第 35 节
作者:不言败      更新:2021-02-21 15:47      字数:9322
  He could never have imagined such brutality; such frenzy。 In
  terror he sat up in bed; almost swooning with agony。 But the fighting;
  wailing and cursing grew louder and louder。 And then to his intense
  amazement he caught the voice of his landlady。 She was howling;
  shrieking and wailing; rapidly; hurriedly; incoherently; so that he
  could not make out what she was talking about; she was beseeching;
  no doubt; not to be beaten; for she was being mercilessly beaten on
  the stairs。 The voice of her assailant was so horrible from spite
  and rage that it was almost a croak; but he; too; was saying
  something; and just as quickly and indistinctly; hurrying and
  spluttering。 All at once Raskolnikov trembled; he recognized the
  voice… it was the voice of Ilya Petrovitch。 Ilya Petrovitch here and
  beating the landlady! He is kicking her; banging her head against
  the steps… that's clear; that can be told from the sounds; from the
  cries and the thuds。 How is it; is the world topsy…turvy? He could
  hear people running in crowds from all the storeys and all the
  staircases; he heard voices; exclamations; knocking; doors banging。
  〃But why; why; and how could it be?〃 he repeated; thinking seriously
  that he had gone mad。 But no; he heard too distinctly! And they
  would come to him then next; 〃for no doubt。。。 it's all about that。。。
  about yesterday。。。。 Good God!〃 He would have fastened his door with
  the latch; but he could not lift his hand。。。 besides; it would be
  useless。 Terror gripped his heart like ice; tortured him and numbed
  him。。。。 But at last all this uproar; after continuing about ten
  minutes; began gradually to subside。 The landlady was moaning and
  groaning; Ilya Petrovitch was still uttering threats and curses。。。。
  But at last he; too; seemed to be silent; and now he could not be
  heard。 〃Can he have gone away? Good Lord!〃 Yes; and now the landlady
  is going too; still weeping and moaning。。。  and then her door
  slammed。。。。 Now the crowd was going from the stairs to their rooms;
  exclaiming; disputing; calling to one another; raising their voices to
  a shout; dropping them to a whisper。 There must have been numbers of
  them… almost all the inmates of the block。 〃But; good God; how could
  it be! And why; why had he come here!〃
  Raskolnikov sank worn out on the sofa; but could not close his eyes。
  He lay for half an hour in such anguish; such an intolerable sensation
  of infinite terror as he had never experienced before。 Suddenly a
  bright light flashed into his room。 Nastasya came in with a candle and
  a plate of soup。 Looking at him carefully and ascertaining that he was
  not asleep; she set the candle on the table and began to lay out
  what she had brought… bread; salt; a plate; a spoon。
  〃You've eaten nothing since yesterday; I warrant。 You've been
  trudging about all day; and you're shaking with fever。〃
  〃Nastasya。。。 what were they beating the landlady for?〃
  She looked intently at him。
  〃Who beat the landlady?〃
  〃Just now。。。 half an hour ago; Ilya Petrovitch; the
  assistant…superintendent; on the stairs。。。。 Why was he ill…treating
  her like that; and。。。 why was he here?〃
  Nastasya scrutinised him; silent and frowning; and her scrutiny
  lasted a long time。 He felt uneasy; even frightened at her searching
  eyes。
  〃Nastasya; why don't you speak?〃 he said timidly at last in a weak
  voice。
  〃It's the blood;〃 she answered at last softly; as though speaking to
  herself。
  〃Blood? What blood?〃 he muttered; growing white and turning
  towards the wall。
  Nastasya still looked at him without speaking。
  〃Nobody has been beating the landlady;〃 she declared at last in a
  firm; resolute voice。
  He gazed at her; hardly able to breathe。
  〃I heard it myself。。。。 I was not asleep。。。 I was sitting up;〃 he
  said still more timidly。 〃I listened a long while。 The
  assistant…superintendent came。。。。 Every one ran out on to the stairs
  from all the flats。〃
  〃No one has been here。 That's the blood crying in your ears。 When
  there's no outlet for it and it gets clotted; you begin fancying
  things。。。。 Will you eat something?〃
  He made no answer。 Nastasya still stood over him; watching him。
  〃Give me something to drink。。。 Nastasya。〃
  She went downstairs and returned with a white earthenware jug of
  water。 He remembered only swallowing one sip of the cold water and
  spilling some on his neck。 Then followed forgetfulness。
  Chapter Three
  HE WAS not completely unconscious; however; all the time he was ill;
  he was in a feverish state; sometimes delirious; sometimes half
  conscious。 He remembered a great deal afterwards。 Sometimes it
  seemed as though there were a number of people round him; they
  wanted to take him away somewhere; there was a great deal of
  squabbling and discussing about him。 Then he would be alone in the
  room; they had all gone away afraid of him; and only now and then
  opened the door a crack to look at him; they threatened him; plotted
  something together; laughed; and mocked at him。 He remembered Nastasya
  often at his bedside; he distinguished another person; too; whom he
  seemed to know very well; though he could not remember who he was; and
  this fretted him; even made him cry。 Sometimes he fancied he had
  been lying there a month; at other times it all seemed part of the
  same day。 But of that… of that he had no recollection; and yet every
  minute he felt that he had forgotten something he ought to remember。
  He worried and tormented himself trying to remember; moaned; flew into
  a rage; or sank into awful; intolerable terror。 Then he struggled to
  get up; would have run away; but some one always prevented him by
  force; and he sank back into impotence and forgetfulness。 At last he
  returned to complete consciousness。
  It happened at ten o'clock in the morning。 On fine days the sun
  shone into the room at that hour; throwing a streak of light on the
  right wall and the corner near the door。 Nastasya was standing
  beside him with another person; a complete stranger; who was looking
  at him very inquisitively。 He was a young man with a beard; wearing
  a full; short…waisted coat; and looked like a messenger。 The
  landlady was peeping in at the half…opened door。 Raskolnikov sat up。
  〃Who is this; Nastasya?〃 he asked; pointing to the young man。
  〃I say; he's himself again!〃 she said。
  〃He is himself;〃 echoed the man。
  Concluding that he had returned to his senses; the landlady closed
  the door and disappeared。 She was always shy and dreaded conversations
  or discussions。 She was a woman of forty; not at all bad…looking;
  fat and buxom; with black eyes and eyebrows; good…natured from fatness
  and laziness; and absurdly bashful。
  〃Who。。。 are you?〃 he went on; addressing the man。 But at that moment
  the door was flung open; and; stooping a little; as he was so tall;
  Razumihin came in。
  〃What a cabin it is!〃 he cried。 〃I am always knocking my head。 You
  call this a lodging! So you are conscious; brother? I've just heard
  the news from Pashenka。〃
  〃He has just come to;〃 said Nastasya。
  〃Just come to;〃 echoed the man