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Walking erratically, Rodion left his flat and walked through the street along with Dunya. Both took different paths.
They had spoken about the murder, Rodya rushed to Sonya's apartment with the purpose of acquiring the cross, and immediately afterwards he would confess at the police station. Although unstable, he had made a decision: He would confess that exact same day, both in public as when facing the law, everything else was uncertain.
Rodya had contemplated how prison would be; he didn't care in the slightest what or where he would eat or sleep, what caused him fear was for how long he would be trapped inside a cell, contrary to what he stated to Porfiry with evident certainty. Would living be worth it once the sentence came to an end? Why couldn't he throw himself down the Neva, if he knew that his fate was written since the day of the murder? Can the human being change for good? He was certain that when he got out of prison, he would be close to being forty years old. How, how could a young man, with such chances at life, ruin his life forever? Better hang oneself at once!
He stopped. He was just halfway through from reaching Sonya's place.
"Have I considered everything already?" Raskolnikov questioned. "Am I forgetting someone? A goodbye, a goodbye is the slightest thing I must give. My mother, Dunya and Sonya… I don't feel any sort of attachment to them, not anymore. What's left is respect. They are wonderful women, they would be far better if they were away from me. This is the solution to the problems of my family, I will disappear and they will live their lives calmly, I am doing them a favour."
He repeated those names again and again, they were the only ones whom he respected, and he was about to lose them. ¿Would they write letters to him? Mother, Dunya, Sonya. Only one last goodbye to say. Soon, those names would be a memory, a bitter one.
And a thought flashed through his mind, another name appeared.
"No doubt that I'm ungrateful and utterly cruel," he replied to himself. "Where has Razumikhin been?"
And with the same speed as before, all of Razumikhin's actions flashed through his mind, starting at university and ending in that precise moment. Razumikhin always cared about Rodya and he made sure that he was in good condition. He had defended the other uncountable times and he believed with his whole heart that Rodion was free of all crime. Even though Raskolnikov had always thought of him as obtrusive and stubborn, he couldn't deny he was a good man, and he could say that it was the most "sublime" man he ever met. Everyone trusted him to death.
"Razumikhin has never left me alone," thought Rodion, "but there's no doubt he's a good man; Who isn't, compared to myself? Last time I saw him, he said that I had never been mad. Ha! He was close to finding out, he said he didn't mean to ask anything, because I would tell him all my "secrets", and it would be all nonsense. He was right, if he stayed a little longer I would have confessed. It's a shame, I'm confessing to him this right instant and he will hear me all the way through. I will finally get rid of him."
When he stopped thinking, he was about to change paths to head to Razumikhin's flat, but when he looked at his surroundings, he was already close to his place: he had walked unconsciously to the other's flat, again.
"Why am I always near Razumikhin's place?" Rodya questioned while he cautiously walked towards the building. He could feel the beginning of a headache. "And It's the new apartment, Potchinkov, 47. My brain must know what it's doing, I simply don't realize. Same thing happened when I was looking for Svidrigailov…"
When he reached the building, he began going upstairs and found himself in front of the door. Suddenly, his hands began shaking and he could feel the headache aggravating. He rang the bell carefully. It wasn't likely to find Razumikhin inside his apartment, doing a thousand things that didn't matter to Rodion in the slightest. He was ready to go.
The door creaked open.
Rodion looked at Razumikhin carefully. He had fixed his clothes, but his hair was still messy; there were bags under his eyes, and when seeing his face one could guess he was in a good mood, as if he had recently lifted a weight off his shoulders, and was at peace. Razumikhin took seconds to recognize his friend. When he did, a smile appeared on his face. Rodion turned pale.
"Rodya!" shouted Razumikhin, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "What are you doing? Come in, last time you didn't have time to look at my flat. My uncle isn't home, it's a shame, I wanted you to meet him. Sit down."
Razumikhin guided his friend to sit on one of the furniture. The living room was wide, a big table in the middle with a sofa within the widest side, with two equal wooden chairs in the sides left. This furniture contrasted sharply with the apartment, which was new. On the desk there were dirty dishes as well as cutlery, there were different folded papers and kopecks. In front of the table there was a bureau. In this there were different books in german; above, an old mirror. On the left side of the table there was a wall with two windows, with a curtain for each one of them.
Rodya sat down on the sofa, as he looked carefully at every detail. Razumikhin sat on one of the chairs.
"And what brings you here, brother?" asked Razumikhin, noticing the other didn't dare to speak. "Is it you finally want the translations? You could finally make your own money for a while, and I know for a fact your pockets are empty. Do you like the apartment? I adore it, and what's best of all is I bought it by myself. Sure I have asked for loans, but I'm certain in less than five years I'll pay it. It's good to have goals, you know? It's good for…"
Rodya didn't bother to hear the rest of Razumikhin's monologue. He was thinking about a way to say Mikolka wasn't a murderer, and that the real one was right in front of him. He couldn't use the same tactic he used on Sonya, and he couldn't try to leave, he was there to confess and he would do so. Besides, his friend wouldn't let him go that fast.
"Razumikhin," interrupted Rodya, "do you remember what you said about Mikolka?
"Again with that!" shouted Razumikhin. "What's your obsession with Mikolka? No, don't tell me anything about it. I have no intention of knowing anything that goes in your mind, I already told you everything I know. I don't understand why that murder still worries you, but why should I care! He already confessed, let him be."
"And why are you so sure he's guilty?"
"Porfiry confirmed it, and I trust him. And surely you'll tell me that Mikolka is nothing but a child, a coward who will never be able to murder. You think so, don't you? Porfiry said the same thing, but Mikolka's statement is on point, absolutely zero doubts it's him."
A smile formed in Rodya's lips.
"I can't confess unless that expression on his face disappears" he thought.
"Razumikhin, do you still remember what happened in the corridor?"
Immediately, the smiling attitude of Razumikhin had vanished. His features turned into a gesture of fear, one could say the question caused him sadness.
He remembered that day, the scene that was engraved in his mind: How Raskolnikov's eyes destroyed his soul within a second, how Raskolnikov looked at him with such disdain and despair, eyes who looked at him, filled with terror; how those terrible, cruel, twisted thoughts formed in his mind. It was terrible, the thought was terrible. He wished that scene had never happened. Razumikhin felt a shiver.
"Yes, I remember" answered Razumikhin, as serious as he could.
The smile didn't fade from Rodion's lips. He had found Razumikhin's Achilles' heel.
"What did you think at that moment? Raskolnikov questioned.
Razumikhin tensed. He couldn't tell him the idea that had appeared in his mind when they were in the corridor, he couldn't. He felt an immense regret for thinking of his friend in such way.
"Rodya, I don't understand where this is going" Razumikhin responded immediately, evading the question.
"Why don't you answer me? Alright, don't tell me a thing, it makes no difference. I know it all."
Razumikhin tried to protest, but he couldn't.
"You think it was me, right? You think I killed that old pawnbroker, isn't that right? Why does everybody think such an atrocity? Me, who can barely carry the weight of my existence, carry the weight of an axe, and kill two innocent women with it? You are sure I am capable, and maybe I am. What would you say if that was the case?"
Razumikhin did not reply. He looked at Raskolnikov with panic.
"It's a little comical, don't you think so?" he continued, after a pause. "Tell me it isn't funny that people are so suspicious of a person who barely has the strength to eat. Dmitry Prokofych Razumikhin, who has spent his time with me in protecting me, proving that I am free from all sin, buying me clothes and feeding me, going to my dirty, cage-like apartment, to check if I'm insane or not? Ha, ha, ha! You could say that I have lost everything, isn't that right? Then let me answer you: Yes, I have lost everything! ¿Did you hear that, or do you want me to repeat it again? Although I think that was clear since the day I left university, ha, ha!"
He bursted laughter after laughter, laughing at his own misery.
Albeit the tone of his voice implied that he was sure of himself, he grabbed his hands and twisted them nervously, these started sweating, his eyes layed everywhere that wasn't Razumikhin, and again he felt his headache aggravating. He could hear his heart racing and tears formed in his eyes.
Razumikhin felt more than guilty. He felt as he had betrayed Rodya for thinking of him as a murderer, for simply thinking of something impossible. He had his hands intertwined and looked carefully at his host: he could see the immense suffering that was hidden behind that uncontrolled laughter. He wished his friend could allow himself to cry.
"You think so, don't you?" he continued. "You had to see it with your own eyes, you had to see I wasn't insane. Ah, Razumikhin, I wish I was insane. Maybe I would suffer less."
He looked at Razumikhin and noticed the fear on his face. It showed guilt and sadness, as if he was responsible for all of his sorrow, and that was exactly how he felt.
Rodion felt hatred towards himself. Why did he had to torture everyone who cared for him? What kind of coward, selfish louse has to torture someone first to be sincere? How miserable could he be? He had so many accumulated misfortunes that in his miserable soul there was no room left for more. He made the four most important people he had completely miserable. Why didn't he drown himself?
Rodya's sarcastic attitude vanished. After thinking, he said:
"Razumikhin, you are a good man and I am the exact opposite. I don't deserve anything, you deserve it all. Everyone knows you, everyone is your friend. How is that possible? Say something… Don't look at me that way. I believe I've said such things to you because I want to be you, even if we both know that's not possible. I am envious of you."
He made a pause.
"I… I was in the Neva… I saw a girl. What happened to her? They tried to save her… I was about to drown myself."
Razumikhin almost jumped from his seat.
"It's not tragic," Rodion calmly responded, "I believe it's the most predictable thing I've done, I don't understand your astonishment. Sit down…"
"Rodya," interrupted Razumikhin, visibly troubled, " I don't know why you are here. If you want me to listen to your troubles, or if you need advice, I will hear you, I will give you the advice you need, I'll tell you absolutely everything. I'm afraid I don't understand a single word you are saying, not a single word. I don't know if you are making fun of me with your puzzles and riddles, but I don't want to go mad… I don't want to treat you differently, you do not deserve it. I understand you are delirious. Yes, you spew nonsense without noticing, you rave and you deny it."
"You are right, Razumikhin," stuttered Rodion, willing to confess, "I came here to tell you something, yes, I will do it… But, don't you know yet? You already know everything."
Razumikhin was growing impatient.
"Look, I'm going to say it loudly and clearly. It was me."
Razumikhin listened.
"It was me," he continued, "I murdered that old pawnbroker along Lizaveta. I took an axe, I killed them both."
Razumikhin mechanically straightened.
"What part of you leaving that murder behind don't you understand?" Rasumikhin answered instantly, visibly disturbed. "Rodya, you're absolutely sure it was you. I don't understand anything you say, maybe you are insane. Nicolay confessed, end of discussion."
"You have always suspected my innocence, I am here to amend that. Before I got here, I left my flat, where Dunya and I talked about the crime. I was heading to Sonya's place to say my goodbyes, because today I'll confess at the police station. I remembered you, and here you have me."
His host shivered at the pronunciation of Dunya's name. If it was all nonsense, could Avdotya take it seriously? If they had discussed it, There had to be some truth in that confession, but it didn't make any sense. And what happened with Sonya? Neither of them would fall for such a lie. An expression of horror formed on Razumikhin's face. He was on the edge of his seat.
"Why do you shiver, if you don't believe what I say?" asked Rodya, "After your last visit to me, Porfiry entered my flat, and he told me to my face that he was sure that I am the murderer, that I am guilty. And he gave me a thousand and one reasons why Mikolka is not capable of such an act."
"Porfiry assured me that Nikolay is the murderer."
"You trust him. Why? I asked him the same question, he said he had to put you off, you don't have anything to do with this, you are an outsider. If you believe me, Razumikhin, you will see I say nothing but the truth. I killed them both, I had planned it for years, and when I finally murdered I realized I had achieved nothing. I thought I was able to be more than a man, that I could follow Napoleon's steps. To assure that, I accomplished an act of supposed bravery, and it turns out I'm nothing but a coward."
Raskolnikov quickly regretted those words. Why did he have to go to Razumikhin's place? Why did he confess? Did it really matter if Razumikhin discovered it when he was in Siberia? It didn't matter. Everything was already said and Rodya had to face whatever his friend had to say.
"Why does it affect him so much?" Rodya thought. "Why does he care about me? Why am I surrounded by people like him? Wouldn't it be the same if I were to rot in jail, while he married Dunya and lived happily? Why do things change?"
Rodion got up from his seat, willing to go out. Razumikhin, seeing that his friend was leaving, snapped out of his trance and instantly said:
"No, where are you going?"
"I already told you to Sonya's place, and then to confess.
Rodion held the latch. Razumikhin grabbed him by the arm strongly. He looked completely changed; although the horror was still present in his eyes, there was also a kind of conviction in them.
"You…" he started, "it was you. You can't imagine how many times I've thought… how many times I have thought it was you, and when doing so I insulted myself with the worst injuries imaginable. And so it is, isn't it? Why?"
Rodya opened his mouth, ready to say goodbye and leave the room, but Rasumikhin cut him off.
"You," he continued, pronouncing the word "You" sharply, " killed two women, in front of me I have… Is it really you? What happened to you? Did they ever do anything to you? Did they attack you? You must have a reason, something minimally acceptable! I'm surprised that even after the crime, when I took you to Porfiry's office, you still thought you were that "extraordinary human", or something of the sort. Don't think I have forgotten, I used to think about it and I quivered… I can't comprehend how those ideas could form in your head. Why? I need an explanation, tell me… Answer me!"
Raskolnikov, sensing the remarkable firmness with which Razumikhin affirmed his guilt, felt, for a few seconds, genuine panic. It didn't take him long to realize that the people who had confessed the crime to were seized by a previous feeling towards him, which softened the reactions to such truth. Sonya, a miserable angel, had an esteem and relationship with Raskolnikov that was impossible to believe. He had come to the point of condoning the murder. Dunya, on the other hand, the simple fact that it was her brother and not any other person who had committed the crime, forced her to forgive and continue to esteem Rodya.
It was at that moment that Rodion understood that with Razumikhin there would be no reaction minimally similar to the previous ones received. Not a single thought, not a single feeling clouded Razumikhin's mind. He saw, at times, the facts with total clarity. Razumikhin would question him, expose all his faults. It was such an idea that made Rodya tremble for a mere moment.
"There is no doubt that I am a coward." he thought.
"Look Razumikhin," he answered with difficulty, "I have the reason of why I murdered very clear. If you want I can tell you…"
"I don't need explanations!" Interrupted Razumikhin. "It's enough for me to know that you murdered, that's enough… No, no… Now, tell me everything you want, I'll listen to you." He had trouble speaking, his words were barely a whisper, and it seemed that at any moment he would fall unconscious to the ground, from how much he trembled.
Even if Razumikhin wanted to say a definite statement that would make Rodion leave his house right then and there, he couldn't, even if his life depended on it. It broke his heart to have to treat a friend, specifically this friend, differently. He realized that he couldn't put Raskolnikov on his doorstep no matter how much he wanted to. So he would listen to his statement.
"Listen carefully, Razumikhin…," Rodya began, trying to compose himself, "I know that you are a well-informed man, and that you will perfectly understand my theory… my motive, so to speak; that you agree with it doesn't matter… Listen…"
"I'm listening."
"To begin with, I haven't touched the money or the trinkets I stole from Alyona Ivanovna, nor am I clear what kind they are, or how much they're worth. I hid everything under a rock, as I declared to Zametov… This one is located on Voznesensky Prospect, in a yard… near this one. Do you understand? I haven't spent a single kopek belonging to that old lady, I swear!"
Razumikhin was looking at Rodya intently, clearly disturbed.
“Having said this,” he continued, “I'm partially sure you've never been to that louse's house. I hated her, Razumikhin, and I still hate her. I'm sure if for some reason she came back from her grave, I'd kill her again. Not because I believe or ever believed that I had the right, but because she truly does not deserve to live."
"You have certainly lost your mind…" Razumikhin stammered with certain effort. "It doesn't matter if she was the worst person you've ever met, that you killed her doesn't make you superior in any way possible. She was a poor old woman, what harm has she done to you?"
"It doesn't make me any better, not at all!" Rodion exclaimed, ignoring the question. "It has clearly not benefited me at all, moreover, her well-deserved death has made me a low man. Instead, I have benefited the world. I do not regret her death, Razumikhin, and I tell you this so you do not think that I am still worthy of the vast riches of Russia, or that I can still become a good man. No, I have not sympathized with her death or my actions, and I never will."
"But you have murdered. You killed her. Her death hasn't affected you at all, the act of killing has... It could have been any person who, in your opinion, has already poisoned the face of the earth…"
"That old woman was no person!" Rodya exclaimed, getting excited. "You have never met her, but I… How miserable! You call me a murderer, when… Listen, Razumikhin, do you not understand? That louse could have been an even worse killer than me! I am nothing, compared to what she was, to what she could have been! She deserved to die, she needed to die. No one cared for her… I didn't kill her! She killed herself… Yes, she was waiting for that moment… She knew how little she was worth. She knew someone would kill her, she knew. I might even think that she would have provided me with the ax herself, and turned around, waiting for me to kill her…"
"But what about Lizaveta?" Razumikhin asked suddenly. "Was she also that kind of louse that is under your shoes? Would you say she's not worth your little finger?"
"That shouldn't have happened. Everyone knows that death should never have happened. Lizaveta! I would give my life for her to live. Of her… when I think of her I regret my very existence. I still hear her voice in my delirium, I see her face in my dreams... and she always has the same expression, the same one she had when I approached her to kill her, she was livid, she couldn't even scream. And with such features she blames me for everything that happened, and I listen to her, and I cry at her feet… She looks as if she was made of marble! She doesn't make any gestures at all, she doesn't raise her voice, she doesn't whisper, she doesn't move her arms or her legs... even so, her voice expresses the deepest disgust... I seem to see her in the crowd…"
"But it doesn't matter how deeply you regret it! You've killed her!"
"Yes, I've killed her. You're right, nothing I say can make her come back, right? I've already realized... I have it very present."
Seeing that Rodya regretted Lizaveta's death, Razumikhin's "anger", which seemed more like mild displeasure, faded even more than it already had. Poor man! Then he would call himself a coward for not having told Rodion that he was a murderer and that he didn't deserve compassion. But he was there, looking like an idiot, trying to forgive even more than he had already done… Yes, he was a real idiot.
"You know enough about my theory about Napoleon," Raskolnikov declared, after a slight pause, "I believed that I could do good with the pawnbroker's money, since when she died she would leave it to a monastery. I thought I was as brave as Napoleon. And now…"
Raskolnikov stopped. He looked around carefully and then looked at Razumikhin. He was deep in thought. Rodya forced a bitter smile on his face. Razumikhin felt terror.
"I would like to know why you have told me all this," Razumikhin stammered. "You would have turned yourself in to the police station..., you would have gone to jail..., you would have waited for me to find out one way or another, I know that you are capable, capable of making me suffer like this... But you have come looking for me and you have just told all your misery in front of me. Why? Why have you told me everything?"
"You want to know why?" Raskolnikov replied. "Because I wouldn't allow myself. I was not allowed to leave without having confessed to you the reason for my actions. That is the reason."
The truth was, Raskolnikov wasn't sure about why he felt the sudden conviction to confess either.
"That is the reason? It's not possible!" shouted Rasumikhin. "There must be something deeper, someone forcing you to do this, otherwise I can't explain it. Why did you always seek to surrender? Sure, what you're going to do is the right thing to do, but I've never understood you and I'm not doing it now. I know you were capable of hiding everything, of living with that weight all your life! Why did you not do it?"
"What makes a criminal confess? His conscience simply does not allow him to hide it, and little by little, he leans more and more towards justice, until it attacks and does not let him go... it swallows one's soul. That, Porfiry Petrovitch told me that, he told me that there was no other way to make a murderer stand in court."
"Wasn't hiding everything, remaining the wretched, but still innocent Rodion Romanovich the ideal way to solve all your problems? Why are you honest with me?"
"Remain the innocent Rodion Romanovich? I am anything but innocent! Did being me, acting like the me before the murder solve all my problems? It solved everything except myself! I have a house, but no home! I have a sister, I have a mother, but I have no family! I have you, but I have no friends! I have no one, no one! You should understand everything, understand that I have nowhere to turn. Do you know, Razumikhin, what it means to have nowhere to turn? No, you don't."
Rodya began speaking these words in a calm and lucid tone, but as he spoke he began to feel distressed to the point that tears formed in his eyes, he began to tremble and his voice cracked. He realized this, stopped talking, tried to control himself, and continued.
"I'm not able to look at my mother or at my sister in the face, I can't allow myself, I can't allow them to see my monstrous face, the face of a murderer. You understand? I can't allow their features to age because of mine. I also try to not see yours, it's a sin, it should be. God, forgive me for this! Why, why didn't I tell you anything? If I know well, that you are capable of staining your name to save me, all for me… You are capable of helping a murderer! You are capable of defending me! And the whole world would exclaim 'Dmitry Prokofych has defended a murderer to death!' and you would not care, you would not flinch, and you would be proud, proud of staining your image in such a vulgar, cruel way… Convince me, convince me I'm worthy of you, of someone! No, you can't do it."
"Or maybe" he continued, "maybe you would have acted lucidly, and when I had confessed, you would have gone to the police station and handed me over… Wouldn't that be the best way to act? Why would me rotting in Siberia affect you! You would live happily... And they would have asked you about me, and you would have said 'That Raskolnikov you are talking about, I have already forgotten', or even better, you would say that you don't know who I am. Who would want to stain their name like that? So if I'm right, I don't know why you don't run to the station right now. Maybe Porfiry is listening to me from somewhere, and smiles when he hears what I say... Idiot, kick me out of your house! What are you doing? Do something."
Raskolnikov was at his limit. When he finished speaking, he was in a devastating state: he felt a blind fury towards himself. A mixture of guilt and regret swept away the firmness he was trying to maintain. Tears welled up in his eyes, he trembled from head to toe, he felt fragile, he hated it. He looked from side to side, as if he believed in the presence of a third entity, a superior being that would take him once and for all to a funereal cell, the law itself would take him to his grave, he believed that by blinking he would find himself in the coldest area of Siberia, cutting down trees so he wouldn't get shot, but this fantastic character never appeared.
Seeing that the man in front of him did not dare to say anything, Rodion abruptly knelt on the ground, looked at Razumikhin for a few seconds and hugged his legs tightly at the knees. Rodion's desperate and hesitant voice tried to tell him: "You have at your feet the cruelest person on the face of the earth", but as much as he wanted to scream, he couldn't.
Rodion sobbed, still kneeling and trying to recompose. "My last hope of loving and being loved", he thought.
He hadn't seen himself in this state of dismay since he left his studies. He believed that crying was the simplest way to show human frailty. Razumikhin, this "sublime" being could only curse himself at that instant. "How could I let this happen?" Razumikhin thought. "If I had been there, if I had tried to help him with his debts, if I had insisted, maybe everything would be better, Rodya would be better, and he would be free of crime. I had realized at university that this is not a healthy man, I ignored it… I thought that being there was enough… And now what do I do?”
Rodion calmed down a little, stopped sobbing, and shouted in a panicked and stricken tone:
"What I wouldn't give to be the person you always thought I was! What I would give so I had never hesitated to think you deserved an explanation! Look into my eyes, what do you think they say? They beg you not to leave them, that they only have you, and that they only look at you! Look at me, do you think I'm a man who deserves to breathe the same air as you? Look at me! consumed by poverty, disgrace, utter misery! Now I'm going to jail to rot with my kind. The pawns without voice or vote. And maybe that's how it should be. Yes, it should be and it will be. It will be, and I'll be doing the world a favor! When rotting in jail, I'm doing myself and humanity a favor.
Rodion realized that without the man in front of him he would not have been able to survive. Without Razumikhin, Rodya would have died from starvation, from his illness, or else thrown into the river. Rodion's life began when Razumikhin appeared, he had given him another chance, he had brought out the best in him, the purest and most honest part of his being. He needed Razumikhin to live, no matter how much he claimed that he was an annoying and unbearable being, he could not deny the majesty of his character. He realized that he would not find another human being as loving and pure as the one in front of him.
Razumikhin, on the other hand, was stunned. He could still hear the words that came from Rodion's thin lips: “Look into my eyes, what do you think they say? They beg you not to leave them, that they only have you, and that they only look at you!”, “What does that mean?" he thought with fear, "I'm hallucinating! What does it mean? Oh! Rodion Romanovich, you make everything so difficult!"
"Rodya, what rubbish are you speaking? You have gone mad, terribly mad! Get up!" Razumikhin said, in order to finish his thoughts, although his voice was not as energetic or as confident as he wanted.
"I hope you forgive me, Razumikhin." Rodya said, wiping the tears that ran down his face. "I can't understand how you can say I'm your friend. No, I'm nothing more than a… I'm not delirious, I do not speak rubbish."
"Ach! Rubbish! Get up!"
Razumikhin managed to get Rodya to let go of his legs, instantly, he grabbed him under the arms and lifted him up, and then put his hands on his shoulders and held him firmly for a few seconds. He stared into his eyes, then quickly hugged him tightly, as if his life depended on it.
Tears filled Rodya's eyes. He gave in, he wept uncontrollably on his friend's shoulder.
Between his cries, Rodya tried to mumble words, but they instantly got lost in his throat. Razumikhin could only decipher something that sounded like "you hate me". He felt his heart shudder. Every time Rodya tried to pull off Razumikhin's arms, Razumikhin stroked his hair and caressed his face. Raskolnikov was trembling convulsively.
How did Razumikhin get to the point of loving Rodya?—Was there another feeling which allowed you to forgive the unforgivable?—The mysterious and apathetic behavior of Rodion during his stay at the university always raised doubts among students and teachers alike. He was one of the most diligent during their projects. Despite his intelligence, he never made friends with anyone other than Razumikhin. He looked at everyone with deep disdain and never engaged in a conversation with another student other than for academic purposes, and if he did, this talk was short and in it Rodion was indifferent, and everything he said was sarcasm. Razumikhin, on the other hand, was (and still is) surrounded by friends, one could even say that he was the "friendliest" person in the whole institution, but all his friends had something in common: they were sociable and open, they were cheerful, they all drank and had a foul sense of humor. They were all the same except for Rodya. Razumikhin wondered why such a different person could be honest with him, since he knew that Rodya despised the other students. What made, from Rodya's perspective, Razumikhin different? This question was left unanswered. Razumikhin needed the completely different treatment that Rodya had with him, sometimes when students passed by in the corridors, they found the two talking, and shouted to him "Get out of there, Dmitry! He's going to tear you to pieces!", but this student yearned for the contrasting, unequal form that the other adopted when expressing his opinions on certain topics, mostly referring to history and revolution. You could feel Rodion's excitement as he spoke about his beliefs, and this was a privilege that only Razumikhin had experienced.
Another reason why Razumikhin was trapped by such strong feelings was none other than Rodya's appearance. Rodion was tall, his body was thin, he always tried to dress properly (although due to his poverty, this quality did not last). Black hair, not very short; his face was his Achilles heel: pale, while this was not necessarily attractive, it was a way of seeing what state he was in, when he was happy there was a slight but noticeable blush on his cheeks, and although he witnessed this very rarely. times, he worshiped those few times to death. Fine lips of a sweet, soft pink hue, which contrasts with his dark brown eyes, those treacherous eyes, which would drive the most sober of men crazy, were, undoubtedly, the window to the soul. Perfect lashes, defined jawline, "button" nose. Who in their right mind wouldn't give anything for a person with such fine features? He was the first to ask himself this question, and he wished he was the last.
Razumikhin continued to caress his friend. It was such a strange way to love, they both felt anguished, they didn't know what to do next. Razumikhin, in a sweet voice, began to speak:
"You see, my dear boy, I don't hate you, how could I hate you? What nonsense! Now what are you going to do?"
Rodion shivered slightly, Razumikhin stopped hugging him and then put his hands on the other's face, very gently. He looked into his eyes. He continued:
“Rodya, tell me what you're going to do next."
Stammering, Romanovich replied:
"I'll go to the police station… No, I'll go to Sonia, I'm going to say goodbye to her, she's the only one left…"
"I shouldn't let him go," Razumikhin thought, "but what can I do? And then what will become of me?"
"And so it ends? Nothing more?" Razumikhin asked, a noticeable sadness on his features.
"Well, do I have any other options? They are already searching for me. Do I change my name, appearance, nationality? It wouldn't make any difference."
Razumikhin understood; There was nothing else to do.
He had never felt so frustrated, so powerless. He felt like he was going to explode, with rage or in tears? Did the young man in front of him feel like this on a daily basis? It must have been hard to be alone in such a situation, it must have been. And he could only think of the many actions that could have changed his story, changed the course, the end. Everything was done, and Razumikhin's emblem was to live in the present, but he could not leave the past, and he denied the future.
He remembered that time, when he took care of Rodya when he was sick, although back then the damage had already been done, it felt so peaceful and comforting. Back then, that remaining piece of blissful soul could still be found in the young man's eyes.
Every time he thought of the young man, his mind jumped right back to that time. That one time, he would give his life and soul to experience it again and for the rest of his days, over and over again, like a broken record. Find something to love and let it kill you, let it run through your veins until you get tired, until every thought you have is about it, and when your body and mind rest, everyone will know that you passed away in a semi-divine state. Be a martyr or your existence will be insignificant. Cursed be the ignorants of love, unfaithful to destiny! May God have mercy on those who loved, on those who love and on those who will love, and thus their souls will be free. Who loved on the face of the earth, will endure in the kingdom of heaven.
"So you have to go?" Razumikhin said briefly, after a long pause.
"Yes... There's no other way," answered Raskolnikov, "I have to go as soon as possible, before I take it back, before I do something stupid. Likewise, Razumikhin, you still have a chance to be happy, unlike me."
"What are you talking about?"
"Come on, you know… I know that Dunia loves you and you love her. She is yours just as you are hers… and you and her are going to be happy, and I don't want to get in the way of that."
"Rodya, what are you saying? Where do you get that from?"
"I'm not an idiot, you know? Go! It's not a sin that you love someone, is it? The only thing I ask you is that as long as you live you stay by their side, Dunya and my mother, they need you, just as I need you right now so as not to break down..., but you don't need me, because I offer you nothing. There is a big difference. Be happy, nothing stops you."
“Rodya, you don't know what you're talking about. Avdotya, Avdotya is almost identical to you! But she's not the same, do you understand? I am sure that a thousand doors will open for her throughout her life, since she is an excellent woman. Your family may need me, and I will gladly help you both until the end of my days. I feel immense affection towards them; let this affection not be confused… But you! Do you know what I would do for you? You do not know. I love you, get it?
He looked at Razumikhin astonished, more than ever. He hated not knowing what was happening, he thought he had heard wrong, that his mind had played a trick on him. He kept looking at him, trying to figure out what the other had really said, Razumikhin realized this and answered:
"Oh! You do not know! It's so easy, and you don't understand! Listen to me Rodya, believe me when I tell you that I love you, it's not that difficult!"
“Razumikhin, I don't understand what you're saying."
"I told you I love you." he affirmed. "No, not in a common way, love is a very strong word, and I'm using it. I won't take it back, because it's true. No, it is not the same as the affection I feel for Dunya. Yes, love is the right word."
"Excuse me, but I..." replied Raskolnikov, stammering, "think about what I just told you. And I… No, it doesn't make sense."
"Is love logical? Rodion, you always complicate things when they are clearer than daylight... Or have I not been clear? Ever since I met you... you have been everything to me, literally everything. You have exerted an influence on me that I have never heard of before. Before I met you, I believed that love was useless, a myth, I had never fallen madly in love with any woman before. But now it seems that love is the only thing that keeps me going. You keep me going, even if you don't love me... you don't, right? I have learned to live with that fact. Now I can say that I am experienced in love, since all my misery is due to it. I would kiss your hand… give me, give me your hand now, I want to kiss it… I won't be at peace until I kiss your hand. Give it to me…"
“You must be mad. Or maybe I… I'm starting to hear things, don't worry. I'll go to the police station and…"
He stopped his sentence to look at his host. There was no possibility that Razumikhin was lying, or that he was making fun of him. Razumikhin had always been a very expressive person, and now his features expressed sincerity.
"Razumikhin," he went on, trying his best to sound angry, "haven't you heard anything I've said? I'm a murderer, I think I've made that very clear to you. I killed two women in cold blood and stole what they had. I think that's enough for you to hate me… for anyone to hate me… I mean, it's inhumane that you love me and I understand that you want to make me feel good… but it's kind of absurd… don't you think?"
"What is he up to?" Rodion reasoned. "Could Razumikhin be drunk? Maybe I'm not the only one who needs to go to a madhouse. I don't understand why he hasn't kicked me out of his house yet. He has lost it."
“Rodya,” said Razumikhin, “could you for the first time in your life believe what I say? I know it's a bad time and it all looks like a joke, but if I wait for you to serve your sentence, do I gain anything? I wouldn't have been able to… If I told you in jail, I'd end up in a cell too. I have loved you madly, when you talk to me I am happy, when you look at me I die, you kill me slowly. And when I dream you torture me, you tell me such things… It almost sounds like you hate me. Do you hate me? I'll do anything, I swear I'll…"
"You're just as crazy as me. Nobody wouldn't love someone after they confessed to a crime... Unless you have a thing for murderers…"
Razumikhin let out a laugh, the situation was incredulous.
“Rodya, I don't know why I didn't tell you before, but from what I've heard, you feel the same way, don't you? Whether the answer is yes or no, I will wait for you in Siberia, because I understand that you want to do the right thing. You understand? I will wait, even if I have to wait a year of fifteen."
"Give me one reason why you would wait for me God knows how long in Siberia."
"Because I love you."
Rodya was thinking about what to say next, they had just told him that the feeling was mutual, on another occasion he would have cried and shouted happily, but he was speechless. In a situation as crucial as this, one couldn't get sentimental (something he had unknowingly done just a few minutes ago), not when he was about to go and confess. He had to calm down and analyze the matter, Razumikhin was looking at him carefully, almost endearingly, this did not help at all. The silence was uncomfortable, unbearable, annoying.
Yes, Rodion loved Razumikhin, and he realized that he could not do anything about it, that even if a hundred years passed he would still feel the same. If he didn't tell him, he would have cursed himself for the rest of his miserable life. What was wrong, then, in something so common? Hadn't he told himself that either way, he would learn to live with the consequences of his actions, with his own punishment? Was love really a torture? Certainly not, but he refused to think of it as anything else. It is known that, in certain cases (in a case like this, rather), the act of loving is seen as a crime. When everything was over, would he be able to grab Sonia's cross, put it on, and say, kissing the ground, that he was a murderer? He repeated a thousand times that no.
"If I don't tell Razumikhin, I'll definitely jump into the Neva" he thought.
"Since when do you know?" Rodya said, in order to end that deadly silence.
"Since when do I know what?" Razumikhin answered calmly.
Rodya gave him a look of panic. They both knew what they were talking about.
"Come on, don't bother." Razumikhin replied, in a playful tone. "Since you started talking to me in college. It's that you have a way of expressing yourself… And you are well, I shouldn't be ashamed to say it, since it's likely you've been told, you are beautiful. I'm not exaggerating. I couldn't think of anything else, you understand?"
"If you were so sure at that time, why didn't you say anything?"
"Well, I didn't have time…,"mRazumikhin reflected for a moment, "I'll tell you the whole truth, Rodya. Since I met you, I got the impression that you were not capable of loving anything or anyone. I must say that when it comes to feelings and everything of the sort, I'm an authentic coward. When I found out about your old marriage plan with Natalya Yegrovna, I was really upset, I thought about it for a long time. And when you said that you were happy that that lady had died, I was convinced of such an idea, I even mentioned it to your mother and sister…"
"Excuse me Razumikhin," interrupted Rodya, and with a sudden movement he got up from the floor, "but I need to go... I love you too, Razumikhin, and in this situation I know it's difficult... I've been in your apartment for an hour, and in that hour I have reflected and I have convinced myself that I love you, I love you like you have no idea… Do you understand? I love you, I love you… But I can't do much right now. I am in your hands, Razumikhin."
"Rodya... no, what do you mean you're in my hands?" said Razumikhin, trembling.
“I mean… I can no longer be classified as a conscious person. Me now… Now that my thoughts have been cleared, and now that I know that I love you, I belong to you from head to toe."
Razumikhin's lower lip trembled.
"I was going to Sonia to pick up a cross, but now that I am completely at your mercy, my thoughts no longer belong to me. I'll do whatever you want me to do next. You will decide my future!... Stop looking at me like that! Can't you see that I'm completely broken, that I can be corrupted no more? Those eyes… your eyes destroy my soul. Isn't it sad, Razumikhin, that at this very moment you can tell me to do any unimaginable madness, and I wouldn't hesitate to do it...? I am completely at your mercy. Tell me to confess and I will, or to flee from St. Petersburg, to change my name, my appearance, I will do it; If you tell me to jump into the river, I won't wait a single moment! I can't think for myself anymore, without you I don't know what I'm going to do."
Razumikhin grabbed Rodya's hands tightly, so much so that he slightly hurt the other. Rodya looked at him with a smile that revealed his deepest suffering. Razumikhin's eyes began to water.
“Rodya, you have made me suffer too much…!" Razumikhin exclaimed with deep sadness. "How can you tell me such things! How dare you..? Live! Live, for God's sake! Stay with me, by my side, I beg you… Never, never leave! I don't know what I'm going to do without you either. Live, live…"
"Oh, Mitya! Will you love me… will you still love me when I serve my sentence? You promise? Do you promise that you will continue to love me as you do now?"
“How dare you even think…! Shut up, shut up! What are you saying! Trust me. I will love you even more, yes, I will find some way to love you even more than I do now... You will be happy... and I will be happy to see you."
"Believe me too, Mitya, I can't be happier than what I'm right now. Listening to you speak, seeing your figure, your shadow, knowing that you are here, I feel like the happiest man on earth. A happiness that cannot exist unless one has suffered immensely... Yes, I have suffered too much, and that is why I can feel the happiness that I feel…"
Razumikhin did not let Rodya finish. He took the sides of the other's face very carefully, and kissed him. It didn't last long, it wasn't exciting, nor would it have seemed so significant to anyone else who someday—perhaps in a few thousand years—experienced the same thing. But in Raskolnikov's eyes the greatest happiness was found. God, if that kiss didn't completely change him...! He knew, even if it wasn't full of passion, even if it didn't seem like much, he knew that now that kiss meant everything in the world to him. It is impossible to describe what he felt at that moment using words. When their lips met, he felt confused, frozen. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't have uttered a word. When the kiss was over, he was overwhelmed by panic.
He certainly knew that Razumikhin loved him. What more is there to say? Razumikhin felt like kissing him, felt like filling Rodya's mind with such intoxicating thoughts. He was drunk, drunk without having drunk anything but the other's breath.
"He really loves me," he thought, astonished, "otherwise, why would he do such a thing? The worst thing is that he can do it whenever he wants, he will put me in this state whenever he is consumed by boredom… The human has so much influence over his kind! Does he realize the damage he does to me when he kisses me? Somehow, I will fall more in love with him. If only all men were this wonderful…"
"Are you still there?" Razumikhin suddenly exclaimed, an incomparable happiness reflected on his face. "You've turned so red that I almost don't recognize you. If you get like this every time I do something like that then I don't think you'll survive, because I'll do it often."
Raskolnikov was astonished to realize the figure in front of him. He had never really bothered to analyze his friend's features (was he still?). Suddenly, he began to examine Razumikhin's whole body, trying to recognize every detail of him.
"Why are you looking at me so much?" said Razumikhin, with a noticeable smile.
"You are handsome."
"I've been told several times," Razumikhin stated, "but I never would have expected you to tell me such a thing. Miracles exist.” and he laughed.
"Please don't expect anything from me. I do not want, under any circumstances, to disappoint you. Sometimes I feel like I'm not capable of expressing any kind of affection.” he said in a very low and sorrowful tone, as if the idea he had just expressed terrified him, and it certainly did.
Razumikhin moved closer to kiss him again, but Raskolnikov quickly moved away.
"Enough, enough." exclaimed Raskolnikov. "Can't you see you're hurting me? I have to go… Goodbye, goodbye.” and he picked up his hat.
And Razumikhin forced a smile. What he would have given to keep his beloved Rodya with him!
"Are you sure, Dmitry, that you'll still love me when I'm in jail? How do I know if one of those days you realize the harm I do to you, and you leave me?"
"Trust and hope," Razumikhin said calmly.
He showed his arms and they hugged, it seemed that this was the last time they would do it. Rodya was too thin, Razumikhin noticed this. Tears formed in both of their eyes. Razumikhin held him lightly, as if the other was made of fine, delicate marble. Rodya stepped away.
"I have to go, I have to go… Goodbye, I don't have time. Forgive me, forgive me Mitya, please… Goodbye."
Raskolnikov went out.
"Porfiry will have to deal with me," thought Razumikhin, grabbing his hat.
More dead than alive was Rodya. Walking to Sonia's house, a thousand different thoughts emerged through his mind with the speed of lightning, and with the same speed he forgot them.
"I can't believe it," he repeated to himself over and over again, in profound panic, "it's impossible for me... What have I done? Cursed life, a thousand times cursed! Another crime committed. But undoubtedly, this must be the purest crime in existence… I have verified it myself, since with the purest being I… I need to stop thinking about those things, nonsense, rubbish! Can't I be happy once? Just once… And again I ask myself, can I look Sonia straight in the eye? For me… it is humanly impossible. How dare I, how dare he love me? He will end up crazy… His love exceeds all normal limits. It's not good, it's not good for him. How dare you ignore my crime, my torture? I could have been so happy! If I had known that he… No, I'm sure if I had known in college, I would have cared very little. How I hate all this! Oh, Razumikhin… Why did he have to fall in love with someone like me? Why don't you stay away? Why are you defending me? He is insane, he has lost his mind… Poor, poor Razumikhin! I don't understand if what I told him was a lie. Have I told the truth, am I in love? It is impossible, I will never be able to love. I look like a schoolboy, for giving so much importance to this, instead of my sentence… Do I not mind going to Siberia anymore? That's Sonia's house. Soon it will all be over. I won't worry about these things. I will never think about this again!”