PART 2 // chapter 6-4

[모나리자]

"나중에 설명하겠지만, 지금, 내 친구야, 너한테 선언하노라... 아니, '자백한다'고 하는 게 낫겠다... 아니, 그것도 맞지 않아. '내가 증언을 하고 네가 받아라.' 내가 읽고, 보고, 수색했다고 진술하노라..." 그는 눈을 가늘게 뜨고 잠시 멈췄다. "나는 늙은 전당포 여인의 살인에 대한 소식을 찾고 있었고, 일부러 여기 온 거야." 그는 마침내 거의 속삭이듯 말하며 얼굴을 자메토프의 얼굴에 아주 가까이 대었다. 자메토프는 움직이거나 얼굴을 떼지 않고 꾸준히 그를 바라보았다.

자메토프에게 가장 이상하게 보였던 것은 정확히 1분간 침묵이 이어졌고, 그들이 내내 서로를 바라보았다는 점이었다. "그거에 대해 읽고 있었다면 어떡하지?" 그는 마침내 당황하고 참을성이 없어 소리쳤다. "그건 내 일이 아니야! 어떡하지?" "같은 늙은 여자," 라스콜니코프가 자메토프의 설명을 듣지 않고 같은 속삭임으로 말을 이었다. "당신이 경찰서에서 이야기했던 그 여자, 기억하시죠, 제가 기절했을 때. 글쎄요, 이제 이해하셨나요?"

"무슨 말이에요? 이해하세요... 뭐요?" 자메토프가 거의 놀라며 말했다.

라스콜니코프의 굳고 진지한 얼굴이 갑자기 바뀌었고, 그는 갑자기 전과 마찬가지로 긴장해서 웃음을 터뜨렸는데, 마치 자신을 전혀 제지할 수 없는 듯했다. 그리고 순식간에 그는 최근 과거의 한 순간을 놀라울 정도로 생생하게 떠올렸다. 그 순간 그는 문 뒤에 도끼를 들고 서 있었고, 걸쇠가 떨리고 밖에 있는 남자들이 욕설을 하며 흔들었고, 그는 갑자기 그들에게 소리를 지르고, 욕설을 하고, 혀를 내밀고, 조롱하고, 웃고, 웃고, 웃고 싶었다! "미친 거거나..." 자메토프가 말을 시작했고, 갑자기 머릿속에 떠오른 생각에 어리둥절한 듯 말을 끊었다.

"아니면? 아니면 뭐? 뭐? 와서 말해!" "아무것도 아니야." 자메토프가 화를 내며 말했다. "전부 헛소리야!" 둘 다 말이 없었다. 갑자기 웃음이 터진 후 라스콜니코프는 갑자기 생각에 잠기고 우울해졌다. 그는 팔꿈치를 테이블에 얹고 머리를 손에 기대었다. 그는 자메토프를 완전히 잊은 듯했다. 침묵은 한동안 이어졌다. "차 마시지 그래? 추워졌어." 자메토프가 말했다. "뭐! 차? 오, 그래..." 라스콜니코프는 잔을 한 모금 마시고 빵 한 조각을 입에 넣고 갑자기 자메토프를 바라보며 모든 것을 기억해내고 정신을 가다듬었다.

동시에 그의 얼굴은 원래의 조롱하는 표정으로 돌아왔다. 그는 계속 차를 마셨다. "최근에 이런 범죄가 많이 일어났어." 자메토프가 말했다. "얼마 전 모스크바 뉴스에서 모스크바에서 가짜 주화 갱단이 잡혔다는 기사를 읽었어요. 평범한 사회였죠. 그들은 티켓을 위조하곤 했어요!" "아, 하지만 오래 전 일이야! 한 달 전에 읽은 적이 있어." 라스콜니코프가 침착하게 대답했다. "그러니까 그들을 범죄자로 생각하는 거야?" 그는 웃으며 덧붙였다. "물론 범죄자야."

"그들이? 그들은 어린애들이야, 바보들이지 범죄자가 아니야! 어머, 그런 목적을 위해 50명이 모인다니—이게 무슨 생각인가! 세 명이라도 너무 많은데, 그러면 그들은 자신보다 서로를 더 믿고 싶어해! 한 사람이 잔에 떠들기만 하면 다 무너져. 바보들! 그들은 신뢰할 수 없는 사람들을 고용해서 지폐를 바꾸게 했는데—무심코 낯선 사람에게 맡기는 게 얼마나 큰 일이야! 글쎄, 이 바보들이 성공해서 각자 백만 달러를 번다고 가정해 보자. 그러면 그들의 남은 인생은 어떻게 될까? 각자는 남은 인생 동안 서로에게 의존해야 해! 당장 목을 매달아 죽는 게 낫겠어! 그리고 그들은 지폐를 바꾸는 법도 몰랐어. 지폐를 바꾼 사람은 5천 루블을 가져갔고, 그의 손은 떨렸어.

그는 처음 4천 명은 세었지만, 5천 명은 세지 않았다. 그는 돈을 주머니에 넣고 도망가고 싶어서 서둘렀기 때문이다. 물론 그는 의심을 불러일으켰다. 그리고 한 바보 때문에 모든 것이 망가졌다! 가능할까?" "그의 손이 떨렸다는 건?" 자메토프가 말했다. "그렇다, 그럴 가능성이 크다. 그럴 가능성이 있다고 확신한다. 때로는 참을 수 없는 일이 있다." "그걸 참을 수 없다니?"

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“I’ll explain that afterwards, but now, my boy, I declare to you... no, better ‘I confess’... No, that’s not right either; ‘I make a deposition and you take it.’ I depose that I was reading, that I was looking and searching....” he screwed up his eyes and paused. “I was searching—and came here on purpose to do it—for news of the murder of the old pawnbroker woman,” he articulated at last, almost in a whisper, bringing his face exceedingly close to the face of Zametov. Zametov looked at him steadily, without moving or drawing his face away.

What struck Zametov afterwards as the strangest part of it all was that silence followed for exactly a minute, and that they gazed at one another all the while. “What if you have been reading about it?” he cried at last, perplexed and impatient. “That’s no business of mine! What of it?” “The same old woman,” Raskolnikov went on in the same whisper, not heeding Zametov’s explanation, “about whom you were talking in the police-office, you remember, when I fainted. Well, do you understand now?”

“What do you mean? Understand... what?” Zametov brought out, almost alarmed.

Raskolnikov’s set and earnest face was suddenly transformed, and he suddenly went off into the same nervous laugh as before, as though utterly unable to restrain himself. And in one flash he recalled with extraordinary vividness of sensation a moment in the recent past, that moment when he stood with the axe behind the door, while the latch trembled and the men outside swore and shook it, and he had a sudden desire to shout at them, to swear at them, to put out his tongue at them, to mock them, to laugh, and laugh, and laugh! “You are either mad, or...” began Zametov, and he broke off, as though stunned by the idea that had suddenly flashed into his mind.

“Or? Or what? What? Come, tell me!” “Nothing,” said Zametov, getting angry, “it’s all nonsense!” Both were silent. After his sudden fit of laughter Raskolnikov became suddenly thoughtful and melancholy. He put his elbow on the table and leaned his head on his hand. He seemed to have completely forgotten Zametov. The silence lasted for some time. “Why don’t you drink your tea? It’s getting cold,” said Zametov. “What! Tea? Oh, yes....” Raskolnikov sipped the glass, put a morsel of bread in his mouth and, suddenly looking at Zametov, seemed to remember everything and pulled himself together.

At the same moment his face resumed its original mocking expression‎. He went on drinking tea. “There have been a great many of these crimes lately,” said Zametov. “Only the other day I read in the Moscow News that a whole gang of false coiners had been caught in Moscow. It was a regular society. They used to forge tickets!” “Oh, but it was a long time ago! I read about it a month ago,” Raskolnikov answered calmly. “So you consider them criminals?” he added, smiling. “Of course they are criminals.”

“They? They are children, simpletons, not criminals! Why, half a hundred people meeting for such an object—what an idea! Three would be too many, and then they want to have more faith in one another than in themselves! One has only to blab in his cups and it all collapses. Simpletons! They engaged untrustworthy people to change the notes—what a thing to trust to a casual stranger! Well, let us suppose that these simpletons succeed and each makes a million, and what follows for the rest of their lives? Each is dependent on the others for the rest of his life! Better hang oneself at once! And they did not know how to change the notes either; the man who changed the notes took five thousand roubles, and his hands trembled.

He counted the first four thousand, but did not count the fifth thousand—he was in such a hurry to get the money into his pocket and run away. Of course he roused suspicion. And the whole thing came to a crash through one fool! Is it possible?” “That his hands trembled?” observed Zametov, “yes, that’s quite possible. That, I feel quite sure, is possible. Sometimes one can’t stand things.” “Can’t stand that?”