Konrad and Alexandra (pdf) - Rolf Gross

Kräuterfrau, a herbalist in the German community. Christine was the only person who had no
healing experience. Alexandra confessed that her ultimate intention was to explore psychic
healing. For the first time Bertha focused her gray eyes on Alexandra, quite obviously
questioning her qualifications.
Looking into Bertha’s doubting eyes Alexandra smiled. "I may not appear like a faithhealer,
but I have treated a number of otherwise incurable cases during the past three years. I
would like to understand how people get cured in this way and try to teach my method to
others."
She asked them to keep their discussions and work strictly confidential. Dr. Ortaladze
had agreed to her experiments, but the general public did not need to know of their work. They
had seen how they would be mobbed by the curious and superstitious. Next time she would
discuss her program in detail with them. Everyone was called upon to contribute.
Alexandra walked Christine home. She would teach her privately. Dato was home and
with a pensive face listened to Alexandra’s excited report. He was glad that their meetings
would be kept at a low key not to attract any attention in town.
In August they celebrated Alexandra's fortieth birthday. Olga and Deda had prepared a
dinner for her in Zaguramo. Leist, who had, after Ilia’s assassination, become Olga’s protector,
was there. Alexandra had invited Dato and her new friend Christine.
The dinner table in the living room with the French doors open onto the meadows, the
sun spots under the oak trees. It could have been one of the days of her childhood had the
memory of Ilia lying in state in the living room not disturbed her. She had not been back to
Zaguramo since that fateful day. With an energetic shake of her head she chased the cobwebs
away and smiled at Konrad. Twenty years, was she that much older? Had she shared her life
with this beloved man for that many years?
They walked up to Zedazeni as the sun went down. A lightening storm flickered above
the distant snow mountains to the north, a reminder of war-torn Europe hiding behind this
bulwark.
Tbilisi had become alien to Alexandra. Swelled by thousands of people from the villages
it had grown to twice its size. Many Armenians had fled the increasing animosity of their
Georgian neighbors, who resented their past collaboration with the Russians.
Alexandra decided to visit her uncle, David Chavchavadze. She hoped that he could
give her a better understanding of her changed homeland. She took Uncle Mouravi’s Benz out
of the horse stable and had it washed by the houseboy. Gasoline was so scarce that she had
not used the car.
She settled down with David over a cup of tea. When she asked David about the family
property and what he was going to do about the upcoming expropriations, she made a
shocking discovery.
"Didn’t you know," said David surprised, "we don’t own Tsinandali. We are only tenants
on this land, it belongs to the Russian crown."
Alexandra was completely bewildered, she had thought that Tsinandali had been in the
hands of the Chavchavadze for generations.
David shook his head. "It was—before my father had to mortgage it to the crown as a
collateral for a loan that covered the ransom paid to Shamyl in return for my mother after their
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