Several of the events that happen in this chapter, as well as several more chapters to come, are taken from the book "The Pillars of the Earth". It is a very good book, one of the first long novels I ever read actually, it is about the building of a cathedral during the middle ages. I know the concept sounds odd but it has very interesting characters who move the story along, interesting historical facts, nice romances, and if you love historical fiction I truly recommend it.
Warning: Content may cause huge amounts of distress and/or trigger reactions, please read with caution, take care of yourselves. This is the darkest chapter yet and it is extremely dark. I am not exaggerating, I don´t say these kinds of things lightly. This chapter was at times painful to write. There is nothing graphic, but if you can't handle really dark material, wait for the next chapter, you will be able to connect dots. Specific triggers down in the endnotes.
Paul Igorovich Tabakov.
I was overjoyed to hear that annoying, cheeky prick who scarred my forehead was being taken away from his sisters. The sight of him and the youngest of them whining was truly hilarious. If I still believed in God, I would have claimed this was divine punishment for being a pair of smart-ass, privileged, immature, disrespectful, smug, and unruly children. Simply unbearable stand.
None of the Romanovs are very likable, but they don´t notice this too often because the world has revolved around them their entire lives.
I wasn´t exactly overjoyed to hear I was expected to escort the bratty child to Moscow though, but they needed someone from Perm to corroborate he had been safely delivered to his destination. Lucky for me, my comrade Roman Mitrofanovich Ustinov is coming too. He is a tall light blond with icy blue eyes. A little bit half-witted, but he is a loyal friend of mine since childhood, and most importantly, shares my sense of humor.
I have nothing against the Cheka. I think they do an important job, but they drain the joy out of the revolution with their firm rigidity. They make the yoke of the tsar seem light by comparison. What is the point of a revolution without vengeance? I can already tell these two dull, stoic pricks will be hard to be around. They are probably sissy smug intellectuals from middle class families who have never done a hard day´s work in their lives. They are also young, late twenties or so. Eight years younger than me and Ustinov and yet they are supposed to give us orders, please!
The oldest sister, Olga, has come too. She really wants to die, I suppose. I could tell since I saw her for the very first time at the train station that she was already more over there than here. She is a weak pale sack of bones with no servants or family coming along with her. She is beautiful, and she is alone. I am sure the Chekists won´t let us try shit with her though.
I am sitting just ahead of her in the carriage. The two Chekists are in front of us. Both have black hair, but from what I have gotten a glimpse of, different eye colors. Brown and blue.
The carriage has been moving for minutes now, but the driver is a slow, cowardly and womanish fellow. If it were me driving, we would have already arrived at the port.
I become disappointed when I notice that Olga and her brother have ceased crying. There must be something I can do to change that.
I start glaring at Olga with a grimace on my face. Not all the time, of course. She needs to become unsettled, maybe even begin doubting her own instincts. I scowl at her sporadically. Sometimes I just stare at her and enjoy the view. The Chekists certainly can´t stop me from doing that.
Whenever I am not gaping at her, I turn over to Roman by my side and whisper a crude joke or two in his ear, not low enough for her not to hear. At first, she doesn´t notice. For a while, she doesn´t seem to be thinking much of it. Finally, she starts becoming offended. Not only offended, scared. I can tell by the way her blue eyes grow big every time they meet mine. After the fifth time this happens, she stops meeting my gaze at all by keeping her head low. It is a small triumph.
The little brother is completely oblivious the entire time, although he tries to comfort his sister by stroking her hair because any idiot could see she is upset. I doubt he understood even half of our jokes.
"I have heard the other guards say they only have two sets of clothes and one pair of shoes each", Roman tells me once we grow bored of teasing Olga, although I know talking bad about her or her family will probably bother her just as much.
"I hope so", I say, loud enough for everyone in the carriage to hear. "It is time for those parasites to know what scarceness means. When I was growing up we had, at one point in time, one pair of shoes for me and my two brothers. They are lucky they even get one each, don´t you agree, comrade Ustinov?"
"What does scarceness mean?" He asks without a trace of irony. I roll my eyes at him.
"What I mean", I explain in simpler terms, "is that the Romanovs are all bloodsuckers."
"Oh!" He laughs. "Yes!"
"I only wish their stuck-up bitch of a mother had been here to watch", I continue. "I heard from comrades who worked at Ekaterinburg that she liked to complain."
I turn around to see the prisoners´ reactions. Olga´s eyes are filling with tears and the boy is pouting at us with the most ridiculous and childish frown on his face. I laugh out loud as I show Roman what I have achieved.
"Unlike Nicholas the Bloody, that guy didn´t like to complain", I keep going. "I bet I could have entered his chambers to have a good time with his wife and he still wouldn´t have. She had already fucked Rasputin either way."
I look back again and can barely contain my joy when I find Olga covering her brother´s ears with unmistakable disgust. She is already crying.
It is a great accomplishment. Roman and I laugh at them for almost a full minute before we start talking about something else.
After a while, I get the urge to mock the Romanovs once again.
"I wonder when they are going to follow their bloodsucking father and mother to the wall," I tell Roman. "They don´t deserve to breathe a day more after an entire life of luxury and banality sucked from the hard work of the people".
I look back to see their reactions, but to my great displeasure, Olga was too distracted looking at the port we are now approaching. The boy, on the other hand, was resting his head on her shoulder, staring at the sky like a retard.
They still have tears on their cheeks, but are no longer shedding new ones. I grunt, feeling as if I had liquid hatred running through my veins instead of blood.
Finally, we arrive at the port. Our steamer is called "The Promise". After we have boarded it, we will travel to Moscow through the Kama river first and then through the Oka.
The two Chekists, Roman and I get off the carriage quickly as Olga struggles to pick her brother up. How could she not? She is so slim, which is a pretty sight but not of much use for anything else. She is also holding both hers and her brother´s clothes under one arm already, which doesn't help.
Finally, the blue-eyed Chekist takes the boy away from her. The child shrieks in surprise and then, almost instantly, starts crying. He stretches his arms towards his sister, starts sobbing, and makes a scene. Olga remains close, holding Alexei´s hand while the Chekist carries him, but that doesn´t seem to shut the little urchin up.
It is a shame that a pretty girl´s only use will be to nurse that brat for what is left of her life. The Chekist ignores the boy´s whims and keeps carrying him to our ship. He is a true professional, not a lackey to pampered children.
We were taught that spoiled baby had been chosen by God Himself to rule over us, please! He is thirteen years old and still making such fuss about not getting his way. What does that coddled brat know about real life? What could he possibly know about governing a country?
When I was his age, I already worked full-time in a factory, essentially raising my two younger brothers because my wicked witch of a mother didn´t give a damn about us. She most definitely wouldn´t have held my hand while my supervisor beat me for doing something wrong, let alone if he simply carried me. I never held my brothers´ hands either, and as soon as they were old enough to look out for themselves, they had to.
Olga is truly a pathetic little creature, following her pathetic weakling of a brother to a likely death. Why would she do that? He looks as if he were going to die either way. She probably feels righteous and morally superior for making such a choice. That is the only explanation I can find. I really think that is the reason. She is a prideful woman who thinks little of anyone who isn't part of her aristocratic family. Seeing her work with the maid didn´t fool me. Olga´s haughty expression betrayed her. She probably did it to feel righteous and superior too. She probably thinks that the old woman should be grateful she and her siblings even dared speak to her.
We board the ship and accommodate our belongings in the cabins. Each of us will have one except for Olga and Alexei. The siblings will share a cabin because we were only expecting him.
The steamer sails before 8:30 AM.
Oo
Once Olga and Alexei are settled inside their cabin, Roman and I make ourselves at home in the common passenger quarters, where we sit on two chairs facing the men from Moscow, who do so on the sofa.
It surprises me to know the only people on board are us four, the Romanovs, and the crew, which consists of less than a dozen sailors including the captain.
"Shouldn't there be more security considering this is the former heir we are talking about?" I ask one of the Chekists.
"Not at all", he answers. "He can´t even walk, and I doubt his sister would be much trouble either. Besides, all members of the crew have been ordered, under threat of ultimate penalty, to make sure none of them escape."
I nod.
He then starts speaking in a lower voice: "But the truth is, unlike what happened with their previous transfers, when even reporters knew they were alive and being moved, this one is a state secret. No one but a selected group of people can know or know about their whereabouts, so we no longer need 400 soldiers or so like we did before. A rescue attempt is ultimately impossible if no one is aware they are even alive".
He is right. Their importance doesn´t diminish the fact we don´t need even two men to make sure a woman and a cripple don´t escape.
"What is your name comrade?" The other Chekist inquires. He is the one who carried the boy earlier.
"Paul", I answer. "Paul Igorovich Tabakov, and this is comrade Roman Mitrofanovich Ustinov". I point at my friend.
"I am Volya Illarionovich Kapustin", the blue-eyed man says. Then he points at the other Chekist, the one who explained to us the reason for the minimal security. "And this is Nosan Solomonovich Kacherovsky."
"Do any of you want a cup of coffee?" Nosan asks. "I can have a member of the crew bring it for you".
Oo
The Chekists are not so dull after all. Nosan reprimanded the captain of the ship and ordered him and his crew to sail faster. Volya gave us cigarettes.
While having a cup of coffee, they told us lots of interesting stories about the Cheka back in Moscow, recounting instances of counterrevolutionaries caught and shot. When Roman asked, they explained to him that the leather jackets they are wearing are popular among the Chekists, but not part of any sort of official uniform.
Apparently, liquor is implicitly sanctioned as long as it doesn´t impair you from your duty. They are also fond of a white substance you are supposed to snort through your nose. They even gave us some of it to try and told us they had brought five bottles of vodka to drink slowly throughout the journey.
Time flies and morning becomes evening. The Romanovs don´t come anywhere near us and refuse to have lunch. The Chekists don´t seem to be in any rush to force them to eat though, which is a shame.
Only when dinner time arrives do both of them finally decide to compel them to come out.
"Can you inform the Romanov citizens dinner is ready?" Volya asks me as we all prepare to eat in the small dining room. "This time drag them out if necessary, we can´t have them dying from starvation before we get to Moscow".
Nosan and Roman chuckle.
"Sure!" I reply. Then I discreetly turn over to Roman and whisper in his ear: "Come with me, let´s hear what is it they talk about when no one is listening".
"How can we hear if no one is listening?" He asks.
"I mean," I explain with frustration, "when they think no one is listening".
"Oh!" He exclaims. "Yea!"
Oo
Roman and I position our ears close to the cabin door in order to hear. I have to shut my friend up a bunch of times because he just won´t stop talking, making the discernment of any sound coming from the other side of the door next to impossible.
Finally, I manage to pick out their voices… and recognize some of the prayers. I concentrate to make sure they are not saying anything else.
"They are praying", Roman states the obvious. I sigh.
They are just praying indeed. Pathetic, but of course they are. They are like coddled children still believing in fairytales. There is no place for those superstitions or the people who believe them in this new world.
I resent their idiocy. I am also disappointed. I thought they would be saying or doing something far more interesting, like maybe talking about how to escape. Scaring them by storming into the cabin in the middle of their plotting conversation would have been incredibly fun… although thinking it through, mocking their faith would also be fun.
"I want you to promise me something", I hear the former heir say after they finish their prayers. Maybe this will turn out to be interesting after all.
"What is it darling?" Olga inquires in an annoyingly corny voice.
"If they ever execute me and you make it out alive, you will tell the sisters I was brave", Alexei replies. "I want you to tell them I trusted God, and was excited to meet papa and mama again, and didn't cry. Tell them I even laughed, I don´t want them to be sad. Promise you will do it even if I do cry or feel scared."
I have to step away from the cabin door just so they can´t hear me chuckling. Roman also laughs. That was so mawkishly sentimental and sugary I feel nauseous. It also makes me regret the fact I will have to return to Perm after leaving the Romanovs in Moscow, meaning I won´t be there to make sure he does indeed cry during the entire execution process.
I press my ear against the cabinet door as soon as I can to hear how Olga reacts.
"…understand baby", I catch her midsentence. "But the sisters deserve to know the truth and be there with you even if it is just in their minds. They will not judge you if you cry. Papa also had great faith in God, but he still felt anguish the few seconds after he was told he would be shot. I felt it in his voice, especially because the death sentence was really vague, making him think they were going to kill us too."
"But if you tell them I cried you will make them sad", he insists in a whiny voice. Is this kid really almost fourteen?
"We will be sad if you die no matter how brave you are, baby," Olga says. "We would feel the same way you would feel if any of us died".
Why is she taking that kid seriously? Why is she so stupid and patient with his embarrassing requests? No one ever did that shit for me when I was a kid.
"Are you sure?" Alexei asks.
"I am, wouldn´t you miss us regardless of whether we died the bravest way imaginable or soiling ourselves from fear?"
Both siblings burst into laughter as soon as Olga finishes that last sentence, which infuriates me. Then the laughter continues.
I decide to open the door. Olga is tickling Alexei under his arms. When I enter the cabin, she stops, immediately startled. They were genuinely laughing despite the tears in their eyes.
"That new fact about Bloody Nicholas dying like a wimp was interesting", I say to her. "I wish I had been there to watch".
"Watch? I wish I had pulled the trigger myself!" Roman proclaims.
"He shouldn´t have been shot though", I add. "He should have died in a much more painful way. Burnt alive, maybe."
"Or skinned alive!" Roman follows.
Roman and I continue discussing the possible ways we could have gotten rid of the tyrant in excruciating detail. We only stop to observe their reactions.
The boy has a dejected look. His lip starts trembling in a failed attempt not to burst into tears again. Olga glares at me with a very serious and even challenging expression as she pulls her sobbing brother into her arms.
Like that last time I insulted her on the carriage, she doesn´t react at all, but now I am pretty sure she has heard everything I said. I am still annoyed though. That prideful and pampered woman deserves to suffer for her unearned and privileged existence. It frustrates me to no end that she is able to keep her composure, pride, and dignity. She doesn´t have a right to.
"Dinner is ready, by the way", I inform her. She still doesn´t react.
"Roman, take the boy to the dining room, and you can starve if you want", I point a finger at her.
When my friend picks him up, the boy starts screaming and putting up a fight. The outburst is worse than the one before, when Volya carried him.
"I will be right here," Olga comforts her brother using that same sickening corny tone of voice. "Calm down".
She stands up to follow Roman without letting go of the boy´s hand.
Oo
Olga helps her brother eat, so it takes her a while to finish her own food. How she didn't thank God and stay in Perm when the Chekists came for that baggage is beyond me.
I don´t insult them during dinner because I fear the way the Chekists might react.
After the Romanovs have gone back to their cabins, we four go on deck. It is late already, but the sun hasn´t started setting yet. It is summer after all.
We are smoking and enjoying a fine view of the horizon when one of the crew members intrudes on our evening.
"I am sorry", the sailor apologizes. "But we are going to have to stop, we are having some technical difficulties with the steam turbine".
Oo
Volya and Nosan were so mad that they threatened to shoot all the crew members at some point, which even I considered excessive, as neither Nosan nor Volya know how to sail. They eventually came to see the good side of things and decided to take all of the vodka and cocaine with them, keeping both in their big leather bags.
"Oh, well", Volya shrugged. "This is an opportunity to relax."
We go ashore in a small village, a few kilometers away from Kambarka.
The crew of "The Promise" stays on board. One of the sailors told us they may need the entire night to fix the steamer.
Nosan carries the boy this time. For once Alexei doesn´t fight back, but does become even paler than usual. He also starts shaking in a ridiculous way. His eyes open wide and I don´t think I see him blink in minutes. It is very fun to watch. Olga takes his hand as usual.
"We are going to spend the night with a family of peasants", Nosan explains the Romanovs as we approach the many wooden lodges through a trail. "Do not reveal any of them your identity, otherwise, I will be forced to shoot them."
They don´t actually protest out loud, but it is very fun to watch their appalled reactions.
I doubt they genuinely care about the peasants. They have simply been taught since birth to see them as their property, and of course, they don´t want anyone destroying their property.
Volya knocks on the door of one of the first farmhouses we encounter and is greeted by an old peasant woman wearing a red wide dress with white undergarments underneath and a handkerchief around her hair. Her similarly old husband stands behind her, also wearing the typical peasant attire. Loose pants, long-sleeved shirt reaching his mid-thigh, boots, black cap, and everything.
They both look quite healthy and fat. Disgusting. They probably own more land than they need, and I have caught a glimpse of the many farm animals they keep in their backyard. They even have three horses. The revolution hasn´t made itself known in this corner of Siberia, it seems.
"Good afternoon", Volya greets the old babushka. "My comrade and I are from the All-Russian Extraordinary Commission, and we are going to need temporary lodging for six people in your house. It is just for one night."
The old woman´s eyes open wide.
"But we don´t have rooms for that many people!" She exclaims.
"Rooms will be shared", Volya takes out his Nagant revolver and makes sure the woman sees it, but doesn´t point it at her. "Now if you will excuse us". After slightly pushing the old woman aside, Volya enters the house and we all follow him.
The interior is made of wood as well. There are no sofas in the living room, only simple wooden armless seats and a bench.
Icons occupy one of the tables of the dining room. More fairytale believers.
There is a young man without an arm, no older than eighteen, sitting on the bench of the living room, probably their grandson who was injured during the war. He studies us with curiosity.
Nosan lets the former heir sit on one of the wooden chairs. Olga sits nearby.
The siblings seem content enough now that they are around someone other than one of their jailers. They immediately start talking to the veteran in a friendly manner. Truly pathetic. Their bloody father and his bloody imperialist war are the reason he doesn´t have an arm. They just like to pretend it isn´t.
The former soldier is an effeminate-looking and sounding man, just like our carriage driver. Disgusting. Talking to that unmanly individual makes the Romanovs feel at home for some reason and I am not happy about that.
There are two rooms in the house. The Chekists and I agree that the muzhiks should all sleep in one room, separated from us and the prisoners in the other one. We don´t know whether they have any monarchist sympathies, or if they will recognize Olga and Alexei from postcards or newspaper pictures, or even worse, let them escape.
It suddenly occurs to me that there is only one bed in the room. The Chekists say the muzhiks have enough blankets for all, but most of us will have to sleep on the floor. I really don´t mind sleeping on the floor. I became used to it early in my childhood, but the thought of Olga having to sleep on the floor warms me up.
Oo
The Romanovs and the muzhiks continue talking while Roman, Nosan, Volya and I begin drinking, playing cards, and snorting cocaine, something I am beginning to enjoy more and more. I am pleasantly surprised when Nosan and Volya begin talking about women. The ones they have fucked and the ones they want to fuck. The alcohol seems to have loosened them up.
The old woman is becoming visibly upset about our drinking and the things we are talking about.
I turn to Olga often to see whether she is also upset. I want her to be, but she is actively trying her best not to let any of our vulgar topics of conversation bother her. She is unfortunately succeeding. That Romanov bitch seems more worried about covering her brother´s ears.
The one sign that might indicate she is distraught is that she has crossed herself a few times.
Oo
We only have one and a half bottles of Vodka left. I didn´t realize we had been drinking so much.
"I think you have had enough of that", the old woman nags as she approaches us. "There is a young lady here and that behavior isn't appropriate".
It is as if she had been reading my thoughts.
"Prepare us something to eat, will you?" Nosan says, more as an order than a request.
"But first I will take those bottles away…" she bargains.
"You either shut up, or I will spread your brains all over this floor!" Volya yells. "Prepare us something to eat, you old hag!"
This time he does point his revolver at her. He is visibly drunk.
The woman immediately runs away from us and through a white curtain towards what I can only guess must be the kitchen. Her husband follows her, looking quite concerned.
Olga and her brother appear both scared and appalled once again. Good.
The veteran also looks infuriated about the way Volya threatened his grandmother, but doesn´t say a thing.
I smirk and blink at Olga, but she is, as usual, working hard to avoid meeting my gaze, so she doesn´t notice me doing that. I no longer see this as a victory. I want her to see. I want her to be uncomfortable. It is what she deserves. I keep glaring at her for a long time to no avail.
I burn up with rage. How dare she? Does she even know it is not within her rights anymore to look down on us?
Our talks about women are about to become explicit for the first time when the Romanovs leave the room. The veteran uses his good arm to help Olga carry Alexei upstairs.
"Stuck up bitch!" Nosan screams loudly just before they are out of sight. "She needs someone to cheer her up and fix that wooden face!"
The four of us cackle with laughter.
"That woman reminds me of the wife of an officer we arrested for hiding weapons", Volya says. "We suspected he was going to use them to arm rogue groups opposed to us. Anyway, the woman came to us begging for her husband´s release. She was one of those stuck-up bourgeois women, the church type, not the loose type… although I am not so sure anymore."
The four of us laugh for a long time, and then Volya continues telling the story: "I told her we would only release her husband if she slept with all the members of our local Cheka, otherwise, we would shoot him that same morning. You should have seen her face!"
"Well, did she?" Roman asks, excited.
"Of course she did!" The inebriated Nosan proclaims. "I was there and didn´t miss my turn! She didn´t stop crying and asking for forgiveness before, during and after, you should have seen it, there has never been anything more pathetic!"
"Oh, don´t say that Nosan", Volya hiccups, "she was clearly enjoying it".
That is what true, revolutionary vengeance really looks like. That, right there, is what the working class having the power, the whole power, truly is. It means taking all the bloodsuckers´ belongings, women included. Justice will never be served by following Commander Antonovich´s stupid rules.
"How did the husband react?" I ask, extremely interested.
"We really should have told him", Nosan regrets, "but we shot him the morning after it happened along with some other men, we kind of forgot about it …"
Nosan and Volya are even less serious than I originally imagined.
"But the wife´s reaction was gold!" Volya all but cries out with joy as he lifts his hands up to the sky.
I am no longer afraid of them.
"We should fix her wooden face", I suggest. Just at that moment, the married couple of muzhiks enters the dining room. They have brought the food.
Oo
I can barely contain my excitement as I climb up the stairs. Roman and I were told to go first. It was all our idea.
Light is coming out from one of the rooms. Youthful giggles can also be heard. Roman and I stop before the closed door for a second. Then I open it with a kick.
The laughter becomes a woman´s terrified scream.
Inside the room, we find Olga, Alexei, and the former soldier playing some sort of board game while sitting on the floor in front of the bed. The light is coming out of a kerosene lamp on top of a small table, which is located right of them.
Olga is finally looking at me. Her lips are parted by startlement. I revel in her terror without saying a word. In a few seconds, she recovers and stands up.
"What is it?" She is polite yet firm. Her confidence would have made me go mad before.
"I decided this is going to be my room as well, what is it with you?" I reply.
Olga looks at me and then at the soldier. She is scared and confused.
I pull out my revolver and point it at the young man.
"I am hungry, go fetch me bread and meat", I order him. He hesitates for an instant, fearing leaving Olga and her brother alone, but self-preservation wins in the end. He leaves. Olga walks towards the soldier as if to follow him downstairs.
"Stay here", I order before she gives one step outside, touching her shoulder with the revolver. Olga goes back into the room. Her eyes are bigger than usual. I chuckle at that, but she is too scared to notice.
Olga sits on the floor next to her brother. I use my arm to push the board game aside in one swift movement, scattering the pieces all over the floor.
"Hey!" Alexei protests.
Ignoring him, I kneel in front of the siblings and observe them.
They don´t look very much alike unless they have the same haughty expression on their faces. They also have a similar gap in their upper front teeth, something I noticed while they were laughing back in the cabin.
I use my memory to see whether they look anything like their siblings back in Perm, and soon become incredibly annoyed it was Olga, and not any of her other sisters, who decided to come.
Tatiana and Maria are the most beautiful, particularly Tatiana, who is just as haughty as Olga. Tatiana was also really condescending towards me when her bratty siblings attacked me with the slingshot. I would have preferred her.
Even Anastasia would have been preferable. While not as pretty as Olga, she is the one I hate the most. Her entire personality is simply insufferable. Anastasia, I decide, would definitely have been my choice out of the four.
Olga is still beautiful though. She has a round face, upturned nose, high cheekbones, light blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and dark blonde hair reaching her shoulders, almost light chestnut. That stern voice she uses with everyone but her useless invalid brother also reminds me of my mother.
Alexei is nothing special. A tall skinny teenager with dark auburn hair who has probably not even hit puberty yet. I like the sensation of having him in my power. He will finally pay for taking his childish boredom out on me. That forehead injury gave me headaches last night.
"How old are you Alexei?" I ask him.
"Four…teen years old", he answers unsurely.
I know his birthday is in two weeks at the very least. He is still thirteen but is probably so scared of me he is trying to make himself feel older. I chuckle, feeling quite proud of myself.
"Did you serve in the army?" I ask him.
"Yes", he replies shyly. "More less".
"What rank?"
"Lance corporal".
"Lance corporal!" I mock him. "Lance corporal, just like me! What a coincidence! How did you rise up to that rank? How many Germans did you kill?"
He doesn´t answer. The little brat can´t do anything but look down at his hands, so I grab his shirt lightly to get his attention.
"I killed one by bayoneting him through the skull, see?" I say, pointing at the band-aid covering the still open forehead wound he inflicted on me yesterday. "He looked a lot like you, actually, but that makes sense since he had the same German blood you got from your whore mother. It was hard to do, getting the bayonet through the bone, but once I got to the brain it was way easier, do you want me to show you?"
I use my index finger to poke his forehead harshly, just enough to cause him pain. I am soon delighted to see tears have started welling up in his eyes.
"Stop bullying him! He is just a kid! What is wrong with you?" His sister cries.
She has dared to speak, and seems even more upset than the boy, probably because I dared to insult that German bitch. I don´t care anymore. She won´t be speaking much in a few minutes. I don´t even acknowledge her existence.
"Have you ever even killed a man? Any man?" I ask the former heir.
"No", Alexei´s tears have been successfully held back by the time he answers my question with a sudden rush of confidence. "Not yet", he soon adds in a slight attempt at bravado, directing an intense, hate-filled glare at me, a glare that reminds me so much of his mother it is unbelievable. It is the same glare she used whenever photographed for official pictures, back when she was still the empress. The glare that communicated she believed herself to be better than everyone. They even share the same haughty expression.
You will suffer too somehow. I will make sure of that, you little pompous, stupid brat who can´t even use a fork.
"You are not a soldier", I state the obvious, and then I spit at his face. He is startled and disgusted by the spit, also a bit embarrassed and hurt, but not incredibly upset. He doesn´t even start crying, which is genuinely disappointing. He simply cleans his face with his hands and hides behind his sister´s arm.
"And you? How old are you?" I ask Olga this time. Silence. At first, it seems as if she were not going to answer, but then, apparently, she changes her mind.
"Twenty-two", she utters.
"Gee, gee… the entire family knows how to count!" I exclaim. "Are you a virgin Olga?"
"Of course I am!" She immediately replies, offended by the fact I dared to ask such a question.
Frigid little bitch. She thinks she is better than me because of that. I grow even more eager than before and stretch my hand to grab one of her breasts, squeezing it as hard as I can.
Olga immediately stands up in a quick jump while screaming frantically. Seeing how upset his sister has become, the little brat leans towards me and punches my stretched arm repeatedly with his fists and palms, throwing a hissy fit until I put it back. Nothing could have pleased me more.
I stand up, take the boy by the collar of his shirt with one hand and quickly punch him twice with my free fist. Olga yells at me to stop.
His lower lip is broken and starts bleeding. As I had already imagined, Alexei is weak. He starts screaming and crying as soon as I throw the third punch.
"Leave him alone!" Olga cries. She actually approaches me and clasps both her hands together in pleading. "Please leave us both alone!"
I raise my eyebrows and drop the boy. She seems to care more for her brother than herself. Interesting, and not at all what I had expected. Maybe she is not a self-righteous bitch after all, just an idiot. It will be good to take that into account.
The soldier comes back, carrying on his one hand a plate full of meat and bread. He turns pale when he hears Alexei´s sobs and sees him covering his face with his hands.
The peasant leaves the plate on the table where the lamp is and approaches Alexei. He gently takes the boy´s hands away from his face and takes a look at him. One of his cheeks is starting to become swollen. The soldier seems relieved it isn't worse.
I feel disappointed. I was hoping the soldier would burst into a rage. What a killjoy.
Olga also rushes to comfort her brother. She crosses herself when she discovers his newly broken lip.
I take a piece of bread and start eating it. Roman, who has been standing by the doorway and chuckling occasionally at my comments, enters the room and starts eating with me. A fun little idea occurs to me. I purposely drop a piece of meat on the floor, not too far away from me.
"Pick it up", I order. The veteran frowns at me but sets out to do it.
"Not you", I tell him, and then I look at Olga. "Her".
Olga hesitates, so I give her a death stare. She nods.
When Olga leans to pick up the piece of meat, I grab one of her ankles, right under her skirt, and very slowly creep my grasp up her leg. She stays still, paralyzed by fear. The soldier has walked out of the room. Good.
When my hand reaches her knee, Olga abruptly turns around and places her hands on my shoulders in an attempt to push me away. I quickly straighten up and slap her with all of my strength. She places her hands on her cheek and starts screaming. I feel a tickling sensation in my lower body.
Before she has time to recover, I grab her by the collar of her shirt and slap her again, even harder this time, on the other cheek. She starts crying.
I see the boy move again. Just what I was waiting for. I push Olga aside, using more strength than needed. She falls to the floor. Alexei stands up like he did yesterday back in Perm, when I insulted his sister for being an insufferable clown.
He limps towards me pathetically as fast as his crippled legs allow him to and then uselessly tries to hit me over and over again with his hands, like a deer attacking a hunter. I avoid most of his weak attacks with my arms and then punch him in the stomach. He loses his balance and lands on the floor with both hands. I kick one of his outer thighs and then one of his knees, which makes him wail incredibly loudly. It is exciting, but not nearly as exciting as hitting her.
"Watch out!" Roman yells just when I am about to kick the boy a third time. I turn around. The veteran wields a knife and is about to throw himself at me. This takes me by surprise. I did not expect such a display of bravery from that effeminate cripple. Not having time to take my revolver out, I raise my arms to protect myself and think with horror about the fact I will die just before my moment of triumph.
I hear a gunshot before the knife reaches my throat. The bullet has gone through the soldier´s back, landing on the wooden bed dangerously close to Alexei, who starts screaming even louder. Olga cries out along with her brother.
The shooter is Volya.
The one-armed man collapses on the floor moaning. He is still alive. I easily take the knife from his hand and turn him over in order to finish him off with it. I stab him over and over again as the blood splashes out into my face. That little prick. This is exhilarating...
The old peasants have climbed up the stairs, probably alarmed by the gunshot. The man stares at the corpse with horror in his eyes. The woman starts screaming.
"Misha!" She cries as she leans to touch her grandson´s body.
The old man moves to attack Volya, but Nosan shoots him before he is able to. He shoots the old woman as well, probably because he wanted to avoid having to deal with her inevitably annoying reaction.
The Romanovs are screaming hysterically. Some of the blood paints their faces and the gunshots have scared both of them badly.
"Do you need help with anything else?" Nosan asks.
"Let´s take the bodies outside the room", I answer.
The veteran is almost weightless, but the two old muzhiks are heavy. The tedious task makes me impatient.
Back inside, we find the Romanovs sitting closely together on the ground with their arms firmly wrapped around each other. They are shaking, wailing, and the boy is yelling still. We can´t help but laugh at the sight.
I grab Olga by the hair with one hand. She starts screaming louder. The boy fights me once again by punching, slapping, and biting me. All that while keeping a good grasp on his sister´s arms. Olga doesn´t want to let go of him either.
"No!" She cries the entire time. "Please!"
The bites do hurt a lot, and I am making sure the little shit pays for them later, but other than that, the brat´s struggle is even more pathetic this time, as he can barely take a step without wincing in pain. My friends help me separate them.
Once the siblings are split apart, I push the boy to the ground for a second or maybe a third time today. He becomes a blubbering mess when he lands. It is clear the little rascal has finally used whatever was left of his strength.
I begin to undress Olga while my three friends watch. When she inevitably starts fighting back, Volya and Nosan hold her still by grabbing her by an arm each.
I use the bloodied knife to tear off her clothes as she struggles, cries, and screams, unable to move. The hardest part is ripping off the corset. Volya and Nosan let her go only once she is completely exposed.
She desperately tries to cover her nakedness with her hands. Her vulnerability is exciting. Her embarrassment is even more exciting.
I experience the same tickling sensation as I bring her closer towards me and begin exploring the parts of her body she is unsuccessfully trying to cover.
Volya and Nosan jeer.
Her tears flow freely and constantly. I lick some of them as a way to ridicule her.
Olga attempts to push me away. She tries to slap, hit, and kick me. Sometimes she does. I become annoyed. She is way stronger than her brother and does cause me trouble.
I grab her by the shoulders and shake her up as hard as I can to stop the resistance, but that only makes it worse.
"Please! Don´t do this!" She begs without ceasing to resist. "Mercy! Mercy!"
Olga is showing a huge lack of composure, and there is no way she has an ounce of pride or dignity left. It is absolutely perfect.
I keep exploring her body.
"Please!" She bawls and pleads. "Please!"
"Pray I don´t do it!" I bark at her mockingly by way of answer. Then I bite her shoulder until I feel the taste of blood. The loudness of the subsequent scream is absolutely delicious.
"The boy is standing up again", Roman notices.
"Grab him", I order my friend, who grabs and immobilizes Alexei in front of us.
I push Olga to the floor. She falls on her back and is left without air. It is time.
I pull my pants down. She crawls back with horror in her eyes, screaming hysterically. My comrades' jeers grow stronger than ever.
"Bring the boy here, closer", I tell Roman. "I want him to watch everything."
For some reason, the idea of doing it in front of him appeals to me enormously. Roman seems to be thinking the same thing, as I can tell by his smirk. Volya and Nosan jeer in support.
Roman brings Alexei closer and forces him to kneel down. The boy yelps in pain when his knees touch the floor.
When I show the little brat what I will soon stick inside his sister, he opens his eyes wide in dismay.
The moment has finally come. I kneel on the ground and start trying to separate Olga´s legs. As usual, she starts moving in defiance, and when she notices what I am trying to do, closes her legs more tightly than ever.
I let myself fall on her body, trying to submit her by force, but Olga keeps up the struggle and only grows more stubborn when I start to get violent.
I punch her in the face and arms. I grope that attractive-looking bruise she has on her chest. I press the bite wound on her shoulder. I even grab her by the hair and pick her up at one point in order to give her a proper beating all over the body with the handle of my revolver. I use my fists and feet as well. It makes her cry out in pain, which is nice, but not enough.
The Chekists offer their assistance more than once, but I rebuff them firmly. My pride is being wounded. I should be the only one needed to break her. I want to be the one to break her.
She keeps fighting back when I push her back to the floor. I threaten to shoot her more than once, but it doesn´t make a difference. Olga knows I don´t want her dead, so she continues resisting with the exact same intensity.
Suddenly another fun little idea occurs to me.
"Cut the lobule of the boy´s ear, Volya", I say.
Olga stands still.
"No!" She wails. "Leave him alone! Don´t hurt him anymore!" Her voice is incredibly raspy after so much screaming.
"Then open your fucking legs!" I yell.
Olga stares at me with huge terror-stricken eyes, sickened by the disturbing choice she is being forced into. I truly am enjoying her suffering.
Volya approaches the wailing kid with the knife in his hand. The boy tries to move, but Roman keeps his head still.
Volya quickly cuts the lobule of his left ear without much trouble before giving Olga any time to decide. He cries out in pain. Blood pours out of his small wound and the little piece of ear falls on Olga's chest.
"What part shall we cut next?" I joke.
"Stop! Stop!" Olga cries. "I´ll do it!"
She closes her eyes tightly, opens her legs, clenches her fists, and remains unmoving and tense. Her features are strained. Her breathing is fast.
I enjoy her terror for a moment and then turn my head over to the others.
Alexei chokes with sobs as he watches the scene.
"Your turn will come comrades", I promise them.
Oo
She chickened out the first time with me by trying to crawl back. Apparently, it proved to be far more painful than she originally imagined.
We took turns on her for about an hour. She screamed for mercy whenever she wasn´t crying out in pain.
Every moment it was not my turn I made sure the boy didn´t look away or close his eyes by touching the wound on his ear whenever he did. It made him howl in pain, which was hilarious.
It was definitely amusing at first to hear the brat scream blue murder at us or let out hopeless whimpers whenever his sister´s wails became particularly deafening or one of us was excessively rough with her.
I eventually grew bored of his predictable reactions though, and began focusing solely on his sister, but once in a while, I looked back at him out of curiosity, only to find him sobbing in the corner of the room with his eyes closed shut, turned into a small ball, and covering his own ears because there was no one available to do it for him.
Trigger Warnings:
-Rape.
-Physical and Emotional Abuse.
-Child abuse (Physical and Emotional).