The Chukchi Bible

by Yuri Rytkheu

  “And if it doesn’t happen?”

  His grandfather put the awl aside and blew the residual bits from the walrus tusk. His answer was slow and measured:

  “It will certainly come to you . . . But I want you to understand, this power is not the most important thing. The main thing is to want to do good. Doing good, helping to ease another’s pain and hardship – that is the shaman’s chief task. Each of us comes to this life in order to do a small part of Enantomgyn’s work. It’s as though we humans are all little bits of the Higher Being, we represent him on earth and in this life. And his main concern is to make a person good, worthy.”

  “But what about the Tangitans?” came Mletkin’s burning question.

  “All people – Tangitans, Aivanalin, Kaaramkyn, Koryaks, the hairmouths – they are all Enantomgyn’s creatures,” answered Kalyantagrau.

  “So why do they have a different God?”

  “There’s only one God,” the shaman answered. “It’s only that they see him in their own way. Different nations speak their own languages, but does that mean that they are not all the same? They are all still human. Human language – regardless of whether it’s Russian, American, or our own Lygevetgav 17 – it isn’t animal speech, but human.”

  Mletkin thought of the Tangitans’ Sacred Book. Who could teach him Russian? Would he have to volunteer himself into captivity? After all, Daurkin – whom Yakunin’s soldiers had captured and taken to their own lands – was taught not only their language but also the skill of marking paper with and recognizing the traces of human speech . . . Russian speech!

  As he contemplated eternity, Mletkin often felt not just estrangement from quotidian life, but more often, an almost unbearable, piercing overflowing of feelings and ideas. There were times when his inner exultation was so strong he wanted to step forward, into the abyss. How he then wanted to soar above the measureless expanse of the sky, to walk on water, or, best of all, to fly like a bird, skimming the foamy waves with his wings! Better still to dissolve into the air, and become not just weightless and invisible but omnipresent, all pervasive.

  These moments of turbulent feeling heightened Mletkin’s senses, and he could hear voices both near and far as sharply as if they were inside his own head. Birdcalls took on meaning and though it was not human speech he understood it, and marveled that he could. In his mind’s eye, he would arc over the horizon and see the neighboring Eskimo village of Nuvuken, beyond the Crag; Rochgyn, the American shore, and its village of Kymgyn, would come through more sharply amid the islands of the strait.

  As he neared manhood erotic fantasies began to mingle with Mletkin’s ’s visions, sometimes so potent and realistic that they caused him to spill his seed. Every single Uelen beauty had visited Mletkin’s dreaming embrace at one time or another and he had to lower his eyes when meeting them, mortified, lest they guess that in his mind he had not only desired but possessed them.

  Nowadays he was counted among the hunters. He had killed walrus, polar bear, and whale, not to mention small pinnipeds such as lakhtak and nerpa. He was equally successful in hunting for furs, the chief and most precious goods in the trade with the Tangitans, who would descend from big wooden boats that had gigantic machines hidden deep in their bellies and would trade for whalebone, walrus tusk, hides, and tanned leather, fur-lined clothes. Most of all, though, they wanted Arctic furs and soft fawn skin.

  They were also interested in old things – ancient bows and arrows, spears; they might even buy a skin boat. Animal figurines carved from walrus tusk were becoming popular. Kalyantagrau had been the first to start carving whole scenes, such as a nerpa hunt comprising the hunter and the animal, or a boat with its Uelen crew, and many of the tiny figures were recognizable by their faces, deer harnesses, or dogsleds. Kalyantagrau also made walrus-tusk engravings, which he cleverly filled in with ochre and green mud, rubbing the pigment into the outlines to give the image depth and expressiveness.

  Mletkin first noticed the ship as it curved around Senlun, a rocky outcrop in the strait. There was no wind, and in the silence and stillness the beating of the enormous metal heart prisoned within the vessel could be heard clearly.

  He ran down the Crag to bring the news to his village.

  The ship was only just dropping anchor not far from shore, but already the villagers had lowered five boats onto the water. Mletkin rowed with all his might, trying hard to outrun Gemal’kot’s boat. Neatly strung bundles of fox, sable, and ermine, decorated fur-lined clothing, packets of whalebone and walrus tusks lay neatly stacked at the bottom of each boat. Apart from these useful goods, almost every hunter also had walrus-tusk figurines of birds and beasts tucked into his coat.

  Kalyantagrau, of course, had the richest haul of these. He and Mletkin were the first on deck, joining a screeching, squawking, thrusting crowd that roiled like birds at a breeding ground. Nearly every other man dangled a pungently smoking pipe from his lips; this aromatic smoke was scarce in Uelen due to dwindling tobacco supplies.

  This was Mletkin’s first time on a Tangitan deck. It was already strewn with the trade items: saws, axes, knives, large and small cauldrons, kettles, packets of tea and tobacco, ten-pound bags of flour, smaller bags of sugar, boxes of army hardtack, colored beads, spools of thread, needles, condensed milk in metal tins, and, slightly off to the side, glinting like dark, sea-bottom ice, bottles of the evil joy-making drink. The same drink also came in small wooden casks.

  The Tangitans offered them some of the evil joy-making water from the casks, but only the middle-aged and elderly men drank, and then only a mouthful apiece, as they were well aware of the dangers of losing one’s head and getting swept up in foolish trades. After the trading was done, well, that was another matter!

  Mletkin picked up two expertly tanned and scraped bearskins, his main winter kills. Sighting the music box, his resolve faltered, and he almost changed his longtime plan to exchange the bearskins for a real Tangitan firearm – an American Winchester.

  At first the trading was tumultuous and disorganized. The buyers and sellers – and every man on deck was simultaneously both – dashed about, grabbed items and then dropped them back on deck, chattering at one another loudly and brusquely, as though each understood the other perfectly. A crowd of Tangitans bunched around Kalyantagrau’s bone carvings, which he had laid out upon some dark nerpa hides. Snatching at the figurines, they would offer items in trade, everything from bottles of the evil, joy-making water to the hollow beveled needles that were so useful in sewing together tough hides. The shaman stood firm, never accepting the initial offer. All the other goods had a precise, if unwritten, value, but no one could know the true value of the painted walrus tusks.

  For a lonely while Mletkin stood beside his bearskins, which were half draped over the side of the boat. Passing sailors glanced enviously at the hides, clacking their tongues appreciatively, as they hurried to the other end of the ship.

  Finally, a man fully answering to the description of a hairmouth walked up. His face was covered by a black beard, though it had been shaved in parts. He held a curved pipe between his teeth. The man pinched the hides, weighed each in his hands, ran his hands over the fur and raised an inquisitive glance toward the seller. Mletkin had realized that this was a genuine, serious buyer who, furthermore, knew the goods very well. As to their quality, Mletkin had no fear – they were excellent hides, skinned from mature, full-grown bears, and each a good size.

  At last the hairmouth asked the seller to name his price. He said this in his own language, but Mletkin understood him right away. Back home, in preparation for trade, he had drawn a Winchester on a piece of bleached nerpa skin.

  The hairmouth glanced at the drawing and burst into a loud peal of laughter, his entire demeanor making it clear that he considered the Luoravetlan’s pretensions ridiculous. Amazingly, Mletkin heard the loud stream of words and clucks with almost perfect comprehension. The Tangitan was saying roughly this: “Are you out of your mind? Who’s ever seen a s
avage, who can’t manage any weapon but his own bow and arrows and spear, get his hands on a proper firearm? Here, take what you like – tea, sugar, three sacks of flour, five tobacco packets . . . but a Winchester, you’ve got to be joking!”

  Mletkin put an indifferent, stony look on his face; he even turned his head back to the sea. After the Tangitan had shouted his fill, the young man lifted one of the bearskins slightly to reveal two tightly lashed bundles of extra-long baleen plates propped up against the side of the boat. The Tangitan fell silent and looked back over his shoulder. The rest of the traders stopped their business to observe him and Mletkin. With a final energetic exclamation the Tangitan departed, but soon returned with a small-bore Winchester rifle. Naturally Mletkin would have preferred a different caliber, but this was fine too, good for hunting nerpa and lakhtak in the meltwaters. A set of firing cartridges ought to have come with the gun: Mletkin knew that without ammunition the Tangitan weapon was just a useless metal stick. He explained this through gestures, the Tangitan cursed once more but went to get the cartridges. They fit into the palm of one hand, though the man’s palm was largish, the size of a small shovel. Mletkin accepted these but handed over the bearskins only, indicating that the whalebone was staying with him. At the end of a lengthy period of wrangling, Mletkin ended up with a metal box full of cartridges. So as not to turn his luck he retreated back to his boat and stayed there until the end of the day, ignoring the Tangitans’ insistent and inviting gestures to return.

  By the end of the trading day many of his tribesmen had had a good deal of the evil, joy-making water and fell into their boats like sacks of flour. Both of Mletkin’s grandfathers, Tynemlen and Kalyantagrau, were among the well and truly inebriated. Everyone talked loudly, laughing and shouting out Tangitan phrases memorized during the hours on board: Okay! Good! Fak u! Goddam! Hau mach! Wot is cost! Tee! Shuga!

  The gaiety continued on shore, as many of the men had purchased glass bottles of the drink, and Gemal’kot even bought a cask of it.

  As he watched his cheery kinsmen Mletkin grew anxious: the people he knew were transformed before his eyes. They were losing their habitual calm and self-restraint. Many of the men turned into braggarts, while the women became grief-stricken, burst into tears, and, strangely, would talk nostalgically of the dead, and mourn afresh for those who had been properly mourned long before. Mletkin had sampled the evil joy-making drink himself and even felt a kind of rising spirits at first, but this soon passed, and he found he could not take another mouthful of the drink, it filled him with such revulsion.

  On the following morning the Tangitans landed on shore. Laden with their goods and bottles, they made the rounds of the yarangas. At first they would treat the inhabitants with drink for free but as soon as they glimpsed some item in the gloom of the chottagin they would point to it. They took ancient bows and arrows and quivers, warriors’ armor – walrus-tusk plates affixed to nerpa skin or tanned deer hides – spears, and even snowshoes.

  Then the yarangas rang with the news that the Tangitans took great pleasure in befriending the village women, and that they would pay for this: one man’s wife received a generous set of beveled needles, while her husband was rewarded with a bottle . . .

  The Luoravetlan were not without a sense of jealousy, but the Tangitan was considered a creature so far removed from a native Arctic dweller that lying with them did not really amount to marital infidelity.

  And it seemed that such “friendships” were not at all unpleasant for Uelen’s women; Mletkin suddenly perceived that they were combing their hair, dressing up in special-occasion clothes and ornaments, and washing their faces with urine, which was considered the best cosmetic for toned, smooth skin. Hair sparkled with plaited-through colored spangles, necks were hung with necklaces of glass beads and antique silver Russian coins.

  This topsy-turvy life continued for three full days.

  Then, one fine morning, the waters off Uelen’s shore were empty: the ship had gone. The dogs raised up a loud, ominous howling. All this time they had gone forgotten and unfed, and the hungry dogs had gnawed up several skin boats foolishly left unguarded on the shingled beach. People were beginning to come back to their senses, discovering strange, mysterious objects among the useful and needful items that they had purchased. A gramophone had appeared inside Gemal’kot’s yaranga. Old Mirgyn walked about the village in a wide cowboy hat while his wife played with a colored parasol, opening and snapping it shut, frightening the children and dogs.

  It had been an amazing adventure, which had interrupted the monotonous way of life in Uelen, a way of life that had remained unchanged for centuries. People smiled ruefully, remembering their exploits under the influence of the evil, joy-making water. And they teased old Lonlyh, who had several times rowed his little boat and his old half-blind wife out to the big ship in the hopes of tempting some unfussy Tangitan.

  Before the great yearly walrus hunt at the Inchoun breeding ground, Kalyantagrau delegated the sacrifices and prayers for a good hunt to Mletkin.

  The young man already knew whom to address and where to throw the sacrificial offerings. But Kalyantagrau had not told him what words to say; he had only hinted vaguely that if inspiration came from above, so would the right words.

  The first light snow of the season was falling, tiny snowflakes that melted as soon as they touched the ground, darkening the shingle and the wet earth, which was scattered with yellowing clumps of grass, to black.

  A slow, tenuous dawn was breaking. First, a crimson ribbon pierced through between the waterline and the low dark thunderclouds to the east. The sun was rising unseen, swathed in thick clouds.

  Mletkin walked along the shore, reaching down for handfuls of stringy seaweed and popping the soft, wet clumps into his mouth. Finding a piece of tree trunk washed up on shore, he dragged it farther inland and placed a small stone atop it to signify that the item had found an owner.

  As he listened closely to the murmuring crash of the tide, Mletkin was attuning himself to that feeling which Kalyantagrau had called inspiration from above. For the moment, though, his heart remained calm and still, and beyond the sea’s familiar murmur he could hear nothing. Then a creeping worry came: what would happen if he couldn’t speak with the Outer Forces?

  Uelen was strung out upon a shingled spit that came to an end with a narrow strait which separated the lagoon from the open sea. Although the stretch of water was hardly twenty footsteps long and less than half that across, the strait was a formidable obstacle. Too deep to walk across, it could not be swum across either: like all his tribesmen, Mletkin couldn’t swim. So there was a one-seat hide canoe tethered to a pair of whale jaws at the end of the beach.

  When he had stepped up onto the opposite shore Mletkin began to ascend the gradual slope and, by the time he had reached the top of the crags overhanging the walrus breeding ground, dawn had finally fully broken.

  His heart was heavy with worry. The thought that he was not fit to be a shaman grew all-pervasive; he briskly dropped the sacrificial foods – this time lumps of sugar, tobacco crumbs, and bits of hardtack – down to the ground, which rang with the noisy incoming tide and the loud grunting and wheezing of hundreds of walrus.

  O Great Powers who look down at me from the sky!

  Send good fortune to our tribe of Uelen!

  Send us good fortune!

  Send us good fortune!

  Mletkin repeated the last phrase several times but nothing else occurred to him. He spent the entire day waiting for inspiration, above the walrus breeding ground, then returned home moping at twilight.

  On the appointed day, the hunters – armed with sharp spears – clambered to the top of the crag, from where they would noiselessly descend and sneak up on the breeding ground.

  Mletkin peered down at the shingled beach and reared back in shock and dismay. He almost thought it was a different place, but no, it was just the same beach which every autumn saw walrus herds slide up from the water. But now, aside
from a few trampled youngsters, the beach was empty. The walrus had gone.

  When they were certain that the herds had left the shingled beach, the grim-eyed hunters made their way back to Uelen. This was a rare occurrence, one that only happened if someone had frightened off the animals: in recent times this would have been the ships full of curious Tangitans.

  Mletkin could not look the men full in the face; he pulled his head tightly into his shoulders and walked at a distance from the others.

  He entered Kalyantagrau’s yaranga and stood in its center, in the circle of light that fell from the smokehole onto the earthen floor. The shaman was sitting on a whale vertebra. He greeted his grandson with a stone face.

  “I tried,” Mletkin hurried to explain. “I said the necessary words and I threw the offering to the East, West, and North, every direction from which animals come to our shores, where the invisible Spirits live . . .”

  “Was there an answer to your incantations?” Kalyantagrau was grave.

  “There was no answer,” Mletkin answered dejectedly. “I waited, I spoke . . . but in vain. There was no answer.”

  “No answer, because you spoke only with your mouth, not with your heart and soul. Because your thoughts were roaming far from this shore, where our livelihood, our good fortune rests . . . You could not lift your soul sufficiently to speak with the Outer Powers!”

  “No,” Mletkin confessed. “I couldn’t.”

  “You haven’t just shamed yourself, you’ve brought shame on me as well! Every death from hunger, every child who dies this cold winter will be on your conscience.”

  “What am I to do then? What am I to do?”

  Tears were welling up in his throat. If he were to burst out crying it would complete his disgrace.

  “I’ll do anything to atone. I’m ready to give my life . . .”

  He had remembered the ancient tale of his ancestor Mlakoran, who had sacrificed his own life and was stabbed to death by his young daughter in order to placate the rekken, the evil spirits that brought disease.