by Chi Zijian
He was very sweet on Lena and each time he came into the mountains he brought something just for her, like an engraved copper bracelet or a tiny wooden comb. He loved to hold Lena’s delicate hands, sigh and ask: ‘When will Lena grow up into a big unaaji?’
And I’d reply: ‘Lena is already a big unaaji. I’m the little unaaji!’ And Rolinsky would whistle in my direction as if teasing a little bird.
Rolinsky lived in Jurgang where the Russian merchants gathered. He had travelled to many places like Bukuyi, Jalannér and Hailar on business. Just mention shops like Yushenggong and Jinyintang in Bukuyi or the Ganjur Temple Fair in Hailar, and Rolinsky’s eyes would sparkle, as if the loveliest sights on the earth were to be found in these emporiums and fairs.
He liked to bare his arms whenever he drank his fill, and then you could see the tattoo on his shoulder: a coiled snake, greenish, with head cocked. Father said Rolinsky must be a bandit on the run from Russia. Otherwise, why would he have a tattoo on his body?
Nora and I loved to look at that green snake and we treated it like a real one. We touched it, withdrew our hands and ran away as if it might actually bite us.
‘I don’t have a woman with me now,’ he said once, ‘so this snake is my woman. In the cold winter it gives off heat, and in the hot summer, it exudes cool air.’ The men who had women all laughed. But Nidu the Shaman frowned and left the noisy gathering.
Whenever Rolinsky came, no matter what the season, we always lit a bonfire at night and danced the ‘Uubchu’. At the beginning, the women held hands and circled the bonfire, while the men joined hands to form a circle surrounding them. The women danced to the right and the men to the left. This simultaneous rotation to the left and the right seemed to set the bonfire gyrating too. The women yelled ‘Gey!’ and the men shouted ‘Gu!’, and soon shouts of ‘Geygu! Geygu!’ echoed like swans flying over a lake.
Mother said that long ago our ancestors were sent to guard the border. One day, enemy troops surrounded the outnumbered Evenki soldiers who had depleted their provisions. Suddenly, a powerful wave of cries of ‘Geygu! Geygu!’ was carried to them on the wind – a flock of swans flying past! Mistaking the birdcalls for the arrival of Evenki reinforcements, the enemy troops retreated. To commemorate being saved by the swans, our people invented the ‘Swan Dance’, the Uubchu.
Since Nidu the Shaman rarely danced and lame Dashi couldn’t take part, the men in the outer circle danced with outstretched arms to keep the women within the inner circle. But as they danced and danced, the women gradually moved into the outer circle, and in the end they all formed one large circle. Everyone held hands, dancing until the bonfire dimmed and the stars dimmed too, and only then did they retire to their shirangju for sleep.
Mother loved to dance, but she couldn’t sleep afterwards. On those nights I’d often hear her whispering to Father. ‘Linke, Linke, my head’s awash in cold water. I can’t get to sleep.’ He wouldn’t say anything, but he’d give her the gift of the wind-sounds to which I had become accustomed, and then Tamara would fall asleep.
Each time Rolinsky left the camp, he always gave Lena a kiss, which made Nora and me infinitely jealous. Normally I played with Lena, but when Rolinsky came, I took Nora as my playmate. As soon as he left, I abandoned Nora again, because Lena always gave me the things that Rolinsky had brought for her. I lost the bracelet and bent the comb he gave her, but Lena never complained.
As for which goods and how many to barter, it was Nidu the Shaman who had the last word. He based his decision on the goods brought by the anda. If he brought fewer things, then naturally he was given somewhat inferior pelts. Unlike other anda, Rolinsky didn’t examine the quality of the fur on the pelts one by one and pick fault with them. He just rolled them up and fixed them on his horse’s back.
Even though Nidu the Shaman wasn’t so accustomed to the fun-loving ambience that Rolinsky brought with him, he often praised him in his role as an anda. He must have seen hard times, said Nidu the Shaman, or he wouldn’t be so kind-hearted. But we didn’t know his past. He simply mentioned he had herded horses when young, and not only had he known hunger, he had known the sting of a whip. Just who had let him go hungry and who had used a whip on him, only he knew.
October to November was the best season for hunting squirrels. And once the squirrels in one locale were hunted, we’d move on to another site. So we changed places every three or four days during this period.
With their big fluffy tails cocked and patches of long black fur sprouting next to their tiny ears, squirrels are very sweet. They’re nimble and love to hop between tree branches. Their grey-black fur is very soft and fine, and it makes very durable collars and cuffs. Anda are very keen to barter for squirrel pelts.
Women also take part in squirrel hunting. Set a charka – a trap with a small clamp – where they range and when one passes over it, the trap will clench the squirrel. Lena and I loved to lay the traps with Mother.
Squirrels like to store away foodstuffs for winter and they especially love mushrooms. If there are a lot of mushrooms in the autumn, they gather them and hang them from tree branches. Those withered mushrooms look just like frost-covered blossoms, and you can use them to estimate the snowfall in the coming winter. If there will be a lot of snow, the squirrels hang the mushrooms from higher branches; but if the snowfall will be lighter, they hang them lower down.
If we can’t find squirrel tracks in the snow when squirrel hunting, then we look for mushrooms among the branches. And if we can’t find any mushrooms there, then we relocate to the pine forests, since squirrels love pine nuts.
Squirrel meat is quite fresh and tender. Skin it and rub in a bit of salt, put it over the fire and lightly roast it, and it’s ready to eat. There isn’t a woman alive who doesn’t like squirrel meat. Oh yes, and we like to swallow squirrel eyeballs whole. Our elders say this brings us good fortune.
***
It was in the midst of a squirrel-hunting season that Lena left us. Mother’s health and spirit were poor because she had just given birth to a baby girl who died the same day. She had lost a lot of blood and this, plus her grief, left her face ashen. She didn’t leave our shirangju for days.
So when Nidu the Shaman announced that since there were few squirrels in the area we should move on, Linke opposed the idea. He wanted to wait until Tamara’s health had recovered before moving, worried that she couldn’t withstand the cold.
Nidu the Shaman was most displeased. ‘What kind of Evenki woman can’t withstand the winter?’ he asked. ‘If she’s afraid of the cold, then she should marry a Han outside the mountains, and live in a grave every day. There’s no cold there!’ Nidu the Shaman always referred to Han-style houses as ‘graves’.
Linke was very angry. ‘Tamara has just lost our baby. She’s too frail. If you want to go then you can all go. I’ll stay behind with her!’
‘If you hadn’t given her a child,’ sneered Nidu the Shaman, ‘she wouldn’t have lost one.’ His words made Yveline emit an odd laugh, and I couldn’t help but think of the wind-sounds Tamara and Linke made at night in our shirangju.
In the midst of Yveline’s cackle, Nidu the Shaman rose from the deerskin under-bedding, clapped his hands, and said: ‘Prepare yourselves. We’ll leave good and early tomorrow morning!’ His head held high, he exited the shirangju before the others.
Linke’s eyes were scarlet with anger. He raced after Nidu the Shaman and very soon we heard Nidu the Shaman’s howl. Linke had knocked him down onto the snow-covered forest floor and stepped on him. Nidu the Shaman resembled a wounded quarry now under a hunter’s foot. His shrill, doleful cry was excruciating.
Mother wobbled out and after she learned the details from Yveline, began to cry. Ivan pushed Linke away from Nidu the Shaman. Father walked towards Mother, panting heavily. ‘Linke, how could you do that?’ Mother said. ‘You make me ashamed! How can we be so selfish?’
That was the first time I witnessed Father confront Nidu the Shaman, and the firs
t time that I heard Mother reproach him. Knowing how Nidu the Shaman could bring about the death of a fawn through his ritual dance, I worried that one night he would use the same means to silence Father for ever.
I confided my fears to Lena. ‘Let’s sleep at Egdi’ama’s,’ she said, ‘so we can watch over him and make sure he doesn’t do a Spirit Dance.’
That night Lena and I entered Nidu the Shaman’s shirangju. He was drinking tea and watching over the hearth. Seeing his pale face and grey temples, I suddenly pitied him. We said we’d like to hear him tell a story, and sure enough, Egdi’ama let us stay the night.
The wind was very strong and very cold, and the flames crackled constantly as if sighing. And Nidu the Shaman’s story was about fire.
Once upon a time there was a hunter who rushed about the forest all day long. He saw many creatures, but he couldn’t kill even one. All his prey escaped before his eyes and he was very vexed. He returned home that night with a troubled look on his face. He lit a fire, but when he heard the kindling go pee-paa pee-paa as it burst into flames, he felt someone was mocking him. In a fit of pique, he grabbed a knife and stabbed at the vibrant flames, snuffing them out.
The next day the hunter arose from his sleep and tried to light a fire but to no avail. Unable to drink anything warm or make breakfast, he left home for the hunt. But once again he had nothing to show for his efforts, and when he returned home he was unable to light a fire. He found this strange, and spent yet another long night cold and hungry. For two days running, the hunter had eaten nothing and gone unwarmed by fire.
On the third day, he entered the mountains again to hunt when he suddenly heard mournful crying. Following the sound, he discovered an old woman leaning against a pitch-black withered tree and covering her tearful face.
‘Why are you crying?’ asked the hunter.
‘Someone cut my face with a knife, and the pain is hard to bear,’ she replied.
When she put her hands down and the hunter saw her bloody, mangled mien, he realised he had offended the Fire Spirit. He knelt down and begged her forgiveness. He swore that from that day hence he would venerate her for ever. But when he finished kowtowing and stood up, the old woman had vanished. Perched on the withered tree was a gaily-coloured pheasant. He drew back his bow and shot the bird. The hunter took the pheasant back to his quarters and discovered that the fire, lifeless for three days, had rekindled itself. The hunter knelt by the hearth and wept.
We deeply revere the Fire Spirit. From my earliest memories, the fire in our camp has never gone out. When we move camp, the white buck at the very front, the Malu King, transports the Malu. Normally, it cannot be ridden or used for mundane tasks.
Following it is the reindeer that transports the live cinders for our fire. We place the coals inside a birch-bark bucket and bury them under a thick layer of ash. No matter how arduous the path we take, light and warmth always accompany us.
We often drip animal fat on the fire, for it is said that our Ancestral Spirits like its aroma. There is a Spirit inside the fire, so we must not spit or sprinkle water on it, or throw unclean things into it. Lena and I learned these customs when we were young, so when Nidu the Shaman recounted the Fire Spirit’s tale, we were enchanted.
When the story ended, Lena and I both had something to say.
My words were for Nidu the Shaman: ‘Egdi’ama, does the Fire Spirit jump out from the flames each night to speak to you?’ Nidu the Shaman gazed at me and then the flames, and shook his head.
Lena’s words were for me: ‘In the future you must be sure to protect the live cinders. Don’t let the rain quench them, or the wind snuff them out!’ I nodded as the setting sun nods to the mountains and the valleys into which it descends.
The next morning the reindeer came back from a night of foraging, and we awoke too. Nidu the Shaman was already up and preparing reindeer-milk tea. Its fragrance licked our cheeks and Lena and I took breakfast there. Lena yawned several times, her face a pale yellow.
‘I didn’t sleep all night,’ she whispered. ‘I was afraid that Nidu the Shaman would rise at midnight to perform his Spirit Dance, so I did my best to keep my eyes open. Listening to you snore, I felt as envious as someone who hasn’t eaten for days when she smells a squirrel roasting!’
Lena’s words made me deeply ashamed. She had remained alert all night for Father’s sake, while I slept sweetly through to the morning.
When we left Nidu the Shaman’s, he was busy taking the Malu down from the shrine and hanging them on a triangular wooden stand. Then he lit some kawaw grass whose smoke purifies the Malu Spirits. This was something that Nidu the Shaman did each time before we moved camp.
We left the old campsite as Nidu the Shaman wished. The white Malu King walked at the very front, followed by the reindeer transporting our fire source, and then the reindeer loaded with our household possessions. The men and able-bodied women normally walked with the herd, riding reindeer only if truly tired. Hase held the axe and after we had covered a certain distance, he hacked a tree marker into a big tree trunk.
That day mother was lifted onto a reindeer. Using a rabbit-hair hat and a scarf, she wrapped her face good and tight. Linke followed her reindeer closely. Dashi, Nora, Lena and I also rode.
Since Omolie, perched on Dashi’s shoulder, only exhibited its hunting skills when we moved camp, Jilande and Luni tagged along on either side of Dashi’s reindeer. But Jilande was yellow-hearted and afraid that the hawk might suddenly attack him. So after a while, he ran over to Luni and walked at his side. They gazed at the hawk like a hero, bursting with admiration. But the hawk eyed Luni and Jilande menacingly, as if they were a pair of hares.
Lena normally loved to ride a particular white-spotted brown reindeer, but that day when she went to saddle it, it shrank away and darted off, as if unwilling to carry her. Just then the grey doe whose milk had long dried up came over to Lena of its own accord and lowered its body submissively. Without a second thought, Lena placed the saddle on it.
At first Lena’s reindeer went ahead of mine, but as we moved along it fell behind. When Lena was ahead of me, I saw her head nodding as if she were napping.
No matter how bright, the winter sun always gives one a chilly, solitary feeling. The snow cover in the forest was quite thin, and the withered yellow of the wild grass and fallen leaves on the hillsides facing the sun was naked to the eye. Birds in their twos or threes darted over the treetops, leaving crisp calls in their wake.
Ivan walked and chatted with Nadezhda. He had heard from Rolinsky about how gold was discovered in the Xikouzi Mine: one day a Daur tribesman caught some fish, lit a fire on the riverbank, and cooked them. When he had finished eating, he washed the pan. As he scrubbed and scrubbed, he discovered sparkling grains of sand at the bottom of the pan. He put them in his hand, rubbed them and, lo and behold, they were gold!
‘So the next time you scrub your pan with river water,’ said Ivan, ‘pay attention to the grains of sand, and check to see if they’re the colour of gold.’
Nadezhda made the sign of the cross over her chest and prayed out loud for the Virgin Mary’s protection. ‘Heaven forbid we should discover gold! My brother lost his life prospecting with a partner. Since ancient times gold has never been a good thing, it only invites disaster,’ she said.
‘As long as people aren’t greedy for money,’ said Ivan, ‘there won’t be any disasters.’
‘When people see gold it’s like a hunter spotting his prey,’ Nadezhda retorted, ‘they can’t help but be greedy.’ When she finished speaking, she gave Ivan a pat on the head.
Yveline noticed this gesture and angrily reproached Nadezhda. ‘Our women don’t casually touch a man’s head! We believe you’ll enrage the Spirits that live there and invite punishment.’
‘Watch out ahead, everyone!’ shouted Yveline. ‘Nadezhda rubbed Ivan’s head.’
We started out when the sun was high in the sky, and only when we had walked it to the corner of the sky did we arriv
e at our new camp. This was a dense pine forest and we could see squirrels darting back and forth in the thickets. Nidu the Shaman’s face lit up in a smile. Just when the men were preparing to erect shirangju, and the women had gathered dry branches to get the fire going, I discovered Lena was not in the camp. I called her name but there was no response.
When Father heard Lena was missing, he immediately went looking for the grey doe she had been riding. He found it at the tail end of the queue, its head hung low and looking sad.
Linke and Hase realised that Lena was in trouble. Each rushed to mount his reindeer and search for her along the trail we had taken. Mother looked at the reindeer that Lena had been riding, probably recalling how this doe’s fawn had departed from our world on behalf of Lena. Now, Lena had gone missing while riding this very doe; this could not be a good omen. Mother felt a shiver run down her spine.
We in the camp were fervently hoping for Lena’s return. Our hope turned the sky black and brought out the stars and the moon, but Linke and the others still hadn’t returned.
Except for Dashi, none of us was in a mood to eat. Dashi roasted up a hare that his hawk had caught along the way, and downed it with liquor. When the food and drink got him excited, he began warbling ululu again. That’s the first time I’ve ever detested anyone. I could have cut off his tongue! In my eyes, Dashi’s chomping mouth was as filthy as a spittoon. If only that wolf had gobbled him up!
The night grew late but Lena had still not appeared. Mother began crying. Yveline held her hands and reassured her, but Yveline’s own eyes were filled with tears.
Maria cried too, but she wasn’t just worried about Lena, she was worried about Hase too, for Hase had forgotten his rifle. What if he ran into a wolf pack?
Dashi poured oil on the fire. ‘That idiot Hase! He goes searching for someone without even taking a weapon. Does he imagine that his arms are made of iron that can serve as a rifle? The wolves needn’t worry about tonight’s dinner, I’d say!’