Brothers -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Russia -- Social life and customs -- 1533-1917 -- Fiction
Alyosha went in. The old man was sitting alone at the table wearing
slippers and a little old overcoat. He was amusing himself by looking
through some accounts, rather inattentively however. He was quite alone
in the house, for Smerdyakov too had gone out marketing. Though he had
got up early and was trying to put a bold face on it, he looked tired
and weak. His forehead, upon which huge purple bruises had come out
during the night, was bandaged with a red handkerchief; his nose too
had swollen terribly in the night, and some smaller bruises covered it
in patches, giving his whole face a peculiarly spiteful and irritable
look. The old man was aware of this, and turned a hostile glance on
Alyosha as he came in.
“The coffee is cold,” he cried harshly; “I won’t offer you any. I’ve
ordered nothing but a Lenten fish soup to-day, and I don’t invite any
one to share it. Why have you come?”
“To find out how you are,” said Alyosha.
“Yes. Besides, I told you to come yesterday. It’s all of no
consequence. You need not have troubled. But I knew you’d come poking
in directly.”
He said this with almost hostile feeling. At the same time he got up
and looked anxiously in the looking-glass (perhaps for the fortieth
time that morning) at his nose. He began, too, binding his red
handkerchief more becomingly on his forehead.
“Red’s better. It’s just like the hospital in a white one,” he observed
sententiously. “Well, how are things over there? How is your elder?”
“He is very bad; he may die to-day,” answered Alyosha. But his father
had not listened, and had forgotten his own question at once.
“Ivan’s gone out,” he said suddenly. “He is doing his utmost to carry
off Mitya’s betrothed. That’s what he is staying here for,” he added
maliciously, and, twisting his mouth, looked at Alyosha.
“Surely he did not tell you so?” asked Alyosha.
“Yes, he did, long ago. Would you believe it, he told me three weeks
ago? You don’t suppose he too came to murder me, do you? He must have
had some object in coming.”
“What do you mean? Why do you say such things?” said Alyosha, troubled.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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