by Jerry Sacher
“An Army captain named Sergei Breselov.”
“He stays here with a friend, but he’s not here now, and I have no idea when he’ll be back, poor fellow.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Poor chap left the Army along with so many others. His friend brings him to his revolutionary meetings, and he’s missing someone he cares about… hard times—for Sergei and for Russia. Hard times… hard times.” The older man rubbed his palms together.
“Can I leave him a note?”
“I’m sorry, but I have no more paper.”
Benjamin reached into his pocket for a notepad and pencil. He scribbled a hurried note to Sergei and handed it over to the man along with a ruble.
“Thank you, sir, thank you.” He promised Benjamin that he would deliver the note, and he walked Benjamin to the door.
Benjamin returned to his hotel and spent the rest of the day reading in a lounge and staring out the window. He saw a lot more soldiers from the window than usual. Of course, he’d seen many of them arrive last night.
“What do you suppose they are all doing here in Petrograd? There isn’t a battlefield within a thousand miles,” someone asked from Benjamin’s left.
It was the officer with the red hair and moustache he had seen on the ship on the way to Russia.
“Maybe they’re here to help the revolution.”
“Oh yes, the revolution. I wonder what his majesty the tsar thinks about all of this?”
Benjamin didn’t respond right away. He had other things on his mind beside political discussions. He’d never had a mind for politics like his father, but the officer was prodding him for an answer. “It must be devastating for him, I imagine,” Benjamin offered.
“Let’s hope that he returns to take control of the situation,” the officer said, and Benjamin could hear the hope in his voice.
“I hope you’re right, but I can’t help but think that this provisional government may be calling for him to abdicate, at least that’s what I have read in the papers.” Benjamin didn’t volunteer to tell the officer that his father was a government official and had told him it would happen, it was just a matter of when.
SERGEI LOOKED at events with mixed emotions. He didn’t believe in socialism, even though Petr had tried to indoctrinate him by giving him books and bringing him to meetings. He would always look at Petr and argue, “It’s an idea that works on paper—common ownership of industry, government, and property—but there will still be a lucky few who will have everything, and the rest will have to settle for the table scraps.”
When they returned to the room this time, Sergei asked, “Can you imagine that our relationship would be accepted in your new world, Petr?”
Petr’s jaw dropped, and for the first time Sergei noticed a vein standing out on his thick neck.
“What relationship do we have? I don’t remember if we’ve had this conversation before. We share a room in this dump, an occasional bottle of vodka, and I take you to meetings and introduce you to important comrades.” Petr’s voice rose an octave or two.
“What about the sex? I suppose you don’t remember that?” Sergei watched Petr’s face closely, and saw his jaw clench before he responded.
“That was always the vodka talking. And what’s a little affection between friends? I don’t feel anything for you… not like that!”
“You mean I have wasted my time on you.” Sergei raised his voice now.
As Petr stood across from him, feet apart and hands on hips, he looked as though he struggled to form the words of his next thought. Silence followed, and then Petr finally spoke.
“I gave you friendship when you were wandering Petrograd like a lost dog, and I let you stay here with me, because otherwise you’d be homeless, Comrade…. Bah, you’ll never make a revolutionary, so I’m done with you.”
“I do have places to go. I could return to the Army if I wish, or I could leave the country and go to England or even America.”
Sergei stood, towering over Petr, who had a wide grin on his face.
“Oh, yes, go to your noble friend from England. I think you’re a little too attached to him, so I’ve had several of my comrades, former soldiers of the Imperial Army, go to his house. It was a fortunate thing for him that his family left Russia, or they would have taken him.”
Petr chuckled, and Sergei had to restrain himself from punching him in the jaw. He took a menacing step toward Petr, who stayed where he was. “You bastard! If you do anything to hurt him….” Sergei clenched his hands into tight fists.
“What are you going to do? You want to hit me, Comrade Breselov?”
“I would like nothing more than to knock you flat, but I don’t think you’re worth it,” Sergei replied sharply. He caught the punch Petr threw before it hit him in the stomach, then swung and sent Petr sprawling backward against the wall.
Petr recovered himself and rushed at Sergei, but once again Sergei got the better of him and hit Petr. Then Petr managed to punch Sergei in the jaw and sent him back onto the bed. While Sergei was momentarily stunned, Petr leapt on him, and the fight continued on the bed. A loud crash sounded as the slats supporting the mattress cracked and spilled them onto the floor.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs and then on the thin door, which was kicked in by a trio of policemen. Rough hands pulled Petr and Sergei apart, both gasping for breath.
Sergei struggled to keep one of the policemen from putting iron restraints on his wrists, but finally his strength gave out, and the policeman succeeded at last. Then came the rough shoves on the stairs, and the cold snow-covered bed of a truck that was waiting outside in the street.
SERGEI STARED down at the tin trays of black bread and tea that a guard slid through the bars of the cell he shared with four other men. He really wasn’t hungry, but the guard moved on to the next cell before he could tell him to take his share away. The bedsprings groaned when he sat back down and leaned against the cold brick wall. He hadn’t seen Petr since the police brought them to jail earlier in the morning, and the more he had time to think about it, the more he knew he didn’t care to see Petr again.
Being locked up in this tiny cell had given him plenty of opportunity to think about a lot of things. Would he ever see Benjamin again and have the chance to tell him he loved him, and that he was sorry for letting him slip away? It wasn’t his imagination that he had seen him twice in Petrograd and been prevented from reaching him.
Sergei lay back on the bed, with his hands behind his head. The light from the tiny window above his head grew dim, and since the meager dinner of thin cabbage soup and bread, which he barely touched, and which was eaten by his cellmates, he hadn’t seen or heard from anyone in authority since they’d questioned him after bringing him in. Gradually the tiny cell grew dark, and Sergei closed his eyes and tried to imagine Benjamin somewhere beyond the prison walls.
Wherever he was, Sergei was happy Benjamin and his family weren’t at home when Petr’s friends had showed up to search the house. He shuddered to think what might have happened if they had been. He’d heard stories of what the Bolsheviks were doing to the upper classes—homes and property destroyed, prison, and even worse, some were killed. For the good of the revolution, they said.
“Where will all of these troubles end?” Sergei whispered to the dark.
Almost as if someone listened, keys jangled, and then one turned in the lock. Sergei shielded his eyes from the harsh light shining in them. The light was blocked by a thick shadow, and then someone spoke in a grumbling voice. “Comrade, wake up and get out of here. You’re free!”
Sergei could hardly believe his ears, and the guard stepped forward, grabbed Sergei’s sleeve, and forced him into the gray stone corridor.
“Thanks, Comrade,” Sergei managed to stammer out.
The guard didn’t listen as he walked ahead of Sergei. Five minutes later, the door to the prison slammed shut behind him.
Sergei knew he couldn’t return to the hotel, so he mad
e his way to the only place in Petrograd where he could find refuge—the former Carter mansion, which he knew to be empty.
Chapter 15
February 27, 1917
BENJAMIN ROSE and dressed well before dawn. While buttoning his coat, he let his eyes rest on the telegram he had received from the War Department in London. Last evening he had just walked into the hotel lobby from the street, when an old man in an ill-fitting bellhop uniform approached him carrying a small silver tray bearing a telegram.
“Captain Carter?” he inquired in a formal voice.
“I am. What is it?”
“A telegram for you, sir.” Benjamin thanked him, and waited until he was in his room before he tore it open. While he finished dressing, he saw it still sitting on the table among his books.
“Captain Benjamin Carter, RAMC. You are ordered to report to the training camp in Aldershot, Hampshire, to undergo training course 181-5C. Advise us of your departure and arrival dates.”
Benjamin viewed the news with a mixture of excitement and melancholy. Training course 181-5C meant a promotion and a chance of further medical training. However, he’d have to leave Petrograd soon.
Benjamin knew he only had a few days to find Sergei before he had to be aboard the Dreadnought bound for England, and then from there, back to the front. He finished dressing and left the hotel.
After a long day replying to London and arranging his return travel, the sun was just starting to set when Benjamin crossed the park and stood in front of his parents’ former home. He hoped to retrieve some books and clothing he had left behind. The hinges groaned when he pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the wide hallway. He approached the stairs—marked with many sets of muddy boot prints—which led to the darkened upper floors. He tried the lights and found the power cut. He found matches and a candle in his father’s study to light his way.
Benjamin found his books and was preparing to leave the library, when a sudden blast of cold air hit him in the back of neck and made the candle flicker. He shielded it from going out and turned around. A bitter, cold wind lifted the heavy drapes, and he noticed that the window behind it had been broken and glass littered the polished wood floor. In the center of it all was a large stone, probably thrown by one of the Bolsheviks seeking vengeance on the upper classes. He took the things he wanted, then retreated into the hall and slammed the door shut behind him.
SERGEI OPENED his eyes and sat up in the bed. There was no mistaking the sound of a slamming door somewhere in the house. He threw the blankets aside and, as quietly as he could, he dressed in everything except his boots; those he carried. He eased the bedroom door open and stood in the hallway, listening. He remembered what Petr had told him about the workers dressed as soldiers. Could they be back, looking for Benjamin? He reached into his pocket and felt for his gun.
Sergei crept to the top of the stairs and strained to listen. Someone moved about downstairs, but only one person, judging by the footsteps, which stopped. Someone called out, “Hello, is anybody there?”
The faint voice echoed up the stairs. Sergei didn’t recognize it. The person called again and then mounted the stairs.
As the stranger climbed to the third floor, Sergei pressed himself against a wall on the opposite side landing. He inhaled, and held his breath as he saw the flickering light of a candle held high in a hand attached to a khaki uniform—a soldier? Then he saw an officer’s cap and the dark outline of a head. It was still too dim to make out the face yet.
Sergei flattened himself tighter against the wall. He was sure he could hear his own heartbeat as the soldier now stood at the top of the stairs, moving slowly around. He saw the man point his gun, then lower his pistol and begin to turn. The face of the soldier looked halfway toward him, and in the wavering candlelight, he recognized the profile and the laugh at once. He stepped forward.
“Benjamin, my angel.” Sergei took several long strides toward him.
BENJAMIN THOUGHT he only imagined the welcome sound of Sergei’s voice, but he wasn’t mistaken. It was his Sergei, who took Benjamin into his arms and kissed him. Benjamin responded with a kiss of his own. They were breathless when at last they came up for air. Sergei beamed as he held Benjamin’s face in his hands.
“Sergei, I can’t find the words to express what I feel right now….”
“Then don’t say anything, my angel. It’s enough that right now I’ve found you.”
“What are you doing here? My parents have returned to England.”
Sergei smiled at Benjamin and explained what had happened. “So you see, I couldn’t go back to that hotel or Petr. Your parents’ home was the first place I thought of to go.”
“I’m glad you felt enough at home to come here. I’ve been staying at the Hotel Europe since my parents left for England, and I only came back to get some books I’d left behind.”
Benjamin was going to mention the soldiers he saw around the house the other night, but he had no time to ask, because Sergei pulled him close for another kiss, which he willingly accepted. Benjamin reached down, took one of Sergei’s hands, and led him down the darkened hallway to his bedroom. He guided Sergei inside by the light of the candle, which was burning lower in his hand. He used the flame to light another taper that stood in a silver holder on a table.
Benjamin led Sergei to the bed and positioned him so he was seated on the edge. In the quiet room, the mattress springs groaned as Sergei lay on his back and pulled Benjamin down with him. He whispered in Benjamin’s ear, his mustache tickling and making Benjamin laugh. He sought Benjamin’s mouth for a kiss as he unbuttoned the brass buttons on Benjamin’s overcoat, then slid the coat off Benjamin’s shoulders and threw it on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Benjamin followed Sergei’s lead and removed Sergei’s coat, then fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.
The room was cold and dark, so Benjamin lit a fire, then pulled the blankets off the bed and spread them out on the floor in front of the mantle. He retrieved a small tube of lotion from a drawer, and then he sat down and stretched out his hands toward the fire. He felt movement as Sergei came and sat close to him.
“I have so much to say, but now that you’re here, the words escape me. I can’t stop shivering,” Benjamin said.
“It is cold in here.” Sergei smiled at him, watching Benjamin’s face by the light of the crackling flames. “There are lots of things I’ve wanted to say as well. Your mother told me you were coming to Petrograd on leave, but who knew that the revolution would begin so soon.”
“The whole world has gone to bloody hell, hasn’t it?” Benjamin felt Sergei move his arm around his shoulder and pull him close.
“It has, but what does that matter now that we’re together at last?”
Benjamin thought about the telegram ordering him to training, and it saddened him, but now that Sergei was here, they would have to squeeze as much happiness as possible into the time left.
Sergei seemed to notice his frown. “What’s wrong, angel moy?”
“Nothing, Sergei, nothing at all.” Benjamin kissed him again. In the flickering light of the fire, they fumbled with buttons and laces and threw their clothing in a heap among the blankets.
They explored each other’s naked bodies, guiding their hands slowly downward. Benjamin felt Sergei stiffen, and Sergei groaned and reached out to grasp Benjamin and move his hand in rhythm with Benjamin’s. Sergei rolled over on his back and pulled him on top, and Benjamin kissed his chest, moved downward with his lips, and took his length, preparing Sergei to make love to him.
It was Sergei’s turn to move and pull Benjamin over, kissing the back of his neck. They didn’t speak a word, and Benjamin only moaned in pleasure when he felt Sergei enter him, slowly at first, and then Sergei began to thrust, taking his cue from Benjamin. Between kisses, Benjamin could hear Sergei breathing heavily as he came close to exploding, his movements more confident until finally he groaned and released.
Sergei held Benjamin in h
is arms and whispered softly, “My angel, my Benjamin.” He leaned down and kissed Benjamin once again. They lay next to each other, breathless and warm, even without the heavy blankets, which were crumpled on the floor on top of their clothes.
Sergei finished dressing while Benjamin went down to the kitchen to find food. A few minutes later he returned to the dressing room where he found Sergei tying his bootlaces.
“The servants took whatever food was left. They even made off with the contents of the wine cellar.”
“What are you grinning at, Sergei?”
“I’m thinking that this looks familiar….”
“The country house, and the soldiers? I shan’t ever forget that.” Benjamin was going to mention that the appearance of the deserters had spoiled their first opportunity to make love, but thought about it, and then he turned and asked Sergei, “Speaking of soldiers, do you think the men who were here the other day will make an appearance again?”
“I don’t believe they will. They have no reason to come back anymore.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“Trust me—you can’t eat a clock or silver candlesticks. Come and sit next to me.”
Sergei pulled Benjamin down next to him and kissed him, a kiss, which was returned and held until Benjamin felt breathless. Benjamin backed off slightly and said between breaths, “Things can be stolen and used for food—”
Sergei stifled his protests with another kiss.
Occasionally, he would look at Benjamin and smile, so Benjamin finally asked him, “What is it? You look as if something is on your mind.”
“Perhaps, my angel, it’s because this is all so new to me. I’ve never felt like this before, not for anyone. I’ve been on the battlefields since fourteen, and in the middle of riots here on the streets of Petrograd, but this feeling scares me, Benjamin.”
It was Benjamin’s turn now, and he reached his hand across the space, and his fingers just touched Sergei’s. He thought for a second, because he wanted to choose his words wisely.
