Crime and Punishment - Translation Library of Classics 058

Author: Dostoevsky
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-08-01
Features: On an unusually hot evening in early July, a young man stepped out of his tiny room, which he had rented from a subletter in S Alley. He walked slowly, as if undecided, toward K Bridge. He easily dodged the landlady on the stairs. His room was on the top floor of a tall five-story building, more like a closet than a place to live. His landlady lived in a separate room on the floor below, and his rent included lunch and a maid. Every time he went out, he had to pass through the landlady's kitchen, and the door leading to the stairs was almost always wide open. Every time he passed by, he felt both painful and timid, blushing and frowning. He hadn't paid the money he owed the landlady, so he was afraid to see her. He wasn't timid by nature; far from it. But from some point on, he was prone to anger, tense, as if suffering from depression. He often lost himself in deep thought, loved solitude, and even feared meeting anyone—not just the landlady. Poverty weighed on him heavily; but lately, even that poverty no longer troubled him. He no longer did the necessary tasks of his daily life; he didn't have the heart to. In truth, he wasn't afraid of the landlady at all; no matter what she might think of him, he wouldn't be afraid. But standing on the stairs, listening to her ramble about irrelevant daily trivialities, demand rent, threaten, or complain, he had to pretend to listen, apologize, and tell lies—no, better to act like a cat, seize the chance to slip downstairs, and escape unnoticed. But this time, when he went out, he was so afraid of meeting the creditor that even he was surprised. "What kind of thing am I going to do, yet I'm afraid of such trivial matters?" he thought, a strange smile spreading across his face. "Yes, it's all about willpower. Only because he's timid did he miss the opportunity—that's an undeniable truth. I really want to know what people fear. They fear new measures, new words. But I talk too much nonsense. Because I talk too much nonsense, I do nothing; but then again, perhaps it's because I do nothing that I talk too much nonsense. I've learned to talk nonsense in this month, lying in my tiny room and daydreaming about even ancient times. Now, what am I going to do? Can I do such a thing? Isn't this just joking? It's entirely a joke; then, why am I doing this...