PART 2 // chapter 7-4

[모나리자]

그 순간 죽어가는 남자가 의식을 회복하고 신음소리를 냈다. 그녀는 그에게 달려갔다. 다친 남자는 눈을 뜨고 알아채지도 이해하지도 못한 채 몸을 굽히고 있는 라스콜니코프를 바라보았다. 그는 깊고 느리고 고통스러운 숨을 들이쉬었다. 그의 입가에는 피가 흘러내리고 이마에는 땀방울이 떨어졌다. 라스콜니코프를 알아보지 못한 그는 불안하게 주변을 둘러보기 시작했다. 카테리나 이바노브나는 슬프지만 엄숙한 얼굴로 그를 바라보았고, 그녀의 눈에서 눈물이 흘러내렸다. "맙소사! 그의 가슴 전체가 으깨졌어요! 얼마나 피가 나는지." 그녀는 절망에 빠져 말했다.

"우리는 그의 옷을 벗겨야 해. 조금만 돌아봐, 세묜 자하로비치, 할 수 있다면." 그녀는 그에게 외쳤다. 마르멜라도프는 그녀를 알아봤다. "신부야." 그는 쉰 목소리로 말했다. 카테리나 이바노브나는 창문으로 걸어가 창틀에 머리를 대고 절망에 빠져 외쳤다. "오, 저주받은 인생!" "신부야." 죽어가는 남자가 잠시 침묵한 후 다시 말했다. "그들이 그를 찾아갔어." 카테리나 이바노브나가 그에게 소리쳤고, 그는 그녀의 소리에 따라 조용히 있었다. 그는 슬프고 소심한 눈으로 그녀를 찾았고, 그녀는 돌아와 그의 베개 옆에 섰다. 그는 조금은 수월해 보였지만 오래 가지는 않았다.

곧 그의 눈은 그가 가장 좋아하는 작은 리다에게 머물렀다. 그녀는 구석에서 몸을 떨고 있었고, 마치 발작을 일으킨 것처럼, 그리고 의아한 어린아이의 눈으로 그를 응시하고 있었다. "아-아." 그는 불안하게 그녀에게 손짓했다. 그는 뭔가 말하고 싶었다. "이제 뭐야?" 카테리나 이바노브나가 소리쳤다. "맨발이야, 맨발이야!" 그는 중얼거리며 아이의 맨발을 광란의 눈으로 가리켰다. "조용히 해." 카테리나 이바노브나가 짜증내며 소리쳤다. "왜 그녀가 맨발인지 알지." "신께 감사드려요, 의사님." 라스콜니코프가 안도하며 외쳤다. 의사가 들어왔는데, 독일인인 정확한 노인이 그를 의심스럽게 바라보았다. 그는 병자에게 다가가 맥박을 짚고 머리를 조심스럽게 만져보았고 카테리나 이바노브나의 도움을 받아 피가 묻은 셔츠의 단추를 풀고 다친 남자의 가슴을 드러냈다.

그것은 찢어지고, 으깨지고, 골절되었고, 오른쪽 갈비뼈가 여러 개 부러졌다. 왼쪽, 심장 바로 위에 크고 사악해 보이는 황갈색 멍이 있었다. 말발굽에서 잔인하게 발로 차인 것이다. 의사는 눈살을 찌푸렸다. 경찰은 그가 바퀴에 걸려 도로에서 30야드나 돌아갔다고 말했다.

"그가 의식을 회복한 것이 정말 기쁩니다." 의사가 라스콜니코프에게 부드럽게 속삭였다. "그에 대해 어떻게 생각하십니까?" 그가 물었다. "그는 즉시 죽을 것입니다." "정말 희망이 없습니까?" "아무것도 아니에요! 그는 마지막 숨을 쉬고 있습니다.... 그의 머리도 심하게 다쳤습니다... 흠... 원하신다면 그에게 피를 흘릴 수도 있지만... 소용없을 것입니다.

그는 앞으로 5~10분 안에 죽을 것입니다." "그럼 피를 뽑는 게 낫겠어요." "원하신다면... 하지만 경고하건데, 전혀 소용이 없을 겁니다." 그 순간 다른 발소리가 들렸습니다. 통로에 있던 군중이 갈라졌고, 키가 작고 회색의 노인인 신부가 성찬을 들고 문간에 나타났습니다. 사고 당시에 한 경찰관이 그를 잡으러 갔습니다. 의사가 그와 자리를 바꾸며 서로 시선을 교환했습니다. 라스콜니코프는 의사에게 잠시 머물러 달라고 간청했습니다. 그는 어깨를 으쓱하고 그대로 있었습니다. 모두 뒤로 물러섰습니다. 고백은 금세 끝났습니다. 죽어가는 남자는 아마 거의 알아들을 수 없었을 것입니다. 그는 희미하게 끊어지는 소리만 낼 수 있었습니다.

카테리나 이바노브나는 어린 리다를 데려가서, 소년을 의자에서 들어올리고, 난로 옆 구석에 무릎을 꿇고 아이들을 그녀 앞에 무릎을 꿇게 했습니다. 어린 소녀는 여전히 떨고 있었습니다. 하지만 그 소년은 작은 맨 무릎을 꿇고, 리듬감 있게 손을 들어 올리고, 정확하게 십자가를 그으며 몸을 숙이고, 이마로 바닥을 만졌는데, 그것이 그에게 특별한 만족감을 주는 듯했다. 카테리나 이바노브나는 입술을 깨물고 눈물을 참았다. 그녀도 기도했고, 가끔씩 소년의 셔츠를 곧게 잡아당기고, 소녀의 맨 어깨를 목수건으로 가렸다. 무릎에서 일어나지 않고 기도하는 것을 멈추지 않고 가슴에서 목수건을 벗었다.

그러는 동안 안쪽 방의 문이 다시 호기심에 열렸다. 복도에는 계단에 있는 모든 아파트에서 온 구경꾼들이 점점 더 빽빽해졌지만, 문지방을 넘지는 않았다. 촛불 한 개가 그 장면을 밝혔다. 그 순간 폴렌카가 문 앞의 군중을 뚫고 들어왔다. 그녀는 너무 빨리 달려서 헐떡이며 들어와 목수건을 벗고 어머니를 찾아 그녀에게 다가가서 말했다. "오고 있어요. 거리에서 만났어요." 그녀의 어머니는 그녀를 그녀 옆에 무릎을 꿇게 했다.

At that instant the dying man recovered consciousness and uttered a groan; she ran to him. The injured man opened his eyes and without recognition or understanding gazed at Raskolnikov who was bending over him. He drew deep, slow, painful breaths; blood oozed at the corners of his mouth and drops of perspiration came out on his forehead. Not recognising Raskolnikov, he began looking round uneasily. Katerina Ivanovna looked at him with a sad but stern face, and tears trickled from her eyes. “My God! His whole chest is crushed! How he is bleeding,” she said in despair.

“We must take off his clothes. Turn a little, Semyon Zaharovitch, if you can,” she cried to him. Marmeladov recognised her. “A priest,” he articulated huskily. Katerina Ivanovna walked to the window, laid her head against the window frame and exclaimed in despair: “Oh, cursed life!” “A priest,” the dying man said again after a moment’s silence. “They’ve gone for him,” Katerina Ivanovna shouted to him, he obeyed her shout and was silent. With sad and timid eyes he looked for her; she returned and stood by his pillow. He seemed a little easier but not for long.

Soon his eyes rested on little Lida, his favourite, who was shaking in the corner, as though she were in a fit, and staring at him with her wondering childish eyes. “A-ah,” he signed towards her uneasily. He wanted to say something. “What now?” cried Katerina Ivanovna. “Barefoot, barefoot!” he muttered, indicating with frenzied eyes the child’s bare feet. “Be silent,” Katerina Ivanovna cried irritably, “you know why she is barefooted.” “Thank God, the doctor,” exclaimed Raskolnikov, relieved. The doctor came in, a precise little old man, a German, looking about him mistrustfully; he went up to the sick man, took his pulse, carefully felt his head and with the help of Katerina Ivanovna he unbuttoned the blood-stained shirt, and bared the injured man’s chest.

It was gashed, crushed and fractured, several ribs on the right side were broken. On the left side, just over the heart, was a large, sinister-looking yellowish-black bruise—a cruel kick from the horse’s hoof. The doctor frowned. The policeman told him that he was caught in the wheel and turned round with it for thirty yards on the road.

“It’s wonderful that he has recovered consciousness,” the doctor whispered softly to Raskolnikov. “What do you think of him?” he asked. “He will die immediately.” “Is there really no hope?” “Not the faintest! He is at the last gasp.... His head is badly injured, too... Hm... I could bleed him if you like, but... it would be useless.

He is bound to die within the next five or ten minutes.” “Better bleed him then.” “If you like.... But I warn you it will be perfectly useless.” At that moment other steps were heard; the crowd in the passage parted, and the priest, a little, grey old man, appeared in the doorway bearing the sacrament. A policeman had gone for him at the time of the accident. The doctor changed places with him, exchanging glances with him. Raskolnikov begged the doctor to remain a little while. He shrugged his shoulders and remained. All stepped back. The confession was soon over. The dying man probably understood little; he could only utter indistinct broken sounds.

Katerina Ivanovna took little Lida, lifted the boy from the chair, knelt down in the corner by the stove and made the children kneel in front of her. The little girl was still trembling; but the boy, kneeling on his little bare knees, lifted his hand rhythmically, crossing himself with precision and bowed down, touching the floor with his forehead, which seemed to afford him especial satisfaction. Katerina Ivanovna bit her lips and held back her tears; she prayed, too, now and then pulling straight the boy’s shirt, and managed to cover the girl’s bare shoulders with a kerchief, which she took from the chest without rising from her knees or ceasing to pray.

Meanwhile the door from the inner rooms was opened inquisitively again. In the passage the crowd of spectators from all the flats on the staircase grew denser and denser, but they did not venture beyond the threshold. A single candle-end lighted up the scene. At that moment Polenka forced her way through the crowd at the door. She came in panting from running so fast, took off her kerchief, looked for her mother, went up to her and said, “She’s coming, I met her in the street.” Her mother made her kneel beside her.