Crime and Punishment (47 page)

As soon as Porfiry Petrovich heard that his guest had a ‘small item of business’ to discuss with him, he lost no time in asking him to sit down on the sofa, himself sat down at its other end, and fixed his eyes upon him in eager anticipation of hearing the nature of the business, with that exaggerated and all-too-serious attention which actually has the effect of irking and embarrassing the other person right from the word go, particularly if he is a stranger and particularly if what he has to tell is, in his own opinion, quite unmeriting of such extraordinarily serious attention. Even so, in a few brief, coherent words Raskolnikov gave a clear and precise explanation of the matter, and was so pleased with himself that he even managed to take a good look at Porfiry. Porfiry Petrovich likewise did not remove his eyes from him during all the time he talked. Razumikhin, who had taken a seat opposite them, at the same table, hotly and impatiently followed Raskolnikov's account of the matter, every
moment or so transferring his gaze from one to the other, until it began to get a little out of hand.

‘Fool!’ Raskolnikov cursed silently to himself.

‘What you should do, sir, is make a statement to the police,’ Porfiry replied with a thoroughly businesslike air. ‘What you say is that having learned of such-and-such an occurrence – this murder in other words – you in your turn wish to inform the investigator in charge of the case that such-and-such objects are items of your possession and that you wish to redeem them… something of that sort… as a matter of fact, they'll write it for you.’

‘You see, er, the thing is that just at this moment,’ Raskolnikov said, trying to sound as embarrassed as possible, ‘I'm right out of cash… and I can't even find the small change that would be necessary… what I'd like to do, you see, is simply make a declaration that these objects are mine, and that when I have the money…’

‘That doesn't make any difference, sir,’ Porfiry Petrovich replied, greeting this explanation of Raskolnikov's finances with coldness. ‘But if you like you can simply write directly to me, saying something to the same effect, namely that having learned of such-and-such and wishing to make a declaration concerning such-and-such items of your possession, you request…’

‘Can I write it on ordinary paper?’ Raskolnikov hurriedly interrupted, again displaying an interest in the financial side of things.

‘Oh, on the most ordinary you wish, sir!’ And suddenly Porfiry Petrovich gave him an almost openly mocking look, narrowing his eyes and practically winking at him. This was, perhaps, only how it seemed to Raskolnikov, as it lasted no more than a split second. At least, something of the kind happened. Raskolnikov could have sworn that Porfiry had winked, the devil knew for what reason.

‘He knows!’ The thought flashed through him like lightning.

‘You must forgive me for bothering you with such a trivial matter,’ he went on, slightly thrown off his balance. ‘Those things of mine aren't worth more than five roubles altogether, but they're particularly dear to me as a memory of those from
whom I received them, and I must confess that when I found out about it I felt very alarmed…’

‘You fairly flew up in the air yesterday when I happened to mention to Zosimov that Porfiry was questioning the people who'd pawned things with the old woman!’ Razumikhin put in with evident intention.

This was now beyond endurance. Raskolnikov lost his self-control and glared at him viciously with black eyes that burned with anger. He at once pulled himself together.

‘What's this, brother, are you making fun of me?’ he said, addressing him with skilfully manufactured irritation. ‘I can see that I'm possibly getting far too worked up about what to your eyes is simply old junk; but you can't call me either an egoist or greedy for that, and in my eyes those two worthless little objects aren't junk at all. I've only just finished telling you that that silver watch, which is only worth a few copecks, is the only thing of my father's we have left. You may laugh if you wish, but my mother came to see me,’ he said, turning suddenly to Porfiry, ‘and if she were to find out that the watch has been lost,’ he went on, turning quickly to Razumikhin this time, exerting a special effort to make his voice tremble, ‘she'd be in despair! Women!’

‘You've got it all wrong! I didn't mean it that way at all! Just the other way about!’ cried an aggrieved Razumikhin.

‘I wonder if that was the right thing to do?’ Raskolnikov thought to himself, with an inward tremor. ‘Did it sound natural? Did I exaggerate too much? Why did I say “Women!” like that?’

‘So your mother came to see you, did she?’ Porfiry Petrovich wanted to know, for some reason.

‘Yes.’

‘When would that be, now, sir?’

‘Yesterday evening.’

Porfiry said nothing, as though lost in thought.

‘Your things can't possibly have got lost,’ he went on, calmly and coldly. ‘I've been waiting for you to get here for ages.’

And as though nothing were particularly the matter, he carefully began to push the ashtray towards Razumikhin, who was
relentlessly scattering cigarette-ash on the carpet. Raskolnikov started, but Porfiry seemed not to notice, still worried about Razumikhin's cigarette.

‘Wha-at? Waiting? You mean you knew he'd pawned stuff
there
?’ Razumikhin exclaimed.

Porfiry Petrovich addressed Raskolnikov directly:

‘Both of your articles, the ring and the watch, were found in
her
apartment wrapped up in the same piece of paper, with your name clearly marked in pencil on it, together with the date she received them from you…’

‘How come you're so observant?’ Raskolnikov smiled awkwardly, making a special effort to look him straight in the eye; but he could not control himself and suddenly added: ‘I said that just now because there must have been an awful lot of people who'd pawned things… so many that it must have been hard for you to remember who they all were… Yet you seem to remember them all quite clearly, and… and…

‘Stupid! Clumsy! Why did I put that in?’

‘Practically all of those who'd pawned anything are now known to us, and you're the only one who hasn't been so good as to oblige,’ Porfiry replied with a barely perceptible hint of mockery.

‘I've not been entirely well.’

‘I've heard about that too, sir. I also heard that you've been very upset about something. Why, even now you look pale.’

‘I'm not pale at all… there's absolutely nothing the matter with me!’ Raskolnikov snapped, rudely and aggressively, suddenly altering his tone. The aggression was seething up in him, and he was unable to check it. ‘But if I behave aggressively I'll give myself away!’ passed, again like a flash, through his head. ‘Oh, why are they tormenting me?…’

‘Not entirely well!’ Razumikhin chipped in. ‘Listen to the man! Up until yesterday he was practically unconscious, and raving… Would you believe it, Porfiry? He could scarcely stand upright, yet as soon as Zosimov and I had turned our backs yesterday he got his clothes on, took to his heels and went off playing silly pranks somewhere almost until midnight, and
all of this, I tell you, in a state of the most complete delirium – can you imagine? Quite extraordinary!’

‘You don't say? And in a
state of the most complete delirium
, too! Do tell me more!’ Porfiry said, shaking his head with a womanish gesture.

‘Oh, rot! Don't believe him! Well, you don't believe him anyway,’ Raskolnikov blurted out, far too aggressively. But Porfiry Petrovich seemed not to hear these strange words.

‘Well, if you weren't delirious, why did you go out then?’ Razumikhin suddenly cried in angry vexation. ‘Why did you? What was your purpose… And why did it have to be in secret? Were you in your right mind? Now that it's all over, I think I ought to be frank with you!’

‘I got really fed up with everyone yesterday,’ Raskolnikov said suddenly, turning to Porfiry with an insolently provocative smile, ‘so I ran away from them in order to rent another room, where they wouldn't be able to find me, and I took a lot of money with me. Mr Zamyotov here saw the money. Well, Mr Zamyotov, was I in my right mind yesterday, or was I delirious? Please resolve our dispute for us!’

He looked as though he would have liked to strangle Zamyotov at that moment. Zamyotov's silence, and the way he was staring at him, were very decidedly not to his taste.

‘Oh, in my opinion you were talking very sensibly, even cleverly, sir – though I must say you did seem rather irritable,’ Zamyotov remarked, thinly.

‘You know, Nikodim Fomich was telling me,’ Porfiry Petrovich inserted, ‘that he met you very late last night in the lodgings of some civil servant who'd been run down in the street…’

‘Yes, what about that civil servant?’ Razumikhin chimed in. ‘Weren't you carrying on like a madman at his home? You gave all the money you had to his widow for funeral expenses! Well, if you'd wanted to help, I'd have understood if you'd given her fifteen, or even twenty or so, and left three for yourself, but you went and lavished the whole twenty-five on her!’

‘And what if I'd found some hidden treasure that you don't know about? What if that's why I was so generous?… Ask Mr
Zamyotov: he knows I've found some hidden treasure! Please forgive us,’ he said, turning to Porfiry Petrovich, his lips quivering. ‘It's really inexcusable of us to bother you for a whole half an hour with such a mundane recitation. You must be sick of us by now, eh?’

‘For heaven's sake, sir, not at all, not at all! If you only knew the interest you arouse in me! It's so fascinating to watch and listen… indeed, I must confess I'm delighted you've been so good as to do me the honour at last.’

‘What about some tea? My throat's as dry as a whistle!’ Razumikhin exclaimed.

‘A splendid idea! Perhaps we'll all join you. But wouldn't you like something a little more… essential first?’

‘Spare us the hospitality!’

Porfiry Petrovich went off to order tea.

The thoughts were spinning round in Raskolnikov's head like a whirlwind. He was horribly over-stimulated.

‘What's clear above all is that they're not bothering to cover anything up or stand upon ceremony! If he doesn't know me, why was he talking about me to Nikodim Fomich? It can only mean that they don't even want to conceal the fact that they're following me like a pack of dogs! They're prepared to spit in my face quite openly!’ he thought, quivering with fury. ‘Go on, why don't you just hit me straight out? Stop playing this cat-and-mouse game. I mean, it's offensive, Porfiry Petrovich, and in any case I may not let you go on with it!… I'll get up and blurt out the whole truth to the lot of you, right in your ugly mugs; and then you'll see what contempt I have for you!… With effort he took a new breath. ‘But what if it only seems this way to me? What if it's a mirage and I'm wrong about everything, what if I'm simply getting aggressive because of my inexperience, my inability to sustain the shabby role I'm acting? Perhaps they don't mean anything by all these remarks? All the things they're saying are perfectly ordinary, yet there's something else there, too… They're all the kind of things one may say at any time, yet there's more to it. Why did he say “in her apartment” like that? Why did Zamyotov say I'd spoken
with cunning
? Why are they using that tone? Yes, that's what it is…
a tone… Razumikhin's been sitting here, too – why hasn't he noticed anything? That innocent blockhead never notices anything! It's my fever again… Did Porfiry wink at me just then, or didn't he? Oh, it's probably rubbish; why would he wink at me? What are they trying to do – get on my nerves, or are they teasing me? Either it's all a mirage, or else they
know
!… Even Zamyotov's being insolent… Or is he? He's done some thinking overnight. I had a feeling he would! He's behaving as if he were at home, yet this is the first time he's been here. Porfiry isn't even treating him like a guest, he's sitting with his back to him. They're in league with each other! And it's
because of me
that they're in league! It's quite obvious that they were talking about me before we arrived… Do they know I went back to the apartment? Oh, I wish they'd hurry up and get it all over with!… When I said I'd run away last night in order to rent another room he let it pass, didn't raise any… It was clever of me to put in that bit about a room: it'll come in handy later on!… “In a state of delirium,” he said… Ha, ha, ha! He knows all about yesterday evening! But he didn't know that my mother had come to town… And the old witch had even written the date on the things in pencil!… You're wrong, I won't let myself be caught! I mean, those aren't facts, they're just a mirage! Come on, let's see some facts! Even the apartment's not a fact, it's just a feverish hallucination; I know what to say to them… Do they know about the apartment? I shan't leave until I've found out! Why did I come here? Well, I certainly am aggressive now, and that
is
a fact! God, how irritable I feel! Perhaps that's just as well; the role of the invalid… He's testing me. He'll try to throw me off balance. Why did I come here?’

All this passed through his head like lightning.

Porfiry Petrovich returned almost instantly. He seemed suddenly to have become more cheerful.

‘You know, cousin, I've still got a sore head after your party last night… In fact, I've come a bit unstuck all over,’ he began in a completely different tone, addressing his remark to Razumikhin, and laughing as he did so.

‘Well, was it interesting? I mean, I left you just when it was starting to get interesting, didn't I? Who came out on top?’

‘Oh, no one, of course. They alighted on the eternal questions, but went up on a gust of hot air.’

‘Would you believe it, Rodya? Last night they got on to the question of whether there's such a thing as crime or not! I told you they were talking a devil of a lot of nonsense!’

‘What's so extraordinary about it? It's a social problem you hear discussed all the time,’ Raskolnikov answered, his thoughts elsewhere.

‘Not in the terms in which they were formulating it,’ Porfiry observed.

‘You can say that again,’ Razumikhin hastened to agree, beginning to get worked up, as was his custom. ‘I say, Rodion: listen and give me your opinion. I want to hear it. I nearly burst a blood-vessel arguing with them last night before you arrived, I couldn't wait for you to get there; I'd told them you were coming… What sparked it off was when we started talking about the view of the socialists. It's a view that is well-known: crime is a protest against the craziness of the social system – and that's all there is to it, no more than that, and no other reasons conceded – so it doesn't matter!…’