Part 6 · Chapter 2

"Ugh, these cigarettes!" Porfiry Petrovitch blurted out, finally lighting one.

"They’re seriously bad for you, like, really bad, and yet I cann't quit! I cough, my throat gets all scratchy, and it's hard to breathe. You know I'm a scaredy-cat, I went to Dr. B - - n the other day; he always spends, like, a ton of time with each patient."

"He practically laughed when he checked me out; he said, ‘Smoking’s gonna mess you up,’ ‘your lungs are affected. But how am I supposed to stop? What else am I gonna do? I don’t even drink, that’s the problem, haha, I don’t. Everything’s relative, Rodion Romanovitch, everything is relative!"

"He’s totally playing mind games," Raskolnikov thought, feeling grossed out.

All the details from their last meeting flooded back, and he felt that same weird feeling wash over him.

"I stopped by the other day, like, the night before; you didn’t notice?"

Porfiry Petrovitch continued, looking around the room.

"I came into this very room. I was just passing by, like I was today, and I thought I’d return your call. I walked right in, your door was open, I looked around, waited a bit, and left without even telling your doorman it was me. Don't you lock your door?"

Raskolnikov’s face got even darker. Porfiry seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

"I came to talk things out with you, Rodion Romanovitch, my friend!" he said with a little smile, patting Raskolnikov’s knee.

But then, suddenly, his face looked serious and stressed; Raskolnikov was shocked to see a touch of sadness there. He’d never seen that expression on his face before.

"A really weird thing happened between us last time we talked, Rodion Romanovitch. Even our first meeting was kind of strange; but then... one thing after another! The point is: I might have been unfair to you; I feel like it. Remember how we left things?"

"Your nerves were shot, your knees were shaking, and mine were too. And, honestly, our behavior was pretty bad, even rude. But we're guys, above all, at least we should be; you gotta understand that. Do you remember what we were talking about? ... it was totally inappropriate."

"What’s he playing at? What does he think I am?" Raskolnikov wondered, looking at Porfiry with wide eyes.

"Look, I’m thinking honesty is the way to go between us," Porfiry Petrovitch continued, turning his head away and looking down, like he didn’t want to freak out his former target and like he was above using old tricks.

"Yeah, this kind of suspicion and drama can’t keep going forever. Nikolay stopped it, or I don’t know what could have happened. That worker was chilling in the next room at the time - can you believe it? You know that, right? And I know he came to see you after."

But what you thought then wasn’t true: I didn’t call anyone, I didn’t make any arrangements. You’re probably wondering why not? What should I say? It all happened so fast. I’d barely even called the movers - you probably noticed them when you left.

An idea just popped into my head; I was totally convinced at the time, Rodion Romanovitch. Come on, I thought - even if I let something slide for a bit, I’m gonna get something else - I’m not gonna lose what I want, anyway.

You're just naturally on edge, Rodion Romanovitch, it’s not really in line with the good qualities you have, which I think I’ve figured out a bit. Of course, even then I realized it doesn’t always happen that a guy just spills everything.

It does happen sometimes, if you push a guy to the edge, though even then it’s rare. I was capable of seeing that.

If I just had one fact, just a little something to go on, something real, not just psychological... because if a guy’s guilty, you gotta be able to get something solid out of him; you can get some seriously surprising results.

"I was counting on your personality, Rodion Romanovitch, on your personality above all else! I had really high hopes for you back then."

"But what’s your point now?" Raskolnikov muttered finally, asking without even thinking.

"What is he even talking about?" he wondered, totally distracted.

"Does he actually think I’m innocent?"

"What’s my point? I’m here to explain myself, I feel like it’s my responsibility, you know? I want to make clear how all this, the whole misunderstanding, happened. I’ve caused you a lot of stress, Rodion Romanovitch. I’m not a monster."

I get what it’s like for a guy who’s been down, but who’s proud, bossy, and especially impatient, to have to deal with this kind of treatment! I think you’re a good person, not without some generosity, even though I don’t agree with everything you believe.

I wanted to tell you this first, straight up and honestly, because above all I don’t want to trick you. When I first met you, I was drawn to you. Maybe you’ll laugh at me for saying that. You have every right to. I know you didn’t like me from the start, and you have no reason to.

"You can think what you want, but I want to do everything I can to change that impression and show that I’m a person with heart and a conscience. I’m being real."

Porfiry Petrovitch paused, acting all dignified. Raskolnikov felt a fresh wave of panic. The idea that Porfiry thought he was innocent started to make him really uneasy.

"It’s really not necessary to go over every single detail," Porfiry Petrovitch continued.

"Honestly, I couldn't even try. First off, there were rumors. Who started them, how, and when they reached me... and how they affected you - I don't need to get into that. My suspicions were sparked by a total accident, which just as easily could have never happened. What was it? Hmm!"

I don't think it’s even worth mentioning. Those rumors and that accident led to one idea in my head. I’m admitting it openly - because it’s better to just be straight about it - I was the first to suspect you. The old woman’s notes about the pledges and all that - it didn't amount to anything.

Yours was just one of a hundred. I also happened to hear about the scene at the office, from a guy who described it perfectly, totally without realizing he was recreating it with so much detail. It was just one thing after another, Rodion Romanovitch, my friend!

How could I not come to certain conclusions? You can’t make a horse from a hundred rabbits, and a hundred suspicions don’t equal proof, like the English say, but that’s just from a logical point of view - a lawyer’s just human, after all.

I also remembered your article in that journal, you know, we talked about it on our first visit? I teased you back then, but I was just trying to get you talking. I repeat, Rodion Romanovitch, you're clearly stressed and impatient.

I recognized that you were bold, determined, and... had felt a lot, long before. I’ve felt it myself, so your article felt familiar to me. It was written during sleepless nights, with a racing heart, in a state of excitement and suppressed passion.

And that kind of intense, suppressed passion in young people can be dangerous! I teased you then, but let me tell you, as a casual reader, I really like those first essays, full of the fire of youth. There’s a kind of hazy feeling and a chord resonating in the haze.

Your article is a little crazy and unrealistic, but there's a genuine sincerity, a youthful pride that can't be bought, and a kind of desperate bravery in it. It’s a dark article, but that’s what’s great about it. I read your article and put it aside, thinking, ‘that guy isn’t going to play it safe.’

So, tell me, after all that, how could I not be drawn in by what happened next? Oh, man, I'm not saying anything, I'm not making any accusations now. I just noticed it at the time. What's so important about it? I reflected.

There's nothing really there, it’s basically nothing and maybe absolutely nothing. And it’s not a prosecutor’s job to get carried away by ideas: I’m dealing with Nikolay here, with actual evidence against him - you can think what you want, but it’s evidence.

He’s bringing in his psychology, too; I have to consider him, because it’s a matter of life and death. Why am I explaining all this to you? So you’ll understand, and won’t blame me for acting like that. It wasn't malicious, I promise, he-he! Do you think I didn’t search your room back then?

I did, I did, he-he! I was here when you were sick in bed, not officially, not in my own person, but I was here.

They tore my room apart, checked every last thing the second they even suspected something. But nothing! I was thinking, he’s gonna show up, he's totally gonna come here fast - if he did it, he’s gonna feel guilty and come back. Another guy wouldn't, but he will.

And you remember how Mr. Razumihin started talking about it with you? We set that up to mess with you, to get him to talk about it. Razumihin doesn't hold back when he’s mad. Mr. Zametov was seriously impressed by how angry and bold you were. Saying "I killed her" in a restaurant?

That’s next-level daring, totally reckless. I thought so too - if he’s guilty, he’s gonna be a tough one. That’s what I was thinking back then. I was waiting for you. But you just blew Zametov away, and... well, it all comes down to this - this crazy psychology thing can be read two ways!

Seriously, I kept waiting, and then you showed up! My heart was pounding. Ugh!

"Now, why did you even have to come? Your laugh, when you walked in - do you remember that? I saw it all, clear as day, but if I hadn’t been expecting you so much, I wouldn’t have noticed anything. You see how much a mood can affect things!"

Mr. Razumihin then - oh, that stone, that stone where everything was hidden! I swear I can picture it somewhere in a backyard garden. You told Zametov about it, and then you repeated it in my office, right? And when we were tearing your article apart, how you explained it!

You could twist every word you said, like there was a secret meaning hiding underneath.

"That’s how it went, Rodion Romanovitch, I pushed things as far as they could go, smacked into a wall, and had to ask myself what was up. After all, I thought, you can always look at things differently, and that makes more sense, doesn’t it? I had to admit it made more sense. I was totally stressed!"

‘I need to find some real evidence,’ I said. So when I heard about the bell-ringing, I froze and was shaking all over. ‘This is my evidence,’ I thought, and I didn’t overthink it, I just wouldn’t.

I would have paid a thousand rubles right then to see you with my own eyes, when you walked a hundred steps next to that worker, after he called you a murderer to your face, and you didn’t even dare to ask him a question the whole way.

And then what about your trembling, what about the bell-ringing when you were sick, kind of out of it?

"So, Rodion Romanovitch, can you blame me for messing with you? And what made you show up at that exact moment? It felt like someone sent you, seriously! And if Nikolay hadn’t stepped in... do you remember Nikolay at the time? Do you remember him clearly?"

It was like a lightning bolt, a total lightning bolt! And how I reacted to it! I didn’t believe in lightning bolts, not for a second. You could see it for yourself, how could I?

Even afterward, when you’d left and he started giving really, really convincing answers about certain things, so much so that I was surprised myself, even then I didn’t buy his story! You see what it’s like to be stubborn as a rock! No, I thought, tomorrow morning.

"What does Nikolay have to do with any of this?"

"Razumihin just told me that you think Nikolay’s guilty and you’re sure of it..."

His voice cracked, and he stopped. He’d been listening with total anxiety, watching this guy who seemed to see right through him backtrack. He didn’t want to believe it, and he didn’t. He was desperately searching for something more clear and final in those still vague words.

"Mr. Razumihin! Porfiry Petrovitch said, sounding relieved that Raskolnikov had finally spoken up. "He-he-he! But I had to brush Mr. Razumihin off; two is company, three's a crowd. Mr. Razumihin isn't the right guy, plus he's an outsider. He came running over, totally pale..."

But never mind him, why bring him into this? Anyway, about Nikolay - want to know what kind of dude he is, how I see him? To start, he's still a kid, not exactly a scaredy-cat, but more like an artist type. Seriously, don’t laugh at me for saying that. He’s innocent and easily influenced.

He’s got a good heart, a real character. He sings and dances, tells stories - people come from other towns just to hear him.

He goes to school too, and cracks up laughing if you just hold up a finger; he’ll get totally wasted sometimes - not like a regular habit, but when people treat him, like he’s a kid.

And he stole, too, back then, without even realizing it, because he figured, ‘How's it stealing if you just pick it up?’ And get this - he’s an Old Believer, or, like, a dissenter.

There’s been religious wanderers in his family, and for two years he was in his village under the spiritual guidance of some elder. I learned all this from Nikolay and his neighbors. And the craziest thing? He wanted to run off into the wilderness!

He was super passionate, prayed at night, read old books - the ‘real’ ones - and totally lost it.

Petersburg had a huge effect on him, especially the girls and the booze. He reacts to everything, and he totally forgot the elder and all that. I heard an artist here took a liking to him and used to visit him, and now this whole mess happened.

"Well, he freaked out - tried to hang himself! He took off! You wouldn’t believe how people view Russian legal stuff. Just the word ‘trial’ scares some of them. Whose fault is it? We’ll see what the new juries do. I hope they do good!"

In prison, it seems, he remembered the elder; the Bible showed up again, too. Do you know, Rodion Romanovitch, the power of the word ‘suffering’ for some of these people! It’s not about suffering for someone else’s benefit, it’s just, ‘you gotta suffer.’

If they suffer at the hands of the authorities, even better.

Back in my day, there was this really meek prisoner who spent a whole year in prison always reading his Bible on the stove at night and he totally lost it, and so crazy, you know, that one day, out of nowhere, he grabbed a brick and threw it at the governor - who had done nothing to him.

And the way he threw it, too: he aimed it a yard to the side on purpose, just in case he hurt him. We know what happens to a prisoner who attacks an officer with a weapon. So ‘he took his suffering.’

"So I think now that Nikolay wants to take his suffering or something like that. I know it for sure from what I’m seeing. Only he doesn’t know that I know. You don’t think there are people like that among the peasants? Tons of them."

The elder is starting to influence him again, especially since he tried to hang himself. But he’ll come and tell me everything himself. You think he’ll stick to his story? Just wait - he’ll take it back. I’m waiting, like, hour to hour, for him to come and deny his testimony.

I've started to really like Nikolay and am studying him closely. And guess what? He answered me really convincingly on some points - he clearly gathered some evidence and prepared himself well.

But on other points he's totally lost, doesn’t know anything, and doesn’t even realize that he doesn’t know!

"Seriously, Rodion Romanovitch, Nikolay isn’t involved! This is a total mess, a modern-day case, you know? When people are struggling, when they throw around phrases like ‘blood renews’ and preach comfort as the ultimate goal."

Here we’re talking about someone lost in books, a heart messed up by ideas. He made up his mind, but it was a crazy decision - like jumping off a cliff or a bell tower, and his legs were shaking the whole time. He forgot to lock the door after him, and he killed two people for a theory.

He did it and couldn't even take the money, just grabbed a few things and hid them under a rock.

It wasn’t enough to freak out behind the door while people were banging and ringing the bell, no, he had to go back to his empty place, half-delirious, to relive the ringing, to feel that cold shiver again... Okay, we’ll give him a pass on that, maybe it was a breakdown.

"But consider this: he's a murderer, but he thinks of himself as an honest guy, looks down on everyone else, acts like he's been wronged. No way, that’s not Nikolay’s style, my dear Rodion Romanovitch!"

Everything he’s said before sounded like he was taking it back, so these words were a huge shock. Raskolnikov shuddered like he’s been stabbed.

"So... who then... did it?" he asked, breathless, unable to hold back.

Porfiry Petrovitch sank back into his chair, like he couldn’t believe the question.

"Who did it?" he repeated, as if he couldn't quite hear correctly.

"You, Rodion Romanovitch! You’re the killer," he whispered, with genuine certainty.

Raskolnikov jumped up from the couch, stood there for a few seconds, then sat back down without saying a word. His face twitched uncontrollably.

"Your lip is twitching just like it did before," Porfiry Petrovitch observed, almost sympathetic.

"You’ve been misunderstanding me, I think," he added after a brief pause, "that’s why you’re so surprised. I came here on purpose to lay everything out and be straight with you."

"It wasn’t me who killed her," Raskolnikov whispered, like a scared kid caught red-handed.

"No, it was you, you Rodion Romanovitch, and nobody else," Porfiry whispered sternly, with conviction.

They were both silent, and the silence stretched out for a really long time - about ten minutes. Raskolnikov rested his elbow on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. Porfiry Petrovitch sat quietly, waiting. Suddenly, Raskolnikov looked at Porfiry with disdain.

"You’re pulling your old tricks again, Porfiry Petrovitch! Your same old routine. I wonder if you even get tired of it!"

"Oh, drop it, what does it matter now? It’s a different story if there were witnesses, but we’re just whispering alone. You can see for yourself that I haven't come to chase and catch you like a rabbit. Whether you confess or not is nothing to me now; I’m already convinced without it."

"So, why did you come?" Raskolnikov asked, annoyed. "I’m asking you the same question again: if you think I’m guilty, why don’t you take me to jail?"

"Oh, that’s your question! I’ll answer you, point by point. First of all, arresting you directly isn't in my best interest."

"Ugh, what if you convince me? That’s just a dream for now. Why should I keep you safe? You know that’s what you’re asking me to do. If I confront that worker, for example, and you say to him, ‘Were you drunk or not? Who saw me with you? I just thought you were drunk, and you were drunk too.’"

What could I answer, especially since your story seems more believable than his? There’s nothing but psychology supporting his story - that’s pretty messed up considering how ugly he is, while you’re hitting the mark exactly, because the guy’s a notorious drunk.

And I’ve admitted openly a few times already that that psychology thing can be seen in two ways, and the second way looks way more likely, and besides, I’m not against you yet.

"And even though I’m going to put you in prison - and I’m doing this completely against proper etiquette - I’m telling you frankly, also against etiquette, that it won’t benefit me. Okay, secondly, I came to you because..."

"Yes, yes, secondly?" Raskolnikov was listening, totally captivated.

"Because, as I just said, I think I owe you an explanation. I don’t want you to think of me as a monster, because I actually kind of like you, believe it or not. And third, I came to you with a straight-up offer: you should surrender and confess."

"It’s going to be way better for you, and for me too, because my job will be done. So, is this open and honest on my part, or not?"

Raskolnikov thought for a minute.

"Listen, Porfiry Petrovitch. You just said you only have psychology to go on, but now you’re using math. What if you’re mistaken?"

"No, Rodion Romanovitch, I’m not mistaken. I even have a little fact, Providence sent it to me."

"What little fact?"

"I’m not telling you what it is. And anyway, I can’t put it off any longer, I have to arrest you. So, think about it: it doesn’t matter to me anymore, and I’m just speaking for your sake. Believe me, Rodion Romanovitch."

Raskolnikov smirked, a nasty look on his face.

"That’s not just ridiculous, it’s totally shameless. Even if I were guilty - which I’m not admitting - why would I confess, when you’re telling me I’ll be safer in prison?"

"Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, don’t put too much stock in words, prison might not be all that relaxing. That’s just theory, my theory, and what authority do I have for you? Maybe, even now, I’m hiding something from you? I can’t reveal everything, he-he! And how can you ask what advantage?"

Don’t you know how it would lessen your sentence? You’d be confessing when another guy has already taken the blame and totally muddied the whole case. Think about that! I swear to God that I’ll arrange things so that your confession comes as a complete surprise.

"We’re going to ditch all these psychological points, all suspicion against you, so that your crime looks like an anomaly, because in truth, it was an anomaly. I’m an honest guy, Rodion Romanovitch, and I’ll keep my word."

Raskolnikov fell silent, his head sinking dejectedly. He thought for a long time, and finally smiled again, but his smile was sad and gentle.

"No!" he said, apparently giving up on pretending with Porfiry. "It’s not worth it, I don’t care about a lighter sentence!"

"That’s exactly what I was afraid of!" Porfiry exclaimed warmly, seemingly without thinking. "That’s exactly what I feared, that you wouldn’t care about a reduced sentence."

Raskolnikov looked at him sadly and expressively.

"Ah, don’t hate life!" Porfiry went on.

"You’re gonna have a lot more of it ahead of you. How can you say you don’t want a lighter sentence? You’re an impatient dude!"

"A lot of what’s ahead of me?"

"Life. What kind of fortune teller are you, do you know much about it? Look around, you’ll find what you’re searching for. Maybe this is God’s way of bringing you closer. And it’s not forever, this time..."

"The time will fly by," Raskolnikov laughed.

"Seriously, is it the embarrassment of being a nobody you’re afraid of? Maybe you’re afraid without even realizing it, because you’re young! But you shouldn’t be afraid of turning yourself in and confessing."

"Ugh, forget it!" Raskolnikov whispered, disgusted and unimpressed, like he didn't want to say it out loud.

He got up again like he was gonna leave, but then sat back down, clearly bummed out.

"Whatever, if you like! You’ve lost faith and think I’m totally buttering you up; but how long have you even been alive? How much do you understand? You came up with a theory and then were embarrassed that it flopped and wasn't even original!"

It turned out pretty messed up, that’s true, but you’re not completely hopeless. Not even close! At least you didn’t fool yourself for long; you went straight to the extreme. How do I see you?

I see you as one of those guys who’d smile at their torturer while he’s ripping out their guts, if they just found faith or God. Find it and you’ll live. You’ve needed a change of scenery for a while now. Suffering’s a good thing, too. Maybe Nikolay is right about wanting to suffer.

I know you don’t believe it - but don’t overthink it; just jump into life, no hesitation; don’t be scared - the current will carry you to the bank and get you back on your feet. What bank? How can I say? I just believe you have a long life ahead of you.

I know you think all my words are just a canned speech, but maybe you’ll remember them later. They might come in handy someday. That’s why I’m talking. It’s good that you only killed the old lady. If you’d cooked up another theory, you might have done something a thousand times worse.

You should thank God, maybe. How do you know? Maybe God is saving you for something. But stay positive and have less fear! Are you afraid of what’s coming? No, it would be pathetic to be afraid. Since you’re taking this step, you gotta toughen up. There’s justice in it. You gotta pay your dues.

"I know you don’t believe it, but you’ll make it through. You’ll live it down eventually. What you need now is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air!" Raskolnikov practically jumped.

"But who are you? What fortune teller are you? From what high and chill place do you drop these words of wisdom?"

"Who am I? I’m a guy with nothing to look forward to, that’s it. A guy maybe with feelings and empathy, maybe some knowledge too, but my time is over. But you’re different, there’s life waiting for you. Though, who knows? maybe your life, too, will just fizzle out and disappear."

Come on, what does it matter if you move into another group of people? It’s not comfort you’re regretting, with your heart! What about it if nobody sees you for a long time? It’s not time, but yourself that will decide that. Be the sun and everyone will see you. The sun has to be the sun first.

Why are you smiling again? Am I being such a Schiller? I bet you’re imagining I’m trying to sweet-talk you. Well, maybe I am, he-he-he! Maybe you shouldn’t believe a word I say, maybe you shouldn’t ever believe me altogether - I’m wired that way, I confess it.

"But let me add, you can judge for yourself, I think, how much of a bad egg I am and how much I’m being honest."

"When are you gonna arrest me?"

"Well, I can let you wander around for another day or two. Think it over, my friend, and seriously pray. It's really in your best interest, trust me."

"And what if I just bolt?" asked Raskolnikov, a weird smile on his face.

"Nah, you won’t run. A farmer would run, a trendy rebel would run, a yes-man following someone else’s ideas - you just show them the end of your pinky and they’ll believe anything for the rest of their lives. But you’re already doubting your own idea, so what would you even run with?"

And what would you do hiding out? It would be awful and tough for you, and what you need more than anything is a solid plan, a vibe that fits you. What kind of vibe would you even have? If you ran, you’d end up back here. You can’t make it without us.

And if I put you in jail - say you’re in there a month, or two, or three - trust my word, you’ll confess, maybe even surprise yourself. You won’t know an hour beforehand that you're about to confess. I'm convinced you'll decide, ‘to take your suffering.’

"You don’t believe my words now, but you’ll figure it out yourself. Because suffering, Rodion Romanovitch, it’s a big deal. Never mind that I’m getting a little chunky, I still know. Don’t laugh, there’s a point to suffering, Nikolay is right. Nah, you won’t run, Rodion Romanovitch."

Raskolnikov stood up and grabbed his hat. Porfiry Petrovitch also got up.

"Going for a walk? The evening will be nice, if we don’t get a storm. A good breeze would clear the air, though."

He, too, grabbed his hat.

"Porfiry Petrovitch, please don’t think I confessed to you today," Raskolnikov said, sounding annoyed. "You’re a strange guy, and I’m just listening out of curiosity. But I admitted nothing, got it?"

"Oh, I know that, I’ll remember. Look at him, he’s shaking! Don’t worry, my friend, do things your way. Go wander around a bit, you can’t wander too far. If something happens, I have one request," he added, lowering his voice.

"It’s a bit awkward, but important."

If something were to happen (though I really don't think you’re capable of it), but just in case you get the idea to wrap things up another way, in some crazy fashion - hurting yourself - (it’s a silly idea, but you’ll have to forgive me for bringing it up) do leave a short but clear note, just two lines, and mention the stone.

"It would be a generous thing to do. See ya! Good thoughts and smart decisions to you!"

Porfiry went out, hunched over and not looking at Raskolnikov. The latter went to the window and waited, getting more and more impatient, until he figured out that Porfiry had reached the street and moved on. Then he, too, hurried out of the room.