“Would I?” Something sharp and cold suddenly intruded into his tone.
“Oh, Basil, I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he replied more mildly. “How can you possibly know any better? As I said, your experience is so limited, Katrina. Perhaps that is one of the reasons I am so fascinated with you. Oh, how I would like you to see things as I see them!”
“Tell me how you see them, Basil.”
“Do you really want to know?” he asked, eyeing her intently.
“Yes. I would like to understand you better.”
“Did you know my father is an ex-serf?”
“He has been my father’s physician for years, as I understand it. But, no, I did not know that. No one has ever mentioned it.”
“And no wonder!” Young Anickin’s tone was noticeably bitter. “It is hardly the background to be proud of.”
“How did he come to his present position?”
“He was orphaned at a young age, and a benevolent master, no doubt seeing promise in him, took him into the estate house where he was raised practically alongside the master’s own children. He was given a university education, reading for medicine. He completed his studies with high honors.”
“You must be proud of him,” said Katrina.
“Proud? Bah! I despise everything he stands for!” returned Basil with shocking candor.
Katrina’s mouth gaped open, and she stared mutely at the doctor’s son. She didn’t know whether she was jarred more by his words or by the way his demeanor had so suddenly changed from seeming sincerity to cutting disdain. Instinctively she recoiled.
“This is what you must understand,” he continued, the chilling expression moderating somewhat, as if he were shutting a restless ghost into a closet with great effort. “My father rose from the lowest ranks to attain great position in society. Yet he has never felt the obligation to return some of the benefit of his good fortune to his own people at the bottom of the social ladder. He has at his disposal the means to relieve great suffering among the poor and helpless of our country. But instead he sells his abilities to the rich and pampered.”
“The rich need doctors too, Basil.”
“He had an obligation to fulfill. But he chose to sell it for material gain!”
“I think you are being too hard on him.”
“Do you truly think his life’s mission could be to relieve the downtrodden aristocratic masses? You are naive, Katrina, if you think that.”
“If I listened to you, Basil, I could be insulted at the way you speak. I am an aristocrat, you know.”
“I am not likely to forget it,” replied Basil. “But I am talking about larger things than merely my father’s relationship to your family.”
“Is that why you defend peasants and revolutionaries?” Katrina asked.
“Do you think there is a better reason?”
Katrina shrugged.
“I want my life to count for some higher purpose than my father’s.”
“Are you . . . ,” Katrina began, then swallowed, finding the next words difficult to voice. “Are you in sympathy with those you defend?”
“Katrina Viktorovna,” Basil replied in a soothing tone, “when I am with you, is it not enough that I am a man—a man whose heart contracts at the mere thought of you? Is it not enough that you are here with me alone, and that I—”
He reached out a trembling hand and laid it over hers. “That is enough to make me forget all else. When I am with you, it is a haven for me—a refuge from reality. You have touched something within me . . . perhaps a chord of feeling that needed to be touched.”
He was about to go on, but just then the steamer lurched slightly as it approached the landing. Katrina turned to watch out the window, and Basil said no more. In a few minutes they were docked at the Summer Gardens, with all the passengers stirring and jostling about. A moment later, Anna came in to see if she could help in the debarking.
Katrina found herself relieved by the interruption. She didn’t understand half of what Basil said when he began talking about his ideas, but his passion stirred her in many different directions. Her heart beat wildly when he touched her. But her head began to throb also. She found herself confused, and she made sure Anna remained close by during the remainder of the afternoon.
13
That same evening was scheduled the long-awaited engagement party between Dmitri Remizov and Alice Nabatov. The celebration would be held at the home of Princess Marya Gudosnikov. Katrina had invited Basil to accompany her family to the festivities.
Her thoughts had been greatly occupied over the last few weeks with the person of Basil Pyotrovich Anickin. Yet even Katrina at her most superficial had to admit to herself that the infatuation was mostly a mental diversion. It provided her a way of ignoring, and thereby not coming to terms with, the heartbreaking fact of Dmitri’s engagement. Under the positive influences of Anna, Katrina had become far less self-absorbed than in her younger years. But where Dmitri was concerned, it seemed she could not easily shake her old ways. Too much of her old selfish ego was wrapped up in Dmitri’s rejection, and perhaps for this reason it was just too difficult to accept the reality of Alice becoming his wife.
She could easily have developed a raging headache by the time evening came, and thus avoided what was sure to be a painful experience. But she couldn’t give it up so easily. Still a fighter at heart, she kept telling herself—if only on a subconscious level—that a person wasn’t dead until he breathed his last. In her desperate analysis, Dmitri might still have a few more breaths left in his lungs.
She swept into Princess Gudosnikov’s drawing room, her arm firmly hooked around Basil’s, with a flash of triumph in her eye. She shrugged off her father’s disapprovingly raised eyebrow and threw herself into the party. She danced and laughed and made over Basil with a syrupy show of affection. By ten in the evening she was exhausted and did have a headache, although she refused to give any outward indication of her discomfort.
When Basil and two or three men squared off at the refreshment table with talk of politics, Katrina took advantage of the moment to excuse herself. After a visit to an adjoining room set aside for the ladies, she thought that a few moments of fresh air would be all she needed to restore her vitality and ease the throbbing of her temples. She wandered alone outside onto the balcony that overlooked the garden. She stood, hands on the marble railing, looking out over the darkness dotted with lanterns here and there through the expansive garden. She breathed in deeply of the fresh night air, gradually beginning to feel somewhat rejuvenated. The stars shone brightly, the moon was full, and the breeze wafting through was both cool and subtle. It was indeed a perfect night.
“Katrina,” said an unmistakable voice behind her, “I had hoped I might find you out here.”
Her whole body suddenly contracted with an irrepressible thrill of excitement. She turned. There stood Dmitri, only five feet from her!
Her first thought was of the kiss she had given him over two years ago at the New Year’s ball. She had been kissed by others since. But none stirred her heart so much as that first kiss she had given the soldier she had loved so persistently.
Desire for him swept over her again as she saw him standing there, so close . . . and alone. It was no longer the fancy of a fifteen-year-old girl, but the longing of a near-grown woman. She knew she had to shake it away. She would not make a fool of herself again! But the smile he flashed upon her as she turned to face him nearly dissolved all her efforts at self-control.
“Dmitri,” she faltered, “you . . . you were looking for me?”
He ignored her question, whether by design or not was difficult to tell. “Have the years seemed as long to you as they have to me?” he asked in an uncharacteristically philosophical tone. Katrina stood, facing him, trying to take in the sudden shock of seeing him, willing her fluttering heart to be still, attempting to figure out whether he was speaking words of love or just
waxing vaguely eloquent. Was he really saying that he had missed her and had longed for her?
“I feel as if I have been away forever,” he went on, not waiting for an answer. “It seems that the world has hurried past, and that I must race to catch up with it. I have never felt like this; I have always been the one that everyone else is trying to catch up with!”
He turned suddenly, threw his hands in the air, and laughed loudly. It was almost his old reckless laugh. Almost, but not quite. His whole character was so much like the former Dmitri, yet subtly altered.
“Do I sound bizarre, Katrina?” he said, still laughing. “I am going on like some intellectual rambler, like—”
He stopped himself short. When he spoke again his laughter had stopped, and he went on with greater solemnity. “Well, perhaps like Sergei,” he said. “Only with him, it is all natural and right. The philosophical suits him somehow. With me . . .”
He looked intently at Katrina, then took to slowly ambling about the balcony. “I don’t know. It must be the residual effects of my exile,” he sighed. “There is so little to do in Siberia. Nothing but think . . . think . . . think. That was the worst of it, I suppose. Worse even than the cold and isolation.”
Katrina had by now gathered in her own emotions and was able to carry on the conversation without revealing her disappointment that he apparently had different intentions than she had hoped.
“It must have been terrible, Dmitri,” she said. The sympathy in her voice was real and unaffected.
“No worse than the results, I suppose. Look at me—I’ve become a melancholy fool!”
He chuckled again, this time with more enthusiasm. “Maybe part of this ghastly turn in my character has to do with my future as well as my past. You know, the fearsome prospect of ‘settling down.’”
“As I recall,” Katrina said, turning her face away and pretending to gaze down upon the garden, “you once told me that a man’s freedom was too precious to waste on marriage.” She could not bear to face him when discussing so painful a subject as his marriage.
“Yes, I seem to recall something of the sort. Didn’t I say something to the effect that I would never marry unless I found—”
He broke off. But since Katrina was standing with her back toward him she did not see the distress that flickered momentarily across his face.
Katrina reached back in her memory of that evening in the Winter Palace. It was not difficult to recall the words that he could not, or would not, finish. She had never forgotten them. He had said that he would never marry unless he found someone as special as she. Katrina had tried to take his words as a lighthearted jest, but they had remained permanently lodged in her brain. The tone in his voice did not ring with jesting now.
She turned sharply to face him. A hint of melancholy remained upon his face. What she ought to make of it she did not know. But before she could reply and finish the sentence for him, Dmitri started up in a new vein.
“The hardships of war and exile have a way of changing a young man’s priorities, I suppose,” he said. His voice sounded harder than usual. “Life has a way of intruding upon youthful fancies.”
“Dmitri! You sound like an old man taking stock of a long and futile life!”
“I told you, this philosophical bent is contrary to my nature.”
“Then, for heaven’s sake, give it up! You act as if you had decided to stop living.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be my old self again,” he said lamely, “when these prenuptial jitters wear off.”
“And when will that be?” Katrina’s voice shook. “I mean . . . when are the marriage plans?”
“In a few months, after my enlistment ends.”
“That long?” She could hardly contain the relief she felt. She had feared the wedding would be sooner. But Dmitri took her words wrong.
“So, Katrina, you’d like to get rid of me sooner?” He forced a grin and raised his eyebrows in question.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean . . . there is time—time to get used to the idea of marriage. For you to get accustomed to it, I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” he replied, “and you are right. There is time. . . .”
He paused thoughtfully. Suddenly he took two large steps forward, grabbed Katrina’s hand, and led her to a nearby bench. “Sit down with me for a minute, Katrina. I want to talk to you.”
Her heart pounding in spite of herself, Katrina sank down onto the seat. When Dmitri took his place next to her, his arm touching her side, his nearness was almost more than she could stand. With desperation she tried to keep herself controlled, yet she feared her uneasiness was all too obvious.
“Katrina,” he began after a moment in a tender, caring tone—not exactly patronizing, but more brotherly than she would have wished for. “A long time ago we pledged our friendship to each other. Do you remember?”
“I will never forget.”
“Then please take what I am about to say in the spirit of that pledge, as an older brother speaking to a beloved younger sister. I only wish to protect you. With Sergei gone, I feel inclined to take his part for you. I know you never much appreciated being treated in such a manner. But it is important you understand I have nothing but your best welfare in mind.”
“I am older myself now, Dmitri. What do you have to say?”
“Everyone in St. Petersburg is talking about your recent . . . friendship with Basil Anickin.”
“Yes?”
“I know I don’t have much room to talk. Heaven knows my own reputation has never been the most sterling. But perhaps for that very reason I might be most qualified to express my reservations about Basil Pyotrovich. It takes one to know one, and all that.”
“I’m not sure I understand you exactly, Dmitri.”
“I’ll put it as simply as I can. The doctor’s son is the kind of man you would be wise to avoid, Katrina. If he were merely a fool or a scoundrel, it might not be so bad. But I fear his problems go deeper than that.”
Katrina was silent. Blood was beginning to rise into her cheeks, and this time it was not from Dmitri’s proximity.
“Do you know why he left St. Petersburg?”
“Something to do with dismissal from the university,” Katrina replied without enthusiasm.
“Something, indeed . . . something serious.”
“I refuse to listen to gossip-mongers.”
“This is not gossip, Katrina. This is fact. And it is not related to his years in the university. He managed to complete his studies in Moscow without incident, at least nothing to my knowledge. He has been practicing law there and, though there have been rumors—yes, and gossip—about his activities, I relate only what I have heard from an exemplary source. He was appearing in court for a client, a young man accused of printing seditious propaganda. While the prosecution was making its closing remarks, Basil flew into a rage—the man from whom I heard about it described it as a ‘blind rage’—”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” interrupted Katrina.
“Basil attacked the prosecuting lawyer, Katrina, bodily attacked him! He did the man some fairly serious injury. It took three men to remove him. The lawyer he attacked was hospitalized with a fractured collar bone.”
“He is a man of deep convictions,” said Katrina. “Some might admire that in a man.”
“Katrina, don’t blind yourself. I saw him myself—several years ago while he was still a student at the university here. It was a friendly boxing match, but it soon turned into a blood bath. Basil pummeled the man senseless. And without the slightest provocation.”
“He is so slender and soft-spoken—”
“He is a violent man, Katrina. I fear for you if you continue to pursue this friendship with him.”
“I just cannot believe a word of this!”
“I tell you, it is true.”
“He has been nothing but a complete gentleman toward me; kind and considerate. I admit he sometimes becomes passionate when speaking of
his ideals. But I have seen the same trait in Sergei.”
“The two cannot in any way be compared. Look deeply into Basil Pyotrovich’s eyes, Katrina. Then try to compare him to your brother.”
Again Katrina was silent. She had looked into Basil’s eyes, but she did not want to be reminded of that now—especially by Dmitri.
Unless . . . was it possible that Dmitri had his own personal motives for speaking thus about Basil? It couldn’t be. She had been disappointed so many times already. Still . . . he had come outside, apparently in search of her!
She lifted her head and turned to face Dmitri with renewed hope shining out of her own eyes.
“Dmitri,” she said softly, “why do you want to protect me from Basil?”
“I told you, because I pledged my friendship, as a brother.”
“Is that all?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand you. Isn’t that enough?”
“I only thought that . . . well . . . you seem uneasy and uncertain about your engagement with Alice . . . and I thought that perhaps your words so long ago had caused you to reconsider—”
At last the truth began to dawn on Dmitri, and he saw that she had misunderstood him.
“Katrina, please,” he said. “Don’t make this more difficult than it is. There is nothing on my mind but trying to keep you from an unfortunate relationship that is doomed to bring you pain.”
His emphasis on the word nothing made his meaning clear to Katrina in an instant.
“Well, you must have had some ulterior motive for attempting to defame Basil’s character!” she shot back heatedly, trying to hide her chagrin at letting her feelings for him show once again.
Dmitri stood and turned on her, his eyes flashing.
“I have nothing in mind but concern for your best,” he said in a measured but clearly intense tone. “I almost thought, Katrina, that you had outgrown your petty attitudes of the past. I came to you as a friend, and as a friend of your brother, and you repay me by accusing me of such low motive.”
Katrina hesitated a moment. When she found her voice, her tone was caustic and sharp.
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