“To Lise.”
“Ah, yes! But you won’t forget, you won’t forget what I asked you? It’s a matter of fate, of fate!”
“Of course I won’t forget, if only I can ... but I’m so late,” Alyosha muttered, hastily retreating.
“No, come for certain, for certain, and no ‘if I can,’ otherwise I’ll die!” Madame Khokhlakov called after him, but Alyosha had already left the room.
Chapter 3: A Little Demon
When he entered Liza’s room, he found her half-reclining in her former chair, in which she had been wheeled around while she was as yet unable to walk. She did not make a move to meet him, but fixed him with her alert, sharp eyes. Her eyes were somewhat feverish, her face was pale and yellow. Alyosha was amazed at how much she had changed in three days; she had even lost weight. She did not hold out her hand to him. He touched her thin, long fingers, which lay motionless on her dress, then silently sat down facing her.
“I know you’re in a hurry to get to the prison,” Liza said sharply, “and my mother has just kept you for two hours telling you about me and Yulia.”
“How did you find out?” asked Alyosha.
“I was eavesdropping. Why are you staring at me? If I want to eavesdrop, I’ll eavesdrop, there’s nothing wrong with it. I’m not asking forgiveness.”
“Are you upset about something?”
“On the contrary, I am very pleased. I’ve just been thinking over for the thirtieth time how good it is that I refused you and am not going to be your wife. You’re unfit to be a husband: I’d marry you, and suddenly give you a note to take to someone I’d have fallen in love with after you, and you would take it and make sure to deliver it, and even bring back the reply. And you’d be forty years old and still carrying such notes.”
She suddenly laughed.
“There is something wicked and guileless about you at the same time,” Alyosha smiled at her.
“What’s guileless is that I’m not ashamed with you. Moreover, not only am I not ashamed, but I do not want to be ashamed, precisely before you, precisely with you. Alyosha, why don’t I respect you? I love you very much, but I don’t respect you. If I respected you, I wouldn’t talk like this without being ashamed, would I?”
“That’s true.”
“And do you believe that I’m not ashamed with you?”
“No, I don’t.”
Liza again laughed nervously; she was talking rapidly, quickly.
“I sent some candy to your brother, Dmitri Fyodorovich, in prison. Alyosha, you know, you are so nice! I will love you terribly for allowing me not to love you so soon.”
“Why did you send for me today, Lise?”
“I wanted to tell you a wish of mine. I want someone to torment me, to marry me and then torment me, deceive me, leave me and go away. I don’t want to be happy!”
“You’ve come to love disorder?”
“Ah, I want disorder. I keep wanting to set fire to the house. I imagine how I’ll sneak up and set fire to it on the sly, it must be on the sly. They’ll try to put it out, but it will go on burning. And I’ll know and say nothing. Ah, what foolishness! And so boring!”
She waved her hand in disgust.
“It’s your rich life,” Alyosha said softly.
“Why, is it better to be poor?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Your deceased monk filled you with all that. It’s not true. Let me be rich and everyone else poor, I’ll eat candy and drink cream, and I won’t give any to any of them. Ah, don’t speak, don’t say anything,” she waved her hand, though Alyosha had not even opened his mouth, “you’ve told me all that before, I know it all by heart. Boring. If I’m ever poor, I’ll kill somebody—and maybe I’ll kill somebody even if I’m rich—why just sit there? But, you know, what I want is to reap, to reap the rye. I’ll marry you, and you’ll become a peasant, a real peasant, we’ll keep a colt, would you like that? Do you know Kalganov?”
“Yes.”
“He walks about and dreams. He says: why live in reality, it’s better to dream. One can dream up the gayest things, but to live is boring. And yet he’s going to marry soon, he’s even made me a declaration of love. Do you know how to spin a top?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he’s like a top: spin him and set him down and then whip, whip, whip: I’ll marry him and keep him spinning all his life. Are you ashamed to sit with me?”
“No.”
“You’re terribly angry that I don’t talk about holy things. I don’t want to be holy. What will they do in that world for the greatest sin? You must know exactly.”
“God will judge,” Alyosha was studying her intently.
“That’s just how I want it to be. I’ll come, and they will judge me, and suddenly I’ll laugh them all in the face. I want terribly to set fire to the house, Alyosha, to our house—you still don’t believe me?”
“Why shouldn’t I? There are even children, about twelve years old, who want very much to set fire to something, and they do set fire to things. It’s a sort of illness.”