在父亲家
首先，阿廖沙去了父亲那里。路上他想起，昨天父亲坚持要他今天来，而且不能让哥哥伊万看见。“这是为什么？”阿廖沙忽然纳闷。“即使父亲有什么话要单独对我说，为什么我要偷偷摸摸地进去？多半是他昨天激动之下，想说的并不是这个意思。”他这样断定。不过，当给他开花园门的玛尔法·伊格纳季耶夫娜（原来格里戈里病了，躺在厢房里）回答他的问话说，伊万·费奥多罗维奇两小时前已经出门去了，他还是很高兴。
“那父亲呢？”
“起来了，在喝咖啡，”玛尔法有点干巴巴地回答。
阿廖沙走了进去。老头子一个人坐在桌边，穿着拖鞋，套着一件旧的小外套。他正拿一本账册自得其乐地翻看，不过相当心不在焉。屋子里只有他一个人，因为斯梅尔佳科夫也出去采购了。虽然他起得很早，而且极力装出精神抖擞的样子，但看上去仍然疲惫而虚弱。昨夜额头上鼓起的一大块紫青伤痕，用一块红手帕包着；鼻子也在一夜间肿得厉害，上面星星点点地布着几处小伤痕，使他整个面孔显出一种特别凶狠、恼怒的神情。老头子自己也知道这一点，所以当阿廖沙进来时，他投来敌意的目光。
“咖啡凉了，”他厉声嚷道，“我不请你喝。今天我只吩咐做了一顿素鱼汤，也不请任何人来分享。你来干什么？”
“来看看您身体怎么样。”阿廖沙说。
“是啊。此外，我昨天就叫你今天来。其实都无关紧要。你不必费心的。但我知道你马上就会闯进来的。”
他说这话时几乎带着敌意。同时他站起来，不安地照了照镜子（大概是早上第四十次了），看自己的鼻子。他又开始把红手帕在额头上系得整齐些。
“红的比较好。要是白的，就跟医院里一样了。”他带着说教的口吻说道，“唔，那边怎么样？你的长老身体如何？”
“他病得很重；今天可能会死。”阿廖沙回答。但他父亲根本没有听，马上又忘了自己刚才的问话。
“伊万出去了，”他突然说，“他正在竭力把米佳未婚妻夺走。他留在这里就是为了这个。”他恶毒地补充道，然后歪着嘴看着阿廖沙。
“这话总不会是他亲口告诉您的吧？”阿廖沙问。
“怎么不是，他说过，早就说过了。你信不信，三个星期前他就跟我说了？你该不会以为他也是来杀我的吧？他来这里总该有个目的。”
“您这话是什么意思？您为什么要说这些话？”阿廖沙不安地说。
“他倒是不向我要钱，这倒是真的，不过他从我这儿一个子儿也拿不到。我要尽可能活得长久，这一点你最好知道，我亲爱的阿列克塞·费奥多罗维奇，所以我需要每一个子儿，而且我活得越久，需要的就越多。”他继续说，从房间的一角踱到另一角，双手插在那件肥大的、油渍斑斑的黄色棉布外套口袋里。“我五十五岁还可以算是个壮年人，可我还想再当二十年壮年人。你知道，我越老，就越不中看了。那些娘儿们不会自动来找我，所以我就需要钱。所以我越攒越多，全是为我自己，我亲爱的儿子阿列克塞·费奥多罗维奇。这一点你最好也知道。因为我要一直作恶到死，我告诉你。因为罪孽是甜的；人人都骂罪孽，可人人都活在罪孽里，只是别人偷偷摸摸地干，而我光明正大。于是所有别的罪人都因为我这般坦率而群起攻击我。至于你的天堂，阿列克塞·费奥多罗维奇，我可不喜欢，我告诉你；你们的那个天堂不是一位绅士该去的地方，即使它真的存在。我相信我一睡着就不会再醒来，如此而已。你爱替我的灵魂祈祷就祈祷吧。要是不想，就别祈祷，去你的！这就是我的哲学。昨天伊万在这儿讲得倒挺好，虽然当时我们都喝醉了。伊万是个自命不凡的纨绔子弟，可他又没什么学问……也没什么教养。他坐在那里一声不吭，对人笑笑不说话——他就是靠这个撑过去的。”
阿廖沙默默地听着。
“他为什么不跟我说话？他要是开口，又总是装腔作势。你的伊万是个坏蛋！而我要想娶格鲁申卡，马上就能娶。因为只要你有了钱，阿列克塞·费奥多罗维奇，你想得到什么就能得到什么。伊万怕的就是这个，他时刻提防着不让我结婚，所以他怂恿米佳自己去娶格鲁申卡。他想用这个办法使我和格鲁申卡分开（好像我不娶她就会把财产留给他似的！）。再说，如果米佳娶了格鲁申卡，伊万就会把他的那个阔绰的未婚妻弄到手，这就是他的如意算盘！你的伊万是个坏蛋！”
“您怎么这么生气！都是因为昨天的事；您最好躺下休息。”阿廖沙说。
“你瞧！这话你说出来，”老头子忽然说，仿佛第一次想到似的，“我就不生你的气。可要是伊万说这话，我就会生他的气。只有跟你在一起，我才有好心情，不然你也知道，我是个脾气很坏的人。”
“您不是脾气坏，您是性情古怪。”阿廖沙微笑着说。
“听着。我今天早上本来想把那个浑蛋米佳关进牢里去，可现在我还拿不定主意。当然，如今这个时髦的时代，父母都被看作是一种偏见，但即使如此，法律也不允许你拽着老父亲的头发拖来拖去，在他自己家里踢他的脸，还吹嘘要把他活活打死——而且全都有证人在场。如果我想，我现在就能把他收拾了，就凭他昨天干的事，我马上就能把他关起来。”
“那么您不打算起诉了？”
“伊万劝住了我。我倒不在乎伊万，可还有另一件事。”
他弯下腰凑近阿廖沙，用推心置腹的半耳语声继续说：
“如果我把那浑蛋关进监狱，她就会听说，马上跑去看他。可如果她听说他把一个衰弱的老头子打得半死，她就可能甩了他，来找我……因为她的脾气就是这样，事事都要反着来。我把她看得透透的！你要不要来一点白兰地？喝点凉咖啡，我倒四分之一杯白兰地进去，味道好极了，我的孩子。”
“不，谢谢。那个小面包卷，如果可以的话，我带走。”阿廖沙说着，拿起一个半便士的法式小面包，放进自己法衣的口袋里。“您最好也别喝白兰地了。”他担心地看着老头子的脸，建议道。
“你说得对，白兰地刺激我的神经，而不是安抚它们。就一小杯。我去橱柜里拿来。”
他打开橱柜，倒了一杯，喝了下去，然后锁上橱柜，把钥匙放回口袋里。
“够了。一杯不会要我的命。”
“您看，您现在心情好多了。”阿廖沙微笑着说。
“嗯！不喝白兰地我也爱你，可跟坏蛋在一起我就是坏蛋。伊万不去切尔马什尼亚——这是为什么？他想监视我，看她来了我给格鲁申卡多少钱。他们都是坏蛋！不过我不认伊万，我根本不知道他是怎么回事。他从哪里来的？他灵魂上跟我们不是一路人。好像我会给他留下什么似的！我根本不会立遗嘱，这一点你也最好知道。我要像踩一只甲虫一样把米佳踩碎。我夜里用拖鞋踩黑甲虫；一脚踩下去，它们就啪叽一声。你的米佳也会啪叽一声。你的米佳，因为你爱他。是的，你爱他，我可不担心你爱他。可要是伊万爱他，我倒要为自己担心了。但伊万谁也不爱。伊万不是我们这类人。像伊万那样的人不是我们这类人，我的孩子。他们就像一阵尘土。风一吹，尘土就散了……我今天叫你来，脑子里有个傻念头；我想从你这里打听米佳的事。要是我现在给他一千或者两千，那个叫花子会不会同意彻底滚蛋，滚五年，或者更好，三十五年，而且不带格鲁申卡，永远放弃她，嗯？”
“我——我去问问他。”阿廖沙含糊地说，“如果您给他三千，也许他——”
“胡说！你不用现在去问他，不必了！我已经改变主意了。那是我一个荒唐的念头。我什么也不会给他，一个子儿也不给，我的钱我自己要花。”老头子挥着手嚷道，“不给他钱我也要像踩甲虫一样把他踩碎。什么也别跟他说，不然他会生出指望来。你在这里没事可做，不必待了。他那个未婚妻，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺夫娜，这段时间一直小心地瞒着我——她到底嫁不嫁给他？你昨天去看她了吧，对吗？”
“无论如何她都不会抛弃他的。”
“你看，这些漂亮的小姐们多么爱一个浪子和坏蛋啊。我告诉你，那些苍白的小姐们都是可怜的东西，跟——完全不同。唉，要是我有他那样的青春，有我当时那样的相貌（因为我在二十八岁的时候比他英俊多了），我也会像他一样是个征服女人的英雄。他是个下流坯！不过无论如何他得不到格鲁申卡，他得不到！我要踩碎他！”
说到最后几句话，他的怒火又上来了。
“你可以走了。你今天在这里没事可做。”他刺耳地厉声说。
阿廖沙走过去向他告别，吻了吻他的肩膀。
“这是为什么？”老头子有些惊讶，“我们还会再见面的，还是你觉得不会再见了？”
“不是那个意思，我没有什么别的意思。”
“我也没什么，我也没有什么别的意思。”老头子看着他说，“听着，听着，”他在他身后喊道，“赶快再来，我给你准备鱼汤，一顿好汤，不像今天的。一定来！明天来，你听见了吗，明天！”
阿廖沙刚一出门口，他就又走到橱柜前，倒了半杯。
“我不多喝了！”他清了清嗓子嘟囔道，然后又锁上橱柜，把钥匙放进口袋。然后他走进卧室，精疲力竭地躺到床上，一分钟之内就睡着了。
At His Father’s
First of all, Alyosha went to his father. On the way he remembered that
his father had insisted the day before that he should come without his
brother Ivan seeing him. “Why so?” Alyosha wondered suddenly. “Even if
my father has something to say to me alone, why should I go in unseen?
Most likely in his excitement yesterday he meant to say something
different,” he decided. Yet he was very glad when Marfa Ignatyevna, who
opened the garden gate to him (Grigory, it appeared, was ill in bed in
the lodge), told him in answer to his question that Ivan Fyodorovitch
had gone out two hours ago.
“And my father?”
“He is up, taking his coffee,” Marfa answered somewhat dryly.
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.
“He doesn’t ask for money, it’s true, but yet he won’t get a farthing
from me. I intend living as long as possible, you may as well know, my
dear Alexey Fyodorovitch, and so I need every farthing, and the longer
I live, the more I shall need it,” he continued, pacing from one corner
of the room to the other, keeping his hands in the pockets of his loose
greasy overcoat made of yellow cotton material. “I can still pass for a
man at five and fifty, but I want to pass for one for another twenty
years. As I get older, you know, I shan’t be a pretty object. The
wenches won’t come to me of their own accord, so I shall want my money.
So I am saving up more and more, simply for myself, my dear son Alexey
Fyodorovitch. You may as well know. For I mean to go on in my sins to
the end, let me tell you. For sin is sweet; all abuse it, but all men
live in it, only others do it on the sly, and I openly. And so all the
other sinners fall upon me for being so simple. And your paradise,
Alexey Fyodorovitch, is not to my taste, let me tell you that; and it’s
not the proper place for a gentleman, your paradise, even if it exists.
I believe that I fall asleep and don’t wake up again, and that’s all.
You can pray for my soul if you like. And if you don’t want to, don’t,
damn you! That’s my philosophy. Ivan talked well here yesterday, though
we were all drunk. Ivan is a conceited coxcomb, but he has no
particular learning ... nor education either. He sits silent and smiles
at one without speaking—that’s what pulls him through.”
