Two years ago,
she had met Fedor in London. He had an antique shop in kings' road and was doing
well.
Anataalia
was shopping and she had noticed a lovely samovar that she had seen in the window
display of Fedor's place. Immediately a friendship was struck the felt as if they
had known each other for a long time. They talked about his life of a Russian
émigré issued from an aristocracy line that did not mean a thing anymore. Her
mother was a well known and a famous poetess, and a great beauty in her youth,
her father had been a portraitist. Whilst they were chased from Russia by the
red army, his father had secured a position as the official portraitist of the
late Shah of Iran, the house of Pavlavi.
They
accumulated a great wealth once again. Her mother was a favorite in the entourage
of the Empress Farah Dibah of Iran, and soon she spoke farsi fluently. She was
invited everywhere the Pavlavi family went. Natasha was of extreme beauty. Yet,
Vladimir recalled with a tinge of hate in his voice, his husband developed a taste
for pretty ladies, and the royal family seemed to encourage this. Natasha was
very hurt, but she was a woman of great courage and never raised the subject,
or confided in Vladimir who was still very young, hardly 10 years old when the
conflict, the break-up in the marriage first appeared.
Soon
Natasha was in great demand by the court of the Shah. Slowly rumors emerged that
the Shah was a playboy and wanted Natasha as his own. He sent her present after
present, which she did neither accept nor refused. She just kept them in a cupboard
unopened; she did not send back replies or letters of thanks. The Shah was annoyed
that she remains so cold or irresponsive to his overtures.
So
he called her husband and commissioned him to make the portrait of Natasha. Fedor
did not really care; he did the portrait and delivered it to the Shah against
a very handsome payment. Natasha was called once again to the royal household
and was shown the portrait that the Shah had received from her Fedor. A terrible
anguish struck at her heart, but she did not show it. She said: Your Highness,
thank you for the honor, but portraits mean so very little to me. The Shah then
asked: What matters to you, Natasha?.
Foolishly she said, my heart is called Poetry and my soul spirituality. The Shah
smiled and reveled in the personality of Natasha, she was the most beautiful and
intriguing woman he had ever met on earth, and she was like a dream She left again
with gifts, jewelry and boxes of caviar, textiles that a courtier was carrying
for her, and she was driven back to the family house.
The
Shah once more sent for Fedor. Fedor was happy because he was in great need of
money, overnight he spent a lot on his favorite of the moment, and he had started
gambling and was loosing heavily. He was hardly at home, and Natasha did not want
to meet her husband while he was in this mood. They had talked in weeks. Fedor
was to come to the palace quickly he was told. Fedor shaved put his best outfit
and rushed to the Royal Household, he was granted entry to the private chamber
of the Shah almost immediately. The shah commanded Fedor to sit, which was a great
honor as everyone stood in front of His Highness.
To sit in the presence of the Shah was a sign of great friendship and trust. Yes
the Shah did like him, he felt glad and the hope of receiving more money filled
his heart with anticipation. He had so much debt to repay, gambling debts The
Shah was composed and cold and he said: Fedor my friend you are a great artist.
I know you are a portraitist, but you are such a great artist, surely you would
know how to write me a poem if I asked you. You see my friend I have fallen deeply
in love with a lady who is cold as ice. Fedor at once replied: well majesty, no
lady will remain cold after I write a poem. The Shah said: Thank you Fedor, please
bring it here tomorrow. Put emphasis on the eyes of the lady they are like deep
burning embers.
Fyodor
smiled. Yes he knew. Ladies'eyes, that were not so hard to put in words, he said
to himself. So he went home and put himself to task, the words came so easily
to him. The next morning he went to the Shah and said there you are Majesty: Your
eyes fill the void Of my heart With burning embers Your eyes empty the shame Of
my soul With dew tears Your eyes are mine To eternity. The Shah was pleased and
paid Fedor a great amount of money. And that evening Fedor feasted with his new
lover went gambling, he won, he was very happy.
That
evening, a courtier had come to the house of Natasha and had delivered the same
poem engraved on a gold leaf. Natasha had seen her husband write those lines,
She did not say a thing, and she did not let him know that she had read the lines.
When
the gold leaf engraved with the words came, she was overwhelmed with joy. Fedor
was coming home at last. She called her son Vladimir and said Vladimir we shall
be happy again, a real family. I know. She was so happy. At the precise time she
had talked to Vladimir. Fedor was in the night club, with his latest favorite,
drinking and drinking..a singer came on stage and said the Shah of Iran has written
this verse for the love of his life, we have been asked to sing it around for
one month every night. As the singer began to sing, Fedor immediately recognized
his lines.
Fedor
was pleased. Ah he did not mind that the Shah said he had written the words himself.
The Shah could say that, after all he had paid Fedor so generously. The night
was over, and then Fedor went home half drunk as usual.
Natasha was up, looking so marvelously beautiful; Fedor felt shame in his heart.
He said my own Natasha is the most enchanting woman, why do I not stay home? Such
aperfect beauty. He looked at her as he looked on her the first time they met,
and recalled how he fell madly in love with her. It was not so long ago, a decade.
He
came close to her and he took her hand, she did not pull away. He felt glad, she
had grown cold to him lately because she knew of his doings. They had no fight
over it, they were just estranged. Fedor respected Natasha for her personality.
Tonight, she was ravishing, and he came closer, she said: Fedor, thank you, for
the lovely poem.
He was puzzled: he said: what are you saying Natasha? She pulled the goldleaf
for the drawer of her desk, and read the words that were engraved on it.
Then Fedor understood it all, the plot: women were sent to him to distract him
away from Natasha, while all the time the Shah had set his intent on his wife.
Why?
He
was drank and shouted at Natasha: why did you go to him? Nataasha was bewildered:
she said: to whom Fedor, I do not understand you? Vladimir had woke up from his
sleep and was crying. Fedor took the boy and threw him against the wall….
Natasha
was pale with intense anger: she said: do never raise your hand on my son…Fedor
was mad: his beautiful wife, how they had carried on behind his back. He loved
her eyes, he still did.
He
took the paper cutter from the desk, grabbed Natasha by the throat and plunged
it into her right eye…. That was years ago, Natasha had spent time in a private
clinic in Switzerland and had taken Vladimir with her. She wore a black patch
ever since over her right eye. Fedor stayed in Iran, and continued his dissolute
life.
As
the years went on Vladimir had grown into a successful artist and auctioneer,
He had been married too his marriage had not worked well too, and he was divorced.
Many times, he had asked Natasha: Mother why do you not want to have a glass eye
put on your right eye, it would look so nice. She said No. I want Fedor if he
even came back to see for himself what had become of me.
Vladmir
was sad but he respected his mother. Then on that day, when he sold the Samovar
to the French Actress, Anataalie, he knew he had fallen madly in love. She was
the woman he had dreamt of. He told her so then, like a foolish schoolboy. She
would smile, and say: be quiet Vladimir.
She
had been invited often for supper and she and Natasha enjoyed each other's company
a lot, they would talk for hours about Pushpin and Tolstoi. Natasha spoke French,
as all the great families of white Russia, the young ladies were taught French
even before Russian. Vladimir tried to win over the heart of Anataalia to no success.
Out of frustration, Vladimir had become a womanizer and Natasha was very sad about
it. She confided in Anataalie, and said Vladimir is following his father's steps
to nowhere. Anataalie always replied: let it be Natasha, he lives his life, live
yours, everything will be all right. But everything was not all right.
Anataalie came one evening and said she had to go to Madrid for a year to do a
film. Vladimir felt an immense pain in his heart, he went to his study, and took
out the poem that his father, now deceased, had written. Yes it was the same one
that brought so much tragedy in the life of his mother and read it aloud to Natasha
Your
eyes fill the void
Of my heart
With burning embers
Your
eyes empty the shame
Of
my soul
With dew tears
Your eyes are mine To eternity.
Then he stopped for a while pale and very distraught. Suddenly he took the paper
cutter, and plunged it twice, once in his right eye, the second time in his left
eye. He stood, and shouted, with blood pouring out from the pierced eyeballs:
Natasha, Anataalie, now is the time for a great game, the game of my father: the
roulette, the Russian roulette, the gambling of the heart.
He
stumbled into the sitting room where Anataalie had run to Natasha, he had a small
hand gun in his hand and pulled the trigger.
Vladimir was dead on the spot. Blood was everywhere, even on Anataalie's dress.
Anataalie and Natasha were bonded with the tie of blood; they were family of the
broken heart genealogy .
It
had been three years since then, it felt like yesterday. Anataalie slowly opened
her eyes as she felt the burning tears of Natasha dribbled over her hand. Natasha
said: Anataalia, you are my daughter, truly. You are I, we have had the same fate,
Fedor for Vladimir, and me for you. Be my daughter Anataalie…and she took out
the marvelous diamond and turquoise necklace, and closed the clasp around Anataalie's
neck,
…Anoushka,
Anataalie said, yes I shall be that to you. Forever. None knew the true bond between
those two women. Many were envious of the good fortune of Natalie. Natasha was
a revered woman of great wealth; everyone would be fortunate to be a friend, declared
a friend by her. They will never know Anoushka, I promise, Natasha whispered.
The
next day, Natasha went flying to Greece to spend some time there. It was the last
time they met. Natasha died while cutting a rose in her garden, the doctor said
she did not suffer; it was a sudden heart attack. Everyone was told so, but only
Anataalie knew that Anoushka's heart had been in pain for longer and deeper than
anyone would ever imagine. She died over a broken heart, ravaged twice by selfish
and cruel men.
Anataalie
took the samovar she had bought from Vladimir's shop, packed it and put it away
for good in the attic. But yes, it was a good thing. La Grande Dame had died of
a sudden heart attack And for many years the Porter who worked at the Knightsbridge
' luxury building would talk of the grand dame, and the fortune he made while
she was there.
-3/3-The
samovar--opyrighted Rahman, brigitte Arlette- All rights reserved.
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