by John Boyne
‘Father Gregory,’ I whispered, desperate for him to leave me now, ‘please … I beg of you.’
‘Where will you be, Georgy? When the doors open and the men step inside with their revolvers? Will you take the bullets then or will you be hiding like a coward in the trees?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I cried, confused by what he was saying. ‘What men? What bullets?’
‘You’d step in front of one for the girl, wouldn’t you?’
‘What girl?’
‘You know what girl, Georgy,’ he said, his hand flat against my abdomen now, and I waited for the knife to appear, for him to press it into my gut and twist it to kill me. He knew; that much was obvious. He had discovered the truth about Anastasia and me and had been sent to kill me for my indiscretion. I wasn’t going to deny it. I already loved her and if that was to be my doom, then so be it. I closed my eyes, waiting for my flesh to be pierced and the blood to spill from the cavity, drowning my bare feet with its glutinous warmth, but second followed second and minute followed minute and nothing happened, no blade ripped me in two, and when I opened my eyes again, he was gone. It was as if he had just dissolved into the atmosphere, leaving no trace of his presence behind.
Perspiring, trembling with fear, I collapsed on to the floor and buried my head in my hands. The starets knew everything, of course he did. But who would he tell? And when they found out, what would become of me then?
The lady who was in charge of all domestic staff in the Winter Palace was the Duchess Rajisa Afonovna, and she had been surprisingly friendly to me since our first meeting, the day after my arrival in the city. Our paths crossed from time to time in the family quarters as she was an intimate of the Tsaritsa’s, and when they did, she always greeted me cordially and stopped to converse, which many of her rank would never deign to do. So it was to her that I went the next morning to enquire on Asya’s behalf for employment.
She maintained a relatively small office on the first floor of the palace. I knocked and waited for her to answer, before poking my head around the door and greeting her.
‘Georgy Daniilovich,’ she said, breaking into a smile and beckoning me to enter. ‘This is a welcome surprise.’
‘Good morning, Your Grace,’ I replied, closing the door behind me and taking a seat where she indicated, next to her on a small sofa. I would have preferred the single armchair a few feet from there, but the chair indicated a position of superiority and I would not have dared. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’
‘You’re not,’ she said, gathering up some papers before her and laying them carefully on a small table. ‘If anything, I welcome the distraction.’
I nodded, surprised again by how pleasantly she treated me, in marked contrast to her friend, the Tsaritsa Alexandra, who took no notice of me at all.
‘How are you anyway?’ she asked. ‘You are settling in well?’
‘Very well, Your Grace,’ I replied, nodding. ‘I believe I am starting to understand my duties.’
‘And your responsibilites too, I hope,’ she said. ‘For you have many of them. You have earned the trust of the Tsarevich, I hear.’
‘Indeed,’ I said, breaking into a fond smile at the mention of Alexei. ‘He keeps me busy, if I may say that.’
‘You may,’ she said, laughing. ‘He’s an energetic boy, that’s certain. He will be a great Tsar one day, all being well.’ I frowned, surprised by her choice of words, and for a moment I thought I saw the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks. ‘A great Tsar, most certainly,’ she said then, correcting herself. ‘But you must find it strange here, do you not?’
‘Strange?’ I asked, uncertain what she meant.
‘Being so far from home. From your family. My own son, Lev, I miss him every day.’
‘He doesn’t live in St Petersburg, then?’
‘Usually, yes,’ she said. ‘But he is …’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘He is a soldier, of course. He is fighting for his country.’
‘Yes,’ I said. It made sense. The Duchess was no more than forty years old; it made sense that she would have a son in the army.
‘He can’t be more than a couple of years older than you, actually,’ she said. ‘You remind me of him, in some ways.’
‘I do?’ I asked.
‘A little. You have his height. And his hair. And his build. Actually,’ she added, laughing a little, ‘you might be brothers.’
‘You must worry about him.’
‘From time to time I get a full night’s sleep,’ she said with a half-smile. ‘But not often.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, sensing that she might be getting upset. ‘I shouldn’t be discussing this with you.’
‘It’s all right,’ she said, shaking her head and smiling. ‘Sometimes I am scared for him, sometimes I am proud. And sometimes I am angry.’
‘Angry?’ I asked, surprised. ‘At what?’
She hesitated and looked away. She looked as if she was struggling to stop herself from saying what she wanted to say. ‘At the direction he takes us in,’ she said quietly, through gritted teeth. ‘At the madness of it all. At his utter incompetence in military matters. He’ll have us all killed before he’s done.’
‘Your son?’ I asked, her sentences making little sense to me.
‘No, not my son, Georgy. He is nothing more than a pawn. But I have said too much. You came to see me. How can I help you?’
I hesitated, unsure whether I should pursue the conversation we had been having, but decided against it. ‘I just wondered about the domestic help,’ I said. ‘Whether you needed another person on the staff.’
‘You’re not thinking of trading the Leib Guard for a set of apron strings, I trust?’
‘No,’ I said, laughing a little. ‘No, it’s my sister, Asya Daniilovna. She has ambitions towards service.’
‘Does she indeed?’ asked the Duchess, appearing interested. ‘She is a girl of good character, I assume?’
‘Irreproachable.’
‘Well, there are always places here for girls of irreproachable character,’ she said, smiling. ‘Is she here in St Petersburg, or back in … I’m sorry, Georgy, I forget where it is you are from?’
‘Kashin,’ I reminded her. ‘The Grand Duchy of Muscovy. And no, she’s not there, she’s already …’ I hesitated and corrected myself. ‘Forgive me,’ I said. ‘Yes, she’s still there. But she would like to leave.’
‘Well, I daresay she could be here in a few days if we send word to her. Write to her, Georgy, by all means. Invite her here and let me know when she arrives. I can most certainly find a position for her.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, standing up, uncertain why I had lied about Asya’s whereabouts. ‘You are too kind to me.’
‘It’s like I said—’ She smiled, picking up her papers once again. ‘You remind me of my son.’
‘I will light a candle for him,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’
I bowed deeply and left the room, standing in the corridor outside for a few moments. A portion of me was delighted that I could return to my sister with such news, that I could be a hero to her once again. Another part of me felt angry that she was entering this new world of mine, a world that I wanted only for myself.
‘You seem confused, Georgy Daniilovich,’ said the starets, Father Gregory, who appeared before me so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that I let out a cry of surprise. ‘Be at peace,’ he urged quietly, reaching a hand out and holding my shoulder, caressing it slightly.
‘I am late for Count Charnetsky,’ I said, trying to pull away from him.
‘An odious man,’ he said, smiling, displaying his yellow teeth. ‘Why go to him? Why not stay with me?’
And what unexpected, impossible-to-understand part of me felt a desire to say Yes, all right? I shrugged him off, however, and walked away without a word.
‘You’ll make the right decision in the end, Georgy,’ he called after me, his voice echoing along the stone walls a
nd reverberating in my head. ‘You will put your own pleasures ahead of the desires of others. That is what makes you human.’
I broke into a run and within a moment the sound of my boots banging along the corridor drowned out what I knew was the truth behind his words.
Throughout the winter and early spring of 1916, I made it my business to ensure that the Tsarevich did not engage in any activities which might result in his receiving an injury; no easy task when confronted with a lively, eleven-year-old boy who saw no reason why he should be refused the same games and exercises that his sisters enjoyed. There were many occasions when he lost his temper with his minders, throwing himself on his bed and beating the pillows with his fists, so upset was he by the manner in which he was protected. Perhaps this frustration was exacerbated by the fact that he came from a family of sisters, and he was the Tsarevich, and yet only they could do the things that he most desired.
In the late winter, the Imperial Family went on a skating expedition together on a frozen lake near Tsarskoe Selo. The Tsar himself and his four daughters, along with the tutor Monsieur Gilliard and Dr Federov, spent the afternoon carving grand designs into the thick ice, while in the safety of the lake’s surround, wrapped in furs and gloves and hats, sat the Tsaritsa with her son.
‘Can’t I just go out there for a few minutes?’ he pleaded as the light started to dim and it became clear that the games would soon come to an end.
‘You know you can’t, my darling,’ replied his mother, smoothing his hair down along his forehead with her hand. ‘If anything should happen—’
‘But nothing will happen,’ he insisted. ‘I promise, I shall take great care.’
‘No, Alexei,’ she said with a sigh.
‘But it’s so unfair,’ he snapped, his cheeks burning with resentment. ‘I don’t see why I should be stuck over here, on this side of the lake, while my sisters are out there, having fun, and are allowed to do anything they want. Look at Tatiana. She’s practically blue with the cold. And yet no one insists that she should step away and warm herself up, do they? Look at Anastasia. She keeps staring over in my direction. It’s obvious that she wants me to join them.’
I was standing to the rear of the royal party and smiled a little to myself as he said this, for I knew that it was not her brother who Anastasia was looking towards, but myself. It was a continuing source of astonishment to me that we had managed to maintain the secrecy of our love affair over the course of almost a year. Of course, there was a great innocence to it all. We arranged clandestine meetings, wrote private notes to each other in a code of our own design, and when we saw to it that we could be alone together, we held hands and kissed and told each other our love would last for ever. We were wrapped up in each other and terrified that someone might learn of our romance, for discovery would mean certain separation.
‘You make all these demands, Alexei,’ said the Tsaritsa with an exhausted sigh as she filled a pewter mug with hot chocolate from a flask. ‘But surely I don’t need to remind you of the agonies you suffer when you have one of your falls.’
‘But I won’t have one of my falls,’ he insisted through gritted teeth. ‘Am I to be treated like this for the rest of my life? Am I to be wrapped in cotton wool and never allowed to be happy?’
‘No, Alexei, of course not. And when you are a man you may do as you wish, but for now it is I who make the decisions and they are in your best interests. Trust me on this.’
‘Father,’ said Alexei, turning to the Tsar now, who had skated alongside Anastasia to the side of the lake, where he was forced to overhear their argument. Their faces were pink with the cold, but they had been laughing and enjoying themselves, despite the freezing temperature. Anastasia smiled at me and I smiled a little in return, careful that my reply should not be noticed. ‘Father, please let me skate for a little bit, won’t you?’
‘Alexei,’ he said, shaking his head in sorrow, ‘we have spoken about this.’
‘But what if I don’t go alone?’ suggested the boy. ‘What if I was to skate with someone on either side of me? Someone to hold my hands and keep me safe?’
The Tsar considered this for a moment. Unlike his wife, he was conscious of the other people who made up our party – the servants, extended family members, princes of noble families – and at such times he was always anxious that his son should not be perceived as a weakling who could not risk the most normal of activities. He was the Tsarevich, after all. It was important that he be seen as strong and masculine if the security of his position was to be maintained. Sensing his father’s hesitation, the boy seized on the weakness immediately.
‘And I’ll only stay out there for ten minutes,’ he continued, pleading his case. ‘Fifteen at most. Maybe twenty. And I’ll go terribly slow. No faster than walking, if you like.’
‘Alexei, you cannot,’ began the Tsaritsa, before she was interrupted by her husband.
‘Do you give me your solemn promise that you will go no faster than a walk? And that you will hold the hands of those who accompany you?’
‘Yes, Father!’ shouted Alexei in delight, jumping off his chair and – to everyone’s shock – almost tripping over his own feet as he reached for a pair of skates. I jumped forward to catch him before he could fall to the ground, but he corrected himself in time and stood there, looking a little embarrassed by his tumble.
‘Nicky, no!’ cried the Tsaritsa immediately, standing up too and looking at her husband angrily. ‘You cannot allow it.’
‘His spirit must have some freedom,’ replied the Tsar, looking away from her, unwilling to catch his wife’s eye. I could tell how much he hated this kind of scene to be played out in front of others. ‘After all, Sunny, you can’t expect him to sit here all afternoon and not feel that he is being cheated.’
‘And if he should fall?’ she asked, her voice already crackling with tears.
‘I won’t fall, Mother,’ said Alexei, kissing her cheek. ‘I promise it.’
‘You nearly fell getting off your chair!’ she cried.
‘That was an accident. There won’t be any more.’
‘Nicky,’ she said again, appealing to her husband, but the Tsar shook his head. He wanted to see his son on the lake, I realized. And regardless of the consequences, he wanted the rest of us to see him there too. Husband and wife stared at each other, their mutual strengths competing in a power struggle. Palace gossip had it that theirs had been a love match when they had married just over two decades before – their union had come about against the inclination of both the Tsar’s father, Alexander III, and his mother, the Dowager Empress Marie Fyodorovna, who resented the Tsaritsa’s Anglo-German ancestry. Throughout all their years together he had never treated her with anything other than adoration, even when daughter after daughter had been conceived and a son had seemed like a distant possibility. It was only in recent years, since Alexei had been diagnosed with haemophilia, that their relationship had begun to disintegrate.
Of course, the other gossip, repeated around the whole country, was that the Tsar had been replaced in Alexandra’s affections and in her bed by the starets, Father Gregory, but whether this was true or a slander I did not know.
‘I’ll take him out, Father,’ said a quiet voice and I looked towards Anastasia, who was smiling that innocent, gentle smile of hers. ‘And I’ll hold his hand all the time.’
‘There, you see?’ said Alexei to his mother. ‘Everyone knows that Anastasia is the best skater of all of us.’
‘Not just you, though,’ replied the Tsaritsa, sensing defeat but wanting to ensure a part for herself in the decision-making. ‘Georgy Daniilovich,’ she said, surprising me by turning around and knowing exactly where to find me, ‘you will accompany my children also. Alexei, you’re to stand between them and hold both their hands, is that understood?’
‘Yes, Mother,’ he said in delight.
‘And if I see you let go even once, then I will call you back and you will not disobey me.’
; The Tsarevich agreed to her terms and finished tying his laces as I made my way to the edge of the lake and swapped my heavy snow boots for the lighter blades of the skating shoes. I caught Anastasia’s eye and she smiled coquettishly at me; what a perfect little plan she had orchestrated. We were set to dance out on the lake together in full view of everyone without raising a single person’s suspicions.
‘You’re a fine skater, Your Highness,’ I declared as the three of us skated slowly towards the centre of the lake, where the other skaters and the Grand Duchesses parted in order to give us room.
‘Why, thank you, Georgy,’ she replied haughtily, as if I was nothing more than a servant to her. ‘You seem surprisingly unsure of yourself on the ice.’
‘Do I?’ I asked, smiling.
‘Yes, have you not skated before?’
‘Many times.’
‘Really?’ she asked in surprise as the three of us circled the circumference together, swishing left and right, keeping in time with each other, picking up the pace every so often until the shouts of the Tsaritsa from the edge forced us to slow down again. ‘I didn’t know you had enough free time to leave the palace for such frivolity. Perhaps your duties are not as onerous as I thought.’
‘Not here, Your Highness,’ I answered quickly. ‘No, I meant back in Kashin, my home village. In the winter when the lakes froze over we would slide across them. Not on skates, of course. We had no money for such luxuries.’
‘I see,’ she said, enjoying the flirtation. ‘You skated alone, I assume?’
‘Not always, no.’
‘With your friends, then? The other slow-witted, thick-bodied boys with whom you were reared?’
‘Not at all, Your Highness,’ I grinned. ‘Families in Kashin, like every other place in the world, are blessed with both daughters and sons. No, I would skate with the girls of my village.’
‘Stop fighting, you two,’ cried Alexei, who was concentrating on staying upright, for in truth, he was not a very good skater at all. He was also too young to recognize that this was no argument, but a continuing flirtation.
