Lazarus, Awake!
(Epilogue, Chapter 3)
Three years had passed since Raskolnikov began his confinement, nearly two years since the crime took place. The prison had long since filled up with the most despicable of men. Government officials decided to expand the prison to the boundaries of the fortress, effectively halving the barrier between the prisoners and freedom.
Raskolnikov reflected on the time passed since his confession of love to Sonia. Oh, how the world had become bright again! The sun was warmer, the sky was clearer, and even the bare expanses of snow and ice had a mystic beauty about them. The guards had taken a liking to Sonia long ago, which gave Raskolnikov ample opportunity to reveal to them his healing personality. It was not more than a year before he, too, received preferential treatment from the guards. For a very modest sum, he bribed the guards to allow him to build a small dwelling for Sonia within the confines of the fortress. After that, his healing sped at an even faster rate.
He sat across from her, gazing deeply into her beautiful face. Friendship with the guards had brought an important benefit—food. Not just more food, but the food given to the guards—moderate quality, yet far healthier and more substantial than either of them had eaten in many years. The year of eating well had nursed them back to health. Raskolnikov was stronger than he had been since his beginnings at university.
One cold, gray day a new prisoner arrived. For several months, no prisoner, not even Raskolnikov, was allowed to see him. However, that ban was lifted after six months, and Raskolnikov went to visit the newcomer. He walked into the prisoner's room and sat down, silent. The men stared at each other, minutes passing as each man sized up the other. At last, the stranger spoke. “I am Dr. Grigori Vikenti Maksimov. Others will tell you I am an intellectual, a psychologist, imprisoned for twisting the minds of others into doing my bidding.” The man's voice was dark, yet soothing. His deep eyes were confident and knowing. “I know who you are, Rodia. I know what you are.” Maksimov smirked, lips pursed tightly. Raskolnikov started to sweat, his mind racing. How could he ever return to the world? Even this stranger knew of his terrible deeds, before any introduction had been made. Had even his face been slandered? Was he the villain of the city now? Or almost worse, the mockery? Maksimov continued, “You are the man for whom I have been searching. You are the superman.”
Raskolnikov, shaken, stuttered out a reply. “N-n-no, I am n-not the one you are looking for.” He paused a second regained his composure, something he could not have done three years ago. “What do you know about me?”
Maksimov paused before speaking, then replied, “You are Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov. You were a student in St. Petersburg before dropping out due to your fiancée's tragic early death. You murdered the pawnbroker Alyona Ivanovna and her step-sister Lizaveta Ivanovna. You turned yourself in for the murders at the at the exact time in which you were least suspected for the crime. Your deed was superbly planned and executed. You would not have been caught had you not been convinced by your new affection, Sofia Semyonovna Marmeladova, daughter of Semyon Zakharych Marmeladov, the drunk whose conversation in a bar gave you the idea to kill the pawnbroker in the first place. You are an extraordinary man, Raskolnikov, very extraordinary indeed. The Napoleon of our time, as the people of Russia are calling you now. You just need to be crafted, to be finished by a master's hand to become the masterpiece you truly are. I am that master. I will craft you to become that which will fulfill your potential. You are the missing piece of my master plan to liberate all of Russia. I need you, Raskolnikov, Russia needs you.”
After a few seconds of silence, Raskolnikov responded. “There is an extraordinary man out there, but I am not he.”
“You are he,” spoke the doctor. “You killed the pawnbroker in cold blood.”
“Ah, there you are mistaken. I had a purpose for killing her. She hoarded her wealth while others starved around her.”
“And Lizaveta?”
Raskolnikov paused. “She was not supposed to be there. I could not leave any witnesses. However, she is why I am not the extraordinary man. The extraordinary man feels no guilt when his actions are justified. I, on the other hand, felt guilty even before committing the crime, and Lizaveta was not even a part of that plan.”
“But the extraordinary man does exist?”
“He must.”
“Why?”
“Surely you must know, if you believe he exists.”
“Tell me your thoughts on the matter. Intellectual conversation never hurt anyone.”
This was not quite true, and Raskolnikov knew it, but he continued anyways. “Society is the active force in deciding the dividing line between right and wrong, justice and injustice. That would be an accurate representation of the innate justice we all share if every man had an equal say in society. But that is not the case. A small number of people get a majority of the power, in which case those powerful few decide what society considers justice. Additionally, civilized humanity has the innate desire to hold on to any power or influence it gains, so those in power twist the meaning of justice to allow themselves the ability to hold on to their power. This forms the need for an extraordinary man, a man acting by his inborn sense of justice who therefore feels no guilt when defying society's concept of justice in favor of true justice.”
“Answer me this,” Maksimov retorted. “Where is the justice in a monarchy? Where is the justice in a small, elitist class ruling over an enormous class of poor, starving people? But I know you can find justice in a group of men overthrowing a tyrant in order to give every man his equal share of power. Am I right?”
Raskolnikov gazed at Maksimov for a minute in silence before standing up and leaving. As he shut the door behind him, he heard the man say, “Come meet with the prisoners behind the equipment shed at 6:00 tonight.” Raskolnikov, pondering the psychologist, walked back to Sonia's hut. This man knew everything about him, more than even Sonia. He had an uneasy feeling about the man. The doctor himself had admitted to manipulating the minds of others, but Raskolnikov pushed that thought away. Maksimov, clearly a man of great intellect, believed that Raskolnikov was the extraordinary man. Not to mention the fact that he was now famous throughout all of Russia. The Napoleon of our time...all of his philosophies and ideas, suppressed for years, came pouring back. Had killing the pawnbroker truly been the right thing to do? What was this doctor's meeting tonight about? Raskolnikov worked himself up into a frenzy by the time he entered Sonia's hut, but one sweet kiss from Sonia cleared his mind of everything. He truly loved her, she truly loved him, and that was all that really mattered.
The two shared a dinner of meaty stew and recently fresh bread. Sonia spoke, her voice soft and gentle. “I saw that you talked to the new prisoner today. What's his story?” The first thought to cross Raskolnikov's mind was to make up a story, but he stifled the urge and answered, “His name is Maksimov. He is a psychologist, and he knew all about me. He said he's planning something big, but he's probably just another head case.”
Sonia looked at him, searching his eyes. Finding what she sought, she exclaimed, “I can't believe it! He agreed with you, didn't he? He brought up your “Superman” ideas, yes, and now he wants to use you in some mastermind plot!” Raskolnikov stood in amazement. How did she know all of this? Sonia continued, saying, “You mustn't go, Rodia, please don't go. Just do your time and we will be able to have the rest of our lives together. Don't risk everything we have over some madman's plan.” Unfortunately for her, Raskolnikov had already made up his mind. “I know what I am doing,” he said. “You have to trust me. I will do what is best for everyone.”
That evening, a group of prisoners were huddled behind the equipment shed, Maksimov clearly in charge. He spoke of escape, of revolt, of freedom. Surely a prison overcrowded with inmates could overtake the substantially outnumbered guards. The other prisoners bought into everything the psychologist was saying, but when Raskolnikov entered earshot they hurriedly stopped the conversation. He did not know the other prisoners well. His relationship with the guards brought him into a strange position with the other prisoners, a position of both fear and respect. Several escapes had been attempted during his years in prison, but he had not been made aware of them until after they had occurred. He had the potential to manipulate the guards and the access to go places that the other prisoners could not; however, they were wary of telling Raskolnikov anything confidential in fear that he might inform the guards.
Maksimov gestured to him, bringing him in front of the other prisoners. “This man is the missing piece to our historic revolt,” the doctor said. “If you were not imprisoned four years ago, you may know who he is. This is Raskolnikov, the extraordinary man who killed the wretched pawnbroker Alyona Ivanovna without remorse. He set in motion the events which have led to our revolt and the salvation of Russia.” The prisoners gave a hearty cheer then left, returning to their cells. He turned to Raskolnikov, “Let me catch you up with our fail-proof escape. Each of the prisoners here are from a different hall in the prison. They are going back to their quarters now to rile up the other prisoners for our cause. There is one guard assigned to each hall, which contain anywhere from 50-75 prisoners. Every four halls are joined in a unit, and one additional guard is assigned per unit. Similarly, three units are joined as a floor with two more guards watching the elevator and stairs. Each building consists of five floors. Three guards patrol the yard around each building, and a final guard works the mechanical door to each building. There are ten buildings in our complex, all surrounded by an impenetrable wall and a giant gate operated by two guards from a gatehouse on top of the fortress wall. Each hall-full of prisoners will overpower their guard, then combine with their unit, units with floor, floors with building, buildings with the other buildings...(mumbling) halls of 50 to 75...units of 200 to 300...floors of 600 to 900...buildings of 3000 to 4500... (aloud) there will be between 30,000 and 45,000 men on our side! They will be facing a combined total of 210 guards, a winning ratio of prisoners-to-guards that is at worst 145:1 and at best 215:1. The guards change shifts at 5:00 AM, 1:00 PM and 9:00 PM. Just to be safe, we don't want to be facing fresh, rested guards, so we will begin our escape at 8:00 PM tonight. Now, for your job. Trust me, it is the absolute most important job of them all. You will be the only armed prisoner, Rodion, which I will arrange. At 9:00 PM tonight, you will enter the gate house, kill the two guards, and open the gate to release all the prisoners. Without you, we will fail, and our escape will be meaningless. Will you do it?”
Raskolnikov thought about it for a minute, then slowly asked, “You have described a mass exodus, but I find no revolution here. How will freeing every criminal in the country save Russia?”
“Ah, yes,” Maksimov replied, “I did not describe the events after our escape. We will proceed to the capital and overthrow the Czar. There will be no more oppression, no more autocracy. The wealth enjoyed by the few will be spread among the many who are destitute. Justice will be served.” With that, the psychologist walked away, leaving Raskolnikov to ponder that night's plans.
Eight o'clock came and went. From Sonia's hut, the insurrection of the prisoners was neither heard nor suspected by anyone other than Raskolnikov. With fifteen minutes left before his role began, he stepped outside and headed to the gatehouse. On the way, he was met by Maksimov, who handed him an ax. “I think you know what to do with this,” the psychologist said, following alongside him. He walked up to the gate house and knocked on the door to be let in. The guards, recognizing him, opened the door and let him in. He noticed that their weapons were across the room from where they sat. Suddenly, shouts and explosions were heard from outside. The guards looked out, seeing tens of thousands of prisoners pouring out of the now-burning buildings. At this moment, Raskolnikov pulled the lever to open the enormous gate. He stood, ax in hand, between the guards and the door. He looked up, eyes fierce, and drew back his ax, preparing to swing. It was then that he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, standing, ax drawn, smoke and burning buildings behind him. His mind raced back to that fateful day...
He brought the blunt side down on her head...He struck once more, then again, full strength, with the blunt side of the ax, and on top of her head. The blood gushed as from an overturned glass, and the body fell backward (74)...And...Lizaveta...the sharp end of the ax struck her directly in the skull, splitting instantly the whole upper part of her forehead almost as far as the crown (77)...
He snapped back to the present, standing with ax raised over two unarmed guards who had considered him almost a friend. He saw the fear in their eyes, the fear that had been in the eyes of Lizaveta Ivanovna; he saw in his reflection the monster he used to be. He looked behind at Maksimov, who stood above the prisoners and shouted, “Justice is served! Down with the Czar! We will vanquish! One free and equal Russia!” Raskolnikov looked at his reflection once more, then the ax was hurled against flesh and bone. Immediately, Raskolnikov questioned his decision. The first guard fell to the ground. The second guard quickly grabbed the lever, closing the gate before any prisoners were able to escape. Deciding he had done the right thing, Raskolnikov looked up at the bloody, lifeless body of Maksimov. The first guard got up, ax in hand, after a flying leap at the mastermind. The prisoners, without their charismatic leader, settled into a state of defeated chaos. It was not long until the fifty thousand Russian troops, stationed in the town after Raskolnikov tipped off the guards, had the prisoners subdued, contained, and under sufficient guard.
Several days later, Raskolnikov received a letter from the Czar of Russia himself, pardoning him for his crimes, releasing him from his imprisonment, and inviting him to a ceremony awarding him the medal of honor, and with it, 50,000 rubles. Raskolnikov and Sonia returned to St. Petersburg. The monetary award got them back on their feet, paying for their wedding, the rest of Raskolnikov's education, and a home for the two newlyweds. The first night of living in their new home, the couple sat in their living room in a happy silence. They looked deeply into each other's eyes, and she knew that he was finally healed. He had faced his past and repented; he had awoken from his great dream, walked out of the cave from death back to life.
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