PART 3 // chapter 6-2

[모나리자]

"하지만 그는 당신에게 일꾼들이 이틀 전에 거기에 있었을 리가 없다고 말했을 테고, 따라서 당신은 살인이 일어난 날 오전 8시에 거기에 있었을 겁니다. 그래서 그는 당신을 한 가지 세부 사항 때문에 잡았을 겁니다."

"그래요, 그가 계산한 것은 바로 그것입니다. 제가 생각할 시간이 없고, 가장 가능성 있는 대답을 서둘러서 일꾼들이 이틀 전에 거기에 있었을 리가 없다는 것을 잊을 것입니다."

"하지만 어떻게 잊을 수 있었겠어요?" "더 쉬운 일은 없습니다. 똑똑한 사람들이 가장 쉽게 걸리는 것은 바로 그런 어리석은 일입니다. 사람이 교활할수록 간단한 일에 걸릴 것이라고 덜 의심합니다. 사람이 교활할수록 걸릴 수 있는 함정도 더 간단합니다. 포르피리는 당신이 생각하는 것만큼 바보가 아닙니다..." "그렇다면 그는 사기꾼입니다!" 라스콜니코프는 웃음을 참을 수 없었습니다.

하지만 바로 그 순간, 그는 자신의 솔직함의 이상함과, 그가 이 설명을 한 열의에 충격을 받았다. 그는 이전의 모든 대화를 우울한 혐오감과 함께, 분명히 필연적인 동기로 계속해 왔음에도 불구하고 말이다. "나는 어떤 측면에 대한 맛을 느끼고 있다!" 그는 스스로 생각했다. 하지만 거의 같은 순간에 그는 예상치 못한 놀라운 생각이 떠오른 것처럼 갑자기 불안해졌다. 그의 불안은 계속 커졌다. 그들은 방금 바칼레예프의 입구에 도착했다. "혼자 들어가!" 라스콜니코프가 갑자기 말했다.

"곧 돌아올게." "어디 가는 거야? 왜, 우리는 여기 있는 거야." "어쩔 수 없어.... 30분 후에 갈게. 그들에게 말해." "원하는 대로 말해, 나도 같이 갈게." "너도 나를 고문하고 싶어!" 그는 너무나 씁쓸한 짜증과 절망에 찬 눈으로 소리쳤다. 라주미힌의 손이 떨어졌다. 그는 계단에 잠시 서서, 라스콜니코프가 숙소 방향으로 재빨리 걸어가는 것을 우울하게 바라보았다.

마침내 그는 이를 악물고 주먹을 꽉 쥐고, 바로 그날 포르피리를 레몬처럼 꽉 쥐겠다고 맹세하고, 풀케리아 알렉산드로브나를 안심시키기 위해 계단을 올라갔다. 풀케리아 알렉산드로브나는 그들의 오랜 부재에 벌써 놀랐다. 라스콜니코프가 집에 돌아왔을 때, 그의 머리카락은 땀으로 젖었고 그는 숨을 헐떡였다.

그는 재빨리 계단을 올라가 잠그지 않은 방으로 들어가서 즉시 걸쇠를 걸었다. 그러고 나서 그는 무감각한 공포에 사로잡혀 모서리로, 그가 물건을 넣었던 종이 아래의 구멍으로 달려갔다. 손을 넣고, 몇 분간 종이의 모든 틈과 주름을 조심스럽게 만져보았다. 아무것도 발견하지 못한 그는 일어나서 심호흡을 했다.

그는 바칼레예프의 계단에 다다르자, 사슬이나 스터드, 심지어 늙은 여자의 필체가 싸여 있던 종이 조각이 어떻게든 빠져나와 틈새에 사라졌다가 갑자기 예상치 못한 결정적 증거로 나타날지도 모른다는 생각이 갑자기 들었습니다. 그는 생각에 잠긴 듯 서 있었고, 이상하고 굴욕적이며 반쯤은 무의미한 미소가 그의 입술에 떠올랐습니다. 그는 마침내 모자를 쓰고 조용히 방을 나갔습니다.

그의 생각은 모두 엉켜 있었습니다. 그는 꿈꾸는 듯이 관문을 통과했습니다.

"여기 그가 있습니다." 큰 ​​목소리가 외쳤습니다. 그는 고개를 들었습니다. 문지기가 그의 작은 방 문 앞에 서서 그를 가리키고 있었는데, 그는 장인처럼 보이는 키가 작은 남자를 가리키고 있었습니다. 그는 긴 코트와 조끼를 입고 있었고 멀리서 놀랍게도 여자처럼 바라보고 있었습니다. 그는 몸을 구부리고 기름진 모자를 쓴 그의 머리가 앞으로 내밀렸습니다. 그의 주름지고 뚱뚱한

얼굴에서 그는 50이 넘었습니다. 그의 작은 눈은 지방에 잠겨 있었고, 엄숙하고, 엄격하고, 불만스럽게 바라보고 있었다. "무슨 일이에요?" 라스콜니코프가 물으며 문지기에게 다가갔다. 그 남자는 눈썹 아래에서 그를 훔쳐보았고 그는 주의 깊게, 의도적으로 그를 바라보았다. 그리고 그는 천천히 돌아서 아무 말도 하지 않고 문에서 거리로 나갔다.

"무슨 일이에요?" 라스콜니코프가 소리쳤다. "왜요, 그는 학생이 여기에 살고 있는지 물었고, 당신의 이름과 당신이 누구와 함께 묵고 있는지 언급했습니다. 당신이 오는 것을 보고 당신을 가리켰고 그는 떠났습니다. 재밌네요." 문지기 역시 다소 당황한 듯 보였지만, 그다지 그렇지 않았고, 잠시 의아해한 후 돌아서서 자신의 방으로 돌아갔다. 라스콜니코프는 낯선 사람을 쫓아갔고, 그가 명상을 하듯 시선을 땅에 고정한 채 똑같은 고른 걸음걸이로 거리 반대편을 따라 걷는 것을 즉시 보았다. 그는 곧 그를 따라잡았지만, 얼마 동안 그의 뒤를 따랐다. 마침내 그와 같은 수준에 도달한 그는 그의 얼굴을 바라보았다.

그 남자는 그를 즉시 알아차리고, 재빨리 그를 바라보았지만, 다시 눈을 떨어뜨렸다. 그래서 그들은 아무 말도 하지 않고 1분간 나란히 걸었다. "당신은 나를 위해 물었나요... 짐꾼을 위해?" 라스콜니코프가 마침내 말했지만, 이상하게도 조용한 목소리였다. 그 남자는 대답하지 않았다. 그는 그를 바라보지도 않았다. 다시 두 사람 모두 침묵했다. "왜 당신은... 와서 나를 찾고... 아무 말도 하지 않나요... 무슨 뜻이에요?" 라스콜니코프의 목소리가 끊어졌고 그는 말을 명확하게 표현할 수 없는 듯했다. 그 남자는 눈을 들어

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5012 p

“But he would have told you at once that the workmen could not have been there two days before, and that therefore you must have been there on the day of the murder at eight o’clock. And so he would have caught you over a detail.”

“Yes, that is what he was reckoning on, that I should not have time to reflect, and should be in a hurry to make the most likely answer, and so would forget that the workmen could not have been there two days before.”

“But how could you forget it?” “Nothing easier. It is in just such stupid things clever people are most easily caught. The more cunning a man is, the less he suspects that he will be caught in a simple thing. The more cunning a man is, the simpler the trap he must be caught in. Porfiry is not such a fool as you think....” “He is a knave then, if that is so!” Raskolnikov could not help laughing.

But at the very moment, he was struck by the strangeness of his own frankness, and the eagerness with which he had made this explanation, though he had kept up all the preceding conversation with gloomy repulsion, obviously with a motive, from necessity. “I am getting a relish for certain aspects!” he thought to himself. But almost at the same instant he became suddenly uneasy, as though an unexpected and alarming idea had occurred to him. His uneasiness kept on increasing. They had just reached the entrance to Bakaleyev’s. “Go in alone!” said Raskolnikov suddenly.

“I will be back directly.” “Where are you going? Why, we are just here.” “I can’t help it.... I will come in half an hour. Tell them.” “Say what you like, I will come with you.” “You, too, want to torture me!” he screamed, with such bitter irritation, such despair in his eyes that Razumihin’s hands dropped. He stood for some time on the steps, looking gloomily at Raskolnikov striding rapidly away in the direction of his lodging.

At last, gritting his teeth and clenching his fist, he swore he would squeeze Porfiry like a lemon that very day, and went up the stairs to reassure Pulcheria Alexandrovna, who was by now alarmed at their long absence. When Raskolnikov got home, his hair was soaked with sweat and he was breathing heavily.

He went rapidly up the stairs, walked into his unlocked room and at once fastened the latch. Then in senseless terror he rushed to the corner, to that hole under the paper where he had put the things; put his hand in, and for some minutes felt carefully in the hole, in every crack and fold of the paper. Finding nothing, he got up and drew a deep breath.

As he was reaching the steps of Bakaleyev’s, he suddenly fancied that something, a chain, a stud or even a bit of paper in which they had been wrapped with the old woman’s handwriting on it, might somehow have slipped out and been lost in some crack, and then might suddenly turn up as unexpected, conclusive evidence against him. He stood as though lost in thought, and a strange, humiliated, half senseless smile strayed on his lips. He took his cap at last and went quietly out of the room.

His ideas were all tangled. He went dreamily through the gateway.

“Here he is himself,” shouted a loud voice. He raised his head. The porter was standing at the door of his little room and was pointing him out to a short man who looked like an artisan, wearing a long coat and a waistcoat, and looking at a distance remarkably like a woman.He stooped, and his head in a greasy cap hung forward. From his wrinkled flabby

face he looked over fifty; his little eyes were lost in fat and they looked out grimly, sternly and discontentedly. “What is it?” Raskolnikov asked, going up to the porter. The man stole a look at him from under his brows and he looked at him attentively, deliberately; then he turned slowly and went out of the gate into the street without saying a word.

“What is it?” cried Raskolnikov. “Why, he there was asking whether a student lived here, mentioned your name and whom you lodged with. I saw you coming and pointed you out and he went away. It’s funny.” The porter too seemed rather puzzled, but not much so, and after wondering for a moment he turned and went back to his room. Raskolnikov ran after the stranger, and at once caught sight of him walking along the other side of the street with the same even, deliberate step with his eyes fixed on the ground, as though in meditation. He soon overtook him, but for some time walked behind him. At last, moving on to a level with him, he looked at his face.

The man noticed him at once, looked at him quickly, but dropped his eyes again; and so they walked for a minute side by side without uttering a word. “You were inquiring for me... of the porter?” Raskolnikov said at last, but in a curiously quiet voice. The man made no answer; he didn’t even look at him. Again they were both silent. “Why do you... come and ask for me... and say nothing.... What’s the meaning of it?” Raskolnikov’s voice broke and he seemed unable to articulate the words clearly. The man raised his eyes this time and turned a gloomy sinister look at Raskolnikov.