Noble's Savior

by Jerry Sacher

  “Very well, just give us one more minute, please,” Benjamin pleaded. He turned to face Sergei, and they shook hands.

  “Well, Benjamin, my angel, good-bye, and God be with you.”

  “Good-bye, Sergei. I’ll write to you.”

  Sergei said something, but his voice was lost in the blast of the ship’s horn. They shared a lingering glance, and Benjamin hurried up the plank.

  Sergei moved aside for the men whose job it was to remove the gangplank and release the moorings, and he stood beside a coil of rope where he had a view of Benjamin standing by the railing and looking down toward him. He saw Benjamin’s lips moving, but the ship’s horn gave out another sharp blast, and slowly the space between the dock and the ship widened.

  A part of Sergei regretted not following Benjamin up that gangplank, but he had to let him go, because he loved him, and because he still felt loyal to Mother Russia. That was all Sergei could feel at the moment, watching Benjamin’s figure on the deck growing smaller, and hot tears stung his eyes in the cold wind that blew off the water.

  Sergei watched until the boat, with chunks of ice bumping off the sides, was nothing more than a smudge of smoke on the horizon. As he finally pulled himself away from the spot and began walking toward the entrance to the docks, he didn’t pay attention to the two armed men who stood on either side of the gate. Men with guns were a common sight on the streets of Petrograd lately. One of them, a tall black-haired man in a peasant’s cap, stepped directly in front of Sergei and lifted his hand.

  “Captain Sergei Breselov?”

  “I am. What do you want?”

  The man reached into his pocket and removed a piece of paper from which he started to read: “You have been accused of antirevolutionary activities, and another charge has also been brought that will be given to you later. Come along with us, please.”

  The other man walked up behind Sergei and held a gun to his back. Sergei looked back at the faint wisp of smoke on the horizon and then turned forward. He went quietly with them to an automobile waiting at the curb.

  BENJAMIN STOOD at the rail and ignored the biting cold wind created by the ship’s forward motion. He watched Sergei standing on the dock in the same place where they had parted, until he couldn’t see him any longer. It was only then that he allowed himself to walk away from the rail and down to his cabin where he sat on the bunk. It would likely be a very long time before he returned to Russia, and he parted from Sergei without any clear idea about what would happen to Sergei now that he was gone.

  It was toward evening when Benjamin made himself leave the cabin and appear at dinner with his fellow passengers, and afterward he played cards and listened to opera on a phonograph someone had brought along, but his mind was somewhere slipping farther and farther behind them. He wished that somehow he had been able to convince Sergei to come away with him, but it was obviously too late, and Sergei had slipped out of his life almost as quickly as he’d come into it. An older woman leaned over in her chair, her finger pressed to her lips. Benjamin realized that he had been thinking out loud. He fell silent.

  Later that night, he lay in bed with one hand behind his head. He stared upward and lay listening to the rumble of the engines, and thinking about Sergei.

  SERGEI’S HANDS were bound, and he was pushed into the back of the motorcar, and as they drove through the streets of Petrograd, he asked the two men, “What is this about? What antirevolutionary activities? I didn’t realize there was such a thing, Comrades. Where are you taking me?”

  His pleading with the two men fell on deaf ears. Finally, the car pulled up to a gate and then into the courtyard of a redbrick building. One of Sergei’s questions had been answered; he was being taken to the Kresty Prison. The car came to a stop before the prison’s main door, and one of the men got out first and then ordered Sergei out next.

  “I still don’t understand what I’ve done. If you’ll explain, maybe I can clear it up.”

  “Shut up and move inside,” one of the armed men ordered him.

  Sergei obeyed, and when the outer door slammed shut after him, he had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. They led him to a small room off the hallway, and then they left him alone, with a single chair and a naked light bulb in the ceiling. The wooden floor creaked under his footsteps as he paced back and forth. Sergei paused to look out of the single narrow window, but he could see only the gray sky through the branches of a tree just past the bars. He pressed his head against the cold iron bars. He was thankful only that Benjamin was gone, but now he would be held here for who knew how long, and his angel would never know what happened to him. He heard the tolling of a clock somewhere—six times—and then outside in the hall, the sound of boots approaching. The lock turned in the door.

  “Maybe at last I’ll find out why you brought me here,” Sergei said to the man who came in accompanied by two armed guards.

  “It’s for me to ask you the questions, Captain.” The man pulled the chair into the middle of the room and invited Sergei to sit down.

  “Thank you,” Sergei said quietly.

  There was a silence in the room, and then the man Sergei had seen before started to speak.

  “Let’s begin, shall we?”

  “Yes, you can start by telling me what I’ve done to be brought here in the first place.”

  “It has been brought to our attention that you aren’t a friend of the revolution.”

  Sergei instantly thought about Petr. “Who’s told you this lie?”

  “That really isn’t for me to tell you, Comrade Breselov. Information can come from any source.”

  “A friend named Petr?” Sergei asked him.

  “Names aren’t important, but you have also been seen in the company of a British officer, is that true?”

  “I have a friend in the British Army, yes, that’s true. Surely that isn’t a crime. The English are our allies, and the tsar and King George are cousins—”

  “We know that. What is your relationship with this man?”

  Sergei could feel someone standing behind him and breathing on his neck as he replied, “We are nothing more than friends.”

  “It’s a pity we can’t ask the foreigner ourselves, but he has left our shores, so we are asking you.”

  “You’ll get nothing out of me. If it’s my relationships that are in question here, then that’s none of your affair.”

  One of the men standing in the background stepped forward and slapped Sergei in the face, but Sergei didn’t flinch, even though his cheek stung and his instinct was to rub it. Instead, he stared down the man who questioned him.

  “That’s enough for now, take him away.” The man waved his hand in the direction of the door.

  Chapter 17

  London, England

  March 1917

  “MOTHER, IT’S good to see you again,” Benjamin said as he strode into the drawing room where his mother sat, knitting a scarf. She laid it aside as he leaned down and kissed her. Benjamin sat next to her and fingered the strands of knitting that lay between them.

  “Is this for me?” Benjamin asked.

  “These are for men at the front, but tell me about Petrograd. Did you see the house and did you get to see Lily Savinskya and her husband? They are so fond of you.”

  “You haven’t asked if I saw Sergei.”

  “I was waiting for you to tell me. Did you see him?”

  “Yes, Mother, I saw him.”

  “That’s all?”

  “We were able to spend some time together, and he saw me off at the docks.” Tea was brought in, and they sat together until Simon returned home for dinner. Before Simon entered the drawing room, Hazel squeezed Benjamin’s hand and whispered, “I’ll speak to you some more before you leave tomorrow morning.”

  Just then, the door opened and Simon entered, and dinner was announced.

  After dinner, Benjamin and his father went into the library, and Simon shut the door behind him.

  Benjamin knew
that was his father’s method of having a private conversation. He was right. Simon made Benjamin sit down, and then he began his usual pacing in front of the fireplace. There was silence except for the ticking of a clock and the clop of a horse-drawn cart in the street outside.

  Benjamin was the first one to speak. “Did you want to speak to me? I leave for France tomorrow morning.”

  “Very well, Benjamin, how were things back in Petrograd? I’ve received news that the tsar has abdicated and Alexander Kerensky and the provisional government are trying to control things, but I….”

  “You don’t think they can?”

  “If they get out of the war and give the people food and a say in the government, I say that they can do it, but I hear Lenin is on his way back to Russia and his party of Bolsheviks is pretty strong. I don’t think I’ll ever return.”

  “It’s not pleasant. I was in the middle of a couple of riots when I was there.”

  Simon stopped his pacing. “Don’t tell your mother that.”

  Benjamin had already told her during tea, but he said nothing to his father. He looked up from his seat.

  “Are we in here to discuss politics, Father?” Benjamin asked, and his father quickly changed the subject.

  “What about that Russian soldier back in Petrograd? I suppose you saw him.”

  “I did see him when I was there. He’s a friend, or am I forbidden to have friends?”

  “The kind of friends that will do you good and advance you, yes. Captain Breselov was the son of a peasant, not the kind of man who can help you go places.”

  “Go places? You know I asked him to return with me—”

  “You didn’t! What would you expect him to do here?” Simon looked agitated and picked up the pace of his steps in front of the mantle.

  “Relax, Father, he refused, and I doubt I’ll ever see him again.” Benjamin tried to hide the sadness in his voice.

  “I should hope he refused. Bring him to England—the idea! Where would he live? Here with your mother and me?”

  “No, Father, we’d get a flat or a house in the country, but that would have happened after the war. I really have nothing more to say about it.” Benjamin got up and crossed the room to the door.

  “Where are you off to?”

  “I have a lot of things to do before I leave tomorrow. Good night, Father.”

  Simon responded with a mumble.

  Outside in the wide hallway, Benjamin ran into his mother on the stairs. She beckoned him up to the landing on the first floor.

  “Before you leave tomorrow, Benjamin, I need to speak with you.”

  “I have to be at the depot at eight in the morning.”

  “Be down in the dining room at six. You know your father doesn’t come down until half past seven. That will give us time to chat unobserved.”

  Benjamin agreed and went upstairs after saying good night to his mother.

  Early in the morning, Benjamin found his mother waiting for him in the dining room.

  “I’m here as promised, Mother.”

  “Good, now pour yourself some coffee and sit down next to me.” She patted the tablecloth at her right side.

  Benjamin poured coffee and brought the cup to the place his mother designated for him, and sat down.

  BENJAMIN CLOSED the door to the dining room, and was standing in the outer hall with his luggage ready to be taken out to the taxi when it arrived, when his father came downstairs.

  “You’re ready to go back to the front, I see?”

  “Yes, Father. The train leaves in thirty minutes.” Benjamin checked his pocket watch, and made a last-minute adjustment on his belt in the hall mirror. He noticed his father lingering nearby, fidgeting with an object on the table. “Is there something you wanted, Father?”

  “Yes, actually there is something I have wanted to say for some time now, and I have given it much thought.”

  “Well?” Benjamin asked him.

  “Like your mother in the beginning, I wasn’t too happy about you going to war. You are my only son, after all, and I wanted to keep you out of it as long as possible.”

  “That wouldn’t look good for you politically, would it? A son who didn’t do his duty?”

  “No, but I’m proud of you for doing your part for king and country. Hopefully the war will be over as soon as the Americans come into it.”

  Benjamin listened and wanted to say something, but he remained quiet.

  Simon cleared his throat and began pacing among the trunks in the foyer.

  “Will they get into the war, Father?”

  Simon nodded. “If President Wilson would stop sending tiresome protests to Berlin and stick his neck out a bit, I think the Americans could be in the war by summer. I hope so, at any rate.”

  “I’ll pray that they do, but that’s not what you wanted to say, Father, so out with it, unless you’re finished.”

  “Not yet, I have one more thing to say to you before you leave. I hope that your relationship with Captain Breselov was only a phase, and you can put it all behind you and settle down, as a man should at your age. Maybe being in this war is a good thing for you, after all.”

  Benjamin listened and toyed with the brim of his cap. The clock chimed the half hour, and he prayed the taxi would be at the door soon.

  “You needn’t worry about that, Father. He’s back in Russia, and it’s not very likely I shall ever see him again.”

  “There, I knew that you’d got those feelings out of your system. Now you can lead a normal life.”

  “Normal? But I am normal, Father. There’s nothing wrong me. I’m just as normal as you are.” Benjamin was trying to be calm, but it wasn’t easy for him. “We talk again and again about this, and I don’t have much time before the taxi arrives, so can’t we at least part for now on a civil chord?”

  Simon thought about it for a moment and backed down.

  “Excuse me, sir, but the young master’s taxi is waiting, and the mistress wants you in the dining room.”

  Benjamin turned away. He didn’t want the maid or his father to see the relief on his face. The outside door opened, and a man in driver’s uniform came in to take the luggage out to the waiting automobile.

  “Well, son, good-bye and good luck.” Simon reached out his hand toward Benjamin and they shook. “Did you say anything to your mother?”

  “We had breakfast early, and she’s still in the dining room waiting on you.” Benjamin managed a weak smile.

  “I better hurry. Your mother gets impatient,” Simon said.

  Benjamin turned and headed down the steps to the taxi, but as he was about to enter, he heard his father’s voice behind him.

  “I’ve been thinking, Benjamin, I know what I’ve said many times before, but I don’t want there to be bad blood between us…. I want you to know I’m proud of you, no matter what you decide.”

  Simon shook Benjamin’s hand once again and went back into the house.

  Arras, France

  May 1917

  MAJOR BENJAMIN Carter had come off duty and was going through the letters he had received the previous day. He had one each from his mother and father and one from Reggie, but nothing from Petrograd. Benjamin sat on the edge of his cot and stared out the window. A motorized ambulance was coming down the road from the battlefield, so he would have only a second to think before he would be called back to duty at the Regimental Aid Post—back in the trenches triaging the wounded and getting them to a hospital farther from the lines.

  No letters had arrived from Sergei since Benjamin left Petrograd. He had written his mother, and she had written him back, telling him that no letters had come to the house either.

  Since their private conversation on the day he left, he felt closer than ever to his mother, who had told him that she understood his feelings for Sergei and accepted him no matter what happened. That was unusual, he told her, for a woman who was raised by stern Victorian parents. She’d laughed, and he remembered her telling him, “You’r
e not the first man like yourself that I’ve known in my life, so why should I be so shocked?”

  Their conversation had been interrupted by the appearance of a servant, announcing that the young master’s taxi would arrive soon and Mr. Carter was on his way down. He recalled her getting up from her chair, and saying, “Give me a kiss, and please take care of yourself, and God bless you, Benjamin. If he writes to the house, I’ll pass it along to you.”

  That was over a month ago, and nothing had been received either in London or France. Benjamin could not help but feel something was wrong. The letters from his father gave him the details of what was happening back in Russia. Lenin had returned from exile back in April. The provisional government was likely not going to last much longer and would probably soon be deposed by the Bolsheviks. Nicholas II and his family were still under arrest at their palace, and it was rumored that the family would be moved soon. King George might even offer them asylum, his father had written, and then he always closed with best wishes and love from Mother. Benjamin looked from the window and back to the letters at his side, then threw them in a drawer to be answered later.

  He heard the crunch of stones outside and the squeal of the brakes on the ambulance as it came to stop, and was followed by a second and a third truck. Benjamin got up and threw a coat on over his shoulders, then rushed outside to help.

  Chapter 18

  THE IRON door slammed shut behind him and left Sergei once again in the dark. A peasant in a dirty army cap had taken him to yet another room, where he was questioned again. Sitting against the stone wall, Sergei tried to remember the questions they had asked, but they were all the same, day after day, and his responses were always the same without fail.

  “Tell us about your relationship with the Englishman?” he would be asked, and his answer was always “I have told you he is a friend. I met him on a hospital train.”

  Over and over again, like a parrot, and then finally one day they stopped coming for him. The only time he saw or heard from a living person was when the small square opening in the cell door would swing open and his watery soup, bread, and tea would be pushed through. His only exercise came once a day after the noon meal, when the cell door swung open and he was ordered outside, his head bowed down to the floor. An armed guard walked him to a large walled area outside the building, and for an hour, he walked in a circle with other prisoners, always looking down, though it didn’t stop prisoners from exchanging news.