• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1216 0

with a great sense of foreboding. “I went to the shop just the other day, to get some pickles and raspberry preserves, seeing how we didn’t make any this year—I guess they did at the Trubetskoye, but the countess didn’t send us any, even though she could have, but I’m not complaining. So I went to the shop, and there was this man—really shifty, and he wasn’t buying anything, only looking as people went and came, all crooked-like. And then there was one of these Chinamen, all in silk and with a long mustache and a straw basket on his head. He just bought a twist of tobacco and a pound of tea, but that shifty man followed him right out, and I said to Marfa the shop girl, what is he doing? And she says, oh, that’s a Nikolashka. Goodness me, what is that, I say. And you know what she says?”

Olga and I shook heads in unison.

Anastasia sighed with happiness. “Marfa tells me that ever since all the foreign people started coming to St. Petersburg, Prince Nicholas took charge of keeping an eye on them. And he now has policemen—only they’re not in uniform and they are all secret-like—and people call them Nikolashki, after the prince. And they follow the Chinamen around, for our protection.” She nodded to herself, satisfied, and fell silent.

“That is so strange,” Olga said. “Are the Chinese really up to something?”

I shrugged. “The ones I talked to certainly aren’t.”

Olga smiled at that. “That’s right,” she said. “There is that young man you talk to, and his friends. They always sit behind you.”

“Behind us,” I said. “And if you want to meet them, come with me this Saturday—they are having a social at their club.”

“Club?” Olga asked, apprehensive.

“Just off Fontanka, “I said. “A few blocks from Anichkov Bridge. The Chinese students always go there—I think they feel unwelcome everywhere else.”

“This could be fun,” Olga decided. “It’s not dangerous, is it?”

I shook my head. “Of course not. We’ll take Anastasia with us for propriety’s sake, and they are harmless, really. Besides, I’m sure Prince Nicholas and his secret protectors will be chivalrous enough to come to our rescue if the necessity arises.”

Olga smiled a bit and shook her head. “I know you’re just joking, Sasha. But doesn’t it worry you, even a little?”

I shrugged. “Let the government worry about such notions. I’m much more concerned about my human biology exam.”

“Me too.” Olga rose to her feet. “I suppose I better go study.”

She departed to her apartment located just down the hall from mine, leaving me with my uneasy thoughts. I looked through my notes and thumbed a thick volume written by Ipatiev himself, where he illustrated some especially savage and sloping foreheads as indicators of intellectual inadequacy. He had a chapter on Chinamen as well, and I tried reading it before flinging the book across the room—the faces illustrated there, all toothy and barely human, bore no resemblance to the gentle features of Chiang Tse and his countrymen, who were all polite and soft-spoken, and who were kind to me. Yet, I suspected that the majority of my classmates would rather believe the book than their own eyes. This is why, I decided, I could not possibly fail this exam—as unfair as it was, all five women were closely scrutinized, and any shortcoming on our part would reflect on future generations. A sense of historical responsibility weighed on me until I had a cry and went to bed early.

Saturday was upon us before I was ready for it—drowning in readings and incomprehensible problems, I was entirely too preoccupied. It was a blessing, since it allowed me to barely notice the habitual mockery of my classmates. That in turn seemed to enrage them further, and I rarely had a chance to walk to class without hearing a snide remark. The day before our scheduled visit to the Crane Club, as I was leaving the auditorium, I heard a man’s voice say, “Look at her. Takes after her aunt Menshova.” This was not a surprising statement—my aunt was well known and almost universally disliked. I turned around to see a clump of several younger men, some of whom I recognized from last