Aloyna Ivanovna was murdered. Struck down brutally with an axe. An axe wielded by the hand of Rodion Raskalnikov, a penniless student. Then he killed her sister; murdered, simply for a few pieces of jewellery and a paltry sum of money, but were they? This is the question Feodor Dostoevsky explores in his famous novel, Crime and Punishment.
Doestoevsky leads us on a tortuous journey with Raskalnikov as he tries to come to grips with the enormity of what he has done. We are taken inside Raskalnikov's head, into his heart, and to the very depths of his soul.
For days after the incident Raskalnikov is physically ill. Unable to leave his squalid apartment, he drinks, and is driven to the point of suicide. His mind a turmoil of twisted emotions. As much as he tries to intellectually justify the crime, he is in danger of being drawn to confessing by his remorseful heart; to divulge all to the diabolically shrewd police chief Porphyry Petrovich.
This then, is the essence of Dostoevsky's famous novel "crime and punishment". Set in Petrograd, this book was written in 1864. More than 130 years later crime, and occasionally punishment permeate our society. Not a day goes by that we don't hear mentioned the young offenders act, a capital punishment debate or we are captivated by details of a grisly murder.
I would like to tell you a contemporary tale, a parallel to Doestoevsky's, a story of another man's experience with crime and punishment, and his fearsome struggle with guilt and remorse.
Like Raskalnikov, Alfred Barnes was also a penniless student. We find Alfred in bed, just awakening with an awful hangover. The previous evening Alfred had just completed reading Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. The effect this novel had on Alfred was astonishing, he could identify too closely with the book’s protagonist. Like Raskolnikov, Alfred was repressing a terrible secret, reading the book had only served to strip away the protective layers in which he had clothed his heart. He was now forced to face the darkness of his own soul.
Liquor had given him a brief reprieve, which was why Alfred now found himself groping towards consciousness, the empty bottle on the floor beside the bed. His head felt as though it had been welded to the pillow. His eyes opened slowly, but they couldn't stand the light, they snapped shut, causing spasms of pain to reverberate through his head, but with painful perseverance Alfred was eventually able to keep his eyes open. He lay there, perfectly still, staring at a stain spreading slowly across the ceiling.
The phone upstairs in his landlady's apartment rang jarringly. It went unanswered as Alfred knew it would. The sound penetrated his ears though like a stream of ball bearings which ricocheted around the inside of his head. It wasn't just drink that was causing the pain in his head though, feelings of shame and remorse had returned to torment him. He knew now that getting drunk hadn't helped.
By early afternoon Alfred was able to roll off the bed and lurch to the bathroom where he soaked his head under the faucet. He'd gathered his thoughts by now and convinced himself of the only solution to his misery, but it wouldn't be easy, and he didn't know if he could bear the cost.
He grabbed his car keys, then left the apartment, not bothering to close the door. The day was hot, the car was a furnace which increased the pressure in his head. The route into town crossed the river. Alfred stopped the car at the bridge and got out. He walked over to the edge. He stood there for ages staring down at the water swirling by, wishing it would carry away his crippling conscience. He wanted to jump, but that wasn't the answer.
He climbed back in his car. There was only one destination left for him. He drove on, perspiration from his hands soaking the steering wheel, but despite the oppressive heat an icy chill suddenly shocked through him. In the rear-view mirror were flashing blue lights. He pulled over, the officer approached him. Alfred wanted to blurt out his awful secret right then but couldn't stand the thought of the public humiliation on the highway. It was a routine check though and Alfred was allowed to continue, but by now he was an emotional wreck, torn between remorse and fear of retribution.
He reached town and found a parking spot. The place Alfred was headed was a huge grey single storey building. It crouched menacingly atop a small hill across the park. He set out towards it reluctantly.
It had never seemed so hot to Alfred as it did that afternoon, as he crossed the park, he paused in the shade of a large linden tree. For a few moments he relaxed. The fragrance of summer flowers was wafting over him, and he was able to admire the gardens, children were splashing happily in a fountain. He wanted to fix this scene in his memory, but just then a cloud obscured the sun and the brightness of the images faded before him. His anguish flared again, and he walked on. As he drew near the building the sky was darkening, thunderheads were crowding in. A rogue wind sent leaves and litter stampeding down the now deserted street.
Alfred stopped at the foot of the steps and looked up at the building, horror stories had come of this place, he was terrified, but he had to go on. He climbed the steps haltingly, his burden now almost too much to bear. As he reached the top, rain began to fall and thunder rumbled in the distance, conspiring to push him forward through the door where he immediately froze at the sight of a uniform, the man simply glared at Alfred and pointed down a long wide hallway to a darkened recess at the end. Alfred could sense they were there waiting for him.
He wanted to scream and run but his feet wouldn't cooperate. Instead, he stumbled towards the desk.
"Mr. Barnes?" Alfred let out a gasp and shrank visibly. They knew his name.
"I've been expecting you." Alfred was too afraid to speak, but he managed to mumble the only words which came into his head, "Crime and punishment."
"That's right Mr. Barnes, 'crime and punishment'. That book is 3 weeks overdue; how do you think the can library function if people don't return their books on time?"
Alfred paid his fine, relieved that they hadn't stripped him of his library card. He left the building feeling like a new man, the skies had cleared, it was a beautiful day. He passed through the park again, children were again playing in the fountain, the world once more looked wonderful. Then, as he approached his car, he stopped dead in his tracks and began to tremble. He stared with dread. It was parked right where he'd left it, beside a meter showing . . . expired.
© David M. Hobson January 10th 1994
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