The Little Demon Fyodor Sologub (large ebook reader .TXT) 📖

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Pavel Vassilyevitch,” said Varvara consolingly. “He’s only talking, his heart doesn’t know what his tongue blabs.”

Volodin said nothing, and preserving his injured look began to pour the vodka from the decanter into the glasses. Varvara said sarcastically:

“How is it, Ardalyon Borisitch, that you’re not afraid to drink vodka when he pours it out? Perhaps he’s exorcising it⁠—don’t you see his lips moving?”

Peredonov’s face bore an expression of terror. He caught the glass which Volodin had filled and flung the vodka on to the floor, shouting:

“Chure me! Chure⁠—chure⁠—chure! A spell against the spell-weaver⁠—may the evil tongue die of thirst, may the black eye burst. To him Karachoun [death], to me chure-perechure!”

Then he turned to Volodin with a malignant face, snapped his fingers and said:

“That’s for you. You’re cunning, but I’m more cunning.”

Varvara laughed uproariously.

Volodin bleating in an offended, trembling voice said:

“It’s you, Ardalyon Borisitch, who know and pronounce all sorts of magic words, but I never occupied myself with black magic. I hadn’t any idea of bedevilling your vodka or anything else, but it’s possible that it’s you who’ve bewitched my brides from me.”

“What an idea!” said Peredonov angrily. “I don’t want your brides. I can get them by cleaner means.”

“You’ve cast a spell to burst my eyes,” continued Volodin, “but mind your spectacles don’t burst sooner.”

Peredonov caught his glasses in fear.

“What nonsense!” he growled. “You let your tongue run away with you.”

Varvara looked warningly at Volodin and said crossly:

“Don’t be spiteful, Pavel Vassilyevitch, eat your soup, or else it’ll get cold. Eat, you spiteful thing!”

She thought that Ardalyon Borisitch had exorcised himself in time. Volodin began to eat his soup. They were all silent for a while, and presently Volodin said in a hurt voice:

“No wonder I dreamed last night that I was being smeared with honey. Did you smear me, Ardalyon Borisitch?”

“That’s not the way you ought to be smeared,” said Varvara still crossly.

“Why should I be? Be good enough to tell me. I don’t see why I should be,” said Volodin.

“Well, because you’ve got a nasty tongue,” explained Varvara. “You oughtn’t to babble everything that comes into your mind immediately.”

In the evening Peredonov went to the Club⁠—he had been invited to play cards. Goudayevsky, the notary, was also there. Peredonov was frightened when he saw him, but Goudayevsky conducted himself quietly and Peredonov felt reassured.

They played a long time and drank a good deal. Late at night in the refreshment room Goudayevsky ran up to Peredonov and without any explanation hit him several times in the face, broke his glasses and quickly left the Club. Peredonov showed no resistance, pretended he was drunk, then fell to the floor, and began to grunt. They shook him and carried him home.

The next day the whole town was talking about this scuffle.

That same evening Varvara found an opportunity to steal the first forged letter from Peredonov. Grushina had insisted on this so that no discrepancies might be found by comparing the two forgeries. Peredonov carried this letter about with him, but on this evening he happened to leave it at home: while changing into his dress clothes, he had taken the letter from his pocket, put it under a textbook on the chest of drawers and promptly forgotten it. Varvara burnt it over a candle at Grushina’s.

When Peredonov returned home late that night and Varvara saw his broken spectacles, he told her that they had burst of themselves. She believed him and imagined that it was all the fault of Volodin’s evil tongue. Peredonov also persuaded himself that it was due to Volodin. The next day, however, Grushina told Varvara the details of the scuffle at the Club.

In the morning, when dressing, Peredonov suddenly remembered the letter, looked for it unavailingly, and felt terrified. He shouted in a savage voice:

“Varvara! Where’s that letter?”

Varvara was disconcerted.

“What letter?” she asked, looking at Peredonov with frightened eyes.

“The Princess’s!” shouted Peredonov.

Varvara somehow collected herself.

She said with an impudent smile:

“How should I know where it is? You must have thrown it among the waste paper and Klavdiushka has probably burnt it. You’d better look in your pockets for it, if it’s still to be found.”

Peredonov went to the gymnasia in a gloomy state of mind. Yesterday’s unpleasantness came into his mind. He thought of Kramarenko: how did this impudent boy dare to call him a scoundrel? That meant that he was not afraid of Peredonov. Perhaps the boy knew something about him and would inform against him.

In class Kramarenko stared at Peredonov and smiled, which terrified Peredonov even more. After the third class, Peredonov was again called to see the Headmaster. He went, vaguely apprehending something unpleasant.

Rumours of Peredonov’s doings reached Khripatch from all sides. That morning he had been told about last night’s occurrence at the Club. Yesterday, also, after lessons, Volodya Boultyakov had come to see him⁠—the boy who had been punished by his landlady at Peredonov’s request. To prevent a repetition of this visit with similar consequences the boy complained to the Headmaster.

In a dry, sharp voice Khripatch repeated to Peredonov the reports that had reached him⁠—from reliable sources, he added⁠—of how Peredonov had been going to his students’ homes giving their parents and guardians false information about the children’s conduct and progress, demanding that the boys should be whipped, in consequence of which certain disagreeable incidents had occurred among the parents, as, for instance, last night’s affair at the Club with the notary Goudayevsky.

Peredonov listened fearfully and yet irritatedly. Khripatch was silent.

“What of that?” said Peredonov in a surly voice. “It was he who struck me. Is that the way to behave? He had no right to fly into my face. He doesn’t go to church. He believes in a monkey and he’s corrupting his son into the same sect. He ought to be reported⁠—he’s a Socialist.”

Khripatch listened attentively to Peredonov and said insinuatingly:

“All this is not our affair, and I don’t