Chapter 22 Chapter 9 Nechayev (3)

Could Pavel be a friend of such a man, he thought with disgust, who stirs up self-righteous fanaticism all the time?The place was like a Spanish convent in the days of Loyola: where well-born girls whipped themselves, foamed at the mouth, and rolled on the ground in ecstasy; The Savior accepts them.These people are extremists, sensationalists, and they crave the ecstasy of death—whether it kills someone or dies.And Pavel was among them! He suddenly thought of the scene at the last moment of Pavel: the body of a passionate young man in his prime fell to the ground, the shortness of breath, the broken bones, especially the shock, because the ending was so real, there was no second chance Shock.He wrung his hands in agony under the table.A body slaps the ground: death, the end of all things!

"I want to prove..." he said, "prove to me what you said about Pavel." Nechayev came closer. "I can take you to the site," he said slowly, each word. "I can take you to the scene and let you see for yourself." He stood up and staggered to the door of the room.He found the stairs, went downstairs, and then couldn't find the exit in the alley.He knocked on any door at random.No one should.He knocked on the second door.A weary-looking woman who was pulling on her slippers opened the door and let him in sideways. "No," he said, "I just want to know how to get out." The woman closed the door without saying a word.

There was a buzzing of voices at the end of the aisle.A door was open; he entered and found the room had a very low ceiling, giving it the impression of a birdcage.Three young men sat in armchairs, and one read a newspaper aloud.After he entered, the newspaper reader stopped. "I'm looking for an exit," he said. "Keep going!" said the newspaper reader, waving his hand and continuing to read his paper.He was reading a report about clashes between students and gendarmes outside the Faculty of Philosophy.He raised his eyes and found that the intruder hadn't moved. "Go on, go on!" he ordered; and the two companions laughed.

At this time, the Finnish girl came to him. "My God, you poked your head around and ran to such a weird place!" She reprimanded him harmlessly.She took him by the arm, and led him, as if blind, down a flight of stairs, then along an unlit passage full of boxes, to a barred door, and opened it. the door.They got to the street.She held out her hand to him. "That's what we agreed on," she said. "What? What agreement do we have?" "At ten o'clock tonight, wait on the bean green corner of the fountain." "Tell you, I won't go." "Very well, you won't. But you might. Don't you have any family affection? You won't betray us, will you?"

She asked the question jokingly, as if thinking there was no way he could do them any harm. "Because, you know, people say you're going to betray us in the end," she went on. "They say you're unreliable by nature. What do you say?" If he had a stick in his hand, he would really like to beat her.But his hands are empty, where should such a round body be used? "Understanding human nature doesn't work, does it?" she went on thoughtfully. "I mean whatever you think, it's human nature that guides people's actions. Human nature dies so hard that hanging him won't help. Just as the wolf eats the sheep and hangs the wolf. Hanging the wolf changes It's not what it is, is it? Hanging the betrayers of Jesus—doesn't change anything, does it?"

"Nobody hanged him," he retorted sullenly. "He hanged himself." "Same nature. Same result, isn't it? I mean, whether someone else hanged him or he hanged himself, the result was the same." Something terrible loomed in their chatter. "Who is Jesus?" he asked softly. "Jesus?" It was dark, and there were only the two of them in this empty, cold little street.She looked at him in disbelief. "Don't you know who Jesus is?" "You say I am Judas, so who is Jesus?" she laughed. "That's just a way of saying it," she said.Then, as if talking to herself, she added: "They don't understand anything." She held out her hand again. "Ten o'clock, fountain. If no one connects, something is wrong."

He turned away and walked down the street without shaking hands with her.He heard muffled voices behind him.What are you talking about?Jewish?Judas?He guessed it was Jewish.Very strange: do people think that the word "Jewish" is derived from "Judah"?But why didn't he want to touch her?Was it because she might have known Pavel, had become too familiar with him--even carnal, in fact?Do they, Nechayevs, own women in common?Co-ownership of a woman is simply unimaginable.It is more likely that those men are jointly owned by her.Including Pavel.He didn't want to think about it in that direction, but he couldn't.He imagined the Finn girl lying naked on many bright red cushions, her fat thighs spread out, her arms spread out to show off her breasts and round, hairless, almost immature abdomen.Pavel took a kneeling position, ready to be fucked and consumed.

He shook his head and stopped thinking about it.Jealous imagination!Dad, like an old gray mouse, crawls to the sex scene afterward to see if there's anything left for him.Sitting on a dead body in the dark, pricking up your ears to listen, then bite, listen again, bite again.Is it for this reason that the gang of policemen, headed by the good father, the big mouse Maximov, is vengefully hunting down the free youths of Petersburg? He thought back to Pavel's behavior after he and Anya married.Pavel was nineteen years old then, but firmly refused to accept her, Anna Grigoryevna, to share his father's bed.During the year they lived together, Pavel maintained the idea that Anna was just his father's companion, as an old woman might be: just a housekeeper, grocery shopping, laundry shop people.They played cards in the evening, and when he said it was time to go to bed, Pavel refused to let Anna go with him: instead of asking Anna to play another game with him ("Just the two of us!").Even when she blushes and tries to back out, he looks puzzled ("This isn't the countryside, you don't need to be up at dawn to milk the cows!").

Has it always been the case between father and son that the fiercest rivalries are disguised with jokes?This is the real reason for his desolation: because the basis of his life, the rivalry between him and his son, has disappeared?Was it not the Revenge of the People that lurked beneath the revolution, but the Revenge of the Sons—fathers jealous of their sons' women, sons plotting to steal their fathers' cash boxes?He shook his head wearily.