by Jerry Sacher
“Good day, sir. Are you one of my passengers for Petrograd this evening?” the engineer asked him.
“Is there room on board?”
The engineer nodded, and he said, even before Benjamin could ask him what accommodations were available, “There’s a small compartment with a bed in the officers’ coach if you want to make use of it.”
Benjamin paused to think about it, and he had an idea. “I’ll give you an answer in about an hour,” Benjamin informed him.
The engineer checked his pocket watch, and then replied, “I have to get moving as soon as possible, sir, even if schedules don’t mean much these days. Make it as fast as you can.”
Benjamin turned and was on his way back to the station before the engineer could finish his statement. When Benjamin returned to the station, he found the front rooms empty, but he did hear voices from the back of the station, which he followed until he found the doctor, wiping his hands on a towel and giving orders to a nurse and a uniformed orderly. He gave Benjamin only the most cursory look when he saw him. Benjamin waited until he was alone with the doctor before he told him that he had a train available and waiting.
“I’ll accompany Sergei to Petrograd.”
The doctor listened and then threw his towel into a basin. He huffed, adjusted his eyeglasses, and fixed his gaze on Benjamin.
“May I ask why? Are you a relative of his?”
“No, but I am acting on your own words, Doctor. Releasing him will free up a bed for one of the wounded soldiers outside in the cold.”
In silence Benjamin stared at the doctor, who, seeing that Benjamin wouldn’t back down, said to him curtly, “It’s not a matter for either one of us to decide, young man. Since His Majesty the tsar is his commander in chief, it will be up to him to make the choice.”
Benjamin looked back toward Nicholas’s office, and the doctor, sensing what Benjamin had in mind, moved and stood in front of the door.
“His Majesty is quite busy with paperwork and meeting with his fellow officers. I suggest you go back to Petrograd on that train out there. Your business with the tsar is over, is it not?”
“I’m waiting for some papers for King George—”
“Wait in the outer office, and I’ll see to it that His Majesty has your letters ready.” The doctor ushered Benjamin into the outer office and left him by himself.
Benjamin sat in the stiff wicker chair, tapping his foot and waiting, and he let his thoughts wander. He found himself thinking that the wounded soldier lying in the other room was quite handsome. Even in a fevered state, something about him attracted Benjamin. The man reminded him of a picture of Adonis he’d seen in a book, but he shook his head, sadly; this was not a world where such feelings were admitted or even accepted. He knew men who ended up in prison for their feelings. He sighed, and hearing movement, looked toward the door. A couple of minutes passed before the physician and the tsar came into the outer office to join Benjamin.
In the end Benjamin didn’t have to pull any strings to get Sergei moved to Petrograd. The chief military physician advised Nicholas II that the train should be held to move all men with minor wounds and treatable injuries to the capital as soon as possible. Sergei Breselov would be among them.
Over an hour and a half later, with Sergei and the men well enough to travel settled in for the journey to the capital, Benjamin stood on the platform with the physician who was to travel with them to Petrograd. Benjamin thought him a rather handsome chap, with ginger hair curling from under his officer’s cap, and he admired the forceful way the doctor barked orders but softened his tone when he addressed Benjamin.
Chapter 4
IT FELT like hours, but at last the train began to move, and Benjamin lifted the heavy curtain of the sleeping-compartment windows to watch as Nicholas II in his khaki greatcoat and sabre receded in the distance. He had a strange feeling he would never see the tsar again, and he wanted to salute him, but the train picked up speed. He let the curtain fall back and sat in the worn but comfortable armchair to keep watch over Sergei, who lay under several blankets on the narrow brass cot.
They moved farther from Mogilev and from the nearness of the war zone with each passing second. Benjamin was slightly disappointed he had not seen the booming guns and charging soldiers, but instead, just endless rows of the injured and dying, the product of war that would have sent his mother into a swoon. Benjamin recalled what the tsar and Leonid had discussed.
The recent offensive in Bukovina in aid of Serbia had been a miserable failure, with terrible losses for Russia. The supply chain proved weak, even though industry ran full-time war production; the tsar was confident, but Leonid less so. Leonid had confided to Benjamin that the Army’s loyalty to the tsar had waned, but he dared not say so openly. Walking Benjamin to the waiting rail carriage, Leonid had bid him a warm good-bye and given him a promise to look him up in Petrograd when he got leave, perhaps around Easter.
Benjamin thought about Leonid’s parting words, and he felt he might not see Leonid again either.
A soft groan from Sergei roused Benjamin from his reverie, and he stood over Sergei and stroked the curly black hair from his forehead. Relieved to see Sergei open his eyes and look up at him, Benjamin had to lean forward to hear what he tried to say. He was able to catch most of what Sergei whispered.
“How long… how long have I been here…? Water….”
Benjamin poured a glass of water from a carafe and helped Sergei sit up to drink it.
“Spasibo…, angel moy.”
Benjamin felt his face flush; nobody had ever called him an angel before. “It’s nothing. Just put your head down for now,” he said, helping Sergei lean back onto the pillow.
Opening his eyes once again, Sergei asked where they were now, and how long he had been ill.
“You’re on a train heading back to Petrograd, but how long you’ve been sick, I can’t say.”
Sergei thought about it for a second, then raised his hand to wipe his forehead before fixing his gaze on Benjamin. “I remember the battle and being hit, and I remember the train station and being put in bed.”
“Right now, your first concern is to get your strength back. You can tell me more later if you want,” Benjamin said, then sat back in the armchair and continued watching Sergei.
Sergei looked around the narrow compartment. “This doesn’t look anything like the trains I’ve travelled on in the past year or so.”
“That’s because it’s a car reserved for officers, but don’t worry about how it was managed. The first priority is to get you better.”
Benjamin was about to ask Sergei a question when a knock on the door interrupted, and an officer dressed in khaki, with white hair and a bushy mustache, came in. He looked genuinely pleased to see Sergei awake and talking.
“I’m Doctor Vysaltseva.”
He addressed Benjamin and entered the compartment, then walked past Benjamin to the narrow cot where Sergei was lying.
“Good evening, Captain. I’ve come to check your bandages and see how you’re feeling.”
“I feel fine, a little sore, but there’s no real need to fuss.” Sergei tried to sit up, but the doctor pressed him back.
“I’ll be the judge of that, Captain. Now let me take a look at the wound.” The doctor leaned over and removed the gauze bandage to check Sergei’s side. After a couple of minutes, he stood up and addressing Sergei said, “It looks just fine, but I’ll be back shortly to change the dressings, and I’ll see that someone brings food. In the meantime, young man,” he continued, turning to Benjamin, “if you’re hungry, dinner will be served shortly in the dining car in the next car forward.” And then he was gone.
Benjamin stayed until Dr. Vysaltseva returned with his assistant several minutes later, and they ushered Benjamin outside. He lingered by the door for a minute or two, but hunger finally caught up with him, and he followed the narrow corridor of the rocking train to the neighboring car.
The dining car reminded Benja
min of a private dining salon in a posh London restaurant. Snow-white tablecloth, gleaming silver and crystal, potted plants, and in a corner someone had placed a gramophone, which was playing a piece by Tchaikovsky. Seven officers already sat around the long table, and one of them made room for Benjamin at the end. An orderly brought out bread and hot food through a door Benjamin assumed was a pantry or kitchen. While he ate, he noticed several officers scrutinized him closely and then went back to their conversation.
The officer sitting next to him nudged Benjamin and quietly said, “We decided you don’t look like a German spy, so we’re free to speak.”
“I’m British, so your secrets are safe with me,” he said, making a lighthearted attempt at humor that the other men seated at the table frowned upon.
“You can make jest in wartime?” Benjamin’s companion scowled.
“No, but we are both fighting Germany… I apologize….” Benjamin didn’t know what to say after that. His father wouldn’t have made such a mistake. Rather, he would have engaged these officers in talking about their experiences on the front. Benjamin saw by the fatigued looks on their faces that the war had worn them down.
A burly black-haired colonel at the end of the table, seeming wary of Benjamin, changed the subject and avoided any mention of the conditions at the front. The conversation turned to the empress and her monk and the morale in Petrograd and Moscow.
Benjamin sipped his steaming glass of tea and only half listened, because he had heard all of these topics discussed endlessly in every stratum of society. His mind wandered back to the compartment in the next car where Sergei lay, and he wondered whether he should go back. Finally he excused himself from the table and returned to Sergei.
Sergei sat on the cot, finishing a steaming bowl of soup; its delicious aroma filled the tiny compartment. He smiled when Benjamin walked in and shut the door.
“You just missed the doctor. He left a few minutes ago. He might be looking to talk to you about my condition, though you can see for yourself that I’m awake and sitting on the bed.”
Benjamin looked visibly relieved. “I didn’t see him, but he knows to return here if he wants to see me. What did he say about you? How are you feeling?”
“I lost a lot of blood from the wound in my side, but I will recover, praise God,” Sergei said confidently.
Benjamin exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath. He removed the tray from Sergei’s lap and then pulled the chair closer to the bed. A few minutes of awkward silence passed between them, and then finally Sergei spoke.
“Spasibo, my angel. Dr. Vysaltseva told me that you gave up your bed for me.” Sergei’s brown eyes sparkled, a fact not lost on Benjamin.
“It was nothing. I couldn’t let you remain in that run-down railway station. I only wish….”
“What is it you wish?”
“Nothing, just thinking out loud,” Benjamin said to him quietly. Another silence followed, broken only by the clack of the wheels over the tracks and the creaking of the compartment’s woodwork.
Sergei closed his eyes and appeared to sleep, but he seemed to sense Benjamin staring, because his eyes popped open, and he gave Benjamin a shy grin.
“What’s your name?” Sergei finally ventured to ask.
“Benjamin Carter. My father is a British diplomat to the Russian Court.”
“Sergei Breselov, of the Imperial Army.” The two clasped hands and held on, staring into each other’s eyes.
Benjamin struggled to make conversation, so he said the first thing that came into his mind. “I’m surprised your English is so perfect.”
“I was born in a peasant village, but my parents dreamed of bigger things. I learned to read and speak English from a friend in the Army, who had been a translator.”
“Your parents must be proud of you.”
“I wouldn’t know. They’re dead these past three years now.” Sergei paused, seeming to consider his words. “I’m sorry for sounding callous, Benjamin. My parents were good people, who lived a miserable life.” Sergei crossed himself.
“No problem. I can only imagine what life must have been like for you.” Benjamin remembered visiting the country estate of a family friend outside of Moscow. He’d ridden out one morning as the sun rose, and he had stopped for a rest on a hill looking out over a field ripe for harvest. He had watched a line of peasant men, women, and even children armed with scythes, cutting and gathering the grain and singing. When they saw him sitting on the hill, he could feel their stares. They seemed to say to him: “We’re from different worlds, but one day we will rise up.”
“It was a hard life, yes, and being in the Army isn’t very pleasant either.”
“At least your father didn’t send you on a mission, rather than let you join the British Army and your friends in France. I feel like a coward.”
Sergei reached a hand from under the blanket and placed it on top of Benjamin’s. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re a coward.”
Benjamin didn’t know what to say, so he sat and stared at the threadbare pattern on the rug. Finally he looked up into Sergei’s brown eyes. What was it Sergei had called him, not once but twice? My angel. It made Benjamin’s heart glad, and he smiled shyly.
“What is it, my angel?”
“I don’t know, just looking into your eyes suddenly made me—”
Just then Sergei reached out and pulled Benjamin’s face to his. Benjamin wasn’t sure if the explosions he heard came from a distant battlefield or the spark between them. They ceased kissing, broke apart, and looked at each other, smiling. They leaned forward to kiss again, when someone knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” Benjamin called out, almost breathless from the kiss.
“It’s Dr. Vysaltseva. I’ve come to check on the patient.”
Benjamin rose and went to open the door.
As he stepped inside, the doctor seemed genuinely pleased to see Sergei sitting up and smiling. A younger man carrying a tray with a glass of water and a pale green bottle followed the doctor.
“I brought some medicine to help you sleep, but it looks as if you don’t need them.”
While the doctor spoke, Benjamin felt a sudden jolt, and the train slowed and came to a stop, with a faint hiss of escaping steam from the engine. Sergei and Benjamin exchanged looks. Leaving the medicine behind, the doctor beckoned his assistant to follow him.
Through the half-open door, Benjamin saw other men walking through the corridor and heading outside. He grabbed his fur coat and hat from the hook on the back of the door.
“I’ll find out what’s going on and be right back.”
Sergei nodded, and Benjamin headed outside.
It was cold and dark when he opened the door between the two cars. Leaning forward, Benjamin peered around the corner and into the night. Somewhere far ahead of the train, he made out someone holding a lantern aloft, and around him, faint outlines of other figures moving about, some on horseback.
A tall man in an officer’s uniform walked back toward the train, and Benjamin stepped in front of him.
“What’s going on out there? Why have we stopped?”
“Troops on the tracks ahead. They have artillery.”
Benjamin continued toward the rear of the train and encountered other men, but when they saw he was a civilian, they shrugged and told him they didn’t know what the soldiers on the tracks wanted.
When Benjamin returned to Sergei and relayed what the officer had told him, Sergei threw back the blankets and asked Benjamin to find him a uniform.
“You’re still not well. You can’t go outside.”
“I’m fine. The doctor says it’s only a flesh wound, and I lost some blood. I’ll live, believe me!” Sergei let his hand graze Benjamin’s arm; he lingered, but then quickly drew away.
Benjamin wasn’t convinced, but he went out and tipped a servant a few kopecks to find some officer’s clothing and bring it to Sergei. As Sergei shed the bedclothes, Benjamin sa
vored the image of him, naked and without embarrassment, putting on the officer’s uniform, which fit perfectly. A few minutes later, Sergei put on the cap and threw a khaki overcoat over his muscular body. Sergei’s brown eyes shone brightly from under the brim of the cap. He cautioned Benjamin to wait in the compartment until he returned.
WHEN SERGEI stepped onto the platform, a blast of cold wind hit him and snowflakes stung his face. On the ground, the snow was soft under his boots. Turning to the left, he saw the outline of a man swinging a lantern, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the night, he noticed men on horseback and the barrel of a cannon silhouetted against the stars and the light snowfall. Sergei spotted two men standing outside the platform of the next car, so he went over to them.
One of the men was smoking, and he scowled when he saw Sergei, then dropped the cigarette and stomped on it.
“What’s the trouble out there?”
The man stared at Sergei as though he was insane, but Sergei explained he had been asleep.
“Oh, we’re surrounded by renegade soldiers, and they want to stop this train from reaching the capital.”
“What are we doing to defend ourselves—we must have arms on board?”
“It appears we’re outnumbered, and they have artillery pointed right at us through the trees.” The officer sighed resignedly.
“Why haven’t they acted quicker?” Sergei felt it might have been an absurd question, but usually bandits, soldiers, or whoever they were, swooped down out of nowhere, took what they wanted, and disappeared. Why were they taking their time?
“Maybe they’re just as disorganized as the rest of us,” one of the men answered before spitting over the side. Sergei had spoken too soon. Out of the darkness, dozens of men on horseback, some armed, had reached the first car. Their cries and the sound of gunfire pierced the air. Sergei climbed back onto the train and hurried down the narrow corridor to the compartment where Benjamin waited.
