'And where are they going to hide it?'
'Nowhere. Time isn't an object, it's an idea. It will die out in the mind.'
'Old philosophical places, the same since the beginning of the ages,' Stavrogin muttered with a certain squeamish regret.
'The same! The same since the beginning of the ages, and no others, ever!' Kirillov picked up with flashing eyes, as if this idea held nothing short of victory.
'You seem to be very happy, Kirillov?'
'Yes, very happy,' the latter replied, as if making the most ordinary reply.
'But you were upset still so recently, angry with Liputin?'
'Hm... now I'm not scolding. Then I didn't know I was happy yet. Have you seen a leaf, a leaf from a tree?'
'I have.'
'I saw one recently, a yellow one, with some green, decayed on the edges. Blown about by the wind. When I was ten years old, I'd close my eyes on purpose, in winter, and imagine a leaf—green, bright, with veins, and the sun shining. I'd open my eyes and not believe it, because it was so good, then I'd close them again.'
'What's that, an allegory?'
'N-no... why? Not an allegory, simply a leaf, one leaf. A leaf is good. Everything is good.'
'Everything?'
'Everything. Man is unhappy because he doesn't know he's happy; only because of that. It's everything, everything! Whoever learns will at once immediately become happy, that same moment. This mother-in-law will die, and the girl will remain—everything is good. I discovered suddenly.'
'And if someone dies of hunger, or someone offends and dishonors the girl—is that good?'
'Good. And if someone's head gets smashed in for the child's sake, that's good, too; and if it doesn't get smashed in, that's good, too. Everything is good, everything. For all those who know that everything is good. If they knew it was good with them, it would be good with them, but as long as they don't know it's good with them, it will not be good with them. That's the whole thought, the whole, there isn't any more!'
'And when did you find out that you were so happy?'
'Last week, on Tuesday, no, Wednesday, because it was Wednesday by then, in the night.'
'And what was the occasion?'
'I don't remember, just so; I was pacing the room ... it makes no difference. I stopped my clock, it was two thirty-seven.'
'As an emblem that time should stop?'
Kirillov did not reply.
'They're not good,' he suddenly began again, 'because they don't know they're good. When they find out, they won't violate the girl. They must find out that they're good, then they'll all become good at once, all, to a man.'
'Well, you did find out, so you must be good?'
'I am good.'
'With that I agree, incidentally,' Stavrogin muttered frowningly.
'He who teaches that all are good, will end the world.'
'He who taught it was crucified.'
'He will come, and his name is the man-god.'
'The God-man?'
'The man-god—that's the whole difference.'[88]
'Can it be you who lights the icon lamp?'
'Yes, I lit it.'
'You've become a believer?'
'The old woman likes the icon lamp... she's busy today,' Kirillov muttered.
'But you don't pray yet?'
'I pray to everything. See, there's a spider crawling on the wall, I look and am thankful to it for crawling.'
His eyes lit up again. He kept looking straight at Stavrogin, his gaze firm and unflinching. Stavrogin watched him frowningly and squeamishly, but there was no mockery in his eyes.
'I bet when I come the next time you'll already believe in God,' he said, getting up and grabbing his hat.
'Why?' Kirillov also rose.
'If you found out that you believe in God, you would believe; but since you don't know yet that you believe in God, you don't believe,' Nikolai Vsevolodovich grinned.
'It's not that,' Kirillov thought it over, 'you've inverted my thought. A drawing-room joke. Remember what you've meant in my life, Stavrogin.'
