Vladimir sat on the bank of the river remembering his brother Alexandre. He had dreamed the night before, that they were fishing together on the far away Volga.
It was officially Spring, yet winter held on here in eastern Siberia. The land of exiles.
He wondered how his mother fared in Simbirsk. He hadn’t received a letter in several months and his exile would be coming to an end soon.
He would leave Russia.
He was a marked man, branded a “revolutionary”. Alexandre was dead for more than a decade, executed for an attempt on the life of the Tsar. The then 17-year-old Vladimir had visited his brother in prison before he was hanged, and Vladimir would spend a year and a half there himself, in solitary, before his exile.
Mother would beg the Tsar to spare his brother. Alexandre would not beg. Vladimir understood.
Vladimir watched the ice moving…
View original post 703 more words