第64章

第64章nowhewalkedalong,thinkingofnothing.atthatpointthereisagreatblockofbuildings,entirelyletoutindramshopsandeating-houses;womenwerecontinuallyrunninginandout,bare-headedandintheirindoorclothes.hereandtheretheygatheredingroups,onthepavement,especiallyabouttheentrancestovariousfestiveestablishmentsinthelowerstoreys.fromoneofthesealouddin,soundsofsinging,thetinklingofaguitarandshoutsofmerriment,floatedintothestreet.acrowdofwomenwerethrongingroundthedoor;someweresittingonthesteps,othersonthepavement,otherswerestandingtalking.adrunkensoldier,smokingacigarette,waswalkingnearthemintheroad,swearing;heseemedtobetryingtofindhiswaysomewhere,buthadforgottenwhere.onearwasquarrellingwithanother,andamandeaddrunkwaslyingrightacrosstheroad.raskolnikovjoinedthethrongofwomen,whoweretalkinginhuskyvoices.theywerebare-headedandworecottondressesandgoatskinshoes.therewerewomenoffortyandsomenotmorethanseventeen;almostallhadblackenedeyes.

hefeltstrangelyattractedbythesingingandallthenoiseanduproarinthesaloonbelow.…someonecouldbeheardwithindancingfrantically,markingtimewithhisheelstothesoundsoftheguitarandofathinfalsettovoicesingingajauntyair.helistenedintently,gloomilyanddreamily,bendingdownattheentranceandpeepinginquisitivelyinfromthepavement.

“oh,myhandsomesoldier

don’tbeatmefornothing,”

trilledthethinvoiceofthesinger.raskolnikovfeltagreatdesiretomakeoutwhathewassinging,asthougheverythingdependedonthat.

“shalligoin?”hethought.“theyarelaughing.fromdrink.shalligetdrunk?”

“won’tyoucomein?”oneofthewomenaskedhim.hervoicewasstillmusicalandlessthickthantheothers,shewasyoungandnotrepulsive—theonlyoneofthegroup.

“why,she’spretty,”hesaid,drawinghimselfupandlookingather.

shesmiled,muchpleasedatthecompliment.

“you’reverynicelookingyourself,”shesaid.

“isn’thethinthough!”observedanotherwomaninadeepbass.“haveyoujustcomeoutofahospital?”

“they’reallgenerals’daughters,itseems,buttheyhaveallsnubnoses,”interposedatipsypeasantwithaslysmileonhisface,wearingaloosecoat.“seehowjollytheyare.”

“goalongwithyou!”

“i’llgo,sweetie!”

andhedarteddownintothesaloonbelow.raskolnikovmovedon.

“isay,sir,”thegirlshoutedafterhim.

“whatisit?”

shehesitated.

“i’llalwaysbepleasedtospendanhourwithyou,kindgentleman,butnowifeelshy.givemesixcopecksforadrink,there’saniceyoungman!”

raskolnikovgaveherwhatcamefirst—fifteencopecks.

“ah,whatagood-naturedgentleman!”

“what’syourname?”

“askforduclida.”

“well,that’stoomuch,”oneofthewomenobserved,shakingherheadatduclida.“idon’tknowhowyoucanasklikethat.ibelieveishoulddropwithshame.…”

raskolnikovlookedcuriouslyatthespeaker.shewasapock-markedwenchofthirty,coveredwithbruises,withherupperlipswollen.shemadehercriticismquietlyandearnestly.“whereisit,”thoughtraskolnikov.“whereisiti’vereadthatsomeonecondemnedtodeathsaysorthinks,anhourbeforehisdeath,thatifhehadtoliveonsomehighrock,onsuchanarrowledgethathe’donlyroomtostand,andtheocean,everlastingdarkness,everlastingsolitude,everlastingtempestaroundhim,ifhehadtoremainstandingonasquareyardofspaceallhislife,athousandyears,eternity,itwerebettertolivesothantodieatonce!onlytolive,toliveandlive!life,whateveritmaybe!…howtrueitis!goodgod,howtrue!manisavilecreature!…andvileishewhocallshimvileforthat,”headdedamomentlater.

hewentintoanotherstreet.“bah,thepalaisdecristal!razumihinwasjusttalkingofthepalaisdecristal.butwhatonearthwasitiwanted?yes,thenewspapers.…zossimovsaidhe’dreaditinthepapers.haveyouthepapers?”heasked,goingintoaveryspaciousandpositivelycleanrestaurant,consistingofseveralrooms,whichwere,however,ratherempty.twoorthreepeopleweredrinkingtea,andinaroomfurtherawayweresittingfourmendrinkingchampagne.raskolnikovfanciedthatzametovwasoneofthem,buthecouldnotbesureatthatdistance.“whatifitis?”hethought.

“willyouhavevodka?”askedthewaiter.

“givemesometeaandbringmethepapers,theoldonesforthelastfivedays,andi’llgiveyousomething.”

“yes,sir,here’sto-day’s.novodka?”

theoldnewspapersandtheteawerebrought.raskolnikovsatdownandbegantolookthroughthem.

“oh,damn…thesearetheitemsofintelligence.anaccidentonastaircase,spontaneouscombustionofashopkeeperfromalcohol,afireinpeski…afireinthepetersburgquarter…anotherfireinthepetersburgquarter…andanotherfireinthepetersburgquarter.…ah,hereitis!”hefoundatlastwhathewasseekingandbegantoreadit.thelinesdancedbeforehiseyes,buthereaditallandbeganeagerlyseekinglateradditionsinthefollowingnumbers.hishandsshookwithnervousimpatienceasheturnedthesheets.suddenlysomeonesatdownbesidehimathistable.helookedup,itwastheheadclerkzametov,lookingjustthesame,withtheringsonhisfingersandthewatch-chain,withthecurly,blackhair,partedandpomaded,withthesmartwaistcoat,rathershabbycoatanddoubtfullinen.hewasinagoodhumour,atleasthewassmilingverygailyandgood-humouredly.hisdarkfacewasratherflushedfromthechampagnehehaddrunk.

“what,youhere?”hebeganinsurprise,speakingasthoughhe’dknownhimallhislife.“why,razumihintoldmeonlyyesterdayyouwereunconscious.howstrange!anddoyouknowi’vebeentoseeyou?”

raskolnikovknewhewouldcomeuptohim.helaidasidethepapersandturnedtozametov.therewasasmileonhislips,andanewshadeofirritableimpatiencewasapparentinthatsmile.