The Brothers Karamazov (95 page)

Now, however, he had other things on his mind than playing with them. He had some very important and even somewhat mysterious business to attend to. But time was running short and Agafia, who was to look after the children as soon as she came in, had not yet returned from market. He had already gone down the hall several times, entered the rooms of the doctor’s wife, and glanced worriedly at the children who, still sitting obediently over the book, smiled broadly at him each time he came in, hoping he would do something very funny and fantastic. But Kolya was much too worried to stay and play with them. When it struck eleven, Kolya furiously decided that “if that damned Agafia isn’t back in ten minutes, I’ll just go out without waiting for her.” He thought he would make the kids promise him not to be frightened to be left alone for a short while, not to cry, and not to make a mess. As he was thinking of this, he put on his quilted winter jacket with its fur collar, strapped his schoolbag across his shoulder, and, despite his mother’s instructions that “in this cold you must never go out without your overshoes,” looked at them with scorn as he passed them by. When Perezvon saw his master all dressed up like that, he began beating his tail excitedly on the floor, his whole body shaking nervously, and he even emitted a tiny plaintive howl. Seeing this great impatience, Kolya thought that he must give Perezvon a lesson in discipline, so, despite his hurry, he stood there for a whole minute with his eyes fixed on the dog. When he finally whistled, the dog jumped up madly, leaping about in front of Kolya in endless delight. Kolya then went out into the hall and opened the door of the room where the children were. They were still sitting at their little table, although instead of reading they were now arguing about something or other. These two often argued with each other about all sorts of problems of everyday life and Nastya, the older of the two, always came up with the clinching argument. When, thus silenced, Kostya still felt his sister was wrong, he would appeal to Kolya, whose verdict was final and could not be appealed further. Kolya was curious to hear what they were arguing about this time, so he stopped by the door for a while to listen to them. Seeing that he was listening, the children went on arguing with even greater zest.

“I’ll never, never, never believe it,” Nastya lisped heatedly. “It’s not true that midwives find babies in vegetable gardens among the cabbages. It’s winter now, so there are no cabbage beds at all, and so the old woman couldn’t have brought a little girl to Katerina.”

“Whew!” Kolya whistled to himself.

“Or perhaps they do bring babies from somewhere, but then only to people who are married.”

Kostya stared at his sister. He was thinking hard.

“You’re silly,” he said in the end, firmly and without any excitement. “What kind of baby can Katerina have since she isn’t married?”

Nastya became very angry.

“You don’t understand anything,” she cut him off irritatedly. “She may have a husband but he’s in jail now. So she could have a baby all right.”

“Does she really have a husband in jail?” the practical Kostya inquired gravely.

“Or do you know what?” Nastya interrupted him, hurriedly discarding and completely forgetting her original hypothesis. “She doesn’t have a husband. You’re right. But she does want to get married and she’s been thinking and thinking and thinking about a husband, and so she got him in the end . . . I mean not the husband, but the baby.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is,” Kostya said, finally convinced. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

“Hey, kids,” Kolya said, stepping into the room, “what a dangerous lot you are!”

“I see Perezvon is with you,” Kostya said with a wide grin, trying to snap his fingers to call the dog.

“Listen, kids, I’m in trouble,” Kolya started in a serious tone. “You must help me. It seems pretty clear that Agafia has broken her leg, for I can’t think of any reason why she’s not back yet, and I absolutely must go out. Will you let me go?”

The children exchanged worried glances. Their grinning faces fell, although they were still not quite sure what Kolya was driving at.

“You won’t run wild after I leave, will you? You won’t climb on top of the cupboard and break your legs, or start crying because you’re frightened to be alone in the house, will you?”

A look of distress appeared on the children’s faces.

“And if you promise to be good, I’ll show you something very interesting: a little brass cannon that you can fire with real powder.”

The children’s faces cleared at once.

“Show us the little cannon!” said Kostya, who was now beaming.

Kolya plunged his hand into his bag and came up with a little bronze cannon that he put on the table.

“I knew you would want to see it. Look, it has little wheels, see!” Kolya rolled the toy cannon on the table. “And it can fire too—I could load it with shot and fire it.”

“Would it kill somebody?”

“Sure, it’d kill anybody. All you have to do is to train the gun on somebody.”

He explained to the children where to put the powder charge and where to roll in the shot. He showed them the little hole for priming and explained to them about the recoil. The children watched and listened with immense curiosity. Somehow, what struck their imagination most was the recoil.

“Do you have any powder?” Nastya asked.

“Yes.”

“I want to see it,” she said with an imploring smile.

Kolya’s hand dove into the satchel once again and emerged with a little vial that contained real powder. And he also had some shot wrapped in a piece of paper. He opened the vial and shook some powder out onto the palm of his hand.

“I only hope there’s no fire around, otherwise we’ll all be blown up and killed,” he said to impress them.

The children now looked at the powder with an awe which increased their fascination still more. Kostya, however, was more interested in the shot.

“The shot doesn’t burn, does it?” he asked.

“No, the shot doesn’t burn.”

“I’d like to have some shot. Please give me some,” Kostya said in a tiny, ingratiating voice.

“All right, I’ll give you some shot, but you mustn’t show it to your mother until I come back, for she may think it’s powder and just about die of fright and give you a big spanking.”

“Mummy never spanks us,” Nastya remarked.

“I know she doesn’t. I just said that because it sounded good. And you must never hide things from your mummy, except this time, and only until I come back. And so, kids, is it all right with you if I go now? You won’t be afraid to stay alone and you won’t start crying, will you?”

“Weeee will . . .” Kostya drawled out, preparing to cry.

“Yes, yes, we will cry. We’ll cry for sure,” Nastya rattled off quickly and worriedly.

“Ah, children, children, what an impossible age! Well, I suppose I’m doomed to sit with you for God knows how long. And it’s getting really late.”

“I want you to tell Perezvon to pretend to be dead!” Kostya said.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to bring Perezvon into this too. Perezvon, here!” And Kolya proceeded to make the dog do all the tricks he knew. The shaggy, smoky-gray mongrel was blind in the right eye and his left ear was peculiarly split down the middle. He yelped and jumped, begged and walked on his hind legs, lay on his back with his paws pointing at the ceiling, stretched himself out motionless as if he were dead.

As Perezvon was performing his last trick, the door opened and Agafia, a fat, pockmarked woman of forty, appeared. She had returned from market with a sack full of provisions. She stood in the doorway looking at Perezvon. Although he had been waiting for the servant so eagerly, Kolya did not interrupt the performance and kept Perezvon dead until he decided it was long enough. At last Kolya whistled and the dog leapt up and started jumping about, elated at having done his duty so well.

“Look at that dog . . .” Agafia muttered.

“And what happened to you?” Kolya said sternly. “These women, you can never rely on them.”

“Women, indeed, you little puppy!”

“Are you calling me a puppy!”

“Yes, puppy! And if I’m late, it’s none of your business,” Agafia replied gruffly, although she seemed to enjoy an exchange like this with her mistress’s lively young son.

“Listen, you irresponsible old woman,” Kolya said, getting up, “I want you to swear to me on everything that is sacred to you in this world, plus something else to make it a bit stronger, that you’ll keep an eye on these children here while I’m away.”

“Why should I swear to you of all people?” Agafia said, laughing. “I’ll look after them anyway.”

“No, that won’t do. I won’t leave the house until you swear to me on the eternal salvation of your soul.”

“All right, so stay home, what do I care? Besides, it’s cold out. You’d be better off staying in.”

“Kids,” Kolya said, “this woman will look after you until I come back. Your mummy may be here before me, because it’s high time she was back too. Besides, Agafia will feed you. Will you give them something to eat, Agafia?”

“Perhaps.”

“Good-by, then, children. I’m leaving you with a clear conscience. And you, woman,” he said in an undertone as he passed Agafia, “I just hope you won’t stuff their heads with the usual stupid explanations about what happened to Katerina. Try to spare their tender years. Here, Perezvon!”

“Ah, get out of here, you,” Agafia snapped at him with real annoyance now. “You’re so stupid sometimes—you should get a good hiding for saying things like that.”

Chapter 3: The Schoolboys

BUT KOLYA wasn’t listening to her. He was free to leave at last. He went out of the gate, looked around, twitched his shoulders, mumbled, “Brrr, it’s freezing!” and walked quickly down the street. Soon he turned to the right into a narrow lane that led toward Market Square, stopped in front of the last house but one before the square, took a whistle out of his pocket, and blew it as if giving a prearranged signal. In a second a red-cheeked eleven-year-old boy, dressed in a smart quilted coat, came dashing out of the gate. It was Smurov, a boy who was still in the lower school, that is, two years behind Kolya. He was the son of a rather well-off civil servant and it seemed that his parents strongly disapproved of his having anything to do with Kolya Krasotkin, whose dangerous escapades were well known in town. So Smurov must have dashed out of the house without the knowledge of his parents. If the reader still remembers, we met this Smurov about two months earlier when, with the other boys, he was throwing stones across the canal at Ilyusha; it was he who told Alyosha Karamazov about Ilyusha.

“I was waiting for you for more than an hour, Krasotkin,” Smurov said, as the boys walked toward the square.

“I know I’m late. I was held up. Won’t your parents give you a good whipping for coming out with me?”

“What are you talking about? My parents don’t whip me! So you’ve brought Perezvon with you too.”

“Right.”

“Are you taking him there too, then?”

“Right.”

“Ah, I wish it was Juchka instead!”

“What’s the point of wishing—it’s impossible. Juchka doesn’t exist. Juchka has vanished into the darkness of the unknown!”

“But couldn’t we pretend . . .” Smurov said, stopping suddenly. “Look, since Ilyusha says that Juchka was shaggy and smoky-gray, just like Perezvon, why can’t we say this 
is
 Juchka? Perhaps he’ll believe us.”

“Listen, boy, avoid lying, even for a good cause. I hope, by the way, you didn’t tell anyone there about my coming, did you?”

“God forbid. I understand, you know. But I still don’t think Perezvon will do. His father, the Captain, the back-scrubber, you know, well, he said he’d bring him a pup today, a real mastiff puppy with a black nose. He thinks that will make Ilyusha feel better, but I doubt it.”

“And how’s Ilyusha feeling?”

“Not well, not at all well. I think it’s consumption he has. His head is completely clear, but he can’t breathe too well—it sounds terrible. The other day he said he wanted to get up, so they dressed him and put on his shoes, and he tried to walk, but he couldn’t even stand up, kept falling over all the time. So he said to his father: ‘I told you before I couldn’t walk in these shoes. They’re no good anymore.’ You see, he thought he couldn’t walk because of the shoes, but it’s simply that he has no strength left. He won’t last another week. Dr. Herzenstube comes to see him every day. They are rich now. They have pots of money.”

“Ah, the pigs!”

“Who’re pigs?”

“The doctors, the whole lousy medical profession in general and every one of them in particular. I just don’t believe in medicine—I say it’s useless. I’ll make a complete study of it later. But what’s all this tear-jerking stuff that’s going on? I understand your whole class visits him now?”

“It’s not the whole class—only about ten of us. Someone visits him every day. It’s nothing.”

“The one who surprises me in all this is Alexei Karamazov. Why, his brother is going on trial tomorrow for such an awful crime, but he himself seems to be able to spend most of his time playing sentimental games with little boys.”

“There’s nothing sentimental about it. Anyway, if that’s how you feel, why are you going there yourself to make it up with Ilyusha?”

“Make it up? That’s a ridiculous way of putting it. Anyway, I won’t allow anyone to analyze my actions.”

“But Ilyusha will be very happy to see you! He has no idea you’re coming. Tell me—why did you refuse to come until now?” Smurov suddenly asked heatedly.

“Now look here, that’s none of your business, my boy. I’m going now because I’ve decided for myself that I should go, whereas all of you were dragged there by Alexei Karamazov. So you can see there’s quite a difference. Besides, perhaps I’m not planning to make it up with him. What makes you so sure of that? What a stupid expression, really.”

“It was not Karamazov at all. It was simply that we felt like going. Of course, at first, we went with Karamazov. And there was nothing so stupid about it either. The father was terribly happy when we came. You know, I think he’ll go insane when Ilyusha dies. And he can see Ilyusha’s dying. But he’s very glad that we’ve become friends with Ilyusha now. Once Ilyusha asked about you, but he never said anything more after that. He just asked and nothing more. I’m sure his father will either go mad or hang himself. Why, even before, he behaved like a madman. You know, he’s a good and honorable man and it was all a mistake. The whole thing was really the fault of that terrible father-killer who beat him up.”