'It's foolishness; great trifles. It's all trifles, because Lebyadkin is drunk. I told Liputin nothing, I just explained the trifles, because the other one gets it all wrong. Liputin has a lot of fantasy; in place of the trifles he made mountains. I trusted Liputin yesterday.'
'And me today?' I laughed.
'But you already know everything from this morning. Liputin is either weak, or impatient, or harmful, or ... envious.'
The last little word struck me.
'Anyway, you've set up so many categories, it would be surprising if he didn't fit into one of them.'
'Or into all together.'
'Yes, you're right about that, too. Liputin is—a chaos! Is it true what he was blathering today, that you're planning to write something?'
'Why blathering?' he frowned again, staring at the floor.
I apologized and began assuring him that I was not trying to get it out of him. He blushed.
'He was telling the truth; I am writing. Only it makes no difference.'
We were silent for a moment; suddenly he smiled the same childlike smile as that morning.
'He invented about the heads himself, from books, and told me first, and he understands badly, but I'm only looking for the reasons why people don't dare to kill themselves, that's all. And it makes no difference.'
'What do you mean, don't dare? Do we have so few suicides?'
'Very few.'
'You really think so?'
He did not answer, got up, and began pacing back and forth pensively.
'And what, in your opinion, keeps people from suicide?' I asked.
He looked at me distractedly, as if trying to recall what we were talking about.
'I ... I still know little ... two prejudices keep them, two things; just two; one very small, the other very big. But the small one is also very big.'
'What is the small one?'
'Pain.'
'Pain? Is it really so important ... in this case?'
'The foremost thing. There are two sorts: those who kill themselves from great sorrow, or anger, or the crazy ones, or whatever... they do it suddenly. They think little about pain and do it suddenly. But the ones who do it judiciously—they think a lot.'
'Are there any who do it judiciously?'
'Very many. If it weren't for prejudice, there'd be more; very many; everybody.'
'Really? Everybody?'
He did not reply.
'But aren't there ways of dying without pain?'
'Imagine,' he stopped in front of me, 'imagine a stone the size of a big house; it's hanging there, and you are under it; if it falls on you, on your head—will it be painful?'
'A stone as big as a house? Naturally, it's frightening.'
'Fright is not the point; will it be painful?'
'A stone as big as a mountain, millions of pounds? Of course, it wouldn't be painful at all.'
'But go and stand there in reality, and while it's hanging you'll be very much afraid of the pain. Every foremost scientist, foremost doctor, all, all of them will be very afraid. They'll all know it won't be painful, but they'll all be very afraid it will be.'
'Well, and the second reason, the big one?'
'The other world.'
'Punishment, you mean?'
'That makes no difference. The other world; the one other world.'
'Aren't there such atheists as don't believe in the other world at all?'
Again he did not reply.
'You're judging by yourself, perhaps.'
'Each man cannot judge except by himself,' he said, blushing. 'There will be entire freedom when it makes no difference whether one lives or does not live. That is the goal to everything.'
'The goal? But then perhaps no one will even want to live?'
'No one,' he said resolutely.
