Now Rasputin seized a torch and waved it high over his head. Again the music stopped. Again everybody froze. He was bare-chested now, and apelike tufts of black hair stuck out from all over his torso. He looked like some devilish satyr as he swung the torch through the air, deliberately coming close to the tall girl’s mane of rippling black hair.
The two of them entered into another ritualistic dance now. Everybody else maintained their rigid positions, watching. Only the glitter of eyes in the firelight betrayed the excitement coursing through them at Rasputin’s performance.
He swung the torch low and the girl jumped over the flame, pulling her skirts high to avoid setting fire to them. Her thighs gleamed in the orange light. She held her skirts high as Rasputin repeatedly went at her with the torch. He used it like a lion tamer uses a whip. The girl reacted like a contortionist, barely escaping the fire with each movement of the rhythmic dance.
Finally, deliberately, Rasputin touched the hem of her dress with the flame. Immediately, still dancing, she ripped it down the front and jumped free of the blazing gown. She was naked now, and yet so carried away by the ceremony that she didn’t seem to feel the cold. Rasputin tossed the torch away and pulled off his pants. He fell on her like a naked stallion, and she was screaming with religious ecstasy even before their bodies hit the frozen ground.
This was the signal. Immediately the other khlysts tore off their garments and grabbed for partners. The night grew loud with the screams and cries and howls. They were a wolf pack high on the aphrodysia of their fanaticism.
The plump girl was naked now and clawing at my clothes. I guzzled more vodka to ward off the cold and clutched at her at least partly for the same reason. I managed to maneuver things so that she was on top of me. That, plus the erotic excitement, also kept me warm.
Over her shoulder, I saw Rasputin rise from his conquest. He took a deep swig of vodka. Then, without hesitation, he leaped, naked, onto the back of the girl with whom I was making love. She was impaled on me and howling like a banshee, but that didn’t stop the mad monk. He grasped a buttock in each of his huge, hairy paws and raised her up from behind. Locating his target, he attacked. The plump girl screamed with the sudden pain, but she made no attempt to dislodge herself from contact with either one of us. Pinned beneath their weight, I couldn’t do anything but what I had been doing. So I kept my nose warm between her heavy, pendulous breasts and continued moving in the spasmodic rhythm we’d established.
Rasputin finished before I did. With the release of his weight, the plump girl and I each attained a release of our own. She jumped up, naked, spied a man nearby and immediately fell to her knees in front of him, her mouth a hungry O. Rasputin was standing to one side and drinking again. I joined him and accepted the bottle.
I huddled there, sipping from it and trying to keep warm, while I watched Rasputin spring into action again. The music was wild now and half the khlysts were abandoning themselves to the naked dancing while the others worked out new patterns of lovemaking. Rasputin did an acrobatic dance that ended with him pulling two naked girls to the ground. His beard disappeared under one of them. The other mounted him and was immediately pinned by his hirsute, thickly muscled legs. The two girls were facing each other, and they fondles and kissed each other’s breasts while Rasputin moved like an earthquake beneath them.
Finally the earthquake erupted and both girls were flung away. Still Rasputin continued in the pursuit of his insatiable passion. Like some woodland satyr gone berserk, he leaped from one eager partner to the next.
The orgy was in full swing now. Despite the below zero temperature, all of the khlysts had shed their clothing to perform acts ranging from lovemaking to sado-masochism and outright bestiality. But none of them could keep up with Rasputin.
As for myself, I was tired and cold. It had been a long and active day. One love bout was all I felt up to, and so I retired to the sidelines and watched instead of participating further. Here I nursed another bottle of vodka steadily. After awhile, my head began to spin and I passed out.
When I regained consciousness, I was bouncing along some road in a horse-drawn sled. I was covered with heavy furs and quite warm. My head felt like one big tortured pimple, but outside of that I was all right. Through the throbbing headache, I perceived that the sleigh had reached the outskirts of a large city and was heading towards the center of it.
“Where are we?” I wondered aloud in a weak voice.
“St. Petersburg.” The voice spoke German. Turning my head, I saw Rasputin beside me. “I was taking you to my home,” he added. “How do you feel?”
“Like the aftermath of a pogrom,” I told him truthfully.
“A good night’s sleep will fix you up,” he assured me.
“It’s too late for that.” I pointed to the dawn breaking in the sky.
“You can sleep all day then,” Rasputin patted my shoulder fondly. “Ah, here we are.”
The sleigh pulled up in front of an imposing building. Rasputin climbed out and motioned to me to follow him. He led the way inside, summoned a servant, and had him escort me to the guest chamber. A fire was lit, the bed was turned down, and finally I was left alone.
I was just closing my eyes against the rising of the Russian dawn. when my wrist radio buzzed. I flicked the tiny receiver switch and there was a crackling of static. After a few seconds it cleared and I heard the voice of Charles Putnam.
“Hello, Steve? Is that you?”
“Who the hell else could it be?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to be sure.”
“Putnam,” I pointed out, “you’re not dialing a telephone. You couldn’t get a wrong number.”
“You sound irritable.”
“I have a hangover,” I admitted. “I was just about to sleep it off.”
“You drink too much, Steve. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. Have you ever thought about what you’re doing to the lining of your stomach?”
“Never mind the lining of my stomach. Why are you calling me?”
“Oh, yes. I learned that Papa Baapuh jumped you again.”
“I know that, you-—” .
“No need to be testy!” Putnam sounded injured. “The last time we spoke you made a big point about my keeping labs on your movements.”
“All right. All right,” I mollified him. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re getting pretty close to the present,” Putnam reminded me. “I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t shot past us again.”
“Thanks. I haven’t. I’m in Russia. Some time during the first World War,” I guessed, remembering the German officer and the Russian military plane that had rescued me from the quicksand.
“Papa Baapuh tells me it might help get you back accurately if you can pinpoint where you are.”
“St. Petersburg.”
“It would be good if he knew the exact ‘when,’ too.”
“Wait a minute. I’ll ask Rasputin.”
“You’ll ask who?”
“Rasputin. That’s who I’m staying with. I’m his house guest.”
“I’ll be damned.” There was awe in Putnam’s tone.
“How did you get chummy with him?”
“I saved his life. Inadvertently. He’s grateful. It’s a long story. But it’s not important. What is important is that you get me home. So hold on a minute and I’ll ask Rasputin the date.”
I left my room, went down the hall, and rapped on Rasputin’s door. When he answered I asked him what the date was. He told me and I went back to my room to relay the information to Putnam.