The Unfinished Portrait Ch1-4

A/N:

Historical (RoChu fan fiction)

Background: Battle of Moscow, WWII Eastern front. This fiction is dedicated to commemorating the Victory Day of the Great Patriotic War, as well as to RoChu fans worldwide.

CP: Ivan x Wang Yao (RoChu); Toris x Natasha (Lithuania x Belarus)




"An unfinished portrait painting of a Chinese man brought the memory of old veteran Ivan Braginsky back to the battlefield of 1941 when he and Wang Yao fought together against Nazi invasion."





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Имя твоё неизвестно. Подвиг твой бессмертен.

Your name is known to none; your feat remains immortal.

                                 --Anonymous tomb, Moscow Red Square





Ch 1. The Old Veteran


"Why don't we go ask Professor Braginsky?"

To celebrate the sixty-sixth year's anniversary of the triumph of the Great Patriotic War*, Moscow Art Academy was planning to commemorate it with an art exhibition. Professors and students shared high enthusiasm in their artistic creation. "But, there lacks a good portrait painting." said the academy president . "Certainly, there are quite a few portraits entering the exhibition, but none of their creators have experienced war…"

Yes, there needed to be a genuinely moving portrayal of a soldier. The creator should be just like the dearest hero, depicting his war-torn passion and pain, tears and laughter, love and hatred, in the sincerest way possible. If only did the creator actually fought along with the subject, things would be easier. The president himself had attempted the mission but was never satisfied. After all, he was seven years old when the war ended.

"Isn't Professor Braginsky working on a portrait?" A student suggested.

Speaking of the Great Patriotic War, no one in the academy could have been more sentimental than the ninety-year-old Professor Ivan Braginsky. He was the only teacher still alive who had been to the front. When the war broke out, he left his second-year study in the academy and enlisted, spending the following four years of wartime in the front. After the victory, he went back to college and had since held a teaching position owning to his excellent artistic achievement. For decades, every year on Victory Day*, this proud veteran would put on his clean old military uniform decorated with dozens of medals on his chest, walking in solemness through the admiring eyes of young students.

Now he had retired at home, still remained hale and hearty. Students who came to ask for his expertise would always found the professor in front of a young soldier's portrait, lost in deep thoughts. The portrait had been under cultivation for a long time. In fact, the first bunch of students Braginsky taught since he came back from the front had seen it—President Vasilenko was one of them. At the first sight, Vasilenko (who was still a student back then) was deeply touched by it: a young handsome soldier with black hair, his soft facial structure characteristic to East Asian was effused with a young man's disposition of nobleness and bravery; the delicate but firm lips brimming a sense of austerity and tenderness peculiar to someone who had endured the ordeal of war-flame. "What a heart-touching portrait!" Even decades later when the academy president Vasilenko recalled, he could not help but gasped in admiration. "Professor Braginsky never drew eyes for the young soldier, but even as an unfinished portrait, one could still see the beautiful soul of this young man."

"It was a Chinese—my comrade from the front." Every time with curious inquiries, Ivan Braginsky would answer as such. "He returned to his country when the war ended."

For decades, Professor Braginsky had painted numerous pairs of vivid eyes, but below the brows of this young soldier's portrait was still shadowed with uncertainty; otherwise, the painting would had claimed the name of another masterpiece. It became a mystery of the academy. Later, another curious incident regarding this portrait started circulating. According to a student who had recently seen the portrait, Professor Braginsky added a pendant with shape of a white horse to the subject's neck in the painting—exactly the same as the one hanging from the professor's chest.

To plead the professor for completion of this masterpiece, students came to visit him. As they stood in front of the painting, even in the absence of eyes, the youngsoldier's soul that the professor cultivated through a life-long labor gripped these young men's peace-grown hearts in an instant.

"My boys, I'm so sorry. I could not make his eyes…" The white-haired professor apologized in a child-like remorse. "You see, I've been trying for decades…"

Just then, a student murmured as if he was talking to himself, "It was him. This man, I have seen…"

The professor suddenly grabbed the student's hands in eagerness.

"What did you say?"

"I lived in Topol' on the Volga River till three years old." Said the student, "Even before I had much memory as a child, I remembered this Chinese man's face…"

"For real? Young man, you are serious?" Professor Braginsky interrupted the student with unusual loud voice, and then lowered his head. "That's impossible… Wang Yao returned to his country sixty-six years ago… Even if the man you saw was indeed him, he would have been an old man…"

"I don't know that man's name." The student was confounded, "I was only three years old at that time. I don't remember under what situation had I met the man; however, I do remember the face." The student spoke firmly. "He was about this young, with such a face and expression, and he's Chinese. That's why I remembered him at such a young age." His voice was of unquestionable certainty that other people, even very perplexed, did not think he lied.

The professor looked as if a shooting star swept across those old eyes. The students noticed the his apparent agitation and politely excused themselves, and wished him to eventually complete the painting as to add splendor to the sixty-six years anniversary of victory.

When he was once again by himself, old Ivan Braginsky walked to the painting, trembling. His hands, coarse like pine barks, gently brushed over the young man's handsome face in the portrait like his dearest. A drop of tear glided down his wrinkled face, fell down to the white-horse pendant hanging on his chest—the one exactly the same as in the portrait.

"Yao, was that you?" The professor murmured in a dull voice, fixing his eyes on the shades below those brows. "Please forgive me. I never forget your eyes. I know how to paint them, but I could not. You know…when I've lived to this age, how could I believe such nonsense—that you didn't return home, that you lived on the Volga…and looked so young…..."

"Grandpa!" He didn't notice when his granddaughter Lyenochka stood beside him, and gently held his hands, "Grandpa, were you thinking of your Chinese comrade again? Let me and papa and mama go to Topol' with you. Maybe you could meet him."

As the train carrying the Branginsky family slowly drove away from Moscow, the old soldier and art professor told himself over and over: it's not a big loss if they couldn't find Wang Yao—after all, how could things like attaining one's youth forever even possible? He only wished to take a stroll down the village by the Volga, when he was still able to, and perhaps to find new inspirations. During the war, there were battles fought in Topol', too.

Ivan was preoccupied with the endless green field rushing by the window. Seventy years ago, in the difficult year of 1941, he and his dear comrades had fought along death to defend Moscow… After the war, he often wandered around in the field where Battle of Moscow had been fought, and made sketches. It didn't matter the amount of inspiration he got; what mattered was that he could once again walk upon the land where he and Wang Yao had fought shoulder to shoulder. Every inch of soil and every tree there remembered their youthful faces, along with every bit and piece of memory they shared together…

…Like the way he marched on towards Topol' on the Volga, in search of Wang Yao…




* Great Patriotic War: refers to the portion of WWII fought from 22 June 1941 to 9 May 1945 between Soviet and Nazi Germany on the Eastern Front.

* Victory Day: celebrated every year on May 9 for the victory of defeating the invasion of Nazi Germany.





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Ch 2. The Encounter



"The man singing must've been riding on a horse." Wang Yao slightly tilted his head, listening carefully to the vague singing voice coming through the white birch forest in a distance. "Perhaps from the cavalry."

"Why?" Stood beside him was Toris Lorinaitis, curiously looking at his friend's side face. Wang Yao's eyes were still staring at the distant forest. They saw the sunset ablazed like fire in the background of white birches, as if the entire autumn forest of swirling leaves had turned into a golden city. They wouldn't be surprised if a deity in full gold armors flew out of nowhere.

"A walking man could not have sung in such exuberance and melancholy. Only a rider could have a voice as expansive as the field itself."

Almost as to attest this young Chinese man's judgment, the singing voice mixed with clopping sound was approaching towards their infantry reconnaissance station. Out of the forest leaped out a vigorous figure. In the radiance of the autumn sunset, the rider and his horse were as if gold-casted. In a moment, Wang Yao thought that, perhaps, the rider did not really belong to this time of gunpowder and smoke, but befallen from the sky, riding across this glorious and melancholic field of Moscow suburb, just to sing a song…

Following the path treaded by soldiers' boots and military trucks, the golden rider came in front of them. His spur rang in high spirit. He casually wrapped the rein around the white birch tree next to him before striding towards the bomb shelter.

Cavalry soldier Ivan Braginsky was soon to enter the twentieth year of his life, in the difficult autumn of 1941 when Nazi Germany started an overwhelming offensive towards Moscow. At that time, neither side had seized complete control over the outskirt of Moscow; only autumn, commanding a troop of withered grass, yellow leaves and departing cranes, had taken over this vast field like heavenly-sent.

When Ivan came out from the bunker, he saw two soldiers from the infantry standing beside his white horse. The young man leaning against the white birch had flaxen hair and eyes as blue as the Baltic Sea, tenderly looking at his friend—a black-haired young man of eighteen-years of age at most. Compared to the angular facial structure typical to Caucasians, that Oriental face was giving out a gentle but powerful impression. His right hand was gently caressing the mane of the white horse, left hand fondly rubbing its nose, while he talked to the horse in low voice.

"He must know horses." Ivan thought, "Look at that tenderness of him! This guy could make a great model for a portrait. I really should make one if time allows." Without realizing, Ivan already took out his hands and moved in the air, drawing on an imaginary easel. "He's not tall; slim but solidly-built. With that lovely face, it all seems so fitting. The most surprising are his eyes…so deep and mysterious. To say that the entire universe has sinking into that pair of dark pupils is not an overstatement…"

"I see that you like Kostya." Ivan went up, patted the horse's back and smiled at the black-haired young man. The bright smile like an autumn day made his handsome face glowing with radiance. "And Kostya likes you too. He has a fierce temper. He wouldn't just let any stranger pet him."

Wang Yao scratched his black hair, exchanged a glance first with Toris standing by the tree, then with Ivan—three pairs of eyes all filled with smiles. Then he opened his mouth with a foreign accent, "Now that we have known each other…"

"'We—does that include me?" said Ivan, as if there was a happy sparkle hopping from one eye to the other, "I suppose you ride very well?"

A mocking voice jumped in before Wang Yao could reply, "What do you think? Comrade, I'm afraid that tiny little body would have fallen to the ground before he even climbed on the horseback."

Ivan did not like that staggering squad leader at first sight—from the mockery to the nonchalant attitude. Wang Yao's face blushed a little, but his friend Toris couldn't help but to speak up. "Sir, how could you say that to our unit's best scout…"

"The best scout? A Chinese? They say the Chinese doesn't like to fight." The squad leader spread his hands, shook his head and provocatively pushed Wang Yao's shoulder, "Otherwise, they wouldn't be so beaten up by the Japanese…"

The unexpected happened. The black-haired guy went up holding the squad leader's arm, the right hand grabbing his shoulder, and with both arms exerting towards one side of his body, the big guy was thrown over to the ground and rolling to the sand on the roadside, almost got himself trampled by a group of cavalry riders. The comical scene filled them with rapture. They caught the opportunity and all had a good laugh.

The squad leader got up in exasperation, was about to flip before he caught a glimpse of the company commander who came out of the bunker to welcome the riders, and then refrained his temper. "You are really a piece of work. Let's wait and see." He stumbled away.

"Sir, you should remember," Wang Yao's previous tender look had turned into steel, and before realizing, had started speaking in Chinese, "Chinese does not like to fight; but if someone dared to provoke…"

"He's really something. A true scout and a soldier!" Ivan didn't understand what Wang Yao had just said, but he looked at the young man with amaze and admiration, thinking to himself, "It seems that I was right. This guy is going to be a terrific model. A lovely face and figure is not enough for a painting's subject; but, a gentle heart and strong mind combined perfectly within him, manifested so implicitly. Wonderful…"

With a young man's naïve pride, he was pleased with himself on the insight in both art and friend-making. Ivan raised his eyes jovially, glancing at a crowd of white cranes heading south in the depth of sky. They spread their beautiful wings, leaving their distant songs to this vast piece of land outside of Moscow.




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Ch 3. A Dream



Feiyun's mane was snowy white, as the snowcap on Changbai Mountains.

Feiyun's eyes were charcoal black, as the soil on the Songhua River bank.

Feiyun's blood was scarlet red, as the blood roaring inside father's chest.

Wang Yao had never seen the Changbai Mountain or the Songhua River; but in those dreams the mountain howled and the river roared, because his mother told him that father was leading the troop there fighting the Japanese. His mother always lighted a lamp with him at night to read those last words his father wrote. Wang Yao didn't see how his father died; but in those dreams his father's blood was surging.

He saw, on the bank of Yellow River, the wind blowing tenderly and fragile irises swaying. He saw Feiyun's swift body like a cloud in the sky, those eyes like two shining stars. Father gave Feiyun to him before leaving home when Feiyun was still a little horse and him, still a little boy. He grew up with Feiyun in difficult times, like those resilient irises on the river bank.

The snowy white mane was splashed with hot blood when the bombers flew over their head, taking the life of that majestic horse. In a moment, Wang Yao thought it was his father's blood he saw in those dreams, flowing on top of the snowy mountain.

He casted his tearful eyes towards the sky of his suffering motherland—there, in the sunset faraway of the northwestern sky, he saw a heroic golden rider on top of Feiyun, rushing across the sky. The rider had silver color hair, violet eyes, and a warm smile like sunflowers…

"You finally wake up." A gentle voice pulled him out of his nightmare.

He opened his eyes and heard a collective noise of snoring from his fellow soldiers. A small lamp was swaying at the door of their bunker room. He saw Toris' concerned face; that pair of blue eyes like the Baltic Sea was full of sympathy. "You cried. A dream?"

Wang Yao nodded and quickly wiped away the tears from his eyelashes. Toris patted his friend on the shoulder understandingly—people like them who left their home behind for war didn't need to say much to know each other's mind. Even Toris himself often dreamt of returning to his Baltic homeland.

Wang Yao got up, put on his uniform coat and walked out of the bunker. Faraway, at the sunrise of some lime color clouds shined a lone star. He followed the beaten path of their camp base, walking slowly. Inside a puddle of water, you could see some small bubbles beneath the thin layer of ice, and sometimes, in these bubbles, there would be a piece of purple or yellow poplar leaf or white birch leaf. Wang Yao would always break the thin ice and took the frozen leaves back to their bunker room. It didn't take long before they accumulated to a small pile on the desk, emitting a wine-like aroma.

He saw the cavalry rider Ivan Braginsky whom he just met yesterday sitting under a tree, drawing something in the dim light. Wang Yao was always good at memorizing people's faces, especially someone like Ivan. That silver hair, violet eyes and warm sunflower smiles contained a magical power that once you caught a glimpse of it would never forget.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you," said Wang Yao. "But it's still pretty dark around. Don't you worry that your eyes will go bad?"

For some reason, at the thought of those bright eyes could possibly be wearing thick glasses made him feel pitiful.

"It's you, Wang." Ivan raised his head and blinked his eyes, "Don't forget who I am. The eyes of a scout love dark nights. They won't go bad."

"Why don't you draw during the day? It could get a bit busy with all the campaigns, but it won't leave you with no free time at all."

"Dawn always inspires me." Ivan smiled and waved the small piece of paper in his hand. "Before the war, I studied in the art academy. Since then, I always loved to get up in the break of the day to draw…"

Wang Yao took the drawing from him; under the dim light of early morning, he saw a handsome horse drawn in pencil. "That's nice. He even went to university before the war!" He was fondly looking at the drawing and couldn't put it down, thinking to himself, "What a great work…Maybe he was drawing his Kostya; or perhaps, he was drawing Feiyun that he never met…"

Ivan could almost read his mind. "You didn't answer my question during the day. You must ride very well? Maybe you owned a nice horse, too?"

A sentiment intertwined with tenderness and sorrow suddenly seized him. Before he knew, he started talking like an old friend with a rider whom he barely knew for a day, about his Feiyun and about himself. Many years later, Professor Braginsky still clearly remembered everything Wang Yao told him. As the son of a hero fighting against the Japanese, at the age of fifteen, Wang Yao wanted to continue the fighting in where his father died; however, the government decided to send him to study in the Soviet Union. In the summer of 1941, he graduated from high school and was just about to apply for Moscow University before the war broke out. Wang Yao went to the conscription office in the same day, but people there advised him to come back later, as he was still four months short before reaching the age of eighteen years. Under the insistence of this stubborn foreign boy, however, they eventually agreed.

After a short training session, Wang Yao was sent to the infantry reconnaissance squad. He got along well with everyone; his best friend was a Lithuanian, Toris Lorinaitis. Wang Yao was close to him partly because of the guy's soft-spoken temperament, partly because that he was studying in Moscow University where Wang Yao had longed for, and partly because they were the only two foreigners among the squad filled with Moscow locals.

"I should go back to our squad, Ivan." Wang Yao heard the bustling noises from their campsite. As their conversation went on, they started addressing each other with first names and with the casual form of "you".

"Yao!" Ivan called him, "Would you tell me why you collect those leaves?" as he curiously pointing to the frozen Topol' and birch leaves Wang Yao had taken out from under the ice.

"Because I've always wanted to be a biologist, my dear artist!" Wang Yao smiled and strode away.





* Changbai Mountain: A major mountain located in the Northeast of China bordering North Korea.

* Songhua River: Located in the Northeast of China

* Feiyun: translates to "Flying cloud"





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Ch 4. Defending A Stranger



It was raining the whole day till evening when they returned to their campsite from the front. The setting sun finally revealed itself in the same old spot behind the white birch forest.

It was October 19, 1941. In the outskirt of Moscow, armies at the Vyazma front as well as Bryansk front were surrounded by German army and suffered tremendous losses. The Mozhaysk front where Wang Yao's unit was at became a major viable force in that period of time.

Continuous raining brought waves of cold air. Dusty roads to the front had become incredibly muddy and almost completely paralyzed the German tanks, forcing them to stop the offence on all fronts. This gained precious times for the Soviet army. The cavalry where Ivan belonged to had made full use of their unique advantage. They rode back and forth on the roads where tanks could hardly move on, stabbing into German army's rear area from time to time, attacking their supply lines.

The infantry reconnaissance boys, however, could only rely on their two legs; sometimes on all four to climb through the battle line. This October, they dug many tombs in the muddy field of Moscow for the soldiers who sacrificed their lives. One of the squad's nurses, a sweet girl with curly hair, was shot on the temple by shell splinter from a sudden bombing attack. Soldiers put a few more bunches of wild flowers in front of her tomb. She was a girl after all.

"I heard they will send us new nurse in a day or two." As soldiers gathered together around the campfire, a blond young man said, "It's directly sent from Moscow!"

Everybody started chatting.

"I heard there were a few German bombers took off to Moscow the other day."

"My family is from Moscow. My mom wrote that the neighbor's kid was killed from the bombing!"

"Those barbarians! What the hell are the artilleries doing?"

"They are working pretty hard already. Those bombers were lucky and got away."

"We can ask the new nurse about things in the city…"

"You think the nurses would care about those things? My dear?" A harsh voice rose up from the crowd. It was the squad leader who provoked Wang Yao the other day—Kulikov. When soldiers just got back to the camp base, completely drained and exhausted, he, however, looked as if having well rested for a long time. This unpopular guy turned the pipe in his hand, waggling his head, "They are just some silly girls with nothing but pretty dresses and dolls in their mind. Guys, women are good for nothing. The battlefield depends on us men."

"You should respect the ladies, sir." Wang Yao couldn't help but to barge in. "Many of us were saved by them! They could've stay at the back, wearing their pretty dresses…"

Kulikov glared at him with irresistible distaste and continued, "They are just a bunch of silly girls day-dreaming of adventure! The men all went to the army and they get bored at the back. You wait and see. Once they get to the front, they'll start screwing around with our soldiers. Let's take that Natasha we met in Moscow reorganization for an example. Don't let that cold poker face fool ya. She probably got a dozen boyfriends at her disposal…"

"Natasha is not that kind of girl! Please take back your word, sir!"

Everyone's eyes were on Toris. He blushed, fists clenched and those previously tender-looking eyes were now full of anger. This quiet Lithuanian young man never got into an argument with anyone, as they could recall.

"Folks! Our little Toris is in love! He's in love with a freaking queen!" Kulikov yelled jauntily and grabbed Toris' collar, "She got so many fellas! How could she remember you little puppy dog! Would you like a kiss or a trip to her bed…"

Kulikov couldn't finish the sentence before a forceful blow from the left smashed right into him. "Very well." He wiped his bleeding nose and returned the "favor" back onto Toris' face. Soon, the two tussled into a dogfight in the dirty mud road.

"Damn it! I want you to apologize to her!"

The soldiers cheered and shouted, trying to separate them. The two wrestled with no mercy, as if the other one was a Nazi German in bayonet combat.

The grave voice of the company commander ended the whole chaos.

"Get up! Well done, both of you! The Germans didn't kill you so you decide to fight each other! Kulikov and Lorinaitis, three days confinement for each of you."

"Lorinaiti started it." said the squad leader with his head kept low.

"But sir, Kulikov provoked him first…" everybody all started talking at once.

"You all shut your mouths. We will investigate into it. Unfortunately, the division commander came here today for inspection and then saw your childish act." The company commander raised his face pointing to the other way where a high rank officer stood in a distance. "Shame for the entire unit! You two better prepare yourself. You might end up in the military court in a few days."

The two men with bruised noses and swollen faces exchanged furious glances, and then followed the company commander walking away without a word. Wang Yao watched his friend with apprehension. He knew about this shy and proud young man. Would Toris tell them that what he did was for a girl whom he met only for a few times?

At the thought of this girl Natasha, Wang Yao had to admit that Toris had good taste. Several months ago when they were still as new recruits reorganizing in Moscow, they were located next to the nurse class. Among all the girls, Natasha was especially outstanding. She was very beautiful, with a bow neatly tied onto her light blond hair. In front of hordes of her pursuers, she always put on a cold aloof face. The soldiers gave her a nickname "Queen of Spade".

It seemed that squad leader Kulikov was among the pursuers.

"Sasha!" Wang Yao called on to a soldier, "Do you want to go with me as Toris' witness?"

Three days later, Wang Yao met Toris who just came out of the confinement. Thanks to Wang Yao and Sasha's testimony, Toris was released from the investigation after only a reprimand. The squad leader Kulikov, however, was found to have been consistently leaving early from duty (such as the day of the fight), and was sent away for penalty.

"Why do you still look so beat-up?" Wang Yao didn't know if he should laugh.

Toris smiled shyly, "Kulikov really got me. The doctor said the swelling will go down in a week."

"Gosh!" Wang Yao sighed, half-worriedly, half-jokingly, "If it wasn't me and Sasha who went to explain for you, you would be the one sent off for penalty. You fool! Why didn't you say something? You just sat there listening to Kulikov fabricating story out of thin air!"

"I didn't want to drag her into this…" His bruised face blushed a little, looking particularly comical. "If people knew she was the cause of the fight, I don't know how far they would stretch the story…"

"Well, if Natasha knows, maybe she would be touched."

"I don't expect her to know… I didn't even speak to her before, and I don't know where she would be assigned to. Maybe I will never see her but…I just want to do something for her, even if she never knows."

They were soon in front of the bunker. Wang Yao halted his steps and tried his best not to laugh. "Judging from that 'handsome' look of yours, you'd better not go in there…..."

"But I want to have a rest." The poor guy who was still immersed in his own infatuation didn't give much thought, went ahead and lift the curtain.

What awaited him inside was total silence, followed by an explosion of laughter, clapping and whistling. A pretty girl with a bow tied to her blonde hair was curiously looking at him up and down, especially that beat-up face not yet achieved full recovery and that dirty ripped coat covered in mud from the fight three days ago.

"Our knight return in full glory! He returned for his queen!" A soldier gloated, "Hey Toris! Where's that hand-kissing to our new nurse Natasha!"

Toris' voice of despair entered into Wang Yao's ears. "Perhaps I'd be better off getting a few more punches from Kulikov…..."

"I think so, too." Wang Yao's face lightened up to a witty grin. "But you never listen to me."





--TBC