Marina was Aishe and Andrej’s only child. As an adult, she became fascinated with genealogy and preserving the family’s history. She went to great lengths to chart both sides of her parents’ lineage. She loved the stories about Aishe’s childhood as a wandering gypsy, and how her grandmother, Simza, had helped her escape. Marina wrote down the stories behind every object in Aishe’s keepsake chest—Dinka’s chest—in a diary. She became the memory keeper.
Once Kezia learned to read, Marina’s diary was her favorite book. She would steal away under her favorite tree for hours and read the incredible tales about Simza finding missing children and foretelling the future with seashells. Kezia yearned to do the same. She often tried to read her palm or stare into the bottom of a teacup. She was like a student without a teacher. The urge ran deep inside her to grasp the future’s unknown.
So one day, without permission, she snuck off to see the fortune teller at Sytny Market. She had saved all her kopeks to pay for the adventure, but it became one of the major disappointments of her young life.
“Madame Zazouska” was a charlatan, a pretender who spouted vague musings, fortunes that could apply to anyone. The woman took Kezia’s money and lavished her with praise and promises of prosperity.
“You will find love, a husband, and have three children.”
Kezia had heard her give the same fortune to another girl while she was standing outside the stall.
Although Kezia was disappointed by Madame Zazouska, she was entranced by the woman’s mysterious cards. The madame had used tarot cards, and Kezia had felt a rush of excitement as she watched her study them. But too quickly the Madame’s hands swished the deck back into a neat pile and the reading was over.
When Kezia returned home, her grandmother called her over to her rocking chair.
“You do not need anyone else to tell you what you already know,” Marina said. Then she opened up the family’s keepsake chest and took out an intricately carved Italian box. “I always wondered why we kept these. Now I know they were meant for you.”
Kezia opened the box and found the most exquisite tarot deck she had ever seen. She moved her fingertips over the cards in awe. With each stroke she could feel the spirit of her ancestor like a living force. Kezia met her grandmother’s eyes, and understanding passed between them.
“She must have been a great seer,” Kezia whispered.
“Yes, she must have,” Marina said and returned to knitting.
***
From that day on, Kezia was never without her cards. She even slept with them, wrapping them in silk and tucking them under her pillow. She would often study the cards one by one, writing down what she thought each image meant. Her notebook filled with ideas. She may not have had a teacher, but she had powerful intuition. For Kezia, the two became one and the same.
Every morning she picked a card and used it to interpret how the day would go. Sometimes when she asked a question she had to lay out several cards until she saw her answer. She had no idea if what she was doing was right. She had no books to learn from, but it didn’t matter. Soon she was performing readings for her grandmother and parents, and then her friends. By the time she was a young woman, her intuition had flowered into powerful foresight.
When Madame Zazouska died, Kezia lit a candle for the old woman. The Madame may not have been a seer, but she had never physically harmed a soul. And she had been right about one aspect of Kezia’s future. Kezia did marry—a young writer named Sergei Leykin.
Sergei came from a merchant family and over time became an accomplished playwright. He had productions mounted at the Alexandrinsky Theatre and was a part of a ring of artists with voracious intellects. Sergei found Kezia’s card reading fascinating, and he loved her all the more for her gift. For several years they lived a happy life together.
Kezia had always known she would have a daughter one day. So when she lost a child midway through her first pregnancy, she was devastated. Again, she got pregnant, and again, the pregnancy failed. For the first time, Kezia’s faith in her sight was shaken. The doctors told her she wasn’t able to become a mother, but Kezia had seen her daughter’s spirit. She had seen her live.
***
For years Kezia waited. Sergei had long given up hope of having a child. Then, in the year of Kezia’s thirty-fourth birthday, she conceived. As the child grew in her womb, Kezia’s powers amplified, and she began to see future events with certainty.
Russia was in a state of violent upheaval. A revolution had occurred in the past year, triggered by the war with Japan. The entire country went on strike, grinding everything to a halt. When it ended, daily life barely returned to normal. But Kezia knew the worst was yet to come. In a little more than ten years, there would be a revolution that would change the face of the country forever.
Two months into her pregnancy, she attended a tea hosted by one of St. Petersburg’s most prominent families. She rarely went to such functions but she had heard the infamous mystic Rasputin would be there. He had arrived in the city the month before, and everyone wanted to meet the renowned prophet and healer. Kezia had come to judge the man’s abilities for herself.
She sat quietly in a corner sipping tea and watched the ladies flock around him. Rasputin was the only man in the room. He cut a dramatic figure with his long black hair and beard, but his body emitted the odor of one who never bathed. This “holy man,” a peasant from Siberia, had somehow gained entry to the highest levels of St. Petersburg society by preaching that people should sin as much as possible to find their path to God. He fully embodied his mantra by drinking to excess and hosting orgies at his home.
Squeals of laughter erupted from the women in the parlor as Rasputin squeezed their breasts. “I can measure your spirit this way,” he explained.
When he started unbuttoning the blouse of a grand duchess, Kezia burst into laughter before she could stop herself and caught his attention. With a sinking heart, she watched him excuse himself from the red-faced ladies and approach her.
“Grigori Rasputin at your service,” he said in a rich voice.
Kezia acknowledged him with a polite nod, but did not offer him her hand.
His gaze swept her body with open lust. “Would you like me to measure your spirit also?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“I’m afraid it is heavier than you think,” Kezia said with a confidence she didn’t feel.
He laughed and took two glasses of vodka off the tray of a nearby servant. He sat down and handed her one. “Then we must drink together.” He raised his glass.
