Crime and Punishment (40 page)

‘We'll talk tomorrow; now you must go off to bed, immediately!’ Razumikhin said, to round things off, as he left together with Zosimov. ‘I shall be back with my report as early as I can tomorrow morning.’

‘I say, that Avdotya Romanovna's a delicious little kiddy,’ Zosimov commented, practically licking his lips, as both men emerged on to the street.

‘Delicious? Did you say delicious?’ Razumikhin roared, and he suddenly rushed at Zosimov and grabbed him by the throat. ‘If you ever dare… Got it? Got it?’ he shouted, shaking him by the collar and forcing him against the wall. ‘Got it?’

‘Oh, let me go, you drunken sod!’ said Zosimov, beating off the attack; then, when Razumikhin had let him go, Zosimov looked at him fixedly and suddenly went off into peals of laughter. Razumikhin stood before him, his arms lowered, in gloomy and serious reflection.

‘Of course, I'm an ass,’ he said, looking as gloomy as a thundercloud. ‘But I mean… so are you.’

‘No I'm not, brother, I'm not one at all. I don't spend my time dreaming about stupid things.’

They walked on without saying anything, and it was only when they were approaching Raskolnikov's lodgings that Razumikhin, intensely preoccupied, broke the silence.

‘Listen,’ he said to Zosimov. ‘You're a wonderful chap, but in addition to all your other rotten qualities you're a lecher, I know you are, and one of the filthiest. You're a weak, nerve-ridden scoundrel, you're unstable, you've run to fat and can't
deny yourself anything – and I call that filth, because it leads straight down into the filth. You've grown so soft that I must confess I find it hard to understand how you can still be a good, or even a selfless doctor. You sleep on a feather bed all day (a doctor!), and only get up at night to attend to the odd patient! In three years’ time you won't even be doing that… Well, to hell with that, that's not what I was going to say; what I want to say is: you'll be spending the night in the landlady's apartment (I had some job persuading her!), and I'll be in the kitchen: there's your chance to get better acquainted with her! No, it's not what you're thinking! There's not a shadow of that kind of thing there, brother…’

‘But I wasn't thinking anything of the sort.’

‘What you have there, brother, is shyness, reticence, bashfulness, fierce chastity, and yet at the same time – sighs, and she melts like wax, ah, how she melts! You've got to save me from her, for the sake of all the devils in the world! She's a dish!… I'll earn it, I'll do my damnedest to earn it!’

Zosimov began to chortle even more loudly than before.

‘Really in the grip of it, aren't you? But what would I want with her?’

‘I assure you that there's not much trouble involved; all you have to do is talk any kind of wish-wash you like, just sit beside her and talk. What's more, you're a doctor – you could start treating her for something. I swear you won't be sorry. She has an old piano; well, you know, I tinkle on it a bit now and then; there's a song I like to play there, a real Russian one, called “I'll drown in burning tears…” She likes the real ones. Well, it all started with that song; but I mean, you're a virtuoso on the piano, a
maître
, a Rubinstein
¹
… I assure you, you won't be sorry!’

‘What have you been doing – making her promises? Signed a note, have you? Perhaps you've promised to marry her…’

‘No, no, there's been absolutely nothing like that! Anyway, she's not that kind; Chebarov tried approaching her…’

‘Well, drop her, then!’

‘It's not as easy as that!’

‘Why not?’

‘It's just not, that's all! You see, it involves the principle of induction, brother.’

‘Then why did you lead her astray?’

‘I didn't. Perhaps I allowed myself to be led astray, out of stupidity, but it'll really be all the same to her whether it's me or you, all she wants is for there to be someone sitting there next to her, sighing. You see, brother… I can't put it into words… well, and I mean, you're good at mathematics, you're still studying it, I know… well, you could start teaching her integral calculus – no, I'm not joking, I mean it seriously, it really will all be the same to her: she'll look at you and sigh, and it'll go on like that for a whole year. Actually, I spent two whole days telling her about the Prussian Assembly of Nobles (because I couldn't think of anything else to tell her) – and she just sat there sighing and sweating! Only don't mention the word “love” – she's so shy it nearly gives her a seizure; but pretend you can't leave her side, either – that'll be sufficient. It's incredibly comfortable; you can make yourself completely at home – read, sit, lie on the sofa, write… You can even kiss her, if you're careful about it…’

‘But what do I want with her?’

‘Damn it, I can't seem to explain it to you at all! Look: you're both completely suited to each other! This isn't the first time I've thought of you… I mean, this is how you're going to end up eventually, anyway! So isn't it all the same to you whether it's sooner or later? You see, brother, it involves the feather-bed principle – damn it, and not just the feather-bed one, either! It's a process of induction; it means the end of the world, an anchor, a quiet haven, the hub of the universe, the tri-ichthyic foundation of the earth, the essence of
blinis
, of juicy
kulebiakis
,
²
of the evening samovar, of quiet lamentations and snug, fur-trimmed jackets, of warm stove-couches – yes, as if you had died, but were still alive, with the simultaneous advantages of both! Well, brother, the devil, I'm talking through my hat, it's time to go to bed! Listen: I sometimes wake up at night, so I'll probably go in and take a look at him. Only there's nothing the matter with him, it's nonsense, everything's all right. So don't you worry either, and look in too just once, if you can. But if you should
notice anything, delirium or fever, for example, wake me up at once. But I don't think you'll need to…’

It was a serious and preoccupied Razumikhin who awoke at eight o'clock the following morning. Many were the new and unforeseen perplexities that suddenly came to visit him that morning. He himself had never imagined that some day he might wake up feeling like this. He recalled, down to the last detail, everything that had happened the day before and understood that something far from commonplace had happened to him, that he had been the host to a certain experience which was quite unfamiliar to him, and which resembled nothing he had encountered previously. At the same time he had a clear awareness that the dream that had caught light within his head was in the highest degree incapable of realization – so much so, indeed, that he was now ashamed of it, and quickly moved on to the other, more urgent concerns and perplexities which were the legacy bequeathed to him by that ‘damned, bloody last night’.

The memory that horrified him most was the way in which he had proved himself ‘base and despicable’, not simply by being drunk, but by having abused the fiancé of a young girl out of stupid and hasty jealousy, taking advantage of her position and ignorant not only of their mutual relationship and commitment to each other, but also of the man himself, with whom he had no proper acquaintance. What right did he have to make such hasty and precipitate judgements about him? And who had asked him to make such judgements in the first place? Would a creature such as Avdotya Romanovna give herself to a man unworthy of her just for the sake of money? No, he must possess certain merits. The rooms? But how could he have known that the rooms were of that kind? After all, he was preparing an apartment… Ugh, how despicable it all was! And what sort of an excuse was it that he had been drunk? It was a stupid pretext, which made him even more despicable!
In vino veritas
– and
the
veritas
had well and truly manifested itself, ‘that's to say, the utter filth of my loutish, envious heart!’ And in any case, was such a dream permissible to him, Razumikhin? Who was he compared to a girl like that – he, a drunken ruffian and boaster of the exploits of the night before? ‘Is such a cynical and absurd comparison even thinkable?’ Razumikhin blushed desperately at the very thought, and suddenly, as though by some design, he was at that very moment visited by the clear memory of how, standing on the stairs the evening before, he had told them that the landlady would be jealous of Avdotya Romanovna on his account… that was the final straw! With all his might he struck his fist against the kitchen stove, hurting his hand and dislodging one of the bricks.

‘One thing's certain,’ he muttered to himself a moment later, with a certain feeling of self-humiliation, ‘and that's that there's no question of my being able to mask or smooth over that ugly behaviour either now or ever in the future… and so there's no point in even thinking about it. I must present myself to them in silence and… carry out my obligations… also in silence, and… and not ask to be forgiven, and say not a word, and… and I may be certain that all is now lost!’

All the same, as he got dressed he examined his suit more carefully than usual. These were the only clothes he possessed; had he any others, he would probably not have worn them – ‘I'd make a special point of not wearing them.’ But, when all was said and done, it would not do for him to go around like a cynic and a dirty slob: he had no right to offend the sensibilities of others, even less so as those others were themselves in need of him and were summoning him to their assistance. He cleaned his suit thoroughly, employing the use of a brush. As for his linen, it was always in a tolerable state; on that account he observed a particular cleanliness.

That morning he washed himself zealously – Nastasya happened to have some soap – scrubbing his hair, his neck and especially his hands. When, however, it came to the question of whether he should shave off his stubble, or not (in Praskovya Pavlovna's apartment there were some excellent razors which had been preserved from the days of the deceased Mr Zarnitsyn),
the dilemma was resolved, not without a certain desperation, in negative fashion: ‘Let it remain as it is! Well, otherwise they'll think I've shaved myself for… they're bound to think that! Not for anything in the world!’

No… no, the worst of it was that he was such a dirty, loutish fellow, he had behaved as though he'd been brought up in a tavern; no… no, even supposing he knew that he, too, if ever so slightly, was a decent human being… well, what was there to be proud of about that? Everyone ought to be a decent human being, and a clean one, too, and… and even so (this he remembered) in his time he had done some nasty things… not exactly dishonest ones, but all the same… And the thoughts he had had! Hm… And for him to go and try to present all that to Avdotya Romanovna! Oh well, to hell with it. That was just the way it was. He would make a point of continuing to be that dirty, greasy, tavern-bred oaf, and to blazes. He'd do it even more…

It was in monologues such as these that he was discovered by Zosimov, who had spent the night in Praskovya Pavlovna's front parlour.

Zosimov was about to leave for home, but before going wanted to take a quick look at his patient. Razumikhin informed him that Raskolnikov was sleeping like a log. Zosimov gave instructions that the patient not be roused until he awoke of his own accord, and promised to look in at about eleven o'clock.

‘That is, if he's still here by then,’ he added. ‘My God! I don't even have any control over my own patient, so how on earth am I supposed to cure him? I don't suppose you know whether
he
is going to them, or
they
are coming here?’

‘They're coming here, I think,’ Razumikhin replied, having grasped the purpose of the question, ‘and they'll doubtless spend all the time talking about their family business. I'll go out. As a doctor, you have more right to be here than I have, of course.’

‘I'm not a priest, though. I'll come and then go away again. I've enough to do as it is.’

‘There's just one thing that's worrying me,’ Razumikhin said,
interrupting him with a frown. ‘When I was drunk last night and was taking him home, I told him about various stupid things… about various… among other things, that you were afraid he… might have a tendency towards madness…’

‘Yes, you were telling the ladies about that last night, too.’

‘I know it was a stupid thing to do! I just couldn't help it! But tell me – did you really have such a definite opinion?’

‘It's nonsense, I tell you; what definite opinion? You yourself described him as a monomaniac when you brought me to him… Well, and we raised his temperature even further yesterday with those stories… about the painter; a fine kind of thing to talk about when that was the very thing that had probably driven him out of his mind in the first place! If I'd known what exactly had happened in the bureau that day and had been told that some rascal had… insulted him by treating him as a suspect in that case! Hm… I'd never have allowed you to say those things to him yesterday. I tell you, these monomaniacs will make mountains out of molehills, they see their own cock-and-bull fantasies walking around in real life… As far as I can remember, what Zamyotov told me yesterday cleared half the business up, in any case. My God! I know of one case where a certain hypochondriac, a man of forty, couldn't stand the daily jeering of his eight-year-old urchin of a son and cut his throat! And here you have a fellow all in rags, an insolent jackanapes of a policeman, an incipient illness and a suspicion of that kind! All that, and the chap's a crazed hypochondriac! With fantastic, extraordinary vanity! Oh well, to hell with it!… Actually, you know, that Zamyotov is quite a pleasant little guttersnipe; if only… hm… he hadn't gone and given everything away like that yesterday. He's a terrible chatterbox!’

‘But who did he tell? Just you and me, wasn't it?’

‘And Porfiry.’

‘Oh, Porfiry doesn't matter!’

‘Come to think of it, do you have any sort of influence with those two, the mother and the sister, I mean? They ought to go easy on him today…’

‘They'll come to some arrangement,’ was Razumikhin's unwilling response to this.

‘And why does he keep going on against this Luzhin fellow? He's got money, she apparently doesn't find him too unattractive… and I mean, they haven't got a bean, have they? Eh?’