第89章

第89章“andhowwellhedoesitall,”themotherwasthinkingtoherself.“whatgenerousimpulseshehas,andhowsimply,howdelicatelyheputanendtoallthemisunderstandingwithhissister—simplybyholdingouthishandattherightminuteandlookingatherlikethat.…andwhatfineeyeshehas,andhowfinehiswholefaceis!…heisevenbetterlookingthandounia.…but,goodheavens,whatasuit—howterriblyhe’sdressed!…vasya,themessengerboyinafanasyivanitch’sshop,isbetterdressed!icouldrushathimandhughim…weepoverhim—butiamafraid.…oh,dear,he’ssostrange!he’stalkingkindly,buti’mafraid!why,whatamiafraidof?…”

“oh,rodya,youwouldn’tbelieve,”shebegansuddenly,inhastetoanswerhiswordstoher,“howunhappydouniaandiwereyesterday!nowthatit’salloveranddonewithandwearequitehappyagain—icantellyou.fancy,weranherealmoststraightfromthetraintoembraceyouandthatwoman—ah,heresheis!goodmorning,nastasya!…shetoldusatoncethatyouwerelyinginahighfeverandhadjustrunawayfromthedoctorindelirium,andtheywerelookingforyouinthestreets.youcan’timaginehowwefelt!icouldn’thelpthinkingofthetragicendoflieutenantpotanchikov,afriendofyourfather’s—youcan’trememberhim,rodya—whoranoutinthesamewayinahighfeverandfellintothewellinthecourt-yardandtheycouldn’tpullhimouttillnextday.ofcourse,weeratedthings.wewereonthepointofrushingtofindpyotrpetrovitchtoaskhimtohelp.…becausewewerealone,utterlyalone,”shesaidplaintivelyandstoppedshort,suddenly,recollectingitwasstillsomewhatdangeroustospeakofpyotrpetrovitch,although“wearequitehappyagain.”

“yes,yes.…ofcourseit’sveryannoying.…”raskolnikovmutteredinreply,butwithsuchaupiedandinattentiveairthatdouniagazedathiminperplexity.

“whatelsewasitiwantedtosay?”hewentontryingtorecollect.“oh,yes;mother,andyoutoo,dounia,pleasedon’tthinkthatididn’tmeantocomeandseeyouto-dayandwaswaitingforyoutocomefirst.”

“whatareyousaying,rodya?”criedpulcheriaalexandrovna.she,too,wassurprised.

“isheansweringusasaduty?”douniawondered.“ishebeingreconciledandaskingforgivenessasthoughhewereperformingariteorrepeatingalesson?”

“i’veonlyjustwakedup,andwantedtogotoyou,butwasdelayedowingtomyclothes;iforgotyesterdaytoaskher…nastasya…towashouttheblood…i’veonlyjustdressed.”

“blood!whatblood?”pulcheriaalexandrovnaaskedinalarm.

“oh,nothing—don’tbeuneasy.itwaswheniwaswanderingaboutyesterday,ratherdelirious,ichanceduponamanwhohadbeenrunover…aclerk…”

“delirious?butyouremembereverything!”razumihininterrupted.

“that’strue,”raskolnikovansweredwithspecialcarefulness.“iremembereverythingeventotheslightestdetail,andyet—whyididthatandwentthereandsaidthat,ican’tclearlyexplainnow.”

“afamiliarphenomenon,”interposedzossimov,“actionsaresometimesperformedinamasterlyandmostcunningway,whilethedirectionoftheactionsisderangedanddependentonvariousmorbidimpressions—it’slikeadream.”

“perhapsit’sagoodthingreallythatheshouldthinkmealmostamadman,”thoughtraskolnikov.

“why,peopleinperfecthealthactinthesamewaytoo,”observeddounia,lookinguneasilyatzossimov.

“thereissometruthinyourobservation,”thelatterreplied.“inthatsensewearecertainlyallnotinfrequentlylikemadmen,butwiththeslightdifferencethatthederangedaresomewhatmadder,forwemustdrawaline.anormalman,itistrue,hardlyexists.amongdozens—perhapshundredsofthousands—hardlyoneistobemetwith.”

attheword“madman,”carelesslydroppedbyzossimovinhischatteronhisfavouritesubject,everyonefrowned.

raskolnikovsatseemingnottopayattention,plungedinthoughtwithastrangesmileonhispalelips.hewasstillmeditatingonsomething.

“well,whataboutthemanwhowasrunover?iinterruptedyou!”razumihincriedhastily.

“what?”raskolnikovseemedtowakeup.“oh…igotspatteredwithbloodhelpingtocarryhimtohislodging.bytheway,mamma,ididanunpardonablethingyesterday.iwasliterallyoutofmymind.igaveawayallthemoneyyousentme…tohiswifeforthefuneral.she’sawidownow,inconsumption,apoorcreature…threelittlechildren,starving…nothinginthehouse…there’sadaughter,too…perhapsyou’dhavegivenityourselfifyou’dseenthem.butihadnorighttodoitiadmit,especiallyasiknewhowyouneededthemoneyyourself.tohelpothersonemusthavetherighttodoit,orelsecrevez,chiens,sivousn’etespascontents.”helaughed,“that’sright,isn’tit,dounia?”

“no,it’snot,”answereddouniafirmly.

“bah!you,too,haveideals,”hemuttered,lookingatheralmostwithhatred,andsmilingsarcastically.“ioughttohaveconsideredthat.…well,that’spraiseworthy,andit’sbetterforyou…andifyoureachalineyouwon’toverstep,youwillbeunhappy…andifyouoverstepit,maybeyouwillbestillunhappier.…butallthat’snonsense,”headdedirritably,vexedatbeingcarriedaway.“ionlymeanttosaythatibegyourforgiveness,mother,”heconcluded,shortlyandabruptly.

“that’senough,rodya,iamsurethateverythingyoudoisverygood,”saidhismother,delighted.

“don’tbetoosure,”heanswered,twistinghismouthintoasmile.

asilencefollowed.therewasacertainconstraintinallthisconversation,andinthesilence,andinthereconciliation,andintheforgiveness,andallwerefeelingit.

“itisasthoughtheywereafraidofme,”raskolnikovwasthinkingtohimself,lookingaskanceathismotherandsister.pulcheriaalexandrovnawasindeedgrowingmoretimidthelongershekeptsilent.

“yetintheirabsenceiseemedtolovethemsomuch,”flashedthroughhismind.