The Four Winds of Heaven (13 page)

Ossip never mentioned his ailment, and the other boys took a quick liking to him, for he was witty and bright, and so happy to be among his own kind that a newfound youthfulness seemed to emanate from him, where before he had appeared overly mature. At once, his marks proved as excellent as his father had hoped. He brought home only “fives” and “five-pluses,” the highest honors in the class. He shared those top grades with a small group of fellow students who became his close friends. All came from distinguished families. Sergei Botkin was the nephew of the Tzar's private physician, Vassili Petri was the son of a famous geographer, and Vladimir, or Volodia, Tagantsev, was the second son of Count Nicolai Tagantsev, who sat in the Senate. It was Volodia who was Ossip's best and dearest friend, and about whom he spoke the most.

When Ossip first mentioned Volodia, at supper, David felt as though a sudden arrow had pierced his heart. He looked up quickly, his temples pounding, and saw that Mathilde's sapphire eyes were thoughtful and alert. She had caught the name, too. He cleared his throat. “Ossip,” he said tentatively, “why are you so fond of this particular boy?”

His son's face, more pink than usual, stared back at him over the magnificent Limoges tureen the servant girl was holding between them. Ossip said, “Why, he is a marvelous fellow. He is strong, and has a fine, firm heart. He laughs well, but never at others. He—he—please do not laugh, Papa, but you know how much I love my Sonia, and Volodia, well, possesses the same kind of character as she. I enjoy his company and I respect him. I know that you will like him yourself.”

David felt deeply troubled. Mathilde, across from him, bore a furrow between her black brows that indicated her own disturbance. Ossip's joy, his wholehearted enthusiasm in his first real friendship, hurt David, who knew that rarely was his son as purely innocent as in this new experience. But still... He said, “Does Volodia talk much about his father, Count Tagantsev?”

The boy shrugged lightly. “I suppose so. They are not as close a family as we are, and I gather that Volodia is not his father's favorite. There is an older brother, Nicolai, who is a law student, and the Count, I think, favors him. But I am not sure. His sister, Natalia, is Volodia's twin, and the two of them are the best of friends. We have spoken of you, Papa, and of Sonia, and of course of Mama. The way boys speak.” He smiled as he said this, with some pride.

David ran his index finger over his nose and waved away the offerings from the servant girl's tray. “You have often helped me with the widows of Jewish artisans,” he said. “You know of the law that banishes them from Petersburg twenty-four hours after the death of their husbands.”

“Yes, Papa. But what has that to do with Volodia?” Impatience forced itself into Ossip's tone. He was irritated at the turn in conversation. Happy in his friend, he wanted to bask in the attention of his family, and not return to what he privately considered his father's obsession. There was time enough for that on another day.

But David continued. “This law is most ardently supported by two men, both highly influential. One of them, as you know, is Pobedonòstsev, head of the Holy Synod, who has been the Tzar's mentor for many years. The other advocate is your friend's father, who sits in the Senate. Did you know this, Ossip?”

Horror registered itself in Ossip's eyes. “Of course not, Papa! We do not discuss religion. And Volodia is not anti-Semitic. I am his best friend, and I know for a fact that he speaks of me in his home. Did you think I was betraying you behind your back, Papa?”

David sighed. He saw his son's anger and dismay. “I would never accuse you of betraying me,” he said finally, weighing his words carefully. “I merely felt that you should know with whom you were dealing. Whether or not he is close to his son, Volodia's father is perhaps my most bitter opponent. Do with this what you will.”

Johanna de Mey, who had daintily wiped the corners of her mouth, ventured to speak. “If the boy is as noble a creature as Ossip says, should we not allow this friendship to develop between them, as a private matter? After all, Ossip has never disappointed us. His judgment can be trusted. And if the boy were anti-Semitic, would he have picked a Jew for his best friend?”

“Johanna makes a valid point,” Mathilde said softly. Her large eyes sought those of her friend, and she smiled. “Would we create a children's war by our own foibles? Perhaps this friendship is an omen of good things to come. Perhaps Nicolai Tagantsev will relent. In any case, let us not discredit his young son.”

“I had no intention of showing prejudice in regard to the boy, Mathilde,” David told her. “But Ossip is sixteen, and my successor. I felt he had to know about the boy's father, and be forewarned.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Ossip said. He picked up a piece of cake with his fork, and began to lift it to his mouth. Then he stopped, and regarded his father. “I may continue the friendship with no bad feelings?” he demanded.

“Of course, Ossip,” David said. Ossip smiled, and plumped the morsel of cake into his mouth. His clear eyes looked around the table, and glimmered for an instant at Johanna. She was sitting with her long, elegant fingers steepled before her face, hiding her mouth from his sight. But he saw the answering glint in her own aquamarine pupils. He looked at his mother, whose placid coolness pleased him, and at Gino, his brother, who had not truly understood the conversation and was wide-eyed with bewilderment. Anna sat remotely withdrawn, and he passed over her to find Sonia, his beloved. But in her gray eyes he did not find what he was seeking. He saw something that shook him back to reality, away from his sense of victory over their father. Sonia's eyes, large and limpid, shone with a hard strength that bore no tender glow. Jolted, he was unable to meet the flintlike stare.

D
uring the next months
, the friendship between Ossip and Volodia Tagantsev deepened. Ossip spoke freely of the boy, and his mother would smile, listening with appreciation, knowing how precious it was for her child to have found so deep a friendship at long last. She understood even more than he realized, for she herself had found Johanna de Mey, and knew how much her own life had been transformed. She no longer felt alienated in a foreign land. And so she gently encouraged Ossip, a half-smile playing over her calm, poised features.

But Sonia sat rigid in her chair, on the edge of her seat, whenever Volodia was mentioned, her heart contracting with anger at this dreadful betrayal of their father. She was miserable, for she also wished to please her brother, her companion, who had chosen this friend in part because Volodia had reminded Ossip of herself. Without knowing him, Sonia felt strangely mingled emotions toward the son of the anti-Semitic Senator. She hated him on account of his parent's cruel bias, yet felt Mathilde's gratefulness on behalf of the child she loved most. The mere mention of Volodia Tagantsev's name would make her acutely uncomfortable, divided as she felt in her strong, ardent loyalties.

Ossip returned home at noon every day for luncheon. But Volodia Tagantsev, who did not reside on Vassilievsky Island, had too long a distance to travel, and was forced to eat at school. “It is so dreary there,” Ossip told his mother. “Every four days the same meal is repeated, and there is no family cheer. I always feel so bad, leaving him behind.” Mathilde merely nodded. It was unthinkable for her to proceed any further: she was not only Jewish but also the wife of the foremost
shtadlan
in St. Petersburg. The Counts Tagantsev were of the highest nobility, second only to the Imperial Grand Dukes, whereas the Gunzburgs were merely Barons knighted in Hesse. She could not have conceived of inviting the scion of the Tagantsev clan to join her son in the Gunzburg home for luncheon. In France, a Gunzburg, a Fould, or a Rothschild might aspire to heights inconceivable in Russia. A Fould had become Minister of Finance at the court of Napoleon III; his nephew had married Mathilde's own namesake aunt, and taken her to Court. Mathilde was a proud woman, a lady bred and born, but she was not one to defy tradition. Neither was her son. He did not hint at how happy an invitation to Volodia would have made him. Battling society was Anna's game, not his, nor his mother's. To some extent it was also David's, insofar as the Jews of Russia were concerned. But Ossip was not a fighter in any arena.

I
n every way
, the Gunzburg children had been taught the sports of their social standing, but Ossip's condition had not permitted him to learn equestrian sports. At school, he played with his friends so long as strong physical contact was not part of the plan. There was only one boy who actively disliked Ossip. His name was Krinitsky, and he was a bad student, jealous of Ossip's facility with learning and his easy relationships with the other boys. One morning, during a recess break in the school courtyard, Krinitsky saw Ossip deep in conversation with another pupil and, taking a leap, jumped onto Ossip's back with limbs outstretched, bolting his legs around his waist and his arms around Ossip's torso. The shock momentarily threatened to send Ossip forward onto his knees, but with a supreme effort he tensed his muscles and withstood the assault. Then, calmly, he loosened Krinitsky's hands and legs and allowed him to slide down his back onto the ground. The entire class had stopped their games and talks, and, stupefied, watched entranced. When Krinitsky reached the ground, Ossip, his heart in his throat, collapsed into the arms of Volodia Tagantsev.

By this time, Sergei Botkin and Vassili Petri had rushed to the scene, and were pummeling Krinitsky. Volodia made Ossip take a seat, and wiped his brow for him with his monogrammed handkerchief. But Ossip's faintness did not last long. “Stop!” he cried to Botkin and Petri. “It is not worth the effort to beat him so. Leave him alone.”

“You must tell the headmaster,” Volodia said to Ossip. “We were all warned that this sort of thing might kill you. He should be expelled.”

“But I am not the sort who tells on people,” Ossip said. “Besides, Vassya and Sergei have already punished him. I am grateful for your loyalty, all of you—but this matter will not go further.”

“It certainly shall,” Volodia said. He rose, and with a motion, gathered the rest of the class toward him. “We are going to go to the headmaster as a body, and it does not make any difference if you approve or not. What Krinitsky did was cowardly, and might have cost you your life. It was an unprovoked assault. Who will accompany me to the office, right this minute?”

Bewildered, short of breath, Ossip watched as not one student remained behind. Krinitsky looked at Ossip, his eyes bare with hatred. They were the only two left inside the courtyard. “You have made me lose my place at the gymnasium,” Krinitsky said.

“No,” Ossip murmured. “You did this yourself. I only care that I am still alive and well. I do not wish you harm. But you have lost your friends because of a stupid, thoughtless act. What did I ever do to hurt you?”

“You were simply yourself,” the other replied. “I do not like sickly Jews too proud for their own good. You are an arrogant nobody, with a title you don't deserve.”

“A man may be a Jew, a nobleman, a tramp, or a chimneysweep,” Ossip said softly, “but as long as he is proud of his accomplishments, he will be honored to be called a man. Do you suppose, Krinitsky, that your accomplishments merit you that title?”

He was exceptionally tired, and the director sent him home earlier than was customary. He entered the hallway just as Mathilde was making her way to the drawing room for tea. She was shocked by her son's pallor and by his untimely appearance. “What is the matter?” she cried, holding out her hands to him. He took them in his own, and told her what had happened. Mathilde's eyes grew hard, then moist, then hard again. She said, “So you were almost killed.” Very gently, she pressed her lips to the boy's forehead and held him by the shoulders.