Konrad and Alexandra (PDF) - Rolf Gross

sky a thin, transparent blue. Imbedded in treeless mountains lay Lake Sevan, azure and turquoise. A church on a smallrock island.In places he had put the paint on with a knife, the painting’s surface a three-dimensional landscape. She really liked theway he handled his colors: figurative and highly expressionist."I had to work very rapidly, the sun would dry out the paint in no time. Because we speak Turkish and Farsi, we weresent to Turkestan. All other canvasses are from there. You have probably never seen paintings from Turkestan. Itbecame a real experience for me, it opened my eyes as a painter. Look here," he pointed at a painting of two Islamicbuildings with turquoise domes and huge tile mosaics over the entrance gates.He explained. "The Registran in Samarkand, these are two of the three medreses surrounding that square, Sufi schools."He had outdone himself. His paintings had taken on an almost hallucinatory intensity, the sky a light green, the shadowsviolet, above ochre walls shimmered the turquoise and intensely blue-green domes of mosques, like jewels.The ruins of an immense, half-collapsed arch or ivan, like two crooked teeth in a broken jaw, tiny turbaned peoplestanding below. A large, green-tiled square on the otherwise bare, burnt sienna surface."You are looking at the remains of Tamerlan’s once fabulous, Aq Serai, the ‘White Palace’ in Shakh-i-Zabz, south ofSamarkand. Tamerlan was born in this dusty town, and his father lies buried there like a saint."Alexandra stared at the painting trying to imagine the size of this ruin. "Marti, would you sell me this painting? I would liketo give it to Konrad for his birthday."Marti gave her a grateful look. "Konrad would like Turkestan. I have not sold anything today."A servant called the guests to the buffet in the large dining room.Suddenly Izabel stood before them. For a split second she was baffled and then hugged Alexandra. "Oh, I knew it! Onmy way here, I had a premonition that I would meet you tonight. Did I lure you here?"The buffet was overloaded with exotic Indian dishes all new to Alexandra, no alcohol and no wine.After some initial hesitation, Alexandra developed a real taste for the strange vegetable and rice dishes and gorgedherself. The spices literally exploded in her mouth. She discovered that the food was entirely vegetarian. A "Caucasianchicken" in a thick sauce turned out to be small, peeled aubergines in an almond sauce, highly spiced with cardamom. Itcame with a saffron and pistachio pilaf decorated with glazed peach slices.She finally learned to distinguish between the rich and beautiful and the Theosophists, who, like Izabel, were dressedquite modestly. Alexandra blended in very well."You seem to recognize nobody in this glittering gathering of the St. Petersburg intelligentsia," said Vladimir in a lowvoice. "But look, over there is the painter Ilia Repin with his homely wife. The ravishing beauty with the big hat next to himis Maria Andreyeva, the sister of the playwright and mistress of Maxim Gorky, the boyish looking man with the long hairnext to Repin.With a tilt of his head he pointed at two older gentlemen. "The man with the curled mustache tips is Pyotr Stolypin, he istalking to Graf Sergey von Witte, our dismissed financial genius. Both are feared and disliked by the Emperor, because oftheir intelligence and outspoken criticism of the Emperor’s indecisive reign. Stolypin, in my father’s opinion, is the onlyman in Russia who could save the unstable situation. Why these two are here, I don’t know. Gratefully absent are thehard-core revolutionaries, the military, and the clergy as well as all members of the extended imperial family. They followother gurus."Alexandra scrutinized the two politicians. "I have never seen Witte."She stared at the slightly corpulent Witte. He had the high forehead of a professor posturing fully aware of hisimportance. She lowered her gaze and in a conspiratorial voice said. "Witte is a relative of Helena Petrovna Blavatskyand a distant, younger cousin of my mother. He does look exactly like Mother used to describe him, highly intelligent,incisive, enlightened, and powerful. I am not surprised that the Tsar dismissed him despite his success at bringing Russiainto the twentieth century."After supper everyone moved into the ballroom where a gaunt, sinewy, Indian fakir demonstrated yoga. The man woreonly a loincloth. He went through a sequence of impossible contortions of his limbs and ended up standing on his head."To stand on the head and wiggle my feet, that I can do too," whispered Alexandra to Izabel, "but the other positions aretoo complicated and entirely unnecessary to gain insight."Izabel put an admonishing finger to her lips.Everybody applauded."This man is a Kundalini master," said Izabel. "These positions are not for you to imitate. I cannot produce them either."The fakir retreated to the back of the room, where he lit a charcoal brazier. The gentleman introduced the "Tibetan"pharmacologist, Doctor Pyotr Alexandrovich Badmaev."Oh, well, Tibetan!" whispered Vladimir. "That charlatan. He is an urbanized Buryat shaman with a questionable medicaldegree who sells powders and cough remedies to the gullible ladies of the better society. My mother once consultedhim."The stocky Badmaev sat self-important with crossed legs on a carpet and displayed an array of medicines. With amonotonous voice and a strong accent he explained their origins and use. A number of women flocked around him.69