pasted on to fences and the printed announcements personally delivered to all the prominent citizens – it turned out that they were not going to award either a cow or a bicycle and that all the women could expect was a fan, and the men an album. This news infuriated and deeply upset those who had been preparing for the ball and there was much grumbling: ‘What a waste of money!’, ‘It’s an insult offering prizes like that!’, ‘They should have told us in the first place!’, ‘It could only happen in this town,’ and so on.
All the same, they continued with their preparations: it wasn’t the prize that was so important, they thought, as much as the honour of winning it.
Darya and Lyudmila weren’t concerned at all with the prize, neither at the start or later. A fat lot of use a cow would be! And a fan was nothing special. And who would be judging the costumes? What taste did those judges have? But both sisters were enraptured with Lyudmila’s idea of sending Sasha dressed as a woman – this way they could fool the whole town and ensure that they won the prize.
Even Valeriya seemed to be in agreement. As jealous and delicate as a child, she was furious that Lyudmila’s little friend never came to see her, but she didn’t want to quarrel with her two elder sisters. However, she couldn’t resist remarking with a contemptuous grin, ‘He wouldn’t dare t
o go like that!’
‘We’ll dress him so that no one could possibly recognize him,’ Darya said with determination.
When the sisters told Sasha of their plan and Lyudmila informed him, ‘You’re going as a Japanese lady,’ Sasha jumped and howled for joy. Whatever happened at the ball (and especially if no one recognized him), why shouldn’t he agree? It would be such great fun fooling everyone!
They immediately decided that he should go as a geisha girl. They kept the whole thing strictly secret and didn’t even tell their married sister Larisa, or their brother. Lyudmila made the costume herself by copying the design on the label on a bottle of corylopsis perfume. She used yellow silk on red velvet and the costume was wide and long. She sewed a bright pattern of large, fantastically shaped flowers on to it. The others made a fan from rice-paper and thin bamboo sticks, and a parasol from some fine pink silk, with a bamboo handle. For the legs they bought pink stockings and wooden sandals. Lyudmila, who was very clever with her hands, painted a geisha mask: the face was rather too yellow, but pleasant all the same, with a faint, immobile smile, slanting eyes and a tiny narrow mouth. All they had to do after that was order a black shiny wig from St Petersburg.
The costume took a long time to fit, because Sasha could only stay for a few minutes at a time, and not every day, as he had been hoping. But they found another way: Sasha came in through the window at night, when Kokovkina was asleep. This plan worked very well.
Varvara had also decided to enter for the fancy-dress ball. She bought a grotesque mask and the costume itself was no trouble as she decided to go as a cook. She really looked the part, just like a cook straight from the stove, with a ladle hanging from her waist, a white cap on her head and her arms bare to the elbows and smothered with rouge. If she won the prize, so much the better. If she didn’t – well, she didn’t need a fan, anyway.
Grushina decided to go as Diana the huntress. This had Varvara in fits of laughter. ‘Are you going to wear a collar?’ she asked.
‘Why should I need one of those?’ Grushina asked in amazement.
‘Well, you’re going as Dianka the dog, aren’t you?’
‘Whatever gave you that idea!’ Grushina laughed. ‘No, not Dianka the dog, but Diana, the goddess.’
Varvara and Grushina both changed for the ball at Grushina’s place. Grushina’s costume was flimsy, to say the least, with bare arms and shoulders, bare back, bare chest, legs bare to the knee, light slippers, no stockings. The very thin dress was of white linen with a red border. Although rather short, it was quite full, with a large number of pleats; she wore nothing underneath.
‘It’s a bit daring, isn’t it?’ Varvara sniggered.
‘Then I’ll have all the men chasing me,’ Grushina replied with a saucy wink.
‘But why so many pleats?’ Varvara asked.
‘So that I can stuff them with sweets for my little brats,’ Grushina explained.
Grushina’s daringly exposed body was really quite attractive, but what contradictions! Her skin was covered with flea-bites, she had coarse manners and used intolerably vulgar language: another example of profaned bodily beauty.
Peredonov thought that the fancy-dress ball was specifically designed to trap him. All the same, he decided to go – not in fancy dress, but in an ordinary frock-coat. He wanted to see for himself what evil plots were being hatched against him.
For some days Sasha had been terribly excited at the prospect of going to the ball. After a time, however, he began to have doubts. How could he escape from the house? And particularly now, after all that unpleasantness? There’d be real trouble if they got to know at school – he’d be expelled immediately.
Recently one of the assistant masters, who was so liberal a young man that he would say ‘Mr Thomas Cat’ instead of ‘Tom’, had told Sasha in a portentous voice, when he was giving out the marks, ‘You’d better pay more attention to your work, Pylnikov.’
‘But I haven’t had any low marks,’ Sasha had casually replied. His heart sank – what would the teacher say next? But he said nothing and merely gave him a stern look.
When the day of the ball arrived, Sasha’s courage completely deserted him. He was terrified. There was one thing, though: the costume was now ready at the Rutilovs’ – how could he possibly let them down? Would all their dreams and hard work be in vain? Lyudmila would certainly cry. No, he decided, he had to go.
His habit of being secretive, acquired only over the past few weeks, helped him conceal his excitement from Kokovkina. Fortunately the old woman went to bed early. And so did Sasha. So as not to arouse suspicion, he put his shoes outside the door and his clothes on a chair just by it. Now came the hardest part – getting out of the house. The route had already been worked out – through the window he had used when he went for the fittings. He put on a light summer shirt that was hanging in his wardrobe, a pair of soft slippers, and carefully climbed through the window, choosing the moment when he could hear neither voices nor footsteps near by. It was drizzling and it was cold, dark and muddy. He kept thinking that someone would recognize him and he took off his cap and shoes and threw them back into his room. Then he turned up his trousers and hopped along the slippery, rickety, planked pavement in his bare feet. It would have been hard to distinguish a face in that darkness, especially if the person was running: anyone he happened to meet would surely take him for a boy sent out on some errand.
Valeriya and Lyudmila made themselves complicated but artistic costumes. Lyudmila dressed as a gypsy and Valeriya decided to go as a Spanish lady. Lyudmila’s dress consisted of strips of bright red silk and velvet, and the frail, delicate Valeriya’s of black silk and lace; in her hand was a black lace fan. Darya decided that last year’s Turkish costume was good enough and as she put it on she said with determination, ‘It’s hardly worth thinking up a new one!’
When Sasha arrived they all rushed to dress him. He was more worried by the black wig than anything else. ‘Supposing it comes off?’ he asked anxiously.
Finally the sisters solved the problem by fixing it tightly with ribbons tied under his chin.
TWENTY-NINE
The fancy-dress ball was to take place at the club house, a two-storeyed brick, barrack-like building painted bright red and situated in the market square. The organizer was Gromov-Chistopolsky, the actor and manager of the local theatre.
The entrance was covered by a calico canopy and lit by two lamps. A large crowd shouted their criticism at the people arriving in carriages and on foot and their remarks were mainly disapproving: since they were out in the street, people’s costumes were almost entirely hidden under their coats and so the crowd had to rely on guesswork. The policemen in the street did their best to keep order – the chief of police and the district police officer remained in the main hall, as guests.
Each guest was given two cards on arrival: a pink one for the best woman’s costume and a green one for the best of the men’s. These cards were to be handed to those they considered most deserving.
Many inquired when they arrived, ‘Can we take some for ourselves?’
At first the attendant expressed mild surprise and asked, ‘Why for yourselves?’
‘In case I think my costume’s the best!’
When he had been asked the same question several times the young attendant (who had a good sense of humour) would reply with a sardonic smile, ‘Help yourselves! Keep the lot!’
The hall was very dirty and from the start most of the guests seemed to be in a high state of intoxication. In those cramped rooms, whose walls and ceilings were black with soot, burned crooked chandeliers. They were huge and heavy and seemed to be greedily drinking up the air. The curtains at the doors looked so moth-eaten that it gave one the shivers just to brush against them. Here and there crowds would gather, and laughter and loud exclamations were heard when someone’s costume became the centre of attraction.
Gudayevsky the notary had come as a Red Indian. His hair was decked with cock’s feathers
and he wore a copper-coloured mask with ridiculous green designs all over it, a leather jacket, a check plaid over one shoulder and jackboots with green tassels. He waved his arms in all directions, leaped about and walked like an athlete, doing violent jerks with his bare knees. His wife was dressed as Ceres. Her costume was made of bright green-and-yellow rags. Ears of corn stuck out on all sides, catching and pricking everyone who went by, in return for which she was bumped and pinched.
‘I’ll scratch you!’ she shouted viciously.
Everyone guffawed and someone inquired, ‘Where did she glean all that corn?’
To which someone else replied, ‘She’s been saving it up since the summer. She stole some from the fields every day.’
A group of smooth-faced, young civil servants, all of them in love with Gudayevsky’s wife and all of whom had been told in advance what she would be wearing, followed her around, collecting cards for her where they could, almost resorting to force at times and making rude remarks. Others, who were not particularly courageous, simply had their cards taken off them.
Other ladies in fancy dress made their partners collect cards for them. Some looked hungrily at cards that hadn’t yet been handed over, asked if they could have them and received rude replies.
A dejected-looking lady dressed as Night, in a dark blue costume, with a crystal star and paper moon on her forehead, timidly asked Murin, ‘May I have your card, please?’
‘What do you mean? Give you my card! No – I don’t care for your ugly mug!’ he rudely replied.
The Little Demon Page 30