Crime and Punishment (39 page)

‘All right, sir. Kindly tell me: will you be setting out on your journey soon?'

‘What journey?'

‘You know, that voyage of yours . . . It was you who mentioned it.'

‘Voyage? Oh yes! . . . You're quite right, I did tell you about it . . . Well, that's a broad question . . . If only you knew what you were
asking!' he added and suddenly laughed out loud. ‘I may end up with a wife, not a voyage; a bride is being sought for me.'

‘Here?'

‘Yes.'

‘When did you find the time for that?'

‘But I'd be most eager to have a meeting with Avdotya Romanovna. It's a serious request. Well, goodbye . . . Oh, yes! I've remembered! Rodion Romanovich, do tell your dear sister that she's marked down for three thousand in Marfa Petrovna's will. That's a definite fact. Marfa Petrovna made arrangements a week before her death and I was present at the time. Avdotya Romanovna will be able to claim the money in two or three weeks' time.'

‘Are you telling the truth?'

‘The truth. Tell her. Well, sir, at your service. After all, I live close by.'

Walking out, Svidrigailov bumped into Razumikhin in the doorway.

It was almost eight already; both men were in a hurry to get over to Bakaleyev's rooms before Luzhin arrived.

‘So who was that?' asked Razumikhin as soon as they were outside.

‘Svidrigailov, the landowner at whose home my sister was insulted while employed as their governess. Pestered with his attentions, she left, chased out by his wife, Marfa Petrovna. The same Marfa Petrovna who later begged her forgiveness and has now suddenly died. It was her we were talking about earlier. I don't know why, but I'm very scared of this man. He arrived straight after his wife's funeral. He's very strange and he's set on something . . . It's as if he knows something . . . Dunya must be protected from him . . . that's what I wanted to tell you, do you hear?'

‘Protected! What could he ever do to her, to Avdotya Romanovna? Well, I'm grateful to you, Rodya, for speaking to me like this . . . We'll protect her, no fear! . . . Where does he live?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Why didn't you ask? What a pity! Never mind, I'll find out!'

‘Did you see him?' asked Raskolnikov after a pause.

‘Yes, I took good note of him.'

‘You're sure you saw him? Saw him clearly?' Raskolnikov persisted.

‘I'm sure. I remember him so clearly I could pick him out in a crowd – I have a memory for faces.'

They were silent again.

‘H'm . . . just as well . . . ,' muttered Raskolnikov. ‘Because, you know . . . the thought occurred to me . . . and I still can't help feeling . . . that this might be a fantasy.'

‘Meaning? I don't quite follow.'

‘Here you all are,' Raskolnikov went on, twisting his mouth into a smile, ‘saying I'm mad. Well, just now I had the impression that perhaps I really am insane and what I saw was only a phantom!'

‘What are you on about?'

‘Who knows? Maybe I really am mad, and maybe everything that's happened during all these days was just my imagination . . .'

‘Oh, Rodya! They've upset you again! . . . But what did he say? What was he after?'

Raskolnikov didn't reply. Razumikhin thought for a moment.

‘Well, then, here's my report,' he began. ‘I called by, you were sleeping. Then we had lunch, then I went to see Porfiry. Zametov's still there. I wanted to broach the subject and couldn't. I just couldn't get going. It's as if they don't understand and can't understand, but they're not in the slightest embarrassed. I led Porfiry over to the window, but again – nothing doing; he looks away, I look away. Finally, I lifted my fist to his face and said I'd beat him to a pulp, in the family spirit. He just looked at me. I spat, walked out, and that's that. All very stupid. Not a word between me and Zametov. But listen: I thought I'd botched it all up, but going down the stairs a certain thought occurred to me – or rather, hit me: why are the two of us going to so much trouble? If you were in danger or anything of the kind, then fine. But why should you care? You're nothing to do with it, so to hell with them! We'll have plenty of time to make fun of them later – in fact, in your shoes I'd try hoaxing them, too. Think how ashamed they'll be afterwards! To hell with them! We can give them a good drubbing later, but for now – let's laugh!'

‘Yes, absolutely!' replied Raskolnikov. ‘And what will you say tomorrow?' he wondered to himself. How strange that the question ‘What will Razumikhin think when he finds out?' had never once occurred to him. Thinking this, Raskolnikov gave him a long hard look. Razumikhin's report about visiting Porfiry was of scant interest to him: so much had been and gone since then!

In the corridor they ran into Luzhin: he'd arrived at eight o'clock sharp and was looking for the room, so all three walked in together, but without exchanging so much as a glance or a bow. The young men went ahead, while Pyotr Petrovich thought it good manners to dawdle a bit in the entrance hall while taking off his coat. Pulkheria Alexandrovna immediately came out to meet him on the threshold. Dunya greeted her brother.

Entering, Pyotr Petrovich bowed to the ladies courteously enough, though with redoubled gravity. He continued to look somewhat disconcerted. Pulkheria Alexandrovna, who also seemed embarrassed, hurriedly sat everyone down at an oval table on which a hot samovar was waiting. Dunya and Luzhin took their places opposite each other at the two ends of the table. Razumikhin and Raskolnikov ended up opposite Pulkheria Alexandrovna – Razumikhin closer to Luzhin, and Raskolnikov next to his sister.

There was a momentary silence. Pyotr Petrovich slowly took out a cambric handkerchief reeking of perfume and blew his nose with the air of a virtuous man who has suffered a wound to his pride and who, moreover, is determined to receive an explanation. While standing in the entrance hall the thought had even occurred to him to keep his coat on and leave, thereby punishing and shaming both ladies with an impressive display of severity. But he didn't go through with it. Besides, this was a man who disliked uncertainty, and clarification was certainly required here: they can't have flouted his order for no reason, so he was better off finding out first; there would always be time to punish them later – it was all in his hands.

‘I trust you had a satisfactory journey?' he asked Pulkheria Alexandrovna stiffly.

‘Yes, Pyotr Petrovich, God be praised.'

‘Very pleased to hear it, ma'am. And Avdotya Romanovna is not too weary, either?'

‘I'm young and strong, I don't tire easily – but it was terribly hard for Mama,' replied Dunya.

‘Our national railways, alas, are very extensive. How great is so-called “Mother Russia” . . . For my part, I was simply unable, with the best will in the world, to meet you off the train yesterday. I trust, however, that everything passed off smoothly?'

‘Far from it, Pyotr Petrovich – we were at a low ebb,' Pulkheria Alexandrovna hastened to declare in a very particular voice, ‘and if
God Himself, it seems, had not sent us Dmitry Prokofich yesterday, then I don't know what would have become of us. Here he is, Dmitry Prokofich Razumikhin,' she added, introducing him to Luzhin.

‘Why, I had the pleasure . . . yesterday,' muttered Luzhin, with a hostile glance at Razumikhin; then he frowned and fell silent. Pyotr Petrovich, one could safely say, belonged to that category of men who appear exceptionally courteous in society and lay special claim to courtesy, but who, the moment they are crossed, instantly lose all their powers and begin to look more like sacks of flour than happy-go-lucky types who are the soul of any gathering. Everyone fell silent again: Raskolnikov stubbornly refused to speak, Avdotya Romanovna didn't wish to break the silence too soon, Razumikhin had nothing to say, and Pulkheria Alexandrovna began to fret.

‘Marfa Petrovna has died – have you heard?' she began, resorting to her trump card.

‘How could I not, ma'am? I was among the first to know and, in fact, I am here to tell you that Arkady Ivanovich Svidrigailov, directly after the funeral of his spouse, departed with all due haste for Petersburg. Thus, at any rate, according to the very reliable information at my disposal.'

‘For Petersburg? Here?' Dunechka asked in alarm, exchanging glances with her mother.

‘Quite so, ma'am, and no doubt with some purpose, taking into account the hasty nature of his departure and, more generally, the preceding circumstances.'

‘Good Lord! Won't he leave Dunechka in peace here, either?' shrieked Pulkheria Alexandrovna.

‘It seems to me that there is no particular cause for alarm, neither for you nor for Avdotya Romanovna, assuming, of course, that you yourselves do not wish to enter into any kind of relations with him. For my part, I am keeping a close eye on the situation, and trying to find out where he is staying . . .'

‘Oh, Pyotr Petrovich, you'll never believe what a fright you've just given me!' Pulkheria Alexandrovna went on. ‘I've only ever seen him twice and I found him dreadful, dreadful! I'm sure he was the cause of the late Marfa Petrovna's death.'

‘It's impossible to say. I have reliable information at my disposal. I don't deny that he may have expedited the course of events through, as it were, the moral influence of his offensive actions; but as far as the
individual's conduct and, more generally, moral profile are concerned, I agree with you. Whether or not he is rich and what exactly Marfa Petrovna has left him, I do not know; I will be apprised of this in the very nearest future; but it goes without saying that here, in Petersburg, with even the most modest funds at his disposal, he will immediately resume his old habits. Of all his kind he is the most depraved and the most far gone in vice! I have significant grounds for assuming that Marfa Petrovna, who had the misfortune of loving him so and paying off his debts eight years ago, was of service to him in a further respect as well: it was solely thanks to her efforts and sacrifices that a criminal case was snuffed out at birth, one with elements of bestial and, as it were, quite fantastical villainy, for which he could have perfectly, perfectly easily have taken a long hike to Siberia. That's the kind of man he is, if you care to know.'

‘Good Lord!' cried Pulkheria Alexandrovna. Raskolnikov was listening attentively.

‘Do you really have reliable information about him?' asked Dunya, in a tone that brooked no argument.

‘I am merely repeating what I heard, in confidence, from the late Marfa Petrovna. It should be noted that from a legal standpoint the case is murky in the extreme. There was – and, I believe, still is – a certain Mrs Resslich living here, a foreigner and, what's worse, a petty moneylender who has other irons in the fire as well. Mr Svidrigailov had long been on the most intimate and mysterious terms with this Resslich woman. She had a distant relative living with her, a niece, I believe, a deaf-and-dumb girl of fifteen or even fourteen, whom Resslich loathed beyond reason and reproached for every crumb; she even beat her brutally. One day the girl was found hanging in the loft. The verdict: suicide. The usual procedure was followed and the case ended there, but subsequently a report was submitted to the effect that the child had been . . . cruelly abused by Svidrigailov. True, it was all very murky: the report came from another German, a notorious woman with scant credibility, and in the end even that went missing, thanks to Marfa Petrovna's efforts and money. Rumour was as far as it went. Still, the rumour was highly indicative. No doubt, Avdotya Romanovna, you heard another story, too, while you were there, about a certain Filipp who was tortured to death, six years or so ago, back in the days of serfdom.'

‘On the contrary, I heard that this Filipp hanged himself.'

‘Quite so, miss, but it was Mr Svidrigailov's continuous system of persecution and punishment which forced him, or rather disposed him, to take his life.'

‘I don't know about that,' replied Dunya, coldly. ‘I merely heard some very strange story about this Filipp being some kind of hypochondriac, a home-grown philosopher – “too much reading”, people said – and that he hanged himself more from being teased than from Mr Svidrigailov's beatings. From what I saw, he treated people rather well, and people even liked him, although they did blame him for Filipp's death.'

‘I see, Avdotya Romanovna, that you are suddenly disposed to excuse him,' Luzhin remarked, twisting his mouth into an ambiguous smile. ‘He is indeed a cunning and charming man where ladies are concerned, as the lamentable example of Marfa Petrovna, who died so strangely, attests. I merely wished to offer you and your mama my advice, in view of his latest and no doubt imminent efforts. For myself, I am quite certain that this man is destined for debtor's prison once more. Marfa Petrovna never had the slightest intention of providing him with any security, having the children in mind, and if she did leave him anything, then only what was absolutely essential, ephemeral and of little value, hardly enough to last a man of his habits for even a year.'

‘Pyotr Petrovich, please,' said Dunya, ‘let's speak no more about Mr Svidrigailov. It depresses me.'

‘He came to see me just now,' said Raskolnikov suddenly, breaking his silence for the first time.

Cries went up on all sides; everyone turned towards him. Even Pyotr Petrovich was on edge.

‘An hour and a half or so ago, when I was sleeping, he came in, woke me up and introduced himself,' Raskolnikov went on. ‘He was quite relaxed and cheerful, and very optimistic about the two of us becoming close. Incidentally, he's desperate to see you, Dunya, and asked me to be the intermediary at this meeting. He wants to make you an offer and told me what it is. What's more, Dunya, he gave me the most definite assurance that a week before she died Marfa Petrovna left you three thousand roubles in her will, and that you can receive this money in the very nearest future.'

‘God be praised!' cried Pulkheria Alexandrovna, making the sign of the cross. ‘Pray for her, Dunya, pray!'

‘That is indeed the case,' Luzhin let slip.

‘And what else?' Dunechka pressed him.

‘Next he said that he himself is not rich and that the whole estate would go to his children, who are with their aunt. Next, that he's staying somewhere not far from here, but where – I don't know, didn't ask . . .'

‘But what is it that he wants to offer Dunechka, what?' asked Pulkheria Alexandrovna, frightened to death. ‘Did he tell you?'

‘Yes, he did.'

‘And?'

‘I'll tell you later.' Raskolnikov fell silent and turned his attention to his tea.

Pyotr Petrovich took out his watch and checked it.

‘I have urgent business to attend to, so I won't get in your way,' he added, looking somewhat piqued, and began getting up from his chair.

‘Stay, Pyotr Petrovich,' said Dunya, ‘after all, you were intending to spend the evening with us. Besides, you wrote to say you had something you wished to discuss with Mama.'