we could not take off.
A strut in the undercarriage was broken-no doubt this had happened
when I shied clear of the tent-dwelling in landing. We hadn't noticed
this until the Nentsi had cleared the snow away from the undercarriage.
It was four clear days and nights since we had left Zapolarie. No doubt
they would be looking for us and would eventually find us, though the
blizzard had carried us off course. They would find us-but could you be
certain? Perhaps it was already too late for us to fly to Vanokan, unless
we were flying to fetch a corpse?
This was my first real test in the North, and it was with dismay that I
thought of having to return empty-handed without having done
anything. Or, worse still, they would find me in the tundra, helpless as a
puppy, beside a crippled aeroplane. What was to be done?
I called the doctor and asked him to gather the Nentsi.
It was an unforgettable meeting, the one we held in the choom around
the fire, or rather around the smoke, which went out through a round
hole above our heads. I can't make out how such a crowd of people
could pack themselves into that choom\ A reindeer had been
slaughtered in our honour, and the Nentsi were eating it raw, holding
the meat in their teeth with one hand and cutting slices off close to their
lips with amazing dexterity. It was a wonder they did not snip off the
tips of their noses while they were at it!
Though I am not squeamish, I tried not to look at the way they dipped
these strips in a cup of blood and dispatched them amid a smacking of
lips.
174
"It's bad," I began my speech, "that we have taken on ourselves to help
a wounded man, a respected man, and here we are, sitting with you
these last four days, and unable to help him. Please, translate that,
Doctor."
The doctor translated it.
"But what's still worse is that a lot of time has passed and we are still
far away from Vanokan and don't even know exactly which way to fly—
to the north or south, the east or west."
The doctor translated.
"Worse still, our aeroplane is damaged. And we can't mend it without
your help."
The Nentsi began talking all together, but the doctor raised a hand
and they fell silent. I had already noticed that they treated him with
great respect.
"We would have fared badly but for you," I went on. "Without you we
would have frozen to death, without you we could not have coped with
the snow, under which our aeroplane was buried. Translate that,
please."
The doctor translated.
"And one more request. We need a piece of wood. We need a small,
but very strong piece of wood, a metre long. We shall then be able to
mend the aeroplane and fly on further to help that worthy man."
I tried to speak as though I were mentally translating back from
Nenets into Russian.
"Of course, I understand that wood is a very rare and precious thing. I
would like to give you very much money for that piece of wood a metre
long, but I have no money. I can offer you our primus-stove instead."
Luri-we had arranged this beforehand-pulled the stove out from
under his anorak and held it up.
"You know, of course, what a primus-stove is. It's a machine that
heats water, cooks meat and boils tea. How long does it take to start a
fire? Half an hour. But a primus you can light in one minute. On a
primus you can even bake pies. It's a splendid thing, a primus, a useful
thing for the household."
Luri pumped it up and applied a match to it, and the flame shot up
almost to the ceiling. But the damned thing, as if on purpose, wouldn't
light, and we had to make believe that it was not supposed to light right
away. This was no easy thing, considering that I had just said that
lighting it was the work of a moment.
"Give us a piece of strong wood a metre long and we'll give you this
primus-stove in exchange."
I was a little afraid the Nentsi would be offended by so modest a gift,
but they weren't. They looked gravely at the primus in utter silence. Luri
kept pumping it until the burner was red-hot and red sparks started to
fly round it. Frankly, at that moment, out there in the wild remote
tundra, in this Nenets choom, the thing looked even to me a live,
burning, buzzing miracle! All sat silent, gazing at it with genuine
respect.
Then an old man with a long pipe in his mouth, and a woman's shawl
tied over his head, which in no way detracted from his dignity of mien,
rose and said something in Nenets-it sounded to me like one very long
sentence. He addressed himself to the doctor, but was replying to me.
And this was how the doctor translated him:
175
"There are three ways of fighting smoke: by screening the smoke-hole
on the weather side, which will make it draw better; by raising the nyuk,
that is, the skin which serves as a door; by making a hole over the door
to let the smoke out. But to receive a guest we have only one way-by
giving him whatever he wants. Just now we shall eat reindeer and sleep.
Afterwards we shall bring you all the wood we can find in our chooms.
As for this magnificent primus, you may do whatever you wish with it."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE OLD BOAT-HOOK
And so, no sooner was the reindeer eaten raw, head, ears, eyes and all,
than the Nentsi started to drag out all the wooden things they
possessed. A hollowed-out plate, a hook for hanging pots, some sort of
weaving device in the shape of a board with round holes along the sides,
sledge runners and skis.
"No good?"
They were surprised.
"But it's strong wood, it will last a hundred years."
They even dragged up a chair-back, which had found its way into the
tundra God knows how. Our future navigator brought a god-a real idol,
decorated with bits of coloured cloth, with a bullet-head and a nail
driven in where a man has his navel.
"No good? But it's strong wood, it will last a hundred years."
To tell the truth, I felt ashamed of my primus when I saw this Nenets,
after saying something sharply to his poor, tearful wife, bring out a tin-
bound chest, which was evidently the show-piece in an otherwise empty
choom. He came up to me, looking very pleased and deposited the chest
in the snow.
"Take this chest," the doctor translated. "It has four strong planks. I
am a Komsomol member, I don't need anything, I spit on your primus!"
I'm not sure the doctor translated this last sentence correctly. In any
case, it was a fine action, and I wrung a young man's hand.
Have you ever felt your mind occupied by a single idea to the
exclusion of all else, and then, all of a sudden, a storm bursts upon your
life and you instantly forget what you were striving after only a moment
ago with all your soul?
That was what happened to me when I saw an old brass-tipped boat-
hook lying in the snow among some poles which were used to build tent
dwellings.
Of course, the whole thing was bizarre, beginning from the moment
that I started my lecture on the primus with the Nentsi listening to me
gravely, and between us, as in a dream, a column of smoke rising up