Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“I, Zhanna the Maid, a miserable sinner,” Father Nestor began, “do confess that I have most grievously sinned in the following articles: I have pretended to receive revelations from God and His Saints and Angels; and have perversely rejected the church’s warnings that these were the manifestations of demons. I have blasphemed by wearing immodest dress and clipping my hair in the style of a man, against all the duties that make my gender especially acceptable to Heaven. I have taken up arms and incited men to slay each other, invoking spirit voices to delude them, and blasphemously imputing these sins to Almighty God. I confess to the sin of sedition against religious and civil authority, to the sin of heresy, and to those of pride and disobedience. All of which I now renounce, humbly thanking the bishops and priests who have brought me back into the grace of our Lord. And I will never return to my errors, but will remain in communion with our Holy Church and in obedience to the Patriarch. All this I swear by God Almighty and the Holy Gospels, in witness whereof I sign my name to this recantation.”

“Do you understand it, Zhanna?” the judge asked, steadying the paper against a leather portfolio for her to sign.

“It seems plain enough,” she replied with a downcast look as she accepted a pen from the deputy examiner with a trembling hand.

“And is it true?” Bishop Fyodor insisted.

“It may be true, I cannot be sure,” the Maid replied, her eyes still on the paper. “But if it were not, I don’t suppose the firing squad would be standing here,” she added before signing her name at the bottom with difficulty and giving back the pen.

“Praise God, my brothers!” Bishop Fyodor announced, holding the signed document above his head. “The lamb has returned to the fold! And the shepherd rejoices in her more than in the ninety-nine who never left it!” Now he faced Zhanna and raised his right hand in benediction. “We declare you by this act to be relieved from the anathema in which you formerly stood. You are hereby restored to the Holy Church.”

“Thank you,” Zhanna responded, appearing more wearied than relieved by the ceremony. “Now will you kind clerics take me to one of the church’s own lockups, as you promised, so that I will no longer be in the Cheka’s foul hands?”

“Bailiff, return Zhanna to her cell,” the bishop ordered, pointedly ignoring her request as he passed the written recantation to Father Nestor. “May God have mercy on her soul.”

“Wait, no, no, no!” Zhanna protested. “You said I was restored to the church! So take me to a church prison!”

“I’m afraid that must be delayed, due to our closeness to the front, Zhanna,” the judge answered as if addressing a child. “In the meantime, you have been set free from your sins, but not from their consequences. For the good of your soul, the church must set a penance to wipe out your sin and bring you unspotted to the seat of grace.”

“And what penance is that?” she snapped.

“We condemn you to eat the bread of sorrow and drink the water of affliction to the end of your earthly days, in perpetual imprisonment,” Fyodor declared.

“But you promised me mercy if I signed!”

“After such wickedness as yours? Are you dreaming?” the judge answered with a look of towering scorn. “Stop complaining, child, and place your faith in the church! All is as it should be.”

“I will put my faith in God and in my Voices, and no one else!” Zhanna snarled. “To give them up would be ten times worse than dying. Give me back that paper!”

In a flash, Zhanna wheeled around, and though she was shackled at the wrists, snatched the confession from the hands of the deputy examiner and tore it to pieces with an astonishing fury.

“There!” she exclaimed in triumph, her breast heaving, and a ruddy glow returning to her pale tear-streaked cheeks. “Now I shall reaffirm every word I said at trial until today, and take them to my grave! Go now, line up your riflemen! Do you think I dread them as much as the life of a rat in a hole? Send me back to God from whom I came! There is nothing more for me here.”

Bishop Fyodor quaked with rage and might have seized the Maid by the throat and throttled her had not Father Nestor blocked his way while gathering up the torn pieces of Zhanna’s confession in a panic.

“Zhanna Stepanovna, you have returned to your sin like a dog to its vomit!” the bishop raged. “For such an affront to the church, there can be no forgiveness. You are hereby cast out forever! Let the Cheka take you, body and soul!”

“Then let my blood be on your hands!” Zhanna spat out, meeting his gaze with smoldering eyes until the cleric could stand it no longer and turned away.

At that moment, Father Nestor rose from his feet, the scraps of the torn confession slipping through his trembling fingers.

“Zhanna, Zhanna, what have you done!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with horror.