Subpages
The Schoolboy
But Kolya did not hear her. At last he could go out. As he went out at the gate he looked round him, shrugged up his shoulders, and saying "It is freezing," went straight along the street and turned off to the right towards the market-place. When he reached the last house but one before the market-place he stopped at the gate, pulled a whistle out of his pocket, and whistled with all his might as though giving a signal. He had not to wait more than a minute before a rosy-cheeked boy of about eleven, wearing a warm, neat and even stylish coat, darted out to meet him. This was Smurov, a boy in the preparatory class (two classes below Kolya Krassotkin), son of a well-to-do official. Apparently he was forbidden by his parents to associate with Krassotkin, who was well known to be a desperately naughty boy, so Smurov was obviously slipping out on the sly. He was- if the reader has not forgotten one of the group of boys who two months before had thrown stones at Ilusha. He was the one who told Alyosha about Ilusha.
"I've been waiting for you for the last hour, Krassotkin," said
Smurov stolidly, and the boys strode towards the market-place.
"I am late," answered Krassotkin. "I was detained by
circumstances. You won't be thrashed for coming with me?"
"Come, I say, I'm never thrashed! And you've got Perezvon with
you?"
"Yes."
"You're taking him, too?"
"Yes."
"Ah! if it were only Zhutchka!"
"That's impossible. Zhutchka's non-existent. Zhutchka is lost in
the mists of obscurity."
"Ah! couldn't we do this?" Smurov suddenly stood still. "You see
Ilusha says that Zhutchka was a shaggy, greyish, smoky-looking dog
like Perezvon. Couldn't you tell him this is Zhutchka, and he might
believe you?"
"Boy, shun a lie, that's one thing; even with a good object-
that's another. Above all, I hope you've not told them anything
about my coming."
"Heaven forbid! I know what I am about. But you won't comfort
him with Perezvon," said Smurov, with a sigh. "You know his father, the captain, 'the wisp of tow,' told us that he was going to bring him a real mastiff pup, with a black nose, to-day. He thinks that would comfort Ilusha; but I doubt it."
"And how is Ilusha?"
"Ah, he is bad, very bad! I believe he's in consumption: he is
quite conscious, but his breathing! His breathing's gone wrong. The
other day he asked to have his boots on to be led round the room. He
tried to walk, but he couldn't stand. 'Ah, I told you before, father,'
he said, 'that those boots were no good. I could never walk properly
in them.' He fancied it was his boots that made him stagger, but it
was simply weakness, really. He won't live another week. Herzenstube
is looking after him. Now they are rich again- they've got heaps of
money.
"They are rogues."
"Who are rogues?"
"Doctors and the whole crew of quacks collectively, and also, of
course, individually. I don't believe in medicine. It's a useless
institution. I mean to go into all that. But what's that
sentimentality you've got up there? The whole class seems to be
there every day."
"Not the whole class: it's only ten of our fellows who go to see
him every day. There's nothing in that."
"What I don't understand in all this is the part that Alexey
Karamazov is taking in it. His brother's going to be tried to-morrow
or next day for such a crime, and yet he has so much time to spend
on sentimentality with boys."
"There's no sentimentality about it. You are going yourself now to
make it up with Ilusha."
"Make it up with him? What an absurd expression! But I allow no
one to analyse my actions."
"And how pleased Ilusha will be to see you! He has no idea that
you are coming. Why was it, why was it you wouldn't come all this
time?" Smurov cried with sudden warmth.
"My dear boy, that's my business, not yours.
I am going of myself because I choose to, but you've all been
hauled there by Alexey Karamazov- there's a difference, you know. And how do you know? I may not be going to make it up at all. It's a stupid expression."