Part 4 · Chapter 4

Raskolnikov headed straight to the house on the canal - Sonia’s place. It was an old, faded green house with three stories. He tracked down the doorman and got some vague directions about where to find Kapernaumov, the tailor.

After spotting the entrance to a dark, narrow staircase tucked away in the courtyard, he climbed to the second floor and stepped out onto a balcony that wrapped around the whole second story, overlooking the yard.

While he was wandering around in the dim light, trying to figure out where Kapernaumov’s door was, a door opened just a few steps from him; he reached for the knob without thinking.

"Who’s there?" a woman’s voice asked, sounding nervous.

"It’s me... I came to see you," Raskolnikov said, stepping into the tiny entryway.

A candle flickered on a broken chair, sitting in a beat-up copper candlestick.

"It’s you! Oh my goodness !" Sonia gasped, frozen in place.

"Which is your room? This way?" Raskolnikov asked, trying not to look at her, and hurried in.

A minute later, Sonia came in too, with the candle. She set down the candlestick and stood before him, completely thrown, looking really shaken and like she was scared by his surprise visit. Color flooded her pale face, and tears welled up in her eyes...

She felt sick, ashamed, and even a little bit happy... Raskolnikov quickly turned away and sat down on a chair by the table. He quickly scanned the room.

It was a big room, but really low-ceilinged - the only room the Kapernaumovs rented. A closed door in the wall on the left led to their rooms. On the opposite wall, on the right, was another door, always locked. That led to the next apartment, which was a separate rental.

Sonia’s room looked like a barn; it was a really uneven space, giving it a strange appearance. A wall with three windows overlooking the canal sloped at an angle, creating a really sharp corner, and it was hard to see in without bright light. The other corner was awkwardly wide.

There wasn’t much furniture in the big room: a bed frame in the corner on the right, a chair next to it, closest to the door. A plain wooden table covered with a blue cloth stood against the same wall, near the door to the other apartment. Two simple chairs with woven bottoms sat by the table.

On the opposite wall, near the sharp corner, was a small, plain wooden chest of drawers that looked lost in the room. That was it. The yellow, scratched, and worn wallpaper was dark in the corners. It must have been damp and full of fumes in the winter.

You could tell they were struggling; even the bed frame didn't have a curtain.

Sonia silently looked at her visitor, who was so intently and without any manners checking out her room, and even started to tremble with fear, like she was standing before a judge and the one who decided her fate.

"I’m late... It’s eleven, right?" he asked, still not looking up.

"Yeah," Sonia mumbled, "oh yeah, it is," she added quickly, like that was her way out.

"My landlady’s clock just struck... I heard it myself..."

"I’ve come to see you for the last time," Raskolnikov said gloomily, even though it was the first time. "I might not see you again..."

"Are you... leaving?"

"I don’t know... tomorrow..."

"So, you’re not going to Katerina Ivanovna tomorrow?"

Sonia’s voice shook as she asked.

"I don’t know. I’ll know tomorrow morning... Never mind that: I came to say one thing..."

He finally lifted his brooding eyes to her and suddenly realized he was sitting down while she’s been standing the whole time.

"Why are you standing? Sit down," he said, his voice changed, gentle and friendly.

She sat down. He looked at her kindly, almost with compassion.

"You’re so thin! What a hand! Completely see-through, like a dead hand."

He took her hand and Sonia smiled faintly.

"I’ve always been like that," she said.

"Even when you lived at home?"

"Yeah." she replied still smiling.

"Of course, you were," he blurted out, and his face and voice suddenly changed.

He looked around him again.

"You rent this room from the Kapernaumovs?"

"Yeah..."

"They live there, through that door?"

"Yeah... They have another room like this too."

"All in one room?" he asked.

"Yeah. All in one room" she replied

"I’d be creeped out in your room at night," he said gloomily.

"They’re really good people, super kind," Sonia answered, still looking confused, "and all the furniture, everything... everything belongs to them. And they’re really nice, and the kids, too, often come to see me."

"They all stutter, right?"

"Yeah... He stutters and he’s got a limp. And his wife, too... it’s not exactly a stutter, but she can’t really talk straight. She’s a really kind woman. And he used to be a serf. And there are seven kids... and it’s only the oldest one that stutters, and the others are just sick..."

"but they don’t stutter... But where did you hear about them?" she added, surprised.

"Your dad told me, then. He told me all about you... and how you went out at six and came back at nine, and how Katerina Ivanovna knelt by your bed."

Sonia looked at him, very confused.

"I thought I saw him today," she whispered hesitantly.

"Who?" he asked. "Dad. I was walking in the street, out there at the corner, around ten o’clock, and he seemed to be walking in front."

"It looked just like him. I wanted to go to Katerina Ivanovna..."

"You were walking in the streets?"

"Yeah," Sonia whispered abruptly, again looking confused and looking down.

"Katerina Ivanovna used to hit you, I guess?"

"Oh no, what are you saying? No!" Sonia looked at him almost in disbelief.

"You love her, then?"

"Love her? Of course!" said Sonia, with a sad emphasis, and she clasped her hands together in distress. "Oh, you don’t... If you only knew! You see, she’s like a kid... her mind is totally messed up, you know... from all the sadness. And how smart she used to be... how generous... how kind!"

Oh, you don’t get it, you don’t get it! Sonia said this as though she was losing it, wringing her hands in excitement and distress. Her pale cheeks flushed, there was a look of anguish in her eyes. It was clear she was really upset, wanting to talk, to defend, to express something."

Like, a crazy amount of compassion was all over her face.

"Hit me! How can you? Good heavens, hit me! And if she did hit me, so what? What of it? You don’t know anything, nothing about it... She’s so unhappy... oh, so unhappy! And sick... She’s trying to be good, she’s pure. She really believes there’s good everywhere and expects it..."

"And if you tried to hurt her, she wouldn’t do anything wrong. She just doesn’t see that people can’t always be good, and she’s mad about it. Like a kid, like a kid. She’s good!"

"And what’s going to happen to you?"

Sonia looked at him questioningly.

"They’re left in your hands, you know. They’re always been in your hands... and your dad came to you begging for a drink. So, how’s it gonna be now?"

"I don’t know," Sonia said sadly.

"Will they stay there?"

"I don’t know... They owe money for the rent, but I heard the landlady said today she wanted to get rid of them, and Katerina Ivanovna says she won’t stay another minute."

"How is she so bold? Does she rely on you?"

"Seriously, don’t talk like that... We’re a team, we’re living like one."

Sonia was getting worked up again, totally stressed out, like a little bird was freaking out.

"And what could she do? What, what could she do?" she kept asking, getting all heated. "And she was crying so hard today! Her mind is totally out of it, have you noticed? One minute she’s worrying like a kid about everything being perfect tomorrow, like with lunch and all that..."

Then she’s wringing her hands, like, spitting out blood, sobbing, and then suddenly she’s banging her head against the wall, totally lost. Then she’s comforted again.

She’s pinning all her hopes on you; she says you’ll help her now, that she’s gonna borrow some cash somewhere and go to her hometown with me and open a boarding school for rich girls’ daughters and take me to help run it, and we’ll start a whole new awesome life.

And she’s kissing and hugging me, comforting me, and you know, she has so much faith, so much faith in her daydreams! You can’t even argue with her. And all day long she’s been cleaning, scrubbing, mending.

She lugged the wash tub into the room with her shaky hands and collapsed on the bed, gasping for air. We went to the shops this morning to buy shoes for Polenka and Lida, because theirs are falling apart. But we didn’t have enough money, not nearly enough.

"And she picked out the cutest little boots, because she has good taste, you know. And there in the shop, she just burst into tears in front of the shop assistants because she didn’t have enough cash... Ugh, it was so sad to see her..."

"Well, I guess I can see why you’re living like this now," Raskolnikov said with a bitter laugh.

"And aren’t you heartbroken for them? Aren’t you?"

Sonia was seriously at him again.

"I know, you gave your last penny yourself, even though you hadn't seen it, and if you had seen it, oh man! And how many times have I made her cry! Just last week! Yes, me! Just a week before he died. I was harsh! And how often I’ve done it! Ugh, I’ve been feeling awful about it all day!"

Sonia twisted her hands as she remembered it, feeling the pain all over again.

"You were harsh?"

"Yeah, I - I. I went to see them," she went on, crying, "and Dad said, ‘read me something, Sonia, my head hurts, read to me, here’s a book. He had a book he’s gotten from Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, he lives there, he always finds these crazy books."

And I said, ‘I can’t stay,’ because I didn’t feel like reading, and I’d mostly gone there to show Katerina Ivanovna some collars. Lizaveta, the seller, got me some collars and cuffs cheap, pretty, new, embroidered ones. Katerina Ivanovna loved them!

She put them on and looked in the mirror and was thrilled. ‘Give them to me, Sonia,’ she said, ‘please do.’ ‘Please do,’ she said, she wanted them so bad. When could she ever wear them? They just reminded her of her old happy days.

She looked at herself in the mirror, admired herself, and she doesn’t have any clothes at all, hasn't had any for years! And she never asks anyone for anything, she's super proud, she’d rather give everything away. And she actually asked for these, she liked them so much.

And I was hesitant to give them. ‘What good are they to you, Katerina Ivanovna?’ I said. I shouldn’t have said that! She gave me such a look. And she was so upset, so upset that I was refusing her. And it was so sad to see...

"And she wasn’t upset about the collars, but about me refusing, I could tell. Ugh, if only I could go back, change it, take back those words! Ugh, but it’s nothing to you!"

"Did you know Lizaveta, the seller?"

"Yeah... Did you know her?" Sonia asked, surprised.

"Katerina Ivanovna has consumption, really bad consumption; she’s not going to last long," Raskolnikov said after a pause, without answering her question.

"Oh, no, no, no! Please dont say that!"

And Sonia unconsciously grabbed both his hands, like she was begging him not to say that.

"It’s better if she dies."

"No, not better, not even close!" Sonia repeated, totally freaked out.

"And the kids? What are you gonna do, just take them in?"

"Ugh, I don’t know," Sonia cried, practically losing it, and she put her hands to her head.

It was obvious she’d thought about it a lot before, and he was just bringing it up again.

"And what if you get sick, even now, while Katerina Ivanovna is still alive, and end up in the hospital? What then?" he pressed, relentlessly.

"You can’t be serious! That’s impossible!"

And Sonia’s face was a mask of pure terror.

"Impossible?"

Raskolnikov continued with a harsh smirk.

"You’re not immune to that. What happens to them then? They’ll be on the street, all of them. She’ll cough and beg, banging her head against a wall like she did today, and the kids will cry... Then she’ll fall, get taken to the police station and the hospital, and she’ll die, and the kids..."

"Oh, no... God won’t let it happen!"

Sonia finally burst out, her heart completely overwhelmed. She listened, looking at him pleadingly, clasping her hands together in a silent, desperate plea, like it all depended on him. Raskolnikov got up and started pacing the room. A minute went by.

Sonia stood there, defeated, her hands hanging low.

"And can’t you save up? Put some money away for emergencies?" he asked, stopping suddenly in front of her.

"No, I can't" she whispered.

"Of course not. Have you even tried?" he added, almost sarcastically.

"Yeah. I tried many times but..."

"And it didn’t work out? Figures! Didn’t even need to ask."

And he paced the room again. Another minute passed.

"You don’t get money every day?"

Sonia looked more confused than ever, and a blush crept up her face.

"No," she whispered, struggling to get the words out.

"It’s gonna be the same with Polenka, no doubt," he said suddenly.

"No, no! It can’t be, no!" Sonia cried out in desperation, like she’d been stabbed. "God won’t let anything so awful happen!"

"He lets it happen to others."

"No, no! God will protect her, God!" she repeated, losing it.

"But, maybe, there’s no God at all," Raskolnikov answered with a cruel laugh, looking at her.

Sonia’s face suddenly changed; a shiver ran through her. She looked at him with utter disappointment, tried to say something, but couldn’t, and burst into heartbroken sobs, hiding her face in her hands.

"You say Katerina Ivanovna’s lost it; you’ve lost it too," he said after a moment of silence.

Five minutes passed. He kept pacing in silence, not looking at her. Finally, he went up to her; his eyes glinted. He put his hands on her shoulders and stared straight into her tear-stained face. His eyes were hard, feverish, and piercing, his lips were twitching.

Suddenly, he bent down quickly and dropped to his knees, kissing her foot. Sonia recoiled from him as if he were crazy. And he looked like one.

"What are you doing to me?" she muttered, turning pale, and a wave of anguish washed over her.

He stood up instantly.

"I wasn’t bowing to you, I was bowing to all the suffering in the world," he said wildly, and walked to the window. "Listen," he added, turning to her a minute later.

"I just told some arrogant guy that he wasn’t worth your little finger... and that I did my sister an honor making her sit beside you."

"Oh my god, you said that to them? In front of her? ‘Sit with me? An honor?’ I’m... a mess... Why would you say that?"

"It wasn’t because you messed up or did something wrong, I said that," he explained. "It’s because you’ve been through so much."

He paused, then added almost seriously, "But you are a mess, that’s true."

"And your biggest mistake is that you’ve completely wrecked yourself for nothing. Isn’t that terrifying?"

Isn’t it scary that you’re living in this grossness that you hate so much, and at the same time you know - you just have to open your eyes - that you’re not helping anyone, not saving anyone from anything?

Tell me, he went on, almost frantic, how can you deal with this shame and humiliation alongside all those other, good, pure feelings you have? It would be a thousand times better, wiser, to just end it all!

"But what would happen to them?" Sonia asked softly, looking at him with anguish, but not really surprised by his suggestion.

Raskolnikov stared at her strangely. He saw everything in her face; she’s obviously had that thought before, maybe a bunch of times. She’s thought it through so much in her despair that now she barely even wonders at his suggestion. She hadn’t even noticed how harsh his words were.

(He realized she hadn’t noticed the significance of his accusations and his attitude toward her shame, which was also clear to him. But he saw how monstrously her awful, shameful situation was torturing her, and had been torturing her for a long time.

"What, what," he thought, "has been stopping her from ending it?"

Only then did he understand what those poor little orphans and that pitiful, half-crazy Katerina Ivanovna, banging her head against the wall from consumption, meant to Sonia.

But, still, he realized again that with her character and the education she’s had, she couldn't stay like that. He was still stuck on the question: how could she have stayed in that situation for so long without losing her mind, especially since she clearly hated it?

Of course, he knew Sonia’s situation was an extreme case, though unfortunately not unique or rare. But her personality, her education, her past life - you’d think that would have crushed her at the first step down that awful path. What was holding her back - surely not just being bad?

All that awful stuff had just touched her superficially; not a single drop of true evil had penetrated her heart, he saw that. He could see right through her as she stood before him...

"There are three options for her," he thought, "the canal, a mental institution, or... eventually sinking into depravity that clouds your mind and turns your heart to stone."

The last idea was the most disgusting, but he was a skeptic, young, abstract, and therefore kind of cruel. So he couldn’t help but believe that the worst outcome was the most likely.

"But can that be true?" he cried to himself. "Can that person who still has a pure spirit be consciously dragged into that pit of filth and corruption? Has that process already started? Is she only holding on because being bad is starting to seem less horrible?"

No, no, that can’t be!" he cried, just like Sonia had before. "No, what’s kept her from the canal until now is the idea of sin, and those kids... And if she hasn’t gone completely crazy... but who says she hasn’t? Is she even in her right mind? Can you even talk, can you reason with her?

"How can she sit on the edge of that abyss of disgustingness she’s falling into and ignore warnings? Is she expecting a miracle? Probably. Doesn’t that just scream crazy?"

He stubbornly clung to that thought. He actually liked that explanation better than any other. He started looking at her more closely.

"So you pray to God a lot, Sonia?" he asked.

Sonia didn’t say anything; he stood next to her, waiting for an answer.

"What would I even be without God?" she whispered, really fast, almost urgently, glancing at him with suddenly bright eyes, and squeezing his hand.

"Ah, so that’s it!" he thought.

"And what does God do for you?" he asked, pressing her further.

Sonia was silent for a long time, like she couldn't answer. Her chest heaved with emotion.

"Be quiet! Don’t ask! You don’t deserve to know!" she cried suddenly, looking at him with a stern, angry expression.

"That’s it, that’s it," he repeated to himself.

"He does everything," she whispered, looking down again.

"That’s the way out! That’s the explanation," he decided, studying her with eager curiosity, a new, weird, almost creepy feeling washing over him.

He stared at that pale, thin, uneven, angular little face, those soft blue eyes, which could flash with so much fire, so much stern energy, that little body still shaking with indignation and anger - and it all seemed to him stranger and more impossible than ever.

"She’s a religious fanatic!" he repeated to himself.

There was a book lying on the chest of drawers. He's noticed it every time he paced around the room. Now he picked it up and looked at it. It was the New Testament, translated into Russian. It was bound in old, worn leather.

"Where did you get that?" he called to her across the room.

She was still standing in the same spot, just three steps from the table.

"Someone brought it to me," she answered, almost unwillingly, not looking at him.

"Who brought it?"

"Lizaveta. I asked her for it."

"Lizaveta! That’s weird!" he thought.

Everything about Sonia seemed stranger and more amazing to him every moment. He carried the book to the candle and started flipping through the pages.

"Where’s the story of Lazarus?" he asked suddenly.

Sonia stubbornly stared at the floor and wouldn’t answer. She was standing sideways to the table.

"Where’s the raising of Lazarus? Find it for me, Sonia."

She glanced at him quickly.

"You’re not looking in the right place... It’s in the fourth gospel," she whispered sternly, without looking at him.

"Find it and read it to me," he said.

He sat down, resting his elbow on the table, leaning his head on his hand and looking away, ready to listen.

"In three weeks, they’ll lock me up in a mental hospital! I’ll be there if I’m in an even worse place," he muttered to himself.

Sonia heard Raskolnikov’s request with suspicion and moved hesitantly to the table. She took the book, though.

"Haven’t you read it?" she asked, looking up at him across the table.

Her voice grew sterner and sterner.

"A long time ago... when I was at school. Read!"

"And haven’t you heard it in church?"

"I... haven’t been. Do you go often?"

"No, I don't" whispered Sonia.

Raskolnikov smiled.

"I understand... And you won’t go to your father’s funeral tomorrow?"

"Yes, I will. I went to church last week too... I had a memorial service."

"A memorial service, For who?"

"For Lizaveta. She was killed with an axe."

His nerves were getting more and more tense. His head started to spin.

"Were you friends with Lizaveta?"

"Yes... She was good... she used to come over... not often... she couldn’t... We used to read together and... talk. She’s with God now."

The last phrase sounded strange to his ears. And here was something new again: secret meetings with Lizaveta and both of them - religious fanatics.

"I’m going to be a religious fanatic myself soon! It’s contagious!"

"Read!" he cried impatiently and insistently.

Sonia still hesitated. Her heart was pounding. She barely dared to read to him. He looked almost annoyed at the "unhappy nutcase."

"Why? You don’t even believe...?" she whispered softly, almost breathless.

"Read! I want you to," he insisted.

"You used to read to Lizaveta."

Sonia opened the book and found the right page. Her hands were shaking so bad, she couldn’t even speak. She tried to start twice, but the words just wouldn't come out.

"Once upon a time, there was a man named Lazarus, who was sick and lived in Bethany..." she finally managed to read, but her voice cracked after just three words, like a frayed guitar string.

She gasped for breath.

Raskolnikov started to understand why Sonia was struggling to read to him, and the more he realized this, the more impatient and annoyed he got, insisting she keep going. He totally got how painful it was for her to reveal everything that was her own.

He knew those feelings were her secret treasure, something she’s probably held onto for years, maybe even since she was a kid, living with an unhappy dad and a stepmom who was totally lost in grief, surrounded by hungry kids and constant fighting and insults.

But at the same time, he knew she had this intense need to read aloud to him, even though it terrified her, to read whatever happened, no matter the cost! He saw it in her eyes, the raw emotion all over her face.

She took a deep breath, fought back the shaking in her throat, and kept reading the eleventh chapter of St. John. She moved on to the nineteenth verse:

"Lots of Jewish people came to Martha and Mary to comfort them about their brother."

"As soon as Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed home."

"Martha said to Jesus, ‘If you’d been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.’"

"But I know that even now, if you ask God for anything, he’ll give it to you.’"

Then she stopped again, feeling mortified that her voice would probably shake and break again.

"Jesus said to her, ‘Your brother will rise again.’"

"Martha said to him, ‘I know he’s going to rise again when everyone else does, on the last day.’"

"Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in me, even if they die, will live again.’"

"And whoever is alive and believes in me will never really die. Do you believe this?’"

She asked him while taking a shaky breath.

Sonia read clearly and forcefully, like she was confessing her faith out loud.

"Yes, Lord. I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who’s supposed to come into the world."

She stopped and glanced up at him quickly, then controlled herself and kept reading. Raskolnikov sat still, elbows on the table, staring away. She read through the thirty-second verse.

"When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet, saying, ‘If you’d been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.’"

"When Jesus saw her crying, and the Jewish people crying with her, he was deeply saddened and troubled."

"‘Where have you laid him?’ he asked."

"‘Come and see, Lord,’ they said."

"Jesus just wept."

"‘Look how much he loved him!’ the Jews exclaimed."

"Some of them said, ‘If this man, who opened the eyes of the blind, couldn’t prevent this man from dying, what can he do?’"

Raskolnikov turned and looked at her, totally emotional. Seriously, he knew it! She was shaking, like, a legit fever. He’s been expecting it. She was getting to the part about the biggest miracle ever, and he felt this rush of triumph.

Her voice rang out, clear as a bell; triumph and joy made it powerful. The words danced in front of her eyes, but she knew them by heart.

At the last verse, "Could not this Man which opened the eyes of the blind..." dropping her voice, she passionately repeated the doubt, the blame, and the disbelief of the blind Jews, who just a second later would fall at His feet like they'd been struck by lightning, sobbing and believing...

"And he, he - too, is blinded and unbelieving, he, too, will hear, he, too, will believe, yes, yes! Right now!"

She was trembling with happy anticipation.

"Jesus therefore again groaning in Himself comes to the grave. It was a cave, and a stone was on top."

"Jesus said, Take away the stone."

Martha, the sister of the dead guy, says to Him, "Lord, by now he stinks. He’s been dead for four days."

She really emphasized the word four.

"Jesus says to her, Didn’t I tell you that if you believe, you’ll see the glory of God?"

Then they took away the stone from where the dead guy was lying. And Jesus looked up and said, Father, I thank You that You heard Me.

"And I knew that You always hear Me; but I said it out loud so that the people standing around would believe that You sent Me."

"And when He had said that, He shouted, Lazarus, come out!"

"And the guy who was dead came out."

(She read it loud, cold and trembling with excitement, like she was actually seeing it.)

"Wrapped up tight with burial clothes; and his face was wrapped with a cloth. Jesus says to them, Unwrap him and let him go."

"Then many of the Jews who came to Mary and saw what Jesus did started believing in Him."

She couldn’t read anymore, closed the book, and jumped up from her chair.

"That’s all about raising Lazarus," she whispered, seriously and abruptly.

Turning away, she stood frozen, not even daring to look at him. She was still shaking like crazy.

The candle was flickering out in the beat-up holder, dimly lighting up the super-poor room with the murderer and the... well, the girl who’s been living on the margins, who had so strangely been reading the eternal book together. Five minutes or more passed.

"I came to talk about something," Raskolnikov said out loud, frowning.

He got up and went to Sonia. She looked up at him silently. His face was super serious, and there was this wild determination in his eyes.

"I ditched my family today," he said, "my mom and sister. I’m not going to see them. I’m done with them, totally."

"Why?" asked Sonia, totally shocked.

Her recent meeting with his mom and sister had really affected her, but she couldn't quite figure out why. She heard his news and felt like she was falling.

"I only have you now," he added.

"Let’s go together... I came to you, we’re both cursed, let’s go our way together!"

His eyes were gleaming "like he was crazy," Sonia thought.

"Go where?" she asked, scared and instinctively stepped back.

"How should I know? I only know it’s the same road, I know that and nothing more. It’s the same goal!"

She looked at him and didn’t understand a thing. She just knew that he was incredibly, infinitely unhappy.

"No one of them will understand if you tell them, but I get it. I need you, that’s why I came to you."

"I don’t get it," whispered Sonia.

"You’ll get it later. Haven’t you done the same? You’ve messed up too... you’re strong enough to mess up. You’ve hurt yourself, you’re destroying a life... your own (it’s all the same!). You could’ve lived with understanding, but you’ll end up in the Hay Market..."

"But you won’t be able to handle it, and if you’re alone, you’ll lose it like me. You’re already acting crazy. So we gotta go together down the same path! Let’s go!"

"Why? What’s the point of all this?" said Sonia, suddenly and intensely upset by his words.

"The point is, you can’t stay like this! You gotta face things head-on, stop crying like a kid and saying God won’t allow it. What’s gonna happen if they take you to the hospital tomorrow? She’s losing it, she’s got consumption, she’s gonna die soon, and the kids?"

You really think Polenka won’t end up in trouble? You’ve seen kids on these street corners, sent out by their moms to beg, right? I know where those moms live and what they’re living like. Kids can’t stay kids there! By seven, they’re already vicious and stealing.

"But kids, you know, are supposed to be like little angels: ‘the kingdom of Heaven belongs to them.’ He told us to honor and love them, they’re the future of humanity..."

"What are we gonna do, what are we gonna do?" repeated Sonia, sobbing uncontrollably and wringing her hands.

"What are we gonna do? Break what needs to be broken, once and for all, and take the pain on yourself. Don’t you get it? You’ll understand later... Freedom and power, and especially power! Over everything trembling and chaotic, over the whole mess!... That’s the goal, remember that!"

"That’s my goodbye message. Maybe it’s the last time I’ll talk to you. If I don’t show up tomorrow, you’ll hear about it, and then remember these words. And someday, years from now, you might finally understand what they meant. If I do come tomorrow, I’ll tell you who killed Lizaveta... Goodbye."

Sonia jumped back in shock.

"Wait, do you know who killed her?" she asked, chilled with fear, staring wildly at him.

"I know and I’ll tell... just you. I picked you. I’m not coming to you to ask for forgiveness, just to tell you. I picked you out a long time ago to hear this, when your dad talked about you, and when Lizaveta was alive, I thought about it. Goodbye, no handshake. Tomorrow!"

He left. Sonia looked at him like he was crazy. But she felt like one herself, her head spinning.

"Oh my god, how does he know who killed Lizaveta? What did those words mean? This is awful!"

But the thought didn’t even cross her mind, not for a second!

"Oh, he must be so unhappy! He abandoned his mom and sister... Why? What happened? What was he thinking? What did he say to her? He kissed her foot and said... said (yeah, he said it clearly) that he couldn’t live without her... Oh, merciful heavens!"

Sonia spent the whole night feverish and delirious.

She kept waking up, crying and wringing her hands, then sinking back into a restless sleep and dreaming about Polenka, Katerina Ivanovna, and Lizaveta, about reading the gospel, and him... him with a pale face, burning eyes... kissing her feet, crying.

Across the hall, on the right, was a room that separated Sonia’s space from Madame Resslich’s apartment - it had been empty for ages. There was a sign on the door and a notice taped to the windows facing the canal, basically saying it was for rent. Sonia was used to it being vacant.

But all this time, Mr. Svidrigaïlov had been standing there, listening at the door of that empty room. When Raskolnikov left, he froze, thought for a sec, then tiptoed to his own room, which was right next to the empty one.

He grabbed a chair and quietly carried it to the door leading to Sonia’s room.

He’d found their conversation super interesting and thought it was wild - so much so that he brought a chair so he wouldn't have to stand for a whole hour tomorrow, or any time in the future, and could just chill while he listened.