LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

thought: „Why do I need his holy cross?“ He thought back and forth, drank more than one cup of tea, and then remembered: „They say that dark forces are afraid of his cross. I gave the land to the Russian God, and lots of evil spirits crawled out from the swamps, haunting the outskirts. I won't put his cross on my neck: I'll put it in a sacred chest, and if I need it, I'll scare every creature. „He accepted the gift of the Russian God and rode home on the swift deer. He's still here. He worships his idols, his holy land, water, every blade of grass, bows to a tree, and scares the evil spirits with his cross“.

      That's how the Khanty live. They don't forget to bow to their gods and keep the cross».

      «I'll ask Khutline,» Levne said thoughtfully, «to be the mother of Altam anki, who was carrying our girl». She needs to be in public, and her heart will quickly melt. And her husband will return someday.

      She took the cradle and hung it on the patterned wooden rings that her husband tied to the ceiling beams. Anshem iki shook a capercaillie goiter toy to attract child's attention before it fell asleep.

      «Kaltashch Anki is looking at us. A newborn should have five mothers. The first mother will be the goddess herself. The mother goddess will be offended if we don't dedicate the child to her – the baby will often get sick,» Levne, the main mother, muttered joyfully.

      «Great Nye gave us joy – a daughter. Everything must be done according to customs. Let her grow and enjoy life.»

      They cradled the child, and the girl immediately fell asleep in a warm Khanty cradle under joyful conversations.

      The next day, Anshem Iki found two women who were making a dugout on the settling hill. Pulling out a female knife with a wooden handle from his bosom, he tried to put it in the thin fingers of the one that was taking birth. Seeing the knife in the hands of Anshem Iki, she shied away. Grabbing a frightened woman by the wrist, he forcibly put the gift in her hands:

      «Be the midwife for my daughter, Pukan anki.»

      The new midwife, puzzled, examined the knife with a simple handle nested in a birch bark scabbard. Decorated with branchy ornaments that spoke of something unknown, the birch bark warmed her palm with the yellow sun. Then Anshem Iki pulled out a dark cross from his bosom. He turned to the woman which was now the friend of his daughter Pukan anki, and caught the hand of a beautiful woman. Trying to escape from strong male hands, she screeched with fear. He put a sacred cross in her palm:

      «And you, my daughter, be Pern anki – the godmother.»

      Then he turned calmly and went towards his village. Women did not understand a thing, they stood and looked after him. Then the godmother raised her hand to throw out the cross. Then she stopped, and started hiding it feverishly.

      «Why did he bring this? What shall I do? After all, they will put me in jail if they see the cross. Maybe I shall bury it in the ground?» Her heart tightened in fear.

      The midwife also examined her knife, then said:

      «He probably brought us presents for the girl. You can't throw it away, but you need to hide it. Wait, I have a good piece of birch bark here. Let's wrap it up right there, in a conspicuous place, near the dugout, and bury. We'll find it when good times come.

      „Will good times come?“ The godmother sighed bitterly.

      „Don't you worry, girl! Be sure they'll come, don't even think about anything bad. Soon everything will be fine and we'll be taken home.“

      „I wish. How are we going to spend the winter here?“

      „Don't stand. Give me the cross, there's the guard coming. They can see it.“

      She wrapped the knife and the cross in a piece of birch bark, and began digging the ground near the birch. At first, she threw wooden chips into the hole, and then put the gifts in the middle.

      „Let's dig in. Quick, put the turf so that it's not visible,“ Pukan anki rushed her friend.

      Having covered everything with earth and turf, women instantly grabbed shovels to make a dugout. Soon a guard came up and began to question:

      „What did the old man want?“

      „He said something, but we couldn't understand what he wanted. We thought he would go to the authorities, but he went to his place. Maybe he wanted to bring some fish, we don't know.

      Maybe he scolded us that the girl was thrown. We don't understand his language.

      „You fools, why did you open your mouths? Be silent about the child, otherwise I will send you further north.“

      Women said, stumbling:

      „Don't ask us! We did not see the baby“»

      What and to whom could they say, bonded people of huge Russia under constant guard? Neither they had homes, nor the land, nor households – and nor rights. Their only goal was to save a man in themselves, not to become a beast in this remote taiga. Even this was hardly possible: every person those days thought only of his life, not of nobility. In order to survive, you needed to become slippery like a smelly burbot, slimy, toothy like a pike. But, as you know, pike and burbot always fall into the largest boiler. It's more convenient to cook large pieces of fish well.

      It seemed that people lived on a deserted, god-forgotten land. The only ship on the Ob came once a month from afar. For thirty-forty kilometers from each other, you could find inconspicuous Khanty villages. In the small, dull gorts that were hidden near deep saimes, there were only two or three huts. The father's house – the clan's house, and, perhaps, the houses of older sons separated by age. However, every day at least one boat passed along the Ob banks, then another one sailed upstream. In good weather, light boats quickly disappeared behind the turn of the Ob, and on fishing boats, kayaks, that were stable on the waves, there were several people. Rowers struggled in three oars with the fast flow of the high-water As river, which had spread widely over the litter. It was good if they went down the river, but if they were sailing up, they had to stay close to the shore, where the current slowed down due to the shallow water.

      No one was surprised when a few days later authorities approached the village. When people saw the boat arriving, they looked out of the doors and closed them again. There were attentive eyes looking from all the low windows of the huts and houses. District officials walked into the village council with a red flag fluttering. Soon the messenger boy ran to the houses, calling people to the gathering. Levne stepped out of the house with Anshem iki, looking around, and ran into the forest with the cradle. Anshem iki and his granddaughter went to the gathering. A high boss from the district stood next to the chairman, looking at the ignorant people who did not understand anything in the new life. He frowned, carefully examining people. Clearing his throat loudly, the guest spoke menacingly:

      «Someone from your village took a newborn from exiled kulaks, from criminals. Who was it?»

      The Khanty were silent as always. What could they say without knowing the Russian. Kurtan iki, the assistant chairman of the village council, wanted to get forward, but someone rudely pulled him back. A large man blocked him with his back and said loudly:

      «Our babys here. Other baby no walk.»

      «Baby no walk,» the newcomer from the district mocked, «so we have the newborn already walking!»

      Someone convincingly spoke from the crowd:

      «Hoyat baby holt tulev?»

      Kurtan iki again began to get out of the crowd. He really wanted to help the authorities: they had important, necessary laws, but his fellow villagers didn't understand that a child of strangers had no place in the Khanty village:

      «We have baby!»

      «What? Where is the baby?» The visitor exclaimed.

      «Turkoi kurt luti toock baby, mun at watsev nyavram!» Kurtan iki was painfully squeezed among the crowd, and went silent.

      «That's ok, keep quiet! We'll check every home now. Chairman, take us to all the houses. Look at them! They decided to hide the children of the kulaks. Apples don't fall far from the tree.»

      People

Скачать книгу