The Little Demon - Fyodor Sologub (reading the story of the TXT) 📗

to have wept with disappointment that he had rejected them. “They’re pretending,” he thought, as he left the garden silently. The girls ran to the windows facing the street and shouted gibes after him until he was lost in the darkness. V

Peredonov felt depressed. He had no more caramels in his pocket and this added to his depression and distress. Routilov was the only one to speak almost the whole way. He continued to laud his sisters. Only once did Peredonov break into speech, when he asked angrily:

“Has a bull horns?”

“Well, yes, but what of it?” asked the astonished Routilov.

“Well, I don’t want to be a bull,” explained Peredonov.

“Ardalyon Borisitch,” said Routilov in tones of annoyance, “you will never be a bull, for you are a real swine.”

“Liar,” said Peredonov morosely.

“I’m not a liar⁠—I can prove I’m not,” said Routilov spitefully.

“Go ahead and prove it.”

“Just wait, I’ll prove it,” said Routilov. They walked on silently. Peredonov waited apprehensively and his anger with Routilov tormented him. Suddenly Routilov asked:

“Ardalyon Borisitch, have you got a piatachek?”8

“I have, but I won’t give it to you,” answered Peredonov. Routilov burst out laughing.

“If you have a piatachek, then you are a swine,” he exclaimed.

Peredonov in his apprehension grabbed his nose and exclaimed:

“You’re lying! I haven’t a piatachek⁠—I’ve got a man’s face,” he growled.

Routilov was still laughing. Peredonov, angry and rather frightened, looked cautiously at Routilov and said:

“You’ve led me purposely today by the durman9 and you’ve durmanised me so as to lure me for one of your sisters. As if one witch wasn’t enough for me⁠—you tried to make me marry three at once.”

“You are a queer fellow. And why didn’t I get durmanised?” asked Routilov.

“You’ve got some way or other,” said Peredonov, “perhaps you breathed through your mouth instead of your nose, or you may have recited a charm. For my part, I don’t know at all how to act against witchcraft. I don’t know much about black magic. Until I recited the counter-charm I was quite durmanised.”

Routilov laughed. “Well, and how did you make the exorcism?” he asked.

But Peredonov did not reply.

“Why do you tie yourself up with Varvara?” asked Routilov. “Do you think that you’ll be happier if she gets the inspectorship for you? She’ll rule the roost then!”

This was incomprehensible to Peredonov.

After all, he thought, she was really acting in her own interests. She herself would have an easier time if he became an important official, and she would have more money. That meant that she would be grateful to him and not he to her. And in any case she was more congenial to him than anyone else.

Peredonov was accustomed to Varvara. Something drew him to her⁠—perhaps it was his habit, which was very pleasant to him, of bullying her. He would not find another like her however much he sought.

It was already late. The lamps were lit at Peredonov’s house; the lighted windows were conspicuous in the dark street. The tea-table was surrounded with visitors: Grushina⁠—who now visited Varvara every day⁠—Volodin, Prepolovenskaya, and her husband Konstantin Petrovitch, a tall man, under forty, with a dull, pale face and black hair, a person of an amazing taciturnity. Varvara was in a white party dress. They were drinking tea, and talking. Varvara, as usual, was distressed because Peredonov had not yet returned home. Volodin, with his cheerful bleat, was telling her that Peredonov had gone off somewhere with Routilov. This only increased her distress.

At last Peredonov appeared with Routilov. They were met with outcries, laughter, stupid coarse jokes.

“Varvara, where’s the vodka?” exclaimed Peredonov gruffly.

Varvara quickly left the table, smiling guiltily, and brought the vodka in a decanter of rudely cut glass.

“Let’s have a drink,” was Peredonov’s surly invitation.

“Just wait,” said Varvara; “Klavdiushka will bring the zakouska.10 You great lump,” she shouted into the kitchen, “hurry up!”

But Peredonov was already pouring the liquor into the vodka glasses. He growled:

“Why should we wait? Time doesn’t wait!”

They drank their vodka and helped it down with tarts filled with black currant jam. Peredonov had always two stock entertainments for visitors⁠—cards and vodka. But as they could not sit down to cards before the tea was served, only vodka remained. In the meantime the zakouska also were brought in so that they could drink some more vodka. Klavdia did not shut the door when she went out, which put Peredonov into a bad humour.

“That door is never shut!” he growled.

He was afraid of the draught⁠—he might catch cold. This was why his house was always stuffy and malodorous.

Prepolovenskaya picked up an egg.

“Fine eggs!” she said. “Where do you get them?”

Peredonov replied:

“They’re not bad, but on my father’s estate there was a hen that laid two large eggs every day all the year round.”

“That’s nothing to boast of,” said Prepolovenskaya; “now in our village there was a hen that laid two eggs every day and a spoonful of butter.”

“Yes, yes, we had one like that too,” said Peredonov, not noticing that he was being made fun of. “If others could do it, ours did it too. We had an exceptional hen.”

Varvara laughed.

“They’re having a little joke,” she said.

“Such nonsense makes one’s ears wither!” said Grushina.

Peredonov looked at her savagely and replied:

“If your ears wither they’ll have to be pulled off!”

Grushina was disconcerted.

“Well, Ardalyon Borisitch, you’re always saying something nasty,” she complained.

The others laughed appreciatively. Volodin opened his eyes wide, twitched his forehead and explained:

“When your ears start withering it’s best to pull them off, because if you don’t they’ll dangle and swing to and fro.”

Volodin made a gesture with his fingers to indicate how the withered ears would dangle. Grushina snapped at him:

“That’s the sort you are. You can’t make a joke yourself. You have to use other people’s.”

Volodin was offended and said with dignity:

“I can make a joke myself, Maria Ossipovna, but when we’re having a pleasant time in company,