Life is good

Life is Good

Late one frosty December night, a small group of friends were celebrating Christmas Eve in the fashionable part of Moscow. It was so dark and snowy that the Russian streets appeared deserted, when in fact all of Russia was eating, drinking, and dancing.

It had been another prolific year for the Pavlova family, and they had spared no expense in their festivities. The family and guests feasted on roasted duck, a myriad of sweet pastries, and the finest vodka from the Czar’s personal distributor. It was a sumptuous feast indeed. General Vladimir Pavlova had become somewhat of a hero when he served in the Russian Army in the Russo-Turkish war of 1877. Soon after the war, he had arranged to marry Celia Nevsky, a remarkable young beauty from a wealthy family. They had a fruitful marriage and General Pavlova’s military success could afford them every luxury demanded by any respectable family. Their two daughters Natassya and Petra were both young beauties with their father’s intelligence and mother’s charm and were also involved in the celebrations.

The guests were mainly friends of the family. Dimitri Mirsky was a ruthless attorney who had helped the Pavlov family with a variety of legal matters and considered himself the general’s right hand. Then there was the widowed Madame Karla Felka Bernikov, a socialite and ardent theater goer whose husband had died in military servitude under General Pavlova’s command. The guests were all indulging themselves and laughing without a care in the world.

“This is what life is all about! Good friends and a loving family! Life can’t get any better than this!” said the general smiling with a twinkle in his eye.

“I beg your pardon, General,” interrupted Olga, the Pavlova’s young maid, sounding very terrified. “There is a man outside demanding to enter. He claims to be an old friend of yours.”

“Oh? Well don’t be so rude; show the man in!” the general was slurring his words now, showing his drunkenness.

“Maybe you should see who it is first,” suggested Celia Pavlova.

“Nonsense! I am the great General Pavlova! I have fought the most hostile and terrible of enemies! I single handedly defended the honor of Mother Russia!”

“Cheers to the General, a national hero indeed!” shouted Dimitri Mirsky, suddenly drunk himself.

“Oh hush up!” said Celia Pavlova in a perturbed tone. “You are both drunk and you shouldn’t feed his ego, Mr. Mirsky. You of all people should know how Vladimir gets with a few drinks. Just leave him be.”

“Celia, what do you think you are doing?” asked the general.

She walked toward the window and began examining the front door. She had noticed only footprints, which were beginning to disappear with the falling snow.

“Anything to report darling?” questioned Madame Bernikov, the socialite, who was rather fond of knowing the comings and goings of every soul in Moscow.

“Nothing.”

Suddenly a hooded man wearing a dark long coat and scarf was escorted into the room. It was impossible to distinguish any facial features only bright stone cold eyes. The hooded stranger stood motionless, under scrutiny from the family and guests.

“Well, Who are you, sir? You say you are a friend yet I don’t know of any friend that would have the audacity to come to my home unannounced, especially on Christmas Eve,” declared the general in a domineering tone.

The hooded man said nothing, started slowly unbuttoning his long coat, and brushed the snow off his shoulders. He pulled his hood off which revealed blonde thin hair, styled in the latest fashion. Finally he unraveled the scarf and flashed an ominous smile at the general, looking highly satisfied. Both general Vladimir and Celia Pavlova turned pale and their jaws dropped. The daughters Pavlova as well as the guests looked at each other in bewilderment. They had never laid eyes on this man, who appeared to be a gentleman of nobility, while the General and his wife stood petrified and their pallor told of their knowledge of the stranger.

“Ryanevsky Kochranovitch! I thought you were—”

“Dead? Ha, ha! General Pavlova, you still have a witty sense of humor. You might have left me for dead, but I was captured by the Turks and lay comatose for almost ten years. I only awakened two years ago and slowly started gaining my strength back. I learned that my father had negotiated my release from the Turkish half way through my coma, and I was in a hospital bed in Paris until I awoke. When I learned of the courage and bravery of the great General Vladimir Pavlova, my curiosity aroused me to come and see for myself. Surprised?” said Ryanevsky Kochranovitch happily, with a malicious expression.

The general couldn’t speak. He was immediately sobered by this unplanned visit. The guests dared not speak, for they could sense the uncomfortable tension.

“Celia? My God! It has been ages, and you are still breathtaking,” whispered Ryanevsky gently stroking her hand and wiping tears from her eyes.

“Enough!” shouted Dimitry Mirsky, “How dare you come into another man’s home and disrespect his wife! I don’t know who you are or what relation you are to the family, but I must ask you to leave!”

“Disrespect? You know nothing of respect,” responded Ryanevsky Kochranovitch.

“Why have you come? Why now?” demanded the general very apologetically.

“To tell of your treachery,” began Ryanevsky, “to tell of your deceitful exaltation. To tell the truth. So all will see and all will know.”

“Know what?” pursued Madame Bernikov.

Ryanevsky sat in a chair, lit his pipe and began, “Many years ago, Vladimir Pavlova, Celia Nevsky, and myself were all good friends. Vladimir and I agreed to join the military together, and were sent off to Siberia for training. Upon our return I proposed to my first and dearest love Celia and were promised to marry after my first tour. During the Russo-Turkish war Vladimir and I were instructed to take a handful of soldiers and destroy an important enemy stronghold. Most of the men were killed, but we succeeded in destroying our target. I remember standing on a hill and hearing a single gun shot, then suddenly falling to the ground. There was a sharp pain in my back and I prayed to the good lord to let me live. I heard distant footsteps nearing me, and started yelling for help. I saw Vladimir rushing toward me and I was instantly overwhelmed with joy. He stood over me and pointed his gun at my chest. I had never seen evil until I looked in his eyes and he simply fired.”

“My goodness!” exclaimed Karla Bernikova.

The guests looked at the general with disgust. They had always held the general in the highest respect, and this strange man had shattered his impeccable reputation in a single moment.

“I meant no harm! It was an accident! I swear I only had the best intentions! I did it for you!” cried the general pointing at Celia.

“I fell into a deep sleep,” continued Ryanevsky, “and awakened ten years later, an old man, with my youth stolen from me. I heard stories of your exceptional bravery in battle and your unrivaled courage from some of the other patients who were in military service under your command. They spoke of your extravagant wedding to the dazzling Celia Nevsky, and of your wonderful life together. How my blood boiled at the thought of your raptures. I found it difficult to believe my beloved and my best friend, who I loved like a brother, had both betrayed me.

Celia immediately snapped out of her deep trance and announced, “I betrayed you? My dear Ryanevsky Kochranovitch, it appears we were both betrayed by this mongrel. Vladimir conveyed to me that your last dying wish was for him to take care of me and marry me. How stupid of me to have believed him. And now you return to watch me cry. To watch me swim in childlike tears!”

“Nonsense! We were all tricked by this wretch of a man, but now I have returned to rightfully claim what’s mine.”

Ryanevsky raced over to the daughters and snatched them by their arms. He calmly reached into his vest pocket and drew out a small revolver, which he gently placed on the table. The guests suddenly began to panic, however no one would dare to meddle with the stranger’s indignation. One could only guess his capabilities.

“Now Vladimir, I have placed to choices in front of you, rather decisions to be made. You may keep only one of your two lovely daughters, while the other shall agree to become my wife. This is your first choice. Your second choice involves the revolver. Either I can shoot you, or you can shoot yourself,” explained Ryanevfsky in a serious tone.

“Are you mad? You consider this justice. Surely you will not get away with this. I shall personally see to it that you are sent to Siberia for eternity!” shouted the vexed attorney.

Everyone turned to look at General Pavlova who sat uneasily in his chair with the most concentrated expression on his face, carefully debating and weighing his options. Madame Pavlova stared at her husband trying unsuccessfully to read his thoughts. Karla Bernikova was the only one who seemed amused by these unfortunate events, for she loved and lived for gossip of this sort. Her very existence depended on the misfortune of others. Dimitri Mirsky , the agitated attorney, could hardly sustain himself. He was shocked that the general would actually consider such negotiations.

“I am not going to murder her or make her my servant. As a matter of fact, I am doing you a great favor. Your daughter, whichever it may be, will become part of a well-respected family. You of all people should know of our estate,” he said.

“I’ll go with him father,” said Natassya as her father looked to see who had spoken.

“Are you certain dear?” asked the general.

“Yes father, I shall sacrifice myself for Petra, besides, I should have been married long ago. Do you consider your comrade here worthy of my hand?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is settled. I accept your proposal Ryanevsky Kochranovitch.”

“What about the gun shot? You don’t really expect me to—”

“Wherever you please,” demanded Ryanevsky.

The general picked up the gun and quietly examined it. He couldn’t decide where to shoot himself. He thought of an arm, maybe his foot, but ultimately decided neither would do. He raised the gun and pointed it at his comrade.

“Well Vladimir,” said Ryanevsky shaking his head, “it appears you have created a third choice for yourself. You can shoot me dead, and live out the rest of your life in Siberia being ridiculed for your false bravery and remembered as a liar, or you may shoot yourself, claim it a drunken accident, and live on in your present glory, drinking and singing at your daughter’s wedding.”

“Don’t shoot him General Pavlov,” put in Dimitri, “It’s not worth it.”

The general lowered his gun and once again began the task of deciding where to put the bullet. He placed the barrel on his thigh and wiped the sweat dripping from his brow. The same arm that had let countless soldiers into battle began to tremble with fear. The entire group watched closely, analyzing every motion, the smallest movements. BANG! Madame Celia Pavlova fainted while everyone else rushed to help the fallen hero. In the commotion, Ryanevsky took his bride and raced into the night. He knew it would be difficult, if not impossible to find a doctor on Christmas Night.

The general died the next morning from blood loss. And the family was disgraced when Madame Karla Bernikova conveyed the story of the great General Pavlova to the Russian aristocracy. Word spread like wildfire and creditors began to appear and no bank would lend money to the tainted Pavlova name. Dimitri Mirsky wouldn’t have his reputation tarnished, and stopped communicating with the Pavlovas altogether. The family grew poorer by the day and were forced to join the ranks of Russian beggars scattered throughout Moscow. Ryanevsky lived out his bachelor life in a cottage in Petersburg with his favorite servant Natassya Pavlova. He lived a long quiet life with the satisfaction of repaying his once dear friend the great General Vladimir Pavlova.