Free A Curse on Dostoevsky by Atiq Rahimi Page A

window. The moment Rassoul lifts the ax to bring it down on the old woman’s head, the thought of
Crime and Punishment
flashes into his mind. It strikes him to the very core. His arms shake; his legs tremble. And the ax slips from his hands. It splits open the old woman’s head, and sinks into her skull. She collapses without a sound on the red and black rug. Her apple-blossom-patterned headscarf floats in the air, before landing on her large, flabby body. She convulses. Another breath; perhaps two. Her staring eyes fix on Rassoul standing in the middle of the room, not breathing, whiter than a corpse. His
patou
falls from his bony shoulders. His terrified gaze is lost in the pool of blood, blood that streams from the old woman’s skull, merges with the red of the rug, obscuring its black pattern, then trickles toward the woman’s fleshy hand, which still grips a wad of notes. The money will be bloodstained.
    Move, Rassoul, move!

 
    “R ASSOUL ?”
    He returns to his senses and turns, panic-stricken, toward the voice. Sophia and Nazigol are standing in the doorway, looking at him in shock. “What’s happening to you, Rassoul?” asks Sophia, taking a step toward him. He paces the room, distraught, peering anxiously into every nook and cranny. No trace of his crime.
    “Have you been in this room before?” asks Nazigol curiously. “My mother always used to lock it. No one apart from me and her were ever allowed to set foot in here.” She turns toward Sophia. “When did you last clean this room?”
    “Never. She always cleaned it herself.”
    Rassoul looks at the window he used to escape. It is closed. He is so shaken that he almost faints. Water! He turns toward Sophia, miming drink. “Yes, wait!” she says, murmuring to Nazigol as she runs out the door, “he’s very unwell just now.”
    Rassoul stares at Nana Alia’s daughter as she rummages through the cupboards. More and more curious, shewonders aloud: “Could she have taken all her jewelry with her?” Then she leaves the room to look next door. Sophia comes back with a glass of water and gives it to Rassoul. He drinks. Slowly, not so much for the refreshment as to give himself time to think before Nazigol returns.
    How to explain or justify entering the room?
    If you could, you’d say that a long time ago, when Nazigol’s father was still alive—for this must have been his room—you’d brought him documents from the National Archives belonging to Sophia’s father, etc.
    Come back, blasted voice!
    “Surely she didn’t take all her money with her?” wonders Nazigol, looking suspiciously at Rassoul and Sophia. After a moment’s heavy silence, Rassoul rushes into the corridor, followed by Sophia. “What’s the matter, Rassoul?” Nothing … nothing! He waves his hands about as he runs down the stairs. “What’s happening to you? Are you OK? You seem so strange,” she insists. He stops dead, thinking how to make her understand that he has no voice to tell her what’s going on. But Nazigol is following them, she’s there, behind Sophia, asking them: “What should I do? Where should I go? I don’t know if my mother will come back this evening or not.”
    “Come on, we’ll go to my house.”
    “No chance, Mother will curse me if she comes back and finds the house deserted. But where on earth has she gone? I’d better go to my uncle’s place, and findout if he knows anything …” She suddenly looks at Rassoul. “Can you stay here till I get back?”
    “OK. Go on, then …” replies Sophia, sending Rassoul into a panic. There’s no way he can stay here, no way! His eyes say no, confirmed by his hands. But Nazigol begs, and Sophia decides, saying “Go on, go!” and then to Rassoul, “Let her go, that’s not nice.”
    And why are you resisting, Rassoul? Let her go. It will give you time to rummage through the house, and find a clue to help you solve the mystery.
    It is Nazigol who is the mystery. She is no innocent in all