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

trickster. She knew Kokovkina, and so one evening Liudmilla announced to her sisters:

“I’m going to take a look at this girl.”

“Busybody!” said Darya indignantly.

“She’s got on her best clothes,” said Valeria with a restrained smile.

They were annoyed because they had not thought of it first and it would be awkward for the three of them to go. Liudmilla was dressed more elaborately than usual⁠—she herself could not tell why. Apart from other considerations, she liked to dress up. She dressed more lightly than her sisters: her arms and her shoulders were a little more bared, her dress a little shorter, her shoes a little lighter, her stockings a little thinner, more transparent and of a flesh colour. At home she liked to go about in a petticoat, without stockings, but with shoes on her bared feet⁠—moreover her petticoat and her chemise were very charmingly embroidered.

The weather was cold, windy, and the fallen leaves floated on the speckled pools. Liudmilla walked quickly, and under her thin cloak she almost did not feel the cold.

Kokovkina and Sasha were drinking tea. Liudmilla looked at them with searching eyes⁠—they were sitting quietly, drinking tea, eating rolls and chatting. Liudmilla kissed Kokovkina and said:

“I’ve come on business, dear Olga Vassilyevna, but that can wait⁠—first warm me up with a little tea. But who is this young man here?”

Sasha flushed and bowed uneasily. Kokovkina introduced them. Liudmilla sat down at the table and began to gossip in an animated way. The townspeople liked to see her because she could recount things prettily. Kokovkina, who was a stay-at-home, was openly glad to see her, and welcomed her heartily. Liudmilla chattered on merrily, laughed, and jumped up now and then to mimic someone and incidently to tease Sasha. She said to Kokovkina:

“You must feel lonely, my dear, from sitting always at home with this grumpy little schoolboy. You might look in on us now and then.”

“But how can I?” answered Kokovkina. “I’m too old to go visiting.”

“Don’t call it visiting,” said Liudmilla. “Just come in when you like and make yourself at home. This infant needs no swaddling.”

Sasha assumed an injured expression and blushed.

“What a stick-in-the-corner he is,” said Liudmilla to annoy him, and nudged Sasha. “You ought to talk to your visitors.”

“He’s still only a youngster,” said Kokovkina. “He’s very modest.”

“I’m modest too,” said Liudmilla with a smile.

Sasha laughed and said ingenuously:

“Really, are you modest?”

Liudmilla burst out laughing. Her laughter, as always, was delightfully gay. As she laughed, she flushed very much and her eyes became mischievous and guilty, and their glance attempted to dodge those of her companions. Sasha was flustered and tried eagerly to explain.

“I didn’t mean that⁠—I wanted to say that you were very gay and not modest⁠—and not that you were immodest.”

Then feeling what he had said was not as clear as it might be, he grew more confused and blushed.

“What impertinence!” exclaimed Liudmilla laughing and flushing. “What a jewel he is!”

“You’ve embarrassed my Sashenka,” said Kokovkina, looking affectionately at both Liudmilla and Sasha.

Liudmilla, leaning forward with a cat-like movement, stroked Sasha’s head. He gave a loud, embarrassed laugh, turned from under her hands and ran into his room.

“My dear, find me a husband,” said Liudmilla without any ado.

“Well, you’ve found a nice matchmaker, I must say!” said Kokovkina with a smile, but it was evident from the expression of her face that she would have undertaken to make a marriage with great enjoyment.

“How are you not a matchmaker and why shouldn’t I make a bride?” said Liudmilla. “Surely you wouldn’t be ashamed to make a marriage for me.”

Liudmilla put her arms on her hips and danced a few steps in front of her hostess.

“Well,” said Kokovkina, “what a wood flower you are!”

“You might do it in your spare time,” said Liudmilla with a laugh.

“What sort of husband would you like?” asked Kokovkina with amusement.

“Let him be⁠—let him be dark⁠—my dear, he must certainly be dark, very dark, dark as a⁠—well, you have a model here⁠—your student⁠—his eyebrows must be black and his eyes languishing, and his eyelashes must be long⁠—long, blue-black eyelashes⁠—your schoolboy’s certainly handsome⁠—really handsome⁠—I’d like one of his sort.”

Soon Liudmilla made ready to leave. It had grown quite dark. Sasha went out to escort her.

“Only as far as the cabby,” said Liudmilla in a gentle voice, and looked at Sasha with her caressing eyes, blushing guiltily.

Once on the street Liudmilla became gay once more and began to cross-examine Sasha.

“Well, are you always at your lessons? Do you read much?”

“Yes, I love reading,” replied Sasha.

“Andersen’s fairytales?”

“No, not fairytales, but all sorts of books. I like history and poems too.”

“Do you like poetry? And who’s your favourite poet?” asked Liudmilla gravely.

“Nadson, of course,”22 replied Sasha, with the deep conviction of the impossibility of any other answer.

“So, so!” said Liudmilla encouragingly. “I like Nadson too, but only in the morning. In the evening, my dear, I like to dress up. And what do you like to do?”

Sasha looked at her with his soft, dark eyes⁠—they suddenly became moist⁠—and he said quietly:

“I like to caress.”

“Well, you are a nice boy,” said Liudmilla, putting her arm on his shoulder. “So you like to caress? But do you like to splash23 in your bath?”

Sasha smiled. Liudmilla went on:

“In warm water?”

“Yes, in warm and in cold,” said the boy shamefacedly.

“And what sort of soap do you like?”

“Glycerine.”

“And do you like grapes?”

Sasha began to laugh.

“You’re a queer girl! It’s a different thing and you ask as if it were the same. You can’t take me in.”

“As if I wanted to!” said Liudmilla laughing.

“I know what you are⁠—you’re a giggler.”

“Where did you get that?”

“Everyone says so,” said Sasha.

“You’re a little gossip,” said Liudmilla with assumed severity.

Sasha blushed again.

“Well, here’s a cabby. Cabby!” shouted Liudmilla.

“Cabby!” shouted Sasha also.

The cabman came up in his shaky drozhky.

Liudmilla told him where to go. He thought a while and demanded forty kopecks. Liudmilla said:

“Do you think it’s far? That shows that you don’t know the road.”

“Well,