Read Online The Petty Demon by Fyodor Sologub - Free Book Online Page B

Peredonov loved them. Varvara was waddling quickly around the kitchen on her high heels, hurrying all the
     while to have everything ready for his arrival. Varvara was afraid that the maid, the pock-marked, fat wench, Natalya, would
     steal a pastry or even more. For that reason Varvara wouldn’t leave the kitchen and as was her habit she was scolding the
     maid. On a face that preserved some traces of a former attractiveness, she wore an invariable expression of querulous greed. 1
    As always, on his return home, Peredonov would be gripped by displeasure and melancholy. He made a noisy entrance into the
     dining room, flung his hat on the window sill, sat down at the table and shouted:
    “Varya, serve lunch!”
    Varvara carried in the food from the kitchen, hobbling adroitly in the narrow shoes she wore for vanity’s sake and served
     Peredonov herself. When she brought the coffee, Peredonov bent down over the steaming glass and sniffed. Varvara grew alarmed
     and asked him with fright:
    “What’s the matter, Ardalyon Borisych? Does the coffee smell of something?”
    Peredonov glanced sullenly at her and said angrily:
    “I’m sniffing it to see whether poison has been put in it.”
    “Really, Ardalyon Borisych!” Varvara said fearfully. “God help you, why ever would you think up such a thing?”
    “You laced it with poison hemlock!” he growled.
    “What have I got to gain by poisoning you?” Varvara tried to convince him. “Enough of your tomfoolery!”
    Peredonov went on sniffing for a long while and finally relaxed and said:
    “If there really is any poison then you can invariably detect it as a heavy odor, just sniff a little closer, right in the
     steam.”
    He was silent for a while and then suddenly spoke out spitefully and derisively:
    “The Princess!”
    Varvara grew agitated.
    “What about the Princess? What do you mean, the Princess?”
    “The Princess, I’m saying,” Peredonov went on, “let her give me the position first and then I’ll get married afterwards. You
     write her that.”
    “But, Ardalyon Borisych,” Varvara began in a voice that attempted to be convincing, “you know yourself that the Princess has
     promised only after I get married. Otherwise it’s awkward for her to ask on your behalf.”
    “Write her that we’re already married,” Peredonov said quickly, rejoicing at his invention. Varvara was almost taken aback
     but soon regained her wits and said:
    “What’s the use of lying, the Princess will make inquiries. No, better you name the wedding day. And it’s time to have a dress
     sewn.”
    “What dress?” Peredonov asked sullenly.
    “Do you really expect me to get married in this work dress?” Varvara cried. “Give me some money, Ardalyon Borisych, for the
     dress.”
    “Are you getting ready to die?” Peredonov asked spitefully.
    “You’re a beast, Ardalyon Borisych!” Varvara exclaimed reproachfully.
    Suddenly Peredonov felt like teasing Varvara. He asked:
    “Varvara, do you know where I was?”
    “Well, where?” Varvara asked anxiously.
    “At Vershina’s,” he said and burst into laughter.
    “You found yourself fine company,” Varvara cried spitefully. “No use saying anything!”
    “I saw Marta,” Peredonov went on.
    “She’s all covered in freckles,” Varvara said with growing spite. “And a mouth that’s ear to ear, you could pin it on a frog.”
    “But she’s prettier than you,” Peredonov said. “Maybe I’ll go ahead and marry her.”
    “Go right ahead,” Varvara shrieked, all red and trembling with malice. “I’ll burn her eyes out with acid!”
    “I want to spit on you,” Peredonov said calmly.
    “No you won’t!” Varvara screamed.
    “I’m going to spit on you right now,” Peredonov said.
    He stood up and with a dull and indifferent expression he spat in her face.
    “Swine!” Varvara said rather calmly as though the spit had refreshed her.
    She started to wipe herself off with a napkin. Peredonov was silent.