Chapter 34
Later in Nikolai’s thirteenth year, the tiger he was named for ascended the throne of Siberia. Nicholas II became Tsar when his father died quite unexpectedly, and the twenty-six-year old was entrusted with the most noble empire in the world. He still had not displayed the fortitude expected of him given his parentage, but he had a noble wife to whom he seemed devoted, and we had hopes that with her family’s alliances among the houses of Petrograd and Moskva, we might see him surround himself with capable ministers who could help him grow into his birthright.
Alas, his rule began under ill omens. A gathering to celebrate his coronation became a stampede, and many were killed. The soldiers who failed to maintain order were punished—fortunately, I was not among them—but the whispers began. Even among my own regiment, there was scorn for the emperor’s weakness. He had attended a ball that very night! Did a thousand deaths mean nothing to him? I argued on his behalf in vain, for my arguments felt as weak as his character. Still, for the sake of my son and my post, I clung to my loyalty.
When my son Nikolai began his military training after his fifteenth birthday—somewhat late, to be sure—I explained that he had aspired to the ballet, and his commanders accepted this as properly rigorous physical exercise, though he was not allowed to continue once he joined the guard. He did not sulk over this, but showed such hurt when reminded of it that several times I nearly allowed him to take it up again, before remembering the focus necessary to succeed in the guards.
I had always thought that Niki would make an admirable soldier. He was smart, so smart, and he got along well with the other boys. For the first six months he was trained with the twelve-year-olds to make up for the years he’d missed, and he quickly became their favorite. Even though he complained of boredom to me, he said he liked the marching, and my heart filled with hope.
Wastrel poets and intellectuals no longer followed him home, and as far as I knew, he did not visit them any longer. He and I continued to converse on any number of subjects, and I learned much about music and literature from him. Good Siberian literature, respectful of the people and the Emperor, seemed to do wonders for his attitude. I felt at this time that Nikolai and I had mastered the challenges that life had thrown at us: the death of his mother, the death of my father, the instability of the empire. We would grow and prosper, my boy and I, and he, so much smarter than I, would outshine my achievements.
After six months, he was placed with boys his own age, and here he found the regiment harder to master. When he was living with the other soldiers, not simply visiting them, he could not resist talking of the ideas his coffee-shop intelligentsia had expounded upon or reading some of their execrable poetry, things I had thought gone from his life because he no longer spoke of them to me. The other soldiers, who preferred to talk about racing and young ladies, viewed him as an outsider, even after more than a year of training.
This I heard from his commanding officer, two months after his seventeenth birthday, but that was only the background to the chief complaint against him. Nikolai, this tiger said, barely keeping his claws restrained, had tempted other soldiers into vice, and at least one had succumbed. He did not describe the specific act, but my imagination supplied the details.
I told the tiger I would correct it, ensure that such a thing never happened again. When he left, I brought in Nikolai from the other room.
He knew what he had done, but was unrepentant. The other soldier had asked him about it, he said, and there had been no coercion nor seduction. I cuffed him and reminded him that the point was to behave like a soldier, to be strong and fierce. I told him how disappointed I was in him and that I expected him to do much better. He protested that it was not weakness, that he could be a strong soldier and still have affection for his
fellow soldiers, but I saw this ridiculous notion for the coffee-shop nonsense that it was, and forbad him speak of it.
Dancing was all that he valued, it seemed, so I told him that if he received satisfactory marks from his commander after another six months, I would allow him to resume his dancing lessons. After all, it did seem to help with the marching; one area where Nikolai had never been faulted was in the precision of his steps.
It was too late for that, he said, though I could see the longing in his eyes. He would never be in the Imperial Ballet; he was far too old.
But, I pressed, he still wished to practice, and learn, and improve, yes? I saw the answer though he did not speak it. He had only to prove he was strong and he could do as he pleased. If he wanted something, the path to taking it was clear.
He told me that not everyone was meant to be strong. I retorted that strength could be taught and learned, and if one chose not to learn it, that spoke to a deficiency of one’s inner character. He turned his bright green eyes on me and said, what, then, of Nicholas, the tsar you love so? Do you not love him even though he has not yet learned to be strong as you think of it?
Stop, I cautioned him, but he and I were too close, too familiar, and he saw his chance.
Do you know what they say about him, in the guards? He stepped up closer to me, daring me to shut out his words even though my ears were flat. I could not look away from his eyes. I felt the warmth of his breath on my whiskers. They say he would like me, he said. They say he would appreciate my
personal
attentions. They say I should enter his service.
I cuffed him harder, raked his ears with my claws, and knocked him to the floor. He bled; I could smell it, and yet I only wanted him to stop. And why, he said, do you love him and not me?
He lay on the floor without even attempting to stand against me. I told him that I loved Nicholas for his family. Truthfully, though I barely knew it then, I had begun to feel disgust for my Emperor, for the country he disappointed with his uncertain, passive leadership. And you, I told my son, I love because you bear my blood and Mariya’s.
Ah, he said, so that is why. And he appeared sad, which infuriated me. Did he want me to love him as I did my Tsar? Did he want me to forswear my post, my country? I loved him; what more did he want?
He remained silent, and then softly asked if he might leave. I asked if he would dedicate himself to the guards. Slowly, he rose to his feet, though his eyes remained downcast, and he said he would do nothing that would give me cause to be ashamed of him.
Alas, the following year, another incident came to my attention, and though Nikolai said the other soldier had initiated it, I was forced to punish him again. His commander suggested I should remove him from the guards, because he had gained a reputation and the others would not leave him be. I had no choice but to comply, furious. He sat on the chaise in our parlor with his head and ears down, those scarred ears that reminded me of my temper every time I looked at them, and he did not stir nor speak for an hour, while I talked to him of my disappointment, of our duty and the noble tsars to which we owed our very lives, of his inability to show even the merest gratitude to them, let alone a whit of respect for me. I told him that his mother would have been saddened by his descent into feckless wastrel behavior.
When my fury had run its course, I stood and stared, and realized that I could not see any future for us. I would not be one of those parents who insisted on pushing his son into the military despite his unfitness for the duty, who made the other soldiers suffer for his pride. But neither could I let Niki return to the filthy poets who
talked insolently of the duty of the people, who preached godless philosophy and hinted darkly at revolution. I would not allow my son to be taken in the night and buried in an unmarked grave.
Perhaps, I thought, the joke about entering the Tsar’s service was not so bad a thought—stripped of its scandalous origin. Much as I despaired for Nicholas himself, his court might well be the best place for Nikolai, and I still held some small favor with Nicholas, though I had not called upon it in years. I told Niki that in the morning I would see to a new appointment, and I told him that if he would make nothing of himself, I would make something of him. But it was a desperate hope, and he may have heard that in my voice. He replied dully, in monosyllables, when he replied at all.
When I ran dry of words and anger, he sat on the chaise still, head bowed and tail curled around his knees. I could not see his bright green eyes, only the ragged edges of his ears, and I felt a sting in my heart. But I quelled the emotions and walked up to my bed.
And when I woke in the morning, Nikolai was gone.
Chapter 35
Sol was sitting with Alexei when his phone rang. He took it out, glanced at the number, and started to put it back into his pocket. “Take it,” Alexei told him. “It is okay.”
“It’s only—uh, I’ll take it out there.” Sol tapped the screen and hurried out to the kitchen. “Hey, I can’t come out tonight, sorry,” he said into the phone as he brushed past Meg.
She took two steps in. “You get another day to grieve, and then you get out of bed.” She pointed a finger at Alexei.
“Have you ever lost someone dear?” he shot back.
“I was—” She started sarcastically, then reconsidered and shook her head. “No.”
“Then you do not know how long it will take to grieve.”
“No.” She sat down on the desk chair, draping her thick tail over the back. “But I almost lost Sol. You know, he almost killed himself. And I thought about that some.” She scowled back out toward the main room. “Don’t tell him I told you. Also, I almost killed myself a couple times.” At the perk of his ears, she waved a paw. “Years ago. But you can’t—you can’t let it take over your life. Your sister sounds like she was pretty sweet, right?” He nodded. “She wouldn’t want you to screw up your life over her death.”
“I know,” he whispered. The thought of Cat brought pressure to his chest again. “But I cannot…I cannot do anything else.”
“Not now,” Meg said. “But in a day or so I’ll kick you in the ass. Just giving you fair warning so you don’t think I’m some kind of cold-hearted bitch.”
He nodded. Then he looked up. “I thought you were proud of being cold-hearted bitch.”
She got up. “Most of the time,” she said. “Don’t tell Sol.”
Out in the kitchen, Sol raised his voice. “He is not a drama queen. If anything, you are!” Then he seemed to realize he’d been shouting and lowered his voice again.
“Speaking of bitches,” Meg murmured.
“Where is Athos?” Alexei said, because he thought he knew who was on the phone and didn’t want to talk about him.
“Went out to get drinks. He thought we might need more alcohol. I told him no vodka.”
Alexei shook his head. “I do not want a drink,” he said, although the prospect of dulling his mind and drinking himself to sleep was frighteningly appealing. “But perhaps I need one.”
“Attaboy,” Meg said. “I know you canids don’t smoke, but I have weed, too. It’ll take the edge off, you know.”
Again, he shook his head. “Thank you. I will try to sleep.”
“Okay. Let us know if you see your ghost, ’kay?”
“Yes.” He nodded, but as she left, he wished she hadn’t said that. Now he was worried about sleep, too.
But his sleep that night was dreamless, as though Konstantin knew to stay away from him. Alexei woke with a strange sense of regret. The panic of his last dream had been worn down by the relentless pounding of grief and guilt, and as he’d lain down, he’d almost been looking forward to seeing Konstantin. He wanted to ask the old fox how one could be strong enough to endure something like this. But even that small chance at comfort was denied him.
He didn’t tell Sol or Meg about this, and Sunday passed much as Saturday had, the day as bleak and the night as dreamless. Monday morning, though they both insisted he stay home another day, he pushed himself out of bed and got dressed. “I will go to work,” he said, because at the warehouse, there was nothing to make him think of Cat, nothing to remind him of his old life at all, and he could move boxes onto and off of shelves and conveyor belts all day and imagine himself simply a part in a vast machine that cared nothing for him. If it did not care for him, he did not have to care for it; he could simply exist.
The day was everything he had hoped for, monotonous, dusty, and brown, stiflingly warm in the warehouse so that he spent the day panting and drinking water, devoid of conversation, both from real people and from ghosts. Mike called again around lunch, and this time left a message that Alexei again did not listen to. After the way he’d treated Mike, he was afraid of what the sheep would have to say to him.
But at the end of the day, Vlad came to him as he was checking out. “Ho,” the big tiger said. “Liza says you are not calling her back?”
“I’ve been sick,” Alexei said.
Vlad extended a claw. “You will call her right now,” he said, and stood with arms folded while Alexei, ears burning, took out his phone and called Liza. When she picked up and he said hello, Vlad nodded and pushed Alexei out the door.
“
Where have you been?
” Liza said in Siberian. “
What is this with you moving out? Is that wolf making you leave? Of course you may come here if you need to, but he seems nice, and I think you should stay.
”
“
I cannot,
” he said, but that too had been driven from his mind and he did not know now whether he still needed to go. To be gay, to not be gay; none of it mattered to him. He could not grow close to anyone, could not be part of this world, not now. Konstantin had no more hold over him, but Alexei now felt more drawn to the ghost than to anyone else. He had seen what Bogdan was, he had tried to help, and he had a vast loneliness inside him that Alexei now understood.
“Well,” Liza said, in English, “there is a meeting tonight, and Kendall wants to have you removed from the soccer team. If you want to tell your story, you should come. If they kick you off, I’m going to quit, whether you’re there or not, and Alice might quit too.”
“Don’t do that.”
“We can always play basketball. And listen, if you need anything else, call me, please.”
“I will.” Alexei spoke the words without meaning them.
When he’d hung up, he listened to Mike’s message from two days ago, a warily concerned message, and then the one from lunch. “Hey, Alexei,” the sheep said, hesitant, uncertain. “Look, you’re a sweet guy and I really like you. But you’re going through some shit, it seems like, and, well, uh. I got enough shit of my own to deal with right now. Sorry. I hope I’ll still see you on the soccer team, and we can still hang out, but…no more dates for a while, okay? Sorry. Really, I like you. Okay. Sorry. Good-bye.”
Alexei lowered his paw, looked at his phone, and then deleted all of his messages.