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

furniture was huddled against the wall. Rope-mats lay on the floor. To the right and to the left noises and whisperings could be heard behind the walls. Pale women and scrofulous boys looked out from the doors, all with avid glistening eyes. Among the whisperings certain questions and answers spoken in a louder tone could be heard:

“I brought⁠ ⁠…”

“Where shall I take this?”

“Where do you want this put?”

“I’ve brought it from Ermoshkin, Sidor Petrovitch.”

The Commissioner soon appeared. He was buttoning up his uniform and smiling amiably.

“Pardon me for keeping you waiting,” he said, as he pressed Peredonov’s hand in both his huge grasping hands. “I’ve had many business callers. Our work is such that it won’t bear delay.”

Semyon Grigoryevitch Minchukov a tall, robust, black-haired man, with a thinness of hair on the top of his scalp, stooped slightly. His hands hung down and his fingers were like rakes. He often smiled in such a way as to suggest that he had just eaten something that was forbidden but very pleasant and was now licking his lips. His lips were bright red, thick; his nose fleshy; his face was eager, zealous but stupid.

Peredonov was perturbed by everything he saw and heard in this place. He mumbled incoherent words and as he sat on his chair he tried to hold his cap in such a way that the Commissioner should see the badge. Minchukov sat opposite him on the other side of the table, very erect, and kept his amiable smile, while his rake-like fingers quietly moved on his knees, opening and shutting.

“They’re saying I don’t know what about me,” said Peredonov. “Things that never happened. I can do some informing myself, but I don’t want to. I’m nothing of what they say, but I know what they are. Behind your back they spread all sorts of scandal and then laugh in your face. You must admit that, in my position, this is very annoying. I have patronage, but these people go about throwing mud at me. All their following me about is useless. They only waste time and annoy me. Wherever you go, the whole town knows about it. So I hope that if anything happens you’ll support me.”

“Of course, of course! with the greatest pleasure! But how?” asked Minchukov, gesticulating with his large hands. “Still the police ought to know whether you suspect anyone.”

“Of course, it’s really nothing to me,” said Peredonov angrily. “Let them chatter if they like. But they might injure my position. They’re cunning. You don’t notice that they all chatter, like Routilov, for instance. How do you know that he’s not plotting to blow up the Treasury? It’s one way of shifting the blame.”

Minchukov at first thought that Peredonov was drunk and talking nonsense. Then as he listened further he imagined that Peredonov was complaining of someone who was spreading calumnies about him and that he had come to ask Minchukov to take certain measures.

“They’re young people,” continued Peredonov, thinking of Volodin, “and have a very good opinion of themselves. They’re plotting against other people and are dishonest themselves. Young people, as everyone knows, are liable to temptation. Some of them are even in the police service, and they too are busybodies.”

For a long time he talked about young people but for some reason or other did not want to name Volodin. At any rate, he wanted Minchukov to understand that certain young police officials were not free from his suspicions. Minchukov concluded that Peredonov was hinting at two young officials in the police bureau⁠—two very young men who were rather frivolous and were always running after girls. Peredonov’s confusion and manifest nervousness infected Minchukov.

“I’ll look into the matter,” he said with some anxiety. For a moment he was lost in thought and then again began to smile. “I have two quite young officials⁠—their mothers’ milk isn’t dry on their lips. Believe me, one of them is still put in the corner by his mother, honest to God!”

Peredonov broke into a cackling laugh.

In the meantime Varvara had gone to Grushina’s house where she learned an astonishing piece of news.

“Varvara Dmitrievna darling,” said Grushina rapidly, before Varvara had time to cross the threshold, “I have a piece of news for you that will make you stare.”

“What is it?” asked Varvara.

“Just think what low people there are in this world! What tricks they’ll play to reach their purpose!”

“What is the matter?”

“Just wait and I’ll tell you.”

But first of all the cunning Grushina gave Varvara coffee; then chased her children out into the street, which made the elder of her girls unwilling to go.

“Ah, you little brat!” Grushina shouted at her.

“You’re a brat yourself!” answered the little girl and stamped her foot at her mother.

Grushina caught the child by the hair, pushed her out the door and slammed it.⁠ ⁠…

“The little beast!” she complained to Varvara. “These children are a great worry. I’m alone with them and I never get any peace. If only they had their father!”

“Why don’t you marry again, then they’d have a father,” said Varvara.

“You never can tell how a man’ll turn out, Varvara Dmitrievna darling. He might treat them badly.”

In the meantime the little girl ran back from the street and threw into the window a handful of sand which fell on to her mother’s head and dress. Grushina put her head out of the window and shouted:

“Wait till I catch you, you little devil, and see what you’ll get!”

“You’re a devil yourself, you silly fool!” shouted the little girl from the street, jumping on one foot and clenching her dirty little fist at her mother.

“You just wait!” shouted Grushina.

And she shut the window. Then she sat down calmly as if nothing had happened and began to talk:

“I have a piece of news for you, but I don’t know if I ought to tell you. But don’t worry, Varvara Dmitrievna darling, they won’t succeed.”

“Well, what is it?” asked Varvara in affright, and the saucer of coffee trembled in her hand.

“You know that a young student by