[1]"Doosheet" means "to scent" and also "to suffocate."
[1]"Doosheet" means "to scent" and also "to suffocate."
[2]There is a pun here. The phrase "ti zhelayesh" means, "You like, you want it." When split into three words, "ti zhe layesh," it means, "You do bark."
[2]There is a pun here. The phrase "ti zhelayesh" means, "You like, you want it." When split into three words, "ti zhe layesh," it means, "You do bark."
Liudmilla met Sasha one day in the street and said to him:
"To-morrow the Head-Master's wife is having a birthday party for her eldest daughter—is the old lady going?"
"I don't know," said Sasha.
But already the hope stirred within him, not so much a hope as a desire, that Kokovkina would go and Liudmilla come and stay with him a while. In the evening he reminded Kokovkina of the morrow's party.
"I'd almost forgotten it," said Kokovkina, "of course, I must go. She's such a charming girl."
And, next day, as soon as Sasha had returned from school, Kokovkina went to the Khripatch's. Sasha was delighted with the idea that he had helped to get Kokovkina out of the house that day. He felt certain that Liudmilla would find time to come.
So it happened—Liudmilla came. She kissed Sasha's cheek and gave him her hand to kiss, and again she laughed and he blushed. A moist, sweet and flower-like odour came from Liudmilla's clothes—rose and orris, the fleshly and voluptuous orris blooming among roses. Liudmilla brought a long narrow box wrapped up in thin paper through which showed dimly a yellow label. She sat down, put the box on her knees, and looked archly at Sasha.
"Do you like dates?" she asked.
"Yes, I do," said Sasha with an amused grimace.
"Well, I've got some here for you," she said with a serious air.
She took the cover from the box and said:
"Take some."
She herself took the dates one by one from the box and put them in Sasha's mouth, making him kiss her hand after each. Sasha said:
"But my lips are sticky."
"That doesn't matter much. Kiss, it's good for your health," replied Liudmilla gaily. "I don't object."
"Perhaps I'd better give you all the kisses at once," said Sasha laughingly.
And he stretched out his hand to take a date himself.
"You'll cheat me! You'll cheat, me!" exclaimed Liudmilla, and quickly shut the lid down, pinching Sasha's fingers.
"What an idea! I'm quite honest. I won't cheat you," said Sasha reassuringly.
"No, no, I don't believe you," asserted Liudmilla.
"Well, if you like I'll give you the kisses beforehand," suggested Sasha.
"That looks more like business," said Liudmilla. "Here you are."
She stretched out her hand to Sasha. He took her long thin fingers, kissed them once and asked with a sly smile, without letting go of her hand:
"And you'll not cheat me, Liudmillotchka?"
"Do you think I'm dishonest!" answered Liudmilla. "You can kiss without suspicion."
Sasha bent over her hand and gave it quick kisses; he covered her hand with loud kisses, pressing his open lips against her hand, and feeling happy that he could kiss her so often. Liudmilla carefully counted the kisses. When she had counted ten, she said:
"It must be very awkward for you to stand and bend over."
"Well, I'll make myself more comfortable," said Sasha.
He went down on his knees and kissed her hand with renewed zeal.
Sasha loved sweets. He was pleased that Liudmilla had brought him some sweet things. For this he loved her still more tenderly.
Liudmilla sprinkled Sasha with lusciously aromatic scents. Their aroma astonished Sasha. It was at once overpoweringly sweet, intoxicating and radiantly hazy—like a sinful golden sunrise seen through an early white mist. Sasha said:
"What a strange perfume!"
"Try it on your hand," advised Liudmilla.
And she gave him an ugly, four-cornered jar, rounded at the edges. Sasha looked at it against the light. It was a bright yellow liquid. It had a large, highly coloured label with a French inscription—it was cyclamen from Piver's. Sasha took hold of the flat glass stopper, pulled it out and smelled at the perfume. Then he did as Liudmilla liked to do—he put his palm on the mouth of the bottle, turned it over quickly and then turned it upright again. Then he rubbed between his palms the few drops of cyclamen that remained and smelled his hand attentively. The spirit in the scent evaporated and the pure aroma remained. Liudmilla looked at him with expectancy.
Sasha said indecisively:
"It smells a little of insects."
"Don't tell lies, please," said Liudmilla in vexation.
She put some of the scent on her hand and smelled it. Sasha repeated:
"Yes, of insects."
Liudmilla suddenly flared up, so that small tears glistened in her eyes. She struck Sasha across the cheek and cried:
"Oh, you wicked boy! That's for your insects!"
"That was a healthy smack," said Sasha, and he laughed and kissed Liudmilla's hand. "But why are you so angry, dearest Liudmillotchka? What do you think it does smell of?"
He was not at all angry at the blow—he was completely bewitched by Liudmilla.
"What does it smell of?" asked Liudmilla, and caught hold of Sasha by the ear. "I'll tell you what, but first I'm going to pull your ear for you."
"Oi-oi-oi! Liudmillotchka darling, I won't do it again!" exclaimed Sasha, frowning with pain and pulling away from her.
Liudmilla let go of the reddened ear, gently drew Sasha to her, seated him on her knees and said:
"Listen—three scents live in the cyclamen—the poor flower smells of ambrosia—that is for working bees. You know, of course, that in Russian this is called 'sow-bread.'"
"Sow-bread," repeated Sasha laughingly. "That's a funny name."
"Now, don't laugh, you young scamp," said Liudmilla as she caught hold of his other ear, and continued: "Ambrosia, and the bees humming over it, that's the flower's joy. The flower also smells of vanilla. Now this is not for the bees, but for him of whom they dream, and this is the flower's desire—the flower and the golden sun above it. The flower's third perfume smells of the sweet tender body for the lover, and this is its love—the poor flower and the heavy midday sultriness. The bee, the sun and the sultriness—do you understand, my dear?"
Sasha silently shook his head. His smooth face flamed and his long dark eyelashes trembled slightly. Liudmilla looked dreamily into the distance and said:
"It gives one joy—the gentle and sunny cyclamen—it draws one towards desires, which give sweetness and shame, and it stirs the blood. Do you understand, my little sun, when it feels sweet and happy and sad and one wants to cry? Do you understand? That's what it is."
She pressed her lips in a long kiss on Sasha's. Liudmilla looked pensively in front of her. Suddenly a smile came across her lips. She lightly pushed Sasha away and asked:
"Do you like roses?"
Sasha sighed, opened his eyes, smiled tenderly and whispered:
"Yes."
"Large roses?" asked Liudmilla.
"Yes, all sorts—large and small," replied Sasha quickly, and he gracefully left her knees.
"And so you likerosotchki[1](little roses)?" asked Liudmilla gently, and her sonorous voice trembled from suppressed laughter.
"Yes, I like them," answered Sasha quickly. Liudmilla began to laugh.
"You stupid, you likerosotchki(strokes with a rod), and there's no one to whip you," she exclaimed.
They both laughed and flushed.
Desires innocent by reason of their being aroused unavoidably, made the chief charm of their relation for Liudmilla. They stirred one, and yet they were far from the coarse, repulsive attainment.
They began to argue as to who was the strongest. Liudmilla said:
"Well, suppose you are the strongest, what then? The thing is, who's the quickest."
"Well, I'm also the quickest," boasted Sasha.
"So you're quick," exclaimed Liudmilla teasingly.
They discussed the matter at length. At last Liudmilla suggested:
"Well, let's wrestle."
Sasha laughed and said:
"Well, you can't get the best of me!"
Liudmilla began to tickle him.
"So that's your way," he exclaimed as he giggled, and he wriggled away from her and caught her around the waist.
Then a tussle began. Liudmilla saw at once that Sasha was the stronger. As she could not beat him by strength, she cunningly made the best of an opportune moment and tripped up Sasha's foot—he fell and pulled Liudmilla down with him. Liudmilla easily freed herself and pressed him down on the floor. Sasha cried:
"That's not fair!"
Liudmilla put her knees on his stomach and held him on the floor with her hands. Sasha made great efforts to get free. Liudmilla began to tickle him again. Sasha's loud laughter mingled with hers. She laughed so much that she had to let Sasha go. She fell to the floor, still laughing. Sasha jumped to his feet. He was red and rather provoked.
"Russalka (water nymph)!" he shouted.
But the Russalka was lying on the floor, laughing.
Liudmilla seated Sasha on her knees. Tired with the wrestling, they sat happily and closely, looking into each other's eyes and smiling.
"I'm heavy for you. I shall hurt your knee. You'd better let me go."
"Never mind, sit still," replied Liudmilla affectionately. "You yourself said you liked to caress."
She stroked his head. He gently put his head against her. She said:
"You're very handsome, Sasha."
Sasha grew red and laughed.
"What an idea!" said he.
Conversations and thoughts about beauty, when applied to himself, somehow perplexed him; he had never as yet been curious to find out whether people considered him handsome or a monster.
Liudmilla pinched Sasha's cheek, which made him smile. A pretty red spot showed on his cheek. Liudmilla pinched the other cheek also. Sasha did not protest. He only took her hand, kissed it and said:
"You've done enough pinching. It hurts me, and you'll make your fingers stiff."
"It may be painful, but what a flatterer you've become."
"I shall have to do my lessons," said Sasha. "You must caress me a little while longer for good luck, so that I can get a five for my Greek."
"So you're sending me away," said Liudmilla.
She caught hold of his hand and rolled the sleeve above the elbow.
"What are you doing?" asked Sasha in confusion, blushing guiltily.
But Liudmilla looked at his arm admiringly and turned this way and that way.
"What beautiful arms you've got!" she said clearly and happily, and suddenly kissed it near the elbow.
Sasha tried to drag his arm away. Liudmilla held it and kissed it several more times. Sasha became still and cast down his eyes. And a strange expression came over his clear, half-smiling lips—and under the shadow of his thick eyelashes his hot cheeks began to pale.
They said good-bye to each other. Sasha escorted Liudmilla as far as the gate. He would have gone further but she forbade it. He paused at the gate and said:
"Come again oftener, my dear, bring sweeter cakes, do you hear?"
He used the familiar "thou" to her for the first time, and it sounded in her ear like a gentle caress. She embraced and kissed him impetuously, and ran away. Sasha stood like one dazed.
Sasha had promised to come. The appointed hour had passed by and Sasha had not arrived. Liudmilla waited impatiently—she fidgeted about and felt distressed and looked out of the window. Whenever she heard steps in the street she put her head out of the window. Her sisters teased her. She said angrily:
"Let me alone!"
Then she threw herself stormily at them with reproaches, because they laughed at her. It was already evident that Sasha would not come. Liudmilla cried with vexation and disappointment.
Darya continued to tease her.
Liudmilla spoke quietly between her sobs, and in the midst of her distress she forgot to be angry with them:
"That detestable old hag wouldn't let him come. She keeps him tied to apron strings to make him learn Greek."
"Yes, and he's a hobbledehoy, because he couldn't get away," said Darya with rough sympathy.
"She has tied herself up with a child," said Valeria contemptuously. Both sisters, though they laughed, sympathised with Liudmilla. They loved each other, and they loved tenderly but not strongly: a superficial, tender love. Darya said:
"Why are you crying? Why should you weep your eyes out for a young milksop? Well, you might say that the devil has bound himself to an infant!"
"Who's a devil?" shouted Liudmilla angrily.
"Why you," answered Darya calmly, "are young, but ..."
Darya did not end her sentence, but whistled piercingly.
"Nonsense," said Liudmilla, and her voice sounded strangely.
A strange, severe smile shone on her face through her tears, like a bright, flaming ray at sunset through the last drops of a weary rain. Darya said in a rather annoyed way:
"What do you find interesting in him? Tell me, please."
Liudmilla, still with the same curious smile on her face, said slowly and pensively:
"How beautiful he is! How many untouched possibilities he has!"
"That's very cheap," said Darya decidedly. "All small boys have them."
"No, it isn't cheap," said Liudmilla. "They're unclean boys."
"And is he clean?" asked Valeria; she pronounced the word "clean" rather contemptuously.
"A lot you understand," said Liudmilla, and again began to speak quietly and pensively. "He's quite innocent."
Darya smiled.
"Oh, is he?" said Darya ironically.
"The best age for a boy is fourteen or fifteen. He doesn't understand anything and yet he has a kind of intuition. And he hasn't a disgusting beard."
"A wonderful pleasure!" said Valeria with a contemptuous grimace.
She was feeling sad. It seemed to her that she was small, weak and frail, and she envied her sisters—she envied Darya her gay laughter and even Liudmilla's tears. Liudmilla said again:
"You don't understand anything. I don't love him at all as you think. To love a boy is better than to fall in love with a commonplace face with moustaches. I love him innocently. I don't want anything from him."
"If you don't want anything from him, why do you torment him?" said Darya harshly.
Liudmilla grew red and a guilty expression came on to her face. Darya took pity on her; she walked up to Liudmilla, put her arms round her and said:
"Don't mind what we say—it's only our spitefulness!"
Liudmilla began to cry again, and pressing against Darya's shoulder, said sadly:
"I know there's nothing for me to hope for from him but if he would only caress me a little!"
"What's the matter?" said Darya as she walked away from Liudmilla; she put her hands on her hips and sang loudly:
"Last night I left my darling ..."
Valeria broke into a clear, fragile laugh. And Liudmilla's eyes looked gay and mischievous again. She walked into her room impetuously and sprinkled herself with Korylopsis—the sweet, piquant, odour seized upon her seductively. She walked out into the street, in her best clothes, feeling distraught; and an indiscreet attractiveness was wafted from her. "Perhaps I shall meet him," she thought.
She did meet him.
"Well, you're a nice one," she exclaimed reproachfully and yet happily.
Sasha felt both confused and glad.
"I had no time," he said. "There are too many lessons to do. Really I had no time."
"You're fibbing, little one, but come along."
He resisted for a while, but it was clear that he was glad to let Liudmilla take him away with her. And Liudmilla brought him home.
"I've found him," she said to her sisters triumphantly, and taking Sasha by the shoulders, she led him into her room.
Sasha, putting his hands inside his belt, stood uneasily in the middle of the room, and felt both happy and sad. There seemed to be an odour of new pleasant scents there, and in this odour there was something that provoked and irritated the nerves like the contact of living rough little snakes.
[1]"Rosotchki" means "little roses" and also "rods" and "strokes from a rod."
[1]"Rosotchki" means "little roses" and also "rods" and "strokes from a rod."
Peredonov was returning from the lodgings of one of his pupils. Quite suddenly he was caught in a drizzling rain. He tried to think where he could shelter for a while, so as not to spoil his new silk umbrella in the rain. Across the way was a detached, two-storeyed, stone house; on it was the brass plate of the Notary Public, Goudayevsky. The notary's son was a pupil in the second form of thegymnasia.Peredonov decided to go in. Incidentally he would make a complaint against the notary's son.
He found both parents at home. They met him with a good deal of fuss. Everything was done there in that way.
Nikolai Mikhailovitch Goudayevsky was a short, robust, dark man, bald and with a long beard. His movements were impetuous and unexpected. He seemed not to walk but to flutter along. He was small like a sparrow, and it was always impossible to tell from his face and attitude what he would do the next minute. In the midst of a serious conversation he would suddenly throw out his knee, which would not so much amuse people as perplex them as to his motive. At home or when visiting he would sit quiet for a long time and then suddenly jump up without any visible cause, pace quickly up and down the room, and exclaim or knock something. In the street he would walk, then suddenly pause, or make some gesture or gymnastic exercise, and then he would continue his walk. On the documents which he drew up or attested Goudayevsky liked to write ridiculous remarks, as, for example, instead of writing about Ivan Ivanitch Ivanov that he lived on the Moscow Square in Ermillova's house, he would write Ivan Ivanitch Ivanov who lived on the Market Square in that quarter where it was impossible to breathe for the stench; and so forth; and he even made a note sometimes of the number of geese and hens kept by the man whose signature he was attesting.
Julia Goudayevskaya was a tall, slim, bony woman, passionate and extremely sentimental, who, in spite of the disparity of their figures, resembled her husband in certain habits: she had the same impetuous and disproportionate movements, unlike those of other people. She was dressed youthfully and in colours, and whenever she made her quick movements the long variegated ribbons, with which she loved to adorn in abundance her dress and hair, flew in all directions.
Antosha, a slender, alert boy, bowed courteously. Peredonov was seated in the drawing-room and he immediately began to complain of Antosha: that he was lazy, inattentive, and did not listen in class but chattered and laughed, and was mischievous during recess. Antosha was astonished—he did not know that he was considered such a wicked boy—and he began to defend himself hotly. Both parents were annoyed.
"Will you be good enough to tell me," shouted the father, "in what precisely his mischievousness consists?"
"Nika, don't defend him," cried the mother. "He shouldn't get up to mischief."
"But what mischief has he done?" enquired the father, running, almost rolling on his short legs.
"He's generally mischievous. He raises a racket and he fights," said Peredonov morosely. "He's always in mischief."
"I don't fight at all," exclaimed Antosha dolefully. "Ask anyone you like. I haven't fought with anybody."
"He doesn't let anyone pass," said Peredonov.
"Very well, I'll go to thegymnasiamyself and I'll ask the inspector," said Goudayevsky decisively.
"Nika, Nika, why don't you believe him?" cried Julia. "Would you like to see Antosha turn out a good-for-nothing? He needs a beating."
"Nonsense, nonsense!" cried the father.
"I'll give him a beating without fail," exclaimed Julia, as she caught her son by the shoulder and was about to drag him into the kitchen.
"Antosha!" she cried. "Come along; I'll give you a whipping."
"I'll not let you have him," cried the father, tearing his son away from her.
His mother held on to him; Antosha made despairing outcries, and the parents tustled with each other.
"Help me, Ardalyon Borisitch," cried Julia. "Hold this monster while I settle with Antosha."
Peredonov went to help. But Goudayevsky got his son away from Julia, pushed her aside, sprang towards Peredonov and cried threateningly:
"Don't you come here! When two dogs are fighting the third one had better keep away! Yes, and I'll see to you!"
Red, unkempt, perspiring, he shook his fist in the air. Peredonov retreated, muttering inaudible words. Julia ran round her husband and tried to catch hold of Antosha. His father hid him behind and pulled him by the arm, now to the right, now to the left. Julia, her eyes gleaming, cried:
"He'll grow up to be a cut-throat! He'll get into gaol! Hard labour'll be his fate."
"A plague on your tongue!" cried Goudayevsky. "Shut up, you wicked fool."
"Oh, you tyrant!" screamed Julia, and running up to her husband hit him with her fist on the back and ran impetuously out of the drawing-room.
Goudayevsky clenched his fists and ran up to Peredonov.
"So you've come to raise a riot here!" he cried. "You say Antosha's mischievous? You're a liar. He's not mischievous. And if he were, I should know it without you; and I don't want anything to do with you. You go about the town taking in fools. You beat their little boys, and expect to get a Master's diploma for birching. But you've come to the wrong place. Sir, I ask you to clear out!"
As he was saying this he jumped towards Peredonov and got him into a corner. Peredonov was frightened and would have been glad to run away, but Goudayevsky in his excitement did not notice that he was standing in his way. Antosha seized hold of the tails of his father's frock-coat and began to tug at them. His father angrily turned on him and tried to kick him. But Antosha quickly jumped aside without, however, letting go of his father's coat.
"Be quiet there," exclaimed Goudayevsky. "Don't forget yourself, Antosha."
"Papotchka," cried Antosha, continuing to tug at his father's coat-tails, "you are keeping Ardalyon Borisitch from going."
Goudayevsky quickly jumped to the side, Antosha barely managed to escape him.
"I beg your pardon," said Goudayevsky and pointed to the door, "that's the way out, and I won't detain you."
Peredonov quickly left the room. Goudayevsky put his fingers to his nose at him, then made a motion with his knee as if he were kicking him out. Antosha sniggered. Goudayevsky turned on him savagely:
"Antosha, don't forget yourself! Don't forget to-morrow. I'm going to thegymnasia,and if it's true I'll hand you over to your mother for a whipping!"
"I wasn't mischievous. He's a liar," said Antosha piteously and in a squeaking voice.
"Antosha, don't forget yourself," shouted his father. "You shouldn't say that he's a liar, but that he's made a mistake. Only little boys tell lies—grown-ups make mistakes."
In the meantime Peredonov managed to find his way into the half-dark hall, discovered his overcoat with some difficulty and began to put it on. His fear and nervousness hindered him from finding his sleeve. No one came to his assistance. Quite suddenly Julia ran out from a side door, rustling her flying ribbons, and whispered excitedly in his ear, making wild gestures and standing on tip-toe. Peredonov did not at first understand.
"I'm so grateful to you," he heard at last. "It's so good of you to take such an interest in the boy. Most people are so indifferent, but you understand a mother's difficulties. It is so hard to bring children up; you can't imagine how hard it is. I have only two and they give me no end of worry. My husband is a tyrant; he's a terrible, terrible man. Don't you think so? You've seen for yourself."
"Yes," mumbled Peredonov. "Well, your husband—er—well, he shouldn't ... I give a good deal of attention to it and he ..."
"Oh, don't say any more," whispered Julia, "he's a terrible man. He's bringing me down to my grave, and he'll be glad of it, and then he'll corrupt my children, my dear Antosha. But I'm a mother, I won't give him up; I'll give him a beating all the same."
"He won't let you," said Peredonov, and jerked his head in the direction of the drawing-room.
"Wait till he goes to his club. He won't take Antosha with him! He'll go and I shall keep quiet until then, as if I agreed with him; but once he goes I'll give Antosha a beating and you will help me. You will help me, won't you?"
Peredonov reflected and then said:
"Very well, but how shall I know when to come?"
"I'll send for you," whispered Julia. "You wait, and as soon as he goes to his club I'll send for you."
In the evening Peredonov received a note from Goudayevskaya. It ran:
"MOST ESTEEMED ARDALYON BORISITCH,
"My husband has gone to his club, and now I am free from his savagery until one o'clock. Do me the kindness to come as soon as you can and help me with my misbehaving son. I realise that he must be rid of his faults while he's still young, for afterwards it may be too late.
"With genuine respect,
"JULIA GOUDAYEVSKAYA.
"P.S.—Please come as soon as possible, otherwise Antosha will go to sleep and I shall have to wake him."
Peredonov quickly put on his overcoat, wrapped a scarf round his neck and prepared to go.
"Where are you going so late, Ardalyon Borisitch?" asked Varvara.
"I'm going on business," replied Peredonov morosely, and left abruptly.
Varvara reflected sadly that again she would be unable to sleep for some time. If she could only hasten the marriage. Then she could sleep both night and day—that would be bliss!
Once in the street, Peredonov was assailed by doubts. Suppose it was a trap? And suppose it suddenly turned out that Goudayevsky was at home, and they should seize him and beat him? Wouldn't it be better for him to turn back.
"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 to-night 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 tip-toe 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 Head-Master her brother's exercise-book which had been given only one mark for a very good piece of work. The Head-Master, 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?'"[1]
"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 of a serious character," said Khripatch sarcastically. "And another thing——"
Khripatch showed Peredonov two exercise-books and said:
"Here are two exercise-books from two students of one class on your subject: Adamenko's and my son's. I have compared them and I am compelled to make the inference that you are not giving your full attention to your work. Adamenko's last work which was done very satisfactorily was marked one, while my son's work, written much worse, was marked four. It is evident that you have made a mistake, that you have given one pupil's marks to another and vice versa. Though it is natural for a man to make mistakes, still I must ask you to avoid such errors in future. It quite properly arouses dissatisfaction in the parents and in the pupils themselves."
Peredonov mumbled something inaudible.
From spite he began to tease the smaller boys who had been recently punished at his instigation. He was especially severe on Kramarenko. The boy kept silent and went pale under his dark tan; his eyes gleamed.
As Kramarenko left thegymnasiathat day, he did not hasten home. He stood at the gates and watched the entrance. When Peredonov went out Kramarenko followed him at some distance, waiting till a few passers-by had got between him and Peredonov.
Peredonov walked slowly. The cloudy weather depressed him. During the last few days his face had assumed a duller expression. His glance was either fixed on something in the distance or wandered strangely. It seemed as if he were constantly looking into an object. To his eyes objects appeared vague or doubled or meaningless.
Who was he scrutinising so closely? Informers. They concealed themselves behind every object, they whispered and laughed. Peredonov's enemies had sent against him a whole army of informers. Sometimes Peredonov tried quickly to surprise them. But they always managed to escape in time—as if they sank through the earth.... Peredonov suddenly heard quick, bold footsteps on the pavement behind him, and looked around him in fright—Kramarenko paused near him and looked at him decidedly, resolutely and malignantly, with burning eyes; pale, thin, like a savage ready to throw himself at an enemy. This look frightened Peredonov.
"Suppose he should suddenly bite me?" he thought.
He walked quicker, but Kramarenko did not leave him; he walked slowly and Kramarenko kept pace with him. Peredonov paused and said angrily:
"Why are you following me, you little dark wretch? I'll take you to your father at once."
Kramarenko also paused and continued to look at Peredonov. They stood facing one another on the loose pavement of the deserted street, beside the grey, depressing fence. Kramarenko trembled and said in a hissing voice:
"Scoundrel!"
He smiled and turned to go away.
He made three steps, paused, looked around and repeated louder:
"What a scoundrel! Vermin!"
He spat and walked away. Peredonov looked after him and then turned homewards. Confused and timorous thoughts crowded through his head. Vershina called to him. She stood smoking behind the bars of her garden-gate, wrapped up in a large black shawl. Peredonov did not at once recognise her. Something malignant in her figure seemed to threaten him. She stood like a black sorceress and blew out smoke, as if she were casting a spell. He spat and pronounced an exorcism. Vershina laughed and asked:
"What's the matter with you, Ardalyon Borisitch?"
Peredonov looked vaguely at her and said at last:
"Ah, it's you! I didn't recognise you."
"That's a good sign. It means I'll soon be rich," said Vershina.
This did not please Peredonov, he wanted to be rich himself.
"Get away!" he exclaimed angrily. "Why should you be rich—you'll always be what you are now."
"Never mind, I shall win twenty thousand," said Vershina with a wry smile.
"No, I shall win the twenty thousand," argued Peredonov.
"I shall be in one drawing and you'll be in another," said Vershina.
"You're lying," said Peredonov angrily. "Who ever heard of two people winning at once in the same town. I tell you I'm going to win it."
Vershina noticed that he was angry. She ceased to argue. She opened the gate to entice him in and said:
"There's no reason for you to stand there. Come in, Mourin's here."
Mourin's name recalled something pleasant to Peredonov—drink andzakouska.He entered.
In the drawing-room, darkened by the trees outside, sat Marta, looking very happy, with a red sash on and with a kerchief round her neck, Mourin, more unkempt than usual, and very cheerful for some reason or other, and a grown-up schoolboy, Vitkevitch. He paid attentions to Vershina, and imagined that she was in love with him: he thought of leaving the school, marrying Vershina and managing her estate.
Mourin met Peredonov with exaggeratedly cordial exclamations, his expression became even gayer and his little eyes looked fat—all this did not go with his stout figure and untidy hair in which even some whisps of straw could be seen.
"I'm attending to business," he said loudly and hoarsely. "I've business everywhere, and here these charming ladies are spoiling me with tea."
"Business?" replied Peredonov gruffly. "What sort of business have you got? You are not in Government Service and you've got money coming in. Now I have business."
"Well, what if you have, it's only getting other people's money," said Mourin with a loud laugh.
Vershina smiled wryly and seated Peredonov near the table. On a round table near the sofa glasses and cups of tea, rum and cranberry jam were crowded together with a filigree silver dish, covered with a knitted doyley, a small cake-basket of tea-cake and home-made gingerbread stuck with almonds.
A strong odour of rum came from Mourin's glass of tea, while Vitkevitch put a good deal of jam into a small glass plate, shaped like a shell. Marta was eating little slices of tea-cake with visible satisfaction. Vershina offered Peredonov refreshments—he refused to take tea.
"I might be poisoned," he thought. "It's very easy to poison you—you simply drink and don't notice anything—there are sweet poisons—and then you go home and turn up your toes."
And he felt vexed because they put jam before Mourin, and when he came they didn't take the trouble to get a new jar of better jam. They hadn't cranberry jam only but several other kinds.
Vershina really did give a good deal of attention to Mourin. Seeing that she had little hope of Peredonov, she was looking elsewhere for a husband for Marta. Now she was trying to catch Mourin. Half-civilised by his pursuit of hard-earned gains, this landed proprietor eagerly fell to the lure. Marta pleased him.
Marta was happy because it was her constant desire to find a husband and to have a good house and home—that would be complete happiness. And she looked at Mourin with loving eyes. The huge forty-years-old man, with his coarse voice and plain face, seemed to her in every movement a model of manly strength, cleverness, beauty and goodness.
Peredonov noticed the loving glances exchanged by Mourin and Marta—he noticed them because he expected Marta to pay attention to him. He said gruffly to Mourin:
"You sit there like a bridegroom. Your whole face is shining."
"I have reason to be happy," said Mourin in a brisk, cheerful voice. "I have managed my business very well."
He winked at his hostesses. They both had gay smiles. Peredonov asked gruffly, contemptuously screwing up his eyes:
"What is it? Have you found a bride? Has she a big dowry?"
Mourin went on as if he had not heard these questions:
"Natalya Afanasyevna there—may God be good to her—has agreed to take charge of my Vaniushka. He'll live here as if he were in Christ's bosom, and my mind will be at rest, knowing that he won't be spoiled."
"He'll get into mischief with Vladya," said Peredonov morosely. "They'll burn the house down."
"He wouldn't dare," shouted Mourin. "Don't you worry about that, my dear Natalya Afanasyevna, you'll find him as straight as a fiddle-string."
To cut short this conversation, Vershina said with her wry smile:
"I should like to eat something tart."
"Perhaps you'd like some bilberries and apples—I'll get them," said Marta quickly rising from her chair.
"Do, please."
Marta ran out of the room. Vershina did not even look after her. She was used to taking Marta's services for granted. She was sitting deep in her sofa puffing out blue curling clouds of smoke, and compared the two men talking to each other, looking at Peredonov angrily and indifferently, at Mourin gaily and animatedly. Mourin pleased her more of the two. He had a good-natured face, while Peredonov could not even smile. She liked everything in Mourin—he was large, stout, attractive, spoke in an agreeable, low voice, and was very respectful to her. Vershina even thought at certain moments that she ought to arrange the matter so that Mourin should become engaged not to Marta but to herself. But she always ended her reflections by magnanimously yielding him to Marta.
"Anyone would marry me," she thought, "because I have money. I can choose almost anyone I like. If I liked, I could even take this young man," and she rested her glance, not without satisfaction, on Vitkevitch's youthful, impudent, yet handsome face—a boy who spoke little, ate a great deal and looked continuously at Vershina, smiling insolently.
Marta brought the bilberries and apples in an earthen-ware cup and began to relate how she had dreamed the night before that she had gone to a wedding as a brides-maid, where she ate pine-apples and pancakes with mead; on one pancake she had found a hundred-rouble note and she cried when they took it from her, and woke up in tears.
"You should have hidden it on the quiet so that no one could see it," said Peredonov rather gruffly. "If you can't even keep money in a dream, what sort of a housewife will you make?"
"There's no reason to feel sorry for this money," said Vershina. "There are many things seen in dreams!"
"I feel as if I'd really lost the money," said Marta ingenuously. "A whole hundred roubles!"
Tears appeared in her eyes, and she forced a laugh in order not to cry. Mourin anxiously put his hands into his pocket and exclaimed:
"My dear Marta Stanislavovna, don't feel so put out about it, we can soon mend the matter."
He took a hundred-rouble note from his wallet, put it before Marta on the table, and slapped his hand into her palm, shouting:
"Permit me! No one will take this away!"
Marta was about to rejoice but suddenly flushed violently and said in confusion:
"Oh, Vladimir Ivanovitch, I didn't mean that! I can't take it. Really you are ..."
"Now, don't offend me by refusing it," said Mourin with a laugh, not taking up the money. "Let's say that your dream has become realised."
"No, but how can I? I feel ashamed. I wouldn't take it for anything." Marta resisted, looking with desirous eyes upon the hundred-rouble note.
"Why do you protest when it's given to you?" said Vitkevitch. "It's good luck falling right into your hands," he continued with an envious sigh.
Mourin stood in front of Marta and said in a persuasive voice:
"My dear Marta Stanislavovna, believe me, I give it with all my heart—please take it! And if you don't want to take it for nothing, then take it for looking after Vaniushka. As to my agreement with Natalya Afanasyevna, let that stand. But this is for you—for looking after Vanya."
"But how can I, it's too much," said Marta irresolutely.
"It's for the first half-year," and he bowed very low to Marta. "Don't offend me by refusing it. Take it and be a sister to Vaniushka."
"Well, Marta, you'd better take it," said Vershina. "And thank Vladimir Ivanitch."
Marta, flushing with shame and pleasure, took the money.
Mourin began to thank her ardently.
"You'd better marry at once—it would be cheaper," said Peredonov gruffly. "How generous he's got all of a sudden!"
Vitkevitch roared with laughter, which the others pretended they had not heard. Vershina began to tell a dream of her own, but Peredonov interrupted her before she had finished by saying good-bye. Mourin invited him to his house for the evening.
"I must go to Vespers," said Peredonov.
"Ardalyon Borisitch has suddenly become very zealous in church-going," said Vershina with a quick, dry laugh.
"I always go," he answered. "I believe in God—unlike the others. Perhaps I am the only one of that kind in thegymnasia.That's why I'm persecuted. The Head-Master is an atheist."
"When you are free, let me know," said Mourin.
Peredonov said, twisting his cap irritatedly in his hands:
"I have no time to go visiting."
But suddenly he recalled that Mourin was very hospitable with food and drink, so he said:
"Well, I can come to you on Monday."
Mourin showed great pleasure at this, and was about to ask Vershina and Marta also, but Peredonov said:
"I don't want any ladies. We might get a little tipsy and blurt out something which would be awkward in their presence."
When Peredonov left, Vershina said sneeringly:
"Ardalyon Borisitch is acting curiously. He would very much like to be an inspector, and it looks to me as if Varvara were leading him by the nose. So he's up to all sorts of tricks."
Vladya—who had hidden himself while Peredonov was there—came out and said with a malicious smile:
"The locksmith's sons have found out from someone that it was Peredonov who told about them."
"They'll break his windows," exclaimed Vitkevitch laughing gleefully.
Everything in the street seemed hostile and ominous to Peredonov. A ram stood at the cross-roads and looked stupidly at him. This ram so closely resembled Volodin that Peredonov felt frightened. He thought that possibly Volodin had turned into a ram to spy upon him.
"How do we know?" he thought. "Perhaps it is possible; science has not discovered everything and it's possible someone does know something. Now there are the French—a learned people, and yet magicians and mages have begun to spread there." And a fear took possession of him. "This ram might kick me," he thought.
The ram began to bleat, and its bleat resembled Volodin's laughter. It was sharp, piercing and unpleasant.
Then he met the Officer of the gendarmerie. Peredonov went up to him and said in a whisper:
"You'd better watch Adamenko. She corresponds with Socialists. She's one of them."
Roubovsky looked at him in silent astonishment. Peredonov walked on further and thought dejectedly:
"Why do I always keep coming across him? He must be watching me, and he has put policemen everywhere."
The dirty streets, the gloomy sky, the pitiful little houses, the ragged, withered-looking children—all these breathed depression, neglect and a hopeless sadness.
"It's a foul town," thought Peredonov. "The people here are disgusting and malignant; the sooner I get to another town the better, where the instructors would bow down to one and the schoolboys will be afraid and whisper in fear: 'The inspector is coming.' Yes! The higher officials always live differently in the world."
"Inspector of the second District of the Rouban Government," he mumbled under his nose. "The Right Honourable the State Councillor, Peredonov—that's the way! Do you know who I am? His Excellency, Head-Master of the National Schools of the Rouban Government, the Actual State Councillor Peredonov. Hats off! Hand in your resignation! Get out! I'll manage you!"
Peredonov's countenance became arrogant. In his poor imagination he had already received his share of power.
When Peredonov returned home, while he was taking off his overcoat, he heard shrill sounds from the dining-room—it was Volodin laughing. Peredonov's spirits fell.
"He's managed to get here already," he thought. "Perhaps he's now conspiring with Varvara against me. That's why he's laughing; he's glad because Varvara agrees with him."
He walked angrily and dejectedly into the dining-room. The table was already set for dinner. Varvara met Peredonov with an anxious face.
"Ardalyon Borisitch," she exclaimed, "think what's happened! The cat's run away."
"Well," exclaimed Peredonov with an expression of fear in his face, "why did you let it go?"
"You didn't expect me to sew his tail to my petticoat, did you?" asked Varvara in irritation.
Volodin sniggered. Peredonov thought it had perhaps gone to the Officer of the gendarmerie to purr out all it knew about Peredonov and about where and why he went out at night—she would reveal everything and would even mew a little more than had happened. More troubles! Peredonov sat down on a chair at the table, bent his head, twirled the end of the tablecloth in his fingers and became lost in gloomy reflections.
"Cats always run back to their old home," said Volodin, "because cats get used to a place and not to their master. A cat should be swung round several times and then taken to her new home. She mustn't be shown the way or otherwise she'll go back."
Peredonov listened and felt consoled.
"So you think he's gone back to the old house, Pavloushka?" he asked.
"Undoubtedly, Ardasha," replied Volodin.
Peredonov rose and shouted:
"Well, we'll have a drink, Pavloushka!"
Volodin sniggered.
"That's a possibility, Ardasha," he said. "It's always possible to take a drink."
"We must get that cat back," decided Peredonov.
"A treasure," replied Varvara sarcastically. "I'll send Klavdiushka for it after dinner."
They sat down to dinner. Volodin was in a cheerful mood and chattered and laughed a great deal. His laughter sounded to Peredonov like the bleating of the ram he had met in the street.
"Why has he got evil intentions against me?" thought Peredonov. "What does he want?"
And Peredonov thought that he would get Volodin on his side.
"Listen, Pavloushka," he said, "if you'll stop trying to injure me, then I'll buy you a pound of the best sugar-candy every week—you can suck it to my good health."
Volodin laughed, but immediately afterwards looked hurt and said:
"Ardalyon Borisitch, I have no idea of injuring you, and I don't want your sugar-candy because I don't like it."
Peredonov became depressed. Varvara said sneeringly:
"You've made a big enough fool of yourself, Ardalyon Borisitch. How can he do you any injury?"
"Any fool can do you harm," said Peredonov dejectedly.
Volodin thrust out an offended lip, shook his head and said:
"If you have such an idea about me, Ardalyon Borisitch, then I can only say one thing: I thank you most humbly. If you think that way about me, what have I to say? What shall I understand by this, in what sense?"
"Take a drink, Pavloushka, and pour me one too," said Peredonov.
"Don't pay any attention to him, Pavel Vassilyevitch," said Varvara consolingly. "He's only talking, his heart doesn't know what his tongue blabs."
Volodin said nothing, and preserving his injured look began to pour the vodka from the decanter into the glasses. Varvara said sarcastically:
"How is it, Ardalyon Borisitch, that you're not afraid to drink vodka when he pours it out? Perhaps he's exorcising it—don't you see his lips moving?"
Peredonov's face bore an expression of terror. He caught the glass which Volodin had filled and flung the vodka on to the floor, shouting:
"Chure me! Chure—chure—chure![2]A spell against the spell-weaver—may the evil tongue die of thirst, may the black eye burst. To him Karachoun [death], to me chure-perechure!"
Then he turned to Volodin with a malignant face, snapped his fingers and said:
"That's for you. You're cunning, but I'm more cunning."
Varvara laughed uproariously.
Volodin bleating in an offended, trembling voice said:
"It's you, Ardalyon Borisitch, who know and pronounce all sorts of magic words, but I never occupied myself with black magic. I hadn't any idea of bedevilling your vodka or anything else, but it's possible that it's you who've bewitched my brides from me."
"What an idea!" said Peredonov angrily. "I don't want your brides. I can get them by cleaner means."
"You've cast a spell to burst my eyes," continued Volodin, "but mind your spectacles don't burst sooner."
Peredonov caught his glasses in fear.
"What nonsense!" he growled. "You let your tongue run away with you."
Varvara looked warningly at Volodin and said crossly:
"Don't be spiteful, Pavel Vassilyevitch, eat your soup, or else it'll get cold. Eat, you spiteful thing!"
She thought that Ardalyon Borisitch had exorcised himself in time. Volodin began to eat his soup. They were all silent for a while, and presently Volodin said in a hurt voice:
"No wonder I dreamed last night that I was being smeared with honey. Did you smear me, Ardalyon Borisitch?"
"That's not the way you ought to be smeared," said Varvara still crossly.
"Why should I be? Be good enough to tell me. I don't see why I should be," said Volodin.
"Well, because you've got a nasty tongue," explained Varvara. "You oughtn't to babble everything that comes into your mind immediately."