by Staton Rabin
“Okay, now I’m pouring restriction enzymes into your DNA. That’ll break up your DNA strand into smaller pieces. Then I dump the liquid containing your DNA strands into this tray of agarose gel. The gel acts like a strainer. The short strands of DNA will travel through it more easily than the longer ones.”
She pulled a switch and I heard a machine noise.
“That turns on the electrophoresis. DNA has a slight electrical charge. The opposite electrical polarity in the tray will pull your DNA across the gel so that the strings line up in order of size. See? From shortest strands over here … to longest, over here.”
Varda looked at me. “You’re not getting any of this, are you?”
I shook my head.
“It doesn’t matter. Talking out loud helps me remember the steps.” She lifted a piece of fabric onto the tray.
“Okay, now I put this piece of nylon over the tray that holds your DNA. There’s some absorbent material on top of the nylon, and that sucks up the image of your DNA pattern into the fabric. It’s like a blotter. So we’ll have an exact copy of your DNA pattern on the fabric. Like the image of Jesus’s face and body some people say is on the Shroud of Turin.”
She poured a liquid from a glass onto the fabric.
“Now I’m adding some special radioactive probes that’ll stick to certain parts of your DNA pattern.”
Varda put a black sheet on top of the fabric.
“This is X-ray photographic film. The radioactive probes that stick to key parts of your DNA will expose the X-ray film. There! Now I just put this sheet of film into the developer, and we wait till it’s ready.”
After a few minutes she pulled the X-ray film out. It had light and dark stripes, like negatives of photographs from my Kodak camera.
“Now we compare your DNA pattern bands to the picture in the book. Okay. Get ready to start apologizing.”
She looked from one picture to the other, then back again. Varda’s face dropped.
“But—but it can’t be! The odds of this amount of similarity in the bands of DNA happening just by chance are only one in five billion! You’re—”
“I told you,” I said.
“Wait! Maybe—maybe I made some mistake in how I mixed up the restriction enzymes!” Varda said. “Where’s my ‘control’ pattern? Ah, here it is!”
She picked up the other piece of developed negative film.
“Like I said before, this is my DNA pattern,” she said. She compared her negative film to my pattern, and to the one in the book.
“Ohmigod!” she said.
“What is wrong?”
“You’re Alexei.”
“Yes, I know.”
“But there’s more.”
“More?”
“You see the way your DNA bands here match these over here?”
“Da. So?”
” ‘So’? Alexei—we really are cousins!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TO ME, IT ALL MADE PERFECT SENSE.
Father Grigory had told me that blood was like a river of time, joining everyone to their parents. And to their relatives yet unborn.
“Varda, it was not accident that it was you who saved me, pulling me from that river. It was our sudba, our destiny, to meet.”
“Well, it figures,” Varda said. “I’m related to a time-traveling lunatic from another century. But how the heck did we get to be cousins?”
“Varda, where did your family come from? Before they came to America?”
“From the Jewish ghetto—the shtetl. My family lived in Poland, in Warsaw. Which I guess was part of Russia, back then.”
“They say my great-aunt, Princess Beatrice of England, had forbidden romance with Jewish artist from Poland. It make big scandal. Maybe this man one of your relatives!”
“Maybe … Wait!—My great-great-great-great-grandfather Isaac from Poland! There’s a rumor in my family that he had a baby girl with an English princess who was a carrier of hemophilia. They fell in love while he was painting her portrait. Nobody in my family ever really believed the story was true. But that princess—she must have been your great-aunt Beatrice!”
“Da!”
“Their illegitimate baby was a big secret, so they gave her to a Russian family to adopt. I have a picture of my grandpa Isaac somewhere….” She pulled a photo album out of a drawer and flipped the pages. “Here! See?”
“Good-looking mouzhik.”
“And here’s a baby picture of Isaac’s grand-daughter: my great-great-grandma Tillie from Russia. She looks like both of us!”
“Kuzen Varda, you must help me get home. You must help me save my family. They are in terrible danger!”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“I will need help. You must go with me.”
“With you? Back to the Russian Revolution?”
“Da.”
“Look, I like science, but I don’t mess around with anything that burns, explodes, or might leave me stranded in a revolution in another century. Hell, I won’t even eat genetically modified cornflakes! It’s your problem, you deal with it.”
I took her hand.
“My family is your family also.”
She just shook her head.
Suddenly I winced and moaned with pain, gripping my knee.
“That’s where you fell on the ice!” she said, reaching for the leg of my trousers. “Here. Let me take a look at that.”
“Nyet, is all right.” I pulled away from her.
“Let me see,” she insisted. She rolled up my pants leg.
“My God, Alexei! Your knee is swollen up big as a baseball. What’s wrong with you?”
“I am like your father” I said.
“You have AIDS?”
“Nyet. I do not know this ‘AIDS.’”
“You mean—You’re a hemophiliac? And you went ice-skating? For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
“I—I try to tell you. But we were having such good time.”
“Alexei, we’ve got to get you to a hospital for an infusion of factor VIII before you bleed to death.”
“No! My illness is secret!”
“It doesn’t matter now. It’s 2010, nobody knows you here. If you keep this ‘secret,’ you’re going to be one dead tsarevich!”
We heard a sound at the door.
“Oh, no! My mother’s home!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“VARDA, WHO IS THIS BOY?”
Her mother stood there in the doorway, staring at us.
“He’s—Alexei,” Varda said, turning red. “Uh … our exchange student! From Russia.”
“What do you mean, ‘our’?”
“I—wanted to surprise you. Things have been kind of lonely around here since—well … The school psychologist said he would be good for my emotional development”
“So you went and ordered up a live-in guest without telling me?”
“Mom, it’s only for a day or two!”
Varda’s mother turned to me.
“Excuse me, young man, do you speak English?”
“Da. I mean, yes, thank you, Varda’s mother.”
“Look, this is not about you. You seem like a very nice, polite exchange student, okay?”
“Thank you. Gilliard says I must learn humility. I try this.”
“Okay. I don’t want to scar you for life or cause an international incident. But would you kindly step out into the hall for a moment so I can speak to my totally insane daughter in private?”
I sat outside in the hall. I could hear them arguing through the door to Varda’s room.
“Varda!—What were you thinking?! Have you been doing anything with that boy that we had one of our talks about?”
“No, Mom!”
“Well, thank God for that at least. Are those Daddy’s clothes he’s wearing?”
“Yes. But—”
“Varda, how—how could you!”
I heard the sound of weeping.
“
Don’t cry, Mom. I’m sorry—really. But we didn’t have anything else for him to wear! He was freezing when I pulled him from the river, and—”
“From the river? I thought you said he was an exchange student!” I moaned with pain and gripped my knee. “You hear him out there? He’s crying! God, now I’ve upset him and—and he’s going to go home and tell the Russian president that Americans are monsters!”
“No, that’s not it! Mom, he hurt his knee. He’s got hemophilia.”
“Hemophilia? Varda, you’ve adopted a hemophiliac exchange student?”
Varda’s mother took us in her automobile to the hospital. Everything was very white and clean there.
“Health insurance?” a woman said, sounding like she found her job very tiresome. She was sitting behind a little glass window in a room with a sign that said: ER.
“Uh … I don’t think he’s got any, Mom,” Varda said.
“Write down: ‘none,’” her mother said.
“Are you his mother?”
“No.”
“Will his parents be responsible for the bill?”
“Da!” I said. “They pay to build many hospitals in Russia!”
“How lovely. Parents’ names and employment?”
“My father is Nicholas Alexandrovich Romanov, head of—”
”—A very big multinational corporation,” Varda interrupted.
“Which one?” the lady asked.
“It’s in Russia, you wouldn’t have heard of it.”
“Try me.”
Varda looked at me helplessly.
“The Mariinsky Theatre,” I said.
“That’s a big multinational corporation?”
“Uh-yeah!” Varda said. “His parents own a whole chain of theaters. It’s like Loews!”
The lady gave us a strange look and scribbled it down.
“Okay, you’re registered” the lady said, sighing. “Sit down over there in triage and wait till you’re called.”
I was lying on a narrow bed that had wheels. The nurse stuck a long needle into my arm and I wrinkled up my face. She paid no attention to me, and combined a clear liquid from one small bottle with the powder from another, and drew the mixture up into a big syringe. I felt a strange coldness inside my arm, and realized that she was slowly injecting the solution into it through the needle. Varda told me that they were putting factor VIII into my vein, to stop my bleeding.
“He’ll be fine. The treatment will take only about fifteen minutes” the nurse said, turning to Varda’s mother. “But he has to come back tomorrow for another infusion. It’s important.”
Varda’s mother nodded. “We know the drill.”
Soon, they went out into the hall to talk, while Varda stayed with me.
“How do you feel? she asked me.
“Dizzy, at first. All right, now.”
“Does your knee hurt much?”
“I am used to it. All my life, has been like this for me.”
“I know. It was like that for my dad, too. He was brave. I never heard him complain.”
“I thought you said you did not really remember him?”
“I remember.”
“Will you miss me too when I am gone?”
“What do you think?”
“Maybe a little?” I said.
“Maybe more than a little. Please don’t go, Alexei! Look at you—you can barely walk! My history teacher said your whole family got killed by the Bolsheviks in 1918. If you go back to the Russian Revolution and can’t save your family, you’ll be killed too!”
“Is so. But my family has always helped me. And I swore to Holy Mother and to my mama and papa that I will always take care of them. My family need me. Mother Russia need me. I am tsarevich! I must try.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I could be as brave as you.”
“You were brave to rescue me.”
“Everyone is brave when they have to be.”
“Da. So you understand why I must go home and try to help my family.”
Varda sighed.
“Yes,” she said.
There was a long pause.
“Alexei?”
“Da?”
“I’ve changed my mind—I am going with you.”
“What? The tsarevich forbids it!”
“Wait a minute! I thought you told me this afternoon that you wanted me to go with you?”
“I change mind too. You were right—is too dangerous! Besides, you are just female!”
“Yeah, and you’re, like, what? A skinny hemophiliac boy who has lived in a palace with servants waiting on him all his life and can barely take care of himself! What if you bump yourself again and can’t walk? I know medicine, and I’m another pair of legs. I can help you!”
I did not know what to say to her. What she said made much sense.
“Please, Alexei! Let me help you.”
“All right,” I said at last. “But are you certain? It will be very dangerous, Little Peasant.”
“I know. I don’t mind.”
“I have one question.”
“Yes?”
“We have known each other only one day. Why would you risk life to help me?”
“That’s easy,” she said, smiling. “We’re cousins. And blood is thicker than water.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“YOU ARE LOOKING MUCH BETTER, ALEXEI. And your knee swelling has gone way down.”
“Da. Am feeling much better.”
It was nighttime. I was in bed in the guest room at Varda’s house, with an ice pack on my knee. Varda was sitting in a chair beside me. From the window we could see the river sparkling in the moonlight.
“What do they call river?” I asked.
“The Hudson. After the man who discovered it, Henry Hudson.”
“Is beautiful in moonlight. Like Neva River…. And like you.” She blushed. “You will like Neva.”
“I’m sure I will.”
We watched the river together for a while. There were a few boats sailing on it.
“Hmmm. … Didn’t river flow in other direction this morning? Or do I imagine?”
“No, you don’t imagine. The Hudson is really an estuary, not a river. So it’s pretty weird. Every six hours or so the current changes direction. My science teacher said the rising current—the flood tide—flows north toward Troy. The ebb current flows south, toward the sea.”
“Very strange.” I shrugged. “Where is your mama?”
“In the other room. Asleep.”
“Good. Won’t she worry when she wakes up tomorrow and finds you are gone?”
“I left her a note. I told her the truth: that you’re Alexei Romanov, the heir to the Russian throne, and we’re going back to 1918 to try to save the royal family from being assassinated. Alexei, we really should go back to the hospital here first, to get the rest of your factor VIII treatment.”
I shook my head. “No time! My family is in danger. We must go now—or it may be too late!”
“But your treatment will wear off by tomorrow morning! If you bump yourself again …”
I stood up carefully on my sore leg and took her hand.
“No time for hospital! Are you ready?”
Varda took a deep breath, then nodded.
“Shut your eyes.”
I counted: “Odin … dva … tri … chetyre … pyat … shest … sem … vosem … devyat … desyat!”
I imagined the red river of time, flowing in my mind.
“Now, Varda, say after me: Mother of God …”
“Mother of God.”
“Blood of the tsar …”
“Blood of the tsar.”
“I have no fear …”
“I have no fear.”
“Now take me far!”
“Now take me far!”
We waited.
Nothing happened. We were still right where we’d started.
“Is not working.”
“Are you sure you didn’t get the mumbo j
umbo wrong? Maybe you’re supposed to click your heels together three times or something.”
“You think I am fool? Did not make mistake!”
“Okay, okay! Don’t bite my head off!”
I counted to desyat and we tried again. Still: nothing!
“Is never going to work! Is like Father Grigory said! I must travel only with mind, not with body. If I travel with my body, he warn me: I will never return!” Varda put an arm around my shoulders. “I will never see my family again!”
“I’m sorry, Alexei. Really. Please don’t cry! I know you wanted to help your family. Maybe you’ll still find a way. But to tell you the truth, I’m kind of relieved. Now you can stay here where you’ll be safe.”
Just then the door sprang open.
Varda’s mother was standing there in her robe, with one hand on her hip, eyes blazing. She thrust forward a piece of paper that she was holding in her hand.
“Varda Ethel Rosenberg, do you care to explain this little note you’ve left for me?!”
“Uh—it’s—it’s just a history project, Mom. Mr. Brezhinsky said to pretend we could travel in time, and—”
“Save it!” Varda’s mother said, holding up her hand. “I’m going to have a nice, long sleep. And when I wake up tomorrow morning, my daughter will have miraculously regained her sanity! Is that clear?”
“Good night, Mom, don’t worry.”
Varda’s mother turned and shuffled back down the hall, shaking her head.
“Wake up, Your Highness.” It was the next morning, and Varda had come into my room and shook me from sleep.
“Huh?”
“Listen, I’ve gotta go back to school today. You’re not allowed to go with me, remember? Just stay here, so you don’t get into any trouble. My mother will take you back to the hospital later. I’ll meet you here after school.” She handed me a metal rectangle.
“This is a telephone. It’s lightweight to carry around, but superstrong—it’s made of Kevlar, the same stuff they make bulletproof vests from. Look, you can use this to reach me anytime you want. You listen here, and you talk here. Just press this button and it’ll ring the spare phone I’ve got on me. You know—‘telephone’?”
“Of course I know telephone! I am not from Stone Age!”
“All right! I was just checking. Look, I’m trusting you with my own phone because it’s easier to use than the spare. Just don’t jump into the river with it.”
