Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky; Konstantin Mochulsky; Andrew R. MacAndrew

Author:Fyodor Dostoevsky; Konstantin Mochulsky; Andrew R. MacAndrew
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780553898095
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2003-11-04T10:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 4

IN THE DARK

WHERE WAS he off to? He had no hesitation: “The only place she can be now is at father’s . . . She must have rushed straight there from Samsonov’s. Everything’s clear now . . . Her whole scheme of deception is obvious . . .” These fragments of thought whirled around in his head. He didn’t stop at Maria Kondratievna’s yard. “I mustn’t show myself there, I mustn’t . . . I don’t want them to be warned . . . Otherwise, someone will warn them . . . Maria Kondratievna must be in on it with them . . . And so is Smerdyakov . . . They’ve all been bribed . . .”

He changed his plan of action. He gave his father’s house a wide berth, taking first a sidestreet, then Dmitrievsky Avenue, crossed the bridge, and entered the small lane at the back of the house. It was a deserted lane: no one lived there. On one side was a wattle fence with vegetable patches behind it and on the other was the tall, strong fence around his father’s garden. There, he picked the spot where, according to what he’d heard people say, Reeking Lizaveta had once climbed over the fence. “If she could do it,” the thought somehow flashed through his head, “why can’t I?” And sure enough, he jumped up and caught hold of the top of the fence; then, making a great effort, he pulled himself up and was astride the fence. The bath-house was right there by the fence. Beyond it, he saw the lighted windows of the main house. “That’s it, that light’s in the old man’s bedroom window—she’s there!” He jumped down from the wall into the garden. And although he knew that Gregory was ill, that Smerdyakov, too, was probably sick in bed, and that there was no one who could hear him, he instinctively stood still, holding his breath and listening. Silence lay all around him. It so happened that the night was completely still, without a breath of wind.

“Only the stillness whispering . . .” Somehow the line of a poem flashed through Mitya’s head. “I hope no one heard me jump down . . . I don’t think anyone did.” He waited quietly for a minute and then walked stealthily across the lawn, keeping close to the trees and bushes, muffling each step and constantly listening to make sure he made no noise. It took him five minutes to reach the lighted window. He remembered that there were several tall, thick elder and guelder-rose bushes growing right under the windows. As he went past it, he carefully noted that the door leading to the garden on the left side of the house was locked. When he reached the bushes, he hid there for a while. He tried not to breathe. “I must wait—if they heard my footsteps, they’ll be listening now. I want them to be reassured . . . Above all, I mustn’t cough or sneeze .

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