第54章
第54章zossimovwasatall,fatmanwithapuffy,colourless,clean-shavenfaceandstraightflaxenhair.heworespectacles,andabiggoldringonhisfatfinger.hewastwenty-seven.hehadonalightgreyfashionableloosecoat,lightsummertrousers,andeverythingabouthimloose,fashionableandspickandspan;hislinenwasirreproachable,hiswatch-chainwasmassive.inmannerhewasslowand,asitwere,nonchalant,andatthesametimestudiouslyfreeandeasy;hemadeeffortstoconcealhisself-importance,butitwasapparentateveryinstant.allhisacquaintancesfoundhimtedious,butsaidhewascleverathiswork.
“i’vebeentoyoutwiceto-day,brother.yousee,he’scometohimself,”criedrazumihin.
“isee,isee;andhowdowefeelnow,eh?”saidzossimovtoraskolnikov,watchinghimcarefullyand,sittingdownatthefootofthesofa,hesettledhimselfascomfortablyashecould.
“heisstilldepressed,”razumihinwenton.“we’vejustchangedhislinenandhealmostcried.”
“that’sverynatural;youmighthaveputitoffifhedidnotwishit.…hispulseisfirst-rate.isyourheadstillaching,eh?”
“iamwell,iamperfectlywell!”raskolnikovdeclaredpositivelyandirritably.heraisedhimselfonthesofaandlookedatthemwithglitteringeyes,butsankbackontothepillowatonceandturnedtothewall.zossimovwatchedhimintently.
“verygood.…goingonallright,”hesaidlazily.“hasheeatenanything?”
theytoldhim,andaskedwhathemighthave.
“hemayhaveanything…soup,tea…mushroomsandcucumbers,ofcourse,youmustnotgivehim;he’dbetternothavemeateither,and…butnoneedtotellyouthat!”razumihinandhelookedateachother.“nomoremedicineoranything.i’lllookathimagainto-morrow.perhaps,to-dayeven…butnevermind…”
“to-morroweveningishalltakehimforawalk,”saidrazumihin.“wearegoingtotheyusupovgardenandthentothepalaisdecrystal.”
“iwouldnotdisturbhimto-morrowatall,butidon’tknow…alittle,maybe…butwe’llsee.”
“ach,whatanuisance!i’vegotahouse-warmingpartyto-night;it’sonlyastepfromhere.couldn’thecome?hecouldlieonthesofa.youarecoming?”razumihinsaidtozossimov.“don’tforget,youpromised.”
“allright,onlyratherlater.whatareyougoingtodo?”
“oh,nothing—tea,vodka,herrings.therewillbeapie…justourfriends.”
“andwho?”
“allneighbourshere,almostallnewfriends,exceptmyolduncle,andheisnewtoo—heonlyarrivedinpetersburgyesterdaytoseetosomebusinessofhis.wemeetonceinfiveyears.”
“whatishe?”
“he’sbeenstagnatingallhislifeasadistrictpostmaster;getsalittlepension.heissixty-five—notworthtalkingabout.…butiamfondofhim.porfirypetrovitch,theheadoftheinvestigationdepartmenthere…butyouknowhim.”
“ishearelationofyours,too?”
“averydistantone.butwhyareyouscowling?becauseyouquarrelledonce,won’tyoucomethen?”
“idon’tcareadamnforhim.”
“somuchthebetter.well,therewillbesomestudents,ateacher,agovernmentclerk,amusician,anofficerandzametov.”
“dotellme,please,whatyouorhe”—zossimovnoddedatraskolnikov—“canhaveincommonwiththiszametov?”
“oh,youparticulargentleman!principles!youareworkedbyprinciples,asitwerebysprings;youwon’tventuretoturnroundonyourownaccount.ifamanisanicefellow,that’stheonlyprincipleigoupon.zametovisadelightfulperson.”
“thoughhedoestakebribes.”
“well,hedoes!andwhatofit?idon’tcareifhedoestakebribes,”razumihincriedwithunnaturalirritability.“idon’tpraisehimfortakingbribes.ionlysayheisanicemaninhisownway!butifonelooksatmeninallways—aretheremanygoodonesleft?why,iamsureishouldn’tbeworthabakedonionmyself…perhapswithyouthrownin.”
“that’stoolittle;i’dgivetwoforyou.”
“andiwouldn’tgivemorethanoneforyou.nomoreofyourjokes!zametovisnomorethanaboy.icanpullhishairandonemustdrawhimnotrepelhim.you’llneverimproveamanbyrepellinghim,especiallyaboy.onehastobetwiceascarefulwithaboy.oh,youprogressivedullards!youdon’tunderstand.youharmyourselvesrunninganothermandown.…butifyouwanttoknow,wereallyhavesomethingincommon.”
“ishouldliketoknowwhat.”
“why,it’sallaboutahouse-painter.…wearegettinghimoutofamess!thoughindeedthere’snothingtofearnow.thematterisabsolutelyself-evident.weonlyputonsteam.”
“apainter?”
“why,haven’titoldyouaboutit?ionlytoldyouthebeginningthenaboutthemurderoftheoldpawnbroker-woman.well,thepainterismixedupinit…”
“oh,iheardaboutthatmurderbeforeandwasratherinterestedinit…partly…foronereason.…ireadaboutitinthepapers,too.…”
“lizavetawasmurdered,too,”nastasyablurtedout,suddenlyaddressingraskolnikov.sheremainedintheroomallthetime,standingbythedoorlistening.
“lizaveta,”murmuredraskolnikovhardlyaudibly.
“lizaveta,whosoldoldclothes.didn’tyouknowher?sheusedtocomehere.shemendedashirtforyou,too.”
raskolnikovturnedtothewallwhereinthedirty,yellowpaperhepickedoutoneclumsy,whiteflowerwithbrownlinesonitandbeganexamininghowmanypetalstherewereinit,howmanyscallopsinthepetalsandhowmanylinesonthem.hefelthisarmsandlegsaslifelessasthoughtheyhadbeencutoff.hedidnotattempttomove,butstaredobstinatelyattheflower.
“butwhataboutthepainter?”zossimovinterruptednastasya’schatterwithmarkeddispleasure.shesighedandwassilent.
“why,hewasaccusedofthemurder,”razumihinwentonhotly.
“wasthereevidenceagainsthimthen?”