Rasputin's Prodigy

by Michael Weinberger

  I hadn't seen anyone else in the store, but once we were back in the main shop there was a young man, probably in his mid-twenties, behind the bar.

  “Sasha,” Igor said jovially to the young man, who smiled warmly back at Igor before the pair began speaking in rapid Russian. Sasha looked only a little put out by whatever Igor had said to him, but he smiled at us as he came around the bar and headed for the door. “Sasha will bring back the food and join us in a little bit. Now, please sit and ask me whatever you'd like, as long as it doesn't break my rules of confidentiality.”

  The way Sasha and Igor interacted made a thought pass through me that was interrupted when Chris asked, “How old is your son?

  Igor stopped and turned to him, “My son?”

  Chris pointed after Sasha, “Your boy, how old is he?”

  I covered my eyes with my hand and made an audible groan. Chris looked stupidly from me to Igor clearly bewildered at what he might have done.

  Igor just laughed before saying, “Igor is not my son.”

  “Oh, I thought...” Chris started, but Igor cut him off.

  “No, he is my 'partner.'“ Igor used his fingers to indicate parentheses as he said “partner,” and then continued to laugh at what must have been the look on Chris' face.

  Under the sound of Igor's laughter I whispered to Chris, “How does that foot taste in your mouth, Mr. Tactful?”

  Chapter 15

  Yekaterinburg, Russia. July 17, 1918

  Following the Russian Revolution of 1917 the Tsar and his family were all taken into captivity and initially held in the city of Tobolsk, but constantly transferred several times over the next few months until they ended up at the Ipatiev House in the city of Yekaterinburg in May of 1918. Alexei, unable to gain access to either raw blood or the medicine that Rasputin had previously provided him, had grown so weak at this point that he could no longer support his own weight and was confined to a wheelchair. Throughout their ordeal the family persevered through this trying time; however, something changed in Alexei after the arrival in Yekaterinburg. Nightmares plagued him and some nights he could only be quieted by his sister, Anastasia, who whispered to him in the darkness and soothed him back to sleep.

  “Anastasia!!!” Tsaritsa Alessandra called to her youngest daughter who was fast asleep in her room, “Anastasia, get to your brother. He’s calling out again and I want him quieted before he wakes the entire household.”

  Groggily, the seventeen year old got out of bed and eased into a robe. When she went into Alexei’s room she found him rocking back and forth, sweating profusely and rambling. She gasped at how pale her brother had become and resisted the urge to run from the room.

  Gently Anastasia knelt next to the bed and placed a hand on her brother’s cheek, then recoiled in horror at the touch of his skin. He flesh was so cold that it almost seemed that all of the warmth had been unnaturally drawn from his body.

  “Alexei,” She whispered. “Alexei, wake up. You’re dreaming…and you’re scaring me.”

  Suddenly Alexei’s hand shot out and grabbed his sister by the arm.

  “Get away!” he croaked in a voice too weak to be more than a whisper. “You must get away now!”

  Despite the ferocity with which Alexei spoke, Anastasia remained calm as she began to stroke his matted hair, “Be calm, you were just dreaming again.”

  Alexei pushed her hand away and tried to sit up, but Anastasia placed a hand on his chest and kept him from rising.

  “No. Not a dream this time. The black clouds descend. The terror has arrived for us!” Alexei was desperate as he spoke, then his body shuddered and he passed out from the strain.

  Anastasia was about to run for help when her father, Tsar Nicholas II entered the room.

  “Anastasia, go get dressed quickly. They are moving us again.”

  ***

  Yakov Yurovsky had always been a simple man from a simple working class family. That was until he joined the Bolsheviks, rose quickly through the ranks and now he was a commander in the Bolshevik secret police. The “secret” to Yakov’s rise through the ranks in the newly formed Soviet Union was spurred by his overzealousness to commit acts of severe brutality while maintaining an aire of dispassionate professionalism that chilled his superiors. Now he fulfilled his duties with intense pride at having been granted the honor as the man responsible for guarding the deposed Tsar of Russia along with the royal family.

  Yakov reclined in his creaky wooden chair and poured himself a celebratory shot of vodka. He was nervous, but the feeling was not as a result of anxiety, rather it was the significance of what he was to do and the honor that had been bestowed upon him that caused his current trepidation.

  A knock at his door startled him and he quickly downed his drink before rising from the chair. Taking only the briefest moment to straighten his uniform, he called out for the person’s outside the door to enter.

  Yakov’s aide, Vladimir, entered the office followed by seven additional men who were dressed in civilian garb and overcoats.

  “Are these the men I asked for?” Yakov asked as he inclined his head at the men.

  Vladimir responded immediately. “Yes sir, they are all from the 1st Kamishlov Rifle Regimen, comprised solely of soldiers of Hungarian descent. The men are all completely loyal to the party and none speak a word of Russian, only German, as requested.”

  Yakov looked each man over and made his own mental assessment. Having lived in Germany for years before returning to Russia to join the Bolsheviks he would be able to communicate with these men while keeping his orders private from the general staff of the house. True the Tsaritsa was originally from Germany and Yakov knew his orders would not be private to her, but he wasn’t overly concerned.

  “Excellent Vladimir, now get the rest of the squad together and inform the prisoners that we will be moving them to another location.”

  Vladimir snapped a salute and was about to leave the room when Yakov asked, “You know where to hold them once they have packed and prepared themselves?”

  Vladimir looked back at his superior and nodded slightly, and then exited the office without a word.

  Yakov watched his man leave and knew he had only a few minutes before his squad had the entire house ready to go. Turning to the seven men who remained in the small office he asked in accented German, “Who speaks for you men?”

  None of the men spoke; however, a large man near the back stepped in front of the others. His face was sunken and scarred with one eye that appeared discolored as it stared off in an unseen direction.

  “Have your orders been explained to you?” Yakov asked.

  “They have comrade,” the rifleman answered.

  “And?”

  “We live to serve the state.”

  Yakov nodded. “Excellent, now follow me.”

  Yakov led the seven riflemen from his office and down the stairs into the cellar. Soon the royal staff, the Tsaritsa and her four daughters joined them, all of whom stood against a far wall away from their jailers. Each was dressed in simple clothes that would do little to shield them from the cold, if not for the multiple layers they wore, and made them look to be little more than the peasants they previously ruled over.

  To the former Tsaritsa, Yakov asked, “Where is your husband and son?”

  “The Tsar…” Tsaritsa Alexandra proudly began.

  “FORMER Tsar and enemy of the people.” Yakov interrupted.

  The Tsaritsa looked at her jailer with a vacant expression for a moment then continued, “…is helping our son get dressed and will be here shortly.”

  Yakov frowned at her, but did not reply. Instead he turned his back on the woman and her brood and waited, rather impatiently, until the rest of the family arrived.

  Eventually, Nicholas II descended the steps carrying his fourteen-year-old son in his arms. Immediately, upon seeing the state her son was in, the Tsaritsa asked for a chair to be provided for Alexei and, as if on cue, Vladimir appeared on the steps with
a dining room chair. Vladimir placed the chair on the far side of the room, then returned to the stairs and ascended. Gently the boy’s father placed Alexei, who was now awake and apparently coherent, in the chair and stepped to his wife’s side.

  “This is not the first time you have suddenly moved us, but it is the first time that the need has come at such an hour. Why would it be so important for us to leave at this time of night?”

  Yakov looked at the man, studied every aspect of him, and was appalled by the arrogance the man seemed to project. This pompous fool who had fallen from such lofty heights to arrive in his care didn’t seem to understand what was happening.

  “It is no longer your place to be informed of anything comrade; however, I have orders that need to be fulfilled and, unfortunately, they were specific enough as to prevent me from doing things in my usual manner.” Yakov paced the room as he spoke and was oblivious to Alexei who, despite his exceedingly weakened state, sat very straight in his chair and held his arms loosely at his sides.

  Yakov smiled, “You see comrade, together we shall make history this day.”

  The former Tsar grew impatient, “What are you talking about?”

  Yakov seemed to ignore the man, “I never allowed myself to dream that my name would ever find its place in history. Individual achievement is not something one should openly strive for when one also happens to be a member of the communist party, you understand.”

  The Tsar frowned at the man and something in his demeanor seemed to grow wary as Yakov stopped pacing and spoke in German to the riflemen who had accompanied him, “Prepare yourselves.”

  The riflemen stepped forward in single file line that was parallel to the family then turned one quarter to the right in order for each of the men to face the prisoners as they raised their rifles.

  Suddenly each member of the former royal family and their staff realized what was happening and wailed in the face of the terror that was their fate.

  Tsar Nicholas II quickly stepped in front of his wife and daughters. “You cannot do this! You don’t have the authority!”

  Yakov withdrew a single piece of paper from his breast pocket. “Actually comrade, the order for your execution came earlier this evening.”

  Fear drained the blood from Nicholas’ face as his head dropped. Then he raised his head to his executioner and said, “My execution? Mine?”

  Yakov couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did this man have such arrogance that he could be indignant of what was about to befall him?

  Nicholas continued, “Does that mean…my children…?”

  “Ah,” Yakov said as he realized where the former Tsar’s thoughts had led him. “I am supposed to carry out the sentence upon your entire family.”

  Panic began to ensue among the girls who cried and held each other fiercely, while the Tsaritsa stood proud with her eyes cast to someplace far away.

  “But I will do you one last service Nicholas and spare them your fate.”

  Tsar Nicholas II, former ruler of all Russia, dropped to his knees and bowed his head toward Yakov Yurovsky.

  “I…thank you.”

  Yakov smiled, removed his revolver and shot Nicholas in the stomach. Nicholas’ body shuddered and his hands flew to the area where the bullet entered his abdomen. The girls all screamed and the Tsaritsa dropped to her knees, tears falling from her eyes.

  Yakov bent forward and whispered into Nicholas’ ear, “I don’t think you understood me comrade. I said I would spare them YOUR fate. Them, I shall kill quickly.”

  Nicholas raised a bloody hand in an attempt to grab at the throat of the cruel man before him, but the damage was too severe for him to succeed.

  Yakov stood upright and walked behind the row of riflemen and took one last, long and satisfying look at the horrified family of royals all as they desperately clung to each other cowering and weeping on the bare stone floor. All except the sick boy, Alexei, whose eyes had suddenly, frighteningly, gone very hard.

  Yakov’s tried to give the order to shoot but his voice caught in his throat as the look Alexei gave him chilled him. There was a moment where Yakov couldn’t even draw a breath as a violent shiver rolled through his entire body.

  Then, the moment passed and the chill faded. Suddenly Yakov could feel himself regain control and, although his voice came out in more of a high pitched squeak than its usual baritone, he shouted”Schitzen!”

  All seven rifles fired and the rounds found their intended targets as the Tsaritsa, her daughter Tatiana and the five staff members all were wrenched backward by the force of the projectiles impacting their bodies. Mercifully, the riflemen were skilled and almost every shot was instantly fatal. A wet, guttural sounding scream burst from Nicholas upon seeing blood erupt from his wife and daughter as they fell motionless to the dirt floor. Desperately he attempted to crawl toward his family, but the riflemen calmly loaded another round into their rifles and slammed the bolts closed readying the weapons to fire again.

  “Schitzen!” Yakov ordered again and the riflemen fired, the sounds of the shots muffling the anguished moan coming from Nicholas as his remaining three daughters were rocked back into the wall behind them before coming to rest on the floor that was becoming a pool of Romanov blood. In that volley of shots one round had penetrated Alexei’s chest, but passed through the boy as if he were made of little more than air. Blood trickled from the wound, yet he remained seated his eyes glaring mercilessly at Yakov.

  Yakov frowned as fear and confusion filled him and then saw some slight movement coming from the group of bodies on the ground.

  Calling to the riflemen, Yakov said in German, “Bayonets.”

  Nicholas dragged his failing form to Yakov’s feet, “Please!” he rasped, “Show mercy!”

  Yakov looked down at the dying man, “I am showing mercy. The bayonets will end them quickly.” Yakov waved his hand, ordering his men to proceed.

  A final burst of rage filled Nicholas and his bloody hand flew to Yakov’s pant leg and grasped the fabric, trying to take his executioner down to the ground.

  Yakov never swayed, rolled his eyes and lowered his revolver between Nicholas’ eyes and proclaimed “For the State!” before pulling the trigger.

  The first rifleman had crossed the room and savagely plunged his bayonet into Alexei’s side. The boy’s body recoiled from the force of the blow and fell from the chair. The other riflemen began to pierce each wounded victim regardless of the fatality of the initial gunshot until they found the source of the movement. It was Anastasia; she had survived but was now helpless against the multiple stabs from the riflemen’s bayonets. Perhaps some mercy had been granted to her as she had lost consciousness in the instant before the first stabbing blow could be delivered and she seemed not to notice the blades as they pierced her body over and over.

  Alexei was not so fortunate as he continued to struggle weakly and hold his glare on Yakov.

  Then something happened…The riflemen stopped their attack practically in mid motion and looked at each other, fear filling their eyes.

  Turning to Yakov the rifleman in charge said, “This is unnatural! The boy will not die!”

  Yakov was still staring at the remains of Nicholas’ head when he asked, “Then why are you stopping?”

  The riflemen looked at Yakov then to each other and all of them stepped away from the victims, “We were brought here to be a firing squad; however, it is customary for our Commander to apply the Coup De Grace.”

  The ground had become so saturated with blood that it now flowed down the unlevelled floor heading toward the far corner of the room. Yakov sighed and snatched a bayonet from one of the riflemen. He walked over to Alexei and pointed the blade at Alexei’s heart when he again noticed the young man’s eyes. Yakov hesitated and the stare between Yakov and Alexei seem to go on in eerie silence for nearly a minute before Alexei looking far more dead than alive, began to rise. Yakov began to shake at the sight as he watched the boy, his face so white from blood loss th
at it had turned a grayish color, begin to walk toward him.

  Dropping the rifle, Yakov reached for his revolver that he had holstered after shooting the boy’s father, and fired point blank into the Alexei’s chest. The boy recoiled from the impact, staggered back a few paces, then righted himself and again took a step toward Yakov. Yakov tried to fire again, but the gun misfired and only made a gentle “click.” Desperately Yakov’s fingers worked at the single action mechanism of the revolver as Alexei took step after step in his direction. Alexei had nearly closed half the distance between them when the revolver fired and again tore into the boy’s chest.

  The riflemen were so stunned by the spectacle that they all simply stared dumbfounded and afraid, making no attempt to assist their commander as Yakov gathered his courage and fired one last time. Alexei’s body stiffened and his eyes rolled upward before his body finally collapsed to the floor.

  Nervously, Yakov walked forward, gun at the ready, as his shaking hand gingerly checked the boy for a pulse and then blew out a breath he had been holding when he couldn’t find a heartbeat.

  “Listen to me,” Yakov said between gulps of air, “I want no one to speak of this. No one will believe it and it will look like a sign of weakness and failure if word of this gets out. Do you all understand?”

  The riflemen all nodded.

  “Good. Everyone out, now!” Yakov ordered and the riflemen quickly complied. Yakov stared at the body of the boy for another moment before he collapsed to his knees just as Vladimir came running down the steps. Quickly Vladimir lifted Yakov to his feet and assisted his superior up and out of the cellar while hollering for medical assistance.

  Alexei’s body lay face down with his abdomen draped over his sister while his head lay to one side on the floor as the accumulated blood of his family continued to flow and pooled all around him. Then, the open wounds in his body began to fill with the blood of his family…

  …and Alexei gasped.

  Chapter 16

  “I guess we can start with the police officer,” I said to Igor, who sat behind his bar on an elevated barstool while Chris poured the coffee Sasha had prepared while we were conducting our business in the back rooms.