Part II
War
VI
I Enlist by the Grace of the Tsar
I spent nearly two months travelling homeward from Yakutsk, by water, rail and foot. The war was everywhere. The barge on the Lena was filled with recruits. In Irkutsk the uniform was much in evidence, and every now and then a regiment of soldiers would march through the streets on the way to the station, arousing one’s martial spirit. My convoy left me upon my arrival there, and I had to appeal to the authorities for funds to continue my journey.
My heart was beating furiously when I reached Tomsk, after an absence of about six years. Tears dimmed my eyes as I walked the familiar streets. Here, in this two-storied house, I had first learned the fickleness of man’s love. That was ten years ago, during the Russo-Japanese War, when I was only fifteen years old. There, in that dilapidated little shop, where I can see the figure of Nastasia Leontievna bent over the counter, I spent five years of my early youth, waiting on customers, scrubbing floors, cooking, washing and sewing. That long apprenticeship, under the stern eyes of Nastasia Leontievna, served me in good stead in later years, I must admit. The smoking chimney yonder belongs to the house in which I was married, some eight years ago, only to gain experience at first hand of man’s brutality. And here, in this basement, my father and mother have been dwelling for seventeen years.
I swung open the door. My mother was baking bread and did not turn immediately. How old she had grown! How bent her shoulders, how white her hair! She turned her head and stared at me for a second. A lump rose in my throat, rendering me speechless.
“Mania!” she exclaimed, rushing toward me and locking me in her arms.
We wept, kissed each other, and wept again. My mother offered prayers to the Holy Mother and swore that she would never let me leave her side again. The bread was almost burned to charcoal, having been forgotten in the oven in the excitement of my return. My father came in, and he also was greatly aged. He greeted me tenderly, the years having softened the harshness of his nature.
I paid some visits to old friends. Nastasia Leontievna was overjoyed to see me. The sister of Afanasy Bochkarev, my first husband, also welcomed me cordially, in spite of the fact that I had escaped from her brother. She realized well enough how brutal and rough he was. She told me that Afanasy had been called in the first draft, and that it was reported that he was among the first prisoners taken by the Germans. I have never heard of him again.
I rested for about three days. The news from the front was exciting. Great battles were raging. Our soldiers were retreating in some places and advancing in others. I longed for wings to fly to their help. My heart yearned and ached.
“Do you know what war is?” I asked myself. “It is no work for a woman. You must make sure before starting out, Marusia, that you won’t disgrace yourself. Are you strong enough in spirit to face all the trials and dangers of this colossal war? Are you strong enough in body to shed blood and endure the privations of war? Are you firm enough at heart to withstand the temptations that will come to you, living among men? Search your soul for a brave and truthful answer.”
And I found strength enough in me to answer “yes” to all these questions. I suppressed the hidden longing for Yasha in the depths of my being, and made the fateful decision. I would go to war and fight till death, or, if God preserved me, till the coming of peace. I would defend my country and help those unfortunate ones on the field of slaughter who had already made their sacrifices for their country.
It was November, 1914. With my heart steeled in the decision I had made, I resolutely approached the headquarters of the Twenty-fifth Reserve Battalion stationed in Tomsk. Upon entering a clerk asked me what I wanted.
“To see the Commander,” I replied.
“What for?” he inquired.
“I want to enlist,” I said.
The man looked at me for a moment and burst out laughing. He called to the other clerks. “Here is a baba who wants to enlist!” he announced jokingly, pointing at me. There followed a general uproar. “Ha! ha! ha!” they chorused, forgetting their work for the moment. When the merriment subsided a little I repeated my request to see the Commander, and his adjutant came out. He must have been told that a woman had come to enlist, for he addressed me gaily:
“What is your wish?”
“I want to enlist in the army, your Excellency,” I answered.
“To enlist, eh? But you are a baba,” he laughed. “The regulations do not permit us to enlist women. It is against the law.”
I insisted that I wanted to fight, and begged to see the Commander. The adjutant reported me to the Commander, who ordered that I should be shown in.
With the adjutant laughing behind me, I blushed and became confused when brought before the Commander. He rebuked the adjutant and inquired what he could do for me. I repeated that I wanted to enlist and fight for the country.
“It is very noble of you to have such a desire. But
