Part 4 · Chapter 2

It was almost eight o’clock. The two young guys rushed to Bakaleyev’s, trying to get there before Luzhin.

"Who was that?" asked Razumihin as soon as they were on the street.

"It was Svidrigaïlov, that landowner whose house my sister was messed with when she was their governess. He kept hitting on her, and his wife, Marfa Petrovna, basically kicked her out. Then Marfa Petrovna apologized later, and she just died suddenly. That’s what we were talking about this morning."

"I don’t know why I’m freaked out by that guy. He showed up here right after his wife’s funeral. He's seriously weird, and he’s set on doing something... We need to protect Dounia from him... do you hear me?"

"Protect her! What can he even do to Avdotya Romanovna? Thanks, Rodya, for telling me like that... We’ll protect her. Where does he live?"

"I have no clue."

"Why didn’t you ask? That’s a bummer! I’ll find out though."

"Did you see him?" asked Raskolnikov after a beat.

"Yeah, I spotted him, I noticed him well."

"You really saw him? You saw him clearly?" Raskolnikov pressed.

"Yeah, I remember him perfectly, I'd recognize him anywhere; I have a good memory for faces."

They were quiet for a bit.

"Hm... that’s okay," muttered Raskolnikov.

"You know, I thought... I keep thinking it might’ve been a hallucination."

"What do you mean? I’m lost."

"Well, you all say," Raskolnikov went on, twisting his mouth into a weird smile, "that I’m crazy. I just thought maybe I really am, and I only saw a ghost."

"What are you saying?"

"Who knows? Maybe I'm totally bonkers, and maybe everything that’s happened these past few days was just a dream."

"Ach, Rodya, you're worked up again! But what did he say, what did he come for?"

Raskolnikov didn’t answer. Razumihin thought for a moment.

"Okay, let me fill you in," he began.

"I came to you, you were asleep. Then we had dinner, and then I went to Porfiry’s. Zametov was still with him. I tried to bring it up, but it was hopeless. I couldn’t put it into the right words. They just weren’t getting it, and they didn’t even seem to care."

I pulled Porfiry to the window and started talking to him, but it still didn't work. He looked away, and I looked away. Finally, I balled my fist and told him, like a cousin, I’d knock him out. He just looked at me, I cursed, and I left. That was it. It was totally lame.

I didn’t say a word to Zametov. But, you know, I thought I’d totally messed up, but as I was heading downstairs, a brilliant idea hit me: why even bother? Of course, if you were in danger or anything, but why should you even care? You don’t owe them anything.

"We’ll laugh at them later, and if I were you, I'd mess with them even more. How embarrassed they’ll be afterwards! Let’s laugh at them now!"

"Totally," answered Raskolnikov. "But what will you say tomorrow?" he thought to himself.

Weirdly, until that moment, it hadn’t even occurred to him to wonder what Razumihin would think when he found out. As he thought it, Raskolnikov looked at him. Razumihin’s story about his visit to Porfiry was kind of boring now, so much had happened since then.

They bumped into Luzhin in the hallway; he’s already there, right on time at eight, looking for the apartment number, so all three of them just went inside together without even saying hi.

The guys went in first, while Pyotr Petrovitch, being polite, hung back a bit in the hallway, taking off his coat. Pulcheria Alexandrovna rushed to the door to greet him, and Dounia was welcoming her brother.

Pyotr Petrovitch walked in and bowed to the ladies, super friendly but trying to act important. Still, he looked kinda thrown off, like he hadn’t quite recovered. Pulcheria Alexandrovna, looking a little awkward too, quickly got them all to sit down at the round table where the samovar was boiling.

Dounia and Luzhin ended up facing each other across the table, while Razumihin and Raskolnikov were facing Pulcheria Alexandrovna - Razumihin was next to Luzhin, and Raskolnikov was sitting beside his sister.

There was a beat of silence. Pyotr Petrovitch pulled out a handkerchief soaked in cologne and blew his nose like a totally self-important dude who felt slighted and was determined to get an explanation.

He'd even thought about just keeping his coat on and walking away, giving the ladies a serious talking-to and showing them how serious things were. But he couldn't do it. Plus, he hated not knowing things, and he needed answers.

If they’d ignored him like that, there had to be a reason, so he’s better off finding it out now. He could deal with punishing them later.

"Hope you had a good trip," he asked Pulcheria Alexandrovna formally.

"Oh, yeah, Pyotr Petrovitch."

"Great to hear that. And Avdotya Romanovna isn’t too exhausted, either?"

"I’d be fine, I’m young and strong, but it was rough on Mom," Dounia replied.

"Unavoidable! Our trains are crazy long. ‘Mother Russia,’ you know? ... I really wanted to see you yesterday, but things got hectic. I hope everything went okay?"

"Oh, it was a total nightmare," Pulcheria Alexandrovna rushed to say with a weird tone, "and if Dmitri Prokofitch hadn’t come, I honestly think we’d have been totally lost. Here he is! Dmitri Prokofitch Razumihin," she announced, introducing him to Luzhin.

"Nice to see you... yesterday," Pyotr Petrovitch muttered with a side-eye glance at Razumihin, then he frowned and went silent.

Pyotr Petrovitch was one of those people, all polite and proper on the outside, who made a big deal about being perfect. But if anyone crossed him, he totally lost it and acted like a total mess.

Everything was quiet again; Raskolnikov wasn’t saying anything, and Avdotya Romanovna didn’t want to start the conversation just yet. Razumihin didn’t have anything to add, so Pulcheria Alexandrovna was getting anxious.

"Marfa Petrovna died, have you heard?" she began, going back to her usual topic.

"Yeah, I heard. I got the news already, and I came to tell you that Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigaïlov left for Petersburg super fast right after his wife’s funeral. At least, that’s what I’m hearing from reliable sources."

"Petersburg? Here?" Dounia asked, sounding worried, and looked at her mom.

"Yep, and probably for a reason, considering how quickly he left and everything that happened before."

"Oh my god! Won’t he even leave Dounia alone, even here?" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"Seriously, I doubt either you or Avdotya Romanovna have anything to worry about, unless you’re trying to get in touch with him yourselves. I'm being careful and trying to figure out where he's staying."

"Oh, Pyotr Petrovitch, you gave me such a scare," Pulcheria Alexandrovna continued.

"I’d only seen him twice, but I thought he was awful, just terrible! I’m convinced he was the reason Marfa Petrovna died."

"It’s impossible to say for sure. I have solid info. I’m not arguing that he might have sped things up with his influence, like a subtle push; but when it comes to his character, I agree with you."

I don’t know if he’s doing okay now, or exactly what Marfa Petrovna left him - I’ll know soon enough; but if he’s got any money, he’s going right back to his old habits here in Petersburg. He’s the most messed-up, pathetic guy you’ll ever meet.

I have good reason to believe that Marfa Petrovna, who was so unlucky to fall for him and pay his debts eight years ago, helped him out in other ways too.

"Thanks to her efforts and sacrifices, a serious criminal charge - something really brutal that could have landed him in Siberia - was quietly dropped. That’s the kind of person he is, if you want to know."

"Good grief!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna exclaimed.

Raskolnikov listened intently.

"Are you serious about having proof of this?" Dounia asked sharply and firmly.

"I’m just repeating what I was told in confidence by Marfa Petrovna. Legally, the case wasn’t really clear. There was, and I think still is, a woman named Resslich, a foreigner, who loaned out small amounts of money and ran errands."

Svidrigaïlov had really close, mysterious dealings with her for a long time. She lived with a niece, I think - a deaf and dumb girl who was around fifteen or fourteen. Resslich totally hated this girl and was always scrimping on her. She used to beat her badly.

One day, the girl was found hanging in the attic. The inquest ruled it a suicide. After the usual procedures, it was over, but later, someone came forward saying the child had been... horribly abused by Svidrigaïlov.

It wasn't really proven, just gossip from another loose woman who couldn’t be trusted; no official statement was made to the police, thanks to Marfa Petrovna’s money and efforts. And yet, it's a really telling story.

"You heard, no doubt, Avdotya Romanovna, when you were with them, about the servant Philip who died of mistreatment six years ago, before serfdom was abolished."

"Actually, I heard that Philip hanged himself."

"Right, but what pushed him, or rather, made him more likely, to commit suicide was Svidrigaïlov’s constant bullying and harshness."

"I don’t know about that," Dounia replied dryly. "I only heard a weird story that Philip was a bit of a weirdo, a sort of homebody philosopher, the servants used to say, ‘he read himself silly,’ and that he hanged himself partly because of Svidrigaïlov mocking him, not because he was beaten."

"When I was there, he was good to the servants, and they actually liked him, even though they did blame him for Philip’s death."

"I get the feeling, Avdotya Romanovna, you’re suddenly all about defending him," Luzhin said, twisting his lips into a weird smile. "No doubt he’s a smooth talker, especially with women. Look at what happened with Marfa Petrovna, who died so mysteriously."

Honestly, I just wanted to give you and your mom some advice, knowing he’s gonna try something again. I’m telling you, he’s gonna end up in debtor's prison, for sure.

"Marfa Petrovna wasn’t planning on leaving him anything big, thinking about the kids, and if she did, it would just be a tiny bit, something that wouldn’t even last a year with his spending habits."

"Pyotr Petrovitch, please," Dounia said, "don’t talk about Mr. Svidrigaïlov. It’s making me upset."

"He just came to see me," Raskolnikov said, breaking his silence.

Everyone reacted, and they all turned to him. Even Pyotr Petrovitch seemed interested.

"About an hour and a half ago, he just walked in while I was asleep, woke me up, and introduced himself," Raskolnikov continued.

"He seemed pretty chill and relaxed, and he’s hoping we’ll become friends. He’s especially pushing for a chat with you, Dounia, and asked me to help set it up. He’s got a proposal for you, and he told me all about it."

"He also mentioned that, a week before she died, Marfa Petrovna left you three thousand rubles in her will, Dounia, and you can get the money pretty soon."

"Thank God!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna exclaimed, crossing herself. "Let’s pray for her soul, Dounia!"

"It’s true," Luzhin chimed in.

"Tell us, what else?" Dounia urged Raskolnikov.

"Then he said he wasn’t rich and that all the estate was left to his kids, who are staying with an aunt. He’s staying somewhere not far from me, but I don’t know where, I didn’t ask..."

"But what, what does he want to propose to Dounia?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked, clearly worried.

"Did he tell you?" "Yeah."

"Tell me, what was it?"

"I’ll tell you later."

Raskolnikov stopped talking and went back to his tea.

Pyotr Petrovitch looked at his watch.

"I’ve gotta run to a business thing, so I won’t be in the way," he added, with a bit of a grumpy tone, and started to get up.

"Don’t go, Pyotr Petrovitch," Dounia said, "you wanted to spend the evening here. Plus, you wrote that you needed to talk to Mom."

"That’s right, Avdotya Romanovna," Pyotr Petrovitch replied, sitting back down but still holding his hat. "I definitely wanted to have a serious conversation with you and your mom about something really important."

"But since my brother can’t openly discuss Mr. Svidrigaïlov’s proposals in my presence, I, too, can’t openly talk... in front of everyone... about certain matters of the greatest importance. Plus, my most important request was completely ignored..."

Putting on an offended look, Luzhin fell silent.

"Your request that my brother shouldn’t be present at our meeting was disregarded only at my insistence," Dounia said. "You wrote that my brother had insulted you; I think that needs to be explained right now, and you need to make up. And if Rodya really insulted you, then he’s gonna apologize."

Pyotr Petrovitch took a stronger stance.

"There are insults, Avdotya Romanovna, that no amount of goodwill can erase. There’s a line you can’t cross; and once it’s been crossed, there’s no going back."

"That’s not exactly what I was saying, Pyotr Petrovitch," Dounia interrupted, sounding a little frustrated. "Seriously, our whole future depends on getting this cleared up and sorted out ASAP."

"I'm just being upfront: I cann't see it any other way, and if you care about me at all, this needs to be over today, no matter how tough it is. I’m telling you straight up: if my brother’s in the wrong, he’s gonna ask for your forgiveness."

"I’m kinda shocked you put it like that," Luzhin said, getting visibly annoyed. "Even though I really like you, and, like, totally adore you, I can still dislike a family member. I’m claiming your happiness, but I can’t take on responsibilities that..."

"Ugh, don't get so defensive, Pyotr Petrovitch," Dounia cut in, sounding genuinely upset.

"Just be the sensible, generous guy I’ve always thought you were, and I want you to be. I’m making you a huge promise - I’m your fiancée. Trust me on this, and believe me, I’m totally capable of being fair. Me stepping up to be the judge is just as surprising to my brother as it is to you."

When I pushed him to come to our chat today after your letter, I didn’t tell him what I was planning. Get this: if you guys can’t make up, I’m choosing between you - it's either you or him. That's where things stand with both of you. I don't want to make a mistake, and I can’t make one.

"I’d break things off with my brother for your sake, and break off with you for my brother’s. I need to know for sure if he’s really my brother, and I need to know if you care about me, if you respect me, if you’re the guy I want to marry."

"Avdotya Romanovna," Luzhin declared, sounding offended, "your words are way too important to me; I’ll say more, they’re insulting, considering my position with you."

"Not to mention you’re putting me on the same level as some random kid, and you’re even saying there’s a chance you could break your promise to me. Saying ‘you or him’ shows how little you think of me... I can’t just let this go considering our relationship and... the commitments we have."

"Seriously!" Dounia exclaimed, her cheeks flushing. "I put your happiness above everything that’s ever been most important to me, what’s made up my entire life, and you’re offended that I’m not making you a big deal?"

Raskolnikov smirked sarcastically, Razumihin shifted nervously, but Pyotr Petrovitch didn’t back down; instead, he got more persistent and agitated, almost like he was enjoying the argument.

"Love for your future spouse, your husband, should be stronger than your love for your brother," he stated seriously, "and honestly, I can’t be put in the same category..."

Even though I said really clearly that I wouldn’t talk about this in front of your brother, I still need to ask your mom for a clear explanation about something really important that affects my reputation.

Your son," he turned to Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "yesterday, while Mr. Razsudkin was here (or...wait, is that his name? sorry, I totally forgot," he bowed politely to Razumihin) "twisted around something I told you in private, while we were having coffee.

Basically, I said that marrying someone who’s been through tough times and isn’t wealthy is actually a better move for a marriage than marrying someone who's always had it easy, because it builds character.

Your son totally blew my words out of proportion and made them sound ridiculous, accusing me of having bad intentions, and as far as I could tell, he used your letters to him. I’m hoping you can convince me I’m wrong, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, and reassure me.

"Can you tell me exactly how you repeated my words in your letter to Rodion Romanovitch?"

"I don’t really remember," Pulcheria Alexandrovna stammered.

"I just said what I thought I heard. I don’t know how Rodya said it to you, maybe he exaggerated."

"He couldn’t have exaggerated it unless you encouraged him."

"Pyotr Petrovitch," Pulcheria Alexandrovna declared with dignity, "the fact that Dounia and I didn’t take your words badly is that we’re right here."

"Good point, Mom," said Dounia approvingly.

"So, it’s my fault again," said Luzhin, sounding put out.

"Well, Pyotr Petrovitch, you keep blaming Rodion, but you’re the one who wrote something untrue about him," Pulcheria Alexandrovna added, gaining confidence.

"I don’t remember writing anything untrue."

"You wrote," Raskolnikov said sharply, not looking at Luzhin, "that I gave money yesterday to the daughter of the man who was killed (who I’d never even seen until yesterday), not to his widow, which is what actually happened."

"You did this to create problems between me and my family, and you added some pretty harsh comments about a girl you don’t even know. It’s just mean gossip."

"Excuse me, sir," said Luzhin, visibly angry. "I just expanded on your qualities and behavior in my letter in response to your sister’s and mother’s questions about how I found you and what impression you made on me."

"As for what you’re bringing up from my letter, point out one lie, show that you didn’t waste your money, and that there aren’t any bad people in that family, no matter how unlucky."

"Honestly, with all your supposed good qualities, you’re not even worth the little finger of that unfortunate girl you’re attacking."

"Would you let her hang out with your mom and sister then?"

"I already have. I had her sit down with Mom and Dounia today."

"Rodya!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

Dounia blushed, Razumihin frowned. Luzhin smirked sarcastically.

"You can see for yourselves, Avdotya Romanovna," he said, "if we can even get along. I hope this is finally settled. I’ll leave you to enjoy some family time and share secrets."

He got up from his chair and grabbed his hat.

"But before I go, I’m asking you to avoid these kinds of meetings and compromises in the future. I’m especially talking to you, honoured Pulcheria Alexandrovna, because my letter was addressed to you and you alone."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna felt a little stung.

"You’re acting like we’re completely under your control, Pyotr Petrovitch. Dounia already explained why your request was turned down - she had the best intentions. And you're basically laying down commands. Do we have to treat every single thing you want as an order?"

"Let me tell you straight up that you should be extra considerate of us right now, because we’re starting over, and we’re relying on you, so in a way, we’re kind of in your hands."

"That’s not really true, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, especially now that we’ll be hearing about Marfa Petrovna’s inheritance, which honestly seems pretty convenient, judging by the new attitude you’re giving me," he added sarcastically.

"Sounds like you were counting on us being helpless," Dounia observed, clearly annoyed.

"But now you can’t count on it. And I especially don’t want to interfere with your discussion of Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigaïlov’s secret proposals, which he’s entrusted to your brother and which, I can see, are really interesting for you."

"Seriously?!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna exclaimed.

Razumihin couldn’t sit still in his chair.

"Aren’t you embarrassed, sister?" Raskolnikov asked.

"I am embarrassed, Rodya," Dounia said. "Pyotr Petrovitch, please leave," she turned to him, her face white with anger.

Pyotr Petrovitch hadn’t expected that at all. He was way too confident, sure of his power and how helpless his targets were. He still couldn’t believe it. He turned pale, and his lips started to tremble.

"Avdotya Romanovna, if I walk out that door now, after being dismissed like that, then, you can bet I won’t be back. Think about what you’re doing. My word is solid."

"What nerve!" Dounia cried, jumping up from her seat. "I don’t want you to come back."

"What?! So that’s it?" Luzhin exclaimed, completely unable to believe the breakup, totally thrown off balance. "So that’s how it is! But do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, that I could protest?"

"What right do you have to talk to her like that?"

Pulcheria Alexandrovna intervened heatedly.

"And what are you going to protest? What rights do you have? Am I supposed to give my Dounia to a guy like you? Go away, leave us alone! We’re to blame for agreeing to something wrong, and I especially..."

"But you’re bound to me, Pulcheria Alexandrovna," Luzhin stormed in a frenzy, "by your promise, and now you’re denying it and... besides... I’ve been racking up expenses because of it..."

This last complaint was so typical of Pyotr Petrovitch that Raskolnikov, pale with anger and struggling to hold himself back, couldn’t help but burst out laughing. But Pulcheria Alexandrovna was furious.

"Expenses? What expenses? Are you talking about our trunk? But the conductor brought it for free for you. Have mercy, we’re the ones who are bound! What are you thinking about, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was you who bound us, not the other way around!"

"Enough, mother, please stop," Avdotya Romanovna pleaded.

"Pyotr Petrovitch, please be nice and go!"

"I’m going, but one last thing," he said, completely unable to control himself. "Your mom seems to have completely forgotten that I made up my mind to take you, so to speak, after all the gossip about your reputation spread all over town."

Ignoring what people were saying for your sake and fixing your reputation, I certainly could have expected a little something in return, and I could have looked for gratitude from you. And my eyes are only just opening now!

"I see that I may have acted really, really recklessly in ignoring everyone’s opinion..."

"Does this guy want to get punched?" Razumihin yelled, jumping up.

"You’re a mean and nasty person!" Dounia cried.

"Seriously, zip it! Don’t move a muscle!" Raskolnikov yelled, holding Razumihin back.

Then, stepping close to Luzhin, he said calmly, "Hey, can you just leave the room? And no more talking, okay?"

Pyotr Petrovitch stared at him for a few seconds, his face pale with anger. Then, he turned and walked out. He’s never felt so much hate for anyone in his life - and it was all Raskolnikov’s fault. He blamed Raskolnikov, and him alone, for everything that went wrong.

As he headed downstairs, he still thought maybe he wasn’t totally screwed, and that he could still salvage things with the ladies - things could "probably work out just fine."