Bethinking thyself and the rest of the rigmarole. Bethink yourselves, Fathers, I will go. But I will take my son, Alexey, away from here forever, on my parental authority. Ivan Fyodorovitch, my most dutiful son, permit me to order you to follow me. Von Sohn, what have you to stay for? Come and see me now in the town. It is fun there. It is only one short verst; instead of lenten oil, I will give you sucking-pig and kasha. We will have dinner with some brandy and liqueur to it. … I’ve cloudberry wine. Hey, Von Sohn, don’t lose your chance.” He went out, shouting and gesticulating.
It was at that moment Rakitin saw him and pointed him out to Alyosha.
“Alexey!” his father shouted, from far off, catching sight of him. “You come home to me today, for good, and bring your pillow and mattress, and leave no trace behind.”
Alyosha stood rooted to the spot, watching the scene in silence. Meanwhile, Fyodor Pavlovitch had got into the carriage, and Ivan was about to follow him in grim silence without even turning to say goodbye to Alyosha.
But at this point another almost incredible scene of grotesque buffoonery gave the finishing touch to the episode. Maximov suddenly appeared by the side of the carriage. He ran up, panting, afraid of being too late. Rakitin and Alyosha saw him running.
He was in such a hurry that in his impatience he put his foot on the step on which Ivan’s left foot was still resting, and clutching the carriage he kept trying to jump in.
“I am going with you!” he kept shouting, laughing a thin mirthful laugh with a look of reckless glee in his face. “Take me, too.”
“There!” cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, delighted. “Did I not say he was