Interlude
Tatiana: Mock battle
I followed the clanking sounds down the hall to discover Alexei and Kolya in mock battle. They had taken some branches from the wood pile and fashioned them into daggers and guns. They were well armed, with extra branches tucked into the belt of their coats and one in each hand.
I was so thrilled to see them happy and playing, to see Alexei up and about, that I didn’t tell them to take their noise and chaos back outside.
Kolya was Andrey Derevenko’s, the doctor’s, son. Boys being what they are, Alexei behaved for Derevenko, Nagorny, his sailor-guard, and Papa whereas he ignored Mama, Olga, and me.
Taller than Alexei, Kolya had been my brother’s playmate and best friend for years. He was as loyal a friend as Alexei could ask for.
Kolya thrust the bent stick in his right hand forward, aiming for Alexei’s belly. Alexei jumped out of reach just in time and hit the wall with his back. I winced, but they continued their back and forth, along with accompanying grunts and yelps.
Joy and Anastasia’s Cavalier, Jimmy, bounced happily around them, their silky hair still damp with melting snow.
Alexei got the upper hand and drove Kolya into the salon. Kolya staggered backward, lost his footing, and landed on his back. He rolled away just in time to avoid being poked with the sharp end of a branch but Alexei pointed the bent stick serving as a gun at him and made shooting sounds.
“You’re dead,” Alexei said, triumphantly as the two spaniels swarmed Kolya and smothered him with kisses.
Kolya’s giggling only encouraged the dogs, as if they wanted more of that happy, tinkling sound.
“Tatiannnaaaa . . .”
We all turned towards the source of the sound. From underneath a pile of too-big clothes, Maria rose to glare at us, her hands on her plump hips. Anastasia was likewise decked out in one of Papa’s shirts and hats. His wide, leather belt looped around her waist.
“We’re rehearsing,” Anastasia piped in.
Ah, the play. My sisters were putting on another play.
“French or English?” I asked.
Kolya pushed himself up from the floor and straightened his coat.
“English, of course,” Maria said. “It’s our room for ten more minutes.”
Alexei and Kolya shrugged. They resumed their battle over the girls’ protests and eventually yielded the room back to them when the shrieking got too loud.
That image of Alexei standing over Kolya with his mock-gun stayed with me the rest of the day. It morphed from a boy at play to a man at war, a man that I feared we would never see. Either a fall or a cut would get him. And no matter how much he played at being a real boy, he wasn’t and could never be.
His world was so unfair, so foul, so unkind. It denied this brave, bright boy even the simplest pleasures by making the hemophilia hang over everything he did, no matter how small, how normal.
My brother deserved better. I had seen him put on a brave front so many times. How, for Mama’s sake, he’d let Rasputin pray over him. Yet there had been a keen intellect in Alexei’s feverish eyes. One that told me that he wasn’t taken in by the starets, one that told me that even in the throes of pain and fever, he still cared about Mama enough to pretend.
One that told me that my brother, whatever his faults, would have made a great tsar.