The Karamazov Brothers by Fyodor Dostoevsky & Ignat Avsey

Author:Fyodor Dostoevsky & Ignat Avsey
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780199536375
Publisher: Oxford University Press, USA
Published: 2008-08-01T23:00:00+00:00

I agree with Ulysses, he said it.’

‘I don’t understand you!’

‘Am I drunk?’

‘You’re worse than drunk.’

‘My soul is, Pyotr Ilyich, my soul is drunk, but enough of that, enough…’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Loading a pistol.’

Mitya had indeed opened the case containing the pistols, undone the powder-horn, carefully poured in the charge and rammed it down. Then, taking a bullet between finger and thumb, he held it up to the candle-flame.

‘Why are you looking at the bullet?’ Pyotr Ilyich asked anxiously.

‘No reason. Just thinking. Listen, if you were planning to blow your brain out with this bullet, wouldn’t you like to have a good look at it before inserting it into the barrel?’

‘Why look at it?’

‘It’s going to go through my brains, so I was just curious to see what it looks like… On second thoughts, it’s all a lot of nonsense, utter nonsense. There, that’s done it,’ he added, having inserted the bullet and rammed it tight with hemp. ‘My dear Pyotr Ilyich, nothing, but nothing makes sense, if only you knew how desperately true that is! Give me a piece of paper.’

‘Here you are.’

‘No, a clean piece, not a crumpled one, a piece of writing-paper. Yes, that’ll do.’ And, grabbing a pen that was lying on the table, Mitya quickly wrote a couple of lines, folded the piece of paper in four, and thrust it into his waistcoat-pocket. He put the pistols in the case, locked it, and picked it up. Then he looked at Pyotr Ilyich and gave him a long, thoughtful smile.

‘Now let’s go,’ he said.

‘Go where? No, wait… so you want to blow your brains out with that bullet, do you?…’ Pyotr Ilyich asked in alarm.

‘Never mind the bullet! I want to live, I love life! Don’t ever forget that. I love the golden-haired Phoebus and his warming rays… My dear Pyotr Ilyich, do you know how one makes oneself scarce, do you?’

‘What do you mean, “makes oneself scarce”?’

‘To clear off. To make way for the beloved one and for the hated one. So that the hated also becomes the beloved. That’s what I mean by making oneself scarce! To say to them: God speed, carry on, go right ahead, while I…’

‘While you…?’

‘Enough, let’s go.’

‘My God,’ Pyotr Ilyich said, looking at him, ‘I really will have to tell them to stop you from going there. Why on earth would you want to go to Mokroye now, anyway?’

‘There’s a woman there, a woman, and that’s the end of the matter, Pyotr Ilyich, just forget about it!’

‘Listen, you may be a bit of a wild one, but I’ve always had a soft spot for you somehow… that’s why I’m worried.’

‘Thank you, my friend. I’m a wild one, you say. The wild ones, the wild ones! That’s what I keep saying to myself: the wild ones! Ah, look, here’s Misha, I’d forgotten all about him.’

Misha entered breathless, clutching a wad of banknotes, and announced that the Plotnikovs were ‘all in a tizzy’ and were sorting out the bottles, the cured fish, the tea—it would all be ready soon.

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