TS 2 Part VI Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Guntram de Lisle's diary

December 9^th, 2010

Alexander gave me a small laptop for my birthday two months ago but I haven't got the courage to use it till now. I don't know what to write and I'm sure everything I write will be read and studied. So it makes not much sense to write. Diaries were supposed to be personal.

It wouldn't be the first time my lovers read my things. I used to have a full sweep every three days of my old laptop... up to the internet browse history. What were they looking for? If I was into hot boys-girls websites? Mails from lovers? I don't know and it's not as if it matters now.

On the other hand, I want to keep record of my Conor's doings so I don't forget them as time crushes us. He was a small thing when he was born two months ago and now he is 14 centimetres bigger, sleeps the whole night long and smiles at you when he sees you and your heart melts.

“It's the Libra in him. All of them are charmers since the crib,” is what Alexander tells me but I have my doubts. I'm also a Libra but I don't see the masses very impressed about me. The general impression is that I'm an alien (kind evaluation) or an idiot that fell head up from the tree.

I've done hundred of sketches of Conor, to the point of getting a “Are you planning to get Anne Geddes out of business?” from Dimitri Something with K, Dima for short, one of the bodyguards that was also in Paraguay. He's not as bad as I thought and leaves me alone most of the time when we go to the city to get something for Conor.

I was very surprised to have internet access too, but I soon realised how stupid it would be to use it. How long till any message I send is read? An hour? Maybe two? Not enough time and I fear the consequences. I could never forgive myself if something happens to the ones I love.

Conor is more active than before. When he arrived, he was only awake two or three hours per day, eating a lot but he's not overweight according to his doctor. Some babies eat a lot because they were born small. What drives me nervous is that the weather is becoming more and more cold and I don't dare to get him out and he needs the be in the sunlight to grow healthy. Alexander tells me that most Russian babies are inside the house and placing him next to a sunny window at noon for some hours is more than enough. My studio, full of light is the perfect place to keep him if I want to work and be with him.

Alexander didn't like much that I put away the oils -the smell is too bad for a small baby- and returned to pastels, pencils and watercolours. He growled a bit but understood my reasons and said “if it's because of Conor, it's all right by me, my angel.”

It's very good to have Conor with me when I work and many times in the past two weeks, I've seen him waking up from his long naps and stare at me as he smiles. Of course, he cries, especially when he has gases, but normally he looks contended and happy and loves to be in people's arms.

What I have with Alexander is different from what I had before. He's very sweet and tender to me and Conor and the baby loves to be in his arms. He really knows about children and is always taking good care of us. I love him because he gave me Conor and contrary to my expectations he truly loves him. Before my birthday he started to pester me -via Massaiev- about that stupid perfume I used to wear, my father's scent made by an exclusive parfumeur in Milan -so much for the “I'm the family's rebel part- Each bottle was costing a crazy price -“Ah, the scent from the Guttenberg's. This company manufactures it since 1857.”- I wore it because it reminded me about my father and being the bastard he is, he can shove it up his... However.

“If you buy such a stupid thing, Alexander, I will make you drink it. My bloody father used it and I don't want anything to do with him!” I yelled at him and I suppose this was when he decided to buy me a laptop and that's a much more useful present than a stupid perfume bottle. He said that the smell was typical of me, but I really don't care.

I'm getting used to be here. The summer season was hot and suffocating -never expected it- and now the Winter is here. The endless white plains I've seen when I go to the city are impressive. I never saw anything like this and it was terrifying and beautiful as well. You feel like you are nothing, but Russians don't seem to be affected. What is incredible are the skies and the lights. Maybe it's the latitude but it doesn't make it easier to capture its essence. I have troubles to imagine the vibrant plains I saw just a few months ago under this thick layer of snow. The only thing you see are the birch trees and they have turned a silvery colour that gives them an eerie, magical air.

I was very sick when I arrived here; a pneumonia from being out in the cold no matter how many layers of clothes I wore. I just caught it. Alexander was a whole week next to me, not leaving me for a minute and being so sick, that was quite challenging to his patience. We became much closer than before as he was once more the man I knew in Paris or the person who used to write to me. Once more he became my friend and I really needed one.

To be honest, to have Conor with me was overwhelming. He's my little sunshine but I've never been so afraid in my life to be responsible for such a small life. I'm everything he has and I have not much to give him. I don't know if we will stay here or if we will leave in a few years when he could go to school. Alexander speaks about his education now and then and complains that there is nothing “good enough” for him. He wants an international school where Conor could learn English and Russian well and have a sound natural sciences basis.

I'm getting used to the house staff now. The nanny, Galina, is a huge woman who only speaks Russian and the local dialect but she is very tender to Conor and to be honest, keeps him in pristine conditions. He hates to have his diapers dirty and she changes him every two or three hours. I think he never gets a bottle without being cleaned first. Then, there are two maids Olga and Irina. Olga cleans my studio and the bedrooms and cooks most of the time. Irina cleans the rest of the house and takes care of the clothes. She's younger and I guess she has an affair with one of the guards, Ivan. There is a butler, Dimitri but he's silent most of the time and takes care of the supplies. The guards I know from Paraguay have changed and only Dima (he has told me to call him like this) and Ivan Vorshok are the only ones remaining. The rest are men I don't know and keep distance from me and Conor. I think there are five or six more in total. They go with Alexander when he leaves the house for meetings.

He has told me that he does not own a company any longer. Most of his money is in cash in the Bahamas, America and Isle of Man. He bought two or three participations in small size oil extracting companies and goes to the board meetings now and then. In that sense, he's really retired and keeps it as a hobby. He spoke to me several times about his interest in some Canadian oil extraction by filtering sand if I understood correctly. I understand nothing of these technical things although he took me once to see an oil field in the summer. It was like 200 kilometres away from home. We stayed for three days and I was very impressed to see the open air extraction and the men who work there. I was surprised to see that Alexander had no problems to push like any other of the workers or get dirty trying to find what was wrong with one of the machines. Must be the engineer in him. I mean, his attitude changes completely when he's around the workers and he's not the haughty prince I know but one more of the team. In that sense, I misjudged him. I made many drawings in charcoal from all what I've seen there and I was very impressed by the people. I do nothing that could be compared to them. I was also shocked by the way they pollute everything. Alexander tells me that from the ecological point of view, Siberia is a nightmare and most of the cities are very dirty due to a fast industrialization processes. “Khanty Mansiysk is a very rare case and it's a blessing that the factories are away, otherwise, it would be destroyed as the other cities around.”

We also took a cruise along the Ob river for six days and I loved the landscape and the taiga. Russians are very warm people contrary to my first impression of them. That boat seemed to have a nonstopping party on all of the time. Even if I don't speak a word of Russian, they come to you and try to talk and are curious about the “foreigner”. The ship stopped in many small villages, connected mostly through the river, and villagers were always trying to sell their products to you.

I never imagined the taiga could be so big and lonesome. With such an endless landscape, you have to be like most of Russians are; generous, happy, hard working, passionate and big like bears, otherwise the taiga swallows you whole. I wanted to see one of the swamps they had told me about, but Alexander told me it was impossible at this time of the year without the proper equipment. “The mosquitoes will eat you alive in less than ten minutes.” I thought he was exaggerating but it was true. There are clouds of them and they kill a person in ten minutes if you meet them.

Honestly, I never expected Alexander to mingle with the local peasants so well. He always gave me the impression that he's like a czar and treats the rest of mankind as serfs. I mean, you know the difference between you, peasant and he, lord. I was shocked when he almost bowed humbly his head to an old woman, a beggar in one of the villages who came close to him. “It's a Russian thing, you wouldn't understand it,” he told me. “It would be very bad from me to despise her.”

Usually, he travels first class and stays in posh places. You will never see him wearing something that is not customized or from an exclusive brand, but he preferred to take a normal ship for ordinary people, not one of those cruises for tourists. “You have to see the people, to love my land. There is no other way.” All of them work and there is like holy and infinite resignation in their regards, nothing like I've seen anywhere else. They take the hardships of life without complaining and yet they seem to be happy. I drew a lot over the summer and worked nonstop on three large oils when I returned from the trip.

I go more to Khanty Mansiysk now with Conor around. Once every two weeks to get him some supplies or take him to his paediatrician, a nice woman who studied here and in the States. She says he's fine. Dr. Sverdloff visited us mid November and brought Conor's genetic tests and it seems he has not inherited my heart condition. I was so happy that day. The tests were done in Switzerland and he's healthy. Dr. Sverdloff says that my condition is stable and that I don't need anything more than a beta blocker in a very small dose. “It's just a precaution,” he says and I believe him because I feel better than ever. I know I can't run the local biathlon, but I'm full with energy and can walk faster, run even without almost immediately collapsing on the floor. Alexander saved my life.

He is very nice to the baby, looking after him. It was true that he can change a diaper or prepare a bottle. Alexander really loves Conor and is very kind and attentive to us. I've seen him running in the middle of the night if he cries for more than two minutes to check if the nanny is doing her work properly. When he is around, HE carries the baby no matter if I want to do it. I was very shocked on the first days when he simply extended a large cover in his studio, next to the great window he has, where the light was warming everything, and placed Conor on his back and sat next to him to play till he fell asleep. He stood up and returned to his work.

“Are you going to leave the baby on the floor?” I asked.

“Why not'? He can't fall from there and we won't step on him. If he rolls, which he can't, he won't go far away. It's perfectly safe.”

“But it's a hard wooden floor!”

“Nonsense. Wood is warm and he does not weight much. The cover is like a soft mattress and most babies stay in the floor for the first year of their lives. Did you never leave your children in the floor?”

“No, they had special chairs or were in their cribs,” I answered very shocked.

“Floor is good for their backs. Ask the doctor if you don't believe me. He can start to make exercise there. I don't like those chairs where the poor things are kept prisoners. Let him roll at will.”

“But it's dirty!”

“Fedia, Olga and Irina wash the floor every day. The covers are washed every two days. He should also grow a little resistance to germs! Do you want that he is everyday sick? Do you want to bathe him in disinfectant every afternoon?”

I had to give up but true to his word, Conor likes to be on the floor and he's more active than any other baby I knew. I mean, at two months old he can shake his legs very strongly and recover his dummy if he loses it. He is also more interested in his toys -Constantin insisted in giving him brilliant and colourful rattles with different textures- than any other baby. “We are never as clever as a baby is,” he told me. “Stimulate him and let him experience things on his own. If you keep him in a glass box, he'll be a wimp.”

His way of rising up children is different from what I know. I mean, Konrad was very stern with the boys and kept them on rigorous schedules, but he would have never let them on the floor, afraid they would get sick. They could be in the garden as much as they wanted, but their clothes had to be changed afterwards. I never saw him changing the nappies, bathing or dressing them (menial tasks) but Alexander has no problems at all in doing it. He brings Conor to our bed in the early morning and lets him stay with us for an hour or two, before it's time to be out or he has to work.

At least we agreed on leaving the Disney things out of the picture. I bought some things here but I ordered most of the toys from German toy stores. I made a series of drawings for Conor's bedroom and Alexander had then framed.

I miss my old life a lot, but he has finally made me very happy by giving me Conor and restoring my health. I'm in a crossroad so to speak. I feel I could live the rest of my life with him and we would turn very good friends but I don't think I could love him as he loves me. And that saddens me because Alexander deserves much better than I. Perhaps one day he finds someone who returns his affections in the same measure.

Now that I know him much better, the real man that he is, not the cold façade he shows to everyone, I feel guilty that I can't love him as I should. We can live together, enjoy the bedroom, speak like brothers or friends, but it will never be the same as before. I think he's very happy with Conor and me and that eases my conscience just a bit. He gave everything he had for me, restored my health, fulfilled my greatest wish and I still don't love him. Maybe I could restore the sense of being part of a family for him.

* * *

Guntram closed the laptop and sighed. 'Maybe I wrote too much, but I needed to do this. I should delete the entry, but does it make sense? I guess a software technician could recover it in less than ten minutes. Let Constantin read it if he wants, there is nothing he doesn't know already.'

He left his desk and returned to the large table where he was normally working to continue with the drawings he was making of the villagers he had seen on the river, still fascinated with an old woman from the Ugorian ethnic.

He didn't realise when Massaiev entered in the room with his son in his arms, back from the doctor's check, and deeply asleep after the car ride. “He's very fine, but I think we should let him sleep,” the old man interrupted Guntram's concentration on the work. “Mr. Kuragin will arrive in half an hour. You have to change yourself as you are covered in charcoal.”

“What?” Guntram asked dumbfounded.

“You are dirtier than a little schoolboy,” Massaiev grinned. “Don't learn manners from your father, little one,” he told the baby with a gentle voice.

Guntram looked at his hands and found them completely dirtied with charcoal and wondered when he had used it as he had been working with pastels after writing in his diary. He froze when he saw the black and white drawings on his desk and couldn't remember when he had done them or what they were. “I'll wash my hands before I touch Conor,” he mumbled and escaped from the room.

Still holding the baby in his arms, Massaiev carelessly looked at the pictures, not ready to see what was laying on the table. The lines were certainly Guntram's work but the subjects were nothing that he would had ever created in his right mind. The figures depicted horrible monsters eating people alive or rotten corpses and were full with a dark energy that the old soldier could not forget from his own time at war. He passed the figures very slowly and wondered what they were, unable to identify a source of inspiration.

'We all think he is getting better, but he's certainly losing it. I have to speak with the boss before he hurts himself or someone else. This is not normal.'

When he heard Guntram return, he jumped away from the table and feigned indifference as he gave the child to him and briefly told him about the baby's doings and Guntram listened to him very carefully.

“What about you, Fedia? Were you working much?”

“Not really,” he shrugged, rocking Konrad in a lovingly way.

“There are a lot of those charcoals. Are they sketches?”

“I don't know,” he answered nervously and Massaiev knew he was lying.

“They are interesting. Not your usual subjects.”

“Yes, maybe I should change a bit,” he stuttered.

“What are they?”

“Sketches.”

“They look like demons attacking humans, but the humans also hurt each other. Is it a depiction of hell?”

“Maybe. I don't know really.”

“You don't know?”

“It just came out. I'll throw them to the trash. It's nonsense.”

“Sixteen illustrations? When did you make them? They were not here yesterday.”

“After lunch, I guess. You know I lose track of time when I work.”

“That was five hours ago,” Massaiev said shocked. “Could you do this in that short period of time?”

“Yes, you know I sketch very fast and this is worthless.”

“I know nothing about art, but I can tell you that they remind me very much to my time in the French Army. Where did you learn about this particular kind of kris?” he asked pointing to the triangular ceremonial dagger.

“I don't know, maybe saw it in a book.” Guntram answered nervously as he was checking the pictures, unable to remember when he had drawn that hideous images. They were sickening. 'I was writing on my laptop. I'm sure of it. This can't be mine.'

Massaiev noticed how nervous Guntram was becoming and how he was genuinely surprised at seeing the charcoals. 'He is not lying, but he does not know what they are either.' “Do you remember drawing them?”

“Of course, I do!” Guntram shouted furiously, startling his son who started to loudly cry at his father's outburst. Partly glad that he had an excuse to escape the room, he shushed his baby and rocked him before leaving his studio at full speed.

'Not again, child, not again. I never believed the medications were responsible for your suicide attempt. You have been very sick for a very long time and hiding it very successfully from all of us. Even from yourself,' Massaiev thought as he picked up the papers to show them to Constantin as soon as possible.