Powder Keg came briefly before him. ‘Must it really be him I go to? Can’t it be someone else? Nikodim Fomich, say? Can’t I turn back now and visit the district superintendent at home? It would be a lot less formal . . . No, no! Lieutenant Powder Keg it is! Better to drink it all in one go . . .’
Turning cold and barely conscious of his actions, he opened the door to the bureau. This time there was hardly anyone there, just a caretaker and some other commoner. The guard didn’t even poke his head out from behind his screen. Raskolnikov walked through to the next room. ‘Perhaps I won’t have to say it now either,’ flashed through him. Here, some scribe or other, casually dressed, was getting down to some work at a desk. In a corner another clerk was also settling down. No sign of Zametov. Nor, needless to say, of Nikodim Fomich.
‘No one in?’ Raskolnikov asked the man at the desk.
‘Who d’you want?’
‘Aha! Years may pass, no sight, no sound,43 yet the Russian spirit . . . How does it go again, that fairy tale? . . . I’ve forgotten! My compliments, sir!’ a familiar voice suddenly boomed.
Raskolnikov started to shake. Before him stood Powder Keg. He’d emerged suddenly from the third room.
‘Must be fate,’ thought Raskolnikov. ‘Why’s he here?’
‘And what brings you here, old boy?’ exclaimed Ilya Petrovich. (He was evidently in a splendid mood and even a little overexcited.) ‘If it’s business, you’re a touch on the early side. It’s pure chance I’m . . . But anyway, how may I . . . ? I must admit, Mr . . . Mr . . . I beg your pardon . . .’
‘Raskolnikov.’
‘Too right: Raskolnikov! And you thought I’d forgotten! Please don’t take me for some . . . Rodion Ro . . . Ro . . . Rodionych, I believe?’
‘Rodion Romanych.’
‘Yes, yes-yes! Rodion Romanych, Rodion Romanych! That’s what I was after. I even asked around about it. I must admit, ever since that day I’ve truly mourned the fact that we . . . later I had it all explained to me: a young literary type, a scholar no less . . . The first steps, as it were . . . Good Lord! Hasn’t every literary type or scholar begun by taking an original step or two? My wife and I, we both respect literature, but for her it’s a passion! . . . Literature and artistry! Be honourable and all the rest can be acquired by talents, learning, reasoning, genius! A hat, say – now what’s the meaning of a hat? A hat’s a pancake, I can buy it at Zimmerman’s;44 but as for what’s kept under the hat, what’s kept hidden by the hat – well, I can’t buy that, sir! . . . I must admit, I had half a mind to pay you a visit and clear the air, but then I thought, perhaps you . . . But I haven’t even asked: is there anything we can actually do for you? I hear your family has come to see you?’
‘Yes, my mother and sister.’
‘I’ve even had the honour and pleasure of meeting your sister – an educated and delightful young lady. I must admit, I regretted the way you and I got so carried away. Won’t happen again! And as for my giving you a funny look on account of you fainting – well, a most brilliant explanation was soon found for all that! Zealotry and fanaticism! I understand your indignation. Perhaps you’re changing address on account of your family’s arrival?’
‘N-no, I just . . . I came to ask . . . I thought I’d find Zametov here.’
‘Oh yes! The two of you hit it off, I hear. Well, Zametov’s not here – you’re out of luck. Yes, sir, we’ve lost Alexander Grigoryevich! Absent since yesterday; moved on . . . and, while moving, fell out with just about everyone . . . Wasn’t even civil about it . . . A flighty little boy, no two ways about it. Promising enough at one time; but that’s what they’re like, our brilliant youth! Seems he wants to take some exam