The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  “I don’t know what’s worse, to forget when you’re in trouble; or to only remember when you’re in trouble.” The irony so disgusted him that he spoke the words before he realized what he was saying.

  “What do you mean?”

  Suddenly Daniel realized he’d said too much. But so what? Wasn’t it better that she know it all, know just what kind of sorry excuse for a man he was? Why lead her on anymore? She had seen him shake and cry during the bombing, too. If he lost her . . . well, maybe he didn’t deserve someone like Mariana, anyway.

  “Mariana, don’t go thinking the wrong thing just because you heard me pray. I haven’t told you everything about when my father died. I’ve been too ashamed of myself to do that. But what’s the use? You’ll find out what I’m really like sooner or later—all I have to do is get stuck in another shelling, and the real me will be revealed.”

  “Would you like to tell me about it now? I promise I’ll try not to judge you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t—and that would be worse yet. I don’t deserve anyone like you.”

  “Daniel, what happened back in America?”

  “I really went down into the dumps when my father died. I was heartsick and confused, and so empty because I hadn’t had a chance to finish things with him, to say goodbye. Then I thought of you and the things you used to say about your faith. Believe it or not, I was listening back then, even if I seemed to ignore it.”

  “I knew you were.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I hoped it would come back to you when the time was right.”

  “I started going to church and reading a Bible. It all began to make sense.” A part of Daniel’s heart stirred as he recalled those first days as he set out to discover the truth. “The emptiness inside me began to fill up. Then I made the mistake of—I don’t know, second-guessing God. I decided He’d want me to quit the newspaper and work in the family business as my father wanted. I told you how miserable I was. I started questioning God again. I truly wanted to know what this ‘faith’ business was all about. I came to the point where I couldn’t take Trent Corporation another minute. I told God to do something—I guess that was pretty cocky of me, huh? Trying to tell God what to do.”

  Mariana chuckled, then said without rancor, “It sounds just like you, come to think of it.”

  “Mariana, He did do something!” His eyes danced as he remembered that day in his dreary office. “That’s when I found the letter from my father. I think it was a real miracle. Maybe not like Moses and the burning bush, but the timing was too incredible not to have been from God.”

  “It does sound that way. But, Daniel, I still don’t see what the problem is—it’s so exciting what happened to you. Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

  He was glad at that moment for the darkness. It made his terrible confession easier.

  “I stopped being miserable.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “I finally had my father’s approval, and I got my job back at the Register. It was great to be back to work—strikes, scandal, crooked elections—I couldn’t have been happier. So happy, I forgot everything I’d been through to get there.” He turned away, as if even the black cellar wasn’t enough to hide his shame. “Don’t you see, Mariana? I’m the classic ‘fair-weather’ friend. God helped me through a hard time and when it was over, I just went back to business as usual. Didn’t hardly think of Him at all until a few minutes ago and I needed help again. So, there you go; you know it all now. And I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to take a hike.”

  “Poor, dear, Daniel!” Mariana found his hand in the dark. She clasped it reassuringly in hers. “Why should I think any less of you? Because you are human? All I can see is that in your heart you are seeking God—”

  “At least when the going gets tough.”

  “What better time to seek Him?”

  “Shouldn’t I be religious all the time? You are—that is, you talk about God naturally, and I’ll bet you think about Him all the time, even when you feel great.”

  “Not all the time. I can’t believe anyone does. But, Daniel, God isn’t looking at how often we think about Him, or go to church, or read our Bibles. He’s not up there with a big board keeping tally of the things we do for Him. I believe all God looks at is our hearts.”

  “But I don’t know what my heart is like. Maybe it’s rotten.”

  “Why do you think that? Because you haven’t been going to church or praying?”

  Daniel didn’t answer.

  “I know that I couldn’t care for you the way I do if your heart were rotten,” she said quietly. “Daniel, you didn’t want to tell me this secret about yourself because you were ashamed, you saw it as horrible. But I think it’s wonderful. You’re seeking God—that’s what He wants of us more than anything. So, you stumbled a bit, or got sidetracked. The horrible thing would be for you to let that keep you from continuing on. Following Christ isn’t a smooth, easy road. He knows that and isn’t going to bar your way if you mess up occasionally, as long as you truly want to keep going.”

  “That’s good news, because I’m apt to mess up a lot.”

  “I make mistakes, too, but we can help each other.”

  They fell quiet. Daniel couldn’t believe that he had bared his heart, with all its gaping holes, and Mariana still accepted him. It gave him courage to reveal what else was troubling him.

  “Mariana, what you say is fine. And from what I’ve learned about God, I do believe He’s that way. But I’m still afraid of making a commitment then fumbling it. I’d lose respect for myself if that happened again.”

  “I understand, Daniel—at least I think I do.”

  “Well, I’m glad it’s all out. I don’t want any more deception between us. Where do we go from here?”

  “I think we ought to see what’s happening outside.”

  He laughed. He hadn’t meant something so literal, but he was relieved to take a break from such deep realms. He could tell by her responding chuckle that she understood.

  Still gripping each other’s hands, they climbed out of the cellar into the brightness of the morning sun. Outside, the streets were busy with the activity of clean-up. A fire wagon raced down the street toward the burning building. Soldiers were already at the scene of the fire, attempting to beat it down with old blankets or whatever they had at hand. Other soldiers and civilians were sorting through rubble to insure no one was trapped.

  Smoke and dust clogged the air, but Daniel felt as if he could breathe better than he had in years. Talking about his inadequacy had somehow made it more bearable. And at last he thought something actually could be done about it. He still wasn’t sure what. Whatever he did would be a big step, and he wanted to be certain, no matter what Mariana said about how forgiving God was, that he didn’t compound his previous mistake by repeating it.

  25

  The shelling of Port Arthur continued for the rest of the month. Not a day passed without the persistent, shattering blasts. They made Mariana’s head throb, and even in her sleep—when she could sleep—the steady, jarring cadence of artillery continued in her dreams.

  Even if the bombing did let up at night, there were the nightmares to contend with. Often, in them she’d be running down a street just as she had done on that first day of shelling. Bombs would dog her every step, and if she stopped, the inevitable happened. Even worse, a bomb would strike Daniel. Once in one of her horrible dreams, she was sleeping in her bed when a huge explosion woke her and she jerked upright. At that very moment a pair of wire-rimmed glasses—Daniel’s glasses—flew through the air and landed in her lap. The lenses were shattered. She awoke trembling, even more weary than before.

  The entire city was on edge. She could see it in the eyes of people she met on the street or at work. They were haunted by nightmares, too. If General Nogi would have asked any one of them to surrender, they probably would have in a heartbeat. And as if to further demoralize them, on August tenth, by order of the viceroy
, the fleet departed the harbor for the safer haven of Vladivostok. En route, they were attacked, losing or sustaining severe damage to five battleships, a cruiser, and three destroyers. The port could no longer look toward the Russian fleet for salvation.

  According to the soldiers who came into the hospital, Nogi sent Stoessel a request for surrender. Stoessel was insulted and refused to send a reply. Smirnoff insisted that some response must be made, if only for the sake of military etiquette. Again, internal strife reigned in the high command. With Russian refusal to respond, the Japanese redoubled their attack on the city.

  As August wore into September, the numbers of wounded pouring into the hospital continued without letup. The staff worked on sheer nerve and grit. Food shortage was not yet a severe problem, but the quality of food had diminished significantly. Horseflesh had been fastidiously refused at the beginning of the siege, but now it was common practice to butcher any horse killed by gunfire. Fresh foods—milk, butter, eggs—were most missed, and cases of scurvy and dysentery began to mount almost as high as battle wounds. When the Japanese got control of the main water supply, reducing the residents to using wells out of fear the supply would be poisoned, bathing and doing laundry became luxuries. None of this made hospital work any easier. Water usage was limited, even in the hospitals. Officers’ wives living at the port were put to work making bandages out of petticoats and other expendable items because medical supplies were not being replenished.

  Mariana had heard what a siege would be like, and none of the talk was pleasant. As many people were expected to die of starvation and disease as from the battle itself. Sometimes besieged people went insane; there had already been a couple of suicides. She wondered every day if she could take it, if she had the courage to withstand deprivation, fear, and perhaps even hopelessness. When she visited Philip in his new ward, he tried to encourage her.

  “You must depend on your faith, Mariana.”

  “I’m at the point that I wonder if I can do even that.” She let out a troubled breath. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember, or even to find God in all this mayhem and death. Surely you have felt that at times out on the battlefield.”

  He shook his head, truly bemused by what she was expressing.

  “Don’t you ever have questions about God, Philip? Aren’t you ever confused?”

  “Question God, Mariana? I wouldn’t dream of doing that.”

  “I wish I could be so stalwart. But . . .” She shrugged to complete her unspoken thought. In truth, she didn’t know what to say. Philip’s firm assurance was somehow unsettling, perhaps because it made her feel weaker than ever. But even her papa Sergei questioned God and was confused at times.

  “Mariana, I welcome you to lean on me,” he told her. “At least you have work to do—that will keep you going. I only hope I can get back into the field before long. Lying here is already driving me mad; I shudder to think what a month more of siege will do.”

  “I hate to think of you going back.” This would always be one of the hardest parts of being a war nurse—mending your patients only to watch them face danger again. And it was even worse when she had come to have a special concern for a particular patient. “But your leg is healing wonderfully.” Her tone lacked essential enthusiasm.

  “I want to go back, Mariana, you must understand. I have to do my duty.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t understand at all. If possible, she’d have a doctor write an order sending Philip home. But that was a hopeless idea, especially since Karl Vlasenko was his doctor. Karl would never do her a favor. He seemed to take delight in returning his patients to their units—probably because so few of them lived to do so.

  During Mariana’s conversation with Philip, Daniel appeared in the ward. She had taken a break to visit Philip, and she was not at her usual station. Obviously Daniel had gone to some lengths to locate her. Since the day of that first shelling, they had seen each other half a dozen times, but usually they met at her boardinghouse where they would be close to the cellar in case of bombing. Those meetings had been easygoing, and usually short, because Mariana had so little time for a social life. She hadn’t seen Daniel at all for three days.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, fearing the worst.

  “No, I just thought that the only way I would get to see you was to come here. Do you ever quit working?”

  “I’m taking a short break now, visiting—” She stopped, flustered, hoping neither man noticed. She tried to be gracious as she remembered to make introductions.

  “Ah, an American,” said Philip as he and Daniel shook hands. “You are the first American I have ever met.”

  “Really? I would have thought a man of your social standing, Prince Barsukov, would have had more exposure.”

  “I am from Moscow. We do not look out upon the rest of the world as much as they do in St. Petersburg. Being in the army also keeps me fairly insulated.”

  “Well, Moscow is a grand city,” said Daniel. “I spent several days there when I lived in Russia a few years ago. I don’t think I have ever seen anything quite as awesome as the Kremlin or Red Square.”

  They exchanged a bit of polite chitchat, and Mariana was somewhat taken aback at how casually and easily the two conversed, at first about Russia, then about the war. Mariana felt silly that she had been so nervous when Daniel had appeared unexpectedly. Maybe she was making too much of this after all. Philip and Daniel were both her friends, and certainly that shouldn’t bother them. She had made no commitments to either. This was hardly like the volatile confrontation between Stephan and Daniel. Stephan could hardly be blamed for his reaction. They had talked of marriage and were unofficially engaged. She had not talked or even hinted with Daniel or with Philip about anything as serious as matrimony.

  They were just friends.

  She supposed her awkwardness came from the fact that she had thought about the subject of marriage in relation to both Daniel and Philip. But why was she thrust in the middle of two such choices again? Four years ago it hadn’t turned out so well. Couldn’t she just have Daniel and Philip for friends? Did she have to make a choice?

  Mariana cast a covert glance at the two men and realized suddenly that friendship was not what she wanted. An odd thought flitted into her mind, seemingly of its own accord: She was going to marry one of these men. She blushed as if they could read her mind.

  “See what I mean?” Philip was saying. “She gets embarrassed every time I bring up the subject.”

  “What?” Mariana exclaimed, turning even redder in her confusion. She wished she hadn’t let her mind wander so.

  “Mariana,” said Daniel, “I didn’t know you were such a hero. You said nothing to me about saving his leg.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Philip said.

  “Oh that.” Mariana shrugged. “It was merely in the line of duty. I keep trying to tell him.”

  “Do you mind if I write a story on the incident?”

  “Oh, Daniel,” Mariana groaned.

  “At least I asked first.” Daniel flashed a disarming grin.

  “I’ll give my consent if Philip gives his, only you can’t mention my name—it just isn’t right to single out medical personnel in that way.”

  “Agreed. How about it, Philip?”

  “I suppose I am just as reluctant as Mariana. All the men out there on the front lines are heroes.”

  “I can’t tell all their stories. But, believe me, I am trying. Just one or two stories, however, will go a long way to garner Western support for your nation. You owe it to your country, Philip, you truly do.”

  “Put that way, how can I refuse? But you must make it clear that such acts are not isolated incidents. The Russian soldier is as courageous as a lion.”

  “Have no fear, I’ll put just the right spin on it—”

  “Spin?”

  “You know, angle, slant. Anyway, it’ll be perfect.”

  “Don’t mind his modesty, Philip,” Mariana said coyly. “Whatever he says,
he is a good writer.”

  “Thank you, miss, it’s a pleasure to finally hear that from you,” responded Daniel with a chivalrous bow. Daniel and Mariana exchanged a brief glance, full of the kind of private things that go with a friendship that has spanned years. “And now, I should let you get back to your work,” Daniel said to Mariana.

  “As I said, I’m on a break. Let me walk you out, at least.”

  The two men bid each other a good day, Daniel promising to return tomorrow to hear more of Philip’s story. Then Daniel and Mariana left the ward together.

  “Mariana, will I ever get to see much of you?” Daniel asked.

  “I’m so sorry you went to all the trouble to come here,” Mariana replied as they walked through the crowded hospital corridors. “Many nights I don’t even bother to go home to sleep. They’ve set up some cots in a little room for us. Since the shelling began, we’ve been swamped. They’ve opened up several more hospitals—well, hotels, large houses and such. My own boardinghouse may even be turned into a hospital; most of the residents are nurses and half the time our beds are empty because we’re working.”

  “Is it good to work so much?”

  Mariana shrugged. “What choice is there?”

  “How are you holding up?”

  Mariana was caught a bit off guard by the utter sincerity and concern in Daniel’s question.

  “It’s sweet of you to care, Daniel.”

  “I do care about you, Mariana. That’s why I risked my neck to come here.”

  “And I am ignoring you.”

  “I almost wish I could get wounded and receive all the attention Captain Barsukov seems to be getting.”

  “Don’t even think it, Daniel! That’s no way to get attention.” Mariana hated to admit it, but she was a little pleased at the hint of jealousy in Daniel’s tone.

  “Barsukov seems like a nice fellow, though. Too bad about his leg.”

  “He is a nice man. And his leg is nearly healed. I think he will be released soon.”

  “Good.”