The Kitchen Boy: A Novel of the Last Tsar

20

When I lifted aside the boughs I’d placed over the hidden den, the light of God cut through the day and struck her face. Immediately the girl’s eyes opened and the slightest of smiles graced her face.

Upon seeing us Maria said, “What, brought others to see me, have you, Leonka?”

“Everything’s going to be all right,” calmly replied Sister Antonina.

At once the sister, so short and round, descended into the den, and with her merciful hands she started treating the wounded young woman. First she carefully examined the gash on the side of Maria’s head, next she checked the bullet wound in her leg.

“You did very well, Leonka, very well, indeed,” muttered Sister Antonina with approval, for somehow I had managed to stem the flow of blood.

She then turned to Aleksei, his head covered by my jacket. And it was just as I had told her, the poor boy was hopelessly dead. This she verified. The sister lifted up a corner of the jacket, gasped, made the sign of the cross, and covered him once again. There was no time to waste in grief, this the old sister clearly knew, and she beckoned her assistant into the den.

“Come, Marina.”

The young novice descended, and thereupon the two of them set upon Grand Duchess Maria, cleaning her wounds, bandaging her arm and thigh, and comforting her with their few supplies. The two women of the cloth made an easy team, and their hands worked quickly and confidently. Much to my surprise, it was soon apparent that Sister Antonina knew about the corset of diamonds.

“Let’s get this thing off you, dorogaya moya,” my dear, said the nun, untying Maria’s undergarment. “Lying on all those stones can’t be comfortable.”

Immediately Maria twisted to the side, and she protested, “But…”

“Don’t worry, they’ll be perfectly safe, just like the rest.”

At first it didn’t make sense. Sure, I knew that Maria, like her sisters, was covered in brillianty. But I didn’t understand how Sister Antonina knew about them as well, not at least until the following day. Only then did I learn about everything else, all the jewelry that had been hidden away. The suitcases of Romanov jewels. While one had remained in Tobolsk, the second, weighing over a pood – some thirty-eight pounds – had already been brought to Yekaterinburg.

Without turning to me, Sister Antonina ordered, “Leonka, my young one, we’re going to have to cut away the young woman’s corset. Please turn away.”

I wasn’t in the little den. The space just wasn’t that big. I was simply looking in through the roots. But rather than turn away, I covered up the little entrance. I laid branches back on the opening and left the sister and novice to attend to the Grand Duchess, which they did very well. They spent a long time cleaning and dressing her wounds and administering what medicaments they had brought. They fed her water too. And broth. And bread.

During this entire time I hid in the wood, but I did not sleep. Nyet, nyet, nyet. I watched. I hid in brush and watched for the Reds, who were sure to sweep the area, searching for the two missing young ones. But the Reds never did come. No. They furiously searched the road and the town, but they never ventured that far into the wood. And in an attempt to cover up his gross error – imagine, he’d lost two bodies! – Yurovsky conceived of the famed Yurovsky Note in which he claimed to have burned the two missing bodies. This, however, was yet another clean lie, for virtually no sign of any bodies was ever found, not even a single bone. It was a stupid lie too, for it is impossible to completely burn bodies over an open flame.

I finally settled against a birch, slumping against its peeling bark. Nearly an entire hour passed before Sister Antonina and Novice Marina emerged from the hidden den.

“How is she?” I asked, rushing up to them. “Will she live?”

“She rests comfortably now,” replied Sister. “And with the grace of God, all will be well.”

“Slava Bogu.” Thank God.

“Now it is time to bury The Little One. Would you be so kind as to fetch him, Leonka?”

And that I did. I fetched the body of my friend and master, the Heir Tsarevich Aleksei Nikolaevich. His sister Maria had fallen into the deepest of sleeps, and so it was just the sister, novice, and I who blessed him and gave him back to the earth. I carried him out of the den and laid him on the ground. As the two women cleaned and comforted his horribly damaged body – Sister Antonina ripped away part of her own garments and wrapped him in it – I carved his grave in front of a clump of three white birches. But it was not a deep grave, merely adequate, a shallow wound, since all I had to dig with were several branches and my bare hands. Then as the sister chanted prayers and blessings, Novice Marina and I buried the boy, though we did not make a cross.

“Better that we not mark the spot,” recommended Sister Antonina.

And she was right at that. We put the boy to rest there in the soil of his Holy Mother Russia, the very soil which he himself had been born to protect, then covered him and hid the grave beneath branches and leaves so that the Reds could never find him, never bother him again. And he lies there hidden in that wood, undisturbed today, of that I am quite sure.

Then Sister Antonina scurried off to check on Maria. Like a mole dressed in black, the sister crawled into the hiding spot beneath the tree roots. When she emerged a few minutes later, however, the concern was rippling across her face.

“She rests well, but her wounds weep oddly and I worry of infection,” reported the old nun. “I must return to town for more medicaments. Marina, you are to stay by the girl’s side. And, Leonka…”

“I will guard them both.”

“Excellent.” She turned to go, and over her shoulder called, “I will be back before the fall of night.”

That was her promise, but sadly those were her last words to us. Neither Novice Marina nor I were ever to see her again, for someone informed on Sister Antonina. Some Red spy saw her creeping back into the town, saw her torn, dirtied habit, and knew something was up. And so Yurovksy sent his henchmen, those thugs from the Cheka, the political police of the Reds, to question her. They found fear in her eyes and blood on her garments, and they brought her in. Not a thing would she tell them, however, not even when they tortured her. They asked and pushed and cut on her, but she didn’t say anything about the Heir or Grand Duchess, of course, or even the fortune of gems. Two days later, rather than waste a bullet on her, the Reds tied a heavy metal stove grating to her and dropped her to the bottom of the River Ityesk.

Yes, such terrible things that went on…

Ever hopeful, however, Novice Marina and I waited, watching and attending to the Grand Duchess’s every need. Night came and passed. So arrived the next day. Still there was no Sister Antonina. We knew something was wrong, terribly wrong, and yet by sun fall we had even a worse problem: Grand Duchess Maria had developed a very sudden, very high fever. Within an hour’s time she started to burn up.

“Get me some fresh, cool water, Leonka!” demanded Novice Marina. “Quickly!”

I rushed to a nearby stream and fetched nice, cold water, which we fed the Grand Duchess and used to cool her brow. But it was not enough. Her temperature kept rising. The very following day we were so worried that I snuck into town myself. I left Marina and the Tsar’s daughter, and went off in search of the medicaments. Of course I was very careful, and in my own secret way I found the path to the Church of the Ascension. I wanted to speak to Father Storozhev, but he was off at the jail, trying in vain to win the freedom of Sister Antonina, who was then still alive. Not trusting anyone else, I left, having found nothing with which to heal the Grand Duchess. My thought was that I would return to the church the next day, and so I headed back to the wood, bringing with me only some cheese and bread. Our only hope, it seemed, was to keep Maria strong enough that she might live yet another twenty-four hours. Instead, her temperature kept rising and she ceased taking even water.

By the following morning her breathing had grown more difficult and she was lingering on the very edge of life itself. Both Marina and I understood the end was at hand. Kneeling beside the Grand Duchess, I clutched her hand. Novice Marina knelt next to me, chanting prayers and crossing herself repeatedly.

“Leonichka,” Maria said, opening her eyes and using the softest diminutive of my name, “thank you for watching over me…”

“This is all my fault!” I confessed, my eyes flooding like the mightiest of Siberian rivers. “Your father entrusted me with a note, which I failed to deliver. I’m sure it fell into the hands of the Reds and-”

“Sh, my friend, there’s no need for that…”

My tears came stronger than ever, and I bowed my head before the last of the Imperial Family. Did she not know, did she not see what role I had played in the end of her entire family? Had the shock of that night wiped clean her memory?

“You don’t understand, Maria Nikolaevna!”

“I understand everything…”

“No, no you don’t! I was supposed to deliver that note, I was supposed to rally the three hundred officers!”

“Yes, and this you tried to do with all your heart. The Lord God sent you to try to save us, and this you attempted. Father was most grateful for your help.”

“No, Maria Nikolaevna! No, you don’t understand!” I pleaded, bowing my head over and over to her. “I failed! You do not understand!”

“I understand that you blame yourself for events beyond your control.”

“Please forgive me!”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“But…!”

I clutched Maria’s hand as tightly as I could. As she faded away, I tried to tether her to this world. But she did not want to be kept here.

Maria’s eyes then closed and slowly opened, and she said, “Three hundred years ago my family made this country strong and stable… but we should have left long ago. Better I should die. Better we should fade away.”

“No!” pleaded Novice Marina, breaking her chanting. “Do not leave us, Your Highness!”

Yet perhaps she was correct. Perhaps Maria was wise in her words, for she clearly understood that the time of the Romanovs was finished. Besides, who knew what would have happened had the last daughter of the last Tsar survived? I don’t think she could have rallied the troops, for she was too young. Rather, I think she would have rallied only confusion and despair. Meanwhile, every Bolshevik on earth would have hunted her and any future offspring down.

The Grand Duchess faded into delirium, and just when I thought we’d lost her, she rallied her strength. Beckoning the novice and me closer, Maria Nikolaevna commanded us with what would be the greatest tasks of our lives.

“Marina,” began the Grand Duchess, her voice so very faint, “you perhaps know where our riches are hidden here in town?”

“Da-s, Vashe Velichestvo.” Yes, Your Highness, replied the young woman. “I am aware of what we have guarded at our monastery.”

“Then this you must do – you and Leonka must gather it all. Every bit that is here in Yekaterinburg and, if you can, that which is still in Tobolsk. You must then bury it all away again. You must keep it someplace safe. And once this terror has left our land and once my family has had a proper Orthodox burial, then I beg you to return all of these treasures to the people of my country. It is to be a gift from my family to our people. Understood?”

“Da-s,” both the novice and I replied.

And so it was that Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna, third daughter of Nikolai and Aleksandra, married the Novice Marina and me in both duty and fate. Which is to say that we both escaped that time and place with one entire suitcase of Romanov jewels, which we have ever since guarded so carefully. You see, as we fled through the Siberian woods to Shanghai and eventually America, I, Leonka, became Misha, whereas Marina became May, and jointly, in time, we became husband and wife.

But that fateful morning, Maria Nikolaevna lasted only moments longer. She who was born in a golden palace expired shortly thereafter on a pile of leaves, there in that filthy den of tree roots. I myself was clutching her hand when she opened her eyes for the last time. Our eyes met and held and I understood she was leaving.

“Nyet!” I cried, falling upon her.

This was how I caught her last breath. She exhaled… I breathed in… and she was gone. That peacefully. That easily. And so ended the family of the last Tsar, the humble Tsar Nikolai II, and his devoted consort, Tsaritsa Aleksandra.

Ah-min.