An Awkward Revolutionary - 14. Chapter XIV

Daniil had not left as he had planned, not at least before Feliks Vanya was knocking on his door.

"I must apologise for disturbing you," Feliks said, without meaning it. He took a chair by the window and seated himself, leaning forward with both hands placed on top of a beautiful dark wood walking cane with an ivory knob. "I only request a few minutes of your, no doubt, precious time." Feliks sat back in the chair and looked up at Daniil, a peculiarly intense expression on his face.

"I am at your disposal," Daniil replied, rather formally. He felt unsure about this encounter, almost perturbed by something invisible floating in the air between them. What, he wondered, was the old man preparing?

"I have come to put a question to you." Feliks shifted a little in his chair, as if getting comfortable, settling himself.

"A question about what?" Daniil paced in front of the chair and looked out through the window at the garden, as if everything were quite normally, when in fact it was not at all.

"Bear with me, and hear me out." A stiff smile played across Feliks' lips. "During your stay at my brother's house, on both occasions, whilst I still did not deny myself the pleasure of conversing with you, we talked about various topics. As far as I remember, we never discussed during those conversations, fighting a duel. What would be your view on the subject?"

Daniil moved to lean against the edge of the table. He folded his arms. "From a theoretical point of view it is quite simply absurd, but practically it might be viewed differently."

"If I understand you correctly," Feliks' stare grew even more intense, his brow furrowed. "Whatever your theoretical views, you would not allow yourself to be insulted without seeking satisfaction?"

"Indeed, quite right."

"That, I am pleased to hear. You have removed any uncertainty I may have harboured."

"Uncertainty about my opinion on duelling, you mean."

"Uncertainty about your opinions, about yourself, however one might phrase it. It is of no consequence. I have decided it is fitting that I should challenge you to a duel."

"What!" Daniil's voice raised in pitch. "You want to fight a duel. Are you quite mad?"

The furrows on Feliks' brow grew deeper. "I mean to fight you. You are no coward, I presume?"

"No, but kindly tell me why."

"I could explain to you all the reasons, but that would be unnecessarily time consuming. Let me say this. I can't abide you. I find you despicable and I despise you. Is that enough for you?"

Feliks Vanya's eyes flashed an unmistakable hatred.

Somewhat taken aback, nevertheless, an answer was called for. Daniil returned Feliks' intense stare. "Very well then," he said, a certain anger in his tone.

"Excellent!" Feliks replied. "And there is no need for any pretence at a quarrel, as some excuse or pretext. We detest each other. It is most fitting we settle the affair."

"If it is satisfaction you seek, I shall oblige."

As if he had long planned this encounter, Feliks launched himself into the details. "I would propose we fight tomorrow. At, let's say 6AM. In the small wood, beyond the gardens. Pistols at dawn!"

Feliks was almost gloating over his own cleverness. There simply was no way out for either one of them now. "Ten paces," Feliks added.

"Why not eight," Daniil replied. "That would seem the appropriate measure of our mutual hatred."

"Yes, why not. Two shots. Ah yes, and to cover all eventualities, we each write a note blaming oneself for the outcome."

"I'm not too sure about that. It rather sounds like a cheap novel and totally improbable."

"Perhaps," said Feliks. "Equally, one has no wish to be accused of murder."

"Indeed. However, I propose a witness. No need for seconds, a simple witness to the fact."

"And who do you have in mind?"

"Milan."

"Milan? Who is this Milan?"

"He is your brother's valet and a fitting man for the job. He can be relied upon."

"Are you joking?" Feliks sputtered.

"No, not at all. I will undertake to enlighten Milan and prepare him for his role on the field of combat."

"I think you continue to jest, but I shall disregard that. Do you have a pistol?"

"Where on earth would I have got pistol?" Daniil looked hard at Feliks. "I am neither a gendarme nor a soldier."

"Perhaps from your revolutionary friends, but never mind, I shall offer you mine."

At that point Feliks pushed himself up from the chair. "I thank you for your time, but now I shall take my leave."

"I look forward to our next meeting," Daniil said, sarcastically.

Left alone, Daniil began to confront the situation. There was no way out, that much he knew, but why on earth did Feliks see fit to take things to the extreme. The man had successfully turned a mutual dislike into a melodrama. That said, it left the awful reality of a life threatening confrontation. One in which either party stood to get injured, or worse. Daniil could think of only one reason for Feliks' overreacting, it was more than an intense dislike, more than wanting to get rid of him. No, only one explanation was plausible, the pompous, self-opinionated, old goat, had fallen in love. Feliks Vanya harboured feelings for his brother's young wife. It was that which had pushed him to challenge Daniil. He simply could not live with seeing Daniil bonding with Natasha. Insane! But mad or not, he would have to go through with it. And what of Novel Vanya and Aleksander?

The day drifted on, slow and drawn out. Natasha was cosseted away in her room, like an animal hibernating through the winter. Novel Vanya was walking about with a sullen expression. The wheat crop had a disease and he had placed a lot of hope on the harvest. Feliks dampened everyone's spirit with his lofty air and ice cold politeness. Daniil began to write a letter to his father, but could not find the words. He stopped and screwed up the paper, discarding it into the bin. 'If I die, what does if matter, they will hear soon enough,' he thought to himself.' He found Milan and instructed him to come and see him on a matter of the greatest importance, tomorrow, at the crack of dawn. Milan believed Daniil would invite him to accompany him, to return with him to Saint Petersburg.

Daniil retired early, but found only a restless sleep, tossing and turning with wild images in his minds eye. Imagining his poor mother receiving the news of his death, his father's quiet tears. An image of Natasha floated around, but as he pursued her to discover what her relationship was with Feliks, suddenly she was gone and Aleksander was standing, hands on hips, berating him for having allowed things to get out of hand.

Milan woke him at 6AM and he got dressed immediately, going out into the cold, still dark, dawn. The crisp air stung his face, his breath vaporised. They walked together through the gardens and out to the wood beyond. It was only then that Daniil disclosed the task Milan was to perform.

"It is very simple. You have only to stand at a distance and observe. You are not involved in any way and have no responsibility for what happens."

Milan's face turned white, matching the sparkling frost on the ground.

"Think what an important task I am giving you," Daniil gripped Milan's arm and squeezed, trying to shake him out of his morbid dread and fear, or to reassure him.

Milan leant against the trunk of a nearby tree. The two remained silently waiting. The sound of a cart distracted Daniil's attention. It was approaching on the track which skirted the little wood, driven by a labourer, someone also up early. As the light of dawn grew brighter, Daniil wondered what he was doing there. 'At least,' he thought, 'that worker has a purpose. But what of himself?'

"I think they're coming," Milan said.

Feliks Vanya walked towards them. He was dressed in a light checkered jacket and trousers, under his arm he carried a case wrapped in a dark blue velvet cloth.

"I am sorry if I have kept you waiting,' Feliks said, as he made a small bow, inclining his head, fist to Daniil and then Milan. He afforded the servant something the same as the respect of a second. "I didn't want to wake my valet," Feliks added.

"It's of no importance," replied Daniil. "We have only this moment arrived ourselves."

"There does not seem to be anyone about, so we must be quite alone. Would you load the pistols?" Feliks proffered the case.

"You load them," Daniil said. "I shall measure the paces. I have longer legs than you. One, two..."

Daniil started walking away.

"Excuse me sir, but I will move off now," Milan addressed Feliks Vanya.

"Yes. You do that. You can even hide behind a tree and cover your ears, but don't close your eyes!"

"Five, six... " Daniil was still calling off the numbers.

Milan retreated to a safe distance whilst Feliks loaded the pistols.

"Eight. Is that enough or shall I add a couple more?" Daniil turned towards Feliks who was loading the second bullet.

"So I'll add two more paces." Danil drew a line across the frosty ground with the toe of his boot. "You have to admit this is rather comical. Just look at our observer. It's not the cold he's shaking from."

"You make everything into a joke," Feliks told him gruffly. "But today is no laughing matter."

They each took a pistol and Daniil returned to the line he had traced in the ground. The two men faced each other, pistols at their sides.

"Are you ready?" Feliks called.

"Quite."

"Then we can engage."

Daniil saw Feliks Vanya raise his arm. He heard a bullet whizz past his ear. The sound of a shot. 'I must be alive,' he told himself, 'otherwise I would not have heard it.'

He raised his own pistol, pointing it towards Feliks Vanya, and shot without taking aim. Feliks felt the impact and dropped his pistol as his hand went to his thigh. Looking down he noticed a dark patch spreading though the rough cloth of his trousers. Daniil rushed towards him and caught Feliks with both arms just as he was collapsing onto the ground.

"By rights you have another shot," Feliks told him, his face turning pale.

"I'll save it for another day," Daniil quipped, and called out to Milan. "Where are you hiding! Come here and lend a hand."

"I'm alright. I don't need any help. This is nonsense," Feliks said slowly, and then he lost consciousness.

"Well, that is something new, fainting. I've had enough of these highly strung types." Daniil looked to Milan. "Put something under his head and lay him down."

Daniil carefully tore the trousers open where the bullet had made it's entry. He examined the wound, wiping away the blood with a handkerchief. It was not a deep wound, just a graze. He would be back on the dance floor in a couple of weeks.

"Is he dead?" Milan asked.

"Go and get some water and the old fellow will outlive us both."

But Milan didn't move, he peered at the recumbent figure of Feliks Vanya and crossed himself.

At that instant Feliks opened his eyes and looking up at them, forced a smile. "I'm fine. Help me up."

"We need to put something over the wound to stop the bleeding," Daniil said.

"Give him your shirt," Feliks ordered Milan. "And go and find a carriage, but don't you even think of telling my brother what happened."

Milan stripped off his shirt and handed it to Daniil who began tearing off a piece to wrap around the wound. The servant then made haste back to the stables, leaving Daniil and Feliks alone.

Feliks was not too happy with his own arrogance and how he had forced this thing, but he was content in the certain knowledge that Daniil would be constrained to leave and they would be rid of him. An uneasy air enveloped them as they waited.

"I haven't made the bandage too tight for you?" Daniil asked.

"It's fine," Feliks replied. "We won't be able to keep this from my brother you know."

Daniil nodded.

"We shall need to come up with a story."

Before he could think about what to say to Novel Vanya, he heard the sound of horses hooves. A carriage driven by a farm worker came into view. Daniil decided they would make use of this means of transport. He stood up and moved towards the lane, intending to hail the driver, but as it drew closer he saw Novel sitting, white faced, in the carriage. Before it had stopped, he leapt down and ran to his brother.

"What by all the gods happened here!" He bent down next to Feliks.

"Nothing of importance," Feliks replied, quietly. "A little accident. Do not alarm yourself."

Novel looked from his brother to Daniil, who had followed behind him. "You're bleeding!" He announced, his attention focused back on his brother. "We must get you back to the house so I can take a look at you."

About an hour later, Feliks was lying in his bed, a fresh bandage round his leg. The whole house was in uproar, Natasha was feeling unwell, Milan had been dispatched to town to fetch a doctor. Novel wanted another opinion on the wound and perhaps some medicine would be necessary, he noted beads of sweat on his brother's brow and he had a temperature. All through this, Feliks laughed and joked about his predicament.

The town doctor arrived, by this time Feliks' head ached and he had a fever. The doctor prescribed cool refreshing drinks and was not concerned there was any danger, the fever would pass.

Novel explained the wound as a careless accident, he paid the doctor, and saw him out. Novel frequently popped in and out of his brother's bedroom as Feliks dozed. Natasha brought him some fresh lemonade, which Feliks drank to the last drop.

The next morning the fever had still not broken and Novel was concerned. His brother was showing some signs of delirium and talking incoherently.

"How fresh and bright your Natasha is," Feliks muttered. "I would never allow anyone to change that."

Novel listened, a little surprised, but without understanding to whom Feliks was referring.

"How I love that simple creature," Feliks continued.

Novel sighed and looked at his brother.

The next day Daniil came to see Novel who had hardly left his brother's side.

"Have you come to say goodbye to us?" Novel said.

"I have."

"I understand what happened. Feliks has explained all and you are not responsible. I believe you could have avoided this duel, but my brother is very old school and has a fiery temper. I have taken measures to ensure none of this becomes public. I am sure we may count on your discretion."

"I'll leave you my address," Daniil said coolly, " should you need it."

"I regret your stay here has ended in such a manner. I feel worse for Aleksander..."

"I will surely see him," Daniil answered, and without more words, he turned and left.

Milan was moved to tears with Daniil's departure, for what reason it is unclear, being left behind, overcome by the emotion of the last few days, in any event, Daniil dismissed the servant with a curt remark. "Why do your eyes water? It is surely not from the cold."

His luggage, such as there was, loaded, he climbed up into the carriage, mumbling to himself, "bloody rich," and he was off. Leaving behind the Nikolaev's estate and everything that went with it. He wrapped his long coat around himself and looked ahead, down the road which lay before him.

Feliks Vanya stayed in bed for the next week and Natasha brought him broth and lemonade, or whatever else he desired. However, she did not feel comfortable visiting him and had an overwhelming anxiety which played upon her thoughts. What, she wondered was the real reason for what had happened. Novel came each day with the journal and stayed to read it to his brother. They might then drink tea and discuss the goings on in the region or else the inevitable problems on the estate, although Feliks had little time or any opinion on those more mundane matters.

One morning when Feliks was feeling better, he decided to get up and moved to seat himself on the sofa. Novel looked in on his brother before going off to take care of running the estate. Natasha brought tea and would have left the tray, but Feliks detained her.

"Why don't you ever stay for more than a few minutes? Have you so much to do? You may spend a little time at the patient's bedside, might you not?"

Natasha avoided looking at Feliks, instead she let her gaze rest on the steaming tea tray. "I have to see to the tea for everyone," she told him.

"I am sure Dmitri will do that if you are not there. I would like to talk with you."

She moved away from the sofa and sat down on the edge of the armchair.

"It has always played on my mind that I frighten you," Feliks said, looking across at her.

"Why would you think that?" She replied, still not looking at him.

There was a certain tension in the room, a kind of stuffy formality. Natasha was reluctant to stay and Feliks did not want to let her leave.

"Perhaps you have something on you conscience?"

Feliks watched how she reacted, which was with a little flushing of the cheeks and a shift in her chair.

"My conscience is clear," she replied, and looked up at him.

"You do love my brother, don't you?"

"Of course," she said, growing annoyed with his questions.

"You know that lying is a grave sin, don't you?"

"I am not lying and I find your questioning rather intrusive. What, may I ask, has put you in such a humour?"

"If you love my brother, which of course you do, that is not in question. But would you give him up for another?"

Precisely at this moment footsteps were heard hurrying along the hall, and cries of excitement. Novel Vanya burst into the room with Matvey, who was dressed only in a shirt. Natasha stood up and ran to greet them, wrapping her arms around the two and embracing them. Novel was somewhat taken aback, never before had Natasha shown such emotion in front of others.

Novel moved closer to his brother, handing Matvey to Natasha. "Is something the matter?" he asked.

"No, no. Nothing at all. In fact, I am feeling much better."

"Are you sure? Has something gone on here?" Novel touched his hand to his brother's brow to see if he had a temperature. "You were too quick to get out of bed."

"I'm fine." Feliks looked across the room at the sound of the door slamming. Natasha took Matvey and left.

"I was bringing the little one to see his uncle. He's missed you. Now where has Natasha gone in such a rush?"

"Brother," Feliks said solemnly, ignoring the commotion of Natasha's parting. "For your own happiness and for the good of all, do one thing for me, and for yourself. Put an end to this... this illegitimate relationship and marry Natasha. Make her your wife, she's the mother of your son."

"It is astonishing that you say this," Novel stared at Feliks. "It is only out of respect for you that I have not taken this step."

"I am beginning to think Daniil was right when he accused me of being aristocratic. One must not always think about the wider world, but do one's duty, put vanity aside, marry her."

Novel embraced his brother, leaning over the sofa, his eyes growing moist.

"I always maintained you were the kindest and cleverest man in the world, now I know you have a big heart as well."

"Don't gush all over my poor wounded leg. It's decided then! Natasha will be my belle-sœur."

"My dear brother! But what will Aleksander say?"

"He will congratulate you. Marriage is not one of his principles, but his sense of equality will be flattered."

After they embraced once more and Novel left, Feliks, alone with his thoughts, decided he would go away from here. He would retire to some distant corner of the world where he would remain until he passed away. There was nothing left for him, he was in his own eyes already a dead man.