x
When the regiment returned to Korosumska a month later, Captain Alexei Karamazov was a hero by popular acclimation. From the official viewpoint, he was a rash, insubordinate and untrustworthy young man who deserved to be sent home in chains and consigned to Siberia for a term at hard labor. He had endangered the lives of his command by marching against undetermined members of the enemy into what could have been an ambush. The attitude of his fellow professionals, when it was not more rancorous was that he had more luck than sense. They were not inclined to the view of several officers on the staff at corps HQ that there'd been such a scarcity of heroes in the dogged campaigning in Korgay that the credentials of any possible candidate should not be examined too closely. Heroism was pap for the newspapers, the civilians, who did not realize that duty was the stuff of armies. The professionals were only disgruntled by the fact that woodcut impressions of Alexei's hoorahing of Tharam flourished on front pages back in the states.
With barely one hundred men of his company, Alexei had marched up to Tharam, attacked before dawn and taken ninety-odd insurgents, including a general, several political advisers and a group of propaganda makers with the printing press they hauled from town to town. Had he accomplished this feat under orders, it would not have seemed half so glamorous. But for a man to bring off this kind of coup, against orders as well as against the numerical superiority of the enemy, marked him especially daring at a time when a pedantic atmosphere dominated headquarters and every responsible officer went strictly by the book.
The army, in view of the popular favor accorded Alexei both in Korosumksa and back in Moscow, could not afford to take disciplinary acclaim for the successful strike at Tharam. HQ suspected that he had encouraged Alexei's insubordination---one does not deliberately defy the man who is both commander and prospective father-in-law---especially after the general refused to reprimand Alexei. Within six weeks after the capture of Tharam the general's provisional command was dissolved and he was a commander without troops, waiting around Korosumska with other commandless generals. There was no more talk of his succeeding to the corps command. It was generally understood that he would be allowed to "rot on the vine," that he would be handled so discreetly, with polite disavowals that he was being shelved, that he could not demand a court of inquiry.
None of these blemishes on his performance at Tharam bothered Alexei at the moment. He accepted the compliments that fluttered around him and ignored the frowns on certain elderly male faces when they observed him careening across the social scene.
And the new Russian society in Korosumska was lively, if not positively brilliant by international standards, that autumn of 1899. Along with a native bent towards the gregarious, as opposed to the former ruler's predilection for a starkly enclosed society, the Russians brought with them a liveliness quite unknown to the everyday Turanian. Many of the barriers between rank and wealth began to vanish, although not entirely, for Russians were conscious of certain distinctions. The military, in particular, could not afford a total breakdown in the caste system. The generals of the army, however little regard they might have for each other professionally, tended to cling to each other in any large gathering; and so on down the various grades of the armed services. Among civilians the members of the Commission sent out from Moscow were given a special status in the pecking order, but otherwise the doctors, teachers, scientists, bureaucrats and businessmen, who far outnumbered the official nabobs, mingled on fairly even terms---and had a much better time.
A feverish romanticism was also prevalent, engendered by the scenery, stage props and costumes of the muted drama being enacted in Korosumska, and by a definite talent for self-dramatization among those present, even those with the less glamorous roles. Russia, after all, had sent its more youthful and daring people to its newest oblast and they were not unconscious of the historic possibilities of their presence in "Oriental Russia." Young doctors of the Public Health Service were bound to remote fever spots where they were pledged to conquer disease and the sloth in which it breeds. Girls barely out of teachers' college were headed for the villages of scimitar-wielding heathens with little more than a stack of First Readers and their own splendid self-assurance as protection.
The air of easy victory, the romantic setting of Korosumska, the dark magnificence of the houses in which they reveled, the brilliance of the uniforms, which tended to acquire more gold braid and epaulets than required by the regulations---all conspired to thicken the atmosphere with a giddy hallucination that its beneficiaries would look back upon fondly and wonderingly all their lives. Those with superb literary skills, for example, found themselves reminded of Thackery's description of Brussels on the eve of Waterloo.
In this hothouse climate, with a kind of false chivalry blooming and an overblown gallantry flourishing nightly at balls and receptions among soldiers who would never hear the crack of a bullet, Alexei Karamazov cynically made the best of things. He grinned when a Korosumska newspaper characterized him as the "the Beau Sabreur of the Imperial Army," knowing how it would make his fellow gallants writhe. He smiled sardonically when young women from the Russian hinterland begged him for a lock of his dark hair to wear in their heart-shaped golden lockets. He accepted with a mock modesty the giggling and gasping rush of the ladies, old and young, when he made his entrance at a social affair or in the lobby of the Hafrar Inn. Dimitri credited him with keeping this sense of proportion despite the heady draughts of adulation, but soon learned, without shock, that Alexei was not above taking advantage of the situation. Few men would be. Yet Alex went about it in a calculating fashion more disturbing than if he had just been overwhelmed by the hero-worship.
"That young brother of yours," Colonel Spravtsev remarked to Dimitri, "is easily the number-one womanizer of Korosumska. If he doesn't acquire some small sense of discretion, some husband is going to blow him to kingdom come. Do you think a fatherly lecture by his old colonel would do any good?"
"I'm sure it wouldn't," Dimitri said. "He was always able to charm his way past Mother and Father, and about all he's understood in the way of discipline is a brotherly punch in the jaw from time to time."
"Well," Spravtsev grumbled, "he'd better straighten himself out before he gets into trouble. He reminds me of a young Cossack in his first battle, counting coups for all he's worth."
The discussion came up at the monthly Army Assembly, an informal ball inaugurated to promote friendship and understanding between officers of the two services. It was held in the Provost Marshal's Building in the walled city, and attendance was obligatory for any officer on duty or on leave in Korosumska. Failure to attend would have indicated a churlish attitude towards the other service, and the senior officers of the army were bent on demonstrating a public comradeship.
Dimitri and the colonel were at the bar having tall, iced drinks fashioned from vodka and lemons. An army band was thumping out the waltzes and two-steps, and the corridors as well as the dance floor of the stout old adobe building were crowded with people whirling themselves around with more energy than discretion. In the cruel heat the tunics of the men were plastered to their shoulders and even the more elegant ladies had a parboiled look about them, but most of the people were enjoying themselves too much to worry about a condition which they were becoming accustomed, that of being bathed constantly in a light film of perspiration, and which was no longer very embarrassing.
Alexei had attracted the colonel's attention by his activities on the dance floor with a young woman who should have been their last choice as a partner in flirtation, if that term was not too mild. Alexei was slyly paying court, as he had been for several months, beginning just before Raisa Milekhina and her father arrived from back west, to the wife of Brigadier General Kortney Alyokhin. Raisa, meanwhile, pretended to be engrossed in an awkward young first lieutenant just over from the mainland.
There was nothing overtly improper about Alexei's attentions to Euphrosyne Alyokhin, yet on close observation there was something distinctly lubricious about the way his left hand clutched at the lady's shapely back, at the way he looked into her eyes, at the caressing manner of his words and glances. Downright indecent, in their total effect, and no less shocking for the way Mrs. Alyokhin responded.
Among the more interested observers was General Alyokhin himself, gripping a cigar in one hand, an untasted drink in the other. The general, now in the quartermaster's department, looked like an elderly businessman, although he had been a soldier all his life. His eyes, pouched with weariness, followed his wife and her admirer with the disillusionment of a man who has long anticipated bankruptcy.
Euphrosyne Alyokhin was a strikingly attractive woman. She was perhaps five or six years old than Alexei, but the difference in their ages would have been noticeable only to another woman, who would assess certain hairline wrinkles around the eyes, a little puff of flesh under the jaw, a slight over ripeness of her contours, and find them satisfyingly indicative.
She was the daughter of a wealthy and indulgent parliamentarian who had advanced her husband's career in partial payment for having irremediably spoiled his daughter. A high-styled brunette, she wore her glossy hair in an elaborate arrangement of puffs and buns that was more architecture than hairdo, contrasting vividly with her pale and delicate complexion and her lively blue eyes. Her sinuous movements on and off the dance floor were provocative enough to catch the attention of any male under 90 with passable eyesight. The sapphire gown she wore came directly from a Paris fashion house and was designed with an artful immodesty to display every ripple of the body beneath it.
When the two-step ended, Alexei guided Mrs. Alyokhin back to her husband's side, bowed to the general, glanced at Mrs. Alyokhin again, and then moved from the ill-mated couple.
Dimitri observed that the Alyokhins seemed to be having an unfriendly discussion, the general's face reddening with anger, his wife's hardening into an obdurate mask. Dimitri guessed that the general was insisting that they leave the Assembly, and his wife was refusing to go with him.
The general uttered a few more bitter words, turned and departed the ballroom.
Mrs. Alyokhin stayed. Her eyes immediately began searching the crowded room. A moment later Alexei, who had been waiting for this moment, came up behind her and quickly squeezed her slender waist. The general's lady whirled around, catching her breath in pleased surprise. The face she turned up to Alexei, hard and spiteful as it had been only a moment before, glowed with an unmistakable acquiescence. Although he was no expert in such matters, Dimitri gathered from that look of bruised tenderness that his brother and Mrs. Alyokhin had been, or soon would be, on terms of the greatest intimacy.
Dimitri went home early, which was just as well, for early the next morning General Alyokhin's aide knocked on the door of his room at the Hafrar Inn with a peremptory summons. Major Karamazov was to present himself immediately at the general's home. There was no explanation of the summons, and delicacy forbade that Dimitri question the aide about the reason for it.
On the way over in a hired carriage Dimitri tried to keep a tight hold on his imagination. The image of his brother lying dead, with a gun smoking in the general's hand and Euphrosyne Alyokhin beautifully aghast and immeasurably thrilled in a corner of the room, kept imposing itself on his mind. Tense with anxiety, he knew right away how much his brother meant to him, and years of aggravations and resentments be damned. For the first time in a good long while he remembered, also, his mother's injunction: "As the older brother, it is your duty to look after Alex to the best of your ability." Had his mother any idea back then what a strenuous role she had assigned to her eldest son?
The general's house was one of the finest available in Korosumska, solid as a fort, admirably constructed to resist sun and wind, shaded by huge flowering trees. Dimitri had wasted no time admiring its symmetry, however, and hurried through the courtyard, past the stables of the ill-tempered carriage ponies that kicked stall doors in their outrage at the intrusion, past a fountain which sent plumes of water into the early sunlight, and finally into the sizable reception hall.
A Turanian servant received him wordlessly, bowed and escorted him into a small book-lined study.
Here the general awaited him. Here, also, Raisa Milekhina and her father had been summoned. Dimitri couldn't resist looking around for some sign of violence, but there wasn't any. He studied their faces for a clue as to what had happened. Raisa's was white with shock or anger, maybe both, and her father studied the polished obsidian floor as though viewing in its reflection the melancholiest events.
General Alyokhin was a sad and weary old man.
"Thank you for coming at such an inconvenient hour, Major," he said. "I think you will agree that the reason for this meeting is urgent."
"Yes," agreed General Milekhina, "we must decide upon a course of action at once."
"I don't care if I never see Alex again," Raisa said. "He has treated me abominably ever since we came to Korosumska."
"May I ask what has happened, sir?" Dimitri asked, trying to keep his voice level and patient.
"It would appear," General Alyokhin said, "that my wife has run off with Captain Karamazov."
General Milekhina suggested, with more hope than faith, "It could, of course, all be a misunderstanding."
"Hardly, my dear Milekhina. Don't you think I tried to force myself to believe that in preference to the more likely event? I do not regard the horns of cuckoldry as something to be lightly accepted."
"Mind your tongue, sir," General Milekhina blazed out. "Is it necessary to remind you that there is an unwed girl in this room?"
"I beg your pardon, Milekhina. And yours, Miss Milekhina. I fear there is little chance of a misunderstanding in this matter. Sometime early this morning, after the Assembly, my wife and Captain Karamazov came here together. They stayed just long enough for Mrs. Alyokhin to write me a note, then, according to one of the servants, they departed. I awakened, not long after they left and was naturally alarmed at my wife's absence. I found the note on this desk. It stated that she and the captain had gone for a carriage ride into the countryside because they wanted to watch the sun come up over the Czar's new land."
"That sounds innocent enough," General Milekhina remarked.
"Then where the hell are they? How long does it take for the sun to rise?" General Alyokhin was losing patience fast. "What the hell do they take me for?"
"Everyone in Korosumska will know about it by noon," Raisa said.
"They will indeed," said General Alyokhin. "My Mohammedan boy will tell the one next door, and the talk will be buzzing up and down the Fahar, quick as lightning. Even if they walked into the room this moment, it'd be a scandal."
"Damn him," said General Milekhina with deeply felt emotion. It was the only harsh word Dimitri had ever heard him utter against Alexei.
"He never thinks of anyone but himself," said Raisa.
"Why," wondered General Alyokhin, "does he think he's above the laws that govern everyone else?"
"He's created a damnable situation, aside from my personal feelings," General Milekhina said. "Puts the army in a bad light, reflects on all Russians here. Just what the hell is that matter with your brother, Major?"
All three, turning to Dimitri, seemed to be waiting for him to assume the rule of counsel for defense. Dimitri, however, realized that nothing he could say would soften their present opinion of Alexei. The wrath of a possibly betrayed husband, a highly affronted fiancée and a father-in-law-presumptive could hardly be ameliorated by a few words from the culprit's brother. But he had to say something, not just because they were expecting it but because he was, perversely perhaps, annoyed by their attitude. Why was he always ready to defend Alexei (only) when everyone else was on his case?
"It's just that my brother," Dimitri said, "does not think before he acts. Whatever he does, he cares nothing for the other people's opinions of his actions. Forgive me if I'm not being profound but it's the only explanation I can offer.
"I can't blame him, at the moment, quite as much as the rest of you. There's one thing about Alexei: he's not a hypocrite. He lets you know exactly what he is and what he may do. I'm going to speak very bluntly, with no apologies to rank or gender. Raisa, you can never pretend to yourself that you didn't know what sort of man Alex was when you chose him over me. When you gave me the ring back you told me you realized that he acted on one of the most selfish impulses. As for you, General Milekhina, you've always encouraged his willfulness, laughed at his indiscretions and encouraged some of them. General Alyokhin, you must have known that my brother's intentions towards your wife were not entirely honorable, but apparently you exercise so little control over Mrs. Alyokhin that you were unable or unwilling to forbid her to see any more of him.
"This doesn't mitigate in any way whatever Alex might have done, but Mrs. Alyokhin is too mature a woman to be considered the victim of a designing marauder. She's a woman of the world, not a schoolgirl. I know it's considered proper to blame the man entirely in such a case. I'm being ungallant and unkind in suggesting otherwise, but this is a time for speaking the truth."
Raisa and her father were obviously much offended by his remarks.
But General Alyokhin said quite calmly, "What you say in regard to my wife and me is likely fair and just, Major. Mrs. Alyokhin is a spoiled, vain and selfish woman. This is not the first occasion on which she has shamed me. I half failed, as a husband, to make her realize that the world wasn't created solely for her pleasure. I appreciate your honesty, Major. It should make us all realize that sitting around here and unleashing recriminations will solve nothing. The important thing is to mend the harm that's been done, as quickly, quietly, and discreetly as possible."
General Milekhina was quick to see his point. "I agree that there must be no scandal, for the sake of all involved and, as you have pointed out, General Alyokhin, because of the larger issues at stake. God knows the civilians would love to sink their teeth into something like this..."
"Aren't we putting the mule before the wagon, as it were?" Dimitri asked. "There might be a perfectly good reason why Alex and Mrs. Alyokhin haven't returned. An accident, for instance."
"They'd have sent word by now," General Alyokhin said, shaking his head. "Naturally, when they return, they'll have trumped up some kind of story. No one will believe that story, I'm sure. This will, naturally, ruin what is left of my wife's reputation. It would also end Captain Karamazov's career. To save my own face, if nothing else, I would be forced to press charges of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman against him. No military tribunal would be inclined to be lenient with him, especially with married men among his judges."
"He'd be cashiered, then," said General Milekhina. "General Alyokhin, don't you think that would be excessive, despite the provocation you have suffered?"
"I do not," General Alyokhin said slowly. "It would serve to dissuade other young rogues from trespassing. It would take some of the onus off my wife. It might make it possible for us to salvage from all this a little pride, a face, as the Chinese say. I've been thinking about all these things for the past several hours. I'm not a vindictive man, but I'm not going to bear one iota of suffering or disgrace more than needed on Alexei Karamazov's account.
"I spoke a moment ago of mending matters as quietly and discreetly as possible. If they have not behaved too flagrantly there might be a way out, short of pressing charges. We could all behave as if the inevitable gossip were baseless, ridiculous. But that would call for a big measure of forgiveness and tolerance on Miss Milekhina's part."
"I believe I see your point," General Milekhina said. "It has been a rather lengthy engagement."
"You mean...." Raisa gasped. Her eyes widened in disbelief. A moment later they were filled with cold anger. "You mean that Alex and I should be married as soon as possible to make everything look just---just dandy."
"It would save the lad."
"What of me? Do you want to quick-march your own daughter to the altar with a man like that? Who do you love most, Father, Alex or me?"
"You've always come first, Raisa, and you know it."
"Then I hope you'll believe me when I say I'd rather die than marry Alex."
"You're talking out of hurt and anger. In a few days, a few hours even, you'll feel differently."
It was as close to wheedling as General Milekhina was likely to come, Dimitri thought, short of the final judgment.
His daughter was unmoved. "You're wrong, Father," she said curtly. "I thought it all out on the train coming over. Alex was to have one more chance. Soon after we arrived, I saw that the only change in him had been for the worse. I told him he would have to start behaving like a man in love with me and not the whole female sex. But he was looking over my shoulder at some other woman even while I was delivering my pathetic little ultimatum. Oh, Dimitri's right when he says that Alex has warned us about himself time after time. That's exactly why I don't intend to go on playing the fool."
Alex rose from her chair with her dignity admirably intact, said, "I'll wait for you outside, Father," nodded to General Alyokhin, and left the study.
A moment later Dimitri, glancing through the narrow window looking out onto the courtyard, could see the slender form moving toward the pool at the fountain's base. She stared pensively into its serene waters. The sun was bright in her tawny hair, and her slightest movement was somehow both graceful and touching. For a long time, Dimitri had difficulty thinking of her as Alexei's girl; now, strangely enough, he could think of her in no other way, despite what had happened.
"She'll come around to our way of thinking," General Milekhina said. "I suppose she's entitled to a spell of childishness."
Dimitri considered that shockingly inept characterization of his daughter's feelings, but then the general had never been accused of being overly intuitive in personal dealings.
"That poor child," murmured General Alyokhin
Dimitri asked to be excused.
General Alyokhin indicated his dismissal with a sudden wave of the hand, and as Dimitri left his two seniors were moving deliberately towards a taboret in the opposite corner of the room where a decanter and glasses were waiting. They looked as if they needed a peg or two of cognac to sustain them. Dimitri wondered how long they would have to wait for Alexei and Mrs. Alyokhin to return, tried to picture the pair's reception in that gloomy and brandy-fumed chamber, and felt a rare twinge of pity for his brother.
Raisa was still waiting in the courtyard. She asked Dimitri to see her home. They found little to say on their way to the general's house.
That evening Dimitri stood at the window of his room at the Hafrar Inn, his tunic unbuttoned, a glass of vodka in one hand and a cigar in the other. For some time, he had stayed there watching a storm build up in the sky over the desert. Lowering clouds had been darkening the western horizon for hours before sunset. The first thunderstorm of the rainy season was reported hurtling over the land towards Korosumska and was supposed to strike the city before midnight. Already the thunder shook the foundations of buildings in the Korgay prospect, and the wind was reaching a higher, more frantic pitch. People who claimed to be able to read the signs said it would be a real howler.
An hour or so ago various employees of the inn had visited every room to batten down shutters and lock windows and distributed a warning to stay off the streets until the storm had blown itself out.
Dimitri's mood, despite frequent resort to the vodka that afternoon, was a match for the weather. Stormy, with falling barometer. Liquor, he decided, wasn't much help to a troubled man. It had only made him more depressed, although he had greedily swallowed half a bottle thus far. The stuff seemed to have no effect on him; perhaps worry was the perfect counterweight to alcohol. All day he had been waiting for some kind of word concerning Alexei, and none had come.
He had just decided to go downstairs for a late dinner, providing the dining room was kept open on such a menacing night, and was putting his glass down on the marble top of the bureau when there was a light tap on the dor. Dimitri told whoever it was to come in. His caller was Raisa Milekhina.
She was wrapped in a rain cape, which Dimitri took from her shoulders. Her smile was a trifle too carefree, and her manner, as she seated herself next to Dimitri on the divan near the windows, was close to abandon, or hysteria.
"They've come back," she announced. "In midafternoon, just after I went back to find out what had happened to Father. I suppose I should have told you this earlier."
"They're both safe, I assume."
"Safe?" There was a slightly shrill edge to her laugher. "Of course, they're safe! Nothing bad ever happens to a creature like Euphrosyne Alyokhin. She's one of the anointed ones."
"What happened?"
"You mean on their romantic ride to watch the dawn?"
"Yes."
"Oh, one of those accidents. What always happens when two persons like that fail to return from a ride for nine or ten hours? I hardly listened to their excuses. One of the horses threw a shoe.... they were traveling on a deserted road....no one came by for hours......Mrs. Alyokhin was elected to tell the story---a wise choice, I daresay. She'd make a first-rate actress. If one were a little gullible, one might almost believe the whole thing had been a horrible ordeal. It was a miracle, according to Mrs. Alyokhin, that they weren't murdered by bandits or held for ransom by a rebel band. Oh, it was a gallant performance!"
"How was it received?"
"General Alyokhin slapped her across the face, and a lively scene ensued. Tears, recriminations, and finally an apology of sorts by the general. Dimitri, darling, would you give me a drink."
"I have only vodka."
"That will do."
She watched him pour a rather weak mixture of vodka and water, walked over to join him at the bureau, and briskly tilted the bottle again herself. "I want a real drink, Dimitri. Don't be so protective."
"Vodka and anger don't mix very well," he said.
"I deserve something for not laughing in that woman's face. Actually, I behaved rather well."
"I'm sure you did, Raisa. What would you have to gain by making matters worse?"
"I would have felt better, that's what I would have gained."
"What about Alex?"
"He stood there with a devil-may-care smile on his face---what else? He has to maintain his favorite attitude, doesn't he? The Beau Sabreur of the Imperial Army." She finished off her drink, but to Dimitri's relief did not request another. "You know I could swear that I heard the sand trickling down from their clothing as they stood there in the Alyokhin study. They must have down their dawn-watching from some golden dune in each other's arms."256Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ996cfuVNIJ
"It won't do any good imagining what might have happened."
"I'm not as hurt as you seem to think. Alexei has lost his capacity to hurt me. Quite a while ago I began to realize that I was a fool to give you up for Alex. It may not be maidenly modest for me to admit such a thing to you, but you're not the kind of man to misunderstand it."
Her blue eyes, faintly shadowed by fatigue and emotional stress, gazed levelly across the room at him. She had primly seated herself in a chair after taking the drink.
Outside the rain began catapulting down, and the wind was shrieking and clawing at all that stood in its way. Even the stoutly built Hafrar Inn, taking the force of the storm broadside, seemed like a ship foundering in a wild sea. The wind, seeking out every seam and chink in the structure, made the lamp flame gutter and almost snuffed it out. Somewhere nearby a shutter had been wrenched loose from its moorings and was dashed to the courtyard below, the wind bounding it against the building on its downward path.
"I won't be able to go home for hours," she said. "Not until the storm lets up. What a wonderful excuse it would have made for Alex and Mrs. Alyokhin."
Her eyes still fixed on his, Raisa slowly rose from her chair and came across the room to the divan. She settled herself closer to him.
"You won't put me out in the storm, will you, Dimitri?" she asked. Her breath was warm and tickling in his ear, and wing of her burnished blonde hair brushed his cheek. In a moment her mouth was seeking his with a melting urgency.
256Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJ59wV7ziTt
256Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvAWDWHUeDZ
