Part 3 · Chapter 5

Raskolnikov didn't wait for introductions and bowed to Porfiry Petrovitch, who was standing in the middle of the room, looking curious. He shook hands, still trying hard to control his laughter and say a few words to introduce himself.

But as soon as he managed to look serious and mumbled something, he glanced at Razumihin again, and he just couldn't hold it in anymore: his stifled laughter burst out, the more he tried to stop it.

The intensity with which Razumihin reacted to this "spontaneous" laughter made the whole scene look like genuine, natural fun. Razumihin seemed to be doing it on purpose.

"You goofball! You’re crazy!" he yelled, waving his arm, which accidentally knocked over a small table with an empty teacup on it.

Everything went flying and crashing.

"But why are you breaking chairs, guys? You know that’s a loss for the government," Porfiry Petrovitch said cheerfully.

Raskolnikov was still laughing, his hand in Porfiry Petrovitch’s, but trying not to overdo it, waiting for the right moment to stop.

Razumihin, totally flustered from knocking over the table and smashing the glass, stared gloomily at the broken pieces, muttered curses, and sharply turned to the window, standing with his back to everyone, scowling and seeing nothing.

Porfiry Petrovitch laughed and was ready to keep laughing, but clearly wanted some explanations.

Zametov had been sitting in the corner, but he got up when the visitors came in and was standing expectantly with a smile on his lips, though he looked surprised, even a little shocked, at the whole scene and at Raskolnikov, looking a bit embarrassed.

Zametov had been sitting in the corner, but he got up when the visitors came in and was standing expectantly with a smile on his lips, though he looked surprised, even a little shocked, at the whole scene and at Raskolnikov, looking a bit embarrassed.

Zametov’s unexpected arrival bothered Raskolnikov.

"I need to think about that," he thought.

"Excuse me, please," he started, acting super embarrassed.

Raskolnikov. Not at all, it’s really good to see you...

"...and how dramatically you came in... Why, he won’t even say good morning?"

Porfiry Petrovitch nodded at Razumihin.

"Honestly, I don’t know why he’s so mad at me. I just told him on the way here that he was like Romeo... and proved it. That’s all I think!"

"Jerk!" Razumihin muttered without turning around.

"There must have been a really good reason for it if he’s so furious about just that word," Porfiry laughed.

"You’re so sharp, you lawyer!... Seriously, you guys!"

Razumihin snapped, then suddenly burst out laughing himself, and went up to Porfiry with a more cheerful face, like nothing had happened.

"Alright, that’s enough! We’re all being ridiculous. Let’s get down to business. This is my friend Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov; he’s heard about you and wants to meet you, and he also has a little business matter to discuss with you. Hey, Zametov, what are you doing here? Have you met before?"

"Have you known each other long?"

"What’s going on?" Raskolnikov thought nervously.

Zametov seemed taken aback, but not too much.

"We met at your place yesterday," he said casually.

"Then I didn’t have to bother. He’s been begging me all last week to introduce him to you. You guys have already sniffed each other out without me. Where’s your tobacco?"

Porfiry Petrovitch was rocking a bathrobe, super clean linen, and well-worn slippers. He was around thirty-five, a little short, kinda stout, and clean-shaven. His hair was cut short, and he had a big, round head, especially noticeable in the back.

His soft, round, kinda snub nose face was a sickly yellowish color, but he had a lively and pretty sarcastic expression. It would have been friendly if not for the look in his eyes, which shone with a watery, almost gooey light under his pale, blinking eyelashes.

That look in his eyes was totally out of sync with his somewhat gentle build, and gave him a vibe that was way more serious than you’d think at first.

As soon as Porfiry Petrovitch heard his visitor had a little business to discuss, he asked him to chill on the couch and sat down on the other end himself, waiting for him to explain, with that intense and over-the-top serious attention that's just awkward and makes you nervous, especially when you're talking to someone you don’t know, and especially if what you're talking about feels totally unimportant for such a big deal.

But Raskolnikov got straight to the point, explaining his business clearly and exactly, and was so proud of himself that he even managed to take a good look at Porfiry. Porfiry Petrovitch didn't take his eyes off him once.

Razumihin, sitting across the table, listened intently and impatiently, glancing from one to the other every second with a bit too much interest.

"Idiot," Raskolnikov muttered to himself.

"You need to tell the police," Porfiry replied, with a super official air, "that after hearing about this, that is, the murder, you want to let the lawyer handling the case know that these things belong to you, and that you want to buy them back... or... but they’ll write to you."

"That’s the thing, that right now," Raskolnikov tried his best to look embarrassed, "I’m broke... and even this small amount is a stretch... I just wanted, you know, to declare that the things are mine, and that when I have money..."

"That’s not really a problem," answered Porfiry Petrovitch, dismissing his explanation about his finances coldly, "but you can, if you want, write straight to me, saying that after being informed of the situation, and claiming these things as your property, you ask..."

"On a regular piece of paper?" Raskolnikov interrupted eagerly, getting interested in the money side of things again.

"Oh, totally ordinary," and suddenly Porfiry Petrovitch looked at him with obvious sarcasm, squinting his eyes and, like, winking at him.

But maybe it was just Raskolnikov’s imagination, because it only lasted a second. There definitely seemed to be something like that, Raskolnikov could have sworn he winked at him, who knows why.

"He knows," flashed through his mind like lightning.

"Sorry for bothering you about such small stuff," he went on, a little thrown off, "the things are only worth five rubles, but I value them a lot because of the people they came from, and I have to admit I was freaked out when I heard..."

"That’s why you were so surprised when I mentioned to Zossimov that Porfiry was asking about everyone who had pawned stuff!"

Razumihin chimed in, clearly trying to stir things up.

This was seriously too much. Raskolnikov couldn’t help glancing at him with a flash of angry annoyance in his dark eyes, but quickly snapped himself out of it.

"You’re teasing me, right, brother?" he asked, trying to sound annoyed. "I know I seem totally stressed about this junk, but donn't think I’m being selfish or greedy, okay? This stuff might be important to me."

I told you earlier that the silver watch, even though it’s practically worthless, is the only thing we have left from my dad.

"You can laugh, but my mom is here," he turned to Porfiry, "and if she knew the watch was gone," he turned back to Razumihin quickly, making his voice shaky on purpose, "she’d be devastated! You know how women are!"

"Dude, no way! I didn’t mean that at all! Quite the opposite!" Razumihin said, looking totally stressed.

"Was I overreacting? Was that weird?" Raskolnikov asked himself, feeling all shaky. "Why did I even bring up women?"

"Oh, your mom’s with you?" Porfiry Petrovitch asked.

"Yeah."

"When did she get here?"

"Last night."

Porfiry paused, like he was thinking really hard.

"Your stuff wouldn’t have been lost anyway," he said calmly and coldly. "I’m expecting you here for a while now."

And as if that wasn’t a big deal, he offered the ashtray to Razumihin, who was scattering cigarette ash all over the carpet. Raskolnikov shuddered, but Porfiry didn’t seem to be looking at him and was still focused on Razumihin’s cigarette.

"Expecting him? Seriously? Did you know he’d pawned stuff there?" Razumihin exclaimed.

Porfiry Petrovitch turned to Raskolnikov.

"Your things, the ring and the watch, were wrapped together, and your name was clearly written on the paper in pencil, along with the date you left them with her..."

"You’re so observant!"

Raskolnikov smiled awkwardly, trying really hard to look Porfiry in the eye, but he couldn’t, and then quickly added:

"I’m just saying, there were probably a ton of pledges... it must be hard to remember them all... But you remember them all so well, and... and..."

"I’m such a loser! So clueless!" he thought.

"Why did I add that?"

"But we know everyone who’d pawned things, and you’re the only one who hasn’t come forward," Porfiry answered with a hint of sarcasm.

"I haven’t been feeling too great."

"I heard that too. I heard you were really upset about something. You still look pale."

"I’m not pale at all... No, I’m totally fine," Raskolnikov snapped out rudely and angrily, completely changing his tone.

His anger was building up, he couldn’t control it.

"Why are they messing with me?" flashed through his mind again.

"Not feeling well!" Razumihin chimed in.

"What’s next! He was out of it and delirious all yesterday. You won’t believe it, Porfiry, as soon as we weren’t looking, he got dressed, even though he could barely stand, and took off somewhere, going on a crazy binge till midnight, totally delirious the whole time!"

"Seriously, would you believe it? Wild!"

"Really delirious? Seriously?" Porfiry shook his head, like a girl.

"Don’t be ridiculous! Don’t believe him!" Raskolnikov blurted out in anger.

But Porfiry Petrovitch didn’t seem to hear his strange words.

"But how could you have gone out if you weren’t delirious?"

Razumihin got heated suddenly.

"What were you doing out there? What was the point? And why sneak around? Were you in your right mind when you did it? Now that the danger’s over, I can be straight with you."

I was totally sick of them yesterday, Raskolnikov said to Porfiry suddenly, with a defiant smirk. I ran away to find a place where they wouldn’t find me, and took a bunch of money with me. Mr. Zametov saw it. Hey, Mr. Zametov, was I making sense or was I out of my head yesterday?

Settle our debate.

He could have strangled Zametov right then, he was so annoyed by his expression and his silence.

"Honestly, you were talking sense, even being kinda smooth, but you were super on edge," Zametov said dryly.

"And Nikodim Fomitch told me today," Porfiry Petrovitch chimed in, "that he saw you really late last night at a guy’s place who’s been hit by a car."

"Seriously? Razumihin exclaimed. "Weren’t you losing it then? You gave the widow your last penny for the funeral. If you wanted to help, give fifteen or twenty, keep a few bucks for yourself, at least! But you just threw away all twenty-five rubles at once!"

"Maybe I found some cash, you know? That’s why I was being generous yesterday... Mr. Zametov knows I found a treasure! Sorry to bother you for half an hour with all this random stuff," he said, turning to Porfiry Petrovitch, his voice shaking. "We’re boring you, right?"

"Nah, not at all! Quite the opposite, actually. You have no idea how interested I am! It’s fascinating to watch and listen... I’m really glad you finally showed up."

"But could we get some tea? My throat’s killing me," Razumihin cried out.

"Great idea! Maybe we can all hang out. You wouldn’t want... something a little more important before tea, would you?"

"Get outta here!"

Porfiry Petrovitch went to order some tea.

Raskolnikov’s thoughts were spinning. He was seriously frustrated.

"The worst part is they’re not even hiding it! They don’t care about being polite. And how did you even start talking to Nikodim Fomitch about me if you barely knew me? They’re tracking me like a pack of dogs, and they’re not even trying to hide it. They’re straight-up disrespecting me."

"Come on, just hit me! Don’t mess with me like a cat with a mouse. It’s not very nice, Porfiry Petrovitch, but I might not let you! I’m gonna dump the whole truth in your faces, and you’re gonna see how much I despise you. He could barely breathe.

"What if I’m wrong? What if I’m just overreacting, and because I’m inexperienced, I get angry and don’t act like I’m supposed to? Maybe it’s all unintentional. All their phrases are pretty standard, but there’s something about them... There’s something about it. Why did he say, ‘With her’?"

Why did Zametov say I was being smooth? Why are they talking like that? The tone... yeah, the tone. Razumihin is sitting here, why doesn’t he see anything? That clueless blockhead never sees anything! Feverish again! Did Porfiry just wink at me? Of course, it’s nothing! Why would he wink?

Are they trying to mess with my nerves, or are they messing with me? Either I’m losing it, or they know something. Even Zametov is being rude... Is Zametov being rude? Zametov’s changed his mind. I knew he would change his mind! He’s comfortable here, it’s my first time visiting.

Porfiry doesn't think of him as a guest; he’s got his back to him. They’re thick as thieves, no doubt, talking about me behind my back! There’s no doubt they were talking about me before we even got here. Do they know about the apartment? I wish they’d hurry up!

When I said I was looking for an apartment, he just let it slide... I played that one pretty well, it might come in handy later... Delirious, right? Ha-ha-ha! He knows everything about last night! He didn’t know about my mom’s arrival! She wrote the date in pencil! You won’t catch me!

There aren’t any facts... it’s all just speculation! You produce facts! The apartment isn’t even a fact; it’s just a delusion. I know what to say to them... Do they know about the apartment? I’m not leaving until I find out. What did I even come here for? But maybe I’m just being angry now...

"That might be a fact! Fool, how irritable I am! Maybe that’s the point; to act sick... He’s feeling me out. He’s trying to catch me. Why did I even come?"

All this flashed through his mind like lightning.

Porfiry Petrovitch returned quickly. He seemed suddenly more relaxed.

"Your party last night really messed with my head... I’m not feeling myself at all," he began in a completely different tone, laughing with Razumihin.

"Was it good? I left you hanging yesterday at the most intense part. Who came out on top?"

"Oh, nothing really. They got super deep into huge questions, totally spaced out."

"Seriously, Rodya, what we talked about yesterday was wild. Whether crime even exists. I told you we went at it hard."

"What’s so weird about that? It’s a normal social debate," Raskolnikov said casually.

"It wasn’t phrased quite like that," Porfiry pointed out.

"Not exactly, that’s true," Razumihin agreed, getting fired up and rushed as always.

"Listen, Rodion, and tell us what you think. I’m dying to hear it. I was going at it with them and needed your backup. I told them you were coming... It all started with this socialist idea."

"You know the deal; crime is just a protest against a messed-up social system, and that’s it, end of story; no other reasons allowed!..."

"You’re wrong about that," Porfiry Petrovitch interjected; he seemed really into it and kept chuckling at Razumihin, which just made him even more hyped.

"Nothing is allowed," Razumihin interrupted, heated.

"I’m not wrong. I’ll show you their pamphlets. With them, it’s all ‘the environment’s fault,’ and nothing else. Their favorite line! Which means, if society is running smoothly, all crime will vanish instantly, because there’s nothing to protest, and everyone becomes righteous, like, immediately."

They totally ignore human nature, like it doesn’t even exist!

They don’t get that humanity, evolving through life, will eventually become a normal society, but they think some perfect social system dreamed up by a math genius is going to fix everyone instantly and make them just and without sin, faster than anything natural!

That’s why they hate history, ‘just ugliness and dumb stuff in it,’ and explain everything as stupidity! That’s why they’re so against living life; they don’t want any soul! A living soul needs life, the soul won’t follow mechanical rules, the soul is suspicious, the soul is backwards!

But they want something lifeless, made of rubber, that won't rebel! It all ends up with them planning out walls and rooms in a phalanstery! The phalanstery’s ready, but your human nature isn’t - it wants life, it hasn’t finished growing, it’s too soon for a graveyard!

"You can’t logic your way around nature. Logic has three possibilities, but there are millions! Cut away a million, and boil it down to comfort! That’s the easiest fix! Don’t even think about it. That’s the whole secret - don’t think! The whole secret of life in two pages of print!"

"Now he’s on a roll, beating the drum! Somebody grab him!"

Porfiry just laughed. "Can you imagine," he turned to Raskolnikov.

"six people ranting like that last night, in one room, with spiked punch to get started! Nope, brother, you’re wrong; the environment plays a huge part in crime; I can promise you that."

"Oh, I get it, but just tell me: a forty-year-old guy messes with a ten-year-old kid; was it the environment that made him do it?"

"Well, technically, yeah," Porfiry observed seriously; "a crime like that could definitely be blamed on the environment."

Razumihin was practically losing it.

"Oh, if you insist," he roared.

"I’ll prove to you that your light eyelashes could totally be because the Church of Ivan the Great is two hundred and fifty feet high, and I’ll prove it clearly, exactly, step-by-step, and even with a Liberal twist! I double-dog dare you! Bet on it?"

"Done! Let’s hear, please, how he’s gonna prove it!"

"He’s always pulling a fast one, seriously," Razumihin yelled, jumping up and waving his hands. "What’s the point of even talking to you? He does all that on purpose, you don’t even know him, Rodion! He took their side yesterday, just to make them look dumb. And the stuff he was saying yesterday!"

They were eating it up! He can keep it going for weeks. Last year he convinced us he was joining a monastery: he stuck to that for two whole months. Not long ago, he suddenly announced he was getting married, like everything was totally ready. He even ordered new clothes.

"We were all congratulating him. There was no bride, nothing, just a total fantasy!"

"Oh, I got the clothes before. Actually, the new clothes made me think of inviting you over."

"Are you such a good actor?" Raskolnikov asked casually.

"You wouldn’t have thought so, huh? Wait for it, I’m gonna pull a fast one on you too. Ha-ha-ha! No, I’m kidding. Seriously, let me tell you. All these questions about crime, environment, kids... it reminded me of an article you wrote that I thought was pretty cool."

"‘On Crime’... or something like that, I forget the title, I read it with pleasure two months ago in the Periodical Review."

"My article? In the Periodical Review?" Raskolnikov asked, surprised. "I definitely wrote an article about a book six months ago when I left the university, but I sent it to the Weekly Review."

"But it came out in the Periodical."

"And the Weekly Review stopped existing, so that’s why it wasn’t printed at the time."

"That’re true; but when it stopped, the Weekly Review got combined with the Periodical, and so your article appeared two months ago in the latter. Didn’t you know?"

Raskolnikov hadn’t known.

"Seriously, you could’ve made some money off that article! You’re such a weirdo! You live such a solitary life that you’re clueless about stuff that directly affects you. It’s a fact, I promise."

"Bravo, Rodya! I didn’t know about it either!" Razumihin shouted. "I’ll run to the library today and ask for the issue. Two months ago? What was the date? It doesn’t really matter, I’ll find it. Think of not telling us!"

"How did you figure out that the article was mine? It’s only signed with an initial."

"I just found out the other day. Through the editor; I know him... I was really interested."

"I analyzed, if I remember, the psychology of a criminal before and after the crime."

"Yeah, and you said that committing a crime always comes with being sick. Very, very original, but... it wasn’t even that part of your article that grabbed me so much, but an idea at the end of the article that you just suggested without really working it out clearly."

"There’s, if you recall, a suggestion that there are certain people who can... that is, not exactly are able to, but have a perfect right to commit things that break the rules and crimes, and that the law doesn’t apply to them."

Raskolnikov smirked at the exaggerated and intentional twisting of his idea.

"What? What do you mean? A right to commit crimes? But not because of the environment?" Razumihin asked, sounding pretty freaked out.

"No, not exactly because of it," answered Porfiry. "In his article, all people are divided into ‘ordinary’ and ‘extraordinary. Ordinary people have to live by the rules, have no right to break the law, because, don’t you see, they’re ordinary."

"But extraordinary people have a right to commit any crime and break the law in any way, just because they’re extraordinary. That was your idea, if I’m not mistaken?"

"What do you mean? That can’t be right?" Razumihin muttered, totally confused.

Raskolnikov smirked again. He got the point immediately, and knew where they were trying to lead him. He decided to take the bait.

"That wasn’t exactly my point," he started, keeping it simple and humble.

"But I’m gonna admit, you pretty much nailed it - maybe even perfectly."

(It actually felt good to say that.) "The only difference is, I don’t think extraordinary people always have to break the rules, like you call it. Honestly, I doubt anyone would even publish an argument like that."

I just hinted that an ‘extraordinary’ person has the right... not an official one, but an inner conviction to push past... certain boundaries, and only if it’s absolutely necessary to make their idea happen - sometimes, maybe even for the good of everyone. You said my article wasn’t clear enough?

Okay, I’m ready to explain it better. Maybe you want me to? Fine.

I’m saying that if Kepler and Newton’s discoveries couldn’t have been shared unless they sacrificed the lives of one, a dozen, a hundred, or more people, Newton would have had the right - he’d even had to - eliminate those people to get his discoveries out to the world.

But that doesn't mean Newton could just go around murdering people and stealing from the market every day.

Then, I remember, I maintain in my article that all... well, lawmakers and leaders like Lycurgus, Solon, Mahomet, Napoleon, and so on, were all criminals, just by the fact that they made new laws, breaking the old ones passed down by their ancestors and considered sacred by the people.

And they didn't shy away from violence either, even if it meant bloodshed - often of innocent people bravely defending the old laws - if it helped their cause. It’s crazy, really, that most of these people who did good for humanity were guilty of terrible violence.

Basically, I’m saying that all great people - or even people just a little bit different, capable of saying something new - are, by nature, criminals - more or less, of course. Otherwise, they can’t break free from the ordinary.

And they can’t stand being ordinary, it's just not in their nature, and honestly, they shouldn't. You see, there’s nothing really new about any of this. It’s been printed and read a thousand times before.

As for my division of people into ordinary and extraordinary, I’m admitting it’s a little random, but I’m not insisting on exact numbers.

I just believe in my main idea that people are naturally divided into two groups: those who are ordinary - basically, material that just reproduces itself - and those who have the gift or talent to say something new.

There are tons of sub-groups, of course, but the differences between the two are pretty clear. The first group is usually conservative and follows the rules; they like to be in control and to be told what to do.

I think it’s their duty to be controlled, because that’s what they’re meant to do, and there’s nothing embarrassing about it.

These guys are all breaking the law, straight up. They're wreckers, or they're into tearing things down, depending on what they can do. Their crimes are different, for sure, but mostly they're trying to trash the way things are now, hoping for something better.

But if someone’s gotta step over a body or wade through blood to make their idea happen, I’m telling you, they can convince themselves it's okay. It all depends on the idea and how big it is, you know? That’s what I was saying in that article - remember, it started with a legal thing.

Don’t freak out, though. Most people won’t ever think these people have a right to do what they do. They’ll punish them, hang them, whatever - and that’s just them doing their job, keeping things the way they are.

But then, the next generation comes along and puts these same criminals on a pedestal, worships them, basically.

One group is all about the now. The other is looking to the future. One keeps the world going, fills it up. The other shakes things up, leads the world where it needs to go. Both groups have a right to exist, no doubt.

And honestly, we all have equal rights - and let the eternal war begin - until the New Jerusalem, of course!

"So, you believe in the New Jerusalem, right?"

"I do," Raskolnikov said, sounding sure of himself.

He’s been staring at a spot on the carpet the whole time he’s been talking.

"And... do you believe in God? Sorry to ask."

"I do," Raskolnikov repeated, finally looking up at Porfiry.

"And... do you believe Lazarus came back from the dead?"

"I... I do. Why are you asking all this?"

"Do you believe it literally?"

"Literally." "Wow... I just asked out of curiosity. "

"Sorry. But let’s go back to the original question; they aren’t always punished. Some, on the other hand..."

"Succeed in their lifetime? Yeah, some people get what they want in this life, and then..."

"They start hurting other people?"

"If it’s necessary; usually, they do. That’s a really clever observation."

"Thanks. But tell me this: how do you tell the extraordinary people from the regular ones? Are there signs when they’re born? I feel like there needs to be something more clear, a better way to tell."

Sorry, it’s just the anxious thoughts of a law-abiding citizen, but couldn’t they wear a special uniform, for instance? Couldn’t they have a mark or something?

"Because, you know, if someone gets confused and thinks they belong to the wrong group, starts ‘eliminating obstacles’ like you happily put it, then..."

"Oh, that happens a lot! That’s even wittier than the last thing you said."

"Thanks." "No problem, but listen to this"

"The mistake can only happen with the regular people (as I maybe unfortunately called them)."

Even though they like following the rules, a lot of them, just because of their nature, sometimes imagine they’re advanced people, ‘destroyers,’ and try to join the ‘new movement,’ and they’re completely serious about it.

Meanwhile, the real new people are often ignored by them, or even looked down on as old-fashioned. But I don’t think there’s much danger here, and you don’t really need to worry because they don’t usually go very far.

Of course, they might get a scolding sometimes for letting their imagination run wild and to remind them of their place, but that's it; actually, it’s not even necessary because they’re very conscientious: some correct each other, and others punish themselves.

"They’ll do all kinds of public acts of penance with a really impressive effect; seriously, you don’t have anything to worry about... It’s just the way things are."

"Well, you’ve definitely calmed my mind a bit on that front. But there’s another thing that’s bothering me. Tell me, are there a lot of people who have the right to kill others, these extraordinary people?"

"I’m ready to look up to them, of course, but you have to admit it's a little scary if there are a lot of them, right?"

"Oh, you don’t need to worry about that either," Raskolnikov continued in the same tone.

"People with new ideas, even just a tiny spark of something new, are super rare, seriously. It’s obvious that all these different types of people have to follow some kind of natural order. We don’t know what that law is yet, but I’m convinced it exists, and someday we might figure it out."

Most people are just... basic, existing just to, through some big effort, some mysterious process, some mixing of different backgrounds, to finally bring one person out of a thousand - maybe even ten thousand - with a bit of independence.

One in a hundred thousand might have real independence, and a genius? One in a million. The truly great geniuses, the best of humanity, might only appear once every billions.

"I haven’t even looked under the hood to see how this all happens, but there definitely has to be a set rule, it can’t just be random."

"Are you both kidding?" Razumihin finally shouted. "You’re just messing with each other. Are you serious, Rodya?"

Raskolnikov lifted his pale, almost sad face and didn’t reply. Razumihin found Porfiry’s constant, obvious sarcasm and teasing strange next to Raskolnikov’s quiet sadness.

"Well, brother, if you’re really serious... You’re right, of course, that it’s not new, that we’ve read and heard it a million times; but what’s really original, what’s all yours , honestly, scares me."

You’re basically saying it’s okay to take a life, to justify it with your conscience, and, if I can be frank, you’re doing it with a serious level of belief... That’s the point of your article, right?

"But that idea of justifying bloodshed with conscience is, to me... even more terrifying than an official, legal justification of violence..."

"You’re absolutely right, it’s more terrifying," Porfiry agreed.

"No way, you must be exaggerating! There must be a mistake, I’m going to read it. You can’t possibly think that! I’m going to read it."

"That’s just a hint, it’s not all in there," Raskolnikov said.

"Yeah, yeah."

Porfiry couldn’t sit still.

"Your attitude towards crime is pretty clear now, but... excuse me for being nosy (I really feel bad bothering you like this), you see, you’ve taken away my worry about the different groups mixing, but... there are some possible real-world situations that make me uneasy!"

"What if someone thinks they're a Lycurgus or Mahomet - a future one, of course - and they start removing all the obstacles... They have some big plan and need money for it... and they try to get it... do you see?"

Zametov let out a sudden burst of laughter in his corner. Raskolnikov didn’t even look at him.

"I have to admit," he continued calmly, "that those situations definitely have to happen. The arrogant and foolish are especially likely to fall for that trap, especially young people."

"Exactly, you see."

"So what?" Raskolnikov smiled in reply.

"That’s not my problem. It is what it is, and it always will be. He just said (he nodded at Razumihin) that I’m condoning bloodshed. Society is too well protected by prisons, exile, detectives, and hard labor. There’s no need to worry. You just have to catch the thief."

"And what if we do catch him?"

"Then he gets what he deserves."

"You’re certainly logical. But what about his conscience?"

"Why should we care about that?"

"Just out of basic humanity."

"If he has a conscience, he’s going to suffer for his mistake. That’s his punishment - on top of prison."

"But what about the real geniuses," Razumihin frowned, "the ones who have the right to take a life? Shouldn’t they suffer at all, even for the blood they’ve spilled?"

"Why do you even use the word ‘ought’? It’s not about permission or a rule. He’s gonna feel bad if he feels sorry for his victim. Pain and suffering are just part of the deal for someone really smart and with a big heart."

"I think truly great people have to experience a lot of sadness in life," he added dreamily, totally off-topic.

He looked up, stared at everyone intently, smiled, and grabbed his hat. He felt like he was way quieter than when he first walked in, and it was obvious. Everyone stood up.

"Well, you can yell at me, be mad if you want," Porfiry Petrovitch started again, "but I can’t help myself. Let me ask one little question (I know I’m bugging you). There’s just this one thing I want to get off my chest, so I don’t forget it."

"Okay, lay it on me," Raskolnikov said, standing there, pale and serious.

"Well, you know... I’m not sure how to put it right... It’s a weird, psychological thing... When you were writing your article, didn’t you secretly think... just a little bit... you were an ‘extraordinary’ person, dropping a brand new idea? You know what I mean, right?"

"Maybe," Raskolnikov answered dismissively.

Razumihin shifted in his seat.

"And, if so, could you picture yourself, if you were facing tough times or needing to help people - pushing past boundaries? Like, robbing and murdering?"

He winked with his left eye again, chuckling quietly just like before.

"If I did, I definitely wouldn’t tell you," Raskolnikov replied, full of defiant and arrogant disdain.

"Yeah, I was just curious because of your article, from a writing perspective..."

"Seriously? How obvious and rude is that?" Raskolnikov thought, totally grossed out.

"Let me just say," he answered dryly, "I don’t think of myself as a Mahomet or a Napoleon, or anyone like that, and since I’m not, I can’t tell you how I’d act."

"Come on, don’t we all think we’re a little bit like Napoleons now in Russia?" Porfiry Petrovitch said with a creepy familiarity.

Something strange came across in his voice.

"Maybe it was one of these future Napoleons who did in Alyona Ivanovna last week?" Zametov blurted out from the corner.

Raskolnikov didn’t say anything, just stared hard at Porfiry. Razumihin was scowling, looking really bummed. He seemed to be noticing something. He glared around the room. A moment of gloomy silence hung in the air. Raskolnikov turned to leave.

"Already going? Porfiry said cheerfully, holding out his hand with excessive politeness. "Really glad to have met you. About your request, don’t worry about it, write whatever I told you, or, even better, come see me in a day or two... tomorrow, actually. I’ll be there around eleven for sure."

"We’ll sort everything out, have a chat. As one of the last to know, you might be able to tell us something," he added with a really friendly expression.

"You want to officially question me, by the books?" Raskolnikov asked sharply.

Oh, why? That’s not necessary right now. You’re misunderstanding me. I don’t miss a chance, you see, and... I’ve talked to everyone who had something to say... I got info from some of them, and you’re the last...

Yeah, by the way," he cried, as if he’s just remembered something, "what was I thinking of?" he turned to Razumihin, "you were going on and on about that Nikolay...

"of course, I know, I know very well," he turned back to Raskolnikov, "that the guy’s innocent, but what can you do? We had to bother Dmitri too... This is the point, this is all: when you went up the stairs, it was after seven, right?"

"Yeah," Raskolnikov answered, feeling a weird sense that he shouldn't have even said it.

"Painters? No, I didn’t see them," Raskolnikov answered slowly, like he was digging through his memories.

At the same time, he was going crazy trying to figure out the catch, trying not to miss anything.

"No, I didn’t see them, and I don’t remember seeing a place like that open... But on the fourth floor," he said, feeling like he's finally got it under control, "I remember someone moving out of the apartment across from Alyona Ivanovna’s... I remember... I remember it clearly."

"Some movers were carrying out a couch, and they squished me against the wall. But painters... no, I don’t remember any painters, and I don’t think there was a place open anywhere, nope, there wasn’t."

"What are you saying?" Razumihin shouted suddenly, like he just realized something. "Painters were working on the day of the murder, and he was there three days before? What are you even asking?"

"Seriously? I messed up!"

Porfiry slapped himself on the forehead.

"Ugh, this is stressing me out!" he said to Raskolnikov, sounding a little embarrassed. "It would be awesome if we could find out if anyone saw them between seven and eight at the apartment, so I thought maybe you could tell us something... I totally mixed things up."

"You need to pay more attention," Razumihin said, sounding annoyed.

They walked out into the street, feeling down and grumpy, and didn't say anything for a few steps. Raskolnikov took a deep breath.