“The spirits of his ancestors guide him,” Edeiko explained.
At last one path was chosen. I was surprised to see a woman mounted on a reindeer take her place at the head of the procession.
It was an amazing sight, the woman followed by the shaman and finally the rest of us mounted on reindeer. Trailing the procession were sleighlike carts cleverly fashioned of birch bark and hide. Each cart was drawn by a team of six reindeer. At the very end of the procession came the herders with hundreds of reindeer.
We made few stops, and those only for a moment or two. Food was a handful of dried currants or a twist of dried reindeer meat eaten on the trail.
I was mounted on a reindeer with Tadibe, who was getting used to me now and who chattered on, not caring that I could not understand her. Tadibe took pleasure in everything around her and could not bear to wait until we knew one another’s language to share her delight. By the day’s end I knew the Samoyed words for tree, water, river, sun, reindeer, and sore bottom, while Tadibe had learned the same words in Russian.
In the evening everything repeated itself backward. The women put up the tents and the men looked after the herd. While Georgi and the shaman were busy with the globe, Tadibe and I joined some of the children gathering wood for the fire. By the time we had accumulated a stack of wood, the men had butchered a reindeer. I followed Tadibe to the animal, which had been skinned and cut into joints. To one side were the reindeer’s intestines. I quickly looked away, but when I looked back I was horrified to see Tadibe and several women emptying the contents of the intestines, which were not what I feared they would be but a kind of green mess that looked like half-digested plants. The women added reindeer blood and fat and stirred the mess into a pudding. The loathsome mixture was hung in a skin over the fire to smoke. With much oohing and aahing, the pudding was sliced and handed around along with the meat. Georgi, who had not seen its preparation, took a large slice. He smiled and nodded his head. The shaman looked on approvingly. I said nothing to Georgi, a small revenge for his shameless showing off the day before.
Toward the end of the meal, the shaman called us over and handed Georgi and me each a round black object he had plucked from the edge of the fire. He presented them to us as if they were great delicacies, and I heard all around us little gasps of approval. Georgi popped his into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed, looking only a little puzzled. I did the same. There was not much flavor to the morsel. It was chewy, almost fighting back when I bit on it. At last I got it down.
“What is it?” I asked Tadibe. She guessed what I was asking and pointed first to what was left of the reindeer and then to her eyes. At first I thought she was saying, “Can’t you see? It’s a part of the beast.” But Edeiko, who was watching us, smiled and said, “The shaman has given you the choicest bits, the reineer’s eyeballs. He has bestowed a great honor on you and your brother.”
I wanted to throw up, but I managed a sickly smile and kept my mouth tightly shut. Georgi did not mind at all. He grinned and looked around as if he wanted a second helping.
CHAPTER TEN
THE GOVERNMENT MAN
Each day the reindeer took us farther north; each day we were closer to Mama. I had seven new pieces of twig in my pocket and many new words, for Tadibe and I were becoming fast friends, chattering back and forth, first in her language and then in mine. She gave me a fine shift of reindeer hide to replace my worn dress and braided my hair for me. She even gave me a scarf to tie on my head so that I would look like her. We seldom stopped talking, for we were eager to know each other’s language so we could learn about each other’s worlds.
It was the time of year that the reindeer had their fawns. Tadibe and I loved to watch the spindly-legged fawns trot after their mothers. When the tribe rested, the fawns would eagerly nurse and then curl up against their mothers and fall asleep.
One night Tadibe nudged me awake, motioning me to follow her out of the tent. The heavens were on fire. Streaks of orange and red raked the sky. The colors played a kind of tag, shifting first here and then there. To keep our heads from snapping off our necks, Tadibe and I lay on the ground, the better to watch. I had heard of the northern lights, and I supposed there was some scientific explanation for them. I liked Tadibe’s better. She said the Samoyed word for embroidery and pointed to the stripes of colors that flashed across the sky. She was saying that the gods were decorating the sky. I longed for my paints, yet I knew my little daubs of color would be as a few raindrops were to a flood.
We had been with the Samoyeds a week when I awoke in the morning to excited shouts. A moment later Tadibe was shaking me. She called out a single word that I had never heard before. I saw the tent was empty apart from Tadibe and me. I sprang up, pulled on my boots, and ran with Tadibe out of the tent opening.
The moment I stepped outside, I was lost. A fog had crept in from the river and settled like a veil over the land. Everything had disappeared: the tents, Tadibe, and the people whose worried voices I could hear.
“Tadibe,” I called, “where are you?” I felt a hand on my arm. She spoke the word for reindeer, which I understood, and then in a frightened voice another word that I did not understand until the desperate voices of the men came to me from first one place and then another, close and then far, and then close again, as they were calling the reindeer. Loudest of all the voices was the voice of the shaman, who half shouted, half chanted words that seemed to be at once a desperate plea and an angry scolding. It was as if he were angry at his gods but also begging for their help.
At last I understood. The reindeer were lost in the fog. When I heard Edeiko’s voice nearby, I called to him. He had no time for me, merely telling me that the reindeer must be found before they were lost forever.
There was no food that morning, no taking up of tents and riding on. There were only the plaintive calls of the men, often from a great distance as they ran helplessly about in the fog searching for the herd.
Georgi was anxious to follow the men, but much to his disgust I made him stay close to me. I could not bear to think of my brother swallowed up by the thick emptiness of the fog.
It was noon before the fog began to lift. Little bits of our world were given back—a piece of tent, a pair of boots, the trunk of a tree, and at last a scrap of sky.
The men and many of the women were gone. Only the older women and the children remained. As the women and children became visible, I saw the fear on their faces. I knew the survival of the tribe depended on the reindeer. The reindeer gave them food and clothes and the coverings for their tents. I had watched the women sewing with the sinews of the reindeer. The antlers of the reindeer became buttons and handles. The sale of a part of the herd brought the only money the Samoyeds had.
I was so caught up in what was happening, I hardly listened to Georgi, who was mumbling something to me. When I turned to him, I heard him say, “I gave the shaman my globe. Edeiko said the shaman needed it to find the reindeer.” There was a worried look on Georgi’s face. I thought he was fearful that the globe would be lost. But it wasn’t that.
“Marya,” he said in a frightened voice, “what if my globe doesn’t work?”
Alarmed, I asked, “What do you mean, Georgi?”
“I mean, what if the little cottage doesn’t find the reindeer?”
I saw that the shaman’s regard for the globe had convinced Georgi that it really had magic powers.
“Georgi, that’s nonsense. The shaman only thinks that because he has never before seen anything like the globe.”
Angrily Georgi said, “That’s not true! It is magic.”
With that he stamped off. If he truly believed the globe was magic, how would I get him to leave it when the time came to escape from the Samoyeds? It was true the shaman allowed Georgi to hold it, but the shaman never let Georgi out of his sight unless the shaman had possession of the globe.
There was no time to think of what I might do, for we heard men shouting in the distance. Edeiko and the sh
aman appeared out of the forest, and behind them first one and then ten and then a hundred reindeer came straggling into camp, trailed by the herders urging them on. We all ran to meet them, the women calling out noisily, the children dancing about. In his hands the shaman held the globe.
Georgi gave me a triumphant look. “I told you it was magic,” he said. “I told you so.”
My heart sank. I did not see how I would ever separate either the shaman or Georgi from the globe.
Still, I rejoiced at the herd’s return, not only because it meant we could resume our march northward to Mama, but also because by now I had made many friends, and the troubles of the Samoyeds had become my troubles. I felt a part of the tribe. I no longer stood about but gathered firewood, knowing which branches burned well and which ones smoldered and smoked. While I still could not bring myself to eat the mess, I could mix a pudding of half-digested grass with just the right amount of blood and fat. I knew how to lay the reindeer hides across the tent poles and make neat rolls of the hides when we packed the carts to move on.
I was comfortable on the back of a reindeer and even had my favorite, which carried Tadibe and me. I was sure by her snuffling noise and the toss of her head that our reindeer recognized me when I strolled among the herd.
As Tadibe and I chattered, first in her language and then in mine, I learned there was a young herder whom she hoped to marry. When she married, she would receive her own reindeer. Those reindeer would breed, and one day she would own a small herd. It was the first time I realized that some of the reindeer belonged to the women.
Together we picked wild cloudberries and blueberries and hunted for mushrooms. When their work was done, the women spent the summer evenings sewing, thankful for the white nights. When winter came, there would be no light for such work. Tadibe was clever with embroidery, and her boots and dresses were richly colored and thick with her handiwork. These skills, I learned, would get her a good husband. Tadibe taught me how to embroider. Though at first I was clumsy and my work crude, Tadibe never made fun of it but patiently showed me how to improve. After a bit I began to think it a lot like my painting. The needle was my brush and the colored threads my paint.
Georgi, too, found his place in the tribe. Language made no difference in his friendship with the other boys his age. They played at lassoing one another, pretending they were reindeer, or if we were near the river, they would fish together. With his deeply tanned round face and black hair, you could hardly tell Georgi from the Samoyed children.
The old shaman loved to tell Georgi stories, which Edeiko translated. The shaman taught Georgi how to fish in the best spots and how to choose the best path for the reindeer. Each morning the shaman would take Georgi by the hand and, along with two or three of the herders, would walk a bit one way and then another. At last one path would be chosen over the other, and the shaman would explain the reason for the choice to Georgi. Georgi would nod his head wisely, as if he had known all along this was the path wide enough for the herd to pass through, with a patch of good grazing at its end.
The reindeer traveled along with us in a loose way, straggling here and there. When I questioned this, Edeiko explained, “The reindeer like their freedom. If you pen them up or make them travel in a tight pack, they became unhappy and will not eat well.” When I heard how much the reindeer valued their independence, I liked them even better. Still, the herders had to be watchful. If any of the herd came upon wild reindeer, they were likely to join them and wander away. In the winter months, when the Samoyeds began their travels to the south, the reindeer would be fat and clumsy from all the summer grazing. Then the tribe always traveled close to the river. If the reindeer were attacked by wolves, they could escape into the water.
The third week we reached the tundra. The land was like a drawing that had been erased. There was nothing but moss and lichen and tall grasses. What trees there were, dwarf willow and birch, were stunted, growing into twisted shapes. The reindeer gorged from morning to night on the mosses and lichens and grasses.
When Georgi asked Edeiko where all the trees had gone, Edeiko drove a stick into the ground. He showed us that only a few inches down there was ice, ice like a cold hand that clutched at the roots of whatever dared stretch into its killing surface.
Because of the ice, the tent poles would not stick into the ground without much hammering, and you could feel the chill of the ice beneath your feet. Without trees the sun beat down upon us, and the mosquitoes were fierce, but the Samoyeds were happy. The lichens and mosses were what they had traveled for. This was where the herds of reindeer fattened, and that fat would help them survive the cruel Siberian winter.
I was happy too, for when I looked on the map, though I could not find exactly where we were, I saw that Dudinka was near the Arctic Circle, and I began to plan our escape.
It was the last day of July when the man with the little leather case visited the tribe. The day before, Edeiko had gone into a town to barter two reindeer for iron kettles and knives. He must have been seen by the authorities, for one of the Samoyeds ran up to the shaman to report that a government man and two soldiers could be seen in the distance approaching the tribe. Tadibe began to cry.
“Why are you crying?” I asked. “What will the man do?”
“Children away” was all I could understand through Tadibe’s sobs. The other children were crying as well. Mothers clutched their young to them, wailing at the news of the man’s coming. The shaman looked very angry.
I tried to find out from Edeiko what was happening.
“They have come to take the children. There is a law that all Samoyed children of school age must learn the Russian language. Our children will be sent far away to school. We will not see them for years. It has happened that way to other tribes.”
“If they spoke Russian,” I asked, “would they be taken?”
“No, no, but they speak no Russian, only the few words you have taught Tadibe.”
“You must quickly hide the children,” I said. “Send them out beyond the hills. Georgi and I will be your children.” I arranged my scarf to cover my blond hair. From being outside all summer, my face was as brown as Tadibe’s.
After a moment of thought Edeiko approached the shaman. There was a quick, loud discussion. Edeiko returned, looking worried.
“The shaman says you will tell your story to the men so that you can escape. Such a plan will only bring more trouble to us. We must hide you.”
I dared to go to the shaman. “Tell him,” I ordered Edeiko, “that he has my solemn promise that Georgi and I will not betray him. It’s your only chance. Tell him I’m doing it for Tadibe.”
The shaman frowned, but after a long moment he had all the school-aged children pulled from their mothers’ arms and sent toward the hills. Only Tadibe remained. “I speak Russian now,” she insisted.
I gave Edeiko a worried look. Before he could decide what to do, a man with a thin leather suitcase appeared, followed by two armed soldiers. They strode past the terrified men and women and approached the shaman. The man introduced himself as Comrade Boris. Edeiko translated the comrade’s imperious demand to see the children.
Tadibe, Georgi, and I were pushed forward. I was sure Georgi and I, with our tanned faces and our boots and clothes of reindeer hide, would pass as children of the tribe.
The man looked about at the babies and toddlers and then at us. “Surely these are not all the school-aged children?” he asked.
Edeiko said, “There was an epidemic of fever, and we lost many of our children. Others were taken by the government in years past.”
Comrade Boris looked uncertain. At last he said, “Then we must take these three. They will be taught Russian. Stalin has ordered that everyone in this country must speak Russian so that our country can march forward.”
“We do speak Russian,” I said, coming up behind him.
Startled, the man spun around. “What! Where did you learn Russian?”
I pointed to Edeiko.
“He taught us.”
“You”—he pointed at Georgi—“what words do you know in Russian?”
“I know all the words,” Georgi said. “I had them in spelling.”
I stepped in front of Georgi to cut him off before he could mention his school. “Edeiko taught us spelling and writing as well,” I said.
“And you.” He prodded Tadibe. “Let me hear you speak Russian.”
I held my breath. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,” Tadibe recited. That morning I had taught her to count.
The comrade took three pieces of paper from his case and three pencils. “You will write what I tell you,” he said.
Hastily Edeiko pointed to Tadibe. “This one has been blind from birth. She talks but she does not see to write.”
The man gave Tadibe an uncertain look but only said to Georgi and me, “Write down, ‘Stalin is our great father.’”
I saw that Georgi was about to say something. In a firm voice I ordered, “Write what the man says at once, Georgi.”
“‘Stalin is our great father who loves and protects his people.’”
Georgi glowered at me. Like Georgi, everything inside me wanted to shout that Stalin was a cruel and evil man who had taken away our parents and now wished to take away Tadibe and the other children.
“Write, Georgi,” I ordered. I began to write as well. If I could save Tadibe and the other children, I didn’t care that I was writing lies.
The man watched closely as we put the words down.
Georgi looked up. “We didn’t have the word protect. It’s not fair to give me that word.”
“Hush, Georgi,” I begged. “Sound it out.” I pronounced the word carefully.