The Russian Tapestry

by Banafsheh Serov

  ‘I have dreamt so long about holding you like this.’ His kisses moved lower to her cheeks, nose and jawline.

  Marie’s breathing grew shallow. ‘Alexei,’ she said, exhaling, knowing she must stop him and yet wanting him to keep kissing her, wanting this moment to last forever.

  Then she remembered.

  Pyotr.

  She pushed him away. ‘Oh dear God.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘Marie.’

  She could not look at him. ‘This is wrong.’ She felt tears filling her eyes. ‘This … we … it can never be.’

  ‘Marie, how can you say that?’ He made a move to take her into his arms.

  ‘Don’t.’ She saw the hurt in his eyes and almost lost her resolve. ‘Please … I can’t see you again.’ Grabbing her purse, she ran out of the room, down the corridor and into the darkening evening.

  Behind her, she heard his voice calling after her in the cool night breeze.

  28

  Tsarskoe Selo, September 1915

  Alexei did not see Marie again – or not to talk to anyway. Each day he waited in his usual place on the verandah. He saw her arriving at dusk, having caught a later train, and rushing past without turning her head to left or right. Each day he lived for the moment when she might look up to where he waited and, seeing him, smile. But even as he stood hoping, she quickened her step as if sensing his eyes on her and disappeared into the building.

  Returning to his room, he would move to the small writing table in the corner and there he would stay for long periods, thinking of her. When Grigory arrived, Alexei would send him away, ordering that no one be received, and refusing dinner.

  He had not imagined her kissing him back. When she parted her lips, he sensed the yearning in her, that she was opening her soul to him. And now he could not reconcile himself to losing her.

  His despair was increased by the knowledge that there was no one to whom he could confess his feelings. There were plenty in society and among the officers whom he could call on to dine with but when it came to speaking candidly on matters of the heart, he had no confidant. His closest companion was Grigory, who tended to his physical needs, ensuring his uniforms were freshly laundered and his boots polished to a high shine. But even with him, their relative ranks created a barrier, so that when it came to unburdening his soul, Alexei found himself completely alone.

  Emily visited him daily, bringing with her news and letters from their daughters.

  ‘When will he be free to leave the hospital?’ she enquired one day after a doctor had finished examining Alexei.

  The doctor removed his stethoscope, his eyes thoughtful. ‘The lungs have not yet fully recovered.’

  ‘Yes, but how much longer is he required to stay here?’

  ‘If his lungs continue to improve, he will be free to leave in the next few weeks.’

  ‘And not any sooner?’

  ‘Emily, please,’ Alexei interrupted. ‘The doctor has already given you his opinion. Do not press him further.’

  ‘I thought you would be eager to be reunited with your daughters,’ she said sharply.

  ‘If Your Excellency wishes, I can make provisions to have you discharged next week,’ the doctor offered. ‘Of course it will not be the ideal situation, but with proper care, I see no reason why your lungs cannot continue to heal.’

  ‘That’s settled then.’ Emily stood to leave. ‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements to have a nurse accompany us.’ Extending her arm, she shook hands with the doctor. ‘Thank you, Doctor, for all your help, but I feel it’s time my husband came home.’

  ‘Your Excellency must be pleased to be going home,’ Grigory said when Emily and the doctor had left. Hanging Alexei’s uniform, he began brushing it down with meticulous strokes.

  ‘Hmm? Yes, I’m very glad,’ Alexei replied absently.

  Grigory stopped brushing Alexei’s uniform. ‘Is there something troubling you, Excellency?’

  For a fleeting moment, Alexei considered confessing to Grigory. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s nothing. I was just thinking about the move to Uglich.’

  ‘The country air will be beneficial for your lungs,’ Grigory pointed out.

  Alexei sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  Grigory returned to brushing down the uniform. ‘Not to mention seeing your daughters again after so long.’

  Rising from his chair, Alexei moved to the window. Autumn had arrived with a sudden change of weather. A howling wind thrashed at the birch trees, scattering the leaves across the path. Alexei stared at the scenery with unseeing eyes. He felt stirred by a sense of loneliness. He hated the thought of leaving Marie. Even though she avoided him, at least here in the hospital he was near her. He had to speak to her, he decided.

  A nurse arriving to change the bedsheets broke Alexei out of his reverie. Turning to her, he said, ‘I wonder if you could be of assistance to me, Mademoiselle? There is a nurse who has been especially kind to me but I haven’t seen her for a few days. I wonder if you could tell me which ward she’s been moved to?’

  From his peripheral vision, Alexei saw Grigory stop what he was doing and look at him with curiosity. Ignoring him, Alexei gave the nurse his most charming smile.

  She smiled back. ‘What’s the nurse’s name?’

  ‘Marie Kulbas,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice light. ‘You see I’m due to be discharged and I wish to thank her especially for her help.’

  ‘Oh.’ The nurse’s smile slipped. ‘I’m sorry, Excellency, but Marie won’t be back for a while. She’s received a transfer to another hospital.’

  Alexei’s stomach tumbled. ‘I hope not because she was unhappy?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. That is, I don’t think so.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘We received a telegram from her this morning. She wishes to be closer to her residence in Petrograd.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘If you wish, you could leave a message for her with the matron,’ the nurse suggested.

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ he said, not bothering to hide his disappointment. ‘It’s not important.’

  Uglich, September

  By late September, the picturesque village of Uglich had had its first dusting of snow. Looking at the onion-domed cathedrals and the busy marketplace, it seemed to Alexei that little had changed in the riverside village. As their troika passed muzhik women with colourful shawls and wide hips, he remarked that they were better fed than their compatriots in the cities.

  ‘They don’t have to worry about the strict rationing or black-market prices,’ Emily said. She pulled the fur collar of her coat tighter against the cold. ‘You made the right decision sending us here. There is none of the unrest that we saw in Petrograd.’

  They were approaching St Dmitry on the Blood when Emily asked the driver to stop. Capped by a dusting of snow, the church’s five blue domes were vivid against the bleached sky.

  ‘I thought we might light candles in the memory of our parents.’ She removed the layers of fur from across her lap. ‘It’s been a while since we’ve both been here.’

  Inside, surrounded by icons and gilded frames, Alexei lit a candle and thought about his parents. A stern military man, his father considered any outward show of affection to be a weakness of character. He had married Alexei’s mother when she was in her teens and he in his early thirties, and they had had their first child, Alexei’s sister, a year later. Two more – Alexei being the youngest – followed in quick succession. Alexei’s mother, whom he remembered as warm and loving, had died from complications during childbirth when Alexei was only five.

  Placing the candle at the altar, Alexei lit a second candle for his infant brother and prayed that his mother had found in heaven the happiness she was denied on earth.

  The red bricks of his childhood home slowly came into view as the troika climbed the hill. When they turned into the courtyard, the front door flew open
and the three girls ran out to greet them.

  ‘Papa!’ Alexei barely had time to climb down before his daughters threw their arms around him.

  ‘Girls,’ their governess scolded gently. ‘What did we talk about this morning? You must conduct yourselves like ladies at all times.’

  Paying scant attention to her, the girls continued to push one another out of the way to get closer to Alexei, all talking at once.

  ‘How long will you be staying, Papa?’

  ‘I’m learning to paint, Papa,’ Vera said and pressed a folded piece of paper into his hands. ‘I did a special painting for you.’

  ‘Papa is not interested in your silly hobbies,’ Irena said jealously.

  ‘Mama! Irena is being bossy again.’

  ‘Girls, please.’ Emily motioned for the governess to remove them.

  ‘Come now, girls.’ The governess ushered them towards the house. ‘Your parents have travelled a long way.’

  ‘Wonderful to have you back home, Your Excellency.’ The butler stepped forward. ‘You must be tired. We have your rooms ready.’ He motioned to an ageing footman. ‘Take the Excellencies’ trunks to their rooms.’

  ‘What happened to our other footman?’ Alexei asked as he watched the old man struggle with the heavy load. Two maids helped him to pull the trunks down and carry them inside.

  ‘Joined the army, Your Excellency. I wrote to you about it. They say he’s made corporal.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Alexei said absently. ‘I shall go directly upstairs to change. Upon my return I wish to speak with the manager about the estate.’

  The butler cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid the manager has also left, Excellency.’

  ‘So who’s been looking after the estate?’

  ‘I’ve been managing it to the best of my ability.’ The butler looked at his feet. ‘With most of the men gone, we’ve had to make do with fewer staff.’

  ‘How many have we lost?’

  ‘We don’t have enough hands to mow and plough even a third of the fields.’

  ‘What about the orchard?’

  ‘The footman and I have been picking the fruit,’ the butler said, ‘and the cook has been keeping a vegetable garden. The occasional deer along with what we have in the cellars should be enough to see us through winter.’

  ‘And fuel?’

  ‘There’s not enough to keep the whole house warm. We’ve closed off some sections to save on heating.’

  ‘Good idea. Starting tonight, we will all sleep in the front rooms. I will sleep in the study. Speak to Madame Serova to organise everyone else’s sleeping arrangements. Then first thing tomorrow, Grigory and I will start chopping wood for winter.’

  ‘But, Your Excellency,’ the butler exclaimed, ‘that would not be fitting for a man of your position. Not to mention the strain on your lungs.’

  ‘My lungs will benefit from the exercise,’ Alexei said firmly. It seemed a new, more austere phase of his life was to begin. And with any luck, he thought, it would drive Marie from his mind.

  29

  Marienburg POW Camp, Poland, December 1915

  Nikolai’s soul was sinking, falling a little deeper each day. He had been in the camp for nearly six months and half the men who had entered the camp with him had died, either from starvation or disease. And every day, more were lost.

  The dead were buried in the mornings. When the ground was frozen, they lit small fires to warm the earth. As the bodies were lowered, men clutched their caps to their chests and sang a hymn, the wind whipping at their beards and shaggy hair. Afterwards, filing down from the burial ground, the men joined the queue to receive their breakfast.

  Hunger did not give Nikolai a moment’s respite. It consumed his every waking thought. Even as he stood beside the graves, thoughts of food gnawed at the corners of his mind.

  Desperate to quiet the ache in his stomach, he scrounged through rubbish bins, often fighting with other men over food scraps.

  This morning he had woken with a throbbing head and a new pain in his bones. Propping himself up on his elbows, he immediately fell back with dizziness. Closing his eyes, he waited for the sensation to pass. Then, sitting up, he pulled his papakhi low over his ears.

  Picking up his boots, he inspected their soles. Held together with nails and strings, they did not look as if they would last him the remainder of winter. He checked the leather and was pleased to find it had not frozen overnight.

  Looking to the far end of the hut, he saw the dark form of the small stove. Threading his way between the cots, he took care to step lightly on the creaking floorboards so as not to wake the other occupants. Outside, a howling wind thrashed the birch trees against the flimsy cabin walls. Icy air seeped through the gaps, leaving a film of frost over the walls. Blowing on his hands, Nikolai rubbed them hard against one another. He unhooked the gas lamp from the nail above the stove and lit the wick. Yellow flames grew and flickered, creating a circle of light around him.

  Squeezed by a sudden sharp tightening in his chest, he coughed into his hands. When he removed his hand from his mouth, he discovered a dark stain on his palm. An uneasiness hardened in his stomach.

  There was a rustling at his elbow and a shadow fell across the stove.

  ‘You’re up early.’ Ivanov stood beside him, his large frame almost blocking out the light.

  Nikolai wiped the stain against his pants before Ivanov could see it.

  Crouching before the stove, Ivanov felt for signs of heat. ‘The damn stove has gone out again.’ Opening the latch, he looked inside. ‘It’s ice-cold.’

  ‘What did you expect? The Germans take the thickest logs for themselves, leaving us with these thin branches.’ Nikolai searched through the pile of wood in the corner. Selecting a few pieces, he broke them against his leg and fed them into the stove. Ivanov lit a match and held it close against the branches until the wood started to crackle and the flames took hold. He turned and smiled at Nikolai. ‘That should soon build into a nice fire and we’ll be able to have ourselves a hot drink.’

  ‘We’ve used the same tea-leaves so many times there’s nothing left in them to brew.’

  Ivanov’s smile broadened. The side of his face where the butt of the German soldier’s rifle had cracked his cheekbone was dented, giving the impression of only half his face smiling.

  ‘I have a little rum.’ He winked.

  Nikolai gaped at him. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘Never mind, I have my ways.’ Throwing one of his thick arms around Nikolai’s shoulders, Ivanov said, ‘You just leave it to me. I’ll make you a hot drink that’ll put hairs on that skinny chest of yours.’

  Nikolai’s laugh quickly turned to a cough that racked his lungs and made him double over.

  Ivanov helped him back to his cot and eased him down. Worry had replaced the laughter in his eyes and he pressed a hand against Nikolai’s forehead.

  ‘You’re not well.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Nikolai pushed Ivanov’s hand away. ‘It’s only a head cold.’

  ‘You’re burning up.’

  ‘I told you I’m fine.’ He gave Ivanov a reassuring grin. ‘At home, we had a cook who snuck us vodka when we fell sick. She swore it was the best remedy for the flu.’

  Clearly not convinced, Ivanov hesitated. Thin grey light had started to filter through the dirty window, pushing back the dark shadows into the corners. The other men in the cabin were starting to stir and soon the guards would sound the whistle for roll call.

  ‘I’ll tell the guards you are too ill to go out into the fields today.’

  Nikolai started to object but Ivanov stopped him. ‘I don’t want to hear any more arguments from you.’ He lowered Nikolai gently down on his cot and threw his own blankets as well as Nikolai’s over him. ‘Get some sleep.’

  Nikolai closed his eyes and felt the room spinning around him. His teeth chattered uncontrollably and his body shook. Grabbing the blankets, he pulled them up to his chin and fell into an uneasy
doze. He was not sure how long he slept. He was vaguely aware of Ivanov sitting at the end of his cot and holding something out to him. He tried to swallow but his tongue, thick and swollen, was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Voices and images flashed by in a confused blur.

  Tears mixed with sweat streaked down his face and he felt himself sinking into a dark ravine. Then, from the belly of the darkness, a light grew and a figure appeared within it. The figure was moving slowly towards him, his features hidden by the bright light behind him. He drew closer and to his joy, Nikolai recognised Pyotr.

  Pyotr smiled sweetly at him. ‘Kolya, brother, what has become of you?’ He placed a cool hand on Nikolai’s burning forehead.

  ‘I’m so thirsty,’ Nikolai confessed.

  Pyotr continued to smile knowingly at his friend. ‘It’s time.’

  ‘Time for what?’

  ‘It’s time you came with me.’ Pyotr held out his hand.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Nikolai’s brow creased. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Come with me. It’s time to put an end to your suffering.’

  ‘Where will we go?’

  ‘I will take you to a place where there are never any wars, or hunger, only eternal peace.’

  Nikolai shook his head. ‘There is no such place.’

  ‘There is and I can take you there.’ Pyotr took Nikolai’s hand in both of his. ‘Come, let’s not waste any more time.’

  Nikolai felt his body lift effortlessly off the cot. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him and he forgot his pain. He followed Pyotr towards the light, moving at first slowly then gradually gathering speed. As he neared the light, he saw other figures waiting to greet him.

  ‘Who are these people, Pyotr?’

  ‘It’s been a long time, my friend. There are many of us here now.’

  Holding tighter to Pyotr’s hand, Nikolai moved into the light.

  Ivanov shook Nikolai’s limp body. He had returned from the fields to find Nikolai curled up in the cot. The few words that escaped his lips made no sense. The boyish face was red and glistening with sweat, the dark curls soaked and matted against his scalp. Ivanov touched Nikolai’s hand. It was burning. Turning his friend over, Ivanov wiped Nikolai’s face with a damp cloth. Nikolai’s breath came out in shallow wheezes and smelt like rotting fruit. In desperation, Ivanov shook him.