The Little Demon

by Fyodor Sologub

Mrs Gudayevsky, rustling what was left of her crop of corn, threw herself at Veriga, brandishing her fists and screeching at the top of her voice, ‘Get out of the way! We want to come through!’ But the general’s cold, rock-like face with its determined grey eyes deterred her from any further action. Helpless with rage, she shouted to her husband, ‘You could have moved yourself and given her a slap in the face instead of standing there like a ninny!’

  ‘I couldn’t get to her,’ pleaded the Red Indian with wild gesticulations. ‘Pavel Volodin was flailing about like a windmill.’

  ‘You should have bashed him in the teeth and given her one on the ear. Why stand on ceremony?’ Mrs Gudayevsky shouted.

  The mob pressed against Veriga. Foul abuse rang out. Veriga calmly stood at the door and tried to persuade those nearest him to stop the rioting. Suddenly the kitchen boy opened the door behind him and whispered, ‘They’ve gone, Your Excellency.’

  Veriga walked away. The crowd broke into the dining-room, then into the kitchen in search of the geisha, but she wasn’t there.

  Bengalsky, still carrying her, had run out into the kitchen. She lay motionless and silent in his arms. Bengalsky thought that he could hear her heart beating strongly. On her bare arms, which tightly clutched him, there were several scratches and a bluish-yellow bruise near the elbow. In an agitated voice he told the servants crowding into the kitchen, ‘Hurry! An overcoat, a dressing-gown, blankets, anything you have … I must save this lady.’

  An overcoat was thrown over Sasha’s shoulders and somehow Bengalsky wrapped the geisha up. Then he groped his way down the narrow staircase, dimly lit by smoky kerosene lamps, and went through a gate into a side-street.

  ‘Take your mask off, there’s less chance of them recognizing you without one … it’s dark now,’ he said rather disjointedly. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’ He was curious to know who it was: one thing was certain – it wasn’t Kashtanova. So who was it then? The geisha took her mask off and Bengalsky was confronted by an unfamiliar dark-skinned face, in which all traces of fear had given way to joy at having escaped. A pair of bright, cheerful eyes were looking at him.

  ‘How can I possibly thank you?’ said the geisha in a sonorous voice. ‘I shudder to think what would have happened if you hadn’t saved me!’

  She’s no coward, this woman. Most interesting! the actor thought. But who is she? Obviously a visitor to this town. Bengalsky knew all the local women and he quietly told Sasha, ‘I must take you home immediately. Tell me where you live and I’ll call a cab.’

  The geisha’s face clouded over again. ‘No! You mustn’t. You really mustn’t!’ she babbled. ‘I can get home on my own. Please let me go.’

  ‘I can’t let you walk through all this mud, especially in sandals. You must go by cab,’ he confidently assured her.

  ‘No, I’ll manage. For goodness’ sake, let me go!’ the geisha pleaded.

  ‘I give you my word of honour I shan’t tell a soul,’ Bengalsky reassured her. ‘I can’t leave you like this, you’ll catch your death of cold. I’m responsible for you now and I can’t just leave you. Now tell me where you live. Quickly! They’re after your blood. You saw for yourself that they’re just like savages. That lot’s capable of anything.’

  The geisha shuddered and tears swiftly rolled down her cheeks. ‘They’re terribly, terribly evil people!’ she sobbed. ‘Take me to the Rutilovs’ then, I’ll spend the night there.’

  Bengalsky hailed a passing cab and they drove off. He peered closely into the geisha’s dark face. Very strange, he thought. The geisha turned away. Something vaguely dawned on him. Now what was that story about a schoolboy and Lyudmila Rutilov … ?

  ‘I’ve got it! You’re a boy!’ he whispered so that the driver wouldn’t hear.

  ‘Please don’t tell anyone!’ pleaded Sasha, his face as white as a sheet. He stretched his arms out from under his coat towards Bengalsky in an imploring gesture.

  Bengalsky laughed softly and repeated, just as softly, ‘I shan’t breathe a word, so don’t worry! All I’m concerned about is getting you home safely. I know nothing else. But you’re a desperate character. What if Kokovkina finds out?’

  ‘No one will know – if you don’t give the game away,’ Sasha said in a gently pleading voice.

  ‘You can rely on me, I’ll be as silent as the grave. I was a boy myself once. I used to get up to all sorts of tricks.’

  The uproar at the club was just beginning to die down when a fresh catastrophe rounded off the evening. While the geisha was being hunted along the corridor, a brightly burning demon darted among the chandeliers, laughing and whispering to Peredonov that he must free it, that he must strike a match and let it loose on those dark, dirty walls; and then, when it had gorged itself on the destruction of that building where such terrifying and incomprehensible events such as this evening’s riot were taking place, it would leave Peredonov in peace. He was powerless to resist its insistent prompting. He went into a small sitting-room next to the ballroom. No one was there. He looked around, struck a match and held it to the bottom of the curtains until they caught fire. The fiery demon climbed like a nimble snake, quietly hissing with delight. Peredonov walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. No one had seen him.

  The fire wasn’t detected until the whole of the front of the building was blazing. The flames spread quickly. Everyone escaped, but the whole building was burned down.

  Next day the sole topics of conversation were the geisha-girl scandal and the fire. Bengalsky kept his word and told no one that the geisha was really a boy in disguise.

  That night, after he had changed at the Rutilovs’ and was an ordinary barefooted boy again, Sasha had run home, climbed through the window and fallen fast asleep. In a town that was alive with gossip, in a town where everybody knew what everybody else was doing, Sasha’s nocturnal exploit thus remained a complete secret: for a long time that is, but, of course, not for ever.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Yekaterina Pylnikov, Sasha’s aunt and guardian, received two letters about her nephew simultaneously: one from the headmaster and one from Kokovkina. She was greatly disturbed by them, dropped everything and hastened from her village over the muddy autumn roads to see Sasha, who was overjoyed when she arrived. He was very fond of his aunt, who had come with the full intention of giving him a thorough telling-off. But he threw himself so joyfully around her neck and kissed her so affectionately that at first she was unable to take a strict tone with him.

  ‘Dear Auntie, how kind of you to come!’ Sasha exclaimed as he looked at her plump rosy face with its dimpled cheeks and serious grey eyes.

  ‘Save your welcome for later. I’m going to take you in hand now,’ she said, rather indecisively.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Sasha in an unconcerned voice. ‘Take me in hand – as long as you have good reason. But I’m still so terribly pleased to see you!’

  ‘You may well say terribly,’ Auntie repeated in a voice of displeasure. ‘Let me tell you the terrible things I’ve been hearing about you.’

  Sasha raised his eyebrows and looked at his aunt with innocent, uncomprehending eyes. ‘It’s all the fault of one of the teachers,’ he complained. ‘Mr Peredonov. He invented the whole story that I’m a girl and he never leaves me in peace. Then the headmaster gave me a real telling-off for being friendly with the Rutilov sisters. As if I went to their house to steal! And what’s it got to do with them?’

  Is he the same little boy as before? Auntie wondered. Or has he sunk so low as to tell me such barefaced lies?

  She sat behind locked doors with Kokovkina, had a long talk with her and came out looking very sad. Then she went to see the headmaster and returned dreadfully upset. Sasha felt the full weight of her tongue. He cried bitterly, but stoutly maintained that it was all lies and that he had never allowed himself any liberties with the young ladies. His aunt didn’t believe him. She scolded him for some time and threatened him with a severe thrashing that same day, as soon as she’d s
een the Rutilovs. Sasha sobbed and assured her that he had done nothing to be ashamed of, that everything had been terribly exaggerated and invented.

  His aunt, angry and tearful, went off to the Rutilovs’. She was almost too furious to sit and wait in their drawing-room at all – she wanted to attack the sisters at once with the most savage reproaches and she had already prepared the nasty things she had to say. However, the prettily furnished peaceful drawing-room had a calming effect on her nerves – much against her wishes – and tempered her anger. The unfinished embroidery that was lying on the table, the souvenirs, the engravings on the walls, the carefully tended plants growing in window-boxes and the absolute spotlessness of everything were not what one would expect in a disreputable house. Surely her innocent Sasha couldn’t have been seduced by those thoughtful young ladies in such homely, orderly surroundings? All that she had heard or read about Sasha now seemed patently absurd. On the other hand, Sasha’s accounts of how he passed the time at the Rutilovs’ struck her as perfectly plausible – they had read, talked, joked, laughed, they had wanted to put on a play, which Olga Kokovkina wouldn’t allow.

  The sisters, however, were extremely worried. They didn’t know whether the fact that they’d dressed Sasha up was still a secret or not. But there were three of them and each was ready to help the others. This gave them courage and they assembled in Lyudmila’s room to deliberate on a plan of action and whispered to each other.

  ‘We must go to her now,’ Valeriya said. ‘It’s not polite to keep her waiting.’

  ‘Let her cool down a bit first,’ Darya replied casually, ‘otherwise she’ll really let fly.’

  All the sisters scented themselves with fragrant clematis and entered the drawing-room calm and cheerful, prettily dressed as ever, and they filled the room with their pleasant chatter, charm and gaiety. Yekaterina Pylnikov was at once enchanted by them – they looked so respectable, so sweet. So they are the corrupters! she thought indignantly, with those pedagogues in mind. But then she wondered if all that modesty were not mere pretence. She decided not to submit to their charms.

  ‘You must forgive me for troubling you, young ladies, but there’s something I must talk to you about.’ She tried to make her voice sound stern and businesslike.

  The sisters asked her to sit down and resumed their light-hearted chatter.

  ‘Which one of you … ?’ Yekaterina began hesitantly.

  Lyudmila, acting the part of a gracious hostess who was fully aware of a guest’s embarrassment, cheerfully said, ‘I played the most with your nephew. We have a lot in common.’

  ‘Such a nice boy, your nephew,’ Darya said, quite sure that this flattery would make her happy.

  ‘Yes, so nice, and so amusing,’ Lyudmila said.

  Yekaterina Pylnikov felt increasingly embarrassed. Suddenly she realized that she had no real grounds for complaint and this made her angry. Lyudmila’s last words provided her with the chance to speak her mind.

  ‘You may find him amusing, but—’ she said angrily.

  Darya interrupted her, however, and said sympathetically, ‘I can see you’ve been hearing all those ridiculous stories of Peredonov’s. You must know he’s quite mad. The headmaster won’t even allow him into the school. They’re just waiting for a psychiatrist to come and certify him. Then he’ll be dismissed—’

  ‘Before you go any further,’ interrupted Yekaterina in turn, becoming increasingly annoyed, ‘I must tell you that I’m not interested in that teacher, only in my nephew. I’ve heard – if you’ll pardon the expression – that you’ve been corrupting the boy.’

  The moment she had used this critical word, in the heat of the moment, she realized that she had gone too far. The sisters looked at one another with such well-simulated incomprehension and confusion that they would have deceived many others besides Yekaterina Pylnikov. They blushed and all of them exclaimed at once, ‘That’s not very nice!’, ‘How shocking!’, ‘That’s news to us!’

  Darya said coldly, ‘My dear lady, you are not too fussy in your choice of words. Before saying such rude things you should consider whether they are entirely appropriate.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s very understandable!’ exclaimed Lyudmila with the air of a well-mannered girl forgiving an insult. ‘After all, he’s not a stranger to you. Of course, all this stupid gossip is bound to upset you. We felt sorry for Sasha, that’s why we took him under our wing. The least thing in this town immediately becomes a crime. If you only knew what terrible, terrible people live here!’

  ‘Terrible!’ Valeriya softly repeated in her fragile, brittle voice. And she shivered all over, as if she had touched something unclean.

  ‘Ask him yourself, that’s the best way,’ Darya said. ‘You just have to look at him to see he’s still a child. Perhaps you’ve grown used to his naïvety, but we can see more objectively, being outsiders, that he’s completely unspoiled.’

  The sisters lied so calmly and confidently that it was impossible not to believe them. Indeed, a lie is often more plausible than the truth. Almost always. The truth, of course, is never very plausible.

  ‘It’s true he comes here rather too often,’ Darya said. ‘But we shan’t let him past the front doorstep in future, if that’s what you’d like.’

  ‘I’m going to see Khripach myself today,’ said Lyudmila. ‘I just can’t imagine who put the idea into his head. Surely he can’t believe such nonsense?’

  ‘No, I don’t think he himself believes a word of it,’ admitted Yekaterina. ‘But he did tell me that certain nasty rumours are going around.’

  ‘There you are!’ exclaimed Lyudmila joyfully. ‘Of course he doesn’t believe any of it. So why all the fuss?’

  Lyudmila’s cheerful voice captivated Yekaterina and she asked herself, Could any of this have really happened? Even the headmaster says he doesn’t believe a word of it.

  For a long time the sisters carried on chattering like a flock of birds, each trying to be the one to persuade Yekaterina of the complete innocence of their friendship with Sasha. To make their case more convincing, they wanted to provide her with a detailed account of exactly what they had been doing with Sasha, and when, but as soon as they started they became terribly confused: they were all such innocent, simple things that it was just impossible for them to remember it all. And finally Yekaterina was fully convinced that her nephew and the delightful Rutilov girls were the innocent victims of stupid slander.

  Yekaterina warmly kissed the sisters goodbye and told them, ‘You’re such nice uncomplicated girls. At first I thought you were – if you’ll forgive the expression – tarts.’

  The sisters burst out laughing. ‘No, we’re just ordinary happy-go-lucky girls with rather sharp tongues. That’s why we’re not too popular with the local geese!’ Lyudmila said.

  When she returned from the Rutilovs’ Sasha’s aunt didn’t say a word to her nephew. He was thoroughly scared and confused when she came in and he anxiously scrutinized her face. But she went straight into Kokovkina’s room and had a long heart to heart with her, at the end of which she decided to go and see the headmaster again.

  That same day Lyudmila went to see Khripach. She sat for some time in the drawing-room with his wife and then announced that she wanted to see the headmaster himself.

  The ensuing conversation in Khripach’s study was a lively one, not because the two had very much to say to each other, but because they both liked to talk, and they simply showered one another – Khripach with his quick, high-flown patter, Lyudmila with her melodious babbling. With the irresistible plausibility of what is false, she smoothly poured out her story of her relationship with Sasha. Her chief motive, however, was her very real sympathy for the boy who had been subjected to the whips and scorns of evil tongues, as well as her desire to replace his absent family. All in all, he was such a wonderful, cheerful, open-hearted boy. Lyudmila was so touched by her own story that tiny tears, so beautiful to see, swiftly rolled down her pink cheeks to her lips, which were smiling
with embarrassment.

  ‘Yes, I’ve come to love him like a brother,’ she said. ‘He’s such a wonderful, kind boy who appreciates affection so much. He used to kiss my hands.’

  ‘That’s all very laudable,’ Khripach replied, somewhat embarrassed, ‘and it does credit to your kind feelings. But I think that you’ve taken too much to heart the simple fact that, as headmaster, I considered it my duty to inform the boy’s relatives about the rumours that have reached my ears—’

  Without listening Lyudmila went on chattering and her tone became mildly reproachful. ‘And tell me, what was so wrong with our taking an interest in a poor boy who’s been victimized by that lunatic, Peredonov? When are you getting rid of him, anyway? Can’t you see for yourself that Pylnikov is a mere child? Yes, a mere child!’

  She clasped her tiny pretty hands, jingled her gold bracelet and laughed softly, as though she were crying; then she took out her handkerchief to wipe away the tears and a delicate fragrance drifted towards Khripach. Now he suddenly felt impelled to tell her that she was as ‘enchanting as an angel’* and that the whole regrettable incident ‘was not worth one moment of her sweet sorrow’.† But he managed to control himself.

  Like a stream, Lyudmila’s gentle, rapid chatter flowed on and on, scattering like smoke the fantastic edifice of Peredonov’s lie. One only had to compare the demented, coarse, filthy Peredonov with that happy, radiant, sweet-smelling, prettily dressed Lyudmila. Khripach didn’t care whether she was telling the whole truth or making it up: he felt that not to believe her, to quarrel with her, to take some steps or even punish Pylnikov would be tantamount to putting his foot in it and would only bring disgrace on himself throughout the whole district. All the more so since it involved Peredonov, who was generally considered insane.

  So he smiled amiably and told Lyudmila, ‘I’m very sorry that this has been so distressing for you. Not for one moment did I have any doubts as to the purity of your relationship with Pylnikov. I think you have been inspired in this matter by the noblest of motives, which I value very highly, and not for one moment have I looked upon the rumours circulating in this town as anything other than stupid insane slander, and this has disturbed me deeply. It was my duty to inform Pylnikov’s aunt, all the more so since she might have heard even more distorted stories. But I had no intention of troubling you in any way and I had no idea that Mrs Pylnikov would deem fit to reproach you.’