PART 2 // chapter 3-2

[모나리자]

"괜찮아. 그가 이 작은 종이에 서명만 하면 돼." "그는 자신의 이름을 휘갈겨 쓸 수 있어. 책 있어?" "네, 여기 책이 있어." "내 줘. 로디아, 일어나. 내가 잡아줄게. 펜을 들고 '라스콜니코프'라고 그에게 써. 지금은 돈이 설탕보다 달콤하거든, 형님." "난 필요 없어." 라스콜니코프가 펜을 밀어내며 말했다. "싫어?" "서명 안 할게." "서명 없이 어떻게 할 수 있어?" "난... 돈이 필요 없어." "돈은 필요 없어! 형님, 그건 말도 안 돼. 내가 증언할게. 귀찮게 하지 마. 그냥 그가 다시 여행을 떠났을 뿐이야.

하지만 그런 일은 그에게 언제나 흔한 일이야.... 형님은 판단력이 뛰어나고 우리가 그를 손에 넣을 거야. 더 간단히 말해서, 그의 손을 잡고 그가 서명하게 할 거야. 여기." "하지만 다음에 올 수 있어요." "아니, 아니. 왜 귀찮게 해? 당신은 판단력이 뛰어난 사람이잖아... 이제, 로디아, 손님을 붙잡아두지 마. 그가 기다리고 있잖아." 그는 진지하게 라스콜니코프의 손을 잡을 준비를 했다. "그만해, 내가 혼자 할게." 후자가 말하며 펜을 잡고 이름을 썼다.

전령은 돈을 꺼내고 떠났다. "브라보! 그리고 이제, 형님, 배고프세요?" "네." 라스콜니코프가 대답했다. "수프 있어?" "어제 것 좀." 여전히 그 자리에 서 있던 나스타샤가 대답했다. "감자와 쌀이 들어 있는 거야?" "네." "외울 정도로 알아. 수프 가져와서 차도 좀 줘." "알겠어." 라스콜니코프는 이 모든 것을 깊은 놀라움과 둔하고 터무니없는 공포로 바라보았다. 그는 조용히 있고 무슨 일이 일어날지 지켜보기로 마음먹었다. "내가 방황하는 게 아니라고 생각해. 현실이라고 생각해." 그는 생각했다. 몇 분 후 나스타샤가 수프를 가지고 돌아와서 차가 바로 준비될 것이라고 알렸다.

그녀는 수프와 함께 숟가락 두 개, 접시 두 개, 소금, 후추, 쇠고기용 머스타드 등을 가져왔다. 테이블은 오랫동안 없었던 것처럼 차려졌다. 천은 깨끗했다. "나스타샤, 프라스코비야 파블로브나가 맥주 두 병을 보내준다면 나쁘지 않을 거야. 우리가 비울 수 있을 거야." "음, 당신은 냉정한 사람이군요." 나스타샤가 중얼거리며 그의 명령을 따르러 떠났다. 라스콜니코프는 여전히 긴장된 주의로 맹렬하게 응시했다. 그러는 동안 라주미힌은 그 옆 소파에 앉았는데, 마치 곰이 라스콜니코프의 머리에 왼팔을 두르는 것처럼 어색하게 앉았지만, 그는 일어설 수 있었고, 오른손으로 그에게 수프 한 스푼을 주며 화상을 입지 않도록 불어주었다. 하지만 수프는 아직 따뜻했다.

라스콜니코프는 한 스푼을 탐욕스럽게 삼켰고, 두 번째 스푼, 세 번째 스푼을 삼켰다. 하지만 그에게 수프를 몇 스푼 더 준 후, 라주미힌은 갑자기 멈추고 조시모프에게 더 마셔야 할지 물어봐야 한다고 말했다. 나스타샤가 맥주 두 병을 들고 들어왔다. "그리고 차도 드릴까요?" "네." "가서, 나스타샤, 차를 좀 가져오세요. 차는 우리가 허락 없이도 마실 수 있을 거예요.

하지만 여기 맥주가 있어요!" 그는 의자로 돌아가 수프와 고기를 앞으로 끌어당기고 마치 사흘 동안 음식을 만지지 않은 것처럼 먹기 시작했다. "말씀드려야겠어요, 로디아, 저는 지금 매일 이렇게 여기서 식사를 해요." 그는 입에 소고기를 가득 담고 중얼거렸다. "그리고 전부 당신의 사랑스러운 작은 집주인 파셴카가 처리해 주죠. 그녀는 저를 위해 무엇이든 해주는 걸 좋아해요. 저는 요청하지 않지만, 물론 반대하지도 않아요. 그리고 여기 차를 들고 있는 나스타샤가 있어요. 그녀는 재빠른 여자야. 나스타샤, 내 사랑, 맥주 한 잔 하지 않을래?" "말도 안 되는 소리는 그만해!" "그럼 차 한 잔?" "차 한 잔, 어때." "따르세요. 잠깐만요, 제가 직접 따를게요. 앉으세요."

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“That’s all right. If only he can sign this little paper.” “He can scrawl his name. Have you got the book?” “Yes, here’s the book.” “Give it to me. Here, Rodya, sit up. I’ll hold you. Take the pen and scribble ‘Raskolnikov’ for him. For just now, brother, money is sweeter to us than treacle.” “I don’t want it,” said Raskolnikov, pushing away the pen. “Not want it?” “I won’t sign it.” “How the devil can you do without signing it?” “I don’t want... the money.” “Don’t want the money! Come, brother, that’s nonsense, I bear witness. Don’t trouble, please, it’s only that he is on his travels again.

But that’s pretty common with him at all times though.... You are a man of judgment and we will take him in hand, that is, more simply, take his hand and he will sign it. Here.” “But I can come another time.” “No, no. Why should we trouble you? You are a man of judgment.... Now, Rodya, don’t keep your visitor, you see he is waiting,” and he made ready to hold Raskolnikov’s hand in earnest. “Stop, I’ll do it alone,” said the latter, taking the pen and signing his name.

The messenger took out the money and went away. “Bravo! And now, brother, are you hungry?” “Yes,” answered Raskolnikov. “Is there any soup?” “Some of yesterday’s,” answered Nastasya, who was still standing there. “With potatoes and rice in it?” “Yes.” “I know it by heart. Bring soup and give us some tea.” “Very well.” Raskolnikov looked at all this with profound astonishment and a dull, unreasoning terror. He made up his mind to keep quiet and see what would happen. “I believe I am not wandering. I believe it’s reality,” he thought. In a couple of minutes Nastasya returned with the soup, and announced that the tea would be ready directly.

With the soup she brought two spoons, two plates, salt, pepper, mustard for the beef, and so on. The table was set as it had not been for a long time. The cloth was clean. “It would not be amiss, Nastasya, if Praskovya Pavlovna were to send us up a couple of bottles of beer. We could empty them.” “Well, you are a cool hand,” muttered Nastasya, and she departed to carry out his orders. Raskolnikov still gazed wildly with strained attention. Meanwhile Razumihin sat down on the sofa beside him, as clumsily as a bear put his left arm round Raskolnikov’s head, although he was able to sit up, and with his right hand gave him a spoonful of soup, blowing on it that it might not burn him. But the soup was only just warm.

Raskolnikov swallowed one spoonful greedily, then a second, then a third. But after giving him a few more

spoonfuls of soup, Razumihin suddenly stopped, and said that he must ask Zossimov whether he ought to have more. Nastasya came in with two bottles of beer. “And will you have tea?” “Yes.” “Cut along, Nastasya, and bring some tea, for tea we may venture on without the faculty.

But here is the beer!” He moved back to his chair, pulled the soup and meat in front of him, and began eating as though he had not touched food for three days. “I must tell you, Rodya, I dine like this here every day now,” he mumbled with his mouth full of beef, “and it’s all Pashenka, your dear little landlady, who sees to that; she loves to do anything for me. I don’t ask for it, but, of course, I don’t object. And here’s Nastasya with the tea. She is a quick girl. Nastasya, my dear, won’t you have some beer?” “Get along with your nonsense!” “A cup of tea, then?” “A cup of tea, maybe.” “Pour it out. Stay, I’ll pour it out myself. Sit down.”

“