by John Boyne
It saddened me that I could not provide a more elaborate wedding day for my bride, but it was all that we could do to remain on the right side of poverty. Our jobs did not pay very much money, enough to cover our rent and to feed ourselves, that was all. Zoya ensured that we both saved a few francs every week in case an emergency presented itself and we were forced to flee Paris, but still we could afford very little in the way of luxury. Between them, Zoya and Sophie made her wedding gown in the dressmaker’s shop after trade ended each day; Leo and I wore our best shirts and trousers. On the day, I thought we had put together a charming display, despite our limited means.
Father Rakhletsky had not met Zoya before the ceremony, and when she entered the living room on my arm that evening her face was covered by a simple veil that masked her beauty and charm. He beamed happily at us, as if we were his children, or a favoured nephew and niece, and his joy at performing one more wedding in his life was easy to see. Sophie and Leo stood on either side of us, delighted to be part of this unusual experience. I believe it struck them as terribly modern and unconventional to be getting married in such a way and in such a place. Romantic too, perhaps.
We exchanged simple rings and then I took Zoya’s left hand in my right as we accepted lighted candles in our free hands, holding them aloft while the priest recited the incantations over our heads. When he gave the signal, Sophie and Leo reached across to the tables on either side of them and took the small, simple crowns which Zoya had created from a combination of foil and felt, and placed them simultaneously atop our heads.
‘The servants of God, Georgy Daniilovich Jachmenev and Zoya Fedorovna Danichenko,’ sang the priest, holding his hands a few inches above our heads, ‘are crowned in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’ I felt a great happiness enter my body when he spoke those words and clutched Zoya’s hand in my own; I could scarcely believe that our lives were finally being joined together.
After this, the Gospel was read and we drank from the common cup, promising to share everything in our lives from that moment on, our joys as well as our sorrows, our triumphs alongside our burdens. When we had completed our pledges, Father Rakhletsky led us around the table, upon which was placed the Gospel and the cross, to symbolize the word of God and our redemption. We walked together in a circle for the first time as a married couple and then stood before the priest once again while he recited the final blessing, imploring me to be magnified as Abraham, to be blessed as Isaac, to multiply as Jacob had, to walk in peace and work in righteousness, then beseeching Zoya to be magnified as Sarah, glad as Rebecca, to multiply as Rachel had, to rejoice in her new husband and to fulfil the conditions of the law, for so it is well pleasing unto God.
And with that, the ceremony ended and our married life began.
Sophie and Leo burst into spontaneous applause, and Father Rakhletsky appeared surprised by their informality but not disturbed by it. He congratulated us both, shaking my hand heartily and reaching forward to offer my bride a kiss just as she lifted her veil.
He stopped at that moment, pulled short and reeled back, a sudden and unexpected movement which made me think that he had suffered some sort of seizure or heart attack. He muttered a phrase under his breath – I did not hear it – and hesitated for so long that Sophie, Leo and I could only stare at him as if he had gone entirely mad. His eyes were locked with Zoya’s and, rather than looking away in confusion or embarrassment, she held his gaze, lifting her chin and offering him not her cheek to kiss, but her hand. A moment later, he returned to the present, took the hand hastily, kissed it, and backed away from us both without ever actually turning his back on us. His face betrayed his confusion, his astonishment and his utter disbelief.
Despite having promised to stay and dine with us after the ceremony, he gathered his belongings quickly and left, with only a few final words for Zoya, offered in the privacy of the hallway outside the flat.
‘What a curious man,’ said Sophie as we ate in some style an hour later, washing the food down with an extraordinarily good bottle of wine which our friends had provided.
‘I think it must have been a long time since he had seen anyone quite so beautiful as your Russian bride,’ said Leo, at his most charming and flirtatious, his neck-tie undone and hanging loosely around his open collar. ‘He looked at you, Zoya, as if he was sorry that he hadn’t married you himself.’
‘I thought he looked like he had seen a ghost,’ added Sophie.
I turned to my wife and she caught my eye for a moment before shaking her head slightly and returning to the conversation. I could not wait until we were alone, but not for the reason that you might imagine. I wanted to know what had been said between the priest and Zoya in the hallway before he left.
Leo and Sophie’s second gift to us was the use of their flat as a honeymoon residence, three nights of togetherness while they relocated to mine and Zoya’s former rooms for the duration of our stay. It was thoughtful of them, for we were to move into our own flat shortly, but it was not due to be ready until the middle of that week and of course we did not wish to be separated from each other so soon after our marriage.
‘He knew you,’ I said to Zoya after Leo and Sophie left us that evening.
‘He knew me,’ she replied, nodding her head.
‘Will he speak of it?’
‘To no one,’ she said. ‘I am sure of it. He is a loyalist, a true believer.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘I did.’
I nodded, having no choice but to rely on her judgement. It was a curious moment of panic and had not gone unnoticed by any of us, but it was over now, we were a married couple. I took Zoya by the hand and led her to the bedroom.
Afterwards, wrapping my body around hers as we attempted to sleep, unaccustomed to the warmth and slickness of two naked forms entwined in rough blankets, I closed my eyes and ran my fingers along her legs, her perfect spine, the length of her body, saying nothing, ignoring the way she wept in my arms, trying to control her own shaking as she considered the day and the wedding and the memories of those who had not been present to help us celebrate.
The Ipatiev House
UP CLOSE, the Ipatiev house did not seem particularly intimidating.
I stared at it from my hiding place, a few feet into the tightly packed woodland that bordered the merchant’s home, and tried to imagine what was taking place within its walls. A cluster of larch trees provided a convenient place for me to observe the house while remaining hidden from view; their overhanging branches and dense forestation offered some protection from the cold, although I regretted not being in possession of a heavier coat or the thick woollen gloves given to me by Count Charnetsky on my first days in St Petersburg. Before me was a small, grassy area where I could lie down and rest when my legs became too weary, and, further along again, several feet of thick hedgerow which led to a gravel driveway that ran parallel to the front of the house.
Somewhere over there, I told myself, the Imperial Family were gathered as prisoners of the Bolshevik government; somewhere over there was Anastasia.
A dozen soldiers came and went throughout the afternoon, leaning against the walls as they smoked and talked and laughed in friendly groups. A football, of all things, appeared for half an hour and they stripped to their shirtsleeves and tried to score goals against each other, the gate acting as one set of posts, the opposite wall as another. Almost all of them were young men in their mid-twenties, although the soldier in charge, who appeared from time to time to spoil their game, was a man in his fifties, of small, muscular stature, with narrow eyes and an aggressive demeanour. They were Bolsheviks, of course; their uniforms attested to that. But they went about their duties in a casual manner, as if the exalted status of their prisoners was a fact to which they were deliberately indifferent. Times had changed considerably since the abdication of the Tsar. Over the course of my eighteen-month odyssey from the railway carriage in Pskov to the house of special purpos
e in Yekaterinburg, I had grown to realize that people no longer treated the Imperial Family with the respect and deference that had always been their due. If anything, people competed with each other to offer the most obscene insult, publicly condemning the man they once considered to have been appointed to his throne by God. Of course, none of them had ever come face to face with the Tsar; if they had, they might have felt differently towards him.
What surprised me most, however, was the utter lack of security. Once or twice I stepped away from my hiding place and wandered along the road, passing by the open gates, taking care not to make eye-contact with anyone and receiving only the most disinterested of glances from the soldiers standing in the driveway. To them I was just a boy, an impoverished moujik, not worth wasting their time on. The gates remained open throughout the day; a car came and went on a number of occasions. The front door was never closed, and through the wide windows of a ground-floor parlour I could see the guards when they gathered together for meals; given such lax protection, I wondered why the family didn’t simply come downstairs and flee into the village beyond. Late in the afternoon of my first day’s vigil my eyes were cast towards one of the upstairs windows when a figure appeared suddenly to close the curtains and I knew immediately that the shadow belonged to none other than the Tsaritsa herself, the Empress Alexandra Fedorovna. And despite our often combative relationship, my heart leapt when I saw her because it was proof, if proof were needed, that my journey had been successful and I had found them at last.
As night fell, I was preparing to return to the village to find a warmer place to sleep when a small dog came charging from the front door and I could hear raised voices – a girl’s and a man’s – arguing in the hidden darkness behind the oak frame. A moment later the girl stepped out on to the driveway, looking left and right with an irritated expression on her face, and I recognized her immediately as Marie, the third of the Tsar’s four daughters. She was calling out for the Tsaritsa’s terrier, which by now had left the grounds, run across the road and was safely ensconced in my arms.
She walked quickly down the driveway, calling the dog’s name repeatedly, causing the pup to bark back at her in reply; when he did so she looked in the direction of the woods, hesitating for only a moment before crossing the road and walking directly towards me.
‘Where are you, Eira?’ she shouted, coming closer and closer until she was only a few feet away from me in the darkness of the forest. Her tone grew more nervous now as she sensed that she was not alone. ‘Are you in here?’ she asked tentatively.
‘Yes,’ I said, reaching forward and grabbing her by the arm, pulling her quickly into the bushes where she fell directly on top of me. She was too startled to scream, and before she could recover her voice I pressed my hand across her mouth, holding her tightly as she struggled in my arms. The dog fell to the ground and stood barking at us both, but when I turned to glare at him he stopped immediately and pawed the ground, whimpering in dismay. Marie’s head turned a little, her eyes opening wide when she saw her captor, and I could feel her body relax as she recognized me. I told her to stop struggling, not to scream, and that if she promised to do so I would remove my hand. She nodded quickly and I released her.
‘I beg your pardon, Your Highness,’ I said quickly, offering a deep bow as she stepped back so that she would know I meant her no harm. ‘I pray that I didn’t hurt you. I couldn’t risk you screaming and alerting the guards, that’s all.’
‘You didn’t hurt me,’ she said, turning to the dog and whistling at him to stop him from whining. ‘You surprised me, that’s all. But I’m not sure I can believe who I’m looking at. Georgy Daniilovich, is it really you?’
‘Yes,’ I said, smiling at her, delighted to be in her company once again. ‘Yes, Your Highness, it’s me.’
‘But what are you doing here? How long have you been hiding in these trees?’
‘It would take too long to explain,’ I said, glancing quickly back towards the house to make sure that no one was looking for her yet. ‘It’s good to see you again, Marie,’ I added, unsure whether this was too intimate a remark but meaning it from the depths of my heart. ‘I’ve been searching for your family for … well, for a long time now.’
‘It’s good to see you too, Georgy,’ she said, smiling, and I thought I could see tears forming in her eyes. She had grown thin since I had seen her last; her cheap dress was too big for her and hung off her frame in a shapeless fashion. And even in the shadows of the woods I could easily make out the dark circles under her eyes that indicated a lack of sleep. ‘You’re like a wonderful vision from the past, and sometimes I’ve felt that those days were just a trick of my imagination. But here you are. You found us.’ Her emotion was evident and without warning she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me to her, a gesture of friendship, nothing more, but one I appreciated greatly.
‘Are you well?’ I asked, pulling away from her at last and smiling as widely as she was, moved by the warmth of our reunion. ‘Is anyone hurt? How is your family?’
‘You mean how is my sister?’ she asked, smiling. ‘How is Anastasia?’
‘Yes,’ I said, blushing slightly, surprised that she could read me so easily. ‘So you know, then?’
‘Oh yes, she told me a long time ago now. But don’t worry, I haven’t spoken about it to anyone. After what happened to Sergei Stasyovich …’ She looked up quickly and her eyes darted back and forth in the darkness. ‘He’s not here too, is he?’ she asked, her tone filling with excitement and hope. ‘Oh, please tell me you’ve brought him with you—’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, interrupting her. ‘I haven’t seen him. Not since the day he left St Petersburg.’
‘The day he was sent away, you mean.’
‘Yes, since then. He hasn’t written to you?’
‘If he has, his letters have been denied to me,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I pray every day that he is well and that he will find me. I imagine that he is searching, too. But I can’t believe you’re here, my dear old friend. Only … now that you are here, what is it you want?’
‘I want to see Anastasia,’ I said. ‘I want to do what I can to help your family.’
‘There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.’
‘But I don’t understand, Your Highness. You just walked out of there a few moments ago. The soldiers didn’t come after you. Do they even care if you stay?’
‘I told them I was looking for my mother’s dog.’
‘And they didn’t mind? They just allow you to leave?’
‘Why wouldn’t they?’ she asked. ‘Where could I go, after all? Where could any of us go? My family is all inside. Mother and Father are upstairs. They know I will be back. They give us as much freedom as we want, except the freedom to leave Russia, of course.’
‘That will happen soon,’ I said. ‘I’m sure of it.’
‘Yes, I think so too. Father says we will go to England. He writes to Cousin Georgie almost every day to tell him of our plight, but there has been no reply. We don’t know whether the letters are even being despatched. You haven’t heard anything of this, I suppose?’
‘Nothing at all,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Only that the Bolsheviks are waiting for the right moment to get your family out of the country. They don’t want you here, that’s for sure. But I think they intend to wait until it is safe for you to leave.’
‘I wish that would be soon,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be a Grand Duchess any more, my father doesn’t want to be Tsar. We don’t care for any of that. They’re just words, after all. All we want is to leave and have our freedom restored to us.’
‘That day will come, Marie,’ I said. ‘I am sure of it. But please, you must tell me, when can I see Anastasia?’
She looked back towards the house, where one of the soldiers had stepped outside and was looking around, yawning in the night air. We stayed silent as he stood there, lit a cigarette, smoked it and then returned indoors.
‘I’ll tell her you’re here,’ she said. ‘We share a room still. We will talk of it all night, I promise you that. You’re not leaving soon, are you?’
‘I’ll never leave,’ I told her. ‘Not without your family.’
‘Thank you, Georgy,’ she said, smiling and looking down at the ground for a moment, staring at Eira, who was watching us silently now. ‘But look, there’s a group of cedar trees opposite,’ she said, pointing away from the house into the darkness of the path. ‘Go down there and wait. I’ll go back indoors and tell Anastasia where you are. It might be only a few minutes before she joins you or it might be hours before she can leave, but wait for her and I promise you that she will come.’
‘I’ll wait all night if I have to,’ I said.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘She will be so happy to see you. And now I’d better go back before they come looking for me. Wait for her by the cedar trees, Georgy. She’ll be out before long.’
I nodded and she picked up the Tsaritsa’s dog and ran across the road, looking back only for a moment as she went indoors again. I waited until I was sure that no one was watching, then stood up, brushed the dirt from my clothes and walked quickly along the path in the direction she had indicated, my heart beating faster in the hope of seeing Anastasia again.
*
When I awoke, it was already daylight. I opened my eyes and looked up at the glimpses of pale-blue sky which could be seen between the branches of the trees overhead, and for a moment I was at a loss as to where I was. An instant later the events of the previous evening came flooding back and I sat up, startled, immediately tormented by a great pain along the base of my spine, brought on no doubt by the uncomfortable position in which I had been sleeping.
I had waited for Anastasia by the cedar trees for hours, but had finally succumbed to sleep. At first I worried that I might have missed her entirely, but quickly shrugged off this concern, for if she had been able to leave the house then she would no doubt have discovered me in my hiding place and woken me up. I stood up and paced back and forth for a few minutes, trying to ease my pain by massaging my lower back with my hand; I immediately felt pangs of hunger in my stomach, for I had not eaten in more than a day.
