Читать книгу A Man from the Future. 1856 - Евгений Платонов - Страница 39

Returning in the evening to Praskovia Pavlovna’s house, Dmitry found a note slipped under his door:

“Dmitry Sergeevich, come see me this evening. I want to talk with you. Rodion Romanovich”

He went up one flight, found Rodion’s door, and knocked. From inside came a quiet:

“Enter.”

Rodion’s room was even smaller than Dmitry’s – a tiny little room right under the roof, with a low ceiling and a single small window. There was almost no furniture – a bed, a table, a chair, nothing else. Books and papers lay on the table, and a candle stub.

Rodion sat on the bed, dressed in the same worn frock coat, barefoot. His face was even paler than yesterday, his eyes sunken with dark circles, but burning with some strange, feverish fire.

“Come in, sit down,” he pointed to the chair.

Dmitry sat. A heavy, tense silence fell between them. Rodion looked out the window at the darkening sky and whispered something to himself.

“Rodion Romanovich,” Dmitry began carefully, “you wanted to talk?”

“Yes,” Rodion turned to him. “I’ve been thinking about your story. About you being from the future. And I understood that I believe you. Not because it’s logical or reasonable. But because there’s something… out of time about you. You look at everything as if you’re seeing it for the first time. As if you wonder at what’s ordinary for us.”

“That’s true,” Dmitry admitted. “I really do marvel. In my time everything is different.”

“Tell me,” Rodion asked, and there was something hungry, almost painful in his voice. “Tell me about it. About your future. Have people become better there? More just? Freer?”

Dmitry thought. How to answer that honestly?

“Well… for instance,” he began. “There’s not as much poverty there as here. That is, it exists, but it’s different. People don’t die of hunger in the streets. Everyone has homes, food, clothing. Medicine has become very advanced – they cure diseases that kill people here. People live to seventy, eighty years old.”

“Wow! That’s good,” Rodion nodded. “So progress is happening! So humanity is moving forward.”

“But,” Dmitry hesitated, “people have become… different. Colder. Everyone lives for themselves. Neighbors don’t know each other. People can pass by a dying man and not stop – because it’s ‘not their business.’”

“How is it not their business?” Rodion jumped off the bed, his eyes flashed. “How can it be not their business? If a man is dying – it’s everyone’s business! It’s…” He caught himself, paced the room. “So despite all the progress, people haven’t become better? Haven’t become kinder, more just?”

“No,” Dmitry admitted honestly. “They became richer, more educated, but not kinder.”

Rodion stopped, stared at him:

“And the division between people? Did it remain? Between the rich and poor, the powerful and powerless, those who have the right and those who… tremble?”

Lord, Dmitry went cold, he’s already formulated his theory. About “trembling creatures” and “those who have the right.”

“The division remained,” he answered slowly. “Maybe not as obvious, but it’s there. There are the rich, who rule the world, and the poor, who work for them.”

“So nothing has changed!” Rodion struck the table with his fist. “Despite all your machines, medicines, progress – the essence remains the same! Humanity hasn’t become more just!”

“Perhaps,” Dmitry said quietly, “justice doesn’t exist at all? Perhaps it’s just a beautiful idea that will never be realized?”

“No!” Rodion almost cried out. “No, it must exist! And if the world is unjust – then it needs to be changed. Someone has to do it. Someone has to… transgress. Step over all these rules, laws, morality, which are invented by those at the top to keep us at the bottom!”

There it is, Dmitry understood. He’s ready. Ready for crime.

“Rodion Romanovich,” he said firmly, “I understand you. I understand your pain, your anger. I was like that once too. I also thought the world was unjust and needed to be changed. But you know what I realized?”

“What?” Rodion looked at him with tense attention.

“That you can’t fix the world through evil. You can’t defeat injustice with murder. You can’t become a person by committing a crime.”

Rodion went even paler:

“How do you know that I…” he didn’t finish.

“Because I see it in your eyes,” said Dmitry. “You’re possessed by some idea. You think that if you do something terrible, you’ll prove to yourself and the world that you’re not a ‘trembling creature,’ but a person with a capital P. But it’s a trap, Rodion Romanovich. It’s a path to nowhere.”

Silence fell. Rodion stood with his head down, his hands trembling.

“You don’t understand,” he finally said quietly. “You can’t understand. You live in a world where people have choices. But I… I was born in poverty. My mother died of consumption because we didn’t have money for medicine. My sister married a scoundrel because there was no other way out.

I myself studied at university on my last kopecks, starved, froze, was humiliated. And all this – why? Because I was born into the wrong family. Because fate decided it that way.

He raised his head, and Dmitry saw tears in his eyes:

“And up there, people live! Who were born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Who’ve never gone hungry, never frozen, never been humiliated. Who think they have the right to rule our fates. Simply because that’s how the world is organized. And you tell me – don’t transgress? Don’t step over the line? But how else? How else can I prove I’m not worse than them? That I’m also a person?”

Dmitry said nothing. He understood Rodion – understood his pain, his despair, his rage. He’d felt something similar once himself.

“Rodion Romanovich,” he finally said, “I know how you suffer. But listen to me carefully. In my time, in the future, I know the story of a man. Very much like you. He also thought the world was unjust. He also wanted to prove he had the right. And he… committed a crime. He killed a man.”

Rodion flinched but didn’t interrupt.

“And you know what happened after?” Dmitry continued. “He didn’t become stronger. Didn’t become freer. He became the most miserable person in the world. Because he didn’t kill an old moneylender – he killed himself. His conscience. His soul. And then for the rest of his life he suffered, trying to atone for it. But you can’t atone. Murder stays on the soul forever.”

“How do you know this?” Rodion whispered.

“I read about it,” Dmitry answered. “In a book. A great book that will be written by a writer in a few years. He’ll tell the story of a man who committed a crime to prove himself right. And the whole book will be about how that man suffers. How remorse tears him apart. How he realizes he was wrong.”

Rodion sank onto the bed, covered his face with his hands:

“You speak as if you know my future…”

“Not your future,” Dmitry said gently. “But I know where this path leads. Rodion Romanovich, do you want to be a person? A real person? Then become one through good, not through evil. Through helping others, not through crime.”

Rodion was silent for a long time. Then he raised his head, and Dmitry saw in his eyes a strange mixture of gratitude and stubbornness.

“Thank you, Dmitry Sergeevich,” he said quietly. “Thank you for trying to stop me. You’re a good man. Better than I am. Perhaps you’re right. But…” he hesitated, “but I can’t just abandon my idea. I’ve thought about it for too long. It’s become part of me.”

“Rodion Romanovich…”

“No, listen to me,” Rodion interrupted. “I’ll think about your words. I give you my word, I’ll think. But I’m not promising anything. Because… because there are two forces battling inside me. One says – yes, you’re right, you can’t. The other says – no, you must, you have to. And I don’t know which will win.”

He stood, walked to the window, looked at the dark roofs of houses:

“You see, Dmitry Sergeevich, there are people who live peacefully. Who never have such thoughts. They just exist – work, eat, sleep, have children, age, die. They’re happy in their simplicity. And there are other people – those who are tormented by questions. Who am I? Why do I live? Do I have the right? And these questions don’t let you sleep, eat, breathe. They burn inside like fire. And the only way to extinguish this fire is to answer the question. Through action.”

“But what action?” asked Dmitry. “Murder?”

Rodion turned to him:

“Not necessarily murder. Maybe… something else. I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. But I have to do something. Have to! Otherwise I’ll go mad.”

He’s not refusing, Dmitry realized with horror. He still plans to do something. I didn’t convince him.

“Rodion Romanovich,” Dmitry said desperately, “please, don’t do anything rash. I beg you. Promise me that before you act, you’ll come to me. Talk to me again.”

Rodion looked at him with a long gaze:

“All right,” he said finally. “I promise. If I decide to act – I’ll tell you. Though…” he smiled bitterly, “maybe I won’t have the courage. Maybe I really am just a ‘trembling creature’ who only talks but doesn’t act.”

“You’re not a creature,” Dmitry said firmly. “You’re a person. A thinking, feeling, suffering person. And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t become a murderer.”

Rodion nodded but said nothing. Dmitry understood the conversation was over. He stood:

“I’ll go. Good night, Rodion Romanovich.”

“Good night, Dmitry Sergeevich.”

Dmitry left the little room with a heavy heart. The conversation brought no relief – on the contrary, the fear intensified. Rodion hadn’t rejected his idea. He’d only postponed his decision.

What do I do? Dmitry thought as he descended the stairs. How do I stop him? Follow him? But I can’t follow him constantly. Tell the police? But what would I say? That my acquaintance is thinking about committing a crime? I’d be arrested for slander. Find whoever he’s planning to target and warn them? But I don’t even know who he’s chosen.

Returning to his room, he lay on the bed without undressing. Sleep wouldn’t come. Before his eyes stood Rodion’s pale, tormented face, his fever-bright eyes.

I have to save him, Dmitry decided firmly. That’s my task here. Not just to survive, not just to adapt – but to save a man standing on the edge of an abyss. Because if I don’t save him, who will?

Somewhere in the distance someone was shouting, someone was crying, someone was laughing drunkenly. St. Petersburg’s life continued – terrifying, beautiful, merciless life. And in a little room under the roof sat a young man thinking about crime.