Acknowledging Fydor (Dostoevsky)
Raskolnikov heard them talking. There, a little ahead of him in the cafe. The two bankers. The first he recognized from his picture in the newspapers. The one who engineered the bailout and stole the depositors’ money. Careful, he must not loose his nerve. “What if I am wrong, “ he said outloud, “what if there is no redemption in men? What if they can do as they like unimpeded by consequences?”
The bankers wore freshly collared monogrammed shirts, impeccable tweeds. One of them, the central banker in the photos, tapped a gold-tipped cane against the table to summon a waiter.
He could see through their prideful looks. Lord and masters above all, above the public, a day in the commons, cufflinks and gleaming Patek Philippes, their abominable secret that in their pride, they were different. They were rulers. Untouchable to the masses.
He must summon all strength. He must learn the truth. Why must he live in poverty, why must his clothes be shabby and threadbare when he could have more, when in a single act he could better himself and he could rule?
No one will miss the central banker, he thought, as his truthful path became clear. He retreated into the shadows, coughed and waited.
~ Stephen J. Bergstrom