Robert Alexander - Rasputin's Daughter

He shook his head.

“It’s from a man known as Father Grigori Rasputin-he’s my father.”

The child’s eyes widened and he stepped back, biting his bottom lip.

“Don’t worry, the note just asks that your request be granted. For example, if you want to stay at a children’s home, all you have to do is present this paper and they will take you in. Do you understand, Boriska?”

He nodded, pushed the money and the note into his pocket, and leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. In a flash, he turned and darted off, charging through the beaded curtain.

I was sitting in a small room with yellowed pine paneling and a low ceiling that sagged in places. Running my hand over the rough tabletop, I noted that it was clunky and heavy, made out of crude pieces of wood. I doubted if anyone but locals ever came here, either to warm up with a cup of tea during work or to sober up before going home. My eyes turned to the beaded curtain. Would he really come through there, pushing aside the clattering wooden beads?

Instead, Sasha came quietly from behind, saying softly, “That was terribly kind of you.”

Rising quickly to my feet, I spun around to see him emerging from a small doorway. “What was?”

“Helping that boy.”

“I didn’t know you were watching.” Glancing at Sasha’s left arm, I saw that it was wrapped in a fresh white bandage. “How’s your-”

Before I could finish he wrapped his good right arm around me, pulled me into his embrace, and kissed me firmly on the lips. In the first instant, every bit of confusion seemed to flee my body. In the second instant, I knew this was wrong.

“Sasha, no,” I said, pulling away. “I can’t.”

“But-”

“We need to talk.” I stepped back, but only slightly. “Did you get a doctor to look at your arm?”

“Yes. The wound’s been cleaned, disinfected, and stitched up. I’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

He raised his right hand, pressing the back of his fingers against my cheek. It was as if we were old lovers who’d said it all and had no need to say more. But of course nothing could have been further from the truth.

Like a soldier bidding farewell, he said, “I can only stay a moment, Maria-I have to leave town in a day or two-but…but-”

“Sasha, someone came to our door last night, a very important person: a minister, actually. And he told me there’d been a disturbance the night before, something about a fugitive.”

He cast his dark brown eyes downward but didn’t say anything.

“That was you, wasn’t it, Sasha. They were chasing you, right?”

He nodded. “I was at a meeting…it was secret, you see. But somebody informed on us and we were raided. Half the people were beaten and arrested. I got away, but not before someone lunged at me with a knife. I jumped out a window and started running.” He turned away from me and shook his head. “I know I shouldn’t have come to your house; it put you in danger as well. But I’d been running and bleeding and…and I didn’t know where else to go, I really don’t know anyone here in the capital. The day before, I’d already walked by your house five or six times, just hoping to see you… I’m sorry.”

“Sasha, what’s going on? What are you involved in?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“That’s not good enough.”

He turned, looked me straight in the eyes, started to say one thing, and then said another. “Of course not.”

“I thought you were someone special, Sasha-a man who loved poetry and words. I assumed you were someone terribly open and honest-a man who wasn’t afraid of his own heart. And yet I find no complete truth in your words, not a scrap of honesty, not a-”

“My grandfather was a serf,” he began, in a plain matter-of-fact voice, “who, after he was liberated, started building barrels, cutting and sawing and hammering them one at a time. They were wonderful barrels, the best. My father-Igor Pavlovich is his name; I wish you could meet him-eventually took over the business. Today it’s a real factory, the largest barrel factory in Novgorod. Actually, our barrels are used for shipping almost all the soap flakes in our province.

“As for my mother, Olga, she is the daughter of a priest. She’s nice, she can read. I have one younger sister. And I had a young brother, Anton, but…but he was killed.”

When he ventured no details, I asked, “How? In the war?”

Sasha shook his head. “Anton was twelve, I was fifteen…we were playing on a frozen creek. There was open water up ahead, and he told me to come back. But I wanted to look into the water and see if there were any fish. Just then I saw this huge one, a sturgeon, which used to be plentiful but by then were very rare. I couldn’t help but step forward. And that’s when the ice broke. I fell in and sank like a rock. I would have gone right to the bottom if Anton hadn’t jumped in and pulled me up. Do you understand? He was my baby brother, and…and he saved me! He pushed me up on the ice, but when I reached over to grab him his hand slipped and he was washed away by the current. The water…it was so clear, so cold…the last I saw of him were the bottoms of his felt boots…”

“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching out and touching him on the arm.

“What can I say?” He let out a deep enormous breath. “It broke my father’s heart. My world changed after that from one of simplicity to, quite frankly, one of torment. It was all my fault, of course. I was the older one, the big brother, the one who was supposed to look after him.”

“And that’s why you write, to ease you conscience?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been looking for answers ever since.”

“So tell me, Sasha, you’re not a terrorist or a revolutionary, are you?”

His brow furrowed and he turned away. “I can’t talk about it.”

“Are you a deserter?”

“Maria, please…I’ve taken an oath.” He turned back to me and took my hand in his. “There’s only one thing you have to know-that I want you to know: I never betrayed anything you said to the woman who tried to kill your father, I never spoke to her or even laid eyes on her before those moments. Please, you have to believe me when I say I’ve never done anything to hurt your family, and I never would. I can’t leave with you thinking otherwise.”

“Then-”

Suddenly a herd of deep voices emerged from the other room, and Sasha immediately stiffened. Had I been followed after all?

“Maybe one day I can explain, Maria,” he whispered, as he pulled away. “Maybe one day you’ll understand. I hope so. I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again, but-”

“Don’t say that!” Determined not to lose him again, I said, “We have to talk more. There’s an alley that comes to the rear of our building. Meet me there at the back door in two hours.”

“But-”

“Don’t worry, that door isn’t guarded, no one will see you. I’ll come down and we’ll go somewhere and talk. You can’t keep running in and out of my life like this. Meet me there, agreed?”

He nodded quickly, glancing toward the noise coming from the other room.

“Two hours!” I reiterated. “And if you’re not there, if you don’t show up, don’t ever dare try to see me again.”

“I’ll be there, I promise.”

Now came the sounds of heavy boots pouring into the little teahouse. In a panic, Sasha pecked me on the cheek, turned-and disappeared.

I sat there for a few minutes, wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my cloak. When I returned to the front of the chai’naya, I saw not a group of military police or secret police. Rather, they were factory workers, come in for a glass of tea and some hot blini to warm their bones. But Sasha was already gone.