(27) C. P. Part 3 (Chap. 2)

   Razumihin wakes up the next morning troubled and serious. He found himself confronted with many perplexities, he had never imagined that he would wake up feeling like that. He remembered every detail of the previous day, he had received an impression unlike anything he had ever known. He recognized clearly that the dream which had fired his imagination was hopelessly unattainable--so unattainable that he felt ashamed of it.
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(Raz as I call him is smitten by Raskolnikov's Sister and mother!)
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NAMES ARE REALLY HARD TO FOLLOW OR AT LEAST IN MY FIRST READING OF THIS BOOK IT WAS FOR ME, SO I'M GOING TO KEEP THEM AS SIMPLE AS POSSIBLE AND THROW THE PROPERNESS OF THEIR NAMES OUT THE WINDOW!

FOR EXAMPLE RAZUMIHIN HAS BEEN REFERRED TO AS RAZUMIHIN SO FAR, HIS FULL NAME IS (DMITRI PROKOFITCH RAZUMIHIN) SO TO START CALLING HIM DMITRI NOW WILL BE CONFUSING.

RASKOLNIKOV'S SISTER AS HE CALLS HER AND I'LL REFER TO HER IS DOUNIA, HER FULL NAME IS (AVDOTYA ROMANOVA RASKOLNIKOV). LATER IN THE BOOK MOST LIKELY I'LL REFER TO HER AS AVDOTYA AND THERE IS REASON TO. RIGHT NOW I'LL KEEP IT MORE INFORMAL AND CALL HER AS HER BROTHER OR MOTHER CALLS HER, DOUNIA.(Sheesh is confusing enough already. remember they call Raskolnikov as we know him Rodya, his first name is Rodion.
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   The most awful recollection of the previous day was the way he had shown himself "base and mean," not only because he had been drunk, but because he had taken advantage of the young girl's position to abuse her fiancé in his stupid jealousy, knowing nothing of their relationship. What right had he, no one had asked his opinion. Could Dounia be marrying an unworthy man for money? The lodgings? He could not have known the character of the lodgings? Foo! how despicable it all was! And what justification was it that he was drunk? Such a stupid excuse made it even more degrading! In wine is truth, and the truth had come out, "that is, all the uncleanness of his course and envious heart?! Would such a dream ever be permissible to him, Razumihin? What was he, beside such a girl? A drunken noisy braggart! Was it possible to imagine so absurd and cynical a juxtaposition? Razumihin blushed at the very idea and the recollection of how he acted and what he said. He brought his fist down on the kitchen stove!

   "Of course," he muttered to himself, "all those infamies can never be wiped out, I must go to them in silence and do my duty, not asking for forgiveness, all is lost now!"

   He had no right to offend the feelings of others, especially when they were in need of his assistance.

   He brushed his clothes carefully, his linen was always clean. He washed that morning scrupulously. He questioned his stubby chin, "let it stay as it is! What if they think I shaved on purpose?"

   "The worst of it he was so coarse, he had the manners of a pothouse; (saloon) he knew he had some of the essentials of a gentleman. Everyone ought to be a gentleman. He had done little things, not exactly dishonest, and yet what thoughts, he sometimes had! So be it! He'll make a point of being dirty, greasy, pothouse in his manners and he won't care! He'll be worse!"

      He was engaged in such monologues when the Zossimov (the doctor) who had spent the night in Praskovya (Raskolnikov's landlady's) parlor, came in.

   He was going home and wished to view his patient. Razumihin informed him that Rakolnikov was sleeping soundly. Zossimov gave orders they should not wake him and that he would return at eleven.

   "If he is still at home," he added. Damn it all! If one can't control one's patients, how is one to cure them? Do you know whether he will go to them or, whether they will come here?"

   "They are coming, I think," said Razumihin, understanding the object of the question, "and they will discuss their family affairs, no doubt. I will be off. You as the doctor have more right to be here than I."

   "But I am not a father confessor; I shall come and go away; I've plenty to do besides look after them."

   "One thing worries me." interposed Razumihin, frowning. "On the way home I talked a lot of drunken nonsense to him . . . all sorts of things . . . and amongst them that you were afraid that he . . . might become insane."

   "You told the ladies so too."

   "I know it was stupid! You may beat me if you like! Did you think so seriously?"

   "That's nonsense, I tell you, how could I take it seriously? You, yourself, described him as a monomaniac when you fetched me to him . . . and we added fuel to the fire yesterday talking about the painter, you did, that is; it was a nice conversation. If only I had known what happened then at the police station. I should not of allowed that conversation yesterday. These monomaniacs will make a mountain out of a mole-hill . . . and see their fancies as solid realities. . . . In his case his rags, the insolent police officer, the fever and suspicion! All working upon a man half frantic with hypochondria, and with his morbid exceptional vanity! That may well have been the starting-point of the illness. And by the way, that Zametov is an awfully nice fellow, but he shouldn't have told all that last night. He is an awful chatterbox!"

   "But whom did he tell it to, you and me?"

   "What does that matter?"

   "And by the way, if you have any influence on his mother and sister? Tell them to be more careful with him today."

   "They'll get on all right!" Razumihin answered reluctantly.

   "Why is he so set against this Luzhin? A man with money and she doesn't seem to dislike him . . . and they haven't anything,  I suppose? eh?"

   'But what business is that of yours?" Razumihin cried out of annoyance. "How can I tell whether they have any money? Ask them yourself!"

   "Foo! what an ass you are sometimes! Last night's wine has not worn off. Good-bye."

   At nine o'clock Razumihin was at the ladies lodgings. They were waiting for him impatiently. He entered looking as black as night, bowed awkwardly and was furious with himself for doing so. Pulcheria (Raskolnikov's mother) rushed at him seizing both his hands. He glanced timidly at Dounia, she wore an expression of gratitude and friendliness, such complete and unlooked-for respect in place of the sneering looks and ill-disguised contempt he had expected, that through him into greater confusion than if he had been met with abuse.

   Hearing that everything was going well, Pulcheria declared that she was glad to hear it, because "she had something to talk over beforehand." Then followed an invitation to have breakfast with them; they had waited to have it with him. A dirty waiter served in in such a disorderly way the ladies were ashamed. Razumihin attacked the lodgings, remembering Luzhin stopped in embarrassment and was relieved by Pulcheria's questions in a steady stream upon him.

   He talked being constantly interrupted by their questions, describing the most important facts that he knew of in that last years of Raskolnikov's life, concluding with a circumstantial account of his illness. He omitted, however, many things, which were better omitted, like the scene at the police station and all its consequences. They listened eagerly, when he thought he had finished, and satisfied them, he realized he had hardly begun.

   "Tell me what you think? Excuse me, I still don't know your name!" Pulcheria put in hastily.

   "Dmitri Prokofitch Razumihin."      

   "I should like to know his thoughts in general now, that is, how can I explain, what are his likes and dislikes? Is he always so irritable? Tell me if you can what are his hopes and, so to say his dreams? Under what influences is he now?"

   Ah, mother, how can he answer all that at once?" observed Dounia.

   "Good heavens, I did not expect to find him like this!"

   "Naturally," answered Razumihin. "Your three year separation means a great deal. What am I to tell you? I have known Rodion for a year and a half; he is morose, gloomy, proud and haughty, and of late--and perhaps for a long time before--he has been suspicious and fanciful. He has a noble nature and a kind heart. He does not like showing his feelings and would rather do a cruel thing than open his heart freely. Sometimes though he is not at all morbid, but simply cold and inhumanly callous; it's as though he were alternating between two characters. Sometimes he is fearfully reserved! He says that he is so busy that everything is a hindrance, and yet he lies in bed doing nothing. He doesn't jeer at things, not because he hasn't the wit, but as though he hasn't time to waste on such trifles. He never listens to what is said to him. He is never interested in what interest other people at any given moment. He thinks very highly of himself and perhaps he is right. Well, what more? I think your arrival will have a most beneficial influence on him."

   "God grant it may," cried Pulcheria, distressed by Razumihin's account of her son.

   And Razumihin ventured to look more boldly at Dounia at last. He glanced at her often while he was talking, but only for a moment and then looked away. She sat at the table, listening attentively, then got up and began walking to and fro with her arms folded and her lips compressed, occasionally putting in a question, without stopping her walk. She had the same habit of not listening to what was said. She was wearing a dark dress with a white transparent scarf. Razumihin detected signs if extreme poverty in their belongings. Had she been dressed like a queen, he felt that he would not be afraid of her, but perhaps just because she was poorly dressed and that he noticed all the misery of her surroundings, his heart filled with dread and he began to be afraid of every word he uttered, every gesture he made, which was very trying for a man who already felt diffident. (lacking self-confidence)      too continue