“What do you mean, your mother?” he muttered, not understanding. “What are you talking about ... ? Whose mother ... was she ... ? Ah, damn! Of course she was yours, too! Damn! You know, my friend, my mind just went blank as never before. Forgive me, Ivan, I was thinking ... heh, heh, heh!” He stopped. His face split into a long, drunken, half-senseless grin. And suddenly, at that very moment, a terrible noise and clamor came from the front hall, furious shouting was heard, the door was flung open, and Dmitri Fyodorovich flew into the room. The old man rushed to Ivan in terror.

“He’ll kill me, he’ll kill me! Don’t let him get me! Don’t let him!” he cried out, clutching at the skirt of Ivan Fyodorovich’s coat.

Chapter 9: The Sensualists

On the heels of Dmitri Fyodorovich, Grigory and Smerdyakov also ran into the room. It was they who had struggled with him in the front hall and tried not to let him in (following instructions given them by Fyodor Pavlovich several days earlier). Seizing his chance when Dmitri Fyodorovich stopped for a moment to look about him after bursting into the room, Grigory ran around the table, closed both halves of the door leading to the inner rooms, which was opposite the entrance from the front hall, and stood before the closed door with his arms spread crosswise, ready to defend the entrance, so to speak, to the last drop. Seeing this, Dmitri gave something more like a shriek than a shout and hurled himself at Grigory.

“So she’s there! They’ve hidden her in there! Get away, scoundrel!” He tried to tear Grigory away, but Grigory pushed him back. Beside himself with rage, Dmitri swung and hit Grigory with all his strength. The old man collapsed as if he had been cut down, and Dmitri jumped over him and smashed through the door. Smerdyakov stayed at the other end of the room, pale and trembling, pressed up close to Fyodor Pavlovich.

“She’s here!” cried Dmitri Fyodorovich. “I just saw her turn towards the house, but I couldn’t catch up with her. Where is she? Where is she?” Inconceivable was the effect produced on Fyodor Pavlovich by the cry: “She’s here!” All his fright dropped away.

“Catch him! Catch him!” he yelled and dashed after Dmitri Fyodorovich.

Grigory meanwhile had gotten up from the floor but was still beside himself, as it were. Ivan Fyodorovich and Alyosha ran after their father. From the third room came the sound of something falling to the floor with a crash and a tinkle: it was a large glass vase (of the inexpensive sort) on a marble pedestal, which Dmitri Fyodorovich had brushed against as he ran past it.

“Sic him!” yelled the old man. “Help!”

Ivan Fyodorovich and Alyosha finally caught up with the old man and forced him back to the drawing room.

“What are you chasing him for? He really will kill you in there!” Ivan Fyodorovich shouted angrily at his father.

“Vanechka, Lyoshechka, she’s here, then, Grushenka is here, he said he saw her ...”

He was spluttering. He had not expected Grushenka to come this time, and suddenly the news that she was there drove him at once beyond his wits. He was shaking all over. He seemed to have gone mad.

“But you can see for yourself that she hasn’t come!” Ivan cried.

“Maybe by the back door.”

“But it’s locked, the back door is locked, and you have the key...”

Dmitri suddenly reappeared in the drawing room. He had of course found that door locked, and the key to the locked door was indeed in Fyodor Pav-lovich’s pocket. All the windows in all the rooms were locked as well. There was no way Grushenka could have gotten in, then, and no way she could have jumped out.

“Catch him!” shrieked Fyodor Pavlovich the moment he sighted Dmitri again. “He’s stolen money in there, from my bedroom!”

And breaking away from Ivan, he again rushed at Dmitri. But Dmitri raised both hands and suddenly seized the old man by the two surviving wisps of hair on his temples, pulled, and smashed him against the floor. He even had time to kick the fallen man in the face two or three times with his heel. The old man let out a shrill moan. Ivan Fyodorovich, though not as strong as his brother Dmitri, grasped him with both arms and tore him with all his might away from the old man. Alyosha, too, helped with his small strength, grasping his brother from the front.

“Madman, you’ve killed him!” shouted Ivan.

“Serves him right!” Dmitri cried, gasping. “And if I haven’t killed him this time, I’ll come back and kill him. You can’t save him!”

“Dmitri! Get out of here, at once!” Alyosha shouted commandingly. “Alexei, you tell me, you alone, you’re the only one I’ll believe: was she here just now or not? I saw her sneaking this way past the fence from the lane. I called out. She ran away ...”

“I swear to you, she has not been here, and no one here even expected her.”

“But I saw her ... So, she ... I’ll find out where she is ... Farewell, Alexei! Not a word to Aesop now about money. But go to Katerina Ivanovna at once, and be sure to tell her: ‘He says he bows to you, he bows to you, bows!’ Precisely that: ‘He bows to you—and he bows out! ‘ Describe this scene to her.”

Ivan and Grigory had meanwhile lifted the old man up and put him in the armchair. His face was covered with blood, but he was conscious and listened eagerly to Dmitri’s shouts. He still imagined that Grushenka was indeed somewhere in the house. Dmitri Fyodorovich gave him a hateful glance as he was leaving.

“I do not repent of your blood!” he exclaimed. “Watch out, old man, watch out for your dream, for I, too, have a dream! I curse you and disown you completely ...”

He ran out of the room.

“She’s here, she must be here! Smerdyakov, Smerdyakov,” the old man wheezed almost inaudibly, beckoning to Smerdyakov with his finger.

“She’s not here, not here, you crazy old man!” Ivan shouted at him viciously. “Hah, he’s fainted! Water, a towel! Move, Smerdyakov!”

Smerdyakov ran to get water. The old man was finally undressed, taken to the bedroom, and put to bed. His head was wrapped with a wet towel. Weakened by cognac, strong sensations, and the beating, he rolled up his eyes as soon as he touched the pillow and at once dozed off. Ivan Fyodorovich and Alyosha went back to the drawing room. Smerdyakov was carrying out the shards of the broken vase, and Grigory was standing by the table looking gloomily at the floor.

“Shouldn’t you, too, put something wet on your head and lie down?” Alyosha turned to Grigory. “We will look after him. My brother gave you a terribly painful blow ... on the head.”

“Me he dared . . .!”Grigory uttered gloomily and distinctly.

“He ‘dared’ father, too, not just you!” Ivan Fyodorovich observed, twisting his mouth.

“I used to wash him in a tub ... Me he dared . . .!” Grigory kept repeating.

“Devil take it, if I hadn’t pulled him away, he might have killed him right there. It wouldn’t take much for Aesop,” Ivan Fyodorovich whispered to Alyosha. “God forbid!” exclaimed Alyosha.

“Why ‘forbid’?” Ivan continued in the same whisper, his face twisted maliciously. “Viper will eat viper, and it would serve them both right!”

Alyosha started.

“Of course I will not allow murder to be committed, any more than I did just now. Stay here, Alyosha, while I take a walk in the yard. I’m getting a headache.”

Alyosha went to his father’s bedroom and sat with him behind the screen for about an hour. The old man suddenly opened his eyes and gazed silently at Alyosha for a long time, evidently recollecting and pondering. Suddenly an extraordinary agitation showed on his face.

“Alyosha,” he whispered warily, “where is Ivan?”

“Out in the yard. He’s got a headache. He’s keeping watch for us.”

“Bring me the mirror, it’s over there, bring it to me!”