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

anxious to be hospitable to Volodin. “You know, old chap, I shall soon get an inspector’s billet⁠—the Princess has promised Vara.”

Volodin seemed pleased and laughed.

“And the future inspector is drinking coffee,” he exclaimed, slapping Peredonov on the back.

“And you think it’s easy to get an inspector’s job,” said Peredonov. “Once you’re reported, that’s the end of you.”

“And who’s going to report you?” asked Varvara.

“There are plenty to do that,” said Peredonov. “They might say I’d been reading Pisarev.3 And there you are!”

“But, Ardalyon Borisitch, you ought to put Pisarev behind your other books,” advised Volodin, sniggering.

Peredonov glanced cautiously at Volodin and said:

“Perhaps I’ve never even had Pisarev. Won’t you have a drink, Pavloushka?”

Volodin stuck out his lower lip and made a significant face, like a man who was conscious of his own value, and bent his head rather like a ram:

“I’m always ready to drink in company,” he said, “but not on my lonesome!”

And Peredonov was also always ready to drink. They drank their vodka and ate the jam tarts afterwards.

Suddenly Peredonov splashed the dregs of his coffee-cup on the wallpaper. Volodin goggled his sheepish eyes, and gazed in astonishment. The wallpaper was soiled and torn. Volodin asked:

“What are you doing to your wallpaper?”

Peredonov and Varvara laughed.

“It’s to spite the landlady,” said Varvara. “We’re leaving soon. Only don’t you chatter.”

“Splendid!” shouted Volodin, and joined in the laughter.

Peredonov walked up to the wall and began to wipe the soles of his boots on it. Volodin followed his example. Peredonov said:

“We always dirty the walls after every meal, so that they’ll remember us when we’ve gone!”

“What a mess you’ve made!” exclaimed Volodin, delightedly.

“Won’t Irishka be surprised,” said Varvara, with a dry, malicious laugh.

And all three, standing before the wall, began to spit at it, to tear the paper, and to smear it with their boots. Afterwards, tired but pleased, they ceased.

Peredonov bent down and picked up the cat, a fat, white, ugly beast. He began to torment the animal, pulling its ears, and tail, and then shook it by the neck. Volodin laughed gleefully and suggested other methods of tormenting the animal.

“Ardalyon Borisitch, blow into his eyes! Brush his fur backwards!”

The cat snarled, and tried to get away, but dared not show its claws. It was always thrashed for scratching. At last this amusement palled on Peredonov and he let the cat go.

“Listen, Ardalyon Borisitch, I’ve got something to tell you,” began Volodin. “I kept thinking of it all the way here and now I’d almost forgotten it.”

“Well?” asked Peredonov.

“I know you like sweet things,” said Volodin, “and I know one that will make you lick your fingers!”

“There’s nothing you could teach me about things to eat,” remarked Peredonov.

Volodin looked offended.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you know all the good things that are made in your village, but how can you know all the good things that are made in my village, if you’ve never been there?”

And satisfied that this argument clinched the matter, Volodin laughed, like a sheep bleating.

“In your village they gorge themselves on dead cats,” said Peredonov.

“Permit me, Ardalyon Borisitch,” said Volodin. “It is possible that in your village they eat dead kittens. We won’t talk about it. But surely you’ve never eaten erli?”

“No, that’s true,” confessed Peredonov.

“What sort of food is that?” asked Varvara.

“It’s this,” explained Volodin, “You know what koutia4 is?”

“Well, who doesn’t know?” said Varvara.

“Well, this is what it is,” went on Volodin. “Ground koutia, raisins, sugar and almonds. That’s erli.”

And Volodin began to describe minutely how they cook erli in his village. Peredonov listened to him in an annoyed way.

“Koutia,” thought Peredonov, “why does he mention that? Does he want me to be dead?”

Volodin suggested:

“If you’d like to have it done properly, give me the stuff, and I’ll cook it myself for you.”

“Turn a goat into a vegetable garden,” said Peredonov, gravely.

“He might drop some poison-powder into it,” thought Peredonov.

Volodin was offended again.

“Now if you think, Ardalyon Borisitch, that I shall steal some of your sugar, you’re mistaken. I don’t want your sugar!”

“Don’t go on making a fool of yourself,” interrupted Varvara. “You know how particular he is. You’d better come here and do it.”

“Yes, and you’ll have to eat it yourself,” said Peredonov.

“Why?” asked Volodin, his voice trembling with indignation.

“Because it’s nasty stuff.”

“As you like, Ardalyon Borisitch,” said Volodin, shrugging his shoulders. “I only wanted to please you, and if you don’t want it, you don’t want it.”

“Now tell us about the reprimand the General gave you,” said Peredonov.

“What General?” asked Volodin, and flushed violently as he protruded an offended lower lip.

“It’s no use pretending. We’ve heard it,” said Peredonov.

Varvara grinned.

“Excuse me, Ardalyon Borisitch,” said Volodin, hotly. “Likely enough you’ve heard about it, but you haven’t heard the right story. Now I’ll tell you exactly what happened.”

“Fire away,” said Peredonov.

“It happened three days ago, about this time,” began Volodin. “In our school, as you know, repairs are going on in the workroom. And here, if you please, comes in Veriga with our inspector to look around, and we are working in the back room. So far, good. It doesn’t matter what Veriga wanted or why he came⁠—that’s no concern of mine. Suppose he is a nobleman? Still he’s no connection with our school. But that’s no concern of mine. He comes in, and we don’t take any notice of him and go on working. When suddenly they come into our room, and Veriga, if you please, has his hat on.”

“That was an insult to you,” said Peredonov.

“But you must know,” interrupted Volodin, eagerly. “There’s an icon in our room, and we had our hats off. And he suddenly appears like a Mohammedan dog. And I up and said to him quietly, and with great dignity: ‘Your Excellency,’ I say to him, ‘Will you be good enough to take your hat off, because,’ I say to him, ‘there’s an icon in the room.’ Now, was that the right thing