Russian Amerika ra-1

by Stoney Compton

  They all stood around looking at each other as the people in the room sorted themselves out. Their number stayed at thirteen.

  “I’m Waterman Stoddard,” the man in moose hide declared. “I want to be your delegate.”

  “Why?” Gnady asked, surprising himself.

  “I’ve been to university, I know how to talk to politicians no matter where they’re from.”

  “But how do you feel?” Gnady asked. “Why do you want this, because you can talk? Who can’t?”

  “Feel about what?” Clara Oldsquaw asked.

  “About this new government, about the old government!” Gnady threw his hands up. “If you think it’s worth fighting the Czar, and for what? What do want to have happen when this is over? We know people by what they believe. So what does he believe?”

  “Gnady’s right,” Clarence Oldsquaw said in his slow way.

  Gnady completely ignored Clarence, as was his custom. “And where do you live and how long have you lived there?” He stared at Waterman Stoddard. “I sure ain’t never seen you before now.”

  “I’ve lived outside Eagle for about five years. I’m from down in the Confederacy, originally.”

  “The what?” Clara asked.

  “The Confederate States of America. They’re just south of the United States and east of the Republic of Texas.”

  “Never heard of none of ’em,” Clarence said, staring at the floor in a thoughtful manner.

  “I know where they’re at,” Gnady said. “You come a long ways, Mr. Waterman Stoddard. Why?”

  “No room down there for someone with an itch to be their own person and not bend into what’s expected of you. I’d do a good job for y’all, and that’s a promise.”

  “How do you make your bread? What is your work?”

  “I hunt, trap, and fish. Never been hungry nor naked, want for naught.”

  “There is a problem, however,” Gnady said quietly.

  “Problem? What problem?”

  “I, Gnady Ustinov, wish to be delegate.” Stoddard opened his mouth but Gnady hurried on. “I am a property owner from Old Crow, where I was born. I have four years of Father Petroska’s school so I can read, write, and cypher. I own the only store in town and everyone knows I do not cheat them.”

  Heads nodded within their small circle. Shouts echoed through the spacious room from larger, more divided groups. Gnady hoped these people liked him, which was something he had never before considered.

  “So why do you have a Russian name?” Stoddard asked.

  “My father was Russian, my mother is Dená. Many of our people have Russian blood, and English, and French, and Eskimo, and Tlingit… even Yankee and Rebel blood. I was born in fish camp in the middle of the dog salmon run.”

  “Why do you want to be delegate?” Stoddard asked, continuing to work his mouth after he finished speaking.

  “Who knows what these downriver people will demand of us? We need a delegate who can see things as they are, not what might be.”

  “But if you don’t have a glimpse of the future, aren’t you stuck in the past?” Stoddard’s eyes seemed lit from within. “This is all about the future. That’s what y’all have to realize. We have a chance here to make something none of us have ever seen: a representative government that listens to our needs.” The hunter chewed his invisible cud for a few heartbeats. “We need a delegate with vision, not just fear.”

  “That is easy for you to say,” Gnady snapped, more stung than he wished to admit. “You have nothing to lose, no family to consider. Be a radical on your own account.”

  Catherine Alexander spoke for the first time. “Enough. We are to pick two people out loud and vote for one in silence. The rest of us have heard you both.” She glanced at the others. “I nominate both you.”

  “So now what?” Clara asked.

  “Somebody has to second the nominations,” Waterman said.

  Incomprehension stared at him from all eyes.

  “Somebody has to agree out loud with her.”

  Gnady wondered if Waterman’s obvious knowledge about how this meeting worked would take votes away from him. He nudged Clarence.

  “Sure! I agree with her,” the old man said and lapsed back into silence.

  “Okay.” Waterman looked around. Picked up a piece of paper off the table. “You write down who you want to be delegate on a piece of paper and then put the paper in here.” He tapped a birch bark basket next to the stack of paper and box of heavy Russian pencils.

  “What if I can’t write?” Clara asked.

  “Not a problem,” Gnady said instantly, again surprising himself. “Mr. Stoddard and I will make little pictures for you. If you want to vote for me, you make an x beside my little picture, if you wish to vote for him, you put your mark next to his.”

  “What kind of little picture?” Soloman Dundas asked.

  “Well, Mr. Stoddard hunts and fishes for a living, so I’ll draw this little fish picture for him.” Gnady looked into Stoddard’s eyes. “That work for you?”

  “Sure. What you gonna use for yours?”

  “How about a pipe, the kind you smoke?” he quickly drew a simple outline. “Like that.”

  “I like this way,” Soloman said. “It ain’t confusing or nothing.”

  “I’ll make thirteen ballots and we can get on with it.” Gnady sketched them out quickly. There was a part of him that had yearned to create art, but he didn’t know where to begin, so he ignored the tiny voice.

  “There, one for each of us.” He picked up a square of paper and walked over to a windowsill where he could brace the paper so only he could see it. Carefully, he put an X in front of the pipe.

  Three other ballots already lay in the basket when he dropped his on top. He rubbed his hands together and, feeling self-conscious, moved over and leaned against the wall. He hadn’t been this nervous when he asked Tatania to marry him. But, he thought wryly, she had been pregnant at the time and he would have been amazed if she’d turned him down.

  He wiped sweat from his forehead as he looked around. Nobody here was pregnant.

  “Who’s gonna count them up?” Clara speaks louder than she needs to, Gnady thought, wondering if her hearing was deteriorating.

  Catherine Alexander said, “Let’s you and me do it, Clara.”

  Waterman Stoddard wiped his large forehead and leaned against the wall next to Gnady. “If I win, I want you to help me do what I need to do,” he said so only Gnady could hear. “If you win I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

  Gnady held out his hand. “Done.”

  They shook.

  Catherine looked up from the two small piles of paper. “Mr. Stoddard, I’m sorry, but you didn’t win.”

  Gnady’s spirit soared upward from the abrupt dip it made when she first called Stoddard’s name. One glance at his opponent told him Stoddard had just made the same trip in reverse. They both glared at her.

  “But you only lost by one vote.” She fanned the ballots out on the small table. “Everybody can see for themselves.”

  Gnady surveyed the room. Other winners and losers were being declared. Some of the winners looked more dejected than did the losers.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Delegate,” Waterman shook his hand. “I meant what I said. If I can help.”

  “Between us,” Gnady said, “we know a great deal. I would that you help me watch them”—he nodded toward the noisy room—“to make sure our people are not meanly used.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me.” Waterman moved off through the crowd.

  A bell rang and the room went silent.

  “Would the delegates please come up here by me?” Chandalar called out.

  Gnady felt many eyes on him and wondered if the other delegates felt as embarrassed as he did.

  He found himself in the middle of the line. It felt as though a thousand people crowded the room, staring at them.

  “This can stop anytime soon,” a woman next to him muttered.

&n
bsp; “From my right, over here, please introduce yourselves to the People.” Chandalar made it sound like an order.

  “I’m Blue Bostonman,” the large woman said. “From Aniak.” Gnady could see that she would be a difficult customer if she felt the goods were shoddy.

  “Fredrik Seetamoona, from Elim.”

  “Ain’t that an Eskimo name?” someone shouted from the crowd.

  “My dad was Yu’pik, but my mom was Dená. How many of you are Dená and nothing else?”

  Gnady liked Fredrik’s sand.

  “I’m Paul Eluska, from Kokrines, and my granny was Eskimo from up at Anaktuvuk Pass.” He nodded at Fredrik. “Hell, me ’n’ him are probably cousins.”

  The crowd laughed and the tension in the room, which Gnady hadn’t realized existed, broke.

  “Eleanor Wright from Nulato.” She tossed her head and the long, blackshot-with-silver hair fanned briefly behind her stocky body. Her eyes defied one and all to cross her.

  “My name is Claude Adams,” the small, slightly built man said. As he looked around at the crowd, light flashed off his spectacles. He spoke in a soft voice and Gnady knew this one was smarter than himself. “I am from Holy Cross and am part Russian, Eskimo, Aleut, Yankee, and Dená. I don’t how much of which, but it doesn’t matter because I am here tonight.”

  Applause seemed to burst from the air.

  The bell rang again.

  “We have much to do,” Chandalar said. “Next.”

  “I am Nicole Grey from Tanana. I will do the best I can.”

  Gnady had seen her before, but not in Tanana. He couldn’t remember where it was, but he remembered she had the situation well in hand. It gnawed at him. Then he realized he stood next to her and all were waiting for him to speak.

  “I am Gnady Ustinov from Old Crow. My grandfather was a promyshlennik who built an odinochka and settled down. The rest of my family is Dená and I was named for my grandfather. I own a trading post in Old Crow.”

  He stopped and allowed himself to breathe, waiting for someone to object to his presence. The crowd now stared at the man next to him. He smiled; everybody on the Yukon knew Andrew.

  “I am Andrew Isaac of the Dot Lake Dená. My male ancestors probably slipped into a lot of strange beds, but I’m all Athabascan as far as I know.”

  The laughter and applause died quickly.

  “Anna Samuel from Fort Yukon.” She possessed extraordinary beauty and yet had to be in her middle-to-late years. She exuded self-possession.

  “I am Alexandr Titus from Minto. We got Russian blood in the family, and pretty near every other kind, too. I got cousins in every village in Dená

  country. I’m proud to be here.”

  “Joanne Kaiser, I have a small lodge in St. Anthony. I always give full value and I’ve never let anyone go away hungry. My mother was from the Republic of California and my dad was a Russian-Dená soldier. But I’m here to help.”

  “Kurt Bachmann, from Klahotsa.” The large man glowered at them all, made sure nobody else was speaking before he again opened his mouth. “I’m here to protect what is mine, what I have earned. I suspect what we just did is illegal, even treasonous, and I’m going to make sure everything follows the letter of the Czar’s law.”

  “Mr. Bachmann”—Chan’s voice sounded cold enough to shatter—“this is a revolution. We no longer wish to follow the Czar’s laws and the purpose of this body is to successfully throw off the Russian yoke. Do you understand that?”

  “So who’s gonna run things, make the rules, enforce what laws?”

  “We’re working on it. But there is no way we can allow anyone loyal to the Czar to remain in this room. You either swear to serve the Dená People above all others, to fight their enemies, and defend their borders, or you leave now.”

  “I’m not a Dená, but I live here, I own a business, I serve as leader in my village. What you just asked me to swear allegiance to is everything I believe in, but why are we fighting the Czar?”

  “You’re in the fight, Mr. Bachmann, either on our side or the Czar’s. Which is it?”

  “I’m with you, of course, you’ve got me surrounded.” He laughed and looked around at the others. Nobody laughed with him.

  “Would the next delegate please introduce himself?”

  “Joshua Golovin,” the big man said, looking over at Bachmann. “Chena Redoubt, where the Russians treat you like moose shit. I need help to show them the error of their ways.”

  “I am Wing Demoski, from Beaver, I used to teach school with my husband until Cossacks killed him and thought they killed me. Soon after, I joined the DSM and killed all three of the animals who took my old life. I have been killing the Czar’s Cossacks and promyshlenniks ever since. I believe in the Dená Republik!”

  Everyone in the room applauded.

  Gnady felt a thrill of pure pleasure when the last delegate spoke.

  “I am Ambrose Ambrose from the village of Nabesna, on the Nabesna River. We’re all related to everyone in Northway, just across the river.”

  “I thank everyone for their participation,” Chandalar said in a loud voice, “and now ask all but the delegates to leave the building. We have much to do.”

  “We can’t watch?” an old man asked in a querulous tone.

  “I’m sorry.” Chandalar’s voice seemed made of stone. “But since we don’t know everyone, we can’t let anyone not on the council or their immediate advisors sit in and listen. We will make reports at the end of each day. Thank you all for understanding.”

  Gnady waved Waterman Stoddard over. “You’re my advisor, okay?”

  “Thanks. But let’s call me chief of advisors, that way we can get more people in here.”

  Chandalar’s voice boomed out, “Delegates, introduce your advisors if they exist.”

  Questions raised about the definition of “advisor” were quickly answered. During the quick debate more than one person yawned.

  “We have a growing army,” Chandalar said. “We need a general to run it. If there is anyone you know who can do a better job than Slayer-of-Men, I want to hear about it right now.”

  Slayer-of-Men was known the length and breadth of the Yukon and Kuskokwim Rivers. He had visited every village, every odinochka, every squalid “Indian town” clustered at the edge of the redoubts. Wherever he went, he insulted those who looked at the world differently, and recruited every malcontent he met.

  His brother, Malagni, even more fearsome and far less diplomatic, always accompanied him. When they visited Old Crow, the thought had crossed Gnady’s mind that these two didn’t need anyone else, they were an army. Gnady couldn’t offer an alternative.

  It seemed no one could.

  “Therefore we declare Slayer-of-Men the General of the Dená Army,” Chandalar said in his best hard voice. “All in favor, say ‘aye.’”

  Gnady truly thought every person in the room said, “Aye.”

  “All opposed, say ‘Nay.’”

  “Nay,” said Stoddard and Bachmann.

  Chandalar glared at Stoddard. “Only delegates may vote!”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  Nathan Roubitaux was elected Minister for War. Then the real work began.

  “You there in the second row, do you have a question?” First Speaker Chandalar asked.

  Gnady took a deep breath, glanced once at Bachmann, then said, “Yes, I have questions. If we win this war, what then? Who will take the place of the Czar for us? What kind of government are we going to have in a Dená

  Republic?”

  Chandalar looked blank for far too long before answering.

  “Those are very good questions, Gnady. Well, once the war is won we will convene a committee to write a constitution. Every village in the Dená

  Republic will select and send a delegate and those delegates will comprise that committee.”

  “What’s to keep us, the council, I mean, from just taking over and running things from here on out?”

  “Our word that we won�
��t.” Chan let his gaze move over everyone in the room. “Our People put us around this table for a reason. We’re fighting a war against the Czar for our independence. When we have won that war, and we will, this council will disband and go home.”

  Nicole Grey stood up. “So who’s going to make all the arrangements for this constitution meeting? Where’s it going to be?”

  “What we have now is called a provisional government,” Chandalar said.

  “That government will run the Dená Republic until a new government is formed. I will remain as First Speaker until a new one is elected under the provisions of our new constitution.”

  Nathan stood and waited for the room to quiet. “What we have here is something between an experiment and destiny. There are no rules yet, we have to make them together.”

  The first War Council convened. Only the council members and key officials were allowed inside the room.

  Grisha sat behind Wing—he had accepted her invitation to be her advisor. The fourteen men and women around the long table chatted for a half hour in an effort to get to know each other better.

  Finally they debated what action to take first.

  “We have to neutralize their air force or we’re done before we start,” Minto’s Alexandr Titus said.

  “They got a lot of planes over here, too,” another added.

  “For those of you who don’t know,” Nathan said, “we have generous allies who have already provided us military aid. Without their Kalashnikovs the fight at Toklat could have ended very differently. We have also received three antiaircraft batteries. What we need to do is ambush their air force.”

  “What do our ‘generous allies’ expect in return for their military aid?” Eleanor Wright, the Nulato delegate asked.

  “There has been nothing asked in return to my knowledge,” Nathan said; his voice level had risen and all registered his discomfort.

  “Eleanor raises a good point,” Andrew Isaac, the Dot Lake chief said.

  “Why would they risk the Czar’s wrath for nothing?”

  “Perhaps they have other differences with the Czar,” Nathan said. His voice had leveled out and he sounded almost disinterested.