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

Then you’ll see whether you can hide nasty things. You should have complained of them at once. But just wait, you’ll get it.”

Sasha rose and in confusion he shifted his belt. Kokovkina entered.

“Your quiet one is a good boy, I must say,” said Peredonov malignantly.

Kokovkina was frightened. She quickly walked up to Sasha and sat down at his side⁠—in her agitation she always stumbled⁠—and asked timorously:

“What’s the matter, Ardalyon Borisitch? What has he done?”

“You’d better ask him,” replied Peredonov with morose spite.

“What is it, Sashenka? What have you done?” asked Kokovkina, touching Sasha’s elbow.

“I don’t know,” said Sasha and began to cry.

“Well, what’s the matter? What is it? Why are you crying?” asked Kokovkina.

She laid her hands on the boy’s shoulders and pulled him towards her; she did not notice that this disturbed him further. He stood there, stooping, and kept his handkerchief to his eyes. Peredonov explained:

“He’s being taught nasty words in the gymnasia and he won’t say who it is. He oughtn’t to conceal things. He not only learns nasty words himself but he shields the other boys.”

“Oh, Sashenka, Sashenka. How could you do it? Aren’t you ashamed?” said Kokovkina in a flustered way, as she released Sasha.

“I did nothing,” replied Sasha, crying. “I did nothing that was wrong. Indeed, they tease me because I don’t use bad words.”

“Who says bad words?” asked Peredonov again.

“No one says them,” exclaimed Sasha in despair.

“There, you see how he lies?” said Peredonov. “He ought to be well punished. He must tell the truth as to who says these nasty words, because our gymnasia might get a bad name and we could do nothing against it.”

“You had better let him go, Ardalyon Borisitch,” said Kokovkina. “How can he inform against his companions? They’d make his life unbearable if he did.”

“He’s obliged to tell,” said Peredonov angrily. “Because it would be very useful. We will take measures to stop it.”

“But they’ll beat him,” said Kokovkina irresolutely.

“They won’t dare. If he’s afraid, then let him tell in secret.”

“Well, Sashenka, tell in secret. No one will know that it’s you.”

Sasha cried silently. Kokovkina drew him to her, embraced him, and for a long time whispered in his ear, but he shook his head negatively.

“He doesn’t want to,” said Kokovkina.

“Try a birch on him, then he’ll talk,” said Peredonov savagely. “Bring me a birch, I’ll make him talk.”

“Olga Vassilyevna! But why?” exclaimed Sasha. Kokovkina rose and embraced him.

“That’s enough crying,” she said gently but sternly, “no one shall touch you.”

“As you like,” said Peredonov. “But I must tell the Headmaster. I thought it might have been better to keep at home. Perhaps your Sashenka really knows more than he’ll tell. We don’t know yet why he’s teased with being a girl⁠—perhaps it’s for something else entirely. Perhaps it’s not he who’s being taught, but he who’s corrupting others.”

Peredonov left the room angrily. Kokovkina followed him. She said reproachfully:

“Ardalyon Borisitch, how can you worry a boy for I don’t know what? It’s as well that he doesn’t understand what you say.”

“Well, goodbye,” said Peredonov angrily. “But I shall tell the Headmaster. This must be investigated.”

He left. Kokovkina went to console Sasha. Sasha sat gloomily at his window and looked at the starry sky. His black eyes were now tranquil and strangely sad. Kokovkina silently stroked his head.

“It’s my fault,” he said. “I told him why they were teasing me and he wouldn’t let it drop. He’s a very coarse man. Not one of the students likes him.”

The next day Peredonov and Varvara moved into their new house. Ershova stood at the gate and exchanged violently abusive words with Varvara. Peredonov hid himself behind the furniture vans.

As soon as they got in they had their new house blessed. It was necessary, according to Peredonov’s calculations, to show that he was one of the faithful. During this ceremony the fumes of incense made his head dizzy and induced in him a religious mood.

One strange circumstance puzzled him. There came running from somewhere a strange indescribable creature⁠—a small, grey and nimble nedotikomka.20 It nodded, and it trembled, and circled round Peredonov. When he stretched out his hand to catch it, it glided swiftly out of sight, hid itself behind the door or the sideboard, but reappeared a moment later, and trembled and mocked again⁠—the grey, featureless, nimble creature.

At last when the blessing was over Peredonov, suspecting something, repeated a charm in a whisper. The nedotikomka hissed very, very quietly, shrivelled into a little ball and rolled away behind the door. Peredonov gave a sigh of relief.

“Yes, it’s good that it has rolled away altogether, but it’s possible that it lives in this house somewhere under the floor and will come out again to mock at me.”

Peredonov felt cold and depressed.

“What’s the use of all these unclean demons in the world?” he thought.

When the ceremony was over and the visitors gone Peredonov thought a longtime as to where the nedotikomka could have hidden itself. Varvara left with Grushina, and Peredonov began to search and rummage among her things.

“I wonder if Varvara carried it away in her pocket,” thought Peredonov. “It doesn’t need much room. It could hide in a pocket and stay there until its time comes to show itself.”

One of Varvara’s dresses attracted Peredonov’s attention. It was made up of flounces, bows and ribbons, as if made purposely to hide something. Peredonov examined it for a long time, then by force and with the help of a knife he partly tore, partly cut away, the pocket and threw it on the stove, and then began to tear and cut the whole dress into small pieces. Strange, confused thoughts wandered through his brain and his soul felt hopelessly gloomy.

Soon Varvara returned⁠—Peredonov was still cutting the remains of the dress into shreds. She thought he was drunk and began to abuse him. Peredonov listened for a long time and said at last:

“What are you barking at, fool! Perhaps you’re carrying a devil in your pocket. I must