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 donʼt 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 those bitches whining was truly hilarious. If I still believed in God, I would have thought of this as 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 donʼt notice this too often because the world has revolved around them their entire lives.
I wasnʼt 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, he 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 dayʼs 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. I am sitting just ahead of her on the carriage. 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 wonʼt let us try shit with her though.
The two Chekists are sitting in front of me and Roman. Both of them 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.
It disappoints me to see that Olga and her brother have ceased crying. There must be something I can do to change that.
I decide to start glaring at the former grand duchess with the nastiest 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 canʼt 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 doesnʼt notice. For a while, she doesnʼt 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. A small triumph.
The little brother is completely oblivious as to what is happening, 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 for a fact that talking shit about her or her family will unnerve her just as much.
"I hope so", I say, loud enough for everyone on 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, donʼt 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 prisonersʼ reactions. Olgaʼs 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 didnʼt 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 wouldnʼt have. She had already fucked Rasputin either way."
I look back again and can barely contain my joy when I find Olga covering her brotherʼs ears with unmistakable disgust. She is already crying. This is truly a great accomplishment. Roman and I laugh at them for almost a full minute before we start talking about something else. The change in subject doesn't last long, however. A few minutes go by and 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 donʼt 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 to hear what I just said. 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 they are no longer shedding new ones. I grunt, feeling as if I had liquid hatred running through my veins instead of blood.
We finally arrive at the port, where we will board "The Promise", our steamer. 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 her and her brotherʼs clothes under one arm, which sure doesn't help.
The blue-eyed Chekist loses his patience and takes the boy away from her. The child shrieks in surprise and then starts crying, stretching his arms out towards his sister. He sobs pathetically, making a scene. Olga remains close, holding Alexeiʼs hand as the Chekist carries him, but that doesnʼt seem to shut the little urchin up.
It is such a shame that this pretty girlʼs only use will be to nurse that brat for what is left of her life. The Chekist ignores the boyʼs whims and carries him all the way to our ship. He is a true professional, not a lackey to pampered children.
We were taught that this 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 didnʼt give a damn about us. She most definitely wouldnʼt have held my hand while my supervisor beat me for doing something wrong, let alone if he simply carried me. I never held my brothersʼ 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 didnʼt fool me. Olgaʼs haughty expression betrayed her. She most definitely 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, who will share theirs due to the fact we were only expecting him.
The steamer sails before 1 PM.
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 take a seat on the sofa.
It surprises me to learn that 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 canʼt 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 doesnʼt diminish the fact we donʼt need even two men to prevent a woman and a cripple from escaping.
"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. He then 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 about their particular way of dressing, they explained to him that while the leather jackets they are wearing are popular among the Chekists, there isn't any sort of official uniform.
Apparently, liquor is implicitly sanctioned as long as it doesnʼt impair you from your duty. Volya and Nosan are likewise fond of a white substance you are supposed to snort through your nose. They even gave us some of it to try, and surprisingly enough, they have also brought five bottles of vodka to drink slowly throughout the journey.
Time flies and morning becomes evening. The Romanovs donʼt come anywhere near us, and they refuse to have lunch and dinner. The Chekists donʼt seem to be in any rush to force them to eat though, which is a shame, but when the night arrives, the sound of the Romanovs' sobs coming from the cabin across from mine lulls me to sleep, making up for everything.
Oo
July 21st, 1918.
Only when the morning comes and breakfast time arrives do the Chekists finally decide to compel Olga and her brother to come out.
"Can you inform the Romanov citizens that breakfast is ready?" Volya asks me as we all prepare to eat in the small dining room. "This time drag them out if necessary, we canʼt have them dying from starvation before we get to Moscow."
Nosan and Roman chuckle.
"Sure!" I reply. Then I turn over to Roman discreetly. "Come with me", I whisper in his ear, "letʼs hear what it is that 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 Romanovsʼ cabin door. I have to shut my friend up a bunch of times because he just wonʼt 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 he and his sister 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 that I trusted God and was excited to meet papa and mama again, and that I didn't cry. Tell them that I even laughed, I donʼt 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 canʼt 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 wonʼt be there to make sure he does indeed cry during the entire execution process.
I press my ear back 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", Alexei 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, wouldnʼt 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. The laughter goes on for too long, so 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. They have also changed clothes, and the attires with which they came are folded on one of the beds. The fact Alexei's hair is wet suggests that they bathed recently. Disgusting. Those coddled brats, bathing every day as if that were necessary.
"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 shouldnʼt 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 in which 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 doesnʼt 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 doesnʼt have a right to.
"Breakfast is ready, by the way", I inform her. She doesnʼt 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 Roman 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 boyʼs hand.
Oo
Olga helps her brother eat, so it takes her quite 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 donʼt insult them during breakfast, as I fear the way the Chekists may react.
Once the Romanovs have gone back to their cabin, we four go on deck, where we smoke and enjoy a fine view of the horizon for only a few minutes before one of the crew members intrudes on our pleasant conversation, ruining our morning.
"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 of 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. "A chance 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 doesnʼt fight back, but he does become even paler than usual. He also starts shaking in a ridiculous way. His eyes open wide, and I donʼt 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, for otherwise, I will be forced to shoot them."
They donʼt 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 donʼt 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 hasnʼt 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 womanʼs eyes open wide. "But we donʼt 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 he doesnʼt point it at her. "Now, if you will excuse us." After slightly pushing the old woman aside, Volya enters the house. We all follow him.
The hutʼs interior is also made of wood. 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 the old coupleʼs grandson. He studies us with curiosity. I can bet he lost his arm during the war.
Nosan lets the former heir sit on one of the wooden chairs, and 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 doesnʼt have an arm. They just like to pretend it isnʼt.
The former soldier is an effeminate-looking and sounding man, just like our carriage driver. Disgusting. Talking to that unmanly individual seems to be making the Romanovs feel at home for some reason, and I am not pleased about that.
The house has only two rooms. The Chekists and I agree that the peasants should all sleep apart from us and the prisoners, as we donʼt know if 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 each room. The Chekists say that the muzhiks have enough blankets for us all, but most of us will have to sleep on the floor. I really don't mind sleeping on the floor. I got used to it early on 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, whereas 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 to hear Nosan and Volya talk 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 often turn to Olga to see if 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 brotherʼs ears.
The one sign that may indicate she is distraught is the fact she has crossed herself a few times.
Oo
We only have one and a half bottles of Vodka left. I didnʼt 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!" A visibly drunk Volya yells. "Prepare us something to eat, you old hag!" This time, he does point his revolver at her.
The woman instantly 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.
The veteran seems infuriated about the way Volya threatened his grandmother, but he doesnʼt say a thing. The Romanovs too appear to be both scared and appalled by Volyaʼs actions. Good.
I smirk and blink at Olga, but she is, as usual, working hard to avoid meeting my gaze, so she doesnʼt 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 that it is not within her rights to look down on us anymore?
Our conversations about women are about to become explicit for the very first time when the Romanovs leave the room, the veteran using 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 husbandʼs 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 before Volya continues telling the story: "I told her we would only release her husband if she slept with every member 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 didnʼt miss my turn! She didnʼt stop crying and asking for forgiveness before, during, and after, you should have seen it, there has never been anything more pathetic!"
"Oh, donʼt say that Nosan", Volya hiccups, "she was clearly enjoying it."
That is what true, revolutionary vengeance really is. That, right there, is what the working class having the power, the whole power, truly means. It means taking all of the bloodsuckersʼ belongings, women included. Justice will never be served by following Commander Antonovichʼs stupid rules.
"How did the husband react?" I ask, extremely interested.
"We really should have told him", Nosan laments, "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 wifeʼs 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 two old muzhiks enter the dining room. They have brought the food.
Oo
I can barely contain my excitement as I climb up the stairs. Because this was our idea, Roman and I were told to go upstairs first.
There is light coming 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 womanʼs 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 source of light is a kerosene lamp on top of a small table located right of them.
Olga is finally looking at me, her lips parted by startlement. I revel in her terror without saying a word. In a few seconds, however, 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 also going to be my room, 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. The soldier hesitates for an instant, fearing leaving Olga and her brother alone, but self-preservation wins in the end. He leaves, and Olga walks behind him as if to follow him downstairs.
"Stay here", I order her before she gives even one step outside, touching her shoulder with the revolver. Olga obeys, her eyes growing bigger than usual. I chuckle at that, but she is too scared to notice.
When 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 before the siblings and observe them.
They donʼt look very much alike unless they are wearing the same haughty expression, but they do have a similar gap in their upper front teeth, something I noticed when I saw them laughing back in the cabin.
While using my memory to see if they look anything like their siblings back in Perm, I become incredibly annoyed by the fact it was Olga and not any of her 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, an upturned nose, high cheekbones, light blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and dark blonde hair reaching her shoulders, almost light chestnut. Furthermore, that stern voice she uses with everyone but her useless invalid brother 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 nonetheless. 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 little less than a month. The boy is still thirteen, but he is probably so scared of me that 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 doesnʼt answer. The little brat canʼt do anything but look down at his hands, so I grab his shirt lightly to get his attention.
"I killed one of them by bayoneting him through the skull, see?" I point 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. 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 that tears have started welling up in his eyes.
"Stop bullying him! He is just a kid! What is wrong with you?" His sister cries.
Olga has dared to speak, and she seems even more upset than the boy, probably because I dared to insult that German bitch. I donʼt care anymore. She wonʼt be speaking much in a few minutes. I donʼt even acknowledge her existence.
"Have you ever even killed a man? Any man?" I ask the former heir.
"No", Alexeiʼs 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. That is the same glare she used whenever photographed for official pictures, back when she was still the empress. The glare which communicated that 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 canʼt 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, and also a bit embarrassed and hurt, but not incredibly upset. He doesnʼt even start crying, which is genuinely disappointing. He simply cleans his face with his hands and hides behind his sisterʼs 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. Growing even more eager than before, I 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 as 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!"
Genuinely surprised, I raise my eyebrows and drop the boy. She seems to care more for her brother than herself or even her honor. Interesting, and not at all what I had expected. Perhaps 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 Alexeiʼs sobs and sees him covering his face with his hands. Leaving the plate on the table where the lamp is, the peasant approaches the boy and gently coaxes him to reveal the damage. One of the child's cheeks is starting to become swollen, but the soldier seems relieved it isn't worse.
This is disappointing. I was hoping that peasant would burst into a rage. What a killjoy, but what can one expect from such a womanly fellow?
Olga too has rushed 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 scowls at me, but he 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, leaning to pick up the piece of meat. That is when 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. My grasp remains firm though, so she slaps me. I quickly straighten up and slap her back with all of my strength. She puts her hands on her cheek and starts screaming, causing me to feel a tickling sensation in my lower body.
Before she has any time to recover, I grab her by the collar of the 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 when I insulted his sister for being an insufferable clown.
He pathetically limps towards me 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 as I am about to kick the boy a third time. I turn around to see the veteran wielding a knife. He 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 soldierʼs back, landing on the wooden bed dangerously close to Alexei, who starts screaming even louder. Olga too is crying out.
The shooter is Volya.
The one-armed man collapses on the floor moaning. He is still alive, but I easily take the knife from his hand and turn him over to finish him off. I stab him over and over again as the blood splashes out onto 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 kneels to touch her grandsonʼs 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 peasantsʼ blood paints their faces, and the gunshots have scared both of them badly.
"Do you need help with anything else?" Nosan asks.
"Letʼs 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, weeping, and the boy is still yelling. We canʼt help but laugh at the sight.
I grab Olga by the hair with one hand. She starts screaming again, and the boy puts up a fight by punching, slapping, and biting me. All of this while keeping a good grasp on his sisterʼs arms. Olga doesnʼt want to let go of him either.
"No!" She cries. "Please!"
The bites do hurt a lot, and I am making sure the little shit pays for them later, but other than that, the bratʼs struggle is even more pathetic this time, as he can barely take a step without wincing in pain.
Once my friends have helped me pull the siblings 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 that the little rascal has finally used whatever was left of his strength.
I begin to undress Olga, my three friends watching and clapping nearby. 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 her corset.
Once Olga is fully exposed, Volya and Nosan let her go, and she desperately tries to cover her nakedness with her hands. Her vulnerability is exciting. Her embarrassment is even more exciting.
I experience that familiar tickling sensation as I bring her closer to me and begin exploring the parts of her body she is unsuccessfully trying to cover. Her tears flow freely and constantly. I lick some of them as a way to ridicule her.
Volya and Nosan jeer.
Olga attempts to push me away. She tries to slap, hit, and kick me. Sometimes she does, and this annoys me. 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 her defiance, but that only makes it worse.
"Please! Donʼt do this!" She begs me. "Mercy! Mercy!" Her resistance doesn't cease.
Olga is showing a huge lack of composure though, 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 is bawling her eyes out. "Please!"
"Pray I donʼt 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 her subsequent scream is absolutely delicious.
"The boy is standing up again", Roman notices.
"Grab him", I order my friend, who immobilizes Alexei.
I push Olga to the floor. She falls on her back and is left without air. It is time.
I pull my pants down, and 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, causing the boy to yelp in pain when his knees touch the floor.
I show the little brat what I will soon stick inside his sister and he opens his eyes wide in dismay.
The moment has finally come. I kneel on the ground and set out to separate Olga's legs, but when she picks up on what I am trying to do, she moves wildly in defiance, closing 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. All of this 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.
The fucking bitch keeps fighting back when I push her back to the floor. I threaten to shoot her more than once, but this doesnʼt make a difference. Olga knows I donʼt want her dead, and so she continues resisting with the exact same intensity.
Suddenly, another fun little idea occurs to me.
"Cut the lobule of the boyʼs ear, Volya", I say.
Olga stays still for a moment.
"No!" She wails. "Leave him alone! Donʼt hurt him anymore!" Almost half an hour of incessant screaming has left her voice incredibly raspy.
"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.
Knife in hand, Volya approaches the wailing kid. The boy tries to move, but Roman keeps his head still as Volya quickly cuts the lobule of his left ear without much trouble, not giving Olga any time to decide.
Alexei 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. "Iʼll 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. Alexei chokes with sobs at the sight of his sisterʼs pitiful state.
I enjoy her terror for a moment and then turn my head over to the others.
"Your turn will come comrades", I promise them.
Oo
Olga chickened out the first time I entered her and tried to crawl back. Her sacrifice had apparently proven far more painful than she originally imagined it would be, but she had no strength left to resist me.
We took turns on her for hours, in every way imaginable. Screams for mercy, gagging sounds, or cries of pain always accompanied our fun.
While it was not uncommon for two or more of us to possess her at the same time, one of us usually waited his turn and made sure that the boy didnʼt look away or close his eyes by touching the wound on his ear whenever he did. This made him howl in pain like a woman in labor, 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 sisterʼs wails became particularly deafening or one of us was excessively rough with her, but I eventually grew bored of his predictable reactions and began focusing solely on my pleasure. Once in a while, however, I would look 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).