The Petty Demon (8 page)

I
T WAS DENSE
with tobacco smoke in the billiard room. Peredonov, Rutilov, Falastov, Volodin and Murin (a landowner of enormous size, stupid
in appearance, the owner of a small estate, a man who was resourceful and had money)—all five of them were preparing to leave
after finishing the game.

Evening was coming on. On the filthy planked table there was a forest of drained beer bottles. The players, who had drunk
a great deal while playing, were flushed in the face and were raising a drunken clamor. Only Rutilov preserved his customary
consumptive pallor. He had drunk less than the others, but even after a real drinking bout he would only have turned more
pallid.

Vulgar words hung in the air. No one was offended: they were friends.

Peredonov had lost, as was almost always the case. He was a poor billiard player. But he maintained an imperturbable sullenness
on his face and paid out the money reluctantly. Murin shouted loudly:

“Fire!”

And he aimed at Peredonov with his billiard cue. Peredonov screamed in terror and cowered. The stupid thought flashed through
his mind that Murin wanted to shoot him. Everyone roared. Peredonov muttered with annoyance:

“I can’t stand jokes like that.”

Murin was already repenting over the fact that he had frightened Peredonov: his son was studying at the gymnasium and for
that reason he considered it his responsibility to oblige the gymnasium teachers in any way possible. Now he began to excuse
himself to Peredonov and treated him to a wine and seltzer.

Peredonov said sullenly:

“My nerves are a little on edge. I’m not very happy with our headmaster.”

“The future inspector has lost,” Volodin shouted in his bleating voice. “He begrudges the money!”

“Unlucky at cards, lucky in love,” Rutilov said, chuckling and showing his rotten teeth.

It was enough that Peredonov was in a bad mood because of losing and the fright he had received, without the others starting
to tease him about Varvara.

He shouted:

“I’ll get married and that will fix Varka!”

His friends roared and teased him:

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I will so dare. Tomorrow I’m going to propose.”

“A bet! Agreed?” Falastov proposed. “For ten roubles.”

But Peredonov begrudged the money. If he lost he would have to pay up. He turned away and fell into a sullen silence.

At the gate leading out of the gardens they said goodbye to one another and dispersed in different directions. Peredonov and
Rutilov set out together. Rutilov now tried to persuade Peredonov to marry one of his sisters immediately.

“I’ve fixed everything up, don’t worry,” he insisted.

“There hasn’t been any announcement,” Peredonov pleaded.

“I’ve fixed everything up, I’m telling you,” Rutilov tried to convince him. “I’ve found the right kind of priest: he knows
that you’re not related.”

“There aren’t any ushers,” Peredonov said.

“It’s true there aren’t. We’ll get the ushers right now, I’ll send for them and they’ll come straight to the church. Or I’ll
go and pick them up myself. It was impossible to do it beforehand, your cousin might have found out and interfered.”

Peredonov was silent and with a melancholy expression was gazing all around to where the scattered and silent houses grew
dark behind sleepy gardens and rickety fences.

“You just stand by the gate,” Rutilov said convincingly, “I’ll bring out any one that you want. Now listen, and I’ll prove
it to you. Two times two is four, isn’t that right?”

“It is,” Peredonov replied.

“Well then, just as two times two is four, it follows that you should marry my sister.”

Peredonov was stunned.

“But that’s true,” he thought. “Of course, two times two is four.” And he regarded the sober-minded Rutilov with respect,
thinking: “I’ll have to get married! You won’t get out of anything with him.”

By this time the friends had arrived at Rutilov’s house and stopped by the gate.

“It can’t be done in a rush,” Peredonov said angrily.

“You strange fellow, you can’t keep people waiting,” Rutilov exclaimed.

“But maybe I don’t want to.”

“No, you don’t want to, you queer chap! What then, do you want to live forever as an old bachelor?” Rutilov protested confidently.
“Or are you getting ready to go into a monastery? Or hasn’t Varya disgusted you enough yet? No, just imagine the kind of mug
she’ll pull if you bring home a young wife.”

Peredonov produced a brief and fitful roar of laughter, but almost immediately frowned and said:

“But maybe they don’t want to.”

“What do you mean they don’t want to, you strange fellow!” Rutilov replied. “I’m giving you my word.”

“They’re arrogant,” Peredonov sought an excuse.

“What do you care! So much the better.”

“They make fun of people.”

“But not of you,” Rutilov tried to convince him.

“How am I to know that!”

“You just believe me, I won’t deceive you. They respect you. You’re not just any kind of Pavlushka that people can make fun
of you.”

“Sure, I believe you,” Peredonov said mistrustfully. “No, I want to assure myself that they don’t make fun of me.”

“What a strange fellow,” Rutilov said in amazement. “How would they dare to make fun of you? But, nevertheless, how do you
want to assure yourself?”

Peredonov thought for a while and then said:

“Have them come outside right now.”

“All right, that can be done,” Rutilov agreed.

“All three of them,” Peredonov continued.

“All right.”

“And have each one say how she would try and please me.”

“But whatever for?” Rutilov asked in amazement.

“Then I’ll see what they want, otherwise you might be leading me around by the nose,” Peredonov explained.

“No one is leading you around by the nose.”

“Maybe they want to make fun of me,” Peredonov reasoned. “But if you have them come out and they want to make fun of me, then
I’ll be able to make fun of them.”

Rutilov thought for a moment, pushed his hat back on his head and then forward on his forehead and finally said:

“Well, wait here, I’ll go and tell them. What a strange chap! Only in the meantime you go into the yard, otherwise who knows
who the devil might come along the street and see.”

“I don’t give a damn,” Peredonov said, but still he followed Rutilov in through the gate.

Rutilov headed for the house and his sisters while Peredonov remained waiting in the yard.

All four sisters were sitting in the living room, the corner room that faced the gate. They were all the image of each other
and resembled the brother. They were all attractive, rosy cheeked and gay: Larisa, married, calm, pleasant and plump; Darya,
fidgety, quick, the tallest and most slender of the sisters; Lyudmila, easily amused; and Valeriya, small, delicate and fragile
to look at. They were treating themselves to nuts and raisins and obviously were waiting in anticipation of something because
they were
more excited and laughing more than usual, recalling the latest town gossip and making fun of both people they knew as well
as strangers.

As early as the morning they had been ready to head for the altar. All that remained was to put on a dress that was appropriate
for getting married in and pin on a veil and flowers. The sisters did not bring up Varvara in their conversations, as though
she didn’t even exist. But the very fact that they were usually so merciless in their; mockery and picked everyone to pieces,
and nevertheless hadn’t so much as whispered a single word about Varvara all day, that alone proved that the awkward thought
was haunting each of the sisters.

“I brought him!” Rutilov announced as he entered the living room. “He’s standing at the gate.”

The sisters stood up in excitement and started to laugh and talk all at once.

“Only there’s a hitch,” Rutilov said, chuckling.

“What do you mean?” Darya asked.

Valeriya knitted her beautiful dark brows in annoyance.

“I hardly know whether to tell you,” Rutilov said.

“Well, come, come!” Darya rushed him.

It was with some embarrassment that Rutilov explained what Peredonov wanted. The young ladies raised a cry and took turns
in abusing Peredonov. But little by little their cries of displeasure were replaced with jokes and laughter. Darya put on
a sullenly expectant face and said:

“This is the way he’s standing at the gate.”

It was an amusingly good imitation.

The young ladies started to peek out the window in the direction of the gate. Darya opened the window slightly and shouted:

“Ardalyon Borisych, may we talk through the window?”

A sullen voice was heard:

“You may not.”

Darya hastily banged the window shut. The sisters burst into peals of unrestrained laughter and ran out of the living room
into the dining room so that Peredonov would not hear. In this happy family they were capable of switching from the most angry
mood to laughter and jokes, and most frequently it was a happy word that settled the matter.

Peredonov stood and waited. He felt sad and frightened. He was thinking about running away but he couldn’t bring himself to
decide to do even that. The sound of music was borne hither from somewhere far away: it must have been the daughter of the
marshal of the nobility playing on the piano. The faint tender sounds wafted through the soft dark air of evening and induced
sorrow and aroused sweet dreams.

At first Peredonov’s dreams took an erotic direction.

He imagined the young Rutilov ladies in the most seductive situations. But the longer the waiting went on the greater Peredonov’s
irritation in wondering why they were keeping him waiting. And no sooner had the music affected his deathly vulgar emotions
than it died away.

Meanwhile, night, soft, rustling with ominous whispering sounds and people approaching, descended all around. And it seemed
all the more dark
everywhere because Peredonov was standing in the space which was illuminated by the living room lamp whose light settled in
two strips on the yard and widened as it reached out towards the neighboring fence behind which dark log walls were visible.
The trees from the Rutilov garden were growing suspiciously dark and whispering about something in the depths of the yard.
Someone’s slow deliberate steps could be heard for a long while on the boardwalk in the streets. Peredonov began to fear that
while he was standing there someone would attack and rob him, or even kill him. He pressed right up against the wall, into
the shadows, so that he could not be seen, and there he waited timidly.

But then long shadows flitted through the strips of light in the yard, doors started to bang and voices were heard behind
the door to the porch. Peredonov perked up. “They’re coming!” he thought joyfully and the pleasant dreams about the lovely
sisters began to stir lazily once more in his head—the vile offspring of his pathetic imagination.

The sisters were standing in the entry way. Rutilov came out into the yard towards the gate and looked around to see whether
anyone was on the street.

There was no one to be seen or heard.

“There’s no one,” he said in a loud whisper through his cupped hands to the sisters.

He stayed outside to keep watch on the street. Peredonov followed him out on to the street.

“Well, they’re going to tell you now,” Rutilov said.

Peredonov stood right by the gate and peered through the crack between the gate and the gate post. His face was sullen and
almost frightened. All dreams and thoughts were extinguished in his head and were replaced by a vague, ponderous lust.

Darya was the first to come up to the partially open gate.

“Well, what would you like me to do to please you?” she asked.

Peredonov was sullenly silent. Darya said:

“I’ll bake you the tastiest
bliny
, hot ones, only don’t choke on them.”

From behind her shoulder Lyudmila shouted:

“And every morning I’ll go around the town and gather up all the gossip and then tell you. It’ll be very amusing.”

The capricious and slender face of little Valeriya appeared for an instant between the cheerful faces of the two sisters and
her fragile voice said:

“And nothing will make me tell you how I’ll please you—guess for yourself!”

Dissolving into laughter, the sisters ran off. Their voices and laughter died away behind the doors. Peredonov turned away
from the gate. He was not entirely satisfied. He thought that they had simply babbled something and then left. It would have
been better if they had given him notes. But it was already getting late to be standing there and waiting.

“Well, did you see?” Rutilov asked. “Which one for you?”

Peredonov was plunged into meditation. Of course, he realized finally
that he had to choose the youngest. What was the point of him marrying an old maid!

“Bring out Valeriya,” he said with determination.

Rutilov made his way back to the house while Peredonov went into the yard once more.

Lyudmila was secretly peeking out the window, trying to hear what was being said but she couldn’t catch anything. Then suddenly
steps were echoing on the pathway in the yard. The sisters fell silent and sat there, excited and embarrassed. Rutilov came
in and announced:

“He’s chosen Valeriya. He’s waiting, standing by the gate.”

The sisters began to fuss and laugh. Valeriya turned slightly pale.

“Well, well,” she repeated, “a lot I want it, a lot I need it.”

Her hands were trembling. They started to dress her up, All three sisters were bustling around her. As always, she fussed
and dallied. The sisters hurried her. Rutilov chattered away incessantly, cheerful and animated.

He was pleased by the fact that he had organized the whole business so cleverly.

“Have you got the cab drivers ready?” Darya asked with concern.

Rutilov replied with annoyance:

“Are you serious? The whole town would come running. Varvara would drag him off home by the hair.”