Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six

Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

chitelnitsky arrived at the incarceration building of Cheka Headquarters on Petrovka around 6:00 p.m. He had been telephoned at his apartment and informed of what had happened there about two hours before. He was ostensibly there as a friend of Dmitri Dumatskoy, "...at the request of the prisoner's wife." First, Uchitelnitsky examined the cell where Dmitri had been held. A horrible fire had taken place there. Both wooden plank beds were completely destroyed, and so too, the cell door. The walls and ceiling were black. Members of the fire department who were interviewed by investigating operatives reported never seeing a fire that burned with such ferocity! Two other cells in addition to Dmitri's had been similarly gutted. No one involved knew exactly how long the blaze lasted. Most people reported, "A matter of minutes!" or, "A very short time!" As to the prisoner, Dumatskoy, he of course, was not found. No bones were uncovered in his cell. The only theory offered was the he somehow managed to escape when the door was burned away. Questioned about that virtually impossible situation, the two guards, Fedka's and Nikita's responses were so confused and convoluted, and their eyes were so filled with such terror, that they were taken to the hospital for examinations.

Zina arrived by taxicab a little after 9:00 p.m. Anya had come to 120 Novokirovskaya to tell Zina that there was a fire at Cheka headquarters, and that Zina had better go there at once. Anya stayed with Sasha. Uchitelnitsky was expecting her arrival, and left word that she should be taken into one of the sitting rooms and made comfortable as possible. An operative would enter the room and tell her that information would soon be provided to her concerning her husband. By the way, the operative would say, there is a friend of yours here, too, inquiring about your husband. Then, Uchitelnitsky would enter the room.

That little plot, constructed by Uchitelnitsky worked splendidly. When he came into the room where Zina was sitting, nervously smoking, she stood up and rushed to him. They both held out their arms to each other. They embraced. They held each other tight. To Uchitelnitsky, it seemed like an eternity. It was really only about twenty seconds that they stood there holding each other tight. Then, Zina, who had tears rolling down her cheeks, opened her eyes and released her hold on him. They looked into each other's eyes. They looked at each other deep down, as far down as each of them went. He moved his lips towards Zina's. She turned her head to the left and he kissed her cheek. For an instant, he relished the salt on his lips from her tears. She moved away from him into a corner of the room by a window. She stood there with her eyes riveted on the floor, ashamed to look again into his eyes.

The silence between the two of them became too much to bear. Suddenly, Zina glanced up at him with a look that recalled something long since forgotten.

"Dmitri!" She blurted out, as though saying the name for the first time! Uchitelnitsky felt he had just been awakened from a deep sleep.

"Gone! Escaped!"

"What?" she said, "Where is he?"

"Come Zina, sit down, I beg of you. You must be exhausted."

Both of them sat down on the sofa in the small room. Uchitelnitsky began to tell Zina what had happened. Listening to his narration, Zina's big, beautiful brown-green eyes widened to their fullest extent. She was smiling. When he finished, she responded by cutting off her smile. Zina asked him for a cigarette. She lit it herself, and said,

"No one as yet has come forth to tell me anything official about Dmitri, the charges against him, their plans for him! Will he now be charged with the crime of escaping from jail? How could they let this happen, this fire! Could we sue, do you suppose?"

He wasn't expecting a question like that. In fact, he hadn't listened to many words she actually said. Rather, he was watching the nuances of her expressions as she spoke: The lines of her mouth and cheekbones rising and falling; the glowing of her eyes. He was sweating, and felt extremely stimulated by her closeness to him, and the fresh, almost spring-like scent that seemed to ooze from her as she moved her body while she spoke. He was about to declare his love for her right there and then! Love? Yes! No doubt of it now. He was in love with her. What was to be done about it? Her feelings for him did not matter at the moment, that moment of realization of his love for her.

"Zina, Zina!" He said softly.

"Oh my God!" She said. She stood up abruptly and practically ran to the door. She turned toward him. Her eyes glittered with tears and her lips quivered. At that moment he thought the most beautiful woman in the world stood before him. He moved toward her. She turned again to the door. She fumbled with the door knob, trying to open the door. She turned back again to him. He had moved to where he was up against her. An operative in the adjacent room opened the door. It hit Zina with considerable force. The operative was a big and powerful man who was used to doing things in a big and powerful way. He was instructed by Uchitelnitsky himself to enter the room after a time to inform Zina of her husband's situation.

Zina hollered upon being hit. She was thrust into Uchitelnitsky's arms. He held her and cast the operative a stern look, as if to say, "Leave, now!" The big man realized at once what he was expected to do. He bowed slightly, and backed away from the door. Uchitelnitsky waved his left hand at the operative to move him through the door to the other room. He squeezed Zina passionately, and caressed her cheek with his. Summoning a considerable amount of strength, given his physical disability, with his left foot he deftly kicked the door closed. The big operative stood at the other side of the door to make it impossible for anyone to enter the room and disturb Zina and Uchitelnitsky.

nya Drugo stood holding Sasha in front of the mirror attached to Zina's oak chest of drawers in the bedroom at 120 Novokirovskaya. Both Anya and the baby were smiling. Anya was making funny faces and tickling Sasha. As soon as Anya arrived to tell Zina about the fire, Sasha's mood changed.

"Well, look at him! The little devil's not taking a fit!"

Zina's words disconcerted Anya. She thought, That precious little one, who possibly could be without his father for some time -- how could this little angel be a "little devil?"

Several weeks ago Anya had asked Zina, "Has Sasha seen a doctor lately? When was his last visit?"

"What are you talking about? Do you know how many doctors there are, and how many people are sick? Disease is rampant in this hell-hole! I do for Sasha what I can!"

Those words, "I do for Sasha what I can," stuck in Anya's mind and gave her a sickly feeling in her gut.

Anya sat down on the Dumatskoys' bed, holding Sasha; and still watching the reflection of both of them in the mirror. She began singing softly in the baby's ear as she kissed and cuddled him. Anya sang several lullabies that she remembered from her earliest youth. She remembered how her mother, a poor widowed Orthodox deacon's wife sang to her and her little sisters and brothers all the time. Yes, the big family was very poor, but love was a constant that helped all of them survive. The songs were the songs that Anya sang at special, dreamy moments when she was alone; or at the religious holiday times of Easter and Christmas; or when she was thinking about the baby that she would one day have. And within the last year, until she lost him, the baby that she would have with her husband, Drugo.

As Anya and Sasha both peered into the mirror and felt intense pleasure in each other's company, slowly a black curtain seemed to descend over the glass. Anya shuddered, as she felt the baby in her arms grow cold with each passing moment. Slowly the black curtain parted, and a fire shot out at them. Anya, acting with the instincts of a mother, turned her back toward the flame to protect the baby. Anya felt a scorching pain in the middle of her back, and cried out in agony. She fell to her knees from pain. Her arms momentarily went numb and she lost her hold on Sasha. His little head stuck the wooden floor violently. In the mirror, with the fire having departed after striking Anya, a pink fog filled all the space except that portion which slowly began to be discernible as the outline of the head of a bird, with wings looming up behind it. The mouth of that creature quickly distinguished itself with the protrusion of long, sharp teeth, and a hideously vulgar smirk that seemed to take pleasure in the unfortunate fate of the woman and the baby in the bedroom of the house at 120 Novokirovskaya.

overno!" shouted the Baron.

"Governo!" repeated the workers with the baskets. And they went about their duties with incredible gusto, even ecstasy. Governo was that part of the process of Chianti winemaking where raisined grapes were added to soften and create a slight prickle. Among the workers, who numbered about a dozen, were Dmitri Dumatskoy, V. V. Podly, Ivan Drugo, and A. S. Holtz. The four Russian men were beautifully and uniformly olive-skinned. All of the workers, including the four women among them, were dressed in white cotton short sleeve shirts, tan linen pants, and sandals. Some had straw hats on their heads.

The straw baskets had two handles, and required two workers to carry and dump the contents into the large vats. Dmitri and Podly worked one basket and Holtz and Drugo another. All four beamed at one another as they worked, as did all the teams. The sun shone brilliantly in the cloudless sky. The four Russians wore straw hats. All the workers were chattering away affably with each other.

"Look at this expanse, Viktor Viktorovich! Have you ever seen such a sight! What do you think, a thousand acres of vineyards? Two thousand? This is my place, you know, my own private space where I go to find peace. It has been given back to me! Why, I don't know. It is more wonderful than ever. And for the first time, I can share it with others!"

Podly laughed and shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, indicating that such a question was not for him to answer.

"All I know is, Dmitri Pavlovich, that there is potentially more wine here than even Dionysos himself could drink!"

"Russian Vulture!" Baron Ricasoli screamed. "To dare utter the name of the Greek god with your filthy, blood-soaked tongue is to surely bring my retribution down on you! Take this monster away and bury him, for the sake of God!"

The Baron made the sign of the cross over Podly, who lay on the warm fertile ground in an enormous pool of cool blood. Two sturdy lads who had ridden up with Ricasoli unceremoniously picked up and dumped Podly's limp, almost feather-weight body into a wooden cart, and hitched it to a mule which had been grazing on the tall grass close to where all the people had gathered. The Baron walked over to the mule and cart containing Podly, and whipped the beast's behind with his riding crop. A hideous howl, and an infernal stench came from the cart as the mule tore off into the distance at an incredible speed. The sound was like a thousand wagons rolling together over paved stones.