“But can it be, brother, can it be that you have no hope of acquittal?”
Mitya shrugged convulsively and shook his head.
“Alyosha, darling, it’s time for you to go!” he suddenly hurried. “The warden’s shouting in the yard, he’ll be here soon. It’s late for us, it’s not in order. Embrace me quickly, kiss me, cross me, darling, cross me for tomorrow’s cross ...”
They embraced and kissed each other. “And Ivan,” Mitya spoke suddenly, “suggests I escape, but then he believes I killed father!”
A sad smile forced itself to his lips.
“Did you ask him if he believes it?” Alyosha asked.
“No, I didn’t ask him. I wanted to ask him, but I couldn’t, I lacked the strength. But anyway I can see it in his eyes. Well, good-bye!”
They hastily kissed each other again, and Alyosha was already going out when Mitya suddenly called him back.
“Stand in front of me, like this.”
And again he firmly grasped Alyosha by the shoulders with both hands. His face suddenly became quite pale, so that it was terribly noticeable in the near-darkness. His lips twisted, his eyes were fixed on Alyosha.
“Alyosha, tell me the complete truth, as before the Lord God: do you believe I killed father or not? You, you yourself, do you believe it or not? The complete truth, don’t lie!” he cried to him frenziedly.
Alyosha reeled, as it were, and his heart—he could feel it—seemed pierced by some sharp thing.
“No, don’t, what are you ... ,” he murmured, as if at a loss.
“The whole truth, the whole, don’t lie!” Mitya repeated.
“Never for a single moment have I believed that you are the murderer,” the trembling voice suddenly burst from Alyosha’s breast, and he raised his right hand as if calling on God to witness his words. Mitya’s whole face instantly lit up with bliss.
“Thank you!” he uttered slowly, as if sighing after a swoon. “Now you’ve revived me ... Would you believe it, up to now I was afraid to ask you, even you, you! Well, go, go! You’ve strengthened me for tomorrow, God bless you! Well, go, love Ivan!” was the last word that burst from Mitya.
Alyosha walked out all in tears. Such a degree of insecurity in Mitya, such a degree of mistrust even of him, of Alyosha—all of this suddenly opened up before Alyosha such an abyss of ineluctable grief and despair in the soul of his unfortunate brother as he had not suspected before. Deep, infinite compassion suddenly took hold of him and at once tormented him. His pierced heart ached terribly. “Love Ivan!”—he suddenly recalled Mitya’s parting words. And he was on his way to Ivan. Since morning he had needed terribly to see Ivan. Ivan tormented him no less than Mitya, and now, after his meeting with his brother, more than ever.
Chapter 5: Not You! Not You!
On the way to Ivan he had to pass by the house where Katerina Ivanovna was staying. There was light in the windows. He suddenly stopped and decided to go in. It was more than a week since he had seen Katerina Ivanovna. But it just occurred to him that Ivan might be with her now, especially on the eve of such a day. He rang and was starting up the stairs, dimly lit by a Chinese lantern, when he saw a man coming down in whom, as they drew near each other, he recognized his brother. He was then just leaving Katerina Ivanovna’s.
“Ah, it’s only you,” Ivan Fyodorovich said drily. “Well, good-bye. Are you coming to see her?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t recommend it; she’s ‘agitated,’ and you will upset her even more.”
“No, no!” a voice suddenly cried from above, from the instantly opened door. “Alexei Fyodorovich, are you coming from him?”
“Yes, I was just there.”
“Did he ask you to tell me anything? Come in, Alyosha, and you, Ivan Fyodorovich, you must, must come back. Do you hear me!”
Such an imperious note sounded in Katya’s voice that Ivan Fyodorovich, after hesitating a moment, decided after all to go upstairs again with Alyosha.
“She was eavesdropping!” he whispered irritably to himself, but Alyosha heard it.
“Allow me to keep my coat on,” Ivan Fyodorovich said as he entered the drawing room. “And I won’t sit down. I won’t stay more than a minute.”
“Sit down, Alexei Fyodorovich,” Katerina Ivanovna said, while she herself remained standing. She had changed little during this time, but her dark eyes gleamed with an ominous fire. Alyosha remembered afterwards that she had seemed extremely good-looking to him at that moment.
“Well, what did he ask you to tell me?”
“Only one thing,” Alyosha said, looking directly in her face, “that you should spare yourself and not give any evidence in court ... ,” he faltered a little, “of what happened between you ... at the time of your first acquaintance ... in that town...”
“Ah, about bowing down for the money!” she joined in with a bitter laugh. “And what, is he afraid for himself or for me—eh? He said I should spare— but whom? Him, or myself? Tell me, Alexei Fyodorovich.”
Alyosha was watching intently, trying to understand her.
“Both yourself and him,” he spoke softly.
“So!” she snapped somehow viciously, and suddenly blushed. “You do not know me yet, Alexei Fyodorovich,” she said menacingly, “and I do not know myself yet. Perhaps you will want to trample me underfoot after tomorrow’s questioning.”
“You will testify honestly,” said Alyosha, “that’s all that’s necessary.”
“Women are often dishonest,” she snarled. “Just an hour ago I was thinking how afraid I am to touch that monster ... like a viper ... but no, he’s still a human being for me! But is he a murderer? Is he the murderer?” she exclaimed hysterically, all of a sudden, turning quickly to Ivan Fyodorovich. Alyosha understood at once that she had already asked Ivan Fyodorovich the same question, perhaps only a moment before he arrived, and not for the first but for the hundredth time, and that they had ended by quarreling.
“I’ve been to see Smerdyakov ... It was you, you who convinced me that he is a parricide. I believed only you, my dear!” she went on, still addressing Ivan Fyodorovich. The latter smiled as if with difficulty. Alyosha was startled to hear this “my dear.” He would not even have suspected they were on such terms.[298]
“Well, enough, in any case,” Ivan snapped. “I’m going. I’ll come tomorrow.” And turning at once, he left the room and went straight to the stairs. Katerina Ivanovna, with a sort of imperious gesture, suddenly seized Alyosha by both hands.
“Go after him! Catch up with him! Don’t leave him alone for a minute!” she whispered rapidly. “He’s mad. Did you know he’s gone mad? He has a fever, a nervous fever! The doctor told me. Go, run after him...”
Alyosha jumped up and rushed after Ivan Fyodorovich. He was not even fifty paces away.
“What do you want?” he suddenly turned to Alyosha, seeing that he was catching up with him. “She told you to run after me because I’m crazy. I know it all by heart,” he added irritably.
“She’s mistaken, of course, but she’s right that you are ill,” said Alyosha. “I was looking at your face just now, when we were there; you look very ill, really, Ivan!”
Ivan walked on without stopping. Alyosha followed him.
“And do you know, Alexei Fyodorovich, just how one loses one’s mind?” Ivan asked in a voice suddenly quite soft, quite unirritated now, in which suddenly the most ingenuous curiosity could be heard. “No, I don’t know; I suppose there are many different kinds of madness.”
“And can one observe oneself losing one’s mind?”
“I think it must be impossible to watch oneself in such a case,” Alyosha answered with surprise. Ivan fell silent for half a minute.