Demons

baby out to look at him.

'Marie,' he cried, holding the baby in his arms, 'an end to the old delirium, disgrace, and carrion! Let us work, and on a new path, the three of us, yes, yes! ... Ah, yes, what name are we going to give him, Marie?'

'Him? What name?' she repeated in surprise, and a terribly rueful look suddenly came to her face.

She clasped her hands, glanced reproachfully at Shatov, and threw herself facedown on the pillow.

'Marie, what is it?' he cried out with rueful fright.

'How could you, how could you... Oh, you ungrateful man!'

'Marie, forgive me, Marie ... I just asked what to name him. I don't know...'

'Ivan, Ivan,' she raised her flushed face, wet with tears, 'could you really suppose it would be some other, terrible name?'

'Marie, calm down, oh, you're so upset!'

'More rudeness! Why ascribe it to my being upset? I bet if I told you to give him that... terrible name, you'd agree at once and wouldn't even notice! Oh, ungrateful, mean, all of you, all of you!'

A minute later, of course, they made peace. Shatov convinced her to get some sleep. She fell asleep, but still without letting go of his hand; she kept waking up, looking at him as if fearing he might leave, and falling asleep again.

Kirillov sent the old woman up with 'congratulations,' and with hot tea, besides, some just-fried cutlets, and bouillon with white bread for 'Marya Ignatievna.' The patient drank the bouillon greedily, the old woman changed the baby, Marie also made Shatov eat the cutlets.

Time was passing. Shatov, strengthless, fell asleep in the chair himself, his head on Marie's pillow. Thus they were found by Arina Prokhorovna, true to her word, who cheerfully woke them up, discussed whatever was necessary with Marie, looked the baby over, and again told Shatov not to leave her side. Then, cracking a joke about the 'spouses' with a shade of scorn and superciliousness, she left as well pleased as before.

It was already quite dark when Shatov woke up. He hastened to light the candle and ran for the old woman; but as soon as he started down the stairs, he was struck by someone's soft, unhurried footsteps of a man coming up towards him. Erkel came in.

'Don't come in!' Shatov whispered, and seizing him impetuously by the arm, he dragged him back to the gate. 'Wait here, I'll come out right away, I totally, totally forgot about you! Oh, what a reminder!'

He began hurrying so much that he did not even run over to see Kirillov and only called the old woman out. Marie was in despair and indignation that he 'could even think of leaving her alone.'

'But,' he cried rapturously, 'this is the very last step! And then the new path, and we'll never, ever remember the old horror!'

He somehow managed to convince her and promised to be back at nine o'clock sharp; he gave her a big kiss, kissed the baby, and quickly ran down to Erkel.

The two men set off for Stavrogin's park at Skvoreshniki, where about a year and a half earlier, in a solitary place at the very edge of the park where the pine forest already began, he had buried the printing press that had been entrusted to him. The place was wild and deserted, totally inconspicuous, quite far from the Skvoreshniki house. It was about a two-mile walk from Filippov's house, maybe even two and a half.

'Not on foot, really? I'll hire a carriage.'

'I beg you very much not to,' Erkel objected, 'they precisely insisted on that. A driver is also a witness.'

'Well... the devil! No matter, just to be done with it, done with it!'

They were walking very quickly.

'Erkel, you little boy, you!' Shatov cried out, 'have you ever been happy?'

'And you seem to be very happy now,' Erkel observed with curiosity.

6: A Toilsome Night

I

V'irginsky, in the course of the day, employed two hours in running around to see all our people and tell them that Shatov was certainly not going to denounce them, because his wife had come back to him and a child had been born, and, 'knowing the human heart,' it was impossible to suppose he could be dangerous at that moment. But, to his disconcertion, he found almost no one home except Erkel and Lyamshin. Erkel listened to him silently, gazing serenely into his eyes; and to the direct question: 'Would he go at six o'clock or not?' replied, with the most serene smile, that 'of course he would.'

Lyamshin was in bed, apparently quite seriously sick, with his head wrapped in a blanket. When Virginsky came in, he got scared and, as soon as he began to speak, suddenly started waving his hands from under the blanket, pleading to be left alone. However, he listened to everything about Shatov; for some reason, the news that no one was home struck him greatly. It also turned out that he already knew (through Liputin) about Fedka's death, and hurriedly and incoherently told Virginsky about it himself, thereby striking him in his turn. And to Virginsky's direct question: 'Should we go or not?' he again started pleading, waving his hands, that he was 'not concerned, knew nothing, and to leave him alone.'

Virginsky returned home dispirited and greatly alarmed; what made it hard for him was that he also had to conceal it from his family; he was used to revealing everything to his wife, and had it not been for a new thought, a certain new, conciliatory plan for further action which lit up in his inflamed brain at that moment, he might have taken to his bed like Lyamshin. But the new thought strengthened him; what's more, he even began waiting impatiently for the time, and set out for the gathering place even earlier than necessary.

It was a very dark place, at the end of the huge Stavrogin park. Afterwards I went there on purpose to have a look; how dismal it must have seemed on that harsh autumn evening! It was the edge of an old forest preserve; in