Noble's Savior

by Jerry Sacher

  His father seemed to sense his thoughts. “We’ll remain as long as we can. Things will improve soon.”

  Benjamin sighed, and then he pulled his father toward a pair of chairs near the fireplace. After a few moments of awkward silence, Benjamin spoke. “Father, I’m no spy, but I think you should know the state of this country, especially out in the provinces.”

  “Well, go ahead, I’m listening.”

  Benjamin then proceeded to tell his father about his trip to Mogilev, his meeting with the tsar, the attack on the hospital train by soldiers, and seeking refuge with a peasant family and their attitude toward him. He told him about Sergei.

  But he didn’t tell him that Sergei was much on his mind. If it hadn’t been for Benjamin’s insistence, Sergei wouldn’t have been on the train, they wouldn’t have kissed, but now it was over. Sergei was who knew where in the different worlds of Petrograd. Will I ever see Sergei again?

  “You’ve had quite an adventure,” his father said, interrupting Benjamin’s thoughts. “So what are your feelings about the Army now?”

  “I’ve not changed my mind at all, Father. I’m going to return to London at the end of the month and join the Army.” The confidence in his voice shocked Benjamin, but Sergei had given him the courage to speak his mind.

  His father sat back in his chair, staring thoughtfully at his son, and finally he spoke. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Yes, Father. It’s my duty as your son and a man to fight for my country.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you talk like this, but if you’ve made up your mind, then there’s nothing I can do to stop you.”

  “No, Father,” Benjamin said quietly.

  Simon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigar, lit it, then puffed the smoke over Benjamin’s head. “Of course. Your mother won’t like it, but I’ll find a way to make her understand… somehow.” Simon took another puff of his cigar.

  Benjamin stood and silently left the drawing room and shut the door behind him. He went upstairs, took a bath, and got ready for bed, and then finally he turned out the light next to the bed.

  As he lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling, Benjamin imagined the conversation between his parents.

  Mother sat facing the Venetian glass mirror, where she could see his father as he paced back and forth behind her. In her left hand she held a handkerchief she used from time to time to dab her eyes. Since she felt no more tears forthcoming, she dropped the kerchief on the polished surface among the bottles of perfume and powder.

  His father stopped his pacing and placed both hands on her shoulders, then said, “Now, dear, he’s a young man, and if we don’t let him return to England and join the Army, he’ll run off and enlist without our blessing.”

  “You want him to be killed?” his mother’s voice trembled, and a tear ran down her cheek. She reached for the handkerchief.

  “No, that’s not what I want, but I understand.”

  “You understand? Explain it to me, Simon, please explain it to me.”

  “It’s something only a man can understand. The desire to do one’s duty for king and country, which a woman can’t comprehend.”

  His mother sat at her dressing table in absolute silence, staring alternately behind her at her husband’s reflection in the mirror and at the photograph of Benjamin in a silver frame just beyond her outstretched fingers.

  Simon stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching her face. “Besides, dearest, it will be best for him to be out of this country right now….”

  She sensed a change of subject and went along with it. “Will there really be a revolution in Russia, or is it just rumors?”

  “It will only be a matter of time now….” Then Simon recalled what Benjamin had told him about the train. “The train is running on outdated tracks, and soon the train will run off the rails,” Simon said solemnly. “I’ll stay as long as I have to, but let Benjamin do his duty.”

  “Very well, Simon.” She smiled weakly. Simon leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek.

  Benjamin closed his eyes to shut out the imagined conversation and hoped sleep would come soon.

  SERGEI SLEPT fitfully that night, wondering if Benjamin had reached home. He played over and over in his mind what would have happened had he not been so afraid to take Benjamin and make love to him. He remembered Petr and how easily they had kissed, were briefly interrupted, and returned to make love in the crude dormitory. There had been no tenderness in their kisses, and the lovemaking had been sloppy and quick. Maybe Petr had only wanted to have fun and Sergei was just another body to chase away the cold winter nights of Petrograd.

  Sergei spent hours staring at the rough beams of a worker’s dormitory over his head. His every movement made the straw mattress crackle and snap. He knew he would get no further sleep the rest of the short night, so he eased himself off the mattress and went and sat on a bench by the foot of the bed. Sergei imagined he could still smell Benjamin sitting there next to him and feel the warmth of his body. It was only a fantasy. He feared he would never see Benjamin again. Looking through the shutters, Sergei saw the pink-and-gold rays of the rising sun as a thin line in the east.

  Chapter 7

  Scotland Yard Recruiting Office, London, England

  March 1916

  THE GRUFF doctor pressed the cold stethoscope to Benjamin’s chest. “Take a deep breath… now exhale.”

  Benjamin did as told, staring at the placard hanging on the wall directly in front of him. The color poster showed a mother, a wife, and her young son standing in an open window watching a troop of soldiers with rifles across their shoulders, marching away. In white letters were the words: Women of Britain Say… Go!

  Benjamin spent the better part of an hour with dozens of other men being poked and examined, and when he finally left the Scotland Yard office, he stood in front of the building for several minutes. He couldn’t say everything felt brighter or more cheerful, or that he even felt an upsurge of patriotism, like so many of the men back in the recruiting office.

  He grew aware that someone stared at him. At first he thought it was his civilian clothes. He turned slowly and recognized an older man in officer’s uniform, who he had seen in the office. He was a lean and muscular man with curly black hair. From under his thin mustache, he was smiling at Benjamin.

  Benjamin nodded, and the man walked over and stood by his side.

  An awkward silence lasted a few minutes before the man began patting down the pockets on his overcoat, looking for something. He finally said, “I seem to have forgotten my cigarettes. I don’t suppose you have any?”

  He spoke in a low baritone in Benjamin’s ear. The voice sounded so much like Sergei’s that Benjamin was caught at a loss for words, and he didn’t know what to say, until finally he composed himself.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t smoke.”

  “Worst luck, but I can pick some up on the way to my flat,” the man said matter-of-factly. Then he said softly so Benjamin alone heard, “Would you care to accompany me?”

  Benjamin nodded automatically and fell into step with the man as he sauntered along the street. It took them thirty minutes to reach his flat near Hyde Park. He led Benjamin up two flights of stairs to a door on his right and motioned Benjamin to follow him inside.

  An hour later, Benjamin stood on the marble steps in front of the building, his hands jammed into the pockets of his coat. He couldn’t believe he’d just had sex with a stranger, a man who never took the trouble to introduce himself. They hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words during their brief encounter. When it was over, he’d curtly offered Benjamin his bath and water closet and then sent him off.

  “Not even a cup of tea,” Benjamin said out loud. He stepped forward, then looked up at the window. Through the filmy curtains, the man watched him, smoke wafting from a cigarette. It had started to rain, so Benjamin hurried down the steps toward a hackney cab waiting in the rank down the block.

>   Petrograd, Russia

  April 1916

  SERGEI WALKED down the Nevsky Prospekt toward the Admiralty on his way to visit Dmitry Proptkin, one of his oldest friends in Petrograd. Dmitry had been wounded during the siege of Lake Narotch on the 19th of March. Sergei had heard Dmitry might lose a leg. Having fully recovered from his own wound, with only a scar to mark his injury, Sergei wanted to offer some comfort to an old friend. He walked past the men in military uniforms, the sullen peasants, and the fashionable women. He thought about Benjamin, who was probably far away in France at this moment.

  It was in March, when Sergei had got up the nerve to go to see Benjamin at home. He remembered the day clearly. A servant had showed him into the drawing room, and Benjamin’s parents had sailed in to give him a reception chillier than the enormous room itself.

  Mr. Carter politely informed Sergei that Benjamin had left for London at the end of February to join the Army. Mrs. Carter told Sergei that she was very proud of her son, though she said so through gritted teeth, then got up, left the room, and slammed the door.

  Simon Carter remained standing at the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “I must apologize for my wife’s behavior. She wasn’t too happy about his decision to join the Army, but I managed to get him a post with a medical unit. I heard he’s somewhere in France from the last letter I had, but that’s what I expect he would write.”

  Another pause followed, while Simon walked back and forth in front of the fireplace.

  “He spoke of you before he left. You both had quite an adventure.”

  “Yes, sir, we had quite a memorable few days together.”

  “Yes, yes… he told me that. I’m sorry you missed him.”

  “So am I, sir.” Sergei fought his disappointment, but he couldn’t keep away the depression that seeped into his voice. He hoped Mr. Carter didn’t notice it.

  “I would offer you some tea, but there are shortages of everything these days, even to us diplomats.”

  “That’s quite all right, sir. I’ve already taken tea before I came,” Sergei replied.

  Mr. Carter continued to pace, his brow furrowed as though he contemplated something of great importance. He obviously wanted to talk to Sergei about how the war was going for Russia, but he either knew the answer already, or he was wary of asking him further questions.

  “How much longer are you in Petrograd? I imagine the Army needs all its men.”

  “I’m in town until tomorrow, sir, and then I report back to my unit. I merely came here to see if I could catch your son at home, but I see he’ll be occupied in France until further notice.” Sergei rose from the sofa and paced along with Mr. Carter.

  “Yes, yes, I see. Well, I’ll let him know you were here when I write to him this evening, and I’ll—”

  Send him my love, Sergei almost blurted, but instead he said, “Send Benjamin my good luck and prayers, Mr. Carter.”

  IN JUNE when Sergei was back in Petrograd on the way to the front, he stood once again in front of the Carters’ gray limestone mansion. The day was much warmer, and the flowers in front of the house were beginning to bloom. He also noticed the British flag flying in front alongside the Russian standard. He mounted the steps and rang the bell.

  After a pause, he heard a shuffling sound from the other side of the door, which then swung open. Sergei expected a butler in livery, but instead, an old woman with frizzled gray hair and a mouth of crooked teeth croaked, “What is it?”

  “I’m here to see Mr. Simon Carter.”

  Sergei was slightly shocked when the woman turned around and yelled into the interior of the house, “Mr. Carter, a soldier is here to see you!”

  She pointed to the door of the drawing room and then walked away.

  Sergei was just one step away from going in when Simon appeared at the top of the sweeping white marble staircase. He seemed genuinely pleased to see Sergei, and he came down and ushered him into the drawing room, then shut the door.

  “I apologize for the reception—the wretched servants are on strike now. I wouldn’t be surprised if this lot didn’t murder us in our beds,” Simon huffed.

  He was going to ring the bell for tea, but he appeared to hold back just before he pressed the button by the fireplace. Sergei pretended not to notice his host’s awkwardness.

  “No problem, sir. These days one has to get used to such things.”

  “Maybe. What brings you here, may I ask?”

  “I am in Petrograd, passing through, and I thought I would drop by and find out if you have any news about Benjamin,” Sergei said, looking down at the floor, fumbling with his khaki military cap.

  “I just received a letter from him this morning. He doesn’t tell me where he is. Even in my position, I’m afraid, I only know what I receive in daily dispatches from the War Office in London, but no names, no pack drill, as they say. He is doing well, he says. I was able to get him a commission as a captain in the Royal Medical Corps. I can give you an address to write to so you can communicate with him yourself if you like, but then a letter from a Russian soldier may get him labeled a Bolshevik, even if our countries are allies…. I would advise against communication.”

  Simon Carter again stood at the fireplace, so he didn’t see Sergei’s smile. He would be able to write to his angel. He could ask for nothing better. “Spasibo, Mr. Carter.”

  “I’ll get you the address.” Mr. Carter left the drawing room and returned a few moments later with a piece of paper, which he handed over to Sergei.

  A moment of awkward quiet stretched between them, in which Simon Carter again stood with his back to Sergei, hands clasped behind him. He turned slowly around. “We’ll be having tea shortly, and I would like it if you would join my wife and me. Afterward, we can go into my study and have a chat.”

  Simon stared into Sergei’s eyes, and Sergei averted his gaze, once more fumbling with his cap and not knowing how to answer. Mr. Carter had been aloof and distant to him, and now he asked him for tea and a chat.

  “If you insist, sir.”

  “I do, and Benjamin wouldn’t like it if I turned you away without offering you any hospitality.”

  Simon pressed a button, and the same old woman appeared at the door. “Set another place at the table for one of the defenders of Mother Russia!”

  The woman frowned and disappeared, letting the door bang shut after her. She only reappeared to announce that everything was ready and Mrs. Carter waited for them.

  Sergei found Mrs. Carter friendlier than her husband, and she was genuinely interested in Sergei and his Army experiences.

  “I wasn’t very happy about the idea of Benjamin joining the Army, but I went to see the Starets Rasputin the other day, and he assured me that Benjamin would come through the war all right. But he said something else I didn’t quite understand. He said that Benjamin would find his savior at a wrong turn. What do you suppose he meant by that?”

  “I couldn’t say, Mrs. Carter.” The remark raised Sergei’s curiosity as well, but he didn’t betray his thoughts or feelings.

  Mr. Carter dropped his fork on the floor when he heard what his wife had said. “You went to see Rasputin? Whatever for? It’s bad enough that Her Majesty the Empress allows him into the palace for God knows what, and you allow yourself to be taken in by that charlatan!”

  “He’s a man of God, and the empress—”

  Mr. Carter waved his hand, dismissing his wife’s statement. “Bah, he’s a drunkard and an adulterer, but I see you have been led astray like Her Majesty.” Simon Carter stopped and looked silently apologetic over the table at Sergei.

  Sergei smiled to put him at ease. The empress and her monk were the topic of conversation on everyone’s lips since he had returned to Petrograd, and it circulated that Alexandra was a German spy and Rasputin advised her on the running of the government. Sergei sat back in his chair and listened to Mr. and Mrs. Carter chatter on about politics and domestic trivia, until finally Mr. Carter put
down his napkin and invited Sergei to join him for a cigar in his study.

  Chapter 8

  The Western Front, France

  June 1916

  CAPTAIN CARTER of the Royal Army Medical Corps put the last stretcher in the ambulance and sent it onward to the field hospital just across the hill. The rain had stopped, and now the trenches were a sea of knee-deep mud, as gray as the sky above his head. In the distance, shells from both sides burst, and each blast threw up dirt and shrapnel, shaking the ground under his feet.

  “This is the worst bombardment yet. The bastards won’t even stop for the weather!” The doctor’s voice startled Benjamin. The man stood close and spat into the mud. “You okay, Carter?”

  “Yes, sir. Just preparing myself for the next lot of wounded. Whoever said that war is glorious should come out here for five minutes.”

  Benjamin reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, then lit one and blew the smoke over his head.

  “Would you like one, sir?”

  “No thanks. Never touch them. I didn’t know you smoked, Carter?”

  “I took it up to pass the time, which seems to be what we’re all short on nowadays.”

  The doctor looked away from Benjamin and out the window at the rain, which was falling again and making pools in the yard.

  “What’s on your mind, sir? You suddenly looked a million miles away.”

  “I was, perhaps. I was thinking about my family.” He sighed and took two chairs from beside a table, one for himself, and the other he offered to Benjamin, who sat down next to the doctor. “Do you have a family, Carter?”

  “I’m not married, sir.”

  “Ah, there’s nobody waiting for you back in England?”

  Benjamin paused, and he thought briefly about Russia and the countryside on the road to a peasant village. He shook the memory away, and said, “No, there’s nobody.”