Chapter 23 Chapter 10 Bomb Tower (1)

When he got home, Matrona was waiting for him nervously in the corridor. "The police are here, Fyodor Mikhailovich, they are looking for a murderer!" Time stopped and he stood still. "Why did they come here?" Although these words came from his mouth, he seemed to feel that they were faint voices from far away. "They searched everywhere, the whole house!" He heard more details from Anna Sergeyevna. "They asked if anyone knew of a beggar who had been around lately. I think I must have, but I can't remember. Some say he avoided the house." At this point, he could have revealed that Ivanov had spent the night in her apartment, but instead of saying so, he asked: "What is he charged with?"

"The police were tight-lipped. Matryosha said he had killed someone, but that was just a rumour." "Impossible. I know the man, I've had a long conversation with him. He's not a killer." It turned out to be not just hearsay, but a crime; the victim was the beggar whose body was found in an alley down the street.It was the porter who told him, and he was shocked.Ivanov: That hideous fellow who always appears on the deathbed or beside the funeral tomb, doesn't seem to be short-lived. "Are they sure he didn't freeze to death?" he asked. "Why must it be murder?"

"Oh, murder is never wrong," replied the old man at the gate, with a well-informed air. "It surprises me that they have the need to fight for such an insignificant guy." At dinner Matrona talked about murders.She was overexcited: her eyes lit up and her speech was incoherent.As for him, he had his business to talk about, but not until her mother calmed her down and went to bed. When he thought she was asleep, he began to tell Anna Sergeyevna about his meeting with Nechayev.He kept his voice low, knowing that grown-up whispers—always about the treacherous and the charming—can penetrate a child's deepest sleep.

Anna had heard the name Nechayev, but did not know who it was.But she advised immediately, and firmly. "You have to keep the appointment. You won't be at ease if you don't know the real situation." "But I already know what happened. I don't need to know anything more." She made an impatient gesture.His lack of enthusiasm eluded her: she could only take it for indifference.How could he make her understand?To make her understand, he must first speak with a voice from the bottom of the water, the clear pleading voice of a child from the dark depths. "Dear Father, sing to me!" the voice would call, and she would hear it.Somewhere inside he would not only find the voice but also recognize the specific words.At this moment, he couldn't make out the words.He had a feeling that those words would be found in an old ballad.But the ballad is not recorded in books: but in the hearts of the Russian people, out of his reach.Or in the mind of a child.

"Pavel is not a vengeful man," he stammered at last. "Whoever killed him, it's over, the umbilical cord has been cut, he has no connection with that person. I want to follow his example. I don't want to be poisoned by revenge." He still has a lot to say, but not now.Pavel, for example, doesn't like to recount the circumstances of his fall.Pavel felt so alone that he needed someone to sing for him, to comfort him, to assure him that he would never be left underwater. There was a moment's silence between him and the woman.For the first time since Sunday, the two of them were alone together.She looks tired.Her shoulders and hands drooped limply, and her neck was wrinkled.Once again it was clear to him that she was older than his wife, that they were not of the older generation, but not far off.He wished he didn't have to notice it.It was not long before he came back from Nechayev; Nechayev was young and energetic like a devil, and the lesser devils were young.

Impulsively, he grabbed her hand.She raised her eyes in surprise. "I'm not asking you to take revenge," she said delicately. "You're right about Pavel: he's not vindictive. But he has a sense of justice. You keep your promises. Know as much as you can. Otherwise you'll never have peace of mind." He still holds her hand.From her hand he felt a pressure to respond to what he could only call tenderness. "Justice," he said thoughtfully. "A high-sounding word. Can one really draw a line between justice and vengeance?" When she didn't seem to understand, he added: "Isn't that Nechayev's originality—whatever he wants His organization is called People's Revenge, not People's Justice. At least he's honest."

"Is that so? Is that the message the people want: that they're after revenge, not justice? I don't think so. Why are people taking Nechayev seriously? Why is anyone, a student, an excitable young man People, take him seriously? After all, what power does he have?" "Of course, not the power of life, but the power of death. As long as there is a spirit, children can kill as well as adults. Perhaps this is Nechayev's originality again: he said what we dare not even think about." Words about our children; he gave a voice to the silent and stern force that swept over young Russia. We did not ask; and he came with the ax and insisted on making us hear."

Her hand, which had been alive, suddenly became lifeless.Sensitive woman, he thought, letting go of her hand.Same as her daughter.And maybe just as vulnerable. He was going to hold her, hold her in his arms, fix what was broken.He should stop talking like this, which only makes her feel repulsed and alienated.But he didn't. "At the end of the day, you can never rally people to your cause by preaching a spirit that is alien to them, or meaningless to them. Of course, he doesn't explain it that way. He calls himself a materialist. That's just It's just fashionable jargon. In fact, he is what the Greeks call a man possessed by a demon. The demon commands him. That's the source of his strength."

He thought again: Now I must stop.Still, the dry, deadly words kept coming.He knew he had lost touch with her. "There must be evil spirits on Pavel, otherwise, why did Pavel respond to his call? It's a good thing to think that Pavel has no vengeance. It's a good thing to have good reviews for the dead. But it's a bit exaggerated for him. We can't be emotional—— In everyday life, he was as vindictive as any other young man." She stood up.He thought he knew what she was going to say, and was ready to defend himself out of face.He thought he would hear: You claim to be Pavel's father, but I don't believe you love him.But he guessed wrong.

"I don't know anything about that anarchist Nechayev, I can only accept what you tell me," she said, "but it is difficult for me to distinguish you from Nechaev based on what I have heard." Who would prefer that Pavel belonged to the Vengeance Party. I have nothing to do with Pavel, of course I am not his mother, but for him and his reputation, I should object. You should not fight Nechayev He got involved too." "Nechayev is not an anarchist. That's a common misconception. He's a different kind of person." "Anarchist, nihilist, whatever he is, I don't want to hear it! I don't want strife and hatred to be brought into my house! Matrona is excited enough now; I don't want her to suffer. further impact."

"Not anarchism, not nihilism," he continued stubbornly. "When you label him, you miss out what's unique about him. He doesn't act in the name of thought. He acts when he feels something in his body. He's a sensationalist. Feeling An extremist. He wants to live his life to the fullest of his sensory faculties, his carnal knowledge to his fullest. That's why he says there's nothing he can't do—if he doesn't care to explain what he does , why would he say such a thing?" He stopped.Again he thought he knew what she was going to say; or that he knew what she was going to say if he hadn't said it: what about you?Do you really care? "Why do you think he chose the ax as his weapon?" he said. "If you think about the axe, if you think about what it means—" He couldn't find the right words, and raised his hand in despair.The axe, the tool of people's vengeance, the common people's weapon, is rough, heavy, and impossible to deal with. When it is swung with all its strength, it takes out the resentment accumulated in a lifetime, and when it is struck down, it is with evil joy.