“Katerina Ivanovna will understand everything,” Alyosha all of a sudden said solemnly. “She will understand all the depths of all this grief and be reconciled. She has a lofty mind, because it’s impossible to be unhappier than you are, she will see that.”

“She will not be reconciled to everything,” Mitya grinned. “There’s something here, brother, that no woman can be reconciled to. Do you know what the best thing would be?”

“What?”

“To give her back the three thousand.”

“But where can we get it? Listen, I have two thousand, Ivan will give a thousand, that makes three—take it and give it to her.”

“And how soon will we get your three thousand? Besides, you’re not of age yet, and you must, you must go today and make that bow to her, with the money or without it, because I can’t drag on any longer, that’s what it’s come to. Tomorrow will already be too late, too late. I’ll send you to father.”

“To father?”

“Yes, to father, and then to her. Ask him for three thousand.”

“But, Mitya, he won’t give it.”

“Of course he won’t, I know he won’t. Alexei, do you know what despair is?”

“I do.”

“Listen: legally he owes me nothing. I’ve already gotten everything out of him, everything, I know that. But morally he surely owes me something, doesn’t he? He started with my mother’s twenty-eight thousand and made a hundred thousand out of it. Let him give me only three of those twenty-eight thousands, only three, and bring up my life from the Pit,^[90] and it will be reckoned unto him for his many sins! And I’ll stop at those three thousands, I give you my solemn word on it, and he’ll never hear of me again. For the last time I give him a chance to be my father. Tell him that God himself sends him this chance.”

“Mitya, he won’t do it for anything.”

“I know he won’t do it, I know perfectly well he won’t. Not now, especially. Moreover, I know something else: recently, only the other day, just yesterday maybe, he learned for the first time seriously—underline seriously—that Grushenka indeed may not be joking and could very well up and marry me. He knows her nature, he knows the cat in her. And can he really give me money to help make that happen, when he himself has lost his mind over her? And that’s still not all, I can present you with something more: I know that about five days ago he withdrew three thousand roubles in hundred-rouble notes and packed them into a big envelope, sealed with five seals and tied crisscross with a red ribbon. See what detailed knowledge I have! And written on the envelope is: ‘To my angel Grushenka, if she wants to come.’ He scribbled it himself in silence and secrecy, and no one knows he’s keeping the money except the lackey Smerdyakov, whose honesty he trusts like himself. For three or four days now he’s been waiting for Grushenka, hoping she’ll come for the envelope. He sent her word of it, and she sent word back saying, ‘Maybe I’ll come.’ But if she comes to the old man, could I marry her then? Do you understand, now, why I’m keeping a secret watch here, and what precisely I’m watching for?”

“Her?”

“Her. The sluts who own this house rent out a closet to Foma. Foma is a local man, one of our former soldiers. He does chores for them, guards the house at night, and goes hunting grouse during the day, and that’s how he lives. I’ve set myself up in his place; neither he nor the women of the house know the secret, that is, that I’m keeping watch here.”

“Only Smerdyakov knows?”

“Only he. And he’ll let me know if she comes to the old man.”

“It was he who told you about the envelope?”

“Yes. It’s a great secret. Even Ivan knows nothing about the money or anything. And the old man is sending Ivan on a ride to Chermashnya for two or three days: a buyer has turned up for the woodlot, eight thousand to cut down the trees, so the old man is begging Ivan: ‘Help me, go by yourself—which means for two or three days. So that when Grushenka comes, he won’t be there.”

“So he’s expecting her even today?”

“No, she won’t come today, there are signs. She surely won’t come today!” Mitya suddenly shouted. “And Smerdyakov thinks the same. Father is drinking now, he’s sitting at the table with brother Ivan. Go, Alexei, and ask him for the three thousand ...”

“Mitya, my dear, what’s the matter with you!” Alyosha exclaimed, jumping up and staring at the frenzied Dmitri Fyodorovich. For a moment he thought he had gone mad.

“What’s wrong? I haven’t gone mad,” said Dmitri Fyodorovich, looking at him intently and even somehow solemnly. “No, when I tell you to go to father, I know what I’m saying: I believe in a miracle.”

“In a miracle?”

“In a miracle of divine Providence. God knows my heart, he sees all my despair. He sees the whole picture. Can he allow horror to happen? Alyosha, I believe in a miracle. Go!”

“I will go. Tell me, will you be waiting here?”

“Yes. I realize it will take some time, you can’t just walk in and ask him— bang!—like that. He’s drunk now. I’ll wait three hours, and four, and five, and six, and seven—only know that you must go to Katerina Ivanovna today, even if it’s at midnight, with the money or without it, and tell her: ‘He says he bows to you.’ I want you to say precisely this verse: ‘He says he bows to you.’”

“Mitya! What if Grushenka comes today ... or if not today, then tomorrow, or the day after?”

“Grushenka? I’ll spot her, burst in, and stop it...”

“And if ... ?”

“If there’s an if, I’ll kill. I couldn’t endure that.”

“Kill whom?”

“The old man. I wouldn’t kill her.”

“Brother, what are you saying!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know ... Maybe I won’t kill him, and maybe I will. I’m afraid that at that moment his face will suddenly become hateful to me. I hate his Adam’s apple, his nose, his eyes, his shameless sneer. I feel a personal loathing. I’m afraid of that. I may not be able to help myself ...”

“I’ll go, Mitya. I believe God will arrange it as he knows best, so that there will be no horror.”

“And I’ll sit and wait for a miracle. But if it doesn’t happen, then...”

Alyosha, in deep thought, went to see his father.

Chapter 6: Smerdyakov

And indeed he found his father still at the table. And the table was laid, as usual, in the drawing room, though the house had an actual dining room. This drawing room was the largest room in the house, furnished with some sort of old-fashioned pretentiousness. The furniture was ancient, white, with threadbare upholstery of red half-silk. Mirrors in fanciful frames with old-fashioned carving, also white and gilt, hung in the spaces between the windows. The walls, covered with white paper, now cracked in many places, were adorned by two large portraits—one of some prince who thirty years before had been governor-general hereabouts, and the other of some bishop, also long since deceased. In the front corner were several icons, before which an oil-lamp burned all night ... not so much out of veneration as to keep the room lit through the night. Fyodor Pavlovich went to bed very late, at about three or four o’clock in the morning, and until then would pace around the room or sit in his armchair and think. This had become a habit with him. He often spent the night quite alone in the house, after sending the servants to the cottage, but usually the servant Smerdyakov stayed with him, sleeping on a bench in the front hall. The dinner was all finished when Alyosha entered, but they were still having coffee and preserves. Fyodor Pavlovich liked sweets and cognac after dinner. Ivan Fyodorovich was there at the table, also having coffee. The servants Grigory and Smerdyakov stood near the table. Both masters and servants were obviously and unusually animated. Fyodor Pavlovich loudly roared and laughed. From the front hall, Alyosha already heard his shrill laughter, by now so familiar to him, and concluded at once from the sound of it that his father was not yet drunk, but was still only in a benevolent mood.