“... I'm very weak at the moment, but...all my illness seems to have gone. And I knew it would when I went out today. By the way, Pochinkov's house is just two steps away. To Razumikhin's now, certainly, even if it weren't two steps away...let him win the bet! ... Let him have his laugh—it's nothing, let him! ... Strength, what's needed is strength; without strength you get nowhere; and strength is acquired by strength—that's something they don't know,” he added proudly and self-confidently, and he left the bridge barely able to move his legs. Pride and self-confidence were growing in him every moment; with each succeeding moment he was no longer the man he had been the moment before. What special thing was it, however, that had so turned him around? He himself did not know; like a man clutching at a straw, he suddenly fancied that he, too, “could live, that there still was life, that his life had not died with the old crone.” It was perhaps a rather hasty conclusion, but he was not thinking of that.
“I did ask her to remember the servant of God, Rodion, however,” suddenly flashed in his head. “Well, but that was...just in case!” he added, and laughed at once at his own schoolboy joke. He was in excellent spirits.
He had no trouble finding Razumikhin; the new tenant of Pochinkov's house was already known, and the caretaker immediately showed him the way. From halfway up the stairs one could already hear the noise and animated conversation of a large gathering. The door to the stairs was wide open; shouts and arguing could be heard. Razumikhin's room was quite big, and about fifteen people were gathered in it. Raskolnikov stopped in the anteroom. There, behind a partition, two of the landlady's serving-girls busied themselves with two big samovars, bottles, plates and platters with pies and hors d'oeuvres brought from the landlady's kitchen. Raskolnikov asked for Razumikhin. He came running out, delighted. One could tell at a glance that he had drunk an unusual amount, and though Razumikhin was almost incapable of getting really drunk, this time the effect was somewhat noticeable.
“Listen,” Raskolnikov hurried, “I only came to tell you that you've won the bet, and that indeed nobody knows what may happen to him. But I can't come in; I'm so weak I'm about to fall over. So, hello and good-bye! Come and see me tomorrow . . .”
“You know what, I'm going to take you home! If you yourself say you're so weak, then . . .”
“What about your guests? Who's that curly one who just peeked out here?”
“Him? Devil knows! Must be some acquaintance of my uncle's, or maybe he came on his own...I'll leave my uncle with them, a most invaluable man, too bad you can't meet him right now. But devil take them all anyway! They've forgotten about me now, and besides, I need some cooling off, because you came just in time, brother: another two minutes and I'd have started a fight in there, by God! They pour out such drivel. . . You can't imagine to what extent a man can finally get himself wrapped up in lies! But why can't you imagine it? Don't we lie ourselves? Let them lie, then; and afterwards they won't lie...Sit down for a minute, I'll get Zossimov.”
Zossimov fell upon Raskolnikov even with a sort of greediness; some special curiosity could be seen in him; soon his face brightened.
“To bed without delay,” he decided, having examined the patient as well as he could, “and take a bit of something for the night. Will you? I've already prepared it...a little powder.”
“Or two, even,” Raskolnikov replied.
The powder was taken at once.
“It will be very good if you go with him,” Zossimov remarked to Razumikhin. “We'll see what may happen tomorrow, but today it's not bad at alclass="underline" quite a change from this morning. Live and learn . . .”
“You know what Zossimov whispered to me just now, as we were leaving?” Razumikhin blurted out as soon as they stepped into the street. “I'll tell you everything straight out, brother, because they're fools. Zossimov told me to chat you up on the way and get you to chat back, and then tell him, because he's got this idea...that you're...mad, or close to it. Imagine that! First, you're three times smarter than he is; second, if you're not crazy, you'll spit on him having such drivel in his head; and third, this hunk of meat—a surgeon by profession—has now gone crazy over mental illnesses, and what finally turned him around about you was your conversation today with Zamyotov.”
“Zamyotov told you everything?”
“Everything, and it's an excellent thing he did. I now understand it all inside and out; Zamyotov understands it, too...Well, in short, Rodya...the point is...I'm a bit drunk now...but that doesn't matter...the point is that this notion...you understand?...was really hatching in them...you understand? That is, none of them dared to say it aloud, because it's the most absurd drivel, and especially once they'd picked up that house-painter, it all popped and went out forever. But how can they be such fools? I gave Zamyotov a bit of a beating then—that's between us, brother, don't let out even a hint that you know; I've noticed he's touchy; it was at Laviza's—but today, today it all became clear. This Ilya Petrovich, mainly! He took advantage of your fainting in the office that time, but afterwards he felt ashamed himself, that I know...”
Raskolnikov listened greedily. Razumikhin was drunk and telling all.
“I fainted that time because it was stuffy and smelled of oil paint,” Raskolnikov said.
“He keeps explaining! And it wasn't only the paint: that inflammation had been coming on for a whole month; Zossimov is here to testify! But how mortified the boy is now, you can't even imagine! 'I'm not worth his little finger!' he says—meaning yours. He occasionally has decent feelings, brother. But the lesson, the lesson today in the 'Crystal Palace,' that tops them all! You really scared him at first, nearly drove him to convulsions! You really almost convinced him again about all that hideous nonsense, and then suddenly—stuck your tongue out at him: 'Take that!' Perfect! Now he's crushed, destroyed! By God, you're an expert; it serves them right! Too bad I wasn't there! He's been waiting terribly for you now. Porfiry also wants to make your acquaintance . . .”
“Ah...him, too...And why have I been put down as mad?”
“Well, not mad, exactly. It seems I've been spouting off too much, brother...You see, it struck him today that you were interested only in just that one point; now it's clear why you were interested; knowing all the circumstances...and how it irritated you then, and got tangled up with your illness...I'm a little drunk, brother, only devil knows about him, he's got some idea in his head...I tell you, he's gone crazy over mental illnesses. But you can spit . . .”
They were silent for half a minute or so.
“Listen, Razumikhin,” Raskolnikov started to say, “I want to tell you straight out: I'm just coming from a dead man's house, some official who died...I gave them all my money...and besides, I was just kissed by a being who, even if I had killed someone, would still...in short, I saw another being there, too...with a flame-colored feather...but I'm getting confused; I'm very weak, hold me up...here's the stairs . . .”
“What is it? What is it?” asked the alarmed Razumikhin.
“I'm a little dizzy, only that's not the point, but I feel so sad, so sad!—like a woman...really! Look, what's that? Look! Look!”
“What?”
“Don't you see? A light in my room, see? Through the crack . . .”
They were standing before the last flight, next to the landlady's door, and looking up one could indeed see that there was a light in Raskolnikov's closet.
“Strange! Nastasya, maybe,” observed Razumikhin.
“She never comes to my room at this hour; besides, she's long been asleep, but...I don't care! Farewell!”
“But what is it? I'll take you up, we'll go in together!”
“I know we'll go in together, but I want to shake your hand here and say farewell to you here. So, give me your hand, and farewell!”
“What's got into you, Rodya?”
“Nothing; let's go; you'll be a witness . . .”
They began climbing the stairs, and the thought flashed through Razumikhin's mind that Zossimov might be right after all. “Eh, I upset him with all my babbling!” he muttered to himself. Suddenly, coming up to the door, they heard voices in the room.