Red Star Tales

by Yvonne Howell

  “We knew that Evenks use the word ‘ruined’ for both people suffering from a concussion and the insane.

  “‘She couldn’t speak,’ Ilya Potapovich continued, ‘she screamed. She screamed a lot. She couldn’t remember anything. Healing, she knew. Could heal with just her eyes. She became a shamaness. Many years she spoke to no one. A strange person. A black person. Not one of us, but a shaman… a shaman… Here, there are still many old Evenks. The Russian tsar is long gone. The merchant who took furs from the Evenks is long gone, but they still have a shaman. Other Evenks drove their shaman away long ago. They got a teacher. We’ll write a forest newspaper. But here there is still a shamaness. Why do you want to look at her? It would be better if I showed you a hunting cooperative. I’m telling you, bae.’

  “Sergei Antonovich kept trying to find out what clan the shamaness came from, hoping to determine her ancestry. But all we managed to establish was that before she showed up in the Khurkhangyr clan, nobody knew anything about her. Perhaps she lost her memory and the ability to speak during the meteorite disaster, and it looked as if to this day she still hadn’t recovered.

  “Lyuchetkan told us:

  “‘Under the tsar, the Evenks were forced to get baptized, but they kept their shamans; they didn’t want to obey the tsar. They kept on worshipping the black loon, the taimen fish, and the bear. But now they’ve driven away the shamans.’

  “He also told us about the black shamaness’ strange rituals.

  “She performed her rituals in the early morning, with the rising of the morning star.

  “Lyuchetkan woke Sergei Antonovich and me up. We got up quietly and went out of the tent. The stars scattered across the sky looked to me like the debris of a universal nuclear disaster.

  “In the taiga, the forest never ends; there are no clearings. In the taiga there is only swamp.

  “The shamaness’ cone-shaped tent stood right at the bog’s edge. The solid wall of larches parted and lower stars were visible.

  “Lyuchetkan stopped us.

  “‘You have to stand here, bae.’

  “We watched as a tall, stately figure came out of the tent, followed by three old Evenk women who looked tiny in comparison with the shamaness. The procession made its way through the marshy swamp in single file.’”

  “‘Take poles, bae. You’ll fall – it will hold you up. We’ll go around the long way if you want to watch, if you want to have a laugh.’

  “Like tightrope walkers, holding our poles for balance, we walked through the swamp, which was living and breathing beneath our feet, with the tussocks to our right and left undulating as if they were ready to shoot into the air. Even the bushes and young trees were swinging, grabbing hold of the poles and, it seemed, trying to block our path.

  “We turned at a stand of young saplings and stopped. Over a black, jagged line of forest and circled by a small aureole, shone the morning star.

  “The shamaness and her companions were standing in the middle of a marsh with arms raised. I then heard a low, prolonged tone. And as if in response to it, a distant forest echo sounded, repeating the tone but at some sort of multi-octave pitch. Then the echo, reverberating even louder, faded into a strange, indistinct melody. I realized that this was her, the shamaness, singing.

  “So began this indescribable duet for voice and forest echo, both of which were often singing at the same time, blending into an unintelligible but entrancing harmony.

  “The song ended. I did not want to move – I couldn’t.

  “‘That’s a prehistoric song. Yu-yu-you see, my hypothesis about pre-glacial people was correct,’ Sergei Antonovich whispered excitedly.

  “That day, we sat in the shamaness’ tent, brought there by Ilya Ivanovich Khurkhangyr, a wrinkled old man without a single hair on his face. This forest dweller, who has never known dust, didn’t even have eyelashes or brows.

  “The shamaness was wearing a rather beat-up looking Evenk parka decorated with colorful strips of cloth and ribbon. Her eyes were hidden behind a fur hat pushed forward onto her forehead, and her mouth and nose were wrapped in a tattered shawl, as if to protect against cold.

  “We were sitting on the floor of the dark tent on some foul smelling hides.

  “‘Why have you come? Are you sick?’ the shamaness asked in a low, velvety voice. I immediately recalled the song at the swamp that morning.

  “Giving in to a sudden impulse, I moved closer to the black-skinned shamaness and said to her:

  “‘Listen, bae shamaness. Have you heard of Moscow? There are many stone tents there. We have built a large ship there. This ship can fly. Better than birds – to the very stars,’ and I pointed upward. ‘I’ll return to Moscow and then I will fly into the sky in that ship. I’ll fly to the morning star, the one you sing songs to.’

  “The shamaness leaned toward me. She seemed to have understood.

  “‘I’ll fly into the sky on this ship,’ I went on excitedly. ‘Would you like me to take you with me to the morning star?’

  “The shamaness looked at me with terrified eyes that were absolutely blue.

  “Total silence reigned in the tent. Someone’s intently focused face was looking at me from the darkness. Suddenly I saw the shamaness begin to slump slowly down, and then writhe, and then grab at the hide. Biting it with her teeth, she began to roll on the ground. Gurgling sounds came from her throat – I couldn’t tell if she was sobbing or uttering some incomprehensible words.

  “‘Ay, bae, bae,’ the aged Khurkhangyr cried in a feeble voice. ‘What have you done, bae!... What you did was bad, bae. Very bad… Go, get out of here, bae, right away. The star is holy, and you were talking… it’s bad.’

  “‘How could yu-yu-you offend their faith? What have yu-yu-you done?’ Sergei Antonovich whispered angrily.

  “We hurried out of the tent. Lyuchetkan ran to get the reindeer with uncharacteristic speed.

  “I have never seen such peaceable, gentle people as the Evenk hunters who live in the forest, but now they were unrecognizable. They glared at us in sullen hostility as we departed the nomad camp.

  “‘Yu-yu-you have ruined an Academy of Sciences ethnographic expedition,’ Sergei Antonovich, who held back his reindeer to draw even with me, was so overcome he could barely speak.

  “‘Your hypothesis is wrong,’ I growled, and dug my heels into my antlered steed.

  “Sergei Antonovich and I had a falling out and did not speak once during the three days spent waiting for the hydroplane from Krasnoyarsk.

  “Only Lyuchetkan was happy.

  “‘Good going, bae,’ he smiled, reducing his eyes to two horizontal wrinkles across his brown face. ‘You sure showed that the shamaness is nothing but a ruined person. I’ll write about it in the Evenk forest newspaper. Let all the forest people know!’

  “Strange thoughts were racing through my mind. The hydroplane had already arrived, the strong current tugging at its mooring ropes. A boat had delivered me to the plane, but I still couldn’t tear my eyes away from the opposite bank of the Podkamennaya Tunguska.

  “Beyond the cliff, so steep it looked as if it had been chopped by an ax, the river seemed to reluctantly turn to the right and head toward the site of the nuclear disaster. But on the opposite bank you couldn’t see anything but the swaying tops of already yellowing larches, covered by an early snowfall.

  “Suddenly, I noticed a figure jumping up and down on the cliff top. Shots rang out. It was a man, and, next to him, a creature with antlers!

  “It was an Evenk with an elk!

  “Not hesitating for a moment, I got back into the boat to return to the other side. I was startled by a loud thud when the massive Sergei Antonovich also jumped into the boat. Our native guide rowed as fast as he could. The Evenk stopped shooting and began to make his way down to the river.

  “Our boat was going so fast it jumped half way up the rocky shore.

  “‘Bae, bae,’ the Evenk cried. ‘Hurry, bae! Birda khok time. None at all. The S
hamaness is dying. She asked us to bring you back. She wants to tell you something.’

  “For the first time since our quarrel, Sergei Antonovich and I looked at one another.

  “A minute later, the elk was racing through the year’s first snowfall, between the steep river bank and the golden-gray wall of taiga.

  “I once heard that elk can run eighty kilometers an hour. But to experience that first hand, clinging to the sled for dear life… To see the yellowed larches flash by so fast they blur into a solid wall…To squint as the snow flies into your eyes… No, I can’t convey the feeling of this extraordinary race across the taiga! The Evenk seemed to be in a delirium. He drove the elk with wild cries and whistles. Clumps of snow kept hitting us in the face as if we were in a blizzard. One cheek or the other was always burning with cold from the hurricane-force winds.

  “We arrived at the camp. I wiped the powder from my eyes. It was during that wild ride that my glasses broke.

  “A crowd of Evenks was waiting for us. In front stood the aged Khurkhangyr.

  “‘Hurry, hurry bae! There’s not much time left!’ Tears were streaming down his cheeks, one after another.

  “We ran to the tent. The women stepped aside to let us through.

  “The tent was well lit. There was the crackle of resinous torches. In the middle of the tent, a body was stretched out on something like a table or high bed.

  “I involuntarily shuddered and grabbed Sergei Antonovich by the arm. Frozen in deathbed majesty before us, with barely any covering, lay a beautiful statue that looked as if it had been cast in iron. The unusual proportions of the tar-black face were startling and hard to compare with anything. And would one really compare the beauty of a cliff of wild, black stone with the Hellenic beauty of a Greek temple?

  “Intrepid energy and suppressed sorrow had caused these feminine lips, compressed in pain, to contort. Stern brows arched up from the delicate bridge of her nose as if in intense effort. Her brow protruded strangely, making her motionless face alien, unfamiliar, unlike anything I’d seen before.

  “Her hair, which spilled down her shoulders, simultaneously shimmered bronze and silver.

  “Has she really died?’ Sergei Antonovich bent down to listen to her heart.

  “‘It’s not beating,’ he said in alarm.

  “The lashes of the black goddess quivered. Sergei Antonovich recoiled.

  “‘Her heart is on the right side!’ he whispered.

  “The old women were standing in a circle around the table, leaning intently forward. One of them approached us.

  “‘Bae, she will speak no more. She will die. She asked to tell you. When you fly to the morning star, be sure to take her with you…’

  “The old woman started crying. The black statue lay motionless, as if she really was cast in iron.

  “We quietly left the tent. It was time to go. There was a danger that the river could freeze and the hydroplane wouldn’t be able to take off. And so… here I am.”

  The physicist fell silent. He stood up and paced the room, clearly upset.

  “She died?” I asked hesitantly.

  “I’ll go back, I’ll definitely go back to the taiga again,” my visitor stated. “And maybe I’ll see her.”

  We had already added a few sentences to his hypothesis about the nuclear explosion when Sergei Antonovich entered the room, also with an unruly beard.

  “Have you published my hypothesis about the black-skinned woman?” he demanded, so agitated he dispensed with any greeting.

  Instead of responding, I handed him the page that contained what the physicist had dictated to me. Dumbfounded, Sergei Antonovich sat quietly for several minutes with the paper still in his hands. He then rose, asked me for his article back, and methodically tore it into neat little shreds.

  I reread what we had added to the physicist’s hypothesis: “There is also the possibility that the explosion took place not in a uranium meteorite, but in an interplanetary spaceship that ran on atomic energy. After landing at the upper reaches of the Podkamennaya Tunguska, the travelers may have spread out to study the surrounding taiga when their ship was destroyed in some sort of accident.

  “Propelled upward to a height of five kilometers, it exploded, the gradual release of atomic energy having turned into a runaway chain reaction in the uranium, or some other radioactive substance present on the spaceship in the quantity needed to fuel its return to an unknown planet.”

  First published in Russian: 1946

  Translation by Nora Seligman Favorov

  RED STAR

  REFORMING

  ARKADY AND BORIS STRUGATSKY

  1958

  THE SPONTANEOUS REFLEX

  Urm had gotten bored.

  Strictly speaking, boredom, as a reaction to uniformity and monotonous surroundings or an internal dissatisfaction – a loss of interest in life – is intrinsic only to humans and certain animals. In order to be bored, one needs, so to speak, a means of being bored: a finely and perfectly organized nervous system. One needs to be able to think, or at least to suffer. Urm did not have a nervous system in the usual sense of the word, and he was not able to think, let alone suffer. He only perceived, remembered, and acted. But just the same, he had gotten bored.

  The thing was that, after the Master had left, there was nothing new around for Urm to remember. Add to this the fact that the accumulation of new impressions was the basic stimulus that directed Urm’s actions and motivated him to said actions. He was driven by an inexhaustible curiosity, an inexhaustible thirst to perceive and remember as much as possible. If there were no unknown facts and phenomena, then some had to be found.

  But Urm’s surroundings were familiar to him to the last visual detail, to the last undertone. He remembered the vast square room with rough cement walls, low ceiling, and iron door from the first moment of his existence. It always smelled here of heated metal and transformer oil. An indistinct low hum could be heard from somewhere above. People could not hear it without special instruments, but Urm heard it perfectly well. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling were extinguished, but just the same Urm saw the room perfectly well in infrared and in the pulse signals of his locators.

  And so, Urm had gotten bored, and he resolved to set out in search of new impressions. A half-hour had passed since the Master had gone. Experience suggested to Urm that he would not return anytime soon. This was very important, because Urm had once embarked on a little stroll around the room without having been ordered to do so, and the Master, who caught him in this activity, made it so that Urm could not even move his locator horn. Now, it seemed he did not have to worry about this.

  Urm teetered and heavily stepped forward. The cement floor rang out under his thick rubber soles, and Urm stopped for a moment to listen, and even bent over. But in the range of sounds emitted by the vibrating cement there was not a single new one, and Urm again made for the opposite wall. He walked right up to it and took a sniff. The wall smelled of wet concrete and rusted metal. Nothing new. Then Urm turned around, gouging the wall with his sharp steel elbow, cut diagonally across the room and stopped in front of the door. Opening the door was not a simple matter, and Urm did not grasp right away how it should be done. Then, extending his toothed claw of a left hand, he nimbly grabbed the lock lever and turned it. The door opened with a weak, drawn-out groan. This was diverting, and Urm spent several minutes opening and closing the door, now quickly, now slowly, listening closely and committing the sounds to memory. Then he stepped across the high threshold and found himself facing a staircase. The staircase was narrow, with stone steps to the first landing, and fairly long. Urm in an instant counted eighteen steps to the first landing, where a light was burning. Then, taking his time, he went up. From the landing another staircase led upward, wooden, with ten steps, and a wide corridor opened to the right. Hesitating for a moment, Urm turned right. He did not know why. The corridor was no less interesting than the stairs. But it is probable that Urm did not like the look
of the wooden steps.

  Warmth emanated from the corridor, and it was brightly illuminated in infrared. The infrared light was being emitted by some ribbed cylinders, mounted not far above the floor. Urm had never before seen steam radiators, and the ribbed cylinders interested him. He bent over and hooked one of them with both claws. A brief crack rang out along with the groaning of metal, and a thick cloud of hot steam swelled up to the ceiling. A stream of boiling water gushed under Urm’s feet. Urm raised the cylinder up to his head, attentively looked it over, and examined the torn edge of the pipe. Then the cylinder was cast aside, and Urm’s soles squelched through the puddles. Urm went to the end of the corridor. There above the low door blazed a red sign. “Caution! No Entry Without Protective Suit!” Urm read. He knew the word “caution,” but also knew that this word always applied to people. To him, to Urm, this word could not apply. He extended his arm and gave the door a shove.

  Yes, here there was a great deal that was interesting and new. He stood in the entrance to a vast room, filled with objects of metal, stone, and plastic. In the middle of the room, a meter above the floor, rose a round concrete structure resembling a low pillar, covered with a shield of iron or lead. Numerous cables ran from it in all directions toward the walls, along which stretched marble panels with gleaming instruments and switch handles. An enclosure made of copper wire surrounded the concrete pillar, and gleaming articulated rods hung from the ceiling. The rods ended in pincers and claws, just like the ones on Urm’s arms.

  Urm, treading inaudibly across the ceramic tiles of the floor, walked up to the copper meshwork and made a circuit around it. Then he stood for a moment and walked around it a second time. There was no opening in the meshwork. Then Urm lifted his foot and effortlessly strode through the meshwork. Torn shreds of copper cobweb hung from his shoulders. But, before he took the two steps to the concrete pillar, he stopped stock-still. His head, round as a schoolroom globe, warily turned right and left: the ebonite shells of his acoustic receptors extended and stirred, his locator horns shuddered. The leaden lid on the pillar emitted infrared light, apparent even in the heated building. But, in addition to this, it was emitting some sort of ultra-radiant emanation. Urm saw well in x- and gamma rays, and it seemed to him that the lid was transparent, with a narrow concrete well opening under it, filled with glowing dust. In the depths of Urm’s memory a command surfaced: leave this place at once. Urm did not know when and by whom this command had been issued. Probably, Urm came into the world already knowing it, as he knew many other things. But Urm did not obey the command. Curiosity turned out to be stronger. He bent over the pillar, extended his claws and with some effort lifted the lid.