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

“No, I’d better go as far as the house, and then I shall see,” Peredonov decided.

The night was quiet, cold and dark. It enveloped him on all sides and compelled him to walk slowly. Fresh gusts of wind blew from the neighbouring fields. Light, rustling noises could be heard in the grass along the fences, and everything around him seemed suspicious and strange⁠—perhaps someone was following stealthily behind and watching him. All objects were strangely and unexpectedly concealed by the darkness, as if another different nocturnal life awoke in them, incomprehensible to man and hostile to him. Peredonov walked quickly in the streets and mumbled:

“You won’t gain anything by following me. I’m not going on any bad business. I’m going in the interest of my work. So there!”

At last he reached Goudayevsky’s house. A light was visible in one of the windows facing the street; the remaining four were dark. Peredonov ascended the steps very quietly, stood a while and put his ears to the door and listened⁠—everything was quiet. He lightly pulled the brass handle of the bell⁠—a distant, faint tinkle of a bell was heard. But, faint though it was, it frightened Peredonov, as if this sound would awaken all the hostile powers and make them come to this door. Peredonov quickly ran down the steps and hid behind a post, pressing close against the wall.

Several moments passed. Peredonov’s heart jumped and beat heavily.

Presently light footsteps could be heard and the noise of a door opening. Julia looked out into the street and her black, passionate eyes gleamed in the darkness.

“Who’s there?” she asked in a loud whisper.

Peredonov stepped a little away from the wall and looked into the narrow opening of the door where it was dark and quiet, and asked also in a tremulous whisper:

“Has Nikolai Mikhailovitch gone?”

“Yes, he’s gone, he’s gone,” she whispered joyously.

Peredonov glanced timidly around him and followed her into the dark passage.

“I’m sorry I have no light,” whispered Julia, “but I’m afraid someone might see and they might gossip.”

She led Peredonov up the staircase into a corridor, where a small lamp hung, throwing a dim light on the upper stairs. Julia laughed quietly and joyously, and her ribbons trembled from her laughter.

“Yes, he’s gone,” she whispered gleefully, as she looked around and scrutinised Peredonov with passionately burning eyes. “I was afraid he would remain at home tonight as he was in a great rage. But he couldn’t do without his game of whist. I’ve even sent the maid away⁠—there’s only the baby’s nurse in the house⁠—otherwise we might be interrupted. For you know what sort of people there are nowadays.”

A heat came from Julia⁠—she was hot and dry, like a splinter. Once or twice she caught Peredonov by the sleeve, and these quick contacts seemed to send small dry fires through his whole body. They walked quietly and on tiptoe through the corridor, past several closed doors, and stopped at the last⁠—it was the door of the children’s room.⁠ ⁠…

Peredonov left Julia at midnight, when she began to expect her husband’s return. He walked in the dark streets, morose and gloomy. It seemed to him that someone had been standing by the house and was now following him. He mumbled:

“I went on account of my work. It wasn’t my fault. She wanted it herself. You can’t deceive me⁠—you’ve got the wrong man.”

Varvara was not yet asleep when he returned. Her cards were lying in front of her.

It seemed to Peredonov that someone might step in when he entered. It was possible that Varvara herself had let the enemy come in. Peredonov said:

“If I go to sleep you’ll bewitch me with the cards. Give me the cards, or you’ll bewitch me.”

He took the cards away and hid them under his pillow. Varvara smiled and said:

“You’re making a fool of yourself. I haven’t the power to bewitch anyone, and as if I wanted it!”

He felt vexed and frightened because she was smiling: that meant, he thought, that she might bewitch him even without cards. The cat was shrinking under the bed, and his green eyes sparkled⁠—one might be bewitched by his fur, if it were stroked in the dark so that electric sparks flew from it. Behind the chest of drawers the grey nedotikomka gleamed again⁠—was it not Varvara who called it up at nights with a slight whistle like a snore!

Peredonov dreamed a repulsive, terrible dream: Pilnikov came, stood on the threshold, beckoned him and smiled. It was as if someone drew him towards Pilnikov, who led him through dark, dirty streets while the cat ran beside and his green eyes gleamed and shone.⁠ ⁠…

Peredonov’s strange behaviour worried Khripatch more and more. He consulted the school physician and asked him whether Peredonov were not out of his mind. The doctor laughingly replied that Peredonov had no mind to be out of, and that he was simply acting stupidly. There were also complaints. Adamenko’s was the first: she sent to the Headmaster her brother’s exercise-book which had been given only one mark for a very good piece of work. The Headmaster, during one of the recesses, asked Peredonov to come and see him.

“Yes, it’s quite true, he does look a little mad,” thought Khripatch when he saw traces of perplexity and terror on Peredonov’s dull, gloomy face.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” said Khripatch quickly and dryly. “Whenever I have to work in a room next to yours my head is split⁠—there’s such an uproar of laughter in your class. May I request you to give lessons of a less cheerful nature? ‘To scoff and always scoff⁠—don’t you get tired?’ ”30

“It isn’t my fault,” said Peredonov, “they laugh by themselves. It is impossible to mention anything from the grammar or the satires of Kantemir without their laughing. They are a bad lot. They ought to be well scolded.”

“It’s desirable and even necessary that the work in class should be