“Yes, my brothers too,” murmured Alyosha, pondering.
“I don’t like your brother Ivan, Alyosha,” said Lise suddenly.
He noticed this remark with some surprise, but did not answer it.
“My brothers are destroying themselves,” he went on, “my father, too. And they are destroying others with them. It’s ‘the primitive force of the Karamazovs,’ as Father Païssy said the other day, a crude, unbridled, earthly force. Does the spirit of God move above that force? Even that I don’t know. I only know that I, too, am a Karamazov. … Me a monk, a monk! Am I a monk, Lise? You said just now that I was.”
“Yes, I did.”
“And perhaps I don’t even believe in God.”
“You don’t believe? What is the matter?” said Lise quietly and gently. But Alyosha did not answer. There was something too mysterious, too subjective in these last words of his, perhaps obscure to himself, but yet torturing him.
“And now on the top of it all, my friend, the best man in the world, is going, is leaving the earth! If you knew, Lise, how bound up in soul I am with him! And then I shall be left alone. … I shall come to you, Lise. … For the future we will be together.”
“Yes, together, together! Henceforward we shall be always together, all our lives! Listen, kiss me, I allow you.”
Alyosha kissed her.
“Come, now go. Christ be with you!” and she made the sign of the cross over him. “Make haste back to him while he is alive. I see I’ve kept you cruelly. I’ll pray today for him and you. Alyosha, we shall be happy! Shall we be happy, shall we?”