The Wedding and the Red Snow

In the twilight hours of this early winter morning, I sat shivering from the cold, red-eyed from sleep-deprivation, crouched next to my best friend Aleksej. “You’ve chosen a damnable cold day to get married Dimitri. I’d almost think you’ve done this on purpose, since you know how much I hate the comfortable warmth of a hot stove.” I smirked at him. “You know I’d go to great lengths just to vex you Aleksej.” Rubbing my hands I continued. “Where are they?” I looked past the hedge we were hiding behind, in the direction of the bygone childhood memory that was the long driveway to my ancestral residence. Aleksej had a troubled look in his eye when he next spoke. “You being here man, I think you’d give almost anything if you’d never have to see this place ever again, am I right?” I didn’t reply, but I felt my face contort in a way that gave away just how right he was. Ever since I had fled this place head over heels when I was just a lad, I had avoided it like the plague. The entirety of my being wished nothing else than to get up and run as far away as my legs would carry me. Even so, I now sat near the entrance of the palace Menshikov, which had been the seat of my family for hundreds of years. “Could you please go and take a look Aleksej? They’re running very late, aren’t they?” He nodded affirmatively, squeezing my shoulder. “Don’t you worry now, comrade. You know what they say about the vanity of a woman on the morning of her wedding right?” Before I could as much as contemplate my answer, Aleksej had sneaked off. Silence descended upon this white wintery morning and it was as if he hadn’t been there at all. Snow had the seemingly magical power to make the world seem a peacefully tranquil place, as if any and all troubles were completely irrelevant, and the world was exactly as it needed to be. Gazing at the familiar driveway, with its now overgrown conifers on both sides of the road, a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature, played across my back. Why was it that Natalya had insisted our new lives were to start at this terrible location? I had told her everything I could remember. Horrors I hadn’t shared and never would’ve share with anyone else, save her. Thinking back at my childhood years, it was as if they were from a completely different life altogether, a dream almost. It had been a life of warm carelessness, where hunger and fear had not existed at all. That world had been abruptly ripped apart and been replaced by one that didn’t rhyme at all with my past, and even chose to ignore the fact that it had ever happened. I shook my head involuntarily as I tried to focus my mind at more pleasant matters. I pictured the beautiful face of my beloved Natalya and the almost incomprehensible thought she would soon be my wife filled my heart with a warmth that had been absent for so very long. 

 I had met her on a busy market day. It had been during my afternoon lunchbreak that I had been sent out of the judicial court I was employed at, to buy fresh bread for the other civil servants. It had been incredibly busy and I remember having been afraid to come in late, petrified about the repercussions that would mean for someone of my heritage. After I had finally managed to buy the bread, I had rushed off across the market square, without really paying much attention to my surroundings. Needless to say, I abruptly and quite harshly bumped into someone. We fell to the ground, tumbling on top of each other and ended up looking into one another’s eyes. From that exact moment I knew I didn’t ever want to let go of those eyes again. I stammered my incoherent apology as she laughingly did the same. Not knowing who she was, or where I would be able to find her, I saw nothing else than those big brown eyes and that warm sincere smile. I had taken every opportunity I could find to scour the market square, but had been unsuccessful to a point that I’d feared I’d never see her ever again. When I’d almost given up hope, I found her standing right outside of the apartment I shared with Aleksej. I had run outside and without speaking a word we’d kissed. She told me she had searched for me as I had for her, though admittedly she had been more successful. From that moment onwards we saw each other as many times as we could, and it wasn’t long before I learnt she and I shared the same secret background. At first she had introduced herself as the servant girl Anna, though in truth she had been the princess Natalya Narishkina all along. It didn’t take us long to decide we wanted to get married. We concocted a plan to smuggle an Orthodox Batjoeska from the country estate of her father all the way to Leningrad. Her father would disguise himself as an old beggar, with the Batja as his companion. Natalya had her mind set on wearing her mother’s wedding dress, which her father would bring from his estate as well. It had been incredibly exciting and very romantic to plan a secret marriage, until Natalya proposed we should marry exactly like tradition dictated, in my ancestral palace. I had protested furiously, as the palace had been abandoned and sat vacant for at least twenty years, and it was incredibly dangerous, as the law was strictly enforced that my family was not allowed to set foot anywhere near it or face immediate execution. But any and all arguments I could come up with fell on deaf ears. I learnt all too quickly that once she had made up her mind, there was no changing it. All this lead up to this exact point in time, with me sitting it the damnable cold, my heart almost bursting from my chest, my stomach all jumbled up and my entire body shaking as much from the cold as from every emotion that lingered between the sheer agony of being in love, to the gut wrenching terror of imminent death. 

 My heart jumped as I heard a slight rustling behind me. Aleksej had returned with a big smile on his face. “They are coming! I have seen them arriving in the distance from just around the corner.” I felt butterflies in my stomach at his words. “They are being careful aren’t they? So nobody can see them?” My friend came and sat beside me. He handed me a flask. “Here, drink this, it’ll keep you warm and make you calm. And what do you think? Of course they are careful, even though I wouldn’t know which other idiots would be up and about at this ungodly hour.” He blew his breath in his hands, rubbing them together, as he added: “And in this blasted cold.” I smiled at him and took a big sip that scorched my oesophagus. I coughed and handed the flask back to Aleksej. He shook his head. “Keep it comrade, you’re going to need it!”

 An apparent infinitude later, three more cloaked figures appeared behind the hedge next to the driveway leading to the palace Menshikov. As soon as they were in reach, one of them rushed towards me and embraced me tightly. Immediately the world was exactly the way it was supposed to be. She softly spoke from under her hood. “Come on Dimitri let’s go inside right away!” I nodded, and Aleksej went ahead to scout the way while the priest accompanied my future wife and me a short distance after him. Natalya’s father formed the rear guard, and used a frayed piece of cloth to clear the imprints we had left behind on the pristine snow. The driveway seemed to go on indefinitely. As we slowly made our way, every sound made us jump behind the conifers. This made our progression very slow but eventually we made our way to the secluded inner courtyard. In spite of its deserted and neglected state, the palace of Menshikov to me looked just as beautiful as I remembered. It was truly marvellous. Nevertheless it was a place of death and despair. A place I’d rather forget but knew I’d never be able to. Natalya kissed me. She looked at me. “Finally the time has come! I can hardly wait anymore for you to be my husband!” I hugged her tightly as Aleksej motioned the all clear from the main entrance of the Palace. “We don’t have to wait anymore my love!” She smiled at me as we made our way inside.

 As we arrived in the great hall, my breath faltered as I saw the eerily familiar portraits of my ancestors, cut to pieces, and ripped from their once magnificent gilt framing. Only some of them still hung on the walls. When I was a child I had imagined complete stories about the stern and solemn, proud faces on those portraits. How these faces had suffered. It was a fate far worse than the wildest fantasy my young mind had been able to come up with. Snow had been blown in through the shattered windows, and now lay in heaps on the marble flooring beneath them. The battered curtains danced on the frigid morning breeze, and a scented mixture of memory and decay hung heavy in the air. The time had come for the first ritual of the traditional marriage. Aleksej and the Batja were exchanging jokes while Natalya went and stood behind her father in the middle of the hall. From the doorway I walked towards them in as jovial a tread as I could muster, stopping at a  respectful distance from her father. It appeared to me as rather odd to enact this ancient ritual from the days of the nobility, in torn robes and in the shattered husk of a once great palace. Nevertheless, it was the wish of my beloved, and I would give it my best. I cleared my throat and proclaimed: “Art thou, Lord Aleksander Nariskin, father of the fair and most chaste Natalya Nariskina?” Her father stared ahead of him most austerely and it took a fair while until he turned his eyes on me and with a deep baritone voice, way deeper than his normal speaking voice, replied: “Whether I am he, or not, sir, is wholly and solely dependent on whom so inquires, and to which purpose. Art thou perchance a swindling scoundrel whom desires nothing but to dishonour and heaven forbid, deflower my daughter?” Theatrically, I riposted his words: “No sir, indeed I am not! Dimitri Fyodor Menshikov is my name. As for my purpose sir, I am here to share with thine daughter nothing save the perpetual wealth that is my affection.” Prodding his belly exaggeratedly forwards, he roared: “Dimitri eh? The name of a panhandling beggar! What wealth, God help me, could one of such name possibly possess?” At that I flicked a silver rouble at him, neighing my head. “Poor my lord, I am not. But alas, no wealth on earth can equal the treasure that is thine daughter.” The bartering theatrics for the price of Natalya went on for several more moments, as per tradition, until Aleksander couldn’t take it anymore and laughingly embraced me. He bestowed on me the hand of his daughter, only accepting my promise to take care of her indefinitely as his price. 

 We left the great hall and proceeded into the ballroom. This once was the most glorious room of the entire palace, and even though every single window had been shattered,  it still was breath-taking. The curtains appeared to be in an exceptionally good condition though, and even all the grand chandeliers still hung from the ornate ceiling. The paintings sadly enough had all been stolen, only leaving pale memories behind where they had once proudly hung. Aleksej had found a still relatively intact table, which he dragged to the centre of the room. The Batjoeska removed his battered cloak, revealing he was in fact dressed in the rich traditional Phelonion that exhumed the pomp and circumstance of the Russian orthodox church. He spread out his mantle on the table. From a small bag he had carried in hidden beneath his robes, he produced a gold chalice and a piece of bread. He beckoned Natalya and me to join him on opposing sides of one another. Natalya removed her robe as well and I found myself absolutely stunned by her beauty. She was and always had been a woman of whom it was hard to look away from, but to see her in the snow-white wedding dress was simply phenomenal. “Do you think I’m a bit pretty?” She asked, her cheeks blushing red. “Pretty?” I asked. “By God, the very stars would be ashamed if only they could see you!” Granted, it was a bit much, but I couldn’t find words that were more true to what I felt about her. She giggled and her father had the widest smile on his face I had ever seen. Aleksej put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. This had to be the best day of my life, I couldn’t imagine anything that could break my spirits with these people around me. The Batjoeska spread his arms wide and began uttering the traditional words that would make us man and wife, as a soft but all too familiar humming sounded in the distance. All of us instantly fell silent, listening to the sound slowly growing louder, until I realised exactly what it was. “Diesel engines!” Natalya screamed, but slapped a hand in front of her mouth instantaneously. She looked from me to her father, large-eyed, as I took her hand, dragging her to the large open doors that would lead into the palace gardens. Her father, the Batja and Aleksej did the same. In the garden however, the unmistakable sound of soldiers boots and excited voices resounded threateningly in the snow. “This is a death trap!” Aleksej almost spat the words. “I bloody knew they must’ve been still watching us!” I looked at Natalya. “We can hide on the attic, that is what saved me all those years ago!” She absently nodded and stood frozen. Aleksej sped towards the great hall where the main stairs were situated, and I tried to get Natalya to move with us.

As I looked around, my mind working overtime, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as the ornate doors Aleksej was headed towards where furiously battered aside and soldiers rushed in. They were dressed in the uniform of the Cheka, the new Soviet secret service. Aleksej backed off, and with Natalya still frozen on her spot, softly sobbing, it didn’t at all take long for us to be completely surrounded. There was no mistaking who we were, as our no-longer cloaked apparel made it clear at a glance we belonged to the Belaya kost, the old aristocracy. The soldiers hissed curses and insults at us, hatred clearly visible in their eyes. I held Natalya tightly in my arms, as Aleksej, Aleksander and the priest stood just as helpless beside us. Nailed to the ostentatiously intricate marble ballroom floor. An older officer stepped forward with a bitter look on his face. “Early this morning, a rapport came in that vandals were planning to set fire to the old palace of the traitors of Menshikov. Now it would appear to be the last offspring of the ratchet Menshikovs himself.” He looked at Aleksander and continued. “And the vipers of Nariskin if I’m not mistaken, what a catch!” When I heard the voice of the officer, I immediately was a little boy again, hearing the exact same voice calling out to capture that boy. The memory almost overwhelmed me as I tasted the same strong flavour of salt in my mouth as I had all those years ago. Cold tears ran down my cheeks, reaching the corners of my mouth. In my mind I heard my father begging to spare his wife and children, my mother crying. My face had turned whiter than the snow outside as the man turned to me, displaying a wolfish grin on his hate-filled face. “So it is you, little Belaya kost. You remember me don’t you?” He looked at Natalya. “Thank you, without your help this bastard would still be a stain of our peoples union.” He took her hair in his hands and smelled it. “I’m going to enjoy you, and then my men are going to enjoy you. Until you beg me to kill you. If you’re lucky, I will… eventually.” Natalya shook herself free from my grasp and shouted. “No! You promised! You…” I stared at her open mouthed, as the realisation of the officers words settled in. Her father had a look of disbelief on his face as he fell on his knees. “Little Natalyova?” He stammered. She looked from her father to me, tears running down her face. “I, I, they found out who I was. They were going to kill me, or worse.  I… didn’t want to, didn’t think..” The officer laughed. “You only proved one thing to us, stupid pretty Belaya kost. None of you can ever be trusted, as you would betray your own family if it would suit your selfish needs.” Aleksej cried out in rage and charged at two of the Cheka. He punched one of the soldiers to the ground, but the other simply slammed the butt of his rifle against Aleksej’s head. I still stared at Natalya, millions of thoughts playing through my mind as I mumbled. “I knew this was too good to be true. I knew it. I knew it.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. In the end I really did grow to love you, but… I love me more.” The officer laughed and shouted a command at his men. The Cheka stepped forward and the last thing I saw was a rifle butt rushing at my face.

 Gazing forward without fear, I stood without blindfold in front of the firing squad, waiting for the order that would be my salvation. I did not know what had come of Natalya, but her father Aleksander, and my best friend Aleksej stood at my side. I nodded at them, and they returned the gesture, as: “Pozhar!”resounded through the brisk Russian air and echoing thunder turned the snow red.

Out, out

The following paragraph is an excerp from my short story: Out, out. Enjoy!

“Isn’t it lovely out here Clara?” I put my fists in my back and stretched out my chest as I had seen masculine men do lots of times in films and series. Out here in the wilderness of Vermont’s countryside it somehow felt appropriate for a twig of a man to behave with rough testosterone bravado. Clara laughed at me. “Sure husband, shall I go and get your axe and lumberjack shirt from the car?” I smirked at her. “No sweet wife of mine, you may however tell me what you think of this Vermontian vista? Is it not simply breath-taking? Those mountain ranges, these vast forests and do you smell that?” “Smell what?” ”Nothing! Ha! Fresh air unlike anything we’ve experienced in Ye olde big apple, eh?” “Eh? Are you Canadian now as well? My God Michael if you’re going to behave like this we’re not moving here, you hear me?” I looked at her with faux seriousness and solemnly swore I was going to behave. “FYI, Canada is all the way up north from where you have found us a house.” With a smile on her face Clara simply walked a little further down the hilly road we stopped on. It might take some getting used to for my city-dwelling dear wife, but I was in love with the state of Vermont, as I had been since the first time I visited in my childhood. This was where I was going to write my book, this was where we would raise our family and grow old together. The sun was slowly nearing the horizon and a fresh cold wind blew from the north. “It will be an early winter don’t you think?” I nodded and wrapped my arms around Clara and slowly recited: “And from there those that lifted eyes could count. Five mountain ranges one behind the other. Under the sunset far into Vermont.” She simply turned around and kissed me. What better words to begin our new lives than a few from Robert Frost.

All that is gold does not glitter

Before you read below poem, bear in mind that I paraphrased J.R.R. Tolkien instead of quoting him directly, Therefore I write: “Not all that glitters is gold” while Tolkien himself put it rather more poetically: “All that is gold does not glitter”. Though I have chosen to change it slightly in order to make it fit the purpose of my little poetic bout. Allow me this poetic freedom and enjoy if you will, my scribblings below.

As J.R.R. Tolkien once told:
“Not all that glitters is gold.”
And he must have been wise,
as his name doth comprise:
of not one R but two and a J.
Yet there is more to this phrase I say:

Not all that glitters is gold.
Truth this sentence doth hold.
Though why does it matter?
Whether there is gold on your platter,
when there glitters so much more?
Feast your eyes at this splendor:

A leather-bound treasure,
doth not glitter a measure.
Though dull and white sheets,
contain great and marvelous deeds.
They can inspire and even instill:
Reason, and hope with the stroke of a quill.

To the canvas applies the same:
as layers of paint fashion their fame.
While no glitter exists in paint,
it easily makes spectators faint.
It doth endow a craving of misbehaving.
Or inspire great and glorious raving.

Invisible wrinkles of air even can:
provide more wealth there and then;
than the greatest treasure known to men.
Strings strung on wood or pipes softly blown,
bring tears to the eyes of the young and the grown.
Glitters not this tear more than the gold of a crown?

Does it therefore really matter,
if it is indeed gold that doth glitter?
When there is so much more wealth than wealth?
The sounds in the air, that stands up every single hair.
The tantalizing vision of paint on a wall or written words that do enthrall,
hold more value than all the gold, or any at all.


Have the loveliest of days in the best of all possible worlds!

I profess my love for words

Today I profess my love for words:

Without her voluminous vocabulary or rhythmic resonance, my days would be sullen and sad.
Without her sounds and movements in my mouth, I might as well stay in bed.
Without her presence filling my every thought and syllable expressed,
my humors would be immensely depressed!
O how I would love to see her undressed from those leather-bound, skin-tight covers.
What else is there to love than words, for booklovers?

Have a lovely day!

The Death of a Writer

The death of a writer

What a poor soul my dearly departed was,
Always scribbling this or that.
Into a dark alley he stumbled without pause,
To stoop and pick up his hat.

Heard a smirk or a simper, a grin even when;
A villain or two showed up there and then.
Asking for coin, all but declaring so:
What a pity he only had a transcript to show.

Clever with words yet most poor with a knife
Signed by his widow, no longer a wife.