Ivan Fyodorovich suddenly became angry.
“No, I did not, but I certainly shall testify to it. You have a lot to explain to me right now, brother, and let me tell you, my dear, that I shall not let myself be toyed with!”
“And why should I want to toy like that, sir, when all my hope is in you alone, as if you were the Lord God, sir!” Smerdyakov said, still in the same calm way, and merely closing his eyes for a moment.
“First of all,” Ivan Fyodorovich began, “I know that a falling fit cannot be predicted beforehand. I’ve made inquiries, don’t try to hedge. It’s not possible to predict the day and the hour. How is it, then, that you predicted both the day and the hour to me, and the cellar on top of that? How could you know beforehand that you would fall in a fit precisely into that cellar, unless you shammed the fit on purpose?”
“I had to go to the cellar in any case, sir, even several times a day, sir,” Smerdyakov drawled unhurriedly. “Just the same as I fell out of the attic a year ago, sir. It’s certainly true, sir, that one can’t predict the day and the hour of a falling fit, but one can always have a presentiment.”
“But you did predict the day and the hour!”
“Concerning my falling fit, sir, you’d best inquire of the local doctors, sir, whether it was a real one or not a real one—I have nothing more to tell you on that subject.”
“And the cellar? How did you foresee the cellar?”
“You and your cellar, sir! As I was going down to the cellar that day, I was in fear and doubt; and mostly in fear, because, having lost you, I had no one else in the whole world to expect any protection from. And there I was climbing down into that cellar, thinking: ‘It will come now, it will strike me, am I going to fall in or not?’ and from this same doubt I was seized by the throat by this same inevitable spasm, sir ... well, and so I fell in. All these things and all the previous conversation with you, sir, on the eve of that day, in the evening by the gate, sir, how I informed you then of my fear and about the cellar, sir—all that I gave out in detail to mister Dr. Herzenstube and the investigator, Nikolai Parfenovich, and he wrote it all into the record, sir. And the local doctor, Mr. Varvinsky, he especially insisted to them all that this happened precisely from the thought, that is, from this same insecurity, ‘am I going to fall, or not?’ And there it was waiting to get me. And they wrote down, sir, that it certainly must have happened like that, that is, for the sole reason of my fear, sir.”
Having said this, Smerdyakov drew a deep breath, as though suffering from fatigue.
“So you stated all that in your evidence?” Ivan Fyodorovich asked, somewhat taken aback. He had been about to scare him with the threat of reporting their earlier conversation, when it turned out that he had already reported everything himself.
“What should I be afraid of? Let them write down all the real truth,” Smerdyakov said firmly.
“And you told them every word of our conversation at the gate?”
“No, not really every word, sir.”
“And that you could sham a falling fit, as you boasted then—did you tell them that?”
“No, I didn’t say that either, sir.”
“Now tell me, why were you sending me to Chermashnya then?”
“I was afraid you’d leave for Moscow; Chermashnya is closer, after all, sir.”
“Lies! You were asking me to leave yourself: go, you said, get out of harm’s way.”
“I said it out of sole friendship for you then, and heartfelt devotion, anticipating calamity in the house, sir, feeling pity for you. Only I pitied myself more than you, sir. That’s why I said: get out of harm’s way, so you’d understand that things were going to be bad at home, and you’d stay to protect your parent.”
“You should have been more direct, fool!” Ivan Fyodorovich suddenly flared up.
“How could I be more direct then, sir? It was just fear alone speaking in me, and besides you might have been angry. Of course I might have been wary lest Dmitri Fyodorovich cause some scandal and take away that same money, because he regarded it as if it was his, but who could know it would end with such a murder? I thought he would simply steal those three thousand roubles that were lying under the master’s mattress, in an envelope, sir, but he went and killed him. And you, too, how could you possibly have guessed, sir?”
“But if you yourself say it was impossible to guess, how could I have guessed it and stayed? Why are you confusing things?” Ivan Fyodorovich said, pondering.
“You could have guessed just because I was sending you to Chermashnya, and not to Moscow, sir.”
“What could be guessed from that?”
Smerdyakov seemed very tired and again was silent for about a minute.
“Thereby you could have guessed, sir, that if I was dissuading you from Moscow to Chermashnya, it meant I wanted your presence closer by, because Moscow is far away, and Dmitri Fyodorovich, seeing you were not so far away, wouldn’t be so encouraged. Besides, in case anything happened, you could come with greater swiftness to protect me, for I myself pointed out Grigory Vasilievich’s illness to you, and also that I was afraid of the falling sickness. And having explained to you about those knocks by which one could get in to the deceased, and that through me they were all known to Dmitri Fyodorovich, I thought you would guess yourself that he would be certain to commit something, and not only would not go to Chermashnya, but would stay altogether.”
“He talks quite coherently,” Ivan Fyodorovich thought, “even though he mumbles; what is this unsettling of his faculties Herzenstube was referring to?”
“You’re dodging me, devil take you!” he exclaimed, getting angry.
“And I must admit that I thought you had already guessed it quite well then,” Smerdyakov parried with a most guileless air.
“If I had guessed, I would have stayed!” Ivan Fyodorovich shouted, flaring up again.
“Well, sir, and I thought you’d guessed everything, and were just getting as quick as possible out of harm’s way, so as to run off somewhere, saving yourself out of fear, sir.”
“You thought everyone was as much a coward as you?”
“Forgive me, sir, I thought you were like I am.”
“Of course, I should have guessed,” Ivan was agitated, “and indeed I was beginning to guess at some loathsomeness on your part ... Only you’re lying, lying again,” he cried out, suddenly recalling. “Do you remember how you came up to the carriage then and said to me: ‘It’s always interesting to talk with an intelligent man’? Since you praised me, doesn’t it mean you were glad I was leaving?”
Smerdyakov sighed again and yet again. Color seemed to come to his face.
“If I was glad,” he said, somewhat breathlessly, “it was only for the reason that you agreed to go not to Moscow but to Chermashnya. Because it’s closer, after all; only I spoke those words then not as praise but as a reproach, sir. You failed to make it out, sir.”
“Reproach for what?”
“That anticipating such a calamity, sir, you were abandoning your own parent and did not want to protect us, because they could have hauled me in anytime for that three thousand, for having stolen it, sir.”
“Devil take you!” Ivan swore again. “Wait: did you tell the district attorney and the prosecutor about those signals, those knocks?”
“I told it all just as it was, sir.” Again Ivan Fyodorovich was inwardly surprised.
“If I was thinking of anything then,” he began again, “it was only of some loathsomeness on your part. Dmitri might kill, but that he would steal—I did not believe at the time ... But I was prepared for any loathsomeness on your part. You told me yourself that you could sham a falling fit—why did you tell me that?”
“For the sole reason of my simple-heartedness. And I’ve never shammed a falling fit on purpose in my life, I only said it so as to boast to you. Just foolishness, sir. I loved you very much then, and acted in all simplicity.”