The Little Demon, Fyodor Sologub [reading the story of the TXT] 📗

said about you⁠—though I assure you I haven’t heard anything⁠—is mere gossip. But the position you have in view doesn’t depend on me alone.”

“They might ask you about it,” said Peredonov.

Kirillov looked at him in astonishment, and said:

“Of course they will. But the real point at issue is that we have in view⁠ ⁠…”

At this moment Kirillov’s wife appeared at the door and said:

“Stepan Ivanitch, just a moment.”

The husband went to her. She whispered to him in a worried way:

“I think you’d better not tell this creature that we have Krasilnikov in view. I mistrust this creature⁠—he will try to spoil Krasilnikov’s chances.”

“You think so?” whispered Kirillov. “Yes, yes, you may be right. It’s an unpleasant business.”

He clutched his head.

His wife looked at him with professional sympathy and said:

“It is better to tell him nothing at all about it⁠—as if there were no vacancy.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” whispered Kirillov. “But I must run along⁠—it’s discourteous.”

He ran back into his study and began to converse amiably with Peredonov.

“So you will⁠—if⁠ ⁠…” began Peredonov.

“Please rest assured. Please rest assured. I’ll have it in view,” said Kirillov quickly. “We haven’t yet fully decided this question.”

Peredonov did not understand to what question Kirillov referred, and he felt oppressed and apprehensive. Kirillov went on:

“We are establishing a school-map. We’ve had experts from Peterburg. They’ve worked at it the whole summer. It cost us nine hundred roubles. We’re preparing now for the District meeting. It’s a remarkably efficient plan⁠—all distances have been considered and all school points have been mapped out.”

And Kirillov explained the school-map minutely and at length, that is, the apportioning the District into several small divisions, with a school in each, so that every village would have its school close at hand. Peredonov understood nothing of this and became entangled with his dull thoughts in the wordy strands of the net which Kirillov handled so deftly and quickly.

At last he took his leave, hopelessly oppressed. In this house, he thought, they did not want to understand him or even to listen to what he had to say. The host babbled something unintelligible. Trepetov snorted angrily for some reason or other. The hostess came in ungraciously and walked out again⁠—strange people lived in this house, thought Peredonov. A lost day!

XI

On Saturday Peredonov prepared to visit the Commissioner of Police. “Though he is not so big a bird as the Marshal of the Nobility,” thought Peredonov, “he might do me greater harm than anyone else. On the other hand he might help me a great deal with the authorities. The police are, after all, very important.”

Peredonov took from its box his official cap with its badge. He decided that henceforth he would wear no other hat. It was all very well for the Headmaster to wear any hat he liked⁠—he stood well with the authorities, but Peredonov was still seeking his inspector’s position; it was not enough for him to depend upon patrons, he must do something himself to show his mettle. Already, several days earlier, before he had begun to go about among the authorities, he had thought of this, but somehow his hat only came to his hand. Now Peredonov arranged things differently: he threw his hat on top of the stove⁠—to make certain that he would not pick it up by accident.

Varvara was not at home; Klavdia was washing the floors. Peredonov went into the kitchen to wash his hands. He saw on the table there a roll of blue paper from which a few raisins had fallen. This was a pound of raisins bought for the teacake to be baked at home. Peredonov began to eat the raisins as they were, unwashed and unstoned. He quickly and avidly ate the whole pound as he stood at the table, keeping one eye on the door so that Klavdia should not surprise him. Then he carefully folded up the thick, blue paper and carried it into the front room under his coat and there put it in the pocket of his overcoat so that he could throw it away in the street and thus get rid of all traces of it.

He walked out. Soon Klavdia went to get the raisins, and then began to hunt for them unsuccessfully in a frightened way. Varvara returned and discovered the loss of the raisins and began to abuse Klavdia: she was certain that Klavdia had eaten them.

It was quiet in the streets with a slight breeze. There was only an occasional cloud. The pools were drying up. There was a pale glow in the sky. But Peredonov’s soul was heavily oppressed.

On the way he went into the tailor’s in order to hurry along the new uniform he had ordered three days ago.

As he walked past the church he took his hat off and crossed himself three times elaborately and sweepingly, so that everyone should see how the future inspector walked past the church. He was not accustomed to do it before, but now he had to be on the lookout. It was possible that some spy was walking stealthily behind or was hiding around a corner or behind a tree and was watching him.

The Commissioner of Police lived in a remote street of the town. In the gates, which were flung wide open, Peredonov met a police constable⁠—a meeting which now always made Peredonov feel dejected. There were several muzhiks visible in the courtyard, but not the kind one meets everywhere⁠—these were an unusually orderly and quiet sort. The courtyard was dirty. Carts stood about covered with matting.

In the dark corridor Peredonov met another police constable, a small, meagre man of capable yet depressed appearance. He stood motionless and held under his arm a book in black leather binding. A ragged, barefoot girl ran out from a side door and helped Peredonov off with his coat; as she led him into the drawing-room, she said:

“Please come in, Semyon Grigoryevitch will be here soon.”

The drawing-room ceiling was low and this oppressed Peredonov. The