How I fought and defeated my very own Teutonic Knight

Channeling my inner Aleksander Nevsky

When do we become aware of being able to stand up for ourselves? When does that most important superpower kick in?

I was once a geeky, naive, ugly, badly dressed, clumsy and clueless fifteen y. o. girl and I thought God – or the evil emanation of an otherwise uncaring Universe – had sent me to this planet, just so the legions of bullies I'd already had the displeasure of meeting could have endless hours of unspoiled fun at my expenses.

There used to be no respite for me, back then: at home, at school, wherever I had to go and be, someone had to make me feel bad about myself. It was uncanny, and I'm aware I sound like a conspiracy theorist, but that doesn't mean they weren't out to get me. 😉

With the exception of my little brother, a couple of friendly, good-hearted girls, and mostly indifferent but at least innocuous people, the rest of my world was a malignant entity who fed itself on my tears and heartbreak, its eyes lit up with malevolent glee.

There are people who give off a sort of vulnerable vibe and – this world being what it is – there are other people eager to prey on them, thinking they have the right to do so, because gentleness, quietness, intelligence, kindness are seen as signs of weakness: the self-proclaimed Übermensch tramples on the fragile and the meek ones. It's an old story. But I was given a chance, and it came in the most befitting way for a girl who loved all things Russian.

One February afternoon, I went to watch Alexander Nevsky in the monumental building of the Mole Antonelliana, which was hosting an exhibition celebrating the life and works of Soviet cinematographer Sergei Eisenstein.

Legendary Soviet actor Nikolay Cherkasov as Prince Alexander Nevski, in the eponymous film by Sergei Eisenstein (1938)

The room was noisy with boys and girls about my age, undoubtedly forced to be there with their teachers by the extra-curricular activities' policies of their schools. Trying to make myself even smaller than I was, and with my heart beating too fast, I managed to find a seat removed as far as possible from the howling teenage pack.

Finally, the lights started to dim, and my heartbeat settled down. A man came in, and asked me if the seat on my left was unoccupied. He looked in his early thirties, although he could have been younger, or older, I was still an age when I divided the world in kids and dinosaurs. He was wearing a smart three-piece suit under a camel coat. He was handsome, and his longish, well cut, soft dark brown hair made him look like a 19th-century Romantic poet. He thanked me and sat down.

The Mole Antonelliana in Turin, Italy, with the Alps on the background, in a rare moment when they're not hidden by smog

The opening credits started to roll. The movie depicts the attempted invasion of the Northern Russian city of Novgorod in 1242 by the formidable Teutonic Knights of the Holy Roman Empire, and how Prince Alexander – known as Alexander Nevsky from a previous, victorious battle against the Swedes on the Neva river (the same river which flows through Saint Petersburg, founded later at its mouth in 1703) – defeated them in an epic battle on the iced waters of Lake Peipus. I was reading the subtitles, feeling elated when I could grasp a word or two from the dialogue in Russian which, at the time, were probably just Da and Nyet.

I was sitting with my coat folded upon my knees. I felt my left knee itching. I adjusted myself on the seat, smoothing the hem of my skirt. My knee started itching again, as if a spider were tapping around it. I realized what was happening. I wouldn't dare to look at my left. The man's hand crawled towards my thigh. The blood felt like ice in my veins, and my head filled up with panicked thoughts: What do I do now? Should I leave? Should I cry for help?

None seemed like a viable proposition. I didn't want to make a fuss, because I knew that no one would have believed me. By that point, I had internalized the bullying “discourse” so much I could play a script of “Yeah, right, in your dreams!”, “Oh, a handsome man touching you, you wish, uggo!”, and so on and on.

After the initial “freeze” moment, when the brain assesses what to do (stop, look, and listen), and seeing that I wasn't going to flee the scene because I wasn't the one in the wrong, I decided I had to fight back, inspired by the brave Prince Alexander.

Vladimir Yershov as the wicked knight Hermann von Balk, Grand Master of the Teutonic Order, in Alexander Nevsky

I was wearing a stainless steel wristwatch. Holding my breath, I managed to remove it. The buckle extender on the band had a slightly sharp edge. Clutching the watch with my left hand, I raised it and landed it with all my strength on the man's hand under my skirt. I heard a hushed gasp. That poor excuse of a man, let's call him Mr. Perv McPervyface, stood up from his seat and left the room in the dark.

For the first time in my life, I felt a sense of control. I was acting, not being acted. I could defend myself, I had a right to do so, and a duty as well, but the important thing was that I could and I did.

I enjoyed the movie till the end, singing in my heart along with the splendid, rousing score by Sergei Prokofiev, then I indulged my nerdy side (all my sides are nerdy, actually) visiting the exhibition. On my way home, I browsed all the Parisian-like bouquinistes' stands on the portico-lined streets, and bought a couple of books. I remember that day as one of the bright moments of my life.

I didn't tell anyone about what had happened for decades, what would have been the point? When, some 20 years later, I told my father this story, he said: “You've always had such a violent streak!” “WTAF, dad, way to mistake the finger for the moon! Are you even listening to yourself? How am I the villain here? What about him, the guilty part, the pedo? Should I have told him: ‘Kind sir, I'm ever so flattered by your polite – if unrequested – attention. Here, let me remove my garments, so that you can fondle underage me with the utmost comfort and ease. I wish you a merry ride!’”

So, you see, if that was all the sympathy and support my own father had managed to muster for me, the victim, I think I was right to keep schtum.

Since forever, too many little children have had to endure sexual harassment, and no one believed them. I was lucky, in that I wasn't alone on the streets at night, and that scoundrel was clever enough to leave before getting himself into trouble. But he got away that time, and who knows how many other girls he got to terrorize and pester, and went unpunished. For me, that wasn't even the first time, or the last one, that I met a pedophile (and they never looked like weirdos, quite the opposite, in fact), and I've heard too many similar stories in my life.

Those child molesters, those bullies are just cowards. They prey on the vulnerable and the weak. I hope there is a special place in Hell for them, and I volunteer for a round of harsh but fair punishment, involving anal probes. Well, maybe dad's right after all, I do have a violent streak. But that's what Alexander says, at the end of film: “Whoever will come to us with a sword, from a sword will perish.” Don't you say I didn't warn you.

Watch Alexander Nevski with English subtitles on Mosfilm YouTube channel:

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