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It was cold, so cold, she had never been so cold, and the baby would not stop crying...
Lise's eyes snapped open. She was awake and staring up at the ceiling of her sitting room. Relieved, she turned over on her side, wrapped the blanket more tightly around her and wiped her face against the pillow to dry her tears. She heard the whine of the door hinges and her eyes flew up to meet Alyosha's. He had just cracked the door open and she saw only a sliver of his face, but that was enough for her to sense he was troubled. "Come in, come in," she cried. "You've saved me!"
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Oh, Alyosha!" He sat down beside her, allowed her to draw him into her arms. Their cheeks pressed together, and the chill of his flesh made her shiver. He must have just come inside. "Oh, Alyosha! I was having the most terrible dream." She pulled away from him just for a moment, then fell back against him. "But never mind, never mind. You look so tired, so weak. Are you terribly worried about brother Dimitri?"
"Yes, Lise. I am worried."
"It's all my mother's fault," Lise said, her lips twisting with scorn. "Why, why did she have to testify against him? I hate her!"
"Lise, Lise. Do not say such things. This is not your mother's fault." His thoughts rearranged themselves. "We all share this guilt. She only carries as much blame as any of us, as you or I."
"Oh, Alyosha. You are too good. I should be frightened of you."
"Frightened? But why?"
"Because you are so different from other men. I am not sure you are a man at all." His lips were very close to hers, and even though he had kissed her once before, she was shocked that he dared to do so again. His hands trembled as they caressed her face, and her whole body seemed to blush. She liked it when he kissed her, she wanted to tell him so, but he pulled away and would not look at her. "What is it?" she said, not even daring to touch him. "What's wrong?"
"I am like other men," he said. "Say you understand."
"I understand," she repeated, though in truth she thought him better and could not have believed otherwise. "I have always loved you," she said, "ever since I was a girl."
"I know, Lise."
But her words did not seem to comfort him. He shrank further away from her, stared more intently at the floor. "I will always love you," she said. "Even if I marry another and have his children, I will always love you."
"Lise," he was shaking his head. "Don't say such things."
"Why not?"
"You should love your husband."
"And I will. Why can I not love him and you at the same time? I do not want to be like Katerina Ivanovna, constantly striving to master all her emotions as though they were her naughty children. I refuse to be like her. What then? Shall I be like Grushenka? Shall I do whatever I like and damn the rest? I've heard all the stories about her."
Alyosha's eyes flew back up. He shook his head solemnly. "No, no, Lise. Agrafena Alexandrovna has borne much suffering. It is her sorrow that marks her and makes her holy, despite what is said about her, despite what she may have done in the past."
"I too have suffered," she insisted, tearing at her bandages to reveal her damaged finger and wave it in his face. "Look! Look!"
Alyosha shook his head again and very carefully took her hand into his own. "What happened?"
"I slammed it in the door. I did it! I did it!"
"But why?"
"To punish myself!" she said, wrenching her hand away from him. The violent movement made her hand throb in pain. "To bruise my skin and break the bone and make myself bleed!"
"But why?"
"Because I tease and torture you and you let me! Because I wanted to eat the pineapple compote while the little child was suffering! Because I am so mean!" Her voice was rising and she knew it was rising and that if she were not quiet, someone would hear and tell her mother that she was having hysterics and they would make her lie down, and they would chase Alyosha out of the house. She did not want Alyosha to leave, and yet she could not stop herself, could not keep from shouting. She wished that he would slap her, that he would slap her and order her to be quiet. "Why did you take the letter to Ivan!"
"Because you asked me to do so. But, Lise, please, you must calm down. You will make yourself ill."
"Why were you not jealous?"
"I might have been," he admitted, "had I not been so worried about you."
"Oh." This confession calmed her. "That is good, Alyosha."
"Why is such a thing good?"
"Because it proves to me that you do love me." They sat quietly, then, and she began to be ashamed, not only of her most recent fit, but of all the other outbursts she'd had with him. He looked so tired. There were shadows under his eyes, bruises, the same purple-blue as her finger. "Alyosha," she said, her voice shaking, for she felt as though she might begin to sob, "Alyosha, you say that you are worried about me, but don't be! I've been silly, very silly, and now I must make up for it. Let me worry about you. Are you very sad?"
"I am sad. But it is not my only feeling."
"What else?"
"I love my brothers. I have hope that Ivan will recover."
"But if Ivan's body is no longer ill, will he still hate everyone, everything?"
"I don't know."
"And Dimitri? They say he has escaped. I was very glad to hear it. Did he ever eat the candy I sent him? Did he like it?"
"I don't know. I'm sure he did."
"And he loves Grushenka very much. He wouldn't wish to live without her. Isn't that true?"
"Yes, it is."
"Will she go to him, when she can?"
"She is already gone."
"Oh." They sat quietly again. There was something that had been bothering her since their last visit, something she wanted him to hear. "Alyosha, Ivan is very clever, but Ivan is wrong."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes. Don't you?"
"I disagree with Ivan. But I also believe that Ivan disagrees with himself."
"Yes, Yes!" she cried, clapping the fingers of her good hand against the heel of her other palm. "We all disagree with ourselves. That is the problem." She smoothed her hair down, smoothed the wrinkled skirt of her dress. "Alyosha, will you promise to forget all the things I said the last time you were here?"
"No, Lise."
"But I don't really feel that way."
"You may not today, but you did then."
"Sometimes, when I have mean thoughts, when I am mean, I hate myself."
"No, you mustn't do so. You must not be ashamed. God wants us to be happy."
"Did your elder tell you so?"
"Yes."
"And are you only parroting him, like a little boy who knows no better?"
"It is not only because he said it that I believe. I had a dream."
"A vision?"
"Like that, yes."
"Alyosha?"
"Yes, Lise."
"How much longer can you stay?"
"Perhaps a half hour, no more."
"Will you stay here beside me, then? Will you hold my hand?" He nodded and reached for her good hand. "No," she said, "take the other one, please. I know no one could hold it so gently as you." She saw him waver and then, who knew what impulse made him relent, he took her hand softly into his own. "I dreamed about you," she whispered.
"Did you?"
"Yes. Stay quiet and I will tell it to you. We were married and we had a little girl named Nina. It was a Sunday afternoon and we planned to walk together to the market. Very soon after we left the house, however, we became lost. We wandered into an alley where a beggar family was living. They were like our mirror, one husband, one wife, one little girl. They were barefoot, and only wearing their underclothes. You took off all your clothes, your overcoat, your pants and your shirt, and gave them to the husband. My skirt was of velvet and I was wearing my very best fur and I did not want to give them away, but I felt I would shame you if I did not do as you had done. I gave her everything, the other woman, even my jewelry. I was standing in my slip and I was very cold. I held Nina in my arms. I didn't want Nina to be cold. But you stood there, staring at me, and I could not live with what I saw in your eyes. I could not live with your disappointment. I took the coat from Nina, and the little fur cap covering her ears, and I gave them to the other child. I was reluctant to remove her little booties, I thought she needed them, at least. But you picked up the other child in your arms, you showed me how her feet were rough and bleeding because she had no shoes. I knew what I had to do. I slipped off Nina's little boots and I gave them to the other mother so that she could put them on her child. Nina was cold in my arms and she started crying. She was crying and crying and I couldn't quiet her and that was when you arrived and I awakened."
"It was only a nightmare, Lise."
"You believe in your dream. Am I not to believe in mine?"
"I would never ask you to give more than you could, Lise. I would not want you to suffer."
"I know, Alyosha, I know! It wasn't your fault. But I couldn't be bad, don't you see? How could I be your wife and be less generous than you? I had to do it, to be worthy of you, don't you see?" An ordinary man could love both his woman and his God, but could Alyosha? Zosima had been his emissary, and how could she ever compare?
"I would not love you any less if you kept the shoes."
"No?"
"No."
"Oh, Alyosha. I wish that were true. Alyosha?"
"Yes, Lise."
She could not ask. She needed to know if he could see his beloved God in her, through her, but she was too afraid of his answer to speak. "Stay with me," she said. "You promised you would."