Crime and Punishment (31 page)

‘He can hardly be that dreadful, then, if he managed to grin and bear it for seven years. You seem to be standing up for him, Dunechka.'

‘No, no, he's dreadful! I can't imagine anyone more dreadful,' Dunya replied, almost with a shudder. She frowned and became pensive.

‘It happened at their place in the morning,' Pulkheria Alexandrovna hurried on. ‘Afterwards, she immediately had the horses harnessed, so that she could go into town straight after lunch, because she would always go into town on such occasions; she had a very hearty appetite that day, by all accounts . . .'

‘After being beaten?'

‘... Well, she'd always had this . . . habit, and as soon as she'd eaten, so as not to be late setting off, she immediately went off to the bathing hut . . . You see, water was a kind of cure for her. They've got a cold spring there and she'd bathe in it every day, and just as soon as she got in – a stroke!'

‘Now there's a surprise!' said Zosimov.

‘Did he beat her badly, then?'

‘What difference does it make?' answered Dunya.

‘A fine topic for conversation, Mama, I must say,' Raskolnikov suddenly snapped, as if without meaning to.

‘But my dear, I didn't know what else to talk about,' Pulkheria Alexandrovna blurted out.

‘Are you all scared of me, is that it?' he asked with a twisted grin.

‘Yes, it's true,' said Dunya, fixing her brother with a stern look. ‘Coming up the stairs, Mama even crossed herself from fear.'

His face twisted, as if from a spasm.

‘Oh really, Dunya! Please don't get angry, Rodya . . . Dunya, did you have to?' Pulkheria Alexandrovna began in embarrassment. ‘I
won't deny that I spent the entire train journey dreaming about seeing you again, about all the things we would have to tell each other . . . and I felt so happy I barely noticed the journey! But what am I saying? I'm happy now, too. You shouldn't have, Dunya! Just seeing you, Rodya, is enough to make me happy . . .'

‘That'll do, Mama,' he mumbled in embarrassment, squeezing her hand without looking at her. ‘We'll have plenty of time to talk!'

Saying this, he suddenly became troubled and pale: once again a dreadful, recent sensation touched his soul with a deathly chill, once again it suddenly became crystal clear to him that he'd just told a dreadful lie, that not only would he never have plenty of time to talk, but that now it had become impossible for him to
talk
about anything, with anyone, ever again. The effect produced on him by this excruciating thought was so powerful that, for a moment, he fell into a kind of trance, got to his feet and, without a glance in anyone's direction, made for the door.

‘Now what?' shouted Razumikhin, grabbing him by the arm.

He sat down again and began looking around without speaking. They were all staring at him in bewilderment.

‘What on earth's the matter with you all?' he suddenly cried, quite out of the blue. ‘Say something! We can't just sit here! Well? Speak! Let's have a conversation . . . seeing as we've got together . . . Anything!'

‘Thank goodness for that! For a moment I thought he was back to how he was yesterday,' said Pulkheria Alexandrovna, crossing herself.

‘What is it, Rodya?' asked Avdotya Romanovna mistrustfully.

‘Oh, nothing, I just remembered something,' he replied, and suddenly burst out laughing.

‘Well, nothing wrong with that! I was also beginning to think . . . ,' muttered Zosimov, getting up from the couch. ‘Time for me to be off, though. I might drop by again later . . . if I find you in . . .'

He bowed and left.

‘What a splendid man!' remarked Pulkheria Alexandrovna.

‘Yes, a splendid man, first-rate, educated, intelligent . . . ,' Raskolnikov suddenly began to say at surprising speed and with unusual gusto. ‘Can't remember where it was I met him before I fell sick . . . Pretty sure I did meet him somewhere . . . And he's all right, too!' he added, nodding towards Razumikhin. ‘How do you like him, Dunya?' he asked her and suddenly, for no apparent reason, burst out laughing.

‘Very much,' replied Dunya.

‘Ugh, you . . . swine!' said a terribly embarrassed, bright-red
Razumikhin, getting up from his chair. Pulkheria Alexandrovna half-smiled and Raskolnikov roared with laughter.

‘Where are you off to?'

‘I've also . . . I have to . . .'

‘No you don't – stay where you are! Zosimov's left, so you have to go too? Don't go . . . What's the time? Is it twelve yet? What a lovely watch you have, Dunya! Now why have you all gone quiet again? Why's it always me doing the talking?'

‘It's a present from Marfa Petrovna,' replied Dunya.

‘An extremely expensive one,' added Pulkheria Alexandrovna.

‘I see! Look at the size of it – more like a man's watch.'

‘I like this kind,' said Dunya.

‘So it's not from the fiancé,' thought Razumikhin, rejoicing.

‘There was me thinking Luzhin gave it to you,' remarked Raskolnikov.

‘No, Dunechka hasn't received any gifts from him yet.'

‘I see! And do you remember, Mama, when I was in love and wanted to get married?' he suddenly said, looking at his mother, who was struck by the sudden change of subject and the tone with which he'd broached it.

‘Oh yes, my dear, of course I do!'

Pulkheria Alexandrovna exchanged glances with Dunechka and Razumikhin.

‘H'm! Yes! But what should I tell you? I don't even remember very much about it. She was always poorly,' he went on, suddenly looking thoughtful again and staring at the floor, ‘such a sickly young girl; liked giving alms, always dreaming of the nunnery, and when she started telling me about it once she was in floods of tears. Yes, yes . . . I remember that . . . I remember it very well. She was . . . ugly enough. Heaven knows why I became so fond of her – because she was always ill, I suppose . . . If she'd been lame as well, or a hunchback, I suppose I'd have loved her even more . . .' He smiled pensively. ‘The spring must have gone to my head . . .'

‘No, it wasn't that,' said Dunechka with feeling.

He looked at his sister closely, intently, but he didn't catch the words, or else he didn't understand them. Then, deep in thought, he got up, went over to his mother, kissed her, returned to his place and sat down.

‘You still love her now?' said Pulkheria Alexandrovna, touched.

‘Her? Now? Oh, I see . . . you mean her! No. That's a world away
now . . . and so long ago. Actually, everything seems to be happening somewhere else . . .'

He looked at them attentively.

‘Take you, for example . . . It's as if I were looking at you from a distance of a thousand miles . . . But what the devil are we talking about? And why all these questions?' he snapped, then fell silent, biting his nails and sinking into thought once more.

‘What a horrid room you have, Rodya – just like a coffin,' said Pulkheria Alexandrovna suddenly, breaking the awkward silence. ‘I'm sure that's half the reason you've become such a melancholic.'
8

‘The room?' he replied distractedly. ‘Yes, the room had a lot to do with it . . . That's occurred to me, too . . . But if you only knew, Mama, what a strange thing you've just said,' he suddenly added with a peculiar grin.

A little more, and this group of people, this family, together again after three years, and this familial way of talking despite there being nothing at all to talk about, would have become utterly unbearable for him. There was, however, one urgent matter that had to be resolved today one way or another – or so he'd decided when he woke up. Now he rejoiced at having something
to do
, as if it were a way out.

‘Now listen, Dunya,' he began seriously and tersely. ‘Please forgive me, of course, for what happened yesterday, but I consider it my duty to remind you again that I won't yield an inch on my main point. It's me or Luzhin. I may be a scoundrel, but you shouldn't do it. One or the other. Marry Luzhin and I'll no longer consider you my sister.'

‘Rodya, Rodya! But this is just what you were saying yesterday,' cried Pulkheria Alexandrovna bitterly. ‘And why do you keep calling yourself a scoundrel? It's more than I can bear! Yesterday was just the same . . .'

‘Brother,' Dunya replied firmly, and no less tersely, ‘you're making a mistake here. I thought it through overnight and located it. You seem to think that I'm sacrificing myself to someone and for someone. But that's not the case at all. I'm marrying for my own sake, that's all, because life is hard enough for me, too. Naturally, I'll be only too glad if I also manage to be of help to my family, but that's not the main motive for my decision . . .'

‘She's lying!' he thought to himself, biting his nails from spite. ‘Too proud by half! Can't admit she wants to do good! Oh, vile souls! Even their love is like hatred . . . Oh, how I . . . hate them all!'

‘In short, I'm marrying Pyotr Petrovich,' Dunechka continued, ‘because it's the lesser of two evils. I intend to be honest in carrying out everything he expects of me, and therefore I am not deceiving him . . . Why did you smile like that just now?'

She also reddened, eyes flashing with anger.

‘You'll carry out everything?' he asked, with a poisonous smirk.

‘Up to a point. Both the manner and the form of Pyotr Petrovich's proposal showed me right away what it is that he needs. He does not lack self-esteem, of course, and perhaps he has too much of it, but I hope he esteems me, too . . . Now why are you laughing again?'

‘And why are you blushing again? You're lying, sister. You're lying on purpose, out of sheer female stubbornness – anything so as not to yield an inch to me . . . You can't respect Luzhin. I've seen him. I've spoken to him. Which means you're selling yourself for money, which means you're behaving despicably and I'm glad that at least you're still capable of blushing!'

‘That's not true! I'm not lying!' cried Dunechka, losing all composure. ‘I'll only marry him if I'm convinced that he values and prizes me; and I'll only marry him if I am quite convinced that I'm capable of respecting him. Fortunately, I have the opportunity to make absolutely certain of this no later than today. Such a marriage is not shameful. You're wrong! And even if you were right, even if I really had decided to do something shameful – then wouldn't it be heartless of you to speak to me like this? Why demand of me a degree of heroism you may not even possess yourself? That's tyranny, coercion! The only person I run the risk of ruining is myself . . . I haven't killed anyone! Now why are you looking at me like that? Why have you gone so pale? Rodya, what's wrong? Rodya, my dearest! . . .'

‘Good grief! You've made him faint!' cried Pulkheria Alexandrovna.

‘No, no . . . nonsense . . . It was nothing! . . . Just a bit of dizziness. I certainly didn't faint . . . You've got a thing about fainting! . . . H'm! . . . Now what was I saying? Oh yes: how will you make certain no later than today that you are capable of respecting him and that he . . . esteems you – is that how you put it? It was today, wasn't it? Or did I mishear you?'

‘Mama, show Rodya the letter from Pyotr Petrovich,' said Dunechka.

Pulkheria Alexandrovna passed him the letter in her trembling hands. He took it with the greatest curiosity. But before unfolding it he suddenly glanced with a sort of astonishment at Dunechka.

‘How strange,' he said slowly, as though suddenly struck by a new thought. ‘Why am I getting so involved? Why all this fuss? Marry whoever you like!'

He seemed to be speaking to himself, but he said the words out loud and looked for some time at his sister, as if puzzled by something.

He eventually unfolded the letter, still retaining a look of strange astonishment; then he began reading it through, slowly and attentively, and read it again. Pulkheria Alexandrovna was unusually tense; in fact, everyone was expecting something unusual.

‘I'm amazed,' he began after a few moments' reflection, passing the letter back to his mother, but addressing no one in particular. ‘I mean, he's a man of business, a lawyer, even speaks with a certain . . . swagger – but look, he's barely literate.'

Everyone stirred. This was the last thing they were expecting.

‘But they all write like that,' came Razumikhin's curt comment.

‘You mean you've read it, too?'

‘Yes.'

‘We showed it to him, Rodya. We . . . talked it over together earlier,' Pulkheria Alexandrovna began.

‘It's lawyer-speak, that's all,' Razumikhin interrupted. ‘That's the way legal documents have always been written.'

‘Legal? Yes, that's right – legal, business-like . . . Not exactly illiterate or exactly literary: business-like!'

‘Pyotr Petrovich doesn't conceal the fact that he was educated on a shoestring, and even boasts about having made his own way in life,' remarked Avdotya Romanovna, rather offended by her brother's new tone.

‘Well, if he's boasting, then he must have something to boast about – I won't argue. You seem to be offended, sister, that the only thing I had to say about the whole letter was this frivolous observation, and you think I deliberately picked up on such petty things because I was annoyed and wanted to show off a bit. On the contrary, as regards style, a very pertinent point occurred to me. There's a certain expression he uses: “You'll have no one to blame but yourselves”, very prominently placed; and besides, there's the threat that he'll leave immediately if I come. This threat actually amounts to a threat to abandon you both if you fail to do as he says, and to abandon you now, after he's already summoned you to Petersburg. What do you think? Can such an expression be as offensive coming from Luzhin as if it had
been written by, say, him,' (he pointed at Razumikhin) ‘or Zosimov or any one of us?'