Negotiations With God

by R W Sowrider

  While many thought it odd for the bishop to give him such a warm welcome considering that he declined to take an official position in the Russian Orthodox Church, Rowen nevertheless captivated countless clergymen with his incredible feats of healing.

  And he captivated countless socialites with his incredible feats of drinking.

  After one of his first medical miracles in St. Petersburg, a particularly poignant one where he brought the seven-year-old daughter of a duke out of a coma by whispering into her ear, festivities were held at a posh tavern.

  With the exception of Rowen, who still dressed in greasy black robes and was reluctant to run a comb through his long, disheveled hair, all of the patrons were dressed in the latest high-society, urban fashion.

  After a quick succession of shots and beers, Rowen slammed his stein on the bar, called out for music, and marched to the center of the establishment where he proceeded to dance.

  Well, calling it dancing may be a bit of a stretch. He mostly ran around in circles with his palms up and arms outstretched while occasionally stopping to fold his arms across his chest and bounce up and down like a toddler just learning to stand.

  Nevertheless, the crowd was enthralled. Particularly the ladies, who clapped and cheered and squealed with delight.

  Among those ladies was a pair of sisters known as the Pink Doe Princesses. Some said they were called “doe” because they had big beautiful doe eyes. Others said that it was not in fact “doe,” but “dough,” a slight on their curvy figures. And still others did not give a shit one way or the other.

  Regardless, both Tatyana and Svetlana were enraptured by the mysterious wandering monk they had heard so much about. More importantly, at this particular moment, Svetlana’s body was inhabited by Aphrodite—Goddess of Beauty, Horndog Love, and Shitty Dramas.

  When the tune ended, Rowen was drawn to the Pink Doe Princesses, feeling in particular an uncanny, inexplicable attraction to Svetlana. After looking her up and down, he abruptly grabbed the drink out of her hand, downed it, and gave her a slobbery kiss on the lips.

  “Goodness me,” she swooned as Rowen released her from his embrace, tilted his head back, and let out a roaring laugh.

  “You dance so beautifully,” Tatyana said.

  Rowen gazed deep into their eyes. “I know. I’ll bet you ladies can really cut a rug, too. You’re not too bad on the eyes.” Rowen grazed their collarbones with the back of his hands. “And these pearl necklaces really suit you.”

  “We’ve heard so much about you and I must say, the rumors do not disappoint.”

  “Quiet woman, I’m trying to think.” Rowen swayed back and forth as he struggled to regain his train of thought. Suddenly, his head snapped back as he remembered. “Ah,” he said, raising a finger in the air before grabbing Tatyana’s drink out of her hand, downing it, and giving her a slobbery kiss on the lips .

  “Mr. Rasputin!” an official-looking man called out as he made his way through the crowd toward Rowen who was again roaring with laughter. “Mr. Rasputin,” he repeated, putting a hand on Rowen’s shoulder.

  “What is it, dwarf?!” Rowen barked.

  “Did you see his eyes?” Tatyana said to Svetlana under her breath as Rowen responded to the intruder. Both women were weak-kneed and blushing.

  “Magnificent,” Svetlana replied, starry-eyed.

  “I am a messenger of the Tsarina,” the man replied.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so, smidget?! Come, let’s have a drink.” Rowen gave the Pink Doe Princesses a fork-over-those-drinks-bitches look, but was met with blank stares.

  “I’m afraid there’s no time for that,” the man said.

  Rowen frowned.

  “You are hereby summoned by the Tsarina. She requests that you visit the Winter Palace tomorrow.”

  “So she’s heard of my prowess, has she?” Rowen asked with a smug smile.

  The man cupped his hand around Rowen’s ear and whispered. “It’s the crown prince, Alexei. The sole heir to the throne. I’m afraid he’s been ill and neither doctor nor priest has been able to do anything about it. You must come to the palace first thing tomorrow.”

  A swell of satisfaction surged through Rowen.

  This was the culmination of all that he had accomplished thus far, a reward for his pious endeavors.

  Yet at the same time, this was a mere starting point. The campaign to capture the most powerful seat in the world would begin the next morning.

  “Do not fear, little fellow,” Rowen said. “I will visit the palace tomorrow morning. Tell the Tsarina that her troubles are over.”

  The man nodded and rushed out of the tavern.

  Rowen marched to the bar and demanded a pencil and one last drink .

  After scribbling something down on a napkin, he downed the vodka and strode back over to the Pink Doe Princesses.

  “There will be cause for great celebration tomorrow,” he said, holding the napkin out to Tatyana, who quickly identified it as an address. “Round up some more beauties and meet me at my apartment tomorrow evening.”

  Wide-eyed, the women nodded and once Rowen turned for the exit, they collapsed into each other in a fit of giggles.

  Upon reaching the exit, however, Rowen spun back around and lifted a finger in the air.

  The ladies leapt to attention.

  “Oh yes,” he called, again remembering something of great importance. “Bring booze. Lots of it.”

  ***

  Rowen strode into the crown prince’s room as if it were his own.

  Flanking both sides of Alexei’s bed were St. Petersburg’s foremost doctors and clergymen. Without even so much as glancing at them, Rowen could feel their impotence.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” Tsar Nicolas II said, extending a hand.

  “Thank you for having me,” Rowen replied, shaking the Tsar’s hand. “It is a great honor.”

  “No,” Tsarina Alexandra interjected, extending a delicate hand. “The honor is all ours. We have heard many tales of your wondrous healing power and we are grateful for your visit, Mr. Rasputin.”

  “Please,” Rowen replied, embracing her hand with both of his. “Call me Rowen. I am at your service, Tsarina.”

  “Please,” she replied, almost blushing. “Call me Sandra.”

  “Well then, Sandra,” Rowen said, releasing his grip and waving his hands flippantly around the room. “Other than the ineffectuals littering the room, what seems to be the problem?”

  “It’s our boy,” Tsar Nicholas said. “They say he has hemophilia. Even the slightest knock can cause severe bruising and agonizing pain.”

  “I’m afraid I’m at my wit’s end,” Sandra said. “The doctors and priests can do nothing to soothe my poor boy’s distress and they say it’s only a matter of time before he leaves us.”

  Rowen surveyed the room. “Get out! All of you! Out! Out! Out!”

  With looks of consternation and indignation, the doctors and priests streamed out of the room. Even Tsar Nicholas took a few steps toward the door.

  “Not you, Tsar Nicholas. Please remain.”

  Rowen approached the boy, who was sitting up in his bed eyeing him apprehensively.

  “Hello, young prince,” Rowen said, as affably as possible.

  Alexei smiled weakly.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “… My chest hurts.”

  “Come now, my love,” Sandra said, gently pulling the boy’s shirt over his head. “Let’s show the nice man what has happened.”

  Rowen stared down at an array of bruises from light blue to dark purple. “Well, this certainly is a mess, isn’t it? How about we clean it up?”

  Alexei smiled again.

  “What is it that you like to do when you’re feeling good? Drawing? Sports? Writing poetry for your girlfriend?”

  Alexei giggled meekly and Sandra was overjoyed. It had been a long time since she had seen her only son laugh, and even though it was a weak one, she could not have been happier.<
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  “You love riding your bicycle, don’t you Alexei?” Tsar Nicholas said .

  “Wow,” Rowen exclaimed. “So you’re a thrill seeker, are you? A speed demon, eh?”

  Alexei smiled again.

  “But it’s too dangerous,” Sandra said. “With his condition, I’m afraid it’s just too risky.”

  Rowen leaned toward the boy and spoke in a hushed voice. “Never mind your mother. She doesn’t understand what it’s like to be a man. I’ll have you up and speeding around the palace grounds in no time.”

  “Really?”

  Rowen stared fixedly at the boy. “You believe me, right?”

  Alexei’s face tensed up and his lower lip began to quiver. He had never seen such intense eyes.

  “You must believe me,” Rowen said. “You must be brave. I can see what a brave boy you are. Are you ready?”

  Alexei mustered all of his courage and gave Rowen a determined nod.

  “I’m going to take these bruises away so that come tomorrow morning your chest will be good as new.” Rowen placed one hand on the boy’s forehead and the other on his sternum.

  In a language that was clearly not Russian, Rowen chanted, “Great God, Dionysus, please heal this boy’s wounds and allow us to once again sing your praises and celebrate your glory as you would have us.”

  Then, in a language that was Russian, he whispered in Alexei’s ear. “This is the spell to take all of your pain away. Rest today and tomorrow we play. Bicycles, sugar tarts … tiny little fairy farts.”

  Rowen stood up from the boy, extended his palms outward, and gave a self-satisfied, Jesus-himself-couldn’t-have-done-any-better look.

  “How do you feel, my sweet?” Sandra asked.

  “Better, mother. I feel better.”

  Sandra turned to Rowen and clutched both of his hands. “ By the grace of God, you have done it! He’s gonna be okay! You’re a miracle worker!”

  “Yes, he’ll be just fine. He will feel much much better tomorrow. But now, we must let him rest. Make sure that no one disturbs him. In particular, no doctors. No more poking or prying or probing. Nothing that will cause our brave boy any further stress. Have an attendant bring him cabbage soup and crackers for lunch and string beans and pheasant for dinner. Other than that, leave him in peace.”

  “Understood, my good sir,” Tsar Nicholas said.

  Upon exiting the room and closing the door, Sandra once again clutched both of Rowen’s hands. “You must be rewarded.”

  “I require no reward.”

  Sandra looked at her husband. “He is so modest. A true man of the cloth.”

  “The crown prince’s return to health is my reward,” Rowen said.

  “First, we will set you up with an apartment worthy of your capabilities,” Sandra said. “It will be across from here so that you can attend to Alexei at a moment’s notice.”

  “If it will allow me to better assist your family, I humbly accept.”

  “Second,” Sandra continued. “You are hereby appointed the official Caretaker of the Crown Prince.”

  “And third,” Tsar Nicholas said. “You are hereby appointed Special Advisor to the Tsar of Russia. We need a man like you, a man with preternatural insight and mystic abilities to help guide our glorious empire to unprecedented prosperity.”

  Sandra smiled at Rowen warmly. “We have always been faithful servants of our Lord and we knew that He would send someone like you to us one day.”

  ** *

  “To Dionysus!” Rowen shouted, raising a glass of chilled vodka high in the air. “The most magnificent of deities. All joy and pleasure is born through Him. Hallowed be His name!”

  The throng of gorgeous women in revealing dresses that filled Rowen’s living room clinked glasses and cheerfully downed their champagnes, wines, and vodkas.

  After pouring himself another, Rowen crashed down onto a mahogany sofa, pulling a pair of ladies onto his lap.

  “You really did it?” asked the one with blond curls, delighting in Rowen’s attention and touch.

  “Do not doubt, woman,” Rowen replied, stroking her hair. “The boy will live to see another day.”

  “You’re incredible,” said the one with cupid bow lips.

  “And you’re so kissable,” Rowen declared, planting his lips on hers.

  “How did you do it?” the one with blond curls asked.

  “If only you could understand,” Rowen replied, brushing her hair aside and sucking on her earlobe.

  “Try us,” the one with cupid bow lips entreated.

  “I intend to,” Rowen said, smiling devilishly before planting another slobbery kiss on her.

  Svetlana, again inhabited by Aphrodite, sauntered over and stood above the sofa. “The Tsar and Tsarina are forever in your debt,” she said, her seductive doe eyes expressing both respect and desire.

  Rowen looked up and was pleased to see her looking ravishing in her glittering gown. “There’s my bright-eyed doe,” he said, clutching her hand.

  “Alexei is the only heir to the throne,” she continued. “After their fourth daughter was born, Russia feared the worst, but when a boy was finally born, we breathed a collective sigh of relief that the empire would continue. And now that they have you and your mysterious powers to protect him, we are assured that the future of the crown is bright. ”

  “Indeed,” Rowen said, staggering to his feet. “And now, we must give praise to Dionysus in the form that delights Him most. Come.”

  Upon downing his drink, he pulled Svetlana into the adjacent bedroom. Swaying back and forth, he surveyed every inch of her with his mystifying gaze.

  Her knees buckled ever so slightly when his eyes finally met hers. “You’re a very impressive man,” she said, regaining her seductive confidence. “It really is astounding how quickly you’ve managed to appear out of nowhere and work your way all the way up to what may be one of the most powerful positions in Russia.”

  “You’re a clever one, aren’t you, Svetlana?” Rowen said, continuing to admire her doe eyes.

  “Not nearly as clever as you.”

  Rowen leaned back and let out a boisterous laugh. “You know, of all the girls I’ve met here in St. Petersburg, you just might be my favorite.”

  Svetlana blushed. “Well, I’m flattered that you think so. Because you are my absolute favorite man in St. Petersburg. Your swagger … Your charisma … Your je-ne-sais-quois . I couldn’t be more happy to have come here. My sister and I …”

  “If only you didn’t talk so much,” Rowen said, cutting her off and again leaning back and letting out a rambunctious laugh.

  Svetlana’s cheeks flushed crimson.

  “Come now, woman,” Rowen said, grabbing the straps of her dress with his great paws and pulling them down over her shoulders. “Let us engage in a euphoric union with the divine.”

  Svetlana let out an impassioned sigh as Rowen pushed her onto the bed and buried his face in her voluptuous breasts.

  ** *

  “Rowen,” Tsarina Sandra said. “May I present to you Prince Felix Yusupov and his lovely wife, Princess Irina.”

  Rowen studied the couple.

  Felix had expressive eyes, effeminate lips, and jet black hair parted meticulously to the left.

  Irina was a knockout. While the upper echelon of St. Petersburg society was in attendance at this celebratory ball, Rowen found her to be by far the most elegant and enchanting woman there.

  “Felix,” Sandra continued, “is the scion of one of the wealthiest families in Russia.”

  Felix gave Rowen a self-satisfied smile and offered a limp hand. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Rowen. We’ve heard so much about your mysterious powers and … unusual habits.”

  Rowen reluctantly shook his hand.

  “Irina,” Sandra said, “is the Tsar’s only niece.”

  Irina curtseyed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Rowen smiled.

  “I’ll leave you three to get acquainted,” Sandra sai
d, exiting.

  Rowen snatched a couple glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, downed one, and then continued to size up the couple.

  “Doesn’t he have the most remarkable eyes, darling?” Felix said to Irina. “It’s just like they say. Absolutely transfixing.”

  Rowen grimaced. While Felix hadn’t overtly said anything insulting, there was something lurking beneath that rubbed him the wrong way.

  “I agree,” Irina said, smiling at Rowen. “You have the most hypnotic eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  This was much more to Rowen’s liking.

  “And what is most fascinating of all,” Felix said, “is your ability to look both my wife and me in the eye at the same time. How do you do that? ”

  Rowen glared at him. “Well, Prince Fuckoff, I have a medical condition known as googly eyes, and if you’re making light of them, I suggest you don’t. They are a divine gift that allow me to see things that others don’t, and to enjoy certain views while still enduring small chat with pompous imbeciles.”

  …

  Rowen winked at Irina. “And by ‘certain views,’ I mean your wife’s cleavage.”

  “Thank you, I got that.”

  “Just making sure. You know, in case you don’t pick up on subtle social cues from people that you’re speaking with who are at this moment contemplating a game of hide the kolbasa with your spouse. Incidentally, fine lady, not only are you a treat to the eyes, but you’re wearing some of the finest jewelry I have ever seen.”

  Rowen caressed her earlobe, allowing her diamond earring to dangle in the palm of his hand.

  Irina blushed. “Thank you. These are my favorite earrings. They belonged to Marie Antoinette. They’re called the Tears of Paradise.”

  After admiring the sparkling orbs, Rowen grazed her collarbone while appreciating her necklace, a crisscrossing of diamonds and rubies with drop-shaped pearls hanging down. “Was this also Marie Antoinette’s?”

  “It was. It’s such a lovely piece, isn’t it? The Venus Infinity. Absolutely to die for.”

  “It’s just some shiny stones stitched together. But when placed on you, it’s radiant.”

  “Thank you,” Felix chimed in. “I picked them out myself and even gave her Marie Antoinette’s veil to wear to our wedding.”