The Brothers Karamazov

“Yes, yes! You’ve spoken my own thought, they love it, they all love it, and love it always, not just at ‘moments.’ You know, it’s as if at some point they all agreed to lie about it, and have been lying about it ever since. They all say they hate what’s bad, but secretly they all love it.”

“And are you still reading bad books?”

“Yes. Mama reads them and hides them under her pillow, and I steal them.”

“Aren’t you ashamed to be ruining yourself?”

“I want to ruin myself. There’s a boy here, and he lay down under the rails while a train rode over him. Lucky boy! Listen, your brother is on trial now for killing his father, and they all love it that he killed his father.”

“They love it that he killed his father?”

“They love it, they all love it! Everyone says it’s terrible, but secretly they all love it terribly. I’m the first to love it.”

“There’s some truth in what you say about everyone,” Alyosha said softly.

“Ah, what thoughts you have!” Liza shrieked with delight, “and you a monk! You wouldn’t believe how I respect you, Alyosha, for never lying. Ah, I’ll tell you a funny dream of mine: sometimes I have a dream about devils, it seems to be night, I’m in my room with a candle, and suddenly there are devils everywhere, in all the corners, and under the tables, and they open the door, and outside the door there’s a crowd of them, and they want to come in and grab me. And they’re coming close, they’re about to grab me. But I suddenly cross myself and they all draw back, afraid, only they don’t quite go away, they stand by the door and in the corners, waiting. And suddenly I have a terrible desire to start abusing God out loud, and so I start abusing him, and they suddenly rush at me again in a crowd, they’re so glad, and they’re grabbing me again, and I suddenly cross myself again—and they all draw back. It’s such terrible fun; it takes my breath away.”

“I’ve sometimes had the same dream,” Alyosha said suddenly.

“Really?” Liza cried out in surprise. “Listen, Alyosha, don’t laugh, this is terribly important: is it possible for two different people to have one and the same dream?”

“It must be.”

“Alyosha, I’m telling you, this is terribly important,” Liza went on in some sort of extreme amazement. “It’s not the dream that’s important, but that you could have the same dream I had. You never lie, so don’t lie now either: is it true? You’re not joking?”

“It’s true.”

Liza was terribly struck by something and sat silently for half a minute.

“Alyosha, do come to see me, come to see me more often,” she spoke suddenly in a pleading voice.

“I’ll always come to see you, all my life,” Alyosha answered firmly.

“I tell this to you alone,” Liza began again. “Only to myself, and also to you. You alone in the whole world. And rather to you than to myself. And I’m not at all ashamed with you. Alyosha, why am I not at all ashamed with you, not at all? Alyosha, is it true that Jews steal children on Passover and kill them?”

“I don’t know.”

“I have a book here, I read in it about some trial somewhere, and that a Jew first cut off all the fingers of a four-year-old boy, and then crucified him on the wall, nailed him with nails and crucified him, and then said at his trial that the boy died quickly, in four hours. Quickly! He said the boy was moaning, that he kept moaning, and he stood and admired it. That’s good!”

“Good?”

“Good. Sometimes I imagine that it was I who crucified him. He hangs there moaning, and I sit down facing him, eating pineapple compote. I like pineapple compote very much. Do you?”

Alyosha was silent and looked at her. Her pale yellow face suddenly became distorted, her eyes lit up.

“You know, after I read about that Jew, I shook with tears the whole night. I kept imagining how the child cried and moaned (four-year-old boys already understand), and I couldn’t get the thought of the compote out of my mind. In the morning I sent a letter to a certain man, telling him that he must come and see me. He came and I suddenly told him about the boy, and the compote, I told him everything, everything, and said it was ‘good.’ He suddenly laughed and said it was indeed good. Then he got up and left. He stayed only five minutes. Did he despise me, did he? Speak, speak, Alyosha, did he despise me or not?” she sat up straight on the couch, flashing her eyes.

“Tell me,” Alyosha said with agitation, “did you yourself send for him, for this man?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You sent him a letter?”

“Yes.” “To ask him just about that, about the child?”

“No, not about that at all, not at all. But as soon as he came, I immediately asked him about that. He answered, laughed, got up and left.”

“The man treated you honorably,” Alyosha said softly. “And despised me? Laughed at me?”

“No, because he may believe in the pineapple compote himself. He’s also very sick now, Lise.”

“Yes, he does believe in it!” Liza flashed her eyes.