Fic: Love in the Time of Revolution (1/12)

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Part 1: Kordon, The Ural Mountains

Chapter 1: 1894, age 6

The famine was Jenka's earliest memory, even though he didn't understand what that word meant at first. He didn't understand why Mama was so strict with the family's food, doling out the small portions carefully. Jenka could feel his Papa's bones under his thick clothing, although Papa's big beard hid the hollows of his face. Jenka's brothers and sisters all learned quickly not to fight about who got what to eat, because Papa would swat them and Mama would cry.

"It's the famine," all the adults said, looking meaningfully at each other. Jenka looked blankly at them, and then Mama pulled him over to sit with her.

"You are old enough to understand, Jenka," she explained in a soft voice. "Your starshye brat'ya i sestry, your older brothers and sisters, they know this, but the babies do not. You are six years old, a big boy now. Famine means there is not enough food for everyone to eat all they want." Her eyes were sad, and her mouth turned down at the corners. "Sometimes it means there is not enough for everyone to keep alive. That is why Katya Petrovich died, and the old people are passing away. God calls them because they cannot live here anymore." A couple of tears slipped down her cheeks.

It was scary. It was unimaginable. How could there not be enough food? Mama must have seen the questions in Jenka's eyes, because she shook her head as she answered him.

"It is all up to God. We cannot know His plan. Little Father knows because he is our Tsar, but he lives too far away." She gave Jenka a quick hug before shooing him away. The baby began to cry in her hanging cradle, the rope that bound it to the ceiling beam rocking with the force of her distress. Jenka watched his mama pick the baby up and soothe her, tucking her little head beneath Mama's blouse to let her nurse.

It was the fault of the landowners, Papa and the other men of the village said. Jenka didn't understand a lot of what they talked about as the men sat around the clay stove in one of their little wooden houses. They puffed on their pipes and angrily discussed the state of the Motherland, from the freeing of the serfs fifty years ago to the struggles of today's farmer's cooperative. While freedom was desirable, the resultant chaos was not. There was not enough food, not enough grain to plant, not enough crops to feed everyone. What seed and food was available cost too much to buy adequate amounts. Everywhere across the mid-land of Russia, families were in dire need of help, but no help came.

"Where is the Tsar? Why is he not fixing this?" One of the villagers asked sternly. Jenka liked this man--he was tall and strong, just like Jenka's papa. It was Jarochka's papa who asked this, Gerald Uliamovich Padaleckin, who dared to criticize the Tsar in his palace far away in St. Petersburg. The Tsar ruled all of Russia--his bloodline had been chosen by Holy Ordination. The Tsar, affectionately called Little Father, was the benevolent, powerful leader who dictated the course of their lives. Tsar Alexander III was both revered and feared, and no one in Jenka's village dared criticize him. Only Jarochka's papa, Gerald Uliamovich, was bold enough to query why Alexander did not save them. Jenka's village had lost half a dozen adults and even more children in the last year alone, and the survivors were still suffering.

Jenka's village, Kordon, nestled in the foothills of the Ural Mountains, the range that separated European Russia in the West from the great sweep of Siberia to the East. It was a tiny place, about halfway between the much larger towns of Perm and Yekaterinburg, but several days walk to either. The villagers of Kordon could at least hunt in the woods to supplement their meager diet during the famine years. Fox, deer, and squirrels helped stock the stew pots. Mushrooms, nuts, berries, and savory plants filled out the small helpings of grains grown by the villagers. Even as a child, Jenka had learned to forage for those foods already alongside his older siblings. He knew that soon he and Jarochka would be old enough to learn about trapping the small animals living in the thick woods around their village.

"Stop, Geraldka, someone will hear and relay it to the Palace. We do not want the Ohrana, the secret police, to come here," Alan Ackelov, Jenka's papa, scolded his friend. His alarmed expression softened as he regarded his old friend. "We will do what we can, and this will pass. It has passed before, and next year we will hope for better weather and more fruitful plantings."

Gerald shook his head and blew a great puff of smoke from his pipe. Jenka followed it with his eyes until it wafted outside as the door opened.

"Jarochka Geralovich! Shut the door!" cried the adults as one, when a cold wind blew in behind Jarochka's entrance. Jarochka hastily shut the door, his eyes roaming the room until he found Jenka sitting on one of the sleeping shelves. The Ackelovs were fortunate enough to have a separate room in the back for their animals and storage, so the family lived in the big main room instead of upstairs. It was much warmer that way.

"What are they blabbing about," whispered Jarochka in Jenka's ear, tickling it with his warm breath. Jenka had to repress a giggle.

"Food, the Tsar, all that," replied Jenka quietly. "Where have you been, Jarochka?"

"Out looking for nuts. I found a whole bucket of hazelnuts to put in the morning's porridge for all of us." Jarochka grinned with satisfaction. "And I saw animal tracks, so maybe tomorrow our papas will take us out to set traps." He shook his head. "If I had a gun, I could shoot them."

"If you had a gun, you could go into the army. Except then I would miss you, so don't do that." Jenka felt a pang at the thought of Jarochka ever leaving. They had been born the same year, spent their toddler-hood hand in hand. As they grew, so did their friendship, until each boy would have declared the other as their closest friend, if not brother.

Jarochka's smile fell into a little pout. "Not now, I am too little to be a soldier. But one day, I will! I'll join the army and help protect Mother Russia from her enemies!" He put on a fierce expression, scowling with teeth bared. As usual, Jenka was captivated by the mix of colors in Jarochka's eyes--blue, brown, a little gold. Nobody else had eyes like that, not even anyone else in the Padaleckin family, and Jenka loved looking at the changing colors. Jarochka's dark brown hair fell over his forehead, and when he smiled, little creases popped in his cheeks that Jenka thought were pretty. Even his pink lips were pretty, but Jenka kept that to himself.

"I don't want you to leave, not ever," reiterated Jenka. "Stay with me."

"Maybe you will leave too, Jenka. There is a whole world beyond the mountains. Don't you want to see Moscow, St. Petersburg, the Black Sea?"

"Not with the army. I don't want to fight. Maybe there will be other jobs to do, and I can go with you." Jenka sighed, thinking of his dyadya who had come to visit last spring. "Remember dyadya Joachim and how he talked about the buildings in the city? And the towers, all tall and in different bright colors and gold. It must be so beautiful." He looked around the hut. "Here, everything is brown."

Jarochka snickered. "Your poo is brown."

Jenka elbowed him in the ribs. "Your poo is browner! And stinky!"

They giggled and teased each other until Gerald stood up, indicating he was ready to leave.

Jarochka joined his father, who paused at the door before exiting the Ackelov home.

"Wait and see, Alan Eugenovich.” Gerald used Jenka’s papa’s patronymic, his father’s name, so Jenka knew Jarochka’s papa was being very serious. “This happens again and again, where the rich control everything and we, the peasants and farmers, suffer. We feed the country, but we get the short end of everything. It isn't fair, and someday, something will change." He nodded to everyone and left, Jarochka on his heels.

Jenka sidled over to his father, who was now glowering at the stove.

"What does he mean about change, Papa?" Jenka couldn't imagine anything being different in  his life.

Alan shook his head, his mouth in a grim line. Clearly he was unhappy about the whole discussion, or perhaps just about the famine. Jenka wasn't sure.

"I don't know, Jenyka, but for Russia to change? The Tsar would have to change, and that is not something we can or should wish for." He stood up, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. "Go help Mama with dinner."

"Yes, Papa."

It was dinner time, and then prayers and bedtime. Jenka lay snuggled with his older brother on their shared sleeping shelf and pondered what the Tsar was doing in the Winter Palace. When he fell asleep, he dreamed of soldiers and marches and gaily colored banners on the beautiful gilded spires, whipping in the winds of change.



The news was terrible. Kordon and all the surrounding villages were abuzz.

Tsar Alexander III was dead.

“How can it be?” wailed Dinara Karolovna, Jenka's mama. “He was our Little Father! What will happen to Russia now?” She wept into her apron.

“Calm down, silly woman” snapped Alan. “There is an heir, of course! Nicholas will be the new Tsar.” He fidgeted with his pipe, dropping it and spilling his tobacco. Jenka knew his papa must be terribly upset to do that. Papa handled his pipe and tobacco very carefully, as tobacco was dear. Apparently simply having a new Tsar was not enough to calm the elders of the village about the country's state of affairs.

“Papa, is it alright now? Will the new Tsar fix everything?” Jenka was genuinely curious. They had made it through the famine, but the atmosphere of the neighboring countryside was still unsettled and restless. That the village populace had survived was completely due to their own resilience and effort, not any help from St. Petersburg. All the villagers had worked together to survive, like having the boys hunting and gathering while the men worked the land and the women kept the family going. Everyone had pooled their resources, making the most of what they had between them so that everyone could get by.

“Who knows?” Alan Eugenovich shook his head, his hands fumbling to retrieve his spilt tobacco. While he was not as critical as Gerald Uliamovich, he was not as blindly faithful as he’d been two years ago either. Watching members of one's village die when they needn’t have did a lot to sour one’s view of politics. “We must keep working as we have, and we will see what happens. Only time will tell.”

News trickled across the mountains about the glorious coronation that would officially place Nicholas II and his new bride Alexandra, the former Princess Alix of Hesse, Germany, on the Imperial throne. Gifts and food were to be distributed to the attending crowd, and there would be much display and panoply. Jenka thought it all sounded so exciting, much more so than taking care of his baby sister or combing the woods for nuts and berries.

Only the news of the coronation that followed over a year later was far more dark and unhappy. The throng of workers and peasants attending the coronation gala had stampeded the surrounding field, with everyone scrambling after the promised gifts. Rumors swept the crowd; one was that a gold coin was among the commemorative trinkets, and then another reported there were not enough gifts for everyone present. A melee of fighting broke out, felling people who subsequently were crushed under the feet of the horde. When the stampede subsided, over one thousand people lay dead on the coronation field.

One thousand dead! For some treats and a gold coin! Jenka almost cried at that. How sad to lose one’s life over a mere gold coin, no matter how much the coin might be worth.

Jenka's papa and the other men of the village looked both very sad and very angry. It was a disgrace, they said, that such a rampage had happened, besmirching the coronation with death and ugliness. Why was the mob not controlled better by the Tsar's troops? Thank God no one from Kordon had decided to travel and attend the coronation.

Jarochka’s face was stony, making him look more mature than his seven years.

“They were foolish. Little Father would have made sure everyone had one. They had only to wait.”

“It’s still a terrible thing,” replied Jenka. He’d seen his mama wiping tears with the corner of her apron. The crowd at the field had been full of women and children.

“Yes,” Jarochka agreed. “It is. I heard my papa say that the new Tsar didn’t even care, though. He went to a fancy ball afterward like nothing happened." He picked up and threw a pebble. "How could he do that? Pretend nothing happened? That’s not right. He shouldn't have gone.”

“Maybe he didn’t know about it. Or maybe someone told him he had to go.” Jenka threw a pebble too, in solidarity.

“But he is the Tsar! Who could tell him what to do? That doesn’t make any sense,” Jarochka argued. He scoffed, saying, “Well, whatever. I will still be a soldier when I grow up, and make sure the Tsar is safe and that the people are safe too. No one would get trampled around me. I would make them all stop.”

Jenka thought how brave and strong his best friend was as they headed into the woods to check the traps. No one was as admirable as Jarochka. Or as handsome.

Jenka kept that thought to himself, a little flame warm in his heart.



1901, age 13

Jarochka picked his way quietly through the woods. It was his turn to check the traps this week, and he didn't want to scare off any potential game. While they were not in an actual famine right now, food was always a priority, and he was old enough to do his part in obtaining it. At thirteen, he was sprouting up fast, with coltish limbs that often refused to obey him properly. He was constantly knocking his mama's pans over, or crashing into doorways and tables. His brothers and sisters laughed, but Mama consoled him, saying once he was done growing, he'd be just fine.

"Your older brothers went through the same thing, Jarochka! Do not worry, milaya. You're growing like a colt, you'll be a tall, strong man when you are done!" She kissed his cheek.

Jarochka sighed and wished it would happen sooner than later. He was tired of the teasing from the other boys, and the bruises from crashing into things.

Jenka went with him when Jarochka was trapping, and likewise, Jarochka always accompanied Jenka. The two were still as inseparable as when they were six or seven. Their families were used to having either both boys or neither at dinnertime. If Jenka was at the Padaleckin house, he helped with all of the chores, just as if he were their genuine son, as Jarochka did at the Acklov house. Their papas appreciated the extra help, while their mamas smiled and said, "Let them be. They will find nice girls when they are older and then they will be busy with their own family."

Only, Jarochka was starting to think that might not happen.

He knew about sex; they had farm animals, after all, and he'd seen plenty of bulls mounting cows and so on. Besides, there was only so much privacy for their parents behind the curtain that sectioned off their 'bedroom'. Three Padaleckin children were younger than Jarochka, and by the third one, he knew how they had arrived. It started with his papa grunting behind the parental bedroom curtain, and ended with the women all crying in happiness about a new little malysh.

But the sap was starting to rise in Jarochka's veins as it did in the maples, his heartbeat quaking like the leaves of the aspens. His dick was hard every morning now when he awoke, and not entirely just because he had to piss. Just in case he really didn't understand yet, his older brothers and their friends made enough crude jokes (outside of their mamas' hearing, of course) to spell it out for Jarochka. Dicks were for fucking, and soon he'd be old enough for that.

He didn't know why none of the village girls caught his eyes yet. Many were pretty enough, with their blonde and light brown hair, their wide smiles, pink cheeks, and soft blue or brown eyes. They tied bright kerchiefs over their braids, and started wearing blouses and aprons that featured the intricate embroidery their towns were famous for. They stopped running around like children and began to move more consciously and gracefully, their eyes flitting sideways to peek at the boys. Jarochka appreciated all that prettiness. It just didn't make his dick jump, or his belly feel swirly inside.

The only thing that did that to Jarochka was Jenka.

Jenka was a couple of inches shorter than Jarochka, but his shoulders were broadening the same way Jarochka's were. Jenka's light brown hair had golden strands from the sun, and likewise his fair skin was sprinkled with tiny brown flecks from it too. Jenka's eyes were big and round, as green as the meadow grass, and his lips were pink and full, which gave Jarochka inappropriate thoughts. Jarochka had caught his various brothers kissing girls before, in the woods or behind the house, and he knew what it meant when their lips were red and swollen. Jenka's lips looked swollen like that all the time, and Jarochka couldn't help wondering how they would look after kissing. That's what made Jarochka's dick jump and his belly churn. Sometimes he'd have to go off by himself into the woods and stick his hands down his pants, tugging at himself until his cock spat white onto the ground, and Jarochka's brain would spin madly while he caught his breath.

He knew not to tell anyone about his attraction to his best friend. His male best friend. That kind of thing was sure to be regarded as perversion in his village, and Jarochka was far too afraid of what retribution would fall upon him, were he to reveal his desire publicly. So he savored his time with Jenka when they were together, and released his urges in private.

Maybe one day, I can tell him. He looks at me so deeply, like his eyes see all the way into my heart. It makes me wonder...does he know how I feel? And maybe...could he feel the same way?

In the meantime, Jarochka spent every moment he could with his best friend. Happily, Jenka sought out Jarochka as much as Jarochka sought out Jenka. They talked about everything--the village, the world, things they loved, liked, and hated. Jarochka noticed that Jenka also didn't look at the girls who were starting to try and flirt with them. He put them off and then when he and Jarochka walked away, Jenka would roll his eyes and make a joke about them.

So maybe...maybe Jarochka was right. His heart and his dick both leaped at that thought, and Jarochka had to catch his breath.

Maybe one day while they tramped through the woods, Jarochka would say something. Ask Jenka what he thought of one of the girls, and see how he reacted. Because if Jenka did feel the same way that Jarochka did, Jarochka would definitely want to know.

On that happy thought, Jarochka went off to muck out the pigpen.

Chapter 2