I crossed to the cabinet to pour a drink and look for more cocaine. I found some Polish tawny vodka and tossed it off. I opened the Pierrot jar and took a pinch of white powder. I tasted it, sniffed a little into my nostrils to experience the delicious numbness. Hippolyte had risen. He was whispering at me. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I came to see Kolya.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re mad.’
‘Inspired, perhaps. I’m not here to interfere.’ I reached out a hand to stroke him. ‘I love you, too.’ I loved the world.
Then Hippolyte grinned his little, mindless, harlot’s grin. ‘Oh, I see.’
Kolya’s naked body was gold crowned by silver as he came into the room. ‘Good evening, Dimka. It’s late, eh?’ He took the vodka bottle from my hand and poured some into a glass. ‘How was your dissertation?’
I had become calm. I had no wish to boast of my achievement. ‘I think it was successful.’
‘Good. I expected you would have come over to the cabaret.’
‘I had some women to see.’
‘Celebrating?’ said Hippolyte. He was confused.
‘Trying to.’
‘The women didn’t suit you?’
‘They were too young. I offered them the mercy of my body, the salvation of my pain, my triumph. And they refused it.’
‘Oh, I know what you mean!’ Kolya laughed with Hippolyte. ‘They’re timid little things, on the whole, girls.’ He leaned against me, as if drunk, and began to unbutton my coat. ‘Did they hurt your feelings, Dimka?’
‘Not at all. They made me impatient.’
‘They haven’t the stamina.’
Hippolyte loosened my scarf and the jacket of my uniform. I was feeling languorous. I yawned, appreciating the attention: enjoying the passivity. Kolya and Hippolyte led me back towards the bedroom, strewn with the skins of wolves and panthers, foxes and tigers. I was fully prepared to let them worship me. This was what I had wanted all along from the girls. Marya and Lena had not understood. Kolya and Hippolyte instinctively knew what to do. There was more vodka. There was more cocaine. I was magnificent. They told me so with every touch. I was a pagan god. I cannot explain. It was not perversity. I was Pan. I was Prometheus. I was Prometheus in a world which did not fear me. How those stupid little girls had feared me. Silly mice. I was a bronze Titan, a Lord of Thebes, an Etruscan nobleman, an Egyptian god-king. An Emperor of Carthage!
It is vague, the rest. I slept for a very long time. Kolya brought my clothes from my lodgings. He was very gentle with me. I do not think Hippolyte was present. I was tired. Kolya’s goodness was Christ-like. It was too much. For a while I attempted to emulate it. But his goodness was a virtue of the nobly-born, of the privileged. It was nothing I could afford, in the end.
There was a letter. I did not open it until I had slept again amongst the wolves and the foxes, with Kolya as my guardian angel. He did nothing that was unnatural. He helped me. I opened the letter on a morning. Much refreshed, I relived my moments of conquest. I felt a certain foolishness in exposing myself to the girls. I would not be able to return for a while, until they had calmed down. I knew they would not betray me because it would mean betraying their idealism. The packet was sealed with red wax. I broke the seas, and here was further proof of my victory over my past. A vindication of all I had been through. A passport. And a letter from Mr Green. I was to leave for England after Christmas. I was to go to Liverpool to conduct some business. I must call and see Mr Green as soon as possible. He would give me the details of my journey. I had a passport. I had a Special Diploma. I had recognition. And all in a rush. That is frequently how things happen, of course. Frequently, too, all the bad news comes at once. But I will not taint this reminiscence with any note of sourness. I am not one to brood on what might have been. My fate is in God’s hands. Heaven is my reward. I have sinned. I admit it. But I gave my knowledge and my innocence to the world, and if the world did not reward me as I hoped it was because it was temporarily conquered by my enemies. Few would disagree that they were God’s enemies, also. The world is in the power of the Antichrist. That is why I know I shall be received into the blessed arms of Christ, forgiven and acknowledged and honoured, to stand with the saints, to converse with the Lord, to kneel before the altar of His great love, His brilliance and mercy.
Kolya said that until I left for England, I should stay at his apartment. This suited me very well. After that first night I received no further attentions from Kolya and few from Hippolyte.
Rasputin was murdered. Shot, stabbed, poisoned and pushed under the ice, yet still he lived and roared. He was Russia. Tainted Russia, mystical and vibrant, and refusing to die. But for rejecting the cleansing of science and modern knowledge Russia paid a terrible price. She did not have to give up her soul. There must be equilibrium. Neither ‘salvation through sin’, nor the massive ‘Russian steamroller’ could rescue us. By then it was hopeless. We could not be redeemed by our divine irresponsibility under autocracy, by our magnificent Slavic wholeness of sentiment; by the careless bravery of our Cossacks, nor by our trust in a defeated Christ. Christ slept and Russia was stolen from Him.
There was no point in returning to Kiev for Christmas. The trains were in confusion. There was a threat of the enemy occupying White Russia and parts of Ukraine. My letters and telegrams reached my mother in time. To my mother: dissertation great success. have received special diploma. whole school celebrates. your loving son. Through the good offices of Captain Brown came the reply: congratulations, love from all. we are very proud, best wishes for the season. To Uncle Semya I sent a similar message, but I added a few extra words, govt, post likely. thanks for all confidence. will serve you any way I can. god bless the tsar and god save russia.
This meant that all members of my family were able to celebrate the season with great delight. I spent it quietly with Kolya. Happily we were able to find some decent food in our City of Disaster. The ghost of Rasputin, the threat of civilian strife, of Revolution, hung like mist over the streets and canals. The food was horribly expensive. Hippolyte did not join us. He had taken to leaving the apartment for days at a stretch. Kolya reassured me this was nothing to do with me.
We remained close, but not sexually. Indeed, that act on the night I had won my Diploma had not been carnal. It had been an act of love and celebration. I have sought religious advice on the matter. I have been reassured I committed no sin in the eyes of God. Never has God been better understood or more passionately loved than in Russia. Never has He been obeyed and honoured so thoroughly. Russia was God’s noblest creation. But He slept, wearied by War. Christ was betrayed by Lucifer. Russia was stolen. And nowhere else in the world, save in the Greek churches, have I been able to find Him. His gentle Son was accepted in Constantine’s Byzantium, which we call Tsargrad, the Emperor’s City. He saved the Roman Empire. His gentle son, crucified by resentful Jews, offered himself to Russia, and was accepted. Christ is Greek. Christ is God. They are a unity. The Jewish God is false. The Jews betrayed God and betrayed Russia. They brought us madness and despair and ruin. The Tsar drew a line across the map. He said ‘Jews, you shall not pass beyond this point.’ But they crept through and they pulled the Tsar from his throne. They killed him. They gave Russia to the Devil. Christ was distracted by so many dying souls. Christ was sleeping, lying with the millions killed by War. And when he woke, Russia had been stolen from Him. How can these be the opinions of a Jew? I reject that Jewish God. I accept Christ. No Jew could do that. Carthage came out of the Orient and threatened Rome. Carthage came out of Africa. Ancient, prehistoric, savage blood. Carthage was the ghost who rode with the Tatar Khans, who razed Kiev and brought Moscow to her knees. Those Khans will come again. Why else do honest Russians remain wary of their ‘Chinese comrades’? Do they share the same delusions? Perhaps. But they do not share a blood or a culture. Let the Chinese call us ‘foreign devils’, if they like. We know who the Devil is and who serves Him. Russia remains in readiness. She has turned her back on Christ, but Christ has not forgotten His Slavs. Let the Jews continue to lend tainted ideas as they have lent tainted money down the generations. Both will be destroyed. The signs are there already. Even under Stalin they began to get back more interest than they expected on their ideas. Stalin learned. Stalin would have begun the cleansing of Russia if he had not been poisoned. Do not think I forgive Stalin, that renegade priest. But in old age he came to understand his errors. He was gathering his strength for the war against the ghostly Semitic Empires, against Babylon and Tyre, Phoenicia and Carthage, against Israel, against the Eastern hordes who dreamed of the glories of Genghis Khan come again ...