“Don’t do it, Rodya!” was written, in paint, on the wall: “Не убивай, Родя!” And “Rodya, don’t kill!” It was in St. Petersburg, in the spring 2002, when I stood for the first time in front of the house where Rodion Raskolnikov probably lived: Stoliarny Per No. 9. Whoever had painted this graffiti was shouting back at Dostoyevsky’s murderer, as if he could correct the novel from the distant past.