"Yes, I also love life, what of it?"
"Yet you've resolved to shoot yourself."
"So what? Why together? Life's separate, and that's separate. Life is, and death is not at all."
"You've started believing in the future eternal life?"
"No, not future eternal, but here eternal. There are moments, you reach moments, and time suddenly stops, and will be eternal."
"You hope to reach such a moment?"
"Yes."
"It's hardly possible in our time," Nikolai Vsevolodovich responded, also without any irony, slowly and as if thoughtfully. "In the Apocalypse the angel swears that time will be no more." [87]
"I know. It's quite correct there; clear and precise. When all mankind attains happiness, time will be no more, because there's no need. A very correct thought."
"And where are they going to hide it?"
"Nowhere. Time isn't an object, it's an idea. It will die out in the mind."
"Old philosophical places, the same since the beginning of the ages," Stavrogin muttered with a certain squeamish regret.
"The same! The same since the beginning of the ages, and no others, ever!" Kirillov picked up with flashing eyes, as if this idea held nothing short of victory.
"You seem to be very happy, Kirillov?"
"Yes, very happy," the latter replied, as if making the most ordinary reply.
"But you were upset still so recently, angry with Liputin?"
"Hm... now I'm not scolding. Then I didn't know I was happy yet. Have you seen a leaf, a leaf from a tree?"
"I have."
"I saw one recently, a yellow one, with some green, decayed on the edges. Blown about by the wind. When I was ten years old, I'd close my eyes on purpose, in winter, and imagine a leaf—green, bright, with veins, and the sun shining. I'd open my eyes and not believe it, because it was so good, then I'd close them again."
"What's that, an allegory?"
"N-no... why? Not an allegory, simply a leaf, one leaf. A leaf is good. Everything is good."
"Everything?"
"Everything. Man is unhappy because he doesn't know he's happy; only because of that. It's everything, everything! Whoever learns will at once immediately become happy, that same moment. This mother-in-law will die, and the girl will remain—everything is good. I discovered suddenly."
"And if someone dies of hunger, or someone offends and dishonors the girl—is that good?"
"Good. And if someone's head gets smashed in for the child's sake, that's good, too; and if it doesn't get smashed in, that's good, too. Everything is good, everything. For all those who know that everything is good. If they knew it was good with them, it would be good with them, but as long as they don't know it's good with them, it will not be good with them. That's the whole thought, the whole, there isn't any more!"
"And when did you find out that you were so happy?"
"Last week, on Tuesday, no, Wednesday, because it was Wednesday by then, in the night."
"And what was the occasion?"
"I don't remember, just so; I was pacing the room ... it makes no difference. I stopped my clock, it was two thirty-seven."
"As an emblem that time should stop?"
Kirillov did not reply.
"They're not good," he suddenly began again, "because they don't know they're good. When they find out, they won't violate the girl. They must find out that they're good, then they'll all become good at once, all, to a man."
"Well, you did find out, so you must be good?"
"I am good."
"With that I agree, incidentally," Stavrogin muttered frowningly.
"He who teaches that all are good, will end the world."
"He who taught it was crucified."
"He will come, and his name is the man-god."
"The God-man?"
"The man-god—that's the whole difference." [88]
"Can it be you who lights the icon lamp?"
"Yes, I lit it."
"You've become a believer?"
"The old woman likes the icon lamp... she's busy today," Kirillov muttered.
"But you don't pray yet?"
"I pray to everything. See, there's a spider crawling on the wall, I look and am thankful to it for crawling."
His eyes lit up again. He kept looking straight at Stavrogin, his gaze firm and unflinching. Stavrogin watched him frowningly and squeamishly, but there was no mockery in his eyes.
"I bet when I come the next time you'll already believe in God," he said, getting up and grabbing his hat.
"Why?" Kirillov also rose.
"If you found out that you believe in God, you would believe; but since you don't know yet that you believe in God, you don't believe," Nikolai Vsevolodovich grinned.
"It's not that," Kirillov thought it over, "you've inverted my thought. A drawing-room joke. Remember what you've meant in my life, Stavrogin."
"Good-bye, Kirillov."
"Come at night. When?"
"Why, you haven't forgotten about tomorrow?"
"Ah, I forgot, don't worry, I won't oversleep; at nine o'clock. I can wake up whenever I want to. I go to bed and say: at seven o'clock, and I wake up at seven; at ten o'clock, and I wake up at ten."
"You have remarkable qualities," Nikolai Vsevolodovich looked at his pale face.
"I'll go and unlock the gate."
"Don't bother. Shatov will unlock it."
"Ah, Shatov. Very well, good-bye."
VI
The porch of the empty house where Shatov lodged was not locked; but on going into the entryway, Stavrogin found himself in complete darkness and began feeling with his hand for the stairway to the attic. Suddenly the door opened upstairs and light appeared; Shatov did not come out himself, but only opened his door. When Nikolai Vsevolodovich stood on the threshold of the room, he made him out in the corner by the table, standing expectantly.
"Will you receive me on business?" he asked from the threshold.
"Come in and sit down," Shatov replied, "lock the door—wait, I'll do it."
He locked the door with a key, went back to the table, and sat down facing Nikolai Vsevolodovich. During that week he had lost weight and now seemed to be in a fever.
"You've been tormenting me," he said, looking down, in a soft half-whisper, "why didn't you come?"
"Were you so certain I'd come?"
"Yes, wait, I was delirious... maybe I'm delirious now... Wait."
He stood up and got hold of something on the topmost of his three bookshelves, on the edge. It was a revolver.
"One night I had a delirium that you would come and kill me, and early in the morning I bought a revolver with my last money, from that worthless Lyamshin; I didn't want to give in to you. Later I came to my senses ... I have no powder or bullets; it's been lying on the shelf ever since. Wait..."
He rose and opened the vent window. [89]
"Don't throw it out, what for?" Nikolai Vsevolodovich stopped him. "It cost money, and tomorrow people will start saying there are revolvers lying around under Shatov's window. Put it back, so, and sit down. Tell me, why are you as if repenting before me for thinking I would come and kill you? And I haven't come now to make peace, but to talk about necessary things. Explain to me, first of alclass="underline" you didn't hit me because of my liaison with your wife?"
"You know I didn't," Shatov looked down again.
"And not because you believed the stupid gossip about Darya Pavlovna?"
"No, no, of course not! Stupid! My sister told me from the very beginning .. ." Shatov said impatiently and sharply, even stamping his foot slightly.
"Then I guessed right, and so did you," Stavrogin continued in a calm tone. "It's true: Marya Timofeevna Lebyadkin is my lawful wife, married to me in Petersburg about four and a half years ago. You hit me on account of her, didn't you?"
Shatov, totally astounded, listened and said nothing.
"I guessed, but didn't believe it," he finally muttered, looking strangely at Stavrogin.