Part 3 · Chapter 3

"He’s doing way better, seriously!" Zossimov cheered as they walked in.

He’s been there for about ten minutes, just chilling on the couch. Raskolnikov was across the room, fully dressed and actually clean and combed - the first time in ages. The place was packed, but Nastasya managed to squeeze in and listen.

Raskolnikov was definitely looking better than he had the day before, but he was still pale, totally drained, and gloomy. He looked like someone who’s been seriously hurt or gone through some crazy physical trauma. His eyebrows were furrowed, his lips tight, and his eyes looked feverish.

He just needed a sling or a bandage to really sell the whole "painful abscess or broken arm" vibe. His face lit up for a second when his mom and sister walked in, but it just made his suffering look even more intense than his usual listlessness.

The brightness faded fast, but the look of pain lingered. Zossimov, checking out his patient like a young doctor excited to practice, didn't see any joy when his mom and sister arrived - just a kind of bitter, hidden determination to get through a couple more hours of torture.

He realized later that almost every word of the conversation seemed to hit a nerve and make it worse. At the same time, he was impressed by how well he was controlling himself, considering how the day before he’d totally lost it, freaking out over the smallest things.

"Yeah, I can see I’m getting better," Raskolnikov said, giving his mom and sister a quick hug that made Pulcheria Alexandrovna beam. "And I’m not saying that like I did yesterday," he added, squeezing Razumihin’s hand in a friendly way.

"Seriously, I’m surprised at him today," Zossimov started, totally stoked the ladies were there, because he hadn't been able to keep a conversation going with his patient for even ten minutes.

"If he keeps this up for another three or four days, he’ll be back to normal, like he was a month ago, or two... or even three. This has been building for a while... huh? Come on, admit it, maybe it was partly your fault?" he asked with a tentative smile, still a little nervous about upsetting him.

"Maybe," Raskolnikov replied, sounding a bit cold.

"I’d say your complete recovery really depends on you," Zossimov continued, pumped up to be talking to him. "Now that we can actually chat, I need to stress how important it is to avoid the basic, you know, fundamental things that are making you feel so bad. If you do that, you’ll get better."

"If not, it’s just gonna keep getting worse. You know what those things are, right? You're smart, you must have noticed them yourself. I think the start of your problems was around the time you left university. You need something to do, a clear goal. I think that would be really helpful."

"Yeah, yeah, you’re totally right... I’ll go back to the university, and everything will be smooth sailing..."

Zossimov, who had started giving advice partly to impress the ladies, was definitely confused when he saw a flash of mockery on Raskolnikov’s face. But it was gone in an instant. Pulcheria Alexandrovna immediately started thanking Zossimov, especially for visiting their place the night before.

"What? He saw you last night?" Raskolnikov asked, sounding surprised. "So you didn’t even sleep after your trip?"

"Seriously, Rodya, that was just until two. Dounia and I never go to bed before two at home."

"I don’t even know how to thank him," Raskolnikov went on, suddenly frowning and looking down.

"Aside from the money - sorry, gotta mention it (he glanced at Zossimov) - I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do to deserve such a big deal from you! I just don't get it... and... and... it's kind of stressing me out because I don’t understand it. I’m being totally honest."

"Don’t sweat it," Zossimov said, forcing a laugh. "Think of me as your first patient - we guys just starting out totally love our first patients, like they’re our little siblings, and some even fall for them. Plus, I'm not exactly overflowing with patients."

"I’m not even bringing him up," added Raskolnikov, nodding toward Razumihin, "even though he hasn’t done anything but insult and annoy me."

"What is he even talking about? You’re all sentimental today, huh?" Razumihin shouted.

If he’d been paying attention, he would’ve noticed there wasn’t a trace of sentimentality in him, but something totally different. But Avdotya Romanovna noticed it. She was watching her brother intently and nervously.

"As for you, Mom, I can’t even bring it up," he continued, as if reciting something he’s memorized.

"It’s only today that I’m starting to realize how worried you must have been yesterday, waiting for me to come back."

He suddenly held out his hand to his sister, smiling without a word. But in that smile, there was a flash of real, genuine feeling. Dounia caught it right away and squeezed his hand, totally relieved and grateful. It was the first time he’s talked to her since they had a fight the day before.

Her face lit up with pure happiness seeing this clear, unspoken peace.

"Yes, that’s what I love him for," Razumihin mumbled, exaggerating as always, as he spun around in his chair.

"He’s got these moves."

"And he pulls it off so well," his mom was thinking to herself.

"Such generous impulses he has, and how simply, how delicately he ended all the misunderstanding with his sister - just by holding out his hand at the perfect moment and looking at her like that... And what great eyes he has, and how handsome his whole face is! ..."

He’s even better looking than Dounia... But, seriously, what is he wearing? He looks terrible! Even Vasya, the messenger boy at Afanasy Ivanitch’s shop, is better dressed! I could rush over and hug him, cry over him - but I’m scared... Oh, dear, he’s so weird! He’s being nice, but I’m freaked out!

"Why am I scared? ..."

"Oh, Rodya, you wouldn’t believe," she began suddenly, eager to respond to his words to her, "how bummed Dounia and I were yesterday! Now that it’s all over and we’re happy again - I can tell you."

Can you imagine, we practically ran here straight from the train to hug you and that woman - oh, here she is! Good morning, Nastasya! ... She told us right away that you were running a high fever and just bolted from the doctor while delirious, and they were searching for you in the streets.

You have no idea how we felt! I couldn’t help thinking about the tragic end of Lieutenant Potanchikov, a friend of your dad’s - you don’t remember him, Rodya - who ran out in the same way with a high fever and fell into the well in the courtyard, and they couldn’t pull him out until the next day.

Of course, we were exaggerating a bit.

"We were about to find Pyotr Petrovitch to ask for his help... because we were totally alone, completely alone," she said sadly and stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering that it was still a little risky to talk about Pyotr Petrovitch, even though "we’re happy again."

"Yeah, yeah... Totally annoying," Raskolnikov mumbled in reply, but he looked so distracted and wasn't really paying attention that Dounia stared at him, confused.

"Wait, what was I trying to say?"

He tried to remember.

"Oh, right. Mom, and you too, Dounia, please don’t think I didn’t want to come see you today and was waiting for you to come first."

"What are you even saying, Rodya?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked, surprised.

"Is he answering us out of obligation?" Dounia wondered. "Is he trying to make up for things and asking for forgiveness like it’s some ritual or a lesson he has to learn?"

"I just woke up and wanted to come see you, but I was held up because I couldn’t find my clothes. I totally forgot yesterday to ask her... Nastasya... to wash the blood out. I just got dressed."

"Blood! What blood?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked, worried.

"Oh, nothing - don’t freak out. I was wandering around yesterday, kind of out of it, and I ran into a guy who’s been hit by a car... a clerk..."

"Out of it? But you remember everything!" Razumihin interrupted.

"That’s true," Raskolnikov answered carefully. "I remember everything, even the tiniest details, and yet... I can’t really explain why I did that, why I went there, or what I said."

"That’s a pretty common thing," Zossimov chimed in.

"Sometimes people act in a really clever and sneaky way, but the reason behind the actions is messed up and depends on all sorts of weird feelings - it’s like you’re dreaming."

"Maybe it’s a good thing people think I’m almost crazy," Raskolnikov thought.

"People who are perfectly healthy act like that too," Dounia observed, looking at Zossimov nervously.

"There’s definitely some truth in what you’re saying," the doctor replied. "In that sense, we’re all a little bit crazy sometimes, but the really deranged are, well, even crazier. Gotta draw a line, you know? A truly normal person? They practically don't exist."

"Out of millions - maybe even hundreds of thousands - you’re lucky to find one."

The word "crazy," casually dropped by Zossimov while rambling about his favorite topic, made everyone frown.

Raskolnikov sat there, seemingly not paying attention, lost in thought with a strange smile on his pale lips. He was still thinking about something.

"So, what about the guy who got hit by the car? I interrupted you!" Razumihin cried, hurrying to finish his thought.

"What?" Raskolnikov seemed to snap back to reality.

"Oh... I got splattered with blood helping to carry him to his place. By the way, Mom, I did something totally messed up yesterday. I was completely out of my mind. I gave away all the money you sent me... to his wife for the funeral."

She’s a widow now, struggling with consumption, a poor thing... three little kids, starving... nothing in the house... there’s a daughter, too... you probably would have given it yourself if you’d seen them.

"But I didn’t have the right to do it, I admit, especially since I knew how much you needed the money yourself. You have to have the right to help people, or else... tough luck." He laughed, "Right, Dounia?"

"No, that’s not right," Dounia said firmly.

"Bah! You have ideals too," he muttered, looking at her almost with hate, and smiling sarcastically.

"I should have thought about that... Well, that’s good for you... and if you don’t cross the line, you’ll be unhappy... and if you do cross it, maybe you’ll be even more unhappy... But it’s all nonsense," he added, annoyed at being carried away.

"I just meant to say that I’m sorry, Mom," he finished, quickly and abruptly.

"That’s enough, Rodya, I’m sure everything you do is really good," his mother said, relieved.

"Don’t be so sure," he answered, twisting his mouth into a smile.

A silence hung in the air. There was a weird tension in everything - the conversation, the quiet, even the forgiveness. Everyone could feel it.

"It’s like they’re scared of me," Raskolnikov thought, glancing at his mom and sister.

Pulcheria Alexandrovna was definitely getting more nervous the longer she stayed quiet.

"But I missed them so much when they weren’t around," flashed through his mind.

"You know, Rodya, Marfa Petrovna is dead," Pulcheria Alexandrovna suddenly blurted out.

"What, Marfa Petrovna?"

"Oh my gosh - Marfa Petrovna Svidrigaïlov. I told you so much about her."

"Oh... yeah, I remember... So she’s gone? Seriously?" he suddenly seemed to snap awake.

"What did she die from?"

"You won’t believe it - totally out of the blue," Pulcheria Alexandrovna answered quickly, encouraged by his interest. "The very day I was sending you that letter! Can you imagine, that awful guy seems to have caused her death. They say he beat her really badly."

"Wow, were they on such bad terms?" he asked, looking at his sister.

"Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually. With her, he was always super patient, even considerate. For seven whole years of their marriage, he basically gave her everything, too much in some ways. Then, suddenly, he just lost it."

"So, he couldn’t have been that bad if he held it together for seven years? You’re defending him, Dounia?"

"No way, he’s a terrible guy! I can’t imagine anyone worse!" Dounia answered, almost shuddering, frowning, and lost in thought.

"That happened in the morning," Pulcheria Alexandrovna rushed on.

"And right after that, she ordered the horses to be hitched up to go into town immediately after dinner. She always used to go into town in situations like that. She had a really good dinner, I heard..."

"After the beating?"

"That was just her... thing; and right after dinner, so she wouldn’t be late, she went to the bathhouse... You see, she was getting treatments with baths. They have a cold spring there, and she used to bathe in it regularly every day, and as soon as she got into the water, she had a stroke!"

"Figures," said Zossimov.

"And did he beat her badly?"

"What does it even matter?" put in Dounia.

"Hmm... but I don’t know why you’re telling us all this gossip, Mom," said Raskolnikov, annoyed, almost against his own will.

"Oh, my dear, I don’t know what else to talk about," Pulcheria Alexandrovna blurted out.

"Seriously, are you all afraid of me?" he asked, forcing a smile.

"That’s definitely true," said Dounia, looking directly and sternly at her brother. "Mom was crossing herself in terror as she came up the stairs."

His face contorted.

"Ach, what are you saying, Dounia! Don’t be mad, please, Rodya..."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, overwhelmed - "You see, on the train, I was dreaming the whole way about how we’d meet, how we’d talk everything over together... And I was so happy, I didn’t even notice the trip! But what am I saying? I’m happy now... just seeing you, Rodya..."

"Quiet, Mom," he muttered, confused, not looking at her, but squeezing her hand.

"We’ll have plenty of time to talk freely about everything!"

As he said this, he suddenly felt totally lost and went pale. That awful feeling he’s been having lately washed over him again, sending a shiver down his spine.

It hit him hard - he’s just told a huge lie, and he's never going to be able to talk freely about anything again, never be able to talk to anyone about anything. The thought was so intense, he almost lost it for a second. He got up from his seat and walked towards the door without looking at anyone.

"What’s going on with you?" Razumihin asked, grabbing his arm.

He sat back down and just stared around the room, silent. Everyone was looking at him, confused.

"But why is everyone being so quiet?" he shouted suddenly, totally out of nowhere. "Say something! What’s the point of just sitting here like this? Come on, talk! We’re all here together, and you’re all silent... Come on, anything!"

"Thank God, I thought the same thing was going to happen again yesterday," Pulcheria Alexandrovna said, crossing herself.

"What’s wrong, Rodya?" Avdotya Romanovna asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing! I just remembered something," he answered, and suddenly laughed.

"Well, if you remembered something, that’s good!... I was starting to think..." Zossimov muttered, getting up from the sofa.

"I gotta head out. Maybe I’ll swing by later... if I can..."

He nodded and went out.

"What a great guy!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna said.

"Yeah, awesome, brilliant, well-educated, smart," Raskolnikov began, suddenly talking really fast and with a spark he hadn’t shown before.

"I can’t remember where I met him before I got sick... I think I’ve met him somewhere... And he’s a good guy too," he nodded at Razumihin.

"Do you like him, Dounia?" he asked, and suddenly, for no reason, laughed.

"Yeah, a lot," Dounia said.

"Dude, you’re such a pig!" Razumihin protested, blushing like crazy, and he got up from his chair.

Pulcheria Alexandrovna smiled faintly, but Raskolnikov laughed out loud.

"Where are you going?"

"I gotta go."

"You don’t have to. Stay. Zossimov’s gone, so you gotta stay. Don’t go. What time is it? Wow, you have a cute watch, Dounia. But why is everyone quiet again? I’m doing all the talking."

"It was a gift from Marfa Petrovna," Dounia answered.

"And a really expensive one!"

Pulcheria Alexandrovna added.

"Whoa, that’s huge! Not really a lady’s watch."

"I like that style," Dounia said.

"So it’s not from her fiancé," Razumihin thought, feeling strangely happy.

"I thought it was Luzhin’s gift," Raskolnikov said.

"Nope, he hasn’t gotten Dounia any gifts yet."

"A-ah! Do you remember, Mom, I was in love and wanted to get married?" he said suddenly, looking at his mother, who seemed thrown off by the sudden change of topic and the way he was talking about it.

"Oh, yeah, dear."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna exchanged glances with Dounia and Razumihin.

"H’m, yeah. What should I tell you? I don’t remember much really. She was such a sickly girl," he went on, looking dreamy and staring at the floor.

"Totally an invalid. She loved giving to the poor and was always dreaming about becoming a nun, and once she started crying when she was talking to me about it. Yes, yes, I remember. I remember really well. She was an ugly little thing."

"I don’t know what drew me to her then - I think it was because she was always sick. If she’s been lame or had a hunchback, I think I would’ve liked her even more," he smiled dreamily.

"Yeah, it was like a spring fever."

"No, it wasn’t just spring fever," Dounia said, with genuine feeling.

He gave his sister a strained look, but didnn't seem to hear or understand what she was saying. Then, totally lost in thought, he got up, went over to his mom, kissed her, went back to his spot, and sat down.

"You still love her?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked, touched.

"Her? Now? Oh, yeah... You asking about her? Nah... that's all in the past, like, another world... and so long ago. And honestly, everything happening here feels super distant."

He looked at them closely.

"You guys... I feel like I’m looking at you from a thousand miles away... but, I don’t even know why we’re talking about this! And what's the point of bringing it up?" he added, annoyed, and started biting his nails, falling into a dreamy silence again.

"This place you’re living in is awful, Rodya! It’s like a tomb," Pulcheria Alexandrovna said, suddenly breaking the heavy silence. "I’m sure your depressing apartment is making you so gloomy."

"My apartment," he answered, sounding totally checked out. "Yeah, the place has a lot to do with it... I thought that too... If you only knew, though, what a weird thing you just said, Mom," he said, laughing strangely.

He was close to cracking under the pressure of their closeness - his mom and sister, after three years apart - and the way they could talk about anything and everything without actually saying anything real.

But there was one thing he needed to settle that day - something he’s decided when he woke up. Now he was glad to remember it, as a way to escape.

"Listen, Dounia," he began, serious and dry.

"I’m sorry about yesterday, but I gotta tell you again that I’m not backing down from what I believe. It’s me or Luzhin. If I’m a loser, you don’t have to be. There’s enough bad to go around. If you marry Luzhin, I’m done considering you my sister."

"Rodya, Rodya!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna cried, sounding sad. "Why do you call yourself a scoundrel? I can’t stand it. You said the same thing yesterday."

"Brother," Dounia answered firmly and just as dryly. "You’re totally misunderstanding everything. I thought about it all night, and realized you’ve got it wrong. You think I’m sacrificing myself for someone, and that’s not it at all."

"I’m just marrying for my own sake, because things are rough for me. Of course, I’ll be happy if I can help out the family, but that’s not the main reason for my decision..."

"She’s lying," he thought to himself, biting his nails angrily.

"Proud girl! She won’t admit she’s doing it out of kindness! Too stuck-up! Oh, you guys are so fake... You even love like you hate... Oh, how much I... hate you all!"

"Honestly," continued Dounia, "I’m marrying Pyotr Petrovitch because I’m choosing the lesser of two evils. I intend to do everything he expects honestly, so I’m not tricking him... Why did you just smile?"

She, too, blushed, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes.

"All?" he asked, with a nasty grin.

"Within limits. The way Pyotr Petrovitch courted me made it clear what he wanted. He might think too much of himself, but I hope he respects me, too... Why are you laughing again?"

"And why are you blushing again? You’re lying, sister. You’re intentionally lying, just being stubborn, just to mess with me... You don’t respect Luzhin. I’ve met him and talked to him. So you’re selling yourself for money, and you’re acting low, and I’m glad at least you’re embarrassed about it."

"It’s not true! I’m not lying," cried Dounia, losing it. "I wouldn’t marry him if I wasn’t sure he really likes me and thinks highly of me. I wouldn’t marry him if I couldn’t respect him, seriously. Luckily, I can prove it today... and this marriage isnn't as awful as you’re saying!"

And even if you’re right, if I did do something bad, isn’t it mean to talk to me like that? Why are you expecting me to be a hero, when maybe you haven't been one either? It’s like you’re bossing me around; it’s unfair. If I mess up, I’m only hurting myself... I’m not committing a crime.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Why are you so pale? Rodya, honey, what's wrong?"

"Oh my gosh! You made him faint," cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"No, no, don’t be silly! It’s nothing. Just a little dizzy - not fainting. You’re imagining things. Hmm, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. How are you going to prove today that you can respect him, and that he... likes you, like you said. Did you say today?"

"Mom, show Rodya Pyotr Petrovitch’s letter," said Dounia.

With trembling hands, Pulcheria Alexandrovna gave him the letter. He took it, really interested, but before opening it, he suddenly looked at Dounia, kind of surprised.

"This is weird," he said slowly, like he just had a new idea. "Why am I even stressing about this? What’s the big deal? Marry whoever you want!"

He said it almost to himself, but out loud, and stared at his sister for a while, like he was confused. He finally opened the letter, still with that strange look on his face. Then, slowly and carefully, he started reading, and read it through twice.

Pulcheria Alexandrovna looked really worried, and everyone expected something big.

"What surprises me," he began after a short pause, handing the letter to his mom but not talking to anyone in particular, "is that he’s a businessman, a lawyer, and he talks like he’s so smart, but he writes like this?"

Everyone jumped. They were expecting something totally different.

"But everyone writes like that, you know," Razumihin said suddenly.

"Have you read it?"

"Yeah."

"We showed him, Rodya. We... talked to him just now," Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, embarrassed.

"That’s just legal jargon," Razumihin chimed in.

"Court documents are written like that to this day."

"Legal? Yeah, it’s just legal - business language - not totally uneducated, but not really educated either - business language!"

"Pyotr Petrovitch doesn’t hide the fact that he didn’t have a great education, he’s actually proud of making his own way," Avdotya Romanovna said, a little annoyed by her brother’s tone.

"Well, if he’s proud of it, he has a reason, I’m not denying that. You seem upset that I’m only making a small comment about the letter, and thinking that I’m just trying to annoy you."

It’s totally the opposite; an observation about the style just popped into my head, and it’s not completely irrelevant to the situation. There’s one phrase, ‘blame yourselves,’ put in really clearly, and there’s also a threat that he’s going to leave immediately if I’m around.

"That threat to leave is like threatening to abandon you both if you don’t listen, and to abandon you now after calling you to Petersburg. So, what do you think? Can you be mad at that kind of comment from Luzhin, like we would if he (he pointed to Razumihin) wrote it, or Zossimov, or one of us?"

"N-no," answered Dounia, with more energy. "I realized right away that it was too straightforward, and maybe he just isn’t a good writer... that’s a fair criticism, brother. I didn’t expect..."

"It’s written in really formal, legal language, and it comes across harsher than he probably meant. But I need to level with you a bit. There’s one thing in the letter, one totally unfair jab about me, and it’s pretty low."

I gave the money last night to the widow - a woman who’s really sick, struggling with everything - not ‘because of the funeral,’ but just to pay for it, not to her daughter - a young woman, he writes, with a bad reputation (whom I met for the first time ever last night) - but to the widow.

I think he’s rushing to throw me under the bus and stir up trouble between us. It's written in that same stiff, legal style, like he's trying too hard to make his point, and he’s being way too obvious about it. He’s smart, but being smart isn’t enough to act wisely.

"It all shows his character... and I don’t think he respects you much. I’m telling you this just to give you a heads-up, because I genuinely want what’s best for you."

Dounia didn’t say anything. She’d already made up her mind. She was just waiting for tonight.

"So, what’s your decision, Rodya?" asked Pulcheria Alexandrovna, who was more stressed than ever by his sudden, businesslike way of talking.

"What decision?"

"You know, Pyotr Petrovitch wrote that you’re not supposed to be with us tonight, and that he’s leaving if you come. So, are you... coming?"

"That’s not really up to me, it’s up to you first, if you’re not totally offended by the request, and secondly, to Dounia, if she’s not offended either. I’ll do whatever you think is best," he added, dryly.

"Dounia’s already decided, and I completely agree with her," Pulcheria Alexandrovna quickly said.

"I decided to ask you, Rodya, to please don’t skip being with us at this meeting," said Dounia. "Will you come?"

"Yeah." “I’m also asking you to be with us at eight o’clock,” she said, addressing Razumihin. “Mom, I’m inviting him, too.”

"I’m also asking you to be with us at eight o’clock," she said, addressing Razumihin. "Mom, I’m inviting him, too."

"Sounds good, Dounia. Well, since you’ve made up your minds," added Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll feel a lot better myself. I hate secrets and lies. Better to just get the whole truth out there... Pyotr Petrovitch can be mad or not, now!"

“Sounds good, Dounia. Well, since you’ve made up your minds,” added Pulcheria Alexandrovna, “then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll feel a lot better myself. I hate secrets and lies. Better to just get the whole truth out there… Pyotr Petrovitch can be mad or not, now!”