Raskolnikov came in at almost the same moment as they returned from the cemetery. Katerina Ivanovna was terribly glad to see him, first because he was the only “educated man” among all the guests and “as everyone knew, was preparing to occupy a professor's chair at the local university in two years' time,” and second because he immediately and respectfully apologized to her for having been unable to attend the funeral, in spite of his wishes. She simply fell upon him, seated him at the table directly to her left (Amalia Ivanovna was sitting to her right), and in spite of her constant fussing and concern that the serving be correct and that there be enough for everyone, in spite of the tormenting cough that interrupted and choked her every moment and that seemed to have settled in her especially over the past two days, she constantly turned to Raskolnikov and hastened to pour out to him in a half whisper all her pent-up feelings and all her righteous indignation at the failed memorial meal—this indignation frequently giving way to the most gay and irrepressible laughter at the assembled guests, and predominantly at the landlady herself.
“It's all this cuckoo-bird's fault. You know who I'm talking about— her, her!” and Katerina Ivanovna nodded towards the landlady. “Look at her eyes popping out! She feels we're talking about her, but she can't catch anything, so she's gawking at us. Pah, what an owl! Ha, ha, ha! ... Hem, hem, hem! And what is she trying to show with that bonnet of hers! Hem, hem, hem! Have you noticed, she keeps wanting everyone to think she's patronizing me and doing me a great honor by her presence! I asked her, as a decent woman, to invite the better sort of people—namely, my late husband's acquaintances—and look who she's brought! Clowns! Sluts! Look at that one with the pimply face: some sort of snot on two legs! And those little Poles...ha, ha, ha! Hem, hem, hem! Nobody, nobody has ever seen them here; I've never seen them myself; so why did they come, I ask you? Sitting side by side so decorously. Hey, panie!” [116] she called out suddenly to one of them, “did you have any pancakes? Have some more! Drink some beer,some beer! Don't you want some vodka? Look, he jumped up, he's bowing, look, look! The poor fellows must be quite hungry! Never mind, let them eat. At least they're not making any noise, only...only, really, I'm afraid for the landlady's silver spoons! ... Amalia Ivanovna!” she suddenly addressed her, almost aloud, “if by any chance they steal your spoons, I won't answer for them, I warn you beforehand! Ha, ha, ha!” She simply dissolved, turning to Raskolnikov again, and again nodding towards the landlady, delighted with her little escapade. “She didn't get it, again she didn't get it! She sits there gawking, look—an owl, a real owl, a barn owl in new ribbons, ha, ha, ha!”
116