Part 6 · Chapter 1

A weird phase hit Raskolnikov: it felt like a thick fog had rolled in, isolating him in a gloomy solitude with no way out. Looking back on it later, he thought his mind had been totally clouded at times, and it stayed that way, with breaks, until everything crashed down.

He was sure he’d been wrong about a lot of things back then, like the exact dates of certain events. Trying to piece things together later, he learned a lot about himself from what other people told him.

He’d mixed up details and explained things as if they were caused by situations that only existed in his imagination. Sometimes he was hit with waves of really intense anxiety, bordering on panic.

But he also remembered moments, hours, maybe even whole days, of complete apathy - a total blank, like a reaction to the fear he'd been feeling. It was like he was trying to shut out a full, clear understanding of what was going on.

Certain important things that needed attention really bothered him. He’d have given anything to be free from some worries, ignoring them would have led to total, unavoidable disaster.

He was especially stressed about Svidrigaïlov; he couldn't stop thinking about him. Ever since Svidrigaïlov’s creepy and obvious words in Sonia’s room around the time Katerina Ivanovna died, his mind felt like it wasn't working right.

Even though this new thing was super unsettling, Raskolnikov wasn’t rushing to figure it out. Sometimes, finding himself alone in a remote part of town, in some run-down diner, sitting by himself, lost in thought, hardly remembering how he’d even gotten there, he suddenly thought of Svidrigaïlov.

He realized, suddenly, clearly, and with dread that he needed to talk to that man and make some kind of deal. Walking outside the city gates one day, he was almost certain they’d planned to meet there, that he was waiting for Svidrigaïlov.

Another time he woke up before dawn lying on the ground under some bushes and couldn’t for the life of him figure out how he’d ended up there.

But during the couple of days after Katerina Ivanovna’s death, he’d run into Svidrigaïlov a couple of times at Sonia’s place, where he’d wandered aimlessly for a minute. They exchanged a few words and didn't mention the big deal, like they’d secretly agreed not to talk about it for now.

Katerina Ivanovna’s body was still in the coffin, and Svidrigaïlov was busy with funeral arrangements. Sonia was super busy too. At their last meeting, Svidrigaïlov told Raskolnikov that he’d made an arrangement, a really good one, for Katerina Ivanovna’s kids.

He’d used his connections to get in touch with some important people who could place the three orphans in really good institutions right away; the money he’s set aside for them had been a huge help, because it’s way easier to place orphans with some money than those with nothing.

He also said something about Sonia and promised to come see Raskolnikov in a day or two, mentioning that "he wanted to talk things over with him, that there were things they needed to discuss..."

This conversation happened on the stairs. Svidrigaïlov stared intently at Raskolnikov and then, after a brief pause, lowering his voice, asked: "But what’s wrong with you, Rodion Romanovitch? You don’t seem like yourself. You’ve got that look, you’ve got that listen, but you don't seem to get it."

"Cheer up! We’ll talk things over; I’m just swamped with my own stuff and other people's. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch," he added suddenly, "what all people need is fresh air, fresh air... more than anything!"

He stepped aside to let the priest and his helper come up the stairs. They were there for the memorial service. Svidrigaïlov had insisted it be sung twice a day, on the dot. Svidrigaïlov headed off. Raskolnikov stood still for a moment, thought about it, and followed the priest into Sonia’s room.

He stayed by the door. They started singing the service quietly, slowly, and sadly. Ever since he was a kid, death and the idea of death had felt heavy and mysteriously awful. It had been a long time since he’d heard a memorial service.

And there was something else here, too, super intense and unsettling. He looked at the kids: they were all kneeling by the coffin; Polenka was crying. Behind them, Sonia was praying, quietly and kind of shyly wiping away tears.

"These last couple of days, she hasn’t said a word to me, hasn’t even looked at me," Raskolnikov suddenly thought.

The room was bright with sunlight; the incense was swirling everywhere; the priest read, "Give rest, oh Lord... Raskolnikov stayed for the whole service. As the priest blessed them and left, he looked around strangely. After the service, Raskolnikov went over to Sonia.

She took both his hands and let her head sink onto his shoulder. This small, friendly gesture totally threw Raskolnikov. It was weird to him that there was no disgust, no shudder in her hand. It felt like the ultimate act of putting others first, at least that's how he saw it.

Sonia didn’t say anything. Raskolnikov squeezed her hand and headed out. He felt super bummed. If he could just escape somewhere alone, he’d consider himself lucky, even if he had to live there forever. But even though he’s been mostly by himself lately, he’s never really felt alone.

Sometimes he’d walk out of town on the main road, once he’d even made it to a little wood, but the lonelier it got, the more he felt like someone was watching him.

It didn’t scare him, but it really bugged him, so he’d rush back to town, to be around people, to hang out in restaurants and bars, to walk down busy streets. There, he felt a little easier, but still totally isolated.

One day at dusk, he sat in a tavern for an hour, listening to music, and he remembered that he actually enjoyed it. But then, he suddenly felt that same uneasiness again, like his conscience was kicking him.

"Here I am, listening to singing, is that what I’m supposed to be doing?" he thought.

But he also knew that wasn’t the only reason he felt off; something needed to be decided, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was or put it into words. It was a total mess.

"No, better to fight again! Better Porfiry again... or Svidrigaïlov... Better some challenge again... some attack. Yes, yes!" he thought.

He left the tavern and practically ran. The thought of Dounia and his mom suddenly made him almost panic. That night, he woke up before morning, shivering with a fever, hiding in some bushes on Krestovsky Island. He walked home, and it was early morning when he got there.

After a few hours of sleep, the fever broke, but he woke up late, around two in the afternoon.

He remembered that Katerina Ivanovna’s funeral was that day, and he was glad he wasn’t there. Nastasya brought him some food; he ate and drank with a huge appetite, almost like he was starving. His head felt clearer and he was calmer than he’s been in the last three days.

He even felt a little weird about his earlier panic attacks.

The door opened, and Razumihin came in.

"Hey, he’s eating, so he’s not sick," Razumihin said.

He pulled up a chair and sat across from Raskolnikov at the table.

He looked troubled and didn’t try to hide it. He spoke with obvious frustration, but without rushing or raising his voice. He seemed to have a clear, set purpose.

"Listen," he started, sounding serious.

"Honestly, I don’t care what happens to any of you, but I’m totally lost here. Please don’t think I’m trying to grill you. I donn't even want to know! Seriously, if you start spilling your secrets, I’m just gonna bail and rant the whole way."

I just came to figure out once and for all if you're actually crazy? There’s this vibe in the air that you’re mad, or close to it. I’ve been thinking it myself, judging by your weird, gross, and totally baffling actions, and how you’ve been acting towards your mom and sister.

"Only a monster or a psycho would treat them like that; so you’re probably mad."

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"Just now. Haven’t you seen them since? What have you been up to? Tell me, please. I’ve come by three times already. Your mom’s been seriously ill since yesterday. She was set on coming to see you; Avdotya Romanovna tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t budge."

‘If he’s sick, if he’s losing it, who can take care of him like his mom?’ she said. We all came here together; we couldn’t let her come alone. We kept begging her to stay calm. We went inside, and you weren’t here. She sat down and waited for ten minutes, while we stood around in silence.

She got up and said, ‘If he’s gone out, that is, if he’s okay and has forgotten about his mom, it’s embarrassing and disrespectful for his mom to be begging at his door for kindness. She went home and got sick; now she has a fever. ‘I see,’ she said, ‘that he has time for his girl.’

She means by your girl Sofya Semyonovna, your fiancée or your mistress, I don’t know. I went straight to Sofya Semyonovna’s, because I wanted to see what was going on. I looked around, I saw the coffin, the kids crying, and Sofya Semyonovna trying them on mourning dresses. No sign of you.

I apologized, left, and told Avdotya Romanovna. So that's all a bunch of nonsense, and you don’t have a girl; the most likely thing is that you’re mad. But here you sit, scarfing down boiled beef like you haven’t eaten in three days.

Though, you know, mad people eat too, but you haven't said a word to me yet... you're not mad! I swear it! Above all, you're not mad! So you can all go to hell, because there’s some mystery, some secret about it, and I’m not gonna waste my energy trying to figure out your secrets.

"So I just came to yell at you," he finished, getting up, "to clear my head. And now I know what to do."

"What are you planning to do now?"

"What’s it your business what I’m going to do?"

"You’re going on a bender."

"How... how did you know?"

"It’s pretty obvious."

Razumihin paused for a minute.

"You’ve always been a level-headed person, and you’ve never been crazy, never," he observed suddenly with warmth.

"You’re right: I’m going to drink. Later!"

And he moved to go out.

"I was talking with my sister - the day before yesterday, I think it was - about you, Razumihin."

"About me! But... where could you have seen her the day before yesterday?"

Razumihin stopped short and even turned a little pale.

You could see that his heart was pounding slowly and intensely.

"She came here by herself, sat down and talked to me."

"She did!"

"Yeah.... just sat down and talked "

"What did you say to her... I mean, about me?"

"I told her you were a really good, honest, and hardworking guy. I didn’t tell her you’re in love with her, because she already knows that."

"She already knows that?"

"Okay, so, basically, wherever I go, whatever happens, you’re stuck looking after them. I’m, like, entrusting them to you, Razumihin. I know how much you’re into her, and I’m pretty sure you’ve got a good heart. I’m guessing she might even like you, maybe already does."

"So, you decide if you’re gonna hit the bar tonight, okay?"

"Rodya! Seriously... well... Ugh, damn it! But where are you even going? Of course, if it’s a secret, whatever... But I... I’m gonna figure it out. And I’m betting it’s just some silly, made-up thing. Seriously, you’re a great guy, a really great guy!"

"That’s exactly what I wanted to say, but you cut me off. Smart move not digging into all that stuff. Let time work it out, don’t stress about it. You’ll know when you need to. Yesterday, someone told me all people need is fresh air - fresh air, fresh air."

"I’m gonna go find out what they meant by that."

Razumihin was totally lost in thought and hyped up, silently coming to a decision.

"He’s a political radical! He has to be. And he’s about to do something crazy, I’m sure of it. It can’t be anything else! And... and Dounia knows," he suddenly thought.

"So, Avdotya Romanovna comes to see you," he said, carefully choosing his words, "and you’re going to see a guy who says we need more air, and, like, that letter... that has to be connected somehow," he concluded to himself.

"What letter?"

"She got a letter today. It really shook her up - a lot. Too much. I started talking about you, and she begged me not to. Then... then she said we might have to split up soon... then she started thanking me for something, then she went to her room and locked the door."

"She got a letter?" Raskolnikov asked, looking thoughtful.

"Yeah, and you didn’t know? Huh..."

They were both quiet for a second.

"Later, Rodion. There was a time, bro, when I... Never mind, later. You see, there was a time... Well, gotta run! I’m not drinking tonight. No need now... That’s all BS!"

He rushed out, but when he almost closed the door behind him, he suddenly opened it again and said, looking away:

"Oh, by the way, remember that murder, you know, Porfiry’s, that old lady? They found the killer, he confessed, and gave all the proof. It’s one of those workers, the painter, can you believe it? Remember I defended them here?"

You won’t believe it, all that fighting and laughing with his buddies on the stairs while the doorman and the witnesses were going up, he did it on purpose to throw off suspicion. The cunning, the smarts of that young guy! You can hardly believe it, but it’s his own story, he confessed it all.

And I was such a fool about it! Seriously, he’s a genius at faking things and being clever about not raising suspicion - so I guess it’s not so surprising, right? Of course, people like that are always possible. And the fact that he couldn’t keep up the act and confessed makes him more believable.

"But I was such a fool! I was totally on their side!"

"Tell me, seriously, who told you that, and why are you so interested?" Raskolnikov asked, looking really anxious.

"What’s next? You’re asking me why it interests me?! Well, I heard it from Porfiry, among others... He told me almost everything about it."

"Was it From Porfiry?"

"Yes, From Porfiry."

"What... what did he say?" Raskolnikov asked, looking shocked.

"He gave me a killer explanation of it. Psychologically, in his own weird way."

"He explained it? Explained it himself?"

"Yeah, yeah, bye. I’ll tell you all about it later, I’m swamped right now. There was a time I thought... But never mind, another time!... What’s the point of drinking now? You’re totally buzzing me without any wine. I’m drunk, Rodya! Bye, I’m outta here. I’ll be back super soon."

He headed out.

"He’s a political schemer, no doubt about it," Razumihin decided, slowly making his way down the stairs.

"And he’s dragged his sister into it; that’s totally in character for Avdotya Romanovna. They’re having secret talks!... She dropped hints too... so many of her words... and those little clues... all mean that! And how else do you explain this whole mess? Seriously! And I was almost thinking..."

Good grief, what I was thinking! Yeah, I lost it and I totally judged him wrong! It was his fault, that day under the hallway light. Pfoo! What a messed-up, nasty, awful idea I had! Nikolay’s a champ for confessing... And it all makes sense now!

"His sickness then, all his weird actions... before this, back at the university, how moody he used to be, how down... But what’s the deal with that letter now? There’s something there, too, maybe. Who sent it? I bet it was...! Nah, I gotta find out!"

He thought about Dounia, remembering everything he's heard, and his heart pounded. Suddenly, he started running.

As soon as Razumihin left, Raskolnikov got up, turned to the window, paced to one corner and then to another, as if he’d forgotten how tiny his room was, and sat back down on the sofa. He felt, so to speak, refreshed; another chance, a way out had appeared.

"Yeah, a way out had appeared! It had been so suffocating, so restrictive, the weight had been too crushing. He's felt totally drained at times. Ever since the scene with Nikolay at Porfiry’s, he’s been gasping for air, trapped with no way out."

After Nikolay’s confession, that very day came the scene with Sonia; his behavior and his last words were totally unlike anything he could have imagined before; he's gotten weaker, instantly and fundamentally!

"And he’d agreed with Sonia then, he’d agreed in his heart he couldn’t keep living with that on his mind!"

"And Svidrigaïlov was a mystery... He worried him, that was true, but not about the same thing. He might still have a showdown with Svidrigaïlov. Svidrigaïlov, too, might be a way out; but Porfiry was a different story."

"And so Porfiry himself had explained it to Razumihin, had explained it with his psychology. He's bringing up that crazy psychology again! Porfiry?"

To think that Porfiry would even for a second believe that Nikolay was guilty, after what happened between them before Nikolay showed up, after that private chat, which can only mean one thing?

(During those days Raskolnikov often recalled lines from that scene with Porfiry; he couldn’t stand letting his mind rest on it.)

"Such words, such gestures had passed between them, they’d exchanged such glances, things had been said in such a tone and had reached such a point, that Nikolay, whom Porfiry had seen right through at the first word, at the first gesture, couldn’t have shaken his conviction."

"And to think that even Razumikin had started to suspect! The scene in the hallway under the light had done its damage. He rushed to Porfiry... But what made the latter receive him like that? What was his angle in brushing Razumikin off with Nikolay?"

"He had some plan; there was some design, but what was it? It's been a long time since that morning - too long - and no sign or sound of Porfiry. Well, that’s a bad sign..."

Raskolnikov grabbed his cap and headed out of the room, still thinking things over. It was the first time in ages he’s felt this clear-headed, at least.

"I gotta deal with Svidrigaïlov," he thought, "and like, ASAP. He’s practically waiting for me to show up."

A wave of hate surged through his exhausted heart - he could've taken down either Porfiry or Svidrigaïlov right then and there. He felt like he could do it later, if not now.

"We’ll see, we’ll see," he mumbled to himself.

But the second he opened the door, there was Porfiry in the hallway. He was coming to see him! Raskolnikov was totally blindsided for a second, but just a second. Weirdly, he wasn't that shocked to see Porfiry, and barely scared. He was just caught off guard, but instantly went on high alert.

"Is this it? Is this the end? But how did Porfiry sneak up so quietly, like a ninja, that he didn’t hear a thing? Was he listening at the door?"

"Didn’t think you were expecting anyone, Rodion Romanovitch," Porfiry said, chuckling. "I’ve been meaning to drop by forever. Just happened to be passing and thought, why not pop in for a few minutes? You heading out? I won’t take up much of your time. Just need a smoke."

"Sit down, Porfiry Petrovitch, sit down," Raskolnikov said, giving his visitor a genuinely friendly look - he’d be surprised to see himself if he could.

The moment of truth had arrived - time to face it all! Sometimes a person can endure half an hour of pure terror with a criminal, but when the knife’s at their throat, they feel nothing.

Raskolnikov sat directly across from Porfiry and stared him down. Porfiry squinted and started lighting a cigarette.

"Talk, talk," Raskolnikov wanted to shout. "Come on, why aren’t you saying anything?"