Konrad and Alexandra (PDF) - Rolf Gross

times, but moved back together again."This was in the months after Stalin robbed the bank in Tiflis. Hunted by the police, Stalin deserted his faithful anddisappeared, which resulted in much fighting between the Bolsheviks and Jordania’s Mensheviks. After IliaChavchavadze’s assassination the Bolsheviks lost more and more ground, and then began Jordania’s and the Russians’great ‘clean-up.’ All during last year we moved under assumed names from hiding place to hiding place. Finally we had adramatic quarrel, and that night Marti disappeared. This was ten months ago."She looked at them with blind eyes. "A month after his disappearance I heard through underground channels that theyhad all holed up in Baku. I spent the last three weeks searching for him in Baku. I saw him once for ten minutes. He hasbecome a fanatic Bolshevik. He declared that he had lost interest in our ‘bourgeois’ marriage, and would I please leaveBaku. I was endangering the entire cell with my searches. So, I left Baku, and here I am, penniless, heartbroken, maybeshadowed by the Okhrana, an orphan of our times."Alexandra, worrying that Tamara might take sides, sent Izabel to bed. Tamara kept quiet, but as soon as Izabel had goneto sleep, they got into a heated discussion in hushed voices.In later years when political discussions became dangerous to all of them and they often sat and argued at night in thishushed, conspiratorial voices, Alexandra would recall this evening.Konrad decided to keep the fugitive. Vladimir did not think she would be followed. For a while Izabel became their quietlydepressed guest. She helped Alexandra without being asked wherever she could. She spent many nights talking toKonrad about her experiences in Central Asia, which distracted her from her present worries. She slowly recovered andeventually found a job, using her maiden name, as interpreter and secretary with an Armenian trading company. LaterHelena, who admired Izabel's quiet courage and determination, offered her a room in her apartment.Soon, however, the Okhrana caught up with Izabel. One night she appeared wide-eyed, a hunted expression on herface. A man pretending to have news from her husband had appeared at her office. Fortunately, Izabel had been latethat morning, and the man had not found her there. He had not left his name. Her boss was convinced that the man wasfrom the Okhrana.She had to disappear fast. Alexandra offered to hide her, but Izabel had discussed the situation with Helena who hadsuggested to have her smuggled across the border near her father’s estate. Izabel still carried a French passport andintended to return to Paris, where she wouldn’t be entirely safe from the Russian secret service, but they were after Marti,not her, and would not risk an international scandal because of her.Izabel did not speak German, the idea of illegally crossing the German border, did not appeal to her. The direct train wasout of the question. Helena made another suggestion, she could take the tourist excursion boat from Libau to Königsbergand then continue by train to Paris. This proposal seemed sensible.Alexandra caught fire, her life had been unexciting lately. What would Izabel think, if she accompanied her to Paris?"I always wanted to see Paris. I could be back in three weeks." She added with a challenging look at Konrad. "Nobodywill really miss me here."At first Konrad was speechless, then offered a few cautious objections. When Alexandra began arguing with hardly apause, he receded into a gloomy silence. They would pose as tourists in Libau and in Germany she would handle theiraffairs. She could not wish for a better guide to the city on the Seine, would Izabel introduce her to her painter friends?Konrad left the room and returned with a bottle of Georgian cognac, poured himself a liberal glass and offered one to thetwo women. By midnight they were quite drunk, and Izabel toasted Alexandra, her amie extraordinaire as if they hadalready reached Paris.52.My stunning discovery in Paris-1981On one of my flights to Europe I discovered, in the airline’s brochure, a review of a retrospective Modigliani exhibition—inParis. To see Modigliani’s great nudes, which the article promised, was an irresistible temptation. Spontaneously, Irerouted my flight home via Paris.I found myself a cheap hotel and in the morning walked to the museum.Until then I had only seen one or the other of Modigliani’s nudes; to face the entire amorous catalogue of his women wassimply overwhelming. From the occasional cocotte, to his shy last companion, they had all posed for him, andpresumably, he had been their lover. Wallowing in this sensuous feast for the eyes, I was entirely unprepared to comeacross a large canvas. I stood perplexed before —AlexandralThere was no question, it was Alexandra who was showing me her backside on Modigliani’s bed. Her head was turned163