Something Happened on the Way to the Wedding
Ivan Karamazov walked around Moscow in a daze, considering his recent epiphany. He recalled his words from that morning- "I am a scoundrel"- he had whispered to himself on the train, watching Moscow come into view. And truly, he did feel like a scoundrel. Not only had he not gone to Chermashnya as he had promised, but he had abandoned his family at a crucial time. Something terrible was bound to happen, most likely at the hands of his brother Dmitri. Even Smerdyakov, fool as he was, seemed to have foreseen some catastrophe.
"And yet," Ivan thought to himself, attempting to give himself any small consolation, "I have left all that behind me. Those affairs no longer concern me, and I am free to start a new life."
Attempting to shrug off a few layers of guilt and grief, Ivan walked briskly down the street, only to be suddenly and unexpectedly knocked down by a nervous-looking young man who had been running hurriedly down the road.
Muffling a few curses, Ivan faced the man with a scowl. He was dressed impeccably, apparently on his way to something important. Though he had been running quite quickly and, judging by the remoteness of the area Ivan found himself to be in, for quite some time, he did not appear to be particularly out of breath.
"Oh no!" the man exclaimed. "I didn't mean to…I was running so quickly…you weren't looking where you were…I don't mean to blame you…" he broke off in a stutter, his face overtaken in a shamed blush.
The man was still stuttering and blushing while Ivan pushed himself off the ground, wondering why, if the man was so concerned, he didn't move to help him. At last, after brushing himself off and glancing distastefully at his torn shirtsleeve, Ivan was able to face the man fully. He had finally stopped stuttering, and was instead looking at Ivan with great curiosity.
"I'm Konstantin Levin." He said unexpectedly. "I don't mean to rush, but I'm already late to my own wedding."
"You were running to your own wedding!" Ivan let out a humorless cackle. "How ironic. I was running from a funeral."
Levin, who had been trying to inch his way closer to the church, stopped a few feet away. He looked at Ivan with a curious expression that Ivan couldn't quite call compassion. "Whose funeral?" he asked, then, suddenly realizing that it was an inappropriate question, blushed.
"My father's funeral." Ivan replied, briefly wondering why he was telling this stranger his thoughts. It flashed upon his mind that the man's expression reminded him a little of his brother Alyosha. "But he's not dead yet. It's just that he most likely will be soon." He grinned at Levin's confused expression, and then stopped, as the grin was too much effort. He was about to speak again when a large man rounded the corner, huffing as he ran in a slight jog.
"Levin!" the man cried, grabbing Levin by the shoulders. "Why are you not yet at the church?"
Levin started, and Ivan watched as his confusion turned to panic. "Of course! I was so distracted…"
The newcomer looked over at Ivan playfully. "Well, my man, what do you think you're doing, distracting a man on his wedding day. And you look so glum, as well!" The man smiled smoothly, and Ivan suddenly and unexpectedly began to think of almond butter, something that he never expected to connect to a smile. The newcomer grabbed his arm, dragging him behind Levin, who had begun to tentatively start back towards the church. "Well come along, there's nothing to cheer you up like a wedding. What's your name?"
"Ivan," he replied, letting the other man drag him along simply because at the moment he had nothing other to do. "Ivan Karamazov."
Though Levin's mind was quickly taken up with the affairs of his wedding, he was greatly intrigued by the stranger. Ivan Karamazov had disappeared directly after the wedding, and hadn't been seen since. A little over a month later, Levin's brother Sergei had ranted to him about the great trial, and about the infamy of the Karamazov family, and about all the scandal that had come into light.
It seemed to Levin as if he had known from the start that Ivan was not referring to a death by illness, and for a while, he could not help but feel disgusted by the fact that Ivan had left his doomed father to his fate. But as he hurried out the door of his dying brother's room, he began to feel that he might, after all, understand.