Kill Whitey

“They say same thing about the Kwan,” Sondra continued. “Maybe is not true. Maybe is bullshit, as you say, but it is what old man in my town used to tell people. I do not know. Maybe the Kwan is not that. Maybe is something different. But Anna Vyrubova thought Rasputin was part of it. She thought he was something special. Says he can help the boy. So the Tsaritsa sent for him. Rasputin prayed over the boy and Alexei get better. Rasputin tell the Tsar and his family to not let doctors bother the boy. Says he will care for the Tsarevich himself. Then, every time Alexei is hurt and bleeds, the Tsarina called for Rasputin to heal him.”

“And,” I interrupted, “that was how he got in good with the family. But what does any of this have to do with Whitey?”

“Much,” Sondra said. “Has much to do. The Tsar put much trust in Rasputin. He came to live with the family, and watched over them, especially Alexei. They say when the boy was attacked by a swarm of bees, Rasputin yelled at the bees and they fly away and not bother the Tsarevich again. Rasputin had much power. He told fortunes. Saw the future. Held much…what is word? Sway? Held much sway over Tsaritsa Alexandra.”

“What did he yell?” Yul asked. “At the bees? What did he say to make them flee?”

“He say, ‘Sting him and you will die.’”

“And that worked?”

“Are you not listening? He had powers. Some say his powers were from books. Others say from his blood—that he was born with special abilities. Maybe both. Or maybe the Kwan. But however he get powers, many in Russia not like it. They say that Rasputin was no man of God. Was man of Devil, instead. Say his abilities are because he make deal with the Devil. And so they plotted to kill him.”

Her voice got louder as she told the story. I cautioned her to whisper, and to hurry up and get to the point. I’d never heard the bee story, either, but it sounded like folk magic to me. Central Pennsylvania was full of that shit. Even today, in some of the more remote parts of the Appalachians, Dutch and German descendants still use powwow magic and folklore, making medicines and spells from The Long, Lost Friend and other weird books. Rasputin’s incantation over the bees sounded like something straight out of one of those books. I guess I believed in it, too, without really thinking about it much. Things like that were just part of the background for me. But I’d seen folk magic in action once, when I was a little kid. My parents had gone away on vacation together, and I had to stay with my Grandma for a week. While I was there, I came down with pink eye. Scared the hell out of me. I thought I was going blind or something. Instead of taking me to the doctor, my Grandma referred to a little brown book, and followed the instructions. Before dawn, she dug up five dandelion roots and tied them together with a white thread. Then she wrapped these up in a clean dishrag, placed it over my eyes, and chanted something out of the book. Sure enough, the infection was gone the next day.

I never believed in God because I’d never seen him in my life. But I believed in my Grandma and I believed in folk magic and I believed what Sondra was telling us.

“Wouldn’t the Romanovs protect him?” Yul asked. “Sounds like he was pretty important to their family.”

Sondra lowered her voice. “Rasputin’s enemies say he is sex fiend, is Satanist, and is having too much political power over the Tsar. When first World War comes, they say he is spy for Germans. And so, many men get together and try to kill him. First, they invite him to big dinner and then poison him. Put cyanide in cakes and red wine and give to him. There was enough poison to kill ten men, but it not kill Rasputin. He ate the cakes and drank the wine and then asked for more. So the men distract him. When Rasputin was turned away, they shot him in the back. One of the men, Felix Yusupov, checked the body. Rasputin open his eyes, grab Felix by the throat, and say, ‘You bad, bad boy.’ Then he fight back at the men.”

I shivered. Whitey had said the same thing to me, back at my apartment. I doubted it was a coincidence.

“Rasputin was still alive. They stab him in stomach and his insides fell out. He had to push them back in. The men beat him badly. Felix strangled him with rope. Hang him from a big tree and his insides fall out again. But Rasputin still alive. He got away and ran. The men shot him three more times. Then they beat him again, tied his hands and feet, put him inside sheet and throw him into the Neva River.”

I shuddered at the image of Rasputin running away, trailing his intestines behind him like he was a fucking zombie or something.

“Jesus,” Yul muttered. “I hope that finally killed him.”

“Three days later, after ice on the river melts, they find Rasputin’s body. Is poisoned, shot four times, strangled, beaten, and stabbed. The authorities did…how you say? Autopsy?”

We nodded.