Men of Winter

Chapter XII

'An ignorant soul shall inquire of your "winnowing fan."' — Odyssey 11

In my room, I put the empty leaf of paper away in my valise. I did not want to take all of my possessions to the front, yet I did not want to pay for a room I was not using. I was sure the Strubels would store some things for me while I was absent. Surely it would be no more than a few days. I thought about packing but there was no need. I had very little to prepare and would have ample time in the morning. Besides, I was very tired. The wine had hit me quite suddenly after Bushkov's departure. Polozkov and Kritch helped Mr. Strubel to his rooms. The landlord was nearly as listless as Helena was on the night we brought her to the pension. Helena and Mirska assisted Mrs. Strubel in tidying the parlor and kitchen. Meanwhile, I had gone to my room.

I took off my shoes and my vest and crawled between the covers. Perhaps I lay there awake thinking, or I lay dreaming – but in either case my mind was on the Prince of Ithaca. He was at large, if indeed that was Mezenskov's message. Did the Prince escape custody or was he released? I had this view of him scaling walls and donning disguises and knocking guards over the head. But the authorities may have decided their jails were too full already and merely handed the lunatic a few coins and deposited him on the street, saving themselves some effort and money in the long run.

I had a strange feeling as I lay in bed, dozing or not. I could not identify it at first. I thought it should be fear; after all, in a few hours I was headed into a war zone. Or it should have been homesickness – I had been gone for several days, and it would most likely be several more before I returned on the train. Lust was a likely candidate too. It had been some weeks since I had been with a woman, and I felt an attraction to Helena. Her eyes captivated me. I thought, if we make love, I want it to be in the light of day so that I can see her electric eyes all the while. But lust was not what I was feeling either.

Then it came to me: I was feeling self-satisfaction. Mezenskov had sent me north to report the war firsthand and I was finally doing my job. My real job – not my underhanded, self-appointed job of writing for The Nightly Observer, to increase my name in circulation and fatten my wallet.

Speaking of which, how much money did I have left? I was definitely awake now. I had squirreled money away in so many places I had lost track of it. I got out of bed and lighted the oil lamp on the table. I went through my various pockets, my valise, and the hole in the mattress I had discovered a few days earlier. My money was in notes and coins, and I arranged it all neatly on the table as I counted. The total was not a lot but I had faith it would be enough. I only needed enough for the train ticket home, a bit to pay the Strubels for holding my things, and perhaps some bribe money at the front. I would be all right. I redistributed the money to the various pockets and the valise (but not the mattress), and prepared to sleep again.

I was about to extinguish the lamp when I heard a gentle tap at my door. Then I heard Helena's voice: "Hektr, are you yet awake?"

I opened the door part way. "Yes – are you all right?"

The hall was dark except for the light from the candle she held in a tarnished brass holder. "I am all right. May I talk to you, or are you too sleepy?" She still smelled sweetly of the baklava.

"No ... I mean yes – please come in." I stood aside then closed the door.

She went to the window and looked out as if she could really see something besides her own occult reflection in the dirty glass. I pulled out the chair from the table, on which she had placed her candle, and sat. After a moment, Helena turned to me, wringing her small hands. "Hektr, I have a request to make of you – as if you have not done enough for me already."