An Awkward Revolutionary - 9. Chapter IX

A week after the Governor's ball Aleksander and Daniil received an invitation to the house of Gora Zakharov, which was something quite unexpected. Nevertheless, having determined Monsieur Zakharov was one of the well to do merchants of Mamovsk and a close friend of the Governor, they did not hesitate to accept. As Aleksander had very quickly learned, one should keep in the good books of the noble classes and try not to offend. Daniil cynically added that one could do what one pleased by following this simple rule.

The house might better be described as a mansion, not quite the Governor's palace, but not far removed. Inside the elegant grand salon they mingled with the guests. It was not long before Daniil's friend Yulian found them.

"Well, quelle surprise," Daniil said, rather disdainfully. "There mustn't be a social occasion in Mamovsk where we would not bump shoulders."

Yulian ignored Daniil and addressed Aleksander. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

Aleksander nodded. "Indeed, and to see you." He smiled.

Aleksander could not understand why Daniil would be so offhand with someone who was supposedly a friend. There must be something between them of which he was unaware.

"Your cousin is here." Yulian indicated with a flip of the wrist, Viktor, who was over the other side of the room with a group of people.

Viktor Frolov was doing the rounds. He flattered those whom he saw fit to, some with an air of conceitedness, others with deference. Aleksander, he clapped a hand on his back and called him, "My dear nephew." Yulian he greeted with a smirk and a wink, asking if he had found any prospects. Daniil he gave a sideways look, but said nothing. He did not linger long and was off flattering the ladies, once more moving from group to group. A large space in the centre of the room was taken by the dance floor. Beneath two crystal chandeliers ladies and gentlemen, the latter for the most part in uniform, were gliding and swirling to the music. Aleksander who danced very badly and Daniil, who didn't dance at all, installed themselves in a corner where they were joined by Yulian. Daniil's friend had left them momentarily, but returned with the news that Raisa Stepanova was here.

Aleksander looked around and spotted a tall figure dressed in black standing elegantly by the doorway.

"You know her?" Aleksander asked Yulian.

"Yes, very well. Shall I introduce you?"

"Yes, please do."

Daniil too had caught sight of this woman who stood out from the crowd by her poise and demeanour. Aleksander followed Yulian across the room. It was evident that Yulian did not know the lady quit so well, as he floundered with his words and she regarded him with slight amusement.

"May I introduce Aleksander Nikolaev. He is visiting his cousin Viktor Frolov."

Her expression changed and took on a more friendly appearance.

"Would you be the son of Novel Vanya?" She smiled, elegantly.

"I am indeed."

"I have met your father on one or two occasions. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

A rather handsome young officer, resplendent in his dress uniform, interrupted them. "Excuse me," he said, nodding to Aleksander, "Madame Gorayevna has promised this dance."

Raisa Stepanova smiled as she was whisked away onto the dance floor. Aleksander observed the two dancing and listened idly to the music. Once finished, Raisa Stepanova extracted herself from the company of the young officer and rejoined Aleksander. Standing in front of her Aleksander felt as insecure as a nervous schoolboy, although she was not so many years older than himself. Before they had any chance to continue getting acquainted, Viktor Frolov approached. He complimented her and insisted upon the next dance. Aleksander contented himself to watch as the couple disappeared onto the dance floor.

It was a little later that Raisa Stepanova once more found Aleksander and this time they sat down together at one of the small tables scattered around the large room. He could see the dance floor and the swaying couples reflected in the tall gilt framed mirror behind him. Raisa Stepanova was calm, relaxed, and her ease of manner communicated itself to Aleksander. Soon, he found himself talking about Ryavda, his father, and uncle, although he did not go into any detail. She listened attentively, paying attention, slightly waving her fan which she opened and closed a couple of times. She was in command of her emotions and struck Aleksander as an intelligent and composed lady.

"Who were you standing with when Yulian brought you over?" She asked him.

"You noticed him," Aleksander said. "That is Daniil, my friend and companion from Saint Petersburg. How did you find him? Don't you think he cuts a fine figure?"

Aleksander began to talk about Daniil, his studies and artistic ability, again superficially, without the detail. She, in turn, posed a question which took Aleksander a little by surprise.

"And what are his views?" She asked.

"Views?" Aleksander repeated, not quite understanding.

"Yes. His politics?"

Aleksander simply said he was a modern man and a free thinker, but on reflection he wondered what impression that might give. When, in parting, she said that he should pay her a visit and bring his friend, he was somewhat reassured.

"That's a promise," Raisa Stepanova said, getting up to leave. "You will come, won't you?"

"Of course," he confirmed, and she smiled demurely.

"Well," Daniil said, when Aleksander found him, "how did you find that lady?"

"Raisa Stepanova? Charming, and intelligent."

"Really? A gentleman was telling me she is a termagant."

"Not at all!" Aleksander replied emphatically. "Whomever said that must not know her. As I said she is intelligent and quite charming."

"Or perhaps that is the side of her nature she wished to show you?"

"I can't say, but I doubt it. In any event, you can judge for yourself when you meet her. She has invited us and I accepted."

"She has you under her spell already."

Aleksander made no reply. Daniil's cynicism could be irksome and he had no wish to be drawn into a quarrel. Yet despite himself he could not refrain from adding, "You should ask your friend Yulian, apparently he knows her well."

"I want to see what kind of person Raisa Stepanova is," Daniil told Aleksander as they climbed the steps to her father's mansion. "I know there is more to this than is at first apparent."

"Why would you think that? She simply asked to meet you, which seems rather nice, and her invitation to visit her in the country is for later, on our return."

"Your return," Daniil emphasised. "I shall be visiting my father."

Aleksander frowned.

They were shown into the drawing room by a liveried servant who asked them if they would like anything. Both gentlemen declined and the servant left them alone, closing the door, behind him.

"I would have thought you eager to visit Madame Stepanova. Certainly after what Yulian told you."

Daniil was pacing the room, superficially pretending interest in the many and various objects on display.

"Yulian!" He exclaimed as if spitting out the name with distaste. "Leaving that aside, this is a dangerous game."

"How so?" demanded Aleksander.

"This lady whose father is a compulsive gambler and practically broke, yet still maintains this." Daniil indicated the room with a sweeping gesture of his arm. "Who, if one is to believe Yulian, who pretends a deeper acquaintance than he actually has, from what you said." Daniil stopped pacing and stood facing Aleksander, "Has some, unusual, shall we say, friends."

Aleksander made no reply. The door opened and Raisa Stepanova appeared. She looked more beautiful than she had on the dance floor, resplendent in a simple white morning dress.

Her father Gora Zakharov had lived in Saint Petersburg and Moscow for the past fifteen years before moving to the provincial town with what little remained of the family fortune. The sad reality was that this charming young woman would inherit nothing from him, because everything he had was indebted, she had only her own husband to rely upon, but that was not a happy union. Again, according to Yulian.

"Gossip, is the idle chitter chatter of the jealous and bored," Aleksander had commented. "One cannot take such conversation at face value."

"Gentlemen, I am so pleased to see you," Raisa Stepanova looked at Daniil as she greeted them.

"Madame Stepanova, allow me to present my friend and companion Daniil Vinogradov. He is a fine artist, and studies art."

Daniil made a slight bow and kissed the gloved hand which was extended towards him.

"I hear you are more than a fine artist and have an interest in... how would one say this? The betterment of the lower classes?"

"Politics, Madame. I try not to be drawn into such debate," Daniil smiled.

"And yet I have heard you like nothing more than to prod the young labourers into action."

At this remark Daniil looked completely surprised and Aleksander felt his face flushing.

"One must ride the young hard sometimes. I believe a stiff word or two, followed by pointed action, sets everybody right."

"Whatever you're like is not quite my concern. However, I have some friends who would welcome noble recruits like yourselves."

Aleksander wondered where this rather strange conversation was leading. More than that he did not like being included as a noble recruit.

Raisa Stepanova did not often visit the town, when she did it was mostly for business and then only short visits. She was not liked much in the province, the subject of some scandalous talk and all manner of ridiculous stories. It was as if people wanted to invent a history that was anything but real, and yet as unbelievable as it might be, they would continue their talk and speculation. The inventions became ever more exaggerated and layers were added upon layers. Whilst aware of all this, Raisa Stepanova went unconcerned about her business, paying little attention to rumours and gossip. She rather used all this mad reflection as a smokescreen.

"Madame," Daniil smiled, gritting his teeth. "As much as it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I have no intention of being drawn into any turmoil."

She moved across the room and swirled around to face them.

"Let's not fall into a dispute. I would much rather we were friends."

Daniil made no reply. Aleksander was also silent, and asking himself what this was all about."

"Let's have some tea," Raisa Stepanova said, and she pulled a ribbon which rang a bell. The liveried servant reappeared and she instructed him to prepare the samovar in the anti-room. Whilst they waited she invited them to sit down and once everyone was seated she began her explanation. Knowing Aleksander's father, although only having met on a few occasions, she affirmed her belief that Novel Vanya's son would be like minded.

"I am indeed close with my father although obviously we are not the same generation," Aleksander confided.

"Indeed, but you are not of the same mind as your uncle?" Raisa studied him intently.

"Feliks is a good man, who might sometimes be misinterpreted."

"And, Monsieur Vinogradov, are you of the same mind?"

Raisa Stepanova was difficult to read. She made sweeping statements and talked in a fashion which left both Aleksander and Daniil wondering what she knew and how. She kept a constant amiable expression, which gave nothing away. Rather like Feliks Vanya, what she said was open to interpretation. Aleksander expected Daniil to talk to her as the intelligent woman she was. To elaborate his own ideas and convictions. It was Daniil who had led them down this road. She had herself expressed a desire to listen to the thoughts of a man who was bold enough to be a free thinker. But Daniil was reluctant to enter into the debate.

The tea was ready. They stood and followed Raisa into the other room. They were each served in turn by the handsome young servant, whom Aleksander took note of for the first time. Their conversation resumed with Raisa Stepanova once more taking the initiative.

"I believe, gentleman, you would welcome a change of order as much as I and several others would. Influential, like minded people. Those of us, if I may venture, who would see a change for the underclass and a more liberal state."

The two friends got up and began to take their leave. Raisa Stepanova smiled at each of them and extended her beautiful white hand.

"Gentlemen, if you are not disturbed by our conversation, come and visit me at Balapa."

"I would be very happy to," Aleksander replied.

"And, would you, Monsieur Vinogradov?"

Daniil simply bowed, but Aleksander noticed how odd his friend was. Not at all his usual confident self.

Later, in the street, Aleksander said to Daniil, "Well, what did you make of all that?"

"I don't rightly know. In one way it was disturbing, in another enticing."

"Enticing?"

"Yes." Daniil stopped and looked directly at Aleksander. "I think she is a dangerous lady, but quite beautiful."

"So let's go."

Daniil laughed. "You, my friend, have developed a taste for excitement."

"Well what is there to do here? Conversation with my cousin, the liberal statesman."

"It's decided then. In two days time we take the road, but after discovering what Raisa Stepanova has plans for, I am visiting my father."

"I am expected at home," Daniil said. "Well, it doesn't matter they will have to wait."

Two days later they were on their way.

The country house of Raisa Stepanova was approached through tall ornate iron gates, along a winding drive and paste an ornamental lake. Stone steps curved majestically to a large terrace balastraded and adorned by statues at each end. It was indeed impressive, although with an air of a former grandeur which had faded.

Two burly liveried footmen greeted them and carried their baggage, such as it was, to a room which had been prepared. In contrast to other parts of the house they had glimpsed, it was a bright and airy bedroom, well furnished, with two large beds.

"Madame will receive you shortly," the butler, who had followed them into the room, said. "Is there anything you require in the meantime, gentlemen?"

"A glass of vodka would be perfect if I might prevail," Daniil replied.

"Of course, sir."

Five minutes later they were settled in and the butler had reappeared with glasses and a bottle.

"So, what do you think of this?" Aleksander asked, when they were alone.

Daniil looked about the room. "It's fine, don't you think."

"Yes, I do."

Aleksander walked over to a plaster niche set into one wall. There were two, one at each side of the bed, and each held a small bronze.

"This looks like a Greek god," Aleksander said, turning back to face Daniil.

"Yes," Daniil agreed.

"Have you ever wondered why these Greek gods always have small genitals?"

Daniil poured himself a glass of vodka and downed it in one go. "Artistic and philosophical, I think. But it is not so with their satyrs. Have you ever seen a portrait or statue of a satyr?"

"I'm not sure if I have."

"You would remember," Daniil smiled broadly. "One in particular I recall was... very well endowed. A long curving penis, hooved feet, and tail. The difference you see, is that a satyr represents fertility and power, whereas the gods were wise, noble, and modest. As far as I know as a student of art, there is this contrast between the ideal ancient Greek heroes, gods, and naked athletes and other men. The one, modest, have small, or one might say neat, genitalia, the other, rampant, lustful, sport large impressive erections."

"Interesting," Aleksander mused. "And which do you prefer?"

Daniil laughed. "Come, have a glass with me."

Half an hour later the two friends were shown into the drawing room, where Raisa Stepanova greeted them. Beautifully dressed in an embroidered white robe, they each in turn kissed the elegant gloved hand she proffered.

"You look wonderful, Madame Stepanova," Aleksander said.

She smiled. "Thank you. Shall we sit?"

Once seated, Raisa Stepanova began to address them.

"Gentlemen, thank you for doing me the courtesy of visiting. Perhaps now we are all friends we may dispense with formality a little. Here in the country we live a simple life."

Both Aleksander and Daniil knew about the sort of life the noble classes lived in the country, and with Raisa Stepanova's situation one wwondered how to interpret simple.

"Please call me Raisa," she smiled.

Formalities dispensed with she explained how her friends, a collection of people Daniil and Aleksander had yet to meet, were at odds with the current state of affairs. They sought to propose and implement changes which would in some way benefit the general population.

"You mean the labouring class?" Aleksander questioned.

"Precisely, but in effect everyone," Raisa confirmed.

Everyone, Daniil was not too sure, but all the same her views appeared to coincide with his own.

"You said previously, you were in favour of free thinking."

"Yes, yes. How could one not be."

He did not quite follow her train of thought, but nodded agreement.

At that moment, a youth came bounding into the room. A boy the splitting image of Raisa, but several years younger. He had darker hair, which curled around his ears and flopped across his brow. On seeing them seated, he stopped abruptly.

"Let me introduce Petya, my young, wild, little brother."

Petya made a bow, a smile lighting up his face as he stood up.

"My brother is very excited about your visit. He has heard you are an artist, you see."

"Well, I am only a student," Daniil insisted.

"He has a request for you." Raisa turned to look at her young brother.

"Sir," he started falteringly. "I would be indebted to you if you would make a sketch."

The youth smiled again and Daniil was smitten.

"Ah... A sketch, you say."

"Yes, please. If you would find the time." Petya looked at Daniil pleading.

"Of course. But we have not much time, so it will have to be tonight. After supper?"

"Yes, yes. Thank you so much."

That evening Raisa did not talk anymore about politics, although they discovered the group she would like them to meet with had a name, the universalisti. Most of supper was spent in general talk about country life and about her younger brother's intention to follow the same path as Daniil and Aleksander. He wanted to go to university to study art. He hoped to do so this year.

After supper Petya appeared and Daniil and Aleksander were faced with fulfilling their promise, or at least Daniil was, for he was the artist.

"Thank you for agreeing to this," Petya said shyly, as he entered the room. He had under his arm a large hard covered folder tied with a red ribbon.

"And what have you brought with you?" Daniil asked.

"Just some of my own work," the boy replied.

"Well, sit down. Let's have a look."

Petya sat on the edge of one of the large beds with its deep coloured quilt. He placed his folder down beside him and opened the ribbon. Aleksander stood watching all this. The boy spread out some of his artwork across the bed and Daniil came closer to look.

"These are not at all bad," he said, raising up a pencil sketch of what he assumed to be the gardens.

Then his interest was piqued by another of the sketches. A series of incomplete life drawings of what looked like Greek or Roman statues.

"Where did you copy these from?" Daniil asked.

Petya looked at the sketch. "From a book my sister has. It was my only choice for studying real models."

"Ah, yes. I see."

"Thank you for keeping your promise," Petya said. "I really do want to see how you make a sketch of me. How shall I pose?"

"Well, if my sketch should be like these," Daniil indicated the drawing, "you would need to..."

Petya stood up quickly. "Yes, yes. I understand," he interrupted, and immediately started to undress.

Daniil glanced across the room at Aleksander who had not moved, nor spoken, but was continuing to observe the unfolding encounter.

"I think if you were to stand next to the niche with the bronze," Daniil nodded. "This would make a nice pose." He moved away to his baggage to retrieve his sketch book and pencils.

Aleksander smiled at Petya who looked at him as he walked to the spot indicated. The boy was not at all embarrassed about his body or being naked in front of the two gentlemen. One might have thought his previous shyness was overcome by a certain exhibitionism. Daniil took a seat on the other bed across from the boy. He took a moment to study the figure. 'I have become so tame,' he thought to himself as he put pencil to paper.This youth, Raisa's younger brother, was as beautiful as her, perhaps more beautiful. His skin was delicate and pale, his body almost entirely without hair. Long legs reached up to a slim waist. His neck was long and his face perfectly symmetrical. It was striking how he resembled the bronze figure, like a younger version of the sculpture's search for perfection. The delicate and yet masculine figure of the youth had not bypassed Aleksander, whose attention had been grabbed from the moment Petya walked naked across the bedroom. Now, in his pose, next to the statue, Aleksander's eyes fixed on the boy's genitals. Had they not earlier been discussing exactly this? It seemed almost a joke of the universe to present exactly a youth from antiquity with that identical nobless and modesty portrayed by a small penis in front of neat little testicles. There was without doubt an immediate attraction, as though a battle was about to commence. A fight between desire, respect, and conquest.

Petya held the pose Daniil had asked and arranged, not moving. Only his eyes caught those of Aleksander and something indefinable passed between them. Aleksander had entered into a battle, he was fighting himself and his emotions. This engagement culminated in a decision made by Aleksander. He would not deny how he felt, nor how he knew Petya felt. This was not anything he had sought, but it was not to be swept aside. The youth's eyes stared into his with a stern, intense, look. Everything about Petya spoke of the springtime of youth. Aleksander watched him breathing, followed his leg, slightly bent, his elbow leaning against the wall of the niche. The curly hair hanging across his brow.

The battle was lost. There were no winners or losers. Daniil retreated and left Aleksander and Petya to their final engagement. Aleksander stepped in front of the youth and his hand reached to brush away a strand of hair. He bent his head close and whispered, "You are very beautiful."

Petya blushed, his face hot, his breathing coming fast. He gasped, could find no words. Their lips touched. Aleksander's hand slid to Petya's hip. His heart beat fast.

"I have to tell you," Petya said, sitting up in the bed, the embroidered quilt pulled close under his chin. "I can be very argumentative."

"Is that true?" Aleksander asked, turning to look at him.

The two lay close together under the sheets, their bodies touching, side by side.

"Yes. It's true. That seems to surprise you. Why?"

"Because you are so calm and passionate. I don't find any hint of argument."

"How could you have got to know me so soon? I am not patient. I am persistent and carried away by passion."

Aleksander smiled broadly. "I love your passion. If you say you are argumentative, I must believe you. Do you want an argument?"

Aleksander slid over on top of Petya, pining him down, looking into those deep passionate eyes. "I think..."

"No. Don't say it," Petya's finger touched Aleksander's lips. "I don't want this to end. I have a confession."

Aleksander kissed his fingers and held his hand in his. "What is it?"

"This was my first time." Petya felt his face flush as he said those words.

It struck Aleksander like an arrow through the heart. "I think I love you. There, it's said." He kissed him softly.

Daniil was awake now, and he slipped out of bed.

"Good morning," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

Aleksander wondered if he were ignoring Petya or had not noticed.

"We did," he replied.

"Good. You know we must leave this morning?"

"I love your sketch," Petya sat up and looked at Daniil.

Daniil smiled. "You make a good model."

"And a good lover," Aleksander kissed his young companion.

"A drawing can say so much, don't you agree?" Petya asked, still looking at Daniil.

Daniil moved to get dressed.

"We get to know people when we study them." Daniil pulled on his clothes.

"And when you know them, are they as you imagined?"

Petya watched Daniil as he dressed.

"I'm not sure I imagine people to be a particular way. I would say rather it is an unfolding, discovery, over time."

"Will we have more time together?" Petya asked, then turned to look at Aleksander lying next to him. "I would like that," he added.

"So would I. Now I too must get ready. As Daniil says, we must leave. He has already delayed going home, and I must also return home."

"Did my sister talk to you about reforming society?" Petya continued.

"Your sister did. A little. She said when society is reformed there will be no difference between men. Still, she would like to talk more, so we will return. You have no concern there."

Daniil made to leave, he wanted breakfast, and to be away early. When only the two of them were left, Aleksander slipped out from the bed covers and went to dress. He hugged Petya and assured him He would return as soon as was possible. Aleksander had some questions about Raisa and her acquaintances, but now was not the time to talk of such things.

They were all served morning tea in the drawing room. Raisa was as radiant as always, Petya reserved, perhaps a little melancholic, Daniil impatient, and Aleksander felt an impending loss. Thus, breakfast was a strange brooding affair with the atmosphere heavy like clouds before a storm.

Raisa Stepanova had thought about her guests that night. She liked Daniil, found him unpretentious, even to the point of a certain bluntness. Some might say he cut to the point. Whereas Aleksander was much less defined in character. One could juggle with the personality one knew the form of, but when the personality was not yet formed it was harder to judge and direct. She would rely on the influence of her young brother. Raisa knew only too well how Petya was, perhaps even better than he knew himself. She was committed to a cause she had not had time to but briefly mention. Therefore, she was not fully able to say how these two gentlemen might be swayed, but if anything, she was patient, although plans dictated time and nothing was to be delayed. The time to act was fast approaching.