When they were through, one of the men signalled the woman, who led me outdoors. My second walk in the air. I had decided to take the outing without once lifting my eyes to the sky. I took short breaths and leaned heavily on the woman’s arm. We walked around the house. Guarding us, I sensed rather than saw, was one of the two men, walking a few feet behind us. At last we were back at the entrance. The house was dark as we entered the first room and passed through the open trap door and down the ladder. The trap door was lowered and I noticed a cloth was nailed on the inside. No sounds must penetrate through that floor. The exertion and gratification at my own courage put me into a sound sleep that night.
I awoke stronger and aware of a new milestone in my march to recovery. Each day the terrifying world I knew nothing of drew closer. I had almost ceased to struggle to keep from entering this world of reality. I was being carried like a leaf floating on the surface of a fast-flowing stream. I could not stop or sink. The prospect of living my life in good health would have been frightening enough, but now I must face ill health and loneliness as well. If only crying could oust these seething tortures.
The woman was busy folding a blanket. When she finished she piled it on her arm, tossed the pillow on top and lowered her chin on it for a firm grip on her burden. Now she was climbing the ladder, load and all. There was something final in the way she climbed. It suddenly dawned on me that she had spent the many nights close by my side. Satisfied that I was out of danger, she was henceforth going to sleep upstairs. I had not been conscious of her presence; misery had made me deaf and blind. Now that her watchful custody was removed, I became frightened and longed for the nearness I had not been aware of.
Without a clock, I had no idea at what time our day started. When the woman appeared, it was morning. The smoky window became a panel of gray after she removed its covering. I always listened for a “Good morning.” But that was all. She never did tell me what I should call her. If I needed her attention, I whispered, “Lady, please.” I did overhear the man call her Iliana or Irina. When she combed my hair, she did it gently. All her services were performed tenderly. I thought I detected a resemblance between her and the man who was the first spokesman. I wished I knew something about these men and the woman.
After an early supper she helped me to get dressed again in the same grotesque clothes and took me to the room above. The same men awaited me; the same rhythmical shadow flitted through the crack. Previously the questions had been of a general nature. Now they began to ask me more personal ones. They asked about Madame Vyrubova. Did she influence the Tsarina? Was she intimate with Rasputin? Did she live in the palace? I did not want to answer any of these questions, yet I did not dare to refuse.
All the time the shadow continued to pass over the lighted crack of the door. Who could it be? Was there someone writing down my answers? I was terrified. Suddenly I became so exhausted that I thought I would fall from the chair. My interrogator saw the situation and excused me. The woman accompanied me outdoors, and we walked around the house several times. Then I returned to my little hole. Once more I sank into my congenial darkness. The woman climbed the ladder, her touch was as soft as a feather. The trap door opened, then lowered back into place, quietly but firmly.
One day she brought me a piece of meat and vegetables. I refused to eat meat. The woman had no longer to bandage my wounds; they had healed sufficiently. Now I felt an itching sensation on my head and the woman was pleased with my progress. “Your hair will cover it nicely,” she said. There in the darkness my hair was growing fast. I was able to braid it.
Ahead of me lay the nightly inquisition. Yet each trip into the outdoors made me more independent physically. Once more and many times later I sat in the question room trying to control myself in the face of the curiosity of these two men and the woman. Now my Mother was the subject of their questioning.
“Did your uncle come from Germany to see the Tsarina?” The shadow in the next room seemed poised for my answer. Suddenly I was glad of the recording. Here was the opportunity to show Mother as the eager helpmate that she really was, trying to report to Father the facts as she saw them in his absence. “Did the Tsarina listen to Rasputin, because she believed in his honesty, foreseeing, and experience?”
I answered, “Whatever Mother did, she did it only for the good of Russia. When Father did not agree with Mother, she accepted his decision as final, knowing she could have no further influence.” I expressed these thoughts as carefully as I could, hoping whoever it was would take them down accurately.