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

cried the father, tearing his son away from her.

His mother held on to him; Antosha made despairing outcries, and the parents tustled with each other.

“Help me, Ardalyon Borisitch,” cried Julia. “Hold this monster while I settle with Antosha.”

Peredonov went to help. But Goudayevsky got his son away from Julia, pushed her aside, sprang towards Peredonov and cried threateningly:

“Don’t you come here! When two dogs are fighting the third one had better keep away! Yes, and I’ll see to you!”

Red, unkempt, perspiring, he shook his fist in the air. Peredonov retreated, muttering inaudible words. Julia ran round her husband and tried to catch hold of Antosha. His father hid him behind and pulled him by the arm, now to the right, now to the left. Julia, her eyes gleaming, cried:

“He’ll grow up to be a cutthroat! He’ll get into gaol! Hard labour’ll be his fate.”

“A plague on your tongue!” cried Goudayevsky. “Shut up, you wicked fool.”

“Oh, you tyrant!” screamed Julia, and running up to her husband hit him with her fist on the back and ran impetuously out of the drawing-room.

Goudayevsky clenched his fists and ran up to Peredonov.

“So you’ve come to raise a riot here!” he cried. “You say Antosha’s mischievous? You’re a liar. He’s not mischievous. And if he were, I should know it without you; and I don’t want anything to do with you. You go about the town taking in fools. You beat their little boys, and expect to get a Master’s diploma for birching. But you’ve come to the wrong place. Sir, I ask you to clear out!”

As he was saying this he jumped towards Peredonov and got him into a corner. Peredonov was frightened and would have been glad to run away, but Goudayevsky in his excitement did not notice that he was standing in his way. Antosha seized hold of the tails of his father’s frock-coat and began to tug at them. His father angrily turned on him and tried to kick him. But Antosha quickly jumped aside without, however, letting go of his father’s coat.

“Be quiet there,” exclaimed Goudayevsky. “Don’t forget yourself, Antosha.”

“Papotchka,” cried Antosha, continuing to tug at his father’s coattails, “you are keeping Ardalyon Borisitch from going.”

Goudayevsky quickly jumped to the side, Antosha barely managed to escape him.

“I beg your pardon,” said Goudayevsky and pointed to the door, “that’s the way out, and I won’t detain you.”

Peredonov quickly left the room. Goudayevsky put his fingers to his nose at him, then made a motion with his knee as if he were kicking him out. Antosha sniggered. Goudayevsky turned on him savagely:

“Antosha, don’t forget yourself! Don’t forget tomorrow. I’m going to the gymnasia, and if it’s true I’ll hand you over to your mother for a whipping!”

“I wasn’t mischievous. He’s a liar,” said Antosha piteously and in a squeaking voice.

“Antosha, don’t forget yourself,” shouted his father. “You shouldn’t say that he’s a liar, but that he’s made a mistake. Only little boys tell lies⁠—grownups make mistakes.”

In the meantime Peredonov managed to find his way into the half-dark hall, discovered his overcoat with some difficulty and began to put it on. His fear and nervousness hindered him from finding his sleeve. No one came to his assistance. Quite suddenly Julia ran out from a side door, rustling her flying ribbons, and whispered excitedly in his ear, making wild gestures and standing on tiptoe. Peredonov did not at first understand.

“I’m so grateful to you,” he heard at last. “It’s so good of you to take such an interest in the boy. Most people are so indifferent, but you understand a mother’s difficulties. It is so hard to bring children up; you can’t imagine how hard it is. I have only two and they give me no end of worry. My husband is a tyrant; he’s a terrible, terrible man. Don’t you think so? You’ve seen for yourself.”

“Yes,” mumbled Peredonov. “Well, your husband⁠—er⁠—well, he shouldn’t⁠ ⁠… I give a good deal of attention to it and he⁠ ⁠…”

“Oh, don’t say any more,” whispered Julia, “he’s a terrible man. He’s bringing me down to my grave, and he’ll be glad of it, and then he’ll corrupt my children, my dear Antosha. But I’m a mother, I won’t give him up; I’ll give him a beating all the same.”

“He won’t let you,” said Peredonov, and jerked his head in the direction of the drawing-room.

“Wait till he goes to his club. He won’t take Antosha with him! He’ll go and I shall keep quiet until then, as if I agreed with him; but once he goes I’ll give Antosha a beating and you will help me. You will help me, won’t you?”

Peredonov reflected and then said:

“Very well, but how shall I know when to come?”

“I’ll send for you,” whispered Julia. “You wait, and as soon as he goes to his club I’ll send for you.”

In the evening Peredonov received a note from Goudayevskaya. It ran:

“Most esteemed Ardalyon Borisitch,

“My husband has gone to his club, and now I am free from his savagery until one o’clock. Do me the kindness to come as soon as you can and help me with my misbehaving son. I realise that he must be rid of his faults while he’s still young, for afterwards it may be too late.

“With genuine respect,

“Julia Goudayevskaya.

“P.S.⁠—Please come as soon as possible, otherwise Antosha will go to sleep and I shall have to wake him.”

Peredonov quickly put on his overcoat, wrapped a scarf round his neck and prepared to go.

“Where are you going so late, Ardalyon Borisitch?” asked Varvara.

“I’m going on business,” replied Peredonov morosely, and left abruptly.

Varvara reflected sadly that again she would be unable to sleep for some time. If she could only hasten the marriage. Then she could sleep both night and day⁠—that would be bliss!

Once in the street, Peredonov was assailed by doubts. Suppose it was a trap? And suppose it suddenly turned out that Goudayevsky was at home, and they should seize him and beat him? Wouldn’t