“Off, you skunk!” Papa was beating on her head, trying to fend her off, and when he saw me, he shouted, “Help me, Maria! She’s demanding sin and won’t leave me alone!”
Now, approaching the bed, I realized in a second that it wasn’t Madame Lokhtina, some anxious devotee, or even Countess Olga lying there peacefully. So who in the name of the Lord was it? I stepped closer and saw something familiar.
Oh, my God…
The body shifted like a languid lover awaiting some kind touch and tender kiss. Taking note of the short hair, I realized this was no woman. Instead it was perhaps the most beautiful and definitely the richest young man in all of Russia.
“Fedya?” I said.
For the past several months, Prince Felix Yusupov, or Fedya, as he warmly asked my sister and me to call him, had been visiting Papa nearly every day. Tall and fine-boned, with a narrow face, small mustache, and beautiful narrow eyes, the prince was particularly effeminate in both looks and manner, taking after the famed beauty of his mother, Princess Zinaida. He rolled over and smiled sweetly up at me.
“Oh, it’s you, Maria. I was hoping for Father Grigori.”
Speechless, I stared down at this scandalous creature now lolling in Papa’s bed. Lurid stories of him abounded-everyone in the capital knew that on a number of occasions he’d dressed up in his mother’s finest dresses and jewels and then visited the most expensive restaurants. There was even a story floating about that the King of England, upon spying the young prince in a diamond-studded dress in London, had made suggestive inquiries via one of his footmen. And even though Prince Yusupov, nearly thirty years of age, was now married to the Tsar’s niece, Princess Irina, it was widely believed he still suffered from “grammatical errors.” This, I had quietly assumed, was why the young man had become such a frequent visitor to our household: Surely Papa, who had treated a number of women for lust, was likewise treating Prince Felix.
“So do tell me, child, where is your father?” said Prince Felix, lifting his bare arms from beneath the blanket and stretching.
Good God, I realized, quickly averting my eyes, he’s not only in Papa’s bed, he’s lying there in nothing but his undergarments. Glancing over at a chair, I saw that the clothes so casually strewn there were actually Prince Felix’s military shirt and pants and that his tall leather boots stood nearby on the floor.
“Has he gone out to hear some Gypsy music?” pressed the prince.
“I don’t know,” I replied, my voice faint.
“Really? You don’t know if he’s off at the Villa Rode? The Bear? If I knew where he was, perhaps I could catch up with him.”
“I said I don’t know.”
“Well, if he’s not at some restaurant, perhaps he’s off with some princess, hmm? Or who else? What is it, my dear, why the silence? Why aren’t you talking to your Fedya?”
Usually, I was quite friendly with the prince. Usually, we would talk for hours. Tonight, however, I kept my silence.
“I can see you’re hiding something, Maria, my sweet. What is it? Is your papa off at the Palace in Tsarskoye?” He laughed and, with a devious twinkle in those slim delicate eyes, said, “Perhaps the better question is, where have you been? That’s why you’re so quiet, isn’t it? Have you been off on a little affair of your own? Tell me everything. Have you a lover?”
“Fedya!”
“You do, don’t you! Well, is he your first? Handsome? A soldier? I promise not to tell your father!”
“Please, Fedya, that’s not it at all. It’s just terribly late and-” I went to the window and looked down on the street; the motorcar was gone. “Did you see any of the security agents when you came?”
“Of course not. That’s why I always come up the rear staircase into the kitchen-just to avoid them. Of course, my dear, you know it’s best if I’m not seen coming here.”
Actually, I didn’t understand, for I agreed with those of my father’s followers who thought it shameful that Prince Yusupov would only sneak into our home through the back way under the cover of night. What was wrong with sunlight and the front door?
“Now don’t change the subject, my sweet Maria. Tell me about yourself and where you’ve-”
“What about Dunya? Was she here when you came? I’m quite worried-she’s not here now, and-”
“Calm down, little one. Everything’s all right. Dunya was here when I came. In fact, she was the one who let me in. But she was so tired, I sent her up to bed and told her I’d personally wait until Father Grigori returned.”
“Oh.”
I bowed my forehead into my palm. So everything was all right? Everyone was safe? But what about the guards-where were they? And who had chased me up the stairs?
“What is it, Maria? What’s troubling you so?”
I turned around to see Prince Felix, wearing only an undershirt, underpants, and socks, climbing out of my father’s bed. It was not the first time I had seen a man so scantily clothed, of course, for back home our entire family would traipse through the snow to cleanse ourselves at the banya-the sauna-while in summer we all bathed in the River Tura. It had all been quite natural and innocent, without the least impure thought. But somewhere I knew that Fedya’s motives were anything but simple. I should have spun quickly away, but in the reddish light of the oil lamps, my eyes burned upon him. He was the first member of the nobility I had ever seen so exposed, and I was transfixed by his long thin arms, which appeared as beautiful as they did weak, not to mention his skin, which looked astonishingly smooth and pure, without a single bruise or scar.
“Nothing,” I replied, turning and averting my eyes. “Nothing at all. I…I just need to get some sleep.” Behind me I heard the rustle of clothing as he dressed. “There’s not much sense in your waiting for Papa. Knowing him, he won’t be home until after the sun rises.”
“I don’t doubt that. But are you and Varya quite all right by yourselves?”
“I assure you, we’re perfectly fine.”
“Very well.” He came up behind me in his stocking feet and hugged me. “But someday, my sweet one, you’re going to have to tell your Fedya what you’ve been up to! Imagine, you out so late on your very own! And without an escort! Aren’t you the little devil? But not to worry, I promise I won’t tell your father!”
When he gave me a little squeeze, I flinched. Prying myself out of his grasp, I excused myself and hurried from my father’s bedroom. Why didn’t I trust Prince Felix? Papa certainly did. Indeed, my father seemed to be genuinely fond of him. One might even say that in the past months they had become close personal friends. Had my father, perhaps, seen and seized a chance to endear himself to another branch of the Tsar’s extended family? Or was he in fact helping the prince deal with certain proclivities that didn’t mesh with married life?
Knowing that Prince Felix would leave our flat via the rear door, I hurried down the hall to the kitchen, where I made a quick but somewhat feeble attempt at rinsing the blood from the sink. I then took the filthy coat over to the nook where Sasha lay and dropped the garment in a corner. Sasha looked up at me from Dunya’s cot, his brow wrinkled with confusion.
“Not a word from you!” I whispered, as I pulled the curtain tight, hiding him behind it.
A moment later Prince Felix did indeed come into the kitchen, pulling his great reindeer coat over his shoulders as he made his way to the door. Slipping right up next to me, he leaned over and pressed his buttery cheek against mine.
“Good night, my dear,” he said, with a light but moist kiss. “I hear a flying angel just blew into town, so perhaps your father is out rejoicing.”
Recognizing the code words of the Khlysty, I shuddered. What was Prince Felix implying? Exactly what was his business, tonight or anytime, with Papa?
“In any case,” continued the prince, “be sure to tell him his Fedya stopped by.”
My voice faint, I replied, “Yes. I’ll be sure to tell him.”
And then he opened the rear door and slipped down the dark, narrow stairs as easily as a black-capped marmot into its frosty Siberian hole.
Because the Khlysty were severely outlawed, their greatest oath was one of secrecy. For that reason, my father was the only person I knew who’d actually met someone who belonged to the sect. From bits and pieces of
