The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  “How so?”

  “I feel I owe it to Kazan to carry on his mission.”

  “And you think you are capable of doing so?”

  “For a long time I wavered,” Paul said, “believing in the cause and yet still hesitant to make the kind of wholehearted commitment I saw in Kazan and I see in you and the others. Until today, I tried to hold on to a hope that there must be some middle ground.”

  “You say ‘until now.’ Has something changed?”

  “Now I see that there is no such hope except that which you offer. There is no other way to fight an evil and unjust enemy except with their own methods.”

  “It is the same conclusion we have all reached, each of us in our own way and in our own time.”

  “And so,” Paul said, “I want to offer myself to The People’s Will for you to use however you see fit.”

  Zhelyabov thought for a moment, then spoke. “I must tell you, Paul, that although part of me applauds your decision, another part of me is compelled to be honest with you.”

  He paused and thoughtfully tapped his slim fingers against his chin. “You have been through a terrible ordeal in losing your friend in this way,” he went on. “I fear it would strain and confuse a mature man. But for one so young—how old are you, Paul? Seventeen . . . eighteen? Certainly too young to fully comprehend all the complexities of life. You must understand that grief and a sense of indebtedness are simply not powerful enough as motivators to carry you along the path you wish now to take—not by themselves. Something deeper is required.”

  Paul was silent, staring down at the floor.

  “Do you understand what I mean, young Paul Yevnovich?” the older man asked with something like tenderness.

  This time he waited for Paul to speak.

  “You are right, Zhelyabov,” Paul said finally. “I do understand that such motivations are not strong enough to be vehicles for commitment. They are mere catalysts. They have only set me upon the path that I inevitably would choose. I understand what you have said, but I also know myself. I will continue to be dedicated to the purposes of The People’s Will long after my grief fades.” Paul spoke with a kind of self-assurance he had never before felt.

  “I see Kazan did not choose his protege lightly,” said Zhelyabov with the hint of a smile on his solemn countenance.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And how exactly do you think you could best be of service to us?” Zhelyabov asked, turning suddenly serious and businesslike.

  “I would like to kill Vlasenko.”

  “That is no small ambition. We have tried before and failed.”

  “That is no reason to stop trying, is it?”

  “Assuredly not, but the man is slippery . . . and dangerous.”

  “Perhaps I might succeed.”

  “Why Vlasenko?” asked Zhelyabov with curiosity.

  “Let’s just say I have an old score to settle. He is from the same region of the country as I am, and his evil ways have been known to my family and the peasants of the area for years.”

  The smile on Zhelyabov’s face grew wider. “You are a young man with vision, I’ll say that for you! And how, precisely, do you propose to accomplish this feat?”

  “I have no idea,” replied Paul. “I have never done anything like this before.”

  “Never killed?”

  “Never.”

  “Any experience with weapons?”

  “No. I know nothing about guns or explosives.”

  “Ah, a novice . . . I should have guessed. Well, I will take you on as my protege then, at least in the matter of Vlasenko. I would hate to see you killed or arrested on your first assignment.”

  “You would truly do such a thing?” said Paul hopefully.

  “I see in you what The People’s Will needs more of, young Burenin. But I must tell you that I have higher priorities than the death of a mere Third Section chief at this time.”

  “I realize that.”

  “But the experience would do you good; and who can tell, it might lead you to bigger things. And there might be another advantage to targeting Vlasenko at this time. . . .”

  He rubbed his chin, obviously in thought. “Come here.”

  Paul followed him as he led the way into a back bedroom, where Zhelyabov pulled a small crate from a wardrobe. “My host would have heart failure if he knew I had stashed these here. I just recently received them, and I will have to find a more secure hiding place for them before he returns home. But have a look—perhaps these will be your new stock-in-trade!”

  He hefted the crate onto the bed, and Paul peered inside. Zhelyabov picked up one item after the other, turned them over in his fingers, and handed them to Paul, identifying the many types of fuses, connectors, detonators, blasting caps, friction matches, and explosives. Many of the names and technical terms he applied to the equipment were words Paul had never heard in his life. But he comprehended clearly the purpose behind each of the items.

  “You can forget all about guns,” said Zhelyabov. “They are a weapon of the past. They are too limited in their effect. Besides that, most of our people are such rotten aims that handguns are worse than useless. Vera Zasulich became quite a heroine for her deed against Trepov. But in truth, the incident bordered on the ridiculous.”

  “How so?” asked Paul.

  “She emptied her revolver and only managed to wound the man—and at point-blank range. No one could be such a bad shot!”

  Paul laughed, but Zhelyabov did not think the matter humorous.

  “It was the same with Soloviev’s attempt on the tsar,” he went on. “Alexander was alone on that bridge and passed Soloviev at arm’s length. He went to all that trouble to position himself perfectly, yet still he missed!”

  He sighed. “I suppose I’ve had my share of misses too,” he said. “But at least these more sophisticated methods give a fighting chance of escape for my people. You only have to be able to hit the broad side of a barn to blast someone to smithereens!”

  Excitedly he took some fuses from the box. “These are brand new,” he said, showing them to Paul. “And very effective, from all I have been told, though we still have to experiment with them. They are a timed fuse as opposed to a straight electrical charge, and are supposed to be much more reliable and efficient than old timed fuses. I have always preferred the electrical, but if these are as good as they say, there could be many incidents where a timed fuse could be the difference between success or failure. I plan to use these on my next major attempt on the tsar. You seem like a bright enough young fellow, Paul. I do not think it would take long to train you in the use of explosives. What do you say?”

  “When do we begin?”

  “Well, we can start by getting all of these things out of this apartment. I think between the two of us we can adequately conceal it all beneath our clothing in just a couple of trips.”

  35

  “Anna, what am I going to do about Basil when he returns from Moscow?”

  Katrina stood on top of a stool while Anna pinned up the hem of her dress.

  “You are much better at talking to people than I am, Princess,” said Anna around a mouthful of straight pins.

  “Talking perhaps, but not tactfully.”

  “I’m sure you will find the best way.”

  “Oh, but I must think of just the right thing to say. I don’t want to make him angry by telling him I mustn’t see him anymore for a while. But . . . I can’t help being fearful.”

  Anna put in the last pin. “You may climb down,” she said.

  Katrina did so, and Anna unfastened the dress. She helped her mistress into a pale blue muslin sundress, then gathered up the one she had been working on and prepared to leave.

  “You are not going now?” Katrina asked.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted this dress finished for tonight.”

  “I do, but can’t you sew on it here? We’re not finished talking. I still don’t know what I will say to Basil, and you must
help me.” She drew the dressing table stool on which she had been standing toward the bed and motioned Anna to it, while she herself plopped down on the bed. “Maybe I ought to write him a letter,” she said enthusiastically.

  Anna said nothing.

  “I know you are thinking something, Anna,” said the princess. “I can tell. What is it?”

  Anna smiled. Try as she might, it was difficult for her to hide her feelings sometimes.

  “Well, Princess,” she said slowly. “I do not think Basil Anickin will accept a letter. If you do not confront him personally, he will confront you.”

  “Hmm . . . you are probably right.”

  “But perhaps your fears will prove unfounded. At least, I do not think you need to fear.”

  “Would you not be afraid if you were in my place, Anna?”

  “Yes, I am sure I would be. I suppose what I meant to say is that you need not carry your fears alone.”

  “I know you will always be a friend beside me,” said Katrina tenderly.

  “I hope that I am, Your Highness. Yet things beyond our control may come between you and me someday.”

  Anna forgot her sewing momentarily and glanced up at her mistress. “But, Princess, I believe there is only One who will certainly always be there for you, to help with your burdens, and to carry your fears on His shoulders.”

  “Whoever do you mean?” asked Katrina.

  “God, of course—our Lord Jesus Christ. He is the only one who can truly see us through our troubles.”

  “Well, I can use His help now!”

  “He surely wants to give it—if everything my own father taught me and everything I feel in my heart is true.”

  “But, Anna, as much as I have admired your faith, I cannot feel the kind of closeness to God you seem to have. I go to mass, and this last Lent I was almost completely obedient. But, I don’t know . . . I suppose I am not a deep enough thinker to understand all about God, and whenever I try to pray, my mind seems to wander.”

  “We all have to wrestle with such things, Princess,” said Anna with a smile.

  “Oh, but it comes easier to people like you, Anna. You like to think about spiritual things. I try sometimes, but I just can’t keep my mind on them.”

  “Do you think that is a good excuse for not drawing as close to God as possible?” Anna asked. She did not quake at such a bold questioning of her mistress. They had grown a great deal together, and by studying side by side, they had learned to face difficult questions. “I have watched,” Anna went on, “how many times you have struggled to master one of Fingal’s mathematical or scientific principles. When something is before you that you want with all your heart, you will spare no effort to achieve it. And yet here is the highest of all life’s goals—understanding and knowing about life with God. It hardly seems right to give up on it so easily.”

  Katrina sighed. “I know you are right,” she said, without much conviction.

  “There is a story in the Bible, Princess, that comes to my mind. Would you like to hear it?”

  “I don’t suppose it could hurt.”

  “It is about two women—sisters, actually,” Anna began. “Mary, the younger, could sit all day and be content to meditate on the words of her friend Jesus. You see, these two women and their brother knew Jesus very well, and were among His closest friends. His words were precious to Mary, and she spent much time pondering things He had told them. Her older sister Martha loved to work about the house and entertain guests, cooking and tending the needs of people like Jesus and His disciples when they came to visit. She was always busy at some task about the house. And though she loved such work, at times it annoyed her that her sister spent all her time at the Lord’s feet and did not help her.”

  “So what happened?” asked Katrina. “Did they have a fight?”

  “One day Martha complained to Jesus about her sister not helping. Do you know what He said?”

  Katrina shook her head.

  “He told her that Mary had chosen the most important way, and that He would not keep it from her.”

  “But the cooking and cleaning and all that needed doing,” objected Katrina. “Someone had to do it.”

  “The Lord did not think the less of Martha for her hard work. He loved her as much as He loved Mary. But He did not want Martha’s busyness to make her lose sight of what was truly important—loving God.”

  “And not to use it as an excuse, is that what you are saying?”

  Anna smiled.

  “But do you think it is possible for people like Martha who are busy, and people like me who don’t think about God as much as people like you—can we still be close to God like that? Can I?”

  “It doesn’t seem to me that Jesus would have rebuked Martha unless it were possible, and unless He did want her to spend a little more time considering spiritual things. Everybody is different, Princess, just like Mary and Martha . . . and just like you and me. But I can’t help but believe God wants us all to love Him a little as Mary did Jesus, and think about and treasure His words.”

  “Oh, Anna, how can you be so wise about all this?” exclaimed Katrina.

  Again Anna smiled. “I don’t think I am, Princess,” she replied. “But I have spent time thinking about what I read in the Bible, especially the things Jesus says.”

  “How much easier it would be if I were more like you!”

  “Everyone cannot be the same. God made us different for a reason. But He wants to be a friend to us all, and He can use many types of people. My papa used to say that even a mule can pull a plow if necessary—”

  She stopped short and blushed at the implication of her words.

  Katrina laughed. “More than once my own father has told me I can be terribly mulish!”

  “Everyone is stubborn at times.”

  “Not everyone . . . not you, Anna!”

  “I have a will of my own too, Princess,” laughed Anna. “Perhaps I just keep it hidden.”

  “Well, I won’t give up trying then, Anna. But I am still no closer to knowing what to say to Basil than I was before.” Katrina sighed.

  “At least you know who can help you.”

  “Yes . . . yes, I do.” Katrina jumped suddenly from the bed. “Anna, it is still early,” she said excitedly. “Let’s go to church. I should like to pray.”

  “Why don’t you pray right here?”

  “Here? Oh no . . . I would feel too foolish!”

  Anna recalled all the times she had heard her papa praying in the fields or in the old barn full of cobwebs as he tended their few animals. And how often she’d seen her matushka murmuring a prayer while washing the family’s clothes. From them she had learned to talk to God as she went about her daily tasks. She did it without a second thought. Yet she knew that many gave no more consideration to prayer than they would to selling everything they had to join a convent or a monastery. Prayers were for the priest to intone during mass. But the older Anna grew, the more she realized what an unusual gift she had received in her parents’ example without even knowing it.

  At the same time, she did not want to press it upon her mistress. They could pray just as well in the church as in the house, and she was happy that Katrina wanted to go. They had not been to mass together since Easter Eve. So it was with a particularly light heart that Anna set out that afternoon to St. Andrew’s church on Vassily Island in the Fedorcenko carriage with her mistress.

  36

  Anna bought two candles. One she lighted for Sergei, glad that Katrina was too caught up in her own prayers to ask who the candles were for. The other she burned for her family.

  When they exited the homely old church, both girls breathed in deeply of the warm afternoon air, feeling peaceful and refreshed. Anna saw on the face of her mistress a new look of confidence and strength, and she silently rejoiced for her.

  The sunshine seemed bright after the dimly lit interior of the church, and they instinctively paused on the steps of the building while their eyes adjusted.
>
  “Has the sun become brighter in the last half hour?” said Katrina.

  “Perhaps you feel better inside,” smiled Anna. “That can make all of life seem brighter.”

  “You may be right. Thank you, Anna—and thanks to God too, of course.”

  As they began to make their way to the carriage, Anna suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. Katrina turned toward her with a questioning look. Anna’s face was pale, and all light had drained out of her eyes.

  “Anna! Whatever is the matter?” she exclaimed, seeing her maid’s distress.

  “I . . . I just thought—but no . . . it can’t be . . .”

  “Thought what, Anna?”

  “I must have made a mistake, Princess,” said Anna, trying to shake off the cloud that had come over her. Yet even as she said the words, she continued to glance across the street nervously.

  “Anna, you must tell me,” insisted Katrina. “I can see that you are still disturbed.”

  “I . . . I thought I saw . . . someone I know,” replied Anna at last.

  “A ghost, from the look of you.”

  Anna did not reply. Katrina stared at her. She had never seen her maid so agitated.

  “If I may have your leave, Princess,” said Anna after a moment, “may I find my own way home?”

  “So you don’t think you were mistaken after all?”

  “I must know, Princess. If I am wrong, I will find out soon enough. But if not, I would like to speak to the person I mentioned.”

  “I will wait, Anna.”

  “Thank you, Princess. But this is something I think I must do by myself.”

  “Of course, Anna. But are you sure you want to be alone in this district?”

  “I will be fine.”

  “It is terribly seedy.”

  “I come to St. Andrew’s often, remember?”

  “If you are certain . . .”

  “I am . . . thank you,” said Anna.

  Katrina gave her a few coins for a droshky, then stepped into her carriage.

  Anna did not even wait for Moskalev to pull away before she hurried across the street toward the crowded and noisy market. Her heart beat violently inside her chest, and her face was still white despite the exertion.