Crime and Punishment (63 page)

There was a note of slyness in this question. Raskolnikov shrank back hard against the back of the sofa, away from Porfiry, who was leaning towards him, and studied him in amazement, silently and fixedly.

‘And what about Mr Razumikhin, and the question of whether he came to talk to me yesterday of his own accord, or whether it was your own idea? I mean, you'd have been bound to say that he came of his own accord, and conceal the fact that it was your own idea! But you haven't done that! You keep insisting that it was your own idea!’

Raskolnikov had never insisted anything of the kind. A cold shiver passed down his spine.

‘You're lying,’ he said slowly and weakly, his lips contorted in a painful smile. ‘You're trying to show me again that you know my whole game, that you know all my answers in advance,’ he said, half aware that he was not weighing his words as he ought to. ‘You're trying to frighten me… or else you're just laughing at me…’

As he said this, he continued to stare fixedly at Porfiry, and suddenly a limitless and malicious hatred flashed in his eyes.

‘You're lying!’ he shouted. ‘You yourself know very well that the best subterfuge for a criminal is to tell the truth as much as possible… and to do all he possibly can not to conceal anything that doesn't matter. I don't believe you!’

‘You are a flighty fellow, aren't you?’ Porfiry began to giggle. ‘There's no bringing you round; some kind of monomania has taken hold of you. So you don't believe me? Well, I will tell you that you do believe me, at least a quarter of the way, and that I am going to see to it that you believe me the other three-quarters of the way, because I am genuinely fond of you and sincerely wish you well.’

Raskolnikov's lips began to tremble.

‘Yes, sir, I wish you well, and let me tell you once and for all,’ he went on, gently, in a friendly tone of voice, taking hold of Raskolnikov's arm slightly above the elbow. ‘Let me tell you once and for all: look after your illness. Particularly since your family is here now; you must keep it in your thoughts. What you ought to be doing is putting them at ease and spoiling them a bit, but all you do is frighten them…’

‘What business is it of yours? How do you know that? Why are you so interested? Does this mean that you've been following me around and are trying to demonstrate it to me?’

‘My dear fellow! Why, it's from you, from you yourself that I've learned it all. You don't seem to notice that in your agitation you tell me and others everything. I also learned a great number of interesting details from Mr Razumikhin – Dmitry Prokofich – yesterday. Well, sir, but you've interrupted me; what I'm trying to say is that because of your over-anxiousness, for all your sharp-wittedness, you've really lost your ability to see things from a common-sense point of view. I mean look, for example, let's go back to what we were talking about, your ringing the doorbell; a priceless gem of information like that, a piece of evidence (a genuine piece of evidence, sir!), and I give it to you with both hands – I, the investigator! Doesn't that tell you anything? I mean, if I'd suspected you the least little bit, do you think I'd have done a thing like that? On the contrary, my job would have been first to lull your suspicions and not let on that I already knew about that fact, that piece of evidence; by doing so, to draw you off in the opposite direction and then suddenly bring the butt of the metal (to use your own expression) down on your head, and say: “What, sir, were you doing in the murdered woman's apartment at ten o'clock last night, or was
it nearer to eleven? And why did you ring the doorbell? Why did you ask about the blood? Why did you try to bluff the yardkeepers and make them go down to the local police lieutenant's bureau with you?” That's what I'd have done if I'd had the merest grain of suspicion about you. I'd have taken a statement from you with all the formalities, we'd have searched your quarters, and you might even have been arrested… So that means, you see, that I don't suspect you – otherwise I'd have behaved differently! But I'll say it again, sir: you've lost your ability to see things from a common-sense point of view, and in fact you can't see anything at all.’

Raskolnikov made a convulsive jerk with his whole body, so violent that Porfiry Petrovich noted it only too well.

‘You're lying!’ he shouted. ‘I don't know what your motives are, but you're lying… You weren't talking like this a moment ago, and it's impossible for me to be mistaken… You're lying!’

‘Oh, so that's what you think, is it?’ Porfiry said, obviously annoyed, but maintaining the most cheerful and sardonic air, apparently not at all concerned what opinion Mr Raskolnikov might have of him. ‘You think I'm lying, do you?… After the way I treated you just now (I, a state investigator), supplying you with all the answers and giving you everything you need for your own defence, bringing in all the psychological stuff about it being due to your illness, your delirium, your having taken proper umbrage – to a mixture of melancholy and policemen, and all the rest of it? Eh? Tee-hee-hee! Though, as a matter of fact, I think it's only right to point out that all those psychological explanations, those dodges and excuses, really don't wear very well and are a matter of conjecture: “Illness,” you say, “delirium, fantasies, it was all a hallucination, I don't remember.” That's all very fine, sir, but why, my dear fellow, did you hallucinate those
particular
fantasies when you were sick and delirious, and not some others? I mean, you could have had others, sir, couldn't you? Eh? Tee-hee-hee-hee!’

Raskolnikov looked at him with proud contempt.

‘Let's come to the point,’ he said, loudly and earnestly, getting up and pushing Porfiry away from him slightly as he did so. ‘Let's get to the point: what I want to know, once and for all,
is: do you consider me free from suspicion or
do you not
? Come on, Porfiry Petrovich, give me a clear and final answer, and be quick about it, I want to hear it right now!’

‘My goodness, what a job, what a job I'm having with you!’ Porfiry exclaimed, looking thoroughly sly and cheerful, and not in the least concerned. ‘What's the point in your knowing, what's the point in your knowing so much, when they haven't started bothering you at all, yet? Why, you're just like a child that wants to play with matches! And why are you so worried? Why are you thrusting yourself on us like this, for what reason? Eh? Tee-hee-hee!’

‘I will say it again,’ Raskolnikov shouted in fury. ‘I can no longer endure…’

‘What, sir? The uncertainty?’ Porfiry said, interrupting.

‘Stop tormenting me! I won't allow it… I tell you, I won't allow it!… I categorically refuse!… Do you hear? Do you hear?’ he shouted, again slamming his fist down on the table.

‘Keep your voice down, keep it down! They'll hear, you know. I warn you in all seriousness: watch out for yourself. I'm not joking, sir!’ Porfiry said in a whisper, but this time his face lacked the expression of feminine good nature and alarm it had worn earlier; indeed, now he was quite simply
giving orders
, furrowing his brow and seeming in one go to sweep away all the mysteries and ambiguities there had been. This only lasted a moment, however. The bewildered Raskolnikov suddenly fell into a condition of genuine frenzy; but it was strange: he again obeyed the command to keep his voice down, even though he was in the most intense paroxysm of fury.

‘I won't allow you to torment me like this,’ he suddenly whispered in his earlier tone of voice, with pain and hatred, realizing for a second that he had no option but to obey the command, his fury intensifying even further at this thought. ‘Arrest me, search my lodgings, do as you please, but do it according to the rule-book, and stop playing with me, sir! Do not dare to presume…’

‘Oh, don't worry about the rule-book,’ Porfiry said, interrupting with his earlier sly smile, feasting his eyes on Raskolnikov
with positive pleasure. ‘My dear fellow, I invited you here today, as it were, to my home – in a completely friendly fashion!’

‘I don't want your friendship and I spit upon it! Do you hear? And look: I'm going to take my cap and leave, now. Well, what have you got to say to that, if you're going to arrest me?’

He snatched up his cap and walked towards the door.

‘But don't you want to see my little surprise?’ Porfiry giggled, again taking hold of him slightly above the elbow and coming to a halt beside the door. He was manifestly growing more and more cheerful and playful, and this finally drove Raskolnikov out of himself.

‘What little surprise? What are you talking about?’ he asked, suddenly stopping in his tracks and looking at Porfiry with fright.

‘My little surprise, sir, look, over there, he's sitting on the other side of that door, hee-hee-hee!’ (He pointed to the closed door of the partition which led into his government quarters.) ‘I even locked him in so he wouldn't run away.’

‘What on earth? Where? What?…’ Raskolnikov went over to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked.

‘It's locked, sir – look, here's the key!’

And true enough, he showed him the key, taking it out of his pocket.

‘You're still lying!’ Raskolnikov began to yell, now unable to control himself. ‘You're lying, you damned Mr Punch!’ And he hurled himself at Porfiry, who although he was retreating towards the door showed not the slightest sign of fear.

‘I understand everything, everything!’ Raskolnikov said as he leapt up to him. ‘You're lying and teasing me, to make me give myself away…’

‘You can't give yourself away any further, Rodion Romanovich, my dear fellow. Why, you're in a positive frenzy. Please stop shouting, sir, or I'll call in my assistants!’

‘You're lying, it's all empty air! Go ahead, call them in, then! You knew I was ill, and you tried to overtax me to the point of hysteria in order to make me give myself away, that's what your motive was! Well, let's see your evidence! I see it all now! You haven't any evidence, all you've got is trashy, good-for-nothing
guesses, the hunches of Mr Zamyotov!… You knew what sort of man I am, you wanted to drive me to frenzy, and then suddenly knock the wind out of me with priests and deputies… Is it them you're waiting for, eh? What are you waiting for? Where are they? Let's see them!’

‘Oh, what deputies are you talking about, my dear fellow? The things a man will get into his head! The way you're carrying on we couldn't possibly do things according to the rule-book, as you call it – the fact is, my dear chap, you haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about… But the rule-book won't go away, sir, you'll see for yourself!…’ Porfiry muttered, putting his ear to the door.

Just then there was indeed a commotion on the other side of the door, in the next room.

‘Ah, they're coming!’ Raskolnikov shouted. ‘You sent for them!… You've been waiting for them! You were expecting them… Well, let them all come in: deputies, witnesses, whoever you like… Let's see them! I'm ready! Ready!…’

But just at that point a strange incident took place, something so unlooked-for, given the general turn of events, that neither Raskolnikov nor Porfiry Petrovich could possibly have expected such a dénouement.

Later on, whenever he remembered that moment, it presented itself to Raskolnikov in the following manner:

The commotion that had made itself heard on the other side of the door suddenly grew louder, and the door opened a little way.

‘What on earth?’ Porfiry Petrovich exclaimed in annoyance. ‘Why, I gave specific instructions…’

For an instant no one replied, but it could be seen that there were several people on the other side of the door, apparently trying to push someone away.

‘What on earth's going on out there?’ Porfiry Petrovich said again, in alarm.

‘They've brought the prisoner, Nikolai,’ someone's voice said.

‘I don't need him just now! Take him away, and tell him to wait!… What's he doing here? Damn it, what a shambles!’ Porfiry shouted, as he rushed to the door.

‘But, sir, he's…’ the same voice began again, and was suddenly cut short.

For roughly two seconds, no more, there was a genuine struggle; then suddenly someone gave someone else a violent shove, and a very pale man walked straight into Porfiry Petrovich's chambers.

The outward appearance of this man was at first sight very strange. He was staring straight in front of him, but apparently without seeing anyone. There was a glitter of determination in his eyes, but at the same time his features were covered in a deathly pallor, as though he were being led to the scaffold. His lips, which had turned utterly white, were twitching slightly.

He was still very young, dressed like a plebeian, of average height, lean and thin, his hair cropped in a short circle, with delicate, rather dry-looking features. The man who had been so unexpectedly pushed aside by him was the first to rush into the room after him, and managed to grab him by the shoulder: this was one of the guards; but Nikolai jerked his arm free and got away from him a second time.

A group of inquisitive onlookers began to gather in the doorway. Some of them tried to come inside. The whole of what has just been described took place in little more than a single instant.

‘Go away, you're too early! Wait until you're called!… Why has he been brought so soon?’ Porfiry Petrovich muttered in extreme annoyance, as though all his calculations had been upset. But Nikolai suddenly got down on his knees.

‘What are you doing?’ Porfiry shouted, in amazement.

‘I'm the guilty one! The sin is mine! I'm the murderer!’ Nikolai finally got out, as though he were a little short of breath, but in rather a loud voice.

For about ten seconds there was a silence, as though they had all been stunned; even the guard staggered back and, instead of going up to Nikolai, beat an automatic retreat to the doorway and stood there, motionless.

‘What on earth?’ Porfiry Petrovich exclaimed, when he had recovered from his momentary state of numb shock.

‘I'm… the murderer…’ Nikolai repeated, after a slight pause.

‘What… you… Whom have you murdered?’

Porfiry Petrovich looked as though he were at his wits’ end.

Nikolai paused again slightly.