Diary of An Immortal Woman (1)
1881
June 3: today I turn 200 years.
This afternoon, I went to see Fyodor Dostoyesvsky, at his home on St. Lamskaïa. He dies slowly. His blood smells rank and his eyes become opaque. Nevertheless he did not stop laughing at me when I enquired about his health. Then, eagerly, he replenished our glasses with his excellent herb vodka, as he would hastily cover the face of a dead man with a shroud, afraid this corpse could open eyes on his ancient mortality.
But then, what will become of man without God and immortality Everything is allowed, therefore everything is permissible? he asked. Alas, you cannot imagine, my Dear Fyodor, despite your extraordinary talent, you really do not imagine how everything is actually allowed!
If I’ve liked The Brothers Karamazov, I read Crime and Punishment twice, and it remains my favorite novel, I told him. While he spoke about the Russian people and the state of his country, I thought that his fervor in God was his only sign of weakness. Could I break his illusions without revealing to him my true nature? Could I confide in him that I travel the world to understand what makes us different? He, the mortal man, me doomed to eternity.
Fyodor is preoccupied too.
Lara, why have you neither husband nor child? he asks me in his sublime language auspicious for poetry and tragedy, love and revolution. I evaded, as I learned to do in two hundred years of existence. My life choices could not be compromised by marriage or motherhood. My body encloses the universe and time passes without damaging me. Do I have a soul? This invisible, impalpable and unspeakable thing that disturbs so much the humans? I left Fyodor before dawn, with a certain feeling of sadness.
His faith and love for God blind Fyodor, otherwise why does he wonder what is permissible and lawful?
Tomorrow, I will leave my St. Petersburg flat to join the forests. An exile obligatory because people must forget me. My clan will probably also stay sheltered within the thick walls of our Siberian residence.
I dread more the reunion with my family than the cold and the isolation. Where do I find the strength and ingenuity to prevent me from killing my foul mother?
To be continued…
