Chapter 40 Chapter 17 Poison (1)

The sky was pale and bright, and the sun was low, emerging from the crowded streets of Meshyaskaya Street, and he involuntarily closed his eyes.The convulsions and dizziness passed, and he almost longed for the comfort of being blindfolded and led by one hand. He was weary of these troubles in Petersburg.Dresden beckoned to him like a peaceful coral island—Dresden, his wife, his books, his manuscript paper, the hundred little comforts that only a home could have, not to mention the time to walk among them. The joy of wearing brand new underwear.However, without a passport, he cannot leave! "Pavel!" he whispered, repeating the magical name.However, from a logical point of view, he has completely severed contact with Pavel.It was no longer the memory of Pavel, nor even Anna Sergeyevna, that seized him now, but the little sewer dug for him by Pavel's betrayer.He was not going to turn left, in the direction of Candle Street.Instead, he turned right, towards Sadovoy Street, towards the police station.He was restless, hoping that Nechayev would nail him up from behind and spy on him.

The reception room was as crowded as ever.He is lined up in line.About twenty minutes later, he got to that table. "Dostoevsky, report as required," he said. "By whom?" The clerk at the desk was a young man who wasn't even wearing a police uniform. He waved his hands forward angrily. "How would I know who to report to? You ordered me to report here. Now, I'm going to report." "Please sit down, someone will receive you." He was so angry that his saliva flew around. "I don't need a reception, it's enough for me to come here! You have already seen a big living person standing here, what do you want me to do? Also, there is no seat, where do you want me to sit?"

The clerk flinched visibly from his anger.Others in the room looked at them curiously. "Write my name down and that's it!" he said savagely. "I can't just write down a name," the clerk answered him businessily. "How do I know it's your name? Let me see your passport." He couldn't hold back his anger. "You confiscated my passport, and now I'm going to make one myself! What absurdity! Let me see Director Maximov!" If he thought that the clerk would be intimidated by the name of Director Maximov, he was very wrong. "Supervisor Maximov is not here. You had better sit down and calm down. Someone will receive you."

"when?" "How do I know? You're not the only one in trouble." He pointed to the crowded room. "In any case, if you have a complaint, follow the normal procedure and submit something in writing. Without written things, we can't do things. Listen, you are also a literate person, of course you should understand this ’” With that, he turned to the next person in the line. No doubt he would have thought that if he could see Maximov at this moment, he would exchange Nechayev for his passport.If he hesitates, there is only one possibility, that he believes he has been betrayed—by himself, by Dostoevsky—and it was Nechayev. expected.Or, will things get worse and they'll get tangled up more deeply?Is it possible that behind Nechayev's excessive cynicism and his remarks that he would denounce him, he was deliberately confusing him and suppressing him?Every time he thought about it, he felt defeated.Defeated, perhaps because he intended to be defeated—by a player.And this player, from the day he knew him, or even earlier, realized the joy of subjugating others-planning, instigating, deceiving-doing everything he can to trap him.What other explanations could he have for his stupid passivity, for his half-assed consciousness?

The same is true for Pavel?In the deepest part of his heart, as the son of his stepfather, would he be easily seduced by smooth promises? Nechayev said of financiers, comparing them to spiders.But at this moment, he felt that he was just a fly in Nechayev's spider web.The only spider he could think of, bigger than Nechayev, was Maximov, the spider sitting behind the table, smacking his lips and considering his next prey.He wished he could treat Nechayev as a meal, swallow him alive, crush his bones and spit out dry residue. So it seems that, after some self-satisfaction, he has descended into these petty revenges.How low can he sink?He remembered Maximov's comment: at this age, bless the fathers of daughters.If there is a son, the father had better not be around, just like the relationship between a frog and a fish.

He pictured in his mind the situation of the spider Maximov at home.His three daughters bothered him, rubbed their chins against him, booed him gently, and looked at him carefully, so as not to annoy him. He had been hoping for a quick answer from Apollon Mykov; but the doorman of the flat swore that he had not received any letters. "Are you sure my letter was sent?" "Don't ask me, ask the boy who delivered the letter." He tried to find the boy who had delivered the letter.However, no one knew where he was. Should he write another letter?If Mykoff had received his first plea for help and ignored him, wouldn't he have rejected the second plea for help?He is not a beggar.But the reality before him was unpleasant indeed. Day after day he had to live on the handouts of Anna Sergeyevna.The news will get out.If it has not been reported by now, when everyone knows about it in the future, there will probably be half a dozen creditors who will not lend him any more money.The penniless state will not protect him: a desperate creditor can easily estimate the price, estimate what his wife, his family, and even his fellow writers can raise to help him wash away his shame. The money counts.

More reasons for him to flee Petersburg!He had to get his passport back.If that didn't work, he had to risk another trip with Isaev's papers. He had promised Anna Sergeyevna to go and see the sick child.At this moment he noticed that the curtain in the alcove had been drawn and Matrona was sitting on the bed. "What do you think?" he asked. She didn't say anything, she was lost in thought. He came closer and put his hand on her forehead.Her cheeks were a little red, her breathing was weak, but she had no fever. "Fyodor Mikhailovich," she began slowly, without looking at him. "Is death painful?"

He was quite surprised, surprised by the way she thought about the problem. "My dear Matryosha," he reassured her, "you will not die! Lie down and sleep a little, and when you wake up you will feel better. In a few days you will be back at school Yes—you heard the doctor say that." As he spoke, Matrona shook her head. "I don't mean me," she said. "Does it hurt—you know—when a man is dying?" He knew she was serious right now. "At this moment?" "Yes. It's not that I'm dead, but when I'm facing death." "When you knew you were going to die?"

"yes." He was full of gratitude.These days Matrona had avoided him, treated him lukewarm, childishly absorbed in her resentment.Deep in her heart was a precious memory of Pavel.She keeps repelling him.Well now, she's back to her former self. "Animals don't find it so hard to die," he said in a soothing, soft voice. "Maybe we have to learn from the animals. Maybe that's why animals are able to live with us on the ground—they show us that life and death are not as difficult as we think." He paused, and then went on. "It's not the pain that scares us the most about death. The thing that scares us the most is leaving those who love us behind and going alone. But it's not like that, it's not that simple. When we die, we will die with the people we love in our hearts Those people walked together. So, when Pavel died, he had you, me, and your mother in his heart. Now, he has all of us in his heart. Pavel is not alone."

Matrona was still dazed."I'm not thinking of Pavel," she said thoughtfully. He was restless.He doesn't understand.However, this emotion was fleeting, and he realized that there were too many things he didn't know. "So who are you thinking about?" "Thinking of that girl who was here last Saturday." "I don't know which one you mean." "A friend of Sergei Gennadevich." "The Finnish girl? You mean because the police took her away? You don't have to lie here and worry about that!" He took her hand into his own and patted her reassuringly. "Nobody's going to die! The police aren't going to kill people! They're going to send her back to Karelia, that's all. The worst thing they can do is throw her in jail for a few days."

She withdrew her hand and turned to look at the wall.He gradually understood that even now, he still didn't fully understand her.She might not ask him for assurances again, might not have gotten over her childish fears—in fact, she was telling him something he didn't know, in a roundabout way. "Are you worried that she will be executed? Is that all you are worried about? Because you know what she has done?" She shook her head. "Then you'll have to tell me, I can't guess any more." "They all swore that they would never be caught. They swore to kill themselves before they were caught." "Vows are not so hard, Matryosha, it's hard to carry them out. Especially since your friend has run away, and you are yourself. Life is precious, and she was right to save her own life. You don't have to blame she." Her eyes lit up for a moment, and then she fiddled with the sheets absently.She fiddled with it and murmured, her head bowed.He could barely hear what she was saying. "I gave her poison." "What did you give her?" She brushed her hair to one side.He sees what she's been hiding: a slight smile. "Poison," she said, still quietly. "Does poison cause pain?" "But how did you give it to her?" he asked, searching quickly for something in his memory. "Give it to her when she gave her bread. No one saw it." He recalled scenes that surprised him at the time: the old-fashioned curtsy, the scene where the prisoners were served food. "Does she know?" He asked in a low voice with his mouth dry. She nodded.Now he remembered how stiff and ungrateful the Finn girl had been when she was offered food.He couldn't question her then. "But where did you get the poison?" "Sergei Gennadevich left it to her." "What else did he leave behind?" "flag." "Flags and what?" "There are other things. He wants me to keep them." "show me." The child climbed out of bed, knelt down, and groped in the mattress.She took out a small bag wrapped in canvas.On the bed, he opened the small bag, which contained an American-made pistol and several magazines.There were also leaflets, and a small cotton purse tied with long silk thread. "The poison is in there," Matrona said.